A/N: Ahh so it's been forever, but holy crap my life has like exploded on me. But here it is! The start of a new longfic. One I hope is long. And super detailed and smutty, so you should come along for the ride! I'm going to try and work diligently, but someone should keep me on track :x PM me if you wanna help out with that haha. :P (no but really .)

He crept up the stairs treading as lightly as he could, afraid of making even the slightest noise. He didn't recognize this place, but there was something more than that. He knew he had never been here, yet he also knew exactly where he was going. It was a feeling of familiarity in a place he had never been before. He couldn't explain it even to himself, but it didn't matter, really. Not in the grand scheme of things. He knew instinctively what he was doing; his feet guided him without any input from his mind. It was as if he were on autopilot. He could hear distant voices coming from somewhere up above him, and he wanted desperately to get close enough to make out what it was that they were saying. He crept forward, making his way slowly up the stairs, step by step. He held his breath involuntarily as his pant leg caught on the wood beneath him. Pulling it free, he flinched at the soft groan it elicited from the old plank. The voices paused momentarily, but picked up again as if they weren't bothered. He exhaled shakily, drawing on all of his courage to keep moving.

Everything was covered in a layer of dust so thick that he was certain it helped muffle his footsteps. Were he a more cautious person, perhaps a Slytherin, he would have been less concerned with the allergenic qualities within the dust itself and more concerned with the fact that it was thick enough to leave clear footprints behind. If he were a Slytherin, he would be willing to trade the barely audible sound difference for a print-free ascent. But he had never thought anything through so thoroughly. He followed his heart more so than his mind. To some, it was endearing. To others, dangerous. And to others still, convenient.

Reaching the top of the stairs, he paused, filled suddenly with a chill sense of foreboding. He shouldn't be here. This room, this place, was speaking to him. There was a history here- wherever here was- and it was telling him to run. To turn around and run like a dog with its tail between its legs. He shivered, pausing with his foot hovering over the next stair. He stared into the darkness ahead, now wishing for as much distance between him and this place as was possible. But still he made his way forward, one careful step at a time. Autopilot.

He found himself in a long hallway, a torn, faded carpet cushioning his bare feet as he made his way along. Old pictures hung every few feet, depicting gruesome old wizards with fierce snarls and frayed hair. Their sharp features glared at him as he passed, mouths moving furiously, working themselves into quite a rage; yet the house stayed silent as ever. An unsettling, eerie silence that pervaded the air. It crept into all it touched, leaving not only quiet, but a darkness devoid of all warmth in its wake. He looked around himself, half expecting to be encircled by Dementors, but all was still. All he could hear were the steadily growing voices, murmuring to the beat of his hammering heart. He could almost make out what they were saying. They sounded peculiarly familiar. If only he could hear clearly, he could tell.

A soft yellow light was coming from underneath a door two rooms down on the right. He approached it slowly, acutely aware of the slight noise his feet made as the bare skin peeled away from the hardwood with each step he took apart from the carpet. He shrugged it off. The house creaked and groaned with so many defiant complaints of its age he doubted a soul would notice the soft padding of his path. They had ignored his slight misfortune on the stairs, after all.

He stood facing the dark paneled wood with 204 C inscribed in its surface, unaware still of his surroundings, and still as undisturbed by the fact. The door stood ajar, and he sidled up close to it, pressing his eye to the crack against the door frame. Two figures stood by the far wall, leaning over a table, looking at something Harry could not see. He squinted. Something about the two figures looked oddly familiar. The curve of their backs as they hunched over; the silvery hair falling down the back of the solid black robe. The way the one on the left shifted nervously as the other spoke. He shivered as a grim chill settled over him.

Something was not right. Something here was wrong. Bad. He was in trouble. Fear overtook him and he again wanted to run, but he was rooted to the spot, helpless to do anything but watch the scene play out before him.

"But Master, surely there is no way that the boy would ever be able to-"

"The Prophecy does not lie," the second man cut off sharply, his voice cold like steel, "and neither does the one who brought it to me. Either I kill Harry Potter, or I am killed by him. Seeing as the latter is simply absurd," he could hear a smile playing in the sinister voice, "We need to get the boy. The only problem will be the old fool. The bat has Potter up on his pedestal, no doubt protected by every one of their silly little Order. With the help of Albus, I fear Potter might well be able to cause...considerable damage. We must get him before he grows too strong."

"Neither can live while the other survives," the first voice mused, "So you have to be the one to do it,"

"Either him or I. So yes, I have to be the one to do it. You would do well to relay the message,"

They lapsed into silence, both lost in their own thoughts. What were they talking about? What prophecy? And what in Merlin's name did it have to do with him? Harry racked his brain, chasing an elusive thought. He felt like he was sifting through an immense fog, unable to remember anything before the staircase. He knew who this was, knew he was bad. But who? And why? He cursed himself silently, and this sudden onset of amnesia. Why couldn't he remember? That was the most terrifying revelation yet.

"When the boy turns twenty, his power will peak. He will be arrogant. If I have anything to do with it, he will also be without a mentor."

"Twenty...? But, Master, a wizard's power never-"

"Think, Lucius. You believe I don't know that a wizard's power can only grow stronger with time?"

"You plan to kill the old man," the first voice stated quietly, shocked.

"You doubt my ability to do so?" the reply was quick, and scathing, daring him to defy.

"No! No, of course not, Master," he quickly backtracked, "I only thought you wished to be more subtle with your attacks, and this...well, this is rather high profile, is it not? What of the plan?"

"It does not matter anymore!" he snapped, "None of it matters. This Prophecy, it changes everything. The way forward has never been clearer to me than it is now. I have searched years for the exact words spoken, and now...now I can get what I want. And I'll bring as many down with him as I can. Call the others,"

Lucius raised his left arm shakily, drawing back the black fabric of his sleeve. As he put his wand tip to the exposed flesh, Harry caught sight of an inky black tattoo just below his wrist. The Dark Mark.

Harry's eyes were wide as the floodgate opened, and all his memories came crashing back into his head. "Voldemort," he breathed.

The two men stiffened at once, turning simultaneously. The door in front of him was blasted open by Malfoy, smacking him into the far wall. He sank to the floor upon impact, the taste of blood in his mouth. His head was spinning, and his eyes were watering from the force of the blow, yet he tried to stay conscious. He could see them both advancing on him, a grimace on Lucius' face. He was probably afraid of messing up his hair, Harry thought dryly. He tried to stand, to right himself, to crawl away, even. Anything to get away from the two men in front of him, but the collision with the wall had left him not only gasping for breath, but pain was erupting from every place imaginable in his body.

He groped in his back pocket frantically, and stopped, panicking. Where was his wand? He always had it on him, why would now be any different? He looked around wildly, had it fallen...?

"Maybe we won't have to wait, after all," Voldemort purred, stepping forward. A twisted grin deformed his face into a ghastly shadow of the expression.

The two men were in the doorway now, and Harry still had no idea where his wand was. For the past nine years, he had carried it in his back pocket, and now... His heart was beating erratically against his ribs, and he fought to keep his breathing relatively even, trying futilely to keep a level head.

'Expelliarmus,' he thought wildly. 'Stupefy...Levicorpus...Crucio!' His heart was beating wildly against his ribcage, but he had figured wandless, wordless magic wouldn't work. He wasn't nearly skilled enough. He sucked in a deep breath, standing up quickly despite the protests from every part of his body. Holding his breath, he got ready to make one more movement.

Voldemort could tell what he was planning, however, and made to reach him before he got away. He held his breath as he pictured Grimmauld Place firmly in his mind as best as he could and turned quickly on his heel, just as he felt cold fingers brush at his arm.

He heard a primal scream, filled with an amount of rage and bloodlust he couldn't fathom. A snarl erupted in his ears, pervaded by a frantic hissing; "kill...kill...kill..." Red eyes swam before his vision, and with a flash of green light, all went black.

~0~

He awoke suddenly, finding a scream dying on his chapped and cracking lips. He was shaking, wrapped too tight in the sheet covering his body, constricting his violent movements as he tried desperately to escape their grip. He threw the sheet aside, sitting up and wiping the sweat from the back of his neck. He brushed aside his now wet bangs and tried to even out his breathing, waiting for his erratic heartbeat to calm.

"Harry?" there was a desperate sounding voice calling from the platform outside his room. "Harry, are you ok?"

He grumbled, wondering just how long he had been yelling. She sounded too worried to have just been woken up. He tried to wipe the sweat off his chest with the sheet, but it was all in vain. The sheet was already drenched, so he settled for pulling it up around his waist in order to cover himself at least in part.

Hermione leaned hesitantly around the door, her petite hand gripping the frame, not waiting for him to respond. She took one look at his disheveled state and flung the door open, rushing to the side of his bed; Harry could see Ron and Lupin waiting by the foot of the stairs behind her. Her hair was messy and her oversized, faded tee shirt was dangerously close to falling off her left shoulder. Under different circumstances, Harry would have laughed at the fact that her slippers were on the wrong feet. But right now, Hermione's footwear was the last thing on his mind. He swallowed, avoiding her eyes and trying to pull his sheet up even further. She may be his best friend, but she was still a girl, and his best mate's girl to boot. It just felt wrong for her to see him half naked.

"You're bleeding, mate," Ron said, voice quiet as he entered more slowly behind her. "Just there," he said, raising a hand to place a finger to his lips.

Harry lifted his own hand shakily and ran it along his bottom lip, catching the moisture on his thumb. When he brought his hand back down, it was stained red. He swallowed nervously, wiping it off on his pajama bottoms, and trying to steady both his breathing and his hands. He must have bit his lip while he was sleeping.

"Glasses," he said gruffly, voice hoarse from the screaming, he presumed.

He cleared his throat as Hermione leaned over and grabbed his glasses from his bedside table. The trio watched silently as he took his time positioning them just so, fidgeting, hoping to avoid the conversation that he knew was coming. They may be his family, but the way they just stood there made him feel a little uncomfortable. He didn't want to look up and see their concerned faces, the concern that could barely mask the terror behind it. No matter how much they cared - and he knew they did, he had never doubted it - but no matter how much they loved him, they were scared. Of him, for him; he knew not, but it didn't matter. Not really. And lately it had only gotten worse. He was tired of this war.

"Harry..." Hermione prompted gently, voice timid.

"I'm fine, it was nothing. Just another dream," he shook himself from his thoughts, looking back up at her.

"Didn't sound like just a dream, Harry," Remus said gravely, looking intently at him. He could barely meet his eyes. Lupin was a quiet man; he had been ever since Harry met him that first day on the train. He may be quiet, but he always knew what was going on. He always knew too much, if you asked Harry, but he also knew that he would do well to heed Lupin's advice whenever it was given. You could see the wisdom in his eyes, the pain and the loss; the strength. Sometimes it was too much, but the warmth burning just behind them was reassuring. He dropped his gaze, feeling like a third year again.

Harry sighed, running a hand through his hair. It stuck up at odd angles, both from sleep and sweat. He chewed the inside of his lip as he thought over how best to ease their minds. "Honestly, I'm fine," he tried again.

Hermione tutted and Harry was sure she was unaware of the noise. He knew none of them believed him, sure he had said those same words numerous times in the past, and it had never been true to this day. They all knew that.

"Maybe it wasn't just a dream," he allowed, shrugging as he glanced up at them, "It was a nightmare," he said decidedly. "That's all,"

"Harry...you've been having a lot of...nightmares...recently," Hermione said sadly, voice gentle, as if trying to coax an answer out of an unwilling first year. Old habits die hard, he supposed. She held onto her Head Girl tendencies with an iron fist. At least she had stopped lecturing.

"I don't want to talk about it," he said shortly, a note of finality ringing in his voice. He glared at each of them in turn, waiting until they all looked away. Hermione looked down at her hands and sniffled a little. Harry had to fight to keep from rolling his eyes. It was none of their business anyway. Why would he burden them with the things that had always weighed on his shoulders? He was used to it by now. He had lived with this shadow his entire life; he was well equipped to handle it. They weren't. It wasn't their fault, he knew, they would just never understand. Not really. But no one would understand, and he didn't have a hope in the world of explaining it. Most days it didn't bother him; he had accepted the cards he had been dealt and considered himself lucky to have made it this far alive and intact. He would be glad to be able to help make the wizarding world, and the muggle world for that matter, safe again. He would rather change it himself that sit idly and hope someone else did. But sometimes their constant questions and intrusive glances annoyed him. What did leaving school have to do with his ability to stay sane and level-headed when it came to the war? If anything, he was more apt to do well now that he was two years out of Hogwarts than when he was as a student. Why should it be any different now that he was more or less on his own? They would just worry unduly over things that had been plaguing him for years. It was better to let him handle it how he would, and let them worry about the many other aspects of the War that he had no interest in partaking in. It was easier that way, and more efficient.

"I've been having nightmares for years, Hermione," he said tiredly, voice softening. He felt bad for snapping at them when they were only looking out for him. His bad moods had become more frequent as time wore on. "It's nothing new, just...new to you since you took down all my silencing charms last month."

She looked sheepishly at him from under her bangs and blushed. She apparently hadn't thought he'd noticed that. "Sorry," she murmured, looking down at her hands as she played with the hem of her shirt.

He smiled slightly at her, nodding his forgiveness. She furrowed her brow as his smile did not reach his eyes, but made no comment, of which he was thankful. He looked over her head to Ron, nodding once. Ron met his eyes solemnly, mouth forming a thin line as he nodded back.

"Remus," he acknowledged, as the man turned silently to leave. Lupin turned back and nodded once, expression unreadable, before heading out the door and down the stairs back to his own room.

"Well, yell if you need anything," Hermione started, pausing slightly to grimace at her choice of words before going on, "You know where to find me," Hermione said, giving him a tight hug. He hugged her back, grateful to her for granting him this and not arguing any more. Her support meant more to him than he could say. She let him go, looking regretfully back at him as she left. She met Ron's eyes for a second, and Harry thought he saw Ron shake his head slightly before Hermione smiled once more at him and left.

Harry slumped back against his pillows and stared at the ceiling as Ron let out a sharp breath. "Not any better, eh?"

He was referring to the time over Christmas break when they were in school and Harry had forgotten to put up his silencing charm one night before bed. Thankfully, it was just him and Ron in the Tower that year. It was the first and only time Ron had seen his nightmares firsthand. It had scared him so bad that Harry had vowed never to forget the charm again, and for a few months he even magically sealed his curtains shut lest Ron decide to check on him in the middle of the night.

"Nah, but you get used to it. They stop surprising you. Just comes with the territory, I suppose," he said, rubbing his scar out of habit.

"Yeah, I guess," Ron agreed, not really knowing what else to say. Of course he had no idea what Harry meant, but he wanted to be there for him anyway. "You ok to go back to sleep?"

"Yeah, I'll be fine. Go to Hermione, I'm sure she has loads to say," he nodded, conveniently having to stifle a yawn behind his hand.

Ron rolled his eyes and nodded, turning for the door.

"Ron?"

He turned back, hand on the door handle. One eyebrow raised, he waited intently for whatever Harry had to say.

"Thanks,"

"Jus' my job, mate," A small smile graced his freckled features. Harry smiled back, this time genuinely, before Ron left him to himself, closing the door quietly behind him. If he was grateful for anything, he was grateful for Ron.

He groaned as he moved to lie down once more. His whole body was sore, and he had a throbbing headache. Head pounding, he looked around for his wand and found it lying on the nightstand next to where Hermione had picked up his glasses. He sighed in relief, remembering all too clearly the paralyzing fear he had felt in his dream when he had come to the realization that his wand was gone. He picked it up, running a hand admiringly along the grooves in the holly.

He smiled fondly, remembering the day in Diagon Alley that he had purchased it, and decided he would go visit Hagrid sometime soon. And maybe bring him an ice cream.

He sighed and set about fixing himself up. He muttered a quick string of Healing Charms (Episkey, Tergeo, and Ferula) before summoning a vial of Dreamless Sleep from his cupboard. He grimaced as the potion burned its way down his throat.

"Snape," he growled, quite certain a normal batch wouldn't cause such discomfort. It was just like the greasy bastard to taint his potions. He grumbled, cursing the lack of Potions Masters he knew and (sort of) trusted. He would write him in the morning, he decided, requesting that his potions not deviate from the book's instructions unless he himself specified. He snorted as he imagined Snape's face when he got that one.

He put his glasses and wand back on the bedside table, and rolled over once before the potion claimed him.

He groaned when the tap came on the window the next morning. He rolled over and pulled his blankets tighter around him, not willing to give up his sanctuary just yet. It felt as if he had only fallen asleep about twenty minutes ago.

"Hedwig," he mumbled into his pillow, "Go away,"

An indignant hoot sounded from the opposite side of the room. He lifted his head slightly, looking around at what he could see without his glasses. He saw a blur of white over by the door where he knew her stand was.

"Sorry," he muttered, running a hand through his hair. He groped around for his glasses on his nightstand, accidentally knocking both his glasses and his wand off the table. He grunted in annoyance, sighing as he sat up straight. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and stretched, yawning, resigning himself to the fact that his restful morning had abruptly ended. He climbed out of bed and bent to retrieve his glasses, kicking his wand further underneath his bed as he stood up.

"Great," he muttered, looking toward the window as it came into focus. A light brown tawny owl was waiting on the other side of the glass, holding a rather heavy looking parcel with both talons.

"Mrs. Weasley," he smiled slightly, letting the owl in. As much as he would love to be annoyed with her constant mothering and worrying, he enjoyed her parcels far too much. He couldn't remember the last time someone had made him something (good) homemade.

He sat down to read the letter, knowing already what it would say. How are you? We're worried about you. Why don't you come stay at the Burrow? We miss you, Harry. All of her letters were the same, but he penned a quick thank you anyway, honestly thankful for the home cooked meal. He had had few of those since moving in, and when someone did decide to cook it was rarely edible.

He stretched as he stood up, tying the letter to the owl's leg and sending it off again. He watched from the window as it flew off into the morning sun, sighing slightly as he heard activity from the house below. If he didn't at least make an appearance at breakfast, someone was sure to come looking for him.

He knelt by the bedside and reached a hand under the bed, looking for his wand. He cursed as his fingers only came into contact with the dusty wood boards of the floor.

"Come on," he murmured under his breath.

His fingers found a piece of parchment, and he threw it over his knee into the room, resuming his search for his wand. He sighed in frustration, leveling his head on the floor and peering under the bed frame.

"Well no wonder," he grumbled, getting up and walking around to the other side of his bed. It had rolled completely under and out the other side when he had kicked it, and was lying in plain sight on the other side of the room. He sighed as he made his way around the bed and bent to pick it up, shoving it in his back pocket out of habit. He crossed to the door and made his way slowly out onto the platform and down the stairs to the kitchen.

He held back a grumble as he walked through the doors, seeing everyone already seated at the kitchen table.

"Hey," he said, trying a smile.

Hermione smiled back at him, looking appeased, but the small smiles he saw grace Lupin and Ron's face told him he didn't have them fooled. His smile faded into a grimace as he grumbled and walked to his usual place at the table. He scowled at the food on the plate in front of him, pushing his eggs around morosely with his fork, before letting it fall to the table.

"Not hungry?" Lupin asked softly from his place right across from him, looking up from his Daily Prophet. Harry just shook his head, raiding an eyebrow as he glanced at the table in front of Lupin, where a single mug of hot tea was sitting. Lupin just shrugged, smiling a little and going back to his paper.

Meals were usually a silent affair in the house. The other three seemed to be afraid of upsetting Harry; anything could set him off these days. They walked on eggshells around him, and sometimes he hated the silence of the old house.

He hadn't wanted to stay after Sirius died, but Dumbledore had convinced him of the sense it made to move into the house, especially since Sirius had left it to him. He had stayed in one of the many guest rooms upstairs before he decided to move into Sirius' old bedroom, striving to feel closer to his godfather again.

Lupin had watched silently as Harry packed up his sparse belongings and moved them two floors down into the empty room, into the room next to the wolf's. Harry suspected he had approved, but Lupin had never said one way or the other.

He looked up as the door to the dining room opened, and Mundungus Fletcher sidled in, managing a gruff "Hi," as he walked through to the kitchen to grab a cup of coffee.

"What's he doing here?" Ron grumbled, his demeanor darkening visibly. Harry chuckled once under his breath, meeting Ron's gaze in agreement. Ron smirked once as Hermione lightly smacked him on the arm.

"He's here for the meeting," she chastised, looking between the two conniving boys.

Harry groaned, "There's a meeting?"

They had spent the last two years in nothing but Order meetings, whether they were here or in Dumbledore's office. They never came up with any plans, really. The war had grown too intense, too dangerous, and they had had to turn to defensive tactics on every front. It was frustrating, and Harry was tired of it.

"Four days time," Lupin muttered, turning the page on his Prophet, glancing once up at the three teenagers. This provoked a collective sigh from the table, each knowing that the Order members would start trickling in.

As if on cue, the door opened once more, but this time it was Hagrid and Neville that came in, in a heated discussion about the Newts Hagrid had brought in destroying the far Greenhouses that Neville tended.

"Hagrid!" Harry brightened. He hadn't seen the man for the past four Order meetings.

" 'Arry! How are ya?" Hagrid smiled, his black eyes crinkling at the corners as he sidled away from Neville, who was shaking his head as he sat down next to Ron and Hermione.

"Hanging in there," Harry smiled as Hagrid took a spot next to Lupin, who was putting down his paper.

They sat and talked for a few hours, talking about anything and everything, all six studiously ignoring the war. That would come later.

Harry was thankful for the reprieve, finding himself actually enjoying himself for a little while. He saw Hermione's eyes shining as she took in the first genuine smile he had shown in weeks.

"Well, as much as I hate to say it, I must get to the school. Severus doesn't appreciate being kept waiting," Lupin chuckled a little at the grimaces on the other five's faces at the mention of the Slytherin, shaking his head and rolling his eyes. "You all should be thanking him," he teased, raising an eyebrow and baring his teeth at them as he left the room.

Ron laughed under his breath, putting an arm around Hermione. "How 'bout a game of Exploding Snap?"

"I'm in," Neville shrugged. "Harry?"

"I think I'm going to head to up to the library," he answered, "I've gotten terribly behind on my reading,"

"Merlin, you sound like 'Mione," Ron huffed, earning him an elbow to the ribs.

Harry laughed, getting up. "Don't worry; it's not about theories or history. I'm not that bad," he teased, winking at Hermione.

She stuck her tongue out at him as he passed, before summoning Ron's cards. Harry heard the first explosion before he even reached the stairs, and smiled at the resulting "Ronald!"

This was the part of the Order meetings he liked, getting to see his friends again. They rarely came by any other time, all busy with their own lives and careers. They didn't have to be the Golden Boy. And when they did come by, it was most often with bad news; another attack, or a death.

He made his way back to his room to get the stack of books he had been procrastinating putting away, enjoying the way the light filtered through his room from the window he had forgotten to close that morning. His eyes were drawn to the single sheet of parchment lying in the middle of his otherwise barren floor; the one he had thrown there this morning.

He picked it up, scanning over it as he walked to his nightstand.

Dear Sirius,

James and I miss you, out here in Godric's Hollow. We've been so busy with the baby; we've hardly been able to see you at all. Come by Saturday, you can meet Harry. You are to be his godfather, after all. Here is the picture you wanted. Take care, and we'll see you soon!

xx, Lily

Harry flipped the letter over, finding the picture magically attached to the back. He pulled the two apart, looking closer at the picture. It was of his mother and father, separated by a very shaggy, very scruffy Sirius who had his arms looped around both of them, one on each side. He placed the letter in his drawer, but slid the picture into his back pocket; he wanted to keep his family close to him.

He shook himself, and grabbed the stack of books to be taken to the library, thoroughly looking forward to curling up next to the fire with a new book.

"Merlin, I am turning into 'Mione," he grumbled.

~0~