All is Lost

Chapter 1 – Aegresco Insomnium

An unwelcome breeze crept though the cracks in the window of the fifth year’s dormitory, rippling the curtains of Harry’s bed. He stared at the deep red canopy above him, his hands laced behind his head, thinking. It was 2 o’clock in the morning and still Harry hadn’t got any sleep. Not that he minded; lately he didn’t like the consequences of sleep. His eyes itched with tiredness, and he longed to just drift away and melt into his feather mattress. But no, he thought, I can’t do it. The memories of his nightmares came flooding back to him. Terrifying dreams of a dark world, a world with Voldemort, a world full of mind numbing horrors. Destruction … suffering … death. Harry had to stand watching it, feeling completely powerless. He blamed himself for the deaths of so many innocent lives, even though there was nothing he could do to save them. The thought still made his jaw clench. But that wasn’t the worst of it, because they weren’t all strangers, far from it. He recognised some of the people, like Cedric, and his parents. He was forced to hear their petrified screams, watch their lifeless body’s fall to the ground, over and over again, until he felt he would explode with the guilt and sadness that welled up inside him.

But he wasn’t going to think about that.

Of course his dreams had no real basis in fact as far as he was concerned. He dreamt about Cedric screaming, being tortured, but he knew that had never happened, he was there, Cedric hadn’t muttered a word. The thought of seeing his dead body still tortured Harry. He blamed himself for Cedric’s death; it had been his idea for both of them to take the cup, hadn’t it? And the cup had been turned into a port key because of him, wasn’t it? Therefore, as far as he was concerned, it was entirely his fault, no matter what people would say to him. He dreamt about watching his parents deaths, though he had never truly seen it, he had only ever heard it. His secret desire to hear them again still scared him, as did his thoughts of what might have been…

He screwed up his eyes to get rid of the flashing images forming in his brain, then sat up and quickly reached for his glasses. He wasn’t going to fall asleep; he wasn’t going to let those stupid nightmares rule him for the rest of his life. Harry got up, and put on his slippers and the invisibility cloak that he kept at the bottom of his trunk. He made sure that the hangings around his bed were still perfectly in place, so no one suspected he wasn’t actually sleeping. He slipped soundlessly out of the dormitory, deciding he would spend some time by the lake. The cool breeze that blew off it’s waters always kept him awake during late night Quidditch practice, so why shouldn’t it do the same now?

When he got down to the common room, Harry noticed that he wasn’t the only one having trouble sleeping. Hermione was sitting in front of the fireplace, staring at the smouldering embers the grate now held. Harry didn’t want to disturb her as she looked deep in thought, but she would still notice if the portrait hole opened, apparently of its own accord. So he soundlessly removed the silvery cloak and placed it on the back of an armchair. He said, in what he hoped was a curious tone, "So, what are you doing down here at this time of night?"

Hermione made a small scream, clapped her hands over her mouth and turned around to face him, looking livid.

"What did you do that for?" she hissed, "you could have given me a heart attack!"

Harry didn’t say anything. He just walked over to where Hermione was sitting, and curled up in a chair next to her, while she eyed him suspiciously. What she was suspicious of, Harry didn’t know, so he contented himself with staring down thoughtfully at the hearthrug resting his head on his fist.

"You never answered my question," he said after a minute of silence, now turning to look at her. "It’s not like you to be down here this late. Well, not unless you’ve got homework or something, but…" He trailed off, awaiting her response.

"Oh…um…couldn’t sleep," she said hesitantly, returning her gaze to the fireplace. Harry could see the light from it reflected in Hermione's eyes. "You?" she asked him.

"Same," he replied. This was almost true. Couldn’t sleep was practically the same as wouldn’t sleep…

He got up again, and walked over to the window, glancing outside at the grounds before sitting down on the windowsill, and bringing his legs up towards him to hug his knees. Harry stared up at the starry sky. He didn’t want to talk to Hermione; he hadn’t planned that she would be down there when he first snuck out of bed. He didn’t want her sympathy; he just wanted to be left alone. But he was soon interrupted when he felt a warm hand on his shoulder and heard Hermione's voice in his ear saying, "Are you OK? You seem a little" she paused as though she was searching for the right word, "distant."

"I’m fine," said Harry quickly.

"Are you sure? ‘Cause…"

"I’m fine," he cut her off, with a note of finality and forcefulness in his voice.

He felt Hermione’s hand leave his shoulder as she said, "OK then, don’t tell me. But, Harry, I can tell that there’s something bothering you, and pretending it’s not there won’t make it go away." Harry rolled his eyes waiting for her to speak her mind and leave him in peace. "And here," she added, "you might want this back."

Harry turned his head to see Hermione holding up his cloak and looking accusingly at him.

"Well I was planning on going outside," he said, with a bite of impatience in his voice possible due to his serious lack of sleep along with his general feeling like mould.

"Well why don’t we go outside now?" she suggested, taking Harry completely by surprise. After all, it wasn’t often that she was persuading him to break school rules.

Harry gave Hermione a quick searching look, as she stood in her pyjamas and dressing gown, trying to figure out if she was up to something. Unfortunately, finding no reason not to go, he agreed.

They both slipped on the invisibility cloak, and started to make their way down towards the lake. The journey there was far from easy. To start off with, they had the problem of making sure they were both fully covered by the cloak, which was a lot harder that it had been because of the amount they had grown. Then they had to actually make it through the corridors without causing anyone to become suspicious. Mrs Norris stared at them for a minute when they walked past her, although they saw no sign of Filch. They also saw Draco down the end of an otherwise deserted corridor snogging some girl from fourth year, and Harry had to fight very hard not to just go up and thump him in the head when he was so preoccupied.

Hermione stepped outside through the great oak doors and instantly felt the wind whip around her ankles. It stung slightly as the cold drew away the heat that had been flowing inconspicuously through her veins.

Standing so close to Harry made her knees feel weak as they walked down towards the lake. She had been in love with him for what seemed like an eternity, liked him even longer, and he still hadn’t figured it out? Viktor Krum had actually told him that ‘Hermy-own-niny talks about you very often.’ She had even given him a small kiss at the beginning of the summer for God’s sake! Yet still, he was oblivious. She spent whole nights pouring over books with titles like, ‘Wizards Who Don’t Notice Witches, Even When Witches Are Blatantly Obvious’, ‘The Witches Last Resort’, and, ‘Witches Who Have Tried The Last Resort And Still Wizards Are As Blind As Their Great Uncle Albert.’ None of these had the least bit helped her situation, and could have, if it was even possible, made it worse. There was a one in a million chance she would tell Harry how she felt now, there were too many ‘what ifs?’ wandering tirelessly around her usually logical brain. Although there was in particular that stuck in her head. ‘What if he liked you too…?’ She didn’t like to think that. Even thought she had been ‘seeing’ Viktor, she hadn’t really let him touch her without the use of a 10ft barge pole, however much he protested. And she didn’t want to ruin her friendship with Harry or Ron, because their affection meant more to her than anything else in the world.

It had been a long time since she had been alone with Harry; he tended to keep himself to himself of resent. She thought that he seemed slightly better at the end of last term, after what had happened. But he had changed now, become resigned. Something else was wrong now, something he wasn’t telling her about.

It was actually very comfortable when they reached the edge of the lake and sat down. The invisibility cloak was doing a very good job of isolating them from the September breeze, and she could feel the heat radiating from Harry, as he was just inches away.

She looked over towards him. He was staring blankly over the chilled surface of the lake, not acknowledging Hermione at all. I could just disappear, she thought, and he wouldn’t bat an eyelid, he wouldn’t notice a thing. She sighed to herself, her heart melting with worry, anxiety and complete desperation. She so wished that she knew what was wrong with Harry, just so she could help him, comfort him, and tell him everything was going to be alright. She wanted to be the one to help him, not anybody else, only her. She wanted him to come running to her with every little problem, every little worry, every little bump and bruise…

"Harry," said Hermione, she couldn’t help it, "please tell me what’s wrong. You’re not yourself and I can’t bear to see you like this. Please, Harry, at least let me try and help."

"You can’t help me," said Harry despondently, turning to face her. "Nobody can help me."

Hermione was completely taken aback by Harry’s complete lack of optimism and effort. He sounded completely hopeless. It couldn’t be that bad, could it?

"That’s not like you to say something like that," she exclaimed, astonished, looking him straight in the eye, "not like you at all."

"Well maybe you don’t know me as well as you think," he said harshly.

"Harry," said Hermione, "I…"

"You don’t understand," he said looking furious. "You have no idea what it was like, what it is like."

"What what’s like Harry? I…"

"That night, you didn’t have to go through what I went through, didn’t have to see what I saw, what I still see. Every time I go to sleep, every time I close my eyes I can see them dying, see them all dying, and there’s nothing I can do to help them. Do you know how that makes me feel? Do you?"

"Harry, I don’t get it, what are you talking about?" said Hermione, nearly matching Harry's frustration.

"I-get-night-mares," said Harry slowly, patronising her, "all because of fucking Voldemort and his God damned greed. I see people dying, everywhere, getting killed, and I have to watch it, because of that fucked up night, and what he bloody well did."

She knew what night he was talking about, after the third task. It seemed they had an unspoken agreement not to name it if at all possible, to avoid the subject completely.

"See who, Harry?" Hermione pleaded with him. She might have figure out half the story, but there was still big pieces missing from the puzzle.

Even in the pale moonlight Hermione could see Harry's face go white at the question hanging in the air between them, the anger leaving his eyes to be replaced by a painful sadness.

He looked back out across the lake and said, "Well, I don’t recognise most of them, but I recognise…I recognise Cedric. And my mum and dad." He turned towards her, and gave a very small smile.

Hermione felt herself melt as she looked at Harry. She felt so sorry for him, which Hermione knew would be the last thing he wanted her to feel. The overwhelming urge to hug Harry completely took over her, and before she realised what she was doing she’d flung her arms around Harry's neck. He didn’t return the gesture. In fact, Hermione thought, he never actually hugs anyone. He’s always the one being hugged.

"Oh Harry," said Hermione empathetically, pulling away from him, "why didn’t you tell me?"

"Well, it’s not the kind of thing I like to advertise about myself," he said coldly.

"Have you told Ron?"

"No, and I’m not going to," he added as Hermione opened her mouth to retort. "The only reason I told you is because I knew you would never shut up about it if I didn’t."

"Now that was uncalled for," she said defensively.

"Considering my present mental state, I’m surprised I haven’t had a go at you before now."

Harry went back to staring at the lake, a closed, unreadable expression on his face. Hermione looked at him, into his emerald green eyes, trying to figure out what was going on behind them. She’d always been able to read his expressions before; he wasn’t very good at hiding his emotions. But she couldn’t read them now.

She wasn’t tired. The reason she’d been up in the first place was because she was thinking about Harry, and she was thinking about him now. But never the less, the moment she leant her head on his shoulder, she felt herself drifting off to sleep.

It was daybreak. The grass all over the grounds was jewelled with early morning due, and the premature sun shone weakly onto the lake, turning it into a beautiful pink and gold reflection. Harry was still sitting with his thoughts. He couldn’t believe he’d blown up like that, and told Hermione everything. He was such an idiot. Now she was going to try and help him, and he didn’t want to be helped. Although he did agree that he definitely wasn’t himself.

His mind wandered to other things, like where Voldemort was now, what he was planning and if most of the wizarding world actually believed that he had risen again. Probably not, he thought, because they don’t want to. They’re too scared. And there was no evidence to prove that he actually had returned, only the word of a 15 year old boy, who most people probably thought to be ‘disturbed and dangerous’, (Thanks to Rita Skeeter, he thought bitterly) and therefore, completely untrustworthy. Voldemort had not yet laid a finger on a single witch, wizard, or even Muggle, though that was probably not the case with his Death Eaters. But without Rita buzzing around to provoke trouble, not much had been reported.

Hermiones head was now in his lap, and he was absent-mindedly twirling a lock of her hair around his finger. He’d obviously pulled a bit too hard at one point though, because Hermione was soon sitting up and rubbing the back of her head.

"Harry," she said groggily, squinting in the half light, "what are we…where are we?" The realisation dawned on her and her eyes widened. "You haven’t been sitting out here all night, have you Harry?" she asked.

"Maybe," he heard himself say, though he didn’t know where he got the energy to talk from."

"Well we’ve got to get back up to the castle," she said, getting up and holding out her hand.

"Do we have to?" he moaned. He was deathly tired, he hadn’t got a wink of sleep all night, but he was actually quite comfortable. Only Hermione gave him a don’t-make-me-do-anything-drastic-to-get-you-to-come-with-me look, so he followed her up to Gryffindor tower without another word.

When Harry had finally shaken Hermione off in the common room by telling her a good three times that he definitely was OK and that he had no intentions to doing anything drastic, he made his way back up the spiral staircase to the fifth year dormitories.

I really can’t keep doing this, he thought as he made his way through the door and over to his four poster bed. He seemed to remember a story about a man that had died of exhaustion because he didn’t sleep for three days. But I’d never be that stupid, he thought as he curled up under his quilt and instantly fell asleep, his glasses still firmly in place on his nose.

The chapter has now ended