313: Harry's Dream and Percy's Task

Harry had another dream.

This time, he dreamed of something different.

At first, it was that door again—he kept trying to get close, but no matter what, he couldn't touch it.

But this time, something changed. As he approached the door, the scene before his eyes shifted.

He was somewhere else now.

What is this strange place?

He was placed on a platform, surrounded by dragon statues and floating, bizarre symbols filling the air.

Harry thought at first it was just another ordinary dream.

This person!

But then he saw someone unexpected.

Someone he could never forget—from the courtroom, standing high above in judgment, wearing that silver mask.

Sir Johnny Silverhand.

He saw Johnny Silverhand performing some sort of ritual.

Johnny Silverhand cut his palm, letting blood drip out. The dragon statue swallowed the blood, its eyes turning red, and a room opened up behind it.

As Johnny Silverhand stepped into the room, a suffocating aura poured out from within.

As if happiness would never exist again, an endless, bone-chilling cold seeped out from within, carrying with it a fear so intense it made one tremble.

Harry was relieved to find that he seemed to be inside some kind of shield—like someone had crumpled him up and stuffed him into a glass dome, leaving him no room to stretch out his limbs, forced to curl up tightly.

He desperately wanted to wake up, but it was like a nightmare—he struggled, but it was useless.

He watched Johnny Silverhand step into the room, and when he came out, endless screams echoed from within.

Ugh..

Those screams pierced straight through the soul, making Harry's head feel like it was about to split open. He swore, if he listened for even a moment longer, his brain would explode.

Haah.. haa.. 

Thankfully, the door shut, and Harry let out a breath of relief. He thought it would end like that.

Johnny Silverhand turned to leave, but just before he stepped out—

He suddenly turned around.

!!!

Those eyes.

Harry swore he saw it—that flicker of confusion in those eyes.

They stared for a moment, then shifted into vertical pupils, and a terrifying aura swept over him.

"Oh? How interesting~"

That one glance made Harry's scalp tingle.

The scar on his forehead burned like it was on fire. He woke up with a jolt.

"!! Hah! Huff... huff.."

He sat up straight, his entire body drenched in sweat, his hair soaked and clinging to his forehead.

"Umm.. What's wrong?" Ron mumbled sleepily beside him.

"N-nothing.. I'm fine," Harry replied, his body soaked in cold sweat, as he looked out at the faint light of dawn.

Ron didn't respond—only the sound of his heavy snoring came back.

For the first time, Harry found comfort in the sound of snoring. It gave him a surprisingly strong sense of safety.

He got up and stood by the window, greedily breathing in the air—it made him feel alive.

Through the glass, he saw his own reflection—his face pale, completely devoid of color, as if he'd just recovered from a serious illness.

He stared at his own face.

The next second, the reflection's pupils contracted, transforming into two narrow vertical slits.

Those eyes!

Startled, he quickly rubbed his eyes.

When he looked again, they were back to normal.

But that moment of horror lingered with him until full daylight broke.

…

In the Great Hall.

"You're okay?" Ron asked in surprise.

Having heard that Harry had another dream, both Hermione and Ron looked at him with concern.

"I still think we should tell Professor Dumbledore about this," Hermione brought it up again.

Harry resisted, acting like a sulky teenager.

"No need. He's busy avoiding me anyway."

He perhaps hadn't fully realized the seriousness of the matter yet.

Hermione was growing anxious. Why was this boy so stubborn?

As classes resumed, the dream gradually faded from their minds.

...

After a full day of lessons, John walked into the Forbidden Forest.

He fed Zouwu, rubbing the big head and chuckling softly, "You really helped me out yesterday."

Zouwu took out the big fuzzy ball and placed it down, looking at John expectantly.

John was grateful that Zouwu had taken him to Azkaban the previous day, so of course, he wouldn't refuse.

Man and big cat left one set of tracks after another in the snow. Tom dashed around, trying to carry the furball that was bigger than her entire body in her mouth.

After playing for quite a while, Zouwu looked completely satisfied.

Watching Zouwu dash back into the forest, John heard the sound of centaurs galloping.

He frowned slightly. Centaurs shouldn't have any conflict with Zouwu.

When clearing out creatures in the Forbidden Forest, John had never laid a hand on the centaurs.

He now saw a group of centaurs galloping deeper into the woods — among them was someone he recognized: Firenze.

"Is something going on in the forest?" John muttered, puzzled as he watched the centaurs disappear into the depths.

He returned to Hagrid's hut and used magic to move chunks of raw meat outside to feed the Thestrals.

The Thestrals had been returned to their usual area. After feeding them for about an hour, John spotted Hagrid walking out.

He looked like he had just come back from the forest, and there were traces of blood on his face.

John stared at Hagrid. The sound of Thestrals gnawing on raw meat finally drew Hagrid's attention to him.

"John," Hagrid said hastily, trying to cover his face. He didn't want John to see the wound. "Why're yeh still here?"

"I'm feeding the Thestrals, Hagrid," John said with a frown. "You're hurt again?"

"N-No, no." Hagrid waved his hand quickly. "I just took a bad fall in the forest, s'all."

It was a terrible lie.

Even if Hagrid ran headfirst into a boulder, the boulder would shatter before Hagrid's skin so much as scratched.

"I respect you, Hagrid," John looked at him seriously and said in a low voice, "I won't ask what happened. But you need to promise me — you won't get yourself killed."

"I promise!" Hagrid nodded hurriedly.

He was afraid John really might do something.

He knew — John had the strength to follow through on his words.

Waving goodbye to Hagrid, John made his way to the Constellation Society. He had arranged to meet someone there.

When he stepped inside, someone was already waiting, searching through the shelves of constellations.

"It's the one on the left," John said with a snap of his fingers. A four-legged chair jogged over obediently.

Under the night sky, the man opened the left cabinet — inside were bottles of constellations glowing with golden light.

"I remember there were barely three bottles left when I last checked."

Now, there were at least ten. He took one down and opened it. A cup appeared out of thin air on the table.

The golden liquor poured into the goblet. Two glasses of Constellation were lifted — one was placed in front of John.

"You've done something big."

The golden glow lit up the man's face — it was Percy.

He looked more mature now, the youthful look he once had at school all but gone.

"Heh~" John chuckled lightly. "It was a good thing, wasn't it?"

"It certainly was, mate." Percy took a sip of Constellation and sighed. "Minister Crouch is being called the best Minister in the past twenty years. His accomplishments far surpass those of former Minister Fudge."

In less than half a year, old Barty had accomplished more than Fudge did in several years.

"Dumbledore went to see Minister Crouch," Percy said as he sat down, his voice low. "They discussed the matter of the Dementors."

"Dumbledore knows I took the Dementors?" John swirled the golden liquor in his glass and smiled. "Then there's nothing he can really do about it."

"He's investigating your intentions," Percy said. "My father met with Dumbledore. They both expressed concern over your actions."

"Is that so? How interesting."

"But the good news is, they unanimously believe you won't give the Dementors another chance to join Voldemort."

Percy spoke the name with a calm expression. He had heard about this while dealing with an incident involving Muggle electric stoves being confiscated from Egyptian wizards.

Although Dumbledore was worried about what John might do with the Dementors, he still reassured Mr. Weasley not to be overly concerned.

"If your father found out, he probably has even more complaints about you," John remarked, referring to Percy eavesdropping.

Percy was silent for a moment, then looked up and said, "I want to help. With what's going on in the Ministry."

"That's a dangerous thing, Percy," John paused, then added, "and you still hold a position there."

"My father is a Ministry official too," Percy looked John in the eye. "And he's working for Dumbledore."

"Alright," John took a sip of the golden liquor and nodded. "You've convinced me."

"There is something I want to figure out. What exactly is the Order of the Phoenix so worried about?"

His gaze deepened, voice steady. "If possible, I want to know. Without damaging your family bonds."

"I will," Percy sighed helplessly. "Actually, I think my brothers might know something too. It's just... they don't really like me."

John thought of how the Weasley twins treated Percy and couldn't help but shake his head. "You're chasing different things. People who are different are destined to struggle to get along peacefully."

The Weasley twins were like a pair of magpies—constantly chattering and always flocking toward the liveliest places.

Percy's rigid, by-the-book demeanor made him very unlikable to them.

As for Ron Weasley, John felt his dislike toward Percy stemmed more from insecurity.

Percy's excellence only made Ron's mediocrity stand out more.

With that kind of contrast, inequality was bound to arise.

Percy had come through the Constellation Society's fireplace—part of a Floo Network independent from the Ministry of Magic.

He stepped into the blue flames and disappeared.

John looked up at the starry dome above him.

"More and more people are getting pulled into this."

________

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