Red, the colour of...

Charles Gaunt POV

Wednesday 30th October 1991

Charles twitched in his sleep, twisting his head from side to side as his hands gripped fiercely on the bedsheets.

A hulking figure stood above him, its dirtied skin both lumpy and grey. He peered at it for a moment, but then he cowered back, welcoming the darkness as he coiled himself further beneath the sleeve, grateful its ugly eyes hadn't seen him.

Then he was high above the floor, moving dully with careless and weighted steps.

"…"

A noise. A cry, quiet and hushed. He followed it eagerly and soon found himself with an enclosed room with littler figures around him. The chamber itself was fuzzy, as were the people in it. A distinct wetness lingered across the floor, along with the sound of splashing water from footsteps both light and heavy.

"LOOKOUT!" a young boy's voice shrieked in terror.

The girl he shouted out to in warning jumped away on instinct – but it was already too late. As she turned their head to see what it was that she was trying to avoid, her vision was consumed by an eternal darkness. It all happened so quick; she hadn't even the chance to scream.

Blood splatted nastily against the tiled wall along with pieces of flesh and bone. For a moment there was almost a silence, just the sound of heavy breathing and blood dripping down slowly before puddling on the floor below. But the 'silence' didn't last long. The sound of sobbing soon echoed within the room, followed by even more screams.

"Huuuh!"

Charles opened his eyes wide with a gasp. He surveyed his bedroom, panic and worry warping his sharper features. There was nothing to be alert of in sight, just the beginnings of green light emerging through the lake peering window and the snoring of Theo.

'Maybe I should start hexing his mouth closed from now on,' Charles considered, the early awakening already souring his mood.

For Charles, the last few nights had been horrible. While sleep itself had come easily, rest had not, almost making him dread going to bed all together for he knew it would bring no comfort. Still, each night he fluffed up his pillows, wrapped himself up in soft blankets and quilts in hopes they would help and ease him into peaceful slumber. Yet no matter how comfy he made himself, his sleep was always plagued with nightmares. Waking up with his covers strung about, from his own tossing and turning, in a cold sweat was starting to become normal to him. It wasn't a good feeling to have.

At first, he hadn't paid it much mind. It wasn't the first time that he had had an odd dream, after all. Rather, such dreams had always been a strangely constant thing in his life. To this day he could vividly remember a dream where a snake had ridden a bicycle into a tree, and how it made him decide to walk to school in the morning instead of riding his foster home's bike, like he usually would. He thought he was being silly at the time, but when he returned back to the house that day, he found that the crank had fallen off when another boy ended up using it. The boy got the day of school and was taken to the hospital for a bloody graze on his forehead. Charles remembered being relieved at keeping his perfect attendance.

There were many dreams like that. Odd and seemingly random in subject, yet fascinatingly – somehow aiding him in unexpected ways. Almost like vision like.

Of course, not all dreams were useful, in truth most were far from it. The majority of times he thought one meant something important, it turned out to be nothing more than childish nonsense. He had embarrassingly been wary of fish when he had a nightmare of a salmon with legs stealing his dinner. He refused to eat one for a month afterwards and felt rather foolish about it when he remembered the ordeal.

But ever since coming to Hogwarts, things had changed. His previously innocent and silly dreams became nightmares, strange, eerie and foreboding nightmares that made him awake with anxiety. Yet, despite how hard he would try, he could never remember what the dream had been about.

What's worse was that they were getting more and more frequent, the last few nights being especially bad. He had woken up feeling nothing but dread. He had to admit, it was very unnerving.

There was a time when Charles wondered to himself if his dreams were more than just strange hallucinations his brain concocted whilst he slept, but in the end, he just chucked it all up to coincidence. After all, one dream out of hundreds relating to real life didn't sound even remotely close to being a reliable enough statistic.

The idea that he could in some way psychically dream about the future in the first place, seemed impossible. He had seen fake magicians perform their card tricks, their 'magic'. Charles even knew a coin trick himself, not that he had ever shown anyone.

Still, how convenient it would be if it were true. How magical…

But everyone knew magic didn't exist... Charles used to think so, at least.

Charles reached for his bedside drawer, where his wand rested close by in its holster. Dark, sheening and slender, the polished shine along its length gave off a feeling of nobleness and prestige. It was a cut above the rest, Charles thought, and he was proud to call it his own.

"Aguamenti," he said quietly, filling up a glass cup he had finished and left on the table the night before. The 'Water-Making Spell', it had baffled Charles why Hogwarts decided to teach them how to make fire in their first year but not water. Perhaps, they thought that if students knew how put out the flame, then maybe they would feel more inclined to cast them unsupervised? No matter what the reason was, Charles had to teach himself.

He wasted little time drinking it, enjoying the touch of relief it brought whilst, for just a moment, he forgot about his troubles. A small smile graced his lips, although it didn't stay long. Soon his mind was full up again with worrisome thoughts and fears.

Magic was very real, his now soothed throat proved it to him, clear as day – as did the numerous other spells that he himself had now cast. Then maybe the things he had believed to be impossible, the dreams he had thought incredulous, were never so.

Charles shuddered at the notion, doing his best to suppress the slight excitement that came with it. The last thing he needed right now was another reason to stand out. And if his latest dreams, which left him uneasy and on edge for the day that followed, were glimpses of what was to come… then it couldn't mean anything good.

A sigh escaped him as he got up and went to the bathroom. After splashing his face with water and brushing his teeth, Charles hopped under the shower in hopes it would help relax him. It was still early in the morning, six o'clock if the clock on the dorm wall was to be trusted, which meant he didn't need to rush. Ten minutes later he emerged, refreshed and energised.

He dried his hair in front of the bathroom mirror with a towel. It was a little too long and messy for his liking, his fringe reaching past his nose when wet, but he decided to leave it be as it did well in hiding his black eyes. 'Also helps cover up these circles,' Charles thought, noticing the worsening dark bags under his eyelids.

When Charles had gotten dressed into his Slytherin uniform, he sat down quietly by his dorm room's glass table.

'First lesson is Herbology with Ravenclaw. Professor Sprout will probably start teaching us about Puffapods today.'

Quickly, Charles got to reading. There were still over three hours before his lessons began, which meant he could revise what he already knew and what was being taught next, hopefully maximising the amount of points he could gain for his House. Professor Sprout was surprisingly stingy with them.

The rest of the day went by slowly. He outperformed the Ravenclaws in Herbology, endured History of magic and powered through his double period of Transfiguration. Charles had kept to himself for the most part, only speaking when spoken to, his mind still somewhat stuck on his dreams. Although he did brighten up a little during Flying Practise.

-

"Straight ahead, then around the pole and back. Keep your legs tucked and lean forward – do not tilt your broom down harshly and for goodness sake, if another of you forgets to slow down at the end you won't be racing again for two months!" Madam Hooch said sternly, giving Seamus Finnigan a harsh look at the end. He had almost flown right into her in an attempt to keep up with Malfoy. Unfortunately, he still only came in second, and marginally at that.

With that, she blew her whistle and sent off the next four students who had been standing side by side.

Today would be their second time racing on brooms, but the first time the Slytherins and Gryffindors were allowed to race against each other. Taunting from both Houses, mainly between Malfoy and Harry, had caused tensions to be high as each of them wanted to one up their least favourite House. Plus with the upcoming Quidditch games and Harry's getting into the Gryffindor Quidditch as a first year had made many of them eager to impress Madam Hooch.

Soon the racers began making their way back.

Blaise landed onto the ground gracefully, a sour faced Theo not far behind. They walked over to Charles.

"And he still tries to pretend he's better at this than me," Blaise mocked smugly.

"I'll let you gloat for now, Zabini," Theo smirked back at him. "You only won by a hair's length today, next time I'll leave you in the dust. Remember the smell of my farts when you're stuck behind me."

His friends grimaced, remembering a night in their dorm they wished they could forget.

"Last time I beat you so badly I felt sorry about it. I was going easy on you today," Blaise replied.

Theo didn't believe him. "Is that so?"

"How about we bet on it? Five galleons each," Charles suggested, always happy to find ways to grow his bank account – not that he even had one.

"Ten." Theo upped the stakes.

"Fine. Ten," said Charles. "Blaise, you in?"

"Of course," he smirked. "Who turns down free money."

One of the privileges of having rich friends was that they threw money around like it was worthless. Both Theo and Blaise were born rich, with silver spoons feeding their mouths, never having worried about whether they could afford either this or that. Saving money was foreign to them. They had at least two of everything they needed and had little to do with the galleons they were given. So, when they had coins in their pockets, which Charles never doubted they did, what else would they do except gamble and bet.

Despite coming to Hogwarts with little else other than his books, robes and wand, Charles was eager to participate. After borrowing five galleons from Kennen Burke, he had won back fifteen, leaving him with ten when he paid Kennen back. From then on, he continued winning bets whenever he could, though he also lost money on a few occasions, and was happy with his growing wallet.

Today's bet would bring him a profit also as, unfortunately for Theo, he had been set up. The day before, when their roommate had gone looking for the toilets, Charles and Blaise had formed a plan to scam their good friend out of his galleons.

Since Blaise had thoroughly beaten Theo in their last practise race, this time he would purposefully lesson the gap between them and make it seem closer than it truly was, then they would goad Theo into betting on who would win the next time. Blaise wouldn't hold back in the next race and he and Charles win some easy money.

"Mr Gaunt quit daydreaming and stand in line," Madam Hooch instructed, interrupting his thoughts. "You're up next."

Apparently, the rest of Blaise and Theo's competitors had finally passed the finish line.

Charles lost the smug look on his face and gripped his broom firmly as he stepped forward.

Three Gryffindors versus two Slytherins (including himself). Unlike football or other muggle sports that Charles was more familiar with, Quidditch allowed for mixed gender teams and he promptly found a smiling Daphne beside him as his teammate – although ultimately they were being judged based on their individual performances. Still, for obvious reasons, the two of them had every intention of finishing before the Gryffindors, despite how unlikely it was.

Charles looked at his opposition, briefly glancing over Dean Thomas and honing in on Harry Potter. Black hair with glasses and a much too skinny frame, Harry's appearance was the epitome of someone unassuming. Yet it was him who was rumoured to be a first-year member of the Gryffindor Quidditch team and it was him who received the majority of the house points in near every one of Madam Hooch's lessons.

Harry's emerald green eyes landed on him and suddenly Charles felt sick, as if he had been fed a poisoned meal and needed to throw it up and out of his system. It wasn't too terrible, though. Charles looked away from the Boy-who-lived and quickly shook the feeling off.

'What was that?' he questioned internally, confused by why he felt such a way at the sight of someone he had gotten along with so well on the Hogwarts express. It would have to be yet another oddity he'd have to consider at a later time. 'Better focus on the race.'

However, he soon realised he had turned his head towards Hermione, who he hadn't noticed had been peering at him from the start and now had a very worried look on her face. Evidently, she had seen his strange reaction to Harry and was brimming with concern and a need to question. Not that Charles cared, for as soon as he saw her – he felt his head shake with pain and his body tremble from an immediate and overwhelming nauseousness.

While Harry had made his stomach keel, looking at Hermione had made his entire body shudder with intense revulsion and strangely, guilt. His face paled considerably as the colour red consumed his mind almost entirely. Red, crimson – it was everywhere. All over the walls, on the floor, on him...

'What... is...' his brain could not even conjure up the question. Charles span his head away from her, quick as he could, but this time the feeling refused to disappear as easily. Suddenly, the hairs on his arms, legs and head stuck up. Goosebumps and a cold sweat crawled down his spine.

This was a more familiar sensation...

'The dreams!'

With the realisation came clarity. His body slowly returned to its normal, unelevated state. Charles let out a breath he didn't know he was holding on to. Images flashed through his mind but he was too weary and tired to hold onto them all and the few that he did gave him no answers. He looked around. It hadn't even been a half minute since he stepped up to the starting line and clearly no one, besides Hermione, had noticed anything wrong with him. Or maybe they had but simply thought nothing of it.

Right now he wanted nothing more than to be left alone, far away from everyone else as possible so he could sit down to think. The chattering of the people around him he now just found annoying, and the laughs between friends he heard felt like they were mocking him when they reached his ears. 'Pathetic,' he thought. 'As if they'd even have the right.'

Charles didn't care about the race anymore, or the rest of his lesson for that matter, and soon found his legs taking himself elsewhere.

"Mr Gaunt! Where do you think you're going?" Madam Hooch called loudly, however, all she got in return was silence. She certainly didn't look happy at Charles's ignoring of her.

'Where I'm going is none of your business.'

He was far enough away that Madam Hooch had to shout to be heard, and she was happy to do so. "If you do not come back here, right this instance, I will be taking away ten points from Slytherin!" Charles made no effort to respond and just kept walking with no clear destination in mind. 'Like I care, I can easily earn that back within a few days, a week at most. Try again.'

Charles kept moving, his eyes looking forward but really taking anything in. He didn't look back once. Not even when he heard Emily being reprimanded for attempting to follow after him without success. Rather, he was glad she got held back from disturbing him.

It was quieter now. Much quieter. Charles had walked for a good while and had ended up on the other side of the castle. No one would find him here, he hoped. He spotted a tall tree and quickly decided it was a good enough place to rest his legs.

Still, his mind could not rest.

'The red, it was the same shade of red as blood... why was it on me?' Charles had nowhere to look but his hands. 'Why can't I get it out of my head. This definitely has something to do with my nightmares, but what? Dammit... why can't I remember!'

Charles let out a despondent sigh. More than anything else, there was one thing that truly shook him. One question he needed an answer to the most. An image he couldn't forget, not anymore.

'That body... whose was it...'