Chapter 29: Endymion
He couldn't sleep. It was not for lack of trying. Rolling over, Sirius punched his pillow into a different shape and tried once again to find a position that would let him drift off. He was not successful. It was Harry James Granger; the boy was haunting him, looking back at him whenever he closed his eyes.
It wasn't the first night this had happened. Harry was spending an unprecedented amount of time circling around Sirius's brain, popping into his thoughts at all hours. The worst part, the truly, mind-bendingly, gut-twistingly worst part, was that Harry wasn't even doing anything to cause it. The boy wasn't flirting with him, not flirting for real; Sirius knew the difference. He wasn't avoiding him, either. At least if he was playing hard-to-get, that would give Sirius an excuse, but he was doing nothing except just being there. He sat beside him in class, taking notes and shooing away Sirius's attempts at conversation, too intent on actually paying attention to the professors. He walked with him in the hallways and talked with him in the common room, strategized with the team and plotted with the Marauders. He was doing nothing more than James, Remus or Peter did, which was hardly enough to make Sirius lose sleep at night.
Harry had gotten stronger, so Sirius felt no need to look after the formerly fragile boy. His face never again fell into that haunted, hollow look he had seen only once. He came close occasionally; the smile would fall away, but he recovered it quickly. By all accounts, Harry was just another bloke. There were still oddities about him, but nothing so fascinating he should be spending so much time in Sirius's head.
"I don't get it," he muttered and punched his pillow again.
Lying in the darkness, he tried very hard to empty his brain. That was when he heard it: the soft rustle of fabric and near-silent footsteps across the solid floor. It came from near the window, where Harry or James's beds were. The two were nearly identical in height and now in weight, too, so the sound could not help him distinguish which boy it was.
He waited, listening.
The feet stopped too soon to be someone stumbling to the washroom in the night, which would have been perfectly normal. He listened hard, but no more noise came from the other side of the curtain. Well, that just made no sense. Had one of his mates gotten up and walked to another's bed? Was there something going on right under his nose? It was Harry and Remus. Had to be. They were always talking and studying together. Although, that did make Remus's interest in Hermione slightly suspect. Perhaps that was just to throw them off.
Completely convinced of his friend's duplicitous actions, Sirius pulled back the curtain and slid from his mattress, sneaking around his bed on muted feet in an attempt to ambush his friends in the act. He reached Moony's bed and paused, listening.
"Milk please," Remus muttered in his sleep. "Only if there's no more Cadbury."
Moony was asleep and dreaming of chocolate. Then who was left? Harry, James and Peter. Call him superficial, but the thought of either Harry or James with Peter made Sirius's stomach turn. The idea of two blokes so alike as James and Harry, though, was just wrong. They looked like brothers.
'Only one way to find out…' he thought, tip-toeing toward James. His progress halted abruptly as he snuck around the corner of Remus's bed and found his answer. Harry James Granger was awake. He sat at the open widow, his eyes focused on some distant point that Sirius could probably search a lifetime for and never find.
He opened his mouth to call the boy's attention, but, as Remus so often said, the moon got in his way; it broke through the clouds and lit the grounds, the castle and Harry. His skin shined with sweat. He must have been dreaming and woke to cool himself off. It made sense based on what he knew of the boy's sleeping patterns, but it made for a picture that was – and there was no other word for it, Sirius realised, except – perfect. The moonlight lit up the boy's pale skin, making it look as if he were the source of the light. He glowed. His body so much healthier than it had been in September, he looked like an alabaster statue of some long-forgotten Greek hero. That shepherd that the moon goddess had fallen in love with, for the moonlight was certainly caressing him, falling in such a way to make him look so beautiful. Shadows dappled his side where the burn made his skin rough, but even that added favourably to his appearance.
Beautiful as he was to look at, the thing that drew Sirius in and held him was the boy's face. If he had anticipated finding Harry awake and staring into the night, he would have expected to see that wan, haunted look. He would have been wrong. Harry's face was set, like he had a purpose, resolute and decided, like a man facing a firing squad. Of all the expressions he had observed, this was certainly the one that fit the boy best.
Without meaning to, he gasped. He didn't even know why. Harry turned at the noise, not startled, just curious. Seeing Sirius awake and watching him, he turned back to the window and continued to think.
Not sure if he ought to let it go and return to bed to spend the rest of the night thinking about this moment or continue to stand there, Sirius walked the rest of the way to the window and looked out, knowing he was seeing something far different than Harry.
"It's barely thirty degrees out," Sirius commented quietly. "You'll catch exposure or something."
"You can't catch exposure," the boy replied, his voice oddly calm and sure, he sounded little like his normal self. "You catch pneumonia."
"Whatever. Why are you up?"
Harry kept his eyes on that only-he-knew-where spot in the distance as he spoke, "Same reason as you, I suspect."
"To catch two of your friends in a secret love affair?" he questioned, immediately kicking himself for ruining the mood yet also hoping he might shock Harry from this eerie purposefulness he had developed.
The boy looked up, his eyes shining with something that might have been amusement or possibly tears. "You keep surprising me."
"Is that a good thing?"
"I had a friend," Harry said slowly, making Sirius hold his breath in anticipation; in the ten weeks they had known him, Harry had never willingly spoken of anyone he knew. "My friend was a lot like you. I keep thinking you'll be exactly like him, but you say things he would never have said."
"Well, since I'm not this unnamed, mysterious friend of yours, I suppose that's a good thing," Sirius commented, not bothering to hide the implied annoyance at Harry's secret-keeping. Harry just smiled and turned his gaze back to the world outside, making it clear that his eyes had not been shining with laughter.
"Shit, Harry—"
"You should go back to bed before I say something I'll regret," the boy said. "Hermione would kill me if she knew I was even considering saying it."
Sirius's mouth opened as if to say something, but he couldn't find any words that might fit the situation. Anything that came to mind reminded him too much of his usual bullshit, which he already knew would reflect poorly on him and send Harry from whatever strange place he was to somewhere far darker. So he did as his odd friend said and returned to his bed. He spent too much time looking through the curtains at Harry and wondering just what the boy had been thinking of saying.
Eventually he fell asleep.
oOo
He woke with a jerk, jumping out of bed and standing, lost for a moment as to what it was he was meant to do. Looking around the room, Sirius saw Harry's bed was empty and he remembered. He was supposed to apologise. He wasn't sure why. He might even have dreamt the whole thing, but he needed to apologise.
Throwing on his clothes in a manner befitting an eight-year-old, he ran from the room, taking the stairs two at a time, three on the moving staircases, to reach the Great Hall. Harry was there, awake and laughing at something James was saying, likely telling the boy about a prank he had planned. Walking with as much swagger as he could muster given that half his brain was focused on Harry and the other half was trying to figure out why he wanted to apologise, he moved down the aisle and sat down beside him. When the boy's eyes turned to him, glittering with delight, Sirius lost his nerve.
"Mornin'," he said and grabbed a glass of juice.
"You look like hell, Pads," James said, narrowing his eyes at him threateningly. "If I catch you spending the night before the game with some random bird instead of sleeping, I'll have your arse. It's the first game of the season tomorrow and I'll not have a Beater sleep-deprived from shagging."
His eyes darted to Harry. "I did not spend the night shagging," he said, bristling in defence and indignation.
What the hell was happening to him? If James had said that last year he would have grinned and proudly proclaimed that he could win the game regardless of how much shagging he had done. Hell, if James had said that a month ago, his reply would have been just that. When the hell had he gotten so concerned about what Harry thought?
"Oh?" James said. "The state of your clothes and the circles under your eyes would suggest otherwise. So if you weren't shagging, what were you doing?"
Sirius fought every instinct in his body that had him wanting to look at Harry. He remembered his old habits, forced his face into careful boredom and shrugged as if he couldn't be bothered. James just smirked, the bastard. He always knew better. He could always see through his meticulous façade.
"We'll talk about it later," James said and turned away.
Later. Sirius spent the rest of the day dreading later. He sat nervously through Potions beside Harry James Granger, certain he would bring up their evening together. Harry, however, made no mention of it. Not in Potions or Herbology or at lunch or dinner. Not while they walked to the pitch or changed for practice. By the time the scrimmage game began, Sirius was fairly well convinced that he had not actually seen Harry on the window ledge in the moonlight, that he had dreamt the whole thing.
That was somehow worse.
Practice ended. His thoughts didn't. They kept him awake all night, picking away at his carefully crafted image of a boy too cool to care. Morning couldn't come quickly enough. He couldn't stand being alone with his thoughts; the noise of the Great Hall and the Quidditch stadium was what he needed. He changed into his Quidditch robes, grabbed his broom and strode onto the pitch. He expected the world to snap into focus as soon as the whistle was blown. It didn't.
As the game began, his brain was as scattered as it was during practice the night before. Gnawing at his lip, wondering what the hell it all meant, he didn't see the bludger a Ravenclaw Beater had wacked with all his might across the pitch. He didn't see the weighty ball arc mid-field before beginning its fast and dangerous descent. He didn't see the single-minded Seeker diving for the Snitch. He didn't see anything until the shouting started. Then he saw Harry falling to the grass, glasses broken and blood oozing from his left ear.
He dove, flattening himself against the handle to reach the boy before the ground did. He caught Harry, so much heavier than he had been but still a rag-doll in unconsciousness.
"Dammit," he cursed and hugged the boy so he wouldn't fall. That was the reason. Not because he was terrified, just so he wouldn't fall.
James landed, followed by half the team. "What the fuck were you doing up there?" James demanded and punched him. "You were meant to be watching him!"
"I don't know," he said lamely. "I was… I don't know."
"Don't just stand there looking stupid," shouted his friend. "His sister will hex our bollocks off if we let him die. Fly him to Poppy!"
Whether it was James shouting at him or the threat to his wedding vegetables, Sirius managed to gather his wits. Gripping the fallen Seeker for dear life, he kicked off and flew as fast as his broom and their combined weight would allow. It was too slow for his liking.
"Poppy! POPPY!" Sirius called, panic starting to take hold as he carried Harry through the doors to the hospital wing. There was too much blood. He didn't know how much a person could lose, but he was certain Harry had lost ten times that amount already. "POPPY!"
"Stop your shouting at once, Mr Black!" the woman ordered him. "Lay the boy down."
He did as she said, standing back and watching her work, trying to remember all the things she had said in class about anatomy and muscles and injuries to the brain. A bludger to the head… that was bad. He should have been watching. James arrived and shouted at him. Lily and Remus and Hermione all came, glaring and threatening. Hermione looked like her whole world had ended before she turned on him with more malice than he had ever seen. She didn't say a word, but the message was clear: If Harry died, losing his bollocks would be the least of Sirius's worries.
Spells and potions and salves and wraps were applied. James and Lily and Remus left. Hermione stayed. Sirius did, too.
"There's nothing for you to do," the woman informed them, not unkindly but with enough crispness to stir Hermione to move. "You can see him tomorrow."
Sirius left, too, though unwillingly. He returned to Gryffindor Tower with every intention of staying there. His feet brought him to his bed, but his eyes were focused on Harry's. Seeing the cold, empty bed changed his mind.
"What are you doing now?" James demanded, angry about more than the fact that Sirius was tearing into his bag without asking.
Sirius pulled the invisibility cloak free, wrapped it around himself and ran back the way he had just trudged, through the corridors and down the stairs to the hospital wing without a word to his friends.
The torches had been extinguished save a single ghost light just outside Madam Pomfrey's quarters. Only four beds were occupied with their curtains closed for privacy and warmth, the rest were naked mattresses. Sirius always hated seeing the empty beds, thin mattresses and a ghastly white pillow; they looked oddly like skeletons to him. Shivering, he walked to the bed he wanted, stepping behind the curtain and dropping the cloak as he fell into the chair beside Harry.
It was dark but he could still see him. The moon was caressing him through the gap in the curtain. He was Endymion, the shepherd the moon goddess had begged her father to keep unconscious and dreaming for all eternity so that he would never age or die.
"Oh Merlin, I am as daft and sappy as Moony," Sirius groaned and scoffed at himself. "Greek goddesses."
He took a deep breath. "Well, it's now or never." Dropping his voice even lower than it already was, he said, "Harry, I know you probably can't hear me, which is the only reason I'm going to say anything right now. I'm not going to apologise; I'll do that properly when you're conscious."
He paused, realising that he hadn't actually considered what he would say if given the chance. "I… I don't know… I guess I like you. More than I like anyone else, and not the same way. I… fancy you. I probably shouldn't since you look so much like James, but you're different."
"Sorry."
Sirius looked up at the word, fearful that Harry was aware of what he was saying. "Fuck, Harry—"
"So sorry. Not my fault."
"What isn't? Harry, can you hear me?" Sirius asked.
"I tried… not my fault."
Relief that Harry could not actually hear his confession was short-lived as he watched the transformation of his friend. His face creased and contorted as he dreamed. Gone was the smooth-skinned Endymion. Instead, there was the rabbit-hearted boy whose hand he had gripped that first night in September. Sirius had seen this boy only twice, but he had heard the silencing charm being cast every night and often wondered what it was Harry was hiding. Now he would know.
"I tried to save you," Harry said, his voice tiny. "I tried…" His fingers tangled in the duvet, knuckles turning white. Sirius did not have to see into the boy's head to know that he was desperately clinging to a person in his dreams.
"Please," Harry begged, breath coming in sharp gasps as he started to cry. "Please, don't leave me. Don't die. Please don't die."
"Fuck," Sirius groaned. "Harry, I'm right here." He wanted his words to be calming and reassuring, to make the dreams stop. Considering that Harry showed no signs that he actually heard anything Sirius had said so far, it was a fairly foolish thing to think, but it was all he could do.
"Sirius," Harry gasped as he hyperventilated, "please don't go."
"I'm not going anywhere," he promised and gripped Harry's hand.
Whether it was his words or the physical contact that did it, Sirius couldn't tell. All he knew was the calming effect one or the other or both had on him. Harry seemed to melt, all the tension released instantly and he was still and smooth again, no creases in his forehead or white knuckles grasping at unseen ghosts.
"I'm not going anywhere," he said and meant it.