Voldemort was kneeling before Harry in an old urethral building, made from stone that was now ancient and crumbling. There was a long, elaborate staff in the corner, protected by a magical shield, to which neither Harry nor Voldemort could touch it. The stained, eerie glass windows were showing paintings of the death and destruction the staff produced, meant to scare it's visitors away, and several crows cawed from wooden planks on the ceiling that supported the building.

"I'm sorry, I'll repent for what I've done, I swear! Please take pity!" Voldemort crooned, his head bowed. Harry didn't seem to notice the insidious smirk Voldemort held under his slimy sheet of hair.

"You are truly pathetic," Harry spat, his wand pointed towards Voldemort's heart.

"No Harry, I think you have it backwards," Voldemort looked up, holding a smug expression. It was an expression of triumph. "You are the one who is pathetic," Voldemort said, as he snatched the wand from Harry's hand, and broke it in two.

Harry's mouth opened and closed, but no empty threats could be spoken, since what Harry felt now was pure terror. The terror seized him. Harry glanced on the grounds of the ancient building. Several bodies of friends and foes lay around him, and Dumbledore was one of them, a boulder the size of a minivan lay on his back. Voldemort seized this opportunity to aim his wand at Harry's heart.

"Now it's time that you die. You have thwarted me far too often. Good bye, Harry, Avada Kedavra!"

The flash of green light hit Harry squarely in the chest, with such force it pulled him backwards into a veil of darkness, and Harry knew he was dead, for no warmth was emitting from his body, and he couldn't hear or see anything. Harry tried to speak, but no words came from his mouth.

-~*~-

Harry snapped awake. It was the fourth time that the nightmare shrouded his original dreams. He sincerely hoped he wasn't prophesizing. Brushing his hair from his eyes, Harry groped around the lamp on the bedside table for his glasses. White-hot pain was searing down Harry's forehead, but Harry didn't pay much notice to it. Instead, he got up and walked down stairs for breakfast.

"Hello there, Harry! What do you want for breakfast?" Asked Mrs. Weasley, wearing a red apron, spatula in hand.

"You're too happy for this early in the morning," mumbled Harry with a glance towards his wristwatch that read 6:25 AM.

"My sentiments exactly," Snape muttered from behind him.

"I guess eggs and toast would be fine," Harry answered vaguely, and sat at the table, head in his hands.

"You alright?" Ron asked Harry as he sat down. Mrs. Weasley was humming by the oven, flipping pancakes, and a large crash from upstairs told Harry that Tonks was awake.

"Yeah, I'm fine…just bloody fine…"

"Er…are you sure? Your eyes are all puffy."

"Yes, I'm fine Ron, thanks."

Snape was looking at Harry oddly, which made him suspect that he had secretly come up and use Legilimens on him while he wasn't looking. Harry turned his eyes back to the table, and began to thumb a crack in it. Suddenly, Snape was standing within Harry's peripheral vision, so Harry turned his head towards the blinking, glittering Christmas tree.

Harry jumped as a plate was thrown in front of him, with two pancakes, toast, bacon, and scrambled eggs.

Harry only ate a piece of bacon and took a bite from the toast, said he was full and scurried off.

"I'm worried about him," said Mrs. Weasley, "he seems so sick lately."

"Yeah, I'm worried about him too," Muttered Ron, "Harry's never full."

Harry walk dup the stairs, heading towards his room, but the doorknob on the other end of the hall caught his eye. Sirius's room. Harry walked towards it, and reached out for the handle.

As Harry opened the door, he found the whole room nearly dust covered. It was obviously the room tha had been missing an occupant for several months. Harry sneezed, and glanced towards the scratch marks on the floor. He wondered where Buckbeak was now. He wondered where Kreacher was now, but remembered seeing an extra head added to the wall.

A journal lay on a desk in the corner of the room. Harry walked towards it and lifted it off the desk, blowing dust off the cover.

"The ancient and most noble house of Black,

The diary of Sirius black,"

The writing was in elegant scarlet writing and the cover was the color black. As Harry flipped it open, all of the pages were black. Harry groped in a desk drawer, and pull out a quill and some ink. Harry scratched on it,

"I am your godson, Harry Potter,"

But the words did not disappear, and new words didn't appear under them. It merely stayed the way it was. Harry sighed in aggravation, crumpled the paper, and threw it in the nearby trash bin.

-~*~-

Another chapter finished, Huzzah Huzzah.