Memory Madness

Memory Madness

Chapter 3:

Green eyes stared out of the window longing to be outside. It was a day or two after the doctor asked him the questions about his dreams. He still hadn't found out why that happened. He would have asked Terry, but he had only stopped by briefly on a few short occasions and there hadn't been enough time.

Slowly the afternoon passed, and the boy watched as the sky grew dark. He did some of the muscle exercises by himself as the physiotherapist had recommended, and was wincing slightly as the sun sank behind some buildings.

Then he heard raised voices from outside his room. He could see through the high window in the door a little. There was Doctor Grizzle-Guts and Terry.

"I can't believe you! How can you do something like this? With all due respect, sir, what you are doing is wrong!" he could hear Terry yelling clearly.

"Calm yourself, Charmers," Grizzle-Guts spoke calmly and coolly, completely unaffected by the awful glare he was receiving from the nurse. "You may alarm the boy if you scream like that," he added, smirking a little.

"He is usually asleep right now!" Terry replied sharply, and the boy noted that he was correct; usually sleep was preferable to being awake in the boy's opinion. "I just can't believe you! You've talked to him, surely. You know what you are doing is not right!" Terry seemed absolutely livid.

"Doctor Moore has reviewed his notes, and he feels it is best to send him to the Mental Institute in the West End. He spoke of castles and magic as if they were his memories, Charmers, he can't possibly be alright in the mind." Grizzle-Guts only raised an eyebrow when Terry seemed to be visibly restraining his anger.

The boy's jaw had dropped. That doctor must have been some kind of Psychiatrist! The mean doctor was going to get him sent to a nuthouse!!

" Those are his dreams. It doesn't mean he is crazy! It just means that he has an imagination! You can't do this, sir," Terry ground out the last sentence, a slight pause between every word for emphasis.

"Oh, but I can," Doctor Grizzle-Guts announced. "And I will. He will be taken to the Institute in a weeks' time if he is fit enough. There's no point trying to keep him here, Charmers, I have Moore's notes on my side. Anyone who looks at them will immediately agree with me. Good day, Nurse!" And he left the boy's view, leaving a very upset-looking Terry.

The boy watched as Terry ran a hand through his wavy hair a couple of times. He let his anger ebb away and then he entered the room. Thinking it best not to let Terry know he had overheard them, the boy yawned as though he'd only just woken up.

"S-sleep well?" Terry asked, starting with a slightly nervous stutter. The boy nodded a little, and found himself sincerely wishing that Terry wasn't so upset. It made him upset to see Terry like this. "Um - good," Terry said uncertainly. "The physiotherapy is going well?"

"Yes, very well, just a little more work on my legs and I'll be able to walk!" the boy said excitedly, remembering the Physiotherapist's last words to him the day before.

"Oh!" Terry actually smiled a bit. "That's great, Larry!" The boy rolled his eyes a little at the name and Terry chuckled. It was a sort of on-going joke of theirs. The boy always rolled his eyes at the name. Though he did this mostly to cover up the slightly uncomfortable feeling he got when he was reminded of the fact that he didn't actually know his real name.

"Just imagine," Terry said with a grin, "you could be up and walking this time next week-" He cut off abruptly, no doubt thinking where he would be in a week.

The boy swallowed uncomfortably seeing Terry's uneasiness. When Terry left though, the boy started thinking about what he had said. This time next week he could be walking. But that was only if he was doing the exercises with the therapist and once by himself in between visits as he had been. A slow smile spread across the boy's face as he hatched a plan.

He wouldn't be going to a nuthouse. He knew he wasn't crazy. He knew it deep down in his very bones. Those dreams were strange, certainly. And they were fantastical. They were even rather unbelievable. But they weren't just dreams. They had to be something more than that. He was certain that he couldn't just have an active imagination. Didn't all fiction and fantasy have a basis in fact? Or something like that? He was losing his train of thought. And soon he found himself falling asleep. His last conscious thought was a wish. He wished he could have another dream; he wanted to be taken away from the boring white room...

He looked around, and he saw that he was in a small, dingy room. There was a dusty pile of old broken toys and a desk covered in parchment and thick books. An empty cage sat on the desk. He had seen the owl who occupied the cage once or twice before, and he thought it was definitely his pet.

He turned around slowly and nearly jumped out of his skin. He saw - himself. This was certainly a new experience; usually he was himself taking part in the action and what was happening. This was like being an observer. He had the chance to take a look at himself.

He was currently lying on his stomach on a tatty little bed. There were a few books scattered about him, and he was writing on parchment with a quill. It was hard to see more than the head of his apparent double though, for he had the blankets pulled up and was using a torch to see the work he was doing.

The boy supposed he was a little younger than his current age. It looked as though he were about twelve or maybe thirteen. More likely thirteen; the doctors suspected he was actually slightly older than his appearance would lead them to believe. He seemed a little small for his age.

He saw the figure pause every now and then, as though making sure no one was coming. After a few more minutes, the version of himself placed the top back on the inkbottle, gathered up the parchment, and hid them under a floorboard under the bed.

When the figure stretched, the boy got a clear look at the younger version of himself. A bit shorter, and perhaps a little less thin, with a pair of round glasses (which the boy did not have and could do with as everything usually looked a little fuzzy), framed the same pair of bright green eyes that he was led to believe he possessed. That was the nice doctor Nancy who commented on his eyes, and gave him a hand mirror to see himself in.

The younger boy leant on the windowsill for a few moments, and then something in the sky made the boy squint. Just as the thirteen year old jumped out of the way of the strange 'something' the boy felt everything dissolve. He tried to keep himself in the dream - and strained to see what was happening, but it was too late, and he woke up to hear Terry's muffled voice. He was telling Nancy about Doctor Grizzle-Guts' plans just outside the room. Must have been what woke him up.

"Oh no! Terry they can't - I can't believe that they'd - oh my goodness!" Nancy was saying rapidly. Terry was nodding looking torn between anger and desperation. He led her down the hall, speaking in a hushed voice and motioning with his hands. They were soon out of hearing range, and the boy thought of his dream again.

One thing he loved about the dreams was that he could remember everything about them when he woke up or almost everything, at least. Sometimes, if he were lucky, he would also seem to remember things that hadn't happened in the dream. Things that he thought happened after the point he woke up, but he often felt his head go fuzzy if he tried to think about all that too hard.

Sighing silently, the boy closed his eyes tightly and tried to go back to his dream.

*~*~*

Ron flopped down on one of the sofas in the living room. He doubted he would get much more sleep. He'd not had a nightmare as in his previous disturbed nights; he had gone back to that weird warped place. And he'd seen Harry again.

Harry led him to what looked like the Gryffindor common room, and then explained that the dream-like place could help him sort his thoughts out. He told Ron to tell him all that was bothering him, and Ron found himself telling the vision of Harry absolutely everything. Most of it, of course, was related to the listener, but Harry didn't seem phased, and would nod along, listening intently.

He started off with all of the general issues at the beginning, and when they were covered he told Harry about Hermione's break down the four or so days before. Harry had winced as the story unfolded. He was just like Harry...but Ron found it all so unfair that he could only see him in a ruddy dream, and he told the Harry that as well.

After speaking for what seemed like hours, Ron had woken up with a slightly dazed feeling. He knew he wouldn't sleep anymore tonight. These dreams were bothering him a little. He wanted to dream them, but when he woke up he couldn't shake the growing feeling that something was meant to happen - and like there was something important he was missing.

Shaking his head wearily, he poured himself a glass of water and sat at the scrubbed kitchen table, sipping the water slowly. He stared at a point across the room, and blinked confused when the space seemed to shiver. He frowned at the oddity. Then he jumped from his seat as a figure slowly materialized.

Ron's just gaped. There was no word to describe how shocked, confused, shaken and dumbstruck the redheaded boy felt when he saw the blurry form of Harry Potter, his dead best friend, appear in his kitchen.

The boy himself looked nearly as confused as Ron did, he had been going to sleep in the hospital last he knew. For a moment neither boy did anything. Then the dark-haired boy tilted his head to one side and inspected the frozen figure in stripy pajamas. He knew him, that was - Ron - yes, Ron, and he supposed this could be another dream...

"Ron?" he asked softly. The other boy stumbled, his legs unable to support him.

The redhead sat on the floor gaping at the other, not daring to believe it, a voice in his head was constantly trying to remind him it was impossible and that this had to be another crazy dream. Harry had knelt down by his side by now, obviously a little concerned after he fell.

"What - how-?" Ron gasped out, his face turning to a baffled frown. Harry shrugged at him, and then looked around, biting his lip thoughtfully.

"Umm - where am I?" he asked uncertainly. Ron blinked.

"It's the Burrow," he said carefully. And he watched as Harry nodded slightly, looking as though he was piecing together his memories of the place. Little did he know that he was exactly right about that. The boy only had fragmented images of the place, with redheads, and laughter...

"Are - are you a ghost?" Ron asked, swallowing painfully. Harry raised his eyebrows in obvious surprise.

"I - um - I don't know," he answered, the end of the sentence rising as though questioning his own answer. "I - didn't think I was dead last time I checked," he added, almost to himself.

Ron noticed how stiff the other boy seemed, as though moving was painful or unfamiliar. His hands were also shaking. Ron was desperate to talk to him as they always had, as best friends, and he longed to rush off and get Hermione, and Ginny, and the Twins, and everyone! But he didn't dare. And he felt as though if he left the room to find the others, Harry would be gone by the time he came back. Then they'd think he was going mad. Though, if he reasoned with himself, he had to admit that he could be hallucinating. So perhaps he was mad?

Ron didn't know it, but the boy next to him was thinking along the very same lines. He was having a dream, that was all. A very weird and realistic dream. Completely ordinary, he was actually in the hospital. But maybe this was why the psychiatrist thought he ought to be in a mental institute. Maybe this really wasn't anywhere near what was normal - maybe he was mad!

So a few minutes passed in which two boys sat side by side on the kitchen floor, both leaning back on the cupboards behind them for support, and both questioning their sanity.

"This is - creepy," Ron said eventually, turning to his best friend. Harry nodded, looking completely bewildered.

"How old are you, Ron?" the dark-haired boy asked, hoping he could estimate his own age based on his friend's. Ron turned to him before replying.

"Fifteen, the same age you would be..." he spoke quietly. Then Ron gathered his courage to ask one question he'd been half fearful, half desperately curious to know. "W-what's the last thing you remember?" he asked, stuttering slightly.

Harry looked thoughtful for a moment. The boy was actually trying to remember the last. This was hard, him having no memory besides what he had learnt and remembered from dreams. After several moments' thought he had an image flash to mind, and he remembered pain - and then he remembered blackness.

"Green," he answered, staring at nothing across the room. Ron started when he spoke, partly because he'd been lost in thought, partly because of the answer. "Green flashes, and - a horrible pain, and then - nothing."

Ron swallowed hard, and looked anywhere but Harry's face, which looked confused and thoughtful.

"I'm so sorry," Ron choked out suddenly, causing the boy to turn to him quickly. Ron was bent forwards, his face hidden in his hands.

"Sorry? You have nothing to be sorry about, I'm sure of it, Ron!" he said feeling a little desperate in the face of Ron's turmoil. He wasn't sure actually, he supposed it was possible that Ron had done something that he should be sorry for... but he couldn't really believe it.

"I - I should have done something!" Ron berated himself loudly. "We should have stopped it. I should have known it wasn't right that day! I - I should have helped. I -" but the boy stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. Ron slowly met the other boy's eyes and saw nothing but concern and -pity? - in them.

"You couldn't have done anything," the boy replied. This too he didn't know for sure, but Ron needed to hear some reassuring words. If he were honest, the boy would have to admit that he really wasn't sure that he was following any of this conversation or Ron's reasons for feeling so guilty. His words had obviously helped though, for Ron sat slumped, looking defeated, but at least he wasn't ranting anymore...

"It's just so unfair," the redhead whispered, looking pained. "It shouldn't have happened to you - it isn't fair!!" he spoke louder, with more conviction.

"Calm down," the boy coaxed gently. And then thinking he ought to add to that, he spoke again. "Life just isn't fair, I guess..."

Ron gave a watery smile and was about to comment further when a noise on the stairs alerted their attention. A sleepy yawn sounded and then a sleepy voice followed.

"Ron? Ron is that you down there?"

Before Ron had a chance to reply to the question, Hermione had appeared at the door. She took in the scene before her in an instant and let out a scream, stepping hastily backwards. Both Ron and the other boy were on their feet in a jiffy and Ron stepped forwards trying to reassure Hermione everything was ok. She was staring open-mouthed at the dark-haired boy.

The boy thought she looked older than his most recent dream he had seen her featured in. Ron was taller as well; he'd noticed that.

Ron turned back to face him while Hermione still stood frozen and gaping. He shrugged a little hopelessly and let out a strained chuckle. Then his eyes widened a little and the boy started to blur and flicker.

The boy stared at his hands in front of him as they looked transparent and fuzzy. He cast a surprised look at Ron, who looked like he didn't know what to do. The boy gave a weary shrug and waved to the dumb-stuck Hermione and the defeated-looking Ron.

He disappeared completely to wake up in the hospital and cast a disorientated, sleepy glance about the room. How strange. He shivered as he snuggled further inside the covers and fell in to an uneasy sleep.

Back at the Burrow, everything was certainly uneasy. Hermione's stunned silence had lasted quite a few moments as Ron stared at where he'd seen Harry last. In a calm part of his mind somewhere, a curious voice wondered where his glasses had been.

"What on earth was that!!?" Hermione suddenly screeched. Her face was white as chalk and her eyes were wide.

"Harry," Ron muttered, leading her to a seat in the living room, and taking a seat next to her.

"H-h-Harry?" Hermione breathed disbelievingly.

"He appeared across from me when I was getting a glass of water," Ron replied, his face stoic. Hermione all but laughed.

Oh, of course! Because dead people always interrupt thirsty people in the middle of the night!" She sounded vaguely hysterical, and Ron placed his hands on her shoulders holding her gaze steadily.

"Don't ask me how - but it just happened! I - I asked if he was a - ghost... He said he didn't know. I asked him what he last remembered though, and he said -" Ron paused and took a deep breath "- he said he remembered green light, and pain, then nothing."

Hermione blinked back tears and stared at her lap.

"You t-think it was h-him then, Ron?" Hermione sniffed. Ron nodded, his eyes staring listlessly at the carpet. Hermione paused and then lay across her friend's lap looking up at him. "How - how was he?" she asked softly.

Ron thought hard about her question. He had been very calm, and very pensive; he'd just been Harry really.

"He seemed okay," Ron said quietly. "I got upset, you know - going on about how we should have done something that day, how we should have known something was up, and he calmed me down. He was just like always, just Harry."

Hermione sat up and abruptly hugged Ron around the neck, she had started crying silently and when Ron hugged her back they both just sat there for ages, thinking about their best friend.