Disturbing dreams swim in the mind of one young boy, touching the very surface of his subconscious, shaping his reality. A woman known as the Sacrificial Maiden seeks his guidance, and possibly som...
It started on a cold winter night...
When she set her books down on the table and looked around for a moment, she breathed out a sigh, and reluctantly slouched into the seat near the fire. Resting her head in her hands, she felt a shiver slid through her and she blinked. Whoever suggested a late night tutoring session needed to be put through it for three weeks straight with someone they hated then see how they liked it. "Hey, how was it?" a voice spoke from behind her and she narrowed her eyes. She pushed her long crimson hair out of her eyes and turned around.
"It was, well, awkward tonight. He was really quiet, like he was bothered by something."
"And with Dumbledore gone..." Harry stared at Ginny for a minute then looked at the floor. Students and staff alike were still at ease about what had happened the previous year. There had been little sign of Professor Snape and Professor Mc Gonagall, who had taken Albus' place, had allowed Draco Malfoy to come back as she was witness to his redemption. "He must feel guilty," he frowned and rubbed the back of his neck.
"Maybe, I wouldn't blame him, after what happened and everything. But I think it's more then that. He seemed frightened recently." Ginny shifted slightly in her seat.
"Well," Harry replied thoughtfully, his jaw setting firmly. "I have seen him acting a bit off now that you mention it. Like last week, I walked into him on accident and he looked really scared. It was disturbing." He smiled suddenly and said, "You know, Ron was wondering the same thing awhile ago come to think of it."
"I wonder if anyone else has noticed a change in his behavior," Ginny mused aloud while twirling a strand of hair around her index finger. They had been on decent terms since the breakup, to which Harry was grateful for.
"If you mean the Slytherins, I doubt it." Hermione emerged from the girl's dorm and looked down at them. "And if they had, they would definitely ignore it." She took a seat next to Ginny and stared pointedly at Harry. "But you're right."
"Told you," Ginny grinned slightly.
"NO, SEAMUS!" Ron's bellowing voice exploded from the boy's dorm and he came out very pale. He staggered down the stairs, his shabby secondhand robes dusty, and he sat beside Harry.
"Ron, what happened?" Hermione frowned.
"It's Seamus...he..." Ron squeaked, shaking his head. He glanced around and his cheeks colored as he stared at Hermione. She stilled and became very quiet.
"What did he say?" Ginny asked curiously, her eyes on Harry the whole time.
"It was nothing." Ron waved a hand dismissively and bit his lip.
The sound had jolted him from sleep. He slid out of bed and walked to the bathroom and flicked on the light to stand in a spotless area. He made his way to the toilet and sat down. "This is ridiculous," he muttered softly to himself, his hands cradling his head in a soothing manner. "I don't believe what just happened." He raked his hands through his long hair. For months now he had been having the strangest dreams, or to better define them, nightmares.
He was walking through a graveyard on a foggy night. That was enough to make a child squimish, but not him. He held his head high and passed several tombstones until instinctively kneeling down and touching one. A lone shrine was just ahead, to his left if he had kept walking, with something horrific forming from the broken mist. Like a pack of ravenous wolves gliding across the forest floor in a chase, the moonlight had crept up against the granite stone and illuminated a black clasp. He didn't have to squint to see something pale hanging loosely from the clasp. Whiter then the moon, a new light invaded his eyes and he stared; the image of a young girl had finally presented itself, she was bound and bloody, and chained in a crucifying manner against the mausoleum. She wore a white dress with long sleeves, every inch of her covered with black soot. "I knew you'd come," a soft, ghostly whisper fluttering against his ears. The girl lifted her head and he saw dark, thin, crimson streaks down her face. There were words scrawled across the top of the tomb:
"I need you," her voice was hollow, her eyes sunken and dead.
Now he sat in the bathroom trying desperately to figure this out. Someone was calling out to him through his dreams, seeking help and reassurance.
Could this be what his father had warned him about before his sentence?