It was a graveyard, similar to that graveyard he had seen so often in Little Hangleton where the resting place of Voldemort's muggle father lay. But this was a different setting. Three grey gravestones stood solemnly and almost proudly to his left but he couldn't read the names that were engraved without his glasses. He could see, though, that they were old. Weeds thrived around their bases and they were deeply chipped and charred.

And Cedric Diggory's body had disappeared – where was it? Everything was so dark, murky almost. He was alone, and then suddenly wasn't.

He was immobile – he must have been jinxed. Frozen to the spot on his knees, he could then only watch as Voldemort glided down the grassy hill toward him with fifty hooded figures at his wake. Not dementors, though. The painful cold that usually accompanied the presence of those vile creatures was absent.

The distorted white face of Tom Riddle smiled dangerously as he approached Harry, knowing this was the end, knowing he had triumphed. Slashed black robes billowed behind Harry's greatest enemy until he halted almost gracefully and directly in front of The Boy Who Lived.

Unwillingly, Harry looked up into his eyes. Fiery red irises alive with hunger and evil bored into his and in that very moment fear consumed his every living cell.

When Voldemort spoke, it filled his mind, pushing out everything else.

"Do you approve of my friends, Harry Potter?" the Dark Lord hissed.

The dark, silent figures synchronised as they removed the hoods from their faces as if in slow motion. And Harry saw clearly the expressionless faces of his friends. So white and pale, stood behind Voldemort were Hermione, Ron, Fred, George, Ginny, then Sirius, Lupin and Mr and Mrs Weasley. He wanted to cry out to them, to warn them to run for their lives, but realised it was futile as he had no voice. Were they even alive? Thick blood matted Hermione's hair and Ron bore a huge gash down the side of his neck.

"And what of these quite different friends, Potter?" said Voldemort shrilly, eyes blazing.

A long white hand caressed the rugged edge of the grave that stood at the centre of the trio – and Harry could read it now. Here lies James Potter. Beside it on the stones of their own were the engraved names of Lily Potter and Harry James Potter.

"Don't you touch it!" Harry tried to shout. Anger boiled through and sickened him as the hand moved slowly to rest atop of his own gravestone.

"Do you see?" whispered Voldemort. "Do you see the inevitability? You are going to die, Harry Potter."

"No," said Harry thickly.

But the menacing figure opposite was already raising his wand. The familiar onlookers merely watched impassively.

"No!" Harry repeated, but he couldn't move a muscle.

And Voldemort burst into a cackle of mad laughter than echoed around the blurry graveyard and surrounding valley.

"Avada Kedavra!"

The laughter continued, reeling around Harry's mind, triumphant and gleeful.

"Harry!"

He would never forget the sound of that laughter; he couldn't.

"Wake up."

And the realisation that it was all a dream came crashing down around him as it had countless other times when he awakened. But usually there was no rough hand on his shoulder, shaking him. His eyes snapped open.

Sirius sat next to him on the edge of the bed.

"Harry," his godfather said in relief, and took away his hand. "Are you all right?"

No. The reality hit him and at the same time, so did an intense feeling of nausea.

"I'm gonna be sick," he mumbled.

He leapt up, but wasn't quite awake enough to balance and his legs collapsed under the weight of his body. His head spun so rapidly that he didn't realise at first that he'd hit the bare floorboards.

"Harry!"

Sirius was there in an instant and placed an arm around his shoulders to steady him. But Harry tried weakly to push him away.

"Sirius," he protested croakily.

But it was too late. Unable to halt the desperate urge of his body, he managed to jump onto his hands and knees to prevent the spoiling of his godfather's robes before he choked and vomited. It only lasted a moment. But it was enough to leave his throat burning as he gasped for breath. He was also shaking profusely. Sirius immediately moved forwards.

"All right now?" he asked calmly.

Harry nodded, unable to speak. Sirius hooked two hands beneath his armpits and supported him to his feet. Harry stood warily and leaned on the older man as he helped him back to the bed. Vaguely, he watched Sirius as he cleared up the mess in a wave of his wand and conjured a wooden goblet out of thin air. Cold sweat soaked his entire body and he couldn't stop trembling.

"Aguamenti," said Sirius quietly, pointing his wand at the goblet and handing it to Harry who drank the cold water thirstily.

When his thirst was quenched, Harry grimaced.

"Sorry about that," he muttered.

Now that he could think straight, the embarrassment that Sirius had witnessed him having a nightmare, as well as seeing him throw up all over the floor because of it, was not so easy to ignore. But Sirius shrugged.

"It sounded like a bad dream," he said simply. There was definitely a suggestion of room for expansion to that statement, though.

"Yeah." Harry wiped his forehead on the back of his sleeve and exhaled in a sharp puff. He still felt sick. "The only other time I've been sick though is after I saw Mr Weasley get attacked by the snake."

His godfather frowned. He appeared very white behind his untidy black hair.

"You don't think you just experienced another vision?" he asked a little sharply.

"No," replied Harry firmly. "It was just a dream. I was in a… different graveyard. My parents' graves were there… and Voldemort was right in front of me about to kill me." He took another large gulp of water and smacked his lips in a definitive manner. "Just a nightmare. My scar isn't hurting... for once."

Everything else did though, he thought grimly; his muscles ached like they were mildly on fire and his head pounded.

Not quite looking at him, Sirius nodded.

"I'm fine, Sirius," said Harry. "I dream quite a bit, these days. I think I'm just a bit off colour today. I wasn't feeling well before."

"Harry, look, I know I'm not one to talk… because I'm the type of person who keeps things to myself, too. But if you talk about your fears to people, it might stop some of these nightmares you're having. They can't be pleasant."

"I'm not afraid of being murdered by Voldemort!" Harry said a little hotly.

But even as he said it, he wasn't sure this was true. He didn't worry about it from day to day, but certainly in the graveyard last summer he had been terrified of the nothingness that might have followed a sudden curse flung his way.

"All right," Sirius said slowly, "but there are things in your past, present and future that anyone would be afraid of. I just want you to know that there are people here for you, that's all. It might help."

"Thanks," said Harry, feeling slightly awkward.

In some ways, it was still difficult to become used to having people around who cared about him like this. The only person he felt he was used to confiding in was Dumbledore, who was always so understanding. Not that Dumbledore had put effort into checking upon Harry's wellbeing recently.

"It's almost dinner time," reflected Sirius, glancing at the dusty clock on the wall. "Do you feel like eating?"

The truthful answer was no, but Harry was afraid that Sirius, who was still frowning, was anxious enough about him that he would share Harry's nightmare and sickness with the other occupants of Grimmauld Place. Attending dinner would give him much less reason to worry. And he also didn't know if he could bear Mrs Weasley fussing over him because he hadn't had any food.

"Yeah, I can eat."

But the thought of food made his stomach churn dangerously.

"Ok," said Sirius, "I'll leave you to freshen up. I think we're eating early tonight because there's an Order meeting later. I'll find out."

"Thanks, Sirius," said Harry wearily.

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It hadn't been a particularly productive Order meeting. There hadn't been anything new to report, and Dumbledore had merely refreshed the reasons as to the duties they were each carrying out. Still, it was useful to keep up regular meetings to know where everybody stood, what everybody was doing, and how everybody felt about the situation.

Remus had been watching Sirius throughout some of it. Sirius' eyes had been glazed and he hadn't for once risen to the usual demoralising comments that Snape had aimed subtly in his direction. He had to wonder what was going through his old friend's mind.

As everybody rose to leave after Dumbledore announced the meeting to be over and there was a shuffle of feet and clunks of chairs, Sirius' head snapped up and he glanced around almost wildly as if just realising where he was. Once the kitchen was almost vacated, Remus made his way over.

"You were paying attention today," he chided, trying to put a tone of humour into the accusation.

"I want to speak to Dumbledore," Sirius muttered.

Surprised, Remus looked toward the door where Dumbledore hovered having finished a brief conversation with McGonagall.

"Albus," Remus called loudly. "Sirius would like a word."

Dumbledore never looked surprised when somebody wanted to talk to him. Remus lowered himself into the chair next to Sirius as the headmaster smiled and came toward them.

"Would you mind leaving us for a brief moment, Molly?" said Dumbledore pleasantly.

Molly, in typical housekeeper fashion, had been gathering up the empty goblets and collecting them with her wand. They landed back on the table with several heavy clunks.

"Certainly, Albus."

"Thank you," he beamed.

But Remus thought she glanced at them slightly suspiciously as she left the room and closed the door. There was a brief pause.

"Sirius?"

"It's Harry," said Sirius firmly.

"Ah," said Dumbledore. He readjusted his half-moon spectacles on the end of his crooked nose as he waited for somebody to continue.

Remus should have guessed this was about Harry, really, if not about Sirius wanting to do more for the Order. At dinner time Harry hadn't touched his beef casserole and had excused himself to go to bed. Remus had thought he looked extremely pale, if not a little ill.

"Sirius, we spoke about this," Remus said gently, despite his earlier observation. "Harry would be remarkable if he wasn't run down with everything that's happened."

Sirius shook his head.

"I found him having a nightmare before," he revealed. "It was about Voldemort murdering him! When he woke up, he was sick all over the floor. You can't tell me that's normal for a fifteen-year-old teenager."

"But Harry is not a normal teenager," Dumbledore reminded him. "Terrible things have happened to him which makes it inevitable that he will dream about them."

"How can you just not care that he's suffering like this?" said Sirius angrily through gritted teeth.

"Sirius," Remus warned.

Dumbledore folded his arms across his chest and long beard and frowned.

"I do care about Harry," he said quite quietly, "more than perhaps you realise. But there is little we can do for him besides offering continued care and support. Placing him in enchanted sleeps, as I told him in the summer, would do more harm than good."

"Can't you talk to him?" Sirius demanded, meeting the wise wizard's eyes squarely. "I know he's bothered that you continue to ignore him."

"For which you know the reason as well as I do, Sirius."

Remus detected a hint of sadness from Dumbledore, not in his voice, but behind those familiar glasses as he looked unwaveringly at Sirius.

"I would never wish to place Harry in more danger," he continued gravely. "And my presence is a danger to him, evidenced by the feelings he experienced before Christmas about wishing to harm me. It is my wish that we do everything possible to keep Lord Voldemort at bay, and not in Harry's mind."

"Well it can't help that he's locked up in this place!" Sirius sounded like he was close to exploding. "If he could go out, get some fresh air…"

Remus looked down to his feet as he pondered whether Sirius was really talking about Harry, or relating the constraining base and prison of Grimmauld Place to himself.

"Enough," said Dumbledore. "Harry's safety is priority. His friends are here, you are here. He is not alone, Sirius, and it is a matter of a couple of weeks before he returns to school."

His face red, Sirius stared at Dumbledore for a moment. Then he stood swiftly and took long strides across the kitchen, left, and slammed the door behind him. The noise rang in Remus' ears.

"Sometimes he is no different to the rash, hot-tempered fifteen-year-old that was sent to my office countless times in past years," mused Dumbledore, then sighed and looked to Remus. "Of course, he has also changed in many ways since then.

"I doubt he means to accuse you. He's frustrated in himself, Albus. And he does genuinely care about Harry."

"Alas, I try to keep them both safe and neither fully understand that it is in their best interests. Sometimes I do wonder if I am making the right choices," Dumbledore admitted.

"If you sent Sirius to do work for the Order," said Remus, "you know it would be disastrous. He is an excellent wizard, but not a subtle one."

Dumbledore nodded but looked worried.

"However," said Remus, "allowing him to go out now and again might be a good idea. He isn't the kind of man who can be cooped up. After all those years of imprisonment, he feels now that nothing has changed."

"I agree," Dumbledore said heavily, stroking his beard. "But I did not intend to condone his imprisonment here when I agreed to use this house for headquarters. Sirius, however caged, is a man who strives to do something useful rather than pursuing wasteful efforts. I can only hope that this will not end badly."

"What about Harry?"

"Keep an eye on him, will you, Remus?" Dumbledore answered. "Keep him busy until he returns to Hogwarts. There is presently little I can do for him besides ask this of you and Sirius."

"We will," agreed Remus.

Dumbledore nodded and smiled, and swept from the room with confidence.