Healing the Darkness

Chapter 5: Nightmares from the Past

"Right, read pages 680-712 and write an essay on that," Harry said. "To be turned in the moment we get back!" The class happily packed up their books and parchment, eager to begin the Easter holidays. Harry tiredly plodded into his office, leaving his lesson things behind.

Rain smattered loudly on the windowpanes, muffling nearly all other sound and blurring any image seen out of the window; spring was finally making its appearance. Running a hand through his hair, Harry plopped into his chair. A small pile of quizzes lay before him, waiting to be graded. The effort and boredom involved there was not a pleasant thought. He pulled off his glasses, letting them clatter to the desk, and pressed his finger into his eyes. He never remembered feeling so worn out since--well, he didn't want to think about it.

The Malfoys seemed to be gaining more influence on the magical world. As the Daily Prophet reported more and more attacks, the Aurors worked around the clock, trying their best to protect those who were most threatened. Now matter how long they worked, however, they could not catch the Malfoys. Their buffoons may be inept and clumsy, but Lucius and his son were elusive and were never found at the scene of an attack. Harry clearly remembered the frustration felt by the Ministry of Magic because of this.

Harry rested his head and arms on his desk and closed his eyes. A sudden breeze ruffled his hair, but his mind was too clouded to question where it came from. All he was aware of was the blackness of his robes and the patter of rain outside. Then his mind snapped to attention: his hair was still ruffling, but he couldn't feel the breeze anymore. This was very puzzling.

Harry lifted his head, pushing against...something. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a swish of black. It was Serena. She was patiently stroking his hair, gazing at a yellowed newspaper clipping tacked on the wall.

Not looking at him, she asked, "How did you get that clipping?"

Harry sighed heavily. "Sirius gave it to me. He saved it in his Gringotts vault for years." As he spoke, he felt her fingers working gently into the muscles of the back of his neck, then lower down to his shoulders. He knew she was also working him into letting her into his confidence. It was as if she knew he was hurting. But he found it very hard to force himself to say anything. Instead, he closed his eyes and began to relax into her welcome touch. A spell, he thought. She must be using some sort of spell.

"What's bothering you?" she prodded softly.

"I can't tell you," he whispered back.

"Why not?"

"It hurts too much."

Serena dropped her hands, causing Harry to open his eyes and look at her. He hadn't expected to tell her so truthfully. She was standing with her back to him, arms hugging around her body. Harry stood up and slid beside her. Her face was contorted in pain as well as she stared at the picture in front of her. He knew without looking which one it was: Lily and James Potter holding baby Harry and waving happily at them. He opened his mouth to say something, but she beat him to it:

"Harry, I wish I could take away all your pain."

This surprised him. He turned to her sharply. But she was unashamed of her comment; her jaw was set determinedly. He reached out for her, allowing her to relax into his arms. It was amazing how natural the motion seemed; there was no question anymore: Snape or not, he had fallen very hard for Serena.

"Tell me." Her voice was muffled into his chest.

Pulling back to look at her, he said, "All right, I will."

* * *

Harry sat straight up in bed, nearly hitting his head on the bunk above him. His scar burned furiously, forcing him to retch several times. Through the pain, his mind laboured to function: dream...Dumbledore. He must get to Dumbledore. But it was too dangerous to Apparate in this state.

"Ron!" he moaned, unable to find the strength to yell. "Ron!"

Ron jerked up mid-snore and rolled over to peer down at Harry, now wide awake. This was becoming almost routine to them. Seeing Harry doubled up, clutching his scar, Ron promptly Disapparated. Nothing could be done until Dumbledore was reached.

As Ron left, Harry was losing his sense of orientation in the conscious world. The room gave a sudden lurch and scenes drifted in and out of sight. He felt as if he would either throw up or pass out. Constantly, he saw the red, snakelike eyes of Voldemort leering at him and heard his high, eerie laugh. He saw flashes of people in black good robes also laughing and the white frightened faces of people he knew and people he didn't. Streaks of bright green light and high-pitched screams cut in every few minutes, then every few seconds, until they were a constant presence as well.

These images and others began to whirl around in a frenzied orgasm of maniacal pleasure and spine-crawling terror. The pain intensified, until it was nearly paralyzing. Harry was screaming hoarsely, trying to allow a vent to his agony. He tasted blood.

"Harry, help me!"

"Nooo...please! Not back to Azkaban! Have mercy!"

"Let's take it together, Harry. We'll both be the champion."

"Not Harry! Take me, kill me, but don't hurt Harry, please!"

"...see the famous Harry Potter now..."

"She won't wake, Harry..."

"Take Harry and run...I'll die before going back there! Avada Kedavra......Please, you must save her--you cannot win...Nooo! Father, no--Harry!--you look just like him...And the champion is...Let me kill you--Harry--Please...Avad--rip--mercy!--Kill the spare--shred--Harry--take me--NO!--Harry... HARRY!

Someone was touching him. Don't hurt him. Calling his name, begging. Go quickly! Someone was shaking him. No... He saw a shape, a white shape.

"Harry," the shape said. "Harry." Not Harry!

He blacked out.