AN: It's been about a week since my last update. Sorry folks. Well, here's chapter 4. Hope you enjoy. REVIEW please. And recommend me to your friends. I'm not getting many reviews… [[

Oh! And since I'm so far behind on the times and JUST got the Half Blood Prince recently in the mail, I'm making this a Partial AU fic. Meaning it'll be like…Half my imagination, half JKR goodness. Thanks for understanding

Disclaimer: Don't own HP. But I'm dating Daniel Radcliffe. It's long distance, and we're moving very slowly… He'll learn my name soon…

His heart was pounding in his chest and he held the back of his hand to her soft cheek. She was cold…so cold. It was like touching ice. "No…" he whispered and he brushed a lock of her wispy, malnourished hair away from her sunk in eyes. "She can't…"

She stirred, causing his heart to leap in his chest. "Please, be fine…Please, be alive…"

Slowly, very slowly, her eyelids gave a feeble twitch, then eased open – it looked painful, as if it required all of the strength in her tiny body. "Harry…?" she croaked.

He swallowed, but nodded, unable to reply – all the moisture had left his throat and seemed to replace itself in his eyeballs.

"Call the nurse…" It took her a long time to speak, and she was wheezing, "I'm sorry…"

He pulled her tightly into his chest. So tightly, he loosened his grip with the sole fear of breaking her calcium deprived bones. "You can't…" he sniffed, "Not to me."

Harry awoke to someone jabbing him painfully in the ribs. "Harry," he heard a voice, "C'mon! It's lunch time."

The raven haired boy rolled off his stomach and onto his side, looking at someone with a tuffs of red hair – he couldn't tell whom, for his glasses were off and on the bedside table. "W-W-Wha?" he mumbled through a yawn.

"Get your glasses on, mate," he could now tell from the sound of his voice, that it was Ron. "Mum wants you to come down to lunch. She thinks you look too peaky. Reckons those Muggles have been starving you."

Harry gave a tired laugh, "You have no idea…" he yawned again, "Dudley's huge as ever, and he's been living off Grapefruit and wilted lettuce for 3 years now, I think."

"Once a blimp, always a blimp," Ron said, picking up Harry's glasses. "Runs in the family, doesn't it? Heard something about his aunt once…"

Harry laughed again and took his glasses, things coming into view crystal clear. "Tell your mum I'll be right down," he said, stretching in a very catlike way.

Ron nodded and was off, closing the door behind him.

After he left, the brunette stared at the ceiling, the smile wiped from his face as his dream lingered in his mind. Who was the girl? He could hardly remember her face… All he'd remembered, was that she had appeared very, very sick. But, even with her being so sickly, she was very pretty…

He sat up, threw his feet over and onto the hard wood floor, and left Ron's bedroom to head downstairs, scratching his mess of hair.

"Hullo, Harry dear!" Mrs. Weasley greeted him cheerfully as he walked into the kitchen. "Come, come, sit down!"

Harry smiled warmly at her, thanked her, and took a seat in between Fred and Ron, looking at his plate in front of him. He inhaled deeply, and the scent of Mrs. Weasley's roasted chicken and vegetables reminded him of just how hungry he really was.

"Sleep well, dear?" he heard her ask.

"Best in a while, thanks," he replied with a smile. It was honest. At least the dream wasn't as bad as he thought…

"You sure you got enough rest?" George questioned, "You seemed to be awfully fidgety,"

Harry blinked in confusion, "What?"

"Yea," Fred was the one who replied this time, "You kept mumbling and tossing and turning. It wasn't too bad though," he said with a shrug, "Just seemed like you were having an eventful dream."

It felt as though the pit of Harry's stomach sank a bit when he remembered his dream. But just bits and pieces. A pretty girl, a hollow feeling, ice on his hand…

"Harry?"

The boy looked at Hermione, who'd called his name. She had concern etched all in her face, "Harry, are you alright? You were dazing off…"

Harry nodded hastily, "Yea, I'm fine." He cleared his throat automatically, he didn't know why. "Just…I don't know, thinking."

Mrs. Weasley walked over, setting the pot of chicken and vegetables in the center of the table, a plate of biscuits floating after her. She gave Harry a sympathetic smile, "We understand, dear," she said, motherly concern flooding her voice. "Here, eat up, you'll feel better."

Harry gave a small smile. For some reason, he was reminded of Professor Lupin. Their ex-defense against the dark arts teacher was always handing out chocolate to his students, particularly Harry. "Here, eat. You'll feel better" he'd always said. Lupin had been one of his most favorite teachers. Also, he was excellent friends with his parents. He'd learned a lot about them from him. In Harry's eyes, Remus Lupin was somewhat of an Uncle or extended member of the family. He thought this while he ladled up some of Mrs. Weasley's amazing stew, looking around at everyone eating around him…

That's when he started to feel sick.

He didn't know why, but his stomach suddenly gave a shallow rumbling feeling and as if anything he'd swallowed would be propelled right back which the way it came. But, he knew he'd had to eat at least something for Mrs. Weasley not to worry. So, he dipped his spoon into his bowl and brought the broth to his lips.

It was marvelous. Like always. Mrs. Weasley was an exquisite cook. The feeling of wanting to stay empty melted away, and with it he replaced the delicious stew.

Conversation flooded around him as he ate, but he only listened and took no part. Maybe it was because he was used to keeping quiet after living with the Dursley's. Maybe it was because he was still slightly sleepy. For whatever reason, Harry sat and listened to the chattering voices around him.

"Ron, why on earth would you care if Crookshanks caught hold of Pig anyway?"

"He went after Scabbers!"

"Scabbers wasn't a rat!"

"And Pigwidgeon is sweet,"

"Yea, Ron."

"Listen to your Ickle Hermy-Kins."

"Shove off, you two."

"Awww,"

"So testy. Curse of the Red Heads."

"Would you two please leave your brother and his girlfriend be?"

"Mum!"

"Sorry, dear, only trying to help…"

Please…

Harry dropped his spoon into his stew. Who was that? It was a girls voice, but it didn't belong to Hermione or Mrs. Weasley. He glanced at Ginny, but she had a mouthful of biscuit, so it couldn't have been her…

Come to me…

Harry froze. The talking around him became a dull buzzing, and the silence grew louder and louder. He strained his ears to hear the voice again. Who's there…? He wondered to himself.

Help… The voice said weakly, I need help…Please, come to me, don't give up on me… I promise, I won't give up on you…

Give up…? What was going on?

I promise, please…Just find me. Don't let go.

The noise resumed around him. He strained his ears as hard as he could, but still, he couldn't hear the voice again. Who – or what – was that?

Harry finished the rest of his meal in silence, withdrawing into his own mind, dwelling on memories and preparing himself for the worst.

After the meal had been cleared up, the Weasley children thought up the brilliant idea to play Quidditch – but Mrs. Weasley insisted that they must once again de-gnome the garden. "Harry, Hermione, you can sit on the porch, dears. It'll only take them a moment."

So, the two friends sat on the grass near the porch and watched as the gnomes flew in all directions. Hermione was curled up, reading a book by a Muggle author, so Harry stretched out on the grass, lying on his back with his hands behind his head. The sky was a clear, decent blue, with puffs of clouds spotting here and there. It was a bright, beautiful, happy day… So, why did it feel so dark?

The hearing of the voice kept weighing on his mind. Who was it? What was going on? Was it something Voldemort hatched up again? He knew, now, that Voldemort knew how to bait him. He knew Harry would crumble to help someone in distress. He knew of the connection the two had, he could get inside his head… Why hadn't he practices his Occlumency more?

"Harry?" the tantalizing young wizard turned his head sharply as Hermione pulled him from his thoughts. "Harry, are you alright?"

He blinked, feigning curiosity, "Yes, why?"

"You've seemed…" she searched for a word, "slightly distracted lately, ever since you've arrived at the Burrow. And another thing, you never replied to our owls?"

'What owls,' Harry thought bitterly, but merely shrugged.

Hermione sighed and closed her book on her lap, then set her folded hands atop that. "Harry," she said slowly, as if choosing her words rather carefully, so she didn't upset him, "if this has…ANYTHING to do with me and Ron…"

He shook his head, and Hermione looked rather relieved. "Well…is it about…" she paused for a moment, as if weighing whether or not to say: "Snuffles?"

Perhaps she thought it was respectful to him to use Sirius' "pet" name. Harry hesitated, before replying softly, "Hermione, I honestly don't know."

Confusion spread over her face, and for a moment Harry had to look away. He had the burning urge building up in him to jump into her arms and cry, and the soft beauty of her face didn't help this. She was Ron's girlfriend, his best friend. That's all. He'd never seen her this way before very, very recently. Why now? Was it his burning loneliness? Did he just merely want to use her for comfort?

"Harry," why was he using his name so much? It wasn't helping with the whole attraction issue he was having, "You can tell me."

"I know," he said, still not looking up at her, "I know, 'Mione."

The Muggle born placed a warm, comforting hand on his arm. It was weird… the rest of his body felt like ice, with the exception of the spot where Hermione had touched him. He looked up at her very briefly to see that she was looking at him with a soft smile on her face. He returned it, although it was very feeble.

"Hey! Harry, 'Mione!" Ron jogged up to them and again, Harry looked down hastily, "Hey, we're finished with the gardens – lets play Quidditch!"

"Oh," Hermione mumbled hastily, "I'll just sit here and watch…"

"Nonsense," Ron said, "You can borrow one of Charlie's old brooms,"

"But Ronald," she argued, "I can't fly."

"You know what?" Harry said quietly as he stood up, "I don't feel much up to playing, I'm going to go up to bed…Why don't you just work with Hermione on her flying?"

"Are you sure, mate?" Ron said.

Harry nodded and turned, "I'll see you later," and, without allowing them to say another word, walked off. He could hear Fred and George questioning the others of his disappearance as he closed the back door to the Burrow.

"Where's he going?" asked the twins simultaneously.

"Beats me," Ron replied, "He's been acting strange this whole time."

"Leave him be for a moment," Hermione told the siblings, "He'll tell us on his own…"

That was the last bit Harry heard in his hesitation towards the stairs to the room he was sharing with Ron, and it had weighed something else on his mind: would he tell them on his own?

Wellll, there's chapter 4. sorry it took so long. Read and Reviewwww