AN-Ugh, really tired. *Dies* It's nearly midnight, feels like 5am. Haven't done that in a while. I'm probably incomprehensible. I haven't reread it. Happy birthday to me.
(Just because I couldn't help myself, I got to 50,000 on NaNoWriMo! Whoop whoop!)
Sorry, this has probably been done a million times before, but, yeah. Couldn't help myself.
Rated T for language. Don't know if there is any, I never notice. Probably nothing more than bloody, since it's in Harry's POV. Yeah. Bloodys in the bible, thus not a swear.
Be warned- You will probably never come across a writing style this bad again. Seriously, the way this thing is written is awful. (I've toned it down a bit at the end since I was too tired to add adjectives or meaningless sentences.)
I couldn't bear to linger there for too long. You know, in my dreams. Well, even if I could bear to, I probably wouldn't be able to.
Well, they weren't really dreams, just happy nightmares. Really happy ones- so happy they made you sad. Or more, they made me sad.
So I sat there in silence- watching the green illuminated digital clock turn another minute. It didn't really turn since it was digital, but it sort of felt like a turn.
Are you with me?
It was the little hours of the morning. Or is it small hours of the morning? Not that it makes much difference considering I was awake when I shouldn't have been. Word it how you like.
I listened to the distant hum of traffic in the background, though determined not to go to sleep, I felt like I was drifting off.
No. Bad me.
Bad, bad me.
That's when I heard footsteps, a door silently squeaking open. You wonder how I can hear a silent squeak? I just can. Like I can hear drops of condensation dripping on my window sill.
The door shut with a very quiet rattle, like whomever it was tried to be quiet. And they were very good, but my hearing just so happened to be better than their silent-ness.
That's not a word. I know.
I heard well practiced footsteps, (can footsteps be well practiced?) slap towards my door, and then continue past my door, then towards the stairs, then down the stairs with a silent crunch on each stair. I could recognize the breathing, it was Sirius.
Why was Sirius up? I know why I was up, but Sirius?
Why all the rhetorical questions? I digress.
I silently, silent-er then Sirius' silent-ness, crept out of bed. I didn't have the covers over me so I'd be too cold to get to sleep, so instead of being in a tangled mess I found myself smoothly glide to the floor.
My limbs were stiff and my body ached- you know, because my limbs were stiff. I was tired. My back hurt.
The floor boards creaked in protest to my purposeful footsteps. Good thing they stayed silent or I's have to have killed them.
Or something less dramatic.
It made sense in my twisted and oh so warped mind. Kind of. I managed to crack my door open to reveal the dark hall way. It seemed almost haunted. Note the usage of 'seemed' and 'almost'. Don't go jumping to conclusions that: a. it was in fact, haunted, or b. Sirius was a notorious evil serial killer.
Those conclusions are for me to jump to and you to go 'oh you daft nincompoop. Of course it's haunted/ Sirius is a serial killer.'
Or maybe not.
I stepped into the hall way, suddenly my bladder didn't seem to burn in the need to pee, it shut up for once and I was able to continue onwards. It's not that I wet myself, it's just that the eerie silence seemed to make it seem to insignificant- I'm rambling.
Are you sick of not much happening? I skilfully nimbled my way to the door. Can you nimble you way places? No. Does that stop me? No.
I'm much more logical when I speak. My thoughts are just this mush of contrast and contradiction.
The two c's of my many woes. That and the 'c u next Tuesday' unreachable goal. You probably didn't get that.
By the time I'd returned to reality, the many perils of reality, I was stood outside the kitchen, lit my magic containing precisely one Sirius. Or more.
Or hope not more.
He had a mug of coffee in his hand. A large mug. A huge mug. A massive mug. One of those novelty ones with 'big mug' scrawled on the side. I think there a waste of money- after all, you can't use them a lot can you?
Obviously I'd just been proved wrong.
I was cold, my feet were cold. I stray from the point; Sirius was getting coffee.
So, nothing significant and I 'nimbled' my way back up off stairs. I didn't make it too far away when I thought I could discreetly 'nimble' my way into the kitchen casually. I'd forgot it was early in the morning and I shouldn't have been awake.
"Hi Sirius." I nimbled.
I was a bit slow.
Sirius shot to look up at me as I crossed the room to get a mug. Then it struck me the time and I cursed aloud.
"Harry?"
Sure, my curse wasn't really a curse and there wasn't any swearing. I, Harry Potter, solemnly swear I don't swear.
You know what I mean.
"Sirius." I spoke. I gave up on 'nimbling' when I realized I was speaking crap.
"What are you doing up?" He half whispered. It didn't matter, no one else was there in the house at that very time, sleeping.
"I'm just getting a coffee."
"You don't drink coffee, do you?" Well, if I didn't drink coffee then why would I be getting one? I restrained those words from exiting my mouth.
"I do." I whispered. Not because it was early in the morning but because it was a lie. Suddenly Sirius didn't seem such an idiot.
It wasn't like I didn't like coffee, I just didn't drink it.
"Oh." Was all he said before his face seemed to have this sudden epiphany. "Why are you up?" In some ways it lightened the atmosphere and in others it just made it more tense.
"Getting coffee."
An endless cycle. He gave me this look before asking again.
"I couldn't get to sleep." I lied. I could get to sleep. I just didn't like sleeping. Before Sirius could say anything I asked him. "Why are you awake?" My tone curious, with an undertone of accusation. Accusation? I hear you ask. Accusation.
Sirius looked up with something I couldn't quite place in his eyes. Suddenly his face twisted into a smile. Fake. Fake. Fake. Three times I said fake.
"A book fell off the shelf and it woke me up." Lies. Lies. Lies. Three times I said lies. "Don't worry about me anyway."
I didn't say he was lying- how could I?
"I see." Was all I said. Quite simply.
"Why couldn't you sleep?" He asked, sitting up in an enthusiastic way.
"A book fell off of a shelf." I replied. We sat in an uncomfortable silence for a while. I should imagine Sirius was repeating the word 'lies' in his mind three times.
After what seemed like the most awkward eternity ever, Sirius broke the silence. Broke the tension. But for how long did that last?
"I'll tell you the truth if you tell me the truth." I nodded to this, in agreement. He took a deep breath. "I have lots of nightmares since that Halloween…"
I hummed in agreement. Agreement to what? You may be asking yourself. I ask myself the exact same question.
After a while Sirius spoke again, this time in a low hum of a whisper so I could hardly hear.
"Your turn."
"I just don't like sleeping. When I sleep anything could happen."
Sirius' eyes told me to elaborate. If eyes can say that much.
"I have these dreams… I'd rather not have them at all."
Sirius nodded. This time he was agreeing.
"Maybe if you tried to sleep the dreams would go away?" His pitch got higher as he spoke. Where's the logic behind that?
"No." I whispered, shaking my head to reinforce this. "Maybe if you stopped sleeping the nightmares would go away?"
"That's the worst piece of advice ever." Sirius said, like he was all knowing.
"So was yours!" I squawked indignantly.
"Maybe we should come at it from a different angle?" Sirius suggested.
"If we only sleep a little bit?"
"No." Sirius shot down my idea. I must admit, looking back, I seemed a little, how to word it? Slow.
I'd already admitted to that. Hell, I wouldn't have been there if I weren't slow.
"What about…? No." Sirius said. He spent about a minute saying things like that. And various hums and 'no's. Then he seemed to get a new idea. "I don't know, it works in films and movies," He paused, I took the moment to interrupt.
"There the same thing."
"But what if we talked about them? The dreams I mean."
I disliked that idea. Maybe we could discuss something else? Go back to believing Sirius to be a serial killer. I'm too tired to use my imagination anymore, only stale ideas described in a small range of simple vocabulary for the rest of the story.
To be honest, the whole story's like that though.
"You start." I spoke softly.
"No, you start." Our voices weren't arguing voices, more innocent, 'oh I couldn't possibly' voices.
"It was your idea." Yeah, I went there. His face was defeated and I spoke, (!) "Tell me what your dreams are about."
"Losing you, losing Remus, losing James and Lily…" He paused, "Azkaban." That one was the odd one out since all the other ones where people. Ha. I shall get the brilliant CAT scores.
I wanted to tell him that none of that would happen and that he'd be fine and there was nothing to worry about; that it was all okay. But I couldn't. It would be a lie. (Tea anyone?)
He'd already lost James and Lily and gone to Azkaban. He might well loose me and/or Remus. That and I'd sound like a girl.
His deep in thought face suddenly turned to something more sinister, "Your turn."
I'd have rather he turned out to be the serial killer.
"My dreams? They're all different." I lie and I escape.
"The truth." He said like he was scolding a young child, which I guess he was, just not really scolding me so much.
"My parents." All so cliché and in line with other fanfics. They were my happy dreams- the ones that bugged me the most. "But then I have dreams about Cedric and Voldermort and people dying." Strangely, they weren't so bad.
There was an uncomfortable silence, pressure built up until my head felt like it would explode. I could hear every little noise in the room. Sirius's breathing, my breathing.
Drip. Goes the onomatopoeia. Or the water coming out the tap where Sirius filled the kettle. Do we even need Kettles? We're wizards!
"It wasn't your fault, you know?"
I wanted to agree. Oh yeah, I know. I'm too brilliant to pin the blame on myself.
If the suns hot, then is it spicy?
But, yeah, I couldn't.
I hummed- to get him off my back. But the thought that it wasn't my fault ate away at me until I asked, "Who's fault was it?"
"Voldermorts and wormtales."
I'd think that over.
"It's not your fault my mum and dad died." I tried to comfort him.
An awkward silence which spoke so many unsaid words.
"Let's go to bed." Sirius said, this time a real smile plastered to his face. Neither of us fully believed it wasn't our fault, but the moment was so cliché and cheesy that we felt comforted enough.
I lay listening to the hum of the distant traffic in the background, and felt like I was drifting off. This time though, I let it lull me to sleep. Bloody cheesy cliché.