Gillian didn't sleep that night. It had been about three o'clock when the dream had woken her. Her parents had shakily gone back to bed, but Gill went down to the living room and turned on the television, comforted by the noise. She stared at the ceiling, lost in thought and a memory that was not her own. 'Why did I see that?’ she thought to herself. ‘What happened on Wisteria Way? And,’ (most importantly) ‘who or what is Harry Potter, and why was he in my dream?’
The dream wasn’t like others. It didn’t shy from reality in the waking hours, but the blurred edges sharpened themselves making more sense as she woke. She could tell, now, that the boy tied to the large headstone had been Harry Potter. She knew it was all connected to him, that he had been the key figure in the dream. ‘He would know,’ she thought, ‘who the dead boy was and why I was there.’
Around nine o’clock, after the rest of the house had woken up, Gillian kissed both of her parents on the cheek and said she was going to the park. They watched anxiously after her but let her go. It was daytime, the neighborhood was awake and the park wasn't far from the house. Plus, she'd be safe with the neighborhood on the watch; that morning, no too long before Gillian left, they had called all of their neighbors whose numbers they knew and warned them, and told them in turn to tell everyone they knew. The news traveled quickly, it was wonderful gossip. "A man," they were told, "was spotted last night on Magnolia Crescent and he attacked Gillian Polkiss!"
The Polkisses had decided to go and visit the Dursleys that afternoon, but Gillian wanted to get to them first; she was going to see Harry Potter.
She arrived at the Dursleys and hesitated. They didn't really know her, and Harry definitely didn't. How would they react to her coming and asking about what had happened last night? Nonetheless, she rang the doorbell. She heard labored footsteps inside and soon a large, purple-faced man with an over-sized mustache opened the door.
"Yes?" demanded Mr. Dursley.
"Hi!" she said, trying to feign cheeriness. "I’m Gillian Polkiss, Piers’ sister. And, well, I was wondering if I could have a word with--" she faltered.
"Yes?" said Vernon again. He was still impatient, but had brightened up when she had said she was a Polkiss.
"I was wondering," she went on bravely, "if I could have a word with Harry Potter."
She watched his face. It grew even ruddier: purple and splotchy. It was contorted with fear and anger. "Harry," he hissed through closed teeth, "does not take visitors," and he slammed the door in her face.
She sighed audibly, and walked away. She glanced back up in the house and saw Harry watching the sky through a window, almost expectantly. He didn't notice her. She toyed with the idea of throwing a pebble and getting his attention, but decided against it. The others were sure to hear, and she didn't want to get into trouble with them.
She walked to the park, and sat on the merry-go-round. She laid back on it, staring up at the sky, slowly spinning, wondering. It did not seem appropriate to look at the ground anymore and compare the world to the dirt. It had just grown a lot more interesting.
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That evening, when the Polkisses returned from their talk with the Dursleys, they looked at Gillian pityingly. They recounted the details.
"Well, they weren't to happy to see us," said Anne, "and when we started telling them about last night, what you had seen, they said they had heard the rumors, and denied that anybody in their house had anything to do with it, and suggested that you need to see a therapist," she sighed. "They said that you had come by earlier, too," (Gillian's stomach knotted) "asking to talk with Harry Potter.”
They both looked at her accusingly. Gillian nodded. They both sighed. "Gill," said her dad, "I realize that it must be hard for you. Being adopted, never having known your parents. And we understand that we may not have been as good of parents to you as we should have been," his voice suddenly sounded higher, as though choking back a sob, "but you can't go looking for attention this way. Making up stories and putting yourself in harm's way. Dear," he took her hand, "we do try, and we don't want to see you hurt or in trouble. So please, forget this whole thing. And forget about Harry Potter."
She looked at them both in disbelief. She had expected this, but, still, she couldn't stand it. It had happened! And not only was Harry Potter there, but now she was seeing him in dreams that didn't seem like dreams at all! And they were telling her to forget it? What about the boy, lying dead, spread-eagled on the ground? What about the cauldron, giving birth to a man, an evil, to Voldemort...
Gillian's eyes filled with tears, and she began choking on her cries. She couldn't live like that! She couldn't forget what she had seen! And in her hopelessness, Gillian had failed to pick up on one finer detail they had slipped in.
"A therapist?" she cried, as they drove into the city. "Mom! Dad! I don't need to go to a therapist! The Dursleys are the ones who need to go! They're the ones who are in denial because they don't want their neighbors to talk! I don't need this! I told you what happened, I told you what I saw! I wasn't making it up," (completely) "I was telling the truth!" (as much of it as I thought you could handle).
They didn't answer, and she threw herself against the back seat in frustration. Piers was smirking at her from beside her. She stuck her tongue out at him, and he smiled that awful smile even wider. "So if you're not making it up, then you're seeing things, are you?" he whispered. "And you think we shouldn't take you to the psycho-quack because of that? You’re madder than I thought, Gill."
She turned away from him, and looked out her window, huffily. It wasn't fair. They didn't believe the truth, even after she put it in a way they could handle. And what if she told the whole truth, now? They'd probably put her in a straightjacket and toss her into a padded-room.
They arrived at a large, white building. They parked the car across the street, and headed up to it. Gillian walked slowly behind them. Maybe if they were late, they would miss her appointment. After checking with the receptionist, who smiled at them with in an empty, tired sort of way, they got onto the elevator and started for the tenth floor. 'Let the elevator break,' thought Gillian, 'Let the power go out. Make it stop, please…!'
But it didn't stop. They arrived in perfect time for her appointment. They checked in with Dr. Clark's receptionist now, who waved Gillian back into his room. "Don't worry, Ms. Polkiss. Dr. Clark is very kind. He'll help you through this."
Dr. Clark was a fat, balding man, with a pencil and pad of paper. "Ah, Gillian,” he began, "Do you mind if I call you, Gillian? Well of course you don't, and you can call me Ted."
Gillian glared at him. "I do mind you calling me Gillian. I wish you to address me as Miss Polkiss, Dr. Clark."
Gillian knew she was being ridiculous and childish, but she was too angry to care right now. He just looked at her, unruffled by her malice and chuckled, writing something down on his paper. "Fine, then, Miss Polkiss, as you wish. Now why don't you tell me what happened that brought you here?"
So that was how he was going to play? She knew this dance. She reclined back into her squishy armchair and tried to look nonchalant. "Well, it's all because the Dursleys are prats," she said simply, waving her hand in a pompously casual and dismissive manner.
He smiled at her, in a patronizing sort of way. "Now, now, Ms. Polkiss. The first step we need to take here is learning how to shoulder some of the blame. You and I both know that that's not why you're here. Now why don't you tell me what happened."
Gillian thought about this. What harm could it do to tell him the truth? He would only think she was lying. "Well, okay then. I was headed home one evening, when Piers ran up to me and got ready to knock my jaws about something. So I walked away and went and sat on a swing in the park. That’s when I heard raised voices. People yelling, like they were afraid. So I went to see what was the matter. I ran onto Magnolia Crescent, where I saw two people, teenagers, but I couldn't make out there faces, and then" now she paused and gulped remembering the 'and then', now too caught up in her own story to stop, "and then, everything just went sort of cold. Froze, sort of, and there was no noise but their yells. Then I got this horrible feeling that something was staring at me, and I heard this really faint noise, like a rattle.
“And I felt a terrible wave of fear. I felt sick, like everything happy in the world was gone forever. And cold. Very, very cold. And then, it lessened, it was almost as though I could watch the cold, some sort of sick shadow go after the other two. I had fallen on my knees, and I watched them for a while. And suddenly, there were these flashes, kind of like an illuminated silvery mist. It lit up their faces. And I saw that it was Dudley Dursley, and behind him, where the mist had come from, was Harry Pot-" but her words were cut off as Dr. Clark coughed suddenly into his coffee, spilling it down his front.
"Oh!" he said, "Silly me! Don't know what came over me!" but he sounded scared, and as though he knew exactly what was wrong. "Er...um...and then what happened?' he prompted.
"Ok," she said, confused. "Well, like I said, it was Harry Potter. And the light vapor appeared a few times. The...thing…shadows, I guess, had stopped moving toward him, but his cousin seemed to crumple, and yelped. Then, and this was strange, his head suddenly jerked up and then…raised…slowly, and his mouth opened. Even though it looked like he was fighting himself! At this point, I couldn't watch any more. I crawled into an alley nearby, and I guess I sort of fainted. And while I was like that, I saw a silver stag, and I heard voices. Someone had come to them, and was helping them now. A woman. I don't know who it was. It was kind of like their voices were just...invading on my dreams,” she stopped and shivered.
"Here, dear," said Ted, and he handed here a small piece of chocolate.
She took it, and ate it absentmindedly, and felt warmth start to spread through her again. "Miss Polkiss," said the doctor, "I think your parents are right. You must try to forget this. I don't think this is something you should trouble yourself over." Gillian gaped, and started to retort, but he held up a hand, silencing her. "It is the best way for this to clear up. I don't think that this needs to be taken any further, inside or outside of my office. You do not need to come back if you don't want to. I'll tell your parents this. No, if you will excuse me, I must go talk with them..."
"Wait!" cried Gillian. "Harry Potter--that name meant something to you! I could tell! What do you know about him? Tell me! Please!"
Dr. Clark smiled down sadly at her. "All I know about Harry Potter is that he is a very disturbed boy. Thank you my dear. You may leave now."
Gillian left his office grudgingly and didn't talk to anybody the whole ride home. She never went back to the doctor.
In Muggle World by Daedalus Plum
Chapter Notes: (I'm looking for a new beta reader! That was the cause of the last delay...just a bit of confusion, and I'm sure it was largely my fault.
If you're interested, let me know!)