A/N: It supposed to be the hardest thing on Fanfiction.net to impress the Harry Potter fans. I just thought I'd give it a shot: this is my first HP fic, and my third fic overall, and not at all bad (in my opinion) for a first try at HP. I have the entire plot planned out, but have decided to run this by everyone to see how you like it. R&R and I hope you enjoy the story!

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Floods of ice water coursed over his head in waves as he struggled to breathe. His muscles were drawn into thick bundles of cords, immovable, and aching to move. Pain welled forcefully in his chest like pins through his blood as he twisted agonizingly in his torment. Shivers of feeling trembled down his arms and legs, tickling and tantalizing his spine as they convulsed into his lungs and heart. His skin froze, and he longed to cry out as he hung there somewhere in between mortality and eternity. The balance of forces held him there, unsupported and incapacitated, without hope or memory or life to give him quality. He was nothing.

With one last agonizing effort he threw his head back and screamed as loud and as hard as he could.

In a small town in the east of England, Remus Lupin awoke with a start, drenched in a flood of cold sweat, and knew that Sirius Black still existed.

= = Number 4, Privet Drive, Little Whinging, England = =

Harry Potter blinked in the darkness as his mind slipped back into consciousness in waking. Immediately he grabbed the alarm clock at the side of his bed and pushed the button on the back to illuminate its face.

One in the morning.

Harry flopped back down onto the pillows and threw an arm over his head in an effort to think about the strange and confusing events of the rather strange and mysterious dream he'd just had.

He dreamed that Sirius was alive.

It wasn't the first time he'd dreamed about his godfather. Almost every night Harry dreamed he came back. And every night he saw him slip over and over again behind the gray veil in the Death Chamber.

But the last dream had been different.

This time he saw Sirius alive. Or sort of. It had been very hard to tell during the dream, and even harder to remember now that he was awake.

It was unsettling.

Perhaps he should send a letter to someone – someone who would understand: someone like Dumbledore. Harry looked at Hedwig, perched in her cage with her beak tucked firmly among her ruffled white feathers, and decided against it. After all, his scar wasn't hurting, and the dream hadn't necessarily foretold of any evil to come. The last thing Harry wanted to be was a nuisance.

A quick bit of extra thought had him deciding to send the dream to the back of his mind, at least for now, and perhaps he could persuade Ron and Hermione to listen to it later.

The more he thought about it, the ridiculous it became. It was just a silly dream. Harry rolled over onto his side and tried to forget it, but it had made a deep impression on him already and refused to be forgotten.

Sighing, Harry forced himself to sleep.