Chapter Text
Warnings (Highlight to view):*Mentions of Drug Use*
The Longest Night
The whoosh of the Floo echoes in the sitting room, but Draco remains perched on the couch where Harry lies, prone and sweaty and entirely unresponsive. Draco pushes Harry’s sodden hair back with a cool cloth, wiping his face with a slightly shaky hand. When Samuel enters the room in a bustle of robes, bringing with him Draco’s potions equipment, Draco reluctantly leaves Harry’s side. He helps Samuel set the heavy potions case on the floor, quickly flips open the lid, and scans the contents.
Samuel shrugs out of his robes, letting them floor to the floor, and carefully removes his head scarves. ‘How long?’ he says.
‘About a half an hour,’ Draco says, his voice thin. ‘I gave him something to calm him down.’ Draco grabs a few vials and sets it on the coffee table. Samuel kneels beside Harry, waving his wand over his still form very carefully.
Draco looks down at them both with his hands in his pockets. ‘Samuel, I didn’t realise it would send him under. Is he projecting, do you think?’
Samuel rests his hand over Harry’s forehead and closes his eyes. When he opens them again, there’s a flicker of dread that makes Draco’s heart race. ‘He is,’ Samuel says. ‘And he’s gone further than I can reach from here.’
Draco glances at Harry. ‘What does that mean?’
‘It means one of us will have to help him out of the the projection. He’s too deep in the plane to find his way out on his own.’
‘Then I’ll do it,’ Draco says. ‘I’m his Contact. I’ve done it before.’
Samuel looks at him, his hazel eyes contemplative. Finally, he shakes his head. ‘No,’ he says. ‘He needs another Seer.’ He lifts one of Harry’s wrists, and it flops lifelessly backwards.
Draco presses his lips and looks away. ‘Sam, did I do this?’ he asks quietly.
Samuel shakes his head. ‘Nothing you did put Harry in this position. He’s been dependent on potions for so long, he doesn't’ know how to manage his Sight without it. It’s my fault more than anything. I should have seen this coming.’
‘But I--’
Samuel’s fierce gaze snaps up to Draco’s. ‘I need you to focus. How long has it been since he began the detox?’
Draco swallows. ‘Just over forty-eight hours,’ he says. He rubs his face in his palms and laughs bitterly. ‘I couldn’t even get him through forty-eight hours.’
‘Draco, look at me,’ Samuel says. ‘This is an extremely difficult case. Harry is a drug dependent, powerful wizard with unstable magic and foresight. His detox will be unpredictable. We just need to use our skills to get him back. Then we help him through this. Do you understand?’
Draco closes his eyes briefly and then he nods. ‘Okay.’
‘Good,’ Samuel stands up straight, nodding towards the vials of potions on the table. ‘Which one’s the potion you told me about?’
~
Harry’s never been this deep into the Astral plane before. It’s colder here. And darker.
Harry pulls the hood of his sweater over his head and hunches his shoulders against the wind.
He shouldn’t be delving quite so deep into the plane without first having been grounded, but he has no idea how he got here in the first place. One minute, he’s in his usual meadow projection, the other, he’s booted into this dark place he's never even seen before. Try as he might, he can’t pull himself out of the projection. His Sight is intolerably unstable and his magic is restlessly churning around inside him, looking for something to lash out against.
Yet, his craving for Somus and Icarus are less than a small itch in his brain, unlike the battering ram of need it is back on mortal world.
With each jump he makes, moving around the plane in some sort of random Apparition, he can also feel his ba growing weak, thin and spread out. His instinct is screaming at him to turn back, to leave the projection, but every step further is like pushing his heels into quicksand.
Exhausted, he staggers to the earth into limp heap.
Exhaustion is a physical sensation. He shouldn’t feel it so keenly here. Everything is wrong.
Harry flops onto his back and closes his eyes. Oh, but he’s tired. .
that’s because you’re dangerously close to passing from this life to the next.
Harrys eyes fly open and he sits up too fast, making his head spin.
sam?
yes, harry. i need you to get up, and walk towards me. now.
i don't know where you are.
yes you do. follow my energy. can’t you feel it?
yes. Harry pushes himself up on his feet swaying slightly. sam, i’m so tired. couldn't i just stay?
do you want to stay, harry?
He thinks of Draco waiting for him on the other side. Ron. Hermione. With a deep breath, Harry puts one foot in front of the other. no. i don’t
good. come on then.
Harry does so, pushing through the discomfort and staggering forward slowly. The more distance he puts between himself and the cold, dark place, the stronger he becomes. After some distance, with Samuel’s constant encouragement in his head, he spots the faint outline of Samuel’s typical Egyptian garb - thin linen shirt and trousers. Harry staggers into him, and Samuel hugs him tightly.
As the other occupants of the plane return to his consciousness, his spirit feels lighter, and invigorated. The meadow flickers in his sight, and he sighs in relief.
Samuel holds onto his shoulders tightly. ‘Why did you wander so far?’
‘I don’t know.' Harry says, breathing deeply. 'One minute I was safe, the other I was thrown too deep inside the plane. Then I wandered. I don’t know what’s going on, Sam.’
Samuel frowns at him, his thick brows furrowing. ‘You shouldn’t be on the plane at all if you're projecting against your will.' He looks around nervously, his trousers flapping in the wind. 'You don't have control. You’ve not been grounded by your Contact. We have to get you out of here before I lose you again. Can you concentrate at all? Focus on your ba?’
A sharp pain echoes like a gong in Harry’s head, and he doubles over, clutching his temple. ‘Ow fuck.’
Samuel clasps his wrists.
focus on my voice harry. follow me.
harry
-- harry!