Disclaimers:  I do not own either Gundam Wing or Harry Potter.  I am making no money with this.  This story is purely for
entertainment purposes only.

Notes:  Wufei watches Heero and has a strange experience.  Quatre has a terrible nightmare and awakens to a shocking
discovery.  Harry helps him to Professor Dumbledore’s office where they discuss the danger that Quatre is apparently in.



Soldiers of Sorcery



Part Twenty-Seven


Wufei watched Heero as the Japanese youth slept soundly.  He couldn’t get over how different Heero appeared when he was
asleep.  Heero looked younger . . . more innocent, even if he was covered in bruises and other injuries.  It was as if all of his
barriers were lost.  Wufei wondered, briefly, if Heero would have looked like that had the war never happened.  He doubted that
he’d ever know for sure, but it was a likely assumption.

Finding the need to occupy his time, and not stare like a love-struck schoolgirl at Heero’s attractive features, Wufei glanced
around the room he was in.  He supposed it was a good thing that Heero was the only patient in the Hospital Wing at the
moment.  Heero had always been a light sleeper, and the slightest noise tended to wake him.

The room, in and of itself, was simple.  It didn’t have that sterile scent of Muggle hospitals . . . which made sense.  There were
a few lamps, lit with candles . . . though the sun was still brightly shining.  Wufei guessed that they were for chasing the
shadows away.  The lantern by Heero’s bed caught Wufei’s eye.  It might have been his imagination, but he thought he could
catch a glimpse of something moving within the tantalizing, golden flame.  Compelled by an unknown force, Wufei looked
closer, his eyes drawn deeper and deeper into the flickering flame of the lantern.

Sound faded from his awareness, all noises driven from his mind to be replaced with only the sound of his own heartbeat.  The
world around him disappeared and there was only the flame in its golden brilliance, nothing else was there or even mattered.  
Time was meaningless . . . there was just nothing but the flame.

Shapes appeared in the undulating fire . . . voices crying out in pain, slowly growing louder as his focus deepened.  Someone
was hurt . . . but the image was too blurred for him to make it out clearly.  Before his eyes, within the orange and yellow hues
of the flame, a figured huddled over a slender young body, neither face clear to Wufei’s gaze.  The youth was stripped,
revealing a pale male frame that writhed on the stone of a floor, struggling under the assault of the figure above him.

“Stop.”  A frightened voice whispered, a voice Wufei felt he should know.  Yet, he couldn’t grasp the memory of whom it
belonged to.  Things were distorted . . . he couldn’t even tell where this was taking place or see any faces.  All he knew was
that it was bad, and that the victim of this attack was a young male.

The moment was broken as Wufei felt a firm hand land on his shoulder, a voice snapping him out of the visions in the flame and
back to reality.  “Mr. Chang?”  Madam Pomfrey asked, concern in her eyes as she looked at him.

Wufei blinked, becoming aware that he was covered in a sheen of sweat, his body feeling unbearably warm.  His throat burned .
. . parched and dry.  He shed his robe, panting for breath although he didn’t recall doing anything strenuous since bringing Heero
here.  It was hot in this room . . . so indescribably hot . . . Wufei felt like he was being consumed by fire, as if he had not only
watched the flame but had sat right in the middle of it.  

Pulling his tie loose, Wufei had a brief sense of vertigo and closed his eyes.  He leaned forward and grasped the side of Heero’s
bed as the world around him spun at a maddening pace.  Nausea caused his stomach to roil, making him grimace and groan in
discomfort.  And then quite suddenly, everything simply went black.


*****


Quatre shivered, feeling a bit chill.  Wind whipped around his body, burning his exposed skin with icy stings.  He curled his
arms around himself, feeling lost as he looked around at his surroundings.  Here he stood on a vast open plain, snow and ice
covering all that he saw.  It was like a white dessert, pure yet cold, beautiful but quite dangerous . . . especially since Quatre
seemed to be wearing nothing but his boxers to protect him from the frigid weather.

He didn’t know how he had gotten here, didn’t even remember getting out of bed.  And where was Harry?  Why was he all
alone here?  This wasn’t the school . . . Quatre was frightened . . . confused and scared because of this unusual situation.  This
was too weird.

“Come to me, Quatre.”  A strange voice whispered, tangled in the sound of the wind as it rushed around Quatre’s shivering
body.

Quatre spun, looking around.  “Who’s there?”  He called out, fearful of who this strange individual was.  “Where are you?  
What do you want with me?”

The wind only bit at his skin, the voice continuing to taunt him.  “You belong to me, Quatre Raberba Winner.  Come to me.”

Whoever this was didn’t matter to Quatre.  He didn’t like this . . . something was horribly wrong here.  The voice . . . there was
something terrifying about it, something in his heart told him not to trust it.  “No!  Leave me alone!”  Quatre cried out, backing
away a few steps.

An invisible force grabbed Quatre’s arms, forcing him to remain still.  Quatre’s eyes widened, a pair of disembodied eyes
hovering in the air before him, glowing a bright crimson.  “I will have you, Quatre.  One way or another.  If you will not come
to me . . . I will take you!”

Quatre tried to struggle away, to no avail.  This invisible creature held him too firmly, its sharp fingers digging harshly into
Quatre’s chilled skin.  “Let me go!”  Quatre whimpered, wriggling and writhing in an attempt to escape.

One hand lost its grip.  However, only a moment later pain slashed across Quatre’s chest as clawlike nails scratched at him
angrily.  “You will be mine, Quatre.  In time, you will be mine.  I will lay claim to you, my beauty . . . just wait and see.”  
Quatre screamed in pain, his body jumping in reaction to the attack on his skin.  

His eyes snapped open, only to find that he was still in Harry’s room.  He had never left.  It had only been a dream . . . a terrible
nightmare.  Quatre blinked, finding that he was standing beside a window looking out at the afternoon sky.  He turned, seeing
Harry’s bed several feet away from him, Harry still sleeping soundly on it.  He didn’t recall ever sleepwalking before, but that
must have been what had happened.  How else could he explain why he was standing by the window and not lying in the bed
with Harry?

~ I will lay claim to you, my beauty . . . just wait and see. ~  His mind echoed, reminding him of the threat of that frightening
specter from his nightmare.

Suddenly, a wave of coldness seeped into Quatre’s body, chilling him to the very bone.  He shivered, falling to his knees as tears
fell from his eyes.  He felt dirty and he was unsure as to why.  It was just such a strong feeling . . . that voice made him feel
like he was covered in a layer of grime, its words carrying such emotion that it left Quatre wanting to run to the nearest shower
and scrub his skin raw to get rid of the disgust he felt about himself.

Hands fell on Quatre’s shoulders.  In reaction, Quatre flinched and jerked away from the gentle touches, fearing them.  The
nightmare left him scared and jumpy . . . he didn’t know why he was so frightened.  It had only been a dream, hadn’t it?  But
then how could he explain the unbearable coldness that was freezing his body?

“Quatre?”  Harry’s concerned voice asked, his hands laying on Quatre’s shoulders once again.

This time Quatre turned, his bottom lip quivering as he saw that it really was Harry standing there.  Without uttering a single
word, Quatre threw himself into Harry’s arms, breaking out into throat-shredding sobs that left him tired.

“What’s wrong?  You’re skin . . . it’s ice cold.”  Harry said, cradling Quatre’s trembling body, his hands strong on the
frightened Arabian’s back.  Gently, he pulled Quatre away from him, his green eyes flickering with deep concern as he gasped.  
“Quatre . . . your lips are blue.  Are you cold?”

Quatre nodded.  “Y-Yes . . . it’s so c-cold.”  He cried, feeling as if he were still standing out in that frozen wasteland from his
dreams.  “I . . . I h-had a d-dream.  It w-was c-cold there.”

“That must have been some dream.”  Harry commented faking a laugh if only to keep Quatre calm.  Harry’s gaze drifted down,
taking note of Quatre’s intense shivering.  His emerald gaze widened, a sharp intake of breath catching on his lips.  “You’re
bleeding.”

Quatre looked down, his own eyes widening as he took in the sight of the scratches crossing his chest . . . deep clawlike marks,
slashing across his flesh.  Just like in that dream, Quatre thought, his heart pounding in his chest, his breathing becoming
increasingly difficult to maintain at a normal level.

“Quatre, calm down.  It’ll be okay.”  Harry tried to assure him, his hands cupping Quatre’s face tenderly.

Quatre shook his head.  “No . . . it was a dream . . . it wasn’t real . . .”  He ramnbled, panicking as he fought for air.  “Wasn’t
it?  What’s going on?  What’s happening to me, Harry?”

Harry wrapped his arms around Quatre’s body, holding him close if only for a brief moment.  “I don’t know.  Maybe Professor
Dumbledore will know what to do.”  He said, his one hand stroking through Quatre’s hair.  Then he pulled away and helped
Quatre to his feet.  “Come on, I’ll take you to see him now.”

Quatre only followed numbly, trembling in the cold.  He barely noticed as Harry dressed him then himself, didn’t register as
Harry escorted him out of the room and led him through the hallways of the school.  He was deaf to the whispers of the
students milling around in the corridors, blind to the stares and gawks of his fellow students.  He just followed where Harry led
him, leaning heavily against the youth he cared for in a need for physical contact, for reassurances that he was truly safe here.

Quatre was unaware of the passage of time.  It could have taken them seconds, minutes, hours, or even days to reach
Dumbledore’s office for all Quatre knew.  He was shaken, his senses totally blown by the fact that he had received an injury in
his dream and it was still there when he had awakened.  The coldness wouldn’t leave him, the icy tendrils of air still burning his
throat.  Beside him, he could feel Harry shivering in response to his proximity to Quatre’s chill form.  It was almost as if Quatre’
s body was manufacturing the cold itself . . . it seeped from every pore, most of him numb from the iciness that encased him.


*****


Harry looked worriedly at Quatre as he escorted the youth to Dumbledore’s office.  Quatre was pale, his slender body no longer
shivering as he had probably fallen into a deeper state of hypothermia.  He was so cold, like ice to the touch, and just being near
him made Harry shiver in cold.  Quatre was cold enough that in his hair, frost had begun to collect.  Harry didn’t understand
how Quatre could have gotten this cold so quickly, especially when it was quite a warm day.  He hoped that Dumbledore would
have an answer and hoped even more that he knew of a way to stop this.

He quickly said the password that would gain entrance to Dumbledore’s office, climbing the stairs until he found the door.  With
Quatre by his side, Harry knocked sharply, impatient for the help of the headmaster of the school.

In only a few short moments, Dumbledore opened his door, smiling brightly as he bade for Harry to enter.  “Come in.”  He said
pleasantly.  “Don’t imitate a hallway decoration.”

Harry strode in, his arm protectively wrapped about Quatre’s slender shoulders.  “Professor . . . I have . . .”

However, his words were abruptly cut short as Professor Dumbledore laid eyes on Quatre and took note of his poor condition.  
“Goodness me!  Whatever it is can wait a moment.  Sit Quatre down right here in the chair by the fire.”  He said, gesturing to
the chair he had mentioned.  He smiled kindly, bringing out his wand and producing a blanket to wrap Quatre in.  

“There . . .”  Dumbledore reached over, picking up a large mug of cocoa from a table near the chair.  “I had this sent up for
myself, but . . . this young one needs it far more I see.”  He pressed the mug into Quatre’s hands.  “Drink, little one.  It will
warm you.”  He said, coaxing Quatre to lift the edge of the mug to his lips and sip at the heated contents.  He smiled in
satisfaction, even though Quatre barely drank any.  “There.  Now . . . what is the problem?”

Harry frowned worriedly.  “I wish I knew.”  He admitted, shaking his head, raking his hand through his hair in frustration.  “I
woke up and found Quatre kneeling on the floor, shivering and crying.  He was ice cold to the touch and he had gashes on his
chest.  He said that it was a nightmare, and seems determined to believe just that . . . but I don’t know.  Something seems off
about this.  It has been warm lately.  He shouldn’t be this cold . . . even if he had gone into shock.”

Dumbledore nodded in understanding, a soft sigh passing his lips.  “Well . . . we will have to ask Quatre when he warms up a
bit.  I’m sure given time he will be able to fill us in and we will be able to clear up this mystery.”

“Yes . . . I hope so.”  Harry replied, taking a seat on the floor near Quatre’s side, not wanting to even look for another chair at
the moment.  He didn’t want to be away from Quatre . . . not now, not when he was obviously in a vulnerable condition.  Every
now and then Harry would tip the mug up for Quatre to drink, hoping that this tactic was working.

When the mug was empty, Harry took it from Quatre’s hands, setting it carefully aside.  Harry nearly smiled when he took note
that the color was finally returning to Quatre’s cheeks, if only a little.  Shivers began moving throughout Quatre’s body,
showing that he was indeed getting warmer . . . his body was now trying to reheat itself.  That was a good sign.  Still, Quatre
hadn’t spoken yet, or even acknowledged the presence of either Harry or Professor Dumbledore.

“Quatre?  Can you hear me, child?”  Professor Dumbledore asked, laying his hand down on Quatre’s shoulder in what was
probably a gesture of comfort.

In reaction, Quatre shuddered violently, his eyes brimming with tears as he let himself fall forward, latching onto Dumbledore as
if desperate for human contact.  Dumbledore merely held him as he sobbed, while Harry looked on, saddened that his young
love was having such a difficult time.

“There, there.”  Dumbledore hushed, then looked over at Harry.  “Here, Harry . . . you hold him while I prepare a tea to calm
him and warm him further.”

Harry nodded, rising from his place on the floor and sliding into the chair that Quatre had so recently vacated.  He wrapped his
arms around Quatre’s body, pulling him over to sit across his lap.  In response, Quatre turned and curled closer to Harry,
bringing his legs up as he buried his face in Harry’s robes.  

Harry adjusted the blanket around Quatre’s body, keeping him snugly covered.  “Sshh, Quatre.  I have you.  It’s all right.”  
Harry attempted to soothe his trembling, weeping love . . . but to no avail.

“No . . . it isn’t!  You didn’t hear!  You don’t know!”  He declared through his tears, his shaking hands clutching tightly to the
cloth he had hidden his still-bruised face in.

Dumbledore returned, carrying another mug.  Harry didn’t know where he had gotten it so quickly, nor did he care.  Quatre was
the only thing he was concerned with at the moment.  Still, he listened as Professor Dumbledore spoke.  “Then perhaps it is best
that you tell us.  If someone is threatening one of the students under my care, I feel I ought to know about it!”  He said, setting
his hand lightly on Quatre’s shoulder.  “Now . . . Harry here, will probably understand more than I.  During his years as a
student, he had trials that would have broken many a spirit . . . and nearly broke his, I dare say.”

Quatre looked up at Harry, his beautiful aquamarine eyes shimmering, his face tracked by the salty rivers of his flowing tears.  
He looked utterly terrified . . . he looked lost.  Harry tightened his embrace minutely, not wanting to hurt the injured and already
frightened blonde, just wanting to offer him some hint of reassurance.

“Can you explain this nightmare to us, Quatre?”  Harry asked, grazing his fingers lightly across Quatre’s cheek, skillfully
avoiding the dark bruise that lingered there.

Quatre nodded, taking the mug that Dumbledore had been holding.  He sipped at it, taking a breath, then sipped again, apparently
allowing himself a moment to collect his thoughts.  Then he just stared down into the swirling contents of the mug, his eyes
focused intently on the tea within.  

When he started speaking, he said the words calmly, continuing as if detached from everything he was speaking about.  He told
them of the cold, of the plain of nothing but ice and snow, then told of the bodiless creature that had spoken to him, the cold red
eyes that had stared at him intently.  He was just going through the details, lost in the memory as he relayed all the information
that he could, his voice sounding dead until he spoke the last word.  However, as soon as he finished going over the terrible
nightmare that he had suffered through, Quatre’s body broke out into intense shivers, the trembling so severe that the liquid in
the mug he held threatened to spill over the sides.

Dumbledore took the mug from Quatre’s quivering hands, setting it aside.  He laid his hand on Quatre’s head, smiling kindly to
him.  “May I see these cuts?”  He asked.

Quatre nodded, fumbling with the catch of his robes briefly, then with the buttons of the bloodstained shirt that he wore beneath
it.  Opening it, Quatre turned his head away, while Harry and Dumbledore both examined the wounds to his chest.  Dumbledore
sighed, gently closing Quatre’s shirt and robes, recovering him with the blanket.

“What do you think is doing this?”  Harry asked, worried by the silence that had fallen.  Quatre was crying again, his head
pressed against Harry’s chest, but he was waiting for an answer from Dumbledore, as was Harry.

“I believe that young Mr. Winner here was attacked by a rather powerful wizard or witch.  I do not know why he or she would
want Quatre for anything, but I’m guessing that whatever it is cannot be a good thing.  Quatre’s bout of sleepwalking suggests
that he was being led somewhere.  Although he didn’t know it, Quatre was unknowingly submitting to the will of this person . .
. until he finally did begin to struggle against its control.  Fighting it off as he did, most likely made this individual angry enough
to manifest himself in the dream.  The coldness that Quatre experienced was an aftereffect of a mind predator . . . also an
attempt to wear down his defenses so that he would be unable to stop another attack.  I have no doubt that if you hadn’t been
there, Quatre would have fallen into unconsciousness and his body taken over by this . . . person . . . for whatever purposes he
has need of Quatre for.”

“And the scratches?”  Harry asked, his concern growing to an insurmountable amount.

“Well, the marks have left a definite unpleasant effect on Quatre’s emotional state.  My guess is that they were made just for
that purpose, to scare Quatre . . . to make him nervous and furthermore to wear his defenses down even more.”  Dumbledore
sighed.  “This person seems to want Quatre quite badly . . . the danger to him is obvious.”

“What can we do?”  Harry asked.  In his arms, Quatre stifled a sob, looking up at Dumbledore and waiting for his answer.

Dumbledore smiled.  “I will have Professor Snape mix together a tonic.  It should do the trick of protecting him during his
sleep.  Until it’s ready though, Quatre will have to remain awake or under supervision if he does fall asleep.”

“What about when I am awake?  If this person is so set on having me, won’t he try and kidnap me?”  Quatre asked, his voice
weary.

Professor Dumbledore set his hand on Quatre’s shoulder.  “That is true.  However, we can protect you here.  Unfortunately,
that means you are not permitted to leave the school grounds under any circumstances, including trips to Hogsmeade or
returning home during the holidays.  At least until we can find out who this person is and stop their attempts at gaining hold of
you.”

Quatre smiled, if only faintly.  “That’s okay . . . I don’t celebrate Christmas anyway so I have no reason to return home other
than to visit with my sisters.  I’m sure they won’t mind a postponement of my return to them.”  He said, obviously covering his
disappointment over the situation.

“That is very noble of you, Quatre.”  Dumbledore smiled.  “I will be enlisting the assistance of the Ministry of Magic for this
matter . . . I hope you do not mind.  Given the severity of this situation, I think we will need all the help we can get if we want
to clear up the problem speedily.”

“Thank you, sir.”  Quatre said, leaning back against Harry’s body.

Dumbledore’s smile faded.  He reached out his hand, brushing it gently through Quatre’s hair as he took in and let out a deep
breath.  “You’re tired, aren’t you?”

Quatre nodded, his eyes slipping closed for a brief instant.  “I’m sorry.”

“No reason to be sorry, child.  This has been a stressful day for you.  Why don’t the three of us go down to the Potions
classroom and see if we can find Professor Snape?  The walk should do you good, Quatre and serve to keep you conscious a
bit longer.”

“Okay.”  Quatre said, yawning widely.

“Come along, Harry . . . we mustn’t waste any time.”  Dumbledore said, turning and heading out of the room.

Harry rose to his feet, helping Quatre up along with him.  He wound his arm around Quatre’s waist, assisting him in every way
possible.  Quatre yawned again, leaning heavily against Harry as he slowly walked . . . his every move betraying just how
exhausted he was.  

Harry fought the instinct to just sweep the blonde off of his feet and carry him, knowing that this would help to keep Quatre
awake and out of danger from that predator stalking him in his dreams.  He sincerely hoped that it wouldn’t take Professor
Snape a long time to concoct this tonic . . . Quatre was fighting sleep valiantly as it was, but he couldn’t hold it off forever.



To Be Continued . . .