Oscillate Wildly

"All I do know is that we're here and it's now, so stretch out and wait...There is no debate, no debate, no debate."
- The Smiths

An unbearable amount of light was pouring through the window, so Harry had no choice but to wake. He cautiously opened one eye, half because of the sun currently blinding him and half because he wasn't quite sure where he would be this morning. Hogwarts, then. All right. A robin perched on the windowsill trilled happily. Harry felt like throwing his pillow at it on the off chance that might shut it up.

Harry was pleased to see that he was alone for once. It was getting a little unnerving to wake up to anywhere between one and two-hundred sets of eyes boring into him. Flipping onto his stomach, he punched the pillow into a satisfactory shape before flopping down again. He mulled over the events of the last day and sighed.

So. Here I have magic and I have Hermione and Ron and the rest of the Weasleys and Hagrid and Lupin. I actually remember my life in this world. On the down side, I have a megalomaniac who's been trying to kill me since birth and will continue to do so until a prophesy is fulfilled one way or another. I also live with the Dursleys.

Harry made a face and punched at his pillow again, pretending it was Dudley. Or Voldemort. Or Snape. Any of them would do, really.

In the other place, my parents and godfather are still alive. Draco Malfoy is not only tolerable, but somewhat likeable. My doctor seems like a pretty nice bloke. On the other hand, I'm in a mental institution, haven't been able to feed or dress myself since I was ten because of Dudley, and have no memory of any of it.

Oh, and it may all be some sort of grand hallucination by Voldemort in order to lock me away in my mind for the rest of my natural life, so he can either become supreme ruler of Wizarding Britain or perhaps, just kill me in my sleep. Can't forget that.

Sighing, Harry was tempted to throw a wobbler, but that would accomplish nothing. He wished there was some way to combine the good elements of both lives, while pushing out the bad. Really, he just wanted his parents and godfather back with him here and Voldemort dead, but that was impossible.

Startled by a sudden noise, Harry looked up only to find Madam Pomfrey coming in to check on her only patient. He sat up quickly, eager for the company, though moments ago he'd been relishing his solitude. Thinking about one's dead-but-possibly-alive parents along with one's own mortality tended to make a person crave another's presence.

The nurse was pleased and relieved to see Harry up and about. She thoroughly examined his head for bumps, then started poking at his arms, legs, stomach and chest and asked, "How are we feeling today, Mr. Potter?"

Cheerfully, Harry replied, "We're feeling rather like a pincushion today, Madam Pomfrey. Thanks for asking."

"Cheeky boy."

Harry grinned. "I'm just being charming. Actually, to be honest, I'm rather hungry. Is there any way I can go to the Great Hall and join the others for breakfast?"

Madam Pomfrey looked scandalised. "Out of the question!" she cried. "I'm keeping you here for observation today and possibly tonight. Let's see if you stay conscious for a whole day before you go running off and getting yourself into trouble again." Seeing the scowl on Harry's face, she added, "Miss Granger should be arriving with your breakfast shortly."

At that, Harry brightened considerably. Madam Pomfrey smiled down on him. It seemed that Dumbledore wasn't the only staff member whose eyes could twinkle.

Hermione popped in to the hospital wing just then, balancing a plate of eggs and toast in one hand, a glass of pumpkin juice in the other. On her back, she carried the biggest sack of books that Harry had ever seen. He was reminded of a shorter, younger and more feminine Santa Claus. Well, without the beard, he reasoned. Quickly, Harry decided not to share this thought with Hermione.

Grunting under the strain of the books, plus the food in her hands, Hermione said, "I could use a little assistance here." Harry leaped up to take his breakfast from her and placed it on the table next to his bed. She eyed him critically. "Are you sure you should be out of bed?"

"I'm fine," Harry said, rolling his eyes. "A little reality-shaping from my worst enemy doesn't mean I can't walk about." At least, it didn't right now. Harry shook off the memory of being petrified, while the voices of his friends surrounded him.

Madam Pomfrey took her leave, but warned Hermione not to stay around chatting all day because her patient needed his rest.

Harry rubbed his eyes. "What time is it? Actually, what day is it? Time seems to be moving a little strangely for me."

Concerned, Hermione pulled a chair up along the side of Harry's bed. "It's Wednesday." Hermione ticked days off with her fingers. "You first passed out on Friday in Snape's class, then were asleep for Friday, Saturday and Sunday. You woke up for a little while on Monday and then passed out after speaking with Professor Dumbledore. Then you woke up again, about an hour later and spoke with me and Ron. Do you remember that?"

Harry nodded. He'd been pulled away very quickly that time.

"Then, Madam Pomfrey noticed you stirring sometime last night. Well, not stirring exactly. She heard some loud noise, so she ran in here and you were calmly eating chocolate on your bed. She told Professor Dumbledore that this morning, while he was talking to Ron and me. I take it you've been conscious since then?"

"Well, I've actually been conscious a lot of the time - either here or in the other place," Harry corrected. "But yes, I've been awake and at Hogwarts since last night."

Hermione confusedly said, "What were you doing that made all that noise? Did you fall out of your bed?" She looked even more concerned.

"NoDracoMalfoymadeallthatnoise. Anyway, I'm starving!" he said quickly. Harry grabbed for his eggs. "Where's Ron?" he managed to ask around a mouthful.

"He has Care of Magical Creatures this morning. You should know that," she admonished. "It's one of your classes, after all. I have Arithmancy later on and Ron and Hagrid are going to try and visit you then."

Satisfied, Harry smiled a bit.

"But don't change the subject. Why, exactly, was Draco Malfoy in here? Was it about his father?"

"Sort of. Maybe. I don't know. He made a lot of noise when he left, though." Harry didn't want to talk about this with Hermione, though he wasn't sure why. Perhaps because Draco reminded Harry of St. George's and thinking of St. George's made Harry think of his parents and Sirius. It was odd to think of Draco reminding Harry of some of the people he loved, but it did snap him out of the forced cheerfulness of a few moments earlier. Depression settled onto his chest like a heavy weight and he was forced to lie back. His appetite had soured, too.

God, even I'm having problems keeping up with my mood swings.

Hermione must have detected the change in Harry's demeanour because she changed the subject. Grabbing her bag with both hands, she managed to swing it onto the bed and began unloading books. "I brought your books with me," she said.

"That much is obvious," said Harry, warily eyeing the rapidly growing pile at the foot of the bed.

"Ron collected everything for the classes I don't have with you. You've missed a number of lessons."

Scoffing, Harry said, "What's a little ruminating on my formerly dead parents when I can work on six feet of parchment for Potions, right?" One of Hermione's eyebrows nearly flew off her head in reaction to Harry's statement. Harry morosely lied back on his pillows and turned away from Hermione, staring off into space.

"I didn't want to bring that up without you doing so first. It...Ron and I were really shocked when you told us that. I didn't know if you were going to come back at all. If I were in your shoes and given that chance, I don't know that I would. Even if it did mean leaving all my magic behind."

Quietly, Harry confessed, "Sirius was there, too."

This time, Hermione's eyebrows nearly went into orbit. Just as quietly, she said, "Really? He was alive? And with your parents?" She flopped into the chair next to Harry's bed and started to stare off into space herself. Harry knew this was a lot to comprehend. After all, he was still dealing with the gravity of the situation himself and he'd at least had a few hours to digest the information.

The two sat in a not-quite-comfortable, but not-quite-uncomfortable silence for a few minutes. Harry, finally finding the silence unbearable, cleared his throat, causing Hermione to study his face carefully.

"Do you think that Voldemort is attempting to lock you within your own mind?" Hermione's face was one of mixed concern and curiosity.

Harry thought for a moment. "I suppose it's possible. I mean, that's what you and Dumbledore and whoever else came up with, right?" He shrugged.

She returned his shrug. "I think Voldemort may have just given up. After all, you're sixteen years old and he's supposed to be the most powerful Dark Lord of the age. Yet, you've somehow managed to meet him and defeat him four times."

"Five, if you count the Chamber of Secrets."

Hermione nodded. "Exactly. Five times and your powers are still growing. Every time he tries to defeat you, he's foiled. It must frustrate someone that powerful - someone that willing to sacrifice lives all for the pursuit of his own life - to lose time after time to you." She paused, collecting her thoughts. "Despite being just as dangerous and possibly more unstable than he was the first time he gained power, many witches and wizards are no longer afraid of him. Because you're there to be their saviour. It's not fair for you, but it turns Voldemort into a caricature of himself. How would you feel if you were he?"

Grimacing, Harry told Hermione that he didn't want to think about what it would be like to be Voldemort. "But," he said thoughtfully, "I see what you mean about him being a shell of himself. No matter how reluctant I may be, I'm expected to play the hero. And he's my enemy. The villain. And heroes always triumph over villains."

"In stories, at least." She sighed. "Anyway, back to my point. I think he may have just...given up. This is his last resort. He's tried to kill you half a dozen ways to Sunday and this is probably the most damage you've ever sustained." Hermione eyed Harry critically, again. "He's trying to trap you within your own mind because he can't beat you any other way."

"Hermione, that's silly. I'm sure he could come up with about a million ways, if he tried."

Leaping out of her chair, Hermione began pacing about the room. Harry knew that the wheels were turning in that giant brain of hers, which both revved him up and scared him. When her eyes got that crazy gleam, there was no stopping her and he'd long ago given up trying. Harry watched her pace for awhile, worrying that she might create a groove in Madam Pomfrey's floor. He expected the nurse probably wouldn't be too thrilled by that development.

"Uh, Hermione," he finally said tentatively. "Could you stop moving all around? I think you're giving me a headache." His friend abruptly came at a dead stop at the foot of Harry's bed and steeled a fiery gaze upon him. After a second, he squirmed, uncomfortable with that much direct attention.

Hermione cried out, as though there hadn't been any pause in the conversation, "Of course he could come up with a million different ways! That'd be easy! But Voldemort doesn't like things to be easy when it comes to you."

Quickly, Harry nodded his assent. He wasn't quite sure what she was hinting at, but in situations such as these, it was best to just let Hermione's brilliance take shape.

"Voldemort sees you as a personal affront. He wants - no, needs - to take care of you personally. Face-to-face has failed him and your wands are equals. No, Voldemort's taken his last escape route." She ran over to the side of his bed and ran a finger over Harry's blemished forehead. It was the first time she'd touched the scar on purpose and a shiver ran down Harry's spine. Hermione must have noticed because she asked, "Are you all right?"

"Yeah," said Harry. "Just felt a bit odd for a moment."

Her voice lost that hysterical quality and she grew deathly quiet. "That's his escape, Harry. You're connected mentally and he's abusing that connection. Think about the Department of Mysteries." Harry didn't want to. "He led you there by leading your thoughts. That connection is worse than an Unforgivable curse in a lot of ways. It's all so...personal. He's using it for his own purposes - making you see your parents, your godfather. Pretending all the time you've lived with the Dursleys never happened. It's all in here." She softly rubbed her thumb over the scar again. Harry decided he preferred the hysterical tone she'd previously been using.

The two sat in silence for a moment, Hermione obviously expecting some sort of reply from Harry and Harry pointedly ignoring that unsaid expectation. In fact, Harry was having some quality brooding time with himself. He stared off into space.

Hermione tried getting his attention, "Harry, I - " But Harry cut her off by merely holding up his hand.

Some more time elapsed and Hermione was obviously growing impatient. She stared at the hospital wing's clock and tapped her foot. "If you want me to go, just say so," she said crossly.

Harry, in a tone even more deadly quiet than the one Hermione used earlier, replied, "No. That just doesn't feel right to me. What you said, about Voldemort, I mean." He shot her a look that caused her to jump noticeably. "I'm not angry with you, Hermione. It's just not right."

With a quizzical expression, Hermione asked, "What do you mean?"

"If he just needed to trap me within my own mind, why would he give me my parents back? Why Sirius? Why would he give them back story? Why would I now know how my mum and dad met or what it was like for them to first hold me? Why would they tell me that Dudley rammed me into a door and gave me this scar?"

Hermione gaped, for once at a loss for words.

He continued, his voice low and dangerous, "Why, for that matter, would I be in a coma at all? Why would I wake up in a mental institution? It doesn't make SENSE! He could just lock me up in my own head, exploring never ending corridors or something!"

"Maybe he needs you to want to stay there for it to work," suggested Hermione in a voice barely above a whisper. She was visibly upset, nearly cringing as she waited for Harry's reply.

Harry finally relented. "Maybe. But you don't know what it feels like to wake up one day and find out your life might not be real." He flopped down onto his pillows once more and tried to choke back his tears. Hermione surprised him when a minute later she joined him on the bed and circled her arms around his middle in an awkward, sideways hug. Unable to hold it together any longer, he buried his face into her shoulder and cried. Huge, body-racking sobs took hold of him. Through it all, Hermione said nothing.

Eventually exhausted, Harry fell asleep again, Hermione still holding him.

When he woke in the Hogwarts hospital wing a short time later, Hermione was knitting some...socks? Hat? Scarf? Hard to tell. Whatever it was, it was in Gryffindor colours.

"Hello, sleepyhead," she greeted him. "You made me miss class you know."

He groaned and sat up. "Did Ron stop by?"

She nodded. "He did. He'll be back later. And he said to give you this." She threw something orange at him. It was Ron's official Chudley Cannons sweatshirt.

"Why, exactly, did he give me this?" Harry was puzzled.

"Because," said Hermione, an amused smile playing on her lips, "when those with an emotional maturity equal to the average five-year-old need to express themselves, they do it the best way they know how." She pointed at the shirt. "It's his favourite."

Half-smiling, Harry could only manage an "Oh." It wasn't often that Ron expressed appreciation for their friendship. On the other hand, neither did Harry. It was just unspoken.

"And what is it that you're doing?"

"I'm knitting you socks." She shot him a lopsided smile, "Sometimes I forget that my emotional spectrum isn't that much bigger than yours and Ron's."

Again, Harry could only manage a soft "Oh." It was no wonder they were all friends, considering their stunted emotional growth. Common interests lead to bonding, after all.

"I've been thinking about what you said."

Harry stared at her. Confused, he asked, "Said about what?"

"About waking up and finding out your life might not be real."

A third "Oh" crossed Harry's lips. Considering this was the third time he'd woken up at Hogwarts today, he was starting to think everything might just be one huge dream. Probably, he was still ten years old and stuck in a cupboard. He pinched himself, just to test the theory. It stung.

"So, this is what I've come up with. I know that I feel real here. I'm willing to bet that Professor Lupin or the Weasleys or Hagrid or Professors McGonagall and Dumbledore all feel like they exist, too."

Harry laughed, despite himself. "I feel real, too," he said. "But I feel real when I'm there, too."

Hermione regarded him solemnly. "I don't doubt that for a minute. If this is all a dream, I don't know it. And if that other place is a dream, they probably don't know it. Reality is tricky that way."

Harry muttered under his breath, "Tell me about it."

"What I do know is this: everyone here feels real and we need you here to protect us, just like you need us to protect you. When you've passed out, I'm still here, staring at your lifeless form and it makes me ill to look at you. It reminds me too much about what could happen to you or Ron or anyone else that I love.

"Without you here with us, we may be killed. You'll probably be killed, too. Of course, there's always a chance that we'll die with you here, too, but I feel better about our odds with you around. Besides," she concluded, "we miss you every time you're gone. We need you here because you're you."

Harry nodded, intently studying his own lap.

Choking back her tears, Hermione continued. "You're not just the Boy-Who-Lived to us. You're Harry and my best friend and I'm clueless if I try to figure out how to carry on without you. It may sound selfish, but it's the truth. We need you here with us."

What else could be said to that? Harry's look softened and the two stared at one another for a beat. After a moment, though, things became uncomfortable and Harry found his lap fascinating once again.

Bending over, Hermione rustled through her bag and grabbed out a newspaper. Glad to have a distraction, Harry looked eagerly at it. "What is it, Hermione? Did the news about me leak out to the press? Am I the Invalid-Who-Lived or something now?"

Shaking her head, Hermione chuckled. "No. But there was some news on the Voldemort front today. Not exactly unexpected, but the end results sort of were." She held up the paper so Harry could better read the headline.

"BREAKOUT AT AZKABAN; MALFOY KILLED"

Harry's mouth dropped slightly. "Malfoy's father was killed?" He remembered what he said to Draco last night and winced slightly. Like Malfoy didn't have enough reasons to hate him, now he'd blame Harry for his father's death, too. Whether or not he'd been referring to the other Draco's father, he knew he was at least inadvertently responsible for his death, anyway. It was Harry's fault that Lucius was in Azkaban in the first place.

He shook that thought off, angrily. Remember. Just because you were the reason he was arrested, doesn't mean that it's your fault he got himself in that situation. It was Lucius's choice to...uh, eat death.

Peering carefully at her friend, Hermione asked if Harry was all right.

"I'm fine," he replied honestly. "Lucius Malfoy wasn't exactly the sweetest guy on the planet, what with wanting my brutal death and all."

"And mine," Hermione interjected.

"And yours," Harry agreed. "And all other Muggleborns. And all of the Weasleys, too, I'm willing to bet. However, he was also someone's father, even if that someone was Malfoy. I know what it's like to lose parents, after all." And find them again. And lose them once more. Harry felt himself grow frustrated with his situation once again.

Hermione nodded, encouraging him to continue.

Harry tried focusing his thoughts away from St. George's again. "Right. So, I know what it's like and it's not a pleasant experience. I don't wish it upon anyone, even if it is Malfoy." He paused to ask himself, Would you have felt this way a few days ago?

The honest answer came. Probably not.

Harry gestured at the paper. "So, what happened, exactly? I'll read the article later, as sitting around this place is dead boring, but give me the short version."

"Well, obviously Voldemort tried breaking his followers out of Azkaban again," said Hermione. Harry was impressed that Hermione barely stumbled on his name. "It seems that, for once, the Ministry was actually somewhat ready for this. Voldemort had brought the Dementors back to Azkaban, but the Aurors have been guarding the prison in the Dementors' absence. A couple of the prisoners were stunned in the jail break, Malfoy among them. I suppose the Dementors found him too tempting and he was Kissed."

Harry looked confused. "But Kissing isn't death. Might be as good as, but it's not the same thing. This says he was killed."

"Yes, well, this is where things get interesting. Voldemort was so enraged by the behaviour of the creature who was supposedly obeying him that he killed the Dementor and Malfoy both. He must have known Malfoy would no longer be any use to him."

Harry gasped, "So Voldemort killed Malfoy?"

"That's what it says here, at least." She tapped the paper again. "Who knows if we can trust The Prophet, though? They could be covering up for an Auror. I'm loathe to say it, as I hate the manipulation usually purported by this newspaper, but it might be better if the readership thinks that Voldemort would go around killing his own followers."

Harry agreed. "Yeah. I mean, if he'd kill a powerful member of his inner circle, who's to say that anyone's safe? And maybe it'll get Malfoy to rethink his attachments to the Dark Lord." He nearly clapped a hand over his mouth, but managed to restrain himself. This was the second time in two days he'd said aloud what he'd meant to keep inside.

Smooth, Potter, he thought sarcastically. Don't let Hermione know you're thinking about Draco or anything.

But Hermione merely raised an eyebrow. Harry was almost more afraid by that than anything else. Ignoring his last statement, she added, "You'll definitely want to read that later. Fudge is completely torn up in it. Not like his support has been that great the past few months, but it seems that a lot of people are turning towards Amelia Bones now." Harry now recognized Madam Bones's stern face on the front page. "Fudge will probably be finished in a matter of weeks."

"Good riddance." Harry didn't even try to cover up his bitterness.

Harry looked at the paper for a moment, silently reading the article. He hadn't got very far when Hermione began clearing her throat, fidgeting noticeably. When he looked up, she said, with some trepidation, "Harry, do you mind if I ask you a question?"

"Go right ahead." He smiled a little, hoping to look encouraging and non-threatening. He wasn't sure what was making his friend so nervous.

"Well, um. In that other place...in the hospital," she said firmly. "I know your parents and Sirius and a few other people from this world are there. Are...well, are Ron or I there? With you?"

She looked so hopeful that Harry felt something constract around his heart. His head shot downward and he studied his lap again. Barely above a whisper, he softly replied, "No..."

"Oh." She said nothing else, but Harry could tell she was quite upset. So was he.