PROLOGUE:

THE HUNTER, THE DOLL, AND THE RAVEN

The line between dreams and reality is blurrier than one would think. After all, who is to say that the noosphere, the realm of thought and imagination and knowledge, doesn't have inhabitants, not bound by flesh, swimming through seas of information? Wouldn't such realms be as real to such inhabitants as the so-called physical realm?

In a world where ancient beings ascended into dream realms, transcending their physical forms, the line between dreams and reality was indeed blurry, like the hazy line of a mirage, blurring the horizon, the boundary between surface and sky. The Great Ones had more power than over just dreams, but it was one of their most common powers. And over the ancient city of Yharnam, they held the most sway.

Yharnam. Named for the legendary Queen of the ancient Pthumerian Empire, it was a grand city, long before the Healing Church came along. True, its grandeur hid, and not very well, a seedy underbelly, showcasing the inequalities of the world, but that was to be expected of any grand city. There were always haves and have-nots, and it's more of the gap of inequality that matters than the fact that any exists.

But Yharnam hid many secrets. It was built over the ancient catacombs established by the Pthumerians, whose civilisations fell virtually overnight. And while Yharnam's was far from the only one in the region of this world, it was perhaps the largest of these infamous labyrinths. It's a fact of civilisation that the new build over the bones of the old…and that they too will be buried.

Yharnam's time, it seemed, was not far from coming.

Some decades before, there was a young man called Laurence, who was a prodigal son of an official of the Church of Oedon. He'd fled his domineering father to Byrgenwerth, the famous enclave of scholars not far from Yharnam. There, he found his true calling…and after a series of incidents, returned to Yharnam, and his father. What followed was hard to tell, but the Church of Oedon soon transmuted into the Healing Church, where a miraculous blood that could cure all ills was administered.

Laurence was mostly building on the established doctrine of the Church of Oedon, but it soon became an organisation to be marvelled at…and feared. For soon after the rise of the Healing Church came the advent of the Beastly Scourge, many considering it to be the very disease that ravaged the Pthumerian city-state of Loran, and brought that city low. And whispers started that the Scourge and the Healing Blood of the Healing Church were linked.

In other words, a dream of miracles was steadily turning into a nightmare. Though to be honest, this transmutation started earlier. Some would say it was when Laurence fled to Byrgenwerth in the first place. Others would argue, if they knew, that it truly started with a certain fishing hamlet, and certainly a nightmare was born that fateful and bloody night. In any case, the Healing Church's best intentions were always destined to become a nightmare. This didn't deter those who came to Yharnam far and wide. Tales had spread of the miracles of Blood Ministration.

Yharnam looked magnificent, from a distance. But walk the streets, and you'll notice it's a city of fear. Every now and then, when the beast problem grew to be too much, a militia (most would call it a mob) would scour the streets of those beasts…and any unfortunates in their path, innocent or not. Yharnam had become paranoid and insular.

Cursed and lauded were the Hunters, the elite fighters of Yharnam, who kept the beasts in check. Some were directly affiliated with the Healing Church and its elite echelons in the Choir. Others were independents, who worked alongside the Church, but held no allegiance to that overbloated institution.

Unbeknownst to most, however…there were worlds in the realms of dreams and nightmares that held sway over Yharnam. The Hunter's Nightmare, formed by the dying power of Kos (or some say Kosm, particularly an insane man who loves wearing a birdcage on his head), a purgatory for the Hunters who succumbed to their bloodlust as a curse on them for the sins of Byrgenwerth and the Old Hunters. The Nightmare of Mensis, an attempt by the deranged Micolash to begin his own apotheosis.

And the Hunter's Dream. A refuge, a training area, and a prison. A prison with a gilded cage, but a prison all the same. Established through a Mephistophelean pact between Gehrman, once a celebrated figure amongst the Hunters, and the Moon Presence, a Great One with an agenda of its own. Every time the other Great Ones try to get a greater foothold in the world, a Hunter is chosen from the ranks of those within Yharnam to hold back the tide, a Hunter who is tethered to the Dream, and cannot die until his link to it is sundered.

It is in this Hunter's Dream that events begin that will herald a drastic change in the status quo. For, you see, as part of his pact, Gehrman had the Moon Presence bring to life the lifelike doll he had created, albeit within the confines of the Dream. Said doll was modelled on Gehrman's late student, Lady Maria of Cainhurst, whose suicide drove him further into despair. But the doll, or rather, the Doll, had none of Maria's fire or strength of character, none that Gehrman could see, and in hindsight, it was partly because the Doll was made to be his assistant in the Dream, and partly because he had made the Doll out of a sense of infatuation with Maria.

Gehrman had dismissed the Doll as being inhuman, especially when he learned the truth behind her. This wasn't Maria, it wasn't even a parody of her. Just a hollow shell in her likeness with something inhuman inhabiting her.

But he made a mistake there. The Doll, for all her lack of humanity, had some small reserves of it. She was curious, empathic, and gentle. One could argue that she embodied many of humanity's better qualities.

And one fateful day, something new and novel came to the Dream. Something that would show that the Doll was more human than Gehrman suspected…or truly acted…

The Doll walked through the field of flowers. It was one of the few hobbies she truly enjoyed, given that she was trapped here in this world. She didn't resent it, but she would be lying if she said she didn't feel some small discontent. Well, she lied to Gehrman. He wanted someone passive, pliant, and obedient. She played the role, though to be fair, there was little to act. But all he saw was a doll, a hollow being not worthy of being considered a being.

So she kept her hobbies to herself, lest he find some way to ruin them. The Moon Presence watching from above didn't seem to care. Their warden (for the Doll knew herself to be as much a prisoner here as Gehrman) was fairly indifferent, as long as they didn't tell the Hunters under their aegis too much. But Gehrman was another matter entirely.

The man himself was currently sleeping. He would be sleeping for some time, but it would not be restful, his mind tormented by the link he had to the Hunter's Nightmare. Punished for his sins, and those of Byrgenwerth.

But what crimes was the Doll being punished for? Merely existing? She pondered this and other existential quandaries as she had time to herself. For all her existence, she knew only the Hunter's Dream, and as she was decades old, it was a small place for such a long time. She had explored its nooks and crannies long ago, and had read and re-read the books here (half of which had to be volumes of Gehrman's favourite periodical, How to Speak to Fair Maidens) already.

She was bound to this place, and bound to Gehrman. She could not escape, she could not visit the waking world like the Hunters who came here did. She could not harm him, and in truth, she did not want to. Once, she had desired such things, and yet…what was happening to Gehrman was karma enough.

But she desired something novel, something new. True, occasionally, the Messengers, the eldritch infant-like beings that inhabited the Dream, would bring her something they found in the waking world, and they were sweet, helpful things. But there was only so much they could do. Then again, it wasn't like something new would drop out of the sky, would it?

As if to disabuse that notion, she heard a startled squawk, and then, as she looked up at the direction, something feathery landed on her face. She squawked in her own turn, but the thing that hit her face had already slid onto the ground. She blinked, once, then twice, as she stared at it. She knew what it was. Books were a great educator, even if they were inconsistent. It was a bird, specifically, a raven. Glossy black feathers adorned its body, though there was a strange marking of white above its right eye, like a lightning bolt.

The poor thing looked neglected, too. A number of its feathers had been plucked, not enough to render it remotely piebald, but certainly enough to be noticeable. The glossy sheen she had expected on a raven's feathers was absent. It was shivering too, even though it seemed unconscious.

She gathered it up in her arms, and hugged it to her. "…Are you cold?" she asked.

It didn't reply. It was definitely out to the world. But then, a crimson light filled the area. She looked up, to see the Moon, now blood-like in colour, and a too-familiar silhouette descending. A spindly parody of a human form, with bony protrusions along its torso, writhing tendrils for hair and a tail, and a strange mask of a face, like an abstract oval with holes vaguely suggesting orifices.

The Moon Presence. Jailor and warden of the Hunter's Dream. She hugged the raven closer, even as the Moon Presence approached. As it reached out a bony finger to examine the raven, she found herself saying, "Do not touch it."

She got the impression of…amusement from the Moon Presence. She knew why. It was ridiculously powerful. To it, she might as well be a gnat protecting another gnat. And yet, she couldn't help but glare, even as it plucked the raven from her grasp, and examined it. Eventually, it gave it back to her, much to her surprise.

The impression she got from the Great One now was more of a feeling. It was commanding her, and it was pointing its finger at the raven in her hands. Care for it, it was saying, without words, just its very presence.

"I will."

With that, the Moon Presence took its leave. And so, she took the raven away. She had to wonder why, though. Why the Moon Presence was allowing the raven here…

"…Sentenced to life imprisonment…"

"Behold, my much-vaunted nemesis…"

"No, please, take me instead!"

"…Oh, Amygdala…"

"Hem, hem…enjoying the accommodations?"

"…Accept this sacrifice…"

"He's practically Kissed already…"

"Grant us eyes...grant us power…"

"Serves him right for what he did to Amos' boy…"

"No, what are you doing?!"

"Azkaban's too good for this murderous brat…"

"I command you…stop!"

"…Old goat's still clamouring for his release…"

"Kyeh heh heh heh…you don't command Amygdala…if Amygdala wants you dead, then oblige him, okay?"

"…Guilty as sin…"

EHDANACDEHK…

"Let him rot…"

LUSA…

"To think he supposedly stopped You Know Who…"

"Oh Amygdala, oh Amygdala…have you found something interesting?"

"He's no hero…"

OAC.

"…Just a murderer…a dark wizard…"

"…Ah, Kos…or some say Kosm…do you hear our prayers?"

The first things he felt were pain and fatigue. Those had become familiar friends to him by now. They had been since childhood, but now, more so than ever, they were ever-present.

But unlike the realm he had just recently departed, he realised he felt warmer. The air was still cool, but it was a pleasant coolness. He realised that he was also being held, rather gently and tenderly.

So he opened his eyes, and beheld a goddess.

Okay, so that was a bit of an exaggeration. But her face was utterly beautiful, though the bone-white skin, silvery-white hair, and pale blue eyes were strange. She was also dressed in an old-fashioned dress, complete with a bonnet. Her hand caressed his face, and he realised, with a start, that it had joints and articulation…rather doll-like. Indeed, there was something about her entire demeanour that put him in mind of a doll.

"Hello," she said softly, her voice gentle and musical, having a husky accent that sounded Slavic. "Do not be afraid. You…umm…landed on me." She sounded embarrassed, and to be honest, so was he. He'd only just escaped from that damned lunatic with the birdcage on his head, and he had tried to Apparate…only to end up here, exhausted and in this weird place.

She peered at him, before smiling. While there was something just a little off about it, something unnerving, he felt the genuine warmth coming from it all the same. "Do not worry. I am a Doll. I care for the Hunters who pass through the Dream. I admit, this is the first time I have seen a bird here, but if you wish, I can care for you too."

He couldn't help but be wary. His dim, fogbound memories of his life before Micolash caged him taught him to be wary. He wasn't even sure if those memories were real, or just nightmarish fakes made to fuck with his head. Given Micolash's mad scientist demeanour, he wouldn't be surprised if that was the case.

Still, it was a damn sight more welcoming than Mergo's Loft, as Micolash called that place. And this doll was more welcoming than Micolash, or the other inhabitants of that place. He shivered at the thought.

The doll seemed to consider something, before she said, "If you are to stay here, you need a name."

He squawked, and then went over to a bare patch of soil, and began scratching in it. Gradually, he was scratching out letters. It was the name he was sure he had, and yet, he couldn't be sure whether that was real.

She watched, fascinated, before she read out, "Harry Potter? What a curious name for a raven. But I have no name. Just call me the Doll. Welcome home, Harry Potter…"

PROLOGUE ANNOTATIONS:

Oh dear. What's all this, then? Harry's a raven, and he's ended up in the Hunter's Dream? And he's with the Doll?

Now, just so you know, Harry was about 16 when he was sent into Azkaban (I bumped his age up a year, and he was framed for Cedric's death at the end of the TWT), spent about half a year there, until Voldemort broke his cronies out. After that, Harry spent about two years in the custody of Micolash in the Nightmare of Mensis. I'm being vague for a reason, though not the reason From Software likes to be vague about the story (the details about, for example, Laurence, his family, and the precursor to the Healing Church are my own spins on the lore).

No numbered annotations this time.