Chilled Legacy

Chilled Legacy I

A/N: Yup, this is a weird story. Rated T because I'm not entirely sure were this is headed...Honestly , the worst that can happen is a bit of vulgar language so, just being safe.
2 separate points of view switching between Harry and Draco.

Well, hope you enjoy & please review :)

Chilled Legacy I

Harry dreamt of the Fiendfyre.

Crabbe fell into the dragon's mouth, only now it was made of icy shards instead of flickering flames, still very much as fierce, if not more.

"You're not safe. You're not safe!" Draco screamed at him as they flew out of the room of requirements.

It's the same thing he'd hear every night for the last couple days just before he woke up, each dream different, all revolving around ice. This was the first one Malfoy was in, or that the warning had come from someone other than just the wind. Now the scream was almost deafening, and he woke up with a jolt.

Why wasn't he safe? Safe from what?

Not that it mattered in his groggy state. Once fully alert, Harry brushed it off as another senseless nightmare. Bad dreams were something The Boy Who Lived had more than plenty of after the war.
It had only been a couple months since Voldemort's cold, lifeless body hit the ashy warzone that was Hogwarts' grounds, marking the final victory. That had been enough drama for one school year. Or any school year. Harry decided he'd seen the end of Hogwarts. A celebrity like him—possibly bigger than Merlin—didn't need further magical education to facilitate his future career anyhow.

Luckily, he wasn't alone.

Ron had skipped the rest of his seventh year too, along with Ginny in her sixth. The rest of his undergraduate friends remained at the school. After the battle, the school year was repeated once again due to lack of proper education from the former death eaters running the place. For now, Harry slept in the burrow, taking a well-earned rest from war troubles.
Life was good now.
And what a dream life it was. Most nights he and Ginny would sneak onto the roof of the burrow and fall asleep counting the stars. However, Harry was a bit busy counting the flaming red hairs on her precious head.

Everything was good and beautiful until night began.
Ginny knew of his night terrors. Harry told her all his dreams...except these new ones.
Something about them was different. They weren't like his dreams of the war. A more hyperreal and—at the same time—dubious sensation of the voice was left in his core once they ended.

Not even the soothing touch of his girlfriend could make it better.

"You look horrid," George told him.

Breakfast in the morning was never easy with such restless nights.
Of course, George didn't look any better himself. An unshaven beard and—now permanent—bedhead accompanied the bloodshot eyes and dark circles.

Harry didn't say this. Fred's death had been hard on all of them, but mostly George. Breaking down into a hot mess was part of the healing process.
As was the ex-twin not touching his breakfast—again.
George stood up from the table after the concerned stares of his parents and siblings' became too much. "I'm going back to bed."

The war had taken a toll on all of them, but day by day, things got better. Weasleys stuck together, and Harry had now become a part of them. He didn't want to think about those who'd been left with no one.

Four owls swooped through an open window, slightly startling Harry in his half-dead state.

"The mail's here," Mr. Weasley stated.