The Stag in Darkness
Disclaimer: What is the point of this? I DON'T OWN HARRY POTTER! Obviously, this is a FAN fiction. If it wasn't, I would own Harry Potter and this would be sold on midnight the day it came out and I would make a million dollars! But I won't. ~sigh~ So enjoy!
A dismal Christmas Eve hung heavily over the Hogwarts grounds, dark and sullen. Snow fell thin and wet, nature's attempts to hide a multitude of sins, but it offered little relief. The flakes huddled together in apologetic heaps, unable to cover the muddy, torn ground. It was bitterly cold. Fires burned high and roaring in the castle, but did little to dispel the chill; students still walked about indoors clad thickly in scarves and cloaks. The few students that were left, that is. Most had fled home to the warm protection of their families, small solace in these dark kinds. All but a few: two stringy Slytherin boys, dank and depressing as the sky outside. One Hufflepuff, sunny despite the weather. Alike one Ravenclaw, silent and brooding. Hermione Granger was the only girl left in the Gryffindor girl's dormitory, and lying awake in bed, Harry Potter had never felt so alone. Never mind that his Ron Weasley slumbered peacefully in the four-poster next to his. His friends may as well have been a thousand miles away.
Christmas was supposed to be a time of happiness.
So why could he remember only darkness?
It was as if he was at Occulmency lessons again with Snape, the Potions master clawing through his mind with greasy fingertips, dragging everything he would rather forget into the light. ( " People who wallow in sad memories and allow themselves to be provoked—weak people—" he would never forget those words!) Worse, as if a Dementor stood over his shoulder, breathing ice down his back and reaching out with a slimy, rotting hand…chill of the tomb, smell of decay…forcing him to remember the worst things he had ever said, ever done, ever seen…
Of the last, there were plenty.
He fought it, oh, he fought it! Writhing flat on his back, staring sightlessly at the ceiling, his hands knotted in the sweaty sheets. He struggled to remember happy things, to call up a Patronus to protect him. But the happy things warped horribly, and he couldn't breathe…
A memory…
~ His first view of Hogwarts, the grounds alight with dew and the castle presiding over all like some huge monolith…~
~Face screwed up against the wet ground, clutching a portkey and a limp arm, please don't let him be dead, oh please…~
~Hermione in her element, buried in a pile of books, grinning smugly and lecturing them on astronomy…~
~Hermione, mouth a soundless O, falling back gracefully as the Death Eater's spell lanced through her chest…~
His own breath burned through his lungs like lava, hot and liquid. How could simple air hurt so much? He arched his back in pain, twisting, turning, calling out for someone to help him. His voice made no sound, and he couldn't hold onto the memories…the Patronus was gone…the stag was lost in the dark…
Memory…
~ His first meeting of Ron, the young Weasley red-eared and clutching a packet of corned-beef…~
~Ron, his eyes vacant and staring, a bubble of blood dark at the corner of his mouth…~
~Mrs. Weasley telling off the twins, who stood before her grinning charmingly, disarmingly…~
~Mrs. Weasley sobbing with a mother's grief, the twins dead on the floor…(it was only a Boggart, why did it have to look so real…)
His first flight
His fall
His mother (screaming)
His father
Cedric ( the vacant stare would haunt him forever)
Sirius
All gone
Dead dead dead dead dead dead dead
He screamed but made no sound. The memories washed through him like a poisonous flood, and flat on his back, alone in the dark, Harry knew the Dark Lord's greatest weapon. Voldemort needed no Cruciartus Curse, no Imperius curse…Avada Kedavra was useless…it could have almost been a blessing…there were things far, far worse than death…
Despair.
He was alone, in the darkness. There was no protection, and no one to save him now…but lost in the shadows, blind and deaf, Harry felt a give in the bed on either side of him. Two warm bodies slipped in around him, anonymous in the dark…it could have been his imagination…it could have been his dead parents…
But he would have recognized their scent, their movements, the very way they breathed anywhere. Hermione turned him gently to face her, pressing his face into the soft yield of her breast and the curls of her hair; he could hear her heartbeat, a mother's lullaby. He clutched at her desperately. Behind him, Ron fitted his body closely to Harry's, wrapping one lanky arm around the two of them. Harry pressed against back against him, and felt Ron sigh into his hair…he was a stalwart shield against the cold. They couldn't protect him from his enemy…no one could save him…but they could save him from himself.
Sandwiched between to hearts that beat in time with his own, Harry slipped into a deep and dreamless sleep
Hermione heaved a sigh, looking over Harry's tousled raven hair. Ron's eyes came up at the same moment. Their gazes clashed—they shared a look of deep sadness, and deeper understanding. Hermione tangled her long fingers in Harry's hair; Ron tightened his arm over both of them. And together, as the snow began to fall more thickly outside, they held their wounded one until morning.
Well…it was interesting, you have to admit. Puh-leaze read and review! Pleaze? You will make a poor, sad little author very happy indeed! Toodles!
~One Last Ember
