The Potter Twins and the Deathly Hallows {7}

20. In My Dreams

"In my dreams shadows call, there's a light at the end of the hall. Then my dreams fade away, but I know it all will come back one day" - In My Dreams, Anastasia 

It is snowing by the time Hermione takes over watch at midnight. My dreams are confused and disturbing: Nagini waves in and out of them, first through a gigantic, cracked ring, then through a wreath of Christmas roses, before being interrupted by images of Dumbledore and Grindelwald. 

I'm in the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom at Hogwarts, though it does not resemble the decor of myriad Professors I had whilst ay school. Instead, the room reminds me eerily of Dumbledore's office, filled with his eccentric trinkets, his aura overwhelmingly present. Dumbledore is standing in the middle of the room, slightly older than he appears in the locket, with strands of gray beginning to flicker throughout his blonde hair, yet he is nevertheless a young man compared to the Dumbledore we knew. He is surrounded by a group of cheerful, engaged students, his stance as a professor reminding me vividly of Remus, which fills me with a warm and familiar feeling. However, this quickly fades back into resentment: is all of this purely a facade?

"What were the three biggest mistakes that you made last time?" Dumbledore asks the class, igniting a series of frantic whispers. I notice now that there is a Gryffindor boy mirroring his movements, his wand drawn. 

"Eh -- caught by surprise, sir," says the boy: his persona strikes me as familar, but I cannot remember why. 

"Mmm," echoes Dumbledore, "what else?"

The boy smirks. "Didn't parry before counter-curse, sir."

Dumbledore smiles this time, coming to a halt in front of the other students. "Very good." He matches the student's smirk. "The last one? The most important one?" Dumbledore's voice is slow and calculated, as if he giving the boy as much time as possible to figure it out. 

The boy's smile falters, and confusion rushes over his face. When the boy does not answer, Dumbledore raises his wand swiftly, and a white spark erupts from its tip, throwing the boy backwards into an armchair, accompanied by a chorus of gasps from his classmates. 

"Not learning from the first two," Dumbledore says finally, still smiling, his eyes twinkling. I find myself chuckling along with the other students, though it hurts my heart to do so. However, my amusement disappears when a group of Ministry workers -- Aurors, I suspect - burst into the classroom, hounded by a young woman, who once more looks extremely familiar. 

"This is a school!" she chastises, and her voice gives her away instantly: McGonagall. "You've no right!"

The man in charge, the one whom she is chasing, gives a complacent shrug which reminds me of Fudge. "I am the Head of Magical Law Enforcement," he responds, "I have the right to go wherever I please." He pauses, glancing around at the students: Many of which seem frightened by this intrusion, whilst others seem all to eager to hear some gossip. "Out of here," he orders. 

The students immediately look to Dumbledore for confirmation, who gives a comforting smile and softly says, "Go with Professor McGonagall, please."

Whispering hurriedly to each other, they begin to file out; save for the boy whom Dumbledore was duelling, who, arrogant or confident I cannot tell, approaches the leader from behind with a face of stone. "He's the best teacher we've got," he says strongly. 

Dumbledore sighs. "Thanks, McLaggen." 

The resemblance is uncanny now: his arrogance, his dark hair, the way he carries himself...he's Cormac McLaggen's distant grandfather. 

It's not long until the room is occupied only by Dumbledore, the Department Head, his Aurors, and myself; through they do not acknowledge my presence, I am utterly the outlier, the decades between my reality and Dumbledore's memories of Grindelwald more clear to me than ever.