The Dream Trilogy Book One: To Dwell On Dreams (A Harry Potter FanFiction)

Chapter Thirty Seven

"Trust me," he said, and even managed a wink. She frowned, unconvinced, and looked down at his attempts. 

"You need a wand," she said bluntly, and Harry sighed. She was right of course, the rope was magically stuck fast, so with quite a lot of effort he rolled on to his side and awkwardly got out from under the table, cradling his bad arm.  

"You can't just say 'trust me'," said Sarah from under the furniture as he began picking through the rubble where he'd last hit the wall. "You're talking about You-Know-Who, he's not going to just disappear." 

Harry tried to shift quite a large chunk of the wall aside. "Yes he is, I promise I know what I'm talking about - ah!" He cried out as he spotted a tip of wood, and yanked it free, immensely relieved it was still in one piece. Smiling he ducked back under the table and wiggled it at her. She gasped in delight and held out her hands to be untied. Harry flicked his wrist making all the rope drop to the ground, and Sarah began massaging life back into her joints. "Episkey," he said, and all her little cuts disappeared in an instant. 

"It's a shame I didn't have my wand on me," she said. "I guess it wouldn't have done any good anyway, but-" She stopped as Harry groaned and smacked his bleeding forehead, then winced at the sting. 

"I forgot something," he said sheepishly. Awkwardly, his good hand fished into his other jeans pocket and pulled out Sarah's wand, the one Hermione had been guarding. She looked almost tearful, then hungrily grabbed it from his fingers as soon as he offered it to her.  

"Oh thank you thank you thank you," she beamed. 

"Awesome," he groaned, desperately hanging onto what little energy he had left. "Right," he managed slowly. "Let's get out from underneath this table."  

"Come on though," pressed Sarah, nervously helping him to stand. "What do you mean 'he's gone'?" 

"I think we should get moving," he said, dodging the question. "Um, could you bring him too?" he asked the wooden snakes in Parseltongue, who obediently began slithering over the floor, Pettigrew still firmly unconscious and held as their prisoner. 

"And that!" cried Sarah, stumbling over piles of rocks. "What the Hell is that coming from your mouth?" 

"I'm just..." said Harry weakly. "Uh...talking with the snakes." 

"How?" demanded Sarah, halting just before the door and folding her arms. Little puffs of dust escaped from her bedraggled hair every time she moved. "Everyone knows that's what he does, how can you possibly do it? And why-?" Her voice caught, and he saw her swallow to get it back under control. "Why didn't the killing curse work - twice?" 

"Sarah," began Harry gently. He leant against the handle on the wooden door. "There's a lot of things you don't know about me right now. I'll do my best to explain later I promise, but right now there's a lot of trouble going on out there and we have to get back and help." 

"Trouble?" Harry nodded, and explained as panic-free as he could that a full on battle had broken out in the auditorium. Sarah went even more white, which Harry didn't think was possible. "Alright," she said. "Let's go." Harry led the way, his thumb looped into his belt in a pitiful attempt to try and support his broken arm. He needed a spell to mend the break but he couldn't think of it. He'd pocketed his wand and held the sword Baize had given him in front of him again. It weighed a ton. 

They passed Bellatrix's body and the sounds of struggle were ringing back up the corridor again. Harry tried to get Sarah not to look but she seemed particularly glad Mrs Lestrange had met a sticky end, and peered over her shoulder as he steered her past. 

"There might be some awful things in here," Harry said to her as they neared, a sickening feeling rising in his stomach. "So if I tell you to close your eyes and hold onto me, you've got to do it, okay?" 

Sarah nodded and raised her wand. Harry decided not to remind her magic wouldn't work down here; having failed to get her another weapon, he might as well let her feel a little bit protected. 

They crept back into the shadows of the Hall, the full horror of the skirmish still raging on in the light. "Harry!" came the whispered cry of Hermione as they approached. Sarah gripped Harry's sleeve as Hermione dashed over to them, Draco hauling himself of the floor in response.  

"It's okay," Harry assured his sister. "These are my friends, they helped get-" But they'd strayed too close to the light, or someone had heard their voices over the din, because a hooded figure soared towards them, a fierce looking mace swinging from their hands. 

Sarah screamed, and before Harry could stop her her wand was over her head and the spell was escaping her mouth. "Expelliarmus!" 

The red light hit him square in the chest and he crumpled to the ground. Harry froze in shock, as did Hermione. And half a dozen other witches and wizards around them. "We can use magic!" hollered a plain clothed witch from Freiheit, dropping her cricket bat and firing off several stunning spells before anyone else could react. Then suddenly there was magic everywhere, stunning spells and defensive spells and the terrifying killing spells coming from the Death Eaters.  

"Stay back!" cried Harry as the four of them melted once more into the shadows, immensely relieved to throw away his sword and pull out his wand again. 

Even as he did this though, Harry could see many choose to keep fighting with their weapons, blood flying as people were impaled and sliced. Harry attempted to keep Sarah from seeing, but even as his gaze swept across the scene before them he caught an older Death Eater driving his blade into the gut of a young boy, seconds before being blasted from afar by a jet of blue light.  

It was as if Harry lost all sensation in his lungs, unable to find them or the air he should be pulling into them. The boy stared down at his belly, almost confused, and touched the blood that was pumping from his wound. Sarah latched onto Harry's arm, as if she wasn't able to stand alone any more, and someone, somewhere, was screaming.  

Harry tilted his head, trying to right the world. Half a dozen more fighters dashed past between him and the boy, aiming spells, shouting out, dodging blades and curses. Harry was still searching for his lungs. 

Bodies littered the floor. It was impossible to tell who was stunned and who was dead or dying. People were fleeing, some even hurtling past Harry and his friends, but they ignored Harry and Harry barely registered them.  

He was watching the boy - the injured boy as he sunk to his knees, very slowly, as if through water. He looked up, his eyes not searching but focused. Expectant. They looked directly at Harry.  

He managed half a smile, then keeled over, crashing to the bloody ground. 

And Harry was running, into the light, as if all Hell were chasing after him, oblivious to the pain in his arm or the curses flying above his head. He was running as if his life depended on it. Because he knew that boy. 

That boy was Seamus.