The Vision.
Harry lay in bed, staring at the ceiling of the Ravenclaw dormitory. The other boys had long since fallen asleep, their breathing steady and calm, but he remained awake, reluctant to close his eyes. He knew what awaited him if he did.
It had been happening since he’d arrived at Hogwarts—shadows lingering at the edge of his vision, whispers curling through the air like smoke, an oppressive presence that seemed to follow him. And tonight, he knew it would be worse.
The Rosary Beads were still in his pocket. He hadn’t dared to throw them away. He hadn’t even touched them much, but they were there, a weight that shouldn’t be so heavy for something so small. He knew who had given them to him. And he knew that she—it—would come again.
He let out a slow breath, trying to steady himself. Maybe if he didn’t sleep at all—
But exhaustion won.
Darkness swallowed him.
---
The dream, if it was even that, came swiftly.
He stood in a long, narrow hallway, the walls old and crumbling, the air thick with dust. It was familiar. The chapel. The church. The place he had left behind.
The candles lining the walls flickered, but there was no wind. No movement. Just the silence—the deep, suffocating silence.
Harry took a step forward, his footsteps echoing. His throat felt tight. Something was wrong. He knew he shouldn’t be here, that this place wasn’t real, but it felt real. Too real.
A sound—soft, almost delicate—broke the silence. A breath? A whisper?
Harry turned.
The corridor stretched longer than before, impossibly so, twisting into darkness.
He wasn’t alone.
Something stood at the far end. A shape cloaked in shadow, a silhouette of a woman. A nun.
His blood turned to ice.
She didn’t move. But the moment he laid eyes on her, the candle flames died, plunging the hallway into darkness.
Harry’s breath hitched. He could feel her staring at him, even though he couldn’t see.
Then—
The candles flickered back to life.
And she was closer.
No sound. No movement. Just there.
Harry staggered back, his heartbeat pounding in his ears.
The light died again.
This time, when it returned—
She was only a few feet away.
Her face was shadowed beneath her veil, but he knew—knew—that if he saw it, if he looked directly at her, something inside him would break.
A force gripped his lungs, squeezing, suffocating. He couldn’t breathe.
Then she moved.
Not walking. Not stepping. Just—there.
In front of him. Inches away.
Her breath was ice against his skin.
A low, guttural whisper rasped from beneath the veil.
"Harry."
His vision blurred. His body felt heavy, like he was being dragged down.
"You are mine."
The Rosary Beads in his pocket burned against his skin.
A sudden rush of voices—hushed, desperate prayers in a language he didn’t understand—filled his ears, clashing against the suffocating silence.
The nun recoiled. Just slightly.
Then—
A scream. A soundless, empty scream, like a hole in reality itself.
The world cracked—
And Harry fell.
---
He woke with a jolt, gasping for air.
The dormitory was dark, the sounds of steady breathing surrounding him. His hands were trembling, his body drenched in cold sweat.
Slowly, he reached into his pocket.
The Rosary Beads were still there.
And they were warm.