Harry bolted upright, his breath knocked out of him. His lungs were sucking for air, but none would be found. Instead, a high-pitched squeal emanated from him. His eyes bulged.
“Harry!” yelled Ron, ripping open his bed hangings.
He found his breath in an audible ‘whoosh!’ He panted, desperate for more oxygen. “War,” was all he could croak out.
“Sh-should we get Dumbledore?” asked a concerned and nervous Neville. The others were staring at Harry open-mouthed, their hair askew, having just been ripped from their own dreams.
“Yes, get him,” Ron ordered.
He poured a glass of water an encouraged Harry to drink. He only waved it away, still concentrating on breathing.
Mere moments later, Dumbledore breezed into the room with Neville in his wake. He sat on the side of Harry’s bed. “What is it, Harry?” he asked kindly, putting a comforting hand on his arm.
“War,” he replied in a husky voice.
“A dream?”
He nodded, but said, “No.”
Dumbledore, sensing Harry’s confusion, quietly waited for Harry to continue. “Flashes of things. Things I haven’t seen. Disconnected.”
The headmaster’s brow was furrowed. “Has something happened, Harry, to break down your defenses against such an intrusion?”
Harry looked at Ron, who’d hung his head. He nodded. “All right, Harry, please follow me to my office. Mr. Weasley, please fetch any persons involved in this matter. Bring them to my office as well, please.”
Ron went to perform the task set to him, and Harry followed Dumbledore to his office. When they got to the door, the headmaster said “Dung Beans,” and the door opened to reveal the spiral staircase. They ascended it quickly, and soon enough, Dumbledore was behind his desk, and Harry was sitting in the comfortable leather chair in front of it.
The elder brought his fingertips to a point and asked, “Is there a possibility that this ‘dream’ was embedded into your mind by Mr. Riddle?”
Harry shrugged with exhaustion and sadness. “I don’t know. Maybe. But Voldemort’s been doing that for months. It was always someone I knew getting hurt, not this. N-not the blood and death of people I don’t know. Not . . . this.” He’d put emphasis on the last word.
Dumbledore nodded sympathetically. “Now I must ask; what has happened in the last few days to leave you receptive to such images?”
Harry wasn’t sure if he should tell. He didn’t know if Ginny wanted her new power blabbed to the world. He suddenly felt like they had done something wrong in the common room that night. In the end, he succumbed to the troubled blue eyes. Perhaps, Dumbledore could tell him what was going on. “Ginny Weasley, she . . . well, she can see auras. We were letting her practice on us. I think she saw more than she meant to, or something.” He wasn’t sure what reaction he’d expected but there was a distinct lack of one.
Suddenly he felt his anger rising. “Did you already know, then?” He was tired of not being told everything.
“Ginny Weasley is the first girl to be born into her family for generations. It had been long believed in exclusive circles when such an event occurred, she would be a powerful witch. I’ve been expecting her powers to grow as she matured.”
Harry paused to let the information soak in. At that moment, Ron and a very sleepy Ginny walked into the office. Dumbledore kindly conjured up two equally cozy chairs and invited them to sit. They looked frightened. They distinctly remembered the last time Harry had a ‘dream’ and were called to this very room. “Ms. Ginny, may I ask you to explain- to your best ability- your newest talent?”
“Um, yes, but I don’t see how it would help-“
“The more I know, the more I can help.”
“Oh, ok,” she took a breath. “I can see auras; light circles around people. They appear in colors, but it’s not just that. I feel what the colors mean.”
Dumbledore nodded. “A very useful skill indeed. Now, I must ask you, my dear, what did you feel when you saw Harry’s aura?”
She looked at Harry for permission to tell. It was his business, she knew. He gave a slight nod for her to continue. He looked forlornly at the floor. “It was strange. At first, just darkness, fear and uncertainty. I felt like he was close to the other side-“
“Other side, Ms. Weasley?”
“-Yes. Um, as if he was very close to death. Not dying . . . just Death, if it were a being.”
“I understand. Please continue.”
“He’s lo- . . . he doesn’t want to be chosen. He feels separate in a desolate way.”
“I could have told ya that,” Ron mumbled. He shut his mouth with one look from his headmaster.
Ginny continued. “It wasn’t just Death, though. There was more to it . . . It felt old. It was if something very old was in his aura. Not to hurt, but to help.”
“A benign presence, yes. Please go on.”
She glanced at her companions. No longer were they uncomfortable, so obviously wishing they were back in their beds. They were staring at her, with rapt attention. She was speaking of things she’d kept from them during her reading. “Then the weird thing happened. It changed. Just replaced by a gold one. I haven’t seen that in anyone else yet.” Dumbledore raised an eyebrow at this revelation, but she didn’t stop. “It was a bright gold. It felt very powerful, and had pink rays shooting all through it.”
Dumbledore gave her a Mona Lisa smile at the last bit. “That was a very accurate character assessment, Ms. Weasley. You are a talented witch. Unfortunately, it was good because you dug so deeply into his psyche. This caused a slight breakdown in the immunity he built up over to summer to Voldemort’s constant mental attacks.”
Ginny’s eyes widened with surprise, and then looked down with misery. She hadn’t meant to cause harm.
“Do not fret, dear, because while Voldemort’s thoughts had successfully entered Harry’s mind- as they have so many times before- this time, it is my belief that he hadn’t meant to do so.”
“Wait,” said Harry, “So you mean . . .”
“Yes, Harry. I believe you have accessed Mr. Riddle’s mind. The question now is, what did you see?”
“At first, a lot of blue. Bright, overpowering blue. Then a vampire, someone dying. Lot’s of screaming, blood. There was an old door, and a woman with a baby, but I couldn’t really see either, because it was focused on the baby, and even so, the mother was blocked by the baby, sort of . . .” he finished, uncertainly. He looked at Dumbledore for reassurance.
He only looked back at Harry. He wasn’t really looking, so much as thinking. “Well, the baby was you, of course. The mother was yours. He’s been thinking of you unceasingly for several years now. As for the rest . . . well, I’m not sure.” This was not what Harry wanted to hear. He shifted uncomfortably.
“I trust you three know that every human- even Muggles- has the ability of foresight?” They shook their heads. He continued. “Most often, it comes in the form of dreams. Dreams are easily mistaken or forgotten, so most simply go about their lives taking no notice. While it is possible you were seeing what will be, you may have also accessed what has already happened through the mind of the self-titled ‘Dark Lord.’ We shall know by tomorrow, no doubt,” he said, removing his glasses and rubbing his temples.
After a moment, Ginny ventured to ask, “Sir, why does Harry have two auras?”
“I do not pretend to have your skill, Ms. Weasley, but I can make a tolerable guess to that. It isn’t likely that Harry had two; rather, one is closer to the surface. There is much to learn about the unknowns and the powers residing in him. Can I trust you to assist Harry in discovering them?”
She nodded in acquiescence. “Well,” said the headmaster, “now that we have done all we can do, might I suggest we return to our beds? We all have busy days ahead.”
They replied, “Yes, Sir,” in unison, and got up to leave when he stopped Ron.
“Mr. Weasley? If you could, tell Ms. Granger that she would make an excellent Translator, if only she keeps up with her projects.” He winked, and turned toward the cabinet, signaling for the trio to leave.
Harry had slept peacefully the rest of the night. Perhaps it was because Voldemort could have been asleep. Then again, no one knew if he did actually sleep. Upon awakening, Harry discovered that Ron couldn’t have slept well. His blanket resembled a sailor’s knot that bound his feet like shackles.
“Ron?” he called loudly and awoke his friend. “Coming to breakfast?” he asked while dressing for the day.
“Um, yeah. I guess.”
“You look like hell.”
“Good. I’ll match how I feel then,” he grumbled and rolled out of the bed. “Did you have more dreams?”
“None that I can remember, you?”
“No. I feel like I haven't slept at all." After a pause, he ventured into discomforting territory. "I've been thinking about Gin . . . She's around us so much now. Sometimes I think I might get her . . . you know, killed or something,” he said, and fussed with his sheets a bit.
“I know. I always get that feeling. For what it's worth, I'll do my best to protect her when I can. I don't exactly plan on bringing her into battle, though.”
"We didn't plan on her coming the last time either, did we?"
It wasn't a question meant to be answered. Harry waited at the door in a heavy silence for Ron to ready himself, and then both quietly headed down to the Great Hall.
Hermione and Ginny were already eating at the Gryffindor table. Harry immediately sensed something was wrong. Perhaps it was the incessant whispering. More likely, it was the look of shock plastered on everybody’s face. The two they were headed toward had their heads together, reading what Harry assumed was the Daily Prophet. Unfortunately, he was right. He stood over the girls’ shoulders and read:
Writes Robert Spernik.
Last evening, two giants attacked a small village near Perm. While it was a Muggle town, it boasted a small settlement of wizards. They attacked as night fell, immediately crushing a local pub full of patrons. They rampaged throughout the streets until several wizards from the Russian Magical Authority subdued them. Unfortunately, fifty-two Muggles were killed in the ambush. In a rage, the remaining Muggle villagers killed the giants by beheading them.
One wizard, who wished to remain anonymous, remarked, “The destruction was unfathomable. It will take years for us to recover.”
It is rumored that the giants were acting on the orders of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Death Eaters have been spotted in the area as late as two months ago. The Russian Magical Authority is perusing prosecution against the Muggles involved in the slaying.
“That’s outrageous!” Hermione shouted. “They didn’t know any better! They were protecting themselves! Look how many of THEM died!”
“We know, Hermione,” said Ron sedately. As a witch born to Muggles, Hermione understandably felt personally insulted.
“You know, now it feels like the war’s actually begun. What with the other creatures getting involved . . .” said Harry.
“It’s a good thing we have Defense against the Dark Arts today,” said Ron.
“The weird thing is, who doesn’t?” asked Ginny rhetorically.
“What do you mean?” asked Hermione interestedly.
“Well, I was asking some other fifth years what they have today, and everyone- at least, everyone in the D.A. - has D.A.D.A for third class,” she replied.
“Me and Ron have it second and third.”
“That is queer . . .” thought Hermione aloud.
“Oh, Hermione. Did Ginny tell you about last night?”
Hermione snapped back to reality. “Last night? No, what happened?”
“Dumbledore thinks I had my way with Voldemort’s brain again”
She looked a mixture of confused and disgusted, so he explained, “I saw what he was thinking about.”
“How could his defenses have been low enough for that?” asked Hermione, always the Devil’s advocate.
“Well geez, Hermione. It was three in the morning. Who’d think a teenager was up and ready to break in to someone’s brain?” said Ron.
“No, no. It has to be more. Well, what was he thinking about?”
“A fudged attacked on a wizard town, no doubt . . .”
Hermione’s eyes widened. “Oh! You don’t think? Wow, Harry. Don’t you see how useful this is? You can receive news about the war faster than others!” she said in an excited, high-pitched whisper. She knew Harry too well. He’d pitch a fit if she shouted his new talent to the world. “But what started it?”
Ginny gave her a look that said it all. “Last night . . .” she dazed off thoughtfully.
She nodded. “Yep. Dumbledore thanks I dug deeply into his mind. He says Harry’s sort of emotionally scabbed over, and I came along and opened up a gaping wound again!” she said in mock happiness.
“Can we stop talking about ‘emotions?’ It sounds too girly. And anyway, Ginny, it’s not your fault, ok? It’s been happening for a while; I’ll build my scab up again.”
“It must be horrible,” Hermione said empathetically to Harry.
“Yeah. I suppose. At least now I can find a use for this brain connection.”
“You are not going to do it again! Not if it hurts you in the end . . .”
“Stop mentioning me getting hurt! I’m not some fragile little doll or something!”
“Dumbledore’s asked me to help Harry,” Ginny said with authority, sticking out her chin.
The three interpreted her gesture momentarily, and then laughter broke out. “Ok, you don’t have to go all possessive on us,” said Ron.
“Well, I’m glad I can finally do something to help, and you all want it to stop!”
“Not all of us,” said Harry. “Just Hermione.”
“Sorry Gin,” she said quickly. She knew the real reason why Ginny was set on the experiment. It was true that she wanted to help, but who knew what could happen if she spent enough alone time with Harry. The question was, how much was enough?
“Oh! Hermione, forgot to tell you. Dumbledore said you’d be brilliant at translating, but that you have to get a move-on on your projects or something,” Ron said, and stuffed a biscuit into his mouth.
A dawning realization hit her full on the face. “I have to go.” She said curtly, grabbed hr books and took off at a run.
“Two sickles says she’s gone to the library,” said Ron.
“Who’d take that bet?” Harry asked, and the three laughed.