Prologue
Waiting had never been something at which Harry had been very good. He wanted answers, results, solutions instantly if not sooner. Problems were least troublesome if they could be solved immediately. Unfortunately, waiting was all he could do, all he'd been doing for the last several weeks and there were no solutions in sight.
He sighed and raked a hand through his unruly black hair, pushing away from the stiff and sterile hospital bed, no longer wanting to look at the near lifeless body sleeping in it. His eyes fell to the window, the rainy London streets below, the people scurrying every which way to escape the nasty weather. It felt like ages since he'd been rained upon...or showered…or slept. With the thought of sleep, he gazed once more at the patient behind him and shook his head.
`Sleeping' had been how everyone had been referring to her condition. Dressing it down, making sound so less drear, as if she were only taking a nap. Harry hated euphemisms. He knew better. No sleep was as deep as this-no natural, healing sleep. This sleep was suffocating, smothering a chance at life with each passing, carefully monitored breath. This sleep would kill the sleeper if not disrupted soon.
And then all of this would have been for nothing.
A wave of exhaustion his Harry swiftly, nearly knocking him off of his feet. Abandoning his view of the dismal city streets, he collapsed into the uncomfortable chair next to his sleeping companion. His eyes fell upon the patient. Maybe death would be better that what would await her when-if-she ever woke up. A part of Harry hated himself for thinking that way, but he couldn't bear things to remain the way they were for much longer.
She was back in his life but no longer his; laying in front of him but so very, very far away; breathing and alive but not actually living. He sighed again, too tired to think any longer. It had been weeks since he'd had a decent night's sleep-a night that wasn't violently interrupted by horrific nightmares and cold sweats.
All of this had begun with dreams. Not his…those would come later…and they would not stop. Sleep, though, which had been lapping patiently at his ankles, patiently waiting, finally grabbed hold and tugged him under, pulling him gently out to an endless sea with the hope of a dreamless night.
And as he slept, Harry remembered…
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