With a parting admonishment and a vote, Claire had been set loose on the halls of Hogwarts. Outside the small stone room there were stone hallways, stone stairs, and even more stone rooms. She felt lost in a maze of hard slabs and blocks. When she noticed a tiny maiden in a picture waving to her, she waved back, and asked for directions. That
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He gave every appearance of a man ready for bed, scrubbed and barefoot, clad in pajama bottoms and a thin brown silk dressing-gown. He ran a hand through loose, pomade-free hair.
"This is a surprise. Have you been sorted into Slytherin, then?"
((sorry - I crashed early and hard last night!))
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She was in bed with a man whose name was all she knew. She wasn't in Paris, or in Venice, but in a room in the dungeon of a castle. Why was she in a castle? Then Claire remembered. She was dead.
Even in death, the dream had followed her.
Claire wrapped herself in blanket and propped herself up on the headboard. It wasn't true. You couldn't sleep when you were dead.
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When she shifted to a sitting position beside him, he stretched an arm to the nightstand for his wand. A muttered "Lumos" and a soft glow enveloped its tip.
"Claire?"
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"Bad dreams," she said, pulling her hair away form her face. "I didn't mean to wake you."
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