Harry found himself in another strange place. At this point it was par for the course. Fall asleep, end up somewhere unexpected and unpleasant. The only real question at this point was how bad would it be?

Sometimes, it was fine, nothing happening, nothing too strange or alien. Nothing made much sense, of course, nothing in this world ever did. But it didn't make him question his own sanity.

And other times…

Well, let's just say, he was looking at weird in the rear-view mirror. Why butterflies needed necks like a giraffe he still didn't understand.

But at this moment, it was a bit more of the former. He was in some kind of garden, with beautiful roses and bushes, all trimmed up neatly. Trees full of fruit swaying in the gentle breeze, bringing with it a sweet scent. A fountain sprayed crystal clear water high into the sky, creating a rainbow, as the sun shone brightly overhead, filling him with warmth.

It was, by far, the nicest place he had ever woke up in. That fact alone should have put him on edge. But instead, he dropped his guard, and loosened his usually tight grip on his paranoia.

He gingerly walked further into the mystical garden, enjoying the feel of the lush, green grass between his toes. It was even better than the Dursley's freshly mowed lawn. Of course, Harry was the one who mowed it, with an old fashioned push mower. Perhaps that colored the experience the wrong way.

Above him, soaring in the blue sky, birds of red and green frolicked and sang an enchanting melody. They seemed to play a game of tag, chasing each other merrily. Harry couldn't help but marvel at the sight. He was always jealous of birds and their freedom, but at this moment, he was only happy for them.

As he continued on through the garden, a sad sound echoed through the area. Like someone crying. Curious, he followed, taking a winding path, with smooth rocks spaced evenly on the ground to guide him.

After a few moments, he came to an open area, with even more beautiful flora, and brilliantly shaped bushes. They looked exactly like children, raising their hands to the sky.

They looked exactly like children…

Alarm bells rang in his head at the observation. He'd been to enough places in this world to realize things aren't always what they seemed. Or in this case, they may be exactly what they seemed.

Before he could ruminate on that thought, a breeze swept through the clearing, carrying with it the sweet scent of flowering fruit. And just like that, his worries were forgotten. There was no reason to be so paranoid, they were just bushes after all. Bushes that someone took an awful lot of time to shape. He should just appreciate the artwork.

So he did, approaching them, with a smile. They really were lovely. But then, a sob, quiet but carried by the wind, drew his attention away. That's right, he was following a noise. Someone was upset and crying.

Harry always had a need to help people, probably in the vain hope that by doing so, someone would eventually come around to help him as well. But no one ever did. He was left alone, to suffer quietly in the dark of his cupboard.

Looking around for the source, a path seemed to open of its own accord. Or was it there the whole time? And did the flowers look a bit droopy? Rubbing his eyes and looking once more, the wilting flowers he thought he saw were now vibrant and full again.

Must have just been his imagination…

He followed this new path that led him to a new area. There were less plants and foliage, and it seemed to form a half circle around a rocky outlook. Near the edge of a cliff, was a pure white bench, made of intricately carved wood.

But it was what sat on the bench that drew most of his attention. It was a girl, with silvery white hair done up in a ponytail. That was all he could really see from this angle, the back of the bench blocking most of her from view.

She was the sound of the crying he heard. On the ground behind her was a doll, torn up and broken. It's body in several different pieces. A brown coat, smudged with dirt, covered its body, with a long red scarf coiled around it like a snake. A blue trapper hat lay nearby, revealing the doll's messy hair.

Hair that looked like it came from several different people. The color was different in several places, and the length was all off. Patches of short hair, next to long hair, black hair next to brown. It was like a child superglued a bunch of different hair onto it.

Perhaps that's exactly what happened. The crying girl on the bench spent a bunch of time making this thing, only for it to break. Now she was wallowing in misery, all alone in a beautiful garden. It was rather sad, Harry had to admit. Maybe he could cheer her up? That was what people did, right? Try to make sad people feel better? No one's ever done it for him before, and he's never done it for anyone either, but there was a first time for everything, right?

Walking closer, slowly, as to not startle the girl, he gazed down at the doll once more as he was passing, and stopped cold. It looked very real, very lifelike. Its skin was tan, or at least, part of it was. Like its hair, its skin seemed patched together, stitches clearly seen holding different shades of flesh together, like a tiny Frankenstein monster.

Was… was it made out of people? Other kids like him? Dull, lifeless eyes stared back at him, warning him of the truth. Suddenly, the sweet, fruity smell that lingered in the air turned rotten, like the fruit had spoiled months ago. Looking behind him, at the path he came from, his eyes widened in horror.

Where once there was vibrant, luscious plants and flowers, there now was wilted and oozing things that only vaguely resembled what they once were. Above him, the happy chirping turned into violent caws, as the colorful birds became twisted, three eyed pigeon-like things. Feathers, once smooth and vibrant, become dull and weathered, thin and twisted. Harry was surprised they could fly at all. The once clear sky filled with dark, gray clouds, and a chill seeped into his bones.

Everything was wrong. This whole place was a trap, designed to lure you in with a false beauty it was only pretending to be. It reminded Harry of carnivorous plants, like the Venus Fly Trap, or a Pitcher Plant. They offered their prey something sweet, only to reveal the truth when it was too late. Everything they offered was fake.

The cake was indeed a lie.

He needed to leave. There was nothing for him here but death and despair. He took a step back and to his horror, stepped on a twig. With a snap that sounded like a gunshot, the world around him seemed to deafen. The birds stopped cawing, the wind stopped blowing, and the girl stopped crying.

Where had that come from? It wasn't there a second ago, Harry was sure of it. Was the world itself conspiring against him? It definitely seemed like it, but there was nothing he could do about it, not now at least.

The girl slowly stood up, and turned to face whatever had made the noise. In this case, it was Harry. The two stared at each other for a moment, one that seemed to last a lifetime. He couldn't see her eyes, as they were covered by her bangs, but he knew she was glaring at him. Her lipstick smeared lips drawn back in a snarl.

At least now he could see what she was wearing. It was a posh green dress, one fit for nobility. If his life wasn't in imminent danger, he may have complimented her on her choice of color. It matched his eyes after all.

Then she shrieked, a loud, banshee-like sound. It reverberated all around him, and shook the plants behind him. Harry gripped his ears in pain, trying to ward off the vibration causing his brain to rattle.

It was no use. The pain built and built, ending in a crescendo of torment. And then, it stopped. Daring to look up, he could see a faint glow emanating from where her eyes should be. That probably wasn't a good sign.

Then she stared toward him, slow and steady. Harry knew it was now or never, he had to flee. Had to get away from this thing pretending to be a little girl. This Pretender.

Turning around to run the way he came, the path was gone. Like the trees and bushes moved to seal off his retreat. But that wouldn't stop him. If there was no path forward, he would just have to make one.

Charging ahead with reckless abandon, he gave a yell as he jumped into the thorny brambles. Scratches covered his skin, and the oozing pus from the plants burned his skin. He was hoping it was just tree sap, but he was wrong. Very wrong. It felt more like acid.

Who grew plants like these? And why? Why would you want plants that leaked acid? Like usual, this world made no sense. No point in questioning it. Not like he would receive and answer anyway.

No, it was best to just keep running and not expend energy on pointless things. He needed to get away from that thing chasing him. Daring to look behind him as he reached a thin spot in the shrubbery, Harry's heart nearly stopped.

She was close, closer than he would like at any rate. But that wasn't what made him give pause. No, that was reserved for the fact that the garden seemed to part for her, allowing her to give chase unimpeded.

How was that fair? Here he was, gasping for breath, painful stings littering his emaciated body, sticky pus burning him, and she had the nerve to appear like she was going for a casual stroll. It was infuriating. He wanted to punch her in her smug face, but he felt like that would be a bad idea.

It explained why she wasn't running, or exerting herself in any way. There was no point. The world loved her and made her life easy. Harry hated spoiled brats like her, like Dudley.

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With a renewed anger, Harry sprinted away once more. He wouldn't make it easy for her, not in this life or any other. If she wanted to turn him into one of those doll things, she would have to put in some effort. His death would not be an easy ride.

By some miracle, Harry found himself in a familiar area. There was the fountain again, only this time, it looked a bit different. The plaster that covered it was chipped, and the water it sprayed was filthy and green. Wriggling things churned the water's surface, and Harry wasn't particularly keen to find out what they were.

Probably more of those leeches. They seemed to be everywhere. Did they all come from that castle? Not important right now. Escape first, ponder world later.

Above him, the once playful birds playing tag stared at him with hunger. Did pigeons eat meat? He hoped not, because there were a lot of them. Unfortunately, for once, his question about the world would be answered. Too bad it wasn't the one he wanted to hear.

Turns out, they were still playing tag, and they were it. With an eager cry, they dived at him, pecking him wherever they could. Harry covered his face, trying to keep them from his eyes. There were so many he could no longer see in front of him, the light no longer reached him.

He was trapped by a horde of pigeon monsters. That wasn't the way Harry wanted to go. Not at all. He needed to do something, but what could he do?

Then a memory flashed before his eyes. It was one of those times he couldn't escape Dudley and his goons. They chased him into an alley and cornered him. The punches and kicks rained down on him ceaselessly. He felt like he was going to die.

And then, it stopped. The punches, the kicks, the name calling. Everything just… stopped. Harry couldn't figure out why. Dudley blamed him of course, tattled right to his parents. Said he used some weird power to send them all flying.

Harry didn't remember doing such a thing, but was punished all the same. Not that Dudley or his pals suffered any consequences, even though they were beating him within an inch of his life. He had the bruises to prove it too. No, instead they were taken to get pizza and ice cream.

Guess neither world was fair. But the point is, he used some kind of power to topple giants. Maybe he could do the same thing here? It was worth a shot, he had nothing to lose at this point. He was already about to be eaten by pigeons after all.

So he concentrated, focused on something inside him that he couldn't see, smell, taste, touch, or hear. An already impossible task, given that he was being attacked, but he also had no idea what he was searching for.

How do you describe color to a blind man? Describe sound to the deaf? That was the task he was giving himself, in a fit of desperation. Perhaps it was foolish, a gambit that was sure to fail, but then again, what if it wasn't.

After all, wasn't he already in a different world? Wasn't that impossible as well? People said the four minute mile was impossible, until someone did it. Now it was the standard. So what if it was impossible! That's what dreaming was all about! And he was dreaming right now, wasn't he?

So what better time to make the impossible possible?

Confidence restored, Harry renewed his concentration, reaching deep into his being. There was something there, in the depths, waiting to be unleashed. He just needed to find it. Sink deeper.

"Sink…"

"Sink…"

"Into the deep…"

That voice… The Ferryman! What was he doing here? No, wait, he wasn't here, it was all in his head. A memory. A faded echo.

Sink into the deep… Yes, that's it. That's all he needed. Just a little more. One more push. At this point, he couldn't feel the birds pecking him. There was nothing left but Harry.

A sound caught his attention, like a drop of water dripping into a pool. That was it! That was his power. In his mind's eye, he saw a dark cavern, filled with clear water, illuminated by a soft blue light shimmering on the walls.

So this was it. This was his power. Now that he knew where it was, there was only one thing left to do.

Sink… Into the deep…

So that's what he did. He fell into the water, letting it wash all over him, surround him, soak him to the bone. And that's when he felt it, a surge of strength like he'd never known, coursing through his veins. But would it be enough?

Only one way to find out.

Opening his eyes, Harry gave a savage grin. The power was surrounding him, drawing everything in. The birds cawed and flapped their wings in a panic as they were sucked into the vortex of Harry's power.

The girl, The Pretender, struggled to not get pulled in herself. She growled, angry, that this little thing she was chasing had the nerve to fight back. And with such a strange ability as well. Was he like her, gifted by the great Eye?

That doesn't matter, he would pay dearly for his crimes.

First, he saw her crying…

Unforgivable.

Then he ran from his just punishment…

Irredeemable.

And now, he has the nerve to fight back?

Inconceivable!

She was the boss around here. Everyone obeyed her, no exceptions! She was the only one worthy of worship, not some grubby little upstart! He would pay! She would make sure of it. She would make him disappear. Turn him into one of them. That would show him his place.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a sudden calmness. She righted herself, and stood upright once more, like a proper lady. She glared at the scene before her. Her precious avians, all stuck together like they were glued into a big ball of flailing feathers.

Just what was the plan here? While they were no longer attacking him, he was still trapped. It was only a matter of time until his power ran out. And then, he was all hers. She licked her lips in anticipation, smearing the lipstick even more.

But then, a sound caught her attention. It was a sort of buzzing. Quiet but high pitched, and getting louder by the second. What was it? Where was it coming from?

Then it stopped. An eerie calm washed over the area. It didn't last long, a few seconds at most. After that, pure chaos.

A violent storm of power surged forth, erupted from the center of the mass of birds with a roar. The Pretender was knocked onto her back from the force of the magic, for what else could it be? Magic, just like hers, just like The Butler, and just like her idol, The Lady.

It was a power he shouldn't have. A power he didn't deserve. It wasn't fair! The Pretender threw a temper tantrum, petulant anger rising, as Harry's ragged form was shown.

He was hunched over, breathing heavily, and bleeding from the numerous wounds he suffered at the hands of those darn birds. He showed them! But boy was he tired, using that power really took it out of him.

He saw the girl laying in the mud, flailing about angrily. Not unlike her pigeons. Her surroundings were in a state of destruction, trees uplifted, and birds splattered across them, in a visceral mess. It wasn't a pretty sight, and yet Harry took pride in the part he played in creating it.

His power was pretty amazing, even if he barely knew what he did. It was mostly instinctual. It felt like he was drawing in air and filling up a balloon. And when that balloon was full, it popped, releasing all the stored air.

Yes, it was powerful, but exhausting. He could barely stand. Not to mention how long it took him to charge. Harry wasn't keen on letting himself get attacked while he gathered the necessary energy. It was a useful ability, for sure, but one that required certain circumstances to be met.

"Grah!"

Harry jumped at the inhuman noise. The girl he knocked over was now standing, and she didn't look happy. Not at all. Her clothes were a mess and so was her face. The makeup she caked on her face to look grown-up was smudged, making her look like a clown.

It would be funny, if Harry's life wasn't in danger. And his life was very much in danger. He doubted she would be chasing him so lazily this time. It was just too bad he was so tired, but still, he wouldn't sit around and wait. Nope, it was time to run again.

Taking off in the opposite direction of his pursuer, he staggered as fast as he could. Which wasn't much slower than before. Unlike last time, the world around him didn't conspire against him. The trees and the bushes stayed right where they were. Which made running away much easier.

But she was gaining, he could feel it. That encroaching anger. It was like a wildfire, consuming everything around it, and it desperately wanted to consume him.

There had to be something he could do. He couldn't use his power again, somehow being able to tell that he was "out". Like a battery, it would need to recharge before it could be used again.

Well, at least there were no more bird attacks. The remaining avians seemed scared of him, unwilling to aid their mistress in his capture. Or maybe they were scared of her, and the fury he could feel radiating off of her. He knew he was.

He desperately searched for another path, but his only way forward was straight. There was nowhere to hide, and the trees began thinning out, so climbing was out. He got the feeling that wouldn't help anyway.

No, all he could do was follow the path laid out before him, as loath as he was to do so. There was no other option. He only hoped it would lead somewhere better than this. Hard to believe not even twenty minutes ago, he was thrilled to be here, in this false garden. How quickly things change.

The trees were gone now, and so were the flowers. He reached the end of the garden and found himself in what appeared to be a rocky ravine. There were even less places to hide now, not that he could before. And his hunter was so close, he could almost feel her breath on his neck.

Following his only path, Harry eventually turned, but to his utter dismay, it led him to a dead end. There was a broken ladder that he had no hope of reaching, taunting him from above.

This is it. Turning around, he saw her, standing there, fury radiating from her in a palpable mist. It was frightening indeed, that someone the same size as him could produce such an aura. Wrong, in fact.

He did his nest, but it seems like that wasn't good enough. Oh well, at least it looked like he gave her something to remember him by. He doubted she would forget him anytime soon.

"Ragh!"

The last thing he saw was her make up covered face, hiding the true ugliness underneath. Like a mask.

Harry woke up with a start, nearly jumping to his feet, only to trip and fall. He groaned in slight pain, glad there was no one around to see that. Slowly, as to not embarrass himself again, he rose to his feet.

He looked around in confusion. Where was he? The last thing he remembered was an angry girl about to tear out his insides. Was that a dream? If it was, it may have been the scariest one yet.

But she was nowhere in sight, thankfully, so where was he? He was in a basket of some kind, made up of itchy wicker, and he was… flying? That certainly seemed to be the case.

He also didn't seem to be injured, like his dreams would normally suggest. No scratches from the thorns, or cuts from the birds. Why was this one different? Best not to look a gift horse in the mouth, no reason to get bit after all.

But how did he get here? His memory was hazy at best. One could say it was foggy.

Wait… fog? That sounded familiar. Yes… it was coming back to him now. His recent dream almost made him forget. Forget about a fog covered clearing, the hot air balloon he chose, The Ferryman, and the eyes. He almost forgot about all of them.

So he was in his hot air balloon then. That was pretty neat actually. He'd never been in one before. Jumping up, he grabbed ahold of the top of the basket, and hauled himself up. He wanted to get a look at the world.

And what a view it was. The sun was shining, shimmering off the waves below him. It was warm too, driving off the cold from his most recent nightmare. Birds, seagulls this time, not mutated pigeons, flew around him almost lazily.

It was beautiful. But Harry remembered his dream. That looked beautiful at first too. But that ended up being a trap, hiding a grotesque monstrosity beneath. He wouldn't make that mistake again.

Harry leaped back into the basket, looking around once more. There wasn't much, besides a bit of rope. The same one used to tether it to the ground. He had no supplies.

Hopefully, he reached land soon. As amazing as it is to see the ocean, he needed to eat. He was already starving from his time with the Dursleys, so he didn't fancy his chances, trapped in a floating prison.

A prison he didn't know how to operate. What kind of shady business were they running here? Sending him off in a vehicle he couldn't steer. Did he just have to hope the wind took mercy on him, take him to where he needed to go? That seems like a poor decision.

Another one out of his control. He was getting sick of it. Fate was a fickle thing, and Harry didn't like being bound to its whims. He needed to take his destiny into his own hands for once.

Harry was completely ignoring the fact that his choice led him to be here in the first place. He wanted the unknown, and he got it.