Disclaimer:

The following is a Harry Potter Fan Fic. Harry Potter and all of its subsidiaries are owned exclusively by J. K.. Rowlings…now that you clearly understand that… on with the story…

Chapter Two: The Promise He Made

Harry had no explanation to give him. He really didn't know why his scar had been glowing, he hadn't even realized it was. The usual pain that accompanied it hadn't happened. He wanted to brush of the question with a shrug but somehow he knew that wouldn't suffice. So with a sigh he settled further back into the plush seat, reaching to touch his scar as he went. It felt hot beneath his fingers, like the glowing warmth of a light bulb. The feeling was strange but somewhat calming. Ron and Hermione were watching him, he could feel their eyes boring into his hand. He dropped it quickly to his lap and looked at them.

"Well?" Ron was insistent, Hermione was peeking over the top of her book to hear his answer.

"I don't know," there really wasn't more he could say. 'Not a clue."

"You've got to know something. It's your scar after all."

Harry looked at him. He really didn't see were that had anything to do with this. "Why don't we just ask Dumbledore when we get to Hogwarts."

That was not what they wanted to hear but they bowed to he his wishes and didn't press him further. They sat in silence for the remainder of the trip, the occasional ruffle of pages heard as Hermione read her book.

Harry turned away from them, staring out the window once again. He'd been having the same dream almost every night since the end of last semester. The same garden, the same man but the time did seem to change and he and the man, Jarnies he'd called himself, never had the same conversation twice. It was strange, his dreams were like a world of there own, his own personal retreat every time he slept. The dream felt so real to him.

He clenched his fist and slammed it against the window. From corner of his eye he could see Ron and Hermione staring at him but he refused to answer their unvoiced questions. He knew they wouldn't understand. How could they, their lives might not be perfect but he doubted they had ever really wanted to abandon this world for a dream.

A sigh escaped his lips once more as he laid head on the glass pane. He sounded surly and depressed but he didn't care. After five years of protecting people who could careless, surely he deserved a few minutes to be a brat.

His eyes fell from the passing scenery to the hand that lay next to his face. All though faded the words carved into the back side of his hand were still clear and legible. I must not tell lies, he gritted his teeth as he remember the damnable woman who had forced him to brand himself. It was good advice, the only thing remotely good that had come from Professor Umbridge and her reign of terror.

Sluggishly the train dragged to a halt and pulled Harry from his wandering thoughts. In silence he gathered his things and moved off the train. Ron and Hermoine followed him whispering softly to each other. The new first years were herded off toward the boats as the older students climbed into the waiting coaches. Harry scrambled into the nearest coach, trying not to look at the creatures rigged to the front. He was one of the few but growing number of people who could see the strange horse like beasts, the Thestrals or horses of death as he called them privately in the back of his mind.

***~***

Harry sat in the common room later that night listening to everyone talk about their summers. It sounded wonderful to have all those pleasant memories of family and friends but he couldn't relate. Couldn't even try to because he was having the hardest time just trying to keep his eyes open.

"Harry…Potter…" a voice fell gently on his ear. He jerked his head up and looked around for its owner. Ron and Neville Longbottom were sitting on either side of him, their attention focused on Seamus Finnigan who was chattering about his trip to the Welsh country side.

"Harry…Potter…" it came again, weaker but more urgent.

"Ron…" he turned to his friend, "did you say something?"

"No." He looked at him strangely, "Are you okay Harry."

He blinked and shook his head. A light layer of fog was beginning to form at the edges of his vision, "I'm fine, but I think I'm going to bed."

Harry clutched the wall as he made his way up the stairs to the sixth years room. The fog was becoming thicker, the scent of burning wood filling his nostrils as he went. By the time he reached the foot of his bed he felt as though he was surrounded by a blazing inferno. Smoke was everywhere, clogging his nose, burning his eyes. Sweat was rolling down his body in rivulets, drenching his robe and his hair. He tore at his robe, pulling the sodden wool off and collapsing on his bed. He covered his ears and shut his eyes hoping to block out the roar of the fire.

The voice called his name again, it's sound like a death cry. His eyes snapped open and found himself in the garden once more. Everything was on fire, tiny bodies of the snow owls charred and black on the dirt pathways. The fire snapped, licking at the night sky as he screamed, "Jarnies."

"Har…ry…" his voice came faintly.

Harry rushed forward, following the dying sound. He found him by the tea house, his body lying in a pool of blood.

"Jarnies," he knelt by the dying man.

"Harry…you made…it." He coughed, his blood splattering onto Harry, "Thank…you for…coming back…when I cal…led." One of his hands moved slowly, shakily over to Harry, holding something in its fist. "Take this and…remember …remember your…promise…"

***~***

Harry woke the next morning, sore and more tired then he'd ever been in his life. His body was caked in sweat drenched soot and ash, the smell of perspiration and smoke clinging to everything. He remembered what Jarnies had told him, had asked him to do and gritted his teeth. It hadn't been just a dream but even in that world the people he cared about were killed.

He tightened his fists, gasping in pain as something cut into his palm. He looked down at what rest in the bloody palm of his hand. A crystal, the last thing he had to remember Jarnies by. The old man had held it dearly and Harry refused to let him down. He would protect the crystal with his life.

Outside of his four poster bed he could hear the other boys already up and about. Their voices cheerful as they joked with one another. With a kick of his legs he throw off the bed spread that had covered him sometime in the night and then yelped as a very warm body snuggled closer to his side. He scrambled from the bed as fast as he could.

The other boys ran over to him when they saw him race from his bed in little more then burnt boxers. He was staring at his bed in amazement and horror. Their eyes followed his line of vision and all off them gapped in admiration.

Ron was the first to speak, "Way to go Harry."

***~***

Thanks for all the reviews…I'm so glad you like the story. Happy Reading. ^^