Number 12 Grimmauld Place was dark and quiet. Its occupants had been asleep for several hours already. The Order of the Phoenix had been talking and debating and discussing well past midnight, but even their meeting had now been closed and most members had left. Not even Mrs. Black dared to disturb the peaceful silence. It was so quiet – you could hear a pin drop.
That is, until the screaming started.
It didn't last very long, only a couple seconds of pained yelling. It wouldn't even have been very loud, had the house not been so very calm. But, as such, it seemed very loud indeed.
Harry Potter clutched his head, his searing, burning forehead, and couldn't help but yell out once more from the blinding pain. This was the worst he had felt it yet...well, besides Voldemort actually being beside him, actually reaching his pale and foreboding hand and pressing his fingertip to Harry's cheek, like at the graveyard –
No. He wouldn't think about that. That's what was causing him to have visions of the nightmarish things Voldemort was doing in the first place! It had happened so frequently since... Every time the same... He couldn't even remember what it was this time...
Harry pressed his face into his pillow and curled up in a ball, trying to stop himself from throwing up; the pain was making him sick...again.
But he didn't dare ask for comfort from anyone, lest he put them in danger... The image of the snake and Mr. Weasley came into his head, fresh from only the end of term, and he couldn't fathom even seeing anyone, anything, hurt like that, scared like that, from anything Voldemort had done...from anything Harry had done. Especially around the same time Mr. Weasley had nearly been killed.
Not that there was anyone to ask for help. Hermione was skiing with her parents and would not arrive for another two days. Ron and the Weasleys had gone to stay with Mr. Weasley at the Burrow. Harry, unwilling to be a danger to anyone, decided to stay behind with Sirius and the other Order members who were coming and going from Grimmauld Place regularly. He knew everyone was gone now, save for Lupin, who was staying the night, and Sirius, who lived (for lack of a better word) at the house.
So he clenched his teeth and bit back yet another cry. Fight back, Potter! he told himself. Stop thinking about it! Don't let him win!
However, letting Voldemort win seemed like the only thing Harry's stomach and brain were capable of at the moment, for, with an almighty lurch of his stomach, Harry leaned over the bed and vomited quite spectacularly. This did not make him feel any better; quite the contrary, he felt much worse. Sitting up, Harry took a deep breath and covered his forehead and eyes with his hand, leaning back against the backboard of the four-poster bed. He felt the overwhelming pain and sickness build again, and knew there was another vision on the way. He pushed against the sensation and tried to force it back.
Harry's strength against the vision didn't last long; soon, he was much too weak to defend himself and felt himself fall away into his nightmares.
The snake, the snake...slithering around on the floor...Voldemort's chair positioned by the fire of an unknown building...not the Riddle House...a manor...speaking, now, hissing...laughing with cruel mirth..."Crucio!"...shaking, hurting, convulsing...jaw and head and eyes and body...everything aching...pain...pain... pain!
"Harry!" someone shaking him, waking him...who...?
"Harry, wake up! Come on, you're alright..." Can't see, can't see... Sirius, here? Sirius, worried.
Harry gasped a little and opened his eyes to the blurry face of Sirius Black. No, no... danger... embarrassing. Harry, however horrible he felt, was humiliated to find someone watching him in his weakest moment, however much they might care about him.
Sickness. Stomach turning.
Harry reached up to press his hand to his mouth. No, too late... He turned on his side and emptied his stomach over the side of the bed, like before. Sirius grabbed him before he could fall. God, he felt terrible. His head, his stomach...his head.
Sirius emptied the waste bin, filled with tissues and sweet wrappers, on the floor and quickly handed it to Harry, who clutched at it and tossed his cookies again.
When he was done, he leant back and closed his eyes, no longer caring about who was there. It was Sirius after all; Sirius would help him, wouldn't judge him...he hoped.
Slowly, the ill-set feeling in his stomach and the blinding, burning pain in his head faded. Slowly, he felt physically like himself again. However, the nauseating worry, the sense of putting someone in danger, the sense of Voldemort controlling everything from his Death Eaters to Harry's mind did not recede. He sat up quickly and almost fell back down, overtaken by a dizzy spell.
"Easy there, Harry..." Sirius was looking at him with concern, very pale and very anxious.
"Sirius..." Harry's voice was hoarse, like he was recovering from a bad cold. "I can't..."
"Can't what, Harry?" Sirius' worry was mounting. "What's wrong, Harry? You can tell me."
"It's dangerous to be near me, Sirius!" Harry finally burst after a moment's hesitation. "Voldemort is in my head." It felt strangely more real when he said it out loud. So much that he couldn't help the tears that sprang to his eyes. He wiped them away impatiently.
Sirius was taken aback.
"No," he said eventually, and Harry could tell he had more to say. "No, Harry, the Order...we've spoken with Dumbledore...your visions or whatever, they're not...you are not possessed by Voldemort," he said firmly.
It was Harry's turn to be taken aback.
Sirius continued.
"It's just...you can see him. He can see you. It's just a connection, not a possession," Harry clung to Sirius' words, like he was falling and this would stop him. Like a child clung to a parent. "You can't help it... You're not a bad person!"
Harry and Sirius stared at each other for a few moments, unspoken understanding resting between them. Finally, Sirius broke the tension by pulling Harry into a strong embrace.
Harry couldn't help the tears now: they built in his eyes and fell in tiny waterfalls down his face. He didn't bother wiping them away anymore; new ones would just replace the ones erased.
Sirius pulled away, hands on Harry's shoulders, still bothered and nervous. Harry didn't feel Voldemort's foul demeanour or his explosive anger or vindictive happiness anymore. Maybe I'm not the dangerous one... Harry thought. Maybe it's alright to have a bit of comfort.
Harry looked at the man that had known just as much suffering as he had, looked into the eyes that still had the haunting tint of Azkaban's fearful atmosphere, looked at the face that held such concern, such obvious affection, like a father and a friend at the same time.
"It's okay to be afraid," Sirius said. "Just know you don't have to be afraid by yourself."
Harry slept through the rest of the night after Sirius left. And he was okay.
A/N: Hey all! Comfort came about when I was trying to wrack my brain to fix the plot of my other story The Dark Lord Really Does Know All (which was and is going nowhere). This came about, and it's more like what that one was supposed to be. I will not be continuing the other one. This one is pretty much a one-shot, but I'm thinking of adding another 2 or so chapters. Let me know what you think - PLEASE Read and Review! I will love you forever if you do! Hey that rhymed... :P Anyhoo, if you have any ideas for me, I would love to hear them. Thanks! :)