Part 7

Get up, honey. A female voice. Soft shaking. Warm hands on his shoulders. Time to go.

But I want to sleep more, mum. Disgruntled sleepy voice. Pillow over head. Let me sleep.

No, you need to wake up. Soft voice, still shaking him.

But, I don't want to. Sleep was good to him. No pain. No world. No life. Life was bad; sleep was good. Please, let me sleep.

I am sorry. More shaking, more pressure. You need to wake up.

Why? He did not want to wake up. When he was awake, people died. Death was outside in the real world. He liked here, where all was perfect. Where he could rest forever.

You are needed. Shaking harder. Voice angrier, more forceful.

Who would need me? Why would anyone need him? He wasn't any Harry Potter. He was second-rate. He messed up in the war. He was responsible for death, and now, he was sleeping and would not wake up. He could not face the friends he failed. Never, never could he make up for his failure. If he had not wanted to be famous, it would never had happened. But he had, and it did happen. He would not wake up to his mess up.

Your friends. You must help them.

No, he could not. He could not face them as he was. A jealous boy who messed up badly. They could not need him. No one could need him.

Wake up. Make up for your mistake and face them. The voice was stronger.

Make up? Could he ever? Maybe, if he got up. No, he could not. This was safe. He could not mess up more this way, could he?

If you sleep, your friends can die. Angry, now. Wake up.

No, he could not allow his friends to die. He needed to wake up. He had to wake up. He would wake up.

He opened his eyes to pain. His body hurt. Dried red paint flaked off his clothing. Not paint, blood. It coated the room he was in, the room he fell asleep in. It coated him. That made sense. This room, you could not die in unless already died, the stories said. He remembered the stories as he remembered why he came here.

Above here, there were pathways carved in the earth. They, him and his friends, had been up there. So long ago or yesterday, he did not know.

Part 8

This way, come on, this way," He yelled as she ran down one of the many stone passages. His friends followed him.

They had not read the book he had that one day studying in the library (also known as sleeping) and accidentally going into the forbidden section for a peek. They did not know the way; he did. He could lead them and maybe become a hero. He had read the book He knew the way. Yes, they would talk about him one day, not The Famous Harry Potter.

The passages got thinner and thinner as he followed the ancient runes on the walls, though sometimes, the caves would open up to big caverns. At one cavern, bones littered the ground. Some of the bones contained ancient armor more then half rusted off. Big bones of a monster looked the newest of them all. They went across that cavern as fast as the bones allowed them too.

Sometimes, a wall of the passages way would disappear, leaving then squished to other side as they walked those ones. They continued on. They needed to get to the vault where a great treasure hid that could  help them on their battle, according to the book. He needed to be a hero for once in his life. Harry, even though he was here, would not this time. He would.

They got to a cavern with no walls surrounding it. On either side was blackness. From the blackness, a giant beast came, glowing black eyes. It attacked. His friends fell down into the darkness on one side cavern as he cowardly backed away, looking for his wand, but not fast enough. The darkness hit him down, a claw like thing tearing out his middle. He fell into the darkness.

Pound, Pound, Pound.

He hit stone as he flopped down through some small hole in the darkness.

Pound.

He hit a slab of stone and stopped. His eyes opened to the rune on the ceiling. The vault of forever. The right vault, but it was useless now. His friends maybe dead. Him almost dead. No way to find the treasure.

He was so sleepy. So sleepy...

His eye lids closed as he fell asleep.

Forever was on him.

Part 9

The symbol, that last imprint on his eyes from his sleep, was still there. No blood stained it's deep crimson colour. It was the same as the mark in the book and of his last sight of it. It was forever and forever never changes. Its hourglass, skeleton shape was the same but something looked slightly different. No, forever never changes.

"Why did you bring me here? Why did you wake me?" He said to the ruin, his eyes squinting from pain.

It responded not in words but its voice. The pain left, leaving a feeling he never felt before: no pain, not a single bit of pain at all. The symbol slowly dissolved and fell into him. The symbol was gone. Forever had changed.

He gulped as he looked down. A small weight was in his hands. It was the deep crimson of the symbol, and shaped like it. He had forever, he knew, and no time. He had to save his friends from evil. Now.

They and the world finally needed him, he knew.