Prologue
1. You will be cold.
Before Harry could think, he was nothing but a bone deep, aching, cold.
2. You will wake up screaming. They all do.
By the time he could feel his body, pressed by temporal weights onto a cold, concrete slab, he could hear a ringing in his ears. It didn’t take him long to realize it was him who was making the unearthly cry.
3. Your entire body will throb, the pain will eventually subside; being brought back is never a painless task.
Next was the pain. Electrifying, pulsing currents through his every nerve, arcing into his brain, rattling in his skull, dragging him under in unrelenting waves. Not like a burn, but like icy shards stabbing into his joints, piercing his body, his mind, his soul on every plane.
4. Do not get up immediately, you will be nauseous and your body will need time to readjust to this realm.
It took months, years, eons, for the pulsing to abate, allowing him aching awareness of the artificial breeze caressing his skin, leaving needles embedded where it touched. His head was a vortex, spinning sensations a carousel through empty space. His eyes opened, his view filled with yellow, red, orange spots moving up his gaze. Harry pressed his palms into the stone below him, trying to levee himself up before collapsing on his shaking limbs.
5. Ask for more blankets, you will feel very cold.
Warm arms bracketed his back and helped him sit up, draping a duvet over his narrow shoulders.
“Here,” the owner said, his voice cozy. He handed him a mug of a warm cedar coloured drink that had the aroma of hot chocolate. “Drink this.” The mug’s heat seeped into Harry’s icy fingertips and he took a sip. He let out a hacking cough.
“Hot,” Harry whispered, “Can I have another blanket?”
6. You will not remember how you died, do not ask.
The boy? Or was he a man? Layered another quilt over the duvet and gazed at the carmine mug with dark eyes. “Do you remember me?”
“No.”
“Good.” The boy closed his eyes, wrapping his arms around Harry and burying his face in his shoulder. “How do you feel?”
“I’m ok.”
“Good.”
7. Do not ask the practitioner how they performed the ritual, this is considered bad luck and you will not last long.
“I’m Tom, your boyfriend.”
“Ok.”
…
“Are you sure?”
“Positive.”
The hot chocolate was gone. It tasted a little odd, by Harry’s recall, but everything felt a little odd in general so it probably didn’t mean anything. The warmth settled in his belly like a second heart, pumping life through his vessels.
“Can we go home, then?”
8. Your loved ones will be ecstatic to have you back, consider this a blessing.
“We are home, darling.”
Harry swept his eyes around the dark room, illuminated only by candles arranged in a pentagon. Blood(?) inked runes lined the floor surrounding Harry’s stone slab. “...I don’t like it here.” The eyes of the skull of a thestral flickered ominously on a shelf.
“Not here, love. Upstairs.”
Upstairs was a different realm. Tom laid him out on a four poster bed in a Slytherin-green bedroom (where did that word come from?). Tom crawled in next to him and engulfed him in another embrace.
“I’m so glad you’re back, love.” Harry felt warm.
9. Thank the practitioner and let them be on their way, if they do not look you in the eye consider this a bad omen.
“Tom?”
“Yes, darling?” Tom’s eyes were still closed.
“Why shouldn’t I remember you?”
“I did something bad, love, I made a mistake. It’s not important.” Tom shifted and began stroking Harry’s hair. “Go to sleep, darling.”
“...Tom?”
“Yes, love?”
“Why won’t you look at me?”
“...”
“Tom?”