The Dream Trilogy Book One: To Dwell On Dreams (A Harry Potter FanFiction)

Chapter Eight

Chapter Eight

"Harry," said the man who could have been James Potter in his late thirties. "Are you okay? You gave us a real fright."  

He swept over to Lily's side, peering over his glasses at Harry who was still sagged on the bed, pillows bunched up behind him. He couldn't think of anything to say, he just goggled at the people who looked like his parents standing in front of him.  

They both looked so...normal. Both in jeans, James still with a travelling cloak on, Lily with chipped green nail varnish and striped, well worn slippers on her feet. James put his arm around the woman that was supposedly his wife, and together they wore looks of concern. 

"I don't know what's going on," said Harry, truthfully.  

Lily turned to James. "I want to call a Healer," she said firmly. "I think he may have been muddled, a Confundus Charm or something." 

James came closer and sat in front of Harry, who couldn't help but curl his legs away, like a scared animal shying away from a curious onlooker. He could tell his breathing was ragged but he couldn't seem to slow it down. "Are you okay mate?" the man asked sympathetically.  

No, was the simple answer to that. Someone, or more than one someone, was tormenting him with this make-believe world. But why? He'd been so preoccupied with the how, he hadn't until this moment stopped to consider why someone would do this to him? For fun? To watch him suffer? Harry was sure Voldemort would enjoy anything that upset him. But surely his real life was upsetting enough, what with his parents actually being dead and now Sirius under threat of having his soul sucked from him for a crime he didn't commit. Why would someone give him this fiction?  

"I don't know," he said after a few moments passed. "I feel okay, bit of a headache. Things are just a bit hazy." 

James looked up at Lily. "He asked me who I was, where we were, then told me I was dead," she said, rather deadpan and eyes locked on Harry. 

James turned back to Harry with real concern. "Memory loss?" he said, reaching to touch Harry's face. 

But that was too much for Harry. He jerked back, scuttling off the bed, back into the corner he'd barricaded himself into before. "Don't touch me," he said, almost fearful. 

James' face didn't show much emotion, but he stayed looking at Harry for a good while. "Dr Jaisun," he said, before standing and turning to Lily. It was like Harry was no longer in the room. "He was the Healer we got when Sarah came down with Spattergroit. He'll be discreet." 

Harry watched them defensively as they moved to face him. "Is that okay Harry," said Lily in a calm tone, like she was dealing with someone unstable. "If the Healer comes and takes a look at you?" 

Harry didn't know what else to say. So he nodded. "Okay," he said. Who knew? Maybe this doctor would be able to actually give him some answers. 

James took Lily's hand. "I think you should get some rest," he suggested as they backed up towards the door. "Sleep might clear things up a bit for you." 

Harry doubted that very much, unless this was all some sort of bad dream, but he nodded again anyway, and they slipped out and closed the door. 

He let go a heavy breath, stunned. All those years, fantasising about his mum and dad, what they would be like. Until Hagrid was kind enough to contact their school friends and get all those old photos, Harry hadn't even been sure what they'd really looked like. He closed his eyelids and rested his fingers on them. The woman's eyes had been green.  

"You look just like your dad," people had always told him. "Except for your eyes. You have your mother's eyes." They'd been right.