She woke up screaming. Grabbing for the light, she found it and violently flicked it on. Her grey eyes rapidly searched the room, finding comfort as the light bounced around to fill the corners. She sighed with relief as the light illuminated the familiar surroundings: her desk, books, pictures, and closet. Just that stupid dream, she thought, untangling herself slowly from her blue bed sheets. That stupid, stupid dream.

Ellen had been having the same, yet ever-changing nightmare off and on for the past month. It always began as a perfectly normal dream about a day in the park or something. But then things would start going wrong: the sky would grow darker; the images of family and friends would become twisted and distorted. She would reach for her family, her friend, whomever was in the dream, but was enveloped in the darkness, all alone.

She could be in that darkness for what seemed like days, turning around and around, trying to find a way out. And she could feel another presence there with her. Other people, perhaps. She would see movement in the darkness, out of the corner of her eye, and it never failed to creep her out. Each time she would spin around to see what moved, and be greeted with nothing. And then she would turn around again to find herself staring into cold, red eyes, on a bone-white face. This part was always the same. Always the same.

“I’ll find you. I’ll find you, and I’ll kill you,” Voldemort would whisper.

Ellen shuddered as the image came up in her mind again. “Just a dream,” she said, trying to calm herself. “I have nothing to do with him.”

Her owl, Penn, hooted softly from Ellen’s desk where she was perched in her cage. Penn was used to Ellen waking up screaming, but it still unnerved her. Ellen gave Penn a small smile.

“Sorry, Penn. I know: I’m sixteen years old and afraid of a dream,” Ellen smiled, trying to laugh it off. Even so, she briskly pulled the covers back over herself and made sure none of her limbs were anywhere near the edge of the bed. She turned the light on low and waited, with her grey eyes open, to fall into an uneasy sleep.

*
Hogwarts was slightly less cheerful that year; the feeling of the war was ever present. Students bustled through the Great Hall slower, chatting about the latest in the Daily Prophet. The Wizarding community had, of course, been alerted that a dark wizard named “Lord Voldemort’ was gaining power, but that didn’t make the deaths or disappearances in the papers any less frightening.

The Wizarding world seemed to be walking on eggshells; people turning against people who used to be counted as friends, the imperious cure around ever corner, and the constant fear of death. The community was spinning around in circles, becoming hastier and more chaotic with every turn. Just how he wants it to be, Ellen thought bitterly. He wants us all confused and scared. But he won’t get away with it. They’ll catch him.

Ellen and her friend Molly walked through the corridors together, making their way to the Great Hall for breakfast. The morning noise was the same, the house tables the same, and the food was the same. But everyone knew that one glace at the Daily Prophet or a letter could change all that.

When the two Ravenclaws were seated at their house table, Molly picked up a Daily Prophet, and sighed. “Great. Wonderful,” she muttered sarcastically. “Did you see the news?”

“No,” answered Ellen, dreading what was coming. She gathered her shoulder length brown hair into a ponytail. “What happened this time?”

Molly glanced round, lowering her voice. “Five more Muggles and wizards were killed, and three more disappearances.” Both girls shuddered involuntarily.

“He is one sick, twisted man,” spat Molly, glaring at the paper. Her brown eyes, usually warm and joyful, were full of hate and viciousness.

“I don’t even believe he’s fully human,” pondered Ellen softly, playing with her eggs on her plate. Molly looked up sharply.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you know,” continued Ellen slowly, keeping her voice down. She shifted more food around. “If someone was still all human, they- they would mind killing people more, don’t you think? I mean, the way he goes about it, one person is no different from the next.”

Molly just shook her head. “I don’t know, Ellen. I just think he has problems.” Molly took another glance at the paper, the front page featuring a motion picture of Voldemort. “Serious problems.”

~*~

After breakfast, Molly and Ellen had an hour before their first class. They spent it finishing their Charms homework out on the grounds, with three other Ravenclaw girls: Cassie, Mary, and Joanne.

Ellen listened as the four of them talked and joked with each other, enjoying the fresh air, and watching as leaves spun down from the sky, landing in sun-soaked patches of grass. She didn’t say much, but just absorbed the laughter of her friends, reminding herself that even while a war was going on, normal life could continue. Even if she was having weird dreams, that didn’t mean she had to push herself away from the world, and forever ponder and worry about the darkness that enclosed her in the night. “They’re just dreams,” she said to herself softly.

“And then Brian asked why he was so afraid to teach us that charm.” Joanne’s cheerful voice broke through Ellen’s thoughts, brining her back to reality. “He said it was because he had had bad experiences with fire in his class.” The four girls were oblivious to what Ellen had just whispered, too absorbed in Joanne's story.

“What did he mean, ‘bad experiences’?” asked Molly curiously. Joanna shook her head, trying not to laugh.

“Well, that was what Brian asked next,” answered Joanne slyly, flicking her brown hair out of her face. The others waited in suspense; even Ellen was paying attention now. “One of his students from the past had had a fire problem, and”-she was having a hard time trying to keep a straight face-“set his hair on fire,” she finished. There was a second’s silence, before all of them burst out laughing.

This is my reality, Ellen thought happily, as she laughed along with her friends. This is mine.

As September slipped into October, Ellen’s dreams started to change. They went from just the threat of Voldemort and the feeling of people near her, to actual images of people, flashing by in the darkness.

Three nights after the dreams changed, Ellen found that she no longer woke up screaming. She now woke up as Voldemort finished his threat, and lay in bed, lingering on the faces of people who had flashed by.

The people confused her. “They don’t make sense. None of them are ones I’ve ever seen or met,” Ellen explained to Molly one afternoon in the library. She had stopped working on her Transfiguration essay to confess to Molly about the dreams. Last night Ellen had seen more people then ever, and it was deeply worrying her. “In fact,” continued Ellen, sucking on the end of her quill, “the people seem random. They vary from elderly wizards to young women. I can’t even tell if the people are witches and wizards, or Muggles!”

Molly shrugged her shoulders, wrapping her cloak around her thin frame. The library wasn’t even chilly, but it was a security gesture. “Maybe it’s stress that’s causing the dreams,” she offered slowly. “Maybe you’re letting the stress and fears of the war penetrate into your sleep.”

Ellen gave her a look.

“O.K, fine. Scratch that. Everyone is stressed about the war,” Molly relented, piling up her books. Ellen started rolling up her unfinished essay, slowly and methodically. “Sorry, Ellen, but I’ve got nothing else,” Molly smiled sadly, brushing her fluffy bangs away from her light brown eyes.

“It’s fine. Don’t worry about it,” responded Ellen, tucking her parchment into her bag. “They’re just dreams, after all,” she said, trying to convince herself of that. But deep down, Ellen was still worried, and a bit disappointed that Molly had no answer to her situation. But someone else might have the answer for her…

“Let’s go to lunch,” suggested Molly, happy to get off the subject of the dreams. Ellen tried to return the smile that Molly flashed her, but her mind was already forming another conversation.

*
“Jonathan, do you ever have nightmares?” Ellen asked. Jonathan looked up from the book he was reading, a curious expression on his face. There was no one else around them; the library was quiet and full of sunlight, no sound but the scratching of Madam Prince’s quill, aisles away. Jonathan and Ellen were seated at a small oak table during lunch.

Jonathan had short, spiky black hair, and crisp hazel eyes. His face was more of an oval then a circle, and he was around five feet and seven inches tall. He was also what people in other houses called, a ‘true Ravenclaw”; one who bolted down their food and drink to rush off and go read books. He was what Ellen called a great friend.

“Nightmares?” echoed Jonathan. “Err, yeah, I’ve had a few. Why?”

Ellen took a strand of her hair and started twisting it around her finger, slowly and absentmindedly. “Well… it’s just that, you know, I’ve been having a couple about…him.”

Jonathans face changed from concerned to disbelief. “Ellen, if you’re having nightmares about a guy you like, I would much rather you leave me out of it,” he stammered, starting to pack up his books. “My advice is don’t date him.”

Ellen gave a small laugh. “Jonathan- it’s not about a guy I like.”

“Oh,” said Jonathan, obviously relived. He unpacked his books, feeling a bit foolish. He smiled. “Who is it about, then?”

Ellen shuddered as the face of Voldemort popped up in her mind. “Voldemort,” she whispered.

All traces of humour vanished from Jonathan’s face. Ellen felt as though by just saying the name, the sunlight in the room had decreased by half; the air was thicker; the noises in the distance, swallowed up.

Jonathan didn’t say anything for a couple of moments, only stared at Ellen, and then at his books.

“I don’t know why I dream about him. I just do,” Ellen continued, hoping that when her story was complete, he would have some answer for her. “And he’s not the only one in the dream. There are random people, and- shapes.” Ellen frowned, unsure how to explain the presence she felt when there was no visible person. Jonathan frowned again, and glanced out the window.

“Let’s go for a walk,” he suggested, knowing the library wasn’t the right place for this discussion.

Fifteen minutes later, Ellen and Jonathan were strolling the edge of the lake, watching the giant squid’s tentacles drift lazily across the water.

Ellen had told him everything about the dreams she could remember, more then she had told Molly. She had tried to explain every feeling, every bit on non-existing ness that went on in the dreams.

“At first, I thought that my subconscious just played up the fear of him,” Ellen said, breaking the silence that surrounded the two of them. “But as the dreams repeated, over and over again, I decided it must be something else… but I don’t know what,” she sighed angrily. Jonathan only shook his head. He stopped walking, and stood gazing at the lake. Ellen stopped, too.

“Why can’t I have normal dreams?” asked Ellen angrily. “I am so sick of seeing his face, hearing his voice, and watching people I don’t even know go by! They’re my dreams! Why can’t I dream about flying dragons, or evil cauldrons, or- or- just something normal?” Ellen ranted. She crossed her arms across her chest, and stared out over the lake. She took a quick glance at Jonathan.

“Any ideas about why I dream this stuff?”

“Ellen, I know these dreams are creeping you out, and I don’t blame you,” Jonathan started slowly. “They’re like no dreams I’ve ever heard of, and the subject itself is awful. But, did you ever think that, I don’t know…”

“What?” asked Ellen quickly, impatient for the next sentence, the words that would put everything back into order.

Jonathan turned to face her; his hazel eyes had a small smile in them. “You’re just afraid to die?”

Ellen’s hopes fell. He didn’t have the answer. This wasn’t it. “Jonathan,” she said slowly, looking him in the eyes, “who isn’t afraid to?”

*
Ellen found it harder and harder to fall asleep each night. Now that her Jonathan plan had fallen thought, it seems to have only spurred on her dreams. Every time she fell asleep, the images would start, flashing faster and faster until all movement stopped, and there he was, Lord Voldemort, his blood red eyes setting her soul on fire.

But that wasn’t all. The dreams started to change, again, one night in early October.

Ellen was casting a spell in her Charms classroom, enjoying herself as she caused objects to float higher and higher through the air. She and the other sixth years laughed as they floated the objects, like clouds above their heads. She turned to tell Molly a joke, but instead, she found red eyes penetrating her mind. All the light was gone, all the objects non-existent, all the joy taken away and destroyed, piece-by-piece. Ellen looked around for her classmates, but no-one was there but Voldemort and herself.

Voldemort smiled in the sudden darkness; his smile was controlled and full of grim pleasure. Ellen was petrified with fear, but ready for the words that always came out of his mouth.

“You thought you could run, or hide? Wrong. Lord Voldemort always finds who he wants,” he said slowly, drawing out his long, dark, wand. “And, I always murder whom I want.”

Ellen opened her mouth to protest, confused as to why the words were different, but the green light shot out of Voldemort’s wand too fast for her strangled words. She waited for the impact, for the death she had dreaded to come, but nothing happened. The light avoided her, and went for something past her. She turned to see a woman who had just appeared behind her become stuck by the green light. The green light illuminated the details of the woman: her round, frightened face, her black hair, just past her ears. Her white hands held up in front of her, as if that would some how help to stop the curse. As the Killing Curse made contact with the woman, she fell slowly to the ground, the scream in her heart and eyes never reaching her lips.

But Ellen’s scream made it out.

And that night, for the first time in a month, Ellen woke up screaming again.

The next day, an owl dropped the Daily Prophet on top of Ellen’s bacon and eggs. Without even glancing at the front page, she quickly took the paper and stuffed it into her book bag. Molly and Jonathan gave her odd looks.

“Just not in the mood to read more horror, that’s all,” explained Ellen, gesturing to the place where the paper lay in her bag. Jonathan nodded his head and started talking to Mark, but Molly looked at her knowingly.

“The dreams?” she prompted, lowering her voice and leaning forward. Her eyes showed concern and fright. Ellen sighed. Of course Molly would know that something was wrong. When Ellen had woken up the entire dorm with her screaming last night, Molly obviously hadn’t bought the excuse that she had had any old nightmare.

“Fine. Last night they got worse. I actually dreamed of someone dying,” Ellen answered, also lowering her voice. “If I have to think of death when I’m sleeping, I can at least try to avoid it while I’m awake, right?”

Molly nodded slowly in agreement, and patted her friend on the back. “Sorry, Ellen.”

“You’re not the one who needs to apologize,” muttered Ellen. “He does.” Molly gave her an inquisitive look at her last remark, but said nothing more, letting the subject drop.

*
And the dreams continued. Now, instead of random images flashing by, each image had a five or ten second scene to go with it.

”Help me.” A girl in all red spoke the words calmly. Ellen looked closer at the girl, and was horrified to see that the red was not the colour of her shirt; it was blood.

“You’re-” Ellen chocked out, unable to finish her sentence.

The girl looked back at her with warm, brown eyes, that reminded her so much of Molly’s. “Help me. Please.”

*
“Save us!” A frantic mother, with her two year old clinging on to her arm was the source of the yelling. “He’s coming! He’s coming!”

“Who?” asked Ellen, feeling frantic herself, although she was pretty sure she was just a bystander, un-real to the scene around her. Ellen was right; the mother didn’t hear or answer her, only tried to dissaperate, once again failing, while the child screamed and cried.

And the dream changed.
*
“Hide!” A small child, ducking under a bed in fright.
*
“It’s Him, George! It’s Him!” A sobbing woman, searching desperately for her wand.
*
“AHHHHHH!” No one. Darkness. A green light.
*
“No, please, don’t-”
*
“Camille! CAMILLE!” Ellen woke up with a start, her bangs stuck to her sweaty forehead.

Ellen shook her head, trying to wipe away all the images she had just seen. She breathed in deeply, trying to focus on her quilt’s pattern, but was still unable to get the last picture out of her mind; it was of a small, five year old girl named Camille, lying dead on the floor with the dark mark hovering over her. The girl’s teddy bear had been lying next to her.

*
The leaves and wind became crisper as October went on. On the afternoon of Halloween, Ellen sat under a tree trying to focus on the ancient runes symbols on the page of her book. She was supposed to be translating them, but she had dazed off into a world of thought, recalling the faces of her dream people. She closed her eyes, focusing on the face of an elderly woman. She could hear the leaves rustling from the wind, and students laughing and talking with each other.

She yawned, stretching her arms to the sky, trying to shake off the tiredness that dragged her down. She hasn’t slept well last night, due to the fact that six people had been murdered in her dreams. A ray of sunlight warmed Ellen’s face, and she felt herself drifting off into sleep, into her dream world.

A little girl, around five, didn’t hear Voldemort walking up to the door of her house. She noticed his presence when he blasted the door open. She ran from the hall, her hair whipping about her as she rushed to warn the rest of her family. Ellen had the perspective of a bystander, and saw clearly how Voldemort destroyed the door and glided over the threshold, unbothered by it all. He had come with a mission, and he was confident he would succeed.

And it was then that Ellen recognized the girl. This was Camille, the girl she had seen dead two nights ago. Ellen realised she was seeing the ‘before’, but that only made it so much worse.

Camille’s screams and shouts filled her head as Voldemort followed her into the kitchen; she was trapped. She was shouting in French, yet Ellen understood every word.

“It’s him! Run, Mum, Dad!” the girl yelled, looking around. Ellen reached into her cloak for her wand to defend the girl, but her pockets were empty.

Ellen was helpless. The little girl was helpless, standing in the kitchen with her teddy bear up against her face, screaming and crying at the same time. Her soft brown hair hung about her wet face, a strand stuck below her eye in a tear.

“Daddy! Mummy!” she yelled again; warning or calling them this time, Ellen did not know.

Voldemort lifted his wand to cast the curse that would destroy Camille’s life, hopes, and dreams. The little girl stopped crying for a second, watching the man in front of her. Camille knew what was coming. Ellen knew it, too.

“I am NOT going to watch you murder her!” screamed Ellen, closing her eyes in an attempt to wake up from the dream. “They’re dreams!”

CRACK!

Ellen awoke with a start, banging her head on the hard ground. She had only a moment of the sun and grounds around her, relief flooding through her, before a rushing filled her ears, and she felt herself being sucked down and away from all around her. She closed her eyes for a second, and opened them to find herself back in the kitchen with Voldemort and Camille, as if no time had passed.

Camille’s green eyes were wide with fright as Voldemort lifted his wand, slowly and deliberately. He seemed to be savouring this particular murder, although killing a wandless child wasn’t anything to be proud off.

“No!” yelled Ellen, trying to push Camille out of the way. But Ellen was transparent. Her arm went right through Camille without her noticing.

And then Ellen realised Camille was saying something to Voldemort. She was whispering one sentence as she realised she was going to die.

“I am not afraid to die, Demon.” Her voice was sweet and high, perfectly calm and stable. And then the green light hit her, swallowed her whole, and tore her away from the world. She fell to the ground, small and petite in contrast to the neon light.

Ellen hit the ground again, although she didn’t remember standing up. A piercing noise filled her ears, and she got up quickly, looking around to see who was screaming. It was her. She stopped, and dropped back to the ground, trying to catch her breath. She could see the green grounds, and students around her.

Ellen stayed in that position for several minutes, trying to figure out what just happened.

“I fell asleep…and I tried to wake up,” she muttered to herself. “But- it didn’t work.” She remembered the suction she felt, the way the darkness had pulled her down again. “And then I was back in the dream, and Camille di-” She stopped short, brushing the tears that she found on her face away, not wanting to think about the small girl who had just died in her dream.

The wind blew some leaves around, ruffling Ellen’s books. But Ellen paid no attention, only frowned.

“There’s something wrong with me,” she whispered to herself, brushing away more tears that flooded her face. “Normal people don’t dream about others dying, not random people they don’t even know…”

A thrown paper interrupted Ellen’s misery. She looked up to see a Slytherin a few yards away, laughing. “Take a gander at that,” he said happily. He studied her face, noticing the tears. This only seemed to make him merrier. “He’s on the move,” he laughed. Ellen only stared at him. The boy, who didn’t seem to have expected a response, walked away, still chuckling.

As soon as he was gone, Ellen glanced down at the paper that was thrown at her, glad for a distraction. It was the Daily Prophet. Ellen had a sinking feeling, before she picked it up, that what ever it held was not good. She flipped through the pages non-the-less, trying to take her mind off her problems, looking for whatever it was that the Slytherin thought would annoy her.

“BLOODY H-!” Ellen screamed, jumping up and away from the paper. She had turned to page ten, and on that page was a picture of the French girl from her dream, along with her family, all dead.

“No, no this is not happening. I’m imagining things, that’s all. Too much work, and stress, and… and...”

Ellen took a couple of deep breaths, trying to calm herself down. She was very close to a mental breakdown. After she gave a small, fake wave to some students who had heard her swear, she carefully picking up the paper from the cold grass, and opened it again.

Last night, the Asunder family was murdered by the Dark Lord, although Muggle police are blaming it on a carbon monox- Ellen stopped reading. The picture next to the story unmistakably had the dream girl in it, whose name was Camille.

Ellen could hear the sound of laughter floating from an open window, creating a melody with the heavy beating of her heart. The wind was crisp against her face, and blew her scarf over her shoulder, but Ellen paid no attention.

“This can’t be happening,” she muttered under her breath, looking around at the half deserted grounds. “I’ll prove it!” She dropped the paper and ran into the warm castle, abandoning her books and papers on the ground.

Once in side the castle, she ran in the direction of the Ravenclaw tower to find Molly. Luckily, Molly was on her way down the curved stairs, so Ellen ran right into her.

“Hey, Ellen, I was just on my way to the feast-”

“Quick, Molly, give me yesterdays Daily Prophet!” Ellen interrupted her, panting and holding out her hand. Molly looked very confused, but rummaged through her bag nonetheless to find a copy. She pulled it out and gave it to her friend. Ellen flicked through it, eager to prove herself wrong, to find nothing out of the ordinary in the black and white paper. But upon page four, the downfall of her thought appeared. The paper slipped out of her hands, and she gazed at the stone wall, not really seeing it.

“Ellen? Ellen, what’s wrong?” asked Molly giving Ellen a small shake. Ellen looked at Molly, but her mind was far off, replaying the dream of a man who she had dreamt the Dark Lord killed; the man who the paper, on page four, now claimed to be dead.

“Three nights ago, I dreamed that he killed a man. Now, yesterday’s paper says he is dead,” Ellen recalled slowly, not wanting to reach the conclusion that would ultimately be arrived at, the conclusion she had already reached out on the grounds. Ellen was a logical person. And now, she was relying on that logic to find a fault in her words.

“Camille, two nights ago, and replayed again today…” Ellen turned to Molly, who looked very confused, and a tad frightened at her friends babbling. Ellen’s face was drained of all emotion with the inevitable conclusion; her grey eyes fixed on Molly’s brown ones.

“The people in my dreams…I thought they were just dreams,” moaned Ellen, stress and fear on her face.

“They are just dreams, Ellen-”

“No! They’re real! He’s killing them, and I’m watching it happen, only- I’m not watching it happen at that moment, because Camille wasn’t killed that day! So I’m- I’m seeing…” Ellen trailed off, not speaking the second conclusion, what couldn’t possibly be true: “The future.” Ellen started to shake, not even bothering to brush away the tear that fell down her face.

Molly was really frightened now, and her brown eyes had turned a shade darker. “Ellen,” she said, her voice tight and high, “the dreams are just dreams. They don’t mean anything, and they are not the future! Ellen!” she screeched, for Ellen had taken off running. Molly ran after her, and followed her right into the Great Hall, where most of the school was already assembled, seated and waiting for the Halloween feast to begin. Ellen stopped in the doorway, oblivious to the chatter and hundreds of voices that laughed and joked.

“Ofh!” Molly puffed as she ran into Ellen, having caught up to her. “Ellen, why are you-” but she broke off mid sentence, for Ellen’s face scared her into silence again. “Ellen?” Molly questioned softly.

Ellen, who had already scanned the head table and found the empty seat of the one person who could help her, had turned to Molly.

“Where’s Dumbledore?” Ellen asked, panicked. Molly frowned.

“I don’t know, do I? He’s probably in his office- hey!” yelled Molly as Ellen took off again, this time in the opposite direction.

The noise of the feast lowered immensely as Ellen ran away from it, ran through the school as fast as she possibly could. As she reached the third floor, she paused for a second to catch her breath, leaning up against the cool, marble wall, but then started running again, all the way to the seventh floor with out pause.

Upon reaching the seventh floor, she stopped against the wall again, completely out of breath. Her focus started to slide in and out, and she felt like she was being dragged down. Ellen fought to keep the wall in her vision, but darkness swallowed her.

And everything changed.

A high-pitched noise filled Ellen’s ears, and she found herself outside a small cottage. Ellen spun around, taking in the crisp air that rushed around her, the sounds of children laughing, dressed in costumes.

And then she saw him: Voldemort was strolling up the path to where she stood.

Ellen knew it would be like Camille all over again; this was the future. Someone was going to die. And she was going to see it happen, all the while not being able to do anything about it.

Ellen’s mind exploded with anger. She tried to force the images out of her head, trying to make it all stop.

More people were screaming now. It wasn’t just one person, like it had started off as, but now it was twenty voices- all yelling, all shattering.

All the people Voldemort had killed, all the screams and pain that he had caused, replayed in front of Ellen in a haze, the Halloween scene still unfolding clearly in front of her.

She knew she had to tell Dumbledore, quickly, before Voldemort succeeded in killing whomever he was trying to.

Ellen closed her eyes, focusing on what the seventh floor of Hogwarts looked like. She felt a jolt, and opened her eyes to see a carpet beneath her. But she wasn’t out of the vision completely. Half her sight was obscured by the vision, still going.

She looked up, panicked, to find a foggy Dumbledore strolling towards her, having just exited his office. She stumbled up to him, clutching her head.

“He’s killing them, and I can see it!” cried Ellen, gasping for breath. “You have to do something”- Voldemort had pulled out his wand, and the green light was soaring towards a man with jet-black hair-“or he’ll kill them, too!”

Dumbledore looked utterly confused and anxious. “What are you talking about Miss Desed? What is it?” But Ellen couldn’t answer his question. She had reached her limit of power; she couldn’t push away the full vision any longer. She felt herself being consumed by the darkness; she lost sight of her true surroundings: the walls, Dumbledore, and the stone gargoyle down the hall.

All she could see now was Voldemort and a red-haired woman, and all she could hear was the screaming.

“Get out of my head!” she screamed. “Get OUT!”But the images didn’t disappear, and the screams that tormented her didn’t stop.

Ellen had nowhere to run. She wasn’t in the real world anymore, and where can one go if the thing hurting you, is you?

Her safe space, the one and only place that she could go for peace, was gone. Voldemort was in her head, the future was in her eyes, and fear was in her heart.

“NO!” screamed Ellen as the red-haired woman was hit by the green light. And the darkness was growing as the vision was ending, and Ellen was falling into it all with no end in sight: people were screaming and the blood red eyes were laughing at her.

And then Ellen was enclosed by darkness, listening, as her own scream faded into nothing.

*

Time. What a funny concept. For instance, I had recently learned that the time difference between my ‘vision’ of the Potters dying and the actual event had been about one minute. With each dream- really visions- that I had, the time between the prediction and the actual event was shorter.

What a funny, twisted concept.

In the end, it wouldn’t have even mattered if I had been able to inform Dumbledore. There just wasn’t enough time.

But that doesn’t change anything. I still saw fifteen people being murdered by Lord Voldemort.

My last vision was of Lily and James Potter being murdered. I couldn’t save them. I couldn’t do anything but watch them crumple to the ground as the green light surrounded them and their home. And I hate that.

Last night, I had woken up with a start, breathing heavily. Molly, being a light sleeper, woke up as she heard my gasps.

“Ellen?” she called from across the room, her voice worried. “Are you al-”

“Fine,” I had cut her off, still panting. “I’m fine.”

She had shrugged her shoulders, and gone back to sleep. But I stayed awake, replaying the dream, staring up at the darkness of the ceiling.

It was of nothing. Nothing. I had been dreaming of nothing, but it had scared me. I was so used to seeing a face, or something, as I had for the past three months. But, now- nothing.

You see, I don’t see dream people anymore. All of them disappeared with the screaming and the neon green light on Halloween.

But sometimes, on a quiet day when I’m all alone, I find myself thinking of the French girl named Camille. The one I had first tried to save. The one, little girl, out of all the wizards and witches that he killed, that said she wasn’t afraid to die.

I’m sorry, Camille. I’m sorry, Lily and James. I’m sorry to all my dream people; I couldn’t save you.

And I really, really, wish I had been able to.