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The streetlamp behind Harry’s eyelids lit his brain in a dull orange glow as he groaned and twisted around his sheets again, burrowing into their grey darkness. There’d been a motorbike in his dream -- a giant shaggy haired monster but he hadn’t been scared -- a boy with ginger hair who kept riding around on a giant chess piece horse -- a girl with bushy hair who’s torso was a stack of books --maybe she’d just been clutching a pile of them to her chest-- a smirking blond boy who’d made a tiny Uncle Vernon perch on his forearm and bring a giant bag of sweets-- an old spindly man with a beard to his feet that had done that old trick kids used to play in the schoolyard: Up top, down low, too slow! There’d been green smoke and friendship and freedom , it wasn’t a good dream but he knew it was better than here -- Stop that! Don’t start thinking, you’ll wake up… I don’t want to wake up yet ---
Harry’s eyelashes fluttered on the old grey duvet in the crowded second bedroom that had once belonged to Dudley. The streetlight blared in through the first story window, bathing the room in shadows and orange light. Shivering he stumbled over to the window to crack it open and breathe in the cold night’s air. What time was it? Witching hour? Harry’s mouth slipped into a lopsided grin and he raised a hand to stifle a chuckle. Was it midnight like when they’d trail up the long stone stairs to Astronomy class? He looked up at the awkward angle past the top frame of the window to try and glimpse the sky, his eyes strained against the light but saw nothing but the dazed stars in his vision. Astronomy class? It felt more like a dream every time he woke up. Harry looked down to find his hands shaking - Please let it not be a dream. He dug his fingers into his bony elbows as he pressed his legs against the cold radiator, knobbly knees knocking against the metal ridges. Please, God, Dumbledore , let it not be a dream.
A sharp knock came at his cupboard door -- He spun around, fear coursing through him to look at the door of his bedroom. The whitewashed wood seemed to shrink and slant, then the walls came crashing in, shrinking around him until he was cradled in their claustrophobic grip. A voice came through the wood, and he screwed up his eyes, tucking his head to his knees-
-Although he could tell it was daylight, he kept his eyes shut tight.
‘It was a dream,’ he told himself firmly. ‘I dreamed a giant called Hagrid came to tell me I was going to a school for wizards. When I open my eyes I’ll be at home in my cupboard.’
There came the loud tapping noise again.
‘And there’s Aunt Petunia knocking on the door,’ Harry thought, his heart sinking. But he still didn’t open his eyes. It had been such a good dream.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
‘All right,’ Harry mumbled, ‘I’m getting up.’
As he opened his eyes there was a flash of green light, the door he was hiding behind wasn’t a door at all, but an old gravestone. A cold voice washed over him: “ You’re a coward boy, you’re going to die hiding just like your mother and father before you.”
He was shaking. Unable to move, Harry pressed closer up against the cold stone, trying to block the metallic scent of blood that dripped from his forearm, from Cedric’s head where it had cracked against the ground when he fell - Cedric -
It was a blinding summer day, another day of drought, and he was standing alone opposite Dudley and his gang on the old school yard. The snakes in the snakes-and-ladders games painted onto the tarmac below their feet seemed to writhe and hiss- but maybe it was only the heat rolling off everything.
‘I heard you last night,’ said Dudley breathlessly. ‘Talking in your sleep. Moaning .’
‘What d’you mean?’ Harry said again, but there was a cold, plunging sensation in his stomach.
‘“Don’t kill Cedric! Don’t kill Cedric!” Who’s Cedric – your boyfriend?’
‘I – you’re lying,’ said Harry automatically. But his mouth had gone dry.
‘“Dad! Help me, Dad! He’s going to kill me, Dad! Boo hoo!”’
‘Shut up,’ said Harry quietly. ‘Shut up, Dudley, I’m gonna kill you!’
‘“Come and help me, Dad! Mum, come and help me! He’s killed Cedric! Dad, help me! He’s going to –” Don’t you point that thing at me!’
Suddenly Harry was holding the elder wand, long and knobbly in his shaking hand. Dudley had a long silver beard and was pressed up against the ramparts of the astronomy tower.
“ Please,” he said, “Please.”
“How could you leave me there all those years?!” He screamed, he was cracking the stone under his feet as he stomped, he was fifteen and having a tantrum, he was--
“It’s okay Harry,” Dumbledore said as the stone gave out from under him.
No, it’s not.
He felt soft sheets beneath him, his fists balled into the fabric. Harry blinked his eyes awake in his bedroom. His laptop read: 5:45am across the room on its familiar blue screen - it had all been a dream, well it hadn’t but- he was here now.
He sat up slowly, paying close attention to his senses like the healer had told him to do. Toes on the Chudley Cannons rug beneath his feet that Ron had got him for his twenty-third birthday, his square framed glasses on his bedside table, the Holyhead Harpies poster that Ginny had charmed to make herself wink in, that LonelyPlanet book on Australia that Hermione wanted him to read this month. He tucked his chin to his knees. He was home, safe. Harry felt like he could see his younger selves out of the corner of his eye and he beckoned them in, let them lay their heads on his lap and cry. We’ll make it, look how far we made it.