Harry scratched his head. His relationship with Ron turned around faster than the weather in England in October. After all, they were just students, with no deep grudges between them, especially when card games served as a common hobby to mediate their interactions. They quickly became roommates with a bond akin to father and son.
But, just like in that dream, Ron didn't really like that "bucktoothed study maniac" who spent all day in the library.
And during this month of school life, Harry gradually matched the people around him with the friends, classmates, and professors from his dream.
The literature professor was like the old woman in his dream who could turn into a cat; the chemistry professor looked the same as the old bat from the dream, just that his color was mostly white; his classmates almost perfectly corresponded to Gryffindor House in the dream; and Ron truly had three older brothers, one of whom was the student council president...
These discoveries led Harry to start questioning whether there was something wrong with his brain—
"...Perhaps because, let me see," when he told Hermione about this—of course, he didn't mention words like "wizard," she quickly found two books from the library, "perhaps it's a memory mapping phenomenon. You actually don't know us, it's just that your classmates in that dream made you feel déjà vu, and that made you think of us as them—the book says so." Hermione closed the large tome in her hand, the cover of which was painted with a large red brain.
"...Is that the case?"
"Maybe, but how could you have such a clear dream—when was it?"
"The night before the start of school."
"You remembered for so long?" Hermione widened her eyes and opened another book, "According to the theory in this book, the longer a dream stays in the human brain, the more it becomes blurred..."
"It's indeed getting blurry..."
"...But usually, it's completely forgotten within the span of a single morning."
"..."
"You remembered for really long, if only I could have such dreams as well."
"Yes..."
"Then I could study in my dreams, doubling my current amount... no, if the time flow in dreams differs from reality, then it would be several times the study time, which would be wonderful—oh, by the way, I've previewed the content for next year, want to join?"
"...No, thanks."
For the first time, Harry agreed with Ron's view, this girl was definitely a maniac!
But after that conversation, Harry nearly gave up continuing to delve into that dream—perhaps, as Hermione said, it was just a type of memory déjà vu. Rather than getting tangled up in these things that seemed absurd, it was better to—
"Play cards?"
"Here we go."
......
"So, did the little brat notice anything?"
"Shut up, can't you get lost? Is your family all dead that you have to hang around the Headmaster's Office?"
William said irritably, he really wanted to cast an evil curse on the portrait of Headmaster Blake hanging on the wall—this jerk was even more annoying now that he had become a painting, at least he wasn't so...noisy before.
"..."
But this time, as William's words fell, the entire office plunged into silence.
"...Everyone's really gone?" Sensing something amiss, William looked up again.
"Almost," Blake nodded, "the last one was also locked up in Azkaban..."
"For life?"
This time the portrait did not make a sound, just nodded silently.
"Huh, you take nothing with you to the grave, you've been buried for decades, there's no use obsessing over these things—"
William shook his head, idly comforting, but he knew the other wouldn't listen. After all, these pure-bloods each cared more about their lineage than the other, even more obsessively with each generation. It's a scientifically backed fact that close relatives' marriages easily result in freaks.
But the portrait just shook its head and changed the subject, "I'd say, there's actually a way. I've always quite admired you, kid, why don't you just change your last name to Blake? I know I have a few great-great-granddaughters, though they're a bit older and already married. But for you, the age shouldn't be an iss—"
"Langlock!"
At his wit's end, William flicked his wand, he never should have felt a shred of sympathy for this idiot.
Feeling the peace at last in the Headmaster's Office, William breathed a sigh of relief, thankfully ancient magic worked, otherwise the spell wouldn't have any effect on the portrait.
He moved his hand away from Harry's forehead, surveying the office—Dumbledore was not in, he had left at noon, saying the Wizengamot was about to deliver its final verdict on the Fire Dragon incident at the Starry Sky Circus in Edinburgh.
And William didn't care; he had left that matter entirely to Mundungus to handle. Even if the circus was truly gone, it didn't matter since he wasn't short of Galleons—
With his room full of magical creatures, especially an entire forest of Acromantulas, the byproducts from those creatures were enough for him to use wealth to buy himself into the Wizengamot.
"Fawkes, let me check if your development is normal—"
After circling around once, William decisively approached where the Phoenix was perched by the door. Having completed its nirvana and even initially emerged from the fledgling stage, Fawkes looked far more adorable than his previously weary state, its flame-like feathers covered its entire body, its long tail feathers drooping behind it.
And at this moment, Fawkes stared with a pair of dark beady eyes, looking bewilderedly at William who was reaching out with two sinister hands towards it.
...
"Fawkes, how come you..."
In the evening, Dumbledore, just emerging from the fireplace, immediately noticed the Fire Phoenix with at least half of its tail feathers gone.
"Cough, cough, it's the Phoenix's molting period recently..."
William quickly coughed a couple of times, starting to change the subject rapidly, "Uh, by the way, as the headmaster, shouldn't you be concerned about your students first?"
"Oh... alright, how is Harry now?"
Dumbledore was silent for a moment and didn't pursue the matter of Fawkes further. He turned to look at the boy resting on one side of the office. At this time, the boy lay on his back, his face extremely calm, even somewhat pale—
"This Tom indeed had something; he almost completely absorbed the energy I left on Ginny, the magic he created—truly—I never thought ancient magic could be applied this way, it gives me the impression of inappropriately using a rifle for kindling—tsk, very unsatisfying."
William pouted. He had to admit, Voldemort was smarter than he imagined, at least in the field of studying magic. He really was just an ordinary person... well, maybe slightly better than ordinary people.
To make an analogy, he was like a sharpshooter capable of taking a life with the pull of a trigger, but he didn't understand how the gun was made.
Whereas people like Voldemort, they might not be as accurate in shooting, but they could draw up plans for constructing the gun... So, William sighed, which was why he continually studied these things despite not having a natural aptitude for them.
"So, what's the current situation?" Dumbledore furrowed his brow, seeming to want an answer.
"Several options, depending on what you want. First, I could directly break the magic, it's simple, but I don't recommend it. First, it might harm Harry, I can't guarantee nothing will go wrong, and secondly, I still want to study this magic—
"Second, destroy the Horcrux of Voldemort on the diary, and the charm will naturally be lifted.
"Third... well, I haven't figured out the third option yet, I still have to research it, but I feel like Harry doesn't really want to wake up... perhaps we could try to dive into the dream?"
(Merry Christmas)