Flirt by xErised
Fool's Gold
I turned my imagination loose with due risk-
-but please do let me tell you that I had a lot of fun with this.
He was smiling while he was dying.
"Granger… I don't understand…" Draco bit out through gritted teeth as he absorbed the soft, wistful smile that graced Harry's the color of bleeding cherries- lips. Without even throwing a sideways look at Kingsley and the two Weasley children, the blond shakily fumbled towards Harry's bed, pulled up a chair and sat beside the brunette.
"Harry? Harry, it's me, Draco," the ex-Slytherin dragged forth an anemic smile and took Harry's heavy hand in his. He slipped his fingers in between Harry's fingers and gave it a light squeeze.
The smile on Harry's face faded.
A sickly feeling was congealing in the pit of Draco's stomach. Still maintaining the flimsy grin on his taut features, Draco leaned in closer and calmly placed the back of Harry's hand on his cheek. The fingers of Draco's left hand were still entwined tightly with Harry's, and Draco gently rubbed Harry's hand against his face.
"Wake up and show me that cheeky wink that I've come to adore. Wake up and call me those mushy names that I pretend not to like. Wake up and sing love songs for me again, I don't care how ghastly it sounds, just wake up. Please, Harry?" Draco mustered, the edges of his voice cracking jaggedly.
When he got no response, Draco hung his head and fell silent, his breath hitching as he left a trail of tender kisses from the tips of the brunette's fingers all the way down to his wrist, exactly like how Harry used to kiss Draco's own hand-
Hermione Granger gazed at her unconscious husband and best friend, her distraught children, and lastly, Draco Malfoy, whose defenses were crumbling, crumbling- She felt the glitter of imminent tears forming in her eyes, but she brushed them away roughly. When Draco had learnt of the news, they had hurtled to St. Mungo's without a second thought. The blond had fired questions at her like bullets, and an aghast Hermione could only swallow back her tears, berate her ignorance and whisper over and over again I don't know, I don't know!
Her arms were held as rigid as rakes at her sides and her lips abruptly tightened fractionally into a grim, resolved line. Steeling herself, she marched straight up to Kingsley, looked at him directly in the eye and said evenly.
"We need to talk, Kingsley."
It wasn't a question.
With that, Kingsley dipped his head somberly in agreement, his disconsolate eyes lingering over the frail frames of his two Unspeakables. He followed Hermione out of the room, but neglected to close the door. Draco could hear snippets of conversation wafting into the room and he blinked, lifting his head to listen.
"… the other Unspeakables are working overtime, pooling their information…"
"That's not good enough! I need to know what happened, you can't just do this to my family-"
"… they knew we were coming. Before Harry and Ron raided the premises, the criminals tampered with the Dark artifact at the very last minute. Both of them have taken the necessary precautions, but no one could have foreseen this, it's not anyone's fault-
"Stop sugar-coating your words! What's happening to them, why do they smile and laugh when they're unconscious, what does the artifact do, what does it do, stop thinking so much and tell me-"
"Records have shown that after being tampered with, the artifact inflicts a curse. The casualties fall into a magical coma, and most of them… they never wake up."
There was a painful pause, before Kingsley continued.
"Your children… shouldn't be hearing this."
And then the door was nudged closed.
Hugo Weasley hugged his Pooh bear tighter to his little body and burst into a renewed bout of tears when he heard Kingsley's last words. He was sitting on Ron's bed, holding his father's arm and wrapping his own hands around it, as though by doing that he could transfer some warmth to his father's cold, cold body-
"You promised us a trip to the zoo when you said this big job was done, Daddy, you can't leave us now, not now, not ever! Please, please…" Hugo managed through soft sobs, before hiccupping to a stop. The fur of his bear was matted and wet with his tears, and with his eyes crystallizing with leftover teardrops, Hugo tucked the bear under Ron's covers, just like how Ron would tuck Hugo to bed every night-
Rose Weasley, on the other hand, was sitting as far away from the hospital beds as possible. Her head was bowed, concealed by an unrelenting curtain of limp, red locks. Draco realized that ever since he had entered the room, Rose had never once looked up, nor were there any weeping sounds emanating from her. But when she heard Hermione's gasp after hearing Kingsley's words, Rose clamped her right hand over her mouth, and Draco could see that she was biting hard on her finger to stop herself from crying. The fingers of her other hand were curved angrily, her fingernails clawing painfully onto the arm of the chair. She lifted her head up marginally, and the blond caught a flash of pure, unadulterated fright flit across wide blue eyes.
It was as though by distancing herself physically from Ron, by keeping her emotions at bay, Rose was disconnecting herself from this scene. She was pretending that this wasn't happening, steeping herself into the denial that it wasn't her father, an epitome of security and sanctuary, dying-
Suddenly Ron let out a hearty laugh.
Hugo immediately jerked up to a sitting position and shook Ron's arm urgently, a glorious balloon of hope welling up in him.
"Daddy? Are you awake?"
Rose swung her head up, and it seemed like she was going to haul herself up from the chair and cross over to her father, but Ron remained chillingly motionless. The laugh rang out like a death knell, dissipating into the stale, sterile air in the hospital room. The remnants of the smile gradually wilted on Ron's lips, and it was as though nothing had happened at all.
Rose fell back laboriously into her chair, that same dull, stoic expression burdening itself on her features. Hugo's face was drained of color, and he wiped angrily at his eyes before lying down stiffly on the bed, resuming his position as his father's guard.
The conversation outside was still continuing in heated, fervent words, Hermione and Kingsley's voice muffled by the closed door. Draco itched to know what was going on outside, but he didn't want to leave Harry, just in case anything, something, I don't care, just show me that you'll wake up, Harry, Harry- happened.
Draco tried to keep a clear head and reassure it's only been a few hours, he'll probably wake up tomorrow morning, laugh it off, dust himself off, he's Harry Potter, for Salazar's sake- himself. There was no room or time for tears right now, the only thing he could do was to keep vigil at Harry's bedside and hope that it'll turn out right in the end.
But worry still had their tentacles twined around Draco like the deadliest miasma. Distress and disbelief was frittering throughout his system, and he exhaled ponderously.
Draco jumped when Harry's arms moved and sailed through the air. It was as though he was opening a book and flipping through it, the fingers of his left hand curling around the spine and his right hand turning the pages. Draco stared, his own hands gripping the rail of the bed tightly. A glacial smile was stitched on Harry's lips, that scourge of a smile that sent bolts of shock and alarm rocketing down Draco's spine, it was the smile of the living dead-
There was a soft click as Hermione entered the room alone. She was different somehow, as though the little girl I've got to be strong for my children- in her was sick of crying. The witch sat down beside Draco. A few uneasy moments passed before Hermione broke the silence.
"They were supposed to retrieve the artifact and try to figure out a counter-curse. How ironic, isn't it?" She said caustically, her lips twisted in a sour smile. "Kingsley told me that Harry-" The sentence petered out, and Hermione looked down to her lap. Her fingers were fidgeting in unease, and Draco frowned darkly, determined to press on and obtain some answers.
"Harry what?"
"He got the brunt of the attack, so Kingsley said that Ron would probably be the first one to wake up. If they wake up, that is," Hermione said bitterly as an afterthought, a wry, strangled laugh escaping from her. The heads of her children snapped up in horror if even Mommy gives up hope, then what does it mean-, their eyes round islands of bleakness. Draco caught the movement and patted Hermione's hand consolingly.
"They'll be fine. I'm sure of it," Draco said confidently, but Hermione could see the hesitancy in his hooded grey eyes.
"Does Shacklebolt know why they act like this, with all the sudden laughter and the smiles?" Draco asked quietly, his eyes not straying from the prone figure of Harry.
"He couldn't tell me much, saying it's top secret," Hermione said, giving a snort of derision. "But what I could wring out from him is that their minds are stuck in another world, in another dimension where nothing is what it seems. Terribly vague, I know, but if they don't manage to escape…"
where most of them-
never wake up-
It took three painful days for her to break.
The dank, musty ghosts of moonlight crawled its way through the windows, casting subdued and flattened strips of gloam on the hospital beds. A bitingly harsh wind whipped the branches of the trees outside, and Rose shivered, curling herself up tighter into a small, vulnerable ball.
She hugged her knees and rocked herself back and forth on the chair. Draco sat a short distance away from her, a fatigued hand resting on Harry's wrist and his head lowered down to Harry's blankets, keeping his breathing steady. Rose shot a furtive look in Draco's direction, and apparently satisfied that he appeared to be sleeping, the young redhead turned back to her father and marshaled her thoughts before speaking in clear, lucid tones.
"It's Friday today. Do you remember how you'll chase me out from the study every Friday evening and say that only boring girls do their homework on Friday nights? And then Mommy would… Mommy would…" Rose stopped suddenly and closed her eyes, mulishly relegating her tears to the backseat. She reached out and ran her fingers briefly over the neglected stubble that grazed Ron's jaw.
"It's not funny anymore, Daddy. Mommy's so sad. She tells me she's got something in her eye when it's obvious that she's been crying. Hugo and I will be going back to school next Monday. Mommy thinks that we've missed enough school this week, so please wake up during the weekend. It's going to be Saturday tomorrow. Saturday morning's Quidditch and pancakes day, do you remember, Daddy? You promised to teach me the Wronski Feint. It's not the weekend without you," Rose whispered, her words starting to take on a brittle, jerky quality while she tugged urgently on her father's sleeve.
"I'm sorry if I made fun of you whenever you tried to help me with homework. I won't laugh if you get my answers wrong. I'll help around with the housework more, I won't gripe about Hugo's soft toys being tossed all over the place, I won't do any of that anymore, I promise, just wake up, please-"
That was the last word she croaked before she let the tears fall, her voice shattering into sobs while a rainfall of tears streamed unheeded, drizzling and trickling down her face and nose, an admission of defeat. She had been holding it in for so long, but ugly reality had sunk in, and she had finally acknowledged that there could be a chance that her daddy might not be coming back.
It was the first show of emotion that Draco had seen in Rose.
she's crying-
for the two of us-
Draco straightened up, rotated his neck and pulled his shoulders back, easing the kinks out before slumping his weary body back on Harry's bed. He had been burning the candle at both ends. As the days bled arduously into each other, Draco had been shuttling back and forth between his office, the hospital, and barely spent any time at home, except to take a short shower and flopping straight to bed.
The Healer assigned to the two men had noted a change in Ron; there had been slight color returning to his cheeks, but the Healer had expressed mild dubiousness whether it actually meant anything. However, upon hearing the news, the Weasley family had breathed a tiny sigh of relief, their hopes of Ron defying the odds and being on the slow and steady road to recovery further cemented.
But Harry's complexion still remained sallow and pasty.
Draco could almost taste the desperation gnawing away at him.
take every single moment that we've ever shared-
and don't you ever forget-
The blond stood up, lifted Harry's head carefully and fluffed up his pillow. He took Harry's hand in his and kissed each knuckle slowly, savoring the soft heat pulsing from the brunette's body. Maybe this was a sign, some sort of indication that Harry will pull through this. When Draco accidentally stumbled onto this thought, he chastised himself. There was no need for any divine intervention for Harry to be fine, because Draco knew, he just knew-
But he couldn't gather the staunch confidence to fuel those consolations.
Draco sighed and interlaced their fingers together, his thumb stroking the inside of Harry's wrist meditatively. Squaring his shoulders, Draco frowned and rattled Harry's hand. His words came out in a solemn, yet mellow manner.
"You promised me two months. It's going to be our last week next week. Don't you dare leave me hanging like this."
"Draco, where are you?"
"Just woke up, I'm on the way to the hospital. Granger called me and said that-"
"Have you completely forgotten, Draco? Today is the Saturday that we always meet up to review all of the work that we've done for the month! I've been waiting in the office for you for the past half an hour!"
"Shit, it slipped my mind. Sorry, Millicent, I'll get over there right now-"
"Listen to me. I've been trying to cover as much as I can for the past three days, but some of our clients are still displeased that you're not around as often. You're rushing off to the hospital every few hours, and as a result, you've missed out on a few last-minute meetings. My apprenticeship with you doesn't allow me to handle the big cases yet-"
"But I… can't leave him there, Milly…"
"Draco, there's a clear line between personal issues and work, you told me that right at the beginning-"
"Owl the urgent documents to Harry's ward. I'll work on them while I'm there. If there are any meetings that I can't attend from next week onwards, send the summarized accounts to Pietro and ask him for his attendance-
"Pietro Labelle? Are you sure-"
"Yes, I'm positive. I'll see you in the office in five minutes."
He had missed it.
He had only managed to reach St. Mungo's in the late afternoon, and by then Ron's bed had already been emptied and tidied, all wrapped up in its spotless, perfect little package, waiting for the arrival of a brand new patient. Apparently Ron had managed to lurch out of his coma that Saturday morning. He had blinked groggily for a few times and sat up slowly, a clenched fist gripping the side of his head. As expected, the room had erupted into a commotion of noise, sound and movement, and Ron bundled his small family up joyously in his arms.
"Daddy? Daddy! Daddy!"
"I-I'm not dreaming, am I?"
"No, you're not, Ron, oh God, I'll have to tell Mom and Dad straightaway, they've been worried out of their minds-"
"I-Is that really you? Hermione, Rose, Hugo? I can't believe it, I'm finally out of that nightmare… Harry! Where's Harry, is he fine?"
But even before he could scramble off his bed and scamper towards his best friend, the nurses had quickly wheeled him off to carry out general tests on his health. The Healer had finally announced that everything seemed to be fine for Ron, with his only prescription being lots of rest and as less stress as possible. Ron had then raced straight back to Harry's ward and fretted over the brunette, with his whole family in tow.
Before Draco went to visit Harry, the blond had dropped by Ron's new ward. The nurses shifted Ron from his original room to another one, mainly to keep him for observation. If nothing seemed to be out of the ordinary, Ron would probably be discharged the next day.
"I'm sure Harry will wake up soon, Malfoy. Look at me, I'm fine now, aren't I?"
"Yeah. I know he will. Weasley, what… what's been going on in your mind for the past four days?"
"I'll tell Kingsley and the team everything so that they can find a counter-curse for Harry, but I… don't want to talk about what happened."
"Fair enough. Rest well."
It was so quiet and cold here.
When Ron had still been in this room, Draco was almost always accompanied by a Weasley. If it had been Hermione, they would embark on some light chit-chat. If it had been Rose, there would be little or no conversation, but both of them were secretly comforted by the gentle presence of another conscious person. Hugo had once padded sleepily up to Draco and mumbled how cold he was, before tumbling and falling sound asleep in Draco's astonished arms.
He had never known how nice it would be to hold a child like that.
Granted, he had almost dropped Hugo, but the blond had quickly righted the redhead's small body. Hugo wrapped his small arms around Draco's neck and cuddled the blond, all the while dozing peacefully. Hermione's eyes had widened in sheer surprise and shock when she saw her son in Draco's arms when she returned with their refuel of coffee.
"Do you want me to hold him?"
"I… it's alright, actually."
When the strain finally got to Draco's arms, the ex-Slytherin delicately dislodged Hugo's grip around his neck, walked over to Ron's bed slowly and meticulously deposited Hugo with his father, careful not to wake the boy up. And all the while, Hermione had watched Draco with a small smile on her face.
But it was different now, wasn't it?
Loneliness, so similar to the nipping wind escaping through the slats of the windows, stung Draco's skin. He looked at Ron's empty bed, and it was as though it was mocking him. Draco shifted his gaze to Harry's frightfully still figure. The blond felt like a tenacious sentinel, taking up post and standing guard against an uncertain future of HarryDraco-
It was so quiet and cold here.
Draco scooted closer to Harry, his left hand taking its usual position around Harry's wrist and his other hand editing a dossier of proposals. A half-eaten sandwich lay abandoned a short distance away from Draco's set of quills.
"Hey."
The blond looked up and saw Rose standing there in the doorway. She tilted her head, smiled at Draco and trotted in. She placed a bowl of steaming hot soup on the table, flipped the cover open, dipped a spoon in it and presented it to Draco.
"Grandma made it specially for you. She knows that you visit Uncle Harry all the time, but she never sees you eating. It's not much, but it'll keep you warm through the night," Rose said matter-of-factly.
"Harry… he used to bring me soup all the time," Draco said quietly, letting out a sad little laugh.
Before he knew it, Rose cannoned straight into Draco's arms, much to his bewilderment. He caught the crisp scent of flowers in Rose's hair and he blinked, baffled.
"Uncle Harry will finish the two months with you. He's just like Daddy. The both of them have never broken a promise before. So don't get all sad 'cause Uncle Harry will continue bringing soup to you, 'kay?" Rose said, her face buried in Draco's shoulder and her voice muffled.
"Thank you. And… please thank your grandmother for me," the blond's lips curved up in a half-smile as his arms rose ineptly to circle Rose in an awkward resemblance of a hug. Draco was touched by the simple gesture of kindness that Mrs Weasley showed.
Rose drew back, and Draco could still feel his body tingling delightfully from the affection of her hug. The blond took the bowl of soup from Rose and held it calmly in his hands.
It was so, so warm.
"Would you like me to stay with you for a while?" Rose asked softly, throwing a disdainful look at the desolate half of the room.
"Won't your parents mind?" Draco said, his brow furrowing. But it did sound rather nice to have someone else with him…
"They're fine with it. They know I'm with you," Rose answered, grinning at Draco. "Give me a while." With that, the redhead dashed out, her long batik skirt trailing after her. Draco raised an eyebrow and took a small sip of the soup, reveling at how it slowly seeped its sunny, summery way through his system, rejuvenating his jaded blood and exhausted muscles.
It didn't take long before Rose bounded back, her arms laden with copious sheets of notes and blank parchment, a handful of textbooks of varying thickness and her own collection of quills.
"I've got two tests on Tuesday and Thursday. I almost forgot to do my revision," Rose sighed. She dumped her studying paraphernalia on the table, fished out a single book, a quill and parchment. She pulled out a chair and sat beside Harry, giving his hand a longing squeeze. Tossing Draco one last reassuring smile, she flipped the page open to her bookmark and began to read.
And so they stayed, Draco and Rose protectively flanking both sides of an unconscious Harry, each equally engrossed in their own work. The air was silent except for the diligent scratching of quill against parchment and their steady breathing. Sometimes Rose would cluck in annoyance when she made a mistake, and the room would resonate with sharp snaps whenever she released her long hair and hooked it up in a conscientious ponytail.
Funny how the room didn't seem to be so, so quiet anymore.
Harry flung out an arm, grabbing hard onto the wrought-iron gate in front of him. He stayed motionless for a while, willing the giddiness in his head away and forcing the nausea back down. It felt as though he had been transported to this place by a particularly violent Portkey. Harry shook his head to clear away any remaining cobwebs of queasiness. He slipped off his glasses, wiped them on the hem of his shirt and put them back on.
It was then that he realized that his wand was not with him.
The brunette frowned slightly and began to take stock of his surroundings. He looked to his left, right and back, seeing nothing but whitewashed walls that shimmered and rippled as though someone had dropped a pebble in a pond.
Harry stuck a finger out and prodded the wall.
It was hard, unyielding and solid.
Funny how he didn't feel claustrophobic at all.
The only way was forward. Inhaling deeply, Harry curiously studied the ornate, gilded gate that barred his way. Behind the gate, there was absolutely nothing at all, like a barren sweep of completely vacant and vacuous canvas.
Inquisitive green eyes roamed and darted all over the intricate workmanship of the metal monstrosity. There were no handles on this enormous abnormality of an obstacle. Harry lifted his head and squinted. There were a string of Latin words inscribed at the very top of the gate that he could not decipher. Twines of metal vines snaked and crept all over the shafts of the gate, along with leaves and flowers that looked strangely like venom-tipped arrows and defiled faces with smiles sutured on them.
Harry cautiously wrapped his hand around a segment of the gate.
It was warm to the touch.
The ex-Gryffindor knotted his eyebrows in puzzlement when he noticed names at the lower half of the gate. He crouched down and scrutinized the words carved in elegant, flowing kuh-kuh-krreepy kuh-kuh-krrawly- font. The names sounded familiar to him, and he tried to recall where he had come across them before, but it was like something in his brain was blocking access to this vital information. Harry rapidly ran a finger across the sunken ridges of the names, and ended up stopping abruptly when he stumbled upon his own name, etched at the very tail of the cord of names.
Harry jarred the gate forcefully, but it refused to budge. Biting his lip, Harry haltingly dragged his finger down the gate shaft with his name.
It swung open obediently.
Harry swallowed and wiped his clammy palms on his jeans. It didn't make any sense at all, how was he going to walk into white?
But he had nowhere else to go.
With that fact, Harry stepped over the threshold into pleasing phantoms and worshipped wraiths-. The world spun, spiraled and swayed to its own momentum, and Harry could only watch, gob-smacked, as the scene rearranged and molded itself into a dizzying kaleidoscope of colors and motion.
now it's pher-purr-perfect for you, Harry, uh-oh-only you-
It was utterly, completely, amazingly beautiful.
Thumbprints of cotton-candy clouds drifted happily in the cornflower-blue skies, each cloud sparkling and twinkling down at Harry as though smooth satin and glossy silk had been blended seamlessly into their gossamer ribbons. Puffy hand-folded paper stars twitched, beamed and glowed, their five points dancing and twirling in the sunny sky. The sun's rays were like prized, ethereal gold. Splashes of light bubbled and burst on blades of vibrant emerald grass.
Something dark and oily slinked from shadow to shadow right behind Harry. But before he could flick his head back, the sun shifted directly in his focus, blinding him momentarily. Harry flinched and raised a hand to shield his eyes from the hot glare.
but how can the stars and the sun-
co-exist like this-
Transfixed, Harry moved deeper into the panorama, his eyes drawn to the lively garden. Gravel crunched enticingly under his feet as he shuffled forward. As if catching himself, Harry quickly bolted back to the gates and pushed in case, just in case- them wide open.
The garden was as colorful as a painter's palette. Angel rainbow leaves dotted the landscape, all of their colors running together, but not smudging, creating a whole new hue that Harry had never laid eyes on before. Butterflies zoomed and flitted gaily from corner to corner, and Harry laughed. Flimsy petals of the daintiest dandelions and daisies were lined with sterling silver and brilliant bronze. Other flowers nestled together, gazing flashily up at Harry, as though vying for his attention.
It looked as pretty and innocent as a fairy tale.
Harry smiled and stroked a floury petal, relishing its unique texture on his fingertips. He could detect the refreshingly clean scent of dew and mint. The birds overhead swooped, their wings drawing artistic arcs in the sky. They serenaded Harry with their dulcet, musical tones, the last elegant notes lingering sweetly in the air.
It was a feast for the senses.
Harry wouldn't really call it a building, simply because it wasn't big enough. Calling it a cottage would be more suitable, he thought as he veered back to the path that led to the prominent and proud house.
He paused.
The sun was concentrating all its beams onto the house, spotlighting it. The stars were congregating near the roof, beckoning Harry. The protective umbrella-like branches of the trees, together with the vibrant faces of the flowers, were pointing towards the same direction. The birds and butterflies roosted peacefully on the crown of the trees, their bodies turned towards the house.
It was as though every single thing was holding their breath for Harry to enter.
Well, at least it's not one of those dark, forbidding mansions, and it does look rather inviting, Harry thought to himself. Shrugging his shoulders, Harry plodded forth, followed the rigorously straight path, hopped up the six precise stone steps and stepped gingerly into the house.
Behind him, a misty dusk mingled and tormented, marring everything in sight. Black lightning roiled and spluttered in the skies. Thunder rumbled in the distance, sounding frighteningly like a gurgled cry. The crystal, snowflake designs of the stars exploded savagely, raining down shards and splinters of glass.
we'll tempt you in-
just to spit you out-
The delicate, frail dewdrops that were poised gracefully on tips of grass gradually mutated into globules of blood. The branches of the trees morphed and sharpened into cutting claws and switch-blade serrated talons. Beneath them, the petals of the flowers wilted and fell off, replaced by teeth that chomped hungrily at thin air. The leaves on the floor shriveled up, their once-fluorescent color weeping, draining out in a glutinous clump on the ground. They burnt resignedly into black flakes, crumbling beyond recognition.
Their masks of perfection were withering like slain harlequins.
The wings of the butterflies snapped off one by one, as though a child was disassembling all of his toys after having played with them. Whatever that was left of the dismembered butterflies collapsed to the gaping grass and contorted in agony. The birds regarded the wriggling butterflies with red-rimmed and jaundiced eyes, their voices whining to laryngitic croaks.
all of our playthings in our precious playground of purgatory-
The deceptively friendly smiles had receded, leaving nothing but cruel leers in its place. Every single shred of attention was glued to Harry's retreating back-
-Harry, the only one who was truly alive in this world.
The fairy tale veneer was finally chipping.
It was a hallway.
On his left, beautiful stained glass windows designed to bring you in but not to let you out- let in colored light filtered from outside. There were three doors to Harry's right. They were plain, mahogany doors that were exactly identical in appearance.
It was a dead end in front of him.
His heart thumping with trepidation, Harry warily tried the first door. It opened easily, but Harry didn't enter. He walked towards the second door and twisted the doorknob.
It didn't move.
Harry wasn't surprised when the third door refused to budge. Apparently he had to go through the first door, and then the second door before he could gain access to the last room. A small creak escaped from metal hinges as Harry quietly opened the first door, apprehension and expectation lacing his veins.
It was toasty warm and cozy.
There were red embers of a dying fire in a fireplace. It looked like the hall of a typical house. Sprawled messily on a huge table were inky newspapers in an inscrutable sea of black and white, stacks of paper and parchment, crayons, color pencils and quills. Harry's eyes sharpened when he noticed something vaguely familiar perched at the top.
It was his very first Hogwarts letter.
Harry smiled beatifically, taking in the ink that flowed in cursive, ebony streams. The brunette remembered the wonder, the amazement that he had felt when he had finally managed to open the letter. He rifled through the documents, and with a jolt, Harry discovered that the heaps of parchment were actually his old Hogwarts homework. He quickly uncovered a thick bundle of parchment and let out a wry laugh when he recognized his own handwriting, much messier than usual since it was a Potions essay.
A simple drawing scudded out of the litter of papers as though it had a mind of its own. Harry fished it out, his eyes widening as he absorbed the picture. There were three stick figures scrawled out in a childish manner with crayons. They were holding hands in a tight-knit circle, the little boy cradled lovingly in the couple's arms.
It was Harry, together with his parents.
Harry stood there for a while, greedily soaking up every detail of the drawing. He had taught himself to bottle up the heartache that he felt whenever he saw Ron's small family spending time with each other. Sometimes, he simply felt that he was an outsider, a third wheel intruding into their family life. At other times, whenever he spied fathers carrying their sons on their shoulders in the streets, Harry would try as hard as he could to brush off that feeling of want.
Even though many years had passed, it still hurt.
Harry sighed and replaced the drawing, his mind valiantly moving on. He walked towards a bookcase. An assortment of books were stored; business books, novels, a manual of Quick First-Aid spells, school textbooks and picture books for young children.
In short, the selection of books encompassed the needs for a regular family.
Harry shifted his gaze next to the amassment of toys that was laid neatly in rows. There were lovable elephants, hefty stuffed bears, plump pillows and an assortment of dolls, their eyes a bit too large for their porcelain face. The ex-Gryffindor threw a cursory look at them before walking away.
Unbeknownst to Harry, the eyes of the dolls widened even further as their hawkish gaze followed Harry beadily around the room.
Harry stopped at what looked like a kitchen island. On the counter was a hodge-podge of items. A garland of flowers, like what a young girl might make, lay at the edge of the counter. There were pancakes folded skillfully into the shape of roses, drowning in an ocean of honey and butter. Pastries such as gooey chocolate chip brownies, sugar cookies studded with colored sprinkles of hundreds and thousands, dainty little cupcakes and nut-brown madeleines were stacked as high as skyscrapers, imprisoned in their little silver trays.
They were practically begging to be eaten, but there was this startling little voice that fought dauntlessly to be heard in the undercurrent of Harry's thought process-
don't eat anything-
because beneath all the confetti and gloss and sparkle-
A wooden spoon was jammed in a bowl of batter, and juicy, scarlet strawberries were swamped in a cup of fresh milk. Powdery marshmallows drifted aimlessly on four mugs of steaming hot chocolate. There was a box right in the middle of the island, resplendent in copious pink ribbons that scintillated as though covered in dozens of gems. Harry flipped it open, and gasped.
The squiggly frosting on the cake read Happy Birthday, Harry! The eleven candles were molded into the alphabets of Harry's name and wonderfully infused with bright lovely pastel colors, such as peony pink, midnight blue, sunshine yellow and lime green. Doused with an overdose of contentment, the brunette beamed widely and gazed lovingly at the cake for a long moment, a soft, dreamy smile on his lips. His finger hovered an inch above the frosting, but he quickly withdrew and snapped the lid over the box decisively.
Harry caught a twinge of exotic scent, a remarkable combination of flowers and chocolate that conjured up portraits of beautiful blonds, but Harry couldn't quite place a finger on it, because because this place is where happiness is taboo-
Harry threw one last longing glance around this room which showcased the generalities of a happy childhood and exited it, clicking the door closed behind him.
A chimera of darkness whipped behind Harry, dogging if we can puh-puh-play with our food buh-buh-before eating it- his footsteps before melting away soundlessly in the walls.
Harry glimpsed up at the windows, wondering why it seemed to be evening I only spent a few minutes in there- outside. The ex-Gryffindor couldn't distinguish any real danger, so his guard was let down as he swung open the second door.
Unlike the first room, this room was sparse and barely furnished. Only a single chair and a table, with four items placed on top of it, were positioned in the heart of the room. Harry walked over and sat on the chair with his back facing the door. There were grooves and arches imprinted on the table that fitted the four mementos perfectly, leading Harry to assume that the table had been created specially for this purpose.
With shaking, nerveless fingers, Harry lifted up the photograph album that Hagrid had given to him during his second year. He had lost count of how many times he had stayed up late, furiously turning the pages and crossing his fingers, hoping that the more he stared at the photos, the more his parents could come to life-
His insides contracted with undiluted longing as he devoured each picture hungrily, the yearning in him so strong, so true that he was almost choking on it-
A tub of lemon drops and a bar of chocolate without its wrapping lay next to the photo album. Harry rolled a lemon drop in between his fingers, hoping that maybe he could snatch a last peek at that gentle, all-knowing twinkle in Dumbledore's eyes. The brunette scrunched his eyes shut and buried his head in his hands, nuances of nostalgia all of them were my father figures- worming through his mind. Harry clenched a fist around the squares of chocolate, breaking them up, wishing that he could hear Remus's melodious voice again, that firm, yet soothing murmur urging him to eat the confection to ward off the Dementors.
The last artifact was the two-way mirror that Sirius had given him. Harry breathed on it and wiped the condensation away with his sleeve. He gazed dimly into it and whispered Sirius's name, knowing that nothing would happen no matter how many times he said it, no matter how many tears he wept-
A grey eye the stage is- peered through the mirror.
"Sirius? Sirius, is that you?" Harry yelped, his hands quaking and his own eyes out on stalks.
The eye held Harry's gaze intently, before swiveling slowly finally- to his left.
Harry's head whirled in that direction, but he could see nothing. There was only the wall that led to-
"The next room? Is that what you're saying? All of you will be there? Is that it?" Harry babbled, gulping as he shook the mirror impulsively.
The eye blinked set- once.
Without even hesitating, Harry charged out, his hand gripping the mirror so tightly that indents formed in his palm. His heartbeat was quickening in blurry anticipation to talk to them, to see them, to touch them, I would give anything- and disbelief how can it be, how can the dead return-, his breathing rapid and heavy with emotion. He paid no heed to the lashes and whips of twilight and midnight stalking his footsteps, Harry was totally and completely immersed in his fatal fantasy-filled frolic-
He swallowed, his footsteps sounding oh-so-far-away in his own ears, his eyes forced wide open, pinioned unwaveringly and mesmerizingly on the third door with the certainty of the unhinged-
The Mirror was spotlighted.
Harry licked his lips, wetting his throat which suddenly felt as dry would they come out from there- as flour. Tingling waves of energy were sent to his extremities as he staggered towards the Mirror. He remembered the cravings, the sheer desire he had felt when he had stumbled upon the Mirror of Erised in the first year. If it hadn't been for Dumbledore, he probably would have driven himself demented every night with those visions, that pining for an intact, proper family-
The full-length Mirror in front of him looked similar to the Mirror of Erised, but he knew deep down in his bones that this was an entirely different artifact all together, a more powerful entity where everything was bigger, everything was better-
It didn't take long before the Mirror spurred to life.
Lily was devastatingly beautiful in her wedding dress and her peaches and cream complexion. Her hair flowed in a corona as Lily and James said their vows in lilting, matching voices. Their eyes were alight and brimming over with sheens of youthfulness and love, James was saying something cheeky with a charming raise of his eyebrows, and Lily was laughing, no, everyone was laughing together, and then their cheers were washing over Harry like the softest caress of the sea, and then everyone was clapping, and Harry could see Remus and Sirius, and there was-
Harry's eyes were dazed, mossy lakes of amazement I've never seen any of this before-, a gnawing hunger rumbling in his belly that food could not satisfy. The scenes in the Mirror were like a never-ending bag of sweets. He clawed at the Mirror thirstily like a chained wild animal, absorbing each episode of his parents' life, their first date, Harry's birth, the both of them doting and fussing over a toddling Harry-
But the scenes had picked up speed, whizzing, accelerating too fast for Harry's hungry eyes to catch every desperate detail, climbing up to a crescendo of fury, suddenly peaking to a climax, why, why, slow it down, please, Harry begged, his face mottled with distress as he could no longer make out what was happening anymore, the figures, the colors running and bleeding together like water flung on a still-wet painted canvas-
And then it paused.
It was the image of a 27-year-old Harry, with his grinning parents standing nobly behind him. Harry pulled himself closer to his family portrait, sweeping his hair out of his eyes and simply stared at the reflection, his face so close to the Mirror, so paralyzedcaptivatedbewitched-
Suddenly there was a deafening smashing sound.
Harry scrambled back in time just to see a human skull being hurled at the Mirror. The brunette watched in abomination as the skull broke the Mirror right where Harry's heart was supposed to be-
The Mirror ruptured viciously into fractions, vanishing in the chaos of its ruined images. Each scrap of glass slumped on the arctic when was it this cold, I don't remember- stone floor, siphoning the color of the tiles before dissolving right into the very ground, leaving only the fragments of violent dreams that were never meant to be-
ssssalutations from your nightmare-
Harry felt like he had been startled from the deepest and most delicious of sleep.
The haven of sunny moments had turned cruelly on its head as muted objects in the room that had been lying in wait suddenly took on a sinister demeanor, coming to life as though answering the call to kill, cornering him, rearing their ugly heads-
Crimson liquid an abattoir of curdling bloodbath where we buh-buh-butcher- glistened disturbingly on the walls.
A stirring of dread slowly writhed its way up to Harry's chest, and his heart was beating frantically like a bird trying to tear out from its cage. He felt danger like a dagger to his throat, and piece by piece, his illusiondelusionHALLUCINATION was burning like cinders and charcoal, shattering like china against cement do you not feel the beauty hiding behind the smiling thorns-
Something was hovering above Harry's head like a rotting vulture.
A snakeskin of unidentifiable words was coiling right into his ear like the deadliest Parseltongue, but Harry knew it wasn't, it wasn't anything at all-
e-vuh-vuh-verything that you've held dear crumbling in your hands like ash-
Suddenly there was this snake winding it- around his neck, tightening has-, twisting only-, that black whirlpool of pressure just- at the back of his head that was a cross between consciousness and unconsciousness begun-. Harry panted and tried to pull the snake away, but he ended up grabbing empty space. The girdle around his neck released as suddenly as it had come, and Harry took in great heaving gulps of air, one hand massaging his throat. The air in his lungs, the blood in his veins, the warmth in his heart was vanishing like daylight, only leaving blank, feeble terror in his wake, and Harry wanted to close his eyes and wish himself away, but he knew that he couldn't, because-
He can't close his eyes because he knows that he will never wake up.
He felt Sirius's mirror being pried roughly away from his fingers. Harry shouted in protest, but the mirror levitated itself up in the air and exploded in a firework of glass. Harry immediately raised his arms, warding off the shards, but they managed to bite mercilessly at the back of his arms and elbows. Harry winced and looked down, smelling the ferrous tang of fresh blood. The wounds weren't deep, and Harry knew that skin injuries were the least of his problems now.
Something was moving in the room towards him, something that Harry could sense but couldn't see, their very breathing blighting the air around him. All of his fears were distilling, condensing into this split second moment, horror oozing down his face like melting wax, and then something was toppling down on him, disabling him, like a large, ubiquitous hand from high up above was controlling everything like marionettes, and then, and then-
Harry screamed.
/tbc
Apparently there was some issue going on with Chapter 7 last week, because you guys got the Story Alert only 18 hours after I updated. To clarify things, I update every Friday mid-late afternoon to evening (depends on your time zone).
How will Harry get out of this alive? Hmmm…
/giggle
Please do review! (: