14. Nightmares and Thunderstorms
Cold water sprayed in his face and Harry sat straight up in bed, gasping, and for a moment wondering if the roof had sprung a leak, because he could hear the storm raging outside and the rain pounding at the windows. Then he saw the sparks flying around him in small, angry whirlwinds and the waves of gold and black filling the room, splashing against the walls and … continuing. Not crashing into his containment wards. Not being stopped by the wards he always put up so as not to hurt people if this should happen because of a nightmare. Because he had been so exhausted last night when he arrived from the Ministry that he had forgotten, for the first time in years. Forgotten the containment wards, the security wards that would wake him if anyone entered his rooms, and the silencing bubble so he wouldn't disturb people with his screams.
"No, no, no!" He jumped out of bed, froze instead of doing something stupid like running after the waves of power, and closed his eyes. He reined in his power, sharply and painfully, and then with two deep breaths, he pulled back the black and golden waves that were on their way through the Manor. The stinging abruptness of it all made him stumble and fall back onto the bed with a small cry. He put his face in his hands and then dragged his hands through his hair.
"Fuck that!" he whispered and noticed the water on his face at the same moment a voice said behind him:
"An appropriate response to the situation, I should think."
Harry jumped up like a scalded cat and turned around, power crackling around him again.
Voldemort met his gaze calmly. Red eyes glowing in the darkness. He was still dressed in day clothes, but a different robe than at the Ministry, because Harry couldn't see any shimmer of silver now, even though he couldn't see any colour either.
"I believe the blood curdling screams and the waves of power might be enough for one night?" Voldemort eyed the crackling power around Harry. "Not to mention the thunderstorm? I only came to wake you because of said screams and storm."
"Right." Harry leaned on one of the bed posts, so very tired. "The storm? I did that?"
"It was a pleasant night outside about four minutes ago. Then I heard you scream and then the Manor shook because of the violent claps of thunder."
The room lit up when a huge lightning bolt split the sky outside and then a deafening boom filled the air and the windows rattled. Harry could sense the power in the air. He hoped he didn't have to call it back into himself, because that would hurt. And he didn't even know how he had made his power manifest into a storm. It was a first.
Unfortunately.
"Point in case," Voldemort said, conversationally and totally unbothered. But then he was the Dark Lord. A thunderstorm shouldn't bother him.
"It should blow over now … now that I have stopped feeding it power, right?" Harry's words slurred slightly, and he tried to remember if he had been drinking or had imbibed anything other than alcohol. He was exhausted. He went over to a chair by the foot of the bed and sat down, face in his hands. "I thought weather charms were difficult, I shouldn't be able to do them in my sleep!"
"Fiendfyre is known as a complex curse, you should not be able to do one instinctively, either, and yet … you did." Voldemort's voice was so very serene and rational, but only with a hint of silk.
Abruptly Harry recalled what had happened in the Atrium at the Ministry of Magic. How he had lost control and how Voldemort had helped him, stopped him from hurting or killing people, and exactly how he had done that. The sensations he had offered Harry to get him to calm down and get his magic under control. The feeling of safety and of being anchored in a storm. The reassurance he had gotten from Voldemort's touch, his touch! How Harry had clung to Voldemort, afraid of being pushed away, afraid of being let loose. How he had hung onto every silken word and shivered in delight. How he had silently cried in relief and gratitude when Voldemort touched his face.
Harry looked up, stricken. Voldemort now sat in a chair by the cold fireplace, right across from Harry, but a good distance away. He looked like himself, the middle version of himself, a complete face but no hair. And he looked calm and collected, secure in himself, but not someone Harry wanted to crawl to, to beg for a touch.
Harry frowned while trying to get his tired mind to sort through the memories and the feelings. It was quite obvious that whatever had happened in the Atrium now had ceased. Harry was more than fine staying away from Voldemort now, he didn't pine for him at all. Thank fuck. But he could still be grateful - even with his stomach roiling because he recalled how close he had been and had wanted to be, to Voldemort - that Voldemort had been able to do the spell or the charm, or whatever it was, and help Harry calm down.
He had felt so safe in those moments! Safe, and trusting Voldemort with his own life as well as the lives of everyone around them. Yes, that sense of safety and trust could end up being addictive, especially for someone so starved for both of those emotions as Harry was, but he didn't suffer any withdrawal symptoms that he could recognize. Not right this minute, at least.
Almost reluctantly Harry met Voldemort's gaze. Strangely enough, Harry didn't expect Voldemort to sneer at Harry for being so out of control as to almost blow up the Ministry of Magic. He didn't expect to get a snide comment of any kind, nor a threat or a curse, either. Harry could try to claim that the incident in the Atrium had changed everything regarding how Harry viewed Voldemort, and what he felt about him. But that wasn't true, even if it would have made sense. It had been a week now, in close proximity to Voldemort, and while Harry wasn't able to let go of the fear, he had to admit that he hadn't actually had a tangible reason for that fear. Not even once, from Voldemort himself. There had been no threats, no pain, no curses, no humiliation, no closed doors, no chains, no unreasonable demands. And he hadn't been instructed to give over his wand. This perspective wasn't sudden. Voldemort had decided to be on his best behaviour, and he had been able to stick with it. It probably wasn't so hard now that he was mentally stable. Something Harry very much was not.
Harry didn't know how long his reprieve would last or why Voldemort had decided to give him such a reprieve, but it made him able to look at Voldemort now and not flinch. Maybe the situation would turn in a week or a month, maybe he would then get all the pain and misery waiting for him, but for now … Right here, right now, that wasn't in the cards.
"Did I say thank you for not letting me kill anybody?" Harry asked. His voice dragged, but he thought he spoke clearly enough to be understood. Then he huffed, leaned back in the chair and put an arm over his face. "And if I had a list of things I thought I'd never say or do; thanking you for not letting me hurt anyone would be at the bloody top of that list. Hell, what happened to the world? When did it stop making any kind of sense! No, don't answer that, please."
"You did not thank me before, but you are welcome. It would not do to have you hurt or frighten people if I could stop it. And I will refrain from commenting on your last few sentences."
"Much appreciated."
They sat listening to the storm for a while. Harry wasn't sure, but he thought the thunder was a bit less deafening now.
"Harry?"
Harry let his arm fall away and straightened to look at Voldemort.
"You usually create shields and wards to keep the magic inside the room and your screams silent, when you sleep?"
"Every night for years. You see what happens when I don't."
"You have nightmares that wake you up screaming and that lets your magic flow uncontrolled, every night?"
"Mostly yes. There have been nights when I don't wake up screaming, but they are few and far between, especially lately."
"The last month?"
"The last year. But it happened before that too."
"The last year … The massacre at Godric's Hollow?"
"Change of topic, please."
Voldemort nodded once. "Do you not use the Dreamless Sleep potion or any other potion to help you sleep?"
"You get easily addicted to those and I have enough troubles, I don't need addiction on top of all the rest."
"Once or twice a week does not make you addicted, and humans need proper sleep and rest to function."
"You say humans as if you are not one of us?" Harry made it a question.
"I am more human than I was and less than I would like to be. I sleep little and have no need for it."
"I will pretend that it made perfect sense. Right, I could use Dreamless Sleep a few times a week, if I had been able to get the ingredients. I'm not good at foraging."
"I do have a Potion Master that could make it for you, he is never out of ingredients for long."
"He is Potion Master enough to make it seem that everything is alright, until a few months down the line when I suddenly collapse from some mysterious illness or something like that."
"You do not trust Severus Snape?"
"Not one bit, no. And I don't have to live with him, so that's a grudge I'm keeping hold of, politely, but firmly."
"A polite and firm grudge?"
"Yes. I won't do or say anything deliberately antagonising towards him, and if he does the same, we can pretend that all is well."
"Pretend … That is what you said in the elevator. That you have decided to pretend that you care about those around you and pretend hard enough and long enough to make it true. Or at least make it possible to live like it is true. Because that is the only method we can use to get peace, when so many have lost so much."
"Yes." Harry bit out the word, not wanting any questions that could follow a statement like that.
"Is your mistrust for Severus the reason that you refused the Calming Draught he tried to give you at the Atrium?"
"Part of the reason. The other part was what I said there; I didn't know what would happen if I calmed down right then."
Voldemort looked at him. "I know Astoria uses the Dreamless Sleep sometimes. Ask her for some. She gets them from Severus, but he would never dare try to do anything to her, or even comment on her use. He fears her too much."
That's not comforting to know, Harry thought, and wondered exactly what about the vivacious witch that scared the dour Potion Master. Sure, Astoria reminded Harry slightly of a kinder, bubblier, saner, and less idolising and bloodthirsty Bellatrix Lestrange, which probably meant she didn't remind him at all of Bellatrix Lestrange. Astoria was simply someone with a lot of ambition, a sharp intellect, a kind heart and a take-no-prisoners attitude. She knew what she wanted, and she made it happen, come hell or high water. She had made Lucius Malfoy give up his ancestral home, after all, and that should have been impossible. She was not a witch to be trifled with. Harry respected her for it.
Harry nodded slowly. "Maybe I should ask her and see if she can spare me some."
"She will give you what you need."
"Because you will tell her to do so?"
"Yes. Do you trust her enough to trust that she will not do anything to the potion?"
Harry hesitated. "I think I will trust her enough for that."
"Good. Then you will sleep at least two full nights every week."
Harry didn't know what to say to that, so he remained quiet.
"The storm seems to have stilled," Voldemort said and then met his gaze. "Harry, the magic you transferred to me earlier today and then the storm and the waves of magic that you first sent out and then brought back …" He stopped. "And the reading you do about magical cores …"
"Are you trying to get me to tell you something that I otherwise wouldn't tell you, because right now I'm exhausted and disoriented?"
"I might have hoped that you would tell me how you are alive and functioning right now, yes, even if you are exhausted, physically and magically. You should be unconscious, at the very least."
"Aww, shit, it's the storm. I put too much magic into the storm! Right. My brain really is sluggish now. I thought it was just normal exhaustion. But that makes sense. I probably put a lot more magic into the storm than I would have with a proper spell."
"I would hazard, by the look of you, that you put enough magic into the storm to almost drain your core, and then you sent out and brought back those waves of magic too. They might have filled your core up a little again, but doing so would also have rendered you even more exhausted. And this was a few hours after I gathered about half your magical core, to stop it from manifesting in some unwanted fashion. You should not have had this much magic left, Harry."
"A story for another time, maybe," Harry said simply, not really expecting a demand for an answer at this time. It hadn't been Voldemort's modus operandi thus far.
Voldemort stared at him. "Yes, you should sleep. I will put up the wards against your wild magic …"
"Don't worry, I will put them all up myself. I'm used to it; I know what works best." He started to get into bed and prepared to raise the wards and cast the charm to make the silencing bubble.
He only heard Voldemort mutter something, saw him move out of the corner of his eye, with wand in hand, and then Harry went face first down into the mattress.
When Harry woke up, soft light peeked around the heavy curtains and an old clock he had put on the nightstand told him it was almost nine in the morning. He had slept through the night without any more nightmares, and he felt more rested than he could remember feeling for quite some time. Like his body actually could function fully without spikes of fear and adrenaline to push it forwards.
Before taking his shower, he examined the wards and the charm that should be around his room. There were only wards now. One for keeping his magic inside the room and one for waking him if anyone entered his rooms. There was no silencing bubble. And when Harry checked the beaded bag in the wardrobe, it still held his invisibility cloak and his wand, his two most precious things, both the bag and its contents seemed completely untouched. He looked at the box that held his wand for a few moments before putting it away. He had begun to hope now, even knowing how dangerous and foolish it was; hope that no one ever would demand he give up his wand. But he wasn't ready to risk it just yet, by using it and reminding people that he had it. He could do quite a bit of wandless magic, but mostly the things he needed to do, or the things he really shouldn't do, like the Fiendfyre Curse, and it was easier and smoother to do magic with a wand. He remembered people asking after his wand, but so far no one had pressed him about it, or hinted that he should surrender it.
He stood in the shower with the hot water pouring over him before something connected in his brain. Voldemort had been in the room when Harry's wild magic had billowed out of him in those huge golden black waves. The waves of pure magic that as a rule felt like agony to anyone that wasn't loved by the one the magic belonged to. It was only Hermione that could stand the touch of Harry's wild magic. Voldemort certainly shouldn't be unfazed by it.
But then, he was the Dark Lord. Even if Harry never had read or heard about a shield that could protect against that kind of magic, Voldemort very well might have. Or maybe he had the best poker face ever and had been in agony all along. Who knew? Harry sure didn't. What he did know was that the sneaky Dark Lord had a hell of a strong Sleeping Charm, that could last that long. Harry thought that they weren't supposed to last much more than an hour, maybe two, but he knew that he had slept the night through because of Voldemort's charm. And he couldn't even feel irritated about it. He was just appreciative for one night of real rest. It felt wonderful.
A/N:
To the kind Guest who wanted to inform me about "The Grey World" being on Ao3 too. Thank you very much, but if it is under the nick WinterMist2, then it's me that's putting the story out there. I'm sorry for the confusion. Maybe I should have said something about me putting the story out on Ao3 too.
Thank you for the comments and favourites! They are much appreciated!
Hope you liked it! Please review!
Thank you to Ladylillalove for beta reading!