Mara's Magic

mara's dream with james

I woke up, confused as to where I was. The room was completely white and so was the bed I woke up in. There was a curtain waiting to be closed around me, but no one else in the room. I couldn't even spot a door. 

Until it opened. 

A boy about probably a few years older than me with dark, messy hair and round glasses walked in, a soft smile on his lips. He looked so familiar, like I knew him. And frankly, he looked like an older version of Harry. Had I been unconscious for that long? The last thing I remembered was being at Hogwarts. 

"Hey kid," he said, coming to sit on my bed next to me. "How are you doing?"

"Good," I replied hesitantly.

"Good," he said with a nod. He held my hand closest to him in his, playing with my fingers like I did so often with Oliver. "You've grown up."

"I'm sorry?" I asked, the statement catching me so off guard I swore I lost my breath.

"You've grown up." He looked back up at me and when I saw his light hazel eyes, I knew he wasn't Harry. He was James. 

"Well, the last time you saw me I was four," I replied, guessing what exactly the truth was. I knew that I was with Sirius and Remus when Dad died, so that must've meant that I was with James too. 

"Right," he nodded. "But, I've been able to watch you grow up. You know, from up here."

"Up here?" I asked. 

"Heaven," he admitted. "You've done great things. You're a wonderful person, and I really want to thank you for helping Harry. He loves you, really."

"Of course, he's always been like my baby brother," I replied. 

"Even as kids you were protective," he commented, looking like he was a bit lost in a memory. He chuckled softly. "You wouldn't let Sirius hold him for a time because once while he was holding him he started crying. And once, Lily showed you how to check the temperature of the bottle on your wrist, so you started doing that to everything Harry ate."

"Instinct, I suppose," I replied. He shook his head, his brows furrowing. 

"More than that," he said, softer than I expected.

"What?"

"It's more than that. It's not just that sisterly instinct in you, it's - it's something else entirely. Something dangerous," he told me.

"Dangerous? What are you talking about?" I asked quickly, but all he did was squeeze my hand. 

"You're waking up now. You'll be alright, I promise," he said.

"James, what are you talking about? What's going on?" 

I woke up, confused as to where I was. A curtain was drawn around my bed, but it wasn't white, it was tan. I looked down at the sheets, seeing that they were a slightly discolored white, and spotted a light brown compression bandaged wrapped securely around my wrist. As I sat up, I felt my shoulder rubbing against a strip of gauze and as I continued to try to stand, I noticed that my ribs were also wrapped in it. I propped myself up against the bed as I scooted towards the side stand that had about a million different vials sitting on it. I pulled the drawer open and found the mirror that Madam Pomfrey had gotten out for me when I was in here only a few weeks prior, raising it to see what damage I had to my head and face.

I expected bandages and blood and scratches. I didn't get that.

I looked normal.

There was nothing other than the scars from my werewolf attack.