It was only the second back after Christmas holiday and Harry was already behind on schoolwork. He felt overwhelmed. There were so many classes he had to keep up with and copy Hermione's notes for, so many essays to write, and so many things to remember. Above everything, Ron was still not talking to him nor to Hermione, which only succeeded in making Hermione upset (anger she usually took out on Harry). And as if that wasn't enough to make Harry feel like he wanted to explode, Dean and Seamus had taken to believing it was there duty to determine who the lucky Slytherin was that Harry had been seeing. They would sneak up on Harry and ask him questions, trying to get him to answer them in his surprise. If that wouldn't work, they would "sneakily" slip questions into conversations. Everything seemed to be piling up on top of him.
Hermione had gone off in an attempt to reason with Ron (for the umpteenth time) leaving Harry alone in the Gryffindor common room. He was sitting in a cushioned red chair -similar to those in Dr. Saturn's office, he noted- staring at the fireplace. He thought he saw Sirius's face at one point, and stood up with a start, kneeling down in front of the fire, his godfather's name at the tip of his tongue. It was with a pang that he realized how stupid he was for even hoping. Sitting back down and staring blankly at the fire, he was so lost in thought, he hadn't realized that he was drifting off to sleep.
The scariest and most dangerous aspect of dreams and nightmares is the reality of them. The human brain makes us believe that the image appearing in our brain when asleep are real. When the dream s a pleasant one, this is a harmless thing. When it is a nightmare, however, the scariest. Unfortunately for Harry, he hadn't had a pleasant dream since the war. Harry's nightmares were never the same, but followed the same formula. The dreams were distorted combinations of flashbacks, fears, and fantasy.
He was running down what he knew to be the Hogwarts corridors, but they didn't look they should have. The castle had been infiltrated by Death Eaters. Dead bodies where everywhere, some he had never seen before, others he recognized all too well. Harry was the last student alive and they were after him. There was only thought on his subconscious mind: he had to hide. If he was found he would be killed. So he ran. Every door was locked. Where the entrances to the castle should have been, there were only walls. He could hear them gaining on him. They were going to kill him. He kept running. Running. There was no where to go. There was no escaping. He looked around. The walls were closing in on him, moving inward towards him. The ceiling was rushing down above him. The floor was moving upwards beneath him. He had to escape. Escape. There was no escape. He screamed for someone to help him. There was no help. There was only death. Everyone was dead, and soon he would be too. The castle crushed him. There was only darkness. In the darkness Harry could see a face. Voldemort. Then, they were face to face. Harry could see the pupils in his red eyes dilate. Harry tried to scream. His lips wouldn't part. He couldn't make a noise. He couldn't move. He could only observe. There was silence. Then, there was only a blinding flash of bright green light and the echo of Voldemort's icy voice.
"Avada Kedavra."
Harry's eyes shot open and he inhaled sharply. He didn't scream or cry out, or even shake. All he did was stare at the wall opposite him, trying to forget. Hermione was sitting alone on the love-seat next to him, nose in a book. When she heard Harry stir, she looked over at him with a look of combined pity and understanding.
"Would you like to talk about it?" She offered
"No, I wouldn't," Harry replied with a tone of finality. Changing the subject, he asked, "How did it go with Ron?"
"He's still upset, but seems to be calming down. You know how he can get," She signed. "It will die down, he just needs time." She seemed to Harry to be talking more to herself than to him. He nodded in response.
"I don't like talking about mine either," Hermione confessed after a brief moment of silence, referencing her nightmares. This was the first time Hermione had brought up the fact that she too, suffered a the hand of her nightmares. "But it helps, Harry, it truly does."
"Thanks, Hermione," He said, and he meant it. She was trying to help, and he appreciated that, he just didn't know if it made him feel any better or not.
"Well, I have an essay due for Advanced Arithmancy next week, so I'll be in the library if you need me. See you at lunch," and she was off.
As it was Saturday, Harry should have spent the day catching up on the schoolwork he was behind him. Naturally, he did no such thing. He wanted to escape and to not have to think, so he went to the one person he knew could help him with that; Draco. They were each others coping mechanisms. Without knowing it, they were helping each other stay sane, and now, Harry needed that more than anything.
~*~*~*~
"The castle, it was closing in on me from all sides. And then it all when dark and he was there. He's always there."
Harry and Draco were sat in the Astronomy tower, figuring that at 10 am on a weekend, it would be the safest place to meet. Knowing this, they sat comfortably. They were shoulder to shoulder, looking up at the sky, with their fingers intertwined. Nothing about either of their lives was ever going to be normal, but this felt pretty damn close.
Harry laughed bitterly. "You would think that killing someone would make them leave you alone."
"He's usually in mine as well. Instead of killing me, though, he's making me kill someone for him. Again." Harry heard Draco's tone go monotone, as it does when talking about someone unpleasant.
He ran a thumb over the other boy's knuckles before bringing them up to his lips and gingerly kissing them. He had never done that before, and doing so made him nervous in a good way. The small smile on Draco's lips calmed him. Anything he could have said, such as an apology for Voldemort forcing him to act against his will or else he would have killed his parents, would have sounded stupid, so he said nothing. They sat with Draco's knuckles still by Harry's lips, Harry's knee resting on Draco's thigh, their shoulders touching. In this moment, they understood each other, felt for the other. Just the mere presence of the other made them feel better. This moment, it was theirs -only theirs- and it felt damn good.
"Your family," Harry finally said, breaking the silence and looking over at Draco. "What are they really like?"
Draco's gaze remained fixed on the clouds above them. "My father has made mistakes, not all of them for the right reasons, but he's a good man. He will fight for what he believes and do what he must to protect his family. I don't agree with everything he says or believes in all the time, and I will admit that the ways he has fought for his beliefs and the tools used have been wrong in the past, but I've always admired that quality in him. His ambition to do what he sees necessary to initiate change... I've always wished to be like him in that way. It was probably that that put me into Slytherin above anything else. My mother trusts he always knows what he's doing. They don't always see eye to eye, but if he asks her to do something she disagrees with, she trusts he wouldn't be asking without a good reason."
"They're like completely different people from your point of view. Maybe not your mum, though. Her lying to Voldemort's face to save me kind of showed that she wasn't head over heels for him like some of the others."
"What is my father like from your point of view?"
"Nothing you'd like to hear." Harry didn't want to get Draco upset now, and he had a feeling that calling Draco's father a no good, lying bastard, traitor to the entire wizarding world, and all around complete shit of a human, wouldn't have helped him in achieving that goal.
"No, probably not," Draco said seemingly reading Harry's mind.
Harry sighed, resting his head on Draco's shoulder without thinking about it. He couldn't think anymore; he felt like his brain would give out if he did. Thinking and talking was draining him. That was why he asked Draco a question he figured would get him talking. He didn't feel like doing that himself.
"I can't think anymore," Harry confessed out loud. "I don't want to think anymore."
Draco chuckled softly and moved to where he was facing Harry. Leaning in close, he whispered, "That can be arranged," before kissing Harry deeply and clearing both of their minds.
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