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"As far as I can tell, they're both in a very deep state of sleep."

Madam Pomfrey's voice invades my thoughts as I stare at my two best friends lying in twin infirmary beds. It sure doesn't look like they're only sleeping. Their chests rise and fall reassuringly enough, but they're chalky white, and terrifyingly still.

"Are you sure?" I ask quietly through numb lips. I hear a little sigh from behind me and see Peter has sunk into a chair, looking withdrawn. Can't blame him. It was a nasty shock after all. Even I thought they were...

I guess we should be in class, but I can already safely say there's no way I'm leaving them. My best friend and my brother. More or less.

"Quite positive." Replies Pomfrey, tucking the covers around Remus's chin. I'd already forgotten what I asked her.

"I've never seen anything like this," States a craggy, Irish accent. But one that is strangely soothing. I turn and see McGonagall standing there with concern etched into her face. I'd forgotten she was there. I wish she wouldn't look like that.

"Me neither," Replies Pomfrey, giving Sirius the same treatment, "Those splotchy, red marks on their wrists are from the nightmare expelling potion, which is the only thing I can think of that may be effecting them like this." She sighs, "I didn't think it had the power to do this." She faces our transfiguration teacher, eyes looking apologetic.

That doesn't sound bloody reassuring at all.

It's only when I see the shocked faces around me that I realise I said that out loud.

"Perhaps you should sit down Mr Potter." The Professor doesn't sound angry, just concerned.

I choose a seat between the beds (maybe a little closer to Sirius) and fold my arms, processing it all.

After shaking them like maracas, it occurred to me that something was seriously wrong.

"Maybe we could belly flop them?" Suggested Peter, looking pale.

"Riiiight... And what if they're in a coma? Don't you think that could seriously harm them?" He shrugged helplessly and I hold in my angry retort. He's not thinking straight and neither was I. "God! We're so stupid." I cry, "We need help."

That's when I fetched McGonagall.

"Potter! You should be getting ready for class!" She said, folding her arms and looking annoyed at the teacher's table in the Great Hall (a look I am used to but have no time for).

"Professor, you have to get to our rooms now! It's Sirius and Remus."

She wisely said no more. Springing into action. And although we were discreet, we managed to draw attention to ourselves.

That's when people really started panicking. When they were carried to the infirmary on invisible, floating stretchers (after she'd used sonorus, a bloody loud amplifying spell to try to wake them). A crowd gathered around, gossiping until she flapped her arms at them and asked for some respect. I think Lily was among them, trying to clear our way. For once, I didn't care.

I'm dragged back to the present by suspect whispers from the corner of the room between the two women.

"I've tried a number of remedies and charms - even ennervate but..." A sigh, "Nothing seems to work. I think we need-"

"Dumbledore. Yes I know." McGonagall took her glasses off and rubbed the bridge of her nose, suddenly looking frail, "I think it's time we fetched him."


Well this is new.

Clothes! And not just any clothes either, my beloved PJs, which is definitely a first for these dreams...

I'm stood in a familiar place though I know I've never been here before. All our years as friends and I've never been in Remus's bedroom...

Well of course I wouldn't have. Not this bedroom anyway because a) it's not real and b) its his room from before I ever met him - all childish and innocent. Why am I here? How do I even know where here is?

His bed is tiny, patterned with little green dragons on the quilt which makes me smile. The room is very blue, thick blue carpet, blue walls, blue curtains. How can he not drown in the blueness? Several little toys lie on the floor - baby junk. Along with books that a boy of his age shouldn't be capable of reading yet, like the Wizard Compendium of Ghastly Beasts, but of course he can. A few telling comic books of Merlin the Wizard and other stories also lay scattered around - that's more like it. A teddy bear peaks out from behind his pillow in curiosity. This room is so muggle-like. Except for a fancy looking sneakscope and a battered baby broom in the corner that is.

I'm starting to question if this is real or his mind, or my mind when he, my Remus, speaks from behind me.

"Why are we here?"

I face him and shrug in a non-committal kind of way, "You tell me, this was your room after all."

I was expecting to see a five-year-old Remus, but I'll deal with the disappointment. He looks into my eyes, those amber pools the same as always. So safe and warm - yet worried, "How do you know that?" He frowns and then looks concerned, "We're dreaming again aren't we?"

"That's a safe bet." I sigh and flop onto his bed, "Little less X-rated this time though huh?" For some reason he's still wearing his uniform. And he's blushing.

"Sirius..." He moves as if he's going to perch on the edge but thinks better of it and paces instead. "Aren't you slightly worried here? Before I was having a completely dreamless sleep then ... childhood flashback."

I think it would be pretty cool to revisit your childhood. At least, if you had warm and caring parents like Remus did. But he looks like the room is seriously disturbing him. The blue is a bit weird but come on; it's downright pleasant compared to some rooms I could mention.

I try to make him lighten up (conflicting because I'm actually still upset with him),"It's complete with your own Sirius this time though. Improvement eh?" I say lazily, trying not to care. I wish he'd stop talking to me. Dream-him or not. I'm still trying to stay mad at him. It's better to be mad than hurting. Not just with Remus. That applies to family as well.

"My Sirius...?" he whispers, and finally stops pacing. I can't tell whether it's a question or if he's just repeating my words. Either way, I'll put a stop to that.

"Figure of speech," I say hastily. He looks at me, hurt radiating from his eyes. So naturally, I ramble. "Because I'm not yours anymore am I? If I ever was. That's probably why things are different in dreamland now. Maybe that thicko potion realised we're over."

I hear him gulp, "Maybe," He replies softly. I expected more of the wounded tone from him. I don't know why, but I want to hear it. A part of me wants to hurt him because I suppose that...

Well, he hurt me.

But he seems to be far too distracted to listen to what I'm saying. He's gazing around the room in what I first suspected was awe and curiosity. I mean, what a blast from the past! But now I realise it's something else entirely. Something isn't right. Something's bothering him, and I don't like that look on his face at all.

He looks terrified.


"Thank goodness you're here. We've practically run out of ideas."

"Not at all Minerva. I'm sure you have both tried your utmost best." He replies, looking deep in thought and smiling kindly. That would sound patronising coming from anyone else, but not him.

I breathe a sigh of relief. I mean, it's Dumbledore. Dumbledore! If anyone can sort this mess out, it's him. He just exudes power with his intelligent eyes, majestic stance and well... There's just something there that makes you respect him. I nod at Peter in relief and he nods back, understanding.

Dumbledore studies them carefully before leaning over Sirius and putting his index fingers on his temples, inhaling deeply whilst the rest of us remain silent. He repeats the same odd action with Remus afterwards, then ceases and stands up straight in a swift motion that surprises us all.

"Well?" Asks McGonagall tensely.

"Well, I can safely say, that even when he's in a coma, Sirius Black has the nicest hair in his year."

I must be cracking up.

"What?" McGonagall cries, "With all due respect, now's not really the time for such pleasantries."

He smiles calmly in reply.

"Maybe we should call their parents Sir?" Interrupts Madam Pomfrey.

I snort at the idea of phoning Sirius' folks, and am relieved when Dumbledore dismisses the idea too.

"I do not think there is any need to cause alarm just yet." He replies, looking dreamy as he traces the iron headboard above Remus, looking absent minded.

Scrub that. He's the one who's cracking up.

"But Albus, they won't wake up! Surely we must do something." In other circumstances, it would be amusing to see McGonagall try to stay polite to the Headmaster, whilst implying he's a loony. But not right now. She's only voicing what we're all thinking.

"I think that would be most unwise Minerva. Remember, they are only sleeping after all, and in dreams, we enter a world that is entirely our own."

He faces us all, probably noticing the confused faces.

"I think that the best course of action to take, would be to let events run their course." He translates, but it does little to make us feel better, "Trust me. I am certain they'll wake when - and only when - they are ready."

Although I feel terrible, helpless and slightly pathetic just sitting here, it's Dumbledore. And what else can I do but trust him?

What else can I do?


"What is it Remus? What's wrong?"

Sirius stands up promptly and holds me by the forearms gently. He stops me from looking feverishly around in a haze of fear and panic. Anchoring me to where I stand. How ironic, my world is falling apart and it's Sirius who holds me together.

The only person who has the power to make it fall apart in the first place. Or so I thought.

"Trust me Rem." He says, more softly this time. That gives me hope, something else to hold on to. He doesn't sound so mad at me anymore, "Trust me like I trusted you."

Trusted.

Until I ended things with him he means. He was just starting to act warm and affectionate. Really starting to care.

"Tell me."

I owe him that much.

"I remember this room," I mumble, feeling weak. "I blocked it out before, but now...now I remember. Isn't it funny how the mind can do that to you?" I laugh agitatedly.

"Remus," It's that soft voice again. The one that makes me feel safe and happy.

"This is the room I lived in," I say, glancing at the bed and feeling nauseated. "This is the room where I was bitten."


I'm so mean!

As always, feel free to tell me what you think.