You know I'm bored when this sort of thing happens.
Who: Harry (solo)
Where: Dormitory
Why: In case anyone needed an insight into his problems, and because I’m bored
What: Dreams and such.
He was in the Chamber of Secrets, or at least, the tunnel that led to it. He’d gone through by himself this time, unsure of what he was looking for or why. He walked easily, with no tiredness in his limbs or blurriness of vision, despite the fact that - he raised a hand to check - he wasn’t wearing his glasses.
When he reached the end of the tunnel, he spoke the password, feeling a rush of new energy as the single hissed word passed his lips. He stepped through the entrance, and the door closed behind him. Ginny lay in a heap in the corner. He had known she would be there, because he remembered how it had gone all those years before, except last time he had been much younger, and much more afraid.
When he drew closer, he saw that Ginny was not the eleven-year-old girl he had been expecting, but her own grown-up self, her arm partially covering her face. Fear finally starting to grow in his mind, he knelt to push it aside. Her face was torn and bruised, resembling the sick remains of an attack by some sort of wild animal. He took a step back, letting out a strangled cry.
“Don’t need her,” said a voice from behind him. He spun around, expecting Tom Riddle, or perhaps the grown Lord Voldemort, although the voice was wrong...
There was a figure outlined in the shadows. When it stepped forward, he felt his heart sink. “We don’t need her,” repeated Harry Potter, pushing his hair out of his eyes with bloodstained hands.
“Yes, I do,” he said, moving back towards her body, not daring to look at her again.
“We won’t be held back,” said the other-him. “We have to go with him. To be all we can be.”
“What are you talking about?” he croaked. “Who are you?” “
We are Harry Potter,” said the other-him. “We are sick. We are poisoned. We have to go with him.” The weakness that had dogged his steps for months started to seep back into his bones, horribly familiar and stronger than ever. He sank to his knees, unable to avoid seeing Ginny’s face as he hit the floor.
“No,” he said, swallowing, looking back up at himself. “I need her. Bring her back.” The other-him wasn’t looking at him. He followed the gaze of the double to the other corner, where there was another torn and bleeding figure. “Ron?” he croaked. “Why - ” “
We don’t need anyone else,” said the other-him. “We are alone. And we will go with him.” “GO WITH WHO?” he screamed, clinging to Ginny’s lifeless hand. “WHO IS DOING THIS?”
His head spun and he felt a sudden lightness and then a rush of relief as he realised he was dreaming, and now he was waking up and he’d be in his own bed and his friends were still alive… But then, on the edge of dreaming, there was another face. It came close to him, smirking. And hand snaked out and grasped his throat. “Go for a ride?” asked Draco Malfoy.
He sat up, breathing hard between tears, feeling bile rise in his throat. He threw off his blankets and shoved aside the curtain, just making it to the bathroom sink before letting go of all the contents of his stomach. He rinsed his face and mouth before giving in to his shaking legs and collapsing slowly to the tiled floor, hugging his knees to his chest. Nothing’s changed, he thought. I’m still as shit-scared as I was when I was twelve years old, except now I’m afraid of… myself. Figures.
He couldn’t remember any of the details of the dream, now, they were slipping away like water through his fingers. He checked his watch. One in the morning. Well, at least he’d had an hour or two of sleep; that was something.
He tried to remember the day before. Twice, he knew he had blacked out, if only for short periods of time. During Transfiguration the minutes hand of the grandfather clock in the corner had mysteriously gone from twelve to four in a matter of seconds, and he couldn’t for the life of him remember walking from dinner back to the common room, though he must have, or someone would have said.
Tell Dumbledore, said a voice in his head, but he ignored it. No good came of listening to head-voices, especially if they turned out to be evil copies of yourself.
Evil copies… he groaned and let his head sink onto his knees. He knew it wasn’t him who had been reportedly snogging Malfoy at the Gryffindor table, but then he also didn’t know what had happened to twenty minutes during class the previous day. And Ron had fired his curiosity about the whole stupid affair, now - before he hadn’t cared a jot if Malfoy wanted to kiss boys in the Great Hall.
Great. The last thing he wanted to do was find Malfoy and take him up on it, especially with the current situation, but he really didn’t need any of this. He just wanted to be a normal student, curled up with his normal girlfriend in front of a fire in the common room, for once. A memory of Ginny’s torn and barely recognisable face flickered across his mind and he shuddered, trying to make himself as small as possible.
Perhaps the shadow couldn’t find him here.
Where: Dormitory
Why: In case anyone needed an insight into his problems, and because I’m bored
What: Dreams and such.
He was in the Chamber of Secrets, or at least, the tunnel that led to it. He’d gone through by himself this time, unsure of what he was looking for or why. He walked easily, with no tiredness in his limbs or blurriness of vision, despite the fact that - he raised a hand to check - he wasn’t wearing his glasses.
When he reached the end of the tunnel, he spoke the password, feeling a rush of new energy as the single hissed word passed his lips. He stepped through the entrance, and the door closed behind him. Ginny lay in a heap in the corner. He had known she would be there, because he remembered how it had gone all those years before, except last time he had been much younger, and much more afraid.
When he drew closer, he saw that Ginny was not the eleven-year-old girl he had been expecting, but her own grown-up self, her arm partially covering her face. Fear finally starting to grow in his mind, he knelt to push it aside. Her face was torn and bruised, resembling the sick remains of an attack by some sort of wild animal. He took a step back, letting out a strangled cry.
“Don’t need her,” said a voice from behind him. He spun around, expecting Tom Riddle, or perhaps the grown Lord Voldemort, although the voice was wrong...
There was a figure outlined in the shadows. When it stepped forward, he felt his heart sink. “We don’t need her,” repeated Harry Potter, pushing his hair out of his eyes with bloodstained hands.
“Yes, I do,” he said, moving back towards her body, not daring to look at her again.
“We won’t be held back,” said the other-him. “We have to go with him. To be all we can be.”
“What are you talking about?” he croaked. “Who are you?” “
We are Harry Potter,” said the other-him. “We are sick. We are poisoned. We have to go with him.” The weakness that had dogged his steps for months started to seep back into his bones, horribly familiar and stronger than ever. He sank to his knees, unable to avoid seeing Ginny’s face as he hit the floor.
“No,” he said, swallowing, looking back up at himself. “I need her. Bring her back.” The other-him wasn’t looking at him. He followed the gaze of the double to the other corner, where there was another torn and bleeding figure. “Ron?” he croaked. “Why - ” “
We don’t need anyone else,” said the other-him. “We are alone. And we will go with him.” “GO WITH WHO?” he screamed, clinging to Ginny’s lifeless hand. “WHO IS DOING THIS?”
His head spun and he felt a sudden lightness and then a rush of relief as he realised he was dreaming, and now he was waking up and he’d be in his own bed and his friends were still alive… But then, on the edge of dreaming, there was another face. It came close to him, smirking. And hand snaked out and grasped his throat. “Go for a ride?” asked Draco Malfoy.
He sat up, breathing hard between tears, feeling bile rise in his throat. He threw off his blankets and shoved aside the curtain, just making it to the bathroom sink before letting go of all the contents of his stomach. He rinsed his face and mouth before giving in to his shaking legs and collapsing slowly to the tiled floor, hugging his knees to his chest. Nothing’s changed, he thought. I’m still as shit-scared as I was when I was twelve years old, except now I’m afraid of… myself. Figures.
He couldn’t remember any of the details of the dream, now, they were slipping away like water through his fingers. He checked his watch. One in the morning. Well, at least he’d had an hour or two of sleep; that was something.
He tried to remember the day before. Twice, he knew he had blacked out, if only for short periods of time. During Transfiguration the minutes hand of the grandfather clock in the corner had mysteriously gone from twelve to four in a matter of seconds, and he couldn’t for the life of him remember walking from dinner back to the common room, though he must have, or someone would have said.
Tell Dumbledore, said a voice in his head, but he ignored it. No good came of listening to head-voices, especially if they turned out to be evil copies of yourself.
Evil copies… he groaned and let his head sink onto his knees. He knew it wasn’t him who had been reportedly snogging Malfoy at the Gryffindor table, but then he also didn’t know what had happened to twenty minutes during class the previous day. And Ron had fired his curiosity about the whole stupid affair, now - before he hadn’t cared a jot if Malfoy wanted to kiss boys in the Great Hall.
Great. The last thing he wanted to do was find Malfoy and take him up on it, especially with the current situation, but he really didn’t need any of this. He just wanted to be a normal student, curled up with his normal girlfriend in front of a fire in the common room, for once. A memory of Ginny’s torn and barely recognisable face flickered across his mind and he shuddered, trying to make himself as small as possible.
Perhaps the shadow couldn’t find him here.