Miles to Go Before I Sleep

Chapter 2

"'Cheshire Puss,' she began, rather timidly, as she did not at all know whether it would like the name: however, it only grinned a little wider. 'Come, it's pleased so far,' thought Alice, and she went on. 'Would you tell me, please, which way I ought to go from here?'

'That depends a good deal on where you want to get to,' said the Cat.

'I don't much care where—' said Alice.

'Then it doesn't matter which way you go,' said the Cat.

'—so long as I get SOMEWHERE,' Alice added as an explanation.

'Oh, you're sure to do that,' said the Cat, 'if you only walk long enough.'

Alice felt that this could not be denied, so she tried another question. 'What sort of people live about here?'

'In THAT direction,' the Cat said, waving its right paw round, 'lives a Hatter: and in THAT direction,' waving the other paw, 'lives a March Hare. Visit either you like: they're both mad.'

'But I don't want to go among mad people,' Alice remarked.

'Oh, you can't help that,' said the Cat: 'we're all mad here. I'm mad. You're mad.'

'How do you know I'm mad?' said Alice.

'You must be,' said the Cat, 'or you wouldn't have come here.'"

Harry regarded Dudley silently as the other man continued to read aloud. He was lying in a strange bed, his cousin sitting next to him, the book propped up on his knees. Harry wasn't quite sure what to make of this; it was true that he and Dudley had slowly become friends as they had aged, but they had never been so close that Dudley would come and read by his bedside. For one thing, Harry had no use for it since he was perfectly healthy, and another thing he didn't think Dudley had ever read a single book in his life.

Also, he was dead.

"Dudley," Harry began. "Don't think I'm not glad to see you, but what are you doing here?"

Dudley dropped the book he was holding and launched himself out of his chair, his eyes wide and amazed as he looked down at Harry. "You're awake?!"


"Don't just assume I'll do it!"

"Geez, Lil, that's cold. It's Dad we're talking about."

"Don't give me that. I love Dad, but I can't do it. I'm already taking care Lydia and Matt by myself, what with Ethan away for most of the year, and I'm six months pregnant on top of that. Really, James, what do you expect from me?"

"Well, who else is going to take him? Al lives in Italy now and my job doesn't give me regular hours."

"What about your wife? Julia doesn't work. She can take care of Dad, it's not like she's got anything better to do."

"What do you mean by that? Are you calling Julia-"

"Quiet, his eyes are open."

Harry stared up at the white tiles laid out in perfect rows high above him. Where was he? What had happened? He could hear James and Lily arguing in the background - that was nothing new - but why couldn't he see them? He pushed with his arms, trying to sit up in the little bed he was laying on. Nothing happened. His arms remained limp by his side, unresponsive. A wild sort of panic began to descend over him as Harry frantically willed his body to obey him. His eyes darted deliriously across the room, searching for some sign of a curse, but there was nothing. His body remained motionless, completely detached from his mind and will. It was almost like it wasn't even a part of him anymore; he couldn't even really feel it. Had he been attacked? Was there a counter-curse or a potion, something he could do to fix this?

The faces of his children appeared above him, hovering over him like specters. The lights from the ceiling illuminated their hair around their scared, worried faces, like halos. The thought of James and Lily as angels made him want to laugh and he felt his check twitch in response. Those two had caused of every gray hair on his head.

"Dad? Dad, can you hear me?" James asked as Lily reached for his hand. Harry could feel her soft skin against his own rough fingers and he wanted to squeeze. His hand remained limp in hers.

"I know it must be scary waking up like this, but you're going to be okay," James continued, his face pale but earnest. Harry hadn't ever noticed the crow's feet in the corners of his eyes and the wrinkles around his mouth until just now. When did his funny, mischievous James get to be so old? "You've had a stroke. The Healer said that there was some damage to the brain, he says that you have something called Locked-In Syndrome. Basically, you're almost fully paralyzed. Don't panic, though, there are potions that are going to fix that. It's going to take some time until you're fully healed, but you're breathing on your own and that's good. Al is coming home, he'll be here tomorrow, and Lil is going to take care of you and Kreacher while you're healing and everything is going to be fine. You're going to be fine."

Harry saw his daughter's brown eyes flash angrily at her brother, but she didn't say anything to contradict him, just smiled tightlyand squeezed his hand. James always did have a way of getting exactly what he wanted.


"I've asked Ethan to Floo home tonight," Lily chattered as she pushed her father's wheelchair into her London townhouse. It would have been easier on her back to simply use magic to wheel him across the threshold, but she lived in a mostly Muggle neighborhood and she didn't want to attract any undo attention. She smiled - if her clenched jaw and angrily set teeth could be called a smile - at the nosy housewives that looked on pityingly. "He says that he has tests to grade, but that he should be here in time for dinner."

Harry wanted to nod along, but couldn't. The unsteady rolling of the wheelchair made his head bounce in time and he supposed that was close enough. The door flew open and Harry found himself in a perfectly lovely foyer, typically conventional and aesthetically pleasing. As always when Harry visited his daughter's home, he wondered at what she had become. The house looked like it would belong to his Aunt Petunia, not his curious and excitable little Lily. He remembered at how she had a new dream, a new ambition, every week. She was going to be a professional Quidditch player. Minister of Magic. Ambassador to the merpeople. She became a housewife instead. Harry would never disapprove of her choices; Molly had been a housewife and so had Ginny when she retired. He was proud of his daughter, but he couldn't help but worry. As the years had gone by she had begun to close herself off from him, her friends, everything, until her entire world consisted of nothing but her children, her house, and her husband. It seemed like too small a box to contain his Lily.

Lydia and Matthew were waiting for them in the living room, sitting nervously at the edge of the couch with fear in their eyes. Matt was eight years old and the spitting image of Lily at that age: all red hair and freckles, short and a little tubby from baby fat. Lydia was the odd one out amongst the Potters. She was the only blonde and her eyes were blue, like Ron and Arthur and Percy. It was hard to believe that she would be going to Hogwarts next year.

The two shrank away at the sight of him, looking awkward and unsure of what to do. "Don't just stand there, give your Granddad a hug," Lily chastised. Harry wanted to tell her that it was alright, that of course they would be scared. He didn't like seeing himself like this either.

The kids awkwardly put their arms around him before quickly pulling away. "Granddad's house-elf is acting really weird," Matt blurted out as soon as he had stepped off.

"His name is Kreacher," Lily corrected. "And I've explained-"

"He keeps calling me Miss Cissy," Lydia interrupted and folded her arms, pouting. "I don't like him."

"Kreacher is very, very old and he sometimes gets confused. I need you two to be a little more understanding. Not just towards Kreacher, but also towards Granddad, alright? I need help here." She patted her swollen stomach for emphasis.

Harry could feel his temper rise at being compared to Kreacher, of all people. His cheek twitched.

"Where's Kreacher now?" Lily asked, worriedly.

"Making dinner," Matt helpfully supplied.

"Kreacher is alone in a room full of poison and sharp objects... unsupervised..." Lily stood stock still for a moment as she let that sink before taking off in a dead run, her wand out and ready for trouble.


Harry sat uselessly at the dinner table, unable to actually eat any of the food on the table. Until the potion could repair his body more fully, the only food he received was through a tube. Lily, however, thought it would be rude to leave him out of the family dinner and parked his wheelchair at the table anyway.

What passed was one of the most awkward social settings that he had ever been in, and he had been in his fair share since becoming a member of the Weasley family. His son-in-law Ethan Whittier hadn't arrived yet and his daughter and grandchildren were listlessly picking over the remains of their dinner, reluctant to leave the table until he had arrived, with Kreacher hovering in the background, readying to swoop down and clear away the plates.

"I thought Dad was supposed to be here by now," Matt complained.

Lily made a noncommittal noise while Lydia glared helplessly at her empty plate. Both seemed resigned. Harry wondered how often this happened. He didn't know; Lily never told him about things like this. Ethan was a professor at Hogwarts, he understood how demanding it could be, but Neville always managed to make time for Hannah and he was the Head of Gryffindor House. At the very least, he was sure that Headmistress Sprout would have given him some time off after the man's own father-in-law had suffered a debilitating stroke.

A sharp tapping drew their attention to the window. Lily immediately stood up and let the owl inside, taking the small letter that it had tied to its leg. "It's from your father," she announced. "He won't be able to make it tonight. Work."

Lydia threw her fork down and stormed off without another word. Kreacher shot her a funny look, mumbling all the while, as he took her plate and Apparated away. Harry noticed that he didn't bother to come back for anyone else's dish.

Lily's face twisted up for a brief second, and Harry was reminded of a tiger whose tail had just been pulled. But then it smoothed away and she turned towards her son. "Sorry, Matt, he'll be home soon, though. Why don't you go get ready for bed?"

Matt sighed and trudged off, dragging his feet with every step. As soon as he was out of earshot, Lily turned to her father and sighed. "He really wanted to be here, you know that, right?"

Right, of course. Harry closed his eyes, the only thing that he was capable of moving, and felt that creeping sensation of anger and helplessness that he had become so acquainted with in his early years. He hated feeling useless, he hated failing, and what's worse than not being able to take care of your family?