His body felt smooth, powerful, and flexible. He was gliding between shining metal bars across dark, cold stone. He was flat against the floor, sliding along on his belly. It was dark, yet he could see objects around him shimmering in strange, vibrant colors.

He was turning his head. At first glance, the corridor was empty, but no, a man was sitting on the floor ahead, his chin drooping onto his chest, his outline gleaming in the dark. Harry put out his tongue. He tasted the man's scent on the air. He was alive, but drowsing, sitting in front of a door at the end of the corridor.

Harry longed to bite the man, but he must master the impulse, he had more important work to do. But the man was stirring, the silvery cloak fell from his legs as he jumped to his feet and Harry saw his vibrant, blurred outline towering above him, saw a wand withdrawn from a belt. He had no choice. He reared high from the floor and struck once. Twice. Three times. Plunging his fangs deeply into the man's flesh, feeling his ribs splinter beneath his jaws, feeling the warm gush of blood. The man was yelling in pain, and he fell silent. He slumped backward against the wall. Blood was splattering onto the floor.

His forehead hurt terribly, it was aching, fit to burst…

\\//

"Harry! Harry!" he opened his eyes, every inch of his body was covered in icy sweat.

Harry's eyes opened with a violent start, startling Ron, who had been shaking him awake. Ron let go of him, obviously unnerved by Harry's current state. He took couple steps backwards still looking at him cautiously. Dean Thomas, Seamus, and to Harry's dismay, Kristopher joined Ron at his bed side.

"Your dad!" Harry gasped through spurts of breath. "Your dad has been attacked!"

"Harry," Ron mumbled, "you were asleep, it was a dream." He looked half worried and half as though he was about to scoff.

Harry shook his head fervently. "No, it was real!"

Kristopher and Seamus exchanged unbelieving glances, but Dean looked terrified. "I'll go get help!" he shouted as he raced towards the door.

Ron came closer to Harry's side. Although he was still not on great terms with Harry, he never knew Harry to go so low as to make things up. Whatever Harry happened to experienced seemed to be freakishly accurate, "What happened?" Ron asked, ignoring a tug on his arm by Kristopher.

"A snake!" Harry said, breathlessly. "Your dad…I was a snake…he's bleeding terribly!" Harry couldn't understand why no one else was panicking. This was the most heart-wrenching moment and only he could feel it, only he knew that the fate of Ron's dad rested in the hands of urgency and panic. Were no one to believe him, the man would surely be dead within the hour. The fangs, the blood, the cry…it was replaying over and over in Harry's mind and he watched Ron's face contort into a gaping, gnawing freight.

Ron looked as thought he was interpreting the look of horror on Harry's face correctly, and in one swift movement he fell to his knees with a loud thud reverberating throughout the room. Kristopher knelt down beside Ron and laid a hand on his shoulder, but it was doubtful that Ron even noticed.

Moments later, Professor McGonagall burst through the doors closely followed by Dean, both with looks of high concern.

"Harry!" Professor McGonagall's usually shrill voice sounded relaxed, concerned, soft, and genuinely concerned. "What happened? Did you have a nightmare?"

And Harry told bits and pieces to the perplexed audience before him, the parts he could remember at the moment and put into words that actually meant something other than groans of pain. Before he knew it, Professor McGonagall had seized both him and Ron by the wrists and was dragging them both out of their dormitory, down the hard, wooden steps, out the portrait hole, and, what appeared to Harry's confounded mind, toward the Headmaster's office.

Harry glanced at Ron as they were both released and Professor McGonagall shouted the password at the gargoyle guarding Professor Dumbledore's office, but Ron stared blankly ahead, shadowed in his own thoughts which looked as though he were about to be sentenced to death.

For the next hour, Harry retold his dream in full, retelling bits and pieces to the Headmaster as he was instructed, and allowed Dumbledore to silently mull over the highly disturbing vision. Harry argued his case over and over that it was not a dream, he was actually there, he was the snake. He knew Professor Dumbledore believed him, but he was becoming more and more furious as the minutes dragged on and still the headmaster would not look at him or confide his thoughts with the other three occupants of the room.

Finally, Professor Dumbledore instructed certain former headmasters in the paintings around the room to alert the residents in the homes of their other portraits and to locate the whereabouts of Mr. Weasley. He asked Professor McGonagall to retrieve the other Weasley children, and they were to take a port key to Sirius's house to rejoin their family for an earlier Christmas.

As the other three Weasley's joined Harry and Ron, they attempted to sputter their inaudible, frantic questions at both professors and the boys themselves, but Professor Dumbledore silenced them and instructed them on their purpose for being where they are.

"I am sending you to number 12 Grimauld Place where you are to meet up with Sirius, who knows precisely what is going on and will have you prepared for when Mrs. Weasley discovers the news for herself," Dumbledore said softly. "I cannot answer any questions, for it has come to our attention that Professor Umbridge has detected your wandering and frankly, it would not do to have her storming in on us. So, without further ado, all of you come here and grasp this teapot." He waited until each of the students had a hand on the artifact and began to count, "One, two, three!"

All four of the Weasley's and Harry were hurtled through space, the blinding cloud-like air slapping their exposed skin and seeping through their light nightwear. In minutes they were all sprawling onto the kitchen floor of number 12 Grimauld Place, and the teapot noisily clanked off a chair not five inches away from Ginny's head. The Weasley's quickly gathered themselves and pushed to their feet, silently, and stared horrifically at Harry.

Harry sensed that, once again, the entire attentiveness of the room was focused on him. Mightily uncomfortable at this awareness, he was relieved when Sirius strolled into the kitchen, dressed grubbily as usual, but had a flustered smile on his face.

"Oh good," he said, trying to sound cheerful, "I haven't had visitors for a long time."

None of the Weasley's looked at him though, and he noticed this. He stared at the four of them for a moment, then followed their gaze to Harry, who was still resting his elbows on the floor, nearly the same position as when he landed from the port key. Sirius looked questionably at Harry, as if to ask, why the ruddy hell are you on the floor? But shuffled over to him, regardless, and helped him to his feet. Harry barely felt as though he had the strength to stand, and felt this as his knees buckled and his arms swung out, grasping for the nearest chair. Sirius helped him to the kitchen table and sat him down.

"I'll make us some tea," he said, motioning for the four other children to sit. "Maybe that'll clear the tension," he muttered, barely audible.

To Harry's relief, the incessant gazes from his friends subsided and they sat at the table, all waiting as Sirius stoked the fire and coaxed the water to boil. Harry figured that the urgency of Sirius' stoking caused the water to boil so quickly, just as Harry's anger had caused his aunt Marge to blow up so quickly nearly three years ago.

Sirius hastened to full the Black Family's silver goblets he had set in front of each child, then filled his own and sat with them.

"Moody and Mondungus found your father," Sirius, pointedly, at Fred, George, Ron, and Ginny. His voice was gentle and soothing, as if to lift their worry-stricken faces. "He's being transported to St. Mungos as we speak." Ron's gaze shot up as he glanced at Sirius, and a hint of relief passed over his eyes.

"What is going on?" Ginny finally asked, looking both exasperated and completely confused, and from the glistening look of her eyes, near tears.

All eyes shifted back to Harry, including Sirius'. "Yes, I'd like to know the whole story as well," he said, slowly yet firmly.

"McGonagall only told us something had happened to dad," George said.

"And we were to go home immediately," Fred added quickly. Ron, though, stayed quiet, for he had heard the story twice now and seemed as though he was wracking his mind to piece the information together.

Harry sighed, realizing he musn't deprive his friends from the truth, acknowledging the way he would feel if the dream had concerned Sirius. For the fourth time that evening, Harry relived his treacherous nightmare and no longer received daggers from his friend's eyes, but concern, gratitude, and to his relief, shock. The story trickled out word for word, but Harry didn't care to look into the shock-filled eyes of his companions, especially Ron's. This was the first time in ages that he had been in the same room with all the Weasley's in a non-threatening situation. Ginny hadn't paid him too much mind since he and Hermione had been dating, and Ron, obviously, wished to have nothing to do with him. He felt overtly tangled between extremely concerned and wishing that he had not had the dream in the first place. He could still feel a light prickle of heat dancing on his scar, which had felt agonizing at the time of his dream, and silently cursed it for its annoyance.

After he finished, the four Weasley's, Harry, and Sirius sat in silence for a long while with only the popping of the simmering fire behind them making any noise. Sirius announced bedtime, pointing out that it was already near 4 a.m., and sent them to bed. All five kids, being so weary and exhausted from the evening's events, did not argue, but drug themselves to previously designated quarters and said their goodnights. To Harry's surprised, each patted him on the back before they retired as a hint of the only gratefulness they could muster in their sleepy walk.

Ron crawled into his own bed, but didn't lie down. He sat against the headboard and watched Harry climb into the bed next to him. When Harry realized that Ron hadn't immediately shoved himself under the covers, refusing to acknowledge Harry's existence, his hopes rose and he did likewise. The boys stared at each other for several moments before Ron spoke.

"I'm sorry," Ron said, regret flooding through his words. His voice was sturdy, unshaken. "I've been acting like a git these past couple weeks, and you still find it in yourself to go and save my dad."

Harry stayed silent, unbelieving that Ron was apologizing to him. "No, Ron. It's me that should be sorry."

Ron held up a hand and Harry stopped talking. "Just, let me get this out…" he said, his voice becoming sullen again, but not cross. Harry studied him and could tell there was a sort of war going on inside his mind, and to his great relief, the good was destroying the bad. "Cho was one thing. She's not our best friend, so its not as though if you were off snogging I couldn't spend time with someone else. But Hermione was…just a blow. Then…both of you acted as though…acted so normal, towards me. I don't know what made me so angry, but all this time I felt that I dug myself deeper every time I ignored you. I knew I was being a git, but it…it…"

"Hurt?" Harry offered.

Ron nodded. "I guess I thought that if I made you two hurt as much as I did, we'd be even. But I couldn't seem to shake myself from it." He hung his head, both ashamed and tired.

"We miss you a whole lot, Ron," Harry said quietly, staring fixedly at his friend. Ron raised his head toward Harry again. "Nothing has been the same without you," Harry continued. "You're still my best mate, nothing can change that. Not even Hermione."

Ron forced a grin. Harry could tell he was pleased, but as he himself felt it difficult to display more emotion than necessary due to the looming weight of drowsiness pounding on their skulls, knew that the force was more than he could have asked for.

"That's good to hear," he said, yawning slightly. They fell silent for a moment longer before Ron asked, hesitating slightly before continuing. "Are you…are you happy?"

A smile played at Harry's lips, "Yeah, I am."

Ron nodded, "Then that's that." He slid himself under the covers. "I am too." Harry grinned, ignoring the heaviness of his eyelids, and slid under his own covers. "Friends, again?" Ron asked.

Harry smiled even broader, although Ron could not see him. "Friends."