Harry Potter and Dreams Lost

A knock on the door rouses me from my slumber.

 

Consciousness compressing, I slide off of the walls, from between the nooks and crannies and corners of the boxy room, and form a gelatinous ball. I ripple a few times, forgetting how exactly to make a human form…

 

Eh, whatever. Almost-balls work better. It’s like water; I hold myself together using cohesion, and…that’s it.

 

A solid kick could splatter me over someone’s door like a lonely man to a wall in a motel room. What he did to the wall need not be said.

 

I squish myself under the door; the prefect on the other side recoils at the oily ooze seeping out from underneath a first-year’s door frame.

 

“Ollo,” I say to her, waving an appendage her way. “Or is it, hello? I can never remember. Anyway, hi! I’m Dreamer…” I ripple a little bit as I have the slime/Me equivalent to a yawn. I think a star system just died. Oops.

 

“H-Hello,” she says. Oooh. Her voice is so melodic for being awake at…six in the morning. What a hefty stack of papers in her hands, too. “You’re Dreamer?” She asks, as if she can’t identify the amazingness that is me.

 

“Yep.” I wobble. “I just feel like maintaining human form would be too difficult. My real form is way too big for…the planet, so this was a compromise I made.”

 

“Right,” she confirms, mostly to herself. Then, she whispers, “Professor Sprout said she was a Magical Creature, but this? Does she even know what this is?” I don’t think I was meant to know that…

 

And, extending a brain-tacle into Professor Sprout does confirm that she doesn’t know what I am, just that they were having a Magical Creature at school for the first time ever.

 

“So, I’m Janice,” she introduces, “and I’m the prefect in charge of your year. You met the other prefect for your year last night during your tour.” Oh, yeah! What’s his face and/or name! Yeah, I don’t know who she’s talking about. I do remember a slightly-less-younger-than-me boy worrying about my many shatter bones. Was that him?

 

“I’m here for you if you need anything. Umm, please take the time to view the school handbook and review the rules.” Pah! As if I’ll do that. “And…” she drawls off as she looks through her papers—“Hero we go! Your schedule.” She places the schedule on me and walks towards the next girl’s room.

 

This girl would do well in customer service. That complete shift in personality is what all HR reps hope for.

 

Let’s see here… The schedule says I have…Potions with Ravenclaw first, then Transfiguration after that. How…interesting.

 

Welp! I’m starving. Time for breakfast.

 

————————————————————————————————————

 

I sit down at the table with my plate stacked high with bacon, toast, eggs, some pastries, a few rocks, some silverware, milk, salt, pepper, the soul of a lobster, the sweet taste of a Diet Dr. Pepper, more toast, a cake, doughnuts, a mug, and a life-size statue replica of the 26th President of the United States—Theodore Roosevelt.

 

As you can tell, I’m eating light today. Dieting, so to speak.

 

I even remembered how human bodies look like, so I’m getting less weird stares than normal.

 

My Area of Omnipotency, meanwhile, is reporting that a girl with hot-pink hair is walking towards me with an even smaller amount of food. Just eggs and bacon! Is she being properly fed?

 

“Hello,” Tonks greets, eyeing the statue for whatever reason. “Is this seat open?” She points to my right, and I nod. Each seat is obviously open; there’s nobody around me.

 

I continue shoveling food into my mouth with my hands (the silverware has already met my stomach). “Umm, I’ve been meaning to ask, but… are you like me?”

 

I pause and turn to her. “Like you how? I can name plenty of things we are alike in and not-alike in.” Ok, the list is like two or three for alike, but who’s counting?

 

“Like…” she points to her head. Yes, we both have heads. At least, I think I do? Anatomy gets confusing when you have more than one of yourself.

 

Oh, wait! It’s green now.

 

“It’s very pretty,” I compliment. That’s what Thomas told me to do when someone changes their looks. Make them feel nice, and then, if it’s bad, suggest ways to make it better. I think he said indirectly? Yeah. “I preferred pink, though.” There we go!

 

“That’s not what I meant…” she sighs. “I meant, are you a metamorphamagus?”

 

“Metamorpha-what now?”

 

“Being able to change yourself at will,” she deadpans, all sneaky-like tendencies gone.

 

“Oh, yeah! I can do that! Not in the way you do it, though.”

 

“Huh?”

 

“You use ambient magic to essentially replace certain sections of your DNA. However, this has a limit, and you can only replicate characteristics of creatures of about 75% DNA variance,” I say with my index pointed up, and quoting some of Thomas’s books.

 

“I, however, do not have to use magic to use this process. While named a ‘Magical Creature’, I am far from the actual definition. I can simply will myself to be whatever I want and I will be whatever I want.”

 

She looks like I fried her brains. Mmm, fried brains. Dammit! Now, I’m hungry again.

 

“Huh,” she repeats. She’s a lot less questioning, but a lot more processing.

 

“Watch this.” I grin. My right arm compresses a lot, becoming thinner and thinner despite still being tentacles. It becomes inky for a second, but gains a nice, silvery sheen. The edges flatten and sharpen to a point—picometers, which are smaller than atoms.

 

A nice arm-blade. Blade-arm. Anime ripoff. Tentacled vengeance.

 

“Look at this,” I gesture at my arm. “Nymphadora, I don’t think you can do this?” I wave it around, careful to not cut any moving atoms.

 

“Don’t call me— Wait, I never told you my name…”

 

“Oh, don’t worry. I know lots of things. Things like how I’m going to be late for Potions. Anyway, bye. Oh, and I’m Dreamer!” With a sudden gust of wind, even though we’re inside, I turn to dust and float down the corridors.

 

————————————————————————————————————

 

Somehow, I’m the first one there.

 

Probably has something to do with being fast as, uh, something fast. No, not light. That’s too slow.

 

The door’s locked, and the other students are approaching. Snape is…taking his time. He’s measured his footsteps to make sure he arrives at the second.

 

I extend an invisible tentacle, tripping him.

 

Back to the human me, I turn to slime and slip under the doorframe. Extending my palm, a stool flies towards me and sits itself right in front of me. I become human and perch myself on top.

 

Snape stalks down the stairs, dramatically.

 

He glares at everyone, dramatically. He’s noting that a problem child—me—isn’t there/here?

 

He opens the door, dramatically. His cloak waves with a dramatic flourish…dramatically.

 

I don’t know if you can tell, but Snape likes to be dramatic. The brooding problem children like doing that for the attention their parents never gave them.

 

He should get some parents. They don’t have to be his, but any is probably better than none.

 

He freezes, not-so-dramatically.

 

“Hi! I’m Dreamer!” I wave.