Title: What is Lost is Past and Gone
Disclaimer: I do not own the characters herein, nor do I claim them for my own. They belong to J. , Bloomsbury, W.B etc. and that is probably a good thing.
Pairings: Harry/Draco, slight Ron/Hermione
Rating :PG-13
Warnings: EWE
Summary: A spell gone awry leaves Harry in a coma on the verge of death. In his dreams all he sees is white, but there's a voice to keep him company.
Author's Notes: Uhm, this is weird. But hopefully in a good way? I excel at being confusing apparently.
"Harry get out of the bloody way!"
"I can't, I've almost got him Ron!"
"Harry you're going to get hurt!"
"Potter, look out!"
"What the—"
A flash of light. Silence.
It's strange because all he can see is white. He'd never thought about it before but white is a strange colour really. It's not even a colour after all; it's the absence of colour – which means that wherever he is, there's no colour.
There's nothing. He could reach out forever and not touch anything. It's a frightening thought and he tries not to dwell on it.
There's no sound – or, at least, there wasn't to begin with. In the first few hours – minutes, days? – of his being here there had been nothing but the white. Now he can hear something, but he's not sure what it is. At first it was just a strange buzzing noise that slowly got louder until he almost wished it away.
But then he'd be left with just white and that thought was more than enough for him to take that wish and viciously beat it until it no longer existed.
It had stopped being buzzing now. But it still made no sense.
"PotterHarryPotterHarryBastar dWhatHellPotterPotterPotter."
It was noise though. Something different from white and he treasured it until it left him abruptly.
He felt bereft. Lost in the white. Damn but he hated white. Really, really hated it.
He drifts in white. Until it suddenly changes to red.
It makes him hurt for a while, all the red around him. It's so bright and he can feel his body trying to reject it. God it hurts. He doesn't want it to hurt. He wants to to go away. It's almost enough for him to want the white back. Almost.
The voice is back again, he notices. At first he was too busy trying to push the pain away to actually listen but when he does he focuses on it as hard as he can, using the words to block out the pain.
"PotterPotterHarryYouCanDoThi sDon'tYouFuckingDoThisPotterPotte rFuckBastardYou."
It makes no more sense than the first time but they're back. He has words and he clings to them and holds them to him, trying to use them as a barrier against the pain.
It works and it doesn't. The pain dims but the words fade away and he's left with white again.
Fuck white.
It's when the black comes that he realises whites not so bad after all.
Black is fucking terrifying.
He can feel something – his heart, his soul? – clenching up and he feels so scared that for a moment he almost loses it.
It's at the last moment that he grabs it back. He doesn't know what it is but it's important. So damned important and he can't lose it now.
Shit. He really hates the black though. Where the hell is that voice when he needs it?
As soon as he thinks those words though it's back - the voice.
"OhGodFuckHoldOnWeJustPotterP otterDon'tYouFuckingHellGiveUpHarryHa rryPotter!"
Ah. That makes sense. Harry Potter.
He almost feels like smiling. The black is still there but it's not so scary anymore. After all – he's Harry Potter.
The voice leaves but he knows it's coming back so he waits. Eventually the black leaves and the white returns – he's glad though, he'll take white over black any day.
So. Pink.
He's still not sure about the pink. After all, it's not white but…it's pink. He's Harry Potter, he's a man, why is there pink?
He sort of knows why it's pink though, he just doesn't want to admit it to himself.
He knows that there's a hand ghosting down his cheek. He can't feel it but he knows it's there. It leaves and he almost cries. Except…well, he can't cry in the pink. It wouldn't feel right.
Pink is a strange colour. Really, it's just light red isn't it? Pink – the colour of little girls everywhere. Except he's not a little girl. He isn't.
He's Harry Potter – the voice said so.
He can sort of hear it, but it's faint. So faint that he has to strain and he wants it back, wants it loud. Damn it, the bastard is loud out there, why is he so quiet in here?
"PotterHarryPotterFineAlmostN otQuiteHe'sNotNotDyingHoldOnStubbornPo tter."
He wants to snort. What is he doing but holding on? Stupid pink. Stupid white. He hates the effort it's taking him but he knows it's almost over.
Just…hold on Potter.
He grins. He is – the bastard better appreciate it too.
It's red again. And fuck it hurts. It really, really hurts. He could almost forgive the pain though because the voice is back and louder than ever, almost screaming in his ear.
"HellFuckingWhatTheHarry!"
It's a repeated litany in his head and he really wants to hold onto it but the pain is so intense that he lets it pass him by again and again. God he hates red.
Ah, white. It's such a lovely colour really. He's not sure why he hated it before.
It's…it's comforting.
Except…it's not really white is it? It's…its blond really. A really, really light blond. It belongs to someone but he can't quite recall…did he steal it? He must've done.
Someone is holding his hand.
He knows it, he can almost feel it. It's so close. The hand is holding onto his so tightly that he knows his hand is red from the pressure.
Red again. He really hates red. But blond is okay. He knows a blond – he hated the blond too once but he kind of, maybe, loves it now.
Shit. He's never admitted that before. But it's okay in the white. He's the only one here after all. He wants too…he wants to be with someone else though. He hates being on his own.
It's lonely in the white. But the hand is there and it's holding onto him. He uses it as a line to the other world, the world where everything is not white, or red, or black, or pink. But there is blond, and grey, and eyes looking at him in consternation.
"What the hell were you trying to pull Potter?"
"Harry," he says, "You called me Harry in there."
The grey widens and he can see the pink in those lips as they lift slightly at the corners.
"Whatever…Harry."
He smiles back, lifts his free hand and brushes back some of that blond hair behind one ear.
Yes, he decides, he does love it. The blond – and the man it belongs too.
Now he just had to tell him.
Just as soon as he's better, he decides. The hand is still holding his after all, and that's enough for now.