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Awakening To the Dream	By : ChimaeraChan Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 45315 -:- Recommendations : 2 -:- Currently Reading : 2
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
- 1-CH1
- 2-CH2
- 3-CH3
- 4-CH4
- 5-CH5
- 6-CH6
- 7-CH7
- 8-Ch8
- 9-Ch9
- 10-Ch10
- 11-CH11
- 12-CH12
- 13-CH13
- 14-CH14
- 15-CH15
- 16-CH16
- 17-CH17
- 18-CH18
- 19-Ch19
- 20-CH20
- 21-CH21
- 22-Ch22
- 23-CH23
- 24-CH24
- 25-CH25
- 26-CH26
- 27-CH27
- 28-CH28
- 29-CH29
- 30-CH30
- 31-CH31
- 32-CH32
- 33-CH33
- 34-CH34
- 35-CH35
- 36-CH36
- 37-CH37
- 38-CH38
- 39-CH39
- 40-CH40
- 41-Ch41
- 42-Ch42
- 43-Ch43
- 44-Ch44
- 45-Ch45
- 46-Ch46
- 47-Ch47
- 48-Ch48
- 49-Ch49
- 50-Ch50 *End Part 1*
- 51-Ch51
- 52-Ch52
- 53-Ch53
- 54-Ch54
- 55-Ch55
- 56-CH56
- 57-CH57
- 58-CH58
- 59-CH59
- 60-CH60
- 61-CH61
- 62-CH62
- 63-CH63
- 64-CH64
- 65-CH65
- 66-CH66
- 67-CH67 *New 6/6/2015*
- 68-CH68
- 69-CH69
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Note 3/20/2016: Hey guys, I recently got a review on this story making me realize this note was necessary. I'm sorry but I've had to abandon this fic. I had hoped to find the time/motivation but it never really happened. The amount of work is beyond my desire and I've been battling a lot of health problems recently. If you'd like to read an origianl spin on this fic--although, not done, but will definitely be completed some time in the future--please check out my website at http://www.sadiesinsbooks.com to read 'Awakening.' Apologies, but life just got away from me when I was writing this and when I came back I just envisioned it so very different. I want to thank all of you that had commented so nicely--this fic seemed to have a large impact on a lot of people, and I'm glad you were all there to share it with me when I was writing it.

Much luv, Gabs

My first fic people… don’t let that scare you off though. I have it under good authority that it doesn’t suck too much. ^__^

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

CH1

Instinctively flinching from the shadow, Harry cringed in the doorway, bridging light and darkness until a hand reached for his. He looked down dully to find a tightly wrapped sandwich in his weak grasp.

"Make sure you’re back before dawn." Petunia whispered sharply. Her eyes were icier than usual, daring him to refuse.

It was either tuna fish or chicken salad, he decided, the bread fresh and soft in his hand. Resting warmly, it looked exactly like the sandwiches Harry had watched Dudley scarf down everyday for lunch that summer and all those previous. He swallowed the odd lump in his throat, eventually meeting his Aunt’s gaze. He should thank her. It was the polite thing to do, but he wasn’t sure how, or even if he was actually grateful or not, so he remained silent. Instead he gave a slight nod and stumbled out the kitchen door and into the night.

The tranquil heat of the late June air was exquisite relief from the chill of the new air conditioner that had been running continuously at 4 Privet Drive since its arrival. Vernon didn’t like the summer weather. He blamed it for causing his car to break down and his temper to flare whenever he snapped at Aunt Petunia or Dudley. Most importantly, the cursed heat had stolen his fated promotion. No matter how illogical, both the heat and Harry who always appeared with it seemed to be the source of all of Vernon’s woes. Perhaps Harry should have resented the summer just as much as Vernon did; he surely had reason, but he continued to love the comforting heat that greeted him each night. It never failed to take some of the pain away.

He carefully skirted the living room window, making sure the unnatural glow of the TV didn’t fall on him and reveal his presence. They were sitting, Vernon and Dudley on the sofa and Aunt Petunia far across in an adjacent armchair. The only sound was from the droning of the telly and Vernon’s occasional disagreement with the news reporter. Even though the window was closed, Harry knew. Every evening found the family in the living room not talking to each other. In another hour Dudley would leave to go ‘study’ with his friends and Aunt Petunia would go to bed while Vernon stayed up to watch whatever caught his interest.

Harry moved on, not in the mood to tempt fate once again. It took an extra ten minutes, or more if his legs weren't agreeable like tonight, to travel through the network of backyards, some whose occupants were talking softly in the moon light. Finally he stumbled into a small field, his haven. The tall grass tried to trip him, leaving him itching with imaginary bugs moments after, but he dredged on. Garter and grass snakes slipped around his trainers and pointed him in the right direction when he lost track, speaking about bugs and warm rocks in soft hisses, reminding him just what conversation was. A scraped knee later, he found his way to a small park and his favorite swing, right at the field’s edge.

Painful pops and cracks rattled from his joints as he sat heavily, exhausted. He grabbed clumsily with one hand at the chain to keep from falling when the swing twisted dangerously from his momentum, his shoes scraping for support in the hard sand. Not even waiting to settle, his trembling fingers tore into the plastic wrap guarding his half-squashed prize.

The sandwich that had always seemed dull and dry when given to Dudley now smelled divine. So much so that the first trickle of flavor to his senses had him gagging, his stomach cramping as it tried to expel contents that weren’t there. Doubled over, he waited patiently, his body heaving erratically. He couldn’t hear the disapproving tones from the neighboring houses where people were sitting on their porches and leaning out windows, but he could feel their eyes boring into him. They resented his presence. His scruffy appearance and torn clothes clashed with their manicured lawns and perfect ideals of family. Harry had stopped caring after the first week of menacing stares. They were nothing. Voldemort would see to that.

Once the spasms had subsided and he had enough energy to move his heavy arm, he stiffly picked his dinner up from where it had fallen. "Sandwich indeed." Harry whispered. Shakily he blew away the grains of sand. He was lucky that the wrapping had salvaged most of it, not that a mouthful of dirt bothered him at this point. With deliberately slow bites followed by long bouts of nausea, he was able to eat two of the quarters without throwing them back up. The other two he carefully wrapped again just in case he wasn’t so lucky tomorrow. His stomach was left churning unpleasantly from the rich food. He would have preferred the half of grapefruit that was normally his meal for the day, but boys who woke the house screaming from nightmares only got a quarter. And when nightmares were actually visions of evil wizards, they didn’t get to eat for two days. To Harry’s misfortune, Voldemort had been having a very busy week.

Tom seemed rather jovial, if his newfound enthusiasm for torture had anything to say about it. He must have realized he could break into Harry’s dreams again. Or maybe he had finally discovered a way to defeat the wizarding world. Harry slumped over in the swing, rocking back and forth idly as he stared at the indistinct patterns he made in the sand. It really wouldn’t matter much longer what Voldemort did. Not to him anyways. The world would have to find itself another hero… not that they took good care of them, anyways. Did they even deserve a hero? Couldn’t they even make an effort to help? Their false light blinded them to the truth and none bothered to look beyond and it was so frustrating because they kept casting him aside and pleading for the impossible from him all at the same time and they wouldn’t even try.

He crumpled, his body caving in as a trill of coolness shuddered through him. Darkness had been calling to him, more persistently as each day passed. No, it wouldn’t be much longer now. The small kindness from Aunt Petunia was too little, too late.

*******

He hadn’t realized he'd drifted until he awoke with a start and nearly fell off the swing.

Well, shit.

The first blow sent him tumbling backwards, his glasses lost somewhere in the grass. He hit the ground with a jarring thud that stole his breath away. Laughter exploded out of his heaving lungs in hysterical bursts.

The bitch had kicked him. Magic wasn’t necessary; he was a bloody punching bag even for full-grown wizards.

Grunting, he pulled himself to his feet, his wand ready in his shaking hand. It immediately fell when a Crucio Curse was cast from vindictive lips. He fell with it, pain slashing through his body like shards of burning glass. There was something... something he was supposed to do… flames licked at his thoughts and tore through his flesh, addling his mind.

Beneath his screams, he summoned a strength that should have been lost after weeks of abuse and began to fortify his mental shields to protect himself from the pain. It had become instinctual that summer; his Occlumency training had finally started to pay off with his newfound focus. He staved the burning fire from his brain but was unable to direct his convulsing limbs to block the kicks sent to his midsection. Sheltering his brittle torso the best he could, he waited it out in a far away part of his mind.

Well, it was his own fault, wasn’t it? He hadn’t taken shelter in the field like he had done every other night. If he wanted to be completely honest, he shouldn’t have even left the safety of the wards in his condition. But hell, if he had stayed for another round of Vernon’s ‘beating the strangeness out’, there would be nothing left for the Death Eaters leering down at him.

He focused behind their ghastly forms to where the stars sparkled above. Like a beautiful jewel, the moon shone sharp and entrancing against the pitch-black sky. It would probably be the last time he ever saw that light again. Harry watched it until a familiar witch stepped forward and blocked his view, her lifeless eyes searing from behind her tangle of hair.

Vertigo hit him as he was dragged to his feet by a fist in his hair, the world spinning along with his stomach and its new contents. He blearily noticed that someone had taken his wand. Bellatrix. Harry swayed on his feet as he tried to understand whatever the hell she was saying. He hadn’t been able to hear well since Vernon had cuffed him on the head before leaving for work that morning and now strange, inhuman voices from somewhere within were crowding him, confusing him all the more.

Gods, he had been so stupid! So intent on escaping Vernon, he had completely forgotten the main reason he had been at Privet Drive; to be as far away from Voldemort as possible. Now he’d get his wand. Fuck, he’d have free reign to his blood! Whatever immortality spells Voldemort had lost up in Harry’s body that fateful night would now be available to the psycho. But... what else was there for him? Did they expect him to do it all alone? Why hadn’t they ever checked up on him? They were supposed to know he wasn’t safe. They were supposed to care.

Hissing with emotion — or had he sworn in parseltongue? It was hard to keep it straight anymore — he focused as his chin was roughly forced up. Unfortunately the ringing in his ears did nothing for the smell of rotting teeth. Harry unconsciously wrinkled his nose and gave Bellatrix a deadly glare before letting his eyes search through the crowd of Death Eaters. They had definitely been prepared for him. Quantity over quality seemed to be the epitome of Voldemort’s tactics now days. Snape shouldn’t be there; he was kept for potions, not fieldwork... but who knows? Hell, everyone else seemed to be there, why not Severus? He was powerful after all. Would he be able to help now? It seemed pointless at this point… but as long as Voldemort didn’t get his corpse—.

The backhand to his face reminded him Bellatrix didn’t like to be ignored. She really was annoying… incomprehensibly so… because he hated her, right?

His mind felt heavy, his thoughts not quite clear. It had been like that for a while now. Memories would slip away, faces fading in and out. Sadness hovered at the edge, a maddened insanity close behind it. It was horrifying every time he delved too deep, so he had stopped and it was only getting worse, clawing at the back of his eyes, whispering into his ears in an unrecognizable language as it begged for attention. But he knew the gist of the roar in his ears right now, frantic and encouraging. Had he created friends to cheer him on? He dismissed logic and focused on the mangled voices… and yes! Power was there! He grasped at it desperately, eyes closing as it channeled through him.

The world shook.

Harry opened his eyes when he felt the hands restraining him release and he scrambled forward, tripping over the fallen Death Eaters and stumbling towards the field. He didn’t have a plan, and he knew it was futile, but he ran nonetheless because he couldn’t let them have his body. His goal was the Dursley’s house. His limbs were breaking, his body literally falling apart with each impossible stride, but it was ok because he couldn’t feel the pain. All he had to do was get inside the house and the Death Eaters couldn’t get him and then he would die but Voldemort wouldn’t win through him and even the smallest victory was worth everything at this point. The voices screamed in agreement.

The blast threw him heavily to the ground a mere foot from the sheltering grass. He didn’t get up. The startled eyes of his cousin, wide with terror, reached for him from the dark depths of the field. A bag of sweets and fruit was scattered on the ground with two thermoses resting by Dudley’s knees; he had brought them to share. The voices were begging him to move, grasping at him, tugging at his motionless body but his face was set and grim. The last of his power, the very last, and he used it to hide the scene before him from the approaching Death Eaters.

The desperate voices were replaced with enraged shouts and fists. The world tilted again as he was shoved forward and forced to hold on to a large, rusted hubcap along with the rest of the Death Eaters. He blinked in confusion for a moment until he felt the familiar pull in his navel caused by a portkey.

No one was coming to help. He was alone again… always.

The world stopped spinning with a jolt of gray and damp. His knees gave way, plummeting him to the stone floor where his head crashed painfully. If he ever woke up again that was probably going to hurt, he thought dully as the flashing lights behind his eyes faded to darkness and blessed silence.
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Awakening To the Dream