A Dose Of Reality

A Dose of Reality

Part Six: The Salvation

Voldemort had been too fascinated by the ever-gloomy sky outside to initially react to Harry's impromptu entrance. Harry quietly locked the door behind him, painfully ignoring the look of sheer desperation bestowed upon him by Hermione as he turned and fled towards this particular part of fate. However, his presence to the Dark Lord had not gone unnoticed.

'Mr. Potter,' he spat bitterly into the air, the words like poison to his imagination. 'Nice of you to join me. I see you've discovered my little secret. I dare say your Father will be proud.'

Harry was unsure how to react to these words, slightly taken back by Voldemort's calm outlook. The last time they'd met, his battle banter was merely for the purpose of audience: a thriving throng of over-eager Death Eaters, dying to see their master re-initiate himself into the game. But now it was just the two of them, a different context, a different reality. And at times this was a fact Harry found himself dangerously forgetting.

'How would you know?' he spat back, his words just as venomous as his nemesis'.

'Oh, young Harry,' he said in a patronising fashion, taking the dignified air of Dumbledore and combining it with the hideous arrogance of Gilderoy Lockhart, 'I know more about your little set up than you can possibly imagine.'

Harry simply looked on as Voldemort approached, holding his wand on high and looking thoroughly confident and in control of the situation. In his own reality, Voldemort would have sooner swiped him down like the insignificant fly he was, buzzing in his ear yet a carrier of a lethal disease, a possibility of demise that dominated his every gesture. In this world, however, he was taking his advantage for granted. Harry seized his chance and raised his wand...

'Expelliarmus!'

It was a simple spell, yet unknowingly effective. Voldemort's wand flew across the room and fell at Harry's feet where he firmly placed his heel upon it. He stared back at his archenemy with a look of defiance as he rolled the wand underneath the sole of his shoe.

'One move,' he said, his voice clear and determined despite the fear rising in his chest, 'One false move and your wand has a little accident...'

He pushed down a little more forcefully, the quiet cracks as the wand prepared to snap amplified around the towered dome. Voldemort looked indifferent.

'Since when,' he began, covering up any element of surprise in his voice and turning to face Harry, 'did a fifteen year-old excuse for a wizard think he was able to issue threats to the supreme Dark Lord?'

Harry built up the pressure underneath his foot again. He had Voldemort in a pincer now. 'Since he realised that there's more to life than his own reality. Since he decided to make some minor alterations to this one.'

'Ah, Mr. Potter. The fondness for riddles overcomes you again. You never made any sense. I bring you here, provide you with the best education magic can provide, and you still see it suitable to forfeit your gratitude for a few moments of amusement?' Voldemort laughed cruelly. 'Methinks we underestimated you, Harry Potter. You are far more moronic than we could ever imagine.'

And with that, he quickly summoned his wand with a flick of his wrist, the slim piece of wood jerking so suddenly that Harry stumbled. It was as if the carpet had been pulled from under his feet as he fell back against the wall, the moonlight peeking through the cloud outside temporality in a break in the storm. The wind began to howl again as Voldemort raised his wand in the pale shadow; Harry's feeling of dread returning with every step he made toward him.

'You want a definition of reality, Mr. Potter? Pain. Pain beyond anything you could possibly fathom. I think a practical demonstration at this point would be most education. Crucio.'

***

Why are they taking so long? Hermione thought desperately as Harry's moans intensified. Whatever was happening within his mind, within the nightmare his subconscious created to drive him to his death, it didn't look good. Whoever did this to him was a very sick individual, hell bent on causing Harry's downfall in the most hideous way possible. He was shivering more violently now, with breath coming in uneven bouts as if he was constantly having the wind knocked out of him. He gasped: jerking violently against Hermione as she still gripped his arms, her fingers digging into his flesh desperately holding onto what was left.

'Harry!' she hissed into his ear, 'Stop it! Please stop it!'

But he didn't. He continued to thrash around, the struggle to keep him upright and secure being rapidly lost as he began to lose all control.

'Harry, you're scaring me...what's happening?'

No reply, just a continued, piteous moan. Then it dawned on her. He was giving up.

'No, Harry don't you even think about dying! You're not giving up!' she was throwing away all inhibitions now, turning him round to face her by his shoulders, his head flopped against one shoulder in a daze of the poisoned induced coma. 'You've got to wake up, you've got to...'

But just as suddenly, his body became limp, like a rug being pulled from under his feet, his support giving way as he toppled away from her onto the bed with a gentle thud.

'Harry?'

His breathing slowed. Then it stopped.

***

Harry's scream echoed down the steps of the Astronomy tower as Ron and Hermione reached them. They had initially turned, attempting to catch Wormtail before any more Death Eaters were alerted to the situation, their attempt ending in vain as he slipped away into the night, possibly in search of Malfoy Senior or Snape. But the scream, combined with Hermione's diminishing sense of hope, drew them back toward the battleground. The sound of the scream was even more hideous, like that of a person being submerged in a lethal acid, eating away at his skin and soul as it ebbed away all possibility. Hermione's face had initially paled at the sound, repeated again and again before any attempt to tackle it began. She was stuck to the spot, rigid, scared for her own life and Ron's, but even more so for Harry. This wasn't his battle. It was theirs.

'Ron,' she whispered urgently as they timidly approached the door. 'We can't just stand here. We've got to help him. We've got to...' the pang of desperation in her voice too prominent to ignore. And Ron didn't want to argue either, but somehow he forced it.

'We're walking into a death trap you know,' he muttered as louder bangs could be heard from within, sparks illuminated the air underneath the door. 'That's You-Know-Who in there. You-Know-You. He'd sooner swipe us down than make a bacon sandwich - the mudblood and the muggle-lover. To him, we're scum who need converting.'

'I think we owe Harry something, Ron, and now is not the time to argue.'

She swept up the stairs, wand ready to open the door between them and their fate. And as she muttered 'Alohomora' and the door creaked open, Ron couldn't shake off the feeling that there was more to Hermione's drastic actions than met the eye. More than she was prepared to admit. Her head was losing the battle.

*

His breath was coming in short stabs now as Voldemort made his final approach. The Dark Lord was right, horribly right. He was only fifteen, he was barely a wizard, an excuse for a wizard. He deserved to die, an insult to his name and pedigree, not deserving of the light art ranks he was so expected to join and here defend. He was giving up.

'You've certainly made good target practise, Potter,' said the taunting voice, whether internal or not, it made no odds. 'Put up a fight. You've been taught well. Not up to my own high standards however.'

Not up to standard, not up to standard...

'You deserve this Potter. You're useless. You always were, and you always will be. Even if this was a world where - Merlin forbid - the Dark Arts didn't thrive, you'd still be a worthless piece of vermin. You and that mudblood are the perfect match....'

Vermin, vermin, vermin... these words stabbed painfully at Harry's brain, piercing its membrane and exposing the memories it stored. Memories of a cupboard, dark and decayed. Of sello-taped glasses, bullying and scars. A life absent of love of which he was told he would never deserve. Of a mock Tudor house in an anonymous suburb, as plain as day, a simple life used to hide another reality. His life was flashing across his eyelids - a blaze of green initiated by a scream, a beetle-eyed giant of a man rescuing him from a rock on the sea. Of houses and Quidditch, triumphs and falls. Broken limbs and mended pasts. His life, his world. His reality.

The fog was clearing now, breathing forgotten as the floodgates opened: he remembered. He had been so focused on the fighting, he had forgotten. It was as if something was holding him up unwilling to let him slip through their clutches, like a precious droplets of water which paved the inches before dehydration. And in his world, he would never find himself locked in a derelict tower, forsaken by all around him, beaten to a pulp by someone he defeated whilst barely a baby.

As this thought entered his head, the remembrance of that one night, when he discovered himself, his identity, his fate, he was filled with a warmth that he could not describe - a happiness beyond all despair. He gasped. He knew what to do. The door burst open.

'Expecto Patronum!'

The three voices yelled in unison, unaware of each other but all aiding each other in delivering the final blow. As the silver-like figure of Prongs leaped into the air, it was joined by two other shapes, both glistening in the non-existent light, one dragon like, blowing puffs of silver smoke into the air, the other more human, more delicately formed, but with a face so hauntingly familiar Harry shivered involuntarily. They charged just as the lightning struck.

The room was filled with the most ultimate of light. It bounced in all directions, sending Harry, Ron and Hermione backwards into the doorway as it dealt with Voldemort in all its fury. Blinded to the events, their patronus did their worse: Harry heard a blood curdling scream, a ripping down of soul and flesh, a splintering of glass and iron. His forehead burned: Then no more.

They were dazed for a moment, unsure of what they done. It took Hermione to stand up and walk to the broken window, examining the debris far, far below to allow them to believe it. Then she turned to her friends, both hunched in the corner with faces full of tiny cuts and the spluttering of blood, and kept her cold and hardened face.

'He's dead.'

Harry immediately bolted up, ignoring the weak feeling in his knees as he joined Hermione by the window so see for himself. He could barely make it out in the gradually fading mist, but there was a definite presence of a corpse below them, lying on a bed of glass and splintered wood. Then Harry had a thought. He scanned the floor, Ron's eyes now watching him warily as he found the desired item, clutching it in his fist while committing every detail to memory. The darkened central pole with whitened tips, Ollivander's work unmistakable, twirling it in his skilled yet scar-filled hands before handing it to Hermione.

'Time to change reality.'

She didn't need an explanation. She took the wand and snapped it in two, the silent scream of a hundred tortured souls escaping in its wake. She sighed.

'That's it?'

'That's it.' Harry turned to address them both as Ron staggered to his feet, dumbstruck. 'He's gone for now, but in my reality at least, he has a nasty habit of making a comeback. You need to contact my father as soon as possible. Dumbledore would be better. He'll know what to do. Given the opportunity, he always did.'

A look of absolute triumph upon Ron's normally lifeless face now finally etched into being, merely nodding in understanding as he dashed out of the room presumably toward the Owlery. This left just Harry and Hermione. And words that needed to be said.

'Harry,' she exclaimed as she finally embraced him, squeezing him to her so tightly as the emotion began to flood into her tears. 'I can't possibly thank you enough... You've done so much, You-Know-Who is gone, just a pile of muddy robes at the foot of the castle... what do you think happened?'

'I honestly don't know.' He looked as baffled as anyone, Hermione stepping back to examine his face again. 'Some strange twist of fate, perhaps? I didn't control that lightning bolt. And it was yours and Ron's Patronus' that helped drive him out, possibly extinguishing every dark thought he ever had. I know a powerful Patronus is powerful enough to drive away a Dementor, but the Lord of all Dark wizards? I just don't know...'

But then he stopped. She was staring at him, a little shocked, then reaching out to run a timid finger down his forehead, forming a familiar shape with the tip.

'That scar...'

'It's back. I know. I felt it.' He sighed. 'You know what that means, don't you?'

'What?' she whispered.

'Someone must have been prepared to risk everything to save me. Love forever leaves a mark, even if the sacrifice was only intentional. That's what I think anyway.'

She smiled sadly. 'But...'

'But I need to go home.'

'I understand. But Harry?'

'Yes?'

She silently approached him and kissed him delicately on the cheek, lingering for a second, preciously as if she didn't want to taint him. Just for that moment, there was nothing else. But then she stepped back. 'Don't forget about us...'

He softened his stare for a moment, his eyes doing all the talking. They shone like the now emerging stars as the dark cloud that enveloped the castle began to lose its hold, answering all of Hermione's questions in an instant. Nothing was left to be said, except the inevitable. Harry slowly nodded to the centre of the room and looked back at Hermione solemnly.

'Lets get on with it.'

'Without Ron?'

'I think the two of us can conjure up sufficient happy memories now, somehow. Don't you?'

She smiled broadly at him, a vague attempt to cover up the sadness that was now visibly eclipsing her heart. They approached the sun, the pile of dust remaining at its centre but the emblem now clearer than ever, the map of the sky illuminated beneath their aching feet. Voldemort's grip on the castle was obviously lessening.

'I wouldn't be surprised if lots of the Professors came out of Imperious curses.' He said as an afterthought, removing his wand and giving it a quick polish with the dirty hem of his robes. 'Others may claim so, but something tells me that things were so far gone that no-one will believe them.'

'If Professor Malfoy was in a trance the whole time,' she said with an evil glint in her eye, 'and all those times he put me in detention for breathing he was under control, I'll start dating Draco.' She shuddered at the thought.

They stood for a moment, silent. Then the incantations were uttered, and with greater intensity than before the light beams projected the vortex, swirling in aspects of grey and blue upon the sun's face, a wind swirling round the circular dome with such velocity that their robes swung madly around their ankles.

'Ready?' mouthed Harry, unnecessary as Hermione was watching his every move intensely. She nodded.

'Expecto Patronum!'

The two Patronus leaped forward, visible for just a second before they were engulfed by the vortex, the consequential reaction turning the mass of cloud from blue to red, giving the pair of them a blush of deepest crimson as Harry stepped up to depart. He hoped this was a positive sign. He didn't utter a word, any form of communication lost over the rising roar of the vortex, merely glancing at her one last time before leaping in after the patronus, unsure what to expect as he sank into its depths.

The blast sent Hermione flying again, the light now darkest red as it illuminated the room, the glass of the Astronomy dome stretching to incorporate its fury. She was able to see his form evaporate, disappear from the spot he was standing before the wind changed: It began to suck everything toward it. She was forced to hold desperately on to the window frame as the whistling noise intensified. There was a loud crash of realities colliding, and then it was gone. A last piece of swept up parchment falling softly to the ground. She failed to observe her tear stained face as she struggled back onto her feet and whispered her final farewell.

'Good-bye, Harry.'

***

Hermione's eyes glanced wildly from the door to the floor, then back to Harry's peaceful face as the colour began to drain from it at a worrying pace. She could hear footsteps.

'No, Harry, don't be dead.' She muttered, drawing his silent form closer to her. 'Don't do this to me. You can't abandon me, you just can't...'

The last word echoed around the dormitory, filling her instantly with a deep sense of regret. She gasped again, trying to contain the sob of realisation that was forming in her chest.

'Harry, come on Harry, don't do this to me, please...'

Then suddenly, she felt him go rigid in her arms, the last ounce of breath escaping from his chest as it fell softly with the effort. She could feel the tears begin to sting her eyes.

'No, no...'

She spoke too soon. He gasped loudly against her shoulder, breathing deeply like he had been submerged for days, the ice like water of his coma finally releasing him as he stirred, his eyes batting open.

'Harry?' Hermione muttered softly, not daring to expect an answer.

'Hey there.' He said weakly, blinking a little as a soft smile spread across his ice like features. 'That was one hell of a tapioca pudding they fed me, wasn't it?'

'Oh, you're all right! You're alive!' she could barely contain herself as her tear stricken face broke into a smile of her own. 'I thought I'd lost you!'

She hugged him deeply; Harry still a little weak-limbed for his ordeal. 'So did I...'

She didn't have time to ponder his reply as when she broke his embrace, the door of the dormitory slamming open with the arrival of the entourage.

'Step back, young lady,' said Madam Pomfrey, failing to discolour the sense of relief in her voice while checking Harry thoroughly over. Professor McGonagall was now present along with Dumbledore, Ron sulking behind them, wide eyed and concerned.

'Hermione, how is he? Will he be all right? Is he...'

'Ron, he'll be fine.'

The sigh of relief escaped from Ron like a punctured tyre, his large gangly shoulders falling with the delivered solace. 'Thank Merlin.'

'You had a close shave, Mr. Potter,' said McGonagall finally, as Pomfrey continued to fuss 'I dare say you understand the basics of your affliction...'

'Some form of hallucinogenic poison?' he muttered as if was an everyday occurrence.

'Yes, an Angorius draught. It is aimed to project your worst nightmare, to fool your body into thinking its real, into shutting down with the despair of it all. A powerful, dark concoction. You were lucky to survive. Very lucky indeed.'

'Professor Snape reported the necessary ingredients were stolen from his private stores a week before you fell ill...' started Hermione.

'But as he normally accuses you of that sort of thing, the idea that you'd poison yourself deliberately to get out of that potions test last Friday almost sent him to St Mungo's.' finished Ron. Harry laughed weakly, while glancing at the shaded figure of the real headmaster.

'I'll pretend I didn't hear that, Mr. Weasley...' said Dumbledore, the twinkle in his eye remaining. He approached Harry's bedside with a serious look of concern on his wrinkled face. 'Harry, we cannot emphasise this enough. You were extremely lucky. Older, wiser wizards have fallen victim to this most hideous of dark poisons. Someone took a great deal of care to make this attempt on your life. We're going to have to keep a closer eye on you in the future, I'm afraid.'

Harry sighed as the expected statement settled in. Not that Dumbledore's words of wisdom could ever be taken as a lecture, but upon hearing such sage advice he had often pondered about the many what ifs his life contained. Now as witness to one of the possibilities gone wrong, he was less than willing to delve into the artificial realities.

'Do I dare ask what world you've been drowning your sorrows in? What was that vital difference that turned it into a nightmare?' Dumbledore asked timidly, yet with a voice so demanding that Harry was compelled to willingly answer.

'My parents...' Harry gulped, unable to look anyone in the eye. 'They'd survived. Voldemort wasn't defeated. He was in control...'

He proceeded to tell his tale, the details now rapidly escaping him as if he'd woken from a very dramatic dream. The images were fading as he spoke, unable to expel the words quick enough before he was merely left with an essence of what occurred. But he didn't want to forget. He screwed his eyes up tight as he spoke, franticly but heavily detailed, knowing at least Dumbledore and a perceptive Hermione would pick up significant, useful details. At the story's conclusion, the ritual and his decision to go and face Voldemort, Ron was looking shocked and pale, Hermione very thoughtful while Dumbledore remained passive, his face an unsettled mixture of satisfaction and triumph as he illustrated the details of the conflict.

'Why...' he said slowly and thoughtfully, 'do you think you felt the need to face Voldemort?'

Ron shuddered involuntarily at the name. Harry glanced up at Dumbledore.

'I don't know,' he said quietly, 'I just felt my feet taking me along that corridor, following Wormtail. I think I just needed to change things before I left. I couldn't leave my friends in my nightmare. They'd done so much, it was the least I owed them.' He sensed Hermione smile to herself, but continued nonetheless. 'I had this power - this knowledge - that things didn't have to be the way they were. I had to let them benefit.'

And at last, he finished, falling back exhausted against the pillows of his cosy four-poster bed. Dumbledore rose slowly to his feet and looked down at Harry intently.

'You certainly received a sharp dose of reality, Harry. And in the long run, your enemies will not benefit. They have awarded you the power of possibilities, the power of the knowledge that Voldemort can always be defeated, if not necessarily destroyed, no matter how far he has climbed towards his goal.' Dumbledore stood back from the bed, as McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey reached the door, satisfied with his condition and lifting the long-defunct quarantine charms. 'You have been given faith beyond anything previously comprehensible. Use it well.'

As they left and Ron retired to his own bed after a few word with Harry, drawing the drapes and shutting himself off from the world, Hermione moved to the window, looking out across the grounds through the frosted glass as the first snow began to fall. She smiled. Harry watched her for a moment, the Hermione he'd been seen emerge in that other world, that her alternate ego seemed to strive to create but somehow already was. Yet underneath the confident gaze that was exploring the Hogwartian view was a person just as insecure as anyone. There hadn't been much to change. The clock silently struck twelve. She yawned.

'You're shattered,' he said as she sat back down. 'You've been up for days. Go back to the girl's dorm, get some sleep. It's Christmas tomorrow, isn't it?'

'It's Christmas now,' she whispered quietly. She looked a little uncertain, wanting to say something but unsure of the territory she was about to enter. 'Harry?'

'Yes?'

'Can I stay here tonight?'

He smiled. 'Of course you can.'

She returned the smile wearily as she lay down, instantly falling into a much-needed sleep on Harry's bed. She was curled up on one side with her back to him, on top of the covers, her unbrushed hair sprayed out across his pillows in wild and rampant waves. He watched her for a moment; shoulders falling gently with each breath as her body absorbed became absorbed in the solace the snooze was awarding. He smiled, knowing exactly what words and pictures the next morning would deliver when she finally woke and the actions of the previous days had their full repercussions. He wasn't going to sleep tonight. It was his turn to watch.

'Merry Christmas, Hermione,' he whispered, almost as much to himself as to the sleeping body beside him. 'Merry Christmas.'

~* Fini *~