Mirror Tricks

02/? - Reunited Nigtmares

Harry lay on his back on the sun-dappled grass, letting alternate waves of light and shadow play across his face, with his head resting on his arms. He sighed slowly and closed his eyes. He could hear the rumbling of near-by traffic, muted by the buildings and trees in between. This little patch of peace lay in the centre of the square of houses that made up Grimmauld Place. It was as far as he was allowed to wander from the house on his own, and after four days with the comings and goings at Number 12, he longed for the relative quiet of this, his temporary sanctuary.

The late summer sun was sultry and irritating in the city, no breeze reaching down in between the terraced houses. Harry found himself longing for Hogwarts again. It was an ache he resolutely concentrated on, trying to place it instead of his ache for Sirius.

The heat heightened his sense of urgency and he had to consciously fight the urge to fidget. Harry could feel the helpless anger rise in him again. He needed to be doing something, anything. He had no homework to do this summer because of his O.W.Ls, and he had read and re-read every book he owned. The Daily Prophet had reported nothing out of the ordinary since its original statement of Voldemort's return and the happenings at the Ministry back at the beginning of the summer.

Harry's eyes flickered open at the sound of a car entering the road into the Place. It stopped and he could hear the doors open and close and would-be cheery voices made limp by the heat. He closed his eyes again and tried to relax. He couldn't sleep at night because he was so tense.

"Hey there, lazy bones."

Harry opened an eye and squinted up at the silhouetted figure above him.

"Hey, H'mione." He sat up and hugged his knees to himself as she slowly sat down next to him. Harry reminded himself that she still hadn't recovered fully from the night at the Ministry. He wondered how many potions a day was she down to now? Another thing he was guilty of. He desperately didn't want to get his friends hurt ever again.

"It's good to see you." Harry dragged himself back and was surprised to find how much he meant it.

She smiled.

"Missed you too."

"How was your holiday?"

Hermione rolled her eyes.

"A nightmare! It was so hot we couldn't do anything. My Mum got heatstroke and we had to stay indoors. I managed to catch up on some reading, though."

Harry smiled inwardly, severely doubting that Hermione had anything to 'catch up on'.

"Yeah, me too."

"How've you been?"

He could feel her eyes watching him intently without even looking.

"I'm OK, things're strange, though," he admitted.

"I'll bet. Are you sure you're OK? I mean, it's been a rough couple of months, and-"

"It's all right, 'Mione, you don't have to tiptoe around me."

"I just wanted to make sure. Last time...last time you got angry, it was scary. I don't like seeing you unhappy, and I know there's nothing I can do to make it any better-" she was speaking very quickly.

"No," he cut her off. "You and Ron have made it better. I'm sorry for being such an idiot."

He still wasn't looking at her.

"Hey, that's OK." He could hear the smile in her voice. "We're kind of used to it by now."

"No, I mean it. It's my fault you and Ron were hurt, and Ginny, Luna and Neville too. It's my fault that-"

He couldn't finish that sentence. Sirius Sirius Sirius Sirius Sirius Sirius.

She put her arm around him and he laid his head on her shoulder, shrewdly sensing his need for contact. She absently stroked his hair and waited.

"It's weird you know," he began at last.

"What?" she murmured.

"Being here...without him."

This was the first time Hermione had heard him voluntarily talk about Sirius since the events at the Department of Mysteries.

"It must be."

"He left me Grimmauld Place in his will. It was awful, seeing him there, living, breathing....laughing."

"Seeing him?" Hermione inwardly cursed her curiosity as she felt him tense against her. "Sorry, Harry. I've just never heard of a wizarding will before. I'd just assumed they were the same as Muggle ones."

He relaxed again.

"It's all right. I just can't seem to forget about him, not even for a second. It won't go away."

"It's to be expected, Harry," she said when he paused. "You have suffered a great loss. I know how important Sirius was to you."

"You didn't like him, though," he grated before he thought. He felt her tense.

"Hey, that's not fair, Harry," she squeezed his neck in reproach. "I did like him. I liked him a lot. Especially because he made you so happy."

He closed his eyes as if in sudden pain. He was an idiot.

"I know. I'm sorry, I didn't mean it. I can't help snapping at people at the moment,"

Hermione turned to face Harry square on, noticing how pale he looked despite his tan, dark smudges beneath his green eyes.

"People understand, Harry. We're here for you, when you want us."

His lips twitched in a slight smile.

"Thanks, Hermione. I do know, it's just hard, sometimes."

She squeezed his shoulder again and drew him into a hug. He sighed as he relaxed, and held her tightly. It felt good to touch someone, to hold and to be held. His childhood hadn't exactly featured much physical contact, save the odd vicious shake from Uncle Vernon, or random abuse from Dudley. Even this had disappeared in the last weeks at Privet Drive, for which Harry was profoundly grateful.

Hermione relished the hug. She felt Harry had been drifting recently. His few letters had been necessarily vague but she sensed how deeply unhappy he was. She wished there was something she could do to ease his pain and his fear. She found herself stroking his back, her fingers tracing his spine through his t-shirt. Harry moved his head back so their cheeks rested against each other, and Hermione felt the dampness of tears.

"Harry."

She pulled away, her hands to either side of his face, brushing his untidy hair out of his eyes. His arms were still around her shoulders. She felt him catch his breath as she wiped away a tear with her thumb. He blinked, leaned forward, and she forgot completely what she had been about to say.

For an instant Hermione stiffened, then relaxed into the kiss. She couldn't deny that she hadn't thought about kissing Harry, she had just always assumed that she would end up kissing Ron first. But this felt so good; tingles running through her body and Harry's hands in her hair.

Her hair was silky in his hands, her body warm against his. The feel of her set him on fire. Her hands had snaked around the back of his head as she kissed him back, her fingers massaging his neck, wanting him. She wanted him. The realisation almost made him start.

They drew away a little breathlessly and stared at each other, both pairs of eyes wide and surprised.

"I'm sorry," Hermione stammered. "I shouldn't have taken advantage..."

"I kissed you," Harry pointed out, a little dazed.

She smiled tremulously.

"Wow, Hermione," Harry breathed out explosively. "I didn't know you had that in you. Did you mean it?"

"Did you?"

He nodded. "I think so."

She smiled widely. "Me too."

"I always thought you and Ron..."

"So did I. But you, you're....different," she finished lamely.

He laughed quietly, and it was such a relief to hear such a light sound coming from him that Hermione almost threw herself into his arms. Instead she squeezed his hand, in a supportive manner, she hoped.

Harry put his arm around her and they lay back down in the grass, side by side, both still breathing a little heavily, watching the sun as it cooled and turned the Place orange.

"What happens now?" Harry asked.

"Well, in a minute Mrs. Weasley will be shouting at us to come in for dinner."

"No," he said, flicking her hair into her face. "I mean you and me?"

"I guess we should tell Ron."

"Can't we, you know, just wait a bit? See what happens."

"All right," she said, purposefully lightly, trying to hide her disappointment.

"Harry! Hermione!" Mrs. Weasley's voice called from the doorstep to Number 12.

Neither of them moved for a moment.

"We'd better go in."

"Yes," Hermione agreed, still not moving.

"C'mon, lazy bones," Harry said, hauling her to her feet. She laughed, dusted off her jeans and straightened her wavy hair. They walked out of the garden and back towards the house, their hands by their sides, not quite touching.

~*~

Gasping violently, Harry sat up in bed, trying desperately to swallow the scream that surfaced harshly in his throat. Sweat dripped off him, and he ached all over as if he had just played a three-hour Quidditch match.

A snuffling snort from the next bed made him start and he physically jumped, but Ron merely rolled over and continued to snore.

Still breathing heavily, Harry bolted from the room without even bothering to look for his glasses. He burst into the bathroom, without time to turn on the light or close the door, and vomited wrenchingly into the toilet. Four further tearing retches left him weak and shaking, leaning back against the wall in the dark. He wiped a trembling hand across his mouth, coughing feebly.

He closed his eyes and the images that had appeared in his dreams assaulted him again. Oppressive and smothering darkness, screams and shouting, cold misting breath and urgent running footsteps tripping over themselves in a desperate effort to get away. He could still taste acrid smoke on the roof of his mouth and feel coarse gravel scoring his knees and hands as he had fallen.

Harry didn't know what to do. He hadn't seen anything to identify the people who were being chased and tortured, he only knew he had been with them. The frantic fear was still with him as he sat in the darkened silence of the bathroom, the tiles cold against his back and feet. What did it mean? The memory was fading now, the figures shifting back into the darkness they had come from.

Was it real?

Was someone in trouble?

Was this the same as when Mr. Weasley was attacked outside the Department of Mysteries?

The pauses between his thoughts seemed to take an age. Was this the same as last time? Had Voldemort finally made his move? But something was different this time, something vital was missing. He bitterly remembered how real it had felt when he had seen Sirius being tortured by Voldemort.

Harry got unsteadily to his feet, flushed the toilet and bent over the sink, washing out his mouth and his face with cold water. He braced his hands against the sides of the sink and stared at his wet reflection in the mirror. His hair was spiked up from running his hands through it, baring his face and his scar. His face had long since lost its boyish cast, his jaw well defined. Harry was reminded once more of his father from the images he had seen in Snape's Penseive. He hoped he didn't look that arrogant to other people, and wondered for the first time if there was any truth in Snape's opinion of him.

Dumbledore's Golden Boy.

He scrubbed a hand across his face in irritation. He needed to talk to someone. With a guilty twinge he thought first of Hermione. They had been overly friendly and cordial since they had kissed two days ago, and not a little strained. Ron, being Ron, had not noticed, though Harry was almost certain Ginny had. He didn't regret kissing Hermione, in fact he wanted very much to do it again, but his guilt over Ron prevented him.

No, damn it, he thought, frustrated. There was nothing that should stop him from... Stop him from what? He thought furiously. There was nothing between Ron and Hermione, and if he felt anything for her then he should say so, and not leave her hanging on after him.

But what are you doing, Harry? He shook his head. Exactly the same thing. I need to talk to her, and soon. Tomorrow, he promised himself. Yeah, right.

He walked slowly back to the room he shared with Ron. His room, he reminded himself. His house. Mrs. Weasley had pointed out that Harry could have any room in the house he wanted now, but Harry couldn't bring himself to even explore. He hadn't been in any room except the kitchen and lounge downstairs, and his bedroom. And especially not the drawing room upstairs.

His feet dragged on the floor and he stopped outside his bedroom door, letting the silence of the dark house wash over him, relax him so he could sleep again.

"Harry."

Harry whirled in shock, pressing himself against the wall and reaching for his wand in a pocket that wasn't there.

"Hey, sorry."

"Ginny!" he exclaimed in surprise, seeing her sitting on the stairs above him. "What're you doing up?"

"Couldn't sleep. Are you all right? You look a little spooked."

"Yeah. Nightmare."

"Oh. Not a real one?"

"No... I don't think so."

"Want to talk about it?"

"No. Yes," he corrected himself immediately.

Ginny came down the stairs and stood before him, her light pyjamas open at the neck and her red hair sleep-tousled.

"Let's go downstairs," she suggested. "I can make cocoa if you like?"

Harry smiled in spite of himself. His dream felt very far away now.

"Sure, sounds great."

"I wouldn't bet on it. I can burn water!"

Harry chuckled quietly and followed her downstairs, both pairs of bare feet treading softly on each step.

They sneaked quickly down the last flight of stairs and stepped down into the chilly kitchen. Ginny went to the stove and pulled a saucepan from the cupboard above it, placing it on the hob. She turned towards the fridge but Harry had beaten her to it and handed her the milk.

"Here you go."

"Cheers."

The hob lit with a burst of magical flame, a deep sultry green tonight, as soon as Ginny poured the milk into the pan. Harry sat on the counter and watched absently as the red-haired girl stirred in cocoa powder and sugar.

"So, what was your nightmare about?" she asked quietly, drawing him out of his introspection.

"It was..."

Scary.

Too real.

Intimidating.

Over.

"...weird."

"So weird it made you throw up?"

"Oh. You heard that?"

"Yeah. Lovely."

"Sorry," he said indignantly. "I couldn't really help it."

Ginny grinned at him to hide her concern and kept stirring.

"There were people running away from something, lots of screaming, and stuff..."

It sounded lame even to his ears. What had he been so frightened of?

"I thought it was real. That the attacks had started. I thought we were all going to die. Horribly."

Ginny turned and opened the cupboard by his head, standing on bare tiptoes.

"Sorry, could you reach...?"

"Yeah, sure." He handed her two multi-coloured mugs.

"What made you think it was real?" She passed him back a mug, full of the steaming, sweet hot chocolate.

He thought for a moment, taking a sip and sighing as the sugar spread warmth through him. He hadn't realised he was cold.

"I could feel the fear. There was smoke; it was burning my eyes and I could taste it. It was cold. It all felt so real, but something wasn't right. I don't know what, though." He looked down at her.

"What woke you up? I thought everyone was asleep."

"It's hard to sleep with Hermione tossing and turning."

Harry laughed shortly.

"Yeah, Ron snores like a train."

"I know, we can sometimes hear him upstairs. He could snore for England." They both laughed.

"Did your scar hurt? In your dream, I mean?" Ginny asked him suddenly.

"No," he realised slowly, shaking his head. "No, it didn't."

"It probably wasn't real then, right?"

"Probably," he agreed, but began to wonder if 'probably' was good enough. "Just your ordinary, run-of-the-mill, shit-scary nightmare."

They laughed briefly and sat sipping cocoa for a moment in silence.

Ginny was looking at him with her head slightly to one side.

"What?" he asked, taking another sip.

"Oh, nothing. I was just wondering what was up with you and Hermione?"

"Nothing," he replied, a little too quickly.

"Right."

"Stop it," he batted at her playfully, trying to suppress a smile. "Go on girl, back to bed before your mother catches you in pyjamas with an older man!"

"Older man?" she laughed raising her eyebrow. "Now there's a thought. Wait 'til I see Dean. I'll tell him you've been propositioning me."

"You dare."

The chocolate was left, forgotten and cold as they talked companionably. A short while later they crept back upstairs to their respective bedrooms, pleasantly sleepy, nightmares forgotten.

Harry got into bed, smiling briefly at a snore from Ron. It took him a while to get back to sleep, and as he drifted drowsily he wondered if Ginny had been telling the truth. He hoped she wasn't suffering from nightmares too.

~*~

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