Disclaimer: I own none of the character or the places but I do own the plot.
Enjoy and let me know what you think.
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"Perhaps I am stronger then I think."
- Thomas Merton
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The impossible darkness of a dreamless sleep felt less lonely then it should. For some reason Harry never remembered what dreamless sleep felt like. It had always seemed like he had blinked away the minutes, hours, days that the potion claimed from him. Something was different now. His present state of mind left his conscious wondering, unbound by his will. Oddly, as soon as a subject came to his mind it was whisked away with disregard. It felt like someone rifling through his memories until they found the one they wanted.
Dreamless sleep gave way to vivid memories. High stone walls drank in the blackness of his mind and reflected its light. The brick spun until Harry stood before the mirror of Erised. The tranquil mirror reflected cold stone and nothing else. Harry shifted and still no image appeared. He waved his hand, futilely trying to see his reflection. A snap of cloth broke the stagnant silence. Drifting from the infinite ceiling a sliver of purple tainted the black. Swiftly descending, the cloth plunged to the floor creating a pool of fabric.
Harry knew this was the turban of the first man he killed. The pool of fabric melted like acid staining the simple gray stone. Harry's eyes flickered back to the mirror. Still nothing. His eyes closed, hoping only to see himself when he looked into the glass. I'm perfectly happy, Harry thought. Again the gray monotony rested before him, but the mirror now held a new burst of color. Quirrell stood behind him with his much-too-small head exposed and a hissing creature eating his soul.
Instinct gripped Harry but his wand had not entered the dream with him. Quirrell attacked like hunting dog when his master cracks the whip. Reflexes sent Harry to the floor out of Quirrell's reach. Pale hands moved to encircle his throat, but smoldered viciously upon contact. Harry remembered this part all too well; he grasped at his enemy's face until the skin boiled beneath his palms and the flesh melted under his touch. Muscles deteriorated to liquid, as the bone became crumbling ash, sliding through his fingers like fine sand.
The flames left Harry's hands immersed in ice as the chill clawed its way up his arms.
-
Madame Pomfrey soon lost her affectionate touch and dismissed everyone from the small curtained room. Lupin argued eagerly against another night in the hospital wing. The fierce little nurse recruited Mcgonagall to her side, and Lupin lost rather immediately.
"At least let me stay with Harry," the last Marauder demanded.
"No! I will not have it. You will be in your own bed."
"Poppy, I'm not one of your children. It's a shoulder injury, I will be fine in the chair," Lupin walked swiftly over to Harry and sat defiantly beside the bed.
-
Quirrell's ashes faded as they drifted from Harry's hands never reaching the ground. The grey stone dissolved in a deeper color that shadowed the room. As the walls stretched and contorted to another vision, Harry glanced one last time at the mirror. Nothing.
The cavernous room threw darkness over the corners and glowed brilliantly on the mirage before him. A laugh set the air aquiver like silence defeated by a bell toll. Harry flinched as the cold sensation grew to an ache in his arm. Blood turned to ice within his veins consuming his sensitivity to his surroundings. The bite dragged him painfully towards death while a young Riddle watched dutifully on.
The poison numbed Harry's mind with persistent waves of attack. A final instinctual message flitted through his thoughts. One last chance to do something, anything, before he died.
His fingers twitched against the basilisk tooth resting within his grasp. He fought the cold to grab the weapon and drove it into the black leather cover. The numbness remained without cure and his righteous hand fell away from the book to lie unresponsive against the grey.
Tom laughed again as light pierced his form. Filled with knowing the sound resonated long after the foe had been diminished to dust. Harry stared at the remains waiting for the vision to pass. Slowly his heartbeat, so clear and rhythmic in his ears, faded. He counted the seconds between each pulse but time was irrelevant. His eyes drifted gently shut with the last beat.
-
The midday sun had yet to fall to darkness. Light rained through the clouds like mist painting the sky with curtains of color. Lupin slept awkwardly in the chair again fighting Madame Pomfrey about a bed of his own. The silence of the wing lay unbroken by any laughs or screams that once gave life to the halls. Not even Harry's flinch disturbed the silence as his troubled sleep went unnoticed by anyone.
-
The knife blade severed the numbness with a shock of pain. Harry squeezed his eyes shut as the hot liquid trailed down his arm. Steady aches returned with vivid details as wind swept across Harry's face, tearing at the skin. His heart awoke with a dreadful start and refused to stop accelerating. The bonds quivered against the rise and fall of Harry's chest.
A bone finger traced Harry's cheek with a gentle touch. He refused to look but knew the graveyard imprisoned him. If he held his eyes shut long enough the vision would fade and he knew he would awake in the hospital wing safe and sound. The bones lifted his chin with harsh violence, his head smacking against the stone. Harry opened his eyes as color flooded the darkness. The boiling of a cauldron was replaced by the sound of decomposing flesh beneath the robe, a soft creak of bone grinding against bone. The wraith made to remove his hood and finally relieve Harry of his soul. But Harry couldn't watch.
-
A rustle of cloth echoed infinitely loud across the snow white room. The nurse's head lifted from her potion with sudden knowing. Hermione slapped an already alert Ron, while her friend sat up straight in his rather uncomfortable chair. Lupin slid around the curtain with childish ease much to the watching nurse's anger. Harry's head turned into the pillow with all the effects of a boy deeply entrenched in whatever his dreams held.
Madame Pomfrey ran from the bedside with urgency so far from her character the others looked back for some sign of her distress.
-
Eyes glued shut; Harry forced his cheek to the granite. The arm of his glasses pressed uncomfortably into his skin. The wind struck his face once more as the bone pried his face from the stone. I won't open them, Harry thought, no matter what. Flesh and bone gripped his chin forcing him to face the creature before him.
Harry heard the rustle of cloth and the wind swept his hair back. The hands passed through his skin with a swelling green light. He opened his eyes but the graveyard was only a green haze steadily intensifying. The binding spell vanished but Harry didn't move. Pressed against the gravestone by some driving force, the world tilted beneath him and the harsh stone turned smooth under him. A chill ran through him and settled in his bones.
The ministry ceiling echoed the silence projecting from Harry's mind. He rolled without thinking and looked at the fountain. Dumbledore stared at him with sorrowful eyes; just like when Voldemort…Harry thought.
"Kill me," he said. He looked down but the stone reflection had green eyes not red. He should have killed me, Harry thought.
"Harry, Harry," Dumbledore whispered, shaking his head. Warmth crept into his hand and he gripped it with hope. The vision melted before him.
-
"Harry, Harry," Hermione whispered. The sheets were tousled as Harry rolled in his sleep.
Hermione reached out and grabbed Harry's hand. A gasp escaped his lips and his eyes fluttered open. The blurry haze left him with the feeling he was still in a dream, but his glasses were soon nestled against his nose so that he might see his company.
His breath remained heavy and straining but Hermione's hand tethered him to reality. She smiled sweetly at him but Harry didn't return the gesture. Now that he looked again they all smiled at him, the hero. He tried to focus, his head pounded. He reached back to feel the wound on his head but it was completely healed, as was his leg and ankle. His body still ached with injuries that should be there. Finally he looked at his forearm hidden within a thick bandage. Figures, it can't be healed, Harry thought.
"Harry," Hermione whispered again.
He looked at her; she cared. "I'm fine." She smiled at him and he looked away. She knew better than to believe him anyway.
Footsteps clashed with the silencing wards on the hospital wing as Madame Pomfrey brought McGonagall at a startling pace. "Oh dear." She rushed over to tend to Harry with more potions and a wand at the ready. "Drink these and I will be back with the others."
"No," Harry said flatly. His bruised throat rasped lightly with the defiant word. She turned back to look at him, her mouth agape.
"You are my patient and you are not yet fully healed."
Harry sat up, the scars riddling his body whispered in the light. "I'm fine," he repeated.
"Far from it child," the nurse argued to no avail. "You are in no condition to be moving about, let alone going anywhere. Now lie down."
"I'm fine," he repeated with a shaky voice. Hermione held tight as he looked down.
"Humph, well-"
"Poppy, can't they wait a little while," Lupin asked. The nurse scowled and stalked off mumbling about rules and how things should be run.
Harry slumped back and sighed with relief. Sleep is the last thing I need, he thought. Lupin ushered out all the gaping visitors much to Harry's gratitude.
"Well done mate. You gave us a bit of a scare but I knew you'd pull through," Ron chuckled.
"Must have been a good show," Harry whispered.
"That's now what he meant, Harry. We were worried sick you weren't going to survive," Hermione squeezed his hand.
"Harry, we just want you back. You're the hero," Ron replied.
But at what cost, Harry thought. "How long?"
"Five and a half days. We thought you might never wake up. We were scared for you and Madame Pomphry gave you so many potions no wonder you were out. Oh Harry, I'm so sorry," she rambled with a tear sliding down her face.
"What? Hermione, what are you talking about?" Her sobs became muffled as Ron held her to his chest.
"She feels bad for…" Ron supplied before the sobs grew louder.
"For what? For keeping me alive," Harry asked. "Because without you I probably would have died after all that, maybe even during it."
She glanced at him with teary eyes. Then turned away in shame. "You were in such pain… and the blood… and I made you…"
"Hermione. You did what you had to," Ron whispered with a gentle kiss. Her head fell into his shoulder where it had rested for nearly six days.
"I don't blame you, Hermione. I couldn't feel much anyway," Harry lied. His forearm burned viciously in protest. Every searing arrow. His right hand twitched in response but he didn't move.
Ron's arm was riddled with bright pink scars tracing thin lines down his right arm. "It's nothing mate," Ron laughed apprehensively. "You don't get all the scars," he joked as he slid sleeve over the glaring lines. Silence filled the air. "Why did you do it?"
"I'm sorry," Harry apologized. "They didn't hurt half as much going in as coming out. I didn't mean to hurt you like that. Just a reflex," Harry looked away.
"That isn't what I meant."
"What did you mean?"
"Why did you stop the arrows?" Hermione was just as confused as Harry.
"Why wouldn't he, Ron?"
"The knife… I thought they would…they would have killed you. I-" Harry averted his gaze. His arm ached the more he looked at it, as if the blood rushed to reopened wounds. "I wouldn't have been able to live with myself if I let him kill another person close to me."
"What did he say after?" Ron's voice shook with emotion.
"Ron," Hermione shouted angrily.
"He said-" The aristocratic voice rang clearly within his head. Well, well, well. Just had to be the hero, didn't you? Harry. What will I do with you? I know that saving your little friend meant so much to you but I just hate that look on your face. Crucio. Harry twitched at the word. You will not be painted as the hero who gave his life for his friends. You will beg for mercy from me. You will do anything to save yourself. And everyone will see the coward you really are.
"Harry," Ron touched his arm. Harry's head snapped up to stare at Ron. "Hey, look. I'm sorry I asked. You don't have to tell me."
"He said 'Just had to be the hero, didn't you? What will I do with you? I know that saving your little friend meant so much to you but I just hate that look on your face.' Then he used the Cruciatus curse on me."
Ron shivered.
"After a few minutes he let me go…and said 'You will not be painted as the hero who gave his life for his friends. You will beg for mercy from me. You will do anything to save yourself.'" And everyone will see the coward you really are.
Hermione was petrified and Ron blinked away tears. "I'm sorry." Harry appeared to have drifted off, remembering the horrors of the battle.
"Now, that is quite enough. Harry drink that potion and the two of you leave," Madame Pomphry stormed around the curtain.
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"Some people think it's holding on that makes you strong – sometimes it's letting go."
- Anonymous