Chapter Two

The life-giving flames bathed Harry's tired face in warm light. Every flicker and nuance of the fire reflected in Harry's eyes. His mind, now that he was warm and full of coconut, was on the girl in his dream. After a few minutes of carefully analyzing the dream, Harry concluded Dumbledore had somehow given him the dream in an effort to torture him even in sleep. If this were true, there was no escape from the island, not even in sleep. Of course the dream could be some sort of message on how to escape the island. How some non-existent blonde in a robe could help him off an island, Harry knew not.

Harry slammed down the last bit of coconut milk that was left and leaned back on the sand and closed his eyes. The sounds of the surf lapping against the shore lulled him into a surprisingly gentle sleep.

The dream came to him sometime before dawn. It was in a series of still images. The first one was a bed with a white comforter; on a white carpet in a room with walls of pale purple. The girl's robe was in a heap at the foot of the bed. But she was no where to be found in the image. The second image, more vivid now. The girl was now dressed in a Guyabara decorated with palm trees. She was wearing white khaki shorts, the pockets were overflowing with sand. She wasn't alone, a tall black haired man, dressed identically, was kissing her neck with his hands wrapped around her waist. The room they were in stood out: a classroom, in England. Why the Island garb. The third image was of just her, weeping all alone on the beach. The fourth image was of the black haired one. He was pushing her into the fire. She was half way down, her robe in every direction. Her hair obscured her face as did her hands that tried to brace her body against the flames. The final image was of a burnt out fire. A piece of white robe near the edge of the fire circle.

Harry awoke somewhere around 10 A.M. judging by the sun's position in the sky. It was horribly hot even in the morning causing Harry's tattered clothes to cling to him with sweat. He briefly considered the option of going nude, but a full-body sunburn didn't exactly leave one feeling good.

Harry spent the rest of the morning in the shade, lightly weeping. The gravity of the situation had finally set in and feelings of despair flooded his head. Soon despair gave way to a headache. Harry lay down and soon was asleep again. Sleep was brief no dreams of the girl.

A cold shower will leave ones sexual desires so low, the person doubts there is even blood coursing through their veins. So a bucket of chilly sea water falling on Harry's head was certainly not a night by the fire with a girl. He opened his eyes and the sal stung them. He quickly wiped them and once the bleariness faded, the girl from the dream came into view.

Harry screamed and crawled backwards away from the girl.

"Chill out, dude," Her voice more lovely than imagined.

"Who the hell are you?"

"My name is Laura."

"Hi Laura, who are you?"

She giggled and pointed to his pants.

His fly was down and somehow he was without his underpants. Harry embarrassedly zipped the pants up and prayed to God she saw nothing.

"Who. Are." he said through gritted teeth, "You? Tell. Me. Now!"

"Harry."

"How'd you know my name?"

"Your nametag"

Harry looked down, saw nothing and realized the joke.

"Cute."

"I thought so!"

"Who are you, please?"

"Okay, okay. My name is Laura and I am your advocate."

"Advocate?"

"Yeah, my job is to supervise your punishment. Everything looks okay here."

"What?"

She vanished into thin air.

Harry scratched his head and tried to go back to sleep. Unsuccessfully.