She walked slowly beside the lake, gazing into its dark depths, lost in thought. Her cinnamon eyes held a lost look, as though she were looking for a memory that had long since been forgotten. Long smooth chestnut hair flowed down her back, whipped about by the stiff breeze that blew along the water. She shivered, her hands coming up to rub her arms. Clad only in a thin gown of green silk, she waited.

He came, walking slowly from the shadows beneath the trees, his eyes burning with an unearthly light. His black cloak hung loosely on his wiry frame, and swept the ground at his feet. Despite his fearsome appearance, she felt no urge to run, or scream, simply content to watch him approach without fear.

A thin skeletal hand emerged from the cloak to stroke her windswept hair from her face. As she looked up, into his face, it was then that she felt the fear begin to overwhelm her. She stiffened and drew away from his touch.

'What is it?' he asked, eyes reflecting concern for her that had to be false. She couldn't bear it if he was actually worried for her.

'What are you doing here?'

He smiled grimly, his hand still outstretched to touch her.

'I have always been here. I am part of you.'

She shook her head, backing away.

'You can't be,' she whispered. 'I am against you.'

'You weren't always.'

He stepped towards her, and she found she could not move away.

'But you are evil! You are the Dark Lord, I have never supported you!'

Voldemort sighed sadly.

'I should have known you would forget me. I knew you only for a few moments, before you were taken from me.'

'What do you mean?'

The Dark Lord looked at her in sorrow, his hand still clutching a strand of her chestnut hair.

'Come to me. Join with me, my daughter, and rule the world as you were born to do.'

Hermione woke with a start, slipping out of bed and running to the bathroom to throw up. Leaning her head against the cool porcelain bowl, she tried to take in what she had just heard.

'It can't be true,' she muttered. 'It was just a dream, Hermione.'

There was moisture on her face. Licking her lips, she was horrified to taste the salty water of the lake. Could it really have happened?



*~*~*



Professor Mulqueen snapped her fingers before Hermione's face. The girl jumped, blushing when she realised the entire class was looking at her.

'Yes, Professor?'

'I asked you, Miss Granger, for the six ways to spot a werewolf. Most unusual for you to be daydreaming.'

Hermione flushed even darker and rattled off the required information, cursing herself deep down for letting her dreams begin to invade her schoolwork. Ignoring the curious looks she was getting from her friends, she focused on the lesson, refusing to let her mind wander again. Despite the simplicity of the lesson itself, she found that it helped her no end in her mission to drive the invasive presence from her mind.

She walked along the chilly corridors with her friends, pausing as they passed the stairs to the dungeon. Ron sighed gloomily, and gave his books and satchel to his friends.

'I hope you appreciate this,' he said, waving a finger under her nose. 'Three out of five detentions I've done so far and they're getting worse.'

'I know what you mean,' Harry agreed. 'Mine's later.'

They parted, Ron hurrying down the steps, and Harry and Hermione towards their tower. Hermione seemed to be lost in thought.

'Hermione,' Harry said, drawing her out of her own head for a moment. 'Is there something wrong?'

'Wrong? No, nothing,' Hermione said, but something in her tone made him continue,

'It's just that it's not like you to daydream, especially in class, and I was wondering if something was bothering you.'

She smiled at him, noticing how open his green eyes were as they gazed on her. Should I tell him? she wondered.

'It's nothing to worry about, Harry,' she assured him, as they stopped before the Fat Lady. 'Dudley Dursley.'

The portrait swung in, muttering about Harry's inappropriate choice for a password that week. Harry had completely run out inspiration, and so the name of his hated cousin was the password that enabled the Gryffindors to enter their own tower.

The two of them settled by the window to discuss their homework. Whilst in the middle of Defence Against the Dark Arts, Hermione blurted out,

'Harry, has your scar been hurting you recently?'

Harry looked defensive.

'How did you know?'

'Please, Harry, I need to know. When does it hurt you?'

'Most nights, usually around two or three in the morning.'

Harry looked at her suspiciously.

'Why do you want to know?'

Hermione looked away, before leaning in closer and whispering,

'I've been having this recurring dream recently, and it's really weirding me out.'

'Tell me.'

She did, describing the dream to him in as much detail as possible.

'I'm really scared, Harry. Why would Voldemort be trying to convince me I'm his daughter? I'm not even a pureblood witch.'

Harry sat in silence for a few minutes.

'Have you told Sirius?'

'Why should I?'

'You promised him you would.'

Hermione hissed under her breath.

'He told you.'

Harry caught her hands as she tried to rise from their seat.

'He asked me to keep an eye on you, that's all. He's really worried about you, 'Mione.'

She looked at him, fear in her cinnamon eyes.

'What am I going to do, Harry?'

He pulled her into a hug, her head resting against his shoulder. His green eyes were troubled, clouded with worry for his friend.

'You have to tell Sirius,' he said, tightening his grip on her. 'He might know what's going on.'

He pulled back, looking deep into her eyes.

'I'm here for you, 'Mione, if you need me. Whenever you need me. And the same goes for Ron, though I doubt he'll ever say it out loud. Don't keep things to yourself. Especially not now.'

Hermione gazed into his eyes, brushing a lock of black hair from his face.

'Thank you, Harry.'



*~*~*



Sirius padded into the seventh-year girl's dorm, and tugged on Hermione's sleeve. She woke almost instantly, following him down into the common room when it became clear he wanted to speak to her.

He morphed into human shape as she sat in an armchair.

'What's this about dreams?' he demanded.

Hermione groaned.

'I'm really not in the mood for this, Sirius.'

'That makes no difference. You promised you would tell me, and now I hear that you've been having dreams for the last few weeks?'

He knelt before her, searching her eyes for the truth.

'What's been happening, Hermione?'

Tears began to leak from beneath Hermione's tightly closed eyelids as she told him everything, of Voldemort's nightly visits, of his insistence that she was his daughter, and of the feeling that he might be right.

'That's what scares me most,' she sobbed. 'What if he is right? I could be the Dark Lord's daughter!'

Sirius shook her shoulders gently.

'Enough of that,' he chided. 'Even if it is true, there is no reason for you to believe that he could change you. You are yourself, Hermione, and the sudden appearance of him as your father would do nothing to change what makes you you. You are a good, loving girl, Hermione, and I would die before I see him take that away from you. Do you understand me?'

She nodded, suppressing the sobs that were still rising in her chest.

'Now, I'll go and speak to Snape about this, maybe he can come up with a potion to protect your dreams. Go back to bed, Hermione, and don't worry. You'll be fine.'

Feeling slightly better, but not much, Hermione trailed back up to her bed, slipping between the sheets with a sigh. She had a feeling whatever Snape came up with, wouldn't be enough.