Decreso Aetas

Harry was in the Department of Mysteries, watching as the people he knew and loved dueled for the safety of others, as well as their own lives. His gaze skirted across the room, their fearful expressions making an imprint in his mind forever.

All of a sudden, a loud, obnoxiously triumphant laugh echoed throughout the room for a brief moment, drowning out any other sounds. Harry whirled around so fast that he got a crick in his neck. The sight that was laid out before him caused his heart to skip a beat. As if in slow motion, the teen watched as his godfather fall off of the archway he had been dueling on and fall through the tattered veil below. He didn’t come back through the other side.

“SIRIUS!” The name left Harry's mouth before he could stop it. He began stumbling down the stone steps and ran as fast as he could toward the dais, but he was stopped by Remus.

“It’s too late,” the man said, his voice grave. Harry attempted to get by him, unsuccessfully thrashing and trying to dislodge himself from the older man’s arms. He kept shouting, but Remus would not give in to him.

“There’s nothing you could do, Harry...nothing. He’s gone.”

FLASH.

The scenery changed. A fourteen-year-old Harry found himself standing amongst dozens of gravestones in the middle of a cemetery. He suddenly had the uncomfortable feeling of one being watched.

“Where are we?” He turned to see Cedric Diggory standing next to him, a confused expression flitting across his handsome features.

“I’m not su--” Harry suddenly stopped himself; the atmosphere was changing drastically. The hairs on the back of his neck were standing straight up and he was getting gooseflesh. The atmosphere seemed...evil.

“Kill the spare.” The cold, high-pitched voice sent chills down Harry’s spine. Before he could look for the source of the voice, there was a shouted incantation and a bright flash of green light. A thud was heard; Harry looked down to see Cedric lying on the ground, a horror-stricken expression plastered on his lifeless face.

The scene dissolved; Harry found himself tied to a headstone in the same cemetery. The surrounding area wasn’t visible through the thick steam emanating from a large cauldron placed close to his feet. A mousy looking man was lying at the base of it, his outline barely visible through the steam. The sudden boiling of liquid drowned out his constant whimpering. Then the outline of a man could be seen breaking the surface of the cauldron.

“Robe me.”

The servant obeyed his master’s command straightaway. Using his only hand, he assisted the taller man with his robes. When finished, he fell to his knees cradling his stump of an arm, his whimpering able to be heard once more. The man in the cauldron stepped out and began making his way over to Harry. His pale, skeletal face loomed out at him, the red eyes glinting dangerously...

FLASH.

Harry was kneeling close to the bank of the lake next to an unmoving Sirius Black. He had his wand pointed at the hundreds of dementors that were closing ranks. “Ex -- Expecto Patronum,” he managed, his throat feeling constricted. The screaming in his head began as the dementors drew closer.

“No! Don’t kill Harry!” a woman pleaded shrilly, Harry recognizing the voice as his mother’s. Her bloodcurdling scream filled his head as he fell to the ground, unconscious...

FLASH.

Harry was kneeling next to Ginny in the Chamber of Secrets. He gently touched her dangerously pale skin; it felt as cold as ice. His heart was pounding uncontrollably as he stood to face the sixteen-year-old memory of his archenemy.

“She’s still alive, but only just,” Tom Riddle said, a smirk playing on his lips.

The scene dissolved, Harry finding himself standing atop the stone structure of Salazar Slytherin, a sixty-foot basilisk coming directly for him. Harry raised the sword in his right hand and thrust the blade through the roof of the snake’s mouth. One of its fangs pierced his arm, the venom seeping into his veins...

FLASH.

An eleven-year-old Harry was standing before the Mirror of Erised. His reflection winked at him before placing the Philosopher’s Stone in its pocket. Harry then felt the gentle weight of it in his own pocket.

The scene dissolved, only to come together again to show Harry standing before his Defense against the Dark Arts teacher, who was unraveling his turban. The sight brought before the Gryffindor made his stomach churn; protruding from the back of the man’s head was a face, one of a man with silted nostrils and red eyes, the very man that haunted his dreams.

“Harry Potter, we meet again,” it said, it’s voice hoarse and raspy.

The scene changed. Harry reached out with sheer determination coursing through his veins. He thrust his hands onto his own teacher’s face, watching as he writhed in pain and agony, his body crumbling to the ground in a pile of ash, setting free the evil spirit of Lord Voldemort.

FLASH.

A baby Harry Potter sat and watched as the door to his bedroom was blasted down in a flash of white light. Beyond the threshold stood a man with pale, white skin and a snakelike face. Harry instantly began crying, watching as his mother stood, trying to protect him, but her life was swept away in a flash of green light. The man’s red eyes then turned toward him, the thin-lipped mouth quirking into a smirk...

- - -

Draco woke up abruptly, but wasn’t sure why. He looked up at the ceiling, trying to think back to see if he had dreamt about anything frightening or surprising, but nothing came to mind.

That was when he felt movement to his right; looking down, he saw Harry thrashing in his sleep, his eyes shut tightly. He kept muttering, “No, no...” under his breath.

“Harry.” Draco gently touched the thrashing Gryffindor on the arm. The small boy’s eyes snapped open; he was breathing heavily and the sheet was wrapped around his torso. There was a very fine sheen of perspiration on his forehead. He looked up at the blonde, who was watching him carefully.

“Draco.” he said suddenly, sitting up and wrapping his arms around the surprised blonde. The small Gryffindor’s eyes filled with tears as he looked at Draco. “It was so scary...” He crawled onto the blonde’s lap and curled up.

After burying his face against Draco’s stomach, he began sobbing uncontrollably. The blonde wasn’t sure what to do; going against his real, disgusted feelings for Harry, he held him closer and lifted the small Gryffindor’s chin so that he was looking at him.

Those startling emerald green eyes were still filled with shining tears and his face was red and splotchy from his crying. As a tear slid down his cheek, Draco reached up and wiped it away using his thumb. After he did so, something stirred inside the blonde, but if it was disgust or something else, he didn’t know.

“What happened?” Draco asked the distraught Gryffindor. He waited while he gathered himself, taking in a shaky breath.

“It was so scary,” Harry repeated, tears still spilling down his cheeks. He then told Draco everything he could remember from his series of nightmares. The blonde thought some of these sounded familiar, like the slaying of the basilisk and the saving of the Philosopher’s Stone, having heard about these through Dumbledore or through rumors.

After Harry finished, he broke into a new wave of tears, clinging to the blonde for comfort and protection. Draco leaned down and rested his cheek on top of the Gryffindor’s head, rubbing his back and trying to soothe him.

“Come on,” Draco said after a few moments and Harry’s crying withered away to sniffling. The blonde stood up with the Gryffindor in his arms. He walked into the hallway and down the stairs into the living room. Dim sunlight coming from the high window cast an eerie glow around the room. It looked to be about six o’ clock, so practically everyone would be at dinner.

As he looked around the room, Draco spotted the tray of food on the table. He set Harry down, but instead of hurrying toward the food like usual, the small Gryffindor scurried off and curled up in a ball in a dark corner of the room. This worried the blonde somewhat, as the boy had to be hungry.

“Harry, don't you want to eat?”

His question was ignored.

- - -

“Come on, Ron! You know we have to go down there anyway!” Hermione said as she tried to free the table from the redhead’s death grip.

“Who said we had to?” Ron countered, now attempting to wrap his legs around a leg of the table.

“I did!” the frustrated brunette shouted as she wrapped her arms around Ron’s torso and attempted to pull him off that way. “Anyway, you’re the one responsible for bringing Malfoy his homework.”

“Oh, yeah,” the redhead replied, releasing his death grip on the table just as Hermione gave one, last, hearty tug. They both fell to the floor in a heap.

“Ronald Weasley, I swear you act like a three-year-old sometimes,” Hermione huffed as she stood up and brushed herself off. She stalked away toward the Fat Lady’s portrait.

“Hermione, wait!” Ron called after her. He stood up, grabbed a pile of books off of the table, and followed her out of the common room.

“Look, Hermione, you know we’re only going to see Harry! I know you don’t care about Malfoy getting his homework.” He had to practically run to keep up with the brunette’s brisk pace. When he was right behind her, he reached out and placed his hand on her shoulder. She whirled around to face him. The redhead was slightly taken aback by the look on her face. He then pulled her against him in a quick hug. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I won’t do it again. I promise.” She looked up at him and smiled.

“It’s okay, Ron, I forgive you,” she replied, reaching up and running her hand over the top of his head. She laughed when she noticed that some of his hair stood up on end. She began walking once more, leaving a confused Ron behind her.

“...What!”

- - -

Draco looked up from his position on the floor when he heard a knock on the portrait. He then looked back down at Harry, who he had cradled in his arms. The small Gryffindor hadn’t uttered a word since he told Draco what he had seen in his nightmares. He just laid limp in the blonde’s arms, his once bright eyes now dull and lifeless.

After Draco set Harry down on the floor, he walked over to the portrait and opened it. The sight beyond the threshold made his stomach churn. Despite what he would have liked to do, such as slamming the portrait in their faces, he let the two Gryffindors in. Ron looked rather sick at the thought of being here.

“Where’s Harry?” Hermione asked instantly, looking around the room. Draco looked toward the corner where Harry was curled up in a ball. The brunette let out a gasp, her hand flying to her mouth.

“What’s wrong with him?” she asked, her eyes growing wide. “What did you do to him?” She was now growing quite hysterical.

“Look,” Draco began, his patience already wearing thin. “I didn’t do anything!” Sighing deeply, trying to calm himself down, Draco looked in Harry’s direction. Ron was kneeling next to him, attempting to get the small Gryffindor to talk. The blonde then looked back at Hermione, who had her arms folded across her chest and a frustrated look on her face. Mentally kicking himself, Draco told her about the series of nightmares Harry had.

“But...he isn’t supposed to remember any of this,” she said, looking fearfully in Harry’s direction. “You have to write to Dumbledore about this!”

“Already did that,” he said, holding up a piece of parchment. She instantly snatched it out of his and began reading it out loud.

‘Mr. Malfoy,

Thank you for writing to report this major problem. It is just as I had feared; Harry is able to remember things of his past, but only through nightmares. There may be a large consequence because of this. When Harry is returned to normal, he may be able to remember these things even more clearly than before, like they had just happened, and this could cause depression or dark thoughts. It would be greatly appreciated if you could keep a closer eye on him and try to keep his spirits up. This is a very serious situation, and needs to be monitored very carefully. Make sure to report any other abnormalities if needed. And remember...be very careful.’

“Harry...” Hermione’s voice came out in a shaky whisper as she looked at the small Gryffindor, tears coursing down her cheeks. She dropped the piece of parchment and hurried over to him. The brunette fell to her knees and wrapped her arms around Harry, who didn’t even acknowledge her presence. Now she really did know something was wrong, as he was always cheerful when he saw her coming. This pained her even more, especially after knowing all of the things he has been through; having to relive them would be torture. This just wasn’t right.

The sound of Ron’s angry voice brought Hermione back from her troubled thoughts.

“This is all your fault, you know,” Ron was saying. “If you hadn’t been so clumsy, none of this would have ever happened!”

“It’s pretty difficult to stop a spell that’s been cast off target,” Draco retorted, his slender hands balling up into tight fists. “I’d like to see you try it!”

Hermione asserted herself between the two; as much as she would like to have seen Draco being beatten to a pulp, she didn’t want Ron or herself getting into trouble for fighting with him. “Can’t you two ever stop going at each other’s throats?” she questioned, glaring at the two of them.

“NO!”

“Well!” the brunette huffed, grabbing Ron by the arm. She began hauling him toward the portrait. “Seeing as we can’t be here without causing the third World War, we’ll be going.” She opened the portrait and began walking out, but quickly turned and cast a worried glance in Harry’s direction. Her eyes had a glazed look to them, but when they settled on the blonde, her face steeled over. “If I find out that you do something to make him even more upset, you’re dead.” She began closing the portrait, but a foot stopped her.

“Oh, I forgot something,” Ron said. “Here’s your bloody homework.” Draco had to step aside as several books flew into the room and landed with a resounding thud on the carpet. He then cringed as the sound of the portrait being slammed shut rang through his mind.

Trying to ease his throbbing head, the blonde walked over to Harry, who hadn’t moved from where Hermione had left him. Draco kneeled down and lifted the limp Gryffindor into his arms. Those once emerald eyes now had a dull look to them, making them look like a murky green. Draco ran his fingers down the side of Harry’s cheek. That was when he noticed it; whenever he touched Harry the way he just did, there was an odd sensation in the pit of his stomach, yet he couldn’t place exactly what it was. All he knew was that it wasn’t a bad feeling, and that irked him.

Brushing some dark strands off of his forehead, Draco gently touched the small Gryffindor’s warm cheek.

“Don’t be scared, Harry. I’m here.”

- - -

“Ron,” Hermione began, her breath coming out in short angry gasps, “Why is it that you always have to start something with Malfoy? It’s like you always have to start something with him the moment you set eyes on the git!”

“That’s exactly why I do it, Hermione!” Ron shouted as he hurried to catch up with her. “He’s been an absolute git to us ever since day one! I can’t help but go at his throat. It's instinct!”

“You could have at least waited until we are about to leave so we could have gotten something out of Harry. We need to help him get through this, unless you’d like him to be depressed when we have our original Harry back! Oof!” She had spun around to send a glare in the redhead’s direction, but her complete disregard as to where she was going resulted in her crashing into something solid. Hermione gasped when she met the narrowed black eyes of her Potions professor.

“Pro--Professor...” she began, but was instantly cut off.

“Granger, there’s no need for your useless incoherence,” Professor Snape snapped. “Now get up off of the floor, you silly girl.” She turned a bright shade of red and stood up, brushing off her robes. “Come with me. Not you, Weasley,” he added as the redhead made to follow. Hermione’s face fell as she began to follow the professor, leaving a spluttering Ron behind her.

When they arrived at the Potions classroom a few moments later, Hermione glanced at the professor in confusion. “But why --” She was cut off as he opened the door with such force it hit the stone wall with an echoing bang.

“In,” he commanded, pointing inside and ignoring her completely. The brunette cast a curious glance at the large cauldron set up by the professor’s desk and the assortment of ingredients in various vials.

“What’s this all about?” She couldn’t stop herself from voicing the question. Her hand then suddenly flew to her mouth, her eyes wide. “Did I fail the last potion we went over in class? Do I have to do it all over again?” Her voice was becoming high-pitched and hysterical. “Am I --”

“Stop!” Professor Snape’s usually pale face had taken on a reddish tint, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. “Yes, we are here to brew a potion, but that is not why, you inferior child.” Hermione relaxed, but sent a glare in the man’s direction as soon as he turned around. He picked up a book from his cluttered desk, placed it on a table closest to the cauldron, and opened to a marked page. Looking at the page, Hermione’s heart skipped a beat; the title read Advanced Aging Potions.

“Now you know why we are here,” he said after noticing the brunette glancing at the book.

“Yes, but there’s something I don’t understand,” Hermione replied. “If you are the Potions professor, why can’t you do it? Why do you want me to help?”

“Look here,” he said, pointing to a section of the page. “Read what it says.” Hermione leaned over and quickly scanned the page; what she read caused her jaw to drop.

“Stir in both directions, one hundred times each at a slow pace?” she asked, looking horror-struck. “And you have to simmer some ingredients together in separate cauldrons? How long does this potion take to make?”

“A few weeks, if it’s done correctly,” the professor replied curtly. “So it would be a little easier to have someone with at least some brains and can follow directions properly to assist me.” The brunette nodded slowly, really dreading what could happen during the next few weeks.

- - -

“Ron, she’ll be fine!” Ginny sat next to her brother in the Gryffindor common room, attempting to comfort him. Dinner had just ended and Hermione still wasn't back yet. “I don’t think she’s in trouble. Has she ever said anything about having to see Snape?”

“No! Why do you think I’m acting like this?” The younger Weasley raised an eyebrow at her brother.

“Well, I think you’re acting childish,” she retorted, crossing her arms aver her chest and giving Ron a pointed look. “She’ll probably be back soon enough.”

“At least we can hope that she will be. Who knows what that man’s capable of? He was a Death Eater for crying out loud! He keeps to himself most of the --”

“Ron, shut up!” Ginny shouted, causing the few students that were left in the common room to look curiously in their direction. “If you’re so worried about her, just go down there, barge into the room, and demand to know what’s going on! Honestly! You act like you’re dying when you’re not with her!” As she said the last statement, a knowing look then crossed over the youngest Weasley’s face. She gave her brother an innocent grin.

“Ahhh...I see. You like Hermione!”

Ron’s face turned a bright shade of red.

“Ah ha! That’s why you’re so worried, isn’t it?”

“No! That’s not it! I don’t like her like that!” As soon as the words left his mouth, Ron’s face darkened even more.

“Yes you do! You like Hermione! Oh, I can see it now.” Ginny broke out into a huge grin, her blue eyes glazing over. “You two will be living in the country in a nice white house with three little kids running around in the front yard. Oooh, you two would be so cute together!”

“Ginny, drop it!” Ron’s voice became muffled as he buried his face in a pillow. “This day is not going well.”

“You're finally right about something, Ron. ”

The voice made Ron jump; he looked up quickly and his gaze met an extremely tired-looking Hermione. Her brown hair stuck to certain areas of her sweaty face and her arms hung limp at her sides.

“Hermione! What happened?” Ron sat up and took in her appearance. “What have you been doing?”

“It’s okay, Ron,” Hermione said, sitting down next to him. “I was down in the dungeons assisting Snape with a potion.”

“Then why do you look like that?” Ginny couldn’t help but voice the question out loud. If that's what you were doing, then why would you look so tired and sweaty? It couldn’t be that hard to begin a potion, could it?

“Why don’t you try stirring something one hundred times in a row? It’s not exactly easy to do.”

“He made you stir one hundred times?” Ron asked, looking disbelieving.

“Why didn’t you take turns doing twenty-five or something like that? It would have been so much easier?” Hermione only shrugged in response as she laid her head back and closed her eyes. In only a couple moments, her breathing evened out, a sure sign that she had fallen asleep.

“Come on,” Ginny said quietly, motioning for Ron to follow her. He stood up and began following her toward the dormitories. As Ginny began making her way up the stairs to her own dormitory, Ron doubled back. Leaning down, me placed a small kiss on Hermione’s warm forehead.

“Good night, ‘Mione.”

- - -

“Draco, why is this happening to me?”

The small Gryffindor looked up at the blonde, fresh tears coursing down his cheeks. The blonde had finally gotten Harry to respond to him, but it wasn’t exactly easy.

“I don’t know, Harry,” Draco replied quietly, running his hands through Harry’s jet-black hair. “Let’s just hope it doesn’t happen again.” In response, Harry buried himself deeper in Draco’s arms. Just then, a silver tray materialized in front of where they were sitting on the couch. Draco looked down at Harry, whose gaze was set on the food on the tray. The blonde then leaned forward and grabbed a plate of chicken. Harry watched every movement the blonde made as he cut it into small pieces.

“I know you may not want to, but you have to eat something,” Draco said. He helped Harry sit up and held out a small piece of chicken to him. He expected the Gryffindor to take it, but instead, he merely opened his mouth. The blonde raised an eyebrow, but fed it to him anyway. He watched as Harry chewed it slowly and licked his lips. The mere sight of him doing so caused something inside him to stir. Willing the feeling to go away, the blonde picked up another piece.

This went on for a few moments until Harry shook his head as Draco picked up one of the last pieces. The small Gryffindor curled up in Draco’s arms once more, his face pressed against the blonde’s chest. His emerald eyes glazed over, and the blonde could tell he was thinking. In a way, it pained him to see such a young child acting like this; no one at that age should have to suffer, no matter who they are. Harry has been through so much more than anyone could keep track of, a lot more than a person should have witnessed through only a few years.

The sound of Harry’s voice brought Draco back from his thoughts. “Will I always be able to stay here with you?” he asked, his voice quiet yet slightly muffled. The question surprised the blonde, but he answered anyway.

“I don’t see why you wouldn’t,” he replied. Despite all of the things Harry has been through that day, a small smile played on his lips.

“I hope I can,” he said quietly, closing his eyes.

Maybe you do, too, a voice said in the back of his mind.

“Shut up,” the blonde whispered as he curled up on the couch with Harry and extinguished the lights.