➳ claude // l.s.

XV

The following morning came rushed to Harry, the boy not even comprehending that it was already the next day, memories of last night being relived over and over again, squirming in his bed, sweat pelting his body. His body was so tired that it felt like he hasn't slept at all and it was like he just went to bed, when in reality he had already slept a few hours.

His exhausted body wriggled around the bed, limbs tangled in sheets, engulfing them tightly, searching for some kind of comfort, but it never came.

He found himself once again in the dark room, hands searching desperately for the door, fingers grazing hardly against the walls only to find it locked. A punch is thrown to the door, then another one, and another one, and it goes on and on, but to no avail. Instead, Harry feels a peculiar force steady his head in a certain direction, not leaving room for him to imagine what's going to happen, instantly being met with a horrid scene. Even if Harry actually went through this a lot of times already, he's still as scared and frustrated as the first time he arrived here. He doesn't understand what's happening and why he's forced to relive this. It actually feels so real, that tears form in Harry's sleeping eyes, waterfalls threatening to fall down his hot cheeks, and he's not even comprehending that he's dreaming. His heart hammers in his chest, pounding hard against his ribcage, almost breaking his frail bones and falling out. A scared scream erupts from his throat, filling the room and making everything around him crumble and dilapidate, the boy falling through a hole through the floor, only to land in the same dark room that he knows very well.

    Once again, the boy mimics the same movements from before, not having control over his actions and starts banging repeatedly on the door. He tries to stop his hands from hurting themselves any further, his knuckles being red, drops of blood threatening to emerge from them. The moment he retracts his hands from performing the action, something pulls them forward, forming a strong contact with the wood, leaving a deep mark in it. His green gaze is fixed on his bloody knuckles, fear and confusion building up in them, only to drift to the same scene he had already seen a thousand times already, mouth being forced out open and without any control over himself, a scream escapes his throat. But, this time it's an angry scream, frustration taking over Harry, eyes turning dark, jaw clenched. He took hard steps towards the scene, wanting to destroy everything in his path and rip Louis' head off, but instead he's pulled through the floor once again.

    The moment he opens his eyes for the first time in hours, is the moment he jolts up from his bed, curls bouncing against his damp forehead, breath steadying after a few seconds. Harry looks around his familiar room, eyes widened with panic, and calms down when he realizes he's in his own bedroom. Hot breaths break free from betwixt his rosy lips, eyes unfocused into oblivion and red knuckles grabbing roughly at his pure white sheets. At last, Harry calms down, finally realizing that this whole night was a nightmare and it's never going to happen again. Never. But, it all felt so real. It tortured him the entire night, coercing him to see that scene again and again. Harry shakes his head and turns around to get up from his comfy bed, before stilling his upper body. He looks down at himself, feeling so dirty and disgusted, a vague memory of him throwing up replaying in his head. The lad grimaces and gets up from his bed. He can do this. He will act like that never happened and it won't bother him. At all. Nope, no. It never happened.

So Harry waltzes around his room, eyes searching for his phone, his quest becoming desperate as he realizes he can't find it. He stops in his tracks and looks around once more, only to be convinced that it's not in his room. A sweaty hand brushes his chocolate, moussed curls away, slender fingers arranging the strands carelessly. The boy slumps down on a chair, head resting again the rough surface, the skin under his eyes being decorated with large eye bags that stood there proudly and demanded attention from anyone who looked at Harry. His eyebrows tug into a slight scowl, lips parting softly, as he searches in the back of his mind for a certain memory that sits there hidden. Where has he left his phone?