Nightmare

"Nelson Williams!" Dumbledore shouted from the stage.

Nelson had still been torn between Gryffindor and Ravenclaw. Guided by Dumbledore, he stepped onto the platform, sat on the four-legged stool, and placed the tattered Sorting Hat on his head.

"Rav—" Just as he was about to speak, having uttered only the first syllable, he heard the Sorting Hat whisper in his ear, "Do you really think you're suited for Ravenclaw?"

"Am I not? Doesn't my future depend on my own choices?"

"Very good!" The tear in the Sorting Hat split into a huge mouth as it said mockingly, "If everyone knew how to make their own choices, I'd have a much easier time."

"Ravenclaw, Ravenclaw, Ravenclaw..." Nelson closed his eyes, pressed his hands together, his fingers twisted so tightly that his knuckles turned white, and prayed without pause.

"Very good, he has made his own choice!" The Sorting Hat grinned broadly and cried, "Then the final result is—"

"AZKABAN!!!!"

Everyone at the four long tables below moved in perfect unison, taking off their school uniforms and pulling hooded black robes from beneath the tables. Then they raised their hoods, lifted their Wands, and swarmed forward.

"Gasp—!"

He woke from the bed drenched in sweat, his eyes flying open as he abruptly sat up. Sweat from his scalp ran through the loose strands at his temples and down his face, dripping from his chin onto the quilt and leaving huge dark-red stains that bloomed like flowers.

He pulled his hand from beneath the quilt and repeatedly clenched and released it, feeling the tactile reality of a grip that existed only in the waking world. The dream had left him dazed. Even such an absurd scenario as being sorted into Azkaban had felt unquestionably real. The sight of the black-hooded crowd rushing at him had been far too vivid. His wrist still ached from being grabbed, squeezed, even scratched by the crowd. Beyond that, the feeling of being struck by all kinds of spells had been no different from reality. Though he had never been injured by a spell, he simply knew that being hit by one would bring that same piercing agony.

"You're awake?"

He looked around. Though he had jolted awake from a nightmare, the surroundings were as bright as day. The familiar Four-poster Bed suddenly seemed somewhat cramped. He could not make out the person standing beside it clearly, and indistinct shadows moved all around him. Maybe he had pressed on his eyes while sleeping. He twisted his aching neck and asked, "Did I sleep that long?"

But the person ignored him, merely asking with a smile, "Do the clothes and bedding fit?"

"What?" He lowered his head and saw that he was wearing a brand-new padded cotton coat made from silk brocade. It was warm and fit perfectly. The bedding had been replaced as well, with festive red sheets. "Did you change them for me?"

"Yes. Do they fit?"

"Though it feels a little embarrassing, they fit quite well." He nodded and threw back the quilt, about to get out of bed. "How long was I asleep? Is there still breakfast in the dining hall? If not, I'll go to the kitchen and find something to eat."

"Hey, don't move." The person pressed down the hand holding the corner of the quilt and pushed him back into bed. "Don't mess around. I just made the bed. You can't mess it up."

"Let me get down first! I'm hungry!" Growing irritated, he grabbed the hand pinning down the quilt and tried to pull it away.

"You can't get down. Is there something you still can't let go of?" He finally saw the face of the person by the window, a face so familiar that he had forgotten its name. The man had an ice-pop stick between his teeth, a brilliant smile on his face, while tears and snot streamed down his cheeks. Sniffling, the man pressed him back onto the bed. "You can't rise from the dead. You're already dead! Chen Yang."

"No! I—" His voice was sealed forever by a lid slowly closing over him. In the final moment, through the gap in the coffin lid, he saw the faces of the figures beside the bed—a mother with an apologetic expression stood farthest away, holding a child's hand. The child was innocent and cheerful, unaware of what had happened, unaware of what relation the person lying here had to him, not even knowing whether to call him uncle or brother. He held an Elder Wood Wand and swung it like a fencing sword; beside them stood a middle-aged man in an oversized suit. The style of the suit was old, with patches sewn behind the elbows. The man wore a pair of leather sleeve protectors, his face haggard, labor gloves clutched in his hands as he muttered under his breath, seeming to apologize; those gathered closer by were all kneeling on the ground. Some sat silent as statues, while others wailed in unbearable grief. Perhaps they had only one thing in common: their names could not be remembered, and their faces could not be seen clearly.

"No! I'm not dead!"

Nelson shouted and jolted upright from his sleep. Every muscle in his body was taut as he trembled uncontrollably. His hands clawed upward desperately, like a drowning man grasping at floating weeds above his head.

Unfortunately, he caught nothing. His fists had been clenched so tightly that his knuckles were white, his nails digging deeply into his palms. Drops of scarlet blood ran down his arms and fell onto his body.

"Nal, what's wrong?" Tom rolled over, leaped from his bed, and rushed to Nelson's bedside, gripping his shoulders tightly. "What happened? Did you have a nightmare?"

"Tom?" Seeing Tom beside him reassured Nelson somewhat. He gasped for breath and nodded shakily. "Huff—it seems I had several nightmares in a row. Every time I woke up, I was in another nightmare."

"It's all right, it's all right." Tom patted his back and reached for Nelson's cup on the bedside table. It contained the boiled water that had been left to cool before bed. Nelson took the cup and sipped it when knocking suddenly sounded at the door.

"I'll get it." Tom set down the cup and walked to the door in his slippers. The other two roommates had also been awakened. They lit the Dormitory lamps and climbed out of bed, rubbing their eyes.

"Alphard, why are you here in the middle of the night?" Hearing Alphard calling from outside, Tom rubbed his eyes and unlocked the door. But Alphard ignored him. The instant the lock opened, he squeezed inside, waving a newspaper as he charged toward Nelson's bed by the window. Behind him followed a crowd of Slytherin students, along with upperclassmen and students from other houses. He waved the newspaper and shouted excitedly:

"Nelson! I never thought you were a Seer!"

"What Seer?" Nelson was still too drowsy to react. Tom, standing by the door with sleepy eyes, instead asked, "What did he predict?"

"Did you forget, Tom? Last Christmas break," Alphard shouted, waving the newspaper in his hand. Probably only the stones in the entire tower could not hear him. "Last Christmas break, you wrote to us so we could witness your bet with Nelson. Did you forget?"

He pulled a crumpled sheet of letter paper from his pocket, unfolded it, and read aloud, "Nal said: When school starts next year, Germany will attack Poland, triggering a Muggle war that will sweep across the entire world! If this prediction does not come true by the start of school next year, you can slander him to your hearts' content."

"So? Did war break out?" Tom curled his lip. "You came in the middle of the night just to honor the bet and slander him? You're already a second-year. Can't you be more mature?"

"Of course not!" Alphard waved the newspaper. On the front page of the Daily Prophet was a striking photograph: German tanks in orderly formations rolled irresistibly over the seemingly undefended border across the neighboring plains. Planes screamed overhead, dropping bombs onto enemy positions like rain. The positions had already become ruins, with only a few surviving soldiers lying among shattered walls and rubble, groaning in pain. A bearded soldier crouched behind a low wall with only half of it left. He tore the red-and-white flag in half, ripped the red half into strips and bound them tightly around the root of his wounded left thigh. He tied the remaining white half to the barrel of his gun, extended it over the wall, and gently waved it.

"You know the Daily Prophet usually doesn't pay attention to Muggle wars, but they made an exception this time!" Alphard excitedly spread the newspaper across Nelson's bed. The front-page headline alone was shocking—<Germany Launches Blitzkrieg Against Poland; Polish Defense Line Collapses Completely the Following Day>. The subtitle read: <New German Muggle Weapons Capable of Injuring Wizards; British Citizens in Europe Urged to Return to the United Kingdom Immediately>. He spread out the papers one by one, pointing at the full report that occupied four pages as he gestured wildly. "Yesterday, September 1st—the day school started—German Muggles launched a sneak attack on Poland with these iron contraptions. In one day, they nearly occupied all of Poland! The Daily Prophet's columnist said this could very likely mark the beginning of a world war! I bought other newspapers too. They all think this war may spread even further than the First World War."

"So?" Tom narrowed his eyes and stared at the newspapers spread across Nelson's bed, quickly scanning the article headings: <Poland Breaks France's Record, Becomes the World's Fastest Defeated Nation>, <Polish Ministry of Magic Finalizes First Batch of Evacuees; Polish Magical Affairs Temporarily Suspended>, <Exclusive: Dark Lord Grindelwald Has Seized Control of the German Ministry of Magic, Violating the International Statute of Secrecy to Influence Muggle Forces>. Even without reading the articles, the headlines alone told him how serious the situation was. He casually asked, "It's a Muggle war. Why are you reading the Daily Prophet? What about Muggle newspapers? Did you buy any? What do they say?"

"I subscribed to two while I was at it. They're here." Alphard picked out two papers from the remaining stack. "Um... one copy of The Times, one copy of Le Figaro. But they didn't even put this on the front page. Look at The Times. It's a British newspaper. Their news is about female factory workers being paid less than male workers, and protesting outside City Hall."

"Forget it. We might as well read Wizard newspapers."

"Then? Shouldn't we kill the Seer first?" Dense black-gray fur slowly grew across Alphard's face. His eyes glowed green, and he revealed a cruel smile. His teeth sharpened and protruded, saliva spilling onto the floor. As he transformed, the students behind him likewise took on the forms of Werewolves. Nelson felt as though he had wandered into a wolf den.

"That's right!" "Yes, kill the Seer!" "Tear him apart!"...

Tom's face by the bed gradually twisted and changed until he became the image of Grindelwald from the wanted posters. He gripped the Elder Wand and let out a shrill, crow-like laugh. "I will never allow anyone else to predict the future like I can."

"Looks like I'm not awake yet." Nelson lay back down and let the Werewolves crawl over him and gnaw at him.

Thank you all for your support. The recommendation votes have reached one thousand. Though that is relatively few, I think it is the first small step of a journey of a thousand miles. The Yellow River may surge mightily as it flows into the sea, but I live in Qinghai, and I know in my heart that at its source, it begins as one tiny stream after another.

I had never written web fiction before. I always thought that, with my formal training, handling it should not have been difficult. Only after truly getting into it did I realize that it was completely different from traditional writing. If a lack of plot or imagination in traditional writing can still be remedied with delicate prose, then web fiction can only convey emotional tension through plot. Readers' recognition is immediate. I felt that the previous few chapters were poorly written, and sure enough, the data was poor as well. So I tried adjusting some of the pacing and plot. I hope the later chapters will have a good outcome.

In any case, thank you all for your support. Let me wish everyone an early Happy New Year.