AN: Destiny's Darling is a side-fic collection of FF out-takes and one-shots by The Fictionist. After Ch25 of FF, the storyline continues chronologically with Chapters 1, 2, and 6 of DD before the storyline continues in FF with Ch26. The vignette below takes place between Chapters 2 & 6 of DD, and was requested by WyrdSmith.
Scenario: After the post-Dursely fallout with Dumbledore & Ginny, Harry is ousted from of the tower and dragged into the Slytherin dorms by Tom & Co. In his first night there, he has a nightmare. By the time Tom gets him settled down, Harry's new bed-mate, Zevi, has sprawled over the bed, and so Tom allows Harry to share with him for that night only.
.
.
We lay in bed saying nothing, lined up against each long edge, poised to fall at any subtle shift. We stare at each other, blinking. Somehow, I know that this is the first time he's ever shared a bed with anyone. Coming from the orphanage, I'm no stranger to shared beds, myself. Although I'd never let my followers know, even now, this is the height of luxury compared to what awaits me in my own time—rations and London's biggest ever crime wave and evenings spent glued to the wireless for news on the continent and nights spent with Billy Mitchell's feet in my face. Until I stun and drop him to the floor, of course. Stupefy and mobilicorpus were the first wandless magics I mastered. Neccessity's the only mother I've ever known.
Even in the dark and shadow-filled stillness, his eyes glow a vivid, palpable green, startling in their lush verdency. They never shine so brightly as they do in the moments before sleep. This is the only time to really see them without the glasses, except for when he loses them in a fight, which is rare and usually too quickly remedied to enjoy. I wonder now (as I always do without the context of conversation or his visibly fluctuating emotions), about what he's thinking, lying there on my bed and blinking owlishly at me. He's so different from any of the rest of them. I wonder if I'll ever tire of the puzzles he presents, if I'll ever grow weary of the tectonic fault-line and shifting plates that make up his psyche. For now though, it is enough—the puzzles and the potential and the promise.
His blinks last longer now. As his eyelashes flutter closed I know that he will soon lose the battle to stay awake. I think he doesn't trust me to wake him kindly if he has another nightmare, and he's probably right. There was a reason why I had my own room by the time my Hogwarts letter arrived. Too bad I was forced to give it up with my absences to Scotland and the floods of newcomers from the Blitz. He and I both have finely-honed reflexes based on survival and defense. I don't think I'll ever understand why he never took that simple step from defensive, to offensive. Such a practical, proactive thing, and yet I think that this, more than his guilt and my lack thereof, is the dividing line between us—that which separates and defines us as both potential allies and potential enemies.
I watch the steadying rise and fall of his ribcage, the grooves clearly visible through the tatty garment he assures me is vile due to its previous owner, not its muggle nature. I don't choose to make the distinction. It amazes me that the only person capable of challenging me is here in my bed, wilfully at my mercy and fragile as dust. Having already soothed him, he sleeps peacefully, and his untroubled innocence is nearly... painful. I doubt that I have ever looked so young in my life.
He says that I've rubbed off on him—that I bring out his Slytherin qualities. I suspect that my dirty secret—were I capable of shame—would be that he brings out whatever Gryffindor tendencies I could possibly claim... but only for him. There is something like a toothache inside of me when I look at him, and it calls me to be his protector. Perhaps it is merely self-preservation recognising Harry for what he is—nothing more and nothing less than a mirror. Regardless, I watch him—now asleep—and I feel this... compulsion to keep him here, always, in my bed.
Unfortunately, of course, it cannot be. But for tonight...
Slowly, so as not to awaken him, I levitate his body to the centre of the bed and gently pivot him to face the other way. Back to back, I let the heat of his body cocoon us both beneath the blanket. For what is left of tonight, at least, I can keep him safe.