Harry woke with a start and sat straight up in bed. He was dripping with sweat; he could feel it trickling down the side of his face. His breaths were coming in ragged gasps. He grabbed his glasses from his bedside table and shoved them on quickly. His eyes darted around the room, and he took a deep, calming breath. He was still inside his room at number four, Privet Drive. For once, he was relieved to be there.

He stood and grabbed a dirty shirt off of the floor. He swiped it across his head, then tossed it into the small laundry basket that sat against the wall. Hedwig rattled noisily in her cage, and he smiled soberly at her.

“You’ll be able to fly around later today, Hedwig,” he explained softly. “Ron and his Dad are coming to pick us up around noon.” He glanced at the miniscule alarm clock that sat on his desk. It read nine thirty-three. He sighed and began to shove his things into his trunk. It didn’t strike him as odd that the Dursleys hadn’t woken him; he supposed they wanted to avoid him as much as possible on his last day there. He slipped out of his oversized pajamas, silently reminding himself to look for some new ones in Hogsmeade this year, and pulled his jeans on. He was lacing up his shoes when he heard a great crash from the floor below. He threw his door open and bounded down the stairs, hoping it hadn’t been what he thought it had.

He was right.

In the middle of the living room floor sat Ron and his father, Arthur Weasley. They were dusting soot off of their robes, and looked up when they saw Harry enter.

“Oy, Harry!” Ron greeted him with a toothy grin. Harry grinned back, then looked around for his Aunt and Uncle. They were nowhere to be seen. He turned back to his friend.

“Where are your Aunt and Uncle?” Mr. Weasley asked excitedly. Harry shrugged.

“I reckon they went out for the day, probably hoping to avoid me.” Mr. Weasley’s face fell, and Harry hid his smile. He knew how fond Arthur Weasley was of muggles.

“Are you ready, Harry?” Ron asked. Harry nodded, and headed for the stairs. Ron followed him.

“I just finished packing,” he said, crossing the threshold into his room. Ron looked interestedly at a poster on Harry’s wall. The people in it were absolutely still, and Ron prodded at them with his fingertips.

“That’s so weird,” he murmured. Harry shook his head in amusement, and plucked Hedwig’s cage from atop his closet. She flitted her wings with excitement, and Harry crossed to the small window. He pushed it open and released her. She soared into the clouds, then doubled back to hover outside of his window.

“I’ll be at the Burrow when you’re done,” he whispered. She gave a soft hoot of understanding and flew away. He picked up her empty cage, and Ron began lugging his trunk downstairs. He did a once-over on his room to make sure everything was in order, then checked to make sure he had his wand. It was stuck in his back pocket. He smiled to the empty room, then walked out without looking behind him.

Harry knew he must get away. He felt certain that to stay would mean death – so he ran. He ran as fast and as hard as he could. He didn’t know if he could outrun it; he didn’t even know what it was that was chasing him. All he knew was that stopping would mean the end of him. He could hear the gravel crunching under his feet as he ran. The ground began to shake beneath him, and he fell. Pain exploded in his nose, and he could feel the blood trickling down his upper lip. The thing approached, and Harry felt panic rising in his throat.

Suddenly, he was being shaken awake.

He blinked his eyes groggily and saw that everything was out of focus. He grabbed his glasses and slid them on. Ron was in front of him, with his hands on Harry’s shoulders.

“You alright, mate?” Ron asked concernedly. Harry nodded, still trying to get his bearings.

“I’m fine,” he lied, stretching his legs. He looked around and remembered that he was at the Burrow. I must have dozed off when I sat down, he thought wretchedly. I ought to know better than that! Harry couldn’t sleep without having the same dream – Something, or Someone, was always chasing him. He could never see who or what it might be. He stood and yawned. Ron was still staring at him.

“Harry,” he said slowly. “Your nose is bleeding.” Harry stared at him as though he was crazy. He walked slowly up the stairs and into the bathroom, and looked into the mirror that hung askew above the sink.

“You’d better look after that,” the mirror advised nastily. Harry grimaced as he touched a fingertip to his nose. When he pulled it away, it was covered in blood. He unrolled some toilet paper and held it gingerly against his nostrils to stop the bleeding, and sat down heavily on the floor. What was going on? He’d been having plenty of nightmares, but never had something from the nightmare crossed over into reality! He became worried, and kept trying to force his thoughts elsewhere.

“Harry?” Molly Weasley called. He stood up. “It’s time for dinner!”

“I’m in the bathroom, be right down,” he called back. He heard the clinking of dishes downstairs and peeked at himself in the mirror.

“Nasty bit, that,” it murmured sleepily. The bleeding had stopped, and Harry flushed the blood soaked tissue. He flung open the door and bounded down the stairs, taking two at a time.

Harry had been avoiding Ron's questions all day. He'd gone outside to the small lake that was behind the Burrow, and submerged his head for minutes at a time. He would force himself to stay under until his lungs burned in pain, then he would pop his head up just long enough to suck in another breath before going back under. When he was finally exhausted, he waded to the shore and trudged slowly back to the house. He shivered in the twilight; there was something so eerie about a sky where the stars were outshining the moon. He went inside and darted up to the bathroom to change into his pajamas. When he tiptoed into Ron's room, he was careful not to make any noise. He lay down quietly and removed his glasses.

"What's going on with you, Harry?" Ron's voice was quiet and hurt. Harry sighed. He knew he'd have to tell him what had been going on, or Ron would annoy it out of him. Ron stayed silent while Harry explained everything about his dreams.

"And that's how I got my bloody nose," he finished heavily. He could hear Ron's breathing coming in short, ragged breaths.

"Something from your dream crossed over into . . .into real life?"

"I suspect it did," Harry said tiredly. "You wouldn't happen to know any sleeping charms, would you? I really, really need to get some sleep." He heard Ron mutter something, then there was noise as Ron fumbled around for his wand.

"I used to have really bad dreams, too," he admitted sheepishly. "Fred and George used to terrorize me, and Mum would have to put the charm on me every night."

"Go ahead," Harry said eagerly. "Do it."

"Dormiens Blitherium,"Ron mumbled, pointing his wand at Harry in the darkness. Harry saw sparks and felt a warm, pleasant feeling wash over him.

"Thanks," he said drowsily, smiling and laying back down.

"Don't mention it," Ron said, yawning. Harry closed his eyes and smiled into the darkness. For once, he thought, for once, I will have a good night's sleep.

Harry felt rivulets of sweat running down his face. He was running so hard that his chest hurt. He wasn't sure how long he'd been running, he only knew that he couldn't stop. His lungs were burning, and he couldn't catch his breath. You shouldn't have gone swimming, his mind screamed. Suddenly he stopped in his tracks. He remembered inside his dream that Ron had performed a sleeping charm on him. He was supposed to be having a good dream - why was he still locked into his nightmare? He heard crunching on the gravel behind him, and he swiveled around to meet his attacker. If I have to have this nightmare, he thought vehemently, then I will find out once and for all who my attacker is.

The figure approached slowly, then stopped only feet in front of Harry. The person was considerably shorter than him, and clad in a long, black robe. He listened for a voice, a cough, anything that might identify the person. Nothing came. He sniffed the air gingerly. No perfume, no cologne, nothing at all.

The figure twitched, and began to raise its arm. Harry felt the fear pricking at the back of his neck. He should run, but he couldn't remember why. The figure's sleeve fell back, revealing a pale hand with slender fingers. There was something so odd about those fingers, and Harry felt sure he must know who they belonged to. The person moved forward and closed their fingers tightly around his neck, cutting off his air. He felt himself slipping away . . .

"HARRY!" Ron shook him violently. Harry's eyes fluttered open, and his hand flew to his throat. He gasped and sucked in a deep breath. He sat up and grabbed his glasses.

"What?" He asked, grateful Ron had saved him. Ron stared at him.

"You were choking," Ron said quickly, his eyes wide. Harry let out an exasperated breath.

"I think I know what's chasing me in my dreams, Ron," he said quietly. Ron waited expectantly.

"Well? What is it?"

"I think it's a death eater," he said. Ron's eyes became as big as saucers. "But I don't know who. I'm pretty sure it was a woman, though."

"Why do you think that?"

"I saw her hand." A thought occurred to him, and he looked at Ron. "Why didn't your sleeping charm work?"

"I was just wondering the same thing myself," Ron said confusedly. "Maybe I'm not strong enough. Maybe you need Mum to do it." Ron stood to go get his mother.

"What are you going to tell her I need it for?"

"I'll just tell her you're dreaming about the Dementors," he said, leaving the room. Harry sighed and closed his eyes. He reopened them when Molly Weasley bustled in, her hair flying wildly in several different directions.

"All right, Harry, I'm going to perform the sleeping charm. Just relax." Harry nodded and closed his eyes again.

"Dormiens Blitherium," she muttered. Harry felt a powerful warmth consume him, and he smiled groggily.

"Thank you," he whispered, drifting off. Mrs. Weasley smiled and pulled his cover over him before leaving the room.

Harry’s head felt ready to burst. He opened his eyes slowly, and squinted them against the blinding sunlight. He raised his fingers gingerly to his scar and winced when a ripple of pain moved through his head. He rolled onto his stomach and groaned; the movement had made him feel like he might be sick at any moment. He pulled his pillow over his head in an effort to block out the sun.

“Harry, are you alright, mate?” Ron’s voice was full of concern. Harry grunted softly from underneath the fabric. “Are you coming down to breakfast? Hermione’s going to be here any minute,” he added quickly. Harry grunted again, and Ron shrugged as he left the room.

What is happening to me? He wondered. I can’t sleep at night, and I always have blinding headaches in the morning! I’m getting sick of this! It’s got to stop! His thoughts were interrupted by a soft knock at the door, and he heard it swing open. He shifted the pillow slightly so he could peer at whoever was coming in. He saw bushy brown hair, and moved the pillow back to where it had been.

“Morning, Mione,” he grunted, squeezing his eyes shut as the pain inside his head amplified.

“Morning,” she said sweetly. He felt her weight on the bed as she sat down. She slid her fingers under the pillow and touched them lightly to his forehead, which exploded in searing, white-hot pain. His eyes flew open, and he sat up so quickly it made him dizzy. He stared at her.

“What’s wrong?” She asked innocently. Harry’s jaw dropped slightly open – something was different about her, but he couldn’t put his finger on it just yet. He pushed himself away from her slowly without realizing he’d done it, until he noticed the hurt look on her face.

“Sorry, Herm,” he said, relaxing a bit. “I’ve just had another nightmare, and I’ve got the worst headache.” He didn’t know why he’d lied to her about the nightmare. He’d actually had a pretty nice, dreamless sleep for once. She cocked her head to one side and studied him thoughtfully. It made him uneasy; it looked as though she was trying to break into his thoughts. When she finally looked away, Harry breathed a sigh of relief. She stood and went to the door, where she turned to look back at him.

Harry sat on the cot in the attic for quite a few moments after Hermione had left, pondering what had just happened. When she’d touched his forehead, it had been so painful. But then again, he thought, it’s been hyper sensitive ever since I started having those dreams, so it might not be her, after all. He sighed; the dizzying pain in his head was lessening gradually. He stood and pulled his pyjamas off, then slid into his jeans and t-shirt. He plodded tiredly down the stairs and into the Weasley’s kitchen, pulled out a chair, and flopped down in it. Hermione and Ginny were talking animatedly, waving their hands about, while Ron eyed Hermione. Harry sighed again and began piling sausages on his plate. He wished Ron would tell Hermione he liked her, already.

“Feeling better, mate?” Ron asked, turning away from the girls. Harry nodded and shoved a piece of sausage into his mouth. He did feel better, now that he was eating. Maybe Ron’s room is just too hot for me to sleep in, and that’s what makes my head ache so badly.

“Yeah, a bit,” he admitted. “Did my Hogwarts letter come here?”

“Yeah, everyone’s letters came this morning before we got up. Mum has them in the other room. Didn’t want us to get food all over them – don’t know why she’d think we might do that,” he said through a mouthful of toast. Harry smiled; Ron was spraying bits of food as he spoke, and he could see Mrs. Weasley’s reasoning behind keeping the letters away from the breakfast table. His eyes were drawn away from Ron as fits of giggles rang out from the opposite end of the table.

“Oh, Harry!” Hermione said, straightening up. “I didn’t even notice you’d come downstairs!” At this, Ginny broke into another mad fit of giggles, and Hermione elbowed her in the side to get her to stop. Harry blinked. She’d looked right at him when he’d sat down – what had gotten into her?

“Well, I have,” he said, a little more gruffly than he’d wanted to. She gave him an odd look, then turned her attention back to Ginny, who was still grinning cheekily.

“I’ll never figure girls out,” Ron said darkly, as he shoveled eggs into his mouth. Harry grinned and continued eating. He had just about finished his breakfast when he happened to glance at the girls again. His fork froze in midair.

“Harry? What’s wrong?” Ron asked, following Harry’s gaze. Ginny was gesturing madly with her hands, and Harry’s gaze was locked on the fingers of her right hand. Long, pale, smooth fingers . . . Something set off an alarm inside Harry’s head, and he stood so quickly that he knocked his chair over. The girls stopped talking and stared at him. He mumbled something about needing to go to the bathroom, then ran from the room.

He darted inside the bathroom, slammed the door shut behind himself, and sank to the floor. What does this mean? He wondered. Is Ginny the one chasing me in my dream?

Harry slumped against the bathroom door, his stomach twisting in knots. He shook his head, trying to think clearly, but all he could think about were pale, slender fingers reaching out for him and closing around his throat. What was going on? Ginny couldn’t be the one in his dream . . .could she? Surely she would never hurt him. She had a crush on him, for Merlin’s sake! He closed his eyes and forced himself to take deep, calming breaths. He had just about gotten his heart back to its normal rhythm when someone pounded on the door behind him, making it lurch and beat erratically again. He froze.

“Harry? Are you okay in there?” He relaxed. It was Hermione. He opened the door and yanked her inside. She gave him a funny look when he shut the door back and locked it. She put her hands on her hips and cocked her head.

“Harry, what in the world –“ He shushed her by raising a finger to his lips. He listened intently, to make sure that he heard no footsteps outside, then turned to her.

“Hermione, I need to talk to you,” he said, in a hushed tone. Her eyes were wide and she sat cross-legged in front of him. He sat down.

“What’s going on, Harry? You’ve been acting strangely all morning. Is it your nightmares?” Harry stared at her. How did she know about those? He hadn’t told her. Ron! He fought back the surge of anger that washed over him, and nodded.

“I suppose you know all about them,” he whispered fiercely. She blushed a little and nodded. “Well, I saw the hand of the thing about to attack me. I saw fingers. Hermione, they were Ginny’s fingers!” She paled, then shook her head.

“Now, Harry,” she said sensibly. “How could they be Ginny’s fingers? You know she doesn’t have it in her to hurt you! She adores you!” Harry ignored the last bit and ran his fingers through his hair quickly.

“I don’t know, Mione, but they were her fingers, I’m sure of it!” She raised her hand to her mouth and chewed nervously on her thumbnail.

“What should we do?”

“I don’t know . . . you’re her friend, maybe you can talk to her today and ask a few questions.”

“She’ll know something is up,” she protested weakly. “What am I supposed to do, just walk up to her and say, ‘Hey, Ginny. Harry had a nightmare about a Death Eater, and he thinks you might be it,’?” Harry flinched.

“Hermione, cut it out. You know what I mean. You know how to talk to her. Just ask her if anything strange has happened to her lately, you know?” He paused thoughtfully, then raised his eyebrows.

”What?”

“Ask her about her dreams. Maybe she’s having them, too.” Hermione looked doubtful, but nodded. She gave a great sigh.

“Alright, Harry.” She stood up and smoothed her skirt out. “But you know I wouldn’t do this for anyone else, right?” He grinned at her.

“I know,” he said, standing. “That’s what makes you such a great friend.”