The moon shone from the west side of Hogwarts Castle. The wind blew the other way, from the east.

Harry stood before a glassless window, looking out on the grounds. He couldn’t... he couldn’t find her, couldn’t find Ginny.

“GINNY!” he called out into the nothingness of the windy night. He could hardly see, but... it wasn’t really that late, was it? Why was it so dark out? The only thing visible was that moon, which gave the darkness an ethereal, silvery glow.

Harry blinked, and walked quickly, quickly, quickly now down the corridor, looking back and forth, trying to find her, trying to find Ginny. She had been right there....

“GINNY!” he called once again, louder this time. He had to find her, he simply had to, if he didn’t, what would happen to her? What would happen to him?

He ran, and ran, and ran, and though he didn’t know where he was going, his feet certainly seemed to–they had forgotten to tell the rest of him, that was it.

And he noticed as he ran that the halls were all empty, eerily so. The sound of his steps echoed so very loudly that he felt he didn’t need to call for Ginny anymore–she would hear him coming and his throat was on fire anyway.

Harry found himself in Gryffindor Tower–he didn’t remember saying the password, but he was clambering up to his dormitory as though there was nowhere else in the world...

He threw open his trunk, and it didn’t make a noise as it hit the foot of his bed. Paying it no mind, he tossed things out of the way, out of the way, out of the way–

The map.

“I solemnly swear that I am up to no good,” Harry said, which was of course a lie, because he had to find Ginny, and Ginny was good.

Why do I have to find Ginny?

The thought popped into his head as he scanned the map, looking carefully in each crevice of the castle, scanning for that inevitable dot marked “Ginny Weasley.”

Because I have to... I just do, he answered himself, and that was true–

“There!” said Harry, as though he were telling his invisible next-door-neighbour that Ginny was out on the grounds about halfway between the castle and the forest. He gathered up the map, stuffed it somewhere in his robes–he didn’t notice where–and set off.

Down the flights of stairs he went, seventh floor, sixth floor, down down down to the entrance hall. He slipped out the oak front doors and nearly collapsed in the sudden rush of wind that hit him–such force that his first thought had been “Bludger”–and was pressed up against the cool stone wall beside the doors.

“GINNY!” he called, which was of course useless because the wind was yelling far louder than he ever could, and Ginny would never be able to hear him. Struggling, Harry managed to pull the door open all the way, to hide himself behind it until the wind let up.

Safe in this temporary refuge, he took out the map again and looked at it–but it was too dark to see, so he put it back and waited.

He stared out from his hiding-spot through the little space between the edge of the door and the wall against which he was pressed, and tried to remember where Ginny had been. It was... halfway, wasn’t it? Halfway between the castle and the forest? Yes, that was it.

And when he thought it, the wind let up just enough for him to leave his spot behind. He was out on the grounds, now, looking in every direction and feeling that if the wind picked up again his neck would surely snap... and then he saw her.

“GINNY!” he called as loud as his throat would allow. She was just where the map had said, between the castle and the forest, and she was on the ground.

He got closer to her, closer still, until he saw that she had found her own refuge, or perhaps made it–she was sitting (kneeling?) in a small sunken area of the ground, and there was a bit of a cliff-like thing, about a foot off the ground, that she was pressed against to protect herself from the wind.

“GINNY!”

But she wasn’t just protecting herself, no, she was doing something else, too, something with sticks. He wondered for a moment where she got the sticks, as there were no trees in the area–but then the wind started to gain strength again, and he ducked himself down into her refuge.

“Ginny, we’ve got to get to the castle,” he said (nearly screaming with his eyes half-closed, for the wind).

He saw that she was covered in dirt, her robes rather raggedly holding onto her small frame, and she had an immensely determined look on her face as she moved the sticks about, arranging them–she was building something. She didn’t seem to hear him.

“Ginny! There are things out here!”

And as he said it he felt it, deep in his heart, and he heard something howling in the distance that was very much not the wind–then another. They were coming from the forest.

“Ginny, we’ve got to go! There are things out here!”

And she seemed to hear him now, but she was still fiddling with the sticks.

“I know!” she said, and it was a strange sort of feeling he felt when he heard her voice... partly relief, partly something else. “But I’ve got to finish!”

“But it’s dangerous! The–the things! And the wind!”

“Nothing has fallen over yet, has it?” she said, indicating her structure of twigs–nothing had fallen over, which was almost strange–everything was rather precariously balanced, though.

“But what are you doing?”

She didn’t answer.

Harry looked up, up at the castle, and he could see a bright light in the entrance hall–the doors had been flung open, and in them stood the larger-than-life-looking silhouette of... Mrs Weasley, of all people.

“Ginny, you’re mum’s here, she’s worried, you’ve got to come–!”

The wind grew ever louder in his ears, and the forest’s howls became more frequent. The stick-structure swayed, but did not fall.

“No, we’re going to be all right,” said Ginny. “Everything’s going to be all right.”

Harry stared at her confident face in disbelief–how on earth could she be so calm? It didn’t make any sense, nor did her words. How could they be all right in this... this whatever-it-was, this storm?

Another howl, and this was louder than any that had preceded it–it was as though the thing, the creature, had left the forest and was on the grounds now–

“Ginny, come on! They’re coming closer!”

“I’m not leaving,” said Ginny. “Everything’s going to be all right.”

And though Harry didn’t believe her–couldn’t believe her–he stayed where he was, because he couldn’t leave her, either.

Harry’s breath was tightening as the things came closer, and he grew more wary of Ginny’s confidence. Should he do something... take her in by force? Stun her and bring her to safety? He didn’t like the thought, didn’t like it at all.

“But we have to go,” he said.

“Why?” said Ginny. “Why must we go?”

“BECAUSE THE THINGS ARE COMING!”

“But everything’s going to be all right, so why worry?”

Harry blinked, and stared at her, and blinked again. “You’re crazy, Ginny. You’ve gone mad–”

And she smiled. “Am I the one that’s gone mad?” she said, carefully placing another twig.

“Well, you’re starting to remind me of Luna, at the moment, so I’d–”

She smiled again, and shook her head slightly. “Luna’s not mad. She’s just as sane as you are, or I am, or the rest of us. She just sees things differently.”

“Exactly,” said Harry, “she’s mad. And so are you. And so am I, apparently–”

“Everything’s going to be all right.”

“STOP SAYING THAT!” said Harry.

“Why? Why should I stop saying that?”

“Because–”

“Becau se you’re starting to believe it?”

“No–”

“Yes. Yes, you are. And you should, because everything’s going to be all right.”

And Harry fell silent, closing his eyes. And so did the wind. And the howls. He opened his eyes again, confused–

And the pile of sticks were no longer there, replaced by a bright fire that was burning away at the darkness of the night. It’s colours–dancing reds and golds and oranges–fell over the area with a graceful beauty. Ginny’s face, in particular, seemed to come alive, her very skin....

She smiled at him, and his eyes opened once again.

He was looking at... a pillow? Was that it? That’s what it tasted like, because his mouth was open and he could taste the fabric on his tongue.

“Poke him again,” said a voice.

Harry blinked, which was very difficult with the pillow against his eyes. He felt a sharp jab in his side and he rolled over in an instant.

“Bill? Charlie? What are you doing here?”

For the two eldest Weasley brothers were standing above him now, looking quite mystified themselves.

“What are we doing here?” Charlie said. “What are you doing here, Harry? That’s the better question.”

And then Harry noticed where ‘here’ was–he was in Ginny’s room, of all places, looking round at the walls, and he hadn’t a clue how he’d gotten there.

“I–I dunno.”

“Sleepwalked, lately?” said Bill. “Because I certainly hope that’s what happened.”

Harry blinked again. He had no idea–

“Bill? Charlie? What are you doing here?”

This time it was Ginny who said it, standing by the doorway with a confused look on her face.

“Better question–what is he doing here?”

Ginny glanced at Harry, and then back to her brothers. “And what business is that of yours?”

“If we find a bloke in our sister’s bed, I think it’s our–”

“No, it’s not,” said Ginny, and her voice was oddly calm. She looked at Harry and he felt that same strange feeling of relief-and-something-else he had felt in the dream, and it felt good.

And Harry was so very fixated by that feeling that he just looked at Ginny, couldn’t take his eyes off her, until some time had passed and (somehow) Ginny’s brothers were gone, and he was still alive and not even hurt.

He blinked.

“Er...” he said, trying to think, “how exactly did I get here?”

She smiled a small smile that made Harry’s stomach feel rather... something.

“You were having a nightmare,” she said. “I could hear you–you’re right below me, you know.”

“But why did you–” She wasn’t explaining how he ended up in her bed.

“I didn’t–I don’t know,” said Ginny, shaking her head. “I don’t have the faintest idea.”

Harry deflated a little; it seemed almost anti-climactic. But at the same time, it was a connection–neither of them knew how he had ended up there, they just knew he had.

They sat in silence for a while, Harry in the bed and Ginny sitting at the foot, watching him a moment, looking at her lap, and at the floor, and looking back. She bit her lip.

“Harry, what was your nightmare about?” she asked then, the confidence back in her voice very suddenly.

Harry opened his mouth to speak, but then he hesitated. What... what had his nightmare been about? He had been... he had been doing something... but he couldn’t remember. It had slipped through his mind like a wisp of smoke curling off from the bright flames of a fire in darkness, disappearing before it could be seen for what it was. All he had left of the dream was... a feeling.

“I... I dunno,” he said, almost disbelievingly, and he looked down at the bed in front of him, and then back at Ginny. “I can’t remember.”

Ginny nodded. “I figured as much.”

Harry blinked again. “You did? But why? I usually remember my nightmares–”

And he could see her eyes, and there was something in them that just... something.

“Because for a moment, Harry... when I was lying beside you earlier, half-asleep and half-not-asleep, I almost... it was almost as though I knew what you were dreaming about, and then it was gone. All that’s left... and I almost think I’m crazy and imagining it... is this feeling of just....” She stopped, searching for the right word, and then she found it:

“Relief. And something else, too, I can‘t place it... But I‘m not imagining it, I know I‘m not imagining it–”

“I know you’re not imagining it,” said Harry in a strange voice.

“You felt it too,” she said then, and there was no doubt in her voice, just eager... relief.

“Yeah,” he said. “What do you think it means?”

“Does it have to mean anything?”

He thought it did–but then he wondered why he thought it did. Did everything have to mean something? It was quite a startling thought... but no. It did mean something, he was sure of it.

“Yes. And I think we both know what it means, don’t we?”

“Probably,” agreed Ginny, nodding and biting her lip again. Silence for a few moments, and then they looked at each other and spoke at the same time:

“So what do you think it means?”

And then they laughed rather uncertainly because it was almost funny, wasn’t it? And they looked at each other, just looked. And then Ginny said it, put words to the not-very-well-thought-out thought that had been in both of their heads.

“We... we don’t have to know, really,” she said. “But we do know. But we don’t have to know what we know. Wait, no–we don’t have to understand what we know, just know it.”

Silence a moment–and then they laughed again, harder than before.

“That made no sense, did it?” said Ginny.

“No,” said Harry, smiling at her. But then: “Yes.”

And Harry was confused and Ginny was confused and both felt that Ginny had been right and that they shouldn’t understand why they were confused because then they wouldn’t understand. And they both knew that made absolutely no sense, but still made all the sense in the world.

“We’d better go down to breakfast,” said Harry almost reluctantly.

“No,” said Ginny, and she moved then, for the first time since she had sat down. She moved up the bed and laid down beside Harry, and her shoulder was against his and she was looking up at the ceiling. “No, let’s take a nap instead.”

And she closed her eyes, and he looked at her face–he’d never seen her that close before, only inches from him. He whispered now because she had her eyes closed so it seemed like he should whisper:

“But Ginny, your brothers’ll kill me.”

“Shh,” she said very softly, and he closed his eyes at the calming sound of her voice. “Everything’s going to be all right.”

Author’s Note: This story was partly inspired by a song, and partly (much more so) inspired by a dream I had last night, which was particularly strange because it was in-character. I am very thankful for that dream, because I had been worried that I wouldn’t have an entry for this challenge, as my first attempt was absolutely horrid. But this... I woke up, and I had to write it, immediately, before it vanished, you know how dreams do that. It had this connection, the thought in my head with the challenge, even though they really didn’t have much to do with each other to begin with. And the best part was, my dreams are very short, quick, to-the-point–perfect for a 2500 word story, you know?

(This is, by the way, exactly 2498 words without the author‘s note–I spent a very long time editing it down, so please don‘t disqualify it. It will probably appear to be even more on SiYE, but on Works Word Processor, it‘s 2498 without the A/N and 2711 with it.)

Please review. I hope you liked it much as I... well, ‘like’ isn’t the word, because I couldn’t not like it, I like most of my nightmares, and this wasn’t even a nightmare. So... yeah. Please review.