Chapter 3:

Dreams and Presents

He was running. He couldn't see anything; he could only feel branches slapping at his face as he made his way through the darkness. He felt a trickle of blood running down his face. The darkness seemed to engulf him. Briefly, Harry wondered if he'd gone blind. The darkness was so thick, so complete, that he felt his eyes must be closed or of no use at all. He stumbled over what he presumed to be a tree root, and felt his palms scrape the ground before raising himself back up and continuing to run.

What am I running after? Harry thought dejectedly. Or from? He had no recollection of anything; only the running.

And then, with no warning at all, the world was suddenly filled with light. Blinking several times, Harry realized he was standing in a meadow. Brilliant, vibrant colors accosted his senses from every angle. Flowers of every shape and color filled the small clearing, and the sky was blindingly blue. His eyes almost ached from the sudden contrast in surroundings. He squinted against the blazing sun and glanced around.

There were other things, too, things that didn't belong there. A book, frayed and frail, lay discarded only a few feet from him. A broomstick, too, but broken in half, and a knitted sweater in a heap by a small brook, one of the arms dipping into the water. Harry searched the perimeter of the meadow quickly, scanning for any sign of life. But he didn't see anyone. If it had simply been the meadow, he might have felt more comfortable. But the objects strewn in a haphazard way around the tall grass sent an uneasy feeling straight down Harry's spine. He wanted to call out, but couldn't seem to find his voice.

Harry sunk down into the grass, the tall wisps of it playing against his face as he buried his head in his hands. Something's wrong here. He glanced quickly around the clearing. It all seemed so cheerful, beautiful, even, but he couldn't place his finger on why he didn't feel quite right about this place. It's not just the book, or the broomstick, or the jumper, the thought suddenly stuck him, It's the silence. Like the complete darkness before, now there was only complete silence. Not a sound; no wind, no chirping of birds, and the brook flowed soundlessly past him. It was eerie. Even if I could shout out, thought Harry, I don't think it'd make a sound. This thought seemed to frighten Harry more than all the others. He closed his eyes and tried to will it all away. He knew it wouldn't work, but he'd try anything to be away from this place.

The screaming silence stretched on and on. He sat in silence for what seemed like hours, but he knew must only be a few minutes. He wasn't sure how long he'd been sitting, or how long he'd run, or even if he HAD been running, or if that was someone else. All of his thoughts seemed to blend together into one nauseating feeling of helplessness. Time and place didn't seem to make sense anymore, and he felt his heart beat faster with the thought that he might remain in this place forever without even knowing what forever was.

Harry's head flew up. The nagging feeling of another's presence weighed on him and he looked to his right.

He wasn't alone. Where did she come from? he wondered. She wasn't here just a moment ago. And in that moment, Harry discovered that the world wasn't silent anymore. But strangely, he couldn't pinpoint the exact moment when the sound had come back.

The girl didn't look at him. She seemed entranced with a point far off in the sky where fluffy white clouds were blowing slowly across the sea of blue. She was humming to herself. The song sounded familiar to Harry, and he found himself going mad trying to remember where he had heard it. She smiled to herself, then, as if at a joke that only she could hear. Harry wanted to move, to shout, to do anything to get her to look at him. But she went on humming and didn't recognize his presence at all.

He watched her profile, fascinated with this delicate creature, half-hoping, half-fearing that she was real. As if sensing this very thought, she turned her head slightly to the left in a barely perceptible movement to bring her eyes to his.

Her eyes startled him. They were green. Not the shocking, vivid green that Harry's were, but deep, brilliant emerald green, so dark toward the middle that the color seemed to blend into the pupil. They were frighteningly intense, and Harry couldn't drag his own away from them. Only when her face lit up in a second smile did he regain control of his senses.

She cocked her head to one side and seemed to find amusement in his reaction. Standing up from her spot about five feet away from him and drawing in close to him, she sat down again. She didn't touch him, and she didn't speak, but only watched him with wide, curious eyes.

He didn't know how long they sat there, neither of them moving, neither of them blinking, but suddenly, she turned her head away from him, and the light within her eyes had gone out. She was staring at the same place in the sky, but this time she wasn't humming. Noticing the blatant change in her composure, he quickly dropped his eyes away from her face to stare at the ground, in silent embarrassment.

And then, just as quickly as it had come, her mood was gone, and she was filled with an eerie inner light that radiated out around them. She stood up quickly and looked down at him, smiling casually and wistfully, as if at an old friend. Quickly turning and walking away from him, she slid into the edge of trees that lined the meadow and disappeared.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Harry woke up in a cold sweat, and, out of instinct, reached for his forehead. Touching the skin at his scar, he realized that it didn't hurt. Harry let out his breath slowly.

It wasn't him. I wasn't dreaming about that. Calm down, calm down…

Harry felt uneasy, though. For weeks he had been awaken almost every night to his scar burning, with dreams of Voldemort still fresh in his mind. Not only Voldemort, but of Sirius, and Cedric, and even of Cho crying at the shop in Hogsmeade…but not tonight, he reminded himself. He had dreamt of nothing containing those things that had haunted his mind for weeks.

He leaned back on the pillow and tried to concentrate on something happy. My birthday. Tomorrow's my birthday. Yeah, that's good, just think of that. You'll be sixteen, Harry, sixteen!

He heard Ron stir in the other bed, and mumble something unintelligible. Harry smiled in the dark. There was something comforting about the Burrow. Of course, there always had been. But he'd never needed it so badly as he did this summer. He shuddered as thoughts of recent dreams crept into his mind.

"No!" he cried out loud, desperately trying to force the visions out of his head. He gripped the sheets frantically, and repeating the mantra that he had been thinking all summer; It wasn't my fault, there was nothing I could do. It wasn't my fault. It wasn't my fault. It wasn't my fault…

Doubts crept into his mind, though. You could have at least tried…another voice taunted him. Even if it hadn't worked, you could have tried. You had the mirror, Harry. Harry pushed his head deep into his pillow, trying to drown out the thoughts.

Harry's mind reeled. He couldn't think of a counter to that. Because it was what he had been thinking all along. He tried to pretend that he didn't feel it was his fault, but he couldn't ever make himself believe that. He hated the guilt; it gnawed at him, ate away at his strength little by little.

He couldn't take it anymore. Lying in bed, doing nothing, he was more susceptible to the thoughts. He had to do something. Harry crept slowly out of bed and tip-toed across the room, making sure not to disturb Ron. He shut the door quietly, and made his way slowly down the stairs.

He was surprised when he reached the kitchen to find that someone was already there. Ginny sat in the light of a single candle, her hands wrapped around a cup of tea, staring off into nothingness.

Harry took a single step forward, debating whether or not to join her. A floorboard creaked underneath his foot.

Ginny glanced up at him, then, and Harry could hear a slight intake of breath from her, as she saw him hovering in the shadows of the room. Regaining her composure, she simply said, "Hey."

"Hey," Harry replied, feeling a little foolish at his display of inarticulacy. He walked across the room, unsure of himself, and sat down across the table from her. An uneasy silence took hold of the room, and Harry was quite sure that if there had been more light, Ginny would notice him blushing.

"Want some tea?" she asked suddenly, making Harry jump. A cup of fragrant hot tea materialized before him, and tendrils of steam twisted up from it. Harry grinned.

"Not supposed to do that," he chastised her. She shrugged.

"It's just a cup of tea. I don't think the Ministry would mind all that much. And besides, I doubt they monitor our house quite as much as others, as dad works there." She shrugged again. "So, what are you doing up, then? Dream?"

Harry nodded and took a sip of tea. Ginny gripped her cup convulsively. Her knuckles turned white. Harry expected a look of fear to cross her face, which was what usually happened when he spoke to someone about his dreams, but all he saw was concern, not a tinge of fear in sight. He tried to picture her as the pale, frightened Ginny she had been as a first year, the one he had found almost lifeless in the Chamber of Secrets, but they seemed like two completely different people to him. He couldn't picture the Ginny sitting before him now shivering at the mere name of someone. He remembered her in the Ministry of Magic, ankle broken, but still going on.

"It wasn't that kind of dream. It was strange, but not…that." Ginny sighed deeply and her grip on the tea cup loosened.

"Good."

"And what are you doing up, sitting alone in the kitchen in the wee hours of the morning, little one?" said Harry. Ginny crossed her arms and raised a thin, red eyebrow.

"Little?"

"Er…did I say little?"

"I believe you did."

"Right, then. Erm…"

Ginny laughed loudly. "Harry, you have no idea how funny your face looks when you're trying to get yourself out of something." She smiled broadly at him from across the table, and patted his hand sympathetically.

"Oh, thanks. Thanks so much," Harry said sarcastically. Ginny shook her head, still laughing a little.

Harry began to tell her about the strange dream he'd had, about the girl, and the discarded belongings in the clearing.

Harry didn't remember falling asleep, but suddenly he found himself waking up at the kitchen table, sunlight pouring in through the slits in the curtains over the sink. He lifted his head wearily; it felt like a brick. He looked about him, confused, and then his eyes fell on Ginny, sleeping soundly on the other side of the table, her blazing hair spilling out all around her face. And then Harry remembered. Neither of them had been able to sleep, and they had sat up for hours, talking, until they had finally talked themselves to sleep, drifting off at some point during the dawn.

Harry heard footsteps on the stairs and looked up just in time to see Mr. Weasley pass down the hall, heading for the coat closet. The next thing he knew, Mr. Weasley was walking into the kitchen. He stopped dead in the middle of the room and looked curiously at Harry, who sat bewildered, but too tired to do or say anything that might explain why he and Ginny had been sleeping in the kitchen. Mr. Weasley glanced back and forth between the two several times, and then continued to the basket of muffins on the counter, and said jovially, "Off to work!" before apparating a second later.

Harry guessed Mr. Weasley wasn't one to make assumptions. He knew he wouldn't be so lucky with Ginny's brothers, including Ron, so he hurriedly nudged Ginny in the shoulder, and whispered, "Wake up, Ginny." She looked up at him through bleary, red-rimmed eyes, and muttered something incoherently.

"Maybe we should get upstairs before anyone else comes down."

He walked up the stairs behind her and watched her disappear silently into her room. He stood outside her door for a minute, feeling oddly lonely now that she was gone. He heard a subtle creak on the landing below, and realized it would look strange to anyone that might come along that he was standing outside Ginny's door, and he really didn't feel like explaining it. He hurried up the last few flights of stairs and slipped back into bed, drifting back off into sleep, without anyone the wiser.

"Here, open mine first."

Harry took the present Hermione was passing to him and stared at it for a second before starting to open it. He was still in awe at what was happening. Ron and Hermione had taken it upon themselves to plan a surprise birthday party for Harry; his first ever. All of the Weasleys (minus Percy) were present, except for Bill, who had gone to France for the week to meet Fleur's parents. Hermione was also there, along with Hagrid, Neville, Seamus, Dean, Parvati and Padma, Lavender, the Creevey brothers ( Colin with camera in hand), and to Harry's surprise, Dumbledore, who popped in wearing a party hat with multi-colored confetti floating up out of the top. They were all seated around an enlarged picnic table out in the backyard, stuffed from one of Molly Weasley's amazing meals.

Harry smiled as he pulled a thick book out of the wrapping paper and read the cover: History of American Sorcery; from the Salem stunt to modern day mayhem, 3rd edition.

"Er…thanks, 'Mione," Harry said, forcing a smile. "But, can I ask, why American?"

"I heard there was American exchange student coming to school this year. Our year, too. So, I thought that would be helpful for all of us to understand her better."

Harry nodded his head absently.

"Her?" Seamus asked slyly. He waggled his eyebrows at Dean. Ron had something else on his mind, however.

"Hermione, how is it, exactly, that you heard there was a new student? I mean, it's not like there's a newsletter they send us over the summer telling us exactly what's going on…"

"Because I'm a prefect!" Hermione said tensely.

"So am I."

"Well, yes, but Professor McGonagall designated me to help her get acquainted to Hogwarts."

Ron snickered. "You'll get her acquainted, alright. Acquainted with Hogwarts, a History is what you'll get her."

Hermione narrowed her eyes at Ron, who looked like he wanted to continue, but stopped his dig when Harry gave him a healthy kick to the shin underneath the table.

Harry was relieved when Colin passed him a present. He tore away the wrapping paper, and opened a box to reveal:

"A camera? Thanks, Colin!"

"Yeah, well, I figured I'm always taking pictures of all you lot, so maybe it's time for you to take a few yourself, Harry."

The party went on into the evening, with gifts and cake, and random outbursts of singing from Fred and George's end of the table. Finally, the bright blue sky was beginning to darken, and Harry was surrounded by presents on either side of him.

"I gotta be gettin' back, now, Harry. Got some new creatures ter take care of that'll be fer yer class in Sept'mber. Hapee birthday!" Hagrid lumbered off into the house, crouching at the door and going off toward the fireplace.

"Harry, I'm afraid I must be leaving now, as well" said Dumbledore, standing up from the table. "Professor Sinistra needs my assistance for a very important task back at the castle." He smiled warmly at Harry and patted him on the shoulder. "Happy birthday, Harry." He handed Harry his last present and disappeared after a goodbye to Molly and Arthur. By that time, everyone had dispersed in different groups around the yard, and only Ginny, Ron, and the twins sat around the table with Harry. Harry carefully pulled back the paper and pulled out…another book.

"Everyone's dead fond of giving you books today, aren't they, mate?" Ron asked, nodding toward the other three books that he had received. Harry agreed and looked down at the one in his hands. It looked very old. It was bound in leather, with a cracked spine, and peeling gold lettering. It didn't quite matter that the lettering was indistinguishable, however, because it was in a language Harry didn't know. The book had a leather binding that reached up from the back, around the side, and snapped onto a clasp on the front cover. Harry fiddled around with it, but nothing happened. He peered closer at the book. Inset in the middle of the clasp was a circle with strange markings and protrusions.

"Harry? What is it? What's wrong?" Ginny asked.

"I can't get into this book. There's a lock."

George and Fred let out guffaws. "I always said Dumbledore was off his rocker, I did," said George.

Ginny ignored the twins. "He didn't give you a key, or anything?"

Harry shook his head. He looked across the table at Ron, who, he realized, had been rather quiet throughout the conversation. Harry snorted, trying very hard to hold in the laughter that was rising in his throat. Ginny raised an eyebrow at him. He nodded his head toward his friend, who was completely absorbed with someone that wasn't even sitting at the table.

Ginny gripped his arm under the table, a look of merriment on her face, amused as Harry was at the sight before them. Ron was flat out glaring at Seamus, who was talking animatedly to Hermione across the yard. Ron didn't seem to realize that anyone was watching him, and he was balling his hands into fists and his nostrils were flaring.

"Ron?" Ginny said, clearing her throat.

No response.

"RON!"

Ron snapped his head around and looked innocently at Harry and Ginny. "What?"

Harry and Ginny looked at each other, and Harry shook his head as Ginny dissolved into giggles.

"WHAT?" he demanded.

"Wanna play a game of Quidditch?" Charlie interrupted at that moment, saving Harry from an explanation. Harry didn't answer, but jumped up, preparing to get his broom from upstairs.

"Oh, no you don't, Ronald!" Harry heard behind him. He turned around and saw Mrs. Weasley pulling Ron along by the arm. "You and the twins are to do the washing up before you play any Quidditch."

"Oi, mum, come on…" one of the twins pleaded.

"No! I will not hear of it. You can play after you do the dishes."

Harry shrugged at Ginny.

"Gin, come here a second, will ya?" Dean yelled from across the yard.

"See ya in a bit, Harry." She beamed up at him, and then ran off to join Dean and Neville, who were standing over a magazine that Neville had brought with him.

Harry walked slowly over to the spot on the bench next to Hermione that Seamus had vacated, and sat down. Hermione was staring off into space, but looked up and smiled when Harry sat down.

"You okay?" he asked.

"Yeah, why?"

"Nothing, you were just in a daze, is all. I think the moment I see Hermione not being productive is the moment I see Malfoy ask to be switched to Gryffindor."

"Ha. Ha. Ha." Hermione said dryly. She nudged him in the side. "Are you okay?" she asked, worry suddenly clouding her face.

He nodded. He knew what she meant. Anyone there within speaking distance would have understood what she meant. "I'm fine. Actually, I've been having dreams about…something else. Someone else, actually."

Hermione raised her eyebrows, curiosity replacing worry. "Who?"

"Er…it's silly, really."

Hermione crossed her arms.

"Alright, alright. It's really strange, though." Harry explained about his bumping into the girl in Diagon Alley, and then having several dreams about her, the most recent being the only one where he actually saw her in full. "It was so…surreal. It reminded me of this painting I saw in a Muggle art book you had once. It was this girl, and she was sitting in a field all alone, and this overwhelming loneliness was all about the picture…"

"Wyeth."

"Huh?"

"That painting. It's by Andrew Wyeth. It's called 'Christina's World.' It's one of my favorites. But it's not a young girl, it's an old woman. But from the way she's sitting it would seem that way. It really is a beautiful painting, though."

"Oh."

"Are you sure you're okay?"

"Yeah, I just have this weird feeling about it. I dunno, I'm just being paranoid about every dream I have, I guess."

"Maybe you should--"

"Tell Dumbledore? Hermione, I don't think he'd really want to hear about me having dreams of strange American girls sitting in fields. He wants to know about Voldemort, not, well…" he trailed off, gesturing with his hands in exasperation.

"How do you know she's American?"

"I don't."

"But you just said she was American."

"I did?"

"Yes, you said 'strange American girls sitting in fields,' just a moment ago."

"Oh. Must be because you got me that book. I didn't mean anything by it."

"Oh! Look at that! Isn't it lovely?" Hermione pointed at the sky, where the sun was sinking away, casting an array of brilliant pinks and oranges across the sky. The colors were reflected beautifully in the pond that sat at the edge of the Weasley's property. Ron walked up and plopped down on the bench.

"What's lovely?" he asked, looking between Harry and Hermione.

Harry just nodded off toward the sunset, in lieu of words.

"Yeah, lovely," Ron agreed.

Harry noticed that his friend didn't even glance at the sunset. His attentions were elsewhere.