Chapter Twelve
Dreams and Reality
Hermione grabbed his arm, pulling him around to face her.
“Harry, talk to us, please. We can help you.”
Her face had a pleading look and Ron, standing just behind Hermione, had one of confusion and worry. Harry turned again, only to feel a hand a hand on his shoulder. Albus Dumbledore’s serious eyes, shining with unshed tears, looking at him with a small but thankful smile. The scene changed around them, from busy hallways to the Infirmary’s white walls and many beds. Too many of them were occupied. One of them by…
…Severus Snape…
“He will heal and be well,” Dumbledore said. “You saved his life.”
But Severus’ face and body morphed and became bloody, broken… Red hair contrasting harshly with white snow, blood pooling beneath the body… White face, freckles…
Ron…
“Noo!” Harry screamed, his hand out to grab his best friend. But a figure stood in the way, hindering him from saving Ron. Harry fought the figure in front of him, but it stayed where it was, in front of him, telling him,
“It is too late, Harry. He is dead.”
The picture turned back to the night in the Infirmary.
Harry couldn’t bring himself to feel good about saving his Potions Professor. His hatred towards the horrible man only grew as the seconds passed – why had he been able to help Snape when he hadn’t been able to save Ron? Some best friend he was…
Hatred and darkness filled his heart; the scenery around him changing… Blackness surrounded him; blood and screams – wizards and witches, fighting each other in a war that seemed to never end… People dying; children, women, men; mothers, daughters, cousins, grandparents, friends, enemies, sons, fathers, brothers, sisters…
They all died…
Harry heard the screams of every one of them in his head.
His hatred towards Voldemort and his Death Eaters grew. Then Hermione was back. Harry shook her off.
“It’s nothing,” he said. Voldemort wasn’t their problem; it was his, only his. It had been made his when he was only a baby. The dreams – visions, nightmares may be a better word – were thus his problems, not his best friends’.
“It is something, Harry!” Hermione shouted after him as he stalked away again. “You’ll have to tell us sooner or later.”
Ron’s voice echoed through his head, a ghost’s touch and a horrible reminder of the past. “Harry, you can’t carry the weight of the world on your shoulders. Let us help. Come on, mate.”
But Harry looked away and when he looked back up, Ron was gone and the only thing around him was darkness; never ending darkness…
He became aware of an annoying beeping noise before his senses registered anything else. Then his head filled with pain as the nerves of his body sent him information of just how badly they had been treated, making him ache horribly without mercy.
He only managed to open one eye. He found a dark room, moonlit by strands of light slipping in between closed curtains, and a pale, blond head resting on the side of the bed. Harry’s hand was wrapped in gauze, but on top of that, a ghostly white hand rested gently.
The memories of the burning house came crashing down on Harry. He recalled arriving home to see smoke billowing out of the living room window, running up the stairs, getting his keys and racing into the apartment, all in a fight against time, against hope. The smoke that had filled his lungs, the flames that had licked at his skin and clothes and consumed everything he owned. He remembered Draco, lying on the floor in his living room, curled on the carpet like a broken doll; he heard Draco’s voice, so hoarse and pained,
“Harry… Why—”
How could Draco have believed that Harry would not come for him? Of course they hadn’t been friends – if you could even call them that – for long, but surely— Harry cared for Draco, he could admit that much to himself. Did Draco think he didn’t deserve it?
“Why—”
“It is too late, Harry. He is dead.”
It had happened one too many times already; Harry had no wish for it to ever happen again. It was easy to understand his answer to ‘why’ when looking at Harry’s past. But Draco hadn’t. Draco had disappeared the same night that Ron had been found dead. Many believed Draco to be behind the murder, but Harry had strongly doubted it already back then. Then Dumbledore vouched for him and there was no doubt at all left; Draco – Malfoy, back then – hadn’t done it.
Still, his brain was too tired to contemplate those memories, so he returned to what had transpired in the burning apartment.
He had let Draco fall from his arms on the balcony. It had been the only way, but still, it had been among the hardest things he’d ever done – and he’d done a lot more in his twenty-two years than most do in a lifetime. Just letting go, putting your trust in someone else’s hands like that— he shuddered inwardly at the thought.
He slowly lifted his hand, pain flaring as he did so but he didn’t stop. It was the hand that Draco held; Harry raised it to Draco’s head where he slowly let the fingers trail the platinum locks and the pointed chin.
Relief poured through him as he let his hand rest where it had been before again; touching Draco made him real. It could easily have been a fragment of his imagination that the men on the ground had caught Draco when Harry had let him go. But now, after touching him, Draco was real again. Real, and obviously all right.
“I’m glad you’re okay,” Harry mumbled, the words not coming out right, but it didn’t matter because nobody was listening.
Then he let himself close his eyes and relax his body, his mind shutting down and sending him off to dreamland before he even had time to think.
When he woke up again, it was to the same beeping as before. His body ached dully and he could still only see with one eye. He sighed softly, not daring to make any further moves, scared that it would hurt more. In the corner of his eye, he saw Draco sitting by the window in his wheelchair.
“Da’o,” he managed to rasp out, but it was more than enough for Draco’s head to snap up as though there had been a sharp sound.
“Harry,” he said, wheeling himself from the window to the bed. Harry noticed the white gauze covering his right hand. There were a few fading bruises and cuts on his face as well, but they seemed almost healed and it made Harry wonder how long he’d been out.
Draco reached for a glass of water on the table next to the bed and held it to Harry’s lips. Harry drank thankfully, letting the liquid soothe his throat, and one thought flew through his head – the roles had been reversed.
“Than’ ‘ou,” he mumbled, his throat still raw and dry. He felt exhausted just from the feat of saying three words and drinking some water.
“You should rest,” Draco said. He sounded tired, but that was the only feeling apparent in his voice. But what words didn’t cover, his actions did; Draco was here, had been here when Harry had first woken up. That should be enough evidence that the blond man cared, whether or not he wanted to admit it out loud.
“’r you ‘kay?” Harry asked, despite his body’s increasing want for more rest.
“I’m fine,” Draco said. He gave Harry a small smile. “Like the hero you are, you saved me. And you are lucky enough to still be alive as well.” He laughed, harshly but at the same time it was no more than a low chuckle. “You are so stupid sometimes, Potter.” Harry watched him shake his head and he wondered if those words really were spoken as fondly as it seemed. Draco paused, as though contemplating whether he should continue or not. When he did, Harry understood why he’d been hesitant. His voice was quiet when he said, “The apartment is completely destroyed. The whole building burned down.”
Harry felt pain squeeze his heart at the thought. His apartment and all his things, everything he had collected in the last few years – it was all gone. Strange how fire could both keep you alive and kill you. At Hogwarts, it had always kept them warm. Now it had destroyed everything he had.
He looked up, watching Draco with his one good eye.
Perhaps not everything.
Draco was still alive and Harry himself was still alive. That should count for a lot. Things were, after all, replaceable. People weren’t replaceable. Harry knew that all too well.
“I’m sorry… he is dead.”
“No… he can’t be…”
“Di’ an’one else…?” Harry asked, afraid of the answer.
“No, no one else was hurt,” Draco said. “It seems Lady Luck was with us. There was only one lady in the house when the bomb exploded, but she was on the first floor and was able to get out by herself, although it took her a while.”
Harry briefly recalled the woman who’d gone out when Harry went in. But his mind wasn’t on that; it was on the other thing Draco had said.
“Bomb?” Harry repeated. He hadn’t thought of what had caused the fire yet. But when he recalled the huge, table-rattling ‘boom’ that he’d heard at the restaurant, it was obvious that a bomb lay behind it. Again, he thanked the heavens that they were both all right.
“The police have been investigating the rubble,” Draco said, “but they haven’t found anything so far.”
“But – who?” Harry asked, frowning.
“They don’t know,” Draco said. “You’ll get to talk to them when you get better, though.”
Harry nodded slightly. He wanted to think about it, to figure it out – he wanted to know who had blown his apartment up and almost killed him and Draco. But his brain couldn’t hold the same thought for five seconds now; he was too exhausted.
“Harry, you should get some rest,” Draco said, reaching up and squeezing Harry’s arm a little. “The nurses will have my head otherwise.”
He let go of Harry’s arm and maneuvered the wheelchair back and away from the bed, heading towards the door. He pulled the door open easily; after all, it was a hospital, the doors were supposed to open easily. Just as he was about to wheel out of the room, Harry called his name.
“Draco?”
“Yes?” Draco stopped in the doorway and looked back at Harry.
“You were worth it,” Harry said softly.
Had Harry been closer to Draco, he would have seen the quick flash of emotion going through the grey eyes, but he was on a bed several feet away and thus he did not. Instead he only saw Draco pause for a second before wheeling himself out of the room silently.
When Harry awoke again, Myra and Darius were in the room. Myra looked teary-eyed where she sat on a chair next to Harry’s bed. Darius looked tired, lines of worry on his face.
“G’d morning,” Harry said half-jokingly, his voice barely over a whisper.
“Harry!” Myra squealed and looked about to hug him, but then thought the better of it. Instead she looked at him sternly. “Don’t ever scare us like that again.”
“Sorry,” Harry said sheepishly, smiling slightly. “I didn’t do it on purpose.”
“Still, mate, you can’t do that,” Darius said as he bent over and carefully placed Harry’s glasses on him. “’s not good for our hearts.”
Harry’s grin grew slightly stronger, although the bruising in his face protested as he did so. He tried stretching, but grimaced as the pain shot through him.
“Harry?” Myra asked worriedly. “Is something wrong?”
“Nah, just – you know, painful burns and all,” Harry said, coughing slightly in pain.
“Should we call on a nurse?” Myra asked.
“No, I’ll be okay,” Harry said, his breathing evening out again. “Where’s Draco?”
“He’s outside, probably drinking coffee,” Myra said with a small smile. “It’s what he’s been doing every minute of the day when he hasn’t been in here.”
Harry snorted, then realised he shouldn’t have done that. His chest and back hurt. For the sake of his friends, though, he didn’t let his pain show on his face. “Great,” he said, “now I’ll have a coffee-oholic on my hands.”
Myra and Darius both smiled slightly at him. After a short pause, Myra asked, “Why did you do it?”
“Do what?”
“Go in to find Draco. Why didn’t you wait for the firemen to come and get him out?”
“The fire engines hadn’t arrived when I got there,” Harry said, his voice growing harder at once. “I knew he was up there and I wanted him out. If I hadn’t, he would have been dead by now. Is that so hard to understand?”
Myra quickly shook her head, frowning slightly at him. “No, no— I didn’t mean that it was a bad thing. I just— wondered. I’m – I guess I’m not sure that I would have done it.”
Harry watched her carefully. She seemed honest and as far as Harry knew, she had never lied to him. She was just curious, he decided.
“You would have,” he said finally, meeting her eyes. “You would have gone in if it was someone you cared for. You sort of don’t think in those situations at all.”
“Do you ever think?” Darius asked jokingly.
Harry shot him a one-eyed glare. “Thanks, you’re so kind.”
“Hey, it’s my job,” Darius said, smiling at him. He paused briefly, then said, “I’m glad you went in there. Not glad that you got hurt, of course, but I’m glad he’s still alive.”
Myra nodded. Her voice was thick when she said, “I don’t even want to think about if you hadn’t gone in there.”
“Weren’t you on a date, though?” Darius asked, remembering that piece of information suddenly. “How was it? God-awful as you expected or even a little bit of good?”
“It was just as bad as I expected it to be,” Harry said. “She seemed to have a list of things she was going down when it came to things to talk about.”
Myra cocked her head to the side. “And you just left her in the middle of the date?”
“She went to the bathroom just before it happened,” Harry said. “I sort of just threw a few bills and ran home.”
Myra reached out and petted his hair gently. “Sometimes you are completely amazing, Harry Evans.”
Harry smiled slightly, blushing under Myra’s praise.
“So, do you want me to get Draco?” Myra asked.
“I – yeah, I do,” Harry said.
“Then I’ll go find him.” Myra stood and leaned forward. She placed a kiss on Harry’s forehead. He blushed even more. She grinned at him. “You look like a little schoolboy. Well, a schoolboy who’s been in a bad fight, but still.”
Harry smiled back and watched her as she left the room. Then he looked at Darius, who was also watching the closing the door.
“Want me to burn you too, so she’ll pet your hair and kiss you too?” Harry teased him. To his surprise, a blush rose on Darius’ cheeks.
“No,” he said defiantly.
“Oh really?” Harry said, cocking his head slightly. “D, I didn’t know you’d started fancying Myra.”
“I do not fancy Myra,” Darius said, but the increasing blush told another story.
“Spill,” Harry said. “How long?”
“I’m not—” At Harry’s pointed look, Darius trailed off. “Just— I don’t know. She’s just— different.”
“Different from those blonde bimbos named Blossom, Kimberly and Pamela, you mean?” Harry asked, an eyebrow raised. “Yes, she’s definitely different from them. For starters, Myra has a brain. And something tells me that you could fill up the list of Myra’s positive qualities pretty quickly.”
Darius snorted. “I could fill up the list of negative qualities too, thank you very much. She’s a bossy know-it-all, for starters.”
“She’s a nightmare, honestly.”
Ron’s words from their first year came back to haunt him and the teasing smile on his face disappeared. Harry remembered multiple times when Ron had called Hermione a ‘bossy know-it-all’, long after they became friends.
“Harry?” Darius asked, worry etching his voice.
Harry blinked. “Sorry,” he said. “I just— never mind. You were saying?”
“Perhaps I should let you rest,” Darius said uncertainly. Then he brightened. “Although how you can be tired after sleeping for five days is beyond me.”
Harry stared. “I was out for five days?”
Darius nodded. “You came in on Thursday and woke up last night, Tuesday. Five days.”
Harry blinked again. “Oh.”
“Either way, I should let you rest. You seem to need it.”
“You just want to get out of the conversation about your sudden interest in our female friend,” Harry said.
“Of course,” Darius said, not missing a beat.
Just then, there was a knock on the door and it opened, revealing Draco and Myra. Myra was pushing Draco.
“Here he is,” she smiled, “our very own coffee-oholic.”
“Every group’s got to have one,” Draco said, smirking. “Glad to see you’re awake, Po—Harry. It was getting boring to watch you sleep.”
“You’ve watched me sleep?” Harry asked, ignoring the slip-up Draco had made with his name.
Draco smirked. “Of course. There’s no better blackmailing material. The things you’ve said in your dreams...”
Harry’s eyes widened, as brief glimpses of the dreams – or memories, rather – came back to him. Pain, death, blood, war— screams echoing through his mind in a never-ending, horrid concert, with pictures just as bad to go with it. His breathing hitched as the memories threatened to overtake him – those were memories he didn’t want to discuss, preferably not ever, and especially not now, in front of Myra and Darius.
Seeing Harry’s panicked look, Draco’s smirk turned into a gentle smile. His hand rested on Harry’s. “I’m joking, Harry.”
Harry nodded, a sense of panic still in him. He took a deep breath to calm himself – and realised that that had been an exceptionally bad idea. He began coughing hard, bending forward, grasping at his chest. He couldn’t breathe properly; the breaths came in hitched gasps.
“Harry!” he heard both Draco and Myra cry.
Black spots were beginning to appear before him as he tried desperately to get air into his lungs. He felt the wounds on his back, legs and arms open again as he continued to move, trying to breathe. He felt the panic growing within—
“Harry, stay with us! Stop moving! Just breathe, slowly!” Myra said and he felt someone take him around his shoulders and forcing him to stay still.
But the spots grew and within seconds, he felt himself falling into darkness once again.
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