Reincarnations

Chapter 1

But it wasn't a dream. It was a place. And you and you and you...and you were there. But you couldn't have been could you? No, Aunt Em, this was a real truly live place and I remember some of it wasn't very nice...

-Dorothy, The Wizard of Oz

Harry had trouble falling asleep again that night. No matter how he tossed and turned he couldn't shake the image of the dream from his head. In the end he lay awake and counted the cracks in the ceiling. There were 347, and he was positive of this number as he had counted them sixteen times. Finally, he left the bed and the scent of breakfast drifted up to meet him. He dressed haphazardly in a pair of Dudley's old jeans that Mrs. Weasley had altered with a bit of magic so they wouldn't slip and a faded green shirt. He walked down the stairs in a daze to the kitchen where he was handed a plate of waffles by an excessively cheerful Mrs. Weasley.

The war was taking its toll on everyone especially after Sirius's death. Mrs. Weasley was overcompensating for the loss by putting and a happy face no matter what happened. She was going to be cheerful if it killed her dammit. Unfortunately Molly Weasley's definition of cheerful consisted of mothering everyone to death and attempting to feed them until they burst. Her face looked like a plaster mask that was going to crack at any moment.

Harry ignored her attempt at levity and took a seat at the table across from Ron. Ron was happily babbling about the Chudley Cannons' chances in the World Cup and how good their seeker Galvin Gudgeon was looking this year. Harry ignored his ranting with a practiced ear. He knew exactly when to nod as he absently poked at his breakfast.

Last night's dream was still as vivid in his mind. He could still smell the harsh scent of the antiseptic the infirmary used mingling with the sweet coppery tang of blood and the musk of worn leather. He could feel the cold steel of the knife in his hands and the way his holsters pressed against his sides. The sights, the smells, the sounds were all so real, so vivid that he was having a hard time separating the memory of the dream from the reality of the breakfast table. What bothers me most is what's NOT bothering me, namely, my scar. The dream had none of Voldemort's taint to it, but was still more vivid than any of his worst nightmares.

"Do you think that You-Know-Who's reappearance will have any effect on the Cup this year?" The unexpected question startled Harry out of his reverie.

"What?" Harry responded a bit disconcerted by what his brain was deeming a non sequitur to his train of thought.

Ron could see through Harry in the way that only best friends can and a concerned look spread across his freckled face. "What's wrong mate?"

"Nothing I just had a dream..."

Ron's eyes went wide. Harry's dreams were famous among his tight circle of friends, especially considering the fact that they tended to be of a prophetic nature. "Did it have to do with You-Know-Who?" the redhead whispered in a tone somewhere between fellow conspirator and worried friend.

"No it had nothing to do with Voldemort," Harry replied ignoring to the way his friend winced at the name. "It was just... odd that's all. I'll tell you what, go get Hermione and meet me up in my room after breakfast and I'll tell you all about it."

***

"...And then I woke up," Harry finished.

His friends' reactions to his dream were rather predictable. Hermione was looking pensive and scribbling quickly on a scroll about where she may have read about similar incidents and what materials she should check out of the library when she got back to Hogwarts. Ron on the other hand was a bit pale and was staring at Harry with a wide-eyed open mouthed expression the straddled the borderline between shock and horror. He shifted nervously from one foot to the other and swallowed loudly several times before he opened his mouth and stammered out, "A-a-are y-you sure I was a g-g-girl in your dream? I mean it w-wasn't Ginny or something?"

Harry contemplated the idea for a second before discarding it. The woman in his dream had such a degree of just simple "Ron-ness" for lack of a better word that her identity had been obvious despite the camouflage of her gender. "I'm positive," he responded. "She talked like you she moved like you. Merlin, she even looked like you... or at least she looked like you would look if you had tits, which of course you don't, but theoretically if you did I mean..." Harry trailed off as he realized the depth of the hole he was digging himself into.

Ron blinked and was silent for a second as he tried to force his mind around the concept, but only succeeded in making himself appear constipated. "Are you absolutely positive?"

Harry sighed and rolled his eyes. "Yes, Ron."

"200%?"

"You cannot be 200% positive, Ron. It's a statistical impossibility," Hermione informed him. "In any case you should stop worrying about the gender of some bizarre alternate version of yourself and focus on the matter at hand. Namely, why was Harry dreaming about Muggle versions of the three of us?"

"They weren't Muggles," Harry insisted.

"Really? Are you sure?" Hermione asked and waited for Harry to nod before she continued. "But if they weren't Muggles, then why were they talking about guns and being shot. Wizards don't use guns. That's strictly a Muggle convention."

"True," Harry replied, "but Muggles' shirts don't spontaneously turn into chickens either."

"No one's shirts spontaneously turn into chickens."

"Mine have," Ron interjected.

Hermione turned to look at Ron with a slightly shocked look on her face. "You've had shirts spontaneously turn into chickens before?"

"Of course, haven't you?"

Harry felt vindicated by the exchange and smirked in triumph. Ron glared at him, but without true conviction. "That doesn't count," he insisted half-heartedly. "Just because you got us to say that doesn't mean anything except that you know us really well. You may have eaten something that disagreed with you. Fred and George said that they had funny dreams that time when they ate too many treacle tarts before they went to bed. I'm not saying I don't believe you, Harry. I'm just saying that it may have just been a normal dream."

"It was NOT a normal dream!" Harry shouted. "I was in someone else's body! I heard his thoughts. I felt his emotions. I was him and wasn't him at the same time, and it was the most disconcerting feeling I've ever had in my entire life!"

"All right, Harry. I believe you. I just... I just can't picture myself as a girl, but that doesn't mean that I don't believe you, just that I..."

"It's ok, Ron. I understand. Thanks."

Ron just smiled and shrugged. "What are friends for? Come on mum wanted to take us to Diagon Alley to go shopping for our books and such before the Holidays ended."

***

Harry Potter was not the only one who was a bit out of sorts that morning. Back in Malfoy Manor, Draco had crept into the family library and was purposefully pulling every book he could find on the topic of dreams from the shelves. The Malfoy library was quite extensive, so by the time he finished he had a stack of close to forty books sitting on the table. Summoning several of the Manor's house elves to carry the books, he fled back to his room to immerse himself in their pages.

He had awakened early that morning after a rather odd dream. He had been spying on his father, only it wasn't his father. Lucius would never cut his hair that short, nor would he wear Muggle garments. In complete defiance of reality, the Lucius in his dream had close cropped white-blond hair and was wearing a well-tailored black business suit. The man in the dream had cut a dashing figure though, so at least his father had retained his impeccable taste. It was the most realistic dream he had ever experienced, but it was also one of the most disturbing.

What did it mean? Why did he have it? He wasn't prone to nightmares; he'd have gone crazy long ago if he had. A Malfoy isn't prone flights of fantasy like some soddding Hufflepuff or a hysterical female, and yet here he was completely frazzled all because of some foolish dream. Draco glared at the book in front of him as if it was the source of his weakness, then sighed and went back to his reading. The sooner he figured out what had happened; the sooner he could stop it from happening again.

***

Harry loved Diagon Alley from the moment he set foot in it six years ago. It had been his first real taste of what the Wizarding World had to offer. Even now it captivated him. Everywhere he looked there was evidence of a touch of magic, from the stores, to the people to the streets themselves. It was enough to dull the pain for another day and let him focus on the task at hand: shopping.

Earlier that week Hermione, Ron, and he had received their letters, and their O.W.L. scores as well. Predictably, Hermione had earned all O's. Harry had O's in Defence against the Dark Arts, Transfiguration, and, amazingly Potions. He had also managed an E on Care of Magical Creature, Herbology, and Charms, and an A on everything else. Considering how is astronomy exam went he was surprised he didn't do worse. With his marks in hand he was now legally an adult in the eyes of the Wizarding World and thus, able to practice magic away from school.

Their first stop was Gringotts, where Harry and the Weasleys went on a harrowing ride to collect their money while Hermione exchanged her Muggle currency. When they finished dealing with the goblins, they headed visited Flourish & Blotts thankful that there were no surprises like the Monster Book of Monsters on their lists. Mrs. Weasley shrunk their purchases and stuffed them in her oversized purse. After a short trip to Slug & Jiggers Apothecary to refresh their potion supplies, they headed over to the twin's new establishment.

Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes was located at number 93 Diagon Alley. It was a decent sized outfit crowded with fake wands, candy, handkerchiefs, candles, and all manner of other miscellaneous semi-innocuous looking paraphernalia. Three small boys, first years from the look of them, were sampling the canary creams and the ton tongue toffees. Some young witches were examining some of the new Shrieking Sherbets. Fred and George were behind the counter ringing-up the purchases of a horde of children. Occasionally a small explosion would ring out and one of the twins would duck through a door and check on the source of the disturbance. The whole store had an air of barely controlled chaos. The Gryffindor Trio quickly made their way over to the twins and were greeted warmly.

"Harry, you have to see our latest creation," Fred insisted, holding out what looked like a typical Hogwarts school robe.

"We call it the Emperor's new robe," George continued. "To the unwary it appears to be just a typical school robe, until they put it on."

"And they continue to see a typical school robe. Everybody else sees them running around in their nuddy pants like loonies."

At this point Hermione decided to lecture the twins on indecency and the possibility of taking jokes a bit too far. Harry was about to interject when, without warning, he collapsed in a heap.

***

Harrison was the last one of his team to assemble in Allan Dearborne's office. Hermes was perched on the arm of a high-backed chair observing the decor with interest, while Ronda slouched warily against the doorframe. Dearborne himself was standing behind a huge ornate desk. He offered Harrison a lemon drop then took his seat in an overstuffed chair.

Allan Dearborne ran a law firm, Dearborn and Associates, that was actually the front for a mercenary organization. Team Gold, consisting of Hermes, Harrison, Ronda, and on occasions when they needed a pilot, Ronda's little brother Gio, was one of his elite strike forces, though they were among the youngest of his employees. Dearborn himself was an aging man with a spotless record and a sweet tooth a mile long. He was one of the most respected lawyers in the New Tokyo criminal justice system, and if he seemed to have a tendency to acquire information, that his opponents though didn't even exist, well, that was par for the course.

However he was not their usual liaison. The only member of the team he normally had contact with was Harrison, the leader of Team Gold. Their usual liaison was stern woman with a soft-heart named Minnie McTeague. The fact Dearborne was debriefing them was a bad sign.

When Harrison had entered and shut the door firmly behind him, Dearborne gave them a quick once over before speaking. "As you know, the last mission you were sent on was successful, though not as successful as we would have hoped." The last statement was accompanied by a stern look to Ronda. "The information you recovered was useful, but, alas, incomplete. According to the information we do have though, Vuelo de la Muerte has acquired some new type of weapon called the Dementor Ray. What we don't know is what this weapon does. As a result I am assigning you three to compile a go-to. I want you to learn everything you can about this weapon and how to counteract it. The three of you are very innovative, check your sources and report back to me."

Hermes absorbed this before asking, "Why did you tell us this instead of Ms. McTeague? She could have imparted this information just as easily as you."

"True," Dearborne admitted, "very true, Mr. Grayson. Minnie could not give this to you though." He brandished a small datapad. "This contains the whereabouts of one of the safe houses of the Order of the Phoenix. They are an organization whose sole purpose is the extermination of evil."

"I've read about them on the Net before," Hermes commented. "They were founded before the Awakening, and several conspiracy theories give them credit for actually causing it. Not that any one has any real information on them though, just unsubstantiated rumours. I wasn't even sure if they actually existed, or if they were just a legend like the Bavarian Illuminati."

"They're real enough," Dearborne replied. "Harrison's parents were actually members before they were killed."

***

"Harry, Harry wake up!"

"What?" Harry stared up and a number of red and cream blurs that slowly reconciled themselves into the faces of various Weasley siblings.

"Are you ok, mate?" Ron asked. "You sorta passed out."

"Oh," Harry blinked as he examined his surroundings. "That would explain why I'm on the floor." He groaned and pulled himself into a sitting position. "Does anyone want to tell me how long I was out?"

"Just for a second," Hermione's voice came from behind him. "You woke up almost as soon as you hit the floor."

"Funny, seemed like longer," Harry mused aloud.

"Why's that?" Hermione inquired.

"Not here," the dark haired boy replied, gesturing at the people around the shop who were already turning to gawk. A small cluster of witches was whispering in the corner and pointing at him. Harry had the sinking feeling that this would be all over the papers tomorrow. "Suffice to say it has to do with my dream last night. Is there a back room where we can talk, in private?"

"Sure," one of the twins affirmed, "this way."

***

The Realm of Morpheus, Dreams and Signs, Dysica's Dream Anthology, Nocturnes, Draco had paged through twenty four books so far and had yet to come up with a single satisfactory explanation for last night's nocturnal visions. It wasn't lucid dreaming, because I wasn't able to effect events, I was merely and observer. I doubt it was a prophetic dream either, according to my copy of Beyond the Veil of Sleep those tended to be blurry and couched with symbolism. What I experienced last night was as real as this room, and whatever it was it sure as bloody hell wasn't normal because there was no way normal wizards had dreams like that.

In any case this research is getting me nowhere fast. Maybe if I got out of the manor for a bit I would feel better. I still need to get a few things for school anyway. Narcissa could probably be persuaded to let me go to Diagon Alley for a bit, especially if I play up the 'I'm so lonely now that Daddy's in Azkaban' card. Like Lucius ever truly cared about me as anything other than a show piece anyways. Gah, Draco shook his head to clear it, if I keep going down that line of thinking I'll give Potter competition for his title of Brooding King. I need to get out of this sepulchral Manor. Maybe a break and some fresh air might give me some new perspective on my problems.