Late December, 1976. Grimmauld Place.

Alya opened wide her grey eyes plunged into darkness. It took her a while before she focused on the familiar contours of her bedroom.

For a moment she had the impression that she was still in the Forbidden Forest. Her body was shivering and he was drenched in cold sweat. She was breathing hard, her breath ragged, as if, instead of having slept, she had been running all night. And fought. With a werewolf.

On impulse, Alya reached out a hand towards her leg (the same one James Potter had injured in the dream) and felt with terror the spot where she thought she would find a bleeding gash. Nothing. The limb was intact, unharmed. Alya sighed deeply.

A timid dawn barely illuminated the window panes of her room, a soft, almost bluish light reassured Alya, who had nothing to fear. She was safe, at home, in Grimmauld Place, miles and miles away from Hogwarts, the Shrieking Shack and, above all, hungry werewolves.

Alya couldn't remember ever feeling such terror in her entire life. Perhaps only once, when she had dreamt of Merope as a child, before she had even befriended her, considering her to be a strange ghost.

The girl breathed in deeply, inhaling as much oxygen as possible into her lungs, trying to calm her heartbeat; her heart sounded like a crazed drum. Even her mind slowly began to quieten, her thoughts became less confused.

Alya tried, as far as possible, to piece together what she had just seen, with logical sense.

Had it really been a dream? Only a dream?

Alya's mind was working fast, but she was unable to give herself any answers.

With an impulsive gesture, the young Black grabbed the singing postcard James Potter had sent her a few hours earlier. She opened it and read the contents of the card once more. By now she knew the few words written on it by heart, but Alya still looked at them with painstaking attention, as if they concealed the long-sought answer to her questions.

The terrible images of what she had dreamt had seemed so ruthlessly real to her: the smell of blood, the unmistakable and horrible perception of pierced and lacerated flesh, the pain, the inevitable awareness of imminent death... the profound terror. The protagonist of all those terrible sensations had undoubtedly been James Potter. Yet, Alya had felt them as her own, on her skin... how was that possible?

Perhaps, the girl told herself, it had been a simple stress suggestion. After all, Alya was still deeply shaken by what had happened with Sirius; she had watched him flee without being able to do anything, had witnessed the extirpation ritual. She had wallowed in worry about her brother's fate. And, then, Potter had sent her that strange note. Surely, after all the tension she had endured, her mind must have been playing tricks on her.

And yet... no matter how hard Alya tried to find such an explanation plausible, deep in her soul she knew something wasn't right.

She remembered the last image of the dream all too clearly and could not rest: James Potter had turned into a stag before surrendering himself to death's embrace.

What had shocked Alya was not so much discovering that Potter was an Animagus (although she found it mind-boggling that a wizard of her age possessed such an ability), nor the reasons that had led the Gryffindor to change appearance.

What haunted young Black was the certainty that she had already seen that stag. In reality. A few weeks earlier.

It was - and Alya was sure of this, so sure that she would bet her pure blood on it - the same stag she had cared for and rescued in the Forbidden Forest on that December full-moon night.

And the proof which left no room for doubt was the appearance of Alya's Patronus. She had seen it clearly and she had recognised it immediately. The silver stag which James had seen galloping towards him was, unmistakably, the Patronus that the girl had thrown to tranquilise the wounded animal.

Alya's heart leapt, as if she had just done a somersault. The girl realised she had dreamt something real. Something that had really happened.

Alya sighed in confusion, fighting against her own scepticism: how was it possible to dream something real, something that belonged to the real world?

It hadn't been a premonition, since the dream had shown her an event from the past, albeit a very recent one, in which she herself had taken part. It didn't reveal any information about the future.

The girl couldn't recall ever having encountered anything on such a subject during her Divination lessons.

Alya fiddled with Potter's postcard, looking at it with a confused air. Of one thing, however, she was certain: on that night of the full moon, Alya had not given succour to just any stag. Under the disguise of an animal was the best friend of her twin brother, whom she had always despised, considering him a shallow boy and a cheap arrogant.

But judging from what she had seen, perhaps Alya had been mistaken in her judgement of James Potter.... at least in part.

Alya shook her head vigorously, as if immediately wanting to banish that sudden positive inclination towards the young Gryffindor. Her dilemmas certainly weren't about that blowhard James Potter, nor were they about the boy's dying regrets.

However, thanks to that strange dream vision, the young Black had discovered a power of her mind, which she had always ignored, and which appeared completely unknown to her.

During Divination lessons, Professor Ghalil had broached the subject of premonitions through dreams, but he spoke of deciphering and interpreting simple archetypal symbols. Never had the wise teacher mentioned the possibility of observing reality clearly while asleep. And, from what Alya recalled of her studies, not even the textbooks used at school described such phenomena.

Staring blankly up at the ceiling above her, Alya pondered for a long time on a particular thought that was nagging at her: it had probably happened to her at other times in her life to observe real events in her dreams. Of course, it was impossible for her to sift through every memory of her childhood, searching for possible visions. However, a shadow of a suspicion lingered in Alya's mind.

Suddenly, a knocking at the door brought the girl back to reality.

Kreacher reminded her in a croaky voice, from behind the door, of her duty to get up and get ready for breakfast, which was now ready.

Alya heard the old elf walking away from her room, pawing in the direction of Regulus' room.

The girl slipped out of bed and made her way down to the kitchen; given the recent events that had involved her family, abiding by the strict rules of House Black had become even more imperative for her and Regulus.

But that could not distract Alya from her doubts.

For the whole day, the girl did nothing but silently wonder about the dream she had that night and the possible new power she had just discovered. More than once, Regulus caught her totally absorbed in her thoughts. Even the austere parents noticed their daughter's momentary absence, but fortunately none of the three seemed to give much thought to the distraction shown by Alya.

Each of them had much else to think about: Mr. Black had decided to spend all his days attending the various circles of full-blooded wizards, of the high magical society, with the sole purpose of stemming, as far as possible, the rumours that were inevitably spreading, regarding the escape of the first-born son of the upright Orion and Walburga. A real scandal, not to mention that it was already the second time, and only a few years later, that a descendant of the noble House of Black turned out to be a traitor to blood and family.

Backbiting would not be wasted in the face of an affair of such calibre. The presence of Orion Black (like that of his brother-in-law, Cygnus, at the time of Andromeda's elopement with a filthy and unworthy Mudblood) was of paramount importance, in order to somehow patch up the inevitable breach, which threatened to sink the ancient and noble lineage of the Blacks into the deep abysses of dishonour.

In Grimmauld Place number twelve, on the other hand, Walburga spent every spare moment giving order after order - very often contradictory - to poor Kreacher, who tried to juggle as much as he could to fulfil every impossible request of his beloved mistress. Alya watched with pity as her own house elf dragged himself resignedly from one room of the house to another, up and down the stairs, according to the dictates of the uncomplaining Mrs Black.

Apparently, without Sirius on whom to vent her cruelty, Walburga seemed to have lost a fixed point in her existence and was trying to ignore the absence of her inconsiderate first-born by turning on Kreacher.

Regulus, on the other hand, did nothing more than loiter in his room or drawing room, reading with maniacal attention all the articles that the Daily Prophet was peddling about the tragic events that had been turning the magical world upside down in recent weeks. What Regulus was really looking for avidly in those newspaper glimpses was information about Lord Voldemort, who seemed to have become his new idol.

Alya had already discovered him, on several occasions, cutting out photos and parts of articles that mentioned the Dark Lord, which he then jealously kept in his room, pasting them on a notebook or hanging them on the walls. Unlike the Muggle posters Sirius had adorned his room with, Regulus' display of this new and obsessive interest hadn't caused the slightest concern on the part of Orion and Walburga. In fact, they even seemed to rejoice in it. But Alya wasn't of the same opinion. She had turned up her nose several times, seeing her little brother so morbidly curious about Lord Voldemort. From time to time, she had even had the impression of catching a glimpse of the same spark of madness in Regulus' black pupils as her cousin Bellatrix, who had recently begun to keep up a dense network of correspondence with her young cousin, who had always felt boundless admiration for her.

For sure, behind that sudden and disproportionate interest in You-Know-Who was Bellatrix's hand: by now everyone in the family knew that she and her husband Rodolphus Lestrange had joined the Death Eaters. Neither of them had ever denied it or done anything to hide it, openly and with ruthless pride supporting the ideas the Dark Lord proclaimed about blood values and the purification of the magical race.

Alya was used to that kind of mentality and a part of her, although very small, still shared certain values; however, the idea that Regulus might actually join the Death Eaters gave her the creeps. It was one thing to declare oneself proud to be a pureblood, quite another to meddle so openly with the Dark Arts. It wouldn't do any good. Their family had already been through so much.

Alya took refuge in the kitchen, under the pretext of studying, so as to escape Walburga's ill-feeling. However, instead of one of her schoolbooks, the girl had brought with her the book her mother had given her for Christmas, The Serpent's Legacy, which told the life of Salazar Slytherin.

A thought had been nagging at her ever since she got out of bed, and Alya had a vague suspicion that the little book might contain some answers to her questions.

Safe in the solitude that the dreary kitchen afforded her - Kreacher was supposed to be on one of the upper floors of the mansion with his mistress - the young Black opened the small, green hardcover volume and leafed quickly through to the last few pages, where the intricate family tree of the famous and powerful founder of the silver-green House of Hogwarts was depicted.

Judging by the dates listed under Salazar's various descendants, his dynasty seemed to have ended rather recently, around the first decades of that century.

As she traced with her finger the lines connecting unknown and remote names, Alya wondered how in all those years she had never had any doubts about the strange recurring dreams she had had since she was just a child.

Alya knew well which name to look for amidst the twisted tangle that drew the evolution of Salazar Slytherin's lineage, starting from the dawn until his fall.

Her heart leapt in her chest when, at the base of the family tree, her silver gaze met the name so familiar to her. Merope.

Merope Gaunt, to be precise.

Alya's eyes lingered on the letters that revealed the identity of her dream friend.

Around Merope's name gravitated other nicknames, which Alya had known for years: Marvolo and Meissa Gaunt, her parents, and Morfin, her cruel brother, who, together with his father, had been abusing his sister with impunity.

Alya watched them, all four of them, holding her breath. An emotion she had never felt before was invading her soul, a mixture of excitement and fear that she could neither calm nor clearly define.

Merope was real. She had always been. This was no mere projection of his subconscious. She was a real person, flesh and blood.

But how their incredible dreamlike encounters could have come about, Alya couldn't quite explain.

With a surge of sadness, Alya had to come to terms with another irrefutable certainty: Merope was already dead, as the date of death, placed together with the date of birth under the name in the family tree, declared with cruel coldness.

It was to be expected, after all, since she had been born at the turn of the century. On the off chance that she had survived the passage of time, Merope would have been a wrinkled old sorceress and not the maiden Alya had grown accustomed to meeting. Nevertheless, young Black could not hold back a couple of silent tears. The news that her dream friend no longer belonged to the world of the living caused her an intense sense of sadness.

In all those years, Alya had become very fond of Merope and discovering that she existed - or, rather, had existed - for real, had made her hope, if only for a brief moment, that she might one day meet her in the real world. But, apparently, that was no longer possible.

With a deep sigh of despondency, Alya's grey eyes watched for a few more seconds as Merope Gaunt's name marked on the page. Salazar Slytherin's lineage ended at the Gaunt branch itself.

Merope had had no children, judging by what the family tree stated, and neither had her brother Morfin, although the book stated he was still alive. What an injustice, Alya thought. That grotesque, despicable being had survived, but Merope was dead.

With another sigh, Alya closed the little book given to her by her mother, feeling even more confused and depressed than when she had opened it in search of answers.

She tried to come to terms with what she had just learned; apparently, her mind was able to travel into the past, to see things that had actually happened... yet, there was still one question that Alya could not explain.

Unlike the dream about James Potter and the events of that night in early December, where Alya had only watched as a distant bystander as events unfolded, feeling the boy's pain at best, in her dream encounters with Merope Alya had always been able to interact with the Slytherin heir without any difficulty.

How was it possible to be able to interact with a dreamlike figure, decades dead in the real world, as if she were a flesh and blood person?

Alya jerked up from her chair and her head began to spin, fatigued by too many lucubrations.

With humility, the girl decided to abandon the enterprise of finding the still missing answers on her own. There was only one person who was knowledgeable enough on the subject, who could provide her with the desired information. And that person was at Hogwarts.

Although a little disgruntled, Alya had to accept defeat and the fact that she would have to wait for her return to the prestigious School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, where ancient and mysterious knowledge was more within reach than at Grimmauld Place.

§

10 January, 1977. Hogwarts.

Upon returning to Hogwarts, Alya wasted no time and immediately paid a visit to her old Divination teacher, Professor Ghalil.

It had been months since she had seen him, except in passing in the dungeons of the castle, where both his lecture room and his study were located.

At her mother's request - a request which had masked an imperative order - that year Alya had been forced to abandon her Divination course, considered by her parents to be useless and unsuitable for a young sorceress who would soon be joining the powerful (through an advantageous marriage and her own abilities) of magical society.

According to Orion and Walburga, it was Alya's duty to concentrate exclusively on the subjects she considered really valuable for her education, leaving aside those that were abstract and devoted to frivolity without substance, as the inflexible Mrs Black claimed.

Obviously, Alya had followed Orion and Walburga's suggestion without batting an eyelid. However, a tiny part of her, well hidden in her soul, had reluctantly agreed to her parents' wishes. Divination appealed to her, no matter how frivolous and, at times, bizarre it might be. Moreover, she felt a deep respect for Professor Ghalil, who seemed so cultured and knowledgeable, albeit a little gruff. She missed his solemn discourses on the messages of the universe and the balance of the world.

Obviously, Alya had followed Orion and Walburga's suggestion without batting an eyelid. However, a tiny part of her, well hidden in her soul, had reluctantly agreed to her parents' wishes. Divination appealed to her, no matter how frivolous and, at times, bizarre it might be. Moreover, she felt a deep respect for Professor Ghalil, who seemed so cultured and knowledgeable, albeit a little gruff. She missed his solemn discourses on the messages of the universe and the balance of the world.

Once before, in a moment of crisis, Alya had found reassurance in the wise advice Ghalil had kindly given her.

Therefore, on her first day back to school after the Christmas break, Alya immediately ran to the small office of the canny Divination teacher.

Even then, Professor Ghalil greeted the Slytherin student with an astonished expression.

"Miss Black, to what do I owe the honour of your visit?" asked the white-bearded and white-haired man, with a slightly more incipient receding hairline than Alya remembered.

"I have some questions that I just can't find an answer to. And since the subject of my doubts concerns your subject, I thought I would ask you directly, Professor." tried to explain Alya, without going into too much detail. She hadn't thought about how to deal with the question yet.

Professor Ghalil looked at her perplexed, with a vaguely stern air.

"I hope this is not another request to read your palm, Miss Black!" he exclaimed, in a joking tone.

"No, nothing like that. It is a question of a more academic nature," the girl reassured him, with an affable smile.

The old teacher signalled for her to take a seat inside the office: nothing had changed, the room was small and cosy, flooded with piles of books that filled the wooden shelves, or piled in every free corner, even on the desk. A blazing fire gushed cheerfully in the jaws of the fireplace, placed next to the professor's chair.

Alya sat down next to the warmth of the fire, ready to expose the doubt that had been devouring her for days.

"So, tell me, Miss Black. I'm all ears." urged her cordially as Ghalil sat down in the wooden chair behind the desk.

"I read a book during the Christmas holidays and stumbled upon a magical power that I couldn't fully understand," Alya exclaimed, hesitant. She had no intention of revealing to the professor, no matter how confidently he inspired her, that it was she who had particular dreams. Therefore, she decided to relegate the strange dreamlike visions to the protagonist of a fictitious book.

"Are you talking about a school textbook? Or borrowed from the library?" asked the lecturer, curious.

"Uhm, no. It's a simple novel, actually. I don't even remember the title." lied Alya, well determined not to go into too much dangerous detail. "But the protagonist of the story presented an unknown divinatory ability. She saw things through dreams."

"Oniromancy was a topic covered extensively during the fifth year of your class, Miss Black. I still remember how much fun I had reading your Dream Diaries and the fruits of your, dare I say it, fanciful interpretations. In any case, you should have no difficulty in finding information on the subject. Our library, here at Hogwarts, is teeming with manuals and encyclopaedias that more than fully explain the subject," Ghalil asserted, as he rested his elbows on the wooden surface of his desk, crossing his hands in front of his stern, austere face.

"I think you misunderstand me, professor," Alya interrupted him, in a vaguely impatient voice. "I'm not talking about simple archetypal symbolism to decipher. The girl in the book I'm talking about can see what happened in the past, as if she were looking at photographs. In short, in the dream she can observe reality, even though she is not the protagonist of what she dreams,' Alya tried to explain.

Professor Ghalil's sunken eyes suddenly became serious.

"Recent or distant past?" he asked, in a serious tone.

"Both." Alya replied, with conviction.

The lecturer remained silent for a few moments, pensive, pondering a possible answer.

"I suppose the novel you are reading features a Universa in Somniis Videns. Or, more commonly defined, a Somnia Videns." declared, finally, Ghalil with simplicity.

Alya stared at him with wide eyes.

"A what?" she asked puzzled.

"A Somnia Videns. These are people capable, as you said a moment ago, of seeing the reality of things, past, present and future, through dreams. Or rather, visions that appear when the seer is asleep or in a state of semi-consciousness," explained Professor Ghalil, a patient.

Alya's grey eyes remained fixed on the professor's face, eager for information, urging him to continue.

"Somnia Videns belong to an ancient category of seers potentially able to receive in a dream - or in meditation, though more rarely and after exhausting practice - all-round visions. They can see things that happened in the past. Things that happened many centuries before or recently. Events of the present, but occurring in places far away and unknown to the reality known to the seer. And, finally, they may receive visions concerning events that have yet to happen, although this is an extremely rare and complicated phenomenon. You see, Ms. Black, knowing in advance of a potential event places the individual in a position of grave responsibility. The Somnia Videns who receive such a vision - or message, as I prefer to understand it - have the ability to decide how to act, based on what they have seen. They have the possibility of choice. As with prophecies. In fact, the concept is very similar. The only difference being that a prophecy is a message that the universe sends out specifically to safeguard the balance that governs it, whereas Somnia Videns are seers with a high sensitivity, able to perceive, through their unconscious, certain useful clues, through which they can access certain information. Even if this happens completely arbitrarily and without a specific purpose on the part of the Universe."

"Clues?" Alya echoed him, confused.

"That's right, clues: they could be even just simple objects, to which one has, as it were, attached a memory or remembrance; particular and important events that foretell future consequences; even the encounter with certain people can awaken in somnia videns such insights as to manifest later in dreams."

Alya listened to the professor's explanation with deep attention, trying to understand that complicated discourse. One thing, however, was clear to her. Whatever the Somnia Videns were, they seemed to possess a very strong magical power. Alya's eyes shone as if electrocuted by a light, made of a new awareness.

Seized by a sudden doubt, the young Black asked Professor Ghalil a question she couldn't hold back:

"Pardon me, professor, but would Somnia Videns, besides seeing realities belonging to distant times and places, also be able to interact with the people of their dreams? You see, the protagonist of the book I read has, as it were, befriended another girl who appeared to her in a dream. A dream that then became recurring - " Alya tried to explain herself, being very careful not to let on that she was the girl in question.

The teacher remained silent again, squaring the student with an inexplicable expression.

"Unlikely, but not impossible. This phenomenon could only occur if the other subject - who appeared in the dream - was also a Somnia Videns. This would be a shared vision. A rare phenomenon, to say the least."

A flush of mystical enthusiasm ran through Alya's entire body. According to what the Divination teacher had just asserted, she and Merope shared a very ancient and powerful divinatory power.

"And what happens when two somnia videns meet? Together, what would they be capable of doing?" the girl asked, impulsively.

"Hard to say. I would say impossible at the moment. You see, Miss Black, Somnia Videns have been declared extinct for decades now. Theirs is a very ancient divinatory power, which has been diluted over the centuries." sighed Ghalil, a little distraught. Coming into contact with people who held such power seemed extremely fascinating to him.

Alya, for her part, was on the verge of retorting, but bit her tongue. A little voice inside her suggested that it was not appropriate to flaunt her newly discovered ability so lightly. She still had much more to explore; to find out how far the powers of her mysterious mind could go.

"I'm afraid I've run out of time for you, Miss Black. The Headmaster is waiting for me in his office," Professor Ghalil announced gravely, rousing Alya from her absorbed thoughts.

"I understand. I really thank you, Professor. For all the information you have given me. And I'm sorry to have disturbed you, stealing your valuable time." apologised Alya, politely.

"No bother at all. In fact, it is I who must thank you, Miss Black. You are one of the few students here at Hogwarts who can make me appreciate my puny job as a Divination lecturer. As you can well imagine, there are few people who show any real interest in the subject I teach. Moreover, your questions always turn out to be extraordinarily interesting. It is a pity that you dropped the course. It would certainly have enlivened my otherwise boring lectures," Ghalil commented, sardonically.

Alya shrugged, slightly embarrassed.

"No need to worry, I was only joking. It is not my intention to reproach your academic choices. Besides, I know your family well. And also the opinions your parents hold for my subject." the lecturer reassured her, with a quick and barely perceptible wink. Alya smiled shyly at him.

"In any case, please do not hesitate to visit me if you have any other doubts. And, perhaps, when you have finished reading your book, you can fill me in on the ending. I am really curious to know what will happen to this phantom somnia videns you told me about," Professor Ghalil concluded, giving young Black a jovial smile of farewell.

Alya thanked him again, sincerely. After which she left the small study, heading towards the Slytherin common room.

As she walked through the silent dungeons of the castle, the girl was pleased with the answers she had managed to get from the Divination teacher.

Somnia Videns, repeated Alya inwardly.

Her soul was invaded by a thrill of power and mystery.