Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.

You awake with a start. With panting breaths, you look around your room. It's been the same thing every night for the last month, since you came home for the summer. Every night you wake up with a gasp—ever since Sirius died.

At first, you thought it was nightmares—Merlin knows you have enough of them during the day when doing chores. You can't get that image of Sirius falling out of your head …

… but this is different. It's the smell. It smells like sulfur—you've used it enough times in potions class to be able to identify the smell easily. Plus it's hot. You know it's summer but you also know that the Dursleys hate the heat and the air conditioning is always on (even if your vents are closed [freaks don't deserve it] it's still cool during the day. Now it's not. Now you smell sulfur and it's boiling—and the scratching.)

That's new. That started a few nights ago. At first, you thought it was Hedwig—it's night and she is an owl—but then you remembered that you let her out that night—and she hasn't come back. After a day, you thought maybe she was gathering letters for you like she usually does before your birthday, but it's two weeks too early for that.

You've taken to sleeping with your wand. Tonight, as you grab it, you know whatever is going to happen is going to happen tonight. The smell is worse. It's like your room is covered in brimstone. And the heat! Sweat drips down into your eyes as you look around the room.

A quick movement pulls your glasses on to your face—at the same time, your bed has started to shake.

You yelp and jump off of the offending piece of furniture and almost immediately regret it because you can now tell that the scratching has been coming from under your bed.

Despite the full moon leaking in through the curtain-less window, the shadows of your room keep expanding. You can't even see your toes now.

Keeping your wand pointed at your bed, you fail to see the shadow creeping up behind you. Not until it's too late.

Something lands on both of your shoulders.

You scream.

The thing laughs.

With a bright flash you both disappear. All that is left is your cracked alarm clock flashing 3:33am.

When your aunt comes pounding of your door the next morning, all she finds is your messy bed, mattress askew, and a pile of ash on the floor. All other traces of you, Harry Potter, are gone.

AN: Could be considered a prologue for something…. I don't know. Anyway, my students had to write a scary story for Tuesday's class. We discussed adjectives, plot, and setting. ^^ This was what I planned (based off of how my wallpaper in my bedroom sounds when I futz with it lol).

Thanks for reading.