The lake water on the ceiling had turned a dark green, with only a few faint rays of light slowly moving in the depths, like the last few lights unwilling to go out at the end of the day.
Herman closed his eyes and quickly sank into them.
He dreamt that he was sitting in the practice room of the Room of Requirement.
The long table, mannequins, crucibles, and water tank were all familiar.
The book with the dark brown cover lay open on the table, and the page he had turned to was the one about dissecting Fantastic Beasts that he had read before going to bed.
The handwriting on the pages was clearly legible, and even the slightly right-leaning, smaller "Note" note in Marlene's annotations was clearly visible when flipping back.
He looked down at the book, his finger tracing the lines of text, his mind replaying what he had just read.
It's truly amazing. I always thought magic was unscientific, but now that I've seen the notes of a real Alchemy, I realize that Alchemy are very scientific.
The autopsy records are almost comparable to those of modern forensic scientists, but it should be noted that these notes were written at least two or three hundred years ago.
Herman read for a while, then suddenly felt something was amiss.
He couldn't quite put his finger on what was wrong, but he had a feeling that something had been misplaced.
He looked up and glanced around the practice room. The mannequin stood in the corner, the crucible was on the long table, the sink was on the other side, and a sliver of light shone through the window, or rather, the vent in the wall.
Everything seemed normal, but the feeling that something was wrong was actually stronger.
Herman lowered his head, stared at the pages for a while, and then suddenly realized what was happening.
This dream was so vivid, so real.
He reached out and touched the tabletop, feeling the cool, slightly uneven texture of the wood grain against his fingertips.
He pinched the back of his hand; it hurt.
He sniffed the air again; there was the smell of paper and old leather, and a lingering rusty smell from the sink. This wasn't right.
He had never dreamed so vividly before. Although he was sometimes aware that he was dreaming, the things in his dreams were mostly blurry and disjointed. Sometimes the scenes would switch inexplicably, and he would be in one place one second and in another the next.
But now, sitting here, he can see everything around him clearly, even the strokes of every word on the open page of the book on the table.
Moreover, this was the page he read before going to bed.
Herman's finger hovered over the edge of the page, a chill creeping over him.
He turned to the next page of the book; it was blank.
The following pages were all blank, clean white paper, without even a single horizontal line.
He flipped back to the pages he had read before bed; the content was still there, and the handwriting was clear.
Turning the page further, I found that starting from a certain page, it was all blank.
Herman stared at the blank space for two seconds, and the hairs on the back of his head slowly stood on end.
This makes sense. If you dream of things you've never seen before, it's because your brain hasn't processed those ideas, so you can't create them.
But while it may seem reasonable, this is a dream, so everything about it seems illogical.
Just then, there was a knock on the door.
Three taps, neither hurried nor slow, as if someone were gently knocking on the door with the heel of their hand.
Herman looked up at the door of the Room of Requirement.
No one usually knocks on the door of the practice room. This room is his own private setup, and no one but him can enter. To be precise, no one can summon it out. There is no door outside, so there will be no knocking.
The knocking came three more times, the rhythm exactly the same as before.
Herman's mind raced.
Opening the door is definitely out of the question; the dream was bizarre enough already.
By the way, this is a dream. Once I wake up, it's all gone.
He closed his eyes and desperately told himself to wake up, wake up, wake up.
But he couldn't wake up; everything around him remained so clear, as if what he was seeing now was the real world.
The knocking stopped abruptly, and Herman opened his eyes, staring at the door.
The door hinges creaked and slowly turned, the sound lingering as if someone was deliberately pushing the door slowly, giving the person inside ample time to react.
The first thing to peek through the crack in the door was a patch of black, the edge of the robe sliding in along the ground.
Then the whole person walked in from the Gori.
He was wearing a dark robe, his face was pale, and his features were particularly clear in the dim light of the practice room.
The corners of his mouth were curved, the curve neither too deep nor too shallow, exactly the same as when he sat on the platform looking at Herman.
"Hello, Child of Prophecy."
He spoke in a deep, warm voice, enunciating each word clearly, as if he had long planned to say these words at this moment.
Herman's heart skipped a beat for a moment.
He stared at the face in the Gori, his mind churning with a jumble of thoughts.
Damn it, sure enough, he never gave up and kept waiting for an opportunity to find himself.
Gori stood at the door without going in, maintaining that smile, as if waiting for Herman to speak first.
Herman took a deep breath, suppressing his panic.
This is Hogwarts, and the other person should be in the dungeon right now. They won't do anything to me, right?
Herman wasn't entirely sure either, but he still asked, "How did you get in?"
Gori smile remained unchanged as he tilted his head, as if considering the appropriate way to answer the question.
"This is a dream," he said. "In dreams, doors can always be opened if you know how to knock."
He took a step forward, the hem of his robe trailing over the stone pavement with a very soft rustling sound.
Herman instinctively leaned back, his back pressed against the chair back.
"I've been looking for you for a long time." The Gori took another step, his voice as flat as if he were chatting casually, "It's a pity we didn't chat more on the train. Later in the Forbidden Forest, I found your dream, but the timing wasn't right. Now that I'm in Hogwarts, I finally have the chance to be close to you. I just don't know why I couldn't enter your dream the day before yesterday, but tonight I finally found a crack."
He stopped at the other end of the long table, looking at Herman across the crucibles and materials on the table.
"But don't worry, I mean no harm."
Herman looked at his smiling face and silently complained to himself, "If you don't mean any harm, then why are you sneaking into my dream in the middle of the night? It can't be just to chat with me."
Herman realized he couldn't back out, so he simply stopped. He pulled up a chair and sat down again, leaning back against the chair, placing his hands on the table, adopting a "okay, you tell me" posture.
Since it's a dream, and we can't wake up or run away from it, we might as well listen to what this old Vampire is up to.
"If you meant no harm, then what are you trying to do by sneaking into my dream in the middle of the night?"
In the Gori, Herman stopped running and trying to exit the dream; his expression softened, a slight curve appearing on his face, as if he were smiling.