A/N: Thank you for taking the time to check out my story! If you have a minute, please send me a PM or leave a review with any thoughts that you may have about it :) Any and all feedback is appreciated! On a more official note, this story was written for Round 3 of the Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition, Season 5. I, as keeper of the Caerphilly Catapults, was tasked with writing about a truth being hidden from somebody. For judging purposes, the final word count of this story is 1,040.
What's Passed
"Please can I stay up, Uncle Harry?"
Harry Potter rolled his eyes at the small set of hands clasped near his ankles. Teddy, in all of his eight-year-old mischief, was crouched at his godfather's feet, head tossed back and eyes bleary with the lateness of the hour.
"Teddy, c'mon, mate," Harry chuckled and reached down to pull his godson to his feet. "You have to get some sleep. Your gran will have my head if I let you stay up late again."
"She doesn't have to know!"
Harry scoffed and raised a stern brow. "I'm not going to make a habit of lying to your grandmother, Teddy."
The boy looked down and dug a sock-footed toe into the carpet.
"It wouldn't have to be a lie," he said hopefully.
Harry ran a hand through his fringe and moved to reclaim his seat on the sofa. "C'mere, mate," he beckoned, reaching out for the child when he drew closer. "What's got you so worked up, hm? You've never minded going to sleep before."
"I just want to spend more time with you," the boy muttered, darting a hopeful look upward. He was rewarded with a skeptical set of his godfather's jaw.
"Teddy, I'll be here in the morning," Harry reasoned. "You're at my flat, after all." He reached out to ruffle the boy's hair only to receive a dejected shrug in response. "Are you sure that's it? Or is there something else you'd like to talk about?"
Harry allowed the boy to stay quiet for a moment as he leaned into his godfather's chest, soaking in the comfort of what Teddy once coined Quidditch smell. The boy claimed that no matter how much Harry showered, he always smelled just a bit like the Quidditch Pitch. As the godson, Teddy thought it was quite cool. As the fiancé, however, Aunt Ginny was not as fond of it.
Harry was fairly certain that he knew what was bothering his godson, but he sat quietly, running a hand up and down the boy's spine in the hopes that it would comfort him enough to open up. When Andromeda had dropped Teddy off earlier that evening, she had told Harry that the lad had experienced some trouble sleeping lately—that he had been waking up in the middle of the night sweating and afraid to go back to sleep. Harry had considered asking the boy about it, but had eventually decided that Teddy would talk about it whenever he was ready. Harry quite hoped that the boy would be ready now—he didn't want to force him to have a conversation if he didn't want to, but he would if that's what it would take to get the boy to bed.
Harry's fingers trailed up to the tips of the boy's hair that fell to the base of his scalp. He carded his hands through them softly as he waited for Teddy to speak up.
"I keep having dreams," he said finally.
"Dreams?" Harry prodded.
"Bad ones." Harry had to lean in closer to catch the boy's whisper. His face was quite flushed, and his hair had grown dark in his distress. Harry brushed this godson's fringe from his eyes and lowered his head in an attempt to catch the boy's gaze.
"Ah, have a case of the nightmares, do we?"
Teddy was quick to shake his head, quite adamant that he was not having nightmares, thank you.
"Nightmares are for babies," he muttered sullenly.
Harry cocked his head and tugged playfully at a lock of the boy's hair. "Where did you hear that?"
"Oscar Eure said so at school last week," the boy explained. "He said he hasn't had a nightmare since he was six."
"Now, I bet that's not true." Harry reached out to grasp the boy beneath his arms and set him on the couch. "Everyone has nightmares sometimes. I know I do."
Teddy's eyes grew wide, and he couldn't help but raise his gaze to lock it with Harry's.
"You have nightmares? But you're studying to be an auror!"
"I am," Harry chuckled, "but that doesn't mean that I don't have bad dreams sometimes."
Teddy grew quiet for a moment, mulling this over as he leaned into his godfather's side.
"Do they scare you sometimes? Like, even after you're awake?"
"Oh, definitely," Harry said, his fingers reaching for Teddy's hair once more. "Sometimes I even have to get up and make myself a cup of tea in order to fall back asleep."
Teddy nodded in acknowledgement, to accept Harry's confession.
"Sometimes my dreams just seem so real," he admitted quietly, and his spine shook from a sudden chill. "It feels like they're really happening. Could that be true? Can someone use magic to make you dream something that's real?"
Harry was silent for a minute; he took a deep breath and lowered his hand to rub at the boy's back again.
"No, love," he said finally. "That's not possible."
"Are you sure?" The boy asked, his hand gestures becoming agitated. "Because last night I dreamt of this snake beneath my bed and it was trying to get at my toes, and then it left to go to Gran's room in order to get her, and I couldn't find it when I woke up, but I was sure that I could smell it, you know? Maybe I'm like you and I can talk to snakes, but instead of just talking to them, I can see them when I'm asleep and—"
"Teddy, mate," Harry hushed, "take a breath. I promise you that you're not seeing real snakes while you sleep. It was just a dream."
"But how do you know?" Teddy let out a shaky breath. "Gran can't get bit by a snake, Uncle Harry. She's old, and she already hurts sometimes and I don't know—"
"Shh, love, calm down," Harry whispered, pulling the boy closer to himself. "Your dreams aren't real. None of them are. Your Gran's safe."
Teddy's body hitched as he attempted to draw in a deep breath, and he laid his head against Harry's shoulder.
"You're sure dreams aren't real? You promise?"
Harry reached his head down to press a kiss to the boy's hair.
"I promise."