A/n: Yet again, I'm terribly sorry for the delay. In my theatre program, I happen to be in the wonderful week fondly known as "tec week" in which we stay up until…oh I'd say…midnight to run the show, and then go to school the next day. So, basically, I've been half dead the entire week, and have only lived on strong cups of coffee. But, here's the next chapter.
Sirius and Remus stepped into the house they knew so well, but they had half forgotten, as if they had dreamed it vividly one night, then forgot most of the dream the next morning. Remus stared as if in a daze, and Sirius felt the sudden need to sit down. Hard.
"Why didn't you owl me that you were coming?" Sirius broke out of his daze as James spoke. "Lily hasn't gone shopping…there's no food in the house…" He broke off, as he looked at them in the proper light. "Sirius…what have you been eating? Or maybe I should say, what haven't you been eating?" He took in Sirius' haggard form for a minute. "You didn't look like this yesterday…have you been doing battle with Voldemort again?" he jokingly asked.
Sirius gave a wan smile, if only he knew how close to the truth he was.
"No," he answered. "Just dementor's this time." James gave him a look, as if not knowing whether to laugh or not, then turned his attention to Remus.
"Remus…" he tentatively asked, "Did you…try to charm your…your hair or something…it…well…it has grey streaks in it, and it doesn't look the best…"
Remus looked at a strand of his grey streaked hair, and began to laugh.
~**~
Fourteen years later, Ron Weasley woke up with a start. He was shaking and sweating, and he looked around frantically for his wand, before he had realised it was just a dream. Only a dream. But it had seemed so real…
Ron, Hermione, and what looked uncannily like Harry's parents, were trapped somehow, trapped by some magical barrier. Someone…Voldemort…Ron knew…he didn't know how, he had never seen him, but never the less, he knew it was Voldemort; stood outside the barrier with…Harry. Harry looked older, though, taller…much taller…no longer a midget in glasses. Hermione looked older too…but somehow, as she gazed apprehensively at Harry, standing there, looked like an eleven year old at Harry's first Quiddtich match. And Voldemort…Ron shuddered to look at him. Eyes red, with pupils like a snake, and a white face, so white, it looked like some sort of travesty of a clown.
"Well," whispered Voldemort, "I believe the choice is yours to make, Harry."
"Kill me," Harry shouted, "They have done nothing. Let them go, it's me you want. Kill me."
Which sounded to Ron terribly clichéd, even as he watched, afraid to see his best friend blown to smithereens.
"I'm afraid you don't understand, Harry," said Voldemort, as if talking to a small child. "I do want you, but, I'm afraid, I don't quite wish to kill you anymore. We could do great things together Harry, you and I. Join me, or watch each one of all who you love die. And it won't be Avada Kedavera, either, my friend, oh no. The dark lord has many more ways of murdering…many more painful ways…but, I shall let your friends and yourself decide. I will allow you to talk with them alone for five minutes…then I shall be back to hear your decision."
To Ron's great relief, he left. Harry turned to face them.
"I've got to join him," he said.
This was all wrong. Harry was the one who had dreams about Voldemort, not Ron. He glanced at the clock. It was one in the morning. Still shaking, Ron went back to sleep.
~**~
A/N: Ending it there. I need sleep even more than Ron does…