Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, or any of its characters or plot lines. If I did, trust me - you'd know about it! xD

-prologue-
DREAM

Water closed in over his head like prison bars, allowing the briefest glimpse of the outside world, but nothing more. He sank further and further beneath the surface, a mass of flailing arms and legs, wildly clawing in a vain attempt to reach the sparkling, yellow-orange light above, so teasing – but it was no use. Slowly, the light began to fade, only to be replaced by a suffocating darkness, pressing in on all sides, choking the air from his burning lungs; and with it came the cold, so intense that his fingers and toes became numb. His hair swirled around his face, passing in front of his eyes like a curtain. And all the while, he was being pulled down, down into the deepest depths of the water by some unseen force. His eyes were a swirling pool of liquid fear; as he grew light-headed, his vision beginning to fade, and he knew that it was the end. So he let himself be carried away by a will that did not belong to him …

With a jerk, Aislin left the world of dream and wrenched herself out of bed. For a heart-stopping moment, she felt herself falling through space, before she crashed with a very loud thud to the floor. The air left her lungs in a long whoosh, and a terrible pain shot up her back, causing her to wince. Grimacing, she lifted her arms above her head and sucked in a deep breath; still in a dream-like state, she worried for a moment that she was underwater, and that she would not be able to breathe.

But all was well. She was back in her bedroom.

A groan escaped her lips as Ash rolled onto her side, so that she could see a shaft of silvery moonlight splashed across the opposite wall, filtering in through a small gap in the curtains; Aislin focused on that and tried to ignore the dull ache that had taken up residence in her back. For what felt like a long time – but was really only a minute – she simply laid there, listening to all the sounds of the night, the sounds that were barely noticeable during the day: the constant noise of the traffic whizzing by outside, the clunking of the pipes and the creaking of the old stairs, the snoring of her father in the room next door, deaf to the world; she had fallen out of bed so many times over the years after waking from her dream that he no longer took any notice.

Growing increasingly uncomfortable lying on the hard floor, Aislin rolled back over and tried to hoist herself up. She used the bed to lean on and – with difficulty – managed to haul herself to her feet; as the blood rushed from her head, she swayed a moment, her legs still unsteady after being immobile for so long. It was only after she had climbed back into her still-warm bed that Aislin realised she was shivering. Teeth chattering, she pulled the twisted duvet back over her and pulled her knees up to her chest in an effort to warm herself once more. She became thankful that it wasn't a cold night.

As the tremors in her muscles began to subside, Aislin's thoughts drifted back to the dream – or rather, the nightmare – that had just taken place. Merely thinking about it sent her heart racing and the blood pounding in her ears; a cold sweat broke out on her forehead and hands. Image after image swam through her mind, displaying themselves to her like a reel of film, each frame horrifically clear: she saw the motionless figure sinking through the water, saw the light beginning to fade as time passed. But most oddly of all, she began to feel the cold against after warming in her bed, biting at the tips of her fingers and nose as if she were in the frigid water herself.

For as long as she could remember, Aislin had had this same dream, over and over, at least three times a week. It haunted her every night – and a lot of her waking hours – even if the dream itself did not truly take place. Sometimes, it was so terribly vivid that Ash feared going to sleep when night came.

Tonight had been one of those unfortunate nights.

It always left her with a bad taste in her mouth, a hollow feeling in the pit of her stomach. At nine-years-old, her father had finally given in and – despite his misgivings – had taken her to a therapist. For two years, she had gone back there, again and again, but nothing helped. Eventually, she had lied to her father, told him that the dreams had disappeared. He had smiled in relief, and cancelled the sessions.

But the dreams never stopped.

Aislin didn't know much about the dream – which was odd, considering it had stalked her throughout her entire life. Neither did she know anything about the person she saw in it. All she could tell that it was a boy, or a man. But nothing else. Not the colour of their hair, nor the features on their face. They were silhouetted against the yellow-orange light from above the surface, but nothing more. She did not know where the dream took place: it could have been the ocean, or a swimming pool – even a pond. Aislin was an observer, watching from far below, as if she, too, were drowning. She didn't even know why he was there in the first place. Had he been swimming? Had he slipped into the water? Or had he been pushed? Aislin always seemed to feel as if it were the latter, although she could not say why. But whatever the cause, it did not end well, or at least she assumed it didn't – she always woke before the end.

Stop thinking about it! she scolded herself, as she did every night, for even if the dream hadn't taken place that night, her mind still wandered back to it, replaying it over and over again. Stop it! Not that it did any good. During the day, Ash could attempt to occupy herself, by helping out around the house with little chores, or taking long walks, where it was easier to think of other things. But confined to her room – in the dark – the image of him drowning was seared into her retina, sending a shiver down her spine like icy water.

Eventually, the dark was too much to bear: she reached out her arm and switched on the little light beside her bed. Immediately, her room was illuminated by the warm glow on the lamp, making everything appear less formidable. Aislin felt her claustrophobia subsiding as she rolled onto her back and stared up at the ceiling. Like the rest of the room, the ceiling was painted a duck-egg blue, and on it could be found many posters and banners which Aislin had stuck there herself: a red and gold Gryffindor flag, and a poster of her favourite Quidditch Team, the Holyhead Harpies. Unlike most pictures or Photographs, the subjects in this poster moved as if they were alive, broomsticks whizzing across the frame and flashes of green and gold.

Because Aislin Sullivan was a Witch – a Witch who would soon be returning to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

A/N: Hi everyone,
Thank you for taking the time to read this far - I really appreciate it!
I started this story a little whole ago - under the name "Enigma" - but it kind of got waylaid, so I went ages without updating.
I decided to delete it and start again, in the hopes of keeping up this time and making it better. *fingers crossed*
As a side note, I didn't like the last name and changed it to "Veritas", which means truth in Latin. And the name Aislin is pronounced: ASH-lin. It's an Irish name, and means either dream or vision - I thought it was appropriate.
Anyway, please review for me - I'll love you forever!
And tune in again soon for Chapter One! :)
Thank you!