You can never forget a face.

Any face you ever see gets sent to the back of your mind, recycled later in your dreams. Your brain can't make up a face, so it just uses the ones you've already seen. And those creepy, twisted little demon things you've seen in your dreams, the ones with the hellish grins and the sharp teeth, the empty eyes, the somehow… not-quite-there presence?

You've seen them too.

You don't remember them, sure. You don't want to. You buried them deep, deep below everything else, below the coal mines and the crypts where you bury your "conquered" fears.

But you saw them.

And they saw you too.

Harry woke, gasping, to the crashing of his skull into the stairs above his bed in the cupboard. He lifted his hand to his forehead, gingerly pressing it into the hateful scar of his, his mind running, scrambling to remember those hateful things he had seen in his dream, to find some significance in the disturbing visions which had shuddered through his head, the green and red flashes accompanying the fleeting images lighting up Harry's cranium like the odious and ostentatious decorations the Dursleys forced him to hang every Christmas.

Harry glared about the dark, humid cupboard at his scant possessions. He hated the things he saw, the things he knew. He hated, most of all, the visions. He hated that they had completely controlled his life for so long; that they had changed him into what he was, what he had become. The visions had started when he was fifteen months old. It was his earliest memory.

A scream, a flash of green, then naught but troubled sleep, filled with… abominations. Harry knew that he wasn't crazy, though he had plenty of reasons to be so; he had spent close to ten years of his life in this hellhole, this place that was… beyond, somehow. Somehow there, yet only to show that it was not; revealing its presence by the absence of anything else, like those black holes that Harry had learned about from his teacher at the Legion Academy.

Ironic, that; Harry went to a school named after a biblical demon. Harry knew a little of Christian theology from various places. Legion was, from his recollection, a demon in a small town. Jesus had been called to the town, asked to perform an exorcism on a man who had been possessed by the demon. Jesus had demanded to know the demon's name, as was standard exorcism practice; the demon merely replied "My name is Legion; for We are Many."

Jesus then cast the demons into a herd of swine, who leapt of a nearby cliff and into the sea, only to be feared by the villagers for his power.

At the time, Harry had disregarded it, ignoring the strange implications of the many identifying as one, and one speaking for all, somehow representing all and embodied by none.

Harry's dreams were filled now with similar entities. They had no individual identity, yet were undeniably different to the others. He wondered where he had seen them, he wondered where he had lost track of his purpose.

And Harry wondered who would be dropping mail off at this hour. The mail flap fluttered open and shut, and a letter dropped to the floor. Quietly, Harry rose and left to investigate. He had long ago removed any purpose from the locks the Dursleys had placed on his door, and he silently pushed open the door, carefully maneuvering his way past the creaking floorboards and into the foyer, bending over to pick up the letter and turning it about in his hands. In the dim moonlight seeping through the windows, Harry could just make out the address and strange wax seal.

Marvelling at the archaic form of sealing a letter, Harry shifted the corned of the letter into the light, barely able to distinguish the intended recipient, written in flowing, almost calligraphic cursive:

Harry Potter, Heir Potter

The Cupboard Under the Stairs

Number Four Privet Drive, Surrey

And the strange crest in the wax seal, which appeared to be four animals engraved upon a shield. Harry heard a pecking at the window, and glanced up to see twin ravens strutting on the sill. Harry disregarded them, peering instead at the creatures. Each, in their own way, was lethal; the lion for its ferocity and daring, the snake its stealth and venom, the badger its loyal claws protecting what it cared for, and the raven its cunning leading the unwary over cliffs or to drink from oceans. Then, at the top, Harry noticed a helmet resting upon the shield the animals were emblazoned on.

The helmet suggested, to Harry, the warriors of the Bushido code, those honor-bound relentless fighters who were sworn to uphold justice and order, the Samurai. And Harry thought he saw, very faintly, two glowing eyes of flame deep within the helmet. Harry shuddered, opening the letter as quietly as he could.

Harry decided he should probably wake up.

He didn't.

Harry blinked, and reread the letter four times before accepting its reality.

Heir Potter,

The Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry would like to formally invite you to our illustrious school. We here at Hogwarts believe that this would be the best place for your continuing education to begin, and we shall send an instructor to your residence in order to inform you of both our school and the wonders of magic which have been so regrettably held from you. We promise the finest of educations in Wizarding Britain; nothing more, nothing less.

Should you choose to accept, the following are supplies which you will need:

Three sets of plain work robes (black) for day wear

One winter cloak (black, silver fastenings)

One set of protective gloves (dragon hide or similar)

The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1 by Miranda Goshawk

A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot

Magical Theory by Adalbert Waffling

A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration by Emeric Switch

One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi by Phyllida Spore

Magical Drafts and Potions by Arsenius Jigger

Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them by Newt Scamander

The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection by Quentin Trimble

One wand

One cauldron (pewter, size two)

One set of brass scales

One telescope

Students may also bring one pet of their choice (owl, cat, or toad)

FIRST YEAR STUDENTS ARE NOT ALLOWED THEIR OWN BROOMSTICKS

Best of wishes,

Professor Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, Order of Merlin, first class, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards, and Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

Harry glanced once more over the letter, resolving to study and learn more so that he would be prepared by the time he attended school. He then shot his head up to the window, where the pecking had continued, unnoticed. The ravens glared at him, at Harry slowly walked outside with an assortment of birdseed in hand. Harry held his hand out, and the ravens fed appreciatively before hopping to his shoulder. One flew off, and for some reason Harry felt compelled to wait for its return.

The raven soon returned, clutching beneath it a parcel that one would more expect to be in a moving van, as it was roughly half a meter in every dimension. The ravens' gruff caws reassured him, and he tore it open, to find many books, and laying upon them, a wand and cloak. Harry glanced up to give his gratitude to the obviously magical creatures, but they had disappeared. Harry was now alone. Returning inside, Harry was glad to have gone outside, though his soles were now achingly cold. He merely wished the ravens would have brought him more.

Hey guys, The Last Soldier here again to tell you of my return to the world of fanfiction. I have recently become enthralled once more with the realm of possibilities enclosed within, after it lost its luster a year or more ago. Don't worry, I plan to return to Harry Potter and the Hollow Places as well, though perhaps not immediately. I may, however, change the format. Also, with my martial arts black belt candidacy requiring vast amounts of time, updates will likely be even more sporadic and difficult than before for the readers. Once more, I do apologize. I hope you like the start, and please review. All are welcome, though ones less useful will be ignored (i.e. "You stole this idea from InternetPerson87! I hope you die!" and "Harry's terrible. Go jump under a bus and off a bridge.") Recommended reading: In the Dust of This Planet: Horror of Philosophy (Eugene Thacker).

Thanks,

-The Last Soldier