Reality is Just a Dream Away

The moon rose cold overhead, its icy pale light illuminating the sparsely furnished room. It was a quarter past one and the darkness was complete and engulfing of the world outside his window. All that could be seen were shades of grey and black amongst the shifting shadows of the night.

It had seemed like the world had been like this forever for Harry Potter. A world filled with gloom, and darkness, and despair. There was no one for him now. All was lost, as was he.

The bed creaked underneath his weight as he rose from its comforting softness. He had laid on his bed since the sun had rose. He had lain there since the day before and the day before that. He pushed a lock of greasy wild hair from his face and pushed his glasses up his nose. It didn’t really matter why as there was nothing that he really wanted to see. At least in this room. He had the contents memorized; a bed, a wardrobe, a night table, a lamp, and an empty cage in the corner.

The food Ron had brought him sat untouched on a tray on the floor near the door. It had congealed into an unappetizing glob of meat and gravy. It would have tasted like cardboard anyway. Everything did now. He hadn’t touched food in weeks. Oh, he’d pushed it around on his plate and pretended to eat when Ron or Hermione were around, otherwise, he just didn’t bother.

Harry shivered and rubbed his thin arms with his hands. He was cold all the time now, as the flesh melted from his frame, so did his resistance to the cold. The pipes rattled and the faint hiss of the radiator kicking on. Harry held his hands over the metal frame and waited for the comforting warmth to envelop them. It wasn’t enough, it was never enough to chase the chill from body. It didn’t even begin to touch the coldness in his soul.

The war had taken so much from him. More than anyone knew or could even guess. So many of his friends had died, so many people who had barely begun to live. He grieved for them all; the ones he knew and the ones that died alone, buried in anonymous graves throughout the land.

It had become too much for him, too much to bear, to much to think about. It would be so busy to end it all; to take a knife from the cupboard and slash his wrists, or to swallow a wee bit more of the calming potion they were forcing down his throat. The healers and his friends knew that he resisted it each time it was forced past his lips. They had no qualms about leaving it in the bathroom cabinet. They knew he wouldn’t touch it.

The heat barely reached his hands; they were like ice. He was frozen body and soul. He lowered his hands until they were just above the metal and then he pressed down and let the burning metal do the rest.

The stench of burning flesh was nauseating, but Harry held his hands down, finally feeling the heat melt into in bones, warming him at last.

Then the searing pain hit him and he gasped. He could feel the pain shooting through his fingers, eating into his palms. It was a good pain; it proved to him that he was still alive. He hadn’t been sure for a very long time. He held his hands still until he couldn’t stand it anymore. He raise his hands up, palms inward and gazed empathically at the bubbling raw flesh of his palms. For one brief moment he had felt alive. It had been worth it.

The pain and shock of his ruined hands coursed through his system and the world turned dark around him. Unknown to Harry, he sank to his knees in the first stage of unconsciousness and slumped to the floor. The hiss of the radiator died away into the soft and quiet blackness.

Time passed. The seconds and minutes and hours ticked by as they always had; as they always would.

In the blackness there was a small spot of light, a gleam of white. His hair was as pale as he, as he moved through the ebony world to Harry. His robes were no longer green or black, but the purest white, yet his eyes were still stormy grey as Harry remembered. His lips were still pale pink and his skin the pure creamy color that Harry loved to touch. It was because of the pain he could see him now, to have him for just a moment, to hold and feel his skin against his. Yet, the pain never lasted long enough for Harry to have him as he had before. As a lover, to fuck, and suck and lick until they were both spent and sated from their wild and passionate sex.

His grey eyes were sad as Draco floated through the dark to Harry. Yet, as always there was the hint of a smirk twitching at the corner of his lips.

“Oi, Potter. You still haven’t done enough to join me,” Draco sneered, as he knelt beside Harry.

The words stung Harry. Yet, Draco was right; he hadn’t done enough to stay with Draco. He had only earned a brief moment with him again. It wasn’t enough. He yearned for Draco’s touch on his body, his lips upon his, his hands upon his cock, or on his body, kneading the flesh of his thighs or his arse or roaming over his chest, neck or face. He craved his touch, the taste of his kisses, the way he felt inside Harry. He should have held his hands down longer. Weakness would not longer be an option.

“But, you’ve earned sometime with me,” Draco said, sadly, shaking his head, his long glimmering hair from side to side. He grasped Harry’s hands and turned them upward and gazed at them. A tear formed at the corner of his eye and slowly ran down his face, until it dripped on Harry’s ruined flesh.

The salt burned the blistered flesh and Harry stifled a cry. He would not wake from this here and now. This darkness that was more real to him than reality. Harry lifted his chin and gazed steadily into Draco’s eyes.

“I know it hurts, I know baby,” Draco murmured and lowered his face until it was almost buried in Harry’s palms.

Another tear stung the raw and burned skin and Harry couldn’t stop the gasp that burst from his lips.

“I miss you, Potty. I do.” Draco whispered and lifted his head.

Harry could see the tears shining in his eyes. He wanted to raise himself and hold Draco, and kiss the tears away, but he was too weak, too tired, too ruined.

Draco put his hand over Harry’s dick and squeezed it though the coarse material of his trousers. “We only have a few minutes Harry, before I have to go.” With those words, Draco leaned down and kissed Harry.

It was as if they’d never parted. His lips were as soft as they’d ever been; his taste as sweet. Yet the kiss only lasted seconds, but to Harry it was perfect and was an eternity.

He opened his eyes and squinted at the light being shone into them.

“He’s awake,” a female voice said from far away. “You can talk to him if you wish before we transport him to St. Mungo’s.”

Harry blinked owlishly. Everything was a blur around him. All he knew was that his hands hurt. He tried to draw them up to his chest, but found that they were restrained by his sides.

“Don’t move Harry, it’ll be okay,” Hermione whispered in his ear.

Harry tried to pull his hands up again, and whimpered softly.

“Whatever were you thinking? It’s not like we didn’t know you’ve been starving yourself,” Hermione whispered furiously. She wiped a tear sliding down her check with the back of her hand, then grasped Harry’s thin shoulder.

“I told Ron that you needed help months ago, but he wouldn’t let me go to the healers.”

Harry closed his eyes and shook his head. “No, Hermione. I… I’m fine. Tell them to go away. Please.” The last was uttered as a heartbroken plea.

Hermione shook her head sadly. “it’s too late Harry. You’re in a bad way and I won’t stop them from taking you to St. Mungo’s this time.”

“No… don’t. He was here, Hermione. I saw him,” Harry cried. “He touched me. It was him.”

“Harry, Draco’s been dead for almost a year now. You tried to save him. I was there, remember?”

“I got him out of the Fiendfyre, didn’t I?”

“You did, but he died from smoke inhalation, remember?”

“No!” Harry shouted and struggled to get loose from his restraints. “He’s not dead!”

“He is. You have to face it Harry, he’s dead.”

Harry hissed as the spell hit him. He quieted and lay still on the gurney.

“Ms. Granger, we need to leave now. You can visit him after he’s settled in the ward,” the medi-wizard huffed as he lifted an end of the stretcher.

Harry heard Hermione reply and opened his eyes. His view overhead changed as he was moved out of the flat and toward a waiting ambulance. It didn’t really matter how they took him to St. Mungo’s. it didn’t really matter what happened now. This was only a dream. And reality was only another wound away.