Welcome to (under my estimate) part 4 of 108 (The total length of the story, all seven books)

Sorry about the inconsistency of my posting but I have a lot on my plate. I'm still writing, just struggling to find a minute to write.

Disclaimer: See the prologue.


Finding your innner Phoenix is a painful process, no matter what form you are. Each 'finding' is different, painful in it's own way. The only two recorded 'finding' are from a light phoenix and a dark phoenix. The light phoenix felt like she was unresponsive, the feeling of helplessness, the dark phoenix felt a thousand Crucio's at her back. Both are symbolism for light and dark. -An excerpt from Phoenix and You

Chapter 3 - (Not So) Sweet Dreams

He was in the graveyard again. This time there was 7 newly dug plots surrounding him. Each had a headstone proclaiming a name. Lily Potter. James Potter. Cedric Diggory. Vernon Dursley. Petunia Dursley. Dudley Dursley. Sirius Black. A man stood, against on of the graves leaning. He had a wand in hand and his face was concealed by shadows. He wore a long cloak with his hood up. All Harry could see of him was blood red eyes. He moved, quickly. He wand waved, a small jet of light hitting each plot. He returned to his stance as if he had never left it.

Suddenly there was a bony hand that rose from the grave of James Potter. It began clawing at the dirt, displacing the earth. Within a few moments of the hand rising another did, and another with the flesh intact. Hands continued to rise and soon, all of the graves were undug. Bodies stood, he glanced at all of them, each more horrifying then the rest. Each had obvious bits of flesh, hair and clothing declaring the identity's of each body.

Lily Potter stood, her hair greasy and red, a dead mess about her head. Various bits of clothing and flesh hung on her grime and blood stained bones. Patches of white were visible, very few clean bits.

James Potter stood beside her, his black hair still attached and sticking up at all ends. He wore glasses, and he had one eye inside his head the other had fallen out and was hanging out by the tendons. He had bits of clothing, and all of his flesh was gone. The bones visible were dirt stained like his wife's.

Cedric Diggory was pale and slowly decomposing. He wore the same robes he had worn on the day he had died. He stared, glaring at Harry.

The Dursleys were a mess, unlike their normal attire. They all wore Saint Mungo's robes and their eyes were rolled back, only the pure white eyes were staring at him, which sent a visible shiver through his spine.

Sirius Black was the last of the corpses, making the final body in the circle around him. Sirius' eyes held no amusement as he looked at him. He held his own grisly sight. He grinned at Harry, a malicious sort of grin that made the hairs on Harry's neck stand on end, because the smile held no amusement like what it usually held.

"You killed me Harry."

"If I hadn't had you, I wouldn't be dead!" Voices were swimming around his head. He jerked around trying to find who was speaking, but no mouths opened.

"We should have given you to an orphanage." The corpses began walking towards him.

"It's your fault freak!"

"All your fault Potter!"

"Boy we should have drowned you when we had the chance." The voices were repeating inside his head, and he tried to creep away, but the bodies were getting closer and closer. He looked for help in the cloaked man, only to find that the hood was thrown back. It was the snake faced man, Voldemort. He opened his mouth and let out a cold, loud laugh.

"It's your fault I'm dead Harry."

"This is pay-back Potter, for all my plans that ended in failure." That voice was discernible. It was Voldemort. He raised his wand, pointing it at the green eyed wizard. Harry could hear the curse through all the layers of voices inside his head, but the colour of the spell was obvious. He saw the acid green beam of light coming straight for him and dodged. Another beam was sent in his direction. This time the boy was held in place by the bodies.

The beam of light slowed down, altering it's colour, and hovering just out of reach. It decided on a colour and sped up. It hit him in the side, sending waves of pain though his body.

He woke up screaming. Seconds after the first out burst, Harry felt a pair of arms encircle him. He began sobbing on a shoulder. A voice whispered softly to him, he couldn't understand the words. He continued to sob, as the hands that encircled him began rubbing his back. He felt safe, safer than he'd ever felt.

When he couldn't cry any longer, he closed his eyes. "Do you want to talk about it?" She spoke. Harry didn't meet her eyes. He took her appearance in, realizing that she was in a pair of flannel pains and a tank top. He stared at her hair, which was unusually messy for her. Her eyes were red rimmed and blood shot. It had looked like they had both been crying. He reached for his glasses and slipped them on, looking across the room to the digital clock displaying the time. It was very early or very late, a time where the brain didn't want to figure out which. He cringed. She was supposed to yell at him for waking her up, annoyed that her sleep was interrupted, but instead, she came and comforted him. He was mildly confused, and it did not bode well for him sleep deprived mind.

"Come downstairs, I'll make you a cup of hot chocolate." She spoke, nullifying the silence that had settled again. She got up, and moved to the door frame. She looked back at him and leaned on the frame. "Don't throw away the key Harry." She moved out the door, attempting to flatten her hair. She probably noticed he had been staring. He heard weight on the stairs, making an almost musical creaking symphony. He got up whipping stray tears from his eyes, the very few that had resisted to fall. He finally noticed his state of undress, and grabbed a shirt. He walked down sliding it over his head, almost tripping on the stairs.

He got into the kitchen just in time to hear the kettle whistle. It was removed and Daphne poured water into two mugs. She handed one to Harry and leaned on the counter again, stiring and looking at him. He began stiring and took a small sip. He deposited the spoon in the sink and stared right back. Then, it felt as if something had burst. His past experiences came out like the breaking of a dam. He continued until he reached his dream. Daphne stood their, occasionally sipping, with a thoughtful look upon her face. She did not inturupt him. When he finished, she took a moment to mull everything over.

"Okay first off, I know Lily. She would never ever think anything remotely similar to what the dream version of her said, let alone go out and think it. She wanted kids since we were kids. She would have given her life without second thought if someone she loved was in danger, including you. James may have been careless at times, but he hd a good heart. He would never have given anyone to an orphanage, just like his parents he would have taken stray kids in. Sirius was as reckless as James. There was nothing you could have done to protect him. You are not the parent, you are the one supposed to be protected. It was his choice to go. You did not force him at gun point to leave the safety of the secret place you talked of.

"The Dursley's treated you like shit. There is no denying it, but you can't change the past, just move on. No kid should ever have been treated the way you were treated. I pitty Dudley, honestly, because once he gets into the real world, he will learn that you can get everything by fake crying or acting innocent. He will have to learn how to work for things. It will be the shock of his life.

"With Cedric, did you know it was a portkey?" She asked, pausing in her rant long enough to let him shake his head. "Did you know it would take you to Voldemort?" Another pause, another shake of the head. "Did you know that Crouch Jr. was taking Polyjuice to look like Moody?" A final shake of the head. "Then how are you to blame? You didn't shoot the spell yourself, it was an accident. None of these people, or anyone related to them have the right to hate you. It was the choices made by the people themselves that lead to their fate." She paused once again, collecting her train of thought.

"Voldemort wouldn't have thought to kill you with the people you love at all. Just remember, your only a kid, and you are only human. The main thing about being human is we make mistakes, everyone does. It is only natural. The important thing is to pick yourself up, learn from it and move on. There is no use dwelling on a piece of the past that you can't change.

Harry listened to every word, considered it, and realised that this was the same thing that everyone else had been telling him all along. She just gave an insight, almost third-party like.

"Thanks." He said finally.

"Don't thank me. I'm your aunt. I was supposed to be there for you, but I wasn't. I hope you forgive me. Besides, it is in my job description to, and I quote 'Figuratively, smack teenagers with the truth.'" Harry grinned. She grew serious, "If you ever need anything at all, don't hesitate to call, or write, or some other means of communication. A rabid pack f kowalas could not keep me away if you needed me."

The implications hit Harry like a douse of cold water. He almost broke down crying again. He had never had anyone care for him that much. He blinked. "Kowalas?" She grinned.

"Now it is two of the hour in the morning. I want to be out of the house at O-seven hundred solider, now get back to your sleeping quarters now. That's an order." He gave her a strange look, but proceded upstairs none the less, her following right behind him, barking out playful commands. He walked in the room and Daphne turned on the light. Her eyes fell upon Harry's open sketch book.

"Oh my word, this is simply amazing!" She sounded shocked, suprised that she had never seen him draw. The sketch was of Lily and James hugging, looking out at the room. "Your a great artist. Have you had any lessons?" She tore her eyes away from the realistic photo, to look at the young wizard. He shock his head. He turned twelve shades of red.

No one knew of his sketch book. No one. Not even Ron or Hermione. He had kept it his well guarded secret for years, and he leaves the book out on the table. He felt like an idiot.

"There is an artist's studio in town. They have a memebership fee, but they let you use their supplies, and a model, if you want. I could bring you in, I know a few teens that go there. I'll do it tomorrow, unless you don't want to." She said. She knew a few teens? He looked at her, properly again, realizing that she looked barely ten years older than he did.

"Thanks." She said before climbing into bed. Daphne said good night and left the room, turning the light off. The only light that illuminated the room was the light of the full moon. As he drifted off to sleep, a much more pleasent dream ahead, the only other inhabitant returned to her room, and sat on her bed. Her pillow was still damp with her tears.