Chapter V: A dream is a wish your heart makes
Disclaimer: Not mine and I make no profit.
While both Quatre Winner and Duo Maxwell were catching a few hours of sleep, Harry had already volunteered to help in the camp.
Harry Potter had always healed quickly. He hadn't ever asked anyone ‒ he hadn't been comfortable with talking about those kind of things ‒ but he thought that maybe his magic had healed him a lot during his childhood. And sustained, because while he was – had been – small he hadn't been malnourished, which he really should have been with that little food. He hadn't even realized people were supposed to eat more, as opposed to Dudley and Vernon just being kind of pigs with food, before entering Hogwarts and seeing how much the other students ate. His bruises always healed overnight. Now, with fresh air and more food, his headache was almost completely gone.
He had wandered around a little, not sure where he was allowed to go and where not. Everything seemed to be a puzzling mix of run down buildings and vehicles and some shiny, newer than new tech he could glimpse. The ground was yellow sand that was still rather moist ‒ the only asphalt could be found in the airport. The people were also different from what he had seen before, hard and even scary, though fortunately they mostly ignored him completely.
Harry Potter was also well familiar with housekeeping. Whether it was preparing meals or cleaning the house, removing leaves from rain gutters or washing the windows, sweeping doormats or taking out the trash, he had been tasked with doing it. He managed to lazy around whole half an hour before the busy people rushing about made him feel guilty enough to offer to help. He had been promptly given the task or ordering their household chemical closets and an approving look. He had taken one look at the first one and concluded with an uneasy sensation at the bottom of his stomach that the huge containers full of chemicals probably weren't used for cleaning as much as other things.
It was a whole new world for both Potter and Dursley. The yellow sand was everywhere ‒ it drifted under the clothes and was carried inside at the bottom of boots. Everything was built of wood, but not the kind of wooden houses you could occasionally see in Diagon Alley or some better, older parts of London ‒ posh and old-fashioned, but newly painted and beautiful. These buildings had been painted dark brown or green if they had been painted at all, plain straight walls and square windows with heavy, black curtains inside – if they hadn't been painted black. The people all looked strong and hard and scary and everybody adult carried at least one gun. Among wizards and witches looks could be really deceiving, but one look at these people told that they were strong and tough. But that wasn't all.
Even their supplies managed to be unnerving. Giant white bottles, big wine red and grey jars, bright red canisters on the floor. It looked totally innocuous at first glance but the labels told another tale. There were air fresheners. Harry Dursley had watched documentation from TV once about these things. The man in white coat had explained how people shouldn't let the commercials fool them. Most air fresheners interfered with the ability to smell by disabling nasal passages with an oil film or a nerve-deadening agent. Common chemicals in air fresheners included formaldehyde, a highly toxic carcinogen, and phenol, which could cause hives, convulsions, circulatory collapse, coma and even death. That famous program had signalled the end of that type of air fresheners in Great Britain. Harry Potter had learned at early age, learning to read as much by reading the labels of different kinds of bottles and jars as much as in school, of the dangers of furniture polish; highly flammable and often containing extremely toxic chemical that were easily absorbed through the skin, and bleach; which, when mixed with ammonia, produced deadly fumes.
There was also a motley assortment of ammonia, dishwasher detergents, drain cleaners and pesticides that all had the red DANGER warning on their labels: The chemical is harmful or fatal if swallowed. Ingestion of a small taste to a teaspoon can kill an average-sized adult.
He was poking through the last closet and staring in disbelief at the label of lice shampoo that claimed inhalation, ingestion, or absorption of lindane caused vomiting, convulsions and circulatory collapse and might cause liver damage, stillbirths, birth defects and cancer.
"People actually use this on themselves? And don't kill themselves with it?" he wondered out loud, shaking his head and staring the innocent-looking bottle with purple and yellow flowers on it.
"In richer, more civilized areas they don't, but here, those old products are still popular," Quatre's voice sounded from behind his back. Harry yelped and jumped at little, banging his head to the low-hanging lamp.
"You startled me," he accused rubbing his head, the swinging lamp making dim, yellow light and shadows swish back and forth.
"I am sorry. I came here because I would like to ask some questions of you," Quatre explained. Harry nodded and looked back towards the almost completely ordered closet. He hadn't been given many instructions so he had put everything in alphabetical order.
"They don't actually use these for cleaning, do they?" he asked. His voice was rather small and he didn't like it much. Quatre sighed.
"No, they don't. You see, you need a permit to buy phenol and nitrobenzene, but not furniture polish. Household chemicals aren't regulated." They just required a chemist to tweak them and refine them, he didn't say, he didn't need to say.
Quatre was still clad in beige and pastels. He looked so white and soft and stylish and totally out of place that Harry wondered if people were giving him hard time. Maybe not, though. He had learned that Quatre was a Gundam pilot and how cool was that? Harry tried to imagine small Quatre inside the chest of a massive GUndam and came short. That was something he would just have to see.
"I still need to order this closet. Can we talk here?" He didn't want to skive off on the first task he had been given.
"I would rather not. I will help you with it," Quatre said.
It wasn't any quicker than it would have been had Harry been working alone. In fact, they went slower because the closet was so full of shelves and canisters on the floor that one person barely could turn around if they were careful with their elbows. He had to physically step out before Quatre could step in. But when he was going to suggest that that older boy step back and let him finish he was stopped by the utterly fascinated and eager look on Quatre's face. He wasn't sure what was so great about ordering a dusty closet and lifting heavy, red canisters full of pesticide in and out, but Quatre seemed to think it was something new and exiting.
Well, Harry amended in his mind, considering that he was one of those Winners, maybe he hadn't ever ordered a closet before, though he still didn't see the attraction.
"The Maguanacs never let me do menial things. It's one thing to take care of my own equipment ‒ that's expected ‒ but they get this look when I try to help them in the kitchen, for example," he explained, examining his fingers, black with some kind of soot these closets seemed to collect, and looked vaguely satisfied.
They vacated into the small shack given to Quatre and the five Maguanacs who had followed him there. Harry was looking around as they walked towards the fence and tree line, fascinated by everything he was seeing. The sky was covered by clouds and wind was picking up, rustling in the trees that grew around the buildings, sheltering them from above. Everything smelled new, like exotic forest and oil. The sound of wind and birds and monkeys shrieking and heavy, metallic clunks every once in a while. The rebels didn't seem to have any official uniform, though most of them wore different camouflage fatigues and khaki-vests that had a definitive army look to them. But there were also men and women in bright red shirts, armed to the teeth. Harry asked why they were wearing such a bright colour, but Quatre looked briefly away before giving Harry a look that was a pretty good approximation of the disapproving looks Mrs. Weasley used to give Fred and George.
"Not people you should talk with. They are dangerous and unpredictable. First, I need to know about your gift," he said, gestured Harry to step inside and closed the door behind them with a click.
The shack didn't look like it was originally intended to be lived in; there was only one, narrow window near to the ceiling that cast a small box of grey light onto the floor. But it was very clean; not a dust mote could be seen, let alone sand that seemed to get everywhere here. Quatre took off his shoes and Harry did the same. There were six cots with faded blue cotton bedlinen and not much else besides the gear the Maguanacs had arranged neatly around their beds. There was however, a chair that Quatre gestured Harry to sit in. He sat, fighting the feeling of unease.
"Well, I'm a wizard," Harry started. Surely that was a safe bet. Luna could spin tales, but he had a feeling she was more the honest type. Definitely the blunt type.
"Harry, what you and Luna call magic are in fact psychokinetic and ESP abilities," Quatre interrupted him gently before he could even really start. Harry blinked, his train of thought scrambled as he tried to remember what psychokinesis and ESP were. The ability of the mind to influence matter, time, space, or energy and reception of information not gained through the recognized physical senses but sensed with the mind. That was kind of magical-sounding, but the Dursley memories of his insisted it was absolutely scientific.
"No, this really is magic," he argued.
"Your ability to teleport may have been unknown before, but that doesn't make it magical, only previously undiscovered," Quatre insisted. And really, if he wanted to believe magic didn't exist it wasn't skin off Harry's back. It hadn't existed before, Harry was almost sure of that, because if there was a hidden magical society they should have been on him like white on rice after all his underage magic. And he wasn't going to explain how he had switched universes, he just wasn't. Bad enough it had happened, he didn't want to speak of it.
"If you say so," he said non-committing and if Quatre wasn't convinced Harry was convinced he let it slide.
"What are the limits of your gift and how do you use it?" Limits? That was rather vague and Harry wasn't feeling terribly confident in his ability to explain what he didn't really understand himself – any more than he understood how he moved his hand. He had a vague conception from his biology lessons about nerves and muscles and sinews, but please don't make him explain that!
"I have always succeeded at what I have tried to do eventually, except maybe potions, but that doesn't count," Harry said. He was beginning to understand why Luna was so blunt; it was a lot simpler than trying to lie and you couldn't get into trouble if people didn't believe you.
"How many people have you been able to teleport previously?" Quatre clarified is request.
"It's apparating. I have never appatated anyone before, I kind of had to learn that one in the fly. I had already made things fly and, uh, made a glass disappear. Not the kind of glass you drink from, either." It had been a big glass.
"You hadn't EVER teleported anyone? Even YOURSELF?" Quatre's voice climbed to a register that left Harry's ears ringing.
"Hey, I never needed to! And you can't say it didn't work out well," Harry defended himself hotly. Not like he had splinched anyone.
"I can hardly believe you are being honest, but you are. So you previously believed yourself only telekinetic?"
"And I made the glass disappear. As to how, I picture what I want to happen in my mind. Or rather, it's something I associate with what I want to happen, something I've got an emotional connection to. When I got to the base I was thinking of how I ended up in the roof of my old school when my cousin was chasing me. My power is usually just scattered and flowing everywhere," Harry explained and wiggled his ten fingers, so concentrated in explaining something he wasn't sure could be adequately explained that he didn't see the way Quatre's face darkened at the mention of his cousin. "Unless I'm really focused or desperate from the get-go I must first think something that makes it compact like this! But Luna is better at controlling this than I am." He slammed his hands together, fingers in between each other.
"I have talked with Duo and we have decided that helping you rescue Sirius Black and preferably also Matthew Sisulu is a good idea, because of the information they can offer, but for other reasons also. Tell me, would you be amenable to the idea of living with your godfather? Given that he is in a fit state mentally and physically to care for you, of course."
For a moment Harry was transferred to another place and time. He was scrambling in a narrow, low tunnel, Ron limping painfully somewhere in front of him, hidden by Snape's limp body Sirius was levitating and Sirius, oh Sirius, he had asked Harry to come live with him after all was cleared. The tunnel was smelling like wet ground and mildew and he had hit his head to the ceiling and Snape was hanging from nothing like a puppet and it was so dim he could barely see the hesitation in Sirius' face, the fear that Harry would say no, but… it was perfect! A moment fit to cast a thousand Patronus charms. He would get away from the horrible Dursleys for good!
Get away from the horrible Dursleys? Harry shook his head, felt relieved and terrible loss at the same moment. His family wasn't horrible, but somehow he felt something had been taken from him. The joy he had felt those few, blessed moments? Because he would have to go back to his family.
"I would love to, but my family must be beside themselves with worry," he said regretfully. Then he wondered what he was even thinking. He wasn't going to stay with Dursley's any more than he was going to stay with this Sirius because he was going to find a way to home. How could he be hesitating already? Three days and he was sold? Ready to leave Ron and – Hermione? He had thought he was a better person than that.
Quatre was looking at him with a serious expression, determined and gentle at the same time. He was silent for a long time and Harry began to fidget in his chair. It was a pretty uncomfortable chair, but it was a secret headquarters in a jungle, not a hotel. He was hot and the air smelt wet. It would probably rain soon. Harry fidgeted some more, hoping he knew what to say to make Quatre stop looking at him like that.
"I'm all right, you know," he said. That was a good all-purpose thing to say.
"I can feel you are troubled," Quatre said. "I am aware many people considerer this an invasion of privacy, but please take my word for it, this isn't something I can simply turn off. You were so happy, but then it turned into conflict, regret, even self-disgust. I believe that living with your godfather would be a good option and if he isn't in a good enough condition to care for you then we can find you a foster family."
"But I don't need a foster family, I'm adopted. It's nothing to worry about, what you felt, it's just kind of complicated. Are you a telepath or something?" Wouldn't surprise him any, his life was strange like that.
"I'm a low-level telepath, yes. I can not read your thought, only decipher your feelings." Quatre's voice was calm and stable and flatter than before
"Huh. Cool." Quatre's face twitched in a funny way and Harry thought he had maybe been anxious, thought that Harry would be mad. But he was used to odder things and at least Quatre was nice.
"Come with me," Quatre told him. "We are going to hold a little war council with Duo." And they kept miscommunicating.
Luna Lovegood was napping under a tree and getting acquainted with her other self. In her dreams there were two of her standing next to one another, smiling shyly, eyes peeking under pale lashes. There was something under their feet and the sense of existence around them, but it was nothing she could have described later; it was an unformed vision, only needing to carry the weight of the both of them.
"I am Luna Lovegood. It's nice to meet you," Luna said. The other Luna nodded sagely and took both her hands into her own. Her hands were warm and soft and her nails were very neat.
"I am Luna Lovegood also. You remember fascinating things." For a flicker of candlelight the shapeless place around then changed.
There was a grey stone castle set upon huge rocks above dark water set alight with little lantern on merry boats, like stars that weren't yet visible in the twilight sky. Hundreds of girls and boys in black robes were rushing towards the shore, slipping on the wet, green grass and splashing on the mud. Another flicker and tall walls towering over them, covered with warm, golden candles, reaching up to the ceiling that was sky full of white and purple and blue stars that seemed to swirl across the sky like the planet had really been turning, but too quick, much too quick. Then the same hall during the breakfast, owls of all sizes and colours flying over the heads of students, dropping parchments and small packets wrapped in brown paper and red and gold or green and silver or blue and bronze or yellow and black gift wrappings on their laps. Then the flickers were gone like wind had blown them out and Luna was standing with Luna on the grey again.
"I was as happy at Hogwarts as I was anywhere, happier even. But my mum and grandmum were dead and I was called Loony Lovegood," she confessed to her other self. "I didn't have any friends. But now I have Harry." Her face lit up and for a second there were two Harrys standing next to them, one in black robes and grey uniform under, the other in maroon and orange uniform.
"I am happy too; he saved my parents. But he isn't taking to this very well, is he?" Luna asked. They both wore similar clothing, dark with the bright sash around their waist, but there was a divide inside Harry. And Harry was gone, both of him frowning as they disappeared.
"Different people have different strengths. I can see things other people can't and I can… it's like air, what I can do, invisible and you can feel it when you move quickly, but not grab it, but it's important. Harry can do things you can see and take in your hands and that's important too. You can't live without air, but you can't live without ground either."
"I understand," Luna whispered and the dream changed. It was a school yard. The school was a simple, boring white box that had a big clock above the big glass doors and the yard in front of it had two swing sets, a slide and a playing flied where bigger boys were playing soccer. There were little boys and girls in a circle, a younger Luna standing in the middle with her eyes covered with a grey scarf. She had pigtails and red dress with maple leaves on it. One of her white socks went up to her knee and the other was ankle-length.
And Luna knew Luna then. Some things transcended worlds and lives; this Luna was a clairvoyant. There was a time when she could at any time close her eyes and tell what her friends would be getting at lunch, who would eat beans and who fish and chips, who would get ice cream for dessert and who would only have bread pudding or no dessert at all.
"Come here, come here, little bird, even though you are shy. Come here, poor bird, I have got an apple pie. So it is caught, so it is caught, so the little bird is caught!" the kids were singing, dancing around little Luna hand in hand. When the word caught ran out the last time Luna reached behind her and her hand touched the sleeve of a boy with glasses and curly, red hair. She didn't manage to grab him, but the dancing stopped and she groped until she caught his hand and slid her fingers among his.
"This is Jacob," Little Luna said and Jacob groaned as the other children clapped their hands.
"She did it again!" the rest of them were cheering. Jacob stepped in the middle of the circle and took the scarf Luna offered him.
"I always guessed who was caught. I was so good they thought I was cheating somehow and made me grab the one behind me while the others took the one before them," Luna said. Children sand and danced and, yes, when the dance stopped Jacob took the hand of a girl almost head taller than the rest of them who was standing before him. He guessed wrong.
A hand touched her shoulder gently, but insistently and the other Luna drifted into darkening nothing. Luna opened her eyes to find her mum kneeling in front of her. Her dad and grandmum were standing behind her mum. Luna couldn't see their faces because the sun was shining behind them and she had to squint her eyes, but they were making worry-humming hhhhHHhmMMmmm like a tuning fork that had been tapped against the edge of a table.
"Mr. Rashid said they would smuggle us into the L4 colony on a Sweeper ship and that we are leaving the day after tomorrow. Your friend will have to stay a little longer, but he will follow us there. They just can't keep us here too long because we are too sought after to keep so near to an Oz base," her mum said. Luna frowned.
"Something will happen," she said. She hadn't noticed before, but now that her mum was speaking of it she could almost taste it, a dash of danger like pepper and left behind like salt and Harry, like sugar, sweetened the deal. "But don't worry, I'm sure it will turn out all right," she reassured her family.
"That's nice to know, little walnut. But we would like to know how you met Harry. And what does it mean when they say you can… do things also?" her dad asked and knelt in front of her too. He was smiling, but it was the worried kind of smile that made Luna want to hug him. So she did.
"Harry's my friend because I know him and he knows me. He is a good friend, and he is good with dangers also and knows what it feels like when you are left alone. I can do things, but don't worry, Quatre's really ethical about it," she answered. She had known before she had seen him the first time that Harry hadn't been born to be safe and when she had seen him in the Great Hall the first time his eyes had been like lake yearly at spring, sun glittering on the surface, but cold deep down; sad eyes.
His dad winced and traded a helpless look with her mum. Then both of them turned to look at grandmum Calla who took a deep breath and soldiered on.
"Luna, we have noticed that you have been a little incoherent in your speech after you escaped from the London base alone. Did something happen to you that we don't know yet?" she asked.
The small crack in the clouds closed and the bright sun dimmed. Now Luna could see her grandmum and she wondered when she had turned so old. The wrinkles around her eyes and mouth were so deep now. Her eyes were angry like Luna was hurt.
Luna felt something cold and hurtful tightening around her chest then. The other Luna had known things also, but she hadn't known so much it took space from normal-things. They keep their inner sight where normal people keep their common sense,an everyday, mild, cruel voice whispered in her mind. I'm not saying Professor Trelawney is a few quills short of a quill case ‒ she just replaced a few with tweezers and a crochet hook and those have no place in a quill case. Her Sight had no place in her? She blinked her eyes so the tears wouldn't come and dropped her eyes to the ground.
"I'm alright. I just didn't explain myself," she said. She knew her family would always love her even if she was odder than before. They were worried because they loved her. Still, she felt like something had just been broken that could never be perfect like it was before even if it was glued back together; maybe it was an impossible dream of new-yet-same life. Her mum and grandmum were alive again, but the cracks would always show.
Quatre Winner was a patient person and originally he hadn't intended to hurry. His plan had been to send the Lovegoods on their way to the nearest Sweeper base, lay low for a little while and wait for the commotion Duo had caused to die down some, wait for Oz to relax its guard and then strike. Or possibly leave the entire thing to Duo; this was his territory and Quatre had his own to mind.
This plan hadn't survived a whole day in the Umoja base. How Duo could feel at ease with these people Quatre didn't know. He was from L2, but still.
"These people," he said to Rashid, "Are maniacs!" He was sitting on his own bed, Rashid on his own. The rest of the Maguanacs that had followed him were on their own and Duo had claimed the chair, holding a steaming hot cup of coffee and sulking because he had been made to eat nswaa again.
"They aren't that bad if you know how to handle them. Actually, I'm beginning to wonder if J did things with noradrenaline too, 'cause the redshirts kinda remind me of Heero," Duo mused, biting his lower lip. It was a very cute habit, not that Quatre had any intention of telling him so.
"Heero's that bad?" he asked and winced. Maybe that wasn't the best way to word it. Duo had, somehow, made friends with the stoic, antisocial Japanese.
Human brains made two chemicals to deal with aggression. One of them was adrenaline and it triggered the fight or flight response. It was good for emergencies, but not all that sufficient for rational thinking in a fire fight. Then there was noradrenaline that adrenaline was actually a breakdown product of. People usually didn't have all that high noradrenaline levels. Noradrenalin also acted as a neurotransmitter in the brain, making people calm and rational while firing their guns. And when those levels went through the roof, it took the safety off, the part of the human brain that could endure discomfort, the part that could hold back. That knew killing people willy-nilly wasn't a good idea. That was why they wore red shirts; a colour of danger. Stay away.
"Heero isn't bad. He's just kinda hung up on killing Relena ‒ but I'm sure he isn't really going to do it ‒ and setting his own broken bones after he jumps off buildings and stuff. He's in control." That sounded rather ominous, but then Heero wasn't shooting people because they brushed against him in a crowd. Control, yes, even if he was nowhere near normal. Then, Doctor J had to be better than whomever these people had working for them.
"Rescue itself should be fairly easy: Harry apparates in and apparates out, first with Black, then with Sisulu. Nighttime would be optional as the prisoners can counted to be found on their cells and won't be missed for several hours. The challenge is to find where Black and Sisulu's cells are."
"And Harry leaves the camp with his godfather and the Lovegoods," Quatre finished, satisfied. Earlier that day Harry had sworn to be in good enough condition already to apparate and he certainly looked healthy enough to do his part.
"Someone should follow young Harry, for safety's sake," Rashid advised him. "The cellmates of Black and Sisulu might turn violent in hopes of forcing him to free them also." He was sitting his hands clasped behind his back, leaning slightly on them. His beard was in impeccable trim and his comrades were clean-shaven; no reason to slouch off just because everyone around them seemed to be.
"So, reconnaissance tomorrow, rescue tomorrow night if we get lucky, then everybody leaves?" Duo asked. He was swinging his feet and Qatre couldn't help but notice that his socks didn't quite match; one black and one navy blue. That made his fingers itch to get him new socks, what Iria had once called maternal instinct, much to Quatre's consternation, rising its head and roaring.
"I thought you didn't mind staying here?" he asked. Duo shrugged and his braid fell from his shoulder against his chest.
"Nah, but it's been some time since I last got to bug Heero. His face is gonna freeze into a frown if I leave him alone for too long and that would be a shame. Which one goes a-spying? The other sleeps so they are sharp and ready come night." They could go on for a long time without sleeping for more than few hour here and there, but it played havoc with their reaction time.
"Master Quatre, please remember that you can delegate," Rashid pointed out. Quatre felt his cheeks heating. He didn't like sending his men out without himself. Yes, he knew how good they were, but… he was worrying too much. He was their commander, not their mother, and they had been doing this a lot longer than he had.
"Great! I'll make you a map!" Duo said and dashed out of the shack, putting his coffee mug on the chair first and shouting from the door to not drink his precious or else. The mug was black with a print of skull and crossed bones and a text: IS THERE LIFE AFTER DEATH? TOUCH MY COFFEE AND FIND OUT. Quatre smiled thinly still rather indignant and put out by the people they were amongst, but also amused by his friend's antics. Duo returned soon with a street map of Entebbe; he had to unfold in on the floor and kick Ahmed's pack out of the way, because spread out it took half the floor space.
"This is the prison," he said and drew a big, red cross over a building, like marking the treasure into a pirate's map. It was in the outskirts of Entebbe, close to pretty much nothing except bullet train tracks.
"Avoid these areas; they are turfs of local gangs." He circled seven areas of several blocks with red and scribbled names into each circle. "The Ozzies patrol here and the local coppers here." He drew black and blue lines and arrows, scribbling times here and there, making sure to mark the police stations. He marked the house of the Head of Electoral and Political Crime Department who was in league with the underground and could help if necessary and told them his own password and key phrases, and the tea shop owned by an Indian immigrant who was an informant that could be counted on to find out much about everything; she was the paid bird of a local bigwig, as Duo put it. Quatre was impressed by how many connections Duo had made and how much he had learned of the city in pretty short time. His area or not, they had to go where the enemy action was and he hadn't got to spend very much time in Europe.
Rashid, Ahmed, Azeer and Jamal were kneeled around the map, memorizing it and asking questions. Duo was pointing at things and marking more places. It looked kind of cute actually, like a little boy showing his dad and uncles his drawings, but there was no way Quatre was going to tell Duo that. Not yet anyway. It would be much funnier to wait until they met with Chang Wufei.
The light had dimmed yet outside, but it hadn't been obvious in the hars, yellow light of the shack. The sound of the first drops against the roof alarmed Quatre to the change in weather.
"I hope this shack is more waterproof than it looks," he said and glanced up. The roof wasn't corrugated iron, but made of tarred-black roofing shingles.
"Don't worry, you are gonna be fine as long as you don't go outside. I hate weather," Duo complained and shivered. Then he gave the Maguanacs a gleeful grin. "But I'm not the one who's gonna go out tonight!" And he left the map with them, cheerfully cackling as he ran through the rain towards his barracks.
"It's nice to see he finds humour in small things," Quatre said serenely and suppressed a yawn. He was still tired, as a child of the colonies he disliked rain as much as your next person and while he wasn't going to say it he was also grateful he didn't need to sneak out into the city, hack into anything that night.
Harry Dursley was dreaming. He was wandering down a dark hall, the night silent around him; the only sounds his own footsteps and breathing. High stone walls towered around him, pillars and stone arcs that carried the ceiling far above him. Moonlight came in from high, narrow, ornate windows, bathing everything in deep, dark blue, casting silvery lines under the windows. Harry didn't know where he was, but he felt safe, comfortable. He had been in this castle before, he was sure of it, he just couldn't recall when. He then came to a door, reached for it with a hand that was holding something – only to see is hand appear from out of nothing at all. He looked down upon himself and couldn't see himself. Yet the strange feeling of calm and right didn't leave him, but he felt silly for having forgotten.
"Alohomora," he whispered and the door opened, accompanied by soft light. He stepped inside and let the cloak fall from his shoulders. Yes, that was what he had forgotten. Its lining was softly glowing silvery-white and when he turned it inside out and draped the cloak around him he became invisible. Of course. How could he have forgotten his first real Christmas present ever?
(His first real Christmas present ever?)
He had entered an unused classroom, and only now Harry remembered that he was in his school. He was being really absentminded that night, he though and walked towards with a sense of purpose. He had come to see something. There, in front of a window niche, stood a mirror.
(But this wasn't Smeltings…)
The mirror was taller than Harry was. It was shaped like the doors in the castle, its frame made of bronze or something bronze-coloured and it looked like it hadn't been dusted for quite some time. There was some carving inscribed across the top of the frame and Harry had to come so close his nose almost touched the glass and stand on tiptoes to read it in the dark room.
Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi.
He stepped back and stared into the mirrors' depths. At first it was only his own reflection that stared back, but then, without a ripple and flash or any preamble the vision shifted. It showed the same classroom, in broad daylight, and there were a girl and a boy standing next to him. The girl had bushy brown hair, brown eyes and rather large front teeth, the boy had fiery red hair and a freckled complexion, blue eyes, a long nose and he was lanky with big hands and big feet. They both had wrapped their arms around Harry's shoulders and were laughing, not like they had just heard something funny, but like they were just so happy they couldn't not laugh. Harry could almost feel their arms touching him, but he didn't dare to turn to look in fear of the vision disappearing. He slowly moved his right hand atop the boy's arm, but while in the mirror he touched it he felt it touch his shoulder. Just a mirage. He felt like his heart had just broken.
Harry blinked his eyes, trying to keep from crying, but his vision became blurry. What was wrong with him? He felt like he had just lost his best friends.
(Ibie was his friend, and Lai and Zoe and Mike. Who were these people?)
I show you not your face but your heart's desire.
A new person walked into the mirror; a man with gaunt, sunken face, waxy skin, yellow teeth, and long, matted hair; Harry thought he looked as a corpse might look. But he was smiling brilliantly at him and Harry smiled back at his godfather. Of course, his godfather! Now he just had to get out of this castle and into Uganda so he could save Sirius. Maybe the girl and the boy in the mirror would help him.
The room brightened and when Harry turned the girl and the boy were standing there, talking animatedly. Sirius wasn't there because he was in prison, but there was a boy Harry hadn't seen in the mirror, a round-faced boy with a short, plump build and blond hair. They were all carrying books and parchment, talking about school work.
"I'll tell you, Hermione, our DADA teacher's completely useless. Pixies!" the red-haired boy complained to the girl.
"He isn't that bad, he just expects us to learn things on our own!" the girl defended. "And Neville, you shouldn't tell anyone you are a Parselmouth or people are going to get weird on you."
"Hey, do you remember me? Will you help me?" Harry asked, but the group didn't seem to notice him at all. He asked again, louder, but they still didn't react. Dread building in his stomach Harry walked to them and tried to touch the plum boy, but his hand went through him like they were ghosts. Or like he was the ghost. But now the girl, Hermione, turned to look at him and her contemptuous brown eyes pierced his heart.
"We don't need you anymore, Harry Potter. We have found a better Boy Who Lived."
Her words cut like a knife. Harry turned desperately towards the mirror, hoping to see her smiling to him there, but the only thing he saw inside was a blood red stone.
Harry Potter's eyes opened and his breath hitched. He was warm under covers in the warm African night, but he was drenched in cold sweat and shivering all over. He sat up and looked frantically around, but the Lovegood family he was sharing the sleeping accommodations with were still sleeping soundly; he hadn't made a sound, thank Merlin. The soft rattle of rain against the roof made of corrugated iron filled his skull. Harry dropped back on his back, unable to remain in a sitting position.
I show you not your face, but your heart's desire. Hermione, how could you?
Harry didn't cry. He felt like crying, but his obstinate eyes remained dry and he stared at the ceiling, wondering what to do. He wanted to return to his own world, wanted to be friends with Ron and Hermione again, wanted to see his Sirius and prove him innocent. But he didn't want to return to the evil Dursleys, not after he had lived with the nice ones. Even if it was only in the memories he hadn't lived. And this Sirius still needed saving, his Sirius was at least free. And he had Ibie and the gang here, they were his friends. But he didn't love them nearly as much as he loved Ron and Hermione because, now he understood it, Harry Dursley had always taken being loved for granted. Harry Potter loved his friends like a drowning man loved air. But Luna was here; Luna had followed him and that had to mean something, right? And Quatre was a friend of a kind also and he needed help with the war, never mind what he said. He wanted to go home and he wanted to know where his home was.
"What a mess you got me into, Hermione," he whispered, his voice sounding rough in his ears. He wouldn't have believed he could feel sleepy after a dream like that one, but he felt wrung out, exhausted, spent inside and out, and when he closed his eyes just for a second he drifted into thankfully dreamless sleep.
AN: Real life and college has attacked my beta reader with extreme prejudice and she has handed in her notice. Thank you to MakalaMea for her hard job! I appreciate what you have done for me.
