by BlackRose, 2001
Now for a warning. Or a challenge. Or something. >_< This is a deranged bunny that's been bugging me. It's writing itself... slowly, off and on. So apologies before hand for any delays in posting. I'm not the fastest writer. It is shounen-ai right now, and liable to be full on slash/yaoi by the time I'm done.
This is NOT a crossover! Nosiree... I'm not that nuts. ~_^ It's not even a parallel story. BUT... there is at least one quote from a certain movie in each chapter. Kudos to those of you who spot them, thus proving you're as deranged as I am. *g*
And a very heartfelt greatful "thank you" to all of the households and systems I've talked to, who were patient enough to answer my questions, though I'm sure none of them thought I'd do something this strange with the answers. Thank you!
Disclaimer: J K Rowlings owns these boys and girls and everything else, and does a lovely lovely job of it. I'm just amusing myself until the next book comes out. ^_^
Chapter One - The Sleeper
I sit in class and pretend to take notes, while in actuality the tip of my quill draws tiny circles upon my parchment in neverending spirals and my eyes are fixed on a head of unruly dark hair. He doesn't know, of course. That's the entire point of it.
It. This. Everything. All of us.
And he doesn't have a clue. Not a single blessed clue, and that's just the way it should be. Harry the innocent. Harry the foolish. Perfect Harry.
Harry Potter, the boy who lived.
There's something coming. We all know it, to some degree. Harry thinks he knows it. He thinks he knows what's coming. His battle. His fight. His war.
He doesn't know anything.
I do. I've known all along. Harry won't be fighting in any war - he is the war. He's the prize. But for those of us who are on the field of battle, I sometimes wish...
If wishes were horses, I'd have a prize winning stable by now.
Enjoy your bliss, Harry. Enjoy it while you can. The war is coming, and it's only after you've lost everything that you will be free to do anything at all.
We're all free, eventually. No one's exempt. Not even you, Harry.
He was in a foul mood by the time class ended, gathering up his things and stalking out without a word. Ron hurried after him, still shoving his books into his bag. "Harry! Harry, wait up!"
"What's wrong?" Hermione asked, a bit crossly. Outdistanced by the two boys' longer legs, she had to rush to catch up.
Harry reluctantly slowed, glancing behind them, but the corridor was full of black robed students disgorged from the classroom. He shook his head. "Malfoy," he answered shortly, the name said with distaste. "Did you see that?"
Ron snorted. "You mean him staring at you?" He mimicked the other boy's narrow eyed glare, earning him a cuff across the shoulder from Harry. "All through class. I swear, does he even blink?"
"The entire class," Harry said disgustedly. "Bad enough with Snape glaring at us. Do we have to put up with it from Malfoy too?"
"Probably spoiling for a fight," Ron said. "I'd be happy to... if he gives me half a reason..."
"You'll what?" Hermione challenged. "Loose another handful of points from Gryffindor just so you can hit Malfoy in the face? I'm not saying he doesn't deserve it, but we can't afford it!"
"You worry to much," Ron shot back. "We've got the quidditch match against Slytherin next week - after that, we're home free, the House Cup is as good as ours. Right, Harry? Hey, that's probably what was bugging Malfoy. Maybe he's trying to put the evil eye on you before you get to wipe up the field with him."
Harry shrugged. "Yeah, right. Let him try." But the response lacked enthusiasm and he couldn't help glancing back once more as they headed for the stairs. There wasn't a pale shock of hair anywhere in sight.
Middle of the night. Anyone with half a brain is sound asleep. I should be. I bloody well should be.
He dreams, sometimes. He's a heavy sleeper - for him the world disappears when his eyes close and it doesn't come back until he opens them the next morning. Blissfully and perfectly asleep.
Except he's not. Blissful, that is. He dreams. He never remembers it, but he dreams at night.
It always starts small. Little twitches, small hitches in the rhythm of his breathing. Then the movements, restless, tangling the blankets around his body. If it goes on long enough he'll start tossing, throwing himself around the bed, his hands clenching on sheets as he mouths silent words, struggling.
I've never seen his dreams. I don't think I'd want to.
He's moaning softly. The others are all asleep, Neville's soft snores sounding like something a cat would make curled up on warm blanket. The banked fire in the hearth is so low it's almost out, the barest flickers of orange light leaping around the mantle.
He moans again, louder, the sound trailing off in a broken breath. I can hear him moving, turning from side to side.
Everyone's asleep. Except me. Because if he's dreaming, I can't sleep.
I slip quietly from my own nest of covers, hissing softly as the cold floor stings my bare feet. Grimacing, I creep across the intervening distance, reaching out to push back the heavy curtains the drape his bed.
He's curled in a ball, the covers a mess beneath his grasping hands. Shivering in his sleep with little distressed sounds muffled into his pillow.
I sink down gently onto the edge of the mattress. Reaching out, I brush my fingers across the disarrayed shock of his dark hair. "Shhh," I breathe, barely making a sound. "Shhh, Harry."
He quiets so easily at my touch, the tension draining away. In sleep he looks years younger. I wait until his breathing goes back to a slow, deep rhythm, letting my fingertips drift over his hair and cheek. He gives a little sigh when the dream breaks, turning over onto his back, one arm flung up around his pillow. Perfectly asleep.
Lucky him.
I sit beside him awhile longer, just listening to his breaths as he sleeps. Only when I find myself yawning do I pull myself away, padding back to my own bed and the covers that have grown cold in my absence. Sliding between the sheets, I pull the comforter across the top of my head, tucking myself into a faintly shivering ball until everything warms up again. Sighing, I lay my head down on my pillow, shutting my eyes and straining to hear those quiet steady breaths.