T W E L V E
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After everyone had indulged themselves on their fair share of dinner and dessert, McGonagall gave the order to head to their dorms. Percy was rather relieved when he found he wouldn't have to navigate the castle on his own. The prefects of each House would be leading the students to their dorms. All he had to do was follow their lead. He couldn't possibly muck that up, right?

For the most part, things seemed to be going smoothly, but each time they came across a moving staircase, he found himself struggling to keep with the group. The stairs were determined to make sure Percy would get lost. It seemed that just as he stood on the first steps of a moving staircase, it would begin to move someplace else. On more than one occasion, he found himself clinging to the rest of the group in the hopes that he wouldn't be isolated.

After what felt like forever, the group came to a stop in front of a large portrait of a sleeping lady. A prefect- who he recognised as one of Harry's friends- addressed the woman in the portrait. "Purple Nougat," she said confidently. Another password possibly?

His thoughts were confirmed when the plump woman in the frame opened one eye. Her pupils darted back and forth as she studied the group quizzically. "Is it September already?" she sighed. "Well I suppose you can come in." The portrait swung open to reveal a large open spaced room. Similarly to the headmistress's office, the room was round. It gave off a nice homey feeling, with stout armchairs placed lavishly along with small wooden tables. Large banners in the house colours adorned the walls and a warm fire blazed in the fireplace. It felt secure. Safe.

Percy climbed through the portrait hole after the rest of the group who were already making themselves at home in the cozy room. A few students had set up by the fireplace, warming their numb fingers.

"Girls' dorms are this way," one of the prefects called. "Ron- show the boys to their dorms."

The other prefect grumbled in irritation. "Yeah, yeah, follow me." He grabbed someone by the arm and dragged him along with him. That was him, Percy realised. Harry Potter.

Slowly, he trailed after them. They climbed the steps of a spiral staircase which evidently led to the boys' dormitories. At the top of the tower was where Percy found his bed to be. Conveniently, Harry's bed was in the same room as his. He doubted this was a coincidence and if he was right, the headmistress- McGonagall -had something to do with it. Percy had to admit, he felt slightly like a stalker.

That thought was quickly forgotten when he found all of his possessions at the foot of his bed, like they hadn't just been sitting out in the chilly night air for the past two hours, gathering a coat of frost. They appeared to be in pristine condition, if anything they looked better than before.

He pulled out an old grey shirt and pair of pants from his suitcase which he quickly substituted for his robes. He made sure to check that the orange of his Camp Half Blood clothing was still carefully concealed.

Percy was aware of the other boys getting ready for bed around him. A few times he felt like approaching Harry and trying to make conversation, but something about that just felt fake. He didn't want to forge a fake friendship with Harry just to get close to him. It felt like he was using him that way. No, if he was going to be friends with Harry, it was going to be genuine.

As he made to close his suitcase, he spotted the corner of his mother's dark brown journal, faintly peeking out from underneath his clothing. Percy debated whether or not he should read it. He'd gotten as far as the first page the last time he'd tried, having to stop because he had felt a headache coming on. Reluctantly, Percy pulled it out of the suitcase and examined the cover. It was plain, dark leather that had faded over the years. Nothing decorated the cover aside from a few markings on the spine which he couldn't decipher. He spared another glance towards the other boys in the dorm. They were still getting ready, some talking amongst themselves. He got the feeling they had all known each other for a long time.

Sighing, Percy turned his attention back to the book and made himself as comfortable as he could on the floor by his suitcase. He flipped it open to the first page. The four words announcing who the journal belonged to were still in the same place as before. He could barely make them out, as they moved about on the page. He rubbed his eyes, and flipped to the next page. Oh, how he loved reading....so, so much.

After about a minute, he realised his attempts were futile. The writing was in English so his dyslexia kicked in and everything just looked like verbal diarrhoea. He tossed the book back in his suitcase in frustration.

Picking himself up from the floor, he made his way around to his bed- a four poster with brilliant dark red curtains. Five other identical beds were positioned elsewhere in the room. In the previous years there had been five not six beds, but McGonagall had taken the liberty of adding a sixth bed. Again- Convenient.

He climbed into his bed, and drew the red velvet curtains shut. The bed was incredibly comfortable with a mattress so soft it didn't take Percy very long to settle. The only thing he wanted, was for the two boys in the beds next to him to be a little quieter. He wondered if they knew that their 'hushed whispers' were actually incredibly loud.

"What do you think it meant?" one of them asked.

"Nothing good. Me mam better not hear about it. She'll throw a fit!"

Percy closed his eyes as more rustling noises could be heard.

"Night," someone whispered. Out of habit, everyone responded with the same choice of words and a few moments afterwards, the lights dimmed and the room was plunged into darkness.

As Percy drifted off into a blissful sleep,  Harry stayed wide awake. He couldn't even gather the strength to close his eyes. His fear was eating him up, consuming him. Now that he was alone, it was the perfect opportunity to reflect on the sorting hat's song.

The thing was; he didn't want to.

There was still that tiny, naïve part of him that wanted to believe that everything was going to be okay. That for once in his life he wasn't going to have to live in constant fear.

As he finally did shut his eyes, he tried to tell himself that everything was over, and that he might just live a normal life. Perhaps it was that belief that spurred on the night's horrible dreams.

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Harry found himself in a large cave. It was quite big and roomy, with large urban rugs covering the floor. The walls were shrouded in delicate curtains and the roof was covered in very life-like painted images varying from still images to action shots. One painting displayed a creature with multiple heads attacking a group of kids, whilst another depicted a hollow horn with excessive foods pouring out. There were many other images- some being more gruesome than others. Harry forced himself to look away from the roof and turned his attention to the only occupant in the room.

By the side, a girl sat at a wooden bench, drawing something on a sheet of paper. Her hair was a vibrant frizzy red, with strands flying out of place uncontrollably.

"No, no, no," she muttered, "that can't be right."

She brushed aside a strand of hair that had escaped from her ponytail and exhaled. "Why did I think this would be a good idea?" The girl dropped her pencil and scrunched up the sheet of paper, tossing it towards a waste paper basket where it fell a few feet short.

Unbothered by this, the girl pulled out another sheet of paper and began scribbling furiously once again. Her movement was robotic, like she'd done this a thousand times before. The pencil brushed against the paper almost effortlessly. If Harry hadn't known any better, he would have said that the pencil was controlling her, not the other way round.

He watched with awe as the dark lines of the lead began to outline the shape of a head. Facial features began to draw themselves in to place. The person in the portrait looked so familiar...

Abruptly the girl went rigid. The pencil clattered onto the bench top and her breathing became laboured. Harry could have sworn he heard her heart rate increase, beating at a million miles per hour. Shaking, she stood up and wiped her hands on her paint splattered pants. Ever so slowly, she reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out a sharp utensil.

In a swift movement she tossed the blade behind her and it impacted something solid. A loud shriek sounded from where the blade had made its mark. Hissing echoed throughout the cave. "You will regret that, little girl. Oh yes, you will..." Emerging from the shadows, a figure covered in grey entered the scene. Even with its face covered by its grey hood, Harry could tell it was distinctly human.

The girl stood her ground as the figure approached. "I knew you were coming."

"Yet you have not bothered to conceal yourself? Perhaps it is because you know he will find you? He always does." The grey figure cackled maniacally.

"I have my reasons," the red head replied, her previous confidence wavering.

"Is that so?" The raspy voice filled the cave, echoing against the walls. "Well, master will be pleased to have you," it hissed. "Master will be very pleased."

The grey figure was advancing, it's boots hitting the ground with a loud slap. It was gaining on the girl, but still, she stood her ground. The cloaked figure lifted its hand, a long slender stick clasped between its skeletal fingers. "Crucio!"

A green burst of light filled the space, illuminating every detail of the stone walls. The girl dropped to her knees and let out a scream.

"You make this too easy!" the figure hissed, knocking over a shelf. It pointed its wand at the girl again.

"Do I?" Quick as lightening, the red head was on her feet and lunging for the wall. Harry hadn't noticed it before, but it was decorated in elaborate symbols. She pressed her palm against the markings and a bright white light lit up the cavern, almost blinding Harry. He squeezed his eyes shut and waited for it to be over.

Silence.

He slowly opened his eyes and gasped. The cave was empty. Everything looked exactly as it had before. The shelf that had been knocked over was now back in place, leaning against a wall like it had been there all along and the markings on the wall had vanished. The drawing the red head girl had been working on moments ago was still on the desk. He realised now why the person looked so familiar. Thought it was incomplete, without a doubt, the boy in the picture was him.

"Harry?" Someone was calling him.

The scene distorted and suddenly he was back in his bed again, panting heavily. His bed sheets were drenched in sweat and his forehead felt damp.

"Harry?" Ron whispered from somewhere in the room. "Are you alright? You've been tossing and turning..."

"I'm fine," he lied, "go back to bed."

"Harry-"

"I said I'm fine, Ron!" he snapped.

Ron muttered something incoherent under his breath and Harry listened for the sound of him turning over. Moments later his snoring resumed and Harry breathed a sigh of relief. He hadn't meant to snap at Ron but he was panicking. That dream- he got the feeling that it had been another one of them. Except this time, he could remember every single detail.

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I've been having major writers block so this chapter isn't the best. Don't panic if the next few updates are a bit slower.