The floo flared green and The-Boy-Who-Lived, John Potter, stepped out.
"Hey mate," Ron called.
"Hey Ron, you ready for some serious action?"
"Well I don't know what your godfather has to do with it,"—they both snickered—"but yeah, let me grab my broom."
Ginny sat, hoping… but no, John walked out after giving her naught but a wave, and a smile.
She followed the two boys down to the orchard. Ron had run on ahead, so she latched herself on to John's arm.
"You know," she started, "you're really good at flying."
"MMmmmhmmm," he hummed.
"Wouldn't it be amazing if you got on the Gryffindor team?"
"I am going to be on the Gryffindor team."
"So am I."
John looked at her, surprised. "But, you don't fly."
"Only because Ron and the others won't let me."
He looked uncomfortable. "Yeah, well, that's their business isn't it?"
She pouted. Why didn't he ever take her side?
Half an hour later, John landed for a drink after a good hoop shot.
Now was a good chance to talk to him again. She could ask him about that dream.
But what if he laughs at you?
John Potter grabbed a bottle of pumpkin juice from a bag sitting below a tree, and took a swig.
But what if he laughed at her? That would be bad. John was just starting to warm up to her. No need to endanger that by making him think she was being a silly little girl.
The-Boy-Who-Lived dropped the empty bottle, swung back on his brand new Nimbus 1700, and took to the sky once more, waving at her before returning his focus to the game.
She walked over to the empty bottle, picked it up, and put it back in the bag they'd brought with them.
One day, it would be her up there.
Ginny watched, helpless, as the cruellest looking man she'd ever seen walked through the rubble of the door he'd just blasted to pieces, eyes glowing blood red.
No. That wasn't. It couldn't be. Panic flooded through her.
The man swept over to the twin cots on the far side of the room, and loomed over the two screaming infants.
No. Don't.
"To think that something so small and delicate could ever be fated to be a danger to me," the man spoke, words as heavy and blunt as lead.
Realisation froze her heart. He was going to kill John's brother. No. Stop.
The man pointed his wand at one of the infants. "Avada Kedavra." There was a flash of green, a loud *BOOM*, and her world exploded around her. Bits of ceiling fell, shards of broken glass flew through her body, and the man standing by the cots disintegrated, sending a ghost-like apparition screaming through the roof, leaving nothing behind but the smell of chlorine.
Despite everything harmlessly passing through her, Ginny remained crouched, hands held to her face, waiting for the smoke and dust to settle.
Silence.
What happened?
Ginny stood and crept towards the cots, dreading what she'd find.
There, in the cots, lay the two boys, awake, and unharmed, save for an inflamed, red, lightning-shaped cut on one of the boy's foreheads.
They were alive.
Footsteps from behind her caused her to whirl around. In strode Albus Dumbledore, who made his way to the cots, stood next to her, and looked down at the boys.
He frowned at the forehead cut and mumbled, "So he chose Harry."
So he chose Harry? Harry was the boy with the cut? He'd been the one attacked?
Dumbledore waved his wand at baby Harry and the cut faded from view, not healed, she noted, just faded.
Another crash heralded the arrival of the Potters. They were frantic.
"Professor!" Mrs. Potter cried. "We came as soon as we felt the wards fail! Please tell us. Are they? They're not."
"Calm yourselves Lily — James. It seems he tried to kill John, but John destroyed him."
Dumbledore picked up the un-marked child and held him up to them.
"Oh, thank Merlin!" Lily Potter took John in her arms, cradling him, whispering to herself and the toddler that everything was all right.
James Potter stepped forward, putting a hand on his wife's shoulder. "And Harry?"
"Ah yes, Harry." Dumbledore suddenly looked sad. "I need to speak to you about Harry."
"What? Why?" Lily looked up.
"I suggest we adjourn to the kitchen, a drink will do us good, and we don't have all the time in the world."
The uncertain Potters, followed by the sad looking headmaster, left the room, and Ginny's world, once again, faded to black.
Ginny sat alone in the shade of an orchard tree.
The dreams were becoming more frequent. It had been months since they started and it seemed she was now getting them every other night.
She'd watched, confused, as Harry was dropped off at a muggle house, then watched in horror as Harry went through years of shouting, beatings, whippings, starvation, confinement, and mental torture.
It made her sick.
Why had they done it?
She didn't understand.
She'd decided after the first few dreams that she wasn't going to tell anyone about them. What could she say? That she dreamed dreams of You-Know-Who, and Dumbledore, and the Potters abandoning their child to the life of a slave? They'd laugh at her at best and say she was going dark at worst.
But what about Harry?
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