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“Wake up, love,” a voice he hadn’t heard in what felt like forever whispered into Harry’s ear, setting his nerves alight with love and hate in equal measure as paranoia burned through his mind while sheer need set his soul ablaze.
As usual, Tom held a fond wariness in his eyes and the hand not buried into Harry’s hair was casually placed over the yew wand next to their pillows. Even caught in the haze between dream and reality, Harry couldn’t fault him for it. Not when, despite everything, he still could remember their first morning - or, well, Harry’s first morning with Tom, really - in vivid detail.
Suddenly jolting awake, cradled carefully in strong arms between painfully soft sheets, Harry’s head had still been filled with fire and death, with betrayal and crushing loneliness, and he had lashed out as soon as he met red eyes set in a pale face.
His magic had blazed through the room, trying to defend, to destroy the source of his distress, while Tom only held his own, a calm eye to Harry’s storm that found yet again an outlet in the utter destruction of his surroundings. It was only when he eventually noticed Tom’s mind against his own, that Harry shuddered and all fight or flight reflex drained out of him, if only because he had needed all of his mental capacity to keep a hold on the overwhelming sensation of not being alone anymore that had haunted him ever since the Battle of Hogwarts.
It had taken him longer than it should for a war-hardened wizard to pull himself together, but at least it had allowed Tom enough time to figure out what had happened to trigger Harry’s violent reaction.
“Are you with me again, love?” Tom’s voice in his ear startled Harry back into the present, his heartbeat quickening in an instant reaction to his- to Tom being near, holding him close. The obvious care in Tom’s touch made Harry want to cry, if only because a part of him still waited for the pain of betrayal, and the unfairness of it all made him sick.
"I don't- I can't-" Harry’s rambling broke off as Tom pulled him closer, tucking Harry’s crumbling face into the juncture of his neck and shoulder.
"Take a deep breath," Tom said, his voice low and soothing. "Like the mind healer told you. Count them."
"I don't need help breathing," Harry snapped frustrated into the warmth of Tom’s skin. "I just don't understand! I've always had nightmares, even in-” Harry’s voice broke at the memory of his ill-fated accident. “Nightmares have never bothered me like this before. I lived through a war, Tom, I fought-" you.
The following silence was long and grated on Harry's nerves enough to make him look up from his hiding place. Tom's handsome face was creased, his dark eyes heavy with concern and sympathy.
"Harry," he said carefully, reaching out to softly touch Harry’s cheek. "There never was a war. You know that, right?"
“I know,” Harry whispered, closing his eyes in defeat.
And Harry did know, truly, but he didn’ trust any of his knowledge. He couldn’t.
Ever since the curse had been lifted, he had trouble telling dreams from reality. The memories of his life weren’t gone exactly, as they slowly came back the more time passed, the more he allowed Tom to help him. But even though all provided memories seemed to be of much happier times than anything he’d lived through in his Dream, they appeared dull and utterly forgettable in comparison to the vivid memories of his miserable dreamed-up life.
His subconscious was filled with places and people he had no business knowing, filled with people who didn’t know him. Pain and Death and betrayal had followed him from the Dream to his dreams until Harry couldn’t tell which was which. Couldn’t tell if he was dreaming or living.
Harry couldn’t tell if he’d died.
On his bad days, he’d see innocent people passing down bustling streets, laughing and living their life as if there had never been a war, and he’d be tempted to curse them all to hell and back. For once he wanted to make others hurt like he was hurting, and it was difficult to remember that this was no dream, that his actions would have real consequences for him and everyone else.
The threat of consequences had rarely deterred Harry from doing what he felt was right but, in the end, Harry would be good, take the vile-tasting medication that dulled the memories of his Dream, and count his breaths until the red haze of anger and paranoia was lifted from his eyes. And as soon as the maddening pain of betrayal left him as well, he’d be able to enjoy the happiness that could be found in the absence of a war that apparently had been solely fought in his head.
On some days, the memories of his Dream felt too raw to simply cast them aside, too realistic to erase them from his mind in favour of a reality that was almost too good to be true. A reality that he was barely able to recognise, even with Tom’s help.
It was wrong, wrong, WRONG.
Despite it all, Harry did try his best to deal with his condition, his new-old life.
What else was there to be done? Even if he currently were allowed to resume teaching Defence at Hogwarts, did he really want to chance confusing his apparently carefully crafted curriculum with some dreamed-up wartime repertoire taught by fifteen-year-olds in an unsupervised underground club?
Then again, he positively itched to make some sort of exams out of his dreamed adventures, measuring his students’ abilities against himself at their age.
Just as his mind healer always urged him to accept: any situation contained good qualities if one only allowed themselves to recognise them. Harry just had to be opportunistic enough to seize newfound chances. Thankfully, he had a model opportunist by his side who had dedicated himself to helping Harry along and supporting him through these troubled times. Even though Tom was the one most affected by the fallout of Harry’s forced awakening: the sort of amnesia that had done worse than simply erasing him from Harry’s memory.
Now, the majority of the memories at the forefront of Harry’s mind were the ones constructed by his Dream - as his mind healer insisted on euphemistically calling the Nightmare curse-induced trip through hell that Harry apparently had been subjected to on accident - and those memories did the more prominent people in his life dirty, if he even remembered them at all.
Because they had no business being part of his life.
In the beginning, Harry used to be ashamed whenever meeting one of Tom’s acquaintances sent him spiralling. Either because he thought them dead or because he remembered them trying to kill him if not doing worse.
Bellatrix had KILLED SIRIUS.
…Who lived but didn’t know him.
But Tom didn’t allow anyone to ridicule him for it, going as far as cursing Fenrir Greyback to his face for calling Harry Tom’s pet project after a particularly bad breakdown right at the beginning when they attended a traditional Samhain gathering at Malfoy Manor, where the halls were filled by people dressed in black robes and white masks.
And even while no one dared to comment on it anymore, Tom still made it a point to patiently remind Harry over and over again that he didn’t need to be ashamed of his panic attacks nor for the long time he needed to calm himself. After all, he was no war-hardened wizard, no Boy-Who-Lived, no Man-Who-Conquered, no Master of Death, was he?
Here, he was just Harry, as he’d always longed to be within his Dream.
As little as he wanted them, Harry had earned those titles.
How dare Voldemort try to take them from him?
Just Harry, who upon waking from his Nightmare of soul-crushing loneliness had forgotten all about his years at an orphanage with Tom. Their years of being alone against the world, and how they thrived with it, breezing through life with never-ending potential as long as they stood together. And because of his uncalled-for temper tantrum when he first woke up, there weren’t even any keepsakes or photos left that might help him remember. There was only Tom, caring for him, doting on him, until Harry eventually would get his feet back under him.
It was hard some days, being with Tom when he could only see Voldemort. But Voldemort’s hate stayed within his dreams, and Tom only knew love for him. Tom protected him whereas Voldemort tried to hurt him before. Tom kept him close and well-cared for. Doted on him.
It was everything Harry had always ached for during his Dream.
It was too perfect.
“Do you need me to remind you, love?”
Harry took a deep breath before he nodded his consent and opened his eyes, allowing Tom into his mind yet again. It became easier the more often they did it, his meagre defences recognising Tom almost as part of himself at this point. His potion regiment might help dull the Dream’s memories but only with Tom’s touch upon his mind felt Harry truly at peace these days. Far away memories of their shared life were so much easier to grasp with Tom pulling them to the forefront of their mind.
“I’m sorry, forgetting about you. Us,” Harry croaked, fresh tears welling up as he watched the memory of Tom’s proposal, fast blending into their wedding day. Harry could see the scenes but no matter how much he tried, he couldn’t remember ever being as happy as he looked right then, swept away by a radiating Tom.
Because he had never been.
"I forgive you," Tom said immediately, pressing a kiss into Harry's tousled hair. "I'll always forgive you, Harry. I'll always be here for you. It's okay, we'll work through this together.”
Harry drifted back to sleep, his mind filled with images that felt so much more dream-like than anything he could recall on his own.
“Don’t worry, love. One day, I know you'll see things the right way."
Harry's been... unwell for a long time.
But soon, everything would be alright, Tom would make it so. He had searched relentlessly and finally, almost on the day a year after Harry all but lost his grip on sanity, he’d found a way to make Harry whole again, to let the empty pain and hurtful confusion drain away.
Harry had to fight any negative knee-jerk reaction at the upcoming Samhain celebration, but when the veil between the worlds was thinnest, Tom would be able to reach through and sever the connection that stubbornly bound Harry to his world of nightmares.
It would allow Harry to settle back into reality, back into their life. Finally, he would be able to enjoy his time with his husband again, without any hint of suspicion at the edge of his mind. No paranoia would quicken his pulse whenever Tom was being his thoughtful self. No feelings would be hurt whenever people he thought to know would see right past him.
Harry would know neither betrayal, loneliness nor Death anymore.
Only Tom.