AN: There is this great fan fiction called "The Dream" by ??? and she left it up
to the readers to make a story with "the dream". I did that, and I hope she likes it
because her writing deserves respect and I can wish that this does justice to it.
(read The Dream by ??? to better understand this)
::The Boy::
With a start, Albus woke. He rubbed his eyes, his breathing became more relieved
as the room around him cleared. It was that same dream again. The one he always had
around Halloween, ever since he had been old enough to remember. That poor child, the
white hot pain, the evil curse, the death, the snakes...
Albus hated snakes.
Knowing that reaching for sleep was useless once the dream had started, he got
out of bed, and started his day.
~
September, his favorite time of the year. All the first years would be coming, so
scared and new to magic. And the returners, the older students who knew their way
around and thought they were so great, so undeafeatable. Then, himself, and all the
teachers, would be back to their true home, Hogwarts, where anything was possible.
From his usual place at the High Table, Albus watched as the nervous and excited
first years filed into the big hall, everyone cheering for the newcomers into their houses.
He looked over the group with a small smile. There were the ones from Muggle families,
the ones who never knew their true calling, looking ready to regurgitate their stomach's
contents. Then, future wizards and witches who had known all their lives, who'd been
waiting forever for this day, so sure of themselves. And then a group that seemed to know
what was going on, but they still were frightened, knowing Hogwarts would bring out
their true personalities eventually.
The new students looked astonished as Professor Porple produced the Sorting
Hat, the hat that placed every single student at Hogwarts. Albus smiled to himself.
Everyone thought sorting was some sort of a test, a magic trick, they'd have to acomplish.
No one ever thought that maybe it was just a magical item who could read your thoughts,
and know where you truly belonged.
As the first name was called, Albus looked over the students again, like every year,
searching for a clue. He did this voluntarily; he didn't even realize he was looking for a
reason, a witch or wizard, who would make his dream come true. His eyes wondered over
the students, mentally checking them off a list that had been in his brain since the dream: a
big boy, taller than any of the girls, boys, even adults, in the room, a girl whispering and
pointing at the big boy, who was receiving a dark, reprimanding glare for the obvious
gossip from a pretty, but surprisingly strict looking girl, a sulky boy who looked at the
dirty hat with terrible dislike, another boy with hard eyes....
Albus clutched his forehead and winced. Pain tore at his forehead as he looked up
again, forcing himself not to look away. Something had struck him. He quickly surveyed
the students again. A boy with flaming red hair and tattered clothes stood next to a girl
who appeared to be asking about the lousy state of his robes, a fat boy chewed something
in his mouth, offering a piece of whatever-it-was to another boy standing behind him, who
sneered and pushed the hand away...
The pain snapped at Albus again, worse than before. It was like a hot iron was
steaming on his forehead, or a death pulling on his hand to lead him away, like a poisenous
snake biting him....
"What's the matter, Dumbledore?" Professor Dippet asked, leaning across the
table. Other teachers leaned in to, noticing Albus' horrible condition.
"It's nothing, just a little headache," Albus lied, not able to explain the terrible hurt
that was biting. He shook his head and attempted to smile, hoping to give the others the
impression that he was all right.
It was exactly the pain in his dream. He didn't know what it meant, what was
making it hurt so badly. But he know the wizard, the child in the dream, who was making
his head hurt.
Braving the agony, Albus looked up again. He didn't need to search. He saw the
boy. He wasn't anything spectacular. His body was the right size for some one his age, a
type of gawky, little boy body. His eyes were slanted slightly, as if he were foreign, though
it was clear he was from England. Albus didn't know how he could tell, but he just knew
that this boy was the type to put down others who were different, and he wouldn't be from
China or anywhere else. Maybe it was the haughty, self-righteous expression he wore, or
the sneer he'd given to children that looked poor, or Muggle-born, but Albus could tell
this boy was different. Unforgiving of others' differences that couldn't be helped.
The boy seemed to feel Albus' eyes. He looked up, causing the headache to rage in
his head again. A small smile lit the boy's mouth, like he was satisfied, and he looked again
to the front, to the Sorting.
The Sorting was coming to the end. They were starting the R's when Albus heard
the name of the one he'd been looking for.
"Riddle, Tom!" called Porple, reading off a scroll with all the first years names.
Tom sauntered to the front of the air of some one who cared nothing for others, like he
was the most important one in the room, in England, in the world. As he slipped the hat
onto his head, Albus waited nervously. He didn't want this Tom to be in any of the houses,
in any of Hogwarts at all. There was something that just screamed distrust to Albus. He'd
felt it ever since the boy had stared directly into his eyes, like he was pulling Albus in, and
he'd resisted, causing the ache surge through him.
"SLYTHERIN!" the Sorting Hat yelled, deciding the house of this boy. Tom
whipped the hat off, looking proud of the hat's choice. Albus looked over at the
Slytherins, a nasty looking bunch of bullies and power hungry wizards and witches. They
all cheered as Tom joined their table, the din so much louder for him, as if the Slytherins
sensed that he was a leader, a boy who could take power and could be horrible. Tom
soaked in the praise, looking like he was mentally surveying his new friends, looking who
he could beat.
Albus shuddered. This boy was the start of something evil.
to the readers to make a story with "the dream". I did that, and I hope she likes it
because her writing deserves respect and I can wish that this does justice to it.
(read The Dream by ??? to better understand this)
::The Boy::
With a start, Albus woke. He rubbed his eyes, his breathing became more relieved
as the room around him cleared. It was that same dream again. The one he always had
around Halloween, ever since he had been old enough to remember. That poor child, the
white hot pain, the evil curse, the death, the snakes...
Albus hated snakes.
Knowing that reaching for sleep was useless once the dream had started, he got
out of bed, and started his day.
~
September, his favorite time of the year. All the first years would be coming, so
scared and new to magic. And the returners, the older students who knew their way
around and thought they were so great, so undeafeatable. Then, himself, and all the
teachers, would be back to their true home, Hogwarts, where anything was possible.
From his usual place at the High Table, Albus watched as the nervous and excited
first years filed into the big hall, everyone cheering for the newcomers into their houses.
He looked over the group with a small smile. There were the ones from Muggle families,
the ones who never knew their true calling, looking ready to regurgitate their stomach's
contents. Then, future wizards and witches who had known all their lives, who'd been
waiting forever for this day, so sure of themselves. And then a group that seemed to know
what was going on, but they still were frightened, knowing Hogwarts would bring out
their true personalities eventually.
The new students looked astonished as Professor Porple produced the Sorting
Hat, the hat that placed every single student at Hogwarts. Albus smiled to himself.
Everyone thought sorting was some sort of a test, a magic trick, they'd have to acomplish.
No one ever thought that maybe it was just a magical item who could read your thoughts,
and know where you truly belonged.
As the first name was called, Albus looked over the students again, like every year,
searching for a clue. He did this voluntarily; he didn't even realize he was looking for a
reason, a witch or wizard, who would make his dream come true. His eyes wondered over
the students, mentally checking them off a list that had been in his brain since the dream: a
big boy, taller than any of the girls, boys, even adults, in the room, a girl whispering and
pointing at the big boy, who was receiving a dark, reprimanding glare for the obvious
gossip from a pretty, but surprisingly strict looking girl, a sulky boy who looked at the
dirty hat with terrible dislike, another boy with hard eyes....
Albus clutched his forehead and winced. Pain tore at his forehead as he looked up
again, forcing himself not to look away. Something had struck him. He quickly surveyed
the students again. A boy with flaming red hair and tattered clothes stood next to a girl
who appeared to be asking about the lousy state of his robes, a fat boy chewed something
in his mouth, offering a piece of whatever-it-was to another boy standing behind him, who
sneered and pushed the hand away...
The pain snapped at Albus again, worse than before. It was like a hot iron was
steaming on his forehead, or a death pulling on his hand to lead him away, like a poisenous
snake biting him....
"What's the matter, Dumbledore?" Professor Dippet asked, leaning across the
table. Other teachers leaned in to, noticing Albus' horrible condition.
"It's nothing, just a little headache," Albus lied, not able to explain the terrible hurt
that was biting. He shook his head and attempted to smile, hoping to give the others the
impression that he was all right.
It was exactly the pain in his dream. He didn't know what it meant, what was
making it hurt so badly. But he know the wizard, the child in the dream, who was making
his head hurt.
Braving the agony, Albus looked up again. He didn't need to search. He saw the
boy. He wasn't anything spectacular. His body was the right size for some one his age, a
type of gawky, little boy body. His eyes were slanted slightly, as if he were foreign, though
it was clear he was from England. Albus didn't know how he could tell, but he just knew
that this boy was the type to put down others who were different, and he wouldn't be from
China or anywhere else. Maybe it was the haughty, self-righteous expression he wore, or
the sneer he'd given to children that looked poor, or Muggle-born, but Albus could tell
this boy was different. Unforgiving of others' differences that couldn't be helped.
The boy seemed to feel Albus' eyes. He looked up, causing the headache to rage in
his head again. A small smile lit the boy's mouth, like he was satisfied, and he looked again
to the front, to the Sorting.
The Sorting was coming to the end. They were starting the R's when Albus heard
the name of the one he'd been looking for.
"Riddle, Tom!" called Porple, reading off a scroll with all the first years names.
Tom sauntered to the front of the air of some one who cared nothing for others, like he
was the most important one in the room, in England, in the world. As he slipped the hat
onto his head, Albus waited nervously. He didn't want this Tom to be in any of the houses,
in any of Hogwarts at all. There was something that just screamed distrust to Albus. He'd
felt it ever since the boy had stared directly into his eyes, like he was pulling Albus in, and
he'd resisted, causing the ache surge through him.
"SLYTHERIN!" the Sorting Hat yelled, deciding the house of this boy. Tom
whipped the hat off, looking proud of the hat's choice. Albus looked over at the
Slytherins, a nasty looking bunch of bullies and power hungry wizards and witches. They
all cheered as Tom joined their table, the din so much louder for him, as if the Slytherins
sensed that he was a leader, a boy who could take power and could be horrible. Tom
soaked in the praise, looking like he was mentally surveying his new friends, looking who
he could beat.
Albus shuddered. This boy was the start of something evil.