Nothing is mine.

Harry has a lovely cheerful dream about time-turners. And eyes.

I Am the Thousand Winds That Blow

In the deep night shadows of the rising trees falling across the small, neat lawn, bits of broken glass glinted in the cold light of the waxing moon like tiny shards of silver. Shattered white marble statues sprawled beyond them, near glowing in that lunar radiance, and, in their midst, a single dark figure lay prone and groaning. Harry floated toward him, his bare toes skimming the soft, dew-damp grass.

'Saul.' Voldemort's whisper carried through the dusk. 'Stand before Lord Voldemort. Do not crawl to Death on your knees like some witless beast.'

The figure struggled to its feet, one hand clutching its ribs, the other slipping into its pocket.

Voldemort raised his long, crooked yew wand and yanked a flash of gold from Saul's fingers. A time-turner hovered at the top of his wand, spinning round and round in the night air. Harry watched it go, over and over, and the smile he felt as it turned in cheerful, futile little circles tugged at his lips.

'For all the keenness of your mind, you spent your life looking in the wrong direction.' Voldemort twisted his wand and the time-turner shattered in a flash of silver. 'You cannot solve the future by running to the past, what has been done is already done. Our ways, our world, they are not mere memories; they do not wait for us in the past. They lie ahead through the chill of winter.'

'You can't see the future if you don't understand the past,' Saul rasped. 'The magics you seek are beyond your reach; they have ever been beyond us and there is where they ought to stay. They should not be spoken of. This is not winter; you do not know it. None of your backwards kind do. This is summer. And we are already free. Free of your kind's dark age ways.'

A cold grin curled Harry's lips.

'But Lord Voldemort does know winter, Saul.' Voldemort ran one long pale finger up the smooth yew of his wand to its tip. 'He knows it well. For fourteen years, he lived in its endless biting cold. And then he returned. Reborn. As all the world will be in his image.'

'Do what you are going to do; I have no fear of dying. All things must end.'

'It is not fear you owe Lord Voldemort,' Voldemort said, running the tip of one long pale finger down his wand. 'It is awe. And when they find you, reborn in Death at my hand, it is awe they shall know.' He flicked his wand.

Saul's lower jaw tore free in a gush of blood that shone as black as ink in the moonlight; his eyes rolled up into his head and he slumped into the grass. Voldemort swept the shattered white statues into a throne of broken stone and set Saul atop them, flourishing his wand like a paint brush. The tongue flopped down against the blood-drenched skin of Saul's throat, dangling there like a thick, twitching tie.

Bright laughter bubbled up as Harry watched Voldemort arrange his canvas like a younger chubbier Dudley lining up his favourite half-chewed crayons beside his colouring books.

Voldemort paused before Saul and his blood-spattered seat.

'Awe is given to those more than ourselves. Kings. Prophets. Gods. Those who see more than the common soul.'

He stripped the tongue from Saul's gaping mouth and set it atop his head upon his lower jaw; it stood there above the glinting teeth with the two rising blood-smeared bones of the jaw and the tattered scraps of flesh and skin clinging to them like the tines of a crown.

'An undeserving king,' Voldemort whispered. 'Placed far above his natural station by a power he dared not speak of.'

The hands resting on the arms of that throne of broken, blood-stained statues split open along the line curving across their palms. Voldemort plucked the eyes from Saul's skull and set them into the cuts like glistening pale gemstones upon the band of a ring, then flayed the skin from Saul's body, stripping it back inch by inch with small neat sharp movements of his wand, and draped it about his raw, weeping red shoulders like a cloak.

Voldemort slipped his wand back into his robes. 'Reborn in Death at my hand, Unspeakable Croaker, you will say more than you ever could have; without a word leaving your lips.'

He closed his eyes and took a long deep breath in the dark.

And Harry opened his eyes into the bright, warm morning sunlight with a smile. Voldemort, he felt, clearly didn't get much sleep, not unless he was sleeping during the day like a bat. Harry laughed to himself in the quiet of the dorm, and kept laughing as he swept the hangings back and dressed, picturing Voldemort power-napping between murders like Hermione between her self-imposed revision sessions at the end of the year.

Strolling through the common room, Harry waved and smiled as people glanced up at him, sauntering out and through the halls down to the Great Hall.

The four tables were piled high with copper platters of still sizzling sausages and crisped part-burnt bacon, mountains of steaming mushrooms and fried tomatoes, heaps of eggs scrambled, racks of eggs boiled, and plates of eggs poached. Between them, stood racks of white and brown toast, pyramids of pastries, jugs of orange fruit juices and milk and water. Its smell set Harry's mouth watering, so he tucked himself in at the bench and into the food, offering Umbridge a cheerful wave as her stare fell upon him and laughing as two high patches of pink appeared upon her cheeks.

'Not such a terrible way to start the day.' Harry plucked a boiled egg off the rack, admiring the glistening pale oval upon his plate; he sliced it in two and placed half at the centre of each of his palms, chuckling to himself as he ate them one by one. 'I wonder if Voldemort eats his crayons like Dudley did? Does he even eat, or does his creepy snake cauldron body not need food?'

He munched his way through sausages, bacon, scrambled eggs, three slices of toast and a heap of mushrooms and tomatoes as the Great Hall gradually filled, then emptied. Hermione ate beside him, her eyes flicking along the lines of last year's defence textbook as she spooned granola and yoghurt into her mouth with her free hand, and a bleary-eyed Ron shovelled eggs into his mouth between yawns across from her.

'Class,' Hermione blurted, dropping her spoon. 'Professor Umbridge's class.'

Ron groaned.

'Come on.' She snapped her book shut and thrust it back into the bag. 'I don't want to miss anything she does or says in our first lesson.'

'What if it's really boring?' Harry asked. 'Because she doesn't exactly give off the vibe of a fun, exciting teacher.'

'Especially then.' Hermione chivvied him from his seat. 'What she says will be important.'

'If you say so.'

Beyond the main doors into the Great Hall, Peeves whizzed in circles on the stairs, hurling water bombs at the shrieking huddle of first years clustered behind the doorway.

'Fresh victims,' Peeves sang.

'Do you reckon we could set him on Umbridge?' Ron asked. 'That'll keep her on her toes.'

Peeves swooped along the stairs, pushing a second year into the trick step with one hand and swiping someone's glasses with the other. 'Astooooooooria,' he sang. 'One eye is green, one eye is blue, oh so weird, when she's looking at you!'

Harry caught sight of Astoria on the steps, staring at her feet as the poltergeist circled overhead, singing his little rhyme, and diverted upward through the throng of first years. 'Out of the way, extremely small people. Remember, firsties that upset Hogwarts are turned into House Elves.'

'No they aren't!' Hermione called. 'Don't listen to him.'

'Don't listen to her,' Harry retorted, lifting one small firstie that looked horribly like Colin Creevey but smaller up by the shoulders and placing him out the way. 'She's just trying to entrap Muggle-borns into servitude again. She does this at the start of every year. Don't sign anything she gives you. And for the love of magic don't wear her badges; once you put that on, she owns your soul forever and takes away your voice.'

'Harry, I'm not Ursula from The Little Mermaid.'

'So you say.' He reached Astoria. 'Hello again, Astoria.'

'Hi,' she muttered, hiding behind her brown hair and inspecting her toes. 'What do you want, Potter?'

Harry peered around for Peeves, but saw the poltergeist vanishing into the wall at the far end of the corridor. 'Well, I was going to save you from Peeves, but he seems to have gotten bored already.'

'He'll be back,' Astoria murmured under her breath.

'He teases you about your eyes a lot?'

She nodded, her hands twisting in her robes.

'Well, he's probably just jealous. He's all one colour, and you've got eyes that are two nice colours. And well—' Harry grinned to himself at the thought of his dream '—there are way worse things that could happen to your eyes than getting cool colours.'

Astoria glanced up; her left eye as green as the grass in the summer sun and the right as blue as a cold winter sky. 'They're not cool, Harry.'

'They look cool.' He stepped back to let the flow of students pass down the stairs. 'Is one your dad's eye and one your mum's? Can that happen?'

'I don't know.' Her voice dropped to a whisper. 'It's a curse; a blood malediction. The daughters of my family line have it. I'm lightly touched by its magic; my sister isn't.'

'A curse?' Harry offered her a bright smile. 'Well, if you don't like yours, I'll trade you for this giant scar on my face? Pros; Peeves won't tease you about your eyes anymore. Cons; Voldemort might start trying to kill you for reasons he has actually never explained.' He weighed that thought on the top of his tongue. 'Maybe I should ask him next time he tries?'

A little giggle escaped Astoria.

'How did you get your curse, then?' he asked. 'Everyone knows how I got mine. I was innocently minding my own business as a baby, and then some dark wizard killed himself on my face.'

Astoria glanced down at her toes. 'One of our ancestors was a very powerful witch who tried to do something forbidden and it backfired, cursing all of us.'

'Seems unfair,' Harry said. 'Is it just the eye thing?'

'I only have the eye,' she whispered. 'It's nothing compared to the full curse.'

'That's not so bad,' he replied. 'If only my gigantic face scar was as nice as your eyes. Instead it just throbs like a migraine and randomly starts hurting from time to time.'

'Harry!' Hermione flapped her hand. 'We're going to be late!'

'Bye Astoria.' Harry gave her a wave and a pat on the head. 'Hermione gets very perturbed if we're not punctual, and then Muggle-borns start to disappear again.'

A small snort of laughter burst from Astoria. 'Bye, Harry.'

'Right.' He spun on his heel. 'To class. Yes, I know, Hermione, we might not make it to the class that's literally thirty seconds away from here before it starts in about four minutes.'

Hermione huffed at him. 'Stop telling everyone I hate Muggle-borns.'

Harry chuckled as they headed toward class. 'But it's all part of my grand strategy to deceive Umbridge into thinking I'm on her side.'

'She doesn't even hate Muggle-borns, Harry.'

'You don't know that.'

'Yeah,' Ron chipped in. 'I reckon Harry's right. She's Voldemort in disguise.'

Umbridge stood just outside the door to her classroom, her hands on her ribs, robed all in loose flowing dark pink and with a small, neat pink beret perched atop her head. 'Everyone line up along the wall.' Her sickly false smile returned. 'Good morning, children.'

'Good morning!' Harry called.

Everyone stared.

Umbridge stared too, blinking back at his smile with a blank expression on her broad pallid face. 'Please come in,' she said. 'We will start today by discussing the aims of the course.'

Hermione pursed her lips as they all filed in after Umbridge and took a seat at the front, dragging Ron down next to her by the elbow. Harry dropped down at the end of the row and arranged his things on the desk with a grin as Umbridge paced at the front before stacks of bright, cartoon-covered books, muttering under her breath.

'Okay, children.' Umbridge bent over at her desk and pulled her wand from her pink handbag, thwacking it upon the stacks of books. 'Let's begin.'

The books jerked into the air, wobbling along the aisle and thumping down before each student.

Harry admired the cartoonish vampire tiptoeing across the cover in bright blue robes. 'These look extremely informative. Do they come with crayons so we can finish all the pictures on the inside?'

'Harry,' Hermione hissed as a few sniggers rang through the room.

Umbridge's false saccharine smile slipped a fraction. 'Before we leap to act, it is important we understand what is happening around us,' she said. 'That is why, in its wisdom, the ICW decided to ensure that all young wizards and witches are taught to understand the perils of dark ways, dark magic, and dark creatures. It is the duty of the Ministry to make certain that this education is of sufficient standard to allow you all to make the right choices in later life, but is never framed in such a way as to lead you astray into dark ways.'

A low mutter spread through the Slytherin side of the room and Hermione tutted.

Harry laughed under his breath, more than a little amused that after all the years of disagreeing, they'd finally agreed on something; not liking Umbridge.

'This course will correct that which for far too long has remained uncorrected,' Umbridge said. 'Why, a brief run through of what you have been taught and who you have been taught by shows a disturbing lack of regard for the mandate of the ICW.'

'Yeah, that time the escaped Death Eater from Azkaban was posing as a teacher for a year was really not good for our education,' Harry chimed in, ignoring Hermione kicking his foot. 'Honestly, someone probably should have said something when he started using the Unforgivable curses on spiders in front of eleven year olds—' he paused '—Professor, do we actually have a magical equivalent of Ofsted to check schools are doing what they're supposed to be?'

A strained little titter escaped Umbridge. 'Mr Potter, if you wish to speak in this class, you will need to raise your hand.' She jabbed her wand at the blackboard and squat, thick words scrawled themselves across it. 'First, we must confront the idea that the old dark ways still linger in our world. Such ideas have no place in a peaceful, prosperous, and safe society. We will learn of the dangers posed by dark creatures like werewolves, vampires, and those affected or afflicted by dark magics, the half-breed races, the cursed…'

Harry raised his hand.

'Mr Potter?'

'Do they not raise their hand to speak, Professor Umbridge?' he asked.

Something ugly stirred in her brown eyes as a low snickering swept across the room. 'I am quite sure they would not, Mr Potter. They scurry in the dark places of the world like rats, whispering superstitions and madness, ruining the lives of good, decent honest wizards and witches.' Umbridge's knuckles whitened around her short, stubby wand. 'But the Aurors and the Ministry will deal with them. We need only concern ourselves with theory, with understanding why their backwards ways are wrong and how to avoid being deceived by them.'

Harry chuckled beneath his breath, fairly sure that the them in her monologue was him, although not significantly less sure that they would understand anything more than the fact the Ministry was run by an absolute idiot.

He twisted around, sweeping his eyes across the room.

A pair of bright blue eyes as clear as a winter sky caught his gaze, studying him from behind a rogue lock of blonde hair that swayed back and forth with each breath, brushing the tip of her slim nose as it fluttered before lips as soft a pink as tulip petals. She swept the lock of hair back behind her right ear with her little finger, leaving the shining crimson crescent that hung from her earlobe swinging like a pendulum, and cocked her head like a crow, spilling long blonde hair over the shoulder of her silver-and-green-lined robes.

'I have absolutely no idea who you are.' Harry gave her a wave and a grin, receiving nothing but that cool, curious stare, yet, for all its affected ice, some little part of him very quietly, but very confidently, asserted that she might just be the prettiest girl he'd ever seen.

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