CHAPTER 19 - NIGHTMARE

Hello dear reader!

Short one this week, while I give the final editing touches to the next chapter.

As always, thanks for your support and patience.

Oh, and content warning for blood and graphic descriptions of dead bodies.

ENJOY!

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Blood.

There was so much blood. The putrid smell of rotten flesh almost made him gag, he put a hand over his mouth to repel it, somehow. He blinked, red liquid coming down his face, oozing from the scar on his forehead. The pain was almost unbearable, his skull being crushed and torn apart at the same time, the part of the scar under his eye making it feel like it was on fire.

He looked down, and his heart stopped, a sudden pain slicing him. He was on the floor, blood oozing from his throat, gushing out so fast it even made bubbles. His black eyes were wide, scared, and he could do little else but to kneel and hold his hand.

But the hand was ice cold.

He blinked, trying to shake the vision away, but the grotesque reality settled in like lead in his chest. The man lay sprawled in front of him, his throat torn, the life spilling out of him with every sickening pulse of blood. The man who had once stood between him and death so many times was now broken, defenceless. His hands fumbled to press down on the wound, to stop the bleeding, but the warmth he remembered from that skin was long gone. It was like holding a stone. Those black eyes—eyes that once blazed with emotion—were now vacant.

Cold.

And yet... it wasn't just him.

The weight of dozens of stares bore down on him, unblinking and cold. He turned, and the bodies stacked up—a scarred face with a pair of golden brown soft eyes, now lifeless. Another bright pink hair, now matted with blood. Another freckled face with red hair, half-hidden but unmistakable. He could almost hear the laughter, now silenced forever, his freckled face marred by the dark stain that spread across the floor.

It felt like all of them were staring straight into his soul, their silence accusing him.

We are dead because of you.

He hadn't been fast enough. If he had just been smarter, quicker, braver...

He couldn't stop it—any of it. His hands were soaked in blood, his failures written in every lifeless face. This was his punishment. And part of him thought he deserved it.

The rush of blood was deafening. Those final, gasping breaths clawed at the silence. His heartbeat pounded in his ears, and his breath hitched as he felt the cold seeping into him from the lifeless body at his feet. His mouth opened, but no sound came out—he wanted to scream, to call for help, but his voice betrayed him.

His chest tightened until it felt like his ribs might crack, his lungs burning as though the air was thick with smoke, choking him. His limbs were heavy, useless, as though his muscles refused to obey.

He tried to back away. But the bodies—there were too many now. Too many. Cold smiles. Dark, empty eyes. Watching. Accusing.

The eyes—once full of light—now twisted into dark, empty voids.

His throat tightened, his breaths shallow and quick, but no matter how much he gasped, he couldn't get enough air. The blood—there was too much blood— it was everywhere, covering his hands, his clothes, his face. His scar seared with a pain so sharp he almost collapsed under the weight.

His eyes returned to the man at his feet. His eyes were open but lifeless, his skin pale and icy. His heart was not beating.

No… no, no, no!

NO!

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The scream tore through his throat, but it was drowned by the roar of his own heartbeat, louder than anything. His vision blurred, and the world spun—black eyes, blood, dead faces—until the weight was unbearable.

Then, as if ripped out of his own body, he was free.

Gasping. His chest heaving. But alive.

Suddenly, silence.

His scream vanished into the nothingness. His heartbeat, once deafening, became the only sound in the dark room. His body was no longer crushed under invisible weight, but the cold sweat clinging to his skin reminded him that the horror wasn't fully gone.

Harry sat up in bed, gasping for breath, his body trembling and slick with cold sweat. The dark silence of the dormitory was suffocating, pressing in on him from all sides. His heart still pounded erratically in his chest, his pulse deafening in his ears. He reached out instinctively for his wand, gripping it so tightly his knuckles turned white.

The nightmare clung to him, refusing to release its hold. The images of blood, cold eyes, and accusing stares haunted his every blink. Even though he could see the familiar shadows of the Gryffindor dormitory around him, he felt like he was still there, drowning in guilt and fear. His breath hitched, and he fought to steady it, but no matter how hard he tried, the terror wouldn't ebb.

His mind raced, desperate for some anchor, something to pull him back to reality. He wasn't in the Shrieking Shack, he wasn't surrounded by the dead. But he needed… he needed something, someone—someone to remind him it was over. That he was safe. That it wasn't all his fault.

The thought cut through him like a knife.

Severus.

Before he could even process it fully, Harry's body moved on instinct. He flung off the covers and bolted out of bed, heart still pounding but driven by an overwhelming urgency. His feet barely made a sound as he dashed out of the dormitory, through the common room, and down the stairs. Not caring that he was still in his pyjamas, not caring if any of the professors or paintings heard him rushing through the empty corridors. He needed to see Severus—had to see him.

The castle's halls were dark and empty, but Harry barely noticed. His mind was consumed with a singular thought, one that pulsed with the same frantic energy as his heartbeat: he needed to be near Severus.

Needed to see him.

And it wasn't only about checking to see if the man was still alive.

Logically speaking, deep down, Harry knew Severus was alive. He knew that this had been a nightmare, a terrifying dream that was still holding its clutches. He'd had his own fair share of visions that were real, with Voldemort getting inside his head, and this was nothing like it.

And yet.

The image of Severus, bloodied and sprawled on the floor, was all he could see in his mind. Him and all the other bodies. Their blood was in his hands.

But something deeper ran through Harry as he ran through the castle corridors and the stairs.

It was safety.

It was that strange, inexplicable calm that settled over him whenever he was near Severus, even while he'd been in a coma. He hadn't understood it at first. He hadn't been able to explain why he kept coming back to the hospital wing every time he felt his chest constrict and like he couldn't breathe.

But now, after this nightmare, it was clear.

Being near Severus grounded him.

Made him feel less like he was drowning in his own mind. Less like he was being crushed under the weight of everything he had seen, everything he had done.

Harry reached the hospital wing before he even realized it, his chest heaving, hands trembling as he pushed open the heavy doors. The soft sound of his feet on the stone floor echoed faintly in the quiet room. The only light coming from the faint glow of the moon filtering through the high windows.

Harry moved silently through the rows of empty beds, expecting to see the man sleeping peacefully.

Until black eyes stared back at him.

Sitting in bed with his wand in his hand, his eyes open and alert.

For a moment, they stared at each other, neither speaking, the quiet tension thick between them. Severus's eyes narrowed, a flicker of something dangerous crossing his face. His body tensed, muscles straining, as though ready to spring into action at the first sign of danger.

"Harry?" his voice, raspy and low, made him look up.

But Harry couldn't speak, the lump in his throat preventing him.

"What happened?"

Severus got up from the bed and treaded towards him, his wand still in his hand.

He flickered it, and a few candles lit themselves up, giving a warm glow to the room. And yet, Harry still felt cold inside.

He blinked, his eyes bothered by the light even though it wasn't bright, and looked at Severus. His hair was dishevelled and his clothes torn, but his eyes were wide open.

He came closer still, murmuring "What's wrong?"

It wasn't a question, not really. More a demand, a reflex born from years of needing to know where the threat was coming from. His eyes scanned Harry's face, and then his damp shirt, the way his chest heaved with shallow breaths. Panic shot through Severus's expression—an emotion Harry had rarely seen cross his features.

Harry shook his head quickly, his voice trembling when he finally spoke. "It was— just… a nightmare."

He made a gesture with his hand, as if trying desperately to keep his composure, but his chest tightened. He hadn't realized how much the thought of losing him had twisted inside him, not until the nightmare had brought it all to the surface. He shook his head again, willing the images to leave his head, to leave him alone.

"I'm fine," Harry whispered. But his voice cracked at the end, betraying him.

Severus's gaze bored into him, reading more in the small movement of Harry's hand than Harry could explain with words. The tension didn't leave Severus entirely, but he lowered his wand. His eyes blinked slowly, watching him with a strange mix of suspicion and something else—something gentler.

But the weight of the nightmare still clawed at the edges of Harry's mind, threatening to pull him under again. He lowered his head, running a shaky hand through his damp hair.

"I thought…" His voice was barely above a whisper, the words sticking in his throat. "I saw you—dead. And... everyone else." His breath hitched. "It was my fault."

The admission felt like it had been torn from him, leaving a raw, aching wound in its place. His chest constricted, and for a moment, he couldn't breathe. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying desperately to hold himself together, but the weight was unbearable.

Silence stretched between them, thick and heavy. Harry waited for Severus to say something, to snap at him for being foolish, for letting the past drag him under like this. But when Severus spoke, his voice was nothing like what Harry expected.

"Come here…"

The whisper was so unexpected that Harry almost doubted it. But the outstretched hand, tentative yet sure, and the warmth in the eyes, were true.

He hesitated, his heart pounding, but something in Severus's eyes—something that felt like an understanding—pulled him forward. Slowly, Harry moved, his legs feeling weak beneath him.

His trembling hand grabbed Severus's outstretched one, cold and calloused. The ridges of every protuberance in his fingers that he had committed to memory. And now, his thumb was doing the same thing, tracing every nook, every cranny of Severus's hand, his index finger atop his pulse point.

Thump, thump, thump, thump.

It beat.

He was alive.

Severus's arm slipped around his mid-frame and pulled him in, just slightly. And as soon as he did, Harry felt the tightness in his chest loosen a little. His grip was light, as though testing the waters. But when Harry didn't pull away, Severus's arm tightened, just enough to let him know it was real.

The weight of Severus's arm was tentative at first, and Harry froze, still half-caught in the dark images of his mind. But gradually, the tension in Severus's grip shifted, his hold firming with a quiet certainty that Harry hadn't felt from him before. It was subtle, a silent promise that he was here, alive, and unshaken by the darkness Harry carried. The warmth replaced the cold, his breathing began to steady.

Harry exhaled shakily, his body slumping into the warmth of Severus's presence. He leaned further into him, placing a hand on Severus's chest. He could feel his heartbeat, steady and strong beneath his palm, and something about that rhythm—so calm, so alive—made the nightmare feel a little less suffocating.

The guilt, the blood, the accusing stares—they all began to fade into the background, replaced by the quiet comfort of Severus's presence.

For the first time, Harry let himself lean into it. The world felt far away now, reduced to the soft rise and fall of Severus's chest. His breaths slowed, falling in time with Severus's own.

The silence between them was thick, but not uncomfortable—it felt grounding, like a balm over raw skin. His body, which had been so tense, so full of panic moments ago, now felt oddly weightless. It was as if Severus's presence was draining away the darkness that had clung to him since waking from the nightmare.

Severus didn't speak, his hold still gentle yet firm, as though he knew that words would only shatter the fragile calm that had settled over them.

This was so… different from anything he'd ever known. If this was what Severus had felt whenever Harry had offered comfort and reassurance, no wonder he still marvelled at it and craved it, even.

It was quiet, and yet, it was also certain.

It reminded Harry that despite everything—despite the nightmares and the endless guilt—he wasn't alone in his desperation and terror.

Harry shifted slightly, resting his head against Severus's shoulder, feeling the fabric of his T-shirt beneath his cheek. He breathed in, letting the smell of cedarwood intoxicate him, as the last remnants of the nightmare ebbed away. The pounding of his heart had slowed, but the guilt still lingered at the edge of his thoughts, like a bruise that hadn't yet healed.

"I... I saw you," Harry whispered, his voice barely audible, not really sure why he was confessing but feeling the need to say something, anything. "You were dead. And the others, too. I couldn't—"

Severus's arm tightened around him. It was enough to make Harry's voice catch in his throat. He swallowed hard, trying to keep his breath steady. The tears that threatened to surface stayed at bay, but he couldn't shake the weight of what he'd seen.

"I couldn't save you—" Harry said, his voice cracking as a choked sob came out of his throat.

His hands trembled as if the weight of his failures had seeped into his bones.

There was a long pause, the silence so thick it felt suffocating. But Severus didn't let go. He held him tight, lowering his head so his hair would hide Harry's face, tickling his cheek. He remained still, his presence like a barrier against the flood of guilt threatening to swallow Harry whole.

"But you did, Harry. I'm here, I'm alive. You saved me."

The sound of Severus's voice—quiet, yet full of certainty—grounded him.

"There are always losses in war, and the void they leave seems will never go away," he said after a pause, "but their death isn't on you."

Harry's heart thudded in his chest, and he shook his head. But Severus's hold on him tightened. He breathed in and out, gasping for air, and listened to Severus's quiet voice.

"You had a mission. Destroy the Horcruxes and kill the Dark Lord. You fulfilled that."

Severus paused, his words hung in the air, heavy with certainty.

"Their deaths are on the Dark Lord and his followers that raised their wands against your friends. Not you."

Harry breathed out, his chest constricting, but the panic didn't rise again. He stayed there, letting the weight of Severus's words sink in.

A long, cold finger brushed against his cheek. He hadn't realised the tears that had rolled down, until that finger brushed them away, soothing, calming.

Severus shifted slightly, pulling Harry tighter against his body. His breath was steady, almost too calm, but Harry could sense the depth of the man's deep understanding.

He understood what it felt like to carry the burden of survival.

The guilt of the past, the lives lost, and the unshakable feeling that more could have been done.

"I know," Harry finally whispered, his voice barely a breath. But even as he said it, he wasn't sure he fully believed it. Not yet.

Perhaps he was bound to carry this for the rest of his days. The pain of lives lost and families shattered, the pain of the knowledge that, perhaps, he could've saved more lives.

They stood in the dimly lit room, the night stretching on around them. Harry couldn't remember the last time he had felt this small, this vulnerable. Not even in the midst of battle had he felt so exposed, so raw.

But the warmth of Severus's body, the steady presence beside him, his arms around him like a cocoon, felt like a lifeline he hadn't realised he needed.

As the moments passed, the nightmare began to recede further into the distance, its grip weakening with every breath Harry took. His thoughts became quieter, less frantic, as the memory of cold eyes and lifeless bodies faded into the dimness of the room.

"Come with me," Severus murmured, his voice a low, almost inaudible hum, but laced with a strange tenderness that Harry had never thought he'd hear from him.

As he was pulled, Harry moved as if it wasn't really him, letting Severus take him. Slowly, they took several steps, until they were beside the bed.

Harry looked at the bed, then at Severus, blinking. But Severus just nodded, his eyes holding something soft.

"The nightmares won't touch you tonight," he murmured, his voice steady and low.

With a gentleness that surprised Harry, Severus eased himself onto the bed, pulling Harry down with him in one fluid motion. It wasn't hurried or clumsy, but calm, deliberate—like someone handling a delicate thing. Harry barely noticed how the room tilted until he was lying against Severus's chest, his head nestled beneath the man's chin. The familiar beat of his heart thrummed steadily beneath Harry's ear, strong and alive.

The darkness that had clung to him since the nightmare started to loosen its grip. Bit by bit, it retreated, the fear and guilt dulling in the warmth of Severus's arms. They lay there in silence, the only sounds of their breaths, slow and quiet, and the steady, reassuring thump of Severus's heartbeat.

Harry closed his eyes, letting the rhythmic rise and fall of Severus's chest lull him, cocooning him in a sense of safety that had felt so distant moments ago.

For the first time in what felt like ages, the nightmare felt far away, as if it couldn't reach him here. Not tonight.

Tonight there was only Severus's arms around him, his smell, his heart beating.

They had survived.

And for now, in this fleeting quiet, that was enough.

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THAT'S IT!

I know, this one is on the shorter side but I promise, the next one will be much longer!

I'll see you soon with the next chapter, the morning after! Wooo how do you think the conversation with Severus will go? Let me know in the comments!