Hello and thank you for taking the time to read this. I have no beta, so all mistakes are my own… if I have misspelled things, please let me know. Reviews are welcomed, but not required.

Enjoy

::Disclaimer:: Harry Potter is the intellectual property of JK Rowling, this fanfiction is not for profit.

Sleeping : Chapter 1

This really couldn't be happening.

One would think seven years of danger, intrigue, wounds, scars, and enough real-life experiences to fuel nightmares for the rest of their lives would award the survivors a sure of peace; a reprieve even.

It seemed not.

What good was he, 'savior' of the world as they knew it – wizard and muggle – if he couldn't save her. Harry hadn't felt so very helpless since walking into the clearing to confront what he knew was his death; at least then he had had a plan, a purpose. This… made no sense. NONE.

And there was absolutely nothing he could do about it.

They had been staying at Grimwald Place since sitting their NEWTS. Hogwarts was still under repair and though Hermione had been a great asset to effort, she had felt the need to rest her mind, collect her thoughts, and attempt to salvage her relationship; at least, that is what she told Harry. He personally suspected that she had done all the work she could do and that the actual repairs would have to catch up before she could continue, and as he was wanting to start clearing things out and making the place his… It had seemed a wonderful idea to have all his friends around to help and spend time together before the real world and their futures interfered.

After all, they had not really had time to be children. He hoped, fervently even, that they would have time to be young adults.

All had gone well for a time, even with Ron and Hermione fighting and making up every other day. As much as Harry thought their pairing was convenient as far as family relations went, it had him in an awkward position. Being best-friends with BOTH of them had them both expecting him to side with them during their disagreements – which were plenty and varied greatly, some were even downright stupid (in his opinion). Mostly, he just wanted left out of it.

They had been sorting through chests and boxes in the attic. Hermione had a habit of looking through any book she found so long as it had a title or an author she did not recognize, which seemed to be annoying Ron to no end. Harry wondered what Ron had expected, if the Ginger had stumbled across a chest full of old Quiddich memorabilia, he would be just as distracted and probably more annoying about it. Ron muttered something about having to check the boxes and chests for books before letting Hermione sort them; otherwise she would be of no use at all.

Harry rolled his eyes and glanced at his female friend. Sure enough, she was engrossed in a particularly old – and large – book. He half wondered how it had fit in the chest to begin with, the other half wondering how she had been able to lift it; honestly, the book was as tall as she was. (His subconscious, very aware of his half-thought process, was looking at him strangely and flashing 'Magic' at him; which really, did seem to explain any question he may have about most anything.)

Ron continued to mutter, sorting through his box loudly. Harry thought he may have heard something break and shook his head. The red head was going to have to learn some self-control, anger management, or SOMETHING; Harry just hoped it wouldn't be after something valuable or important became useless. He had just returned his attention to his own task when he heard an excited or happy gasp from Ron.

"What is it?" He asked, looking up. Ron smiled brightly, holding a dusty Quaffle with a golden signature on it.

"The signature is a bit hard to make out, but if it is who I think it is…" He said, his eyes alight. "This could be worth a mint!" He was practically bouncing. "Mione! See what I found!"

She didn't look up from the book. "That's nice Ronald."

Ron's face flushed and his ears turned pink. Harry knew this to be a very bad sign. "Hey Mate, at least she knew you were talking to you. Half the time she doesn't acknowledge me when there is an open book around." Which was, actually, true.

Ron didn't respond, just kept staring at the ball in his hand. Harry shrugged; he had done all he could do. Sure, they would probably fight about this for the next couple days, but that had become the norm. He thought it was sad that he had gotten to the point when he was unmoved by the damaged egos or feelings they seemed to be consistently causing each other. Maybe if they were still just friends, not significant others, he would be able to intervene; talk some sense into the two of them. He was well aware that if he tried now, it could ruin his friendship with one or both of them.

He wondered idly how any of them thought the two of them would be a good idea. Maybe it was just one of those things that sound good until you really think about it. Like deep-friend gummy bears; could be amazing OR could just turn out to be burnt sugar. Next thing Harry knew, Ron made a frustrated sound – one Harry was sure he had never heard another person make and therefore couldn't say for sure what type of sound it was – and threw the Quaffle.

Time seemed to slow down from there.

In the time it took Harry's mind to go through a process that resembled '?, !, ?!, and Oh, no he did not just', the Quaffle connected with Hermione's head, knocking her into the chest she had been searching. She gasped, likely in pain, and drew hand out of the container. Blood was dripping from her finger. From that point, Harry could not say what exactly happened.

Hermione was swaying on her feet, Ron was making apologies or excuses – which she either did not hear or was not acknowledging. She placed her bleeding hand on the book to steady herself and…

The Book was gone and Hermione was crumpled on the floor, unconscious. Harry had acted quickly. Hermione was still breathing, her pulse was steady, but nothing he did would wake her up. Ron just stood there, mouth open, doing nothing.

Harry lifted Hermione and rushed down the stairs to the Floo, somehow managing to toss the powder in the fireplace, step in and yell Saint Mungos without knocking any part of his friend against a wall, a stairwell, or the fireplace.

Healers were on him as soon as he stepped through. The Healers knew who they were at first sight; maybe being the saviors of the Wizarding World and renowned Heroes had its perks. Harry did not care so long as they could just wake her up. They asked what had happened at they led him to a room, having not attempted to lift her out of his arms – maybe they knew he wouldn't let them, or maybe he looked half-insane. He could not put to words what he felt – other than panic.

Harry relayed the situation to the best of his ability. The head healer dismissed the rest as she ran diagnostic charms and processed what she had been told. She blinked as charm after charm revealed the same thing.

"Her hand was bleeding, you said?" She asked slowly.

"Yes. Her index finger, specifically."

She nodded and smoothed her robes brusquely. "My charms show that Ms. Granger is in a magically induced coma – it bears striking similarities to the Draught of Living Death. However, there is one key difference…" She hesitated.

Harry wanted nothing more in his life then to shake this woman. How hard it is to tell him what they need to do to fix her?

"Draught of the Living Dead slows the body's processes to the point they seem to be dead. How long the potion is effective is very much dependant on the strength of the potion and the dosage. People have been known to die when the potion was too strong or the dosage too large; generally, the effects wear off as the body processes the potion.

With Ms. Granger, it seems her heart is still beating and she is still breathing, but…" She hesitated again. "It is as though the rest of her body is in stasis."

Harry blinked and closed his eyes, trying to understand exactly what the Healer was trying to tell him. After a moment, it clicked.

"You're saying that it isn't likely that the effect will just wear off."

She nodded. "We need to determine what caused your friend's current state before we can ascertain the remedy. Honestly Mr. Potter, I have never seen anything like this and the closest thing I have ever read to it was in Fairy Tales."

All Harry could think was: This couldn't be happening.