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?

Authors Notes: Time for another chapter! As always, thank you to anyone who reads or reviews :)

Chapter Four

Harry arrived back at Kings Cross just after 11 o'clock at night, exhausted from his long day of travel and emotional upheaval. He had pondered what his next move would be on the train, and had decided he would stay in a hotel tonight and catch up on some sleep. Tomorrow, he would call up Nurse Paterson to see if she could offer some help with finding a job, or if not, about going to muggle college and getting some qualifications. 'You have to stop referring to them as muggles –they're just people, like you' Harry thought to himself as he wandered back towards the service desk, to hopefully find out where the nearest, cheap hotel was. He really hoped Shannon's shift was over though, as he didn't fancy talking to her again.

Fortunately, an impatient man was manning the desk and told him, quite brusquely, the directions to an inexpensive hotel about fifteen minutes walk from the station. He then glared at Harry when he asked if he knew how much a room was for a night, and informed him that he did not know, and the desk was meant to close five minutes ago so could he please get going. Harry did just that, and exited the station in search of Crestfield Hotel.

After getting lost several times due to the basic directions, Harry arrived at the hotel, and frowned at its exterior. The white paint was almost grey and peeling, the wooden window frames were dark and rotten, and the front garden was wild and overgrown. However, the sign that stood crookedly in front of the house offered vacant rooms, so Harry moved towards the door and entered the dilapidated building. A grumpy looking, middle-aged woman was sat behind a small table, flipping through a gossip magazine. When Harry came through the door she looked up at him, sighed, and put her magazine down.

"Single room for the night is £22, double is £35 and breakfast is an extra 3 quid" she said in a rather strong cockney accent. Harry thought about the quickly dwindling money in his back pocket – the nurses from the hospital had given him £180, and he'd already spent almost a hundred of that on train tickets and food. He could stay for about four nights in the hotel, three if he wanted to eat, before he ran out of money. He knew that there was probably a cheaper hotel close by, but it was almost midnight, and he didn't want to think about what the conditions would be like in an even cheaper place than the Crestfield.

"Uh, single room for the night, please, and breakfast" Harry said, whilst handing over some money to the woman. She took the money from him, and gave him a small key in return.

"Room five. Up the stairs, second door on the right." She said in a bland voice, before picking her magazine again, and continuing her perusal of the tabloid. Harry followed her instructions, and found himself in a small room, with a single bed, a wooden table and a rickety looking chest of drawers. A door on one side of the room looked like it lead to a bathroom, and Harry took advantage of it, before slipping off his shoes, jeans and hoodie, and climbing into bed.

...

That night, Harry did not dream of his friends, or magic and wizardry, or anything that he had imagined whilst in his coma. Instead, his dreams were of his past, and some of the worst memories from his time with the Dursleys.

Harry was three. He had had a nightmare about a giant spider in his cupboard, and couldn't get back to sleep. He padded up the stairs, clutching his blanket, and knocked on Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon's bedroom door. "Aunt Petuwnia? I had a bad dream. Can I sleep with you?" There was no response, so he knocked again. After a minute or two, Uncle Vernon's rotund face appeared in the doorway. "Go back to bed, you little freak, and don't ever wake us up again!" he hissed in a fierce whisper, before closing the door in Harry's face. Harry sniffled, and went back to his cupboard. He didn't sleep anymore that night.

Harry was four. It was his first day of school, and he was lost. Aunt Petunia had disappeared with his cousin Dudley, and he didn't know where to go. He followed a boy who looked about his age, who was holding hands with a lady who was probably his mother, to an open door where a woman with a kind face was welcoming new students. He looked around the small courtyard he found himself in, and felt very lonely once he noticed that all of the other boys and girls had a parent with them. Harry walked up to the nice looking woman, who noticed him after a few seconds. "Where's your mum, sweetie?" Harry said nothing, because he didn't have a mum. Or a dad. The woman looked at him and sighed "Run off, have you? You're going to be a troublemaker, you are." She ushered him inside, and he sat down and looked at the carpet. He already knew he was trouble. Uncle Vernon told him at least once a week.

Harry was seven. His arm was hurting really badly and looked funny. Dudley had pushed him over and he had landed on it, hard. He found his aunt and said "Aunt Petunia? My arm really hurts. I think it might be broken." She looked at his arm, and then scowled at him. "How did you manage this you stupid boy. Now we'll have to take you to the hospital. We had plans for tonight, and now you've gone and ruined them! Don't you ever think about anyone apart from yourself?" She dragged him to the car and complained about him the whole way to the hospital. Harry said nothing, and his face was blank and expressionless as he stared out of the window.

Harry was ten. He would be eleven years old in less than five minutes. He heard something creak outside, and hoped the roof of the miserable shack he and the Dursleys were staying in wasn't going to fall down. One minute to go –ten, nine, eight, seven...BOOM! The door crashed down, and there was Hagrid. He told Harry all about magic, and wizards and his parents. He was going to leave the Dursleys. He was going to be free...

...

Harry startled awake, and sat up in the small bed. 'Hagrid! I met him before I went to the station! How could I forget?! This must mean that it's real!' Harry couldn't believe how stupid he'd been. With everything that was going on, he had completely forgotten that he'd seen parts of the Wizarding World before he went to Hogwarts: The Leaky Cauldron, Diagon Alley, Gringotts and several magical shops. The whole reason he'd even been at Kings Cross in the first place was to go to Hogwarts!

Harry jumped out of bed, and had set about getting dressed, when he noticed through the small, grubby window that it was still dark outside. He couldn't wander round London in the middle of the night by himself – even he knew that was a bad idea – and he still didn't know where The Leaky Cauldron was. He sighed, and shucked off his shoes, before climbing back into bed. Tomorrow, he would find it.

...

Three days of searching later and Harry still hadn't re-entered the Wizarding World. The only thing that he could remember about the pub was that The Leaky Cauldron was located between a record store and a book shop, and it couldn't be seen by muggles. He was pretty sure that he had found the right location, after searching on a computer he'd accessed in a library for any book shops and record stores next to each other in London. The problem was that Harry himself couldn't actually see the Leaky Cauldron – he recognised the street and the shops the pub was supposed to be in-between, but there was no building there. But he was convinced it was there. He knew it.

So now Harry was staking out the street where he knew the Leaky Cauldron was, and had been for the past few days, his eyes scanning for somebody he recognised, somebody who looked like a wizard or a witch, anyone that looked like they would know about magic. But nobody came. Harry continued to sit in a busy café across the street and stare hopefully out of the window, even though there had been no sign of anyone he knew yet.

'It's getting late. I should probably head back to the hotel.' He sighed and stood up, before wandering out the door and crossing the street. This would be the last night he would be able to stay at the Crestfield. He had almost no money left, even though he had been skipping meals to save his cash, and would probably be forced to call Nurse Paterson in the morning, unless he wanted to start sleeping on the street.

Harry was so focused on his thoughts that he didn't notice the person appearing out of nowhere in front of where the Leaky Cauldron was supposed to be, and walked straight into them .They both collapsed heavily on the pavement and made identical noises of surprise. Harry clambered back to his feet and stared awkwardly at the ground as he tried to apologize "Er, I'm really sorry about that, I didn't see you –"But he was cut off by the man he had knocked to the floor.

"Watch where you're going, you stupid muggle!"

'Muggle! He's a wizard!' Harry looked up from the ground to see who his unknowing saviour was, but he'd already turned to walk away. "Wait!" He called after them, and started running towards the mysterious wizard. The person stopped and turned back to face him. Harry almost fell over again, as he saw the face that turned towards him covered by an achingly familiar sneer.

"Malfoy!?"