Percy Teaches At Hogwarts

How to Deal with Nightmares

Harry POV

After my talk with Professor McGonagoll I take her directions and walk swiftly to Professor Jackson's room. I hate him. I don't trust him. But if he is the only one who can help with what I'm going through... 

I sigh and stare at the door in front of me. I rest my forehead against it and weigh up my options. Go to sleep and have more nightmares, walk in through the door and maybe get some advice that will help me with my situation.

I sigh again and step away from the door. I turn my back on it, gazing at the sleeping paintings I try to telepathically talk to them, asking for advice. I look up and down the hallways. I've never been this indecisive in my life. I have no idea what to do or say. 

For once in my life I don't know what to do. Who to turn to for help. 

But I do. The one adult that I trust at Hogwarts this year has told me to turn to the adult that I hate the most: Professor Jackson. 

I turn back to the door and stand up straight. I glare at the door hoping that for some miracle the door will decide for me. I just want an answer. Someone to tell me what to do. Someone that I can trust with my life. 

As if answering my prayers the door swings open. I am so shocked that I jump a foot in the air and let out a small shriek. The sound that escapes from me is like a strangled cat or small mouse. I am so embarrassed at the sign of weakness, my cheeks flush and I try to stumble back into the shadows. 

Standing before me is Professor Jackson. He has on his signature blank face, not exactly happy but not exactly angry. He is alert and powerful, his expression giving away none of his true feelings. 

"Professor Jackson.." I squeak out, which of course just makes me more mortified. I feel my cheeks getting even hotter so I bend my neck so that my bangs hide me from his view. After several moments of him not saying anything my emotions have calmed down and I glance back up at him. 

His cold eyes fix onto mine and he stares at me. He is scrutinizing my expression, my posture. His eyes bore deep into my soul, I feel vulnerable. I can't hide from him. He sees all of my darkest secrets, all of my fears. 

I break eye contact first and take in his appearance. He is shirtless and wearing a pair of sweatpants. I can see dozens of scars marring his torso. Whip marks, knife marks, burns, bruises, he has them all. I can't stop staring at the horrific sight before me. Who did this to him? He's my age! 

My mind goes back to the wars and I remember a very important fact that I had previously over looked. He didn't fight in the war. So where did he get all of his scars from? 

"Harry." 

His voice breaks me out of my thoughts. I look back up at his face and wait for him to continue. 

"Come in." His voice is soft and friendly but still powerful. It reminds me of what I think a fatherly figure would sound like. Not that I have a father to compare it to. I scowl at the reminder of my parents, Voldemort, the war, the sacrifices-

NO! 

I shake my head to clear it before walking into Professor Jackson's living quarters. It is a modest, small room. The bare minimum. A bed, drawers, a desk and a chair. I don't see any photos or anything. 

Inching my way toward the desk I stand awkwardly, not really knowing where to put myself. 

He closes the door and walks to his bed, which is neatly made not a crease on it. Strange... wasn't he sleeping..? Didn't I wake him up..?

He sits on his bed and gestures to the chair beside me. 

"Take the chair, Harry, and bring it over here. Sit down, okay, stop acting so stiff. Relax. I'm on your side, I'm not here to hurt you."