A/N: This chapter is a little short compared to normal i think - but it was either this or leave it excessively long, so i decided to chop it in two. That means next chapter we'll get to see the sorting feast and Pansy and Harry with the Slytherins, and this chapter is 99.9% angst. Yay!
Harry was walking down a long hallway. It was dark, but the door at the end seemed to shimmer, so he made his way towards it. The walls were black marble, slick and cool – he wasn't sure how he knew this, he hadn't touched them, but it was undoubtedly true.
A sick feeling of dread drove him along, increasing as he neared the door despite its shimmering reassurances. He reached out as he arrived at the door. It opened at his gesture, a waft of cool air blowing in towards him. He stepped through –
Into the Department of Mysteries' room of doors. The room spun around him, his chest spun within him. Harry couldn't breathe, couldn't think, couldn't see – and then it stopped. He moved towards a door, compelled. It opened as he approached, a flash of white-silver light – like the moon, he thought – assaulted his senses.
"Your fault," whispered a voice. It took him a moment to recognize it, but then he was there. Remus Lupin, wand raised, flanked by Tonks. "You killed us," they whispered, and Harry was choking, drowning, hurting and then
Like a slingshot, he was flung out, the door slammed. The room spun, his chest spun, and he was forced towards a new door. On the other side was Sirius, as he had been when Harry had first met him – eyes wild, movements frightened, gaunt and fragile. "Your fault," he hissed. "I would still be alive now, I would have my friends, but I don't and it's all your fault." Sirius was screaming at him, shaking his fists, it was loud but quiet, painful but dampened. Sirius reached out, pushed Harry – "through the veil, your turn," he hissed – and Harry was shot back again to the room of doors.
More spinning, the room, his chest, his mind, his heart, and now it was Colin Creevy on the other side of the door. "Why did you hate me, Harry?" he asked dolefully. "Why did you let me die?" Colin snapped a picture, the flash bright and driving him back, back, back, the door slammed, the room spinning.
And then it froze. There were no more doors, just the large, amphitheatre-like room with the veil in the middle. Bellatrix Lestrange hovered above the veil, a glowing prophecy in her hand. On one side of her – and the veil – were Ron and Hermione, strangled by the ropes that bound them, faces turning blue. On the other – Draco, Pansy, and Blaise – but instead of ropes it was Devil's Snare and they were calling for him, screaming for help but Harry was frozen. He couldn't move, no matter how hard he tried, not to either group of his friends, not towards Bellatrix, he was stuck.
"You can end this," Bellatrix whispered, and suddenly his feet were free and moving. Was he steering them? Being pulled? He neared the veil, tasted the embrace of Death, not unfamiliar, and stepped through – the shrieks of his friends still echoing his ears – and then
"Bloody hell Potter, wake up!" and the screaming was his not his friends, and he was in his bed, but not his bed – he was at Hogwarts and –
"Augmenti!" Harry spluttered, sat up like a shot, as water was poured on his face. His vision came back to properly to see Blaise standing over him, looking slightly sheepish.
"You wouldn't stop screaming," he said, "Not after you woke up, either."
"It was-" Harry wasn't sure he could even articulate how he was feeling. The spinning feeling hadn't left his chest, not really, although it had transformed into something that felt much more crushing. He was dimly aware that he was still gasping for breath, his vision was still grey on the edges. Zabini, strangely enough, was the only constant right now – an obvious juxtaposition from his dream of the dead and dying.
"We don't need to talk about it," Zabini said then. "It just sounded – sounded worse than your usual."
"It was worse," Harry managed to say, before abruptly being sick all over the floor. Zabini vanished the mess easily, and dried Harry of the water he had poured on him with an extra flourish of his wand. He moved to sit down beside Harry on his bed.
"I haven't-" Harry had to pause again, take a deep, shuddering breath. He focussed on his breathing for a moment; slowly in and slowly out, knotting his hands in the bedsheets on either side of him. "The last time I had a dream that bad was after Cedric – after the tournament," he said. "They were horrible, that summer – the next year, too. Because Voldemort was in my head. And now he's gone, but…"
"But when you have bad dreams, it feels like he's still here, yeah?" Blaise finished for him. Harry nodded, to which Blaise side.
The fist in his chest, the spinning, the crushing, was receding, now. He felt as though he could breathe, but Merlin he wanted a cigarette.
"He was never in my head," Blaise said, "so I know it's not the same. But sometimes, it helps me to focus on things I know are true." He looked up at Harry in the darkness, the whites of his eyes shining. Were they just bright, or were those tears? There were tears in his own eyes, Harry realized – he hadn't noticed until now.
Blaise put a hand on Harry's shoulder, squeezed. "I know we're here, on your bed, in the eighth year dorm at Hogwarts. I know Pansy isn't far away, probably arguing with Granger instead of sleeping." He gave Harry a strained smile. "I know Draco is in his little room, probably fast asleep like the peaceful twat he is." This wasn't true, they both knew, but was comforting somehow. "I know Slughorn is in the dungeons, definitely in some sort of horrid silk nightgown."
Harry snorted at that mental image. "Thanks," he said after a moment of silence. Zabini took his cue, standing up and making his way over to his own bed.
The next thing Harry knew, sun was shining through the false window in his dormitory. He woke slowly, conscious of the voices flowing around him, but too groggy to make them out. His bed dipped, and someone placed his glasses in his hands.
It was Draco, of course, with a plate of breakfast and a concerned look on his face. "Blaise told us what happened," he said, and it took a moment for the memories to come rushing back in. His nightmare, Lupin's pale face, Tonks' haunted eyes, Sirius' anger and Colin's despair – Bellatrix holding his friends hostage. His stomach heaved despite himself.
"It's the Welcome Feast tonight," Draco continued as Harry sat up. "Andromeda and Teddy will be here."
"Right," Harry managed, reaching for the piece of toast Draco offered him. He didn't really feel like eating, but he also wanted everyone to stop looking so worried. The toast tasted like sawdust in his mouth.
"You and I have to plan for welcoming the Slytherins this evening," Pansy said, then. "I was thinking we could after lunch. Draco and Blaise can help us."
"We thought you might like to find…Weasley and Granger this morning," Draco said. Harry could tell it took him effort to keep his tone level.
"I probably should," Harry sighed in agreement. He hadn't spoken to them since the previous day's catastrophe.
As it turned out, finding Ron and Hermione was a relatively fruitless endeavour. It wasn't that Harry didn't find them, they were seated in the middle of the common room. It was more that they were surrounded on all sides by people who had missed them and wanted to catch up. Harry didn't begrudge them that, not really, in the Days Before he would have joined. But now – well, no one liked him now, that was part of it – he was too shaken from his nightmare to handle a crowd of that size.
He was too shaken from existing, in the Days After, to handle a crowd of that size, if he were being honest. Instead, he left the castle, Invisibility Cloak tucked into his pocket. Draco, Pansy, and Blaise had each other, the others were distracted in the Common Room; it finally felt relatively safe to go for a walk by himself.
The air carried a slight chill, as if it knew it was the first day of term. He struck off in the direction of the forest, opting to take a path beside the lake. It was peaceful here, the most peaceful place he had been in days.
Harry tried not to think of his nightmare, but the more he tried the more it rose to the forefront of his mind. At this point in his life, he was used to nightmares; to waking up shaking and in terror. They had been especially terrible directly following the war and again his first couple nights at Hogwarts, but the previous nights' had been his worst yet.
He wasn't sure why. It wasn't the same as his nightmares when Voldemort was in his mind, either, although these nightmares felt just as real. And yet, if anything, the terror upon waking was worse than when he had woken fearing for Sirius, or Mr Weasley.
In the quiet of the forest, he breathed in the earthy air, pausing just to appreciate the peace. Perhaps, he thought, the most terrifying part of his nightmare had been how willingly he had crossed the veil. He hadn't tried, hadn't lifted a finger, really, to help his friends. Even if it was just a dream – it made him feel like he was capable of just…not caring. And there was guilt, too. His nightmare had reflected so clearly his deepest wish in the Days After, the wish that he had just stayed dead. That he had gone on. That for once, he had done something selfish for himself. Instead of facing a hostile castle, angry friends, he could be with his dad, Sirius, Remus…
The images in the dream came back to him, unbidden. As if they would want him there, it was his fault they were dead.
He stayed in the forest a long while, longer than he should have. No one said anything, though, when he missed lunch. Hermione had shot him a worried look as he passed by her, trailing after the Slytherins, but he didn't stop to think about it, to talk. Instead, he followed the gentle pull of Draco's hand in his, the small smile on Pansy's face, Blaise's encouraging arm around his shoulders.
And then it was nearing dinner, Pansy and Blaise had gone for a walk, and it was just him and Draco and the overwhelming cloud of sadness that had followed Harry all day.
"Where are you?" Draco whispered finally, after silence that had stretched out endlessly. "You're so far away today."
Harry let Draco push him down on the bed, straddle him, nuzzle the crook of his neck gently. He let the feeling warm him, force his mind back into my body.
"I know," he whispered back. "I'm sorry."
Draco kissed him gently; the side of his mouth, under his jaw, then sat back, running his fingers through Harry's wayward hair. "Don't be sorry," Draco said. "It's not your fault."
Harry let his hands move, skimming Draco's calves, his thighs, dancing along the skin above the waistline of his pants. "I feel like," Harry began. He stopped, gathered his thoughts, leaned into Draco's touch on his chest. "Death follows me," he said, almost sighed. "I dreamed that I went through the veil. You were there, you all were; you needed my help and I left. I just left."
Draco's hand came up to cup Harry's cheek and he turned into it, kissing the other boy's palm. Draco withdrew his hand, leaning down instead to press a slow kiss to Harry's lips. "You don't owe the world anything," Draco said against his mouth. "You didn't need to stay, you never had to. No one would have been angry if you had…gone on."
Harry kissed him then, softly. "I would have been angry," Harry said.
"No," Draco responded, sitting up slightly. "You would have been happy, I hope." Draco's hands trailed down, found the hem of Harry's shirt, lifted it slowly, Harry's sighs turning to gasps as Draco kissed his way up his chest.
"Draco," he moaned.
"Is it selfish," Draco whispered in his ear, as he drew Harry's sweater above his head, "that I'm grateful you stayed?"
Harry didn't respond, couldn't, could only whimper as Draco bent down again, kissing his chest, rolling a nipple between his teeth, made Harry arch into him with a needy keen. His hands were tangled above him, stuck in his sweater, and he could barely focus as Draco reached above him, hardly recognized that his hands were being tied above his head against the bedframe.
"Is this okay?" Draco asked gently. Harry nodded, not trusting his words, but trusting Draco. Knowing he could get his hands out if he really wanted to.
He watched, enraptured, as Draco removed his hands from Harry, reached towards the buttons of his own shirt. He undid them slowly, eyes dark, focused on Harry completely. Harry felt his cock straining against his jeans. He arched, but Draco shifted back onto his thighs so his hips met no resistance, the want making him ache.
Then Draco was taking his shirt off slowly. Harry's whole body was heating uncontrollably, his heart racing.
"Tell me about your nightmare," Draco said, and Harry found himself complying as Draco's hands moved again – across his chest, through his hair, under his chin.
"I saw people who-" he gasped as Draco's fingers tweaked a nipple, "-who died in the war. They blamed me." He didn't specify, didn't need to, not for Draco to understand. Draco bent to kiss him again, finally, hands cupping either side of his face.
"I couldn't do anything," he mumbled into Draco's lips, hardly aware of his words, burning with lust. "They would send me away, to someone else, who would say the same thing. Until," he broke off with a hiss as Draco slid forward, straddling his hips again, rocking them carefully, once, against Harry. "Until I ended up at the veil. Bellatrix-" He felt Draco's hands falter on his body momentarily, before they resumed their movement. "Bellatrix was hurting you and the others, and Ron and Hermione. It was like I had to choose who to save, and I couldn't, and…I went through the veil instead."
Draco hummed in understanding against him. Then his weight shifted off of Harry, who was left gasping, aching at the loss for a moment. Until, that is, he felt Draco's fingers at his belt buckle, making quick work of his fly, pulling his jeans and pants off of him in one movement.
He shivered, just for a moment, at the cool air before it was replaced by Draco's warm breath, kissing and biting and licking his thighs, his hips, everywhere except there. Just when Harry wanted to scream from the tension, Draco was gone, standing beside the bed, pulling his own jeans off.
"I want to," Draco began shakily. Harry felt his heart contract in longing and mine and yes. "Can I," Draco tried again, "Can I ride you?"
Suddenly, there was no breath in Harry's lungs, but he nodded all the same. "God, yes," he choked out finally. He heard Draco whisper spells, wondered dimly if this counted as magic outside of classes, before Draco was back on top of him.
Their lips met, bodies aligned, gentle but desperate, calm and wild. Then Draco was slowly, slowly sliding down, burying Harry in him in exquisite heat and tightness and yes. It took a moment and then they were moving fast, colliding with force, kissing hard enough to bruise.
It didn't take long at all before Harry felt his world explode, Draco's name on his lips. He was dimly aware of Draco finishing after, sticky heat on his stomach before it was wiped clean with a spell. He felt Draco release his arms, and then the world faded.
When he came to, he was wrapped in Draco's arms, feeling more peaceful than he had since, probably, the Days Before.
"What do you need?" he felt Draco ask against his ear.
"Just this," he whispered back, before fading once again into sleep.
He was woken, unsure of how much time had passed, to Draco shaking him. "The Welcome Feast is soon," Draco said. "And we need to find Blaise and Pansy."
Harry nodded, the cobwebs clearing completely from his mind for the first time all day. He kissed Draco quickly before dragging himself out of bed.
"Pansy is going to be so smug," Harry said with a sigh.