Nothing is mine.

Harry has another funny dream.

I Am But Waiting For You

Before the soaring towers and battlements of Hogwarts, the Black Lake shone like spilt mercury in the late summer sun, gleaming like the surface of a freshly polished mirror among the deep green of the Forbidden Forest beyond its shores and, where the wind stirred its surface into small waves, sparkling and flashing with bright light. The chatter and laughter of the students pouring up the path from Hogsmeade Station toward the waiting carriages carried clear across it to those trees and the castle walls, a boundless wash of cheer that filled the air around Harry with warmth as he made his way up among the throng between Ron and Hermione toward the slender, dark figures pulling the carriages.

'Has Hagrid got new pets?' Harry asked.

'Er… I really hope not,' Ron replied with a slightly nervous grin. 'But I guess we'll see when we get to the castle mate. Can't exactly miss Hagrid.'

'No, I mean those.' Harry stopped before the carriage and pointed at the dark horses.

They stared back at him with eyes as bright and pale as the full winter moon, dark-winged as a raven, lean as a starving wolf, and hungry — the sort of hungry that made Harry tuck his fingers behind his back just in case.

'What do you mean?' Hermione asked.

'The things pulling the carriages, Hermione.'

'Nothing pulls the carriages. Nothing ever has.'

'They're right there.' Harry tutted and shook his head. 'I'm supposed to be the blind one in this group of friends, Hermione. Go back to trying to read the monster book of monsters, don't take this away from me.'

'Mate, she's not wrong,' Ron said.

'Okay.' Harry turned on his heel. 'Can anyone else see these things, or have I somehow managed to go insane without noticing it.' He scanned the crowd. 'Come on, don't tell me I missed out on all the fun bits of going mad.'

A slim waifish girl with dark brown hair tore her gaze away from the point just behind Harry, but caught his. One grass-green eye and one eye of bright, ice blue stared up at him, and she took a step back, colouring.

'Too slow!' Harry laughed. 'Okay, so you are either also insane, or they're real and everyone else can't see them. Good to know… I have no idea what your name is. You're in Slytherin, so obviously I have to pretend to hate you. Unless you're Malfoy's secret younger sister, in which case, I can probably just hate you by proxy.'

'Astoria.' She took a deep breath and drew herself up. 'My name is Astoria Greengrass. They're thestrals. You can only see them for a specific reason. Most people can't, but I've been able to since first year.'

'Huh.' Harry offered her a bright grin. 'Well, thanks, Astoria—' he glanced at the carriage and back to her '—actually, can I kidnap you for one short carriage ride to ask you about thestrals?'

Astoria chewed her lip. 'I guess.'

'Awesome.' Harry clapped his hands together, ushering a rather flustered pink Astoria into the seat next to him. 'So,' he said, as the thestrals tugged the carriage forward, 'why can I see them and they can't?'

'Because you've seen Death,' Astoria whispered, wrapping her arms around herself. 'And I don't mean a dead person. Or something that's died. You've seen Death.'

'But that's the same thing,' Hermione said. 'Surely?'

'No, it's not.'

'Cedric,' Harry said. 'I saw Cedric die. That must be why.' He laughed. 'And there I was thinking someone might have charmed my glasses with something silly.'

'How can you see them, then?' Ron asked. 'You're tiny.'

A little shiver swept through Astoria. 'Because I've seen Death.' She turned away from them and stared out across the lake as the carriage trundled around it and through the gates.

'Ron,' Hermione hissed, kicking him in the shin.

'Yeah, Ron.' Harry wagged his finger at him. 'She literally already explained why, you absolute plant pot.'

A quiet snort of laughter escaped Astoria.

'That's better.' He leant back in his seat and let the sun warm his hair. 'It's not so bad. I'm not insane yet. Dudley has to eat grapefruit for months. Voldemort hasn't ripped all my arms and legs off so far. Everything's going pretty great.'

Astoria shot him a shy glance and half a smile.

'And just think, Astoria, until we get to the Great Hall and see otherwise, there's still a chance Snape might've accidentally drawn the curtains in his lab and turned to dust in the sun.'

The smile melted away. 'He's not a vampire.'

'Yeah, vampires just try and suck your blood,' Ron grumbled. 'Snape tries to suck all the joy out too.'

Harry laughed. 'Legend has it that when he was a baby he fell into a cauldron full of the Cheering Concoction and after it wore off, he never smiled again.'

A little giggle slipped from Astoria. 'There's no such potion.'

'That's why it's a legend, Astoria,' he said. 'Nobody has been able to prove it happened by recreating the potion.'

The carriage slowed to a halt before Hogwarts's court yard and Harry leapt out. 'Time for food, Hermione. Quick, I'll hold Ron back.'

Hermione rolled her eyes. 'Harry you're not helping your reputation with Slytherin House as being weird.'

He shrugged. 'Malfoy's already obsessed; how much worse can it be? There can't be anyone else worse to get obsessed with me from Slytherin.'

Harry turned to ask Astoria if that was true, but she slipped away up the steps and into the school.

'Come on,' Hermione said. 'Before we get stuck behind all the first years staring around.'

'Already resentful of poor Muggle-borns,' Harry chided. 'Now your concern about my reputation with Slytherin suddenly makes sense… Ron, Hermione has betrayed us. She's gone… dark.'

'Once you go dark, you can't ever lose its mark,' Ron recited.

'Would you two be quiet.' Hermione huffed and stalked up the steps. 'If I go dark, it's because you two annoyed me too much.'

'It's too late, Ronald,' Harry cried. 'She's already lost. From here on out, it's all ritual sacrifice, ominous long walks on the beach at dusk with very gothic looking boys, and ripping off peoples' arms and legs, and using them for admittedly innovative but really rather disturbing attempts at sculpture.'

Hermione shook her head as she disappeared into the school.

'We probably should go in, mate,' Ron said. 'The first years do block everyone.'

'Maybe Hermione will ritually sacrifice them,' Harry mused, leading Ron through into the Great Hall. 'Do you think there's anything in Hogwarts: A History about ritual sacrifice?'

'No idea, to be honest; never read it.'

The four tables thrummed with conversation and laughter and, up upon the dais of the high table, the teachers chatted quietly amongst themselves, overlooking the small three-legged wooden stool and the ragged Sorting Hat sat upon it.

Harry dropped down next to Hermione near the middle of the Gryffindor Table. 'Is there anything about ritual sacrifice in your favourite book? Or pulling off legs and arms, and using them for unsanctioned attempts at art?'

'My favourite book is Pride and Prejudice.'

'We know,' he said, adopting his most mournful expression. 'The prejudice is against Muggle-borns.'

'No, you idiot.' Hermione fought her smile. 'And what is this recent obsession with arms and legs being pulled off?'

'Oh, I dreamt of Voldemort ripping off Karkaroff's limbs,' Harry replied. 'He pulled them off while he was still alive, and then kind of stuck them back on him so it looked like he had wings. Wings of blood and bone, he said; or something like that. I had a lot of weird dreams and nightmares over the summer; they all kind of jumbled together and it gets hard to remember which is which.'

Ron turned a little green.

Hermione shuddered. 'That's awful!'

'I know.' Harry scratched the back of his head. 'I've seen him conjure things out of silver, so why couldn't he just transfigure or conjure wings? Why did he have to be so creepy about it? It must be all the dark magic messing with his brain. Or maybe Pettigrew dropped him on his head when he was a horrible looking corpse-baby thing.'

A snort of laughter escaped Ron.

The first years stumbled in around Hagrid's looming figure, forming a nervous, excited huddle at the far end of the hall from the Sorting Hat, and Dumbledore rose, stepping up in front of his lectern.

'Welcome back, or to, if you're just joining us—'

Someone cleared their throat, a high, fake, girlish noise that cut across the hall.

Dumbledore turned. 'Professor Umbridge?'

'Thank you, Headmaster, for those kind words of welcome.' Principal Undersecretary Umbridge stood up from the staff table, smoothing out the front of her bright pink robes with both her small, stubby-fingered hands. 'How nice to see all your bright, happy faces smiling up at me. I'm sure we're all going to be very good friends.'

Harry chuckled under his breath. 'Not with that dress sense. Even the dementors manage better than that.'

Umbridge fixed a sweet smile upon her face — one so blatantly false even the new first years cringed. 'The Ministry of Magic has always considered the education of young witches and wizards of vital importance. Although each Headmaster has brought something new to this historic school... progress for the sake of progress must be discouraged. Let us preserve what must be preserved, perfect what can be perfected, and prune practices that ought to be prohibited.'

Hermione pursed her lips. 'So this is it,' she muttered, as Umbridge droned on.

Ron squinted at her. 'This is what? She's just waffling.'

'The Ministry is interfering,' she hissed under her breath. 'That's what. They're trying to control what we learn, Ronald!'

'Don't they already do that?' Ron asked. 'Someone's got to.'

Hermione blinked. 'I… actually don't know.'

Harry laughed to himself. 'She's on the ropes, Ron, finish her.'

'What, mate?'

'Right, you don't get that.'

'He never gets Muggle idioms, Harry,' Hermione said. 'Now hush, I'm trying to listen.'

'You started talking first,' he objected. 'Just because I was raised by Muggles doesn't mean you can order me around, Hermione.'

She shot him a reproachful look as Umbridge finally sat back down. 'Well, I suppose the gist of it was already clear. The Ministry wants to make sure nobody believes you, Harry. So they're going to interfere here at Hogwarts.'

'Oh, this is like the smearing thing.' Harry shrugged. 'Well, good luck to them. Nobody actually listens to me anyway; I don't really see what they can do. And really, it's about time Ofsted got around to inspecting this school, Hermione. I've nearly died here a whole bunch of times. At least one of the bathrooms was really unsafe.'

'And now, without further ado, the sorting,' Dumbledore announced. 'Please do be silent to listen to this year's sorting song.'

'Do we have to?' Ron mumbled.

'If you run now, you might make it to the door,' Harry suggested.

'Harry,' Hermione scolded. 'The songs have a message.'

'Well, I'm not listening,' he decided, covering his ears.

Hermione stared at him.

He beamed back, watching the Sorting Hat sing over her shoulder, and the usual procession of first years to it and back to their new tables until Hermione lost patience and tugged his hands away from his head.

'Seriously?' she hissed.

'Did it say something of burning importance? Like… guys, Voldemort is back and going to start murdering loads of people?'

'Yes!'

'Really?'

'No. Not that. But it sung about how there are external foes and deadly danger, and how we have to unite within.'

'Well, I already knew all of that anyway,' Harry said.

Copper jugs and platters appeared along the table, and the sickly smell of pumpkin juice suffused the air, mixing with the rich tang of gravy, roasted vegetables, and the sweet fragrances of chocolate, treacle, and custard.

'Can we unite by expelling all the Slytherins?' Ron chimed in, tugging the steak and kidney pie toward himself. 'That'd do it, right?'

'Except Astoria,' Harry said. 'She seemed nice.'

'She seemed terrified,' Hermione muttered.

'I mean, I assume whatever it was she saw that means she can now see thestrals was pretty traumatic, Hermione.' Harry wagged his finger at her. 'She probably has horrible nightmares about it. And then Ron, insensitive lout that he is, asked her about it. She's probably crying her eyes out in the girls bathroom right now; let's hope there's not another troll this time.'

'Hey.' Ron turned a bit red. 'You just said what yours was, so what was so bad about asking? She didn't have to say.'

'Just admit that you like making girls cry, Ron. It's okay, Hermione won't mind so long as they're Muggle-born.'

Hermione buried her face in her hands. 'Ron, don't encourage him; he's in a weird mood. Just eat.'

Harry grinned and stole the steak and kidney pie out from under Ron's nose. 'Have something that's got an unreasonable amount of pumpkin in it. This is mine now.'

Ron conceded defeat and consoled himself with four chicken drumsticks and half a plateful of boiled potatoes in parsley and butter.

Harry enjoyed the taste of steak kidney pie, treacle tart, and triumph, grinning to himself as he watched Umbridge pick at her food alone on the high table. 'She's not very popular.'

'She's not made herself very popular,' Hermione muttered. 'Coming in, interrupting Dumbledore, and then talking about how everything is being done wrong like that.'

'Do we know what she's actually teaching?' Ron asked.

'Got to be defence,' Harry said. 'I don't think Barty Crouch Junior is up to teaching for a second year.'

Hermione choked on her mouthful of parsnips. 'Harry, he was kissed by dementors!'

'Exactly, there's no way he's going to be up to teaching anyone. The only worse option would be getting Lockhart back, although, I suppose you wouldn't mind that, right, Hermione?'

She coloured. 'I would mind.'

'Is it because he's Muggle-born?' Harry asked.

Hermione stabbed another piece of parsnip. 'I'm not going to dignify that with a response.'

'Right, sorry.' He offered her a small bow on the cramped bench. 'Lady Something-Made-Up-Granger, prithee, doth thou hate him cos thee ain't him?'

A small snort of laughter burst from her lips despite her best effort. 'Hurry up and eat, Harry, I want to get to the Common Room and hear what everyone has to say about Professor Umbridge.'

'Fine, fine.'

Harry scarfed down what was left of his food and abandoned the table with Hermione. Ron trudged after them, snagging a bunch of grapes from the large fruit bowl at the end of the table as he went.

Gryffindor's Common room was filled with the low mutter of worried conversation and Harry, leaning against the wall near the fire, felt their stares prickling on the back of his neck as Hermione navigated through the small groups of other fifth-years as they drifted in from the Great Hall, but, since there were no silly badges or angry muttering, felt it was a marked improvement from last year anyway. He perched upon the arm of the chair while Ron ate his grapes one by one and then tossed the stalk into the fire, listening to the quiet tick of the large clock above the passage through to the Fat Lady's painting.

By the time the small hand crawled past toward the ten, the Common Room brimmed with chatter, drowning everything but the occasional crackle and pop of the fire as it spat glowing orange sparks into the fireguard charm.

Hermione returned then, a deep frown on her face. 'Nobody gets it,' she hissed. 'They just think she's annoying, or stupid, or boring. Half of them don't even believe you and Dumbledore, Harry.'

'Does it matter?' Harry asked. 'It's not like any of them ever do anything. Look at Lavender; what's she going to do? Threaten to do Voldemort's nails in a slightly unpleasant shade of mauve?'

Ron chortled.

'If people don't believe, then Voldemort can do whatever he wants!'

'Well, what he wants is probably to murder me,' Harry said. 'And since that tends to go horribly wrong for him, it'll all work out. Don't stress about it, Hermione. Worst case scenario, we collect all the Monster Book of Monsters from the house and release them on the Death Eaters in a glorious tide of violence. Problem solved. And with books, really you should be ecstatic.'

Hermione sighed. 'I suppose you're right, I shouldn't stress about something I can't control.' She perked up. 'But I can keep raising awareness.'

'Don't say SPEW,' Ron grumbled.

'Not that,' she retorted. 'About Umbridge. And Voldemort.'

'Maybe they're the same person.' Harry stroked his long but sadly imaginary beard. 'It would be the perfect disguise. Nobody would ever suspect.'

'That's just silly.'

'But consider the evidence, Hermione.' He held up one finger. 'It's always the Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor.' He held up a second finger. 'Nobody could actually ever think that's an appropriate level of pink to wear unless they'd been dropped on their head as a horrible corpse baby.'

'Is there a third?' Hermione asked very very dryly.

'I'm thinking,' Harry said. 'Yes. There is. She monologued for ages in the Great Hall and that's exactly the sort of thing Voldemort would do. He loves monologuing.'

'Maybe we should preemptively get rid of her,' Ron suggested.

'Yes.' Harry turned to Hermione. 'This is your area of expertise, Hermione. Imagine she's a helpless eleven year old Muggle-born. How would you make her disappear?'

'Introduce her to your sense of humour when you're in a weird mood,' Hermione retorted. 'I'm going to go to bed. You should both go to bed as well, it's getting later and we have Umbridge tomorrow, and you should be awake to pay attention to what she does.'

'Yes, mum,' Ron grumbled.

Harry watched Hermione head upstairs. 'So are we going to bed?'

'Absolutely not, mate,' Ron replied. 'Now Hermione's not here to lecture me about it, I'm going to go talk to Lavender.'

'Well, then I'm definitely going to bed,' Harry decided. 'I'm not watching that. It's painful.'

'Shut up.' Ron pushed himself out of his chair and headed across the room, waving. 'Hey, Lav!'

Harry shrugged and skipped up the stairs to their dorm, pushing his trunk around the corner of his four-poster bed with one foot, and flopped down into it, fully expecting to close his eyes and dream of Voldemort up to no good again. He pulled his wand from his sleeve and stuck it under his pillow, then yanked the curtains shut and undressed.

Sleep came quickly, a darkness softer than his pillow and warmer than his covers that embraced him like an old friend, drawing him down into peaceful oblivion.

And he opened his eyes into the gloom of the dorm, alone in the still silence of night, surrounded by quiet, steady, heavy breathing and a gentle rustle.

'Am I me?'

Harry held up his hand, studying his own familiar fingers.

'I'm me.'

He swung himself upright, poking his legs through the bed hangings and staring out past the slim crack in the window at the distant twinkle of the stars.

'I think I'm dreaming again.' Harry bent down and opened his trunk. 'Where's the map? That'll show me.'

He shoved the stack of books aside and lifted out the invisibility cloak; its silk whispered in the silence, but poured through his fingers like water, spilling into nothing like fading fog.

'I'm definitely dreaming,' Harry murmured. 'Solid things are not meant to do that.'

Shadow blossomed from the crack in the window pane, bubbling up through it like black water welling through a rift in the frozen surface of some deep dark lake.

'Thy part in our pact is kept.' A soft whisper reached his ears like the faintest touch of some soft winter breeze, but for all its quiet breath, it sliced through the silence like thunder tearing across the sky. 'Dread naught, little wychling. Thou art free now to take thy first step toward distant destiny. Thou shalt see.'

'More like thou art probably insane and taking your first step to the padded ward next door to Lockhart,' Harry said, stacking his books back into his trunk and slipping back into bed. 'This is a silly dream. I'm going to close my eyes and then I want a better one. Not a Voldemort-murders-someone-in-a-creepy-way dream, either. Give me something like Dudley and the Giant Grapefruit.'

AN: More chapters are available via Discord. And those supporting me can read about 20 more of my first drafts after that, the only catch is you have to let me know if you find any errors!

: / / linktr . ee / mjbradley