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The Spare Bedroom in Number 12. Grimauld Place; London, England; Earth 1; August 31, 1995; 8:00 p.m.

Harry was sitting alone in his room. Well, it was only a spare room in his godfather's house, but, it was his for the moment.

Downstairs, everyone else was trying to enjoy their last few moments of summer holiday, but Harry had returned to his room saying he didn't feel well. . .

Didn't feel well . . . that was an understatement. At the moment, he was contemplating how he could spend the rest of his life without sleep. Maybe if he asked Hermione . . . she'd know. . . but she'd never tell him, of course. It would be too unhealthy.

Harry put his head in his hands, grinding his teeth in frustration. If only he had someone to talk to! But, Dumbledore, for the first time that Harry could remember, wasn't there to provide him with guidance. Aside from getting him acquitted in the trial, the headmaster had had no contact with Harry at all. Not that he ever spent a great deal of time on him, but the young wizard had never needed the elderly wizard as much as he did now.

Sirius was his godfather and Lupin was the teacher he was closest to . . . but they had work to do for the Order. Well, Lupin did, but Sirius and Harry were still building their relationship. Having spent fourteen years with an abusive uncle, Harry had no idea how to have a positive relationship with a paternal figure.

That nixed Mr. Weasley from the list as well, and Mrs. Weasley . . . The people Harry really needed to talk to were his friends, but how could he expect the understand that he was-

"Harry," a soft voice said from the doorway.

Harry turned and saw Hermione, standing with the door partly opened, partly across the threshold, ringed by the soft lamplight. He swallowed, unable to speak.

Hermione stood there; for a moment, she didn't say anything. She just looked at him: looked at him, looked, looked away, then looked back again before she was able to speak.

"Harry, what's wrong?"

"It's nothing," Harry said, averting his gaze. "I don't feel well, that's all, Hermione; go back to the others."

". . . Harry, how long have we known each other?"

The question caused Harry to face her again. "Four years . . . Hermione, you know that, why . . ."

"It means I know when you're lying," she said walking forward now, "when you're trying to shut people, to stop us from worrying about you." She was standing in front of him now. The young witch sat down next to him on the bed and put an arm around his shoulders.

"I'm your friend, Harry. You can talk to me; that's what friends do, what friends are for . . . I'll help, I promise."

Harry smiled a little. Wasn't that just like Hermione: so caring and so very determined. It wasn't "I'll try to help;" she would help him. It was a promise, a gentle but sincere promise. He decided to tell her everything.

Er . . . almost everything.

"It started on the night before my birthday. I had a strange dream . . ." Harry lost himself, trying to figure out how to explain the dream, how it had felt like an actual experience instead of a dream.

"Like the one you had last year, about Voldemort killing a Muggle?" Hermione offered.

"Kind of," Harry said, "but this one wasn't about Voldemort, and nobody died . . . at least, I didn't see anyone die."

"Maybe you should tell it to me," Hermione suggested.

"All right," Harry agreed, taking a deep breath. "I'm walking down a hallway . . ."

Harry reiterated his dream, quoting every word said between Harren the priest and Conan the king.

Hermione listened to the entire episode, not speaking a word until he had recounted how he had woken up. Then, she said only one thing. "Have you had . . . any other dreams like this one, Harry?"

Harry nodded. "Every night since my birthday, even after I got the letters saying the Ministry was going to put me on trial. Actually, I was kind of grateful for that one; it was nicer than dreaming about my wand getting snapped . . ."

{Harry dreamed of Hermione; that was his first thought. Then he realized the woman standing in front of him was older than his friend, though not by much. Then, he noticed the stone walls of the room in which they stood. Then . . . then he saw the clothes she was wearing: a feminine version of the robes which Harren Pottris wore when he visited Conan. Which meant that Harry . . .
/]
[/"Hermonia," Harren addressed the woman before him, "are you sure about this?"
/]
[/His companion nodded. "Yes, my love. This is the right course of action. Though I am loathe to admit it, you must take them as your concubines. If you do not, they could be killed or sold to someone less . . . compassionate than you . . . And it will probably cause an international incident."
/]
[/Harry could feel his vessel's slight frown and heard his sigh, just as he did when Hermione had just convinced him how wrong he was about something.
/]
[/These dreams were becoming uncomfortably realistic.
/]
[/"You're right" Harren admitted, "as usual." Harry felt his vessel smirk as he spoke. Then felt his own blush as the priest wrapped his arms around Hermonia and kissed her . . . passionately.
/]
[/I wonder if this qualifies as my first kiss, Harry thought. If so, he wasn't particularly disappointed. It was weird, obviously, feeling "his" lips moving against someone else's and know they weren't really his lips and the woman being kissed didn't actually know he was there . . . but, still very nice. The hug felt nice, too . . . and distracting.
/]
[/When Harren removed his lips from the woman's, although they continued to hold each other, Harry was not surprised when he said "I love you, Hermonia."
/]
[/"I love you, too, Harren . . . but tonight . . . I must let you go." She didn't.
/]
[/"I don't deserve you," Harren said.
/]
[/"I don't see why . . . You're a better man than you give yourself credit for, my love."
/]
[/"Maybe someday you'll convince me," Harren replied, smiling. Then, sobering, he said. "Regardless of the twins-and anyone else in the future-always remember this: you are my wife. You will always be first in my heart."
/]
[/Tears welled up in Hermonia's eyes. "Thank you, Harren, my beloved." She kiissed him, again, chastly. Finally, the beautiful woman let go of him, turned, and began to walk away. Harren sighed, then turned around. Harry saw him facing a door.
/]
[/"Harren," Hermiona, called from behind him . . . them . . . or something.
/]
[/"Yes," he responded, turning around.
/]
[/Hermiona was only partly turned around. She seemed to be struggling to say something. "Please try to love them . . . just a little. I spoke with Luna . . . This can only work if we all care for each other."
/]
[/"I'll try," Harren responded, and Harry felt his vessel's insides churning. Satisfied, the woman-Hermonia Pottris?-turned and walked away.
/]
[/The man turned back to the door. "I'll try," he said again. He looked up to the ceiling. "Mitra help me . . . help us all," he breathed, and Harry knew the prayer was true. It would have been if he had prayed it.
/]
[/Harren opened the door. The next room was mostly unremarkable: a decent-sized bed, a couple of small tables, a couple of chests for clothes shoved against the walls. Then again, maybe Harry just wasn't paying enough attention, because his gaze was fixed on what was right in front of him. There were two young women there. They had been sitting on the edge of the bed until Harren opened the door, then they got up and stood before him. They were dressed in clothes that definitely screamed "concubine," tops that showed a lot of cleavage and didn't cover their middles, skirts that stopped inches before their knees, and lots of jewelry. Though the clothes were, well, skanky, the women themselves seemed less so. They seemed to have trouble looking him in the eye-mostly looking at the floor or the walls around him. They were also holding each other's hands. It was obvious they were sisters. They both had the same dark skin and hair, and they looked almost exactly alike. More like twins than fraternal sisters, actually. In fact, they looked just like the Patil twins.}

Harry left out the fact that Hermonia looked just like her, but told everything else.

"That was only the second dream; I've been having one every night, and each one's new and different. I don't know what it means or why it's happening, but it feels important." He sighed, "And, it's made sleeping difficult for me, too."

Harry looked down at his feet, aware that Hermione was looking at him. "Harry," she said, "What did you leave out?"

Harry jerked his head up. "How-What makes you think I left something out?"

Hermione smiled softly, and chose not to comment on his obvious confession. "Harry, you never look me in the eye when you're trying to avoid telling me something."

Harry's face warmed up, but he smiled. "Well, yeah. Um . . . you see . . . the thing is . . . ah . . . Hermonia . . ."

"What about her?"

"She, ah, well, she . . ." How do you tell your best friend that you dreamed you were married to her, that she told you to make two other girls you know your personal sex slaves, to love them, and kissed you?

"She looked like me, right?" Hermione asked.

Harry just stared at her. Hermione was blushing a little. He felt his own face get twice as hot, while something in the back of his mind was looking at the way she chewed her lips and wondering if kissing her would be as good as it was in his dreams . . .

What? NO! Bad Harry! She's your best friend!

"Well, you said that you and this priest, Harren, looked exactly alike-"

"Not exactly," Harry cut off. "He's older and doesn't have a scar."

"Not exactly, but close enough that he could be an older brother, or even yourself in the future. Also, you said these twin girls looked like the Patils. Hermonia's name is almost the same as mine; I just thought, maybe she was your dreams' incarnation of me."

"Right," Harry responded. "Good thinking."

They sat in silence for a moment, before Hermione said "You should talk to Sirius about this."

"How?" Harry asked. "He'll think it's nothing, or that I'm going crazy."

"No, he won't, Harry," Hermoine said, squeezing his hand. "He'd never do that."

Harry didn't say anthing, but he must have not looked any more convinced than he felt, because she added. "We won't talk about it now, but, tomarrow, if we can, let's talk about this some more, maybe look at your other dreams. Are they all about Harren?"

Harry shook his head. "No, two others have popped up."

Hermione nodded. "All right, then. If you think you can handle another night . . ."

"I can," Harry replied, grateful that she wasn't going to ask about his other dreams at the moment. "Good night, Hermione, and thank you."

"Any time, Harry, any time." Hermione got up and turned, but then stopped. Then, she turned around again, bent over, and kissed him lightly on the lips.

It was nice-nothing like what Harren and Hermonia had shared-but it still made him dizzy, and warm, and . . . and he didn't know what.

"Sweet dreams, Harry," she said, and then left. Was it a trick of the light, or was she blushing again? And was she walking just a little faster that usual?

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AUTHOR'S NOTE: Robert E. Howard never said whether or not the priests of Mitra could marry or not or own concubines. I don't think so, but this is my story, so I'll take advantage of the lack of details in Hyborean canon. Anyway, the kings and nobles had slave girls, so it's not that big a stretch.