Chapter 2: Another Battle
Harry heard the cheering through a great fog that had settled upon his senses. He had wanted to continue from the Headmaster's office to Gryffindor Tower, but Hermione had simply told him that he could not do a single thing before eating. She had wondered aloud about the last time anyone of them had eaten and then pulled Harry faster toward the Great Hall. Ron's stomach growled loudly in encouragement, and Harry was too exhausted to do anything but allow his body to be dragged along in his friends' wake.
It was light out now, dawn. As Harry entered the Hall, people came closer, crowding him, all of them wanting a hug and comfort, or to thank him. But Harry could not hear them, only a faint murmuring and light touches that, had he been fully aware, might have overwhelmed him. He stared off dazedly, images flashing through his head. As hand after hand grabbed his own in gratitude, all he saw was a flash of bright light; a dead Fred; his dead parents, smiling; dead Remus and Tonks, and a crying Teddy; dead Cedric; spells chasing after Ginny, who danced just out of reach but would soon slip; dead Dumbledore, falling limply over the wall at the top of the Astronomy Tower; Muggles suspended upside down in the air after the Quidditch World Cup; Bathilda Bagshot; the Dark Mark hanging over his friends, dead and alive. His visions swirled together, faster, until they merged into black as he fell to his knees and retched before his eyes rolled back, his numb body thrashing against the cold stone of the Great Hall. In the blackness he walked toward Voldemort, who would surely kill him.
Harry remained somewhere between consciousness and a long, deep sleep for what seemed like eternity, or perhaps it was only several minutes. At one point he awoke to retch again, but as his stomach had been empty for days, all he could manage were a few good heaves before he fell weakly back and twitched into unconsciousness once more, vaguely aware that his entire body ached. Sometimes when his eyes flitted open it was dark and others, much brighter, letting him know that the world was passing by while he was still stuck in these images of his final, doomed confrontation. He was aware that others hovered close by, unsure of whether they were a part of the changing world around him or his nightmares, but their hands were warm and inviting. He tried to reach out to them but couldn't, and every time he made an effort his body would either attempt to rid itself of the nonexistent contents of his stomach or shut down altogether, and he would once more be stuck alone with Voldemort in the damp Forbidden Forest.
It had been a long time since Harry had escaped his latest nightmare. It felt like days since Voldemort had brandished his wand and yelled, "Crucio!", manically laughing has Harry writhed under the spell, a great pain coursing through his body. He was already dreaming, a part of him knew that, so he could not lose consciousness; he had to endure the great physical pain, and almost welcomed it, as visions of all the victims of the great war clouded his vision. And in the background Voldemort was screaming at him in fury, "You thought you could win! You thought you stood a chance against my power!" Harry wanted Voldemort to end the agony, to utter the words he had sought when he walked into the forest after seeing Snape's memories. In this dream-like state, Harry wanted Voldemort to end what he had started, just so he could escape feeling anything anymore. He screamed at Voldemort to finish the job. Voldemort spat "Crucio!" back at him once more, the pain blinding Harry, and then, "You've lost. Avada Kedavra". A bright green glow came closer and closer, surrounding Harry, becoming a part of him. The pain of the Cruciatus Curse had lifted, and he felt strangely at peace in the green light. He closed his eyes with a sigh and fell through the light, welcoming the feeling of having nowhere to go, to just be able to float without a care in this soft green world.
***
When Harry collapsed in the Great Hall under the torrent of admirers and proceeded to retch all over the shoes of those closest to him, people allowed enough of a gap for Hermione and Ron to lay Harry's unconscious body flat to examine him. He was shuddering violently and they could see his eyes rolling incessantly under his eyelids, as though he were watching some fast-paced duel. They tried to wake him, but his shuddering only got more violent, so Ron screamed at the worried observers to back off. Professor McGonagall worked her way through the crowd and was now directing the watchers in a brisk tone, telling a few of them to find Madam Pomfrey. She conjured a stretcher in the air beside Harry but did not levitate him on to it until Madam Pomfrey had arrived and proclaimed the move unharmful. She directed the stretcher up to Gryffindor Tower, as the hospital wing had been severely overcrowded in the aftermath of the battle. Ron and Hermione stayed by Harry's side, jumping out of the way when he sat up to heave over the side of the stretcher. Hermione had thought he was awake and moved in to help when she was brushed aside by Madam Pomfrey, who declared that Harry was still unconscious. She wondered in an undertone what could possibly be going through Harry's head that was causing him to vomit in his sleep, and Ron had grasped her hand to comfort her, rubbing his thumb along her own but staring intently at Harry, worry creasing his drawn and exhausted face.
Professor McGonagall deposited Harry in one of the unused beds in the Seventh Year boys' dormitory and Madam Pomfrey bustled about, setting up a makeshift ward in the vicinity. She tucked the blankets around Harry to control his shaking while she prepared potions that she hoped would help. She instructed Ron to hold Harry up while she poured the first of the potions down his throat and eased his unconscious spluttering with a spell. She then turned to Hermione and explained each of the other potions—dreamless sleep and a calming draught, as she could find no physical explanation for Harry's state. She instructed Hermione to administer the potions every twelve hours and left Harry in Professor McGonagall's care, apologetically explaining that she had to return to the hospital wing to attend to the injured. Professor McGonagall asked to receive frequent updates on Harry's condition and left to organize the masses remaining in the Great Hall.
Hermione conjured two plush armchairs by Harry's bedside, pulled the blankets off the nearest bed and laid them over Ron, who had sunk into one of the chairs. Hermione curled up in the other one, drawing her knees to her chest and staring at Harry intently, willing his wandering eyes and violent shakes to cease their affliction. She could tell that Harry was fighting some inner turmoil, and thought painfully about what would happen should he lose. The Weasleys, and herself for that matter, had already lost so many—Remus, Tonks and Fred on that very night—she could not imagine a recovery for any of them if Harry were not able to pull through. She watched Harry's shaking form as tears built up behind her eyes, thinking of Fred and how lost his family must feel. Ron remained stoic in the chair next to hers, staring at a point on the wall, seemingly oblivious to Harry now that he had been however vaguely diagnosed. He glanced up when Ginny entered the room, surrendering his chair to her and perching himself on the arm of Hermione's, who moved over and allowed him to sink down next to her.
"Mum's with George," Ginny croaked in a strange voice. "Dad, Bill and Charlie have gone to help in the castle. They all said to report on any changes." Ginny reached out to take Harry's hand but convulsed into silent sobs and flopped back down into the chair, grasping the blankets that Ron had been wrapped in as though they would be a source of comfort and could give her the answers to all of her lingering questions.
Ginny's sobs quieted as she drifted to sleep, and Hermione tucked the blankets around her. Some time later, Hermione moved to give Harry his potions, tilting his head back but finding herself unable to control his shaking. Ginny stirred and, observing Ron's paralyzed state, moved to grasp Harry's shoulders so that Hermione could tilt the potions into his mouth and then wave her wand so that they slid down his throat with minimal spluttering. Ginny eased Harry back onto his pillows and stroked his long hair out of his face. The marks of the year he had spent abroad stood out in the afternoon sun and she shuddered, unable to despise him for leaving her while he was in such an emaciated and bloodied shape. She sat on the edge of his four-poster and stroked his jaw line and then his arm, watching his trembling visibly lighten as she administered her touch. When Hermione suggested that she get some sleep, Ginny refused to leave Harry's side, keeping her hand tightly on his as she fought off exhaustion.
Suddenly, Harry's condition took a violent turn and he thrashed about wildly, heaving over the side of the bed but not retching, as he not eaten for some time. Ginny started from the edge of consciousness and realized that Hermione had fallen asleep and that it was now near enough to one in the morning to give Harry more potions. At first she was unable to calm Harry's shudders and he refused her touch, until finally he seemed to slacken and fall limp against the sweaty blankets. Ginny cried out, but felt his pulse and realized that he seemed to have finally fallen asleep. She mimicked Hermione's motions and gave him the potions before pulling the sweat-drenched blankets out from under him and tucking clean ones around him. She sat at his side to watch him sleep in peace before she fell into an exhausted and interrupted sleep herself.
Mrs. Weasley opened the dormitory door quietly, afraid of what she might find behind it. George had fallen asleep in the common room and she was using the time to push the loss of his twin to a corner of her mind as she stole up the stairs to check on Harry. Ron was standing in the middle of the room, staring at nothing in particular, but both Hermione and Ginny had been unable to fight sleep. Hermione was curled neatly in an armchair at Harry's bedside, her arm outstretched and her wand tilting precariously from her hand. Ginny seemed to have fallen asleep while sitting with Harry, for her feet hung off his bed and slumped against the floor and her back was twisted at an odd angle that allowed her to hold one of his hands in hers. Harry, however, was stiff as a board and, while he seemed to be sleeping calmly, his body looked strained with a great amount of tension. Mrs. Weasley moved toward Ron and placed her hands on his shoulders, only to have them flicked off.
"I know that you're upset and confused about Fred's death," she said, barely being able to hold back her own sobs, "and worried about Harry, but none of these feelings can be addressed by defiance and exhaustion". Ron seemed to deflate as he turned and embraced her, knowing she was close to tears, and then stumbled over to the blanketless four-poster and immediately fell asleep. Molly summoned blankets from the dormitory below, placed them over Ron and moved to help Ginny to bed.
"No, Mum," Ginny whispered groggily as Mrs. Weasley tried to move her. "I have to stay with Harry."
"Let me at least get you to the chair in case he starts thrashing again," Mrs. Weasley responded, softened by her daughter's pathetic and confusing attempts to fight the move; she did not yet know about Harry and Ginny's past relationship.
As though Harry had heard the exchange, he reached out to grasp Ginny's hand and mumbled something incoherent, his body still coma-like. Ginny started awake and worried about Harry's weak attempt to hold her hand. His fingers lightly found hers and, as though it had taken too much effort to do so, immediately slackened so that his palm fell open to the ceiling.
"Harry?" Ginny held her breath, waiting to see if he would respond again.
Mrs. Weasley stopped trying to pull Ginny to the chair and stood by the bed, urging Harry to wake up.
Harry was still floating when he thought he heard Ginny's voice. That's weird, he thought. Ginny shouldn't be here. She should be with her family. Then he remembered that Fred was dead and a wave of grief overcame him. He tried to reach out to Ginny, but his hand tightened around air so he gave up the effort. Ginny's voice was closer, though. It sounded worried. I'm here, Harry thought. I'm right here. He tried to see Ginny and a blinding light pierced his eyes. It was nothing like the warm green light of the spell in his nightmare; that green light was falling away and in its place there was a painful bright light that hurt his eyes. He gave up his search for Ginny because the light was so strong, slamming his eyelids shut to make his head stop throbbing. But Ginny was still there. It sounded like she was crying and she was saying his name distortedly through the tears. He heard Mrs. Weasley say something about Madam Pomfrey but he didn't care because he wanted to help Ginny. He reached out and this time managed to grab her hand. She squeezed tightly and he had to let go because the pressure hurt. Ginny sobbed even harder and moved her hand to his face.
"Can you hear me, Harry? Can you open your eyes," she asked.
Harry tried to respond but could not make sense of his own words. Ginny continued to stroke his cheek and he tried to respond again. "Gin-ny," he managed to croak.
Then he heard Hermione's voice, shrill and very close. "Is he awake?" she demanded, and then, "Ron! Wake up, Harry's just said something".
Harry opened his eyes again and heard someone mutter a spell to cover the light from the window. His vision was blurred but he could see Ginny's outlined form very close, one of her hands wiping her cheek and the other grasping his arm. "It's O.K., Harry," she murmured, "We're all right here. Madam Pomfrey is coming".
Suddenly Ginny was gone and cold pair of hands was feeling Harry's face, his wrist, trying to put something in his mouth.
"No!" he shouted, but the word was almost inaudible. He tried to refuse the liquid but it slid down his throat. He shook his head from side to side, wondering if Voldemort was back, if Voldemort was killing him again. "No, Avada Kedavra," he mumbled, trying to fight.
"It's alright, Harry. He's gone," came Ginny's voice. She was holding his hand again. "You can sleep now".
Harry obeyed but his sleep was not as comfortable as the green light had been. He heard himself call out to the others, telling them to run, to let him fight for them. He shook his head from side to side when Voldemort came near, not wanting to die because he had to go and save Ginny.