First story...just a oneshot, set in fifth year.

A great wisp of blue smoke engulfed the room and suddenly he was standing there. His glasses askew and his tall, slim figure sihoutetting against the moon just outside the window. The black tousled hair stuck up all around and he seemed to know exactly where he was, because, without hint of hesitation or confusion, smiled broadly. It was him. James.

"Harry." Was all he managed to say, his voice cracking with emotion.

Harry didn't know what to do; he hadn't felt a rush of joy like that in all his life. Not just joy – confusion and disbelief – but suddenly feeling so safe and comforted, simply by his presence.

Before Harry knew what he was doing he surged forward and wrapped two arms around his Father's neck and felt himself being lifted into an embrace so strong that he had been deprived of for so many years.

He was concrete and tactile and real, he smelled like a million father-son moments missed, he radiated love from every fibre of his being.

Harry hadn't felt like this in his life. He wished he was five again and it was alright to want to be lifted and hugged and rocked back and forward.

He attempted to withhold the emotion but tears flew freely and he sobbed great, heart-wrenching sobs that he couldn't hold back. He felt a strong hand on the back of his head which ran fingers through his own messy hair.

He heard the faint sound of 'Hush..."

Harry held tightly to his father's robes and buried his head in the crook of his neck, continuing to cry without restraint or control. He started to speak through his sobs. "Dad..Dad.."

Harry knew James' resolve had weakened.

"Yes, Harry. It's me. Your Dad. It's alright, it's okay..."

Even as he spoke his voice shook.

"My son. My boy. I'm so..."

But the scene started to desolve and James drifted; Harry tried to yell but his voice seemed to be lost.

He was lying in bed in Grimmauld Place and his chest was heaving. He felt tear streaks down his face where he knew he had been crying as hard as in the dream.

He realized he was still hanging onto old robes, and a strong hand was brushing stray fringe off his forehead.

"Sirius," He croaked sleepily.

Grey eyes met green and Harry knew that his godfather understood.

"I didn't mean to wake you.."

But Sirius shook his head slowly and all of a sudden Harry felt himself being pulled into an embrace, and although none of the same jovial warmth spread through him like he had when he had, seemingly, hugged his Father merely moments ago, he felt safe now.