Title: Imaginary

Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling and her associates own these characters. I am writing this story for fun and not profit

Rating: M

Warnings: DH Spoilers, EWE. Sex and swearing

Summary: Harry collapses after the final battle and wakes up in a muggle hospital, with the doctors claiming he has been in a coma since he was 11 years old, when he ran head-first into a wall. He has to come to terms with the fact that the Wizarding World was simply a figment of his imagination...or was it?

Author's Notes: This chapter is a little bit early, but I had a day off from college so here it is! Another big thank you to everyone who reads or reviews! It's so nice to hear what people think, and please feel free to point out any grammatical mistakes so that I can correct them :)

Chapter Three

Harry wandered aimlessly around the streets of London for the best part of an hour, whilst concocting a plan to re-enter the Wizarding World. 'Where can go? I don't think I'd be able to get all the way to Scotland, even with all the money Nurse Paterson gave me. And anyway, I'm not sure where Hogwarts is exactly, even if I somehow managed to get up there.' Harry pondered on the other magical places that he knew were in London: The Ministry of Magic, Diagon Alley and Grimmuald Place. He couldn't remember the way to the visitor's entrance at the Ministry, and didn't have a Thestral handy to lead him to it. He also didn't know how receptive the Ministry would be to having him, Harry Potter, Undesirable No. 1, wandering in the workers entrance, especially after the time he, Ron and Hermione had broken in and wreaked havoc whilst searching for Slytherin's locket.

'Right so the Ministry's out.' After further contemplation, Harry decided that he would head to Grimmuald place – even if there was no one there, he could use the fireplace to Floo to Diagon Alley or the Burrow – when he remembered that the Death Eaters had known about the house. Yaxley had been taken there when they fled the Ministry and had most likely told the other Death Eaters about the former headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix. There were probably all manner of curses and enchantments in the house, set in case someone tried to go back there, and Harry didn't feel like taking the risk, especially wandless.

'Diagon Alley it is. Now, how do I get there again?' Harry realized that he didn't exactly know where it was. He knew he had to go through the Leaky Cauldron to get there...but he'd always been escorted to the pub and had absolutely no idea where it was in relation to the rest of London. 'And it's not like I can stop and ask for directions – muggles can't see it. Back to the drawing board I guess.' Harry came to a halt, his aimless meandering taking him nowhere, and glanced at his surroundings. 'Hey I know this place, just right around the corner is...Kings Cross! I can get a train somewhere, the Burrow maybe...' With this new possibility of travelling via train, he quickly walked round the building to the entrance of the station. Harry knew the Weasleys lived in the South-West somewhere, Devon perhaps. And he also knew that there was a small, muggle village called Ottery St. Catchpole about five minutes walk from the house. Armed with a new plan, Harry entered into the crowded station and set off finding a help desk, or possibly a map of Britain.

...

Half an hour later, Harry sat on a cold, metal bench, fifty pounds poorer, chomping on a slightly stale ham sandwich. After talking with a helpful woman named Shannon, he now had several train tickets: one from London to Bath, one from Bath to a place called Taunton that Harry had never heard of in his life, and very detailed instructions on how to get a bus from Taunton that would take him to Ottery St. Catchpole. He was also in possession of a small scrap of paper with Shannon's phone number on, which she had slipped him with a flirtatious wink as he was leaving the customer service desk. Harry was slightly alarmed by this, as the overly-friendly Shannon looked to be a good six or seven years older than him, and a few inches taller as well.

Harry had then purchased a sandwich and a bottle of water for an extortionate price from a small shop, and found a bench between platforms 9 and 10, where he could look upon the sight of his so-called 'accident'. He did consider running at the wall, just to prove that he wasn't crazy and the Wizarding World did exist, but recalling his second year at Hogwarts, when he and Ron had run into the wall only to find that it was blocked, he decided to give it a miss. He didn't fancy that again – the last time it had given him a throbbing headache that lasted for a good few hours. But he was also scared; scared that maybe he hadn't run through the brick wall, scared that he wouldn't ever be able to find out what had happened to him, scared that maybe...maybe the doctors were right.

With a shake of his head to clear away the negative thoughts, Harry stood. Tossing the remnants of his meal in a nearby bin, he moved swiftly towards platform 8, where the train waiting to take him on the first part of his journey was located.

...

Harry stepped off the old, rickety bus onto the cobbled street of Ottery St. Catchpole, and shivered slightly at the drizzle falling around him. 'Ah the beautiful British springtime.' He watched as the bus departed, leaving him standing on the bustling high street of the rural village. Memories of visiting the muggle settlement with Ron, and the rest of the Weasleys during the summer months came rushing into his head and a heady feeling of nostalgia washed over him. Harry gathered his bearings and headed swiftly in the direction of the Burrow. 'I wonder if there'll be anyone home, I know that most of them were staying with Ron's Great Aunt Muriel but I'm sure there'll be back now that the wars over. Or will they all still be at Hogwarts, with...Fred.' He stopped as his thoughts took a depressing turn and his heart clenched at the thought of Fred Weasley - smiling, joking, alive Fred. He sighed before carrying on with his brisk pace. 'I don't think they'll mind if I just borrow their fireplace'

When he got to the turning that he knew would lead to the Burrow, Harry paused and looked at the hedge in front of him suspiciously. 'This shouldn't be here...where's the Weasley's driveway? This must just be another precaution they had to take to hide from the Death Eaters. Yeah, it has to be.' Noticing a wooden stile a little way along the hedge, Harry walked over to it and clambered over the wooden contraption and was met with the sight...of an empty field.

His heart stopped at the sight of the barren pasture. Where was the Burrow? Had he gotten the location wrong? He ran to the next hedge and crawled under the brambles to find another empty field. And then another. And another. Out of breath, Harry sank to the ground, clutching his head in his hands and running his fingers through his messy, black hair. 'This can't be happening. It's not real...not real...'

"This isn't real" Harry practically sobbed, "IT'S NOT REAL!" His mind was twisting and turning, and he couldn't tell what was real and what wasn't anymore. 'This is all just a dream. I'll wake up soon and everything will be alright' Harry thought to himself, but he couldn't pretend anymore. He slowed his breathing, wiped his eyes and stood, before trudging back through the field to the road and wandering back into the village.

Harry couldn't see it, but the light in his eyes, the one that had inspired so many people to fight for what was right, had disappeared.

...

Harry sat in a small café, staring morosely into a cup of greyish coffee. He sipped it occasionally and the bitter taste lingered in his mouth. He gazed out of the rain-splattered window and watched people hurrying to and fro purposefully. He had very little money left, no possessions, no qualifications, no way of getting a job and nowhere to go. 'And I think I may be going a little bit mad,' Harry thought, as he imagined a thin man wander past the window, sporting the characteristic red Weasley hair. 'Wait...he's real!', as he saw another passer-by side step the man. Harry practically sprinted from the café, knocking over his mug in his haste, in chase of the possible Weasley.

"Wait!" Harry called, as he chased the man through the street. 'Was it Ron? Nah...too small. George – two ears. Bill – no ponytail. Arthur – YES!'

"Arthur, wait!" Harry panted, as he jogged in what he hoped was the right direction. "It's Harry!" He turned the corner, and found himself back on the road that lead to the Burrow – but there was no red-headed man in sight. The glimmer of hope that had appeared when he spotted the man vanished, and Harry drooped in disappointment and exertion. 'I am going crazy' he thought. 'Going crazy? I think you'll find you already are' a small voice in his head piped up.

Harry sighed, before turning back to the village for the second time that day, hoping that there would be a bus back to Taunton before it got dark.