I Hate You, Too

Title: I Hate You, Too
Author: Keri
Rating: PG
Summary: Harry dreams, and she watches.
Warnings/AN: This is a companion piece to The Trousers' fic, I Hate You. It is not humor, and it's the first piece of its kind I've written, at least in the HP universe. Read hers first, and then mine if you must. It's un-betaed, but short, so hopefully there aren't too many mistakes. I haven't really read it over either. Oh, well. So, read it, tell me what you think, and Megan, feel free to point out any changes that should be made. You're such a good little beta, aren't you? Aren't you, girl? I know you won't be able to resist anyway. Enjoy.



When I sleep, I dream of you.

My thoughts never stray far from you in the daylight; my mind is so full of you that I feel I could burst, I should burst, but I haven't. The night simply aggravates these thoughts, highlighting in the darkness that which the sunlight only blurs, and she knows. She watches me sleep; she watches me thrash and mutter and scream, but when she approaches me with comforting words and arms of care, I turn away. Nothing will help these nightmares, nothing can stop these dreams.

I am sleeping now. My body is still and silent on the bed, and she's watching, waiting for it to begin again. But there is one thing she doesn't know, no matter how many nights she lies awake next to me- it already has.

The bright, shimmering sunlight bounces off your skin as we sit side-by-side on the grass, speaking in loud, amused voices, and I say something you find funny. You laugh- only then does your skin glow.

"What do you mean, 'sometimes'?" You ask, smile still lighting your face. "How can you only 'sometimes' brush your hair? No wonder it looks like Hagrid decided to sit on your head for a week-"

"Hey! It does not!"

"Oh, yes, it does. Maybe even a month. I can't believe... just look at this..." You mutter, and trail off as one of your strong, delicate hands reaches for my head, and you run your fingers through my hair. You peer at me, bite the side of your lip and do it again, using both hands to comb through my unruly locks. I lose myself in the sensation of you touching me so intimately, and my eyes close. After a few moments of focused petting, your hands retreat and I open my eyes to see you grinning in accomplishment. My smile widens.

"Now that's more like it. Really, Harry, all you have to do is comb it through a couple times in the morning..."

My breathing is relaxed and easy, and the small smile on my lips lets her know that right now, I am content. Thinking of you, remembering you- right now, I am happy. My chest heaves once and my head turns to the other side of my pillow. Still, she watches.

The fire is warm and inviting, heating the cold stone walls and sending small sparks around the deep red and gold common room. Nearly everyone is gone for winter break- a couple of second years are currently having a snowball fight outside- so no one is around to complain about your presence. I'm certainly not.

We sit together on the large couch, knees and shoulders barely brushing, sending comfort to one another through the light, warm touches. You look up, and I can see the flames reflected in your eyes, gold and silver and beautiful against your pale skin. The pain on your face isn't directed at me, but the tears are- the cry for peace, the plead for safety, the need for me- and my tears say the same to you. At the same moment, we reach for each other, arms wrapping around shoulders and back and neck and waist, and we cry, clinging to one another with fierce desperation. What we are desperate for is nothing words can say, so we say nothing. My neck becomes wet with your tears, and one side of your hair is darkened and begins to clump together with mine, and yet we don't move. We sit, and we hold, and we know, but we don't say.

My eyebrows furrow slightly against my pillow, and my teeth clench together. My right hand begins to fist itself in the heavy blue sheets, and she watches. She watches, and she knows, and I dream.

The first blast of green lightning shoots past my cheek, and the heat singes my hair on a trail of hot, deadly wind. The curse explodes behind me on the castle wall, sending large blocks of stone catapulting around my back, but I pay it no mind. I am focused on my target, watching his wand, glaring into his eyes, loathing his existence. I know what I can do- what I must do- to sever my focus, to redirect it to happier, better things, and this time, I think I can. Voldemort smiles at me- his lips disappear and his pointed teeth shine yellow in the moonlight- and I lunge, trembling with rage and screaming his death as my wand shoots out and a blast of green explodes from the tip, blinding him and hitting his chest with enough force to knock him over and slide his limp body across the grass one hundred feet away. And that was the end. My fears were destroyed, my destiny fulfilled, and now I could live. I stared after the dead body and a surge of happiness flowed through me. I turned my head.

The curses had stopped; everyone was still. The Death Eaters had already fled, apparating away with hundreds of scared, tiny pops, fleeing from the destruction of their master. I see and begin running over to my friends- Ron, Hermione, Ginny, and the others are standing, beaten and gasping for breath off to my left- and I trip. I land on my chest and push my torso up, lifting my head around to the object tangled within my feet. Long, elegant legs; sturdy, defined arms; hard, toned chest; shockingly light, white-blonde hair. Your body, sprawled on the grass, unmoving and lifeless under my clumsy feet. I bring my legs and chest around, dropping my wand as all thought leaves my head- only this vision, this sight of you, dead on the ground in the battle I had just won. I let myelf crawl to your side, and I place a trembling hand on your cheek. Your skin is cold, your lips are parted but no breath escapes them. Your eyes are open and even in death they cry to me- hold me, save me, love me- and I know that now I never can. My chest hitches and I fall limp over your body, grasping your shoulders and crying into the night.

In my head, I've never stopped.

The sheets are tangled in my legs, my head is thrashing, and my fists are grasping the comforter as if they could permanently indent the threaded fibers. Her body is still beside mine, but for the flutter of eyelashes against her moist eyes. Sure, she watches, but I see- I see this horrific nightmare, this terrible truth, and I feel. I feel for you what was never spoken, I feel for you what you felt for me, and I will never stop feeling it. Your death did not stop it; my death will not stop it- but I don't want it to stop. I want to see you again, not your cold, lifeless body, and I want to touch your skin again, not the soft, unfeeling expanse that was your hand as I grasped it on the grass all those nights ago. I know that will never happen now, not while my tears remain shed. There is one way to stop this suffering- not stop my love, never stop my love- and soon I will feel you again. At my side, she watches me dream of you, and we cry.

When I sleep, I dream of you. I don't want to sleep anymore.

When I wake, I think of you. I don't want to wake anymore.

When I live, I long to be with you. I don't want to live anymore.

[FIN]

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The Trousers has also written a gift fic for me! And I quoth:
Other than that, all I have to add is the aforementioned gift fic. Before you read it, it is important that you know it does contain very, very tame H/D slash. It is also very OOC. And I mary-sued myself (The Trousers) and Keri into the middle of it. It is un-betaed and raw. It is also very, very true. So true, in fact, that it did actually happen. I HAVE A WITNESS!

It is called Lonely Tuesday Nights, and she hearts it.





Google Images: "Dumbledore's not dead."
Kind of.