In his dreams, Professor Cuthbert Binns was a pirate king. He could not say when the dreams first began, but as far back as he could remember he spent his nights sailing the seven seas, keel hauling disobedient sailors, and raiding merchant vessels. He was the terror of the ocean and the mere sight of his ship, The Royal Pearl, made grown men cry in their rum. It didn't matter that his students regularly fell asleep in his class. It didn't matter that they were all doomed to repeat history because they couldn't be bothered to learn it in the first place. It didn't matter that Cuthbert was alone and friendless because no one wanted to hear him prattle on and on about Goblin rebellions and the founding of Hogwarts. In his dreams he was fearsome and respected. If he could make it to night time, he would have his dreams to sustain him.

One might ask why he stayed in his position at Hogwarts when he was so unappreciated. Really, he was a much better writer than a talker. He published his Tales from the Goblins' Den and The True Story of the Founding Four under the name Arnold Idlewilde, and they sold like wildfire. But, in front of a classroom, Cuthbert could do nothing but drone on and on, watching his students drool and pass notes and stare into space. Eventually, he simply stopped watching them. Someone had to try to tell the future of wizarding kind the truth about the past. Someone had to help them understand how to build a brighter future and that someone was Cuthbert Binns.

He took his role as the protector of the past very seriously. He stuck to facts because the truth was always stranger than fiction. He tried to draw parallels between the past and the present for his students—not that they noticed or cared. He pretended that it didn't bother him that they failed his tests and asked foolish questions about legends invented to scare little witches and wizards into behaving rather than attending to truth and wisdom. He stored up all these little hurts and waited for night, when he could dream of sailing again.

One night, he was having a particularly fine dream. The Royal Pearl had landed on a deserted island. Cuthbert and a band of four sailors disembarked, bearing a load of pillaged booty. After it was buried and the four expendable lads dispatched, Cuthbert was making his triumphant way back to his ship when he saw her. She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Her long blond hair spilled over her shoulders and her sparkling blue eyes flashed at him in the sunset. She reached out a hand to him and he took it, dazzled by her smile.

"Come with me," she said.

"Where are we going?" he asked.

"You'll see."

They started to rise into the air, floating like cottonwood seeds on the breeze. He was still captivated by her smile and didn't notice at first. When he finally realized what was happening, he started. They were above the tree line by then, but after the initial shock he did not feel afraid. Her laugh was like a bell and it tickled his insides. He tried to take a breath, but found that he no longer needed to.

They floated for a long time, hand in hand, rising above the ocean, above the birds, above the clouds. Eventually Cuthbert became aware of a light in the distance. Its brightness was both terrible and comforting. It seemed this was their destination and soon it blotted out everything beneath them. He longed to plunge into the light, but as they approached, he felt something pulling him down, like an anchor on a ship.

His brow furrowed as the light grew stronger. "I have to go back," he said suddenly.

Her smile grew more radiant. "No you don't. Come with me, it's time."

He wanted to drown in the light and her smile. He felt more comfortable than he could ever remember feeling. If he simply held onto her hand for a few more moments, all would be well.

But then he felt the pull of the anchor again. How could he abandon his post? Who would carry on after him? Who would possibly be as dedicated to history as he was?

"I have to go back," he repeated, more firmly, and let go of her hand.

He dropped like a stone through the atmosphere, past the clouds, past the birds, past the trees. The ocean loomed under him, eerily silent and still, like a mirror. He closed his eyes as he collided with its surface and it shattered beneath him, afraid to see what would be left of his body following the impact.

Cuthbert did not know how much time had passed when he came back to himself. It had been a very strange dream, but it was time to get ready to teach. He opened his eyes and made to get out of bed, but quickly realized that he was floating above it. He still was not breathing. He glanced down and there was his body, silent beneath him in the bed. Oddly, he did not feel either shocked or sad to see himself dead. He had made a choice, and he was comfortable with it. In fact, there would be benefits to being dead in his position. He would no longer need to take time for eating or sleeping. He would be able to devote all his time to study and writing. Assuming, of course, that he could devise a way to hold a quill or a book. But, he was a clever man (or shade as it were), he would think of something. He supposed the only thing he would regret is that he would never be able to have his dream again. He heard the morning bell ring in the hallway, calling the students and staff to order. He set his transparent jaw in determination. No matter. He had more important things to do than dream. He floated out of his room, into the hallway, to begin a new day.