Sunny Suzuki and the Stupid Traitorous Rat

He should’ve said something more. 

Sunny stood beneath the raging rain, squinting his eyes ever so slightly as he watched the game. He took out his wand from his pocket and mumbled another water-repellent charm under his breath, relaxing his gaze once he could see a bit clearer with more ease.

It was freezing and the match had been going on for a while now, the overflowing stands somehow roaring louder than the storm, booming cheers and more noise that he couldn’t categorize meshing chaotically with the flashes of color that whizzed through the dark grey of the air, red and yellow robes zipping back and forth and up and down through the wind so quickly that he’d lost track of everything a long, long, long time ago. 

A few minutes back, maybe more than that actually it was hard to tell, he told Harry to be careful. And, you know, he could’ve been more specific. He could’ve said, yo, heads up for dementors up there that wanna make you learn that ‘stay away from school grounds’ rule has a height limit the hard way, or something along those lines. And yet… he didn’t. 

In his defense, that choice made sense at the time. Because one, he didn’t want to even try to come up with an explanation of why he would know something that even fucking Dumbledore didn’t, and two, his supposed ‘good memory’ wasn’t infallible, and he genuinely didn’t remember if it was this match or the next that Harry would get attacked. Or, well, he did remember, ish, but it was too vague of a memory for him to trust himself. It was supposed to be during an important game, that much he knew, important enough for Harry to be more daring, to fly higher, all that stuff. Therefore, it made more sense for Harry to be extra competitive during the match with the Slytherins wouldn’t it? Sunny remembered some shit about the Hufflepuffs and their match, enough for that seed of doubt to plant in his head and make him as anxious as he was now, but if he did say buddy watch out please, only for there to be nothing to watch out for, what if that led to Harry being even more reckless when it actually counted? 

So yes, at the time, his choice made perfect sense to him. 

Now though?

Now, Sunny looked at the sky, looked at the dizzying bolts of the too-fast players, looked at the very simple fact that he could not spot Harry for the life of him, and regretted every single decision he’s ever made in the pathetic duration of his existence. Then again, what else was new. This was just another regret to add to the pile. 

He really, really hoped he was right. And even if he wasn’t, Sunny tried to remember that Harry was still fine in the books. And the movies. And just, in general, this guy had the thickest fucking plot armor in the world. Dumbledore saved his ass with some feather fall spell or some other magical mindfart last time, he could certainly do so again if it all went to shit. Harry would be safe either way. 

…fuck. 

He sighed to himself. 

This was exactly why he should’ve learned the Patronus Charm with Lupin already. Sure, he couldn’t do much from the floor, he didn’t have a broom after all, but maybe he could’ve done something, anything, if Harry did get attacked by the damn dementors today. 

It’s not that he didn’t try to learn the thing. He did. He really did. 

“Think of a happy memory and say the incantation clearly!”

He just never thought he’d have so much trouble with a spell before. Much less one that fell under his beloved ‘Charms’ category. But he did have trouble. A lot of it. And at every failure, he remembered the in-world myth of ‘only pure souls can cast the Patronus’, and any hope he had died a little bit more. 

Maybe he was just too fucking depressed for the damn thing. Or maybe his soul was damned, the more likely scenario. Eh. Whatever. He didn’t want to cast a Patronus anyway. Overrated spell. He was still good at magic even if he couldn’t do it. It was fine. 

“...he’s right there, Hermione! When are we going to have another chance like this?”

“Ron, you know what Harry said, what if…” 

Surprisingly enough, Sunny managed to pick up two very whisper-shouty voices from somewhere behind him despite all the auditory ruckus. With perfect timing too, because they quietened down considerably after those few words he caught, as if finally remembering they were supposed to be quiet. He paused internally, considered for a second turning around to check who was speaking in such low volume during a match that would make him go deaf– but then the names registered in his brain. 

Ron. Hermione. 

Harry. 

Sunny’s jaw clenched. 

But Harry did– 

Liar. Goldstein was a liar. Harry saw nothing. He saw nothing. It was fine. 

His hands were on the wooden railing, and he couldn’t help but tighten his grip. 

Nevermind on the turning around part. He didn’t know what the Golden Trio/currently-Duo was yapping about this time, and he did not want to find out. It was probably some book plot shit. Count him out, he already had a very specific plot point to watch out for right now and he would not allow himself to get distracted. 

Sunny kept his eyes on the field. The game. The flashes of color that were just that, colors, because he never had to pay attention to something this high-speed ever before in his entire life and fuck he was actually going to get the biggest headache of the century. 

It didn’t take long until his attention was brought away though. Despite everything. 

“Hey! You’re Suzuki, aren’t you?”

He would’ve loved to say that Ron’s voice behind him came as a surprise. That he wasn’t dreading this or anything, and that he genuinely believed himself when he gave the excuse of ‘book plot shit’ to his spiking anxiety while well aware that there was nobody in the books the Golden Trio wanted to talk to during any of the matches. He would’ve loved to say that. But, of course, he couldn’t. 

Sunny’s gut dropped and he slid his eyes shut. He held back a deep, deep sigh, because that’d be rude, but he allowed his fingers to dig into the railing. To stab into the moist wood, feel dirt scrape up beneath his nails. It was okay. He wouldn’t lose his shit now, this was just another main character.

He opened his eyes again and slowly turned around. 

Ron stood next to Hermione with a toothy smile, bright red hair dampened to almost brown thanks to the rain. Sunny had seen him enough times to recognize his face at a quick glance, but it was always at a distance before. Now, with him so close, only a few feet away, it made it all the more clear of how… different he looked from his actor. Ron had a more angular and longer face than Rupert Grint, as well as soft thin lips and a rounded nose, white skin with warm undertones, and he was covered in freckles. Way more than Sunny expected, chaotically distributed and agglomerating more right below his ears. He had blue, squarer eyes, and it was a particular shade of blue that was dark enough to be easily mistaken for gray under the right lighting conditions. Sunny wondered what kinds of paint he’d have to use to get such a shade. 

“I’m Ronald. Ronald Weasley,” he said cheerfully, extending out a hand. “Pleasure to meet you.”

Sunny looked down.  

The rain slid down the curves of Ron’s hand, glazing the skin with a thin layer of shine that glimmered slightly when the atmospheric light hit just right. His palms and the tips of the fingers were tinted a bit red, likely thanks to the cold, droplets falling down at the edges. Before his pause lasted too long, Sunny unceremoniously shoved his wand back into his pocket and took the hand, swallowing down a shiver at the uncomfortable sensation of wet. 

“...hi. Nice to meet you too.” 

His response was barely above a mumble, but Ron’s face split into such a bright, bright smile it was as if Sunny just announced he won the Quidditch match, and he barely said anything at all. Damn. Did he really look that unapproachable for this to be considered a win? Well… he did want to ignore the shit out of them less than a minute ago, so maybe that worry wasn’t unfounded. 

You adore to ignore and shun people when you deem them not worthy of your time–

He shoved the thought down and continued. 

“I’m Sunny. Uh, Suzuki. But you. Uhm. Already knew that?” 

After their quick (and not at all firm) shake of the hand, Ron let go with a nod, grinning. “Oh, yeah. Harry talks loads about you–” what. “–so me and Hermione figured it’s about time we’ve got ourselves introduced! We noticed you were staying here for some reason, and that you looked a bit, erm, bored? So I hope you don’t mind.”

“...right,” mumbled Sunny. He wasn’t exactly sure how his jumping-out-the-skin anxiety translated as bored to his face, but he wasn’t going to ask. And honestly, this whole interaction, uncomfortable as it was, was very much deserved. He shouldn’t have lingered near the Gryffindor chunk of the stands, even if it did have the added plus of avoiding Goldstein. God knew the universe loved to fuck around with him. He cleared his throat, and he tilted his head, trying to see through Ron’s shoulder. “You said Hermione is here too?”

Ron took a (small, there wasn’t that much available space) step to the side, and sure enough, that revealed the one and only Hermione fucking Granger standing behind him, wearing a smile that looked strangely forced. She seemed nervous. Nervous in a different way than Ron, but how exactly Sunny couldn’t really pinpoint. Whatever, he was looking into things too much. 

Just like everybody else in this reality’s existence, Hermione also didn’t look anything like her actress. She was really pretty nonetheless, in a very soft way. She had a rounder, more oval face (like his ‘moon face’, as his mom loved to call it once upon a time– always better than fucking bulbous), with a less defined jawline and more defined front teeth. Sunny tried not to stare, because he completely forgot about that little trait of hers. It added a lot of charm, tiny squares that added to the overall circular shape language theme– he’d love to draw her sometime, both of them, he really needed to buy a sketchbook. Very kind eyes, a dark brown, and her hair was also astoundingly poofy. And by poofy he meant poofy, a bush of brown attached to her head that was clearly the product of years and years of a damaged curl pattern, and that’s while it's drenched to shit in the rain. Did curly hair poof up more or less during rain? He forgot, most of his knowledge came from being chronically online and scrolling youtube shorts a little too hard. Either way, he needed to give her a book on curl routine as soon as possible. No wonder everyone got so shocked in the fourth book when her hair looked good, that was the one time she actually bothered to treat it probably. 

…okay, less breaking-down-facial-anatomy, and more whoa-a-human-conversation! type of focus, Sunny. Come on. 

She was staring at him with her hands intertwined by her front and her shoulders pulled back to straighten out her posture. It was a bit much. She looked like she was about to go on an interview. 

“Uhm.” Sunny offered a little wave. “Hi.” 

Hermione blinked, as if confused, and he momentarily wondered whether she’d said something– but if she did, she didn’t let that make things awkward, waving back with a grin. 

“Hello! I’m Hermione Granger. Pleasure.”  

She also extended her hand, and this time Sunny didn’t pause to stare before shaking it. But he immediately ended up regretting that because as soon as he touched her she straight-up flinched. 

“O-oh–” Hermione blinked, and to his relief, she sounded more surprised than anything. “You’re dry.” 

“...he is?” asked Ron, raising an eyebrow. He glanced down at his own hands, staring for a beat. “Damn. Must be too frozen to tell.”

Hermione ignored him, bringing Sunny’s hand (which she still held, now with both her hands) closer to her face, furrowing her brows slightly.

“How are you dry?”

Sunny swallowed, clearing his throat with a small shrug. “I just, uhm, used a water-repellent charm. Nothing crazy.” 

Hermione’s eyes widened and her attention snapped from Sunny’s hand to his face so fast he jolted. 

“On– on yourself?”

“Y-yes?”

Hermione gasped, horrified, and she let go of him to clap her hands over her mouth. 

“Suzuki–”

“J-just Sunny is fine–”

“Sunny then! We can’t use repellent charms on human bodies! Much less ourselves! Oh goodness, your skin will dry out completely and it’s terrible for you it could cause so many cracks on the cells and–” 

Well shit he didn’t know that. Sunny brought his hands up to his face, massaging his cheeks and his nose. His skin didn’t feel dry, but a bit of panic started to creep up anyway. 

“A-are you sure? I feel fine. It doesn’t hurt. I’m okay, I’m just, you know–”

“How long have you been using that charm for?”  

“Half an h-hour? Probably less? How long have we been out here for?”

“Half an hour?!”

“I-I don’t know, I feel fine, I… I d-don’t know–” 

“Wait.” Hermione said, and he stopped. She took another step forward, and raised her hand. “May I touch your face?” she asked and Sunny nodded. She tapped his cheek, very soft and very gentle, and then blinked. She pulled her finger away, before bringing it closer again, but instead of touching his skin, she let it hover right by his face, about an inch away. 

“...huh.”

“What? What is it?” asked Sunny, and the anxiety in his voice was actually pathetic. 

Hermione put her hand down, and to his relief, the concern that had briefly flared in her eyes had faded now, replaced by growing curiosity.

“The area around you is dry too. The rain isn’t touching it.”

Ron, who just stood there nervously watching the entire time, tilted his head. “So… he’s fine?”

“Yeah,” said Hermione, more impressed than curious now, a slightly breathless quality ringing in that word. “Yeah, he’s– he’s fine. Wait, how did…” A pause. “Sunny, did you alter the spell somehow?”

Now that it was confirmed he wasn’t actively baking his skin or something equally as horrifying, Sunny was starting to calm down a bit. He swallowed for the millionth time and let his own hands drop from his neck, allowing them to sway awkwardly by his sides as he glanced away. 

“Well, uh, I guess.”

“You guess?”

“I-it was an accident? Sorry?” 

“Sorry?!” Hermione was laughing now. “Well, that’s one brilliant accident! What did you do? Did you visualize something specific? Did you alter the pronunciation? Oh, you’re American– wait, how do you say the spell, perhaps if I–”

Ron groaned then and looked away, turning completely to the game. “Okay, great, he’s fine, now let’s focus on what actually matters here! Look right there, Harry’s found the snitch- wait, no he didn’t, but wow wouldn’t it have been terrible if he did and we missed it–” 

“Shut it Ron,” she snapped with a small huff, not taking her eyes off of an increasingly flustered Sunny. “How did you manage it? I’ve been trying to work on that spell for ages on my clothes, but so far I can only apply it to very small objects.”

“Uhm. Well. Uh,” began Sunny, and he cleared his throat, hand subconsciously going to grip the railing again. “Okay. So. Alright, uhm, here. How exactly are you imagining the spell? Are you envisioning the sensation or the outcome or something else? What exactly is your intention when casting it? How long do you hold the vision in your head-” 

“Suzuki,” whined Ron, clearly listening in even as he didn’t look away from the field. He dropped his head and shook it, letting out a deep sigh. “Bloody hell, not another one…”

Hermione smacked the back of his head lightly, rolling her eyes.

“Don’t listen to him, Sunny. Go on.”

And Sunny, to his own surprise, continued to explain without missing another beat. 

.

..

.

He was so. Fucking. Stupid. 

He shouldn’t have let his guard down. He shouldn’t have gotten distracted. He shouldn’t have done a lot of things, really.

It was too late now though. Because now, thirty seconds had passed since Ron had punched his fists to the sky and shouted “GO HARRY!” on the top of his lungs. Thirty seconds since Sunny finally put his attention back into the game, just in time to see Harry and Cedric zip straight up to the sky, one following the other’s trail, both quickly swallowed by the clouds. 

Thirty entire fucking seconds, and they were all still standing around, waiting for something to happen. 

And Sunny was this close to losing his shit. 

It was hard to see anything up there through the streaks of rain. Sunny wasn’t even sure why he was still looking, head craned, the muscles of his neck already beginning to hurt, nails thrumming a repeated pattern on the railing. 

Only thing keeping him together right then was the smallest chance that this was normal. It’s not like he had any good idea on how long snitch chases or whatever were supposed to last in ‘real life’. He didn’t even know the Quidditch matches actually lasted as long as they did currently, because in the books they were always said they went by after a few short minutes or something, and in the movies they couldn’t exactly keep the time frame realistic. Maybe it was normal to just sit there and wait for this long. Nobody had complained about anything yet, and so he was clutching onto that hope real hard. 

He just waited, and waited, and waited for something to happen. 

“...they’re taking a bit long, aren’t they?” said Ron, tilting his head. 

Sunny looked down from the sky, gut dropping. 

“Fuck.”

There went that theory.

Hermione and Ron’s necks almost broke with how quickly they snapped their eyes on him, one looking absolutely affronted while the other immediately snorted a laugh. “Whoa, language mate–” 

There was a sudden boom in cheers from the Hufflepuff side of the stand, louder and more deafening than it was the entire game. All of them jolted, whipping their attention back to the game. Sunny’s heart skipped a beat. The hell? His eyes darted around, trying to spot what was making them so enthusiastic– and, of course, failing miserably to see jack shit through the storm.

Lee Jordan’s voice rang through the microphone. 

“HUFFLEPUFF WINS THE MATCH WITH SEEKER DIGGORY’S ASTOUNDING–”

It went on, probably, but he stopped paying attention by then, the first few words still processing. 

What?

Sunny blinked.

No, really, what. 

That wasn’t right. This didn’t happen before. 

Cedric didn’t win before Harry fell, did he? 

No, Harry fell, straight towards the middle of the pitch, and Dumbledore had all the time and focus needed to step in and slow him down with magic. And then Cedric flew down with the snitch, except once he realized what happened, because he was there to see Harry, he tried to call off the match or something like that. A character thing that made Kel really like him way back when. He remembered this now. He was sure of it.

Dread pooled in his stomach. 

Cedric shouldn’t have won so early. 

Harry should’ve fallen already. 

Or maybe Cedric did win first and then Harry fell. No, he should’ve seen Harry first. Or maybe Harry fell after, because they did say that ‘Cedric won fairly’ in the books. Did something change? Did Sunny make things worse by telling Harry to be careful? No, no way. Or maybe he did. Maybe he should’ve kept his mouth shut. Or maybe nothing changed, and Harry fell after. No, he was sure Harry fell first. Right? Right?!

Well… well, it was fine. It was fine either way. Dumbledore would save him. He would. And everything was going to be fine, he had nothing to worry about. 

You’re no audience, Suzuki.

It was fine. 

It was fine. It was fucking fine. 

His heart began to thump too hard inside his chest. 

You’re no audience–

“R-ron,” Sunny stuttered out, unable to keep the waver out of his voice as his breathing quickened. “Ron, do you see Harry anywhere?”

“Huh?!” Ron shouted, trying hard to listen through all the screaming. He stared blankly at Sunny for a second, squinting his eyes before they went wide with understanding, nodding in that ohhh way before shrugging. “No, I don’t! I reckon he’s still up there searching for the snitch but–”

Sunny didn’t listen to another word. He spun on his heel and sped away. 

Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

He needed to get up. Up the stands. The ones swarmed with children that were clustered too close and too tight. Whatever expression he was wearing on his face made two boys closest to him, at the very bottom, stop dead mid-conversation and stare.

He stared back. His heart pulsed in his throat. 

“Move.” 

They shuffled a path for him quickly enough and Sunny pushed through them as if parting a curtain. He tried his best not to slip on the slick wood as he rushed over bench after bench, running up to higher and higher rows and shoving past more and more people. It was like swimming upstream in every single way with the added bonus of the water getting pissed at him for trying. But he couldn’t afford to be polite. Not now. 

He needed to be higher. To see better. And the dread wasn’t leaving. It only grew, and grew and grew and Harry should’ve fallen already, he should’ve fallen already, did he fall already, where was he, where was he, where was he– 

Sunny finally pushed through the last few people with a small stumble and short huff, hitting the back railing hard. A wave of pain rippled up his arms and side of his body and he winced. For some reason the damn thing was metal here instead like the wood in the front. Talk about painful design choices. He made it to the top at least, and everything was visible from there. The entirety of the oval stadium, the pitch, the massive silver rings of the goals of the game– and the sky. 

The sky. 

The sky, the sky, the sky. 

There was nothing in the sky. 

It was a grey mass of clouds and nothing else. There was absolutely nothing there. No broom, no dementor, no nothing. There should be something there. Anything there. Harry flying or falling down, didn’t matter. Where was he? Why was there nothing there?

That– that was wrong, wasn’t it? That wasn’t how it should go. Something happened. Something else. 

He needed to find him.

Or he was overreacting, maybe Harry was fine. 

But this was wrong. He needed to find him.

No, no, no Harry was fine. 

He needed to find him. 

Harry was fine. 

He needed to find him.

Harry was– 

Behind him. 

What?

He needed to look behind him. 

What–

Look. 

Sunny spun around as if someone had grabbed his head and yanked. There was a burst inside his chest, that rising dread twisting into something else, something specific. An instinct, a knowledge, the type of knowing you only ever feel when dreaming.

Guided by nothing but a daze his focus left the stadium, left the pitch, eyes following an invisible trail across the rumbling sky– until his gaze lowered to the horizon. 

The horizon. 

With rain so thick in intensity, the storm had blurred the landscape into a portrait of black and white. There were two kinds of mountains, almost– the dark silhouettes of jagged hills that span across the ground, as well as the immense tempest of clouds that swept across the sky. It was like an inverted ocean with waves and waves of fluctuating greys, a bit lighter near the horizon where fragments of sunlight dispersed, every tide and push of the wind just as relentless and unforgiving as an actual sea. 

Sunny watched, and watched, and knew that Harry could drown in there. 

And just as the thought crossed his mind he saw it. 

Or rather– him. 

And time 

slowed

down.  

In reality, that pause lasted less than a second. 

But, to Sunny, it was an eternity.  

There was a rupture in the clouds where sunlight broke through, the streaming soft yellow light nearly gold against the aching monochrome of everything else. Basking inside that beam of warmth and casting a thin pillar of shadow beneath, stringing along tendrils of the clouds as it broke through the same way as the sun, a black dot was falling from the sky. Harry was falling from the sky. 

And even though Sunny was by the stands, near the ground, thousands and thousands of feet away, he could see it clearly in his mind. As if he were right there, falling alongside him, or maybe watching, floating. He could see it. Harry’s closed eyes, a peaceful expression on his sun-bathed face, legs and arms outstretched and reaching up up up and his black curls framing his face, pushed close to his cheeks by the pressing wind. Rainbow outlines around each highlighted raindrop that fell slower than he did, the sun reflecting within the storm in thin shines of white. 

It was a long, long, long way down. 

Nobody could survive that. 

*Do you want to save HARRY?

It wasn’t a decision, really. 

Sunny was moving before he knew it. The rusted railing was cold and slick in his hands. His feet slippery against the metal as he heaved his body to the other side, the side where gravity was but one good wrench away from murder. 

From somewhere far away a voice called out his name, frantic. He didn’t answer.

Nimbus 2001, he thought, and the image was clear in his mind. A Slytherin’s broom. One he spotted during his last detention. The fastest there was in this school. Accio Nimbus–

Someone grabbed his shoulder, grasp tight, growing tighter. 

“Sunny, what are you–!”

He jerked out of their grip and leaped. 

It was a push of dizzying momentum, both feet shoving off the edge of the floor as his hands left the railing.  

And then, he was weightless. 

His arms were extended and he was, for a heartbeat, floating, legs moving towards nothing and knees slowly bending mid-air, his body made up of foam as butterflies fluttered inside him. Then the weight returned, bit by bit inside his mind’s broken and too-slow clockwork. That crushing drop of his stomach, the first thing to become heavy, before that involuntary tip forward, the one that sent waves of shocks through the rest of the body and sparked every trigger of alarm. The one that made his blood flash from ice-cold to white-hot and caused panic so visceral and sudden it was physical agony. 

A trickling sound to his right. 

Nimbus 2001– 

Something brushed his palm and Sunny grabbed. 

The broom nearly slipped out of his grip as it lurched ahead almost faster than he could consciously react, hands slipping to the bristles. His hand clenched just strong enough at the last second and he blasted across the air like a bullet. 

Every muscle burned and burned with effort as Sunny held on for dear life, shouting out a yell that lost itself in the slicing wind. He flung himself forward, snatching the end of the broom and pulling the rest of his body up up up as the broom tipped higher and higher and he needed to go faster he needed to faster he needed to go faster than this– 

“The smaller you are, the faster you’ll be, so always try to stay close to the broom when you’re trying to be quick.” Harry smiled as he always did during his weekly little lectures, gesturing with his hands. “Move with the flow instead of against it– here, I’ll give you a demonstration, hand it over…”

Sunny flattened against the broom best he could, legs swinging around the handle and locking together. 

The ground and the sky went round and round and round in a brutal vertigo and Sunny held on tighter. He was so close to the wood his chin pressed against the handle. The end of the broom was blurred to his eyes. But like an arrow it pointed, and hovering above its tip, far in the distance, was the growing blurb of black and red billowing robes, the shape haloed by the sun’s glow. 

Sunny’s heart leapt to his throat. 

Harry. 

Sunny couldn’t even pause to process anything before Harry had dropped away from his line of sight, plummeting down down down. 

He didn’t think. 

He pivoted the broom downwards and shot towards the ground.

It was a race against gravity. 

The ground below defined itself from a carpet of black and green to something with texture as it grew closer and closer. The rain sliced up his face as Sunny sped down faster than the drops, and wind howled in his ears. He was quickly cutting distance, no longer flying diagonally to Harry but vertical, right above him, a line straight down to death. 

Harry fell and fell and fell, arms still outstretched, eyes still closed, and for a moment, only a moment but it was a moment too long, she was there in his place– white dress, black hair, terrified eyes, what did you do– and then she was gone, she was gone, and Harry was still there and the ground was there closer and closer and it was right there only seconds away it was right there and Harry was right there Harry was–

Sunny let go of the broom and reached out with one hand. 

If you fall, I fall. 

Harry would not die here. He wouldn’t allow it. 

He grabbed Harry’s hand. 

Blue strings of light burst from his wrist. They grew like thin vines, wrapping around their hands, following the trails of their veins, warm against the icy rain and warmer than the pouring sun above. 

If you fall, I fall. 

The ground below was a breath away. He wouldn’t have time to swerve. Not without breaking Harry’s body with the momentum. 

The impact would kill them both. 

Or maybe–

Maybe just one of them. 

If you fall, I fall.  

Sunny abandoned the broom. 

He pulled Harry into an embrace, legs losing their lock on the handle as he toppled off and they both tipped– Sunny held Harry close to his chest and turned, flipping their positions, angling his back to hit the ground first. 

If you fall, I fall. 

He closed his eyes, and waited for the impact to come. 

—

The Hospital Wing shouldn’t be allowed to look so bloody nice after the last 24 hours Ron just had. It was the day after the match and warm late afternoon sunlight streamed inside in a steady radiant glow, the weather outside insultingly pleasant after last night’s storm. Ron was sitting on a newly summoned chair and table, one that sat between Harry and Sunny’s beds, a chess board set down on the flat surface with a frustrated Hermione sitting on the other end. 

He wasn’t really paying attention to the game, truth be told, chin on his hands as he looked out the window. It really was a nice day outside. Stupid weather.

Harry had woken up a few hours ago, in the morning, when the rest of the Gryffindor team was there with Ron and Hermione to visit. What followed during those next twenty minutes or so before Madam Pomfrey ushered everyone away was the most uncomfortable conversation Ron’s had this year. And that was putting it mildly.  

Right, so, apparently you somehow flew nearly half a kilometer away from the pitch during the game, and then you fell off your broom thanks to bloody dementors or something, oh and we all reckon that if it weren’t for Sunny you’d be very very dead.

Oh, you don’t know what I mean by ‘if it weren’t for Sunny’? Well, you see, he began to panic once he didn’t see you, one hell of an instinct honestly, and then once he did find you he proceeded to JUMP OFF THE STANDS without a broom or anything and by Merlin’s grace did he manage to summon a broom in time for him to not splat to the ground alongside you.

Except you both did hit the ground. Everyone sort of thought you died, but somehow neither of you did. It was thanks to Sunny’s accidental magic or something, that’s what  Professor Dumbledore said. Hey! Don’t look at me like that, lecture him about it once he wakes up!... yeah, about that, no. He hasn’t woken up yet. Uhhhh, we don’t know, could be a few hours, could be another day. He’s fine, yeah, but he injured his legs and drained his magic somehow, and his hand also broke, but Madam Pomfrey already healed it when he was asleep. Speaking of broken, about your broom…

Poor Harry had to just sit there and take in every other word even as the story only got worse and worse and worse. Ron did most of the talking, he was there to see everything much too close after all, but Hermione helped too, as well as Fred and George and a few others. It didn’t make anything any easier, but at least they managed to explain everything in a timely manner before Madam Pomfrey forced everyone to go back to class in order for Harry to get more rest. 

“Who knew Silent Suzuki had in him, huh?” said Angelina with not a little amount of awe, crossing her arms. “It was like a movieI tell you. I thought he was done for after he jumped, but no, he bloody well flew. Gave everyone quite the fright, I don’t think I’ve ever seen Professor Lupin look so panicked before...” 

Ron swallowed, gut twisting. 

The memory of seeing Sunny jump off that railing was all too fresh in his mind. Everything went fine, yeah, and Sunny was right there, right there, completely fine, just like Harry. Both were literally sleeping away their problems in beds two metres away from him. He knew that, but… it was still a thought, wasn’t it. His hold hadn’t done anything. He’d been there, right there, grabbing Sunny’s shoulder only for him to just rip away from his grip. This story could’ve ended much, much differently, and if it had, it would’ve been his fault. 

Hah. What a thought, right?

It all went by so fast too. One second he was introducing himself to the bloke Harry had talked about so much the last few weeks, making sure to stick to every ‘How To Converse with Suzuki’ rule that Harry hammered into his and Hermione’s brains for days, actually having a good time watching the game and then the next… well. The next he thought he was about to witness a bloody suicide by a panicked lunatic he’d considered a new friend for less than an hour, that’s what. But oh well. That was just how Tuesdays went sometimes, he supposed. Never a dull moment in his path of life. 

…lunatic. 

Merlin, what a rude thought to have. 

He should be grateful Sunny’s instincts were so on-point. And he was grateful. He was! 

It just– it just happened too fast.

“Sunny, what are you—”

It all happened so fast. 

“Are you going to move your piece, Ron?” 

Ron blinked, looking away from the window and back to Hermione. She had both hands by the temples as she hunched forward with her elbows on the table, pulling up the edge of her brows up as her head’s sinking weight was supported by her fingers. It was strange seeing her visibly stressed about something else other than schoolwork. And a bit upsetting too. 

He spared a glance at the chess board. She’d moved her white knight just right to threaten his queen without putting herself in direct danger. Not a bad move by any means, but not the best one she could’ve done. But still, she was stressed enough as it was, she deserved a small win for now. He moved his queen to the side to protect it, threatening a rook of hers while simultaneously giving her an opening to eat his own knight. An awful move, but not so bad she’d know he’s going easy on her. She’d hate that. And eating his knight wasn’t an obvious move either, but he knew she was smart enough to figure it out on her own. 

With that, he turned back to the window. 

Hopefully Harry would wake up again soon. He was asleep right then, as per Madam Pomfrey’s stern instructions on how much he should rest in order to recover. She wasn’t specific over what he should recover from, but Ron knew better than to ask. He didn’t want to get kicked out of the Hospital Wing for meddling with her patient or something equally as ridiculous. 

“...hn… ugh… the fu…” 

Ron perked at the sound immediately. By his bed, Sunny was groaning quietly, pushing himself up with a trembling physical weakness. He had one hand gripping his head, visibly dazed. 

Hermione looked back once she caught Ron staring, and once she saw Sunny she gasped, standing up so quickly her chair nearly toppled over. 

“Oh my gosh you’re awake!” 

Her voice cracked at that last word, and she barely allowed Sunny to glance up at her in surprise before rushing over and tackling him in a tight, tight hug, already beginning to weep with relief the same way she did with Harry. 

“Oh, Sunny! I was so worried!”

Ron winced a little at the stunned-turned-terrified expression on Sunny’s face (which Hermione couldn’t see in her current position). Ooops. Seems like she forgot something from the Golden Rules of Suzuki– don’t touch without permission. It was one of the top three most important laws in the half metaphorical manual Harry gave them, alongside don’t take his awkwardness personally and don’t ever talk about anything non-academic. 

Too late for the last one, but it’s not like they could do much about it. 

“W-why are you crying–” It took a second to recognize Sunny’s quiet, trembling voice, and another second to register the actual full-fledged terror shaking within those four words. “Harry, is he– is Harry g-gon– i-is he–”

“He’s fine,” cut in Ron before Sunny started crying too (because Merlin forbid any of them be composed during any of this), and he stood up from the table, walking over to Sunny’s bed and hovering nearby it, unsure of what exactly to do. He scratched the back of his neck, and upon noticing Sunny was still looking at him through Hermione’s shoulder, continued to explain.

“He’s, erm, right over there. Asleep. To your left– yeah, there, you see him? Yeah. You both, erm, fell. I’m not sure how much you remember, but you managed to fly over and grab him just as he was about to hit the ground. And your, erm, apparently your magic slowed the fall? Just enough for you both to not get too hurt? At least that’s what we’ve heard from Madam Pomfrey and the professors. Oh, but, your l-legs. They, ah…” 

Ron trailed off. Blast it all, why did he have to be the one to explain this. 

 “...how do they feel, actually? Good, I hope, considering they’re a bit… erm…”

He struggled to find the words. Sunny stared at him harder.

“...shredded?” 

Sunny blinked at him. 

“What?”

Ron sighed, because he could already tell this was going to be yet another Conversation™, and thankfully Hermione let Sunny go from her embrace before he had to formulate a proper reply, holding his shoulders with a watery smile. 

“Sunny, I just– I just want to thank you for saving Harry. Truly. Thank you so, so much. And don’t you ever do something as ridiculous as jumping off the stands again, do you understand?! This was a one time thing and– and… oh, Sunny, just– thank you.” 

It was a bit funny how easily the Ravenclaw flustered. He dipped his head, sheepish. 

“...uhm… y-yeah, it’s… nothing…”

Ron frowned a little at that, sure, jumping to your death is nothing, and he shook his head.

“It’s not nothing. Really, Hermione’s right. Thank you. He’s… Harry’s my best mate you know, and if you h-hadn’t… well…” He gestured vaguely with his hands, making a vague sound at the back of his throat before moving on with a quick ahem. “You know. And, uhm, in any case, if you ever need anything, anything at all, let me know alright? And anything really does mean anything. We owe you one.” 

He surprised himself a bit with how much he actually meant that. Only reason he didn’t go on was because Sunny looked progressively more and more uncomfortable at every word, avoiding eye contact and shrinking closer to himself.

At least Ron understood why don’t ever talk about anything non-academic was a rule now. He cleared his throat, yet again, and moved on to the more pressing topics, because the quicker they got that part of conversation over with the better. 

“Alright, how about you give us some questions to answer and we’ll go from there? Actually, hold on, before that– how do you feel? Honest? Is there any pain anywhere? Madam Pomfrey told me to tell you to drink something if there was any. It’s that thing over there. It’ll help and also start some of the healing. Well, continue it, you’ve already been here an entire night. She, erm, said you might have to stay the week– but it’s nothing too bad! So don’t worry too much about it.”

He pointed at a nearby flask that sat by Sunny’s bedside while he talked, and tried not to shiver at the mere thought of what may be inside. As much as those potions quite literally worked magic, nothing in there would be anything but torturous to the taste buds.

Sunny glanced over at it for a long second, before slowly reaching out and grabbing the flask, bringing it close. He set it on his lap, stared for a beat, and then uncorked it.

“...thanks,” he mumbled quietly, and then promptly went for a drink. As expected, his face twisted with disgust, nose scrunching together in a way that was a bit too comical for the one and only Stoic Suzuki, but he took another sip before bringing it away from his lips. 

Sunny wordlessly closed the flask and set it by his bedside. 

Ron offered a small smile and hoped it didn’t look too amused. “Don’t mention it.”

“Are you hungry?” asked Hermione all of a sudden, frowning in concern. “You haven’t eaten anything in almost a day now.”

Huh. She was right. Ron was about to suggest grabbing something from the Kitchens, but she perked, clearly having remembered something before walking over to the chest that sat in front of Sunny’s bed, bending over and opening it up.

“Hold on, I think I’ve seen one or two meal gifts in here.”

“...gifts?” echoed Sunny, raising an eyebrow. He’d leaned back against his bed frame, sinking a bit into his pillow. Ron stared a little. It was quite strange seeing him like this, honestly. So up close. Not to mention he was oddly relaxed for someone who just woke up in a Hospital Wing after a near death experience. Ron got the feeling this wasn’t a first, which, all things considered, wasn’t a surprise. 

Hermione nodded at his question, now smiling as she started moving some of the gifts Madam Pomfrey put away to the edge of Sunny’s bed, close to his feet. “Yeah! You had a few visitors while you were asleep and most of them dropped something off before they left.”

“I had visitors?” 

The surprise in his voice was rather sad. Ron tried not to frown. Neither of them verbally said it, but Harry was only half the reason he and Hermione stayed so long in the Hospital Wing after class. Truth be told they both didn’t like the idea of Sunny waking up alone, not after everything, and so they’d decided to hang around just in case his quiet nature didn’t elicit much company. It seemed they had nothing to worry about though. A handful of people came in both when they were and when they weren’t there. It was a very large relief, but they ended up lingering anyway.

Hermione did frown, never one to hold back when upset, but it was more confused than sad. “Of course you did, why wouldn’t you?” 

Sunny didn’t answer, instead looking down at his gifts. 

“Who sent me that?” he asked, pointing at the enormous bouquet of flowers. Ron recognized it quickly, for he was there for that one. It was from a girl with auburn hair and blue eyes, one who looked utterly heartbroken over seeing Sunny laying there on the bed, stiff as a corpse. He didn’t remember her name though. Tourniquet or something? Ron snorted, internally shaking his head. No, nothing so ridiculous. 

Hermione had no such issue with her memory. 

“Oh, that was from Theresa.”

“Theresa?” Sunny echoed. 

Hermione tilted her head, visibly a bit puzzled. “Yes?”

“...who is that?”

“Your friend?” she sounded even more confused now, before she gasped, as if realizing something. “Oh! You might know her as Tessa.”

“Oh… right, her. T-that’s, uhm. That’s nice,” said Sunny, in a way that was painfully clear he had no idea who Hermione was on about. Before it could get awkward, he pointed at the box full of crystals. “Is that from Luna?”

It was Ron’s turn to ask. “Depends. Who is that?”

“Uhm. Blond hair girl. Blue eyes. Very nice.”

“Oh. Yeah, it was her. She came with Tessa. I think they’re also friends?”

“...cool.”

“This one might have some food!” exclaimed Hermione, absolutely delighted, standing straight and holding up a very tiny picnic basket with one hand. Ron blinked at the thing. Well, he was certainly not there for that one. Who the hell would’ve given an entire picnic basket? And such a small one too. 

Sunny seemed to share that surprise, brows furrowing deep. 

“Who brought that one?” 

Hermione shrugged (didn’t see the person either apparently) as she set it down, opening it up with a bit too much enthusiasm. Enthusiasm that very quickly evaporated once she glanced at the contents inside. She blinked, absolutely bewildered, and reached in, grabbing something. A packet of some sort, judging by the crinkling sound. Ron couldn’t quite see what exactly it was from where he stood. 

“It’s… dog food?” she said once she took it out and finished inspecting, her voice raising a pitch in question as she glanced over at Ron. He felt about as stumped as she did. Dog food? Really? What kind of sick joke was that?

Sunny stared dead-faced at Hermione for five entire seconds, long enough for Ron to briefly wonder whether they’d broken him, before his expression fell, passing surprise darkening into a deep glower. 

“Dog food,” he repeated, tone empty. 

Hermione nodded, a bit awkward. “Well, dog treats to be more specific, but it’s very high qu–”

“He gave me a dog treat?!” 

Both she and Ron startled at that. Bloody hell, Suzuki spoke at a normal volume. Which, coming from him and his voice, sounded surprisingly loud. Huh. Ron didn’t know Sunny had any volume levels above his seemingly permanent ‘library-voice’. What a pleasant surprise. 

“You know who sent you this?” asked Ron. 

“...unfortunately,” grumbled Sunny with a sigh. 

He snorted at that, knowing the feeling all too well, but Hermione frowned in concern. She all but shoved the dog treats back into the picnic basket, shaking her head. “Oh goodness, I’m so sorry about this Sunny. Do you want us to throw it away?” 

Sunny opened his mouth, about to immediately reply (likely with a yes), but then some strange reluctance hit and he closed it. He paused, considering, and after a few more seconds he let out a deep, deep groan. He shook his head. 

“No, keep it. It’s… it’s annoyingly useful. And if you see Luna, can you, uhm, give it to her please? She’ll know what to do with it.”

“You’ve got a dog back home?” asked Ron, interested. He half-wished he could convince Sunny to bring it and let it chase Crookshanks around someday, see how Hermione liked having her pet constantly terrorized for once. He shoved the mean thought aside. 

Sunny paused for a beat, then shrugged. “Uhm. Something like that. Technically yes twice over.”

…that might just be the weirdest way he could’ve phrased it, but Ron wouldn’t question it or ask for elaboration. Rule number four was pretty clear on that. 

Although they could’ve easily continued talking for a while longer, it was by that point that Madam Pomfrey noticed Sunny’s awake nature and immediately kicked both Ron and Hermione out so that she could properly treat him. 

They left without too much of a fuss– both had homework to do, after all, and it was getting very late– and they waved Sunny goodbye. 

Ron’s eyes drifted to Harry’s bed as he left the room. Lingered at his sleeping form.

He really hoped his friend was having some good dreams, or at the very least a restful sleep. Merlin knew he deserved it. 

—

Harry’s always known when he dreamt

a gift he’s had since very early youth

there wasn’t anything to do after all

inside his cupboard’s dull, washed out walls

a room somehow smaller every year

the small things whispered truth

like a touch that felt foreign to texture

or a face that changed every moment 

and at times a feeling, a simple certainty

either way he’s always, always known

and it was for these reasons, 

and only these, you understand

that Harry knew now he wasn’t awake

that Harry knew this wasn’t real

he was in a city, in a street

running cobblestone beneath his feet

and a dense cloud of white fog settled

around every corner that was too far for him to see

it wasn’t london, not quite a town 

it was somewhere else, somewhere safe

a place without a name, without history

not that it’d matter either way

he was much smaller than he should be

every building larger than life

and people moved past him, around him 

holding cases, conversations 

Harry watched the crowd blur, those shades of white and cool greys

each person faded and fading from every colour in the spectrum

he lingered near a wall, near a window, back stiff against brick

for there was no dream-instinct there to tell him what to do now

it was quite unusual, this dullness

this lack of sense, of any purpose

his dreams followed stories and narratives, a goal, a reason

but not this time, evidently, so Harry waited, just watching 

that’s when he saw It, in the distance, the Shadow, the thing

dotting the corner of his vision, swaying lonesome on the street

It was shifting, and dark, black mass of scribbles and ink 

and to Harry’s surprise It didn’t vanish once he looked

It always left before, always, each time he’s tried to just stare

but this time It stayed, staring back, waiting and waiting

the crowd parted around It, not afraid, not seeing

can you hear me? Harry asked, voice echoing through the fog

It did not respond, not a word, but that was not a surprise

are you a friend? Harry asked, walking forward, towards It

in a blink, It was gone, leaving nothing behind

the crowd swallowed the space, the empty, the white

Harry slowed, and then stopped, his stare souring at the void

come back, he asked, i want to know what you are

no response, no response, and the silence sank in his ears

disappointing, he mused, and held back a deep sigh

are you Harry? a voice asked, and he flinched with surprise

it was sweet, and light, soft spoken but clear

Harry turned in a heartbeat, and that’s when he saw Her, the woman

a lady, quite pretty, someone whose face did not melt

She was much older than him, and much taller as well

paper pale skin, smooth white like pure marble

Her hair was bright red

not like fire, but blood

and Her eyes were deep green, 

a forest, like moss

i am, he told Her, and tried to offer a smile

a smile She returned, Her lips a dim faded pink 

I’m your Mother, She said, and Harry paused at those words

he watched Her longer and longer, something curling inside him

are you Lost? She asked, walking closer each step

why, he said, wary, and forced himself to stay still

I can help you, She said, halting but one foot away

are you my Mother? he asked, uneasy, unsure

She laughed, very loud, the question silly in Her eyes

of course I am, My sweet dreamer

and She reached out Her hands

She cradled his cheeks, fingers cold but gentle

Harry stiffened, then stopped, and leaned further into the touch

it was soothing, and strange, a comfort he’d never quite had

Her gaze pierced his eyes, and green mirrored green

you’re like Me, She said, marvelling, Her smile a delicate delight

come with Me, She pled, hand intertwining with his

it felt hard to agree, but harder still to just not

reluctance made his feet heavy, made them drag, made them dumb

but She tugged very patiently, a wide grin on Her face

and Harry followed, and followed, nothing else he could do

they parted through the crowd, the faceless rippling around them

buildings grew larger as they walked, pace steady and slow

and the cobblestone pressed 

ever so gently against his feet

and Harry held Mother’s hand a bit tighter each step 

are you scared? She asked quietly, deep love in Her voice

something’s wrong, he explained, throat clamping at the words

he swallowed dry, so dry, and his feet weighed heavier still 

the pit in his stomach knitted itself a cruel, cruel knot 

don’t be scared, She said sweetly, I am here for you now

I’d never let them hurt you

who are they?

why, You

and Harry fell quiet, just quiet, a rope choking his voice

nothing’s wrong My sweet dreamer, soothed Mother again

they had left by now, the city long gone

a forest stood by the distance, as green as Her eyes

safety swarmed the visage, steaming warmth, a bright home

and Harry’s feet felt lighter than they ever had before

it was a strange, strange feeling, dizzying like a drug

a peace that unwinded every knot in his gut

We’re almost There, She explained, grinning with joy

Where is There? He asked, a bit anxious, excited

you decide, my dear child, She said with a loud, loud laugh

and harry, deliriously, couldn’t help but grin too 

He looked at the distance and saw seas of potential 

He’d create corals so beautiful His Mother would weep

and She’d laugh right after, so joyful, so proud

and She’d hold Him tight as He sunk deeper and deeper

a pond, He decided, that’s what I want it to be

a pond? really? that’s too small of a dream

then an ocean, He argued, which holds every old life 

it goes deep, She warned, and it's too easy to drown

what should it be then, if you’re so picky, so nosy

a forest, She said, like the one you see now

that’s stupid, He said, I’ll only get Lost

I’ll find you, She promised, and held His hand tight

Wake up. 

Harry flinched, flinched hard, surprised at the Voice

he glanced behind him and saw a void of pure white

no trees, no city, no forest, no pond

just an endless infinity of nothing and nothing 

Wake up.

It said, and the words quickened his heart

Stop it, She said, and Harry blinked, looked down

his hand was now free, and it ached, too empty

She let go, She let go, but when, but how?

Wake up.

he looked up, at the forest, the distance

a flame of red hair swayed and swayed in the wind

come with me, Mother begged, it’s best for us both

Harry blinked, and stared, then frowned very deep

Liar, he thought, he said, he knew–

Wake up. 

–another’s hand’s touch, much colder, and firm

fingers wrapped his wrist tight, grip strong but not cruel

Harry looked back, once again, and froze at the sight

It was a boy, the shape, the shifting silhouette 

a stranger, and yet, something about It felt familiar

the longer he stared the more Its face was defined

like someone was drawing in real-time a new piece

who are you? he asked, and let Its touch linger

a friend, It promised, and brought up Its free hand

the closer It reached the more carved it became 

from a blur to real fingers, until thin lines ran Its palms

i’m sorry, It said, and Harry did not understand

he felt a brush on his neck, the touch cool, quite gentle

tell Her to leave, it’s Your mind, and Your realm

She can’t touch You in here if You don’t want Her to 

i don’t understand, Harry said, now confused

It did not say more, letting go of his hand

It cradled his neck, not his face, but his throat

and before he could ask It squeezed and then squeezed–

–Harry awoke with a gasp, the kind of sharp breath that rasped the inside of the throat. 

He coughed right after, and his blanket curled into tight fists as he rolled over, groaning. His heart thumped in his head, pounding loudly in his skull, and he could feel his rushing blood summon a thousand invisible ants across his bubbled skin. It was a terrible, horrid feeling, and Harry groaned once again, waiting for the world to stop spinning.

It didn’t take too long, only a few seconds. In fact it went by so fast it almost left him delirious. 

Bloody hell, what a dream. Well, a nightmare. His mind was swimming, and already he’d forgotten about half of its contents. There was a city of a sort, then a lady… his mother, wasn’t it? Yeah. It was her. What a weird decision from his brain. He’d dreamt of his mum before, but never like this. That, whatever that was, didn’t give him any comfort, nor was it sad. More creepy than anything, honestly. Then she said something, and they went somewhere, and then that stupid Shadow Boy or something showed up out of nowhere. Talk about unnecessary violence, did it have to bloody choke him?! He remembered that part clearly enough. Blimey. 

Harry huffed to himself, and despite annoyance overpowering his dwindling post-nightmare panic, he couldn’t bring himself to close his eyes again just yet. And so he kept them open, staring out at nothing in particular.

Unsurprisingly, it was the middle of the night. The amount of times he’s woken up in the Hospital Wing during this particular time frame was starting to become absurd. It was dark, pitch black, to the point where the air itself seemed to have pressing weight. There was no streaming moonlight to provide clarity, any form of illumination coming only from a few dim candles that sat by every bedside– including the empty ones– the small flickering flames emanating a soft glow of orange and yellow light. 

The sound of rain slowly grew more and more audible as he finally registered it, the steady clatter coming from the window that sat right above his bed. Harry laid there a bit longer and listened for a while, breathing, enjoying the quiet. Eventually though he sat there long enough to notice the damp cold of his dried sweat. Eugh, just brilliant. 

He began to roll over, again, to the other side this time– but then Harry felt it before he saw anything, and he froze mid-movement. 

That off sensation. It was there. Close by, somewhere to his right. Tangible in a way he hadn’t felt since October, enough to make the hairs of his neck stand straight and for a shiver to run down his back. It felt worse somehow. That charge in the air, more suffocating than he remembered it ever being. 

Harry paused, swallowed, and considered very very hard, before turning around fully and propping himself up a little with his arm. By the adjacent bed was a figure, a boy, his body fadedly lit by the echoes of distant light from Harry’s bedside candle. And yes, only Harry’s bedside, for some reason the candles from the other side of the room were all blown out. 

“Oh,” said Harry when he realised who he was looking at, wincing. “Sorry, Sunny. Did I wake you?” 

Sunny sat on the margin of his bed, feet dangling, back arched, his hands grasping the edge. His head was lowered, hair flowing down like a curtain and shielding his face. All the blankets were pushed away from his body and almost sliding off the mattress, one pillow fallen to the floor. He wore a loose white shirt and black shorts, clearly having changed into his pajamas just like Harry did a few hours ago. This was the first time Harry saw him properly since their incident during the match, and he couldn’t help but feel a bit guilty. There were bandages and gauze around Sunny’s legs. Ones too thick to be just for scratches. 

“I’ll, erm, I’ll be quiet. I don’t know if I was loud, but… I won’t be again. Promise.” 

He had enough memories of the Dursleys lecturing him about his dreams and how terrified he was allowed to be of them to know he could be quite annoying at night. It even led to them replacing his cupboard’s original frail door with a much thicker door when he was about six. Hopefully Sunny didn’t mind. 

To his growing unease, however, his friend didn’t say a word in response. No forgiveness, no reproach. Only silence. Sat there like a statue. 

“...are you alright?” 

Sunny stirred, but it was slight. 

“Do you–”

He moved. 

Very slowly at first, one foot reaching down to the ground, the tip of his toes touching the smooth floor lightly. As if testing something. Then he pushed himself further out and let his weight sink his heel down. Sunny left his bed with a single step forward, his spine’s posture perfectly straight, and that push of momentum made the movement look fluid before it died just as quickly as it came. 

He just stood there, in front of his bed, arms limp by his sides. He tipped his head up, back to normal, and his curtain of hair parted, sliding away from his face and swaying down the sides of his cheeks. Harry could easily see his face now, that typical blank look, but there was a new level of emptiness in his open-eyed gaze that Harry never thought was possible. It made something in his chest go cold. 

It was more than ‘distant’, more than unreadable, it was something else entirely that felt wrong in too many ways to name. As if the features of his expression were dead, fake in the sense that someone had crafted them by hand and plastered it all unceremoniously onto bone, adorning his muscles with details the same way paint did a mask. 

Harry swallowed. 

“Ah… S-Sunny…?” 

He moved again, somehow slower, walking forward one step at a time with a grace by his shoulders that felt too effortless. But his feet were clunky when they hit the ground, louder than they should be. Thud, and then thud, and then thud. The candlelight reached his waist first, the outline of the flame’s emanating glow sloping along the curves and folds of his lower shirt and shorts, gradually rising up his body the closer Sunny got. By the time the light reached his face, bathing the underside of his chin and lower neck in warm tones, he stood by Harry’s bed. 

Harry had to crane his neck, looking up, meeting Sunny’s near-black eyes. 

They were cast in shadow thanks to the angle of the candle, and they stared directly down to the point where the upper white of his eyes was visible, his petrifying gaze fixed straight at him. Sunny didn’t seem to be blinking, veins and corners a pronounced, vivid red, and the glaze of his watered eyes reflected the flicker of the candle. 

Without a word Sunny looked away, turning to Harry’s bedside desk. He grabbed the handle of the first drawer, opening with a rusty creeeeeaaak that made Harry cringe and duck his head between his shoulders. Sunny reached his hand inside once it was open all the way, rummaging. 

Quiet clinks of glass hitting glass filled the thick silence of the room, and eventually he took out a vial, one with a liquid Harry couldn’t quite see since his fingers curled around the glass. He closed the drawer, that same creeeaaaak flossing between Harry’s ears in a terrible burn, and Sunny inspected the vial calmly, bringing it closer to the light. 

Harry didn’t look at the thing, too busy staring at his friend, unnerved beyond sense. It was a kind of discomfort that felt nearly numb, like a quiet buzz beneath his skin that would fade from his awareness given enough time. That off energy was missing, but he didn’t think it was because it had left. He just… stopped feeling it. The same way you stop registering the texture of water when submerged long enough. There was still something wrong with all this. Very wrong. But he didn’t know what it was anymore, and he had the feeling it was too late to tell. 

Sunny turned back to him, seemingly satisfied with what he saw in the vial. He extended out a free hand, fingers traced orange by the adjacent fire, and Harry stared at the offer. It took him a few moments before he figured out what Sunny was trying to say, and he reluctantly brought his own hand up, laying it on the other’s with his palms facing the ceiling. 

The vial was placed on the center of his palm, and Sunny cupped Harry’s fingers gently, guiding them closed so that Harry enveloped the vial in a loose grasp. The cold glass pressed against the dip of his thumb’s slope and the arcs of his fingers, chilly texture warming quickly within the cradle of his progressively tightening fist. 

“Drink,” Sunny said, voice too steady. “It’s for your dreams.” 

And with that, he let go of his hand, taking a step back. He turned back around and walked back to his bed with that same slow speed, eventually falling too far for the candlelight to reach, left to be swallowed again by the settled darkness. 

Sunny picked up his pillow, setting it down on his mattress and brushing off any dust it might’ve gotten, before slipping back into his bed and pulling the crumpled blankets over his shoulders.  

Harry watched, still propped up, still holding the vial with one hand. 

Without explanation, without another word, Sunny had gone back to sleep. 

Harry stared, and stared, and stared, and he didn’t realize he’d held his breath the whole time until a stuttered gasp breached his lips, a quiet but deep inhale of air flooding his lungs with oxygen so quickly he felt dizzy. 

That– that was…

What… what on earth was that about?

Harry blinked, his breathing steadying and heart slowing down. He looked down at his fist and, after a pause, uncurled it. The vial sat there, small and seemingly insignificant. There was a label on its seal, ‘Sleeping Draught’. That wasn’t surprising. It wasn’t like he thought Sunny would poison him or something equally as ridiculous. Yet, for some reason, he felt relieved at the sight. A pressure he hadn’t registered lifting from a place he couldn’t name. 

Immediately he knew that he shouldn’t tell anyone about this. The vial, he meant. It felt like a secret. A lot of things about Sunny felt like a secret funnily enough, so that wasn’t an unfamiliar thing. But this… this moreso. That sensation of stay quiet, that tug of silence, it felt stronger than before. And he wasn’t even talking to anyone this time around, he wasn’t trying to tell Hermione and Ron, nor was he trying to ask Lupin about the boggart. He was just sitting on his bed and yet this feeling crept up. 

Harry frowned, a bit confused at himself for jumping to that conclusion so quickly, but it didn’t take long for the subconsciously seen reasons to click in his mind. The drawers were always locked by Madam Pomfrey to stop students from stealing. Of course he shouldn’t speak of this. Sunny managed to unlock it, and he stole something just to help him sleep. Harry must’ve missed the wand somehow, as well as the uttered spell, but that… that wasn’t surprising either. He had a headache and his mind wasn’t quite right. That was it. No wonder everything wasn’t making any sense, he needed more rest. 

In any case, he truly should just keep this to himself. Sunny might get in trouble for helping, and besides, if someone were to ask why Harry needed the draught, he’d have to explain the dream he had. And that felt like a worse secret. A much, much worse one. Likely because it was his rather than Sunny’s. It really was a strange dream, wasn’t it? Enough for him to feel like this. Bloody hell.

…alright, he needed sleep. 

It was rather difficult to open the vial as it was closed surprisingly tight, but soon enough he did and he gulped the entire thing down. He knew this potion well, used it once to knock Malfoy’s goons out during that one polyjuice plan, and a tiny dosage like this would do nothing but calm him down and lull him into a deep rest. 

A wave of soothing washed over him, and Harry brought the potion down from his lips, the small motion already feeling lethargic. His eyelids felt heavy and stifled back a yawn, slipping the empty vial beneath his pillow (he’d find a better hiding place for it later) and settling down, rolling over and snuggling into his warm blanket and soft mattress. 

Pulling exhaustion came, and it came fast. 

Harry closed his eyes and fell into a deep, uninterrupted, entirely dreamless sleep.