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Strangeland	By : SilverEros Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 4170 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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Title
Strangeland

Author
Silver Eros

Rating
R

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Chapter Five
World of Dreams

Harry awoke to the feel of an ice cold towel on his forehead and his body weighed down with a thick comforter that was pulled up snugly to his chin. He was very warm and his mind and vision were as hazy as the morning fogs. It didn’t register in his mind, where he was, or why he was tucked into a cozy bed when it was still quite early in the afternoon; in fact, he wasn’t really thinking of anything. Just that sleeping felt like a very nice thing to do then.

As he lay there, he vaguely heard the soft bustling of cloth and the fast clacking of shoes on tiles, and the clinking of glass on a marble counter. Then the sound of curtains being drawn aside and the footsteps coming closer. And just as he was beginning to note the familiar sharpness in the smell of the room, a woman’s voice called to him; a voice that he’d heard countless of times before.

He sat bolt upright and the forgotten towel fell with a plop onto his lap. Almost instinctively, he reached over to his right and grabbed his glasses that he knew were on the nightstand.

“M- Madam Pomfrey?” he asked in bewilderment, gazing dazedly at the middle-aged woman standing a foot away from his bed. She was holding a smoking vial and another cold towel in her hand, a look of reproval on her face.

“Don’t know what you’ve done this time Mr. Potter, but I’ve warned you many times before this, that your health comes before Quidditch. Yet have you taken my word seriously ever?” shaking her head, she patiently swirled the vial once and handed it to him. “Drink this, it’ll fix you up good as new.”

Blinking, Harry took the vial in his fingers, staring at it for a moment before tipping the green liquid down his throat. He shuddered at the acidic taste and grimacing, set the bottle onto the bedside table. As he did so, his eye caught sight of a long stick-like object propped up against the wall next to his bed. He squinted his eyes and saw that it was a broomstick. No, not just any broomstick, but his very own Firebolt. Firebolt. Quidditch. Pitch. Dog.

Everything came back to him in a rush like a hurricane. He accidentally knocked over the vial and sent it flying to the floor and Madam Pomfrey let out a gasp as it tinkled to shards by her feet.

“Mr. Potter!” she scolded in a loud voice, waving her wand and instantly repairing the vial.

Harry’s head snapped back in her direction, his eyes wide and his mouth forming silent words and his forehead furrowed in utter confusion. Thoughts were swimming in his head, chasing after one another like a game of cat and mouse.

Sirius! He wanted to shout out, but he clamped his mouth shut before the name could escape. He swallowed hard and frantically scanned the empty Infirmary, half fearful and half hopeful that what he’d seen hadn’t been an illusion. But there wasn’t anything unusual about the room, and it was quite apparent that he and Madam Pomfrey were the only occupants.

Harry felt as if his heart had been slashed in two all over again.

But of course.

He’d fallen off his broom during the match, hit his head, and dreamed that Sirius had been there, before him, jumping and smiling and looking so cheerful... so alive...

He closed his eyes in resignation and slumped back onto the bed, remembering things that he’d spent all of his last two years trying to forget. Sirius was dead, and Harry knew that. He’d seen Sirius fall through that veil when Bellatrix’s curse had struck him in the heart. He’d heard Lupin and Dumbledore’s words of grief and the silent tears in their eyes when they’d been told of the loss. And plus, if that Sirius in his dreams had indeed been real, Harry knew that he would look different. Those twelve years of life in Azkaban would never leave Sirius’s eyes, no matter how much time had come to pass. The Sirius in his dreams had the appearance of someone who was ultimately happy and hadn’t a care in the world. He was the Sirius that his father, James, had known back in the days of the Marauders. It wasn’t the Sirius that Harry himself knew. And Sirius was gone.

“Have you pulled yourself together, Mr. Potter?”

Harry cracked open one eye numbly, and nodded, feeling only slightly embarrassed at his wild display.

“Sorry.” he muttered.

“Quite alright, now eat this and rest.” She carefully carved off a lump of chocolate from the humongous block sitting on the counter and stuffed it into his mouth. Harry chewed obediently, his mood sinking lower and lower by the second, like being sucked into quicksand.

She ‘tsked’ as she covered him up with the comforter once more and placed a glass and a pitcher full of water where he could easily reach it.

“If you need me, I’ll be in my office.” she said, and turned around to bustle away. Harry only half heard what she was mumbling as she disappeared through the door to her office. “For Merlin’s sake, I’ll have to give a good talk-to to that Sirius Black or he’ll end up killing him next.”

Harry thought his ears were deceiving him.

His heart jumped against his ribcage and he sat up again, staring at the open door.

“Madam Pomfrey!” he shouted deliriously, yanking the covers off of himself and springing out of his bed. “Madam Pomf-”

“What is it?” as quick as lightning, she came back through the door with a seriously concerned look on her face. “Is something hurting?”

Harry found that his throat and mouth had gone as dry as the Sahara desert. He tried to gesture with his hands but found that his version of sign language was completely useless and so grabbed the pitcher and splashed water all over the floor as he poured himself a glass.

He downed the water in one messy gulp and gasped.

“Sir - Sir - you said - a second ago - Sir - Sirius -” he thought he might start hyperventilating again. Madam Pomfrey grabbed hold of his shoulders and pushed him back down on the bed sternly.

“You need rest, Mr. Potter. I won’t allow you making such a fuss.” but Harry pushed away her hands and stood back up.

“You - Sirius - Black - where is he?” He could hear his own voice cracking hoarsely from the desperation he was feeling. So it hadn’t been a dream. Sirius had been real. He’d been there. Harry had seen him. And Madam Pomfrey knew of his return too. “Please tell me.”

Madam Pomfrey was looking at him as though he’d become a raving lunatic. She chopped another chunk of chocolate for him but Harry shook his head.

She heaved a grated sigh and pocketed the chocolate. “I don’t know where he is - he wanted to stay here with you until you woke up, but I sent him off. Same goes for Mr. Malfoy. He said something about visiting the Headmaster’s office. There, are you satisfied now?”

“Dumbledore’s office...” Harry whispered to himself, knowing that there was only one thing he had to do then. He grabbed his school cloak that had been draped over the visitors’ chair and threw it around his shoulders.

Madam Pomfrey put her hands on her hips and pursed her lips.

“Where do you think you are going, Mr. Potter? Return to you bed this instant!”

But Harry didn’t even hear her. In fact, he’d forgotten her presence entirely. He dashed out of the room at breakneck speed, the cold, late autumn air seeping through his thin infirmary bed clothes like ice.

Sirius. Oh god. Sirius. Harry’s mind did somersaults as he flew down the stairs to the floor below. He’s back. He’s alive!

His legs led him down the main corridor on the second floor, past Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom, past the DADA office, and through an empty passage. He finally skidded to a halt in front of the stone gargoyle that was sitting before a plain gray slab of wall near the end.

How many times had this bloody gargoyle gotten in the way of things? Everytime there was some consequential matter at hand, this stone statue was what kept him from doing what he ought to be doing. Harry felt like hexing the statue into smithereens, but he doubted that any of the spells he knew could possibly have any effect on something so powerfully guarded.

“Lemon Drop!” he began to run his head through all the past passwords Dumbledore had ever used. “Cockroach Cluster! Fizzing Whizbee!!”

Nothing happened. So then, he tried to remember every single chocolate and sweet he’d ever bought in Honeydukes; it was only frustrating that he’d never bothered to try some of the more unusual ones that the Headmaster apparently favored.

“Sugar Quills!”

“Licorice Wands!”

“Acid Pops!”

“Exploding Bon-Bons!”

“Er - Pepper Imps!”

“Drooble’s Best Blowing Gum!”

“Bertie Bott’s Every Flavor Beans!”

He took a deep breath and continued.

“Chocolate Frogs!”

“Jelly Slugs!”

“Ice Mice!”

“Fudge Flies!”

A few seconds of utter silence followed when Harry ran out of sweet names to throw at the immobile gargoyle. He gritted his teeth hard in frustration and kicked it cruelly.

“Bloody hell - just OPEN UP!!!!”

He almost fell over in shock when the gargoyle sprang to life and gave him a sharp salute before leaping to the side to reveal an archway where a series of circular steps were emerging from the ground and winding it’s way upward and out of sight. Harry considered for a split second that he’d actually scared the statue alive, but those thoughts were quickly wiped away when he remembered the purpose of his need to visit Dumbledore.

The ascending staircase couldn’t go any slower, Harry thought, his eyes fixed on the large oak door way at the top of the tower. It felt like hours before he was finally able to step off the steps and onto the protruding landing in front of Dumbledore’s office. Without a moment’s hesitation, he grabbed the golden knob the shape of a phoenix’s head, and yanked it around violently. The door creaked open effortlessly and he threw it open with a loud ‘bang!’.

Chest heaving and breath coming in laborious pants, he found himself standing before a cheerfully cluttered circular office, yet entirely empty of people.

He turned around three-hundred and sixty degrees on the spot, eyes wildly scanning every corner of the office.

But it was odd. Even though there was no sign of another human being anywhere, there were objects here and there that would seem as if the office had been occupied by at least three people only moments before.

On the large monumental wooden desk where Dumbledore usually sat, there was a long roll of parchment and a quill stuck in an uncapped bottle of emerald ink. It looked as if the writer had halted halfway through and departed abruptly from his desk.

On the low table settled between two overstuffed armchairs, there were two large mugs of steaming tea, one still full and one a quarter empty. Biscuit crumbs littered the velvety seat of the closer armchair and a grubby footprint was stained on the table; still wet and glistening in the flickering lamplight.

“Professor!” he shouted out, cupping his mouth. “Professor Dumbledore!”

There came a faint clank from above and Harry jerked his head upward in the direction the sound had come from. It was the second floor verandah that Dumbledore bestowed to his stargazing.

“Professor?” he called out again, cautiously.

“One moment -” the Headmaster had heard him. A head shrouded in long white glistening hair appeared over the railing with a smile. “Ah, Harry. I see you’ve recovered.”

“Er- yes.” Harry said impatiently. “Please - I need to talk to you.”

Dumbledore frowned. “Is it very important? Or can it wait a few more minutes? I must have a look at Uranus - I discovered a very interesting marking on it’s left side that looks a bit like Uric the Oddball’s nose-”

Harry ran a hand through his hair. “It’s -It’s about Sirius.”

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow. “Oh? Well, would you like to talk with me alone? Or would you like to join us in a little stargazing?”

Harry did a doubletake and furrowed his brows. “Us?”

“We’re having a nice little picnic up here, if you’d care to join us.” Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled.

Suddenly, there came a shriek of laughter from the background that sounded terribly and horribly like...

“Harry!” Another head popped into view next to Dumbledore’s. But this one had shorter, blonde hair, grey eyes, and a beardless, perfectly pointed chin. His usually pale cheeks were glowing a very uncharacteristically, healthy pink. “You’re okay then!” he beamed.

“Mal- MALFOY?” Harry gaped, jumping back a step.

“That happy to see me, huh?” Malfoy smirked and rolled his eyes. He then waved a hand at Harry. “We’ve just found a really funny looking constellation. Come take a look.”

Harry stood as if he’d been caught with a freezing hex. His eyes snapped back and forth between Malfoy’s enthusiastic face, to Dumbledore’s inviting look, not believing a single word that he was hearing.

“I’ve really gone insane, haven’t I?” he asked himself.

Malfoy gave him an odd look. “What are you doing, Harry? Hurry up, the constellation might disappear.”

Somehow, he managed to move his dead feet toward the marble stairs leading to the upper floor; his eyes never leaving Malfoy’s. When he finally reached the verandah, Malfoy grabbed his arm and pulled him toward the balcony outside. He was startled to see that the sky was completely dark; he’d thought that it was still late afternoon.

It was hard to see clearly, as his eyes hadn’t yet adjusted to the sudden lack of light, but he could tell that there was indeed a third figure, tall and with ear-length coarse black hair; he was hunched over the peculiar telescope-like instrument positioned in the center of the spacious balcony.

Harry’ heart literally stopped beating then. That appearance from the back, that powerful stance, that aura... there was no mistaking it.

“Sirius?” Harry choked out softly, almost as if he were afraid that if he made any sudden movements, the image before him would crumble and blow away like dust.

“Can’t now, Harry... I’ve almost got the focus right...” came the muffled reply.

Tears began to well in Harry’s eyes. They trickled down his face in steady streams, tip-tapping silently onto his robes.

A turmoil of emotions began to swell inside him. They were so muddled that he couldn’t define one emotion from another. Where one explosion of happiness began, another pang of hurt ended. Where one surge of sadness arose, another rush of anger drowned it.

His hands had unconsciously balled themselves up into fists, and his body was shaking feverishly, but not from the frigid cold. He could hardly feel the cold.

“Harry? Are you crying?” Malfoy asked in an alarmed tone. “And you’re shivering.”

Harry ignored him completely. He violently shrugged off the comforting arms that had wrapped themselves around him and went up to the man busily looking through the brass eyepiece of the telescope.

“What the hell is going on?” he cried loudly, eyes boring into the back of Sirius’s head. “Turn around and face me, will you??”

There was a pause in Sirius’s movements before he lifted his head and glanced at Harry with surprised looking eyes. Harry almost flinched at the expression in them. They were painless and lucid, readable, unknowing. They were not familiar to him.

“What’s wrong?” only the deep voice was recognizable. “What’s got you so worked up?”

Harry stared at him in disbelief. He could hardly admit to himself that he’d just been asked that. Here he’d been for two years, thinking that Sirius had died behind the veil, crying himself to sleep everynight for months, and just when he’d gotten used to the unerasable fact that his godfather would never again see the light of day, he pops out of nowhere and asks him ‘What’s wrong?’ , as if making Harry believe that he’d been dead all along was merely a joke. A harmless joke which, in the end, would put smiles on everyone’s faces.

“What’s wrong?” he repeated, tasting the saltiness of tears stinging his dry lips. “You’re what’s wrong!”

“It looks like we should leave these two alone for a bit, I think.” Dumbledore mused lightly to Malfoy.

Harry whirled around and pointed an accusing finger at the aged wizard. “No! You’re not going anywhere. Not until you quit hiding things from me because you think I can’t handle the bloody truth!” his voice was deafeningly loud. But he meant it to be. He didn’t care if the whole school heard him.

“Please, I mean to hide no veracity from you. Tell me what I have kept silent, and I will answer it the best I can.” Dumbledore’s voice in contrast was gentle and calm, always patient. Harry hated it. Harry hated being treated like a child. He was seventeen. No longer tender and innocent.

“You lied to me!” he shouted, his voice breaking. “You’ve lied to me all along! You’ve been feeding me lies since the beginning! Everything that comes out of your mouth is a lie!”

“Harry!” Sirius barked angrily. “That is not the way you speak to Professor Dumbledore!”

Harry clamped his eyes tightly, trying to drown out his godfather’s voice.

“Shut up!” he screamed.

“Harry, I am not lying when I say that I have absolutely no clue what you are talking about.” Dumbledore spoke, as if being accused of falsehoods by his students was a mild issue that he dealt with everyday. “But if you’ll simply tell me what wrong I might have done -”

“So hiding the fact that Sirius never died isn’t wrong? Telling me that there was nothing anyone could do to save him, when really, he was hiding out at the Order headquarters, wasn’t wrong? What else have you lied about that isn’t wrong? Maybe the Prophecy is all fake? Have all those so-called ‘adventures’ of mine all been a sick game you’ve put me to? Maybe my parents aren’t dead then, is that what you’ve been hiding from me too?” All the doubts and mistrust that he’d been feeling toward Dumbledore these past few years burst from the punctured hole in his heart. He didn’t care if he insulted Dumbledore with his words. In fact, he wanted to. He wanted to see the old man crumble to his knees and apologize. He wanted him to shed a tear of remorse. He wanted him to feel the raw pain he felt. He wanted to know the truth.

There was a dead silence that trailed his outbreak. The only sound was Harry’s sobs racking his lungs and the wind blowing softly between and all around them.

He didn’t recognize this silence as that of confusion until he looked up and saw the other’s faces. They all had furrowed brows and mouths that were hanging agape wordlessly.

“Please, just tell me the whole truth.” he finally pleaded weakly; the silence was unbearable.

After a moment, Dumbledore cleared his throat, and for the first time in his years at Hogwarts, he thought he could interpret the look on the old wizard’s face as uncertainty. It gave him an odd feeling, seeing that.

“Harry, my dear boy...” Dumbledore began slowly, peering at him intently. “What is this all about?”

Harry blinked. “Wh - what?”

“I think you have us confused, or perhaps you are confused about something?”

This wasn’t making any sense. What was Dumbledore trying to say?

“I didn’t know there was a prophecy about you Harry. Why didn’t you tell me?” Malfoy asked, looking half confounded, half insulted.

“Of course you wouldn’t know.” Harry managed to snort halfheartedly. “You’re not one of the Order are you?”

“What’s this order that you talk of?” Dumbledore inquired politely, his blue eyes softening.

Harry stared at him. “Order? The Order of the Phoenix?” he snapped, not bothering to hide the sarcasm in his voice. “The bloody get-together you’ve got going on at Number 12 Grimmauld Place? Anti-Voldemort congregation?”

To his fury, the other three continued to exchange weird looks which made Harry feel as if they were mocking him.

Sirius fixed his cool gaze on him and chuckled. “That’s a good one, Harry. A congregation at my place? Not a bad idea though.”

“THIS!!!!” Harry exploded, scraping his forehead savagely with his palms. “GOD DAMMIT, WHY DON’T YOU LOT WAKE THE HELL UP???”

They continued to cast neutral looks on him.

“Go on Draco. Check his fever.” Sirius directed solemnly.

“NO!! I’M NOT TALKING ABOUT A BLOODY FEVER!! MY SCAR! MY FAMOUS SOUVENIR VOLDEMORT GAVE ME WHEN HE KILLED MY PARENTS!!!”

At that moment, Sirius’s face split into a grin and he pounded his fist into his palm.

“AHA!” he bellowed, making Harry jump out of his skin. His eyes flickered knowingly. “You’ve had one of your nightmares again, haven’t you? You’ve been complaining about them lately.”

“Oh, I see.” Dumbledore nodded slowly, stroking his long beard. “Well thank Merlin, that explains everything.”

“Come here, Harry.” Malfoy whispered, reaching out and circling his arms around Harry’s body again. “It’s alright.”

Harry felt a blush rising in his face like a ripened tomato and he gruffly pushed Malfoy away.

“Get the hell away.” he snarled through his teeth.

He was taken aback when Malfoy’s eyes flashed with hurt and narrowed. He closed his mouth with a snap and crossed his arms coldly.

“Fine, you asshole.”

“Now Draco, you know Harry is probably feeling confused right now. He has a right to act the way he is. He just needs a bit of rest and perhaps some chocolate.” Dumbledore consoled, patting Malfoy on the shoulder in a fatherly fashion.

“You three are the ones that’ve lost your minds!” he said relentlessly, feeling more frightened then he’d ever felt. Something was terribly wrong, and he’d just realized that. He began backing away, stumbling on the threshold of the doorway. “Who are you? Where am I? Are you Death Eaters?”

“He needs to visit Madam Pomfrey, this could be very severe.” stated Dumbledore pulling out his wand. “He could have injured his brain when he fell of his broom earlier today.”

Malfoy’s expression instantly changed from pissed off to concerned faster then a set of muggle stoplights.

“Oh god, I’m so sorry Harry.” he said, grey eyes wide with fear. It was the same look he had on his face during that fateful Quidditch match. “I didn’t mean to knock you off your broom. I was upset because you got the Snitch -”

“I’m sure Harry doesn’t blame you, now would you accompany him to the Infirmary, Draco?”

Malfoy nodded and almost tentatively took hold of Harry’s upper arm. The grip was gentle. Harry started.

This has got to be dream. Harry thought dizzily. Closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. Maybe if I go back to sleep, I’ll wake up and return to reality.

Convinced that this was the reason for all of the insanity, he mutely let Malfoy lead him off the balcony, through Dumbledore’s office, down the winding stair tower and up another moving staircase to the Infirmary where he’d been only a short hour before.

Malfoy didn’t say a word to him, but kept shooting him glances out of the corner of his eye, and Harry could distinctly feel a thumb caressing his arm. He shivered at the touch but acted as though he wasn’t aware of it. Everything wasn’t how it should be in this world. Sirius was alive. Malfoy wasn’t a jerk. And none of his past apparently existed.

He didn’t hear a word of Madam Pomfrey’s scolding as she made him lay down in the same bed with another cold towel and another vial of foul medicine. He didn’t notice Malfoy removing his glasses and setting them on the nightstand.

He just closed his eyes and hoped that he could drift off to sleep soon. When he woke, he would be back in his world. Everything would be normal.

TBC...

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Strangeland