Dreaming Of You

Dreaming of You

Part 5 - The Other Side of the Rainbow

Chapter 6

Shadow-Lover, never seen by day,

Only deep in dreams do you appear.

Wisdom tells me I should turn away,

Love of mist and shadows, all unclear -

Nothing can I hold of you but thought

Shadow-Lover, mist and twilight wrought.

~*~

"What the - !" Sirius started out of sleep, biting off the exclamation. He shook his head. "I never have normal dreams anymore."

He'd just woken up from what he supposed was technically a recurring dream - himself and a girl named Lianne, sitting around Hogwarts. Talking. This was not a typical dream sequence for him. There was a distinct lack of the usual insane events his subconscious seemed to enjoy.

And for another thing, he could always remember exactly what had happened in each dream. As though he actually had gotten up to wander around the school, and had met Lianne in reality. You weren't supposed to be able to remember dreams that clearly, it ought to be bits and pieces of vaguely connected images.

And he shouldn't be stiff from the way Lianne had made him pose so she could draw him.

I think I'm losing my mind, Sirius decided.

Of course, he meant it mostly as a joke.

~*~

"Sirius? Hello? Are you awake?" James waved a hand in front of his friend's face.

"Yes, I'm awake," Sirius replied testily. "I'm fine."

"Ok. Fine." James backed off. Sirius had been unusually touchy for about a week now, and no one could figure out why. He would've guessed lack of sleep, if Padfoot hadn't begun going to bed earlier than pretty much all the other Gryffindors, first years included. Maybe he was sick or something. But why not tell his friends?

Remus apparently had the same sort of idea. "Sirius, do you want to go up to the hospital wing?" he asked anxiously. "You don't look - "

"I said I'm fine!" Sirius stood up. "I'm going to the library - not the hospital wing. I have a History of Magic essay to finish."

James raised his eyebrows as the tallest of the Marauders stalked out. "Anyone else get the vague feeling there's something he isn't telling us?"

"People don't tell you everything, you know, James Potter," the other Gryffindor prefect informed him scornfully, looking up from a few seats away.

James glowered at her. "Who asked you, Lily Evans?"

"I'm always ready to offer my help to those of you who are so desperately in need of mental assistance," Lily replied with sugar sweetness.

"Really." James folded his arms. "Enlighten us."

Lily smirked, and turned away to her friend Anya. "Some boys," she said loudly, "simply can't see what's in front of their own noses."

James rolled his eyes, giving up. He should've known Lily wouldn't tell him anything. She hadn't been too fond of the Marauders ever since that whole incident with the diaries. That one had been an accident, actually. How were they supposed to have known it was hers? It wasn't like she was the only "Lily" in the whole school. They'd thought it belonged to a Slytherin.

Remus, however, leaned over to look at the redhead. "Lily? You don't think Sirius is sick, do you?"

"Sick?" Lily smiled enigmatically. "A certain special kind of sickness, maybe. The symptoms are... irritability, daydreaming, snapping at his friends, spending more time alone than he ever has before, staring off into space when he should be listening in class - though I don't know if that one counts, considering who we're talking about." She shrugged. "Well, I won't spell it out for you. It's pretty obvious."

Peter blinked. "No, it's not." Of course, Peter was habitually confused... but in this case, James rather agreed that Lily hadn't been helpful at all.

Lily shrugged again, and turned back to her friends, humming a song by a current wizard band, Witch Fire. It was called "Spelling Love" or something, wasn't it?

James shook his head. Girls. Go figure.

~*~

What is wrong with me? Sirius demanded of himself. Why am I so upset with my friends? They're only worried. I'd say the same, if one of them starting acting this way.

But he couldn't go to the hospital wing. He wouldn't go. Madam Kelari was nice enough, as Healers went, but he hadn't the faintest idea what she'd say about - well, no, that wasn't quite true. She'd probably say he was either making these dreams up, or worrying over nothing. Or there's always the insanity option... No, he wasn't going to think about that.

Sirius tried and failed to stifle a yawn. He really had no business being tired, as early as he'd been going to bed. But as far as he could tell, those dreams he was having didn't count as rest to his body. Maybe he ought to ask Madam Kelari for a potion for dreamless sleep...?

But no, that wasn't a choice. He liked seeing Lianne, he truly did. Even if she was only a figment of his imagination. Could she really be? It was hard to believe. She seemed so real, so lifelike, so unlike what he'd choose if he set out to create a girl to dream about. For one thing, Li was silly almost to a fault. And rather flighty, it seemed. His mother always said he would have to hook up with a steady, reliable sort of girl, to counteract his own bouts of craziness.

Whoa, wait a minute. Sirius blinked. When did I start thinking about this hook up business? Dream. She is a dream. I have to remember that. You can't fall in love with a dream. I don't think it's allowed. There's probably some sort of rule against it.

Though Lianne didn't seem to care particularly if he was a dream or not. She hadn't said or done anything romantic since the not-kiss they'd almost shared the first time they'd met, but he was getting the distinct impression that she was, if not in love with him already, then certainly well on the way there. She hadn't said anything, exactly, but he could guess, from the way she watched him when she thought he wasn't paying attention, and from some of the things she'd said.

It isn't very fair to her, Sirius thought, depressed. Just as he couldn't force himself to grasp that she wasn't real, he couldn't ignore her feelings. But a dream relationship would never work. Never. No matter how much they wanted it to.

Maybe I should ask for a sleeping potion after all. At least then he wouldn't have to deal with this anymore. He wouldn't have to worry about whether he was falling in love with one of his own dreams.

~*~

"You think he's what?" James stared at Remus in disbelief.

"I think Sirius has fallen in love with someone," Remus repeated patiently. "Or anyway," he amended, "I think that's what Lily was saying."

"Oh, Lily," James began dismissively.

"No, don't be like that," Remus scolded. "Lily's a lot more observant than you or me, that's why she's in Advanced Divination with the sixth years and we aren't."

"And here I thought it was because she threatened to jinx Professor Fierston," James muttered.

"That's only a rumor and well you know it," Remus said calmly. "But anyway, I've been thinking about it all day, and it does fit. Daydreaming, not wanting to spend time with us, being grouchy... you have a better suggestion?"

"Who with?" Peter wanted to know. "Not Lily?"

"I doubt it, or she'd've let us know that," Remus replied.

"Anyway, Sirius has better taste," James added.

Remus shot James an exasperated look. "Lily is a nice girl," he told James. "And she has good reason to dislike you. But we aren't talking about her. We are talking about Sirius."

"You're talking about me?" The three boys' heads snapped to the door of the dorm room. Sirius stood there, leaning on the doorframe. "Gee, I feel honored. What about?"

"Listen, Padfoot," Remus stood to meet Sirius's eyes, "don't get mad and walk away again, but we really are worried about you."

"So am I." Sirius laughed to turn the statement into a joke.

"No, really," Remus insisted. "Is there anything wrong?"

"You know you can tell us anything," James told him earnestly.

"Ah, it's nothing." Sirius shut the door behind him as he came in to sit on one of the beds. "I just think I may be losing my mind."

"Isn't it already gone?" James joked.

Sirius rolled his eyes, clearly - astonishingly - unamused. "Oh, yeah. Yeah, that's cute. Real funny, Prongs. Last time I try to have a serious conversation with you."

James, Remus, and Peter all stared. "You mean you weren't joking?" James asked at last.

"Not entirely." Sirius shrugged. "Not yet."

"You sound like Lily Evans," James grumbled. "All mystery and veiled threat and nothing solid to give us any idea what you mean."

"You want solid?" Sirius raised his eyebrows. "Fine. Solid it is. I think I may be falling in love."

"So I was right!" Remus exclaimed.

"Sort of," Sirius said carelessly. "Any ideas as to who?"

"Don't you know?" Peter asked, eyes widening.

Sirius just rolled his eyes again. "He wants us to guess," Remus explained. frowning. "Is she a Gryffindor?"

"Nope."

"Ravenclaw?"

"Try again."

"Hufflepuff?"

"Uh-uh."

"Slytherin?"

"No."

James gave his friend a suspicious look. "She isn't a teacher, is she?"

Sirius shuddered. "Hardly. She's a bit young for that. No, you're entirely on the wrong track."

"So she doesn't go to Hogwarts?" Remus's frown deepened. "A French girl? Beauxbatons?"

"Try American," Sirius said. "In theory, anyway."

"How can you be American 'in theory?'" James demanded. "Either you are or you aren't!"

"She is, then." Sirius shrugged. "I just doubt you'd find her name listed in their school of wizardry."

"A Muggle?" Peter asked, startled.

"No, not exactly." Sirius didn't deign to elaborate further.

"You're being annoying on purpose, aren't you?" James said darkly.

"Yes." Sirius sighed. "Ok, I'll stop. Here's the real story. And if you disbelieve me I swear I'll never speak to any of you again. In fact, I'll - I'll see if Dumbledore will switch me down to the fourth year dormitory!"

"We'll believe you, we'll believe you," Remus assured him hastily. "Just tell us."

"Well," Sirius began, "I've been having these really insane dreams..."

~*~

"... and that's the whole story," he finished. "And I think it may be too late already."

"It... could be a portent...?" Remus suggested delicately, with a sidelong look at James.

Right on cue, the other boy snorted his disgust. "Don't tell me you're starting to believe all that Everything Is An Omen Of Eternal Despair junk, Moony."

"Have you got a better explanation?" Remus shot back.

"Besides the obvious one of me being raving mad, you mean?" Sirius smiled twistedly. "Anyway, why would I being getting portents? I didn't take Divination because Fierston said I'd probably flunk out, remember? My Inner Eye went blind, or something."

"It couldn't be a curse, could it?" Peter wondered. "It's the sort of thing Snape and his friends might do."

"And if anyone knows a curse like that, it's Snape," James agreed.

"Lianne is not the product of a curse," Sirius said fiercely, giving both Peter and James very nasty looks.

"Are you quite sure?" Remus asked gently.

"Yes!" Sirius snapped. Then, "No. But I don't want her to be a curse. I want her to be real!"

The other three looked at each other uncomfortably. They wanted Lianne to be real, too, if only for Sirius's sake. But some dreams just don't come true.

Chapter 7

Shadow-Lover, soothe me when I mourn

Mourn for all who left me here alone,

When my grief is too much to be borne,

When my burdens crushing-great have grown,

Shadow-Lover, I cannot forget -

Help me bear the burdens I have yet.

~*~

"Crazy Americans." Draco looked down at the Muggle telephone in distaste. Only that Anderson woman who was in charge of the school over there would come up with something as stupid as this telephone plan. At least as a sixth year, he rated one of the smaller contraptions, instead of the monstrosities some of the first years had to lug around. He was required to carry his telephone with him at all times, and the "cell phones" were much easier than those others.

"What?" Goyle looked across the dorm room at the smaller boy, apparently attempting to show some semblance of intelligence.

"Americans," Draco repeated, louder. "They're all lunatics over there."

"Oh, tell me about it," Blaise Zabini said, sighing melodramatically. "You should hear the boy I've gotten stuck with. Going on and on about their school system - how they don't actually have one school, if you can believe it. It's fifty small ones, one in every state."

"You're joking." Draco forgot his usual dislike of the somewhat girly - even fey, as rumor had it - wizard in his disbelief at this new revelation. "How can they possibly get anything done?"

"How should I know?" Blaise rolled his big green eyes - He must use eyeliner on those, Draco decided - theatrically. "Do you think I was actually listening to whatever-his-name-is? I'm hardly going to waste my time on him. I'm sure he'd go straight to Hufflepuff, no questions asked."

Which is where you should have gone, Draco thought irritably. Join the other cross-dressing freaks. Honestly, some people just don't deserve the name of Slytherin, no matter where their parents were placed. Some days, he wondered how many points he'd lose if he just throttled Blaise in the halls one day. Or maybe he'd gain points. It'd probably qualify as a service to the school, or something.

"So, Draco, how's your 'phone pal?'" Blaise asked chattily, apparently with the mistaken idea that Draco wanted to have a conversation with him. "Interesting at all?"

"She's a lunatic, as I said earlier," Draco replied coldly. "Like certain other people."

"My phone pal, you mean?" Blaise nodded brightly. "Oh, yes, he's an idiot for sure!"

"He wasn't who I meant." Draco scowled at the other wizard. He did not want to talk about Autumn. If word got out he'd been talking with a Muggle, not only would his reputation be ruined, his father would probably kill him. Unintentional or not, Draco had actually spent at least an hour's worth of time speaking with one of Them, and that was not to be tolerated. Not when it was a Malfoy in question.

"Wasn't he?" Blaise cocked his head. "Oh, I see!" He lowered his voice conspiratorially, not noticing Draco's frigid expression. "Yes, I've noticed that Greggory isn't precisely the brightest tool in the shed, too - if you know what I mean."

Draco stared at Blaise incredulously. "Are you some kind of moron?" he asked at last. "Can't you take a hint? I do not want to talk to you! Leave me alone!" He swept over to fling the door open. Before he left, he added, "And it's 'the brightest crayon in the box," or "the sharpest tool in the shed.' Try to get something right for once!"

Slamming the door, he stormed out through the Common Room. Several other Slytherins looked up, but no one said anything. It was an unspoken agreement in this House - no one interfered with anyone else's vendettas. That way, when someone came to demand what had happened and who had known, the answer was always the same - no one.

It helped that most of them probably assumed his fury was directed towards Potter, for one reason or another. Honestly, he hadn't had time to even think about harassing Potter much, ever since he'd been forced into this Muggle Studies class, he'd been kept too bloody busy! And along with this 'phone pal' garbage, he was amazed he still had time to practice Quidditch.

Potter finds time, he thought resentfully. Of course, the teachers all favored Potter, so he didn't have to work as hard. Because Potter's our little Quidditch star, of course. Perfect Potter. Even had alliteration.

Perfect Potter. Potter, who had his precious scar, who had protections from all the evils in the world, who didn't have to worry about being conscripted into the Death Eater ranks by a too-ambitious father, and forced to spy in Hogwarts. They'd catch me, too, Draco thought despondently. Me, taking an interest in the 'secret workings' of how the school operates? Hidden entrances, exits, secret passages, when I've never cared about it before? Fine spy I'd make, to be sure. They need someone like Granger, who's fascinated by that kind of thing. Dumbledore'd notice straight away if I started trying to learn about all that.

All Potter had to worry about was staying alive. Draco was sure he'd have no problem with that, at least. If - when - he was conscripted, then caught, he'd probably be wishing he hadn't stayed alive quite so well. However much the Ministry left of him, the Dark Lord would get hold of him afterwards. And the Dark Lord was not kind to failures.

Draco was so deep in his thoughts that he almost didn't notice his cell phone ringing. He glared at it, willing it to melt to a mass of fried Muggle circuitry. When it didn't, he scowled and snatched it up. "What now?"

"Polite, aren't you, seeing as you just interrupted my English homework!" Autumn snapped. "Do you mind? This essay is due tomorrow!"

"And let me guess, you've written all of two words," Draco sneered. It would be just typical of a Muggle, leaving things off -

"I've only got to finish the conclusion and run spellcheck, but that's beside the point!" Autumn rudely derailed his train of thought.

"And just what is the point?" Draco raised one eyebrow, even though she couldn't see him.

"That you're annoying me!" Autumn flung back. "Stop calling me, stop bothering me - "

"Haven't we established yet that you are calling me?" Draco asked wearily.

"No! We haven't!" Autumn yelled. "Now if you don't stop calling me, I'll - I'll - I'll do something drastic!"

"Such as?" Draco demanded. Just what could a Muggle do to him?

"I'll tell my father you've been harassing me, and give him the phone!" Autumn declared triumphantly. "One more time, whoever you are. Once more, and you get to speak to my father!" She slammed the phone down in his ear.

Draco stared at the cell phone, nettled. "I wish she'd stop doing that," he muttered, rubbing his ear.

"Having trouble with your phone pal?"

Draco spun around just in time to see Granger elbow Weasley hard, hissing something he couldn't understand. Potter was there, too, but he was just staring straight at Draco. Suspiciously. Draco had the sudden feeling that if he ever did end up spying for the Dark Lord, Dumbledore might not be the one who caught him, after all.

"Only that she wants a pledge of my undying love," Draco lied smoothly. "It's such a bother to have girls throw themselves at you constantly. Not that you'd know."

Weasley growled something under his breath. This time, Potter spoke. "Nor would you, I'd imagine. Sounded to me like you were arguing about whether or not she'd called you."

Draco's eyes narrowed. "You're just jealous because that Ravenclaw keeps rejecting you. Not that I blame her. Who'd want marked goods?" He let his eyes rake Potter's forehead, touching the purple scar.

Potter went white, and - surprise, surprise - Granger was next to address him. "Better to be marked as Harry is than the way certain others are!" she snapped, glaring at his forearm pointedly.

Draco was so pale naturally he couldn't exactly go white, but he could get very nervous. He didn't have the Dark Mark - yet - but surely, surely it was only a matter of time. And if Potter and his friends were already on the lookout, he was doomed before he began.

"Well, don't you have an answer for everything?" the Slytherin managed to sneer. "Who'd want to waste time with a know-it-all, anyway?"

With that, he turned and walked hurriedly away, turning into the first door he came to.

Oh, damn.

"Yes, Draco, can I help you?" Angela Stellarum, the pretty Muggle Studies professor, smiled at him - a wary, puzzled sort of smile, yes, but still a smile. Which was rather amazing, considering that Draco made it a point to go out of his way to be nasty to her. She was a bit young for a professor, probably not even thirty, but she gave more work than any other two teachers combined, McGonagall not withstanding.

"Yeah," Draco said, scowling as he tried to come up with an excuse to be there. He didn't dare give the obvious, that something was wrong with his cell phone, because Stellarum might notice he'd been in contact with a Muggle. And then his father would find out. "I... didn't understand our essay topic."

"Oh, that!" Professor Stellarum beamed at him, apparently assuming she'd won him over to the side of the Muggles at last. Huh. Not likely. "It really is quite simple - just how the telephone connects the Muggle world. Actually, there's a recent invention that does the job better, called the Internet, but that's a bit complicated for your first year in this class. What didn't you understand?"

"Never mind, I figured it out." Draco turned away, figuring Potter and company would be gone by then - and ended up facing the three of them. "What, you're following me now?"

"Like it's our fault we need to see Professor Stellarum!" Weasley snapped. "Why would we want to waste our time following you around?"

"Ron, please be nice," Stellarum admonished. "Draco just had a question for me, that's all. Every student has the right to learn."

"Yes, well, some of us don't exercise that right as much as we should," Granger muttered.

"Oh, I'm learning, all right," Draco sneered. "More than I ever wanted to know about Muggles, between this class and that stupid phone - " He cut himself off sharply, cursing silently. He was going to have to learn to be more careful, if he wanted to survive his two remaining school years.

"Draco!" Stellarum shot him a hurt look, but Draco really couldn't care less. He shoved past the Gryffindors and stalked out into the hallway.

Only once he was out there did the sudden increase of suspicion - and interest - in Potter's face really register.

Chapter 8

Shadow-Lover, you alone can know

How I long to reach a point of peace

How I fade with weariness and woe

How I long for you to bring release.

Shadow-Lover, court me in my dreams

Bring the peace that suffering redeems.

~*~

"Damn, damn, and damn!" Harry flung his quill down.

"What?" Ron looked up in shock. "Harry, are you ok?"

"No! That's the fourth time tonight I've made a stupid mistake like this!" Harry pointed at his much-crossed-out Potions essay. "Look! I mixed up dragon's blood and unicorn's blood, for crying out loud! I haven't done that since first year!"

"You probably just need more sleep," Hermione said practically. "Maybe." The last word sounded a lot more uncertain, as she seemed to be remembering that Harry had been sleeping more than normal lately, not less.

"It is late," Ron agreed.

"But this essay is due in two days, and I have Quidditch practice tomorrow," Harry pointed out. "That's why we're writing it now, instead of the night before it's due."

He did want to get to bed, however, though not for the reason Hermione and Ron were thinking of. Maybe it was crazy - no, it was definitely crazy - but he wanted to dream about Hazel Randel again. Oh, he could just hear what Professor Trelawney would say: it's an omen, you've seen the semblance of your true love, and soon you will meet her and marry her. Of course. At the ripe old age of seventeen. Sure.

But even though Hazel was just something his subconscious had come up with, she was nice. A lot nicer than most girls he met, excluding Hermione, who didn't count. It was fun to talk to her, a lot more fun than being awake was.

And there was the catch. Hazel wasn't real. For all he knew, she could be a dream-curse, sent by Voldemort to distract him, keep him off his guard. He didn't like to think that, but he had to admit there was a possibility. Nowadays, he couldn't afford anything but - as Mad Eye Moody would have said - constant vigilance. Voldemort made no secret of the fact that he wanted Harry. It was only sheer dumb luck that Harry had avoided capture over the summer, when the Dursleys dragged him off to Majorca the night Voldemort tried for him there.

Was a dream-curse even possible? It was subtler than Voldemort usually worked, but the more obvious methods of just trying to kill Harry out of hand hadn't really achieved much. He might just try this. The dreams definitely didn't feel like ordinary dreams, and that was too suspicious to ignore, nowadays. He ought to ask Hermione, at least. See if she'd ever heard of a way of cursing dreams.

"Hermione?" Harry asked, before he lost his nerve. "Have you ever heard of a curse that makes a person dream certain things?"

Hermione looked up sharply. "Why?"

"Just wondering." Harry cast about for an explanation. "I read something about it, somewhere, and I wanted to know if it was possible."

"Oh." Hermione seemed to accept this. "Well, I've never heard of anything like it. Magic can affect dreams, but not curse them. There's a charm a person can use if he or she wants to receive Seeing dreams, but someone else can't cast it. Of course," she added thoughtfully, "I could just not have heard of it. Where'd you read it?"

"I don't remember," Harry told her. "Just a book I was looking through for some essay."

"Well, tell me if you remember." Hermione frowned. "I hate not knowing things."

Harry sighed softly. Join the club.

~*~

"Harry?" Hermione's voice jerked Harry out of his thoughts on the way back to the Common Room. Ron had gone back earlier, when they finished their essays, having decided that studying for a Transfiguration quiz and writing an essay in one night would be too much work.

"Yeah?" Harry tried not to sound guilty. He had the feeling she'd tried to get his attention several times before this, and he just hadn't noticed.

"You know there's a Hogsmeade trip this weekend?" Hermione was staring fixedly at the floor ahead of them as she spoke.

"Yep." Harry sighed. "I don't think I'm going to go. Maybe I'll take advantage of the peace and quiet in the Common Room to catch up on some rest." Since any dream about Hazel doesn't seem to count as sleep.

"Oh." Hermione bit her lip. "I was hoping you'd go with me."

"Can't you go with Ron or Ginny?" Harry asked. "If you want advice on something to buy, Ginny would probably be more help than me. Ron says I have no taste."

"No," Hermione corrected him. "No, I meant with me. Like a date."

"A date?" Harry repeated blankly. Then it sunk in. She's asking me out. She can't do that, can she? We're friends, right?

Apparently, she could do that. "Yes. A date," Hermione confirmed. "With me. Would you like to?"

"Um," Harry said eloquently. "Can I think about it?"

Hermione's face fell. "You don't want to."

"No, no, it's not that," Harry tried to assure her.

"You're still in love with that Ravenclaw Seeker, aren't you?" Hermione asked accusingly. "That's why, isn't it?"

Cho really didn't have anything to do with it, but Harry doubted Hermione would believe that. "No," he told her anyway.

"Yes, you are," Hermione said flatly. "Listen, Harry, you shouldn't waste yourself on her. Cho might be an ok sort of girl, but you deserve a lot better than her."

"Like you?" Harry asked, trying not to sound condescending.

"Well... yes!" Hermione stopped in front of the portrait of the Fat Lady, glaring up at the woman. "Do you mind? This is a personal conversation!"

"Then why are you having it out in the hall?" the Fat Lady demanded grumpily. "I wasn't listening anyway." She drifted back into the sleep she'd been in before Harry and Hermione had approached.

"Hermione, this has nothing to do with Cho," Harry said again.

"I think it does," Hermione replied stubbornly. "Just remember, Harry - when you realize that Cho Chang isn't so wonderful after all, I'll still be here."

With that, she leaned forward and kissed him.

~*~

Harry lay awake in bed, staring at the ceiling. What in the world would possess Hermione to kiss him like that? Had he said something, or done something, that could have made her think he wanted to kiss her? He hadn't meant to.

Oh, Lord, am I ever in a mess... Harry couldn't believe his bad luck. Of all the girls who could have gone and fallen for him, it had to be Hermione. One of his friends. He couldn't even go to her for advice like he normally would, because she was the problem. And however this ended, she was going to be very unhappy.

Because Harry didn't think he could love her. It wasn't Cho who was in the way, though. But it was probably best that Hermione thought Cho was the reason. He had a nasty feeling she would never believe the real explanation...

~*~

"Hi, Harry." Hazel smiled at him as he entered the room. They always ended up meeting in a room near the bottom of the tallest Astronomy Tower, as the dream would conveniently begin when one of them walked in.

"Hi, Hazel." Harry grinned back tiredly.

Hazel noticed immediately. "Something's wrong."

"Oh - no, it's nothing." Harry was very reluctant to let Hazel know about Hermione, and how she'd kissed him. It wasn't that he was afraid she'd be jealous... more that he was afraid she wouldn't be. And the fact that he was worried about a dream's feelings scared him most of all.

"It's not nothing," Hazel said, staring at him intently. "You have bags under your eyes. You look exhausted!" She started to reach out to touch the dark circles under his eye, then jerked her hand back. "Sorry."

Harry shrugged, deliberately misunderstanding the apology, pretending he hadn't seen the movement. "I know I look tired. Don't worry, I'm not so vain that being told about it bothers me." He grinned. "If you said that to Malfoy, now..."

"Draco Malfoy?" Hazel asked. Harry felt an irrational jealousy at her interest. "The Slytherin?"

"You know him?" Harry asked, frowning. Well, I suppose a dream character would know anyone I did...

"Oh - " Hazel looked suddenly flustered. "I've heard of him, that's all. He wouldn't know me, of course." She hurried to make an obvious, but welcome, subject change. "So, you were going to tell me about your Quidditch team, remember?"

"Oh, yes, that's right." Harry nodded, glad to not have to talk about Malfoy to Hazel anymore. He really did not like the possessiveness it brought out in him.

Chapter 9

Shadow-Lover, from the Shadows made,

Lead me into Shadows once again.

Where you lead I cannot be afraid,

For with you I shall come home again -

In your arms I shall not fear the night.

Shadow-Lover, lead me into light.

~*~

Remus stared bemusedly at the small pile of letters on his desk. He'd never seen the owl that delivered them, or the one that picked up his replies. He'd never even heard of the woman who wrote them. If he didn't know better, he might suspect someone of playing a joke on him.

But there was no one who would play such a joke, not anymore. Maybe once, Sirius might have, but now, running from the Ministry, helping fight Voldemort, Padfoot didn't have the time. And anyway, he'd grown past that stage of his life.

Which left only one other option - that this was a real person sending him these letters. A real woman, somewhere out there, who was engaged to a man named "Remus." He had to keep reminding himself of that. And that a woman's writing style wasn't a reason to be attracted to her.

It would probably solve a lot of problems if I just quit writing to her, Remus thought. But he couldn't do that. Maybe he didn't know this woman, but he liked her. He at least wanted to be her friend. He already seemed to be her pen pal. On which note... I have a letter to write.

Remus picked up a quill pen. He'd noticed that Erin's letters were much smoother than quills could write. She must be Muggle-born. It was almost unheard of for any other sort of witch to write with Muggle pens.

Glancing at her last letter for reference, Remus began writing.

Dear Erin,

I do apologize for reading your private letters. I had no wish to offend you. But you have to admit that they seemed to be addressed to me. I have mentioned that 'Remus' is hardly a common name. And I'm sure there's nothing wrong with your owl. I was just worried it might be feeling a bit under the weather, since it's been delivering letters to the wrong person. You have it trained quite well, by the way. I've never even seen it.

I've been getting your responses to my letters fairly quickly, so I'm assuming we live rather close to each other. Certainly within Apparating distance. Would you like to meet me? Not as a date, because you are engaged, after all. I'm simply curious as to just whom I've been corresponding with.

Speaking of your fiancé, I don't mean to pry, but I haven't caused any serious damage between you, have I? If so, perhaps I should meet with him, rather than you. I hope this gets straightened out soon. There are enough problems in the world without me causing more of them.

Sincerely,

Remus

"I hope I haven't caused any serious damage between you." Right. Remus sighed, shaking his head. And here I thought Sirius fell too easily in l- well, in like, anyway. And then this happens to me. Go figure.

~*~

"Where did this come from?" Remus stared into his desk drawer in shock. He'd been expecting Erin to write back to him, yes... but he hadn't expected to find her reply to him in a locked drawer. I'm starting to think there's more to this than just a well-trained owl...

It wouldn't have been so bad if he'd even had any sign the drawer had been opened. And there should have been signs. This was the drawer where he kept all his moon charts, his supply of Wolfsbane Potion, anything that could possibly indicate that he was a werewolf. It was spelled with so many Locking Charms and Deterring Hexes and even a sturdy Muggle lock to which Remus had the only key that even if someone had managed to break it open, it should have been obvious. Certainly no owl could have done it.

But then, Erin had never actually said she had an owl. He'd just always assumed that was how her letters were delivered. It was a reasonable assumption. Everyone used owls. But they didn't just deliver messages and immediately fly off, not unless they were trained that way for a reason. And what reason would someone have to train her personal owl to fly unseen? Not even the Ministry did that.

I'm probably reading too much into this, Remus thought, taking a deep breath. Except he didn't know how else to read it. Too many suspicious circumstances, not enough explanations... it just didn't add up. Maybe she'll say something in her letter. Remus opened it.

Remus -

Ok, I'd really like to know how you managed to get your letter delivered to me, without my knowing, while I was still in the room with it. I was studying on my bed, with my last letter to you on my desk, and a few hours later, it's replaced with one from you. I want to know how you did that. And if you didn't, I want to know who you're hiring that did.

- Erin

Remus read and reread the letter, but it still said the same thing. She doesn't know... the same thing happened to her... she's scared, I know she's scared, and so am I... what is going on here?

There was only one thing he could think of to do, and that was to write back.