~Chapter one~

...Definitely not in Kansas...

Harriet Potter should have been having the time of her life. No questions asked, no eyebrows raised, no snide or sarcastic remarks. She should have been like all her fellow students, those that had faced the war at least, drinking, laughing, partying away the sordid and nightmare inducing memories that came from one of the darkest times during their long, long, history... But she couldn't. No, she could if she tried hard enough. That was just the excuse she clumsily told herself. The truth was she wouldn't. She didn't want to.

It had been a year since that nose-less bastards downfall. Twelve months. Fifty-two weeks. Three hundred and sixty-five days. Eight thousand- seven hundred and sixty fucking hours, and by Merlin almighty, could Harriet feel the tick of the clock in the very marrow of her bones. Not because she was anxious, scared or paranoid that the snake-who-kept-coming-back would do so again. No. The horrid truth, the one she tried so valiantly to retain and restrain was simple but all the more brutal than a crucio aimed at your spinal cord.

Harriet Potter missed the war.

She missed it with every fibre, atom, cell and microbe in her body. She missed the slight swelling to her jaw from the stinging hex Hermione had hit her with to keep her hidden from snatchers. She missed the deep cut on the palm of her hand from holding onto that dragon from Gringotts too tightly. She missed her scraped and scabby knees from where she would fall to the forest floor, crushed under the weight of having to carry that insidious locket around her thin neck. She missed the fingerprint bruises on either side of her head from the time Voldemort had nearly crushed her skull and she had sent them both flailing over Hogwarts demolished bridge. She missed it all and more, however, what she missed most was one defining factor that was integrated into every animal, no matter how intelligent or evolved.

Live or die. The fight. Knowing out there, anywhere, somewhere, there was someone as smart as you, as lethal, as quick handed, who wanted you dead before you could kill them. The age old life lesson of kill or be killed. Though, the wise old men, the white coats, the bloody people who sprouted that shit never told you one thing. How addictive it all was. The fact of the matter was Harry missed Voldemort.

Harry knew she was beyond fucked up for feeling anything remotely like that. Hence the savior of the wizarding world mask she so diligently wore around everyone and everything. The act of the feeble and broken hero who just wanted to live a normal life, hiding the bloody maw of the snarling lion underneath, caged and prowling, waiting... itching to sink it's teeth into anyone... everyone. You know what they say, once an animal has tasted blood, it will bite again and Harry's gums positively ached with the need.

It seemed to her, she was built for war and mayhem, not peace and democracy. Her age was gone, finished, and either she could adapt or fade away. Maybe it was Freud coming to fruition. The countless tales of the victim becoming the abuser. Harry didn't know, she wasn't a damned psychologist. But she was changing, had been all along, morphing into those that had moulded her with too tight of a grip until instead of a beautiful sculpture, she was nothing but a hideous, gnarled lump of flaking clay. Vernon, Dumbledore, Bellatrix, Umbridge... Voldemort. In the lessons of manipulation, violence, and unspeakable cruelty, she had the best sculptists and teachers to be found.

The signs had been there all along really, sitting there obtrusively innocent in broad daylight. it wasn't her fault no one spotted them, nabbed them in time to cut the bulbs off before they became pretty, poisonous flowers, as deadly as they looked. Sending that python after Dudley when they visited that zoo. Harry bloating aunt Marge with accidental magic, the sectumsempra aimed at Draco, the horror, but more importantly the flare of absolute glee at seeing the cowardly ponce bleeding profusely on the bathroom floor... Damn it, she had even crucio'd Bellatrix, or at least tried to. Tried, very, very, very hard to...

As ironic as it sounded, even to her own ears, it was no secret that Harriet Potter had deeply rooted secrets. It was just no one was smart enough to question what they were, likely believing them to be the woes and worries of every other girl her age. No, they couldn't fathom sweet, abused, orphan Harry could be anything but the wronged hero who triumphed despite the numerous odds stacked against her. They saw her in a backdrop of blinding light, light that blotted out her true features, leaving the viewer to make them up themselves.

They believed Harry had stepped up against Voldemort for the good of their world, for all the little witches and wizards with rosy cheeks and sparkly eyes, the selfless fight for good when really, Harry did because she had no other option, she had been backed into a corner by the same people who sang her praises now, as false as they may be. She had stepped up because revenge for everything Voldemort had taken from her, burned deep and hot in her gut. She had stepped up because, with some minuscule changes of fickle fate, she was Voldemort and Voldemort was she. She and Tom riddle, two sides of the same coin, and with both their egos demanding it, being so alike, only themselves or each other could, or would be allowed to put the other one permanently down. It was suicide, magnificent and opulent in its own twisted, polluted and diseased way. But... She no longer had Tom Riddle any more. She had no tails to her head. She had no shadow, no other her... No one to fight any more. She... She was alone in the big wild world.

Then again, that was what Harry excelled in wasn't it, hiding in plain sight? Painting the picture of a perfectly calm, tranquil even landscape, only when you took a gamble and edged closer, looking behind the trees or buildings, or really and truly looked at the painting Harry presented you with, did you see the shadows too dark, large and imposing, the sunless sky, the too sharp of edges and non-existent curves, the faceless mass of people, the single shade of red she used that was so dark and rich, it could be nothing but blood. People, including those arrogant and bigoted purebloods, only ever saw what they wanted, and unfortunately for them... Or Harry, she hadn't decided yet, seeing the truth wasn't what they wanted. Funny that. She painted in blood red when Tom Riddle had painted in Avada Kedavra green. Red and green, If they had have worked together, she wondered what terror filled Christmas they could have made.

However, Harry was trapped and caught in life's net just as much as the next witch or wizard. Despite the advantageous and rare order of Merlin she had been awarded for her war efforts, cue scoff, she was the damn war, the start, the dead, the blood and cries of pain, the finish, all of it. Or the praise poured over her when she eventual did make a public appearance, they wouldn't praise her so much if they knew she still pictured their horrific deaths on more than one occasion, some by her own hand, especially those Malfoy's. Or all the gold she had that she wouldn't be able to get through for several lifetimes, she cared very little, if at all for wealth. Or the fast track to a prestigious Auror position, that one she could live with if it meant she could carry on fighting, fuelling that soul-deep need, none of it was what she truly wanted. It was laughable really, they all believed they were bequeathing her with everything she would ever want or need, when in stark reality, it was everything and anything but that. It was all the things that kept her trapped and injured, a lone wolf nursing a broken paw, her den with iron bars.

What Harriet Potter wanted, no, that word was too loose describe what she felt... What she needed was somebody else like her. Somebody like Voldemort, somebody she could class as a foe once more and wage that war that had never left her, even when Tom Riddle's body fluttered away like ash in the wind. That twitching and nerve lighting need to fight something, anything. She needed someone to go to the same extreme lengths she would and all too willingly go. She needed someone who didn't cage their lion but set it free to hunt out on the populated streets of life. She needed a teacher, a friend, a seer, a mirror image of what she would look like if she let go... She needed someone with secrets like her own. More importantly, accept her for just who she was now without that damn mask and fake pleasantries she hid in.

She needed someone to understand her.

Maybe, just maybe, that was the how, why, when and where that her little adventure, or epic spiral downwards if you asked certain people, took place. The punchline of the joke? It began innocently, with nothing more than sleepwalking. Or the wizarding world's version of sleepwalking and like many other tales, began unassumingly, disarmingly on the tail end of a blazing argument between had been friends.

Harry, dressed in nothing but a baggy tank top that had seen better days and some boxer shorts, her makeshift pyjamas that evening, sat perched on the edge of her bed in Gryffindors sleeping dorms, a reprieve for the evening of helping the mundane rebuilding of the lower bowels of Hogwarts that were still in disarray despite a year having passed since their destruction. Her eyes were closed, her hands laying limply on her knees of her crossed legs, restraining herself from snapping at the bushy haired witch that was currently passing in front of her, complaining about this and that, despite Harry having told her four times already to leave it alone so she could get some well-earned rest. If you didn't look close enough, you would have thought the red-haired witch was sleeping, or made of painted ivory.

"You're just not listening to me, Harry! Going straight into work, forgetting about your education... What are you thinking? What happens if this Auror thing falls through? What if you find out in a few months or a years time you don't like it? What will you do then? You won't be able to change jobs with no qualifications to your name! Have you even told Ginny? You can't just expect... You haven't been the same for a while now. Ever since you-..."

Hermione's rant pottered off to a stop, fizzling out of steam as quick as it had picked it up. But that didn't stop Harry's biting and burning retort, barked from clenched teeth, her eyes snapping open and zeroing in on the flustered witch, to stare incredulously at a flushed faced Hermione Granger. The girl in question had enough sense to take a step back from the scorching glare.

"What, died?! I bloody died Hermione! You would think a little thing like that would let me decide what I want to do with my life!"

Harry's nostrils flared and she had to take a moment to take a deep breath to quell her anger. If she didn't, she didn't know what she would do to the only other occupant in the room, and therefore her only walking target to take her rage out on. She had been through this her entire life, and quite honestly, was downright sick of it. How was it so many people thought they had a say in her life? That they could dictate what she would or wouldn't do? How did they think they knew the best for her when they didn't really know her any more, or if at all? It didn't matter, not when Harry pulled the straps on her mask tighter and fell back into the placating friend role she had mastered down to a T. Still, her sarcasm and ill temperament bled through her words like puss through a bandaged wound.

"It's alright to say it Hermione, it happened. I died. Have you ever died Hermione? No? Well, come back to me when you have and tell me to my face it doesn't, or hasn't, changed anything about you at all. Maybe it's time you take those rose tinted glasses off and really look around you if you think any of us are what we used to be back in first year. Just... Just leave, please. I'm tired, I want to sleep. It's been a long day."

Hermione scoffed and folded her hands onto her hips, raising her nose into the air, cheeks puffing as she got ready to let loose a torrent of a lecture on the importance of education or some other shit Harry wasn't in the mood to listen to. She was tired, beyond tired really, and all she wanted to do was sleep, having only grabbed an hour or two here and there in the last five months. She was growing more and more restless as the days ticked by, and restless Harry meant angry Harry, and angry Harry wasn't going to be putting up with this for much longer, even if Hermione thought she was just looking out for her. Dumbledore had thought the same, and look what he had done? Raised her up, let her live with the Dursleys, let her fester in the hate and lonely abyss so when the right time came, she would willingly die. A piglet to slaughter.

"I can see perfectly well thank you! It's you who has not been paying attention! It's no longer a war Harry! You need to let it go! Everyone else has-"

Harry jumped off from the bed and stalked to the smaller witch with long strides, practically shoving her own face in the brunettes, lips snarled in a mocking smile as she glared down into honey brown eyes. If she didn't leave in a minute, Harry would make her and Hermione's little sit down with Bellatrix in Malfoy manor would look like a tea party in comparison with how angry Harry was getting. How many times had they had this same conversation? How many times had Harry told her patiently to leave it alone as she ranted and raved at her? How many times would someone try to push Harry in a direction she didn't want to go?

No more.

"Oh, you see do you? So you see Ron drinking himself to sleep every night? You see Neville nearly passing out or firing off spells when a flash of light happens? You see how Luna has practically locked herself away? Do you want to know what I see Hermione? When I look at you?"

Harry pulled back slightly, eery bright green eyes still locked onto Hermione's, her flame red curls loose and wild, cascading down her back as she took a step back and let out a humourless laugh. If calmly asking Hermione to leave wouldn't work, if sitting through these rants day in, day out didn't work, them maybe some home truths would. Hermione opened her mouth to give a sharp retort but Harry beat her to the punch.

"I see the same girl I did in first year. That needy, sanctimonious, self-righteous, bint that didn't know when to keep her mouth shut. That's why you're so hooked on education isn't it? Why you just need to be the best in everything. You still feel like you don't belong. That you need to show everyone else that you deserve a place here just like they do. You bloody preach equality, yet you want everyone to treat you and bow down to you like Merlin himself gave you too us. News flash Hermione, you're not that fucking important! In fact, you're insignificant in nearly everyone else's lives. You'll be remembered as the girl who was smart, that one who didn't have many friends because she couldn't be bothered, or worse, was stupid enough to not look up from her book every once in a while and look at the real world! The only reason you want me back at school is so you won't be alone, so you can still be known, so people will still remember your name because we both know you'll be forgotten about soon enough without my face beside yours. Because you will, I know it, you know it, everyone knows it! And you know why you'll be alone Hermione? Because we've all changed, we had to! We've all grown up and you're still that bushy haired, clueless, self-important eleven year old you've always been! Maybe you should focus on your own friendless shambles of a life than mine! Just maybe Malfoy was right all those years ago, maybe you are just a dirty little mudblood who only became something more because you latched onto me like a leech!"

Harry's breath came out ragged, hitching in places as she blinked rapidly, ignorant of where that had all come from. But that didn't matter, not when she saw Hermione's face crumble, tears misting her eyes, body shaking as she sucked in her own jagged breath. Did she... Did Harry just call... Oh, Jesus. She didn't mean it, she really didn't, it just came out, all of it just came bubbling out like a shook up can when you pop the lid. Harry stumbled closer, hand raised to grasp at Hermione's shoulder, tongue already twisting around the apology's about to come spilling out like a biblical plague, but Hermione had already jerked violently away from her, storming towards the door. Harry could only watch, wide-eyed and slacked jawed as the door slammed shut behind a hastily retreating Hermione, leaving her to the deafening silence.

Harry finally pulled herself together, and after a rather vicious rub to her eyes and a shaky hand running through her tangled curls, Harry sighed heavily and flopped onto the bed, curling up in the fetus position, knees drawn in tight to her chest and stomach, hand still clasped around her wand. It was too late, the words still hung in the air like the smell of rot and Harry couldn't take them back. Even if she did feel guilty about it, instrumentally so, it still had the desired effect, she had been left alone to breathe for five minutes, an absolute rarity these days. God, if her parents could see her now... But let's be real, they would have been disappointed and ashamed of her years ago, this was just another notch on her lengthening belt in that regard.

So, with the same caution and weariness as she so often felt in twilight hours, Harry drifted off to a fitful sleep, feeling like she wanted to be anywhere but here, somewhere free, somewhere she could let loose and not feel bad about it, somewhere with secrets as dark and ominous as her own. When Harry finally felt the tendrils of sleep curl around her and snag her under into the darkness, she was already too far gone to hear the crack of apparition, the tube-like pull through space, the dizzying sickness, or the change in fluffy bed to leather back car seat.

However, the blankness of dreamless sleep she always had, another thing she shared with Tom riddle, the inability to dream, didn't last long as a loud voice rang out, causing her to jerk and blink wearily at the change in lighting, surroundings, the thick American accent and the face a mere foot away from her own.

"Hey, pudding! Look! It's a fairy!"

Harry Potter frowned as she pushed herself up into a seating position, hands fisting tightly into the luscious leather underneath her, realizing she was on the back of what looked to be an expensive car, as garish and gaudy as it was, with a, quite frankly, equal parts beautiful and crazy looking woman smiling broadly at her from peering over the front passenger seat, practically bouncing where she sat, loose blonde curls blowing in the chilly night wind from the open car windows. Harriet didn't pay any mind, instead soaking in the neon colours around her, the realistic sounds of cars and a bustling night-life city they were zooming through, wondering if this is what other people dreamt about, or just her.

Her musings were cut short, however, as it seemed blondie didn't have any patience and reached out for her, fingers flexing in excitement. The act was instinctual as Harry sent a quick stinging hex to the woman's hand, which in turn made her snap the limb back with a comical ouch and giggle. Only then did it seem whoever the woman was talking too took any interest, or Harry belatedly noticed another person with them, as another head took up the space the woman had just vacated. Harry wasn't afraid to admit her eyes must have doubled in size at the visage that greeted her. The man was handsome no doubt, if you tried to picture him without the white face paint, red lips and neon green hair, or the glittering suit jacket he wore... Or those metal grills that flashed in the cool blue light as he grinned manically at Harry. Well, let no one say she didn't have imagination if this is what her mind conjured up when it finally did decide to dream.

"Too tall for a fairy. Looks more like a ginger Alice. Yeah... A spritely Alice. Get it? Hahahaaa!"

Harry's head turned to the side a fraction, like a curious puppy as one eyebrow rose high. If this was her dreaming state, what did that say about her sanity? Or lack thereof by the looks of it. She opened her mouth to speak but a blaring horn rang out in the relative silence, and only as the man snapped back to grab a hold of the wheel of the car, swerving drastically to the right, causing Harry to slide along the leather seat and hit into the car door to her left, did she feel the sting of pain against the side of her head as it thwacked into the car window. Harry hissed and rubbed at the spot, cursing under her breath. No one had told her dreams could bloody hurt. Of course they didn't, when had they ever told her anything of importance? Harry was once again snapped back to this weird but wonderful dream-scape when the man's voice rang out from the front seat, the blonde woman's face back to where it was before Harry had hexed her, smile just as insanely brilliant as it was before.

"Hey Alice? Why is a raven like a writing desk?"

His voice drew out some of the words longer than others, and others came out sharper, snappier, almost like a nip from a dog, beckoning, baiting. The woman's voice was cheery, fluid but escalated in pitch the longer she spoke, almost making everything she said sound like a question.

"Yeah Alice, why, why, why?"

Okay, that answered that question. Harriet Potter was certifiable insane. Really, if this was her subconscious trying to talk to her, that was what dreams were, weren't they? Then she should be institutionalized. When Harry did speak, uninterrupted this time, her voice was calm and even, despite the mad happenings around her.

"I'm not a fucking fairy... And they both have legs."

The reaction was almost chemically instantaneous as the two in front of her, the man still facing the windshield and road, driving like a lunatic, and the woman beaming that smile her way, laughed boisterously at her answer, swivelling to face each other and not the busy road in front of them. However, this time, it was the blonde who spoke instead of the still hysterically laughing madman her mind had painted. Did he represent her caged lion? If so, in short, she was fucked if she thought she was keeping it captive for much longer. Maybe that was the point of this dream?

"They both have legs! Bingo, we have a winner! And a Brit! Ding, ding ding! Now Mr. J won't have to blow your brains out like all the others he's asked this week. I'm so glad... Hey, Pudding? Pudding!"

The blonde woman whirled around to... Mr. J was it? And began to shake his arm excitedly as his laughter died down to a chuckling rasp. All Harry could really muster up was watching avidly, feeling a bizarre sense of joyfulness sluggishly fill her up like pouring cream.

"Can we keep her? Can we? Can we please pudding?"

However, Mr. J never got to answer as there was an ear ringing bang, the roof above them indented, nearly crushing Harry in the process and finally, the two in front's smiles dropped like glass plates to concrete. Harry's adrenaline started to pump and thrum through her veins, the drop in the carnival-like atmosphere nearly sent her into a chill, her fingers tightening around her wand as she looked up, dark smile creeping onto her face.

Now this was a dream she could work with. There was no mistaking that electric current running through the air, letting Harry breath better, feel better, feel more alive than she had since the battle of Hogwarts a year ago... A fight. Now she could let loose, safely in her dream, where no-one was going to get hurt. Maybe she could dream again, maybe she could keep her lion locked up, maybe she could save those urges until the safety of night blanketed her and her mind drifted back to this fabulous make believe land again.

And so, when the window across from her, behind the blonde woman blew and rained glitter like shards of glass into the car, when a humongous black armour clad hand and arm reached through, towards her, inches from hoisting her out of the car by her shirt, from the shattered window, Harry didn't have to think all that much about her answering curse aimed at the black shadow at the window. After all, what harm could she possibly cause in her dream?

"Bombarda Maxima!"

A lot apparently as not only did the shadow man go flying off into the night in a cloud of orange sparks and dust, but he also took the back car door with him and some of the rear boot. Mr. J swung the car into a spiral, trying to right it after the blast knocked it off track, but even over the flaring horns from other drivers, the squealing of burning rubber tyres on tarmac, Harry could hear him and blondie laughing their heads off, she was even able to pick up some of the words Mr. J howled out through his laughter.

"No, not Alice! She's Dorothy! Hey, didn't you get the memo? It's meant to be red shoes, not hair! Hahahahaaa."

However, as the two were laughing, the car still out of control and heading towards a shop lining the street, Harry dived between the two front seats, leaning over the laughing green haired man and took control of the wheel, spinning it in the opposite direction in hope of levelling their path out and not end up crashing into a building. She didn't fancy waking up just yet, and as bad as it sounded, even to her own ears, this was the most fun she had in... Well, her life, even if it was a dream with two obviously crazy as sin people her mind had brought to wondrous life.

"Well at least I know how to fucking drive! Shit... It's not working. Just... Don't be sick."

Being so close, Harry could feel his cool breath fluttering across her cheek and tickle her nose, although, he had no time to question what she was on about as she let go of the wheel, clasped both his and blondie's shoulder and right before they slammed head first into the shop, Harry apparated all three onto the side-walk a few feet back.

Of course, the warning of not getting sick did nothing, as both he and blondie bent at the waist and heaved when their feet finally hit cold, slightly damp pavement. Thankfully, they both seemed to have iron guts as nothing came bubbling up and spilling onto the side-walk. Though, as always in Harry's life, the respite was short-lived as some form of wired boomerang twisted around her, pulled taunt and she was sent sailing backward, back hitting metal chest harshly, forcing the air to rush out of Harry's lungs with an oomph and groan.

Her eyes swam momentarily, the lights from the city swirling around her before finally righting into fuzzy shapes that took longer to take form. But once they did, Harry glanced behind her and up... And up... And up. Apparently what had grabbed her and sent her careening through the air with what looked to be a modified grappling gun was a man... A man dressed in thick cavalier black armour... In the sharp edges and points of a... Bat. Yes, a bat. What was her mind up too? Actually, scratch that, there was no point in questioning anything in this dream any more. C.S Lewis had nothing on her brain.

"Hey Bats! That's our fairy! We found her first, go get your own!"

And that was Blondie's voice shouting from the other side of the side-walk, from where Harry had been standing just moments prior. Then it all clicked, what her dream was trying to show her, what this whole mad message had to be. Her laughter didn't go unnoticed as the big man, still holding her tightly, glanced down to her with a grim set to his sharp jaw, the only attribute she could see from his fully guarded form.

"I get it. You're the manifestation of my hero complex, greeny over there is obviously my recent decent into cuckoo-land and blondie... Well, I don't know, my sexual frustration maybe? But this dream is bloody insane, I've learned this whole Dumbledore-esque lesson, be a good little witch and all that. I think I'm ready to wake up now."

The man, the one standing at her back, hand tightened on her arm, almost bruisingly so, his voice gruff and gravely... Fake as he spoke to her, voice more than a bit condescending.

"You are not dreaming, but you soon will be. You can thank me later."

Then there was a sharp pain in her neck... Sharp and quick, like a strong pinch and only when her eyes flickered down did she realize what this man dressed like a bat had done. He had injected her with something. And just as she was about to begin cursing and hexing the bastard, the world once more began to swim, and in a quick procession, six things happened at once before Harry blacked out.

One: The two crazies from the car ride from hell began shouting.

Two: Mr. J pulled out what Harry blearily thought was a gun and shots rang out.

Three: The arm around her, and rope, loosened as the big bat thingy let go and dived for cover in a flap of cloak.

Four: Harry's gut churned violently, everything blurring. Idly, she wondered if this was what waking up from a dream felt like.

Five: Harry fell to the floor, scraping her leg as she skidded on the moist pavement stone and Harry realized she was, in fact, not quite ready to wake up just yet.

Six: And just like before, as Harry slipped under, the crack sounded, the pulling came, and in that busy street of Gotham, a place Harry would soon find out was very much real and not her imagination running overtime to resurrect in dream land, Harry apparated.

In the morning, when Harry finally pulled herself from the comforts of her Gryffindor bed, when she tumbled down the stairs to a ready and waiting Ginny, who was adamant they were dating when Harry had told her countless times she wasn't ready to label anything, having shared only a kiss or two and a grope here and there, who looked prepared to ambush her, already rattling off questions of what her and Hermione had argued about, having seen the brunette leave last night in a flurry of tears. When Harry told her to forget about it, she didn't want to speak of it, when Ginny sequestered and backed off, leaving Harry to walk to the kitchens to grab a quick bite to eat, Ginny said something that made her momentarily stall.

"Well, the least you could tell me was where you got that bruise from on your head and that nasty scrap on your thigh. Did Hermione do that? Look at what she did to Ron when he upset her, Merlin knows how she gets violent when angry."

With a muttered and dazed, bruise... Scrape? Harry touched her head, hissed and looked down at her leg, the same leg she had scraped in her dream where she had fallen... A dream that was quickly growing hazy and distorted like watching a film from underwater. Staring incredulously at the scrape on her thigh, she shook her head and brushed it all off.

"I must have been sleepwalking. I used to do it as a kid, I haven't done it in years though..."

Harry carried on walking, and despite her thinking that would end the questions, it only furthered it as Ginny jogged to keep up with her.

"Sleepwalking? That's dangerous Harry! You need to see a healer to get it sorted out before you end up in a place you can't get back from. Fred did it once and ended up in the black lake, he nearly drowned."

Now, if Harry had have just questioned why it was so dangerous, she would have found out the differences between muggle sleepwalking and the wizarding kind. Alas, she didn't, and it was exactly two weeks later it happened again, but this time Harry found out the hard way that it had never been a dream to start with. Ginny's ominous foresight and warning should have given her heads up, for she couldn't come back from where she went, and the nice bullet hole through her shoulder and razor-edged bat-shaped throwing star lodged in her calf as the police surrounded her with laser pointers flaring her chest bright red drilled the point home.

She definitely wasn't in Kansas anymore...

Should I continue, or not?

A.N: I know, I should really be working on my other stories, but I've just started a new job and well, times been hard to find. Plus, my theory is if I get all my Ideas out, the ones that are nattering in my ear as I try to write for my other stories, it should be easier to flitter between them and update them faster instead of writing things that just never get published.

But if you do read my other stories, fear not. I See You only has five hundred or so words left to right up and Purple Haze is on its way.

So, I hoped you liked this, and if you have a spare moment or two, please review as they let me know if I'm actually spending my time on something worthwhile or not. However, I'm still not sure about this fic, so please let me know if you want me to continue this or not.

As always, I hope you have a fantastic day, keep beautiful!- AlwaysEatTheRude21