A searing pain awoke Harry from the nightmare, causing him to bolt upright, clutching his scar. A moment more of the agony, and then the pain is gone, only a slight twinge to tell it was ever there. Slowly pulling his hand from his forehead, the youth examines it as if the palm holds all the answers.
Able to think clearly now, Harry turns his attention from the pain to the dream, furiously trying to recall its events. Something about him and something about Ron. It was important, he knew, but he couldn't grasp it, though the events flitted around at the top of his brain.
"Shit!" Whatever it was, it was bad, that much was for certain. Removing himself from the threadbare sheets, a hand runs through the wild mop of hair on top of his head as he reached for a sheet of parchment and a quill. Ron needed to be warned, because whatever Voldemort was planning, it wasn't good.
Ron-
I had a dream last night, a dream about Voldemort. I can't remember most of it, but I do remember he was talking about me...and you. Be careful, Ron, be very careful. Whatever he was talking about us for, it wasn't to throw us a tea party.
-Harry
Rolling it up, the sleepy youth tied it to the leg of an even sleepier Hedwig, who hooted at him in a somewhat vexed tone.
"Sorry girl, but its important. It is to the Burrow though, and you know they'll insist on stuffing you, better than I can feed you here."
Ruffled feathers smooth as she gazes unblinkingly at him, launching into the night air as soon as Harry wrestled open the window. For a moment, brilliant green eyes follow the rapidly vanishing speck, before turning back to the bed, suddenly exhausted. Not even bothering to shut the window, the youth stumbles back into bed, tugging the meager covers over his head.