Disclaimer:
The characters and situations of Harry Potter depicted in this story are the legal property of J.K. Rowling, Bloomsbury, and AOL Time Warner, and have been used without permission. No copyright infringement is intended.

No profit is being made off this story. It is for entertainment purposes only.

Chapter Seventeen

"Dreams, Nightmares, and Visions"

As he lay on the floor, his head ready to split open, Harry was thankful that he didn't have guard duty. It had been a very eventful day, and he couldn't guarantee that he could stay awake under the circumstances. He was dead tired and hurting terribly, despite his comfortable conditions. Hermione had performed a Cushioning charm on the ground where the four of them would sleep and, in Harry's opinion, the charm was more comfortable than his old mattress upstairs. He actually felt sorry for Lee, who had got stuck with his cramped bed and its lumpy foundation.

As soon as Ginny calmed down and saw what terrible condition he was in, she had forgotten her anger and taken charge of Harry. She had fussed over him profusely and he had let her, glad that he was forgiven at last.

Ginny, Ron, and Hermione had made beds next to him on the floor and somehow the girls had ended up in the middle, flanked on each side by the boys. Despite being in constant pain from his incessant headache, Harry was amused to learn that Ginny preferred to sleep on her stomach, cradling her pillow in her arms. Her head automatically faced the young man on her right, who was lying on his side with his arm tucked underneath the pillow, watching her.

"What?" she asked sleepily, slightly embarrassed to be the focus of his attention.

"I wonder if this is what it's supposed to be like," he whispered softly. He could hear Hermione and Ron talking quietly to each other on the other side of Ginny, but he couldn't hear what they were saying.

In response to her questioning look, Harry explained himself. "You already know that I never had friends when I was younger," he told her. "Of course, Dudders would sleep over at his friends' houses or have them stay here, but I wasn't allowed around. Usually I stayed locked up in the cupboard – either by choice, or because I was made to stay out of sight. I always wondered what it would be like to have friends over..." His voice trailed off as he reflected on everything he had missed. "Stupid, really," he said after a slight pause, flushing red.

"It's not stupid," Ginny said quietly. "If it makes you feel any better, I never had friends over either. My family is so isolated where we live, and Mum taught us at home until we went to Hogwarts. There weren't many girls my age nearby except for Luna. She'd come by during the day, but never spent the night. Mostly, though, it was just Ron and me until he went off to school."

"At least you had each other," Harry said, unsuccessfully trying not to let the jealousy creep in.

"You try playing dolls with your Quidditch-obsessed brother sometime," she scoffed. "He would pull their heads off and toss them around, as if they were Bludgers and he was a Beater. I had the hardest time keeping their heads on after that."

Harry chuckled quietly at the mental image he got from this new information, and flipped over on his back to stare up at the ceiling, a bit distracted from his headache for the moment. He could just picture the two of them as children, living the life he had always wanted, with a mother, father, and siblings to tease and torment. Part of him was very amused, but another part was sad that he'd never had that. His memories revolved around trying not to get his head knocked off on a daily basis by either Dudley, his uncle, or any number of others.

Not noticing his sudden melancholia, she exclaimed, "It's not funny, you know! You try having tea with a bunch of dolls whose heads keep toppling off all the time!"

"Don't believe a word she says, Harry," Ron said suddenly popping up from the other side of Hermione. "She was right there with me, pulling off their heads and using them to scare Mum half to death or to play pranks on the twins."

"You mean try to play pranks on us!" a voice yelled from the kitchen.

"Yeah," Ron mumbled. "That's what I meant."

"Go to sleep, Ron," Hermione said tiredly. "We have to get up in a few hours, remember?" No one said much of anything after that.

Harry lay there for a long time, listening to his friends' increasingly even breathing and thinking about what they had said. He'd trade all his gold in Gringotts, just to be able to turn back the clock and grow up in a normal magical family, with people who cared about him.

Turning back over on his side, he looked at the sleeping red-head and smiled. If he couldn't have that for himself, he was glad that Ginny did. Reaching over, he laid his hand over hers and slowly drifted off to sleep thinking about what it must have been like to grow up as a Weasley.

Startled, he looked around. He wasn't frightened, for he knew exactly where he was. No, what startled him was the suddenness in how he had come to be here. One minute he was sleeping on the floor at Privet Drive, and the next he was standing in the warm and inviting kitchen at the Burrow. Walking around, he marvelled again at how different this place was from the Dursleys'. It felt like home, and with a pang he realised, suddenly, how much he had missed it.

Out of nowhere two identical blurs burst into the kitchen running at top speed, chased by a young-looking Molly Weasley.

Stopping to catch her breath, she shouted, "Fred and George Weasley! Come back here this instant with my wand! If I don't get it back before I count to three, you'll be degnoming the garden for a month - with no help from your brothers or sister!" she shrieked between breaths.

When there was no answer from the twins she began counting very loudly. "One... two... thr-"

"Here it is, Mum," a timid voice said from under the table as a small hand reached up to give her mother's wand back. "Fred and George didn't take it... I did."

"Ginny?" Mrs. Weasley said, stooping down to look at the small girl crouching out of sight.

Harry looked at the scene playing out before him in confusion. It felt as if he was in a Pensieve watching someone else's memory, yet he knew that wasn't the case. Not feeling threatened in the least, he continued to watch in curiosity, wondering why he was seeing this, yet not really caring about the answer.

"I wanted to get them in trouble," she sniffled, a fat tear sliding down her face. "B-but then you got so mad, I didn't think it was funny anymore. Are you angry with me, Mum?"

"That depends," her mother said kindly but sternly. "Why did you feel the need to get your brothers into trouble? This doesn't sound like the little girl I know." She crossed her arms waiting for an answer, and Harry watched little Ginny flinch under her mother's scrutiny.

"I'd rather not say," Ginny's tiny voice answered evasively.

"Were your brothers teasing you again?" she asked her daughter gently.

"Y-yes," Ginny stuttered, sniffling and looking down at her feet as she shuffled nervously. "But it's ok... they're just being boys. I'm not upset anymore," she said bravely.

"I know being the youngest isn't easy," Molly sighed sympathetically. "Goodness knows I put up with as much when I was your age. My brothers used to tease me relentlessly! But that still does not excuse taking my wand and almost letting your brothers take the blame."

Seeing her daughter's look of fear and horror at the imagined consequences, Mrs. Weasley appeared to be caving in. "Oh, all right," she said good-naturedly, rubbing a tear away from Ginny's cheek. "I suppose I can let it pass this once. But no more, young lady, or I'll have you in this kitchen helping me prepare dinner and cleaning up afterwards without magic!" she warned, shaking her finger but tweaking the little girl gently on the nose.

"I promise, Mum," Ginny said smiling sweetly.

"Now, off you go! Find Ronald, and tell him it's time to clean out that cupboard in the upstairs hallway. I swear you children get messier every day! Just this morning I found a nest of Puffskeins living in there - probably something the two of you dragged in from the garden, no doubt," she said a smile twisting on her face. Harry did not believe for a minute she was really angry.

Harry watched as the little girl skipped out of the kitchen to perform her task. Unsure of what to do, he jumped when a familiar voice spoke next to his ear. "Care to follow, Harry?" Turning, he was astounded to see 15-year-old Ginny holding out a hand calmly, and motioning him to accompany her outside into the warm summer morning. Without saying a word, he took her hand and let her pull him along in pursuit of her younger self.

Finding his voice he whispered, "Umm... Ginny? What are we doing here?" he asked.

She stopped and looked at him funny. "Dreaming, of course," she answered, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

"I don't understand," he stated warily. How could he be dreaming? It all looked and felt so real. He could even feel her hand in his and smell the morning dew wafting in from the fields.

"Well, not dreaming, exactly. Its more like dreamwalking," she explained. "Haven't you ever done this before?" she asked surprised.

Harry shook his head. He had dreamed through Voldemort's eyes, but somehow this felt different. Safer, somehow - like he was an observer of past events rather than in the present.

"Some people have the ability to step into another person's dreams," she explained. "Right now you're in my dream, I suppose. I've only done this once or twice myself."

She looked thoughtful. "Once I fell asleep on Bill's lap when I was a little girl and I dreamwalked into Gryffindor Tower. Another time, I woke up from a thunderstorm and ran into Ron's room. It was just before he went off to Hogwarts. Anyway, we fell asleep talking, and I dreamwalked into his dream about playing on the Chudley Cannons as they won the World Cup.

"That's when I really got the Quidditch bug!" she said excitedly. "I had always loved flying, but never really thought much about Quidditch. Ron's dream was so exciting that I started following the game, practising on my own after Ron left and he wrote and told us you-" she stopped abruptly, her eyes wide. "Never mind," she said shortly.

"What about me?" he pressed curiously.

She sighed dramatically. "I might as well tell you. It's not as if it's a big secret or anything." Licking her lips nervously, she mumbled, "I started practising seriously after Ron wrote home and told us you'd been picked for the house team. I thought it'd help me to get to know you," she said sheepishly. "Pathetic, huh?"

"Not at all," he smiled gently. "I'm honoured that I unwittingly encouraged you to do something you obviously love."

"Thank you," she sighed gratefully. "I thought you'd get all weird or embarrassed about that," she admitted. "I'm ashamed when I think about how I acted towards you - refusing to talk, and running out of the room when you were around, and all."

"That's ok, Ginny. I understand," Harry told her, averting his eyes. He remembered feeling the same around Cho - how hard it had been to hold a conversation, or even talk in complete sentences when she was around. Of course, he didn't think Ginny would appreciate his analogy, so he kept it to himself. "I didn't exactly make it easy on you."

"What are you talking about, Harry? You were a perfect gentleman about it. You could have teased me mercilessly or made fun of me, but instead you just kept your distance. I respected you all the more for how you handled it, actually," she said, flashing him a warm smile.

"Anyway, maybe we'd better see what's happening up ahead. I think you'll be interested in it," she said mysteriously. Harry nodded his agreement, and they walked on hand in hand.

Upon reaching the field where they usually played their Quidditch games, Harry saw a young Ron being approached by a young Ginny. Ron was batting apples with a stick. With each successful hit, the apple would splat apart violently, which seemed to please the young boy greatly.

"Oi! Ron!" Ginny yelled. "Mum wants you! She says it's time to clean out the cupboard. She found our Puffskein," she said ruefully. Brightening, she added, "It had babies!"

"Wicked!" Ron answered, but continued to throw the apples in the air and bat at them, making no move to follow Ginny back to the Burrow. "How many?" he asked.

"Dunno," she answered. It looked as if she was going to say more, but just then two identical blurs came streaking out from nowhere.

"Gin-Gin you were brilliant!" one of them exclaimed. Ron stopped whacking apples and suddenly looked interested.

"The way you cried... so realistic," the other twin said. "It makes a brother proud. Thanks for covering for us, by the way."

Ginny narrowed her eyes and surveyed the twin carefully. "What did you want with Mum's wand, anyway?"

"Never you mind, little one," the one on the left said. "The less you know the better."

Just then Mrs. Weasley's voice could be heard from a distance. "Ron! Ginny! What's taking you so long? Have you seen your brothers out there?"

The twins looked at each other, and as one bolted away, yelling over their shoulders as they went. "Don't tell her you saw us! She's still on about that little prank we pulled this morning at the breakfast table! It's better for everyone if we stay out of sight for a while!"

Ginny and Ron watched them go, both shaking their young heads in amusement. Ron turned to Ginny. "Do you think they'll ever learn?" he asked.

"Nope," Ginny said seriously, then laughed.

"What were they on about? That thing with Mum's wand?" he asked curiously as they made their way back to the Burrow.

Harry listened as the younger Ginny laughingly told her brother all about the events in the kitchen and how Fred and George had dropped their mother's wand as they ran past. Ginny had been playing under the table and picked it up, pretending to have taken it herself in order to cover for her brothers. Harry couldn't believe that someone so young could be so calculating. "You should have been a Slytherin," he whispered to the older Ginny who looked slightly affronted.

"The Sorting Hat wanted to put me in Slytherin, but I asked for Gryffindor because I couldn't stand the thought of being separated from my brothers - and Slytherin gives me the creeps," she said with a worried frown. "Do you really think I belong in Slytherin?"

"No," Harry said quickly. "I was only joking." He paused, considering his next words. Finally he asked, "The hat thought you would make a good Slytherin?" he asked, surprised.

She nodded and averted her eyes, wondering why she had told him that bit of information and what he must think of her now.

"Hmm," Harry mused. "Me too, Ginny. I suppose that's one more thing we have in common."

Ginny stopped cold, her eyes wide. "You're just telling me that to make me feel better," she stated, but Harry could see the hopeful look in her eyes.

"I'm dead serious, I swear," Harry assured her as he continued to walk. Harry was glad to see Ginny hurry to catch up, looking at him expectantly for an explanation.

"I thought for a while, back in second year, that it had made a mistake putting me in Gryffindor. Everyone believed I was the heir of Slytherin, remember? I thought I truly belonged there, because I had pleaded with it to not put me in Slytherin during my Sorting. I thought maybe that's where I really belonged, but I was wrong. Dumbledore says it's your choices that determine who you are, and I think I agree with him," he told her.

Looking puzzled, he turned towards her. "Why are you dreaming about this incident, anyway?" Harry asked suddenly. He was curious as to why Ginny had dreamed about this particular event - it seemed so mundane and normal.

Ginny shrugged. "Before we went to sleep, we were talking about our childhoods. This type of scene was typical when I was growing up. Fred and George getting in trouble, Mum yelling, me covering for them. How do you think I got so much dirt on them?" she grinned.

Suddenly everything shifted, and Harry and Ginny found themselves in an entirely new place. Looking around, Harry realised that he was in his old headmaster's office in his primary school.

Ginny gasped. "Where are we now, Harry? This doesn't look familiar," she asked.

"It's my old school," he began, only to be interrupted by the door slamming open. Harry watched with wide eyes as a black-haired, balding man threw his younger self into the room.

"Have a seat, Potter!" the man bellowed. "Your aunt and uncle are on their way. I'm sure they'd love to hear your explanation, as would I," he sneered. The older Harry had never before realised how much his old headmaster had looked like Snape.

"I swear, sir, I didn't do it," young Harry tried to explain, his jaw set stubbornly.

"Then explain to me how you happened to be the only one around when Mrs. Fields' hair suddenly turned blue!" the man yelled, knocking young Harry back into the chair in front of the large desk. The older Harry heard Ginny trying to suppress a giggle, probably at the thought of him turning his teacher's hair blue by accident.

"I don't know how it happened, sir," young Harry explained. "We were discussing my latest English composition mark. She didn't agree with my choice of topics, you see. We were exchanging words and next thing I knew her hair just turned... blue." His voice trailed off lamely and he seemed to have a defeated look on his young face. "I wasn't even standing near her when it happened."

"Yes... about that assignment," the Headmaster said, clearing his throat. "I have the paper right here." He crossed over to his desk and put on a pair of reading glasses to look over the offending composition. "Apparently, you were assigned a topic, and you chose to deviate from the one you were given," he said reproachfully.

"Only a little," young Harry admitted guiltily.

"You were supposed to describe your family traditions," the headmaster went on disapprovingly, as if Harry hadn't said anything. Harry nodded his head, even though the man was not looking at him. "Instead, you chose to fabricate lies about your family... lies that put them in a very negative light."

The younger Harry jumped up and shouted, "I didn't lie!"

"Come now, Mr. Potter! According to this, you would have me believe that Mr. and Mrs. Dursley lock you in a cupboard, starve you, make you wait on them hand and foot, and never allow you to participate in family holidays! Having known the Dursleys for a number of years, and being quite familiar with their son, Dudley, I have a difficult time believing you," he told the young boy condescendingly. "They are simply a marvellousfamily that, unfortunately, has a nephew who is a known troublemaker with a propensity for telling lies!" the man huffed.

Young Harry tried to protest, but was cut off with a hand signal and a tut-tutting noise from the man. "Manners, Mr. Potter," he was told, which effectively silenced the boy. The man continued, "You go on in your essay, Mr. Potter, to fill up three pages of your ideal family. As Mrs. Fields explained to you, this was not your assignment!" the headmaster said in a booming voice.

At that precise moment there was a short rap on the door, and the images of Vernon and Petunia Dursley could be seen outside the office through the glass panes of the door. Both Harrys winced with expectation of the entrance of his relatives, and Ginny squeezed the elder Harry's hand tightly in reassurance.

At the word "Enter!" bellowed by the headmaster, the door was flung open and the huge, beefy body of Vernon Dursley filled the doorway. Young Harry sat back down on the chair in submission and hung his head, his taped glasses sliding low on the bridge of his nose. Ginny could clearly see the lightening bolt scar peeping out from under his fringe, even from her distance across the room. The boy's clothes were obviously too big, and he had an unkempt, neglected look about him that was easy to spot if you were looking properly. Despite this, he looked up at his aunt and uncle with a resolve that could only be described as pure dislike and defiance.

"Boy! What is the meaning of this? What have you done now?" his uncle roared.

Harry and Ginny didn't have time to hear the explanation. Before they knew it, their surroundings were again completely different. Harry could feel Ginny shaking with fear as a small, "NO!" escaped her lips.

"What is this place, Ginny?" Harry asked in confusion. It looked vaguely familiar to him, but it was so dim that he had a difficult time making out the features of the room. As far as he could tell, it seemed to be a large cavern of some sort - rather dank and dingy, with a stone floor. The air felt close, as if it were trying to suffocate him. A feeling of fear gripped him suddenly as a torch blazed to life, and he realised with trepidation that he was back in the Chamber of Secrets.

Eleven-year-old Ginny was crouched on her knees, clutching the small black diary to her chest, looking pale and drawn as if her very life were being sucked out of her. She was crying.

"I-I'll do whatever you say, T-tom... j-just don't hurt anyone. P-please... Tom..." she sobbed. The older Ginny clung to Harry for support, turning her back on her younger self and focussing her eyes on his shoulder.

Harry tensed as something stepped out of the darker shadows. It was the form of sixteen-year-old Tom Riddle, although he was barely visible and translucent. The boy mocked the young girl cowering at his feet.

"Such a weak thing you are, Ginny Weasley. So pathetic. Don't you realise it's too late to make deals with me, child? Had you only been cleverer, you might have postponed this just a little longer," he sighed evilly. "But now your hour has come. Today, I will have my revenge on Harry Potter and Hogwarts!"

"Harry w-won't come," she protested weakly. "H-he doesn't e-even know I exist!"

"He'll come, little one," Tom laughed. "He'll come - his Gryffindor nobility won't allow him to leave you here when he thinks he can save you. By the end of the day you'll both be dead, and then I'll celebrate my victory by unleashing my monster on the rest of Hogwarts - all thanks to you, dear Ginny," Tom sneered.

"What have I done?" she wailed into her hands. "What have I done?"

Tom bent down and cupped Ginny's chin with his hand, wiping the tears away with his thumb. Looking deep in her frightened face, he said coldly, "It's time to go now, my dear. It's a shame you won't be conscious enough to greet your love when he comes for you."

Harry watched in horror as the ghostly Tom Riddle kissed the crying girl full on the lips. For a second, she looked surprised and tried to fight him off. Then her face began to lose colour and she became even paler. Her eyes slid closed and she appeared to give in to the boy, who was becoming even more solid.

A noise could be heard from behind. Tom abruptly broke off the kiss and retreated back into the shadows, leaving the cold, lifeless body of Ginny Weasley crumpled on the stone floor, clutching the small black book.

Suddenly the scene changed again. This time they were in a dark, overgrown graveyard with headstones dotted here and there. A small church stood beside a large yew tree. Off in the distance, an old house was barely visible on the hillside.

Ginny was still clinging to him, but looked up in surprise at her new surroundings. "Where is this?" she asked him through her tears.

He gripped her shoulder tightly, his mouth thin and set. "Just watch," he croaked. "You'll see."

Two figures appeared, stumbling out of thin air, a golden goblet clutched between them. The shorter one fell forward, letting go of the cup. Raising his head he asked, "Where are we?"

Helping the younger Harry up off the ground, Cedric Diggory looked around and then down at the Triwizard Cup. "Did anyone tell you the cup was a Portkey?" he asked.

"Nope," he said. "Is this supposed to be part of the task?"

Dream-Harry tensed with dread and anticipation; he knew what was coming, but was helpless to stop it.

"I dunno," Cedric said nervously. "Wands out, d'you reckon?"

"Yeah," Harry answered, pulling his wand and looking around him wildly. "Someone's coming," he heard himself say, like some sick recording.

"Don't lower your wand... don't lower your wand..." he muttered over and over again while Ginny watched the scene in shocked horror.

The younger Harry lowered his wand and looked at the approaching figure curiously. Harry cursed under his breath. Pettigrew stopped about six feet from the two boys, carrying the bundle of robes.

The scene played out with sickening accuracy until they spun into yet another nightmare…

Immediately, they were in the Department of Mysteries. Ginny recognised the stone arch where they had lingered, on their search for Sirius and the room that held the prophecies

A fight was going on around them. Ginny recognised Death Eaters and Order members duelling along with Harry and Neville. A woman was laughing as she sent a red jet of light from her wand, catching a stunned Sirius square in the chest. Ginny watched him fly backwards into the veil in horror, wanting to stop it but not knowing how.

"NOOOO!" both Harrys yelled in anguish. "Siirrriiiiussss!"

In that instant, Ginny felt Harry's pain as if it were her own. It ripped her soul open, flooding her with feelings that did not belong to her. She closed her eyes, wanting to fight it, wanting to rid herself of it, but at the same time she knew that this was Harry – it was part of him… the pain that made him who he was and defined him as a person. So instead of fighting it, she opened her arms wide and accepted it, making his pain part of her soul. And the dream shifted yet again…

They were in the Atrium of the Ministry of Magic. She was hiding behind the fountain as Bellatrix shot spell after spell at her, with an occasional retaliation from behind the fountain. They were yelling at each other – something about the prophecy that had been smashed.

Suddenly the most hideous thing Ginny had ever seen appeared right in front of her. She dropped her wand – Harry's wand – and surrendered, as Voldemort's cold red eyes gleamed with satisfaction.

Voldemort pointed his wand at her and shouted "Avad-"

He was standing in a dimly-lit room, alone. Somewhere in the back recesses of his mind was the feeling of being watched. The details were elusive, so subtle that it almost escaped detection, but he opened himself up to the feeling.

Potter was here, finally, but so was someone else… A female, close by… standing off in the wings and watching. But how?

He paced inside the room, trying to get his anger under control. It would not do to lose control now when he was so close to getting what he wanted. Wormtail was late. He should have been back long ago with his report, although he was comforted to know that at least the imbecile had been successful.

Suddenly, a knock echoed though the room, and he reached out with his magic to see who dared to disturb him at this late hour. Smiling a cold, twisted, cruel smile, he commanded the perpetrator to enter.

What greeted him on the other side of the door greatly amused him. Peter Pettigrew stumbled in, throwing himself face down in front of his feet, panting heavily. He could smell the fear rolling off the balding man, and it excited him.

"Tell me, Wormtail," he asked coldly, "how long have you left me waiting?"

"I beg your f-forgiveness, Master," Pettigrew wheezed. "I-I was unavoidably d-delayed."

"Do tell?" he sneered, like a cat playing with a mouse before gobbling him up whole. "And what could possibly keep you from your beloved Master's presence? I hope, for your sake, that you have something worthwhile to report, Wormtail, to atone for your insolence and incompetence."

"Y-yes M-master," Wormtail stuttered. "I-I do."

"Well?"

"H-Harry Potter has a girlfriend, My Lord," the crouching man said fearfully.

"Yes," he said, his red eyes narrowing in serious contemplation. "I know all about that... But who is she?"

Many miles away, a young couple awoke screaming, their friends and relatives gathered around them in concern and horror.

A/N: Thanks once again to my speedy beta, Arnel. This project is almost complete. Two more chapters to go! The graveyard scene in this chapter was taken directly from Goblet of Fire, and the Atrium scene was based on the same scene in Order of the Phoenix. Thank you JK Rowling for letting me play around with your brilliant work.