A/N: Wow, I'm really surprised at all the Aurora!bashing going on. I was sure it was going to be Slughorn's turn. Huh. Well, I promise she's not in it much, so don't worry. Though I would like to point out that if Neville was in that situation and you (being in love with him) was there, you might be a little snippy, too. Also, as far as this chapter goes, I'd like to remind you that it's a dream, and Rory's not actually in it ^.^

For those of you desiring of fluff, it is on the way, I promise. Next chapter is medium-fluff, the one after that silly-sexy-fluff, and after that I don't remember because I'm half asleep (see below).

Also, hmm, let's see. I'm up to Christmas Eve (yay!) and Chapter Forty-Six will be pretty much entirely sexy times. I'm going to write it today, if I can stay awake long enough (had to get up early) and it's going to be brilliant. I'm really excited.

So enjoy, and remember, it's just a dream and Rory's not actually a terrible person!

Chapter Thirty-Five:

She said—I didn't—it just—

(a second interlude)

Harry stood alone in the Great Hall. The floor was covered in a thin sheet of blood, and he was barefoot. He reached for his wand to conjure himself a pair of shoes, but he didn't have it.

"Harry."

He turned to his right. Aurora was standing next to him, dressed in her princess gown. Her arms were crossed, and she was glaring at him.

"You're going to get blood on your dress," Harry said. The hemline fell just above the floor, barely skating against the blood. She, too, was barefoot.

"Why didn't you stop him?" she demanded.

"It happened too fast," Harry said.

"No it didn't," she replied. "Look."

Harry turned forward. A projection of the scene shone in front of him, and he could see everything play out. She was right; he had plenty of time.

"I didn't think—"

"Clearly," she interrupted. "Another body on your shoulders."

Harry paled. "What are you talking about? Nobody died."

Aurora raised an eyebrow. "No?" she asked. "Look again."

Harry turned forward. The scene in front of him was the hospital wing, two figures bent and crying over the broken body of Pansy Parkinson. Harry's stomach jerked.

"No," he said. "McGonagall said she'd be fine."

"She was wrong," Aurora said. "Try having your arm severed, see how you like it."

"It wasn't severed," Harry said, starting to panic. "I saw, it was still hanging on—"

"Nearly Armless Parkinson," she trilled. "Not quite the same ring as Nearly Headless Nick, but I think it'll do."

"No, she's not dead," Harry said, starting to repeat himself. "McGonagall said—"

"McGonagall said, McGonagall said," Aurora repeated mockingly. "I bet she also said not to blame yourself for them too, didn't she?"

Harry turned forward. Bodies hung in front of him, suspended in midair. Cedric Diggory. Sirius Black. Remus Lupin. Nymphadora Tonks. Mad-Eye Moody. The Creevey Brothers. Fred Weasley. His parents. Hedwig. Harry turned away.

"I couldn't—"

"You couldn't help it?" she asked. "No? Are you sure about that?" Her voice changed, though she looked the same. "I do not want to kill you. I have great respect for the teachers of Hogwarts. I do not want to spill magical blood. Give me Harry Potter, and none shall be harmed. Give me Harry Potter, and I shall leave the school untouched. Give me Harry Potter, and you will be rewarded. You have until midnight." Aurora's voice returned to her own. "And yet you did not go, Harry Potter. You stayed, and all these deaths are on your shoulders."

Harry looked back at the bodies. He saw the bottoms of their feet were bloody. Harry shook his head. "My parents, Sirius, Hedwig, Cedric—they weren't even there. I couldn't—"

"Oh, shut up," Aurora said, sounding almost bored. "You couldn't do this, you couldn't do that, it was all Voldemort's fault. Get over yourself, Harry Potter, and open your eyes.

"Your friends are the ones who fought. Your friends stayed, while you ran around doing the bidding of a dead wizard. You friends stayed when you couldn't be bothered to return to Hogwarts seventh year. Neville, he's the real hero. He stood up to Voldemort while you played dead. He killed Nagini, as if you didn't have ample chances yourself. Neville's parents were tortured beyond all recognition, and he doesn't go to pieces every time somebody mentions how his eyes look like his mom's.

"No wonder you like Draco so much; cowards, the both of you. You'd rather sit back and watch your friends die than stand up and fight."

"No," Harry said, almost yelling. "You weren't there, you don't know how it was."

"I don't?" she asked. "What do you think Neville and I talk about, late at night? He hasn't got anybody to talk to; Ron and Hermione are too self-involved, and you've abandoned him. You spent the summer sulking alone, and this year you've renounced your house in favor of a Death Eater. How does it feel waking up every morning wrapped in an arm bearing the Dark Mark?"

Harry's stomach clenched. "He isn't—it's not—"

"Don't make excuses," Aurora said. "I've seen it myself. He thinks he does such a good job covering it up, and you believe his intentions but really, he flashes it every chance he gets."

"Pansy's not dead," Harry said. "McGonagall wouldn't lie to me."

Aurora shrugged. "So what if she isn't? A mistake. Neville's never been entirely handy with a wand. He may have missed her throat, and her arm may be hanging on by a thread, and Pomfrey may be able to magic it back on, but the intention was clear, and you know it. 'Cursed he who holds back his sword from blood.' Jeremiah 48:10."

"I don't understand," Harry said. "You condone Neville's curse while saying it's my fault he nearly killed Pansy, and hold those who died in the battle above my head?"

"Neville did what he thought was right," Aurora said. "You're just a coward, Harry Potter. A filthy, little coward."

"No," Harry said. "No. No. No—

"No—no—no—"

"Harry!" The voice was sharp, and cut through the fog. "Harry, wake up!"

Harry opened his eyes. He was lying in bed, Draco hovering over him. "No," he said again. "Wait. No, that was wrong. Yes. I mean, wait." He sat up, rubbing his temples. "What?"

"Nightmare," Draco said, sitting next to him, pressing their bodies together. He took Harry's hands, held them tightly. "It didn't sound like the one with Bellatrix, you weren't screaming; or the one with my Father. You just kept saying no over and over again." Almost desperately, Harry checked the bottoms of his feet. No blood. "Harry, what are you doing?" Draco asked, sounding almost afraid.

"Nothing," Harry said, leaning back against the headboard. "Just checking. It's nothing. We should go see how Neville's doing."

Draco eyed him carefully. "It's quarter past three in the morning. He'll be asleep."

"And Pansy," Harry said. "Make sure she's not dead."

Draco grabbed his face in his hands, forcing eye contact. "Harry," he said firmly. "You had a dream. Neville's fine, Pansy's fine, you're fine. You're scaring me a little, but you're fine. Wake up the rest of the way, would you? If you keep talking nonsense, I'll bring you to the infirmary myself."

Harry shook himself. "Sorry," he said, pulling away. "I'm sorry. You're right, I'm fine." He ran a hand through his hair. "I didn't mean to scare you. I didn't mean—my mom, my dad, Sirius, especially my mom, she meant—"

"Harry." He turned to Draco. "You're not dreaming anymore. You're with me. Just me. Nobody else is here."

"I know I'm not dreaming," Harry said angrily. "That's my point. None of what happened was a dream, it was all real, and everything is my fault. My mum, she died for me, she gave everything so I could, what? Run away when things got scary? Let Neville nearly kill someone? Watch as the entire castle was destroyed because of me?"

"Since when do you run away?" Draco asked. "This year alone: you pushed to the front of the crowd tonight even though you didn't have your wand, you fought back against Whisp that first day while the rest of us sat stunned, you hit a bloody Bludger at my head. You are not one to back down from a fight."

Harry shook his head. "You don't understand. The night of the Final Battle, when Voldemort called for me, I should have gone, nobody would have died if I had just gone to him. All that blood—the Great Hall, covered in blood, that's my fault, that's on my shoulders, tonight and that night."

Draco paused. "Why didn't you go?"

Harry's thoughts were swirling, he could barely think of the answer. "Horcruxes, I had to kill Voldemort, find the diadem—I saved you, finding the diadem, and Crabbe destroyed that with his Fiendfyre, and Neville killed the snake, and Ron and Hermione destroyed Hufflepuff's cup with the Basilisk fang, but I needed to find the diadem, otherwise I would have gone, and then—"

"Horcrux?" Draco interrupted. "Harry, I have no idea what you're saying."

Harry took a deep breath. "I needed to destroy the Horcruxes so I could kill Voldemort. I was the last one, that's why I had to die that night, but I could have done that later, I should have gone to the forest first, I could have—have, I don't know, but I could have done something, and then we could have destroyed the rest of them."

"You aren't making any sense," Draco said. "What were you? What's a Horcrux?"

"I can't say," Harry said. "Dumbledore made me promise, we have to let the magic die out. But you wouldn't use it, would you, I suppose not, I probably could tell you, I don't know." He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. "I'm sorry, I'm racing around, Aurora kept talking and talking—"

Draco frowned. "Aurora? What has she got to do with this?"

"She was in my dream," Harry said. "She said all these things, not me." He took another breath. "A Horcrux is an object, any object, that a wizard can put part of his soul into. The only way to do it is by killing someone; it splits the soul. Voldemort thought he had made six Horcruxes, but he was wrong, I was the last one. When he killed me, he killed himself."

"That's a real thing, then, and not part of your dream?" Draco asked.

Harry frowned angrily. "Yes, of course."

"Okay, I'm sorry, I hadn't heard of it before, and you're not being very clear," Draco said.

"I'm trying!" Harry yelled. "I just, my head is going to explode. The Horcruxes don't matter, I mean they do, but that's not what I'm trying to say. I'm saying that it's my fault that everybody died that night, that the castle was destroyed. It's my fault Neville cursed Pansy tonight. It's—it's all—" He broke off, surprised to realize he was close to tears.

"It is not your fault," Draco said firmly. "None of it. You saved Hogwarts; never mind Hogwarts, you saved the world by killing Voldemort. If you had to destroy something first, then so be it. And I told you earlier, you had no control over what Neville did. That was his decision, not yours. Harry, are you listening to me?" Harry's eyes snapped back to Draco's. He had started to wander off again, but he forced himself to focus. "Everything you've said, that's something I have to deal with, every day. I stood back and let it happen, I even played a part in it. You did not, and it's an insult to both of us for you to go around saying such things. You deserve better than to berate yourself; self-pity doesn't suit you, nor is it the truth. As for those of us who do warrant such accusations, well, you don't see me whining about it, do you? I made the choices I made and I live with them. Don't pretend you're on the same level as me, it's pathetic on your end and embarrassing on mine."

Harry tried to reconcile Draco's words with the jumble of his thoughts. Draco squeezed his hands, and Harry had the presence of mind to squeeze back.

"I'm sorry," Harry said again. "It was that bloodstain on the floor, it all just came crashing back."

"I know," Draco said gently. "I saw you looking at it, I told you to talk to me about it, remember?"

"Yeah, well, shut up," Harry said.

Draco kissed his cheek. "Are you okay? Do you need anything?"

"A glass of water would be brilliant," Harry said.

Draco conjured a glass, filled it from his wand, and handed it to Harry. He took small sips, relishing the coldness spreading through his body. He hadn't realized how overheated he had been until now.

"What do you want me to do?" Draco asked. "Do you want to talk more, or cuddle, or…?"

"Just hold my hand, okay?" Harry said, setting his glass of water down. "Hold me, and hold my hand."

Draco did as he was asked. He curled himself around Harry, resting his head on his chest, wrapping their legs together, twining their fingers. Harry breathed deeply, letting the familiar scent of vanilla wash over him.

"I'm actually rather glad you get nightmares," Draco said. "It's terribly selfish, I know, but Merlin knows how long it would have taken you to come around if it hadn't become my job to offer nightly comfort."

Harry smiled. "Suppose so."

Draco sighed, cuddling further into his arms. "That first night when we fell asleep in the Room and you woke me up. You nearly kicked me out, remember? I thought my heart would stop when you asked me to stay. And waking up with you the next morning, I could have sworn it was a dream. When you owled me the second time, I swear Harry, you nearly gave me a heart attack. I almost didn't come, I was so convinced it was a prank. But instead you kissed me. Again."

"I did, didn't I?" Harry said. "I kissed you first, both times."

"I daresay you would have slapped me if I had tried anything," Draco said.

"Maybe," Harry replied. "I dunno." He yawned. "Anyway, it doesn't matter now. As long as you're here, I don't care how you managed it."

Draco squeezed his hands. "Lie down, would you?" Harry slid down the headboard until he was on the same level as Draco. Draco kept one hand in Harry's and wrapped his other arm around him, pulling him closer. He kissed Harry, slowly and sensually, completely thoroughly, replaced the last vestiges of his nightmare with something far better. "Now sleep, love. I'll be here."

Harry kissed him again, sleepily. "Okay." Bloody feet flashed through his head, but he pushed them away. "Okay."

Draco hugged him. "Okay."