An Uneventful Quidditch Match (drarry) (COMPLETED)

chapter twenty

"Is it to your liking?"

Life turned, becoming face to face with- "Sister Time," they greet. Their tone is tense, and they shift uncomfortably on their chair made of nothing. Time has always been an odd one, and Life was less than comfortable with her around. "Is what to my liking?'

"Their happy ever after," Time prompts. "Is it to your liking?"

"I would say so," Life says, their voice dripping in hesitance. What, Life thought, is her game? She is so alike her closest sister in that regard- Hope and Time play games. They are unstable; irrational, so unlike brother Triumph who is calm, considerate. There is something mysterious in Time's tone- mysterious and frightening. Time does not stop by just to visit. Her reasons are never idle.

"I would like to show you something," her accent, polished and strong, echoed throughout the room that is not a room, a room in which nothing echos. "I can see every possiblity, every outcome of the slowly creeping present-- a multitude of alternative realities compared to the one you're so obsessed with following. I want to show you something, a happily ever after that is still happy, yes, but different. I want to share it with someone. It is ever so lonely not sharing, you know."

Ah. So that was what she was playing at. "You wish to show me a different outcome of these events?" Life asks, just for clarification.

"Yes," Time confirms. "The better question is, would you like to see?"

"Lady Hope would be more interested-"

"More interested," Time says hauntingly, "But less empathic. Less entertaining. So what do you say, dear sibling?"

"There is nothing better to do," Life says lightly, and is immediately swept into the past, the moment Harry wakes up after a very eventful Quidditch match.

∆¶∆

Harry snaps his eyes open, his mind whirling but face blank. There are people surrounding him, blurry figures staring ecstatically at him. Who the fuck are they? Harry thinks, searching in his mind for some sort of recognition. His mind becomes even more panicked when he realizes he can't even vaguely recall who these people in front of him are- for he cannot recall anything.

"Harry, thank Merlin you're awake." It is the voice of a brown haired female, but Harry cannot make out much more detail than that. He glances around briefly- seeing if she could possibly be referring to anyone else, but sees no one else in the hospital, where he's clearly setting, who is waking up.

He must be Harry, then.

"My glasses," he states simply, deciding he would like to be able to see and THEN figure out what the hell is going on. A redhead girl, who looks strikingly similar to a redhead boy in the group, hands him the glasses, which he slips onto his face.

A woman, in nurse attire, asks, "How are you feeling, Harry?"

"Fine," he lies, burying the sense of fear rising in him at being surrounded by people who he has no idea how to classify. "My head hurts a bit, though."

He puts hand to the back of his head, as though to demonstrate, and the pain sparks something in him. A memory. The burnette girl notices, and perks up a bit. "Is there something else wrong, Harry?" He voice is taunting, coated in fake kindness, and Harry decides that he does not like or trust her in the slightest.