"..."
William squinted his eyes, locking gazes with Dumbledore—he remained silent.
"Richard, if you know anything?"
After a long moment, Professor Meow finally couldn't hold her impatience—she didn't quite understand why Dumbledore chose to interrupt the authority of the Hospital Wing's physician to turn and ask this little wizard who just enrolled this year, although she had to admit William was quite gifted in Transfiguration... well, maybe also in Charms... possibly not bad at dueling either?
But there was no indication that William had any remarkable abilities in the medical field, at least—being the deputy headmistress, McGonagall had always been keeping an eye on William's academic performance, and his grades in Magic Potions had been hovering around an A since the start of school, even dropping to a P a few times.
"Perhaps I do know something... but someone 'warned' me not to get involved in matters concerning Harry Potter."
Upon hearing Professor Meow's inquiry, William broke the gaze with Dumbledore, spread his hands, and leaned back casually.
A soft high-backed chair appeared beneath him, and Mrs. Loris, who appeared from nowhere, jumped onto his lap. He gently stroked the big cat's fur—
"And now, he seeks my help, yet he just stares at me, not even willing to say 'please'..."
"Please, could you tell me, sir—"
Dumbledore paused for a moment, still gazing at William, completely unfazed by the shocked stares directed at him.
"...tsk, can't you resist a little?"
"No need."
"...Alright, alright." William got up in a lackluster manner, rubbing his chin. "But if you want me to work, there has to be a reward, like..."
"During Professor Lockhart's recovery, Defense Against the Dark Arts will be temporarily taken over by Severus—" Dumbledore shook his head.
The two completely unrelated topics made everyone present pause, and Professor Snape, leaning against the corner, raised his head in confusion—he certainly knew he was to temporarily take over Defense Against the Dark Arts, as Dumbledore had just discussed it with him, but... how did the conversation steer this way?
"What if Professor Snape also needs recovery?"
"?"
"Just kidding, the reward can be discussed later... So, you admit you messed up?"
"...Yes."
Unusually, Dumbledore nodded solemnly.
"I've told you, that diary is not simple, not to mention it absorbed my—"
Just as William finished speaking, Hermione (being one of Harry's best friends and therefore had not left), sitting beside, instinctively widened her eyes. She looked at Dumbledore, who seemed to carry guilt in his eyes, her shock intensified.
"In any case, leave Harry to me, I'll find a way to wake him up—"
William shook his head, saying no more, before pulling out his magic wand, preparing to move the sleeping boy to his territory.
"No..."
"No way."
The first refutation came from Ms. Pomfrey, who recovered from the surprise, and the second came from a stern-faced Dumbledore.
"...Do you want my help or not?"
William furrowed his brows, his patience limited. Had he not discovered something familiar and intriguing about Harry, the "protagonist," he might have turned away already.
"Certainly, William, but Harry needs to remain in my view, he cannot... encounter any mishaps."
Dumbledore nodded, his expression not allowing for refusal.
"Wait, do you think I might do something outrageous to him?"
William widened his eyes in disbelief.
"..."
Dumbledore said nothing, but the meaning in his eyes was very clear.
"Did someone say something to you? Was it Jerald? Or that old beast, Blake?"
"..."
"Tsk, what a hassle."
"Then it's settled, Minerva, could you help me take Harry to the Headmaster's Office, perhaps prepare a bed for him?" Seeing William no longer insist, Dumbledore finally nodded with a smile. "Mr. Richard and I may have some private matters to discuss."
...
"Want to play football, Harry?"
"N-no, Dudley, you go ahead and play—I want to head back to the dormitory first."
Wearing a maroon school uniform, Harry smiled with some difficulty, waved to his cousin who could rival the roundness of a soccer ball on the field, and said goodbye.
Turning the last corridor corner towards the dormitory, Harry leaned against the wall and sat down with some difficulty; untied the tie around his neck, and took a deep breath, as the boy looked somewhat dazedly out the window, which offered a view of the football field—
And also the red-haired boy running about on the field—"Ron Weasley."
If it were five days ago, this name, ordinary to the core, might not have stirred much interest in Harry. But after experiencing that fanciful, yet incredibly realistic dream that night, Harry felt a surge of dizziness—
If having known Ron Weasley first, then the red-haired boy appearing in the dream wouldn't be hard to explain, yet he obviously dreamed first.
Moreover, the "coincidence" of events wasn't just limited to this...
"Potter, there you are?"
The boy didn't know how long he'd spaced out until a figure blocked the sunlight in front of him. "I asked Dursley at the field, and he said you came back first, but I saw no one in the dorm... Sorry, I seem to have misplaced the key."
The round-face, chubby blonde boy sat beside Harry. "Okay, when do you plan to go back?"
"Oh, let's go back now... Neville."
Looking at the boy beside him, Harry felt his throat dry as he took a deep breath, standing up.
"Oh oh, shall we go then?"
"Sure..."
A conversation devoid of substance, Harry stared at the back of that boy—yes, he was the last person from his four-person dormitory, Neville Longbottom, eerily identical to the forgetful little boy in the dream, even bearing the label "forgetful."
Harry didn't know how to explain these phenomena, a red-haired "Ron" might be brushed off as a coincidence, maybe he remembered wrong, as the dream has started to blur, but...
A prophetic dream? Or déjà vu?
Reflecting on the terms he'd found in the library these past two days, Harry sighed—yes, even in pursuit of truth at the library, Harry still ran into another familiar figure, fluffy brown hair, prominent buck teeth—
Harry still remembered the curiosity on that girl's face when he spontaneously called out her name.
But he didn't confide his "experience" and the matters of this dream with the smartest friend in his dream, damn it—how was he supposed to start?
Uh, I saw you in my dream; we met on the way to a Wizard Academy, and you used a magic wand to fix my broken glasses?
It all just sounded like madness, didn't it?
Returning to the dormitory with Neville, Harry hugged the books he'd borrowed from the library and returned to bed—he didn't want too much interaction with these dream characters, at least not before figuring out the dream's nature.
Soon, Dudley and Ron returned to the dorm too after playing ball, yet Harry remained absorbed in his books, until the nightly dorm check came.
"...Harry Potter."
A young man in a neat suit stood at the dormitory door, listing names softly.
"I'm here, Professor Riddle."
Hearing the call, Harry quickly stood up from his bed.