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. Slash, 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: Sorry for the late update – I was swamped with revision last week. Also, this story is now available on AO3 if you'd prefer to read it there; just search InfamousJava and you'll find it. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter and as always thank you to anyone who reads or reviews.
Chapter Fourteen
The next few days passed in a dull blur of wasted time. Harry did very little apart from wandering the halls of the immense manor and exploring the beautiful gardens – when he was outside, lost in the magical plants and sweet-smelling flowers, he could almost forget about the travesty that was his life.
The only other activity that Harry partook in regularly was avoiding Draco Malfoy. Even his Gryffindor heritage wasn't enough to give him the courage to face the blonde after the kissing incident of a few days ago. Harry knew that Malfoy would be extremely angry with him, maybe even angry enough to kick him out of his house, and as Harry had no desire to leave the manor just yet, he gave the Slytherin no opportunity to shout at him. He had stopped attending meals, only venturing down to the kitchens to find food when it was necessary, he had deliberately not gone anywhere near Draco's bloody wing of the manor, and whenever he had heard his haughty voice emanating from a nearby room, Harry had turned tail and run in the opposite direction. One time, when Harry was on one of his missions to gather food from the house-elves, Malfoy had spotted him and called his name. Harry had gaped at the blonde, who was quickly walking towards him with a pissed-off expression on his pale face, for a few seconds, before squeaking in a very unmanly way and running away. Malfoy's shout of "You can't run hide from me forever, Potter!" had followed him down the corridor as he sprinted away towards safety.
Why he continued to stay in the manor when he was clearly not wanted there, Harry didn't know. It would be much easier for him to just go and stay at Grimmauld place with Ron and Hermione. But he had lasted this long, and now Harry was desperate to solve the tantalizing mystery that was Draco Malfoy. It was like his obsession from sixth year had returned, but this time it was less focused on what Malfoy was up to and more on the boy himself; his frosty personality, his sharp mind, his stormy eyes... 'Stop it, Harry! Get a hold of yourself!" Harry mentally shouted at himself, shaking his head to stop his thoughts from heading in a dangerous direction.
...
Harry was sat in one of the many sitting rooms in the manor, reading an interesting book on past Quidditch world cups, wondering vaguely if he'd still be able to play the game that he loved so much, when the diminutive form of Mipsey the house-elf appeared next to him.
"Mr Potter is receiving guests. Should Mipsey be bringing them here?" The house-elf questioned in its squeaky voice.
"Er, yes please." Harry replied. He supposed that his visitors would be Ron and Hermione, coming laden with new books so that they could carry on with the task of researching Harry's mysterious ailment. Mipsey bowed deeply before popping out of the room. Harry stood up, and stretched, before brushing down his clothes a bit to try and make himself a bit more presentable.
After a few minutes, Hermione's bushy head appeared in the doorway. Harry moved over to greet her with a quick hug, before turning to offer a welcome to his red-headed best friend. However, the person that followed Hermione into the room was not Ron. Instead, a tall, thin woman clothed in the pale robes commonly seen on St. Mungo's healers came through the doorway and extended her hand.
"Mr. Potter, I'm Healer Wilkins. I was the Healer in charge of your case when you were at St. Mungo's." The woman said in a brisk, no-nonsense tone. Harry wordlessly shook her hand before shooting a questioning glance at Hermione, who smiled sheepishly at him but offered no explanation.
The Healer, who had noticed the silent communication between Harry and Hermione, took it upon herself to explain her presence.
"Miss Granger asked me to come here today to conduct a test on your magic levels. As you probably know by now, Mr. Potter, the curse that was placed on you should have drained your power levels completely, but Miss Granger was convinced that you had managed performed accidental magic." Healer Wilkins glared slightly at Hermione, who stared back unabashedly. "The possibility of this being correct is minute, but I was persuaded to come here today to check. Now if you would just stay very still for a minute Mr. Potter, I can conduct the test and let you get on with your day."
The Healer withdrew her wand from her robes and pointed it at Harry, who stiffened immediately. Wilkins murmured a few words and waved her wand in a complicated swirl, and Harry felt a slight tingling sensation in his skin. After a few moments of the odd feeling, the Healer stopped and looked intently at Harry, who quickly looked down at himself to try and figure out what the woman had done to him. To his amazement, his skin was glowing faintly gold, but only very slightly and what colour there was faded quickly.
"It's just as I thought – your magic levels have gone up slightly since you left the hospital, but that's probably because you've spent a significant amount of time here. This manor is an extremely old building, and has belonged to the Malfoy family for centuries, and has such become an inherently magical place. The resounding magic here has probably boosted your powers slightly, but only to the level that say a squib would have." The Healer said in a brisk tone.
"But how come he was able to do magic then?" Hermione questioned.
"That I don't know. If Mr. Potter here did, in fact, perform magic then it was probably due to the strength of his emotions feeding the magic in the manor, which in turn would result in some sort of spell being produced." Healer Wilkins answered. "Now if you don't mind, I have to get back to the hospital – my next shift starts in a few minutes."
Hermione sighed."Alright, I'll escort you out in a minute. Let me just talk to Harry for a minute."
The Healer nodded and left the room, leaving Harry and Hermione alone.
"I'm sorry about that Harry. I just thought – " Hermione started to apologize but Harry cut her off.
"It's alright Hermione. You were just trying to help." Harry said with a rueful smile. "So where's Ron today?"
"Oh he's at the Burrow – we've moved back in you see. But they've not really had a chance to talk as a family for ages, so I told Ron to stay there today whilst I came to talk to you." She sighed and looked at her watch."I better be off – that Healer really seems to want to get to work. Oh, and Harry, Molly told me to tell you that she's expecting you for dinner tomorrow and that if you don't show up, she's going to track you down and make you go because she wants to apologize properly."
"Wait – what's happening tomorrow?" Harry asked, confused.
Hermione looked at him sharply. "Harry – tomorrow's your birthday. I'll be here at about four to apparate you to the Burrow." And with that, Hermione threw her arms around him in a quick hug before darting out the door after the Healer.
...
'My birthday...' thought Harry. He had completely forgotten that he would soon be eighteen, what with the coma and all. To be perfectly honest, he had never really expected that he would live to see his eighteenth, mainly because of the fact there was an insane Dark Lord trying to murder him. Although he had already come of age in the Wizarding World last year, eighteen somehow seemed a lot older than seventeen – it probably had something to do with him growing up in the muggle world, where all the possibilities of adulthood become available at the age of eighteen.
Harry was so lost in his thoughts that he didn't notice a certain blonde someone catch sight of him through the open doorway.
"Hello, Potter." came a drawling voice from behind Harry's shoulder. Harry jumped and turned around to see Malfoy smirking at him. He quickly considered making a run for it but Malfoy's next statement had him changing his mind.
"Don't bother. The doors locked." Malfoy said as he slid into the seat next to Harry. "I think we need to have a little...talk."
Harry gulped. "Er – what about?"
Malfoy smiled evilly at the dark haired boy. "Well you see Potter, I don't like it when people think that they can just kiss me without asking permission first. And I was just wondering - why on Earth did you do just that?"
"Well, I er... You see- the thing is..." Harry mumbled as he scratched the back of his neck.
"Take your time, Potter, I don't have any plans." Malfoy said through a smug smirk.
Harry stammered nonsense at him for a few minutes before changing his tactic and going on the offensive.
"It's not like you ever have plans. I mean, I've been here for what, two weeks? And not once has anyone come to visit you." Harry said.
Malfoy glared at him. "It's not like there's ever any chance for my friends to come to visit – yours are always bloody here. And that's another thing I never gave you permission to do – to invite all your little mudblood friends over here all the time."
"Don't say that word, Malfoy! And you know what? I don't think your friends want to come and see you. I think that they've all ditched you 'cause you're not all high and mighty anymore." Harry spat viciously, feeling angry in the way that only Malfoy could make him feel.
His words had obviously struck a sore spot as Malfoys high cheekbones suddenly became tinged with red. "Shut up, Potter!" he spat.
"Make me." Harry taunted.
Malfoy looked absolutely furious for a second, but his scowl soon became a smirk and his red cheeks paled.
"Fine Potter. But remember – you asked for this." Malfoy said before lunging towards Harry. Harry flinched, expecting a fist to come flying at his face. Instead, slender hands wound themselves into Harry's dark hair and turned his face towards their owner. Aggressive lips met his own, and Harry soon lost himself in the ecstasy of Draco Malfoy's kiss.