Less Thinking, More Kissing

Part 5: Midnight Memories

"Harry... you could have saved me, y'know," says a ghastly pale figure, his back to me.

"I-I'm sorry. I never thought tha-"

"It's all your fault that I'm dead," the figure, with broad shoulders and a familiar voice, begins walking away. Every step he takes echos in the vast darkness surrounding us.

"No, no... Stop. Wait!," I try running to him, but it's as if I've been petrified again and I can't move. "Please, don't go!"

"You didn't even try, did you?" the figure, Cedric, looks over his shoulder. "You probably wanted me to die." His face holds no emotion, but his words cut through me like daggers. I know what's going to happen; I see this death nearly every night. I want to scream, I want to warn him of what's coming... but my words are lost to the darkness around us. Why can't he just hear me? Please, hear me.

"Kill the spare," says a man that appears to my right, clutching my shoulder. I can feel myself crying. I cry from rage, from devastation, from terror - from pure hatred.

"Don't kill him! Please..." I turn and beg Voldemort to not kill Cedric. I fall to my knees, clutching the robes of the man that has already killed so many, all because of me, "Just kill me instead. Please, please, please," I look up and meet Voldemort's red and stoney eyes, "Kill me. KILL ME!" Voldemort smiles.

"It's already been done," he whispers and I hear Cedric's body limply thud to the ground, dead in its tracks.

"Harry," says a voice above me. I feel someone's hands grasping my shoulders and my stomach drops. Voldemort. My eyes snap open, but the world is blurry without my glasses. The whitish figure grasping my shoulders tightens its grip as I start to fight against it.

"YOU KILLED HIM!" I rasp. My throat is dry and feels like someone has been trying to tear my vocal cords out all night.

"Woah, woah, woah. Look, it's me," says the voice, slightly shaking my shoulders to grab my attention. I feel the cool metal rims of my glasses being shoved over my eyes and the world instantly becomes clearer. I'm able to focus on a worried blond boy leaning over me. For the first time in my life, I'm grateful to see Draco Malfoy.

"Harry," Draco's fingers gently rest on the rims of my glasses, brushing against my temples. I look at his face and he looks back at me, a frightened expression clouding his features. I feel like my lungs will collapse from my shallow, irregular breathing. A cold sweat coats my skin as silent, hot tears wet my cheeks. My heart's still pounding against my chest.

"It was only a dream," he whispers. "Just a dream." His breathing is slightly labored after having to fight off my maddened panic. My hands reach for something to hold onto, something to make sure this is real. They find the soft silk of Draco's pyjama sleeves and grip it tightly. Draco's here. He's real. This is real. I look around and gather my surroundings: a low burning fire, empty tea cups on a coffee table, a large curtained bed across the room. Draco's bedroom.

"I... I..." Words linger on the tip of my tongue, but never reach my lips. My stomach drops. Cedric. My eyes clench shut to keep from filling with tears again, "I'm sorry."

"Don't be," Draco says. I realize that I'm still gripping his expensive night shirt and let go.

"I'm sorry..." I repeat, too dazed to say much else.

"Will you stop apologizing, Harry?" he sighs, more relieved than genuinely annoyed. He releases my glasses and I sit up, leaning back against the arm of the couch. Draco taps my legs, so I cross them to make room. He sits on the couch in front of me and my hand massages the dull throbbing on my forehead.