Shades Of Grey

The Road to Nowhere

A lucid dream is like an empty stomach. There is a terrible longing sense for something that you can't put a finger on. You run towards a horizon that seems to distance itself the more that you run towards it. It's an awful, hollow feeling and a sense of loss. And at the same time, the pain or that sense of absence makes its presence felt so that, in fact, there is an emotion since absence fills the void.

If you asked Harry, that's what he would've said. But perhaps, it's only normal that it made complete sense to him.

Some of his lucid dreams were wonderful. He would be flying on objects; in cars, on motorbikes, on broomsticks even. The wind rushing through his hair would seem so surreal, that it was almost real. There! Another strange paradox he had come up with! He was just full of those these days.

He glanced up at his ceiling only vaguely paying attention to purple spot that bedecked a small corner of it. What had he been dreaming about? Harry strained himself to grasp the details of what had only been so clear to him a minute before.

"Harry! Hurry up, or you'll be late for school!"

He sighed. Well, perhaps a cold shower would wake him up and he would be able to relive his dream. Or maybe a good breakfast would do the trick.

Without bothering to make his bed, he padded across his bedroom to his ensuite. When he first awoke here, Harry remembered marveling at the size of the room as well as the house. It was so strange to know that he had his own Jacuzzi. What sixteen-year-old could boast of that? Living in Perthshire definitely had its plus points. But then again, it had it's downfalls as well. Like, for instance, the whole neighbourhood was so stuffy and immaculate that, at times, Harry felt claustrophobic and while walking home, felt as though he was dreading returning. Though that was one of the many feelings he couldn't put a finger on. Why? Why did he feel that way?

The moment sharp trickles of water hit his bare back, Harry jerked awake and for an instant, his blurry vision became focused only to have it return to being blurry again. Damn I need contacts. He turned around and faced the cold spray of his shower running his hands through his hair. What was he dreaming about?

All he remembered was a bird. And it was such a strange bird. At first, he couldn't make out what it was; it was merely a flurry of all the shades of red. And then, not quite so anymore. Harry sighed in frustration as he lathered his body. There was a strange mark on his right shoulder, like he'd been walloped across his neck and, in turn, his shoulder. Somehow, feeling that gash always perked up his curiosity; he could sit for hours and run his finger along it. Just another bruise of his mistaken past. His hidden past.

Stepping in the path of the rushing cold water again, Harry let the soapy goodness run off his body. Alas, if only the remnants of his dream wouldn't seep away like the soap was doing now. Maybe taking a shower hadn't been such a good idea......

Forgoing all attempts at regaining any memory of his dream, he turned the tap off and stepped out and into a fluffy red towel. He glanced at himself in the mirror. There was a strange amulet of sorts around his neck. It was a black-ish metal dragon with one emerald stone set in for the eye. Its black, thick string provided for a nice contrast to his otherwise pale skin. Subconsciously, he fingered it. It had become his nervous habit and, before he knew it, the amulet had become his comfort object. His hand would always automatically flee to it. Harry somehow knew that this amulet was special, that it had been given to him by someone important. But who?

It was another part of his unanswered past that had left him as easily as that stupid dream!

Harry padded down to breakfast in a pair of khaki cargos and a green sleeveless top. He decided to show the amulet this time. It matched so well and, considering he had an affinity for it, it would be so much easier to reach it anyway. As he poured himself some milk, his mother entered the kitchen.

Guinevere Potter was a striking woman, what with her sparkling blue eyes in perfect juxtaposition to her golden blonde hair that seemed to shine of its own accord. Her long thin nose did wonders for her otherwise slightly square face. She was beautiful. And she was also frowning her disapproval at an oblivious Harry.

"Harry. What is that?"

Harry looked up at his mother. It was scary how much her mood could be displayed on her face; her anger, her happiness, her disapproval. It was as though she had been born for the profession of a lawyer; she could be quite severe and, when she had that look on her face, successfully managed to set his mind in a rat's race of sorts, trying to figure out what he'd done wrong, making him feel guilty over something he couldn't even remember doing. There was another person who had made him feel that........but who?

Right now, however, his mind had once again set out on its rapid journey of retracing his steps. He knew she was somewhat of a neat-freak but he'd done everything. And besides, he'd only been awake a few hours! And― oh bloody hell! Wait. He forgot to make his bed. Great. Just what I need so early in the morning.

"Where did you get that horrendous thing around your neck?" she asked setting her briefcase on the breakfast bar. Harry breathed a sigh of relief as his mother busied herself with toast. He could've laughed aloud. He really was too paranoid.

"Harry, I'm asking you something."

Harry turned his thoughts back to his (somewhat distracted) mother. "Oh." His hand found its way to the cold metal. "I-I've always had it. Ever since I can remember."

At this, Guinevere looked at him with an expression of alarm and pity. Or was that pity? He sighed and rubbed his head. Why was he being so unnecessarily suspicious of everything today, even his own mother?!

She set down the mangled piece of toast and washed her hands. Guinevere walked over to Harry. His head was buried in his hands. "Are you feeling alright? Do you want me to call Dr. Shapiro?" Harry shook his head. He might as well make an appearance or his mother would call the Prime Minister next.

Taking her son's chin firmly in hand, Guinevere lifted up Harry's head. "You look slightly pale........"

"Mum!" Harry wrenched out of her grip. "I'm always this pale! You said it yourself! I take after Dad!"

Guinevere surveyed her son for a minute more then returned to battling with her toast. "Of course, darling. But you must tell me if something's wrong."

"Yes Mum, I will....."

Having finally buttered up her piece of toast, Guinevere joined Harry at the table. "So, what are your plans for today?"

"Oh, actually today's a half day. It's a staff-meeting at school today. So we'll be done at 12:30 instead of 3:00."

"Mmm...." Guinevere took a bit out of her toast, followed by a sip of her coffee. "Well, you have the house keys. Call me when you get home."

"Alright....."

Harry loved his parents, really he did. His accident had meant so much of trouble, emotionally, for them as a family. Yet they had been so supportive and so caring towards him. Of course, he didn't know if this was a change from before, as he couldn't really remember anything but he still appreciated it all the same. His parents, however, were just a little more protective than parents of your average teenage boy. Harry was average and teenage and a boy. Why couldn't his parents be a little more....loose?

He remembered the one time where he left after school for some frozen yogurt with his friends for an hour. Guinevere and Ronan were patrolling the streets, in frenzy, on his 'disappearance'. It was kind of ridiculous really. In time, Harry learned that he was allowed to do things with his friends after school. But it was so much trouble to ask ―Guinevere and Ronan would say "We'll think about it" and that would go on for a couple of days― that eventually Harry would learn it was better to stay home anyway. Guinevere encouraged it.

His parents were out so much ―Guinevere was a lawyer and Ronan, his father, was a doctor― that Harry was mostly alone in the house. His parents, strangely enough, allowed him to have as many visitors over as he wanted. He could've had an all-out party and his parents would've turned a blind eye. For the first few days, Harry spent his time exploring the house. But after a while, it got boring and lost its initial novelty. Still, his computer, homework and hours of mindless television seemed enough to keep Harry's mind of everything. When he went to sleep, was a different matter altogether, though.

The doorbell rang. Harry jerked up instinctively to get it but his mother put a hand on his arm. "Never mind, John will get it." Of course; John, the butler. He was supposed to have lived like this all his life, with servants and whatnot. So why did he behave so.....? Why couldn't just let the butler get the bloody door instead of jumping up for it? What was wrong with him?

"Harry, darling, are you quite sure you're alright? Maybe you shouldn't go to school today."

"No...." he protested, "I have to go to school. Or I'll be marked absent again. And it'll be my third time! In a matter of four weeks! Besides, it's a half day."

His mother eyed him sharply. "Well, alright. But we're going to see Dr. Shapiro this evening."

Harry didn't bother to protest. It would be pointless and painless. Unless there was really something wrong with him. Then he'd black out for a couple of hours, having no recollection of what had happened. Dr. Shapiro said it was because Harry, being a patient of amnesia, was prone to sudden attacks, sudden shocks that could be brought about for a number of reasons. These sudden shocks could restore great chunks of his memory but they could also spell permanent brain damage if the patient were emotionally not ready to accept what the brain perceives. Or something like that. In any case, to ensure that nothing of this sort happened, Dr. Shapiro always gave Harry a sedative that put him out for periods of time until everything was over.

What 'everything' consisted of, Harry couldn't imagine.

"Master Harry." Harry jumped at being jerked out of his thoughts and addressed like that. "Your friend Tristan is awaiting your presence. What should I tell him?"

"Tell him I'll be right there, "said Harry, bolting up and grabbing his back from the upgraded tile floor.

"Oh Harry......I wanted to drive you."

"Mum......There's really no need to...."

"I could drive you and Tristan to school......"

Harry was halfway to the door now and swapped his house slippers for his shoes. "No. It's a nice day. I want to walk. And we promised to pick Lara up."

"Well, we could pick Lara up too, I'm sure she'd appreciate the ride―"

"Goodbye, Mum. I'll call you as soon as I get home this evening. Yes, I have the keys," he added, slightly exasperated. He lightly kissed her on her cheek and left.

"And Portugal didn't stand a chance mate! Gosh, you missed it! It was great!" Try as he might, Harry couldn't keep his mind on Tristan's words. Normally, Portugal out of the running would've earned at least a whoop, no matter how half-hearted and Tristan seemed to realize this.

"Harry? What's wrong? You've been a bit off this whole time. I mean, not that it matters or anything, but that's the first time you haven't responded to one of my stories. Is everything alright, mate?"

"Yes, yes I'm fine. I just........I don't know."

They were approaching Lara's house. It was in a neighborhood all the kids at school liked to recognize as Little Nottinghamshire. The houses weren't nearly as rich as Harry's but still, at 3000 square feet interiors and 60 feet conventional lots, they weren't all that small either. Tristan lived in Little Nottinghamshire as well but it was closer to Harry's house ―mansion― than Lara's was.

Coming down the crisp front lawn was a short girl, her auburn hair flying out behind her. She was ―and Harry thought there was no other way to put it― a complete rocker. Her crisp cotton sleeveless shirt was accessorized with a spiky choker. There were rabid bands of leather and metal covering one hand and the other was clad in a full length glove. Her baggy pants had "KISS" embellished on one side of it in fiery red letters and a chain dangling out of it. The other side had what looked like a bright yellow tie sticking out that had Tonka trucks on it. A sling bag completed her outfit.

Harry looked at Lara wearily. Her hair was streaked rather frugally this morning ―a dark green, as usual― and she had lain off on the heavy eye liner as well.

"What's this Lara? Where are the liberal amounts of gunk? Or are we going with the 'people' look instead of the 'Satans' look this morning?" Lara merely ignored him and walked beside Harry. Tristan was the stark naked opposite of Lara. He was somewhat quiet, liked to read and listened to soft music. He wasn't very outgoing and preferred watching sports to playing them. Still, all the girls fawned over him 'cause, at 5"10 and honey brown hair, you couldn't get any better looking than Tristan. But he never took much notice of that. He never let it go to his head. Harry respected him. He actually respected Lara as well; she was different, she was unique, not because of her image but because of who she was; the complete opposite of her loud, proud and wild look. Well, she was those things when she needed to be. But she was rational and quick thinking.

It was a relatively quiet walk to school for Harry. Lara and Tristan argued most of the way to school (thank god some things never changed) and Harry was left to his own thoughts.

He subliminally traveled down the road to nowhere as he struggled to regain his dream. He didn't know why he kept harping on it; it wasn't as if he hadn't forgotten one before. But this was a lucid one and the more he thought about it, the more he came to a decision that it was something ground-breaking, something that would change him forever, a chunk of his memory perhaps?

".........Harry agrees with, me, don't you Harry?" Tristan was saying now.

"Wha-?"

"You think that tube singers should be outlawed, don't you?"

"Yes of course.....outlawed, that's it...."

"Harry!" exclaimed Lara, looking scandalized, "How can you say that? Do y'kno, some of them aren't beggars at all! There regular people trying to promote their music that's already circulated out there! They're normal, respectable people."

"Well, do normal respectable people have so much free time that they play in tube stations?" Tristan said.

"Oh, shut up, Trist. You don't know anything. And in any case, Harry agrees with me, right Harry?"

"...........Outlawed........"

Lara didn't speak to Harry for the rest of the journey.

When they got to school, Harry was still mulling over the word. Outlawed. It had invariably reminded him of something though he couldn't quite think of as to what, and once again that claustrophobic, hopeless and rather frustrating feeling resurfaced.

"Hey look, it's Rhea! Let's go and say hi." Harry followed Lara and Tristan towards a girl sitting on the front steps and reading. Rhea was one of the very few girls that Lara didn't mind; she actually got along pretty well with her. Harry now turned his attention to Tristan, who was chatting animatedly with her. He blinked and stared at her. A small explosion took place in the pit of Harry's stomach. She was an interesting person, except Harry had never really gotten a chance to talk to her yet.....

She knew Tristan because she tutored Tristan's little brother in piano. Harry forgot all about his torturous dream and turned his thoughts to the fey creature in front of him wishing he had some excuse, any excuse, to get to know Rhea better. And then he remembered: Chemistry. Rhea sat behind him in Chemistry. He would just turn around and ask for a pencil, easy as pie. And then, he'd crack some witty joke about not having one, and she'd silently giggle as she gave him one and―

"Harry!"

"What? Sorry, spaced out there." He grinned apologetically.

Tristan looked slightly annoyed. "No kidding, you've been spacing out on me all morning, mate. What's the matter?"

"Later." He muttered, daring to glance at Rhea who had returned to her book. He couldn't help but feeling grateful. He was sure she had turned away out of courtesy. And besides, he had enough problems, without Rhea knowing how dysfunctional he was.

Lara shot Harry a worried look as Tristan said bye to Rhea. She smiled and returned to her book. But then she called out, "Harry."

Harry stopped in his tracks. Slowly he turned around and met her inky gray eyes. He practically melted. "You remember Venus from our Chem class?" Harry nodded though he didn't really know there was a Venus in this school at all. "Yes, well, she's actually quite sick, chickenpox and all, and I was wondering if you didn't have a partner, if you'd like to work together."

Harry ogled at the object of his affections. What a stupid question! Of course he'd like to work with her! Jesus Christ!

"Sure." He tried to keep his voice as indifferent as possible. "If you'd like."

She flashed him her flawless smile and Harry had to try very hard not to make a complete fool of himself right then and there. Lara noticed this restraint and smirked.

Harry smiled like an idiot all the way to class. He barely took notice of the two owls perched on the nearby trees.