Percy Jackson Goes To Hogwarts

Nightmares Time!

K. Heads up before we start, dreams are in third person. For those of you who might not know what that means, it's no one's POV. BTW, I'm SOOOO sorry for all these weeks I haven't published.... I'm pretty busy these days. You know, with school year starting and all that... I AM SOO SORRY! I feel like I'm about to explode. After all, when one has to deal with.... 119 pages of Math homework in a day,(No, I swear on the Styx I'm not exaggerating) one can't be still sane, and have enough time or room in her brain to write a story, can she? But, I am still going to write, this story is not paused! Don't worry, I won't stop writing for as long as 6 months!

Harry POV

After the Goblet called out my name, Ron had been avoiding me, and I was VERY lonely. Thoughts were swimming in my head as I fell asleep. That night, I had a nightmare.

 The Riddle house was quiet that night. Some muggle police tape was plastered to the door, but that didn't stop it's visitor.

He didn't even use door, not once. A plain wall placed inside the kitchen was encompassed with shadows, being the fact that the windows reflected no natural light inside. Just tranquil,bluely-tinted moonlight seeped through the dusty windows. The wooden floor-boards creaked even if no one was walking. The moth eaten curtains swayed, even though there seemed to be no breeze.

But the shadows on that very wall grew darker, as the entire place grew cold. Cold was the best way to describe it. Fear, darkness, unnatural... it radiated death.

Then the darkness clotted together, solidifying into a humanoid shape. Fingertips reached for air, until a fully-formed hand was formed from nothing but unnaturality'.  The shadow clung to the open space, slowly parting from it's 2-dimensional form.

A pale boy  gasped for air, as he tumbled from the horrible wallpapered surface.

The visitor steadied his breathing, he arrived at the Riddle house.

Unbeknownst to the witness of this strange night, the visitor felt weakened... lost. The shadows were still trying to snuff out the air in his lungs, as he hastily pulled himself away from the walls. Yes, the shadows were filled with greed, trying to feed off its weakened victim. His transportation was failing because of the past- terrible, horrifying events. 

But no matter; he had survived. Studying his blade as the pale boy rose, he then unsheathed his weapon and walked up the stairs.

Unlike the groundskeeper, the pale boy contained a grace in his stealth. Subconciously hiding against the wall, slinking up the stairs in complete and utter silence. He reached out his hand to part the door further, pushing it just enough aside to enter the room across the hall.

The pale boy lowered his weapon, a smirk forming on his lips. The witness, or the dreamer, could not see what he was looking at. Control over the subconscious was difficult, dreams were not to be meddled with. And no matter how curious the dreamer was, the dream line wouldn't budge.

That is when the door made a faint creak, slowly drifting even farther open because of the breeze. The pale boy muttered something in amusement, "Gotcha." And the witness of the dream finally saw what he was staring at. An empty chair. But a recognizable one.... The chair that Voldemort once sat on.