the school of extraordinary lovers

VIII

It was at the start of the year that Harry began wearing a shoestring or a thin ribbon around his wrist, which he'd occasionally use to tie up his hair. This way it served two purposes — that of a standard elastic, and as a tether to the physical world.

At first, he wasn't confident how well it would work for the latter. He read about it, thoroughly as usual, but always in the wrong context. For people who experience night terrors, engaging repeatedly with a particular item while awake could help the sufferer distinguish when they were awake from when they were dreaming. But there wasn't a ton of literature available for people who saw the future every now and then.

He tried it anyway and though it took him a while to get the hang of it, the hang of it was this: Every thirty minutes, on the days he remembers (or the days he's not fleeing wraiths and jealous boyfriends), he runs the end of the string through his fingers, whether it's tied around his wrist or his ponytail. He says to himself, 'I'm awake,' and then he recites the day's date.

In his normal, average dreams, the string is never there. But when a dream is actually a glimpse into his future, logically, the string must be there. He sees himself at some point in the future, touching the string, reciting some near or distant date.

In the most recent instance, just a day ago, he had a "dream." It started out as a dream, offbeat and nonsensical. He had wings, at one point. He punched someone. He sang karaoke. His dreams are always a bit Wes Anderson in nature. Then, the scene changed and solidified and made sense.

He was standing in a washroom, looking at himself in the mirror. He didn't look any older. He untied his hair, ran a splash of water through it, then pulled it into a ponytail once more. He touched the string. 'I'm awake. It's 14 June 2021.'

Turning, he grasped the handle of a suitcase and left the washroom. Harry was in an airport. He made it to his gate and took a seat, pulling a boarding pass from his pocket. One-way. London-Heathrow to Paris-Charles de Gaulle.

When he woke, he knew of course that 14 June 2021 had yet to happen, and that he had glimpsed the future. A flight to Paris remains the grandest premonition he's ever had. He's seen himself in 2026, pouring a cup of coffee in his future flat, then ringing his mum. There are pictures on the fridge of him and someone else, but he's standing too far away to make them out. He's seen himself two years from now, raking leaves at his mum's home. Or two months from now, speaking to the Head Wizard, and he wakes hoping that conversation ends on a pleasant note.

The string doesn't always work and so far, it's failed to protect him from anything groundbreaking. He never knew for certain whether the dream he had about Louis parked outside Katagiri was a premonition until it happened because in that moment, he never checked the string. It's also only effective if he says the mantra out loud. Writing it down won't work because the parts of the brain responsible for interpreting language are mostly dormant during sleep. And speaking aloud isn't always possible. As chill as Mr Ueda can be, if Harry starts chanting every hour that he's awake, his boss might start to have concerns.

For the same reason, class is also impossible, and he comes to deeply regret that one Tuesday in particular, a few days after The Incident with Louis.

Jude's class is a bit of a grey area all on its own. On Thursdays, they rehearse, but on Tuesdays, they do whatever suits Jude's fancy. Sometimes they read or watch a film or discuss a controversial composer. Their syllabus lends no clarity whatsoever. Jude seems to decide what to teach each day when he wakes that morning, which Harry doesn't mind because at least it's always interesting. But it does make for tenuous, uncertain ground.

Which is proven true, that particular Tuesday, when midway through a film about Gregorian chanting, the projector simply stops working.

"Any of the witches in here know a spell to fix this?" Jude asks, poking futilely at the projector.