multiversallogs | The hounds all join in glorious cry

Who: Sebastian LeMat
What: A worrying trend?
Where: If you believe Jillian, Candyland!
When: The following day after this.

He's running.

His knee doesn't pain him and his hands are whole.

In front of him, the Forbidden Forest stretches on without end. As he runs, he can hear the nighttime sounds of various animals and creatures that live within it. Harry isnit sure what he's chasing, but it doesn't matter because it feels like he can run forever. When the trees and underbrush part, he can occasionally catch a glimpse of what he's tracking. Maybe it's a deer?

Maybe it is a deer - maybe it's even a stag. The light-sharp quadruple beat of its pace suggests it could be so. Harry shouldn’t be able to keep up with an animal like that, but he can, because it's urgent - important. He needs to get there; the feeling of it is anxious or exhilarating or - both? He's closing in now. Soon, just over this log, just through those trees, and he'll have it.

And then all of a sudden, there it is. A great golden stag with horns that climb up and up, beautiful and a little bit frightening. The light from it makes the trees around it glow, and it stands proudly - defiantly.

It's standing over a solid black hole. It doesn't feel right.

He's always been good at subsuming his anxiety under exhilaration. Now, he can focus on the chase, but once he could lose himself in battle and it was better than anything he's felt since. He won't ever admit to it, but there was a profound and fulfilling joy in doing just what he had been raised and trained for.

A man might not be able to outrun a deer, but in this dream he knows how to exhaust his prey and wait until it's driven to a standstill before attacking.

It wasn't there before, but as he circles around the deer a knife appears in his hand as if it had always been there.

The animal knows that it's time has come, and it doesn't run any further. It's tired, even if it doesn't look it - Harry is swift, cunning, and powerful, and running won't do any good. It goes to death nobly, standing tall and proud, awaiting fate.

The first step the hunter takes into the shadow of the deer, he feels something watching him. But he has to finish - it feels right, it feels like he can't stop, because this is what he’s supposed to do, and it’s been so long since he's fought and isn’t this close, good enough? The golden stag raises its head, its great eyes peering out into the forest, into Harry.

Come closer.

He notices his heart is racing and it's not clear if it’s from the chase or that something is watching, but he has to move forward. There's nowhere else to go and he’s been driven to this clearing, to this point in time, and he needs to act.

Stepping closer, he readies himself. If the stag is truly exhausted, he should be able to grab hold of its antlers and cut its throat in a single strike; if he's mistimed this, he’ll end up with a broken arm or worse.

Whether or not it's truly exhausted, it doesn't move - in fact, when Harry draws close enough to touch, he's impressed with the knowledge that the stag is apologizing to him (in that dreamlike way where things just are, void of action or sound). The black ground beneath them holds them fast. Behind Harry, something is there. Something that's been waiting, and something that sent the stag to lure him here.

Something terrible.

But he can't turn around! He has to finish it.

Of course he can't turn around. There are rules to the hunt and refusing to look back is one of the first and most important. The second is to finish the job swiftly. It's with one steady movement that he grabs hold of the deer's antlers and cuts the throat.

He can't escape the black spot on the ground and he should be panicking, but until the stag is dead, he can’t move on and fight whatever has trapped him.

He wouldn't have been able to fight anyway.

Undergrowth crumbles, twigs snap - something moves. One step closer, then another, and the feeling of danger and dread builds until it's choking, crippling, a sound and a presence that's inescapable and -

Inevitable.

A cold hand lays on Harry's shoulder.

He can feel the cold seeping into his bones and it burns everywhere it touches. The forest is gone and his eyes are stinging, his lungs filling with water, and when he wakes up shuddering he can still smell salt and dead fish.