Harry Potter: The Blogger of Hogwarts

I had the strangest dream last night. Some of you will probably think I made it up. To which I say, WELL DUH I MADE IT UP. That's why it's called a frigging dream! Still, it was a really strange and vivid one and I can't help but think that maybe it meant something. It couldn't have been real, but maybe it was? But then again, it'd be a bit conceited of me if it was.

What made it stand out was how spectacularly vivid it was. I remember all of it right now. I tend to remember my dreams more than most, but this one took the cake. I was back in the great hall. There was a huge storm outside and, thus, inside as well what with the enchanted ceiling. The ceiling was raining on me, which wasn't particularly polite of it. (It also doesn't match up with reality, because the actual enchanted ceiling doesn't do that.) A puddle of water formed in front of the staff table.

"Harry Potter," a clear, ringing voice that sounded like a pinging sound on the very finest crystal called out. A figure rose out of the water, a regal woman with her arm clad in the purest shimmering samite. I could not tell you what she looked like, merely that she was stunningly pretty. She did not, alas, hold up Excalibur from the bosom of the water, signifying by divine right that I was to carry it. But then again, I've always believed supreme executive power derives from a mandate from the masses, not some farcical aquatic ceremony.

"You've finally arrived to take up your mantle," the woman said dramatically. "As Heir to Hogwarts. The descendant of all four founders! The Chosen One of legend!"

I burst into laughter. I couldn't help myself. This was the most ridiculous, clichéd dialogue I've heard in ages. Like, honestly, by this point, with how deeply people tend to intermingle in a thousand years, I'm sure most of Britain, magical and Muggle, is a descendant of the Founders. I'm sure I'm nothing special. And even if I was, there's, like, thousands of different alternatives.

"Come on!" I said through my laughter. "That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard! And who are you, anyway, the Lady of the Lake?"

"I am the spirit of Hogwarts," the woman said ethereally. She cleared her throat and knocked on the staff table pointedly. "I said, I am the spirit of Hogwarts," the alleged spirit said in an echoey tone, the words reverberating against the walls of the hall.

I rolled my eyes. "This dream is stupid. And it's unoriginal. And it's boring." The spirit arched her eyebrow in a Vulcanic fashion. "Look, lady, let's say, for example, I did have a special destiny. If I had special Heir superpowers or whatever, with no checks and balances, I might add, it'd make things dull. It's the struggle that matters, the fight against evil. If I just plowed my way through obstacles, it wouldn't be anywhere near interesting."

The spirit tilted her head and then grinned. She snapped her fingers and then the image of the ethereal and stereotypical spirit of legend was gone. In its place was a person of maybe prefect age and indeterminate gender with facial features that were constantly shifting. "Well done, Harry," the person said in a very androgynous tone. "You figured it out in far less time than your father…and your mother never figured it out at all."

"Who are you?" I demanded. "And what are your pronouns?"

The person gave a laugh that sounded high pitched and grating. "As I said, I really am Hogwarts. Pronouns they/them, I think, though I don't care if you use other ones. Buildings tend to get sentient after long enough or if there's enough emotions connected to them. Remind me to tell you about my torrid affair with Buckingham Palace when you're old enough."

"I think that'll be never," I decided. "So what the heck is all this?"

Hogwarts snapped their fingers and I was in the Slytherin common room. With a lazy wave of their hand, they set a fire going in the fireplace. "I like to test people with that whole child of destiny spiel. It's really depressing how many people decide to go mad with power."

I shrugged, totally unbothered. There was a reason, after all, why people didn't give eleven year olds unlimited power. "Whatevs," I said sagely and plopped on the couch. "Did I pass?"

"With flying colors," Hogwarts said with a smirk. "But I've rarely had anyone who passed by just…being completely apathetic to the prospect of being powerful."

"I'm a very realistic person," I told them. "I just figured I was dreaming and didn't want to get my hopes up. Anyway, I refuse to believe any of this is real." Hogwarts's eyes glittered with mirth. Not twinkling like Dumbledore does. Just glittering. There's a difference. Don't ask me what it is. It's just obvious.

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