A/N - This chapter has been revised. This version was uploaded August 18th, 2010

Hermione looked at the boy laying in the bed before her. The world was almost entirely dark. She had succeeded. Harry was there, young and peacefully sleeping. She smiled. Kids always looked so peaceful asleep. Sadness threatened to divert her attention, but she quickly forced the feeling down.

"Can you hear me, Harry?" The boy remained fast asleep. She sighed. She would be patient.

Inexplicably, she was dressed in a blue robe. It had not been what she was wearing when she had left her family, but was instead one of her favorite robes for casual wear. She had not been wearing it mere moments before. She was certain that she had not being wearing it in the darkness before appearing at Harry's side. It seemed to be her old, familiar robe, but it was not. Her robe had been splattered by a boiling potion several days before, and was now damaged. This one was not. She examined her left side where the potion had splattered on her. Before her eyes her robe changed, and now reflected the damage which she had experienced.

"Ah..." She sighed as she started to understand. It was not something that she had ever studied extensively, but it made sense. In the magical world it was known as Dream Shaping, and it was of limited utility. She was also familiar with the same concept from the muggle world where it was known as Lucid Dreaming.

If that is the case, she thought to herself. Hermione concentrated for a moment. Her casual robes were gone, replaced by her best dress robes. She didn't have a reason to wear them more than once or twice a year and she always complained about the time that it took to prepare. They looked nice on her. "Interesting," she spoke aloud, and she started to practice.

Though it was hard to tell, it may have been several hours, but she saw that the world was starting to brighten. Harry stirred and awoke; blinking away his sleep.

Hermione tried to get his attention. "How are you doing Harry?" She asked aloud. He didn't appear to take notice of her presence. She tried reaching out to him and was surprised to find that she was able to touch him, but he gave no sign that he had noticed. He dressed and left his cupboard.

Hermione had only visited Number 4 Privet drive once before, but even in the past, it's tidy hall was instantly recognizable. She was carefully studying her surroundings, when suddenly a young boy appeared. He was unmistakably Dudley Dursley. He did not yet carry the immense amount of fat he would later, but even now his face and body were well rounded by indulgence and leisure. He and Harry spoke, then left the house to play together in the backyard.

She had arrived at the correct time. It was Harry's eighth birthday.

For the past several months, years perhaps, she had lived under constant pressure. That pressure had only seemed to increase when she had finally developed the theories that would successfully allow this mission to take place. Right at this moment, there didn't seem to be anything she could do, and it left her a little bit flustered. Hermione knew that she would be able to communicate with Harry. The gardades spell that formed an integral part of her temporal voyage guaranteed that. She had been forced to dedicate one of the seven promises to guarantee that she would be able to successfully communicate with Harry. Unfortunately, and very understandably, none of the literature she had consulted provided any guide. Her's was a unique situation. However, confident in the efficacy of her spell, she allowed herself to relax and watch the two boys play.

Hermione was surprised. She had always believed that Harry had suffered bullying at the hands of his cousin, but she did not see any of that. She continued her experiments. Harry still did not give any sign that he was aware of her presence. He did not respond to her voice or touch. She could touch him, his cousin, and the surroundings. All felt to her as real as her own body, but unyielding to the pressure of her touch. It was all as rock, hard and unmovable.

She noticed that the backyard seemed more dreamlike than Harry's cupboard or the rest of the house had been. In particular the sky was oddly blank. She discovered that she was able to make objects appear, objects that were not hard like the rest of the world, but looked and felt normal. She caused a comfortably padded lawn chair to appear and sat in it.

Hermione was not one to be easily discouraged; in fact, she had always thought that achievement was meant to be obtained through struggle. Throughout her life, if she had accomplished something without too much effort, she had always continued to work until she had expended the effort that seemed appropriate. Some had seen this as over achieving. It did not matter.

She had a promise. She just had to work out how it was possible.

Harry woke up. Slowly, the last fragments of the night's dreams were replaced by an awareness of his small closet with its slightly damp smell and cramped walls. As was his general practice, he quickly got out of bed and changed out of the large t-shirt he used as a nightshirt into his clothes. There was no reason to delay the start of the day. There was no reason to remain in the small closet. Among his over sized clothing, he found a shirt and a pair of pants that was neither too large, nor too dirty. After dressing, he opened the door to his cupboard only to find Dudley waiting for him outside.

"It's you birthday today. Do you think you are going to receive any presents?"

Harry looked at his cousin and could feel his face warming. "I don't know." He turned towards the back of the house. "Do you want to finish that pit today?"

Dudley's round face exhibited conflicting emotions for a moment, guilt being among them, but it was replaced rather quickly by some excitement. "Okay, but I get to name the tiger when we catch it!"

A tall, dark, cloaked man stood unseen, brooding over the scene scene before him. Two young boys, muggles judging by their clothing and the rather depressingly mundane neighborhood, were industriously digging a hole in a fenced yard. He was becoming rather frustrated. There were many things leading to his frustration. The first was his surroundings. Things had the tendency to shimmer slightly as if they were not quite there. The colors also had the nasty habit of fading. In fact most of the environment was in shades of grey, and yet suddenly areas would bloom with vivid colors. People were the worst. He remembered this morning when the boy had left his room. Suddenly the other boy had appeared as if a disillusionment charm had been suddenly dispelled.

The man stalked around the boys and the yard. He felt disgust as he watched that their labor did little to enlarge their hole, but very successfully dirtied themselves and their clothing. He had tried to leave. He had tried to Disapparate. He had been unsuccessful. He failure was not due to any anti-apparation wards, rather he simply did not feel connected to the world in the way required for apparation. He had tried simply walking away, to go somewhere else, but not much beyond the boy's immediately surroundings the world became sketchy and dark. He had tried to explore those dark regions, but he been forced to remain near the young boy.

He knew what it meant. He was currently within the boy's memories. He checked himself and revised his assessment, No probably not his memories. Proper memories have been processed by the brain, packaged and stored. No, this world was in too much flux. Details suddenly appearing and being assimilated. It was worse; somehow he was not in the boy's memory, but within his current perceptions. As impossible as it seemed. He had some experience with this, and even more familiarity with the theory. It should not be possible to stand here in the world of another's perceptions. The closest analogue that he was familiar with was possession. On the chance that he was only partially possessing the boy, he had attempted to complete the process, but he had failed completely.

He gave a grunt of displeasure. There was another source of his displeasure. He still could not feel his magic respond. It was becoming increasing apparent that he no longer possessed a body in the mortal realm. A thrill of fear tingled up his spine. He never acknowledged it to himself, but here he was confronted by his own most secret fear. He was powerless.

He shook his head slightly and lifted a hand to his forehead. His thoughts seemed sluggish as if he was just waking from a dream. And as if he was waking, slivers of poorly remembered thoughts echoed through his consciousness. An incomplete memory forced itself to the forefront of his thoughts. A rushing green light. What had happened? It was clear that he had failed.

The boy was clearly a Potter. The Potter. It was not the name he had heard the other boy use, or the whisper that had awaken him that told him this. No, it would be apparant to anyone who had known James and Lily potter that it was their son that was grubbing in the dirt before him.

Somehow he had failed. The killing curse ... somehow the killing curse had failed to kill the boy - the boy which was now grown and growing. And somehow he had…died? No, not that. His preparations would not allow that. Instead, somehow, he was trapped. He fiercely studied the boy's young form and glowered at his age. He was trapped, and somehow held insensate, unconscious for many years.

Lord Voldemort was frustrated. The prophecy had warned him, and now been proven accurate. Somehow he had been defeated by an infant.

Harry pushed several more clods of dirt away from the lip of the hole that he and Dudley were working on. A sudden pang of hunger reminded him that he had not eaten yet. "Do you want to go in and get something to eat, Dudley?"

Dudley continued to scoop dirt out of the hole. He worked steadily, but seemingly unaware of the dirt that streamed back inside. He paused to evaluate their progress. "I want to get this finished. We need to get it done soon, but … I guess we can stop for breakfast."

The two boys lifted themselves up from the hole and tromped into the house. Harry saw that his aunt Petunia was in the front room visiting with her friend Maple. It seemed that their was two things to which Aunt Petunia dedicated her life, her soaps and gossip. Aunt Petunia was facing away from the boys, but Maple saw them entering and gave a little tsk.

"Petunia, I really must admire you. Not only must you worry about your own son, but watching after your nephew as well. If I were in your position I would probably search for as many opportunities to escape them as you." Maple's voice dripped with sugar, but echoed with the same level of outrage and condemnation with which just moments before she had held for a neighbor who had let his lawn grow too long.

"Wha..?" Petunia followed Maple's eyes and turned to see Harry and Dudley. "Dudley! What have you done?" "You," she directed herself to Harry with indignation, "What have you convinced Dudley to do? Clean this mess up immediately!" Aunt Petunia turned to address her son again, "Dudley, clean up and put on some clean clothes."

"Mom, I am hungry." Dudley complained.

Petunia paused, "Go clean up, I will bring some food up to your room." Dudley went upstairs. "Maple, I am sorry. Dudley generally is much better behaved."

"Don't worry Petunia. There really is only so much that you can do. I am really very impressed. Given what you have told me about your nephew, it seems that you have done a good job limiting his influence on Dudley." Maple continued.

Harry didn't like being around his aunt's friends and really would have prefered to hide in his cupboard. However, when his aunt asked him to do something, espescially when he was asked in front of someone else, he knew that had to do it immediately. When he was almost finished sweeping up the dirt which he and Dudley had tracked in, Aunt Petunia brought him the mop and told him, "You will need to mop both downstairs and up. I am sure that Dudders has tracked some dirt upstairs."

Voldemort was a patient man. He had learned that lesson early. Impatience leads to mistakes and lost opportunities. Yet, he could not escape the ever present and oppressive feeling of being trapped. He had clothed himself in a black robe and had been pleased with the result. He had even furnished this inane muggle home with more pleasing furnishings. It now appeared to him dark and strong, made in stone and darkwood. He decorated with pleasing tapestries, but he was not entirely satisfied. It was only an illusion. It was all in his head - or maybe Harry's.

The boy was sitting in some clean clothes watching his Aunt Petunia's television program with her. She had not allowed him to go outside for the rest of the day. She said that it was a punishment. Meekly Harry had followed all of her directions. Voldemort's blood ran warm to see it.

A car could be heard parking in the driveway, and soon a large man entered the house. Dudley jumped up to greet his father and take his hat. Vernon saw Harry watching television with his aunt. His face grew red he and asked. "What did Harry do today?"

"That is a very good question to ask. Maple came over this morning, taking time to visit. I was having a very enjoyable time, when to my shame he dragged Dudley in from outside. Both of them covered head to foot in dirt. It was horrible. I had just explained that Dudley's teachers gave all those nice comments at the end of the year."

Vernon's face clouded in anger. "Boy, I have told you to stop acting like a fool and vagabond. Your parents may have been miscreants, but this is a respectable, civilized house. Even you must be able to pretend to be civilized." His face was now a mess of red and white splotches, and he paused mid rant in order to take several large breaths.

Dudley took advantage of the momentary silence to ask his father, "What is Harry getting for his birthday?"

Vernon again appraised his nephew with anger, then spoke, "Harry, for you birthday this year we will be giving you perhaps the single most valuable thing you could receive in your life. I do not expect that you will ever account for much, but if you are to have any success in life you must fight your nature and become a respectable member of the community." He glared and Harry, his eye wandering towards his nephew's long, wild hair. "Do you understand boy?"

"I think I do," but the boy's voice was weak and reflected confusion.

"Very good." Vernon continued pompously, "I have brought you in and sheltered you. I try to believe that our home is having some positive influence on you." He voiced trailed off into a low growl. His eyes fixed on Harry's black hair and Vernon instantly found his voice again. The was a note of glee in his voice as he continued, "I think a good first step would be to tame that mane of yours."

Voldemort watched with impotent rage as the simple muggle roughly handled the young wizard. Without any sense of style, Vernon took a pair of scissors and hacked away at his nephew's hair. He seethed and quietly repeated to himself a resolution, Muggles will be put in their place, never shall a muggle exercise authority over a wizard. He found that he held his wand in his hand. It made him better; showed that he was better. However, here, now, it was merely an illusion and his power fled.

As he watched the wizard, who was now crying from his rough treatment, he vowed, he would regain his power and he would put the muggles in their place. He would never be powerless again.

It was not quite dark yet, but Harry had been sent to bed. Hermione watched the boy sob slightly with his face buried in the pillow and a hand running through the tufts of his remaining hair. It had been difficult to watch the events of the day. It corresponded well with everything Harry had ever told her about his life living with the Dursley's. It was also incredibly sad to see it first hand, to be a witness without the power to act.

She sat at his bedside stroking his back. Her hands lightly following the contours of his rigidly unyielding clothing and flesh. She let her mind reflect. In this mutable world, she was lost, but there were seven certainties that filled her mind like diamonds. She focused on the first – She would be able to communicate with Harry and pass along the information she had come back to provide.

As she remained in her reverie, casually maintaining her unheeded strokes of comfort, she noticed a soft purple light had entered the room. Looking, she found a familiar violet gem sitting on the foot of Harry's Bed. It glowed with an internal light. She reached out and grasped it. As her fingers curled around the stone she knew the first promise would be kept.

Voldemort sat brooding, wallowing in his own anger and disgust. Anger towards this family of muggles that in ignorance and sense of superiority could not see beyond the pointlessness of their existence and would dare degrade a wizard. Disgust towards this boy who seemed powerless to do anything about it. Thus, he sat, welcoming the encroaching shadows.

A woman suddenly appeared. Voldemort glanced towards the door, but it remained closed. In fact, Harry did not show any sign that he was aware of her presence. Her robes proved her to be a witch. She wore a glowing violet gem around her neck.

"Happy Birthday, Harry."

Voldemort saw the boy the boy tense, his sobs suddenly cut off.

"Harry." She reached out and touched the boy. He responded by shrinking back, shaking. The woman had paused at his response, but then continued speaking "Harry. I love you, and I will be here for you. Go to sleep, It will better tomorrow."

Voldemort saw that the boy remained very tense. She pulled back her hand, and with a slight bow of her head, disappeared again. However, the purple glow remained. Voldemort found a violet gem identical to the one the woman had been wearing sitting on the boy's bed. He examined it carefully, but could find no clue as to what it was. He was patient and the gem sat there for at least an hour before he reached to touch it was a single cautious finger.

As soon as his finger touched it, understanding flooded his counsciouness and the overbearing feeling of being trapped disappeared. He now knew his cage was not quite so secure. Emboldened Voldemort picked up the gem and clutched it to his chest. He smiled.