Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. Bits of dialogue have been taken from pages 6 through 22, from Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire.
AN: I solemnly swear not to make my version of GOF as boring or as long as JKR's. Cheers: to my least favorite book in the series. Thank you lovely reviewers! I love reading your input and agree with most of it. Although I love Remus, I did think he was a coward most of the series. I felt for him; he is a werewolf, hated by most of society, there has to be repercussions in his character. I also sympathize for Sirius; he is a shotty parental figure, but he tried, and he definitely cared for Harry. Hopefully I can offer both of em' some redemption eh? ;)

The fire he now saw had been lit in the grate. This surprised him. Then he stopped moving and listened intensely, for a man's voice spoke within the room.

"There is more my Lord," the voice said quietly, smoothly, in an accent Frank Bryce could not place.

"Later," said a second voice. This too belonged to a man – but it was strangely high–pitched, and cold as a sudden blast of icy wind. Something about that voice made the sparse hairs on the back of Frank's neck stand up. "Move me closer to the fire, Fatmir."

Frank turned his right ear to the door, the better to hear. There came the clink of a bottle being put down upon some hard surface, and then the dull scraping noise of a heavy chair being dragged across the floor. Frank caught a glimpse of a small man, his back to the door, pushing the chair into place. He was wearing a long black cloak; his dark brown hair fell in handsome waves across the back of his head. Then he went out of sight again, stepping on a crinkling newspaper as he did so.

"Where is Nagini?" said the cold voice as the man stooped to pick up the paper.

"She left not twenty minutes ago, perhaps to secure the house," said the first voice in his strange accent. He moved near the door so Frank had to remain still, watching fearfully as the man froze in his progress at the voice of the second man.

"You will milk her before you leave, Fatmir," said the second voice. "I will need feeding in the night. The journey has tired me greatly."

"It was a long journey my lord," the voice consorted, he sat the paper down on a small table near the door.

Frank thought he saw the picture on it move, but then it dropped flat and the first man turned back to the second one, distracting Frank with relief that he had not been seen. Brow furrowed, Frank inclined his good ear still closer to the door, listening very hard thereafter. There was a pause, and then the man called Fatmir spoke again.

"My Lord, is it wise that Crouch attempt his escape at the World cup?"

"You do not agree?"

"If we cannot so much as touch the Potter boy at the Quidditch World Cup, due in part to the tight security, then why should Crouch attempt his escape there," the voice questioned in its thick accent.

Frank inserted a gnarled finger into his ear and rotated it. Owing, no doubt, to a buildup of earwax, he had heard the word "Quidditch," which was not a word at all.

"What is your fear Fatmir?"

"My Lord, I have none – "

"Liar," breathed the second voice, "Do not lie to me! I can always tell! You are regretting having helped me in the forest; you are missing your loved one! You cannot see how our plan will succeed. Silence!"

The other man cleared his throat and quieted, maybe ashamed or embarrassed. For a few seconds, Frank could hear nothing but the fire crackling. Then the second man spoke once more, in a whisper that was almost a hiss.

"I am not asking you do it alone. Just one more murder and then our path to Harry Potter will be clear. By that time, my faithful servant will have rejoined me. I will allow you to return to your loved one, owing that you will return to me soon after. If you do not, you will not be the first to see weakness in love. Do not make me murder Fatmir, it is too easy," cruel amusement wove with daring warning; the first voice fell silent for some time. Frank strained his ears against the pounding that had settled in them, finally the second voice spoke again "It is lucky we found Bertha Jorkins, I do not want you to regret killing her. The information she has given us will help greatly in the end, and you will be rewarded my servant, for finding me when no other has tried."

Out in the corridor, Frank suddenly became aware that the hand gripping his walking stick was slippery with sweat. The man with the cold voice had killed a woman. He was talking about it without any kind of remorse – with amusement. He was dangerous – a madman. And he was planning more murders – this boy, Harry Potter, whoever he was – was in danger.

Frank knew what he must do. Now, if ever, was the time to go to the police. He would creep out of the house and head straight for the telephone box in the village… but the cold voice was speaking again, and Frank remained where he was, frozen to the spot, listening with all his might.

"One more murder…my faithful servant at Hogwarts…Harry Potter is as good as mine, Fatmir. It is decided. There will be no more argument. But quiet…I think I hear Nagini…."

A hissing began and everything tumbled together after that. The snake, Voldemort, parseltongue, Fatmir, Frank; he was dead before he hit the floor. Harry awoke with a start, hand clamping to his forehead as every muscle in his body anticipated the lifeless man's body dropping with a thud on the floor.

On his back, Harry breathed hard, as though he'd been running. Not feet away Ron Weasley remained in a heavy sleep, snoring loudly while Harry turned over the images from his vivid dream, sweaty fingers pressed to his sweaty forehead. His lightning bolt scar was burning beneath his fringe, as if someone had just pressed a white-hot wire to his skin.

Still clutching his scar Harry sought out his glasses, sitting up he slipped his pajama clad legs from the camp bed. A blur of orange wall papering threatened to make him ill, his stomach already churning as he pressed his glasses on. He could not make out hardly anything in the dark, moonlight filtered through the bedroom as Harry stood up. Restlessness seized him; his heart beat erratically as he woke up his friend.

"Ron," Harry hissed anxiously, shaking Ron with one hand and running his fingers over his painful scar at the same time, "Ron wake up," Harry said, giving the red head's shoulder a particularly hard shake.

"What'sit?" Ron muttered, sleepy brown eyes snapping open to Harry before disappearing behind heavy lids once more. Harry was tired too, but the aching in his scar only increased his scramble to awake his best friend.

Harry had only been at the Weasley's for two days; his godfather, who Harry had been living with, had dropped him off Thursday morning before leaving to visit a friend. With the promise to return the morning they were to travel to the World Cup, Sirius had dropped Harry through the flu so to spend some time with his friends. The entire Weasley family was home for the World Cup, and it had been the first time Harry had met some of them. They spent the better part of two days playing quidditch, and Friday had been no different. Although Harry loved living with his godfather, they did not have much room for flying, and so had spent most of their summer at the beach or admiring the lights of the boardwalk at night. The Weasleys and Harry had made up for his lack of flying; especially Friday when Mrs. Weasley had had to threaten them with whippings if they continued to band against her. Harry had been the first to fly down, but the rest of her children had been adamant. Harry had fallen asleep to her shouting at the twins, staring at Ron's poster of the Cannons.

Ron blinked sleepily up at Harry, "What is it?"

"It's my scar," Harry said, lowering his hand and sitting back on his heals as Ron sat up, "It hurts," Harry said, his cheeks warming at the whine in his voice. And yet it wasn't the pain that was bothering him, Ron seemed to understand immediately.

"But last time your scar hurt – he was around wasn't he?" Ron said, the color draining from his face, "But…but you-know-who can't be near you now, can he? I mean…you'd know, wouldn't you? I dunno Harry, maybe cursed scars always twinge a bit…When did it start?"

"I had a dream about him," Harry said, he reached up to touch his scar again.

"What happened?"

Harry tried to remember, his eyebrows knitting together as he screwed his eyes shut. The dim picture of a darkened room came to him…There had been a snake on the hearth rug…a small man named Fatmir, with a funny accent…and a cold, high voice…the voice of Lord Voldemort. Harry felt as though an ice cube had slipped down into his stomach at the very thought.

"What are you doing?" Harry asked as Ron slipped past him and padded to the bedroom door.

"I'm getting my Mum."

"No," Harry said, shooting upward, "you can't Ron!"

Ron was already out of the room, Harry half jogged after him, wincing at the creak of the stairs as he stopped. Ron had slipped into his parent's bedroom, and Harry didn't feel right following him. Harry waited anxiously; he didn't like the idea of the whole Weasley family knowing that he, Harry, was getting jumpy about a few moments' pain. Mrs. Weasley would fuss worse than Hermione. Harry kneaded his aching forehead with his knuckles.

What he really wanted (and it felt almost shameful to admit it to himself) was someone like – someone like a parent: an adult wizard whose advice he could ask without feeling stupid, someone who cared about him, who had had experience with dark magic. He wanted Sirius, but he felt stupid for wanting for someone he'd only just come to know. What would Sirius think when Harry blubbered to him like a baby, that his scar was hurting and he needed someone to reassure him.

Mrs. Weasley appeared on the cramped landing with her night robes drawn tightly, she gave Harry a sympathetic look before leading him down into the kitchen and sitting him down to her warn table. She pushed his fringe away to examine Harry's scar as Mr. Weasley followed them off the landing. Ron stood on the steps, glancing nervously out of the kitchen windows, as if expecting Voldemort to appear at any moment.

"Would you like us to call Sirius son?" Mr. Weasley asked gently.

Harry swallowed and nodded, his cheeks warming as Mrs. Weasley clucked, "Does it still hurt dear? It doesn't look irritated, maybe a little red from where you've been bothering it."

"Not as much," Harry said tiredly, watching as Mr. Weasley stuck his head in the great, his eyes rounding; no one seemed to notice his surprise.

"He's coming," Mr. Weasley said as he pulled his head away.

Not a second later the fire flared as Sirius stepped out of it. Harry looked away from his grey eyes, full of anxiety as they considered him in turn. The kitchen seemed suddenly crowed though Harry had known it to fit twice as many people before. Mrs. Weasley was searching for something in her cabinets as Sirius knelt down before him and pushed his fringe away.

"Does it still hurt?" he asked gently.

"No," Harry said quietly, eyes lowered. "It's probably nothing."

"Don't be stubborn Harry James," Sirius said, surprising Harry when he used his middle name, "if your scars been hurting, it's something to be worried about. We'll have to talk to Dumbledore – "

"No," Harry whined, embarrassed, "it's fine," he clamored, face flushed.

"Here dear," Mrs. Weasley moved around Sirius and handed Harry a flask, "this should help with your headache."

Harry drank it, ever self conscious of Sirius' appraisal. Sirius sighed, eyes still searching out Harry's features he asked "Would you like to come home for the evening?"

"I'm fine," Harry said, ducking his head.

"Don't worry, we'll work it out," Sirius seemed to know what Harry needed to hear, upon Harry's deep breath Sirius stood up and glanced at Mrs. Weasley, "call me if I'm needed."

"Alright," Mrs. Weasley said briskly, she looked as if she was bothered by Sirius' presence. They had talked for a long while on Thursday when Sirius had dropped Harry off. Harry had the feeling Mrs. Weasley didn't believe Sirius entirely innocent, with the twins help Ron and Harry had discovered that he'd been right. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley spent half the afternoon speaking with his godfather, but in the end Mr. Weasley seemed to be the only one who took what Sirius had said for truth.

Harry stood up, prepared to sneak back to bed before he could be addressed again, but he froze as Sirius jerked him into an awkward hug. He took a deep breath as Sirius' head settled aside the top of his. It was a strange thing, to feel cared for so much; Harry wasn't regretting his decision to have Mr. Weasley call Sirius anymore. A bit of his anxiety dissipated as Sirius spoke.

"If you need me Harry, I'm just a flu call away," he murmured.

Harry nodded, almost grinning when Sirius ruffled his hair in an affectionate way. He followed Ron back up to bed while Sirius turned toward the Weasleys. He reached up and messed his hair around in an old gesture; it fell back into perfect place, handsome waves framing his handsome features.

"Has this happened before?" Sirius asked.

The Weasleys exchanged a short look and then Mr. Weasley replied, "Not that we can think on, but addressing Dumbledore does seem the right thing to do Sirius."

Sirius inhaled, "I'm pants at this parenting thing."

Mrs. Weasley looked indecisive and then she said easily, "It'll get easier dear."

Sirius climbed back through the grate, glancing around his living room to find Remus had moved from the kitchen to the sofa. He refused to sleep in the guest bedroom; Sirius suspected it was because he didn't want to be coerced into making it his own. At first look the exhausted werewolf was seemingly asleep, but his tired amber eyes blinked open as Sirius threw himself into an arm chair with a heavy sigh.

"Was he okay?" Remus croaked.

"Looked okay," Sirius said distractedly.

Remus sat up, wincing at the ache in his heavy limbs, "what did the Weasleys say?"

"It's a first," he shrugged, "I'll ask Dumbledore about it tomorrow."

"It's bothering you."

"I've got a bad feeling."

"James used to say that all of the time; I think it must come with the territory of being a Father."

"I'm not his father," Sirius said shortly.

Remus arched an eyebrow, "I know. I just meant that you're filling that role now."

Sirius frowned at him, "I don't want to replace James."

"Well you can't be Harry's best friend – he needs guidance," Remus sighed and settled back into the couch, "he sure seems to find trouble as much as James did."

"Doesn't this scar business worry you?"

"There isn't much we can do about it apart from making guesses in the dark. Maybe Harry just dreamed it was hurting him, sometimes dreams are hard to distinguish."

"I don't think so," Sirius said firmly, scratching at the shadow of his facial hair, "he was too bothered for it to just be a dream. He has nightmares all of the time anyway, and he's never bothered me or anyone about them before."

"How do you know then?"

"He talks in his sleep."

Remus' eyebrows drew together, "A lot?"

"Enough," Sirius said wearily, "about snakes and Voldemort. Other things too, but I'm more bothered that my fourteen year old godson is having nightmares about a wizard who is powerless now. I don't think I had nightmares about Voldemort when I was fourteen, and he was a fully fledged murderer at that point in our lives."

"Albus said he's come face to face with him, that'll be why."

Sirius looked stricken and confused in one, "with Voldemort?"

Remus briefly told what he knew of Harry's first and second year, it wasn't much and most of the story stemmed from what his previous Head of house had told him in passing conversations. Dumbledore seemed keen to keep the exact details private, but had mentioned certain things to Remus on different occasions. When he finished detailing what he knew, Sirius was staring vacantly into the dying embers of the grate.

"That'll explain the parseltongue," Sirius said quietly.

Remus snorted, "It's fine Sirius; speaking parseltongue doesn't make you a dark wizard."

"I think I've failed James and Lily," Sirius said darkly, dropping his gaze to his lap as he reached up to massage the bridge of his nose.

Remus sighed; he was growing increasingly tired of reassuring Sirius. Thankfully the animagus seemed to hide his darker moods from Harry. In the weeks following Harry's move, Sirius had gradually reverted to himself again. If ever Harry's interest in him dwindled, Sirius would hole up in his bedroom or else Remus would visit late at night to find him having a drink. Harry wasn't any the wiser. Sirius swore he came around come morning, always to make Harry breakfast and with a plan for the day. The weekend Sirius had allowed Harry to invite Ron over, they'd spent long stretches of time at the beach, holed up in Harry's room, or exploring the boardwalk. Remus couldn't tell if Sirius' subsequent mood had been because of his jealousy at Harry's time being preoccupied with Ron or a deep longing to have his own best friend back. Ron and Harry were certainly inseparable; Remus had noticed that within weeks of their third year. It had taken Remus nearly a week to convince Sirius Harry liked him and wasn't relieved to have some good company in his friend instead; it was obvious in the way Harry seemed to hang on Sirius' every word. Remus had only visited Harry once, and had watched every second of Harry following Sirius around, just like he used to when he was a baby. It was how the Marauders had coined Harry with the endearing nickname pup, but Sirius had been skeptical, even then.

"I wish I had picked somewhere else to live," Sirius said moodily, childishly, "Harry told me through his mirror last night that they've been playing quidditch. I didn't even think about that here. We can fly through the forest I guess but – "

"Sirius," Remus cut across him, "Remember when James started to date Lily?"

Sirius looked up at Remus frowning, "Of course."

"And you thought James liked her more then you."

"I don't remember it that way…"

"You made a fool out of yourself trying to win James over, and James ended up getting mad at you." Sirius' frown deepened, and he grumbled something indiscernible. Remus rolled his eyes and continued, "Harry's allowed to like more than just you; the Weasleys are like his second family, he only gets to see them in the summertime. You need to be patient; you'll have time to get to know him, but don't go suffocating him. Harry likes you, but he has other people in his life. You would too if you got out more."

"You're one to talk."

"I'm perfectly comfortable with the people I have in my life."

"Oh - just me - and Harry when you feel like it," Sirius snorted, "come off it."

"I don't need everyone in my life Sirius," Remus said reverently, "I'm not saying you're attention starved, but you've always been more social than me. There are people still around, if you chose to contact them; I'm sure they wouldn't mind hearing from you."

"Because they missed me so much while I was in Azkaban."

"Ah," Remus said, suddenly understanding. He rolled his eyes, glad for the shadowy darkness in the room, it hide his skepticism "this is one of those things."

"And what's that supposed to mean?"

"It means you've been throwing a pity party for the past two months, and I'm no longer attending."

"If that's what you think," Remus expected the outrage; he did not expect Sirius to leap up however, a wild angry look mingling with a familiar reckless one. Remus sighed and sat up, "What are you doing?" he asked tiredly while Sirius moved around the room.

"I'm going for a walk."

"Now," Remus' eyes slid to the Grandfather clock in the corner, one of the few things Sirius had salvaged for his furnished home; it was nearly four in the morning.

"Yes now," Sirius snapped at the door.

"It isn't a good idea, not with the entire wizarding world knowing you live in this area, thanks to Skeeter. Don't forget you're registered now Sirius; you can't just go wandering around and think…" but Sirius had thrown open the door and changed in a great black dog. Remus sat up on the couch, "Sirius!" he called after the dog as it bounded into the night.

Limbs protesting, he leapt off the couch and took off after the dog, pausing on the last porch step to stare into the darkness. The sound of the sea was the tree's only symphony as they swayed in the looming darkness. Porch lights were the only lights that lit the lane. The large black shaggy dog was nowhere to be seen. Swearing, Remus jogged off the porch steps, drawing his wand as he turned onto the small roadway. No looming shadows stood out amongst the houses, but Remus had the distinct feeling Sirius was watching him.

"Sirius," Remus called tiredly, "Come on, you're being pathetic Padfoot!" His teeth grit together as he began to walk, a bad feeling circling around in his stomach. Up above him the moon stood out amongst the clouds, although not in its entirety as it had been nights before. The werewolf shivered; his senses were sharp as he turned onto the long stretch of widened sidewalk. It gave way to brightly colored storefronts on one side and a beach on the other. Here street lamps loomed, casting eerie shadows where the moon's light did not touch. Remus breathed a sigh of relief as he spotted Sirius in his dog form at the sea's edge, long back fur ruffling in the wind. He paused to watch Sirius for a moment, the hairs on his neck stood on end; though the war had long ended Remus had kept the feeling of paranoia that had always accompanied it. He didn't like being out at night even before the war. Once upon a time he'd gone against his parent's wishes and adventured into the dark shadows of his backyard, having heard a noise from his bedroom. Remus shivered again, glancing around; it was then he spotted them.

The dark shadow was parallel to him, growing as it approached from a distance. It seemed to be moving toward Sirius in a pronounced way. Remus' heart shot into his throat as he began to run.

"Sirius," Remus roared, raising his wand as the dark figure froze. Dog Sirius glanced around at the fear in his friend's voice. Remus was nearly out of breath, the pain in his aching limbs intensifying with the stitch in his side as he sprinted. The sand slowed his progress significantly, but he didn't have to run for much longer, because a loud crack split the air drawing both dog's and werewolf's attention.

Sirius changed right on the beach, drawing his wand as Remus' lit, but the darkened sand did not give way to the looming shadowy figure again. He had gone; he had disapparated. Remus panted as Sirius stared around in the dark.

"Did you see him?" Remus breathed.

"Did you?"

Remus shook his head, catching his breath he swallowed, "he was moving toward you – he was coming for you."

Sirius looked extremely pale in the dark, "We need to see Dumbledore."

Remus nodded once, he glanced around again, "It felt like someone was watching me."

"Me too," Sirius said quietly.

"I thought it was you," they both said at once.

Both seemed to make up their minds at once, with a nod at the other they apparated hundreds of miles away. It had only been a short while since they'd seen the gates of Hogwarts, but a long one sing they'd walked through them together. The grounds, shrouded in darkness, were not their normal inviting welcome. Sirius scowled at the large double doors. How had it been, that things had been so perfect? Hurting scars and possible lurking dangers propelled the pair to their old Headmaster's office. Sirius was not happy; for the first time in weeks he was reminded of his fear during the first war. Without a dementor to ferret the memories forward, he'd been unbothered; but now things seemed to be taking a turn for the worst. If the threat of Voldemort wasn't truly gone, he had much bigger things to worry about rather than if his godson liked him or not. Suddenly it seemed important just to keep Harry safe, if that was even possible.