The Potter Twins and the Deathly Hallows {7}

6. Dumbledore's Will

"I  got a lot of things on my mind right now, a million ways to think about you. I can't say I expected anything different, 'cause the way you complicate me's simple" - Birthday, All Time Low

I'm walking down a mountain road in the cool blue light of dawn. Far below, swatched in mist, is the shadow of a small town. Is the man I seek down here, the man I need so badly I can think of little else, the man holds the answers, the answers to my problems...?

"Oi, wake up."

I open my eyes, I'm lying again on the camp bed in Ron's dingy attic room. The sun has not yet risen and the room is still shadowy. Pigwidgeon is asleep with his head under his tiny wing. The scar on my forehead is prickling.

I sit up and glance at Harry: the look on his face tells me instantly that he had the same dream as me.

"You were both muttering in your sleep."

"Were we?"

"Yeah. 'Gregorovitch.' You kept saying 'Gregorovitch.'"

"Who's Gregorovitch?"

"I dunno, do I? You were the one saying it."

I rub my forehead, thinking. I have the vague idea that I've heard that name before, but I can't think of where.

"I think Voldemort's looking for him," says Harry, and I nod.

"Poor bloke," says Ron fervently.

Harry, too, sits up and rubs his scar. I try to remember exactly what I saw in the dream, but all that comes back is a mountainous horizon and the outline of the little village cradled in a deep valley.

"I think he's abroad," I declare.

"Who, Gregorovtich?"

"No, Voldemort," says Harry. "I think he's somewhere abroad, looking for Gregorovitc. It didn't look anywhere like Britain."

"You reckon were you were seeing into his mind again?"

Ron sounds worried.

"Do us a favour and don't tell Hermione," I say. "I don't know how she expects us to stop seeing things in our sleep..."

I gaze up at little Pigwidgeon's cage, thinking...Why is the name Gregorovitch so familiar?

"I think," I say slowly, "he's got something to do with Quidditch. There's some connection there."

"Yes!" Harry says. "I just can't remember what the connection is."

"Quidditch?" says Ron. "Sure you're not thinking of Gorgovitch?"

"Who?"

"Dragomir Gorgovitch, Chaser, transferred to the Chudley Cannons for a record fee two years ago. Record holder for most Quaffle drops in a season."

"No," Harry says. "We're definitely not thinking of Gorgovitch."

"I try not to either," says Ron. "Well, happy birthday anyway."

"Oh, shit -- that's right! Harry, we're seventeen!"

He seizes the wand lying beside his camp bed, points it at the cluttered desk where he left his glasses and says, "Accio Glasses!" I can see that he gets immense satisfaction from seeing them zoom towards him, at least until they poke up in the eye.

"Slick," snorts Ron.

Revelling in the removal of the Trace, I sent Ron's possessions flying around the room, causing Pigwidgeon to wake up and flutter excitedly around his cage. Harry tries to tie the laces of his trainers by magic (the resultant knot takes several minutes to untie by hand) and, purely for the pleasure of it, I turn the orange robes on Ron's Chudley Cannon's poster bright blue.