Story Title: Stare Into My Mirror, Part #1

Rating (up to PG-13 only): PG-13 Any warnings to readers (e.g. slash, other ships)? OotP Spoiler, occasional hinting at R/L Word count for this installment: 391

Running Total # of words for entire story (5,000 or less): 391

This peice is a response to the Brand Spankin' New Challenge (http:talk. portkey. org/ index. php? showtopic 11708) at Portkey! (A/N: To use the URL, just get rid of the spaces!)

Harry sat on his bed at Number 4, Privet Drive, watching the sun slowly set over Magnolia Crescent and clutching a letter tightly in his fist. It was one of many letters containing 'Oh-great-you're-alive-I'm-so-glad-you-haven't-killed-yourself-yet-because-you-have-a-Dark-Lord-to-vanquish'. This time, the letter came from his best friend, Hermione. Though Harry trusted Hermione and knew in his heart she'd be more sympathetic than anybody else would be, he was apprehensive. What if he was disappointed? What if all she had to say was exactly like what everyone else had been saying (including what he knew was a well-deserved I told you so)? Slowly, Harry smoothed the wrinkled and opened the letter.

Dear Harry,

I've only just arrived at Headquarters. You're going to get picked up soon, I promise. I can't wait to see you! I really miss you, Harry, everybody here does. I can't say any more in case this gets intercepted, but hang in there. It won't be long, you have my word.

Love from Hermione.

Great, thought Harry, she thinks I'm just going to explode like a bomb. Everybody thinks I'm crazy. Harry rubbed his eyes as he set the letter down and went to feed Hedwig. She hooted, and Harry couldn't help but think for a split second that even his owl was worried about him.

The truth is, though Harry refused to admit it to himself, there was quite a bit to worry about. Harry was having nightmares again. They weren't like the old ones, where Lord Voldemort laughed as he mercilessly slaughtered Harry's parents or Cedric. This time, it was Harry doing the killing. First, it was his parents, Cedric, and Sirius; deaths he felt responsible for. As nights went by, he'd killed off all of his friends, and anybody he had ever loved. These dreams left him drenched in cold sweat, his head resting on a pillow soaked with tears. I'm a murderer, he would say to himself. It doesn't matter if I'm dreaming or awake, that's what I do. I kill people. That's when a voice that sounds exactly like Hermione would respond, you aren't responsible. Nobody blames you. Harry would seize up and whisper, what about the prophecy, Hermione? You don't know about that. He'd breathe deeply. She's not here, Harry. See, you are crazy!

Harry walked over to his bed and collapsed onto it. He fell asleep almost immediately, only to kill Hermione.