Chapter 13: All Over Again

The evening was wet and windy; he was gliding across the dead leaves that thickly covered the forest floor, muffling his footsteps and those of his two companions. As they neared their destination, laughter rang out from the little cottage on the hill. He could see them clearly in their sitting room, the tall blonde man and a petite, mousy-haired wife watching as their small daughter ran on shaky legs after a petrified-looking dog.

His white hand pulled out the wand beneath his clock and pointed it at the door, which burst open with a loud crash. He was over the threshold as the father came sprinting into the entrance hall, wand at the ready, stopping in his tracks and paling when he caught sight of the intruders.

"What do you want?"

How pitiful he sounded, his voice quivering with fear, such a weakling deserved to die but no… he had given his word, and Lord Voldemort never went back on his word.

Without turning, he made a careless motion with his hand and his Death Eaters streamed into the house. One raised her hood and a truly evil smile lit her gaunt face as she raised her wand. "Crucio!"

The man immediately collapsed to the floor, twitching and screaming in agony. Other curses followed the first, each voice filled with what most would regard as sickening excitement, but not he.

Stepping over the man's thrashing body, he proceeded to the sitting room, only to find it empty. He could hear screaming from a back room. How ignorant of them, thinking to they could escape. No one escaped when he decided to kill them, yet it was mildly amusing to watch their futile attempts. He sauntered through the open doorway into the master bedroom and there he saw her, struggling with a partially opened window.

He laughed before casting the curse…

"Avada Kedavra!"

The green light filled the cramped bedroom, it lit the cot pushed up against the wall, it made the dresser glow like an explosion of lighting, and the woman fell like a marionette whose strings had been cut…

Retracing his steps to the hallway, he heard the man's screams abruptly cease. Now for the child, he did so dislike leaving loose ends...

"No!"

The strangled cry jolted Sirius awake quicker than a bucket of cold water, but had the same effect of chilling him to the bone. For a moment he lay in confusion, blinking his gritty eyes. What was going on?

"NO!"

Harry.

Leaping out of bed, Sirius sprinted into his godson's bedroom, wand drawn. The little light provided by the moon was enough for him to determine that the room was entirely Death Eater free. Yet he soon realized it was not something from the physical world that was causing Harry's distress. Flicking on the light switch and casting one last cautious look around the room, Sirius pocketed his wand and jogged the last few steps to Harry's bed. Sirius shook his shoulder firmly. "Harry," he called. When nothing happened except Harry began to thrash around, his flailing fists barely missing Sirius' face, he spoke louder, "Harry! Harry, it's Sirius!"

He could see the muscles on the sides of Harry's face tighten as he clenched his teeth in obvious pain. He drew his hands to press hard over his forehead. With a thrill of fear, Sirius remembered. Harry's scar. The connection with Voldemort. This must be one of the Voldemort-induced dreams that Harry's scar allowed him to see.

He had never witnessed one of these 'scar dreams' firsthand. He'd only heard about them in passing from Dumbledore and had received a vague one-sentence summary from Harry. He now knew that the versions he'd heard had been watered down – a lot.

"STOP! NO!"

More than a lot.

He'd seemingly heard the version one might tell their 3-year-old sister, or their teetering, decrepit 98-year-old grandmother.

Running a hand through his godson's hair, it was soaked with sweat. "Harry, listen to me! You need to wake up!"

"STOP! PLEASE! STOP!" Harry arched his back and continued to writhe in pain, anguished screams tearing from his throat, and he became caught in convulsions, locked into a realm of pain and horror. Then, so abruptly that Sirius' panic increased tenfold, he went limp.

Sirius shook his shoulder firmly. "Harry!" He was almost yelling in his terror.

Harry began gasping for breath, drawing in great heaving breaths as if he had been held under water past his limit. "Harry!" Sirius said in relief as his godson opened streaming eyes and gripped his arm tightly, the other hand pressed tightly to his forehead.

"All… dead…" he gasped out, sounding exhausted and horrified. "Voldemort… he… killed… them..."

"Okay, try to calm down, Harry. Take a deep breath and hold it for a few seconds before releasing it, then you can tell me what you saw, alright?"

Harry obeyed but the frustration was clear in his eyes. When he could breath normally he recounted his dream at top speed. "… and now he's looking for their daughter – she's only a baby and he's going to kill her, we have to stop him…" He jumped out of bed but collapsed the moment he tried to stand, a moan of pain escaping his lips.

Sirius knelt at his side. "You're hurt? But… how?" he asked in confusion.

"Later, Sirius," Harry said tersely. For the first time, Sirius realized he was shaking. "We have to save her!"

"No, you are in no condition to be going anywhere." Sirius said firmly, as he helped Harry back into bed. "I'll Firecall Dumbledore. You stay put."

As he exited the room, Sirius surreptitiously placed a non-verbal charm on the door and window that would warn him if anyone crossed them. The last thing he needed was any heroics from his godson; a Full-Body Bind seemed a little extreme and he doubted Harry would forgive him if he resorted to that. So, sneakiness was entirely necessary, if not essential to a quiet life.

Sirius reached the living room and crouched down in front of the empty grate, his hands shaking. Sticking his head into the fireplace, he took a large pinch of powder and dropped it on to the logs stacked neatly beneath him. They exploded at once into emerald green flames.

"Dumbledore's Office, Hogwarts!" he said loudly and clearly.

When his head had stopped spinning he opened his eyes to find that he was looking up at the large wooden desk, where Dumbledore sat poring over a piece of parchment.

"Professor?"

Albus Dumbledore looked up calmly, not looking the least bit surprised to see a head in his fireplace at one o'clock in the morning. "Ah, good morning, Sirius. What can I do for you at this early hour?"

Sirius did not have time to feel irritation at the Headmaster's annoyingly calm tone; he doubted Harry would wait for long. He therefore plunged immediately into the story of what Harry had seen in his dream.

When he had finished, the older man didn't speak for a moment. Then Dumbledore said quietly, "I'll contact the Order immediately and we'll look into it. In the meantime, don't let Harry out of your sight."

"Easier said than done," Sirius muttered.

Dumbledore sent him a knowing smile as he stood to leave his office. "Yes, quite so. I'll send word as soon as possible."

"Okay, thanks."

Sirius pulled his head backwards out of the office fire. For a moment his head seemed to be revolving on his shoulders, then he found himself kneeling in front of his living room fire with it firmly back on and watching the emerald flames flicker and die.