Into the Darkness

Into the Darkness
bluemoon

Hi, this is my first serious HP fic, and so I would appreciate it if you would give me some feedback on anything—if you think that I could do something to make it better, then please suggest it. I'm not saying that I will use it, but I might and, regardless, it will help!

Prelude

In Britain, a tousle-haired boy awakens abruptly as a sharp pain strikes through the thin, faint, lightning-bolt shaped scar upon his forehead. Harry Potter brushed the dark, damp fringe of bangs from his eyes and held his forehead as he gasped, waiting for the pain to stop, while feeling oddly triumphant.

He knew that it was because Lord Voldemort, the most feared and hated Dark Wizard, was feeling the same pain.

Harry didn't care about that, however. He was trying to keep himself from the memories of his darkened past, thus welcoming any distraction, including pain.

He had been having the nightmares again.

Cedric was begging him to rescue him, not to let Voldemort kill him, while Sirius was trapped in a furious battle with his own sinister cousin. He was edging closer and closer to the swinging tattered black curtain.

Only Harry, it seemed, knew what lay beyond that curtain and Sirius would not pay any attention to his godson, who was telling him, begging him, commanding him, pleading with him to stop.

He could only save one of them, and in the end, both died while he stood there, helpless.

And then he heard the scream of his parents.

It came almost every night, this dream. Tears began to soak his cheeks as he sat in his bed, the awful memories surging through him. Why him? Why always him? Why was he the one that always had to save the day? Why couldn't it be different?

“Petrificus Totallus,” came a soft voice. He felt himself instantly freeze, unable to move in any way as the full body bind came into effect.

Suddenly, a man was standing by his bed, with dull, beady eyes, a twitchy nose, a gaunt and unhealthy-looking face, and a hand that seemed to be made of pure silver. It was Peter Pettigrew, the man who had murdered Cedric and also, in essence, his parents. Wormtail, the servant of Lord Voldemort.

Harry felt rage rise like a living beast within him. This was a man who he could easily use his rage and sorrow and frustration and hurt on, this was one who should be doomed to a horrible fate, this was one who deserved to die, and why shouldn't Harry kill him?

Harry, however, was paralyzed, unable to lift his wand to do anything, but some small corner of his mind reminded him that even if he was free, he wouldn't do anything.

`Why shouldn't I?' he demanded furiously of the doubting corner. The last time he had seen this man, he had used Harry in order to bring his master back to life.

That had also been when he had lost his hand.

`Because it would be wrong,' said that utterly annoying voice. But hadn't it been wrong when this thin, sniveling, rat-faced man had betrayed his own parents to Voldemort? Hadn't it been wrong when he had raised his wand and used the killing spell on Cedric, even through he had been helpless?

Harry glared murderously at the man.

Death was too good for him.

“Hello, Harry,” he said in a thin, nasal voice. “I'm not here to kill you, but to make you an offer on behalf of my master.”

Harry continued glaring up at him, and snorted sarcastically. Voldemort did not make offers—at least not any that were to the benefit of the receiving end.

“You've grown troublesome, Harry Potter,” said the man, and Harry snorted derisively once again. It seemed to be the only way of expressing his feelings at the moment. Troublesome, he called it? “And my master wishes to be rid of you. Unfortunately, you've proven exceptionally hard to kill, and so he has decided to let you make a choice.

“I'm here to tell you that choice, Harry. You can stay here, as you are, and be killed by Lord Voldemort, or else he will invoke a spell that he has found in his research. It will allow you to slip into another world, a world just touching ours, where everything would be different.”

Harry wanted to tell him just where he and his master could go, but his mouth was still frozen. Lacking any other alternative, he continued to glare at Wormtail as hatefully as he could.

“Your parents would be alive, Harry,” said Wormtail.

Harry froze.

His parents….

How?

“So would Cedric and Sirius. You wouldn't remember anything that happened here.

“All the nightmares, gone.”

Harry hardly breathed.

His parents? Cedric? Sirius??? All of the dreams that haunted him, gone? Just like that?

`This is Voldemort we're talking about', he thought to himself, `This can't turn out well'.

But his parents.

He wanted to say no.

He wanted to say no.

He wanted to say no.

He wanted…

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Once again, please review!

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Chapter One

“No…don't…you can't…HARRY!!!!!!”

Suddenly Hermione Granger sat up in bed, screaming. Her mother ran into the room moments later, her gentle red curls bouncing, before sitting down next to her daughter. Hermione however didn't take notice; she just sat in bed shuddering.

“Harry…where am I…where are you…I can't see anything, Harry! I'm missing! It's black…oh, it's so black…”

She began shuddering violently and sobbing. Her eyes weren't focused on anything; she seemed to be in another world.

“Hermione!” her mother shouted, gripping her daughter by the shoulders.

“It's so black,” the witch sobbed, “help me, it's so black. Wait…Mama?”

Mrs. Granger held her daughter, trying to quell her shivers.

“Yes dear, it's me.” The woman's fears began to subside. The girl turned and looked at her, though her eyes didn't focus.

“Why are you here, mama? It's so black…why are you here? Green…green fire…I can't see him! Harry, Harry, why did you? How could you? It's so cold…so cold….”

The fears came rushing back in full force and she began to feel panic rising in her. Quickly she moved to suppress it. She had to stay calm if she was to help her daughter.

“I'm here sweetheart. Come back to me.” Tears began to pour down her cheeks. “Come back to me, my love. I can't live without you.”

“No, where? It can't…no, it can't be…Papa? No, no, no!” Suddenly, the girl collapsed into her mother's arms, weeping as though her heart would break.

“You can't be here…no…you can't be….”

Mr. Granger suddenly burst into the room.

“I was outside,” he gasped, looking frantically at his daughter, “Is she alright? What is she doing?” He was afraid. His girl didn't act like this; she was always calm and cool, always collected, always reasoning, always thinking.

“Harry!” she suddenly interjected in a muffled scream, cutting both of them off. “Harry, don't leave me here! Why am I here? Where are you?” The muffled sobs started up again.

The two adults looked at each other gravely, panic that each was attempting to fight off in both their eyes.

“Stay calm,” they told each other, “if you have a panic attack, it will leave her there longer. You have to be calm to think.”

“We have to get her back,” said the mother simply, “but I don't have any ideas. Do you?”

“Do you remember when Professor McGonagoll came and told us that she had magic?” he asked, “and that one of the ways they monitored people who could give birth to wizarding children was looking at the parents?”

She looked up, her eyes shining with suppressed tears, but with a new expression of almost fearful hope on her face.

“Do you think…”

“It's all I can think of. Lets try calling her back home together.”

Silently, both of them took one of their daughter's hands

`Come back to me,' they called together. Somehow, they could sense each other's actions. `Come back, my heart's own.' Both reached into the well of courage in their mind and drew out all that they could, sending it through their hands, into the void. `Let me guide you home.'

They visualized a light, a small, wavering silver spark floating wildly on a breeze like a stray ember from a campfire, a spark that would lead her home.

`Come back to us.'

“Mama? Papa?”

The adults almost collapsed with relief as their daughter's eyes began to focus in again, her tears becoming more natural. “Oh mum, dad,” she said, tears flowing freely down her face, “it was dark…so dark…the darkest thing that I've ever experienced…and cold… It was pulling me in,” she said, looking up and attempting to halt the stream of tears. “And…” something seemed to hit her with all the weight of a ton of bricks. “Oh mum, he's made a mistake, a huge mistake, I have to talk to Professor Dumbledore right now…he'll know what to do…” She paused and looked at her parents once more and hugged them, before leaping up and searching the huge trunk at the foot of her bed for something. When she found what she was looking for, a long, narrow piece of aspen, she quickly pulled it out and ran to the window.

“Hermione, aren't you forbidden to do magic away from school?”

She quickly brushed the question aside. “Since I'm a prefect, I'm allowed to do a few minor charms just so long as I'm discreet about them.” She made a small move that twitched the end of her wand and muttered “postarious.” Almost immediately, a handsome dappled brown owl swooped down and landed on the windowsill.

“Wait a sec,” she muttered, quickly grabbing a quill, piece of parchment and bottle of ink from her desk. Quickly she scribbled a rather messy, ink-stained note. The pen even ran out halfway through the letter “E.”

Professor Dumbledore,
I NEED YOUR HELP!!! COME AS QUICKLY AS YOU CAN!!!
Hermione

“Here,” she said, giving it to him. When he waited on the sill, looking disapproving, she suddenly remembered. “Oh, sorry.” She ran back to the trunk, dug out a soft leather purse and pulled out three little bronze coins. Quickly, her hands slightly shaking, she pushed them into a small pouch tied to his leg. “Go now, go, go, I need to contact Professor Albus Dumbledore of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry right away!” The owl hooted almost disdainfully and soared off into the night air.

“Hermione, this is not like you. What's wrong?”

Hermione turned and faced her parents, giving them a small, quavering smile.

“I'm sorry. I'm just afraid, and I need to act now, and I can't legally apparate yet, and I need to talk to Professor Dumbledore right away, and it couldn't wait, and-”

“Shhhhh dear, we understand that from what few words you let slip. Why do you need to see the headmaster?”

Hermione sank onto the bed, burying her face in her hands. “He's made a mistake, mum. He's made a huge mistake, and I don't know what it is, but I have to fix it because it's one of those ones, if you know what I mean, and I have to talk with the headmaster to see what he thinks and to see if he can solve it or if we're all going to die, because Voldemort is back, and we need him, we can't get by without him, and-”

“Who dear? Who is this vital person that made a mistake and how do you know that they did?”

The girl finally looked up, slightly shamefaced. “Oh mum, this is going to sound crazy, but I know that he made a mistake because I saw it in my dream. I swear I'm not crazy, and I swear that it did happen, something about it pulled me away, and it was dark, and it was cold, and I was scared, oh, so scared, but I have to stop it or everything will go wrong-”

“Who Hermione?” Mrs. Granger asked, more pointedly.

The young witch looked up in surprise. “Who? Well, Harry, of course. Harry Potter.”

“Harry?” she asked. “Who is Harry?”

Hermione was thunderstruck.

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Chapter Two

When Harry woke up, just for a second, everything seemed somehow very, very wrong. His head ached as though it had been splitting open along his scar. His next thought was, `What scar?' He didn't have any scars save the small round one on his wrist, the souvenir of a burn from when he was small.

The next strange idea that reared its head was that someone had for some reason kidnapped him in order to give him a far nicer room then his original one, this was no cupboard under the stairs—wait, cupboard? This had always been his room, this small, bright little red room, decorated with posters of various quidditch teams, the players waving cheerfully or zooming around, doing loop de loops or huge corkscrews.

`Well,' he thought, `I certainly never had anything this nice at the Dursleys'—wait, who were the Dursleys? Harry remembered then, they were his relatives, the only ones on his mother's side that he knew of. He vaguely recalled his mum mentioning her sister—Petunia, he thought it was, and her husband, Vernon. They also had a son, about his age, who had some funny name…started with a “D…” What was it?

It didn't really matter, he decided at last. Why would it? After all, he had never met his cousin.

“Harry!” came a somewhat irritated shout, “Good grief boy, are you going to sleep all day?”

Harry rolled his eyes and threw back the covers on his bed, smiling. “Coming, Mum!” he yelled back down the stairs.

He skipped down the stairs, kissed his mother on the cheek and sat down at the little round kitchen table. Halfway through breakfast he began grinning widely as he heard a roaring thrum above the house. Lily sighed. “Well, it looks like Sirius is here.”

Harry grin widened to the outer limits of what was physically possible.

“Oh, you won't be good for anything else as long as he's here. Go on. I know that you want to.”

“Thanks mum!” He ran over and gave her a hug and then ran into the backyard, where he saw a stag and a giant black dog. The dog ran over and tackled him, licking his face enthusiastically. The stag was slightly calmer, but finally came over to the boy's side and, lowering his head, used his great antlers to flick the other animal away.

Instantly they began chasing each other around the yard, the dog barking excitedly and the stag tossing its enormous head and lifting its hooves high in the air.

“Dad, Sirius, stop it!” he yelled, running after them. The dog tackled the stag, which fell down, and then…wasn't there anymore. Neither was the dog, two men had taken their places. Harry tripped over them both and got tangled in the heap of limbs and shaking, laughing bodies. Finally the three black-haired people sat up, still laughing so hard that they had a difficult job remaining upright.

“So, Sirius,” said one gasping, wheezing individual, “what brings you to my house on this fine day?”

The man in question climbed to his feet, still laughing, and said, “It's my motorbike. The invisibility mechanism seems to be giving out, and as Lily got top marks on the charms portion of her N.E.W.T.s, I figured that we could all work on it together. I've invited Arthur Weasley over too—you know that we'd never hear the end of it if he got left out of pulling apart some muggle machinery.”

“And I'm good for nothing, I suppose.”

“Oh, `acourse not James. You can shine shoes fairly well. Dig ditches, paint walls—”

Harry's father laughed and tackled him again, cutting the boy's godfather off in mid-recital.

Harry could almost hear his mother sighing from inside and a few seconds later, right on queue, the two old school friends were lifted from the ground where they hung, several feet away from one another. “Stop roughhousing, you two,” came the call out of a window. “Just think of the example you're setting for Harry. Corrupting him, you are.”

“Hey Sirius,” asked the youth, who happened to think that his corruption was a lot more interesting then what normally went on round his house, “is Ron coming with his dad?”

“Lily, are you going to let me down sometime this century?” he roared through the open window.

“Only if you promise to behave!”

“Fine, fine,” he grumbled as he began floating back to the ground. When he began mumbling under his breath, the invisible support suddenly let out, leaving him to crash to the ground. “Right nuisance your wife can be, James,” he said as he picked himself up again.

“What was that?”

“Nothing!”

“Right then, Harry. Of course Ron's coming! I didn't think that you'd forgive me if I invited his dad but not him! Ginny's coming too, if Melody's up yet.”

“I bet she isn't,” Harry muttered darkly. “Honestly, girls.”

“Go and get her, Harry,” James said, finally coming down to greet the lawn again himself. “Now, Sirius, let's go and start fiddling, shall we?”

“Dad, do I have to?”

“Yes. Now go!”

Harry sighed as he went to wake his little sister up. He supposed that she wasn't bad, as sisters went, but when she and Ginny got together they had a rather nasty tendency to talk for a while, look at him, and then giggle madly. Ginny always blushed as she looked at him, giggling away. He was sure that they were laughing at him, but he never quite understood why. Was he really that funny? And then, to his horror, he found that he was blushing, just thinking about it!

`Why are girls always giggling anyway?' he wondered disconsolately. `I mean, what do they find that's so funny?' Yes, he supposed, his hair never would lie really flat unless he used copious amounts of Sleek-ez hair potion, but that stuff was for girls! The only time (thankfully) that he had ever had the stuff on his head was when, at the age of seven, his mother had decided enough was enough and frozen him with a charm to apply it for the family photos for greeting cards and so on that year.

Harry (he was always pleased to see) had walked out of every single copy of that particular photo. Luckily his mum had never pulled that stunt again. He had, however, rehearsed the counter-charm to the full body bind ever since he had learned what it was.

He paused by the door of his sister's bedroom. Melody Ann had auburn hair, like her mother, (when she was awake) sky-blue eyes, and was (also when awake) one of the most annoying creatures in existence.

`You'd never know when she's sleeping,' Harry thought, a bit resentfully, as he looked down at her. She looked so innocent, lying there in her Winnie-the-Pooh nightshirt. Yet another case of never being able to trust what you see.

“Melody,” he called reluctantly from the door, “Dad says get up now.”

The girl opened her eye, peeked at him, closed her eye again and muttered something about it not even being dawn yet and to come back at a more reasonable hour. Harry glanced at the clock (it was past 10) and sighed. Melody was prone to exaggeration.

“Listen, Ginny's coming over and if you don't get up, Dad is going to send her home!”

“What?” she shrieked, leaping from her pink, lace-trimmed bed to the pink floor. In his younger years, Harry hadn't even dared enter what he had perceived as being a horrifyingly lacy, pink torture chamber—and that had contained such things as Pretty Pretty Princess sets and Barbie houses in its unexplored depths.

He turned around now, rolling his eyes. “She's coming!”

He started down the stairs again, his hands in his pockets.

At least she was up now.

Smiling, he headed off to the shed were various clanging noises were emitting.

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I have never been, or ever will be, a teenage boy, and so if anyone has any suggestions on how to write Harry they are free to tell them to me. Trust me, I can take criticism. Constructive criticism only please, if you are going to tell me just how much I am doing something wrong, then give me suggestions on how to do it right.

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Chapter Three

Hermione stared at her parents. “WHAT? Mum, if this is a joke, it's not funny. What do you mean, who's Harry? Oh, well, only my best friend, that's all.” She almost stopped at that, confused by what she had just said.

What about Ron?

She brushed her confusion aside for the moment and continued. “Only the boy who lived. Only the person who Lord Voldemort's been trying to kill all these years. That's all! I've only mentioned him in practically every letter I've written!”

Her parents stared at her. “Honey,” her mother began haltingly, “you must still be dreaming. You've never mentioned anything about a Harry-”

“Harry, mum, Harry Potter, the guy who has a scar shaped like a bolt of lightning on his forehead, the guy who Voldemort's been trying to get rid of all this time, the little star of the Griffindor Quidditch Team, the only person ever to survive the Avada Kadavra curse, the youngest seeker in 100 years, the boy who stopped Voldemort getting the philosopher's stone, the one who closed the chamber of secrets, the person who won the triwizard tournament, the person in the prophecy that everyone was so hot after last year! I've told you about him dozens of times!”

Her parents looked back and forth, clearly worried.

Suddenly, downstairs, there was a sharp crack. Hermione sighed and jumped up, racing down the stairs, leaving her parents staring at one another.

“What do you suppose is wrong?”

“I don't know. At least Professor Dumbledore is coming, maybe he can explain. If it's a spell, at least…. But….”

Mr. Granger finished his wife's sentence. “But, if it's a spell, then who is targeting Hermione, and why?”

No explanation that they could think of set their troubled minds to rest.

Down the stairs, the object of their concern was rushing from room to room when the doorbell rang.

Hermione ran to the door and yanked it open, like the lid on a Jack-in-the-Box. There, just outside, stood an old man with a long white beard and hair of equal length. His blue eyes, normally so merry, were grave as they surveyed her.

“Hermione, I believe you said you needed me.”

“Oh Professor Dumbledore, I'm so glad you're here! Somethings gone wrong with Harry, he made a mistake. I don't know how, but I dreamed it and he made some awful mistake, and I can't feel him now! I have been able to all summer long so far, I don't really know why, but now he's gone! And then when I tried to tell my parents, they said that they hadn't ever heard of a Harry Potter, but I've told them about him so many times!” She could feel the tears that she had forced back welling up again as she wrung her hands. “Oh Professor, you need to come and see my parents and we all need to figure out what happened. I'm scared!”

The headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry moved slightly, putting his hand on the young girl's shoulder. “Hermione, if I am to have the pleasure of understanding you, you will need to speak a little bit slower. Take a deep breath and say what you needed me for again, and this time take your time.”

“That's what I'm trying to say, we don't have any time!”

“Time will not be wasted in translating your story for me. I won't be able to help until I know what is going on.” The man was calm, but then of course he was calm, he was always calm.

Always.

Normally Hermione appreciated this, but now she just wanted to scream at him, “Don't you have any idea what is going on? THIS INVOLVES HARRY POTTER!”

“Take a deep breath and begin at the beginning, please.”

The witch did as he suggested and began to gulp air in an attempt to calm herself. Vaguely she registered her parents coming down the stairs and sitting down on together on the faded, striped couch behind her.

“A deep breath, Hermione. I didn't say to hyperventilate. Remember, Madame Pomfrey isn't here to help if you faint and I am not nearly so skilled at healing as she.”

The girl complied with his wishes and took one last breath, holding it for a second before beginning to speak.

“I know that normally this would sound crazy, but Harry did have that true dream last year, and so I thought….

“Oh Professor Dumbledore, Harry's made a mistake, I don't know how but somehow he isn't here anymore, he's somewhere else. I know because I dreamed it. I'm not sure what I dreamed, but it's some part of the place he was sent and it was dark and it was cold and… there was green fire all around me.

“And more then that, I've been able to feel him all summer. I can't really explain how but somehow I know where he is and how he feels. It's strange, and I would've thought that I was just imagining things but he had sent Hedwig to me a few times with letters saying what he had been doing, and he was always doing what I felt he was! I'm not going crazy, he really did write me.

“And now, it's like there's this huge empty space that used to be filled with my knowledge of him and I don't know what's causing it, but we have to fix it!”

Albus frowned slightly. “First of all, we need to get on the same page. Who is Harry?”

Hermione stared for a few seconds, and then slowly sank to the floor, holding her head as she began to cry.

“No one remembers, no one remembers but me, it's like he doesn't exist anymore, it's like he never did,” she said sobbed quietly. “I know something's wrong, but no one else even knows that Harry exists… It's like I've gone crazy….”

Slowly the headmaster lowered himself to the level of his student. Placing one spindly hand beneath her chin, he tipped it up, forcing their eyes to meet. “My dear, I am not saying that your story is not true and I am not saying that there is no Harry. What I am saying is that I do not remember ever knowing any such person. However, I will be the last to claim perfection. Hermione, you are quite possibly the cleverest witch in the school at the time and are most certainly not crazy.

“That leaves us with three options, that you imagined Harry, that a spell was cast to make you look crazy for saying things about a Harry Potter, or that a spell was cast and for some reason only you can remember that he ever existed.

“This last one is not entirely outside the realm of possibility, and the first might also be true, depending on what you remember, but I think the second is just not practical. Unless you have more enemies then I am aware of, there is no one who would be motivated to cast such a spell.

“So, we have eliminated two of the possibilities. Let us now endeavor to root out a third.

“Tell me. Who is Harry Potter? What did he do? How did you meet him?”

So Hermione told him.

She told him of their meeting on the Hogwarts Express and how Neville had lost Trevor and of Scabbers biting Goyle's finger.

She told him of the sorting and of how relieved Harry had seemed when the hat put him in Griffindor. She told him of that first flying lesson, when she had been afraid and Harry hadn't and of Malfoy throwing the Remeberall and Harry diving.

“He was so fast,” she said, “I could barely watch!”

She told him of how that stunt had landed him a position on the Griffindor Quiddich team. “He was the youngest player in 100 years, the seeker, you know, but Professor McGonagoll said that he was just too good for the team to wait even a year for—that none of the people who had auditioned for the newly vacated seeker position were any good and how she just wouldn't be able to stand it if Slytherin won the Cup again.”

She told him about the midnight duel and the trapdoor. She told him of the broomstick and Ron saying she was impossible Halloween and her running to the girl's toilet to cry and missing the feast and the announcement that the troll was loose and Harry and Ron saving her by bravery and sheer, dumb luck and how she had taken the fall and how after that they had been friends.

She told him of the search for Nicholas Flammel and Norby and the race for the Philosopher's Stone and Quirrel.

She told him of how the chamber had been opened the next year and the voices Harry was hearing and how they had discovered he was a parselmouth at the dueling club.

In short, she told him everything, everything that she could remember, every detail that could make the tale seem more real, even to her. For no one else remembering had begun to make her even doubt herself, and she told the story she found herself nodding at certain parts and laughing at others and nearly crying at others.

She told him of Sirius's escape on Buckbeak and everyone's part in that and of Harry's Paronus and her own (it's a silver otter, he taught me how) and the DA and anything else she could remember.

The telling took hours, but she felt relieved when she was done.

There was a strange sense of comradeship with the old man sitting in front of her, in her father's favorite recliner chair, when she was done. At least now one other person knew everything.

After she had finally finished, he just leaned back and thought.

“This is an interesting history you tell me, and I'm sorry to say that I remember very little of it.

“It makes sense though, and there are obviously too many clear details of everything from emotions to the tone of his voice, for you to have made it up. Too many for someone casting a spell, even, for no one would think of putting all of these details into your memories. I don't think that they would even be able to come up with all of them.

“This only leaves the option that for some odd reason, everyone else has forgotten him. Now, the only question is why…. Let me think…..

“Tell me about your dream again.”

Hermione hesitated, and then began. “It started off as a normal dream. I was home, in a giant orange jellybean with glass walls and floors, when the doorbell rang. I went to answer it but there was no one there when I finally arrived.”

She paused.

“It's strange, really, but now that I think of it, on the way back the doorknobs had changed.

“When I went down to the front door, they had been glass, just like everything else, but when I was going back to my room, they were silver…. It's probably nothing, but it stands out in my mind, now that I think of it….

“I was feeling angry, after I answered the door and headed back, angry like I've hardly ever been before, the anger that makes you want to hurt, makes you want to make other people suffer.

“Another strange thing is there was a rat running down the hall. He was silver, but he looked nasty.

“The doorbell rang again then, and I went back down to answer it, feeling confused now, and still slightly angry, and undecided. It was the feeling you get when you're not sure what's right anymore.

“I put my hand on the knob, and suddenly I knew that something was very, very wrong with Harry.

“He was about to make a mistake, I don't know what, and I tried to stop him, but I couldn't reach him.

“I didn't want to open the door then, but it was somehow forced open and outside there was this terrible darkness.

“It was… oh, you can't imagine. I hadn't known that anything that dark could actually exist. It wasn't just the presence of dark; it was the absence of light.

“It pulled me too, it pulled me from my jellybean home out into it and as soon as it touched me I knew I was lost and that Harry had made that mistake, a mistake that could literally change everything that I knew.

“I said it was dark… how do I explain… somehow there was also fire. The flames were green and even though they didn't shed any light I could see them. They were surrounding me, licking at my hair and face and hands. It was strange though, it was like, instead of heat, they shed cold, bitter cold like the depth of winter.

“Anywhere I looked I could see nothing but the blackness and the towering sheets of green flame and the white that was my breath.

“It was freezing, I couldn't feel my fingers or my toes and my mind had started to slow down when I saw something.

“My mother was in front of me.

“I cried, and could practically feel the tears freeze on my cheeks as I saw her, because not only was she in this horrible place, she was pearly-white and see-through, like the ghosts. And then I saw my father too, he appeared next to her.

“I think I screamed then, and all of my will just went out of me. I collaped, I would never be able to get away from this place that I was beginning to think more and more was death and my mother and father were here, and they were dead, even if I wasn't.

“Some time later, I don't know if it was seconds or days, something else happened. I saw a spark, a shivering little wavery silver spark, that seemed to dance in front of me.

“It was the only light that I had seen, and you would think that it should've blinded me after so much time, but it didn't. It seemed warmer then everything else too, and so when it seemed to say, follow me, I let it guide me.

“I'm not sure how long I walked, but things seemed to get warmer as I went along, and then there was a bright light in front of me and I ran for it and then… it was odd, as it wasn't really waking up, I felt like I had already been awake, but I arrived here, in my bed, with my mum and dad holding my hands.

“That's when I sent you that owl, Professor.”

Albus Dumbledore steepled his fingers and leaned back slightly with a sigh.

“I'm afraid to confess that I am not sure what your dream means, though we might be able to divine an answer—after all, if this is what I think it is, then theoretically, we have all the time in the world.”

Hermione looked curiously at him.

“What do you mean?”

“If this dream is indeed a result of the spell I am thinking of, a spell I have only heard of, and a bond between you and young Mr. Potter.

“It would certainly explain the circumstances.”

Hermione didn't have a clue what he was talking about.

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Whoa, long chapter. This single chapter is almost as long as all three of the previous chapters and the prelude combined.

Anyway, not the best place to end, but whatever. I hope you like it.

Review please!

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