Disclaimer: I own nothing (except for Kaisha and the vampire clans). JKR is
God! Please don't sue me, all I have is a (rather extensive) collection of
Buffy books and $11.31 to my name!
A.N.: I'd like to send out a huge thank you to all my awesome betas.without them there would be no story to tell. Also, I must especially thank Missy Hallan, Prof. Amira, Sam Mallory, and Aristyar. Oh yeah, and Alli, for her enthusiasm. ( Go Your Own Way Chapter Two: Nocturnal Habits
The rest of term sped by as fast as Krum could chase a snitch; very rapidly indeed. Hermione, as expected, got the most O.W.L.s of all the fifth year students, and was, naturally, quite pleased. Harry could tell that Ron had been quite please with Hermione's results, but doubted his best friend would ever admit to it. Ron, as expected, had rolled his eyes when she had found out her results, which earned him a light smack on the arm by an ecstatic Hermione. Harry and Ron had managed to do fairly well on their exams as well, despite Hermione's stubborn refusal to help Ron with a 'Brain Booster' charm, which Ron had found in "Chang's Choices for Cheaters." This book could be found on the extensive list of Hogwarts academic contraband. How it found it's way into Ron's possession, was something that neither Fred or George Weasley knew anything about; especially if they were being questioned. "Come on, Hermione," Harry had heard Ron say. "It's the only way I'll pass our potions final. You know Snape's got it in for me.and Harry, for that matter, but at least he's got some chance of passing." Ron flashed Hermione his best attempt at puppy dog eyes. For a moment, the compelling argument that had been building up inside Hermione's brain lost some of its footing. But as soon as Hermione took her eyes from Ron's, her line of reasoning was back on solid ground. "Yes, Ron, I am aware of the Snape situation. But what better excuse could he have to get you expelled than to let him catch you cheating on his exam?" she retorted. "Besides, I'm sure the professors will have thought up a way to counter all possible cheating spells." After several similar conversations, Ron, rather sulkily, had finally given up. To Hermione's immense satisfaction, he had agreed that perhaps actually studying would be his best plan of action. And, much to Ron's surprise, it had worked! He had stunned himself by not only passing Snape's exam without the use of any charms (or causing physical damage to himself or others), but also by receiving O.W.L.s in several other classes to boot. The twins, it seemed, had been studying very hard as well; they had received more than enough N.E.W.T.s than were required to leave Hogwarts. Ron was adamant that Fred and George must have paid someone off to receive grads like those, but Harry doubted that was true.for the most part. Now that Harry was staying at the Burrow, he had plenty of opportunities to ask the twins what they had really done to receive all those N.E.W.T.s, but he found there were more important things on his mind. The idea of bringing up school seemed to pale in comparison to all the questions that had been buzzing around his head these days. Questions about their impending trip to Romania; questions about the subtle tension he could feel between Hermione and Ron; and, to his dismay, questions about Cho. Harry had bumped into Cho Chang two days ago, heading up to the Gryffindor common room after the Hogwarts End of Year feast. Harry had only seen Cho a few times all year, and they had mostly been when Ravenclaw was battling it out with Gryffindor on the Quidditch pitch- not exactly the perfect setting for a heart to heart. "Oh hi, Harry," Cho had said, in her usual pleasant tone. Harry remembered thinking that she was just as pretty as she had always been, but there was something very different about her now. Her beauty, which had always been vibrant and full of life, now seemed shadowed. "Congratulations on the winning the Quidditch Cup this year. Your team has never played so well." " Ah.thanks," said Harry modestly. "Your team was the best we've faced in years." This was definitely true. Harry's team had played a very determined Ravenclaw for this year's Quidditch championships. Gryffindor was certainly lucky that Harry had managed to catch the snitch, as they had only won by thirty points including the one hundred and fifty provided by its capture. "Well, I'd best be off," had said Cho sadly. "I still haven't packed for the train ride home tomorrow." "Neither have I." Cho and Harry grinned at their mutual lack or organization, and then said their farewells. As Harry walked away, he couldn't help but feel poignant sadness for the girl he had once admired so much. Harry knew that her grief was a direct result of the death of Cedric Diggory during last year's Tri-Wizard Tournament. He knew that Cedric and Cho must have been very close. During one of the difficult tasks the champions had to partake in, merpeople of the lake on Hogwarts grounds took the person each champion cared about most in this world; Cho had been Cedric's hostage. Harry had lost his own parents, but he was only a baby when it had happened. He couldn't even comprehend what it must be like to live life with someone you love deeply, and have to continue on in his absence. Harry didn't know exactly what he now felt for the girl, only that it had changed. He felt the bond that all who have lost a loved one share, and he wished to befriend another survivor. There was comfort in this realization. As Harry lay in bed, pondering this new realization, he didn't dare ask himself the one question that haunted his dreams and hid itself as best it could in his waking hours. Why did he now get the oddest sensation in the pit of his stomach when he caught a flash of red hair and soft blue eyes, and heard the gentle giggle of a feminine voice?
* * * * *
The Crone could sense the terror rolling off from the boy in great crushing waves, like the air rising from the hot pavement on a scorching summer day. Her visions we so strong in her old age that she could almost feel the warmth of his breath against her wrinkled skin. She could see that the boy's wrists were bound. He was helpless to stop his captors, but, as great as his fear was, it was shadowed by his rage. Inside of him was a battle, just waiting to be fought. He would get his chance sure enough, and The Crone knew she did not want to be there when it broke out.
* * * * *
Ginny had suffered from vivid nightmares since early childhood. However, while most children eventually grew out of these traumatic night time experiences, Ginny's had only intensified. Tonight, Ginny was having her most recurrent night terror. She was alone, and it was dark. She was running, stumbling, tripping; fleeing through the shadowy woods as fast as her legs would allow her. But it wasn't fast enough. It never was. She could run forever, but it would always catch her. Death would always catch her. All around her she could see it, feel them. She couldn't think- she could only run. An image flashed through her mind's eye. It was of a girl: young, but older than Ginny. She was screaming, but Ginny didn't know the cause. And she was afraid; so afraid, in fact, that Ginny herself could almost see the fear oozing off of her. But as suddenly as the image had come, it left, and Ginny was once again running through the forest, scratching her bare legs on the sharp branches she passed, and scraping her knees on the ground as she fell. She hit the ground, and her mind was bombarded by with another image. It was a mother, scared and screaming, and a baby dead on the ground. The woman was speaking, though the language was harsh and Ginny did not understand it; but she could feel what the woman felt. Her world had come to an end. Her child would not grow up to know her love, and no price was higher than that. As the man with the shining white skin moved towards the woman, Ginny was plunged back into the dream reality. She picked herself up of the ground and began to run again. Blood was pounding in her veins, and the drumbeat of her heart was all she could hear. She ran and ran, and another image clouded her vision. It was a boy; a boy she knew well. His green eyes were oceans, and rivers ran down his face. He was on his knees, covered in dirt and blood. He was mouthing a name, over and over again, but in the silence of her vision, she could not tell what it was. He hurled the broken glasses from his face, and flung himself downwards, using himself as a human blanket for the body that lay beneath. Ginny new it was a body he covered, but she could only see the corpse's small white hand, lying in a pool of crimson. The image cleared, and Ginny could again see where she was going. The shadows of the forest around her were moving, and Ginny knew she did not have much time left. He would be coming for her; he always did. And, out of the darkness, he appeared. He stood before her, tall and gaunt, glowing a ghostly white in the pale moonlight. There was only one feeling that emanated from his being: hunger. It was a desire so great that it would devour the world. He moved like a cat towards her, and she was powerless to stop him. His gaze held her like a root to earth. Her running had come to an end. He was upon her. She caught a flash of white teeth, then felt the warmth on her neck, and the pain as his teeth pierced her flesh. As he fed, one thing filled her blackening vision. It was an eye, its iris so dark that no light could escape it. In the middle of this black hole of vision, was a slitted pupil, the deep purple-red of unshed blood. The dream, as it always had, ended at this climax. This time, however, where Ginny had always woken up in loud sobs and streams of tears, the one word, the one thought that Ginny had known throughout the entire night terror, voiced itself in a scream. "Father!"
* * * * *
Somewhere in the night, the young girl was weeping. The Crone's next vision was filled with the loneliness that she herself had never felt. This poor child had no clan to fall back on; she was alone in the world. As the girl cried, The Crone could feel a despair she had never felt before; this girl had lost her future. As the Crone was one with events yet to come, this thought scared her like no others. The child continued her soft sobbing, and The Crone was overcome by the desire to reach out and put a comforting arm about the young girl's shoulders. But there was nothing to be done. The Crone knew the girl was right; she was beyond all hope.
* * * * *
Kaisha was regretting eating so close to bedtime; it always gave her such a rush that it was hard to settle down to sleep. True, the blood that the Agency gave to the clans was not the 'quality of kings', as her father referred to rich blood straight from the vein, but it was still enough to give Kaisha a buzz. Kaisha, who did not know any difference in blood, didn't think that the blood donor packages from the Vampire Control Agency were all that bad. They were enough to sustain her, and wasn't that what it was really all about? She knew that her father felt differently on the subject, but times had changed since he had been Kaisha's age. When he was a boy, the VCA hadn't existed, and the vampires of Kaisha's clan had been able to feed off of whomever they wished. Now the wizards in the valley of Întuncare controlled their clan. They were no longer allowed to hunt; blood was delivered once a week, and each vampire was allotted a certain amount. There was no hunt, no prey, no glory of the kill, as there had been in times past, as her father had often reflected. Kaisha, who had been raised as much by the dragon keepers in the village as she had been by her father, could not even imagine hunting her friends as prey. Her father, however, had grown up in a different world. Compared to her father, who was approaching his seventieth year (not young, but not old considering the extended life spans of their people), the Agency was merely a baby, being set up only a couple of decades before Kaisha's birth. Kaisha, despite holding differing views from Sorin, loved her father very much. She was immensely proud of his strength, his power, and his control. When she was a little girl, Kaisha had been quite in awe of the man who could pierce one's heart with just a glance. He had always been so big and tough, and Kaisha felt like just a mouse by comparison. She loved the way that all eyes fell on him when he entered a room, and she wondered if, one day, she would ever have such authority over her people. As Sorin's heir, Kaisha was next in line for leadership of the Koshchei clan, but she doubted she would be able to live up to her father's legacy. The will of others broke like the waves upon a rock when faced with the might of Sorin Koshchei, and Kaisha believed, in her heart of hearts, that no force on this earth could compete with his command. Perhaps it was the familiarity with beings of great power that had led Kaisha to the dragon colony that first day. The dragons, like her father, were rough and wild: a force of nature not to be reckoned with. She had been re-taught that lesson today as she and Charlie had worked with Adanac, an especially difficult Hungarian Horntail. In a moment of sheer forgetfulness, Kaisha (who had been verbally sparring with Charlie for the past twenty minutes) turned her back on the beast. A moment was all it took. Adanac, despite his great size, was fast as lightning, twisted his hulking body and nearly took Kaisha out with a swift and deadly strike of his tail. Had it not been for Charlie, who dove on top of her and forced her to the grown, Kaisha could very easily have died. The blow would not have killed her, but the loss of blood from a wound like that would have made it difficult for her to survive. Kaisha had blamed Charlie for her near fatality. The two had been in the middle of a heated debate on the ethics of Charlie wearing dragon hide gloves while working at a dragon preservation colony. She had been focusing all her attention on winning the argument, and when Adanac's tail swung around, she was entirely unprepared for it. 'Hell, if the twat's not busy saving my life,' she thought, 'he's finding a new way to make me lose it! One second we're fighting, and the next thing I know he's on top of me.' Just thinking about that incident made Kaisha's face grow red in the darkness. She had never been so near to a man, other than her father, before in her life. Even the dangerous circumstances that caused the need for contact between her body and his, could not erase the thrill Kaisha had felt when she was in such close proximity to Charlie. Her head spun at the remembrance, and Kaisha had to force herself to settle down. It was Charlie, after all. Sure, things had felt a little odd between them lately, and they had been bickering more than usual, but Kaisha chalked it up to Charlie being on edge about the imminent arrival of his family. He wanted everything to be just right for his family's first visit. They would be arriving at some point tomorrow afternoon, and they would be staying at Întuncare for the entire summer. Kaisha was actually quite excited about meeting a family of 'carrot topped invader's' as Charlie had dubbed the incoming Weasley's. She had heard so much about them that Kaisha felt as if she already knew them. She also knew not to take any sweets if the twins were offering. As Kaisha lay in bed, pondering just what each sibling would look like (and coming up with shorter or taller versions of Charlie, which was very unfortunate indeed for poor little Ginny), she found that her eyes were slowly beginning to shut, and her breathing slowed to the deep rhythmic pattern that guided sleepers to dream land. Tomorrow was going to be an important day, and Kaisha needed all the rest she could get.
* * * * * As the vision of the red-haired girl had left her, the image of a young woman, pale and sleek in the moonlight, quickly replaced it. The Crone was aware that the young woman in this vision was one of her own kind. This new girl was crying, just as the girl in the previous vision had been. Her tears however, we not of loneliness; they were the bitter tears of a curse. The dark woman was only a living vessel for spite towards the world. Her tears were hot and angry, and The Crone could only fear for the ones who had caused such pain. She was sure they would feel it themselves.
* * * * *
Ginny had tossed and turned in her bed for well over three quarters of an hour. She knew she would need her sleep, as they were to be leaving for Romania in the morning. But every time she shut her eyes, her mind was filled with one clear image: the black eye with the slitted red pupil. Ginny doubted she would ever sleep again if she were bombarded with the same image every time she shut her eyes. She was quickly becoming over heated as well. She felt hot and sticky, even though she was only wearing her over-sized tee-shirt pajamas. She needed to get out of bed. Her covers had finally twisted themselves into a tangled mess, so she got out of bed to sort out the knotted mess of blankets. Once she had placed her feet on the cool wood of the floorboards, she knew she wouldn't be going back to bed just yet. Her bare legs felt free from the prison of her stuffy sheets, and she realized that what she was craving more than anything was a nice, cool, glass of water. When she had finished setting her bed to rights, she slipped out the door, not bothering with the housecoat and slippers her mother had them wear to keep from catching a chill. As she headed down the darkened staircase towards the kitchen, she noticed a faint light coming from her destination. 'Well, at least I'm not the only one who can't sleep,' she thought to herself. Her best guess was that it would be Percy in the kitchen; fretting about all the work he'd be missing. Even though he'd technically only be missing a week or so of work, as he and Mr. Weasley would be apparating to and from work after their first week in Romania, Percy was acting like it was the end of the world. However, as Ginny stepped off the bottom stair, she discovered that she was quite wrong indeed. It wasn't Percy; it wasn't even a family member at all. There, at the kitchen table with a steaming glass of milk in front of him, sat Harry, all alone in the dimly lit kitchen.
Harry, who had had trouble sleeping as well, had crept down to the kitchen, as quietly as a mouse, some time before Ginny had left her room. He sat there, lost in his own thoughts, until a flash of red hair caught his attention. At the bottom of the stairs stood Ginny, wearing nothing but an extremely large 'Chuddley Cannons' t-shirt. Her hair was tousled (as he imagined his was as well) and she looked extremely flushed. He assumed that she must have been somewhat rosy to begin with, because when she noticed him seated there, she turned a deeper shade of crimson. Harry couldn't help but wonder if she herself had noticed the pink rising on Harry's own face. 'As long as you don't look directly at her, you'll be fine,' he reassured himself. "Oh. Harry, sorry," she stammered, "I didn't mean to." She turned and went to go back upstairs, but Harry called out to stop her. This was her home after all, and Harry didn't like the idea of inconveniencing any of the Weasleys, let alone a half dressed Ginny in the middle of the night. Harry's blush deepened a shade darker than Ginny's. "Oh, no, you really didn't interrupt," said Harry a little awkwardly, before she could make it back up the stairs. "You could stay. I've made some warm milk if you'd like some?" Ginny turned, and with a small smile on her face, responded, "Thanks, but I'm not sure the hot milk would help cool me down much." Looking a little more relaxed than she had when she first entered the room, Ginny made her way over to one of the kitchen cupboards and fixed herself a glass of water from the tap. She turned and pulled out a seat at the table, directly across from Harry. A moment of tense silence passed, until Harry spoke. "So. are you excited about the holiday?" This was the best conversation starter Harry was able to come up with under pressure. "I'm really looking forward to seeing Charlie again," she responded. "I barely even got to say 'Hi' to him when he was at the school last year. he was too busy with the dragons I'd imagine." "What do they do at these dragon colonies anyways?" "Oh, they do lots of stuff." Harry knew he was home free. He knew that once he had gotten the conversation rolling, Ginny, a true chatterbox if ever there was one, would manage to keep the conversation going. Once she had gotten over her initial shyness, Ginny was always keen to talk about anything and everything. It was actually one of the things that Harry admired the most about her. She was an open book. As Harry sipped his warm glass of milk, and Ginny cooled herself with her water, the two found themselves in a conversation that broached all subjects, from the 'Colony for the Conservation of Endangered Dragon Species', where Charlie worked, to theories about the real reasons Professor McGonagall had never gotten married. Time often has a way of rushing past when you wish it would slow to a trickle, and before Harry knew it, Ginny had informed him that it was 4:30 in the morning- they had been talking for over an hour and a half! "We ought to head back to bed," said Harry, who was after all, starting to feel the need for more sleep. "I'd say so," replied Ginny, "considering we have to be getting up in 3 hours time." With that they picked up their dishes, put them in the sink, and headed up the stairs. When they had reached Ginny's bedroom door, the pair stopped to say goodnight. Well, in theory, anyways. Though they had just spent a considerable length of time chatting away, they stood there, at a complete loss for words, and looking at anywhere but at eachother. Moments passed, and still no words formed on Harry's tongue. Just when Harry thought they'd still be standing there until the rest of the Weasley's woke up, Ginny finally broke the silence. "Well, um, goodnight then," she said, not quite meeting his eyes. Of all the suave things Harry was brainstorming as responses (including "back at ya'," and the infamous "ditto"), all he could manage to stammer was, "Yeah, ah, 'night Ginny." As Harry turned, mentally cursing his lack of finesse, Ginny called out. "Oh, and Harry"- She paused, lowering her eyes to look at the (suddenly fascinating) floor. "Thanks." "For what?" Her last statement had genuinely puzzled him. "Ah.I dunno, just thanks," Ginny lied. Truth be told, she didn't really want to tell Harry she was saying thanks because he'd managed to make her feel better. It seemed just a little to personal. Ginny managed to look Harry straight in the eye, and flash a small smile despite the butterflies that were staging a small rebellion in her stomach. But as soon as Harry caught the smile, Ginny had fled back into her darkened room. Harry himself turned, still a little shaky, and made it back up to his bed.
Harry fell right asleep the moment his head hit the pillow, as did Ginny. Surprisingly enough, neither of them had any nightmares for the rest of the night.
A.N.: I'd like to send out a huge thank you to all my awesome betas.without them there would be no story to tell. Also, I must especially thank Missy Hallan, Prof. Amira, Sam Mallory, and Aristyar. Oh yeah, and Alli, for her enthusiasm. ( Go Your Own Way Chapter Two: Nocturnal Habits
The rest of term sped by as fast as Krum could chase a snitch; very rapidly indeed. Hermione, as expected, got the most O.W.L.s of all the fifth year students, and was, naturally, quite pleased. Harry could tell that Ron had been quite please with Hermione's results, but doubted his best friend would ever admit to it. Ron, as expected, had rolled his eyes when she had found out her results, which earned him a light smack on the arm by an ecstatic Hermione. Harry and Ron had managed to do fairly well on their exams as well, despite Hermione's stubborn refusal to help Ron with a 'Brain Booster' charm, which Ron had found in "Chang's Choices for Cheaters." This book could be found on the extensive list of Hogwarts academic contraband. How it found it's way into Ron's possession, was something that neither Fred or George Weasley knew anything about; especially if they were being questioned. "Come on, Hermione," Harry had heard Ron say. "It's the only way I'll pass our potions final. You know Snape's got it in for me.and Harry, for that matter, but at least he's got some chance of passing." Ron flashed Hermione his best attempt at puppy dog eyes. For a moment, the compelling argument that had been building up inside Hermione's brain lost some of its footing. But as soon as Hermione took her eyes from Ron's, her line of reasoning was back on solid ground. "Yes, Ron, I am aware of the Snape situation. But what better excuse could he have to get you expelled than to let him catch you cheating on his exam?" she retorted. "Besides, I'm sure the professors will have thought up a way to counter all possible cheating spells." After several similar conversations, Ron, rather sulkily, had finally given up. To Hermione's immense satisfaction, he had agreed that perhaps actually studying would be his best plan of action. And, much to Ron's surprise, it had worked! He had stunned himself by not only passing Snape's exam without the use of any charms (or causing physical damage to himself or others), but also by receiving O.W.L.s in several other classes to boot. The twins, it seemed, had been studying very hard as well; they had received more than enough N.E.W.T.s than were required to leave Hogwarts. Ron was adamant that Fred and George must have paid someone off to receive grads like those, but Harry doubted that was true.for the most part. Now that Harry was staying at the Burrow, he had plenty of opportunities to ask the twins what they had really done to receive all those N.E.W.T.s, but he found there were more important things on his mind. The idea of bringing up school seemed to pale in comparison to all the questions that had been buzzing around his head these days. Questions about their impending trip to Romania; questions about the subtle tension he could feel between Hermione and Ron; and, to his dismay, questions about Cho. Harry had bumped into Cho Chang two days ago, heading up to the Gryffindor common room after the Hogwarts End of Year feast. Harry had only seen Cho a few times all year, and they had mostly been when Ravenclaw was battling it out with Gryffindor on the Quidditch pitch- not exactly the perfect setting for a heart to heart. "Oh hi, Harry," Cho had said, in her usual pleasant tone. Harry remembered thinking that she was just as pretty as she had always been, but there was something very different about her now. Her beauty, which had always been vibrant and full of life, now seemed shadowed. "Congratulations on the winning the Quidditch Cup this year. Your team has never played so well." " Ah.thanks," said Harry modestly. "Your team was the best we've faced in years." This was definitely true. Harry's team had played a very determined Ravenclaw for this year's Quidditch championships. Gryffindor was certainly lucky that Harry had managed to catch the snitch, as they had only won by thirty points including the one hundred and fifty provided by its capture. "Well, I'd best be off," had said Cho sadly. "I still haven't packed for the train ride home tomorrow." "Neither have I." Cho and Harry grinned at their mutual lack or organization, and then said their farewells. As Harry walked away, he couldn't help but feel poignant sadness for the girl he had once admired so much. Harry knew that her grief was a direct result of the death of Cedric Diggory during last year's Tri-Wizard Tournament. He knew that Cedric and Cho must have been very close. During one of the difficult tasks the champions had to partake in, merpeople of the lake on Hogwarts grounds took the person each champion cared about most in this world; Cho had been Cedric's hostage. Harry had lost his own parents, but he was only a baby when it had happened. He couldn't even comprehend what it must be like to live life with someone you love deeply, and have to continue on in his absence. Harry didn't know exactly what he now felt for the girl, only that it had changed. He felt the bond that all who have lost a loved one share, and he wished to befriend another survivor. There was comfort in this realization. As Harry lay in bed, pondering this new realization, he didn't dare ask himself the one question that haunted his dreams and hid itself as best it could in his waking hours. Why did he now get the oddest sensation in the pit of his stomach when he caught a flash of red hair and soft blue eyes, and heard the gentle giggle of a feminine voice?
* * * * *
The Crone could sense the terror rolling off from the boy in great crushing waves, like the air rising from the hot pavement on a scorching summer day. Her visions we so strong in her old age that she could almost feel the warmth of his breath against her wrinkled skin. She could see that the boy's wrists were bound. He was helpless to stop his captors, but, as great as his fear was, it was shadowed by his rage. Inside of him was a battle, just waiting to be fought. He would get his chance sure enough, and The Crone knew she did not want to be there when it broke out.
* * * * *
Ginny had suffered from vivid nightmares since early childhood. However, while most children eventually grew out of these traumatic night time experiences, Ginny's had only intensified. Tonight, Ginny was having her most recurrent night terror. She was alone, and it was dark. She was running, stumbling, tripping; fleeing through the shadowy woods as fast as her legs would allow her. But it wasn't fast enough. It never was. She could run forever, but it would always catch her. Death would always catch her. All around her she could see it, feel them. She couldn't think- she could only run. An image flashed through her mind's eye. It was of a girl: young, but older than Ginny. She was screaming, but Ginny didn't know the cause. And she was afraid; so afraid, in fact, that Ginny herself could almost see the fear oozing off of her. But as suddenly as the image had come, it left, and Ginny was once again running through the forest, scratching her bare legs on the sharp branches she passed, and scraping her knees on the ground as she fell. She hit the ground, and her mind was bombarded by with another image. It was a mother, scared and screaming, and a baby dead on the ground. The woman was speaking, though the language was harsh and Ginny did not understand it; but she could feel what the woman felt. Her world had come to an end. Her child would not grow up to know her love, and no price was higher than that. As the man with the shining white skin moved towards the woman, Ginny was plunged back into the dream reality. She picked herself up of the ground and began to run again. Blood was pounding in her veins, and the drumbeat of her heart was all she could hear. She ran and ran, and another image clouded her vision. It was a boy; a boy she knew well. His green eyes were oceans, and rivers ran down his face. He was on his knees, covered in dirt and blood. He was mouthing a name, over and over again, but in the silence of her vision, she could not tell what it was. He hurled the broken glasses from his face, and flung himself downwards, using himself as a human blanket for the body that lay beneath. Ginny new it was a body he covered, but she could only see the corpse's small white hand, lying in a pool of crimson. The image cleared, and Ginny could again see where she was going. The shadows of the forest around her were moving, and Ginny knew she did not have much time left. He would be coming for her; he always did. And, out of the darkness, he appeared. He stood before her, tall and gaunt, glowing a ghostly white in the pale moonlight. There was only one feeling that emanated from his being: hunger. It was a desire so great that it would devour the world. He moved like a cat towards her, and she was powerless to stop him. His gaze held her like a root to earth. Her running had come to an end. He was upon her. She caught a flash of white teeth, then felt the warmth on her neck, and the pain as his teeth pierced her flesh. As he fed, one thing filled her blackening vision. It was an eye, its iris so dark that no light could escape it. In the middle of this black hole of vision, was a slitted pupil, the deep purple-red of unshed blood. The dream, as it always had, ended at this climax. This time, however, where Ginny had always woken up in loud sobs and streams of tears, the one word, the one thought that Ginny had known throughout the entire night terror, voiced itself in a scream. "Father!"
* * * * *
Somewhere in the night, the young girl was weeping. The Crone's next vision was filled with the loneliness that she herself had never felt. This poor child had no clan to fall back on; she was alone in the world. As the girl cried, The Crone could feel a despair she had never felt before; this girl had lost her future. As the Crone was one with events yet to come, this thought scared her like no others. The child continued her soft sobbing, and The Crone was overcome by the desire to reach out and put a comforting arm about the young girl's shoulders. But there was nothing to be done. The Crone knew the girl was right; she was beyond all hope.
* * * * *
Kaisha was regretting eating so close to bedtime; it always gave her such a rush that it was hard to settle down to sleep. True, the blood that the Agency gave to the clans was not the 'quality of kings', as her father referred to rich blood straight from the vein, but it was still enough to give Kaisha a buzz. Kaisha, who did not know any difference in blood, didn't think that the blood donor packages from the Vampire Control Agency were all that bad. They were enough to sustain her, and wasn't that what it was really all about? She knew that her father felt differently on the subject, but times had changed since he had been Kaisha's age. When he was a boy, the VCA hadn't existed, and the vampires of Kaisha's clan had been able to feed off of whomever they wished. Now the wizards in the valley of Întuncare controlled their clan. They were no longer allowed to hunt; blood was delivered once a week, and each vampire was allotted a certain amount. There was no hunt, no prey, no glory of the kill, as there had been in times past, as her father had often reflected. Kaisha, who had been raised as much by the dragon keepers in the village as she had been by her father, could not even imagine hunting her friends as prey. Her father, however, had grown up in a different world. Compared to her father, who was approaching his seventieth year (not young, but not old considering the extended life spans of their people), the Agency was merely a baby, being set up only a couple of decades before Kaisha's birth. Kaisha, despite holding differing views from Sorin, loved her father very much. She was immensely proud of his strength, his power, and his control. When she was a little girl, Kaisha had been quite in awe of the man who could pierce one's heart with just a glance. He had always been so big and tough, and Kaisha felt like just a mouse by comparison. She loved the way that all eyes fell on him when he entered a room, and she wondered if, one day, she would ever have such authority over her people. As Sorin's heir, Kaisha was next in line for leadership of the Koshchei clan, but she doubted she would be able to live up to her father's legacy. The will of others broke like the waves upon a rock when faced with the might of Sorin Koshchei, and Kaisha believed, in her heart of hearts, that no force on this earth could compete with his command. Perhaps it was the familiarity with beings of great power that had led Kaisha to the dragon colony that first day. The dragons, like her father, were rough and wild: a force of nature not to be reckoned with. She had been re-taught that lesson today as she and Charlie had worked with Adanac, an especially difficult Hungarian Horntail. In a moment of sheer forgetfulness, Kaisha (who had been verbally sparring with Charlie for the past twenty minutes) turned her back on the beast. A moment was all it took. Adanac, despite his great size, was fast as lightning, twisted his hulking body and nearly took Kaisha out with a swift and deadly strike of his tail. Had it not been for Charlie, who dove on top of her and forced her to the grown, Kaisha could very easily have died. The blow would not have killed her, but the loss of blood from a wound like that would have made it difficult for her to survive. Kaisha had blamed Charlie for her near fatality. The two had been in the middle of a heated debate on the ethics of Charlie wearing dragon hide gloves while working at a dragon preservation colony. She had been focusing all her attention on winning the argument, and when Adanac's tail swung around, she was entirely unprepared for it. 'Hell, if the twat's not busy saving my life,' she thought, 'he's finding a new way to make me lose it! One second we're fighting, and the next thing I know he's on top of me.' Just thinking about that incident made Kaisha's face grow red in the darkness. She had never been so near to a man, other than her father, before in her life. Even the dangerous circumstances that caused the need for contact between her body and his, could not erase the thrill Kaisha had felt when she was in such close proximity to Charlie. Her head spun at the remembrance, and Kaisha had to force herself to settle down. It was Charlie, after all. Sure, things had felt a little odd between them lately, and they had been bickering more than usual, but Kaisha chalked it up to Charlie being on edge about the imminent arrival of his family. He wanted everything to be just right for his family's first visit. They would be arriving at some point tomorrow afternoon, and they would be staying at Întuncare for the entire summer. Kaisha was actually quite excited about meeting a family of 'carrot topped invader's' as Charlie had dubbed the incoming Weasley's. She had heard so much about them that Kaisha felt as if she already knew them. She also knew not to take any sweets if the twins were offering. As Kaisha lay in bed, pondering just what each sibling would look like (and coming up with shorter or taller versions of Charlie, which was very unfortunate indeed for poor little Ginny), she found that her eyes were slowly beginning to shut, and her breathing slowed to the deep rhythmic pattern that guided sleepers to dream land. Tomorrow was going to be an important day, and Kaisha needed all the rest she could get.
* * * * * As the vision of the red-haired girl had left her, the image of a young woman, pale and sleek in the moonlight, quickly replaced it. The Crone was aware that the young woman in this vision was one of her own kind. This new girl was crying, just as the girl in the previous vision had been. Her tears however, we not of loneliness; they were the bitter tears of a curse. The dark woman was only a living vessel for spite towards the world. Her tears were hot and angry, and The Crone could only fear for the ones who had caused such pain. She was sure they would feel it themselves.
* * * * *
Ginny had tossed and turned in her bed for well over three quarters of an hour. She knew she would need her sleep, as they were to be leaving for Romania in the morning. But every time she shut her eyes, her mind was filled with one clear image: the black eye with the slitted red pupil. Ginny doubted she would ever sleep again if she were bombarded with the same image every time she shut her eyes. She was quickly becoming over heated as well. She felt hot and sticky, even though she was only wearing her over-sized tee-shirt pajamas. She needed to get out of bed. Her covers had finally twisted themselves into a tangled mess, so she got out of bed to sort out the knotted mess of blankets. Once she had placed her feet on the cool wood of the floorboards, she knew she wouldn't be going back to bed just yet. Her bare legs felt free from the prison of her stuffy sheets, and she realized that what she was craving more than anything was a nice, cool, glass of water. When she had finished setting her bed to rights, she slipped out the door, not bothering with the housecoat and slippers her mother had them wear to keep from catching a chill. As she headed down the darkened staircase towards the kitchen, she noticed a faint light coming from her destination. 'Well, at least I'm not the only one who can't sleep,' she thought to herself. Her best guess was that it would be Percy in the kitchen; fretting about all the work he'd be missing. Even though he'd technically only be missing a week or so of work, as he and Mr. Weasley would be apparating to and from work after their first week in Romania, Percy was acting like it was the end of the world. However, as Ginny stepped off the bottom stair, she discovered that she was quite wrong indeed. It wasn't Percy; it wasn't even a family member at all. There, at the kitchen table with a steaming glass of milk in front of him, sat Harry, all alone in the dimly lit kitchen.
Harry, who had had trouble sleeping as well, had crept down to the kitchen, as quietly as a mouse, some time before Ginny had left her room. He sat there, lost in his own thoughts, until a flash of red hair caught his attention. At the bottom of the stairs stood Ginny, wearing nothing but an extremely large 'Chuddley Cannons' t-shirt. Her hair was tousled (as he imagined his was as well) and she looked extremely flushed. He assumed that she must have been somewhat rosy to begin with, because when she noticed him seated there, she turned a deeper shade of crimson. Harry couldn't help but wonder if she herself had noticed the pink rising on Harry's own face. 'As long as you don't look directly at her, you'll be fine,' he reassured himself. "Oh. Harry, sorry," she stammered, "I didn't mean to." She turned and went to go back upstairs, but Harry called out to stop her. This was her home after all, and Harry didn't like the idea of inconveniencing any of the Weasleys, let alone a half dressed Ginny in the middle of the night. Harry's blush deepened a shade darker than Ginny's. "Oh, no, you really didn't interrupt," said Harry a little awkwardly, before she could make it back up the stairs. "You could stay. I've made some warm milk if you'd like some?" Ginny turned, and with a small smile on her face, responded, "Thanks, but I'm not sure the hot milk would help cool me down much." Looking a little more relaxed than she had when she first entered the room, Ginny made her way over to one of the kitchen cupboards and fixed herself a glass of water from the tap. She turned and pulled out a seat at the table, directly across from Harry. A moment of tense silence passed, until Harry spoke. "So. are you excited about the holiday?" This was the best conversation starter Harry was able to come up with under pressure. "I'm really looking forward to seeing Charlie again," she responded. "I barely even got to say 'Hi' to him when he was at the school last year. he was too busy with the dragons I'd imagine." "What do they do at these dragon colonies anyways?" "Oh, they do lots of stuff." Harry knew he was home free. He knew that once he had gotten the conversation rolling, Ginny, a true chatterbox if ever there was one, would manage to keep the conversation going. Once she had gotten over her initial shyness, Ginny was always keen to talk about anything and everything. It was actually one of the things that Harry admired the most about her. She was an open book. As Harry sipped his warm glass of milk, and Ginny cooled herself with her water, the two found themselves in a conversation that broached all subjects, from the 'Colony for the Conservation of Endangered Dragon Species', where Charlie worked, to theories about the real reasons Professor McGonagall had never gotten married. Time often has a way of rushing past when you wish it would slow to a trickle, and before Harry knew it, Ginny had informed him that it was 4:30 in the morning- they had been talking for over an hour and a half! "We ought to head back to bed," said Harry, who was after all, starting to feel the need for more sleep. "I'd say so," replied Ginny, "considering we have to be getting up in 3 hours time." With that they picked up their dishes, put them in the sink, and headed up the stairs. When they had reached Ginny's bedroom door, the pair stopped to say goodnight. Well, in theory, anyways. Though they had just spent a considerable length of time chatting away, they stood there, at a complete loss for words, and looking at anywhere but at eachother. Moments passed, and still no words formed on Harry's tongue. Just when Harry thought they'd still be standing there until the rest of the Weasley's woke up, Ginny finally broke the silence. "Well, um, goodnight then," she said, not quite meeting his eyes. Of all the suave things Harry was brainstorming as responses (including "back at ya'," and the infamous "ditto"), all he could manage to stammer was, "Yeah, ah, 'night Ginny." As Harry turned, mentally cursing his lack of finesse, Ginny called out. "Oh, and Harry"- She paused, lowering her eyes to look at the (suddenly fascinating) floor. "Thanks." "For what?" Her last statement had genuinely puzzled him. "Ah.I dunno, just thanks," Ginny lied. Truth be told, she didn't really want to tell Harry she was saying thanks because he'd managed to make her feel better. It seemed just a little to personal. Ginny managed to look Harry straight in the eye, and flash a small smile despite the butterflies that were staging a small rebellion in her stomach. But as soon as Harry caught the smile, Ginny had fled back into her darkened room. Harry himself turned, still a little shaky, and made it back up to his bed.
Harry fell right asleep the moment his head hit the pillow, as did Ginny. Surprisingly enough, neither of them had any nightmares for the rest of the night.