In His Eyes

Sometimes Terry still had nightmares. Sometimes he'd see black, and absolute darkness, and he'd know he was staring into death itself, and then he'd see a flash of white, the kind that accompanies a searing pain that digs through the soul, as if in less than a moment one has died, gone to hell, and lived again. That was the kind of white he'd see, in his dreams.

Sometimes he'd stand up, and scream, and Michael would wake up from his own nightmares to come over to Terry's bed. It would take Michael just five long strides, and Terry would always be apologetic, but Michael would only be worried. Both tried hard not to glance at the bed Anthony would have been waking up from, either.

And Michael would know what to do, know what to say--Michael would know. He'd make Terry laugh, or hold him to keep him from crying, or hold him and let him cry, depending on what Terry needed. Michael is smart like that, clever for what he'd need to do when he needed to do them, and Terry wouldn't understand how Michael could know, because they don't have textbooks for that, but he'd be grateful all the same.

He likes the fact that Michael is intelligent in a way Ravenclaws aren't. He wished he could tell him. Terry knew books, memorized their concepts and theories with ease, but Michael knew people. Beyond his "Advanced Arithmancy" and "A Discourse on Ancient Runes", Terry had nothing, knew nothing. He'd joined the dueling club in second year, the DA in fifth, and even then he was able to do nothing when it mattered, when he'd needed to do something. They'd been attacked, he'd been Crucioed, and he'd kept his dreams of black death and white pain.

Sometimes Terry didn't know he had nightmares. Sometimes he'd stay asleep, and unconsciously his body would shake, violently, brutally, and he'd try to scream, but the nightmare would not allow him even that.

Michael would wake up then, because he always slept lightly, and he'd stand by Terry's bed and watch helplessly, wishing he knew what to do. He'd wish he knew what spell to use, what potion to give Terry in the morning so he wouldn't have nightmares anymore, but he could do nothing. There was no spell, no potion strong enough, and Michael loathed the fact that he could not completely take away Terry's pain.

He'd wish that day could come back, that he could return to it, and maybe then he could do things differently. Maybe he could have taken the Crucio, or hexed the Death Eater first, because Terry shouldn't have, wasn't supposed to have been attacked. Terry, who was serious and intelligent and kind, who loved his tea and who didn't know how beautiful he was, should be able to smile the way he did before, and worry only about NEWTs, like any other student should.

But Michael had nothing left but Terry's pain and the wish that Terry knew what Michael couldn't tell him.