Prisoner 63

Into The Night

Harry awoke with a start.

He promptly fell out of the bed, landing on the stone floor with an ungrateful thud, cracking his head on the leg of the bedside table as he went down. His head spun for a few moments as he lay there, in shock, pain ricochetting through his skull. He whimpered softly as he got to his hands and knees, peeking over the edge of the bed to see that the commotion hadn't woken Draco up. He was in a deep sleep, that much was for sure, and he deserved it.

Harry sighed, letting himself fall backwards onto his knees. He'd been having that dream for the past few nights now, walking down those lonely, dark corridors, the smell of rotting flesh filling his nostrils and making him cough. His stomach turned even at the thought of it. It seemed every time, the body lying in that bed became more and more rotted, more and more decrepit, skin sinking into bone, blood drying and turning black, the blond hair that had been cut off blowing away in the breeze of the open window.

Tears pricked at his eyes as he stood up. He tried to wipe them away with a hand but they only came back twice as hard, and he let out a sob that he stifled with a fist before seeing a door leading out of the room. He walked towards it, stepping outside into the dark corridor, leaning against the closed door.

His sobs echoed around the hall. He knew that body - he knew who it was, but how could he tell him? How could he tell Draco? He couldn't, he didn't want to make Draco sad. He didn't want to make Draco cry. So instead he cried.

"What are you crying about, boy?" A voice sounded from next to him. Harry jumped wildly, looking around for the source of the voice, but seeing only darkness. "Over here, you daft thing."

Harry turned, seeing that the voice came from one of those moving pictures. This one was of a woven tapestry - a man with white hair and one white eye sneered down at him. "What is so terrible to make you cry like that?"

"I-" Harry stuttered out, voice choked. "Something bad happened."

"What was it?"

"A dream," Harry murmured, sniffling miserably and wiping his soaked cheeks with a sleeve.

"A dream? Now, don't be silly, child. Dreams aren't necessarily reality," the white haired man replied, although his expression softened. "Now, get back to bed. It's very late."

Harry gave a tired nod. His sense of time had been thrown lately - constantly being alert and on the run did that. Nights were dangerous, so being awake was a must. Harry remembered so many nights were both were too scared to fall asleep, almost too tired to fall asleep, so instead they lay awake in silence. The days were hectic, trying to remain unseen and find a new shelter to stop that evening.

Harry wandered back into the room, glancing over to Draco. He was still asleep, having not even stirred slightly. His white blond hair was messy and shadowed his forehead, dark lashes spread across his cheeks, lips parted as he breathed slowly. He looked around the rest of the room through the dark, seeing it was a small and simple place.

Two beds, a rug, and a fireplace. A window was on either side of the hearth, showing only darkness from the night outside. He let himself fall down on the rug in front of the fireplace, stretching his legs out in front of him and taking off his glasses, rubbing his eyes. He released a shaky breath he hadn't realised he was holding in, feeling suddenly incredibly lost.

What was there to do now? They'd made it to safety, but for how long? Those men were ruthless, chasing them constantly, trying to murder both of them. Would this place really be enough to stop them in their tracks? Somehow Harry doubted it.

He stared into the dark hearth and narrowed his eyes, watching as a spark flew from the logs, before steadily spreading into a warm, crackling fire. It lit up the small circle around him, chasing away the dark, and yet the warmth did nothing to remove the chill that still lingered in his bones.