Disclaimer: All characters are property of JKR and I claim no right to any of them. I am not profiting from this story, don't sue.

I Don't Dream Since I Quit Sleeping

Chapter I:

Is This Death Really You

Never walk away from failure. On the contrary, study it carefully -- and imaginatively -- for its hidden assets.
--Michael Korda

Maybe if he had run a little faster, maybe if he had been a little bit stronger, then maybe, maybe they wouldn't be lying cold on the floor right now. Silent tears stung his cheeks as he stroked the brunette's cold palm.

He had spent the last hour performing CPR and continuously checking both of the couple's pulses in vain. Now it seemed he had almost come to accept that the only friends he had left in this horrible world were ripped from him in two words muttered in the form of a curse. Harry idly played with Ron's wedding band that was now gleaming mockingly in the afternoon sun.

"Ron, you were the closest thing to a brother I could have ever had. I was going to be an uncle oh God Ron, know that I would have given my life to save you and your child. I would do anything in this world to save you or any member of your family from this damned war." Harry revealed in an emotion filled voice that betrayed all composure.

"And Hermione-"

"Harry!"

"Hermione?"

"Is he awake?" The redheaded teen questioned leaning over his friend. Two green eyes opened apprehensively to the brightly lit Hospital Wing. "Harry, what happened?" Hermione questioned while watching Harry's confused eyes dart around the room frantically.

"No..No NO!" Harry screamed with each word getting louder and filled with disbelief. Harry was covering his eyes with his hands and began violently shaking his head back and forth. Hermione and Ron exchanged an extremely worried glance before Madam Pompfry stormed into the room.

"Why, whatever is the matter Mr. Potter?" The bewildered nurse asked the patient shaking below her.

"You want to know what the matter is. I will tell you what the matter is! You are all dead is what is the matter!" Harry spit out madly while pointing at Madam Pompfry eccentrically while staring with incredulous eyes at his stunned friends.

"Perhaps, I should go and find Professor Dumbledore..." Hermione suggested being the first to find her voice.

"Go on, he's dead as well." The ebony haired boy choked out matter-of-factly while burying his head into the white pillow.

"Yeah… I'll just come with you." Ron replied pointedly ignoring Harry's last statement with concern written all over his face. The two quickly scurried out of the room while Madam Pompfry stared at Harry as if he had lost his mind.

"Mr. Potter, what has come over you?"

"You were killed by friendly fire while trying to heal Oliver Wood in the third year of war." Harry pointed out wryly while grabbing his glasses on the nightstand beside his bed.

"He died by the way." He added as an afterthought. The gray haired woman straightened her creased robes and cast Harry a taken aback glance before scampering out of the room. Harry really didn't know what to think of his new circumstances. He was stuck between fainting and rejoicing.

Crawling out of his bed he took one look at his reflection in the frozen window before realizing that not only was he shorter, but about seven years younger. In some twisted sense he supposed it made sense.

He sauntered out of the Hospital Wing while touching the walls, paintings, and even his robes, as if he was afraid everything would suddenly disappear. He continued down the narrow hallways looking for any sign of danger or anything suspicious. The only explanation he could think of at the moment was that this was some sort of trap. Maybe Voldemort wasn't killed, or maybe he had finally lost his mind.

His wary eyes were darting around so fast that he wasn't watching what was straight in front of him. Before he knew it, Harry had run headlong into a cold, wet, and shivering Draco Malfoy.