Beautiful Dreamer

Alex sat bolt upright, sweating through his pajamas, and shaking uncontrollably.

"Tina? Ellie?" he called; but there was only silence. Alex layed back and stared up at the canopy of his four-poster bed. His heart pounded and he occasionally glanced around the room to see that everything was in place. And it was. There were his fellow Gryffindors in their beds. The startlingly loud snores of Lindsay had just suddenly become audible over his pounding chest and he chuckled softly to himself.

Get ahold of yourself, Alex, he thought. Not that he was unjustified in his jitters. It had, after all, been a turbulent first few weeks of school. Harry Potter had not returned to Hogwarts and the rumor mill was open for business. With Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley remaining mum on any of Potter's plans outside the walls of Hogwarts, everyone turned to wild speculation and obscene hyperbole. My mother thinks he's dead where he stands, remarked a young, freckled third-year boy. A fifth-year Hufflepuff girl was found crying in the girl's bathroom, clutching a picture of Harry from The Daily Prophet and repeatedly muttering the words, Harry's gone...what now? What now? It was unsettling to say the least, although many had said Moaning Myrtle had influenced the girl's misery with incessant teasing. And then there was the first-year Slytherin girl, wicked beyond her years, taking bets on how long it would be before his body was found. Alex sometimes smirked at the thought. He knew that if Harry was going down, he'd fight til his body was as dust.

In any event, things were getting worse. Even the teachers were in an uproar. With no one to fill the Defense Against the Dark Arts position after the "incident" (as most teachers had taken to calling it) at the close of last term, each teacher had been taking turns filling in. It was disruptive for all parties, although the teachers seemed to be taking it the hardest of all. Professor Sprout began sobbing uncontrollably half-way through her first lesson when she had mistakenly referred to an Able Dunderforth as Albus Dumbledore. The class was cancelled and no one, with the exception of Hermione, was sure what an Able Dunderforth actually was. And Hagrid's lesson was so nightmarish, it didn't bear worth repeating. Only McGonagall had completed a week of steady courses without incident, although her lined face seemed more tense than ever. She was a good Headmistress, but the world closing in around Hogwarts had clearly taken its toll on her.

Worst of all was Alex's nagging, irrational jealousy. He felt the heat under his collar rise whenever Harry Potter's name was brought up, and these days, it was all the time. Not that he wished his parents were dead...or that he had faced You-Know-Who several times...or that he had been prophesized to kill You-Know-Who or be killed... but he craved adventure. Something out in the dark night called to him; a hunger to explore; a need to see the world and do something significant.

As he turned over, determined to fall back asleep, he couldn't shake the feeling that his dream had meant something. Harry Potter had been drowning... of this he was sure. And with his last breath, he had called out to Alex.

Alex shook his head and closed his eyes. It was silly, perhaps, to imagine any sort of connection to "The Chosen One" being possible. They were classmates. That was it. And even now, in Harry's absense, they weren't even that.

It was then that Alex heard it; as clearly as it had been in his dream. A far away voice calling his name. Screaming, in blood-freezing clarity. His eyes shot open and he sat upright once more. Although this time he wasn't alone.

"Alex?" whispered Lindsay through the darkness, "What was that?"

God, I'm excited. Three days.