Our American Cousin

VII

And if Sometimes Our Dreams Come True..?

Harry opened his eyes to a dream. It had to be a dream because he could see himself.

'Not a dream-a memory,' a little voice whispered in his mind. Memory or not, he felt the rope cut into his wrists as he struggled. Voldemort was saying something.

"Go to hell!" Harry's memory screamed.

"Go to hell," his dream self whispered. The Death Eaters entered with two captives.

"Run!" he tried to yell, his dream voice falling into nothingness. Ron thrashed against his bonds while one captor groped at Hermione. She spat at them while trying to summon her wand. Harry tried to go to them, free them, free himself, but this was a memory that had to play out. Voldemort laughed again. The spell was triggered. Harry screamed in the memory of the pain as Voldemort tried to drain him of power. Harry watched as a patch of his hair went grey.

"Hermione! Don't!" he tried to shout, tried to run, hold her back, but it was a memory. She threw herself across him, as did Ron. Their screams mingled in his ears. His energy was now being pulled through them. Something snapped in his mind, reverberating like a broken guitar string. Harry saw through both sets of eyes. A knife flew between Voldemort's eyes. It would not kill him, but the spell was broken. Harry could hear Ron, Hermione, and Voldemort loud and clear in his mind. The scar burned, and Harry screamed himself awake.

Ron knew Harry was having a nightmare. He was surprised it actually took this long for Hogwarts to trigger memories. Ron slipped between Harry's bed curtains, past the silencing charms.

"Harry, wake up. Come on, wake up!"

Hermione slipped out of bed and padded softly to the boys dormitory. Harry was having a nightmare again. She knew Ron would already be there. They had a link from that night last year, when for a few moments their minds and magic had fused into one. Severus Snape had saved their bodies that night, but for months after, their sanity was on the verge of collapse. Every stray thought had been shared between them, along with some of Voldemort's. Dumbledore had eventually worked some magic to give them a bit of separation, and the physical separation of summer helped as well, but they would always be linked now. Hermione understood the implications better than the boys. What husband would have a woman, knowing there would always be two other men in their lives? What wife would take a husband knowing there would always be another woman before her?

Hermione looked around out of habit before opening Harry's curtains, and found Neville looking at her through his own.

"Nightmare?" he asked in the faintest whisper. Hermione nodded, knowing that they had nothing to hide from Neville. "Take care of him." Hermione nodded again and slipped into Harry's bed, barely rustling the bed curtains.

"Harry, it's OK. Wake up. Come on-wake up," she cooed softly. Finally Harry's eyes opened, a choking sob coming from his throat.

Even in the dark Harry recognized Ron and Hermione's forms. It had been awkward early in sixth year, when the two had fallen asleep holding him after a night terror, but that was a year and a lifetime ago. Now he let the two curl against him and protect him and each other. After a few minutes he fell asleep.

Ron and Hermione looked at each other across Harry's sleeping form. Hermione knew Ron was wondering what would have happened if his mother hadn't stopped to help a confused little dark-haired boy. She found herself wondering what would have happened if she had picked a different cabin, if the hat had shouted Ravenclaw? Who would be holding Harry? Neville? Lavender? Anybody at all?