Daydream
But this year, things were different. All thanks to the arrival of a boy. Him. The boy who lived. Harry Potter. And his friends.
'Whoa, this place is really something, ain't it?' Ron Weasley jumped as his eyes met the simple yet beautiful house that lay before him.
'You've got to be kidding me. Sirius used to live here? This place is incredible!' Hermione Granger completed the choir.
Harry said nothing. His eyes transfixed on the white picket fence, his hands clenched into fists, he said nothing. How could he? When all he could think of doing was screaming... screaming at the top of his lungs, for all the world to hear. He started pacing down the dusty pathway that lead to the house's front door, leaving his friends to take care of the luggage.
His thoughts drifted miles away as he reached for the doorknob. How many years had passed since his godfather had last set foot on this threshold? How many photos of him and his parents lay inside, waiting to be discovered? Did he really want to find that out? But before Harry could decide, a voice shouted loudly behind him.
'Mate, you opening that door or what? Come on already, this stuff's heavy!' Ron was yelling at him from somewhere under a big pile of boxes of various shapes and sizes which had previously been neatly piled up by Hermione.
Harry sighed and took out a small key from his right jeans pocket, using it to open the door to his godfathers' home. He stepped over the threshold and then held the door open while the others crept inside, hands filled with luggage of sorts.
The house looked nice, although a bit quiet and plain. Harry took his time looking around the corridor, peering through opened doors into each room at a time. His heart was now set to uncover any shard of memory that might lay around, a picture, a book, a forgotten note still sticking to the fridge... anything that could link him back to his lost family. Yet, he was afraid. He dreaded the tears, hated the pain, but pain seemed to become his second nature these last few weeks. Ever since...
He shrugged that last though out of his mind and proceeded into what seemed to be the living-room. His friends were already settled in quite comfortably when he joined them. Ron sat in the middle of a wide, black leather sofa, rummaging through a bunch of outdated magazines about motorcycles and sports cars while Hermione was pretty caught up in checking out the collection of Muggle-literature that lay on a shelf. As he approached, she turned to face him, and with a wide grin on her face proceeded to present him with various titles and other interesting facts about their authors. By the time she had finished her number, Harry was certain that he could win the jackpot on any of those Muggle quiz-shows easily, just by using some of his newly-acquired knowledge. Yes, unbelievable as it may seem, he had struggled to pay attention to Hermi's presentation. The idea that those books had once belonged to Sirius made him want to know everything about them. He felt closer to his godfather this way, he wanted to understand...
As Hermione got back to her books, Harry was left to wander alone through the house. Ron was still busy in his thoughts of motorcycles and flying charms.
'I'm telling you, this is a great one, wait until I run this by Fred and George...' he went on in a cheery tone. His voice died as he followed Harry's gaze, and he came to notice a peculiar painting hanging on the wall opposite to a window, thus being showered with the full-moon's white light. The couch on one side, a bookcase on the other, and a coffee table beneath the painting itself completed the arrangement. Ron, who had turned round to get a better view was now leaning his head against the top of the couch, with his eyes fixed on the painting and his mouth wide open.
'Bloody...Wha's that?' he managed to mutter, making no attempt to close his mouth after he finished speaking.
'It's a painting, by John Martin.' Harry answered after inspecting the piece up close. 'It's called 'Wrath',' he added.
'It's so powerful.' Hermione added as she crept closer, setting the book she was studying on a coffee table as she walked, her eyes stuck to the painting.
'Do you think Sirius liked it?' Ron asked, still staring.
'Why else would it be hanging here you twit?' Hermione said, giving him a reproachful look. She turned towards Harry, who was still deep in thought. 'I don't get it though, this, this is weird... why would Sirius hang it here... why buy it...?' her voice trailed off, as she tried to find some deep meaning in the piece.
'It's power... to fight,' Harry said. He shrugged and turned away from the canvas, heading for the window. The sun set a while ago, as it usually does in late October, and all it left behind was a cloudy, not yet pitch-dark sky lit by a bright white full moon.
Hermione looked after him, but decided to allow him a couple of minutes alone, knowing what he must go through. She went to the writing desk that stood next to one of the bookcases and picked up a book that was leaning against a miniature collectible motorcycle. She looked at a title, gave a big sigh, and walked over next to Harry who was now perched up on the window sill, admiring the moon.
'Here, you should read this. I think he was reading it before...' Being reminded that bringing up Harry's parents' deaths wouldn't help much, she stopped in mid sentence. 'Try act three,' she added, placing the book in his arms and then turning around towards Ron, who was more than enjoying himself whilst playing with the TV's on-off switch.
Harry took the book and read its title off the leather cover. Golden letters presented the work to be a play by William Shakespeare. Hamlet. He opened the book, searched the act that Hermione suggested he should read and started doing so.
" To be, or not to be: that is the question:"
His stomach tightened as the memory of Sirius falling through the dark veil flashed before his eyes. He couldn't stop now; he had to go on reading.
"Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
And by opposing end them? To die: to sleep;"
He couldn't help imagining his godfather reading the verses aloud while stuck back in Grimmauld Place. His voice, his eyes reflecting all the pain inside... the scars that the past bestowed upon him. And somehow he felt closer to him, like he wasn't really gone, like none of it actually happened.
The voice inside Harry's head grew stronger as he went on reading. Sirius' voice, reading for him. Sirius' voice, being there for him. And Harry felt stronger, braver.
"To die, to sleep;
To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub;
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come..."
'A dream of peace.' The voice in Harry's mind said. Sirius' voice...
Harry's eyes filled with tears. He looked over to the moon that still shone outside, a tear falling across his cheek as the voice went on.
'A dream of a new beginning.'
Harry froze as he though he felt somebody's hand resting on his left shoulder. Tears still fresh on his face, the opened book in his hands, he could feel them, just as he could feel somebody standing beside him. But there was nothing there. Just the wind. And the blaze of the fire that Hermione had just lit in the fireplace.
'Harry, you should hurry to dinner, you know,' Remus Lupin said as he rushed into Harry's room in the Gryffindor tower. 'You wouldn't want to miss Professor Dumbledore's Halloween speech now, would you?' he added with a faint smile.
'No, no, right, speech, Halloween, right.' Harry shrugged the daydream away, set the Hamlet book he'd been studying on the bedside table, set the picture of Sirius sitting in front of his white picket-fenced house back into the photo album he had received from Hagrid a long time before and stood up, heading for the door. Professor Lupin sighed as he watched him take one more glance towards the photo album. They both went down the stairs leading to the Gryffindor common room and Remus then headed towards the door, pausing for a second to wait for Harry who had stopped in front of the fireplace.
It was the same as in Harry's dream. The flames playing gold and copper on their waves. The heat. The crackling sound of burning wood and a faint smell of cherries.
As the Fat Lady stood aside at Lupin's request, a slight current swept the common room, reminding Harry of the chill he'd sensed earlier, of Sirius' hand resting on his shoulder, of his voice.
And sure enough, the feeling returned to him. The hand, the impression of somebody watching over him. And he felt better. Better than he had felt in a long time. He wasn't alone anymore. He was never alone. Sirius was there, watching. He knew that now. He smiled.
'Everything all-right Harry?' asked Remus who was still standing in the doorway, waiting.
'Yeah,' Harry turned over to him. 'It was just a daydream,' he said.
'A dream of peace,' Sirius' voice added in Harry's mind. Harry smiled and went through the doorway, anxious to see what special dishes the house elves had prepared for that year's Halloween dinner.
Rated: PG
Disclaimer: All characters belong to JK Rowling and she should get all the credit for them.
Merton's Cove was a place like any other. A seemingly Muggle house, on a Muggle street, in a Muggle inhabited town somewhere in the middle of England.But this year, things were different. All thanks to the arrival of a boy. Him. The boy who lived. Harry Potter. And his friends.
'Whoa, this place is really something, ain't it?' Ron Weasley jumped as his eyes met the simple yet beautiful house that lay before him.
'You've got to be kidding me. Sirius used to live here? This place is incredible!' Hermione Granger completed the choir.
Harry said nothing. His eyes transfixed on the white picket fence, his hands clenched into fists, he said nothing. How could he? When all he could think of doing was screaming... screaming at the top of his lungs, for all the world to hear. He started pacing down the dusty pathway that lead to the house's front door, leaving his friends to take care of the luggage.
His thoughts drifted miles away as he reached for the doorknob. How many years had passed since his godfather had last set foot on this threshold? How many photos of him and his parents lay inside, waiting to be discovered? Did he really want to find that out? But before Harry could decide, a voice shouted loudly behind him.
'Mate, you opening that door or what? Come on already, this stuff's heavy!' Ron was yelling at him from somewhere under a big pile of boxes of various shapes and sizes which had previously been neatly piled up by Hermione.
Harry sighed and took out a small key from his right jeans pocket, using it to open the door to his godfathers' home. He stepped over the threshold and then held the door open while the others crept inside, hands filled with luggage of sorts.
The house looked nice, although a bit quiet and plain. Harry took his time looking around the corridor, peering through opened doors into each room at a time. His heart was now set to uncover any shard of memory that might lay around, a picture, a book, a forgotten note still sticking to the fridge... anything that could link him back to his lost family. Yet, he was afraid. He dreaded the tears, hated the pain, but pain seemed to become his second nature these last few weeks. Ever since...
He shrugged that last though out of his mind and proceeded into what seemed to be the living-room. His friends were already settled in quite comfortably when he joined them. Ron sat in the middle of a wide, black leather sofa, rummaging through a bunch of outdated magazines about motorcycles and sports cars while Hermione was pretty caught up in checking out the collection of Muggle-literature that lay on a shelf. As he approached, she turned to face him, and with a wide grin on her face proceeded to present him with various titles and other interesting facts about their authors. By the time she had finished her number, Harry was certain that he could win the jackpot on any of those Muggle quiz-shows easily, just by using some of his newly-acquired knowledge. Yes, unbelievable as it may seem, he had struggled to pay attention to Hermi's presentation. The idea that those books had once belonged to Sirius made him want to know everything about them. He felt closer to his godfather this way, he wanted to understand...
As Hermione got back to her books, Harry was left to wander alone through the house. Ron was still busy in his thoughts of motorcycles and flying charms.
'I'm telling you, this is a great one, wait until I run this by Fred and George...' he went on in a cheery tone. His voice died as he followed Harry's gaze, and he came to notice a peculiar painting hanging on the wall opposite to a window, thus being showered with the full-moon's white light. The couch on one side, a bookcase on the other, and a coffee table beneath the painting itself completed the arrangement. Ron, who had turned round to get a better view was now leaning his head against the top of the couch, with his eyes fixed on the painting and his mouth wide open.
'Bloody...Wha's that?' he managed to mutter, making no attempt to close his mouth after he finished speaking.
'It's a painting, by John Martin.' Harry answered after inspecting the piece up close. 'It's called 'Wrath',' he added.
'It's so powerful.' Hermione added as she crept closer, setting the book she was studying on a coffee table as she walked, her eyes stuck to the painting.
'Do you think Sirius liked it?' Ron asked, still staring.
'Why else would it be hanging here you twit?' Hermione said, giving him a reproachful look. She turned towards Harry, who was still deep in thought. 'I don't get it though, this, this is weird... why would Sirius hang it here... why buy it...?' her voice trailed off, as she tried to find some deep meaning in the piece.
'It's power... to fight,' Harry said. He shrugged and turned away from the canvas, heading for the window. The sun set a while ago, as it usually does in late October, and all it left behind was a cloudy, not yet pitch-dark sky lit by a bright white full moon.
Hermione looked after him, but decided to allow him a couple of minutes alone, knowing what he must go through. She went to the writing desk that stood next to one of the bookcases and picked up a book that was leaning against a miniature collectible motorcycle. She looked at a title, gave a big sigh, and walked over next to Harry who was now perched up on the window sill, admiring the moon.
'Here, you should read this. I think he was reading it before...' Being reminded that bringing up Harry's parents' deaths wouldn't help much, she stopped in mid sentence. 'Try act three,' she added, placing the book in his arms and then turning around towards Ron, who was more than enjoying himself whilst playing with the TV's on-off switch.
Harry took the book and read its title off the leather cover. Golden letters presented the work to be a play by William Shakespeare. Hamlet. He opened the book, searched the act that Hermione suggested he should read and started doing so.
" To be, or not to be: that is the question:"
His stomach tightened as the memory of Sirius falling through the dark veil flashed before his eyes. He couldn't stop now; he had to go on reading.
"Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
And by opposing end them? To die: to sleep;"
He couldn't help imagining his godfather reading the verses aloud while stuck back in Grimmauld Place. His voice, his eyes reflecting all the pain inside... the scars that the past bestowed upon him. And somehow he felt closer to him, like he wasn't really gone, like none of it actually happened.
The voice inside Harry's head grew stronger as he went on reading. Sirius' voice, reading for him. Sirius' voice, being there for him. And Harry felt stronger, braver.
"To die, to sleep;
To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub;
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come..."
'A dream of peace.' The voice in Harry's mind said. Sirius' voice...
Harry's eyes filled with tears. He looked over to the moon that still shone outside, a tear falling across his cheek as the voice went on.
'A dream of a new beginning.'
Harry froze as he though he felt somebody's hand resting on his left shoulder. Tears still fresh on his face, the opened book in his hands, he could feel them, just as he could feel somebody standing beside him. But there was nothing there. Just the wind. And the blaze of the fire that Hermione had just lit in the fireplace.
'Harry, you should hurry to dinner, you know,' Remus Lupin said as he rushed into Harry's room in the Gryffindor tower. 'You wouldn't want to miss Professor Dumbledore's Halloween speech now, would you?' he added with a faint smile.
'No, no, right, speech, Halloween, right.' Harry shrugged the daydream away, set the Hamlet book he'd been studying on the bedside table, set the picture of Sirius sitting in front of his white picket-fenced house back into the photo album he had received from Hagrid a long time before and stood up, heading for the door. Professor Lupin sighed as he watched him take one more glance towards the photo album. They both went down the stairs leading to the Gryffindor common room and Remus then headed towards the door, pausing for a second to wait for Harry who had stopped in front of the fireplace.
It was the same as in Harry's dream. The flames playing gold and copper on their waves. The heat. The crackling sound of burning wood and a faint smell of cherries.
As the Fat Lady stood aside at Lupin's request, a slight current swept the common room, reminding Harry of the chill he'd sensed earlier, of Sirius' hand resting on his shoulder, of his voice.
And sure enough, the feeling returned to him. The hand, the impression of somebody watching over him. And he felt better. Better than he had felt in a long time. He wasn't alone anymore. He was never alone. Sirius was there, watching. He knew that now. He smiled.
'Everything all-right Harry?' asked Remus who was still standing in the doorway, waiting.
'Yeah,' Harry turned over to him. 'It was just a daydream,' he said.
'A dream of peace,' Sirius' voice added in Harry's mind. Harry smiled and went through the doorway, anxious to see what special dishes the house elves had prepared for that year's Halloween dinner.