It was still dark when Sirius opened his eyes. He walked to the window where he could still see snow swirling about and sighed. There was no sleep to come to him tonight. He watched as the ebony clock in the corner ticked the minutes past.
He ambled back to his bed and pulled his covers around him tight to stave off the chill that crept into his room as the hours passed. Muffled by the snow, he heard the lonely whistle of a train undulating into the night. He shivered and pulled the sheets even closer.
It was now the hour of one, and nothing yet had happened. Sirius started to laugh at his own foolishness and was about to make his way to the kitchen. Surely a bit of Molly's famous pumpkin roll would settle his stomach and chase away these visions he was having. Before he could step a foot from his bed, he stopped cold.
A curious noise carried to his ears. It was the clanking of manacles. He could hear that sound clear as a bell over the loudest clamor, and the memories it evoked now caused the fine hairs on the back of his neck rise in anticipation. His fine tuned animagus senses told him that there was something else with him in the room, and it was an unearthly thing, he knew it. His heart rose in his throat, for he knew that this being was not like the ghosts of his alma mater, it would not be friendly.
The chill in the air had intensified so much that he could see the tendrils of frosted air as they floated away from his mouth. He felt childish for at that moment, with his foot suspended awkwardly out of the bed, then the clock in the corner chimed.
The sound reverberated through the room like a shockwave. A solitary stroke of one. That dreaded hour of the night. There was no more frosty air from Sirius's face as he stopped breathing for the moment. As the sound settled on the room like a layer of dust, there was a thick silence, and then the clanking of the chains resumed.
Sirius moved so quickly that his movements would have been blurred to the onlooker. So spooked was he, that he did the only rational thing he could think of. He pulled the bed sheets over his head and squeezed his eyes shut and clamped his hands over his ears.
But some things mean for their tomes to be heard. The din of manacles as a specter approached haunted Sirius to no end, and he felt his bones grow cold as nearer and nearer they drew. A hand, weighted by the burden of said incumbents, pulled the covers back and Sirius opened his eyes.
Dark murky brown eyes peered into his very own. Sirius almost screamed at the closeness of the visage and drew away from it in revulsion. The eyes were glazed and seemed to have a glaze on them that was reminiscent of the frost that graced the windowpane.
The specter stood still, pulling itself to its full height and loomed over the bed. It said nothing for the moment, waiting it seemed. The face was unlined, the eyes hollow and deep at the same time. Ageless it seemed; no passing years seemed to have left their tacks on the features. It was clad in curious garments, ones that Sirius knew quite well. Although instead of being a dinged and dirty look, they were made of the purest white, never before had he seen his Azkaban robes in such brilliance? The being that donned them had thick arms and legs, well-muscled and felt recognition creeping up on him as his terror receded. Surely this being would bring him no ill omens.
James Potter never could bear to bring bad news to his best mate.
"James. James. Why are you here at the hour of one? Are you the being that my brother had announced?" Sirius shook his head, not understanding what the meaning of this visit was.
"I am." James's voice carried no resonation; the timbre fell as though hitting a wall of wool. There was no echo against the wooden floors, and Sirius's own voice seemed a shout, even though it rose no higher than a whisper.
"What happened to you? You're dead, and wearing my clothes? What is this madness?" Sirius knew that the clothes and chains that his friend wore were not in fact his, but logic had failed him when he first gazed into James's eyes.
"I am the Specter of Christmas Past." The being moved forward slightly, his movements so slight that it seemed as though he floated.
"My past? What do I need to see my past for? I was there for it. I remember it." Sirius was getting agitated at this point. He had passed thinking that this was a hallucination due to hunger and now simply sought answers to his questions.
Something strange welled in Sirius's chest and he rose from the bed and grabbed a robe. He averted his eyes from James and held out another robe for the specter to wear. The sight of his prison robes was too much for him to bear to look at and he wanted them out of his sight if he were to talk candidly with him.
"You wish me to cover that which you have made? I wear these because it was your passions that thus brought me forth in this state of dress. Your unbridled emotions that curse me to wear these shackles as I so do." The deceased hand took the rode and was quiet as Sirius apologized his offense. But the spirit sensed that he would find no logic in the man unless he did as instructed, and with that he covered the robes with the new one.
"I ask again what brings you here?" Sirius looked at the now faceable ghost of his friend.
"Your welfare, Sirius Black." With nothing more, the spirit held out an arm.
Sirius looked back at his bed and again the thought that this was all a horrible dream washed over him. Maybe if he just fell back asleep, Molly would wake him up with the morning, and he could forget that this had ever taken place.
"You will come with me, for I do not stand in the haze of dream." When Sirius hesitated, the spirit looked at him with fire in his gaze. Despite the heat of the stare, Sirius was chilled to the core.
Sirius took a step forward and allowed his arm to be taken by the cool embrace of the specter. They stood at the window, which opened at a glance from the specter. Sirius felt the deep chill of the London air as it rushed past the sill. He was dressed in nothing but his nightclothes and didn't dare step any closer to the freezing chill beyond. The hand that held him, though slight as a doxy's flutter, pulled him forward with the ease of a threstal. Sirius objected, surely the door was more proper than the second story window?
"James, mate, I'll fall and kill myself if we exit through the window." Sirius did not attempt to pull away.
"If you can so stand for me to reach you here," the spirit said, laying a hand over Sirius's rapidly beating heart, "You will be held high in more ways that you could ever imagine."
No sooner than the words were spoken than all of Sirius's doubts were thrown to the ice in the air. They rushed out the window and the feeling was recumbent of a portkey, but Sirius knew that this was no charm…
