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Chapter 2:
A mind is the heart of all judgment made by one existing individual. Impulses, feelings and choices are all created, twisted and molded into place in this psyche, never leaving it under any circumstance. Images, flashbacks and memories, anything this being had seen, felt, heard or even smelled during his lifetime were stocked and constantly viewed weather he or she is conscious or not, and so you can vaguely imagine Harry's stupor when he was faced to a void. Nothingness. Not a speck of light could be seen in the darkness he had discovered when opening his eyes into Draco Malfoy's mind.
It was not the kind of darkness night brought to Earth every fifteen hours or so, or a darkness found when you are alone in a closed space with no light source, but an overpowering feeling of suppression and control that had drowned everything a mind could contain, a darkness that plunged anyone in a trance of intense claustrophobia.
Harry tried to concentrate. Two years of Occlumency had to bring a reasonable explanation to this phenomenon. Not even a coma could bring a complete shutdown of one's mind, it was impossible. If it in deed happened... it was because there was no coming back to reality.
But Harry refused to consider that option. It was so rare for it to happen without a trace of incredibly bad health that madam Pomfrey would have obviously been aware of and stated while he was back in the Hospital Wing. Malfoy did not have a health condition, and a previous blackout would have been known if it had in deed occurred.
Harry looked down at his hands and body, verifying that he had completely transferred his own psyche inside Malfoy's head. This meant that he could see and be seen by genuinely everything that could appear in this mind. The downside of it was that it also meant that he could be mentally affected by anything he saw, heard, smelled or felt and that the link back to his mind could be subdued if the psyche he was occupying decided to break it.
Harry knew it was a dangerous procedure that Snape had forbidden him to use unless there was absolutely no other solution, but curiosity had gotten the better of him when faced to that void. He had felt the urge to try to completely understand what was going on in Malfoy's head.
He made a step forward, knowing that he was only being retained by his own mind force. There was no ground, barriers or upper limit in a void. He only moved through it thanks to the energy of his own psyche. How long it would last? No one had the answer to that, but if he didn't have enough to pull himself back into his own body, he would be trapped. If the link to his own mind was blocked (by Malfoy's own mind, for example), he would also be locked in.
Another problem was referred to as 'the clock hitch' between Occlumens and wizard scientists. Time was irrelevant in a mind. It passed just like the owner wanted it to do so. It could pass normally, just like outside the being's mind, or slower or more rapidly. For all Harry knew, a year might have passed in the few seconds he had passed in this void. It was highly improbable, but it was achievable.
It was also possible that Hogwarts had been attacked by Voldemort during the period of time elapsed in reality. Nothing, not even death could alter the mind connection between the two wizards. If death did take place, they could interact until the link was willingly broken by either of them. Their contact could last five years in Malfoy's head but pass as five seconds in real life.
Harry looked around him, trying to spot any form of light. It was what Snape had told him to do in a case like this, but there was no radiance whatsoever. Taking a deep breath, he screamed out Draco's last name, the only think he ever imagined calling him other than all the insults he had in accumulated through the years of corresponding hatred. An echo of his voice was heard, bringing a smile to his lips. He was not alone, there was something somewhere to have made the sound echo four to five times after him.
He made a big step forward, relying on his mind force. His step, instead of taking him a meter forward, took him at least five miles forward, a point from where he could see a small luminosity in the horizon.
Harry grumbled. Another problem was going to cause him more than one surprise. The Liberty Break, just like 'the clock hitch' was an abnormality found in anyone's head. Here, Harry had affair to a corruption of space. Time and space were two things that were both very unusual in a person's mind. Space implied gravity, friction, and many more things that affect humans and objects on Earth. Generally anything could be altered in a mind. It was why, when faced to certain situations, you can have the impression of walking upside down, of falling when there is a floor beneath you, of seeing objects (previously seen in reality and now stored as a memory inside a mind) floating as if a levitation spell had been used on them.
A mind was an embryonic store of possibilities. It was also the most dangerous place to be, when you thought of it. You are found on enemy grounds where traps and snags can await you around corners that don't exist. But again, Harry was trying to ignore it.
The darkness was starting to fade with each step he made. The obscurity melted away to make place to an every-day scenery that the green-eyed boy was sure to have never seen but surely imagined at one point during his life.
He was in a park, a very simple yet elegant muggle park.
He had just stepped in the cobblestone alley that divided the landscape in two perfectly symmetric areas. Trees bordered each side and wooden benches on which the most recent layer of green paint was starting to peel were found every five to ten meters. The sky was of a deviant shade of cerulean, the air was rather thick and the clouds were too bloated to seem real. Strangely enough, there was no sun in the sky. People were walking, mostly elders, all seemingly dressed up for a big occasion.
When he was still in Occlumency class, his teacher had made him vision a panorama in his mind, and so Harry, mere moments after breaking the protective mind shields of his potions master, had been found in a forest of tall trees with unreachable foliages. He had been explained that minds often focused on one scene that altered with every additional thought. Sceneries such as the one he was visioning were the resting place of memories. It was most probably the best place to start looking for Draco.
As he walked forwards, the number of people increased to such an extent that it was impossible to keep on walking on the cobblestone alley without bumping into someone every few feet. Harry jumped over the tiny little fence that kept visitors off the grass and kept on walking farther and farther from the clatter of feet coming from the main alley. Realizing it a bit late, none of the people from the path had been talking. The only sound that could actually be heard was the one made by their feet.
He was about to turn away from the walking crowd when a woman's voice was heard, a worried woman's voice.
"Draco, where are you? Draco, come back!"
The Griffindor then saw a blurry form scurrying away between all these people's legs, a pretty woman with blonde hair wearing a pink and white dress trying to follow, bumping into many people in the process. She was familiar to Harry. She was Draco's mother, Narcissa.
The blurry little form she was trying to catch up with jumped over the boundary marker and onto the grass, dashing away swiftly now that there were no more obstacles.
Harry knew he had to follow, and so he did. The clatter of feet faded away, the trees grew a bit closer together and the leaves started changing colour as if summertime was jumping to autumn in a few seconds. No sunlight reached them directly anymore, all of it being blocked grey clouds in the sky. When he stopped running, he was a few meters behind a little boy whose back was facing him.
He had blond hair, which was once combed properly. He was small, very small, and was wearing a little tailored suit. The pants, however, reached him at the knee, most probably because a boy of his age still ran off to play under tables or so, at receptions where such suits were worn. He was panting at regular intervals, maybe completely unaware of Harry's presence. The Griffindor thought he was maybe five years old.
Harry called out Draco's name. The panting stopped immediately but the boy did not turn around. Harry tried again, telling him he was there to help him, but still, no response. Finally, he walked over to him and looked over his shoulder to see what he was looking at.
A little dead bird.
A little dead bird was in his beautiful white hands, wings deployed, head turned in an awkward angle, glassy eyes forever staring into the unknown.
"Draco! Put that thing down immediately!" Narcissa's voice echoed, approaching her son and looking over his right shoulder. "Its despicable! What happened, Draco? Who did this? Did you do this?"
The little boy did not answer, simply staring at the little body in his hands.
"Draco, you shall leave it right here and come back home. It is impolite to leave the table when all of your father's friends have made such a long trip to come and see us. If you are not back at your seat in ten minutes, there will be consequences! Your father will hear of this!"
She disappeared. Draco fell to his knees, holding the little bird to his heart. When Harry moved in front of the boy, he realized he was crying. Discreetly enough, it was beautiful, in its own sorrowful way. Draco was beautiful when he cried.
Gently placing the bird down on the grass, he started digging with both hands a whole in the ground. Once it was deep enough, he placed the bird inside before burring it. Getting back on his feet, wiping the tears from his cheeks, he sighed.
"Well, you're trapped now," he whispered, a smile on his face as he stared at the little pile of dirt marking the emplacement of the bird's grave. "No where to go, impossible to fly away this time. Good luck with this one, Harry."
And he disappeared, leaving Harry standing alone in front of the grave of a little boy's bird.
o0 OoOoHhHhHh... what do you think?