Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction created sorely to satisfy my imagination. Harry Potter and anything/everything related to the novels belongs to J.K. Rowling. I own nothing in this fanfic that might be recognizable as belonging to the canon of HP.

AN: Hello sweet people! I've got a couple things to say here and at the end of the chapter.

Yeah, this chapter is different in pacing to how I normally write. I hope it doesn't get too hard to follow. This was the only way I found to tell things and get through them in a sort of coherent way. Even though, it's not really that coherent. Agh, I don't know.

Also, this used to be a long chapter, very long, but I cut it somewhere I thought was right. Hence the reason this is short. It's been a while since I posted a short chapter.

This is part One of Four, so look forward to that.

Please enjoy and review.

Chapter 32: The dream, part I

I knew I was dreaming. That much was obvious.

When I woke up, after what I thought was one of the most cataclysmic events in my life, it was to realize that I hadn't really woken up. Not entirely. There was an oddity to the reality I had entered and as I laid on my back I tried desperately to bring control over every aspect of myself.

It wasn't as easy as it should have been. My gaze was hazy, the world seemed different and I had no control over my body. It was much similar to how it got whenever Lady Moon took hold of me. All my senses would leave me to be replaced by a consciousness that wasn't quite my own. There was one difference, and it was this that put me on edge; my mind was crystal clear. I was not drunk, nor possess by the lingering presence of an ancestor in my blood. No, I was completely lucid, powerless to move, but in my right mind forced to bear witness to the shit storm that had been my life.

Perhaps that made everything worse.

In the back of my mind I nursed the thought that maybe I was dead or in the process of it. Certainly, it would prove a better explanation than being in a dream. And if my memory served me right, I could have definitely plummeted to my death for all I knew. My fight with Lorcan had damaged my body enough that a trip down a stairwell could have very possibly ended what was left of me. However, I decided to cling to life.

I hadn't lived for very long to begin with, and the course my life was taking, putting Mulciber aside, was extremely satisfactory. My hard work was beginning to pay off, my grades were shinning, I was almost caught up to sixth year of Hogwarts and most importantly I had friends. I wouldn't be able to forgive myself if I put my darling Lily through any sort of pain, and I knew my death would do just that. And the boys, Peter, James, Remus and Sirius, well I adored them; I knew that for a fact.

So, I decided to cling to life and dream whatever my mind was going through as a dream.

It certainly had dream aspects. There were no colours whatsoever, even though that felt like it was a mistake on my part. It was confusing and alarming. There was a sort of warp in space and time that I couldn't put my finger on, but I decided to ignore that in favour of my theory.

I was in St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. That wasn't much of a surprise. Every time that I had been knocked out I woke up in one of their beds. A window to the side allowed bright white light to shine into the darkness of blacks and greys that my dream demanded of the familiar private hospital room. It was empty apart from me, something that seemed as normal to me as waking up there.

One of the key factors for me to deem my experience as waking up in a dream stemmed from the issue that I couldn't move my body on its own accord. Though under the moon something similar occurred, I could still most time will myself to move if I so desired it. When I grew tired of being on the bed, I realized I could do nothing. Try as I might, my body wouldn't even flinch. It wasn't until I had completely given up when I finally did move. But it wasn't something I had done, it just happened. I felt a sort of detachment from my body, as I occupied my mind and was able to look out of my eyes, but nothing else.

I couldn't even feel the rustling of the bed sheets as they ruffled on my lap.

Without really knowing why, for I hadn't noticed or heard anything, I looked up. It was just in time to see a woman standing on the door. I couldn't see her face, but I could distinguish how she had a hand over her mouth. She stared at me with what I could only guess was startled surprise, as she attempted to take a step forward but then didn't. In the flourish of a dark blur, she turned around and left.

Her sudden appearance put me on edge and only served to cement the fact that I was dreaming. Her abrupt entrance and departure reminded me of previous dreams, and that was further proven when the door opened. It was as if not a second had passed.

The woman that had stared perplexed at me from the door came back into the room. This time she was not alone. All dressed what I could recognize should be lime-green robes with embroidered emblems on their chests depicting a crossed wand and bone; I knew who they all were. I could recognized them perfectly now, though like before, I couldn't quite see their faces right. One and the oldest of the trio was Head Healer Pyek, a skeletal woman with whips of dark hair coming out of the edges of her pointed hat. Next to her was a man; younger than her by far, his name was Healer Trenton. I didn't know much of him; he had been assigned to be the healer in charge of my care before my connection to Merlin was discovered. And the last person, the woman that had found me, was the young trainee Healer Alessia Green, which now standing closer to me, looked as young as I knew her to be.

My body did nothing as they came to stand around my bed, but inside I was reeling. What sort of situation had I gotten myself into that I was once again in the presence of these three, much like I had been on those first days when I woke up for the very first time.

"Miss," The Head Healer said once she sat next to my bed. I hadn't noticed her sit, my body had been far too busy looking at the other two present for some reason. By now I had turned fully to her, and I could see her expression with avid detail. The compassion in her eyes was one thing, but her lack of acquaintanceship with me was even stranger. Head Healer Pyek knew me and I knew her. I had met her husband and offspring who were also Healers in St. Mungo's. Hell, she had even jokingly offered me sanctuary during the summer should I not a have a place to live between Hogwarts terms. Not that I would take her on that offer, ever, but still. "You were in a serious accident."

Pyek began to narrate a short but gruesome report, of the limp body of a young girl falling from the sky and landing unto the paved ground of a busy street. Diagon Alley shook with the ferocity of my arrival, and it tasted my blood when I collided with the ground. I was rescued from a pool of red and ushered immediately to St. Mungo's where it was discovered that even though my body had shattered in several important places, I was still clinging to life. I was told of the long and arduous process that was reviving me, and the week I had been unconscious, every one anxiously awaiting, while they tried to work against the worst. I remembered The Head Healer going on to test whether I could or not speak, but I proved that whatever had happened to me didn't render me completely useless. That didn't play out in my dream. She dived right into interrogating me. "Do you remember anything of which I had spoken?" Pyek went on to say at the end.

"No," I head myself say coarse and throaty, but that wasn't right. I remembered everything. But my body, the me that was trapped in the dream was forced to follow the path which my life had taken since I woke up.

"Do you remember your name?"

My body didn't respond in assessment, though I tried just to see if I was to have any control. I wasn't able to. There was an enchanted cement wall between my mind and my body, and I had no known tool to get pass it. "No," I said again.

There was regret in her face, one that I chose not to care about. "Then, we best commence a series of test."

I couldn't help dreading having to go through the series of detailed test that began to shape my life. One had been to try to get my exact age, it had failed, another had me drinking five vials of foul tasting potions to figure out all there was to know about my body, and one was even to see how much muggle blood I had in me. Apparently, there wasn't; which was strange. But as much as those test had been important to me, being forced to relieve the experience wasn't fun. I was trapped in it, with no knowledge as to how far I would have to see. I did, however, know where it would take me, and the idea of seeing my life play out again frighten me. What if I saw one of my most horrific memories play out in vivid detail as I seemed to remember my first memory? Maybe I was kidding myself on the whole dream thing. Surely this was a punishment. The last punishment before dying, seeing my life flash in horrible detail before entering eternal suffering. Surely it was that.

But I had no time to think about that for in a blink of an eye, Pyek, Trenton and Alessia where gone, and in their stead was an official of the Ministry of Magic. I remembered my encounters with him. Much like the Head Healer, I had somehow managed to win his sympathy. In later occasions, he would prove to be important to securing my pension and working with Dumbledore to secure my legal claim to my inheritance, but for now Thomas McPhail looked at me as warmly as an adult would be expected to look at an orphaned child. And that wasn't something I had liked on the first time around. I couldn't feel anything from my body, but my mind echoed with annoyance and impatience.

"You must understand Miss, that these sorts of situations don't happen often." Mr. McPhail worked for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement's Administrative Registration particularly in the Office of Ministry Wards. It was a branch that was responsible for the care and well being of underage wizard and witches who found themselves without a family or a home. He was the official in charge of my case and as I stared at him, I realized that I wasn't watching our first encounter. No, that had been brief and awkward on both parts. This time he looked more prepared to do his job, as he sat on the chair next to my bed, holding parchment and quill. "People just don't fall into Diagon Alley. There's a spell you see. It keeps any sort of creature from flying over it, even wizards and witches on broomsticks. And adding to that the fact that there are no reports of you missing, nor any searches, we find ourselves in an odd predicament."

"What does that mean?" Again, my voice came out of its own. I knew what it meant.

"It means you are an anomaly." He said grievously. "There's only one account predeceasing you, of a young wizard falling unto Diagon Alley in the same manner as you, lack of memory and all. Tell you the truth I find it extremely similar, in a way that does not sit well with me."

"Who?"

The man was to say, but didn't. "It isn't of importance." He added as an afterthought. Then he gathered more strength, and gave a smile as he spoke, waiving his quill around for effect. "What is of importance is that you are well aware of your position. My office will do all it can for you, and we will provide you with the means. A private tutor should be the first order of business, but in these times a volunteer will be extremely hard to come by. But should you have any sort of connection to him—" Trailing away from his voiced thought, Mr. McPhail seemed to be thinking things through. He looked at me at me then, really looked at me with intensity and curiosity as if trying to see the connection to what I knew now to be Merlin.

McPhail had been the very first to consider my connection to my ancestor, and on a later occasion he told me that it had been the product of an obsession he had harboured for the legendary wizard since his school days. "I'll be communicating with Hogwarts, nevertheless. There's someone there I think will be able to help in, in this." He seemed uncertain again, as if he was double guessing his thoughts. With a heavy shrug he looked back at me, hiding his real thoughts with a strained grin. "In the mean time, do consider finding a name for yourself."

And like no time had gone by, I saw sitting with Healer Alessia Green by the solitary window of my room. We had two chairs now, each facing the window that led to the muggle street bellow. I stared at every one that passed, noting that I had been fascinated by their strange clothes and how different to all the kinds of robes I had seen within the hospital.

"Faraday? I've never heard of such a name."Alessia said to me, and though I heard her, I couldn't see her. I hadn't turned to her yet, as I looked down the window. The muggles, in groups or alone went about their lives, unknowing of the world of magic."Why that one?"

Once more, my voice came out on its own, disconcerting me inside my head. "It sounds like the name of a high born lady. It's elegant, strong and reminds me of trees."

Alessia's pressed a hand against my arm and I stared at it. It had been her form of getting my attention, and though I knew I had been rude to her at some point, I justified it with the fact that I didn't enjoy the gesture in my head. Good thing I couldn't feel it. "And from where has this entitlement come from?"

I shrugged her hand away. Oh yes, I hadn't definitely liked her touch either.

"Has it anything to do with those kids you were talking to earlier?" The young Healer raised a brow as she spoke. I could see an accusation in her manner, though I had no idea of knowing if I had done the same the original time I had the conversation with her. "They must have filled you in all about pure-blooded families."

My gaze went up to her, and I chastised myself for how bad-mannered I was. "Are you one?"

"Yes, but before you ask, I'm not from the Twenty-Eight." She was visibly uncomfortable, fidgeting with her fingers for a full minute before talking again. When she spoke, she changed her face to sport a more carefree expression and returned to try to find me a better name than the one I had already chosen for myself. "Moira is a prettier name than Faraday or Katherine. That would be wonderful, don't you think? Your friends could call you Kat or Katie."

"I don't have any friends." I said. The words felt resonant and heavy on myself esteem, and though they no longer were true, I could remember vividly how it felt. Months had already passed, and now I've had friends for longer than when I didn't, but it still leave a sort of aching in my heart. Would I have to relieve my time of eternal solitude too?

My gaze went up, and I expected to see the young St. Mungo's Healer, but she wasn't my companion anymore. In her stead, and sitting on the chair next to my bed was Albus Dumbledore.

Wearing vibrant robes, he stared at me from behind his half-moon spectacles, alarming me with his sudden appearance. Much like with McPhail, this wasn't our first meeting. No, the occasion in which I had met the famous wizard was with Ministry Official present. He had been the one to introduce us. Dumbledore had then spent the remainder of the day with me, answering questions I came up with on the spot, and looking at me with his twinkling eyes that gave me the impression that he understood more of me than what I had said to him. The reason why it didn't take me long to realize it was either our second or third meeting was because I saw what he held in his hand. The me in the dream had stared at it transfixed the second he pulled it from within his robes.

"I would like to perform an experiment on you," Dumbledore's calm and pleasant voice carried over to me, and I was trapped to look at his face when I could precisely remember him handing me something very important at that very moment. It had been burn into my mind, as I was sure it was branded into every young witch and wizard. There was no other moment as special as that first second I grasp in my hand my one true wand. I couldn't feel it in the dream, but I looked down at it longingly.

"I've have this in my possession for a score of years," The Headmaster of Hogwarts began to speak. I didn't look at him. All I could see was my hand as I familiarized myself with the wand for the very first time. The wizard went on. "Thirteen inches, unyielding English Oak and a core of unicorn hair. I believe, and have extensively tested that this is the most loyal wand to have ever been created. No one but its original owner has been able to use it."

"What does that mean, Mr. Dumbledore?"

He gave me choice words, ones that I already knew what they meant. "It means that should you wield it successfully, I might have found the way to prove a connection with you and someone who arrived into our world in the very same manner, many centuries ago."

There was no curiosity on my part as to how he had gotten to that conclusion. I didn't talk. But hell, if I could take control over my body now, I would question him. I had a couple issues lined up, and I figured that it was best to hope I was still alive so the next time I met with the Headmaster, I could try getting answers. For the moment, I was following his instructions as to how to hold my wand. When I held it firmly, I pointed it to a vase on the nightstand. One of the other Healers always insisted on having fresh flowers in every room of the Hospital, and mine was no exception. However, they began to slowly glide up from the vase, one by one in a beautiful yellow parade. It was a heart-warming event to witness, the first time I ever did magic, and though I was enjoying the moment, a quick glance at Dumbledore killed it.

His face had lost his normal pleasant and serene composure, changing into one of excitement. Of course it did. His experiment worked. Somehow he had gotten to the conclusion that being able to use the wand would prove to whom I was related to. The validation of his theory must have been gratifying. With more instructions, Dumbledore taught me how to return the flowers to their original position. The flowers settled inside the vase and in their wake they left their sweet aroma lingering in the air.

Staring at me, studying me, Dumbledore gave the impression of looking inside my head for things that couldn't be found there. My body twitched under the gaze, clearly uncomfortable as the stare always made me. It was the stare of the scholar, the professor that had found a link to a mysterious part of history.

"Who am I connected to?"

"A very powerful and famous wizard." Dumbledore began, eyes moving from my face to my hand, where I held my wand."He appeared in the Middle Ages in the same manner as you did. Around the age of fourteen and sixteen, he fell from the skies and when he awoke, he had no recollection of a life before that exact moment. Nevertheless, he rose up to be a wizard of unparalleled power. All in our world know of him. His name was Merlin Ambrosius."

"I've heard that name!" I suddenly said.

He raised a brow. "Have you? From where?"

"I, I don't know." I said looking down to the wand. Thinking about it, I still had no clue as to how I knew. It had been a totally unexpected moment; the words had left me on their own accord.

When I looked up to the professor again I wasn't sitting in my bed anymore, and he was nowhere in the room.

There was a book opened in front of me, and I supposed I was reading from it. I knew I sat on a desk. Dumbledore had asked for one to be put in my room the minute he had discovered I was a descendant of Merlin. After that, he brought a stack of books that he wanted for me to read. Since I had nothing better to do alone in my St. Mungo's room most of the time, I began to look into them. The books I had been lent were for beginners, the one I had laid out I could recognized to be A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration by Emeric Switch. As I stared at the opened page, a dark drop landed on it. I looked at it strangely, not seeing it or what it was instantly because of the lack of color. But when a third and then forth droplet marred the book page, I knew what it was. My realization was followed by my arms grabbing at my head, fighting against the pressure of pain I knew I had set free upon my head with the beginning of my learning.

As I put a hand to my face to stop the flood of blood from dropping down, I realized it was the first time I experienced blood knowledge.

AN: Weird place to end, I know.

So if it wasn't clear enough already, this was a flashback chapter. An official flashback. Faraday is reliving some important (convenient for the story) parts of her life. The second part will hopefully come around shortly. I can't make any promises.

Now, I know dreams consist more of images than nothing else, and that here I didn't concentrate as much on building them as I normally do, but I got an explanation for that. I hadn't a clue as to how explain what I had in my head in a cohesive way and this was the only way I found. I was stuck, really stuck, for a long time so I decided to take the easy rout out.

Also as a nice tidbit, go to Pottermore and look for the description for English oak wands. It was an exciting surprise for me when I was looking with Litzyreads for Faraday's wand XD.