THE DEVIL'S WHITE KNIGHT→h.p

chapter 5

Harry didn't wake until late the next morning, his stomach churning, body feeling ravaged by the violent nightmare. It had been a long, long time since it had been bad enough for uncontrolled magic, and everything in him ached. Scrubbing where his scar would have been, he flung his legs over the side of the bed and rose, wincing at the ache in his bones.

It used to be a running joke between himself and his friends—the way they walked round like they were ninety years older than they really were. Ron with the scars from the Department of Mysteries, Hermione with a hex to the hip that never properly healed. And Harry with...well. Everything he'd gone through.

Now he was in a body that hadn't been ravaged by war and survival, but the memories were enough to drag him back to that old, familiar ache. Instead of heading down, Harry began to roam round the room, glancing at all the things he should have remembered—but didn't. He ran his fingers over a couple of the old Hogwarts photos, passing by a bookshelf crammed with old tomes that no one had bothered to get rid of. He had several Potions books, which meant maybe he hadn't been as rubbish this time round. Or at the very least, hadn't had Snape as a professor.

He was just flicking through another, old photo album when there was a soft knock on the door, and a bleary-eyed James Potter poked his head round. "Alright, Harry?"

Harry pushed the album onto the cluttered desk and took a few steps closer to his dad. "Yeah. I er...assume you heard about last night." The evidence of the magic had been all-but repaired, though there were a few things still in disarray.

"Sirius and Regulus explained it to me," James said, walking fully into the room. He sighed, then sat down on the edge of Harry's bed. "Does that happen a lot?"

"It used to," Harry said, pulling out the desk chair and lowering himself onto the edge of it. "It's been a while since it was that bad though, I'm not sure what triggered it."

"Are they dreams or...?"

Harry shrugged. "It's a mixture of dreams and memories," Harry said. "The medi-witch I was seeing said that it's my subconscious trying to work through all the trauma, so it'll mix together fantasy and reality. Sort of...make me deal with my fears. Things that could have been, things that were almost. Things that did happen but my mind didn't want to deal with."

"Like losing people," James put in.

Harry nodded, feeling his throat go a bit thick. "Cedric, mostly. Because I was right there and I asked him to..." He stopped and took a breath, remind himself Cedric was very much alive now. "Well him. And Sirius. Sirius died because of me. I was reckless, made a mistake. He came after me and it all went to hell."

"He's not dead," James reminded him, and Harry gave him a weak smile.

"I know. I know he's not. He's right down the hall and I could go over there right now and touch his shoulder and remind myself he isn't gone. But..." Harry hesitated for a second. "But it wasn't less real for me. It's why I want to find Hermione, see if we can work out why she left me with...with everything. All of this."

"Do you think," James said slowly, "she might have wanted you to retain the memories as a gift? To better appreciate having everyone alive and well?"

Harry scrubbed at his face and glanced round for his glasses, but didn't get up for them. "Suppose that could be it. But it leaves a serious question of morality. Because I wake up in your son's body—in his life, but with my memories. So you're missing a child and I'm still..." Harry trailed off and shrugged. "Suffering."

James' face flinched a little, and he curled his fists over his knees tightly. "I've been talking this over a lot and we're not so sure it's a good idea you pursue that Granger girl."