Chapter One: The Smell of Dirt
A/N: I don't own anything. I just play in JK Rowling's world! This fic includes mentions/direct quotes from OOTP; all quotes will be bolded.
Green light.
The smell of dirt.
Pain.
There was pain in his arm.
The taste of salt.
Pain.
There was pain in his chest.
It weighed on him, suffocating.
Screaming.
Who was screaming?
But his mouth was open and his throat was tearing.
He was screaming.
"CEDRIC!"
Harry James Potter flew up in bed, hands clutching at his aching head, sobs tearing from his chest. He heard a thump from a nearby room and tried desperately to silence himself.
Another nightmare, just a nightmare, he told his panicked mind, Don't make things worse for yourself by waking the Dursleys.
He forced himself to take a deep breath in and let it out as slowly as he could. He repeated this process for several minutes, finally unclenching his hands and laying back down.
He rolled to his side, unsure if the salt on his tongue was tears or sweat.
He squeezed his eyes shut against the onslaught of memories that the taste of salt inflicted.
Deep breaths…
Harry lay in his bed at Number Four Privet Drive, trying not to lose his mind.
Eventually the night would end. Eventually.
A few days later...
...'I heard you last night,' said Dudley breathlessly. 'Talking in your sleep. Moaning.'
'What d'you mean?' Harry said again, but there was a cold, plunging sensation in his stomach. He had revisited the graveyard last night in his dreams.
Dudley gave a harsh bark of laughter, then adopted a high-pitched whimpering voice.
'"Don't kill Cedric! Don't kill Cedric!" Who's Cedric – your boyfriend?'
'I – you're lying,' said Harry automatically. But his mouth had gone dry. He knew Dudley wasn't lying – how else would he know about Cedric?
'"Dad! Help me, Dad! He's going to kill me, Dad! Boo hoo!"'
'Shut up,' said Harry quietly. 'Shut up, Dudley, I'm warning you!'
'"Come and help me, Dad! Mum, come and help me! He's killed Cedric! Dad, help me! He's going to –" Don't you point that thing at me!'
"I. Told. You. To. Shut Up."
Harry stood, fuming, wand drawn and aimed at his cousin's throat. Dudley didn't know what he was talking about. He didn't know how it was to lose someone so suddenly, so irreversibly.
Dudley opened his fat mouth to say something else, but froze.
Cold.
Harry whipped his head around. Something was coming. He'd only felt cold like this when… he knew what approached without having to see.
Dementor.
"Dudley, run. RUN!" Harry shouted.
But Dudley remained rooted to the spot.
Harry's vision began to blur around the edges.
The smell of grass and dirt. Pain in his arm. So much pain…
What was happening?
His numbed mind tried to process the sensations. Always, always before when he'd come into contact with Dementors, he'd revisited the night parents died. He heard his mother screaming, heard his father's final words… so why was he seeing images of a dark graveyard, of a cauldron, of a pair of glassy, lifeless eyes?
Harry shook his head, trying frantically to clear the green tint that had suffused his vision. He had to get out of there. He already visited the graveyard almost every night; he couldn't bear to relive it under the influence of a Dementor. Looking around, he saw the ghastly creature floating towards them. Dudley still wasn't moving. Harry tugged at his cousin's blubberous arm, but the boy simply wouldn't budge.
The Dementor was close now, and Harry could hear screaming - his own voice, screaming in his memories.
Memories. His patronus. He had to think of a happy memory before he lost himself to the darkness of the graveyard. He screwed his eyes shut and concentrated hard.
Cedric. Sandy hair. Easy smile. Cedric, hair singed slightly and face flushed from exertion, holding a golden egg triumphantly in the air. Cedric, a towel wrapped around his waist in the Prefect's bathroom... Cedric, leaning in - so close - and pressing his soft lips against Harry's.
A balloon inflated in Harry's chest, and he threw the words into the night air:
"Expecto patronum!"
A silver stag erupted into being and charged the Dementor.
Harry watched the stag pursue the cloaked nightmare until it finally fled.
The Patronus turned back and looked at Harry, who reached out his hand towards it - but the beautiful creature dissolved in front of him.
Harry turned, barely aware of the tears on his cheeks.
Dudley lay on the ground, unmoving. With an exhausted sigh, the smaller boy leaned down, grabbed a chubby arm, and heaved.