Author's Note- For this one I had to use the last sentence of TheVerySpecialOnes story for this Quidditch round: "Everything will be alright."
"Everything will be alright." That was the last thing he said to me before I fell asleep. You see, experience has taught me that nothing in my dream world is ever alright. It's full of tortured creatures and pain filled expressions.
My dreams started going sour just after the second wizarding war, it would seem that even though The Dark Lord is no longer alive he still consumes my mind when it's at its weakest.
Tonight was no different- in fact I would even venture to say it was the worst it has ever been. This time it was my parents at the center of my nightmare. They were both stood on some sort of black stone altar with all my old friends wearing bright white robes standing around them.
They were all chanting... I don't remember much else, only the screams from my parents as fire began to consume them and the blank expressions of everyone else.
The only other thing I can remember is feeling nothing. Absolutely nothing. I just watched my parents burn to death in front of everyone I've ever cared for and I didn't even bat an eyelid.
Even though I had been completely calm in my dream world, I woke up in a sweaty, tearful state that I'm glad to say no one else but my boyfriend has ever seen. I suppose that's partly down to how much I have isolated myself. I decided almost immediately after The Dark Lords death that I no longer wanted to be the famous boy who lived, or the teenager that killed Voldemort. I just wanted to be Harry Potter, but when it became evident that the rest of the world could not accept that, I closed myself off in this small apartment, only ever talking to Draco.
The hardest part of that was, convincing Ron and Hermione that, I was in fact perfectly fine, and I just needed some time to sort out everything in my head and get over the shock of losing so many good people. According to Draco, the media had had a field day when they realized I would no longer be playing the young hero role.
It had taken them over 3 months to realize I wouldn't be giving any interviews, and that no matter how long they stood outside I wouldn't be going out to have my photo taken.
The only downside with locking oneself away is the lack of news from the outside world; I have to rely on Draco for every new piece of information and he's not always that good at remembering to inform me of anything important.
But it would seem my time alone had finally come to an end. Draco was making me visit a healer about my nightmares and I had recently received an invitation to Ron and Hermione's wedding.
To say I wasn't looking forward to going outside was an understatement. Over time I had become rather attached to my little apartment and I didn't really want to leave it. But the combined efforts of Draco and my two old best friends meant that for the first time in over a year I had stepped out into the cold London mist... and had almost immediately back tracked up the stairs and into the apartment.
It would seem someone had let out the fact that I was to make an appearance and every wizarding photographer and reporter that had ever written or provided a half decent story to a newspaper had gathered outside to catch the first glimpses of the famous Harry Potter in over a year.
A few deep breathes later, and a thick woolen scarf to battle the early morning temperatures of England, I was back out of the door with my head held high. Ignoring all the questions that were shouted at me, I made my way down the street and headed for the nearest port key. I didn't want to risk apparation after being out of practice for so long.
Things weren't much better at St. Mungo's. All the healers seemed to stop what they were doing and stare, and it would have been rather comical had their eyes not been fixed on me. There was even one healer in the corner who had stopped halfway through wrapping some poor man's injury, and for a second I could swear the only sound in the whole ward was the raspy breathing of sick patients.
Then the whispering broke out, hushed tones combined with judgmental glances and a few violent hand gestures. To be perfectly honest I don't really know what I expected; I suppose I had hoped people would have just forgotten about The Boy Who Lived.
The lady at the front desk wasn't very helpful either, as she couldn't seem to form the words she needed. I ended up just telling her when and who my appointment was with and taking a seat once she'd gestured in the rough direction of some uncomfortable plastic chairs.
As I awaited my turn with the healer I found myself unable to sit completely still. The continuous staring was making me uncomfortable and the whispering had only gotten louder. It seemed like a lifetime before my name was finally called, and when it was, everyone who had returned to their own business once again turned to stare at me.
"So I understand you have been having some problems with sleeping recently." The pompous tone of the healer broke my train of thought.
"What? Sorry yes. Yes I have." I didn't bother expanding on what sort of dreams, because I was really hoping for a quick potion or something.
Isn't it just awful when you don't get what you want? Turns out these sorts of nightmares weren't quite so easily cured and I'd have to endure some sort of special treatment for three months. It didn't sound like fun.
But I had very little choice. I knew if I didn't follow through with the treatment Draco, would give me hell. Repeating these words in some sort of self-confidence boosting mantra, I proceeded to the private room where I was to stay for roughly three months. I was right, this really wasn't going to be any fun.