Chapter 25

A/N: I do not own anything from The Lion King or Harry Potter. Trust me, if I did own the Lion King, Disney World would have a hell of a lot more Lion King merchandise.

What's this? An update within the same month as the last one? Have you gone insane? No dear reader, you have not! As my job search continues to remain unsuccessful (grr!), it leaves me more time for writing—and also my muse has remained unblocked (and not distracted by the need to write more stories) for the time being so I figured I could take advantage of that.

I don't really like writing angst or torturing Simba with nightmares that much but it has to be done! Mainly because third year was kinda boring from my point of view. There was no mystery like the first two books—there wasn't even Voldemort!

Could you guys do me a favor and answer the poll on my profile? I've got a lot of stories I have to update and so I put a poll up to see which one I should update first. So far, no hits. I'm going to do all the ones on the list but it would help if I had some empirical data to show me, which story fans are looking for updates from the most.

So please enjoy this update! Review and send me a PM if there's anything you'd really like to see in upcoming chapters. I'll try to let you know if it's either doable or something I've already planned to do.

When Simba woke up the next day, he was greeted with a sight that most 13 year olds would rather not see at all throughout their Hogwarts career—Madam Pomfrey fussing over him. The various potions on the table beside him loomed over him, informing him of his impending doom.

"Honestly, I would have expected this from Mr. Potter but you?!" the nurse exclaimed, not realizing that Simba had woken up. "Completely exhausted. Why didn't you come straight to me when you realized that you were having trouble sleeping?"

"Because Dementors are evil," Simba muttered and closed his eyes, praying that she hadn't heard him. Of course, his luck proved to be worse than his brother's and the nurse had indeed heard him.

"Ah, you're up!" she exclaimed, causing Simba to squeeze his eyes tighter. Maybe if I don't respond, she'll go away, he thought. It turned out that that was not to be the case, though Simba gave himself points for wishful thinking.

"Come now, Simba. I know you're awake," Pomfrey said, her no-nonsense tone promising disgusting potions if Simba didn't obey her commands. Simba groaned but opened his eyes and raised his head, wincing as he moved. Why did he hurt all over?

"Falling down three flights of stairs isn't fun, is it?" Pomfrey asked as she waved her wand over him, as if she could read his mind. It honestly wouldn't have surprised Simba if she could.

"When did I do that?" Simba asked, trying to get up but failed, as he was too sore to move. Pomfrey snorted but her stern demeanor melted into one of matronly concern. Maybe it was because he had spent all of the last year in the hospital wing when he was petrified, but Simba liked the nurse and he assumed she liked him in return. Pomfrey reminded Simba of his own mother in a way—but he was not going to go down that road. He was trying to block the nightmares, not make more.

"Last night, or so I was told when you were brought into the Hospital Wing," Pomfrey said, unaware of the inner thoughts of the lion in front of her.

She pulled up a chair and sat down beside Simba. "Now, why were you so exhausted?"

Simba stiffened and tried to look anywhere but her. He would have rolled over but everything still hurt. Maybe he should have tried harder to sleep—or gone to Snape for some lion safe Dreamless Sleep potion if he didn't think Snape would poison him first.

"Simba, you're not leaving here until I get an answer!" the nurse warned, getting up out of her chair to grab one of the foul looking potions. Simba snorted—she couldn't do that! If he was healthy, then she would have to let him go. Right?

0000

Turns out he was right. Thought Pomfrey kept him there the whole weekend—which, Simba consented, was needed since he was still pretty sore after leaving the Hospital Wing—she never figured out why he had been exhausted.

"Hey Simba!" Harry called as Simba entered the Common Room, distracting him from the chess game with Ron. "Pomfrey let you go?!"

"Why wouldn't she?" Simba chuckled as he watched one of Ron's Knights wrestle Harry's pawn off the board. "I'm as healthy as a centaur! There was no reason to keep me there. I have no idea how I even got there in the first place."

Harry and Ron looked a little too sheepish for Simba's liking. "What's with the looks?" he asked, his eyes narrowing. "Is there something I should know? Hang on, how'd you know I was in the hospital wing anyway?"

"We were just worried about you!" Harry said quickly, no fear evident in his voice despite the fact that Ron looked ready to piss himself. "First you got into it with Hermione and then you passed out on your way to bed and fell down the stairs!"

"Yeah mate!" Ron piped up; his nerves strengthened by the fact that Simba seemed less likely to jump down their throats by his lack of response. "Not to mention you've looked like you haven't been sleeping all year. We're a little worried."

"I'm fine," Simba growled out. "Maybe you should go back to wondering how Hermione's making it to all of her classes or why Lupin's afraid of crystal balls or any other mystery you can think of instead of butting into my business."

He turned around and stormed out of the Common Room, leaving a stunned Harry and Ron in his wake. Simba kept on this vein until he found himself outside by the Quidditch pitch.

"Huh, that was quick," he muttered to himself, having not paid attention to the couple of students who had dove out of his way upon seeing him approach. Sighing, Simba sat down and wrinkled his nose at the falling snowflakes.

"Care to explain your behavior two nights ago?" a familiar voice asked, a faint trace of amusement hidden behind a wall of irritableness. "My mistress is in quite the irritable state because of something you said—which takes some doing, despite the red-head making it look easy."

"Shut it Crookshanks. I'm not in the mood," Simba grumbled but turned to face the smaller feline.

"Oh?" Crookshanks raised an eyebrow at that. "Did something happen? Do tell."

Simba sighed but smirked at the curious cat. "Harry and Ron don't know when to leave well enough alone. They took me to the Hospital Wing two nights ago! Can you believe it?"

Crookshanks didn't say anything for a few minutes, leaving Simba to ponder on the previous statement. So Hermione was in an irritable mood? Good! Maybe then she'd stop butting into other people's business. But on the other paw, Simba felt a little bad about his words. It wasn't fair to take the frustration from his exhaustion and put it on Hermione. The poor girl looked almost as exhausted as Simba felt.

"When was the last time you slept without twitching like a cat about to pounce on its prey?" Crookshanks asked, breaking Simba's inner thoughts and causing the lion to glare at the ginger feline.

"Why have you been watching me sleep?"

"Because when you do end up sleeping, it's in the Common Room day or night," Crookshanks replied, licking his paw. "Honestly, you should talk to someone. But what do I know? I'm just a cat."

Crookshanks sauntered off, leaving a stunned and confused Simba in his wake. He sat there for several minutes, just staring off into the distance as the snow began to fall around him. The only thing to break him out of his little trance was the feeling of snow seeping into his fur. Simba had managed to avoid getting sick throughout Harry's educational career—he wasn't going to start now! Petrifaction did not count!

"God I miss the twins," he muttered as he reluctantly made his way back inside the castle. Though maybe it was a good thing they had joined their sister and older brother in going home for the holidays. Fred and George were pranksters but they were just as nosy as their little brother.

Once everyone comes back for the term, I'm going to be avoiding all of Gryffindor House, Simba thought, gleefully tracking snow throughout the halls. A late Christmas present to Filch, if you were. Harry and Ron will tell their dorm mates for sure, who'll tell their friends, who probably have siblings! Oh, and don't forget Creevey, Ginny and Luna!

He sighed. Maybe it was time to take Cedric's offer about eating with the Hufflepuff's. Yeah, it'd be awkward with Harry at first but really, his brother left him with Pomfrey! Harry deserved it!

But Simba couldn't worry about that now. He was standing in front of the mental knight. Muttering the password, Simba poked his head in and smiled upon seeing the empty Common Room. He wasn't exactly in the mood to deal with an interrogation from Harry or Ron at the moment. Hell even Hermione wouldn't have been a welcome sight.

Hopping onto the sofa, Simba was hit with a familiar memory of Christmas his first year at Hogwarts. But instead of being friendly with Professor McGonagall, she was irritated with him and instead of Harry avoiding him, he would be avoiding Harry—along with the rest of Gryffindor House. If he could help it.

He hadn't even noticed himself that he was slowly falling asleep, his head resting onto a pillow and his body relaxing for what seemed like the first time all year.

000

"Simba!" the familiar voice of his father called out. "Why did you do it Simba? Why did you kill me?"

Before Simba could speak, more people materialized out of the fog that was surrounding him.

"You know, I'm not exactly sure I want a murderer for a brother," Harry spat, and Simba felt his heart break in two. "Or a liar for that matter. You know about Sirius and haven't told a soul!"

"Thinks he knows better than everyone else," Hermione sneered. "You can't even take care of yourself. How do you expect to protect all of Gryffindor House? You couldn't even protect yourself from being petrified last year."

Simba backed away, hoping that he could escape the voices of his friends and family, which were all starting to blend together. He ran, faster than he knew he could until arriving on a familiar scene. Pride Rock, basking in the beautiful glow of a sunset. Simba grinned and ran toward it; the negative voices becoming fainter and fainter as he ran home.

Climbing up the path to the den, he grinned upon seeing his mother walk up to him. That was, until he noticed the smirk gracing her features.

"Always running away from your problems, aren't you Simba?" she asked. Simba began to back up again, not realizing that he was nearing the edge of Pride Rock. "When are you going to face the fact that you killed your father?!"

"No!" Simba cried out. "It was an accident!"

Sarabi continued to march forward, causing Simba to back up more and more before his back paw slipped off the side of the edge. Before he could blink, Simba was hanging on for dear life, frightened eyes pleading with his mother to help him up. But Sarabi only moved aside as Simba looked at his uncle.

Scar looked down at his nephew with a smirk on his face. "Now look at all the trouble you've made Simba!"

"No, I didn't mean too!" Simba yelled to be heard over the voices that were overlapping. His voice seemed to be getting younger and younger, as if somehow he was turning back into the five-year-old cub that had run away from Pride Rock. Yet his body remained the same. Simba struggled to maintain his grip on the rocky side of Pride Rock but just found that it was too much. Losing his grip, he fell down to the ground below, everyone else turning around and walking back into the den.

Simba's head shot up, his face drenched with sweat and his heart beating a million miles an hour. Oh Merlin, that'd been a bad one—though it was the first time his mother or uncle had joined him in his dreams. He plopped his head back down onto the pillow, not noticing the blanket that had been draped over him.

How was he going to make it through the rest of the year without winding back in the hospital wing? Maybe he'd just beg Snape to put him out of his misery. No wait, the git from the dungeons would probably leave him like this just because he could.

000

As the term started back up, it seemed that Simba's fears of needing to avoid the entirety of Gryffindor House came true. Almost as soon as they stepped foot into the Common Room, Ron had told the twins about his concerns for Simba. The terrors—I mean twins—decided the best course of action would be to confront Simba about it.

"You guys wanted to see me?" Simba asked, walking into an abandoned classroom warily. Hey, just because he liked them didn't mean he was stupid. These were the twins we were talking about.

"Hey Simba!" Fred smiled upon seeing the lion. The smile faded upon really seeing Simba up close. The normally cheerful lion seemed tense and exhausted, with growing bags under his eyes. His usual golden fur seemed muted and dull. "You okay?"

"Why wouldn't I be?" Simba asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Because you're walking as if you've had one too many firewhiskeys," George told him. Simba shook his head. He couldn't believe that the twins of all people were sticking their noses into his business.

"I'm fine, guys!" Simba growled out, ignoring the fact that he'd gotten around an hour's worth of sleep the previous night due to three back to back nightmares. "I can't believe Harry asked you to check up on me! Can't anyone keep their noses in their own business in this House?"

He stormed out, missing the look exchanged by the twins. Well, and the doorframe. Wincing as he rubbed his nose with his paw, Simba shook his head and continued to storm out. This time, he was going to go straight to Timon and Pumbaa. Maybe then, he'd be with people who wouldn't be trying to tell him something that he already knew.

If they could tell him how to beat his nightmares, then maybe he'd appreciate them sticking their noses where they didn't belong.

But in order for them to know how to beat the nightmares, they'd have to know about the nightmares, a nasty little voice rang out in his head as Simba was making his way through the grounds. If they know about the nightmares, then they'll know just what you did to deserve them in the first place. After all, it is your fault your father's dead. What's a few nightmares?

Simba sighed. The voice in his head was right—this was something he needed to figure out on his own. Besides, Harry had worse nightmares and never told Simba about them. Fair was fair.

"Hey Simba!" Timon called out as the lion entered Hagrid's hut. The giant man had let him in as he went out to do business in the Forest. "How're you doing?"

"I'm great," Simba lied and inwardly was amazed how easily the words came to him. Then again, he'd been saying it so often maybe he shouldn't be so surprised. "How've you guys been?"

"Better since Hagrid let us stay in his hut," Pumbaa told him. "It's nice and warm, and Buckbeak lets us lay next to him on the bed."

"Speaking of beds," Timon said, leaning toward Simba and staring at him as if inspecting him. "When's the last time you saw one Simba?"

"What do you mean?" Simba asked, trying desperately to not snap at his father figures.

"I mean you look exhausted! I know you're worried about Harry but you got to take care of yourself," Timon told him, a smile gracing his features as to reassure Simba that he wasn't mad at him. "We just don't want you to get hurt."

Simba smiled at that. "Thanks Timon. I'll try to dial it down a notch—but it's hard. Especially when Black would stop at nothing to get to Harry!"

He inwardly winced at that. After discovering Sirius was innocent, Simba had tried to not mention Sirius in conversation as to avoid intentionally bad mouthing the wizard.

"We know Simba," Pumbaa told him, giving the lion a small smile. "Just don't forget that there are others who will watch over Harry as well. You're going to run yourself ragged if you continue at this pace—and you won't be much use to Harry then."

Simba sighed. They were right, of course. But there was no way to just turn the nightmares off. Years of pushing the memories to the back of his mind had been foiled by the appearance of the Dementors!

"So, who wants some nice tasty grub?" Timon asked, changing the subject and Simba grinned. It was easy to relax when the conversations were kept out of dangerous waters.

000

Word spread quickly around Hogwarts about Simba's lack of sleep—or at least that's what it seemed like to Simba. Not only did Percy inquire about his wellbeing, but so did most of the other prefects from the other houses (Slytherin was the lone holdout). People from Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw—people Simba had never even talked to before—were asking him if he was getting enough sleep. It was enough to drive him mad!

Normally he would have suspected Hermione to somehow be involved with this, but she was still not speaking to him after their little confrontation on Christmas. Mind you, Simba was still a little put out with her about that so he wasn't exactly upset that she wasn't talking to him. Plus, it meant one less person pestering him.

Thankfully, now that Oliver was back at Hogwarts, Harry was too busy to pester him about his sleep schedule. They were too busy practicing for their game against Ravenclaw. If Gryffindor won, then they'd be able to play for the Quidditch Cup against Slytherin.

Simba himself kept busy—between avoiding three fourths of Hogwarts, professors and trying to find out just who was trying to kill Harry, it was a lot to accomplish for one lion. As January turned into February, Simba even found that he was making time to comfort Buckbeak. His trial was coming up soon and Simba figured that it was nerve-wracking for the creature.

They couldn't communicate since Buckbeak didn't have a single drop of feline in him, but Hagrid insisted that Simba being there made the Hippogriff not as nervous, which should help with the trial. Simba assumed Hagrid knew what he was talking about. Then again, this was a man who kept a three-headed dog along with a dragon so Simba was a little leery about the man's judgment.

Though he was avoiding him, Simba also made time to watch his brother practice Quidditch. Wood was working him hard—five practices a week. Sometimes it was amazing that Harry had time to do his schoolwork. Harry was good though, despite the sub-standard broom he was being forced to play on. Simba wondered if his brother would ever get the Firebolt back from the clutches of the professors. He wanted to let Sirius know how it flew—though with how everyone was on his case lately, it wouldn't have surprised Simba if Sirius suddenly cared about the lion's sleep schedule.

Weeks went past and Simba learned in passing that Harry was having Dementors defeating lessons with Professor Lupin. Okay, so he listened into one of the Golden Trio's conversations—which, seeing as he was a freaking lion, was no small feat! Simba decided that, for the sake of his sanity, he would have to talk to someone soon. Might as well be Lupin. Plus, maybe Snape would be less likely to poison Lupin if he asked for lion safe potion. Just a thought.