Unofficial Portkey Archive

Somnium Insidiae
by cali-chan.

#5

"Wait... Are you telling me to find out if this Herma-person was ever in Hogwarts?"

Harry sighed, annoyed at Ron's attitude. He knew it didn't sound logical, but it was the truth!

After coming down from the girls' room, Harry found himself under his classmates' curious gazes, as they wondered why he'd run out so suddenly towards the girls' dorms. Harry, obviously, had no idea how to explain his actions. Parvati and Lavender later declared that the new arrangement of the furniture wasn't terribly bad, and that maybe they would leave it that way for a while. Dean asked jokingly if Harry had decided that his new calling was towards interior design-- they all laughed, but nobody really got the joke (wizards, after all). While the other Gryffindors were distracted, Harry pulled Ron to a corner where they could talk without being bothered.

"HERMIONE. And yes, that's exactly what I'm saying. Will you do it or what?" he replied harshly, quickly losing his patience.

"Harry... you're making me think that having a girlfriend really DOES fry a guy's brain cells," Ron shot back, staring at him like he had not only a few screws loose, but the whole structure.

"Look- Ron- I- argh!" the boy exclaimed, passing his hands through his hair. "Think what you want. But can you PLEASE do what I tell you?!"

Ron thought about it for a couple more seconds and then shrugged. "Okay, then. But if I get in trouble, I'm blaming you."

"Good. Thanks." Harry turned around to go to his dorm and comb his hair again. If his mother saw him as he was at the moment, she'd let him have it and he didn't want to be humiliated in front of Cho. He was already going up the stairs when Ron called him again. "What?"

"You've gotta write the name down for me, mate, 'cause I swear I'll forget it. What sane parents would give their daughter such a crazy name, anyway? Mental, they must be..."

Harry sighed and ran to get a piece of parchment.

He was seventeen minutes late when he finally made it to the entrance to the Head Students' dorms. Cho wasn't waiting for him outside, but luckily he found the ghost of the Grey Lady, who was coming from the Common Room. Somewhat desperately he asked her to go look for Cho and let her know that he was outside, waiting for her. The Lady looked at him like she was reluctant, but went in anyway and Harry knew she'd done as promised because Cho came out the door a few minutes later.

"Hello! I've been waiting for a while," she commented, walking towards him to greet him with a kiss.

Harry had the decency to blush a little. "I'm sorry. I had to help... Ron... with something from our, uh, Transfiguration project. I'm sorry I kept you waiting," he said as he took her hand and started walking towards the main entrance.

"Ah, don't worry. You know? It's one of the things I like the most about you... your give priority to helping those who need you," she explained, leaning her head on her boyfriend's shoulder. Harry hugged her by the waist, feeling a little guilty. What would Cho say if she knew he'd left her waiting because he was thinking of another girl? "Very few people do that," she continued, without knowing she was making Harry uncomfortable.

He tried to make things better, as he was starting to feel like a bug for not telling Cho the truth. He wasn't being the best boyfriend ever, that was for sure, but he wanted everything to go well that night. Kicking Hermione out of his mind, he tried to think of a way to compliment Cho.

"Erm... I like what you did to your hair, Cho."

She looked up and at him with a strange expression. From her every possible reaction to his compliment, this was the one he least expected. "What? Did I say something wrong?"

"What do you mean?" she replied, letting go of her hand.

Harry, who at the moment was sure he'd screwed up somehow, tried to straighten things out. "Uh, your new hairdo. Is it a perm charm, or a potion? Because-- uh-- it looks great, really..."

Now Cho crossed her arms and frowned. "Harry, I don't know what you're talking about. My hair has always been curly!"

It was almost eleven when Harry climbed up the stairs to his dorm room. He thought about the events of the day.

Contrary to what he'd expected, it had been the perfect evening. His mother had been perfectly nice to Cho. She hadn't made any kind of inadequate questions or embarrassing comments, as it often occurred when mothers met their sons' first girlfriends and all that. What was more, as the end of dinner approached, his mother and Cho seemed like they've been friends for years. Even Gwynn behaved like the perfect young lady; not once did she make one out-of-place comment, and she didn't even ask Harry why she hadn't brought Ron with him. And his father, so different to his classroom persona, spent all the time joking and making Cho laugh. In the end, the first meeting between his girlfriend and his family went excellent.

Yet Harry couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong.

Things were getting weirder by the second. And the fact that everything went well only confirmed that thought. He couldn't help but feel that something was going to go drastically wrong very soon. That was for sure; after all, that's how his life had been since forever: each time things seemed to be going well, some other tragedy came and it all went to hell.

Extending his hand to his room's doorknob, he shook his head. Tragedy? What tragedy? His life had been completely happy and normal up until that very day...

Those dreams were messing up his head. Yes, that was it. He just hoped that Ron was awake and could tell him if he'd found anything about Hermione's existence, or her non-existence, as it were. However, he wasn't that lucky, for Ron, just like their other roommates, was deeply asleep. Harry had no choice but to go to bed and wait until the next day to talk to him.

After crying some more, Hermione decided that her tears wouldn't be any help at all: if she wanted to figure out what was happening, she had to do something. She would at least try to discover the mystery behind this 'Harry Potter' before she admitted to herself that she was going crazy. There was a logical solution for everything in this world, and this wouldn't be the exception. So, she steeled her mind to be cold and impartial, and she threw herself onto this new mission, getting comfortable on her bed with a notepad, pencil and eraser. She just remembered that it took her roommate a little bit longer to come up, because she wanted to do this while she was alone and undisturbed.

Biting the end of her pencil, she thought of all the instances in her past in which she could have met the boy. It was the only explanation she could find, that she had met him somewhere and now her subconscious had decided to bring him back. She had, of course, passed by some more fantastic options, from prophetic dreams to telepathy, but she had never believed in magic and such things, and she wasn't going to start now. So she carefully checked her memories, looking for an answer. With such a privileged memory, it wasn't too hard.

A couple hours later, she found herself at zero again. She'd written down many memories, and she'd scratched out most of them. There were many occasions in which she'd met all kinds of people, especially with her parents in conventions and other meetings of the sort, but she could not remember ever having met a Potter family or a Harry Potter at any point. Maybe she was losing track somewhere...

A sound at the door interrupted her train of thought. First the doorknob shook, and then someone knocked on the door twice. "Granger! Open the door! Why are you locked in?!" she heard her roommate's voice.

Hermione got up and opened the door, frowning. She couldn't remember having locked it.

The girl walked in and Hermione once again sat on her bed, examining her notebook carefully. She wouldn't have a silent environment that would allow her to get to clear conclusions anymore, but she could at least do something.

Her roommate stared at her. "What are you studying? We don't have any homework, do we?" Taking something, possibly her bedclothes, out of her bag, she continued speaking before Hermione could answer. "Oh, wait, we do... thanks to you."

Hermione glared at her, but didn't dignify that comment with a reply. At least not out loud; "Not like she'd actually do the homework, anyway," she thought to herself, leaving the notepad aside to look out the window and down to the courtyard, where it seemed the boys were about to start another match. "Best two out of three!" some were yelling. "Two out of three!"

Looking up from the first draft of her Chemistry report, Hermione snuck a glance at her watch and noticed that it was after eleven pm. If she tried hard she could still hear the noise from the courtyard below, and she thought it strange that the chaperones had let the boys play until such a late hour. But she didn't give it a second thought and focused on doing her homework.

...after this the water flows into a container where the chlorine is mixed in; this is necessary to...

But she couldn't finish the phrase because she was interrupted by some yelling coming from the window. Curious, she rose from her bed and, seeing her roommate, who had been already asleep, also sit up, she looked out the window to see what was going on.

"Professor Jeevers!" she heard one of her classmates scream. They were all gathered together almost beneath the window, forming a circle, looking at whatever was in the middle. Hermione wasn't sure what it was, because their heads and their shadows didn't let her get a clear view, but she assumed it was one of the boys who had gotten hurt or something similar; that was very common in footie, right? "The ball hit him and then hit the window! I think he's got a cut on his forehead, he's bleeding..."

"Who got hurt?" her roommate asked, from her bed. Hermione was going to tell her she didn't know when she saw that the professors were coming up to the circle of boys. Professor Jeevers made them all stand to the side so he could see, also inadvertedly allowing Hermione to do the same.

It was Dylan.

"Oh, my God!"

"What? Who is it?" her roommate asked, but Hermione, in her anxiety, did not even reply. She ran out the door, without even thinking that she was wearing her sleepwear, only focused on going downstairs and making it to Dylan's side.

When she got to the courtyard, she knelt on the floor beside him. Professor Jeevers was pressing a handkerchief tightly against the boy's forehead, and it was drenched in blood. When he saw her there, he told her to hold the handkerchief in his stead while he went to call a doctor. Hermione, who was almost working herself into a panic when she saw the amount of blood that spilled around her, did not hesitate for a second when it came to making herself useful, and carefully started to clean the wound.

She finally stopped the blood and, shaking some sense back into her head, she eyed critically the cut. It didn't seem to be very deep; that calmed her a little. She had seen in some documentary that superficial wounds bled copiously, she that explained the hemorrhage. It was long, however. It started to the right side, at the top of his forehead, almost at the hairline, and dropped down with a twist until it was almost to the right eyebrow, where it met the nose. It would be a very peculiar scar, if such a thing existed. If you looked at it from a certain angle, it almost looked like...

Hermione's heart stopped for the second time in as many hours.

The cut was lightning-shaped.

Now she was completely sure she was going crazy. She could swear she had seen a scar exactly like this... on Harry Potter's forehead.

Luckily one of the guests at the hotel was a doctor, and could tend to Dylan quickly. He declared the wound was not critical, took a few stitches and told him to get some rest. Between a couple boys, they helped him go back to his room and left him tucked into bed, where he would sleep until the next day, when they'd go back to Nottinghamshire.

Hermione was the last to walk out of his room.

Having recovered consciousness some time before, Dylan was still a little dizzy. Maybe it was because of that, Hermione wondered later, or maybe because he was really so good a person that he had already forgiven her for that night's incident; but for whichever reason, when she was walking out of her room, he took her hand and kissed it, thanking her for being by his side. And Hermione felt wretched.

She walked up the stairs to the next floor with a heavy heart. She felt like the lowest creature on Earth. How could it be that, having such a wonderful person with her, she couldn't stop thinking about someone else, someone who probably didn't even exist? How to explain that when one of the most important people in her life got hurt and needed her more than ever, her mind went flying towards places that weren't real except in her subconscious? Was there any logic to that?

When she got to her room, she saw her roommate lying down on her bed again, covering herself with a blanket. She asked her to please close the window, because she was cold, and Hermione, who was already standing up anyway, did so.

From the darkness outside she could hear the noises of nocturnal animals coming out to start their waking hours. For a second she thought she saw something white revolving around the trees that surrounded the window and she thought that it could be the snowy owl she'd seen that afternoon, but the odds of that would be really low.

When she turned to go to bed, she found on it the papers she'd been writing on, and also the notepad where she'd scribbled everything concerning her dreams. Glaring at it with some resentment, she picked it up and threw it in the trashcan. She wasn't going to lose anymore time thinking about Harry Potter. They were just dreams, and nothing more.

She lowered all her other papers to the floor and laid down, still telling herself the same thing over and over: she had parents who loved her, an amazing boyfriend, good grades, good health... her life was almost perfect. She didn't need anything else. She wasn't going to think about Harry Potter anymore.

But then... why did she find herself wishing Dylan's eyes were green?

When Harry woke up the next morning, there was nobody else in the room. When he looked at his watch he understood why: it was almost eleven am. He'd slept in, and by a lot; and Ron couldn't wait for him because naaaahhhh, he lived to eat and couldn't stand being one minute late for breakfast. Muttering something under his breath about not needing enemies, he hurried up and got dressed, hoping he wouldn't miss breakfast altogether because he was too slow.

Walking down the hallways, he wondered if it was him who'd gone crazy, or if it was the world. It was almost unbelievable that two days ago his life was practically perfect, and now he couldn't shake off the feeling that something strange was going on; his girlfriend's hairstyle change and, more than anything else, the fact that he seemed to be the only one who noticed that there had been a change at all, were almost sure proof. The certainty that he was losing his mind, or that he wasn't, depended exclusively on whatever it was that Ron had found out after talking to Professor McGonagall; that is, if he had found something.

He was thinking about this so hard that he almost crashed into a Second-year Hufflepuff boy. Luckily someone called him at just the right moment, and he stopped on time.

"Mr. Potter," Professor McGonagall repeated at the same time Harry turned around. The woman's expression was serious and Harry was afraid Ron completely screwed up the past day.

"Uh... yes, Ma'am."

"I don't know what new trouble you're stirring up now," she declared, crossing her arms. "And I can't imagine why you'd be interested in gaining access to the Student Files, but I can tell you that they're strictly confidential and ask you to please not try again."

Harry let out a groan and buried his face in his hand. Ron hadn't just screwed up, he'd screwed up royally.

The Professor's eyebrow went up in an almost amused fashion. "Don't take it out on Mr. Weasley. He really tried, but you and I know that he's as subtle as an elephant."

Harry sighed. "I'm sorry, Professor. It won't happen again."

"Frankly, Potter, I must admit I'm intrigued about your motives. That was without a doubt one of the most unusual conversations I've had in my life. It makes me curious to know why you two would need such information."

Still with her arms crossed, she stared at him, expectantly. She obviously wanted to know the whole story. Harry, on his part, was kicking himself mentally. What could he do? He couldn't think up an excuse on the spot, he wasn't a good liar! He had no other choice but to tell her about his dreams, leaving out the parts about Cho's hair and the girls' dormitories, of course.

"...And I just wanted to know if she exists or if I'm going crazy," he concluded, rather weakly.

His Professor regarded him with a strange expression. For a moment Harry thought she was going to let him have it, but she didn't. "That's okay. Don't let it happen again."

Harry nodded and started to go on his way. He had already turned around to get to the Great Hall, when the elderly Professor called him again. "Mr. Potter." Harry turned to see her and was surprised to find her smiling at him. It was a rather sad smile, but still a rare thing to see, coming from the Deputy Headmistress. "You're not going crazy."

Harry's heart leapt to his throat. What she was implying with that phrase was... "You mean that--"

"Don't look for her anymore, Mr. Potter." And with that the Professor went back into her office, leaving Harry standing there, gaping, for a good couple of minutes.

At last, still shaking, he made it to the Great Hall and sat at the Gryffindor table across from Ron, who seemed to be going through his second serving of eggs and bacon. When he noticed Harry's arrival, Ron said hi and handed him a plate of food he'd saved for him, magically kept warm. A minute later he also noticed that Harry had not heard a single word he'd said and tried again.

"Hey, mate, I'm sorry, but I couldn't get anything out of McGonagall. I mean, really, I was lucky she didn't give me detention..."

Harry raised his hands to signal him to stop talking, and Ron did. Maybe Harry would tell him what the devil was wrong with him now.

"Ron, you're not gonna believe this..."

"...But I think I know who the green-eyed boy is."

Hermione looked at her in surprise, as she passed him the plate she had just washed. "You're having me on, right?"

Her mother smiled at her while she dried it. "Not at all. While you were out, I had time to look him up..." Leaving the plate in its place and the wipe she was using on the counter, Helena Granger walked out of the kitchen. Hermione quickly dried her hands and followed her.

When they got to the living room, she took a rather old photo album out from a closet and, sitting down beside her daughter on the couch, she laid it on her lap and opened it.

Hermione grimaced when she saw the photograph her mother was pointing to. "I think I remember him..."

Her mother nodded. "Yes, you do. Vernon Dursley. Your father and I have business ties with his company, for some parts for our medical instruments. One year they invited us to their Christmas party, and that's where you met him."

"Okay... what does that have to do with the green-eyed boy? Because I can assure you, this man isn't him, and neither is his son," she added, pointing to the fat boy who was standing next to Dursley on the picture.

Helena laughed. "I know, I know. But..." She moved on to the next pate, and pointed to another picture, similar to the previous one.

Hermione eyed it and found nothing to draw her attention. "It's them again."

"Look closer. Behind Mrs. Dursley."

Hermione took the album from her mother's hands and focused on the picture. And she noticed that, effectively, there was someone she hadn't noticed before, almost hiding behind that woman: a small, thin and pale boy, whose clothes and glasses seemed too big for him, and wearing such an amazed expression on his face that anyone would say he had never been at a party before.

"You can't really see his eyes, and the scar is a bit blurry, but the hair and the glasses..."

From the smile on her daughter's face, Helena knew she'd hit the jackpot. "Mum, it's him! I can't believe this... He looks much older in my dreams, but I've no doubt..."

"When that picture was taken, you were about seven years old. I think he was also about that age."

"Weird that he's popping up in my dreams now," Hermione muttered, more to herself, as she stood up. "Thanks, Mum. You took a weight off my shoulders."

"At least now we know you're not completely barmy," her mother quipped, putting the album back inside the closet. "What are you going to do now?"

"About the dreams?" the girl asked, stretching. "I won't think about that anymore, it's silly. I have to go up and finish my report, and then I'm head across the street to check how Dylan's doing."

"At least this time he wasn't knocked down too badly."

"With all the times he's gotten hurt playing that awful sport, it's a miracle that he hasn't gotten his name carved on one of the hospital beds," Hermione grumbled, walking upstairs towards her room and leaving her mother to wash the rest of the dishes.

Another day entirely dedicated to their Transfiguration homework, and Harry felt like his head would explode. Not only could he not concentrate after his conversation with Professor McGonagall, but it turned out that even if he was able to concentrate, he couldn't answer the questions because he simply had no idea what the answers were. And none of his classmates could help him because they were all as lost as the missing link. For some reason, none of the Sixth year Gryffindors took notes, or at least any notes that were good for something. If he thought about it, maybe they should name someone their official note-taker and that person could share with everyone...

Harry and Ron had decided to go and ask Tonks, who was their Defense against the Dark Arts teacher, but who knew a lot about Transfiguration, if she could help them. They were just about to go out through the Fat Lady's portrait, but before they could, someone opened from the other side and they met face to face with Professor McGonagall again.

"Mr. Potter, the Headmaster would like to speak with you."

Harry threw Ron a curious look. That was twice in one day he was called on by a Professor, which couldn't be a good thing. Ron shrugged, as if telling him that this time he hadn't done anything. Harry, not finding support from his best friend, sighed and quietly followed the Deputy Headmistress.

Harry had been in the Headmaster's Office plenty of times, not so much because he got in trouble but because of his parents, and the place never ceased to amaze him. That had to be the most magical place in the world; it hid all kinds of artifacts, books, maps and other things Harry was sure couldn't be found anywhere else. Not only that, but the raw magic that could be felt in the air was impossible to replicate.

The little baby phoenix that was resting on its perch cooed when it saw him, and Professor Dumbledore looked up. "Ah, Harry. I was expecting you. Sit down, if you please."

The Professor conjured up a chair and Harry sat on it, a bit hesitant. Dumbledore was acting too... serious. And that wasn't normal.

"Professor McGonagall tells me that you and Mr. Weasley have been performing a type of... investigation regarding a certain person's file..."

Ah. So it was about that. "I already promised Professor McGonagall that we wouldn't do it again, Sir."

"And that is very well and good," the Headmaster interrupted him before he could add anything else. "But I rather think that instead of just telling you not to do it again, I should explain to you the reason why you should not do it again."

Harry didn't understand. He knew perfectly well that the Student Files were confidential. Wasn't that the reason he'd gotten admonished? But Professor Dumbledore moved a hand over his desk and a roll of parchment appeared in front of him. Without another word, he opened it and handed it to Harry.

The first thing he noticed was that the picture that was in it wasn't moving, which was weird, he thought, for a file from a school of Witchcraft and Wizardry. But then, skipping over such details, he saw what the Headmaster was trying to tell him: it was the picture of a girl with bushy hair and a big smile that put on display her rather prominent upper incisive teeth. The picture was black and white, but Harry knew from the heart that her eyes, just like her hair, were brown-colored. And immediately under the picture, there was her name.

Mouth gaping, he stared at Professor Dumbledore. "It's... it's her! I knew it! I knew it wasn't just my imagination... She really exists!"

Dumbledore leaned his weight against his elbows on the desk and watched the boy in his euphoria. And his eyes, instead of shining brightly when gazing upon such happiness, got even darker.

"No, Harry... she existed."

--

author's notes!

doooom dooom DOOOOOOOOOM!

haha!

short chapter, i know. but when things start to speed up, i'm forced to deprive my paragraphs of a bunch of adjectives and as you can see, we're left without some filling. but look at it on the bright side, at least you get to the interesting part more quickly, and without as much ado!

as promised, you had both harry and hermione in one chapter. i hope that answers some of your questions (and brings up some new ones, as well...). the next chapter will also be like this one. like i said in the previous chapter, this fic is rolling down now. there are only seven chapters and an epilogue, so you'll find out what this is all about very soon. i just posted chapter 7 in spanish yesterday, so chapter six in english might just come out sooner than you thought.

thank you so much for all your reviews! i love hearing all your theories and explanations as to what's going on. thank you so much for reading and if you drop me a line in a review i will most certainly reply back, so go ahead and give it a try, i might reveal some little tidbit you'd be interested in.