Chapter Two
TO SLEEP, TO DREAM
Floating several yards off the ground in a normal little town was the notorious Sirius Black. He remained motionless with an expressionless guise on his face, his black, ragged hair now cut neater, but still draped in a kind of sadness. Yet everyone knew what he was actually like: that cold heart of his had betrayed James and Lily Potter and then mercilessly slaughtered thirteen innocent muggles years ago. He, however, had been unsuccessful in hunting down his evasive target, Harry Potter. And to the horror of wizards everywhere, he escaped the death sentence that he so dearly ought to have.
This was how every wizard would remember Sirius Black. Except, of course, those few people who knew the truth. Sirius Black was framed for the Potters' murder fifteen years ago by Peter Pettigrew. Even worse, Peter Pettigrew used to be one of their closest friends. They were the rat pack of Hogwarts: James Potter, Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, and Peter Pettigrew. Their presence was magnetic, their spirits were intense, and their friendship was unlimited. If only things could go back to the way it used to be.
"Good day, Harry! Didn't give you too much of a fright, did I?" yelled Black as he set the motorcycle down. Harry smiled and shouted back to his loving Godfather, "Not at all, Sirius. Good to see you!"
Black didn't hesitate to head over to Figg, who stood propped against the lamppost. Her dark hair just grazed over her shoulder, her eyes twinkling. Harry watched as he smiled warmly at her. The feeling was most definitely mutual.
"Hello, Sirius," she said kindly. "I see you've finally rid yourself of that unkempt hair." She raised her eyebrows teasingly.
Sirius breathed an audible sigh of amusement. "Hello, Arabella. Hope this day's finding you well." He reached for her hand and placed a gentle kiss on the back, not breaking eye contact even once. At first she only looked at him, but then there was a tentative laugh, as she said, "Haven't lost your chivalry, at least. But you do know…Sirius?"
He grinned ineptly and looked down. One could barely hear him whisper, "Yeah…of course."
Harry didn't quite know what was going on (which seemed to happen a lot), but he figured that his godfather must've had some kind of connection with Figg in the past. Perhaps they had worked together.
"You guys know each other?" queried Harry bluntly.
Sirius was taken aback for a second, as if waking up from a daydream. "Oh, well…yeah, since you were just a wee babe."
Figg added, "You probably don't remember, but Hagrid actually brought you this exact place on this same motorcycle." She smiled warmly. "It was a wondrous day."
Averting his eyes to the ground, Harry tried not to think about what had happened on that day. It was Halloween night fifteen years ago when Voldemort had broken into the Potters' house at Godric Hollow and ruthlessly murdered Harry's parents.
Figg bit her lip nervously, an empathetic look on her face. "Oh, I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have brought it up."
Sirius walked over to him and placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. Harry tried to smile, but he couldn't, not while he knew that Voldemort was still out there with plenty of followers.
"Harry, believe you me that so many people are trying to comfort and protect you. You've already been through so much, and at such a young age... If you ever need something - something to get you through all of this - just tell us."
Harry slowly raised his head, his eyes meeting Sirius'. "I know something. I need to know the truth, the absolute truth. I want to visit the place where my mum and dad were killed." Harry's eyes burned with gravity, and his voice was strong. Sirius obviously wasn't quite ready for this. He didn't know how to respond to this, as he kept glancing at Figg. She apparently didn't know what to say to Harry either. Sirius' face became sorrowful, and his voice became quieter as he began to answer Harry's request.
"Look, you know how dangerous the world is right now. There are so many people that would just love to get their hands on you and - well - you get the idea." Sirius evidently wasn't the best at comforting people in mortal danger. "Anyways, there are just as many people who want to keep you safe, to protect you. And you know very well that I, as well as Dumbledore and everyone else in the Ministry, am one of them."
Harry just looked back at him sharply. "I need to know the truth. I deserve that much. You can't just decide that I'm unable to handle the reality when I've already been able to deal with dragons, broomstick curses, mountain trolls, basilisks, death eaters, the unforgivable..."
"Okay, okay. I think we've got your point now." Sirius sighed in defeat. "If you really want to know more about your past, you're going to have to see Professor Dumbledore. I don't think I'm qualified to give you all the facts, but I'm sure he is. He's quite possibly the best friend any wizard could have, that man." Sirius paused with a certain air of abstraction.
Clearing her throat, Figg interrupted his thoughts. "Perhaps we should get moving, Sirius? Someone might see us."
"Ah, we certainly should. Ready to visit my humble abode, Harry? It's really not much. But really, it's quite a palace compared to that dingy little cave with all those bats, annoying bugs, and puddles of..."
"Yeah, I think I've got your point now," said Harry with a grin.
***
That day Harry learned what an awful driver Sirius was. Harry hung onto dear life, as well as his godfather's neck, while the motorcycle zipped through treetops and telephone wires at near ninety miles per hour. It became quite clear to Harry why Mrs. Figg decided to simply use Floo Powder rather than get a ride from Sirius.
"Are you alright back there?" Sirius yelled against the rushing wind.
Harry didn't answer because he couldn't. All the noise that came out of his mouth quickly disappeared with the rushing wind.
"Harry? You're still there, right?" Sirius screamed again, this time battling the squawks of a flock of geese that seemed one goose too many.
Harry finally managed to shout a little. "Yeah...doin' great."
Sirius smiled and sped up just a little. Harry held on even tighter.
***
Finally, they arrived at Sirius' house. The small brick cabin, red in colour, was situated in the midst of a small forest. There was a small pond nearby as well as a thicket.
"Not bad," said Harry honestly. "Do you like it here?"
"Well, beggars can't be choosers. Besides, it gets better in the inside. Dumbledore made sure I had everything I would need, just in case. Anyways, all your cases are in the bedroom, Harry. You take my bed; I'll just use the couch."
"Oh, but really I'm just a guest, so –"
"I insist," he countered with the slightest hint of a growl in his voice.
Harry suddenly didn't feel up to challenging Sirius. He did what he was told.
Upon opening the main door, Harry's eyes brightened in delight. The cozy house was plain, yet it was full of magical implements that must've been provided by Dumbledore himself. Harry's eyes scanned the entire room, trying to take in every little detail as if they would disappear in a second. It was almost as breathtaking as the Weasley's burrow.
Sirius walked in after Harry and saw the look of astonishment on Harry's face. Figg, who must've been there for a while already, had made herself comfortable at the kitchen table. A cup of hot tea rested on the table, and she held a newspaper in her hand. She looked up at Harry and Sirius and smiled.
"Now you're free to look around the house," continued Sirius. "I've got but one request. Don't send out Hedwig, not even to Ron or Hermione or Hagrid..."
"Not to worry," said Harry quickly. He knew that owls were often intercepted, and letters could fall into the wrong hands. Sometimes wizards were even bribed to find information from letter-bearing owls. "I would never do anything that risky," Harry lied.
The rest of the day went by quickly. Sirius explained some of the magical instruments in the cabin, like the Inferno 500, the top-of-the-line automatic torch that would turn on whenever light was needed. Or that metallic cube that hung from the ceiling that kept precise time.
Harry noticed that above the fireplace (which was most likely used only for the purpose of Floo traveling) there was a painting - that is, if one could call it a painting at all. There wasn't a picture in the frame at all. Supposing they characters had run off to somewhere else like at Hogwarts, Harry stared long and hard at it, but nothing happened. Harry just couldn't resist asking.
Sirius turned to faced the large white canvas and cocked his head a tad, but didn't say a word. Harry thought he saw his mouth twitch, about to say something, but it must've been his imagination.
"Just an old painting," he responded before quickly describing the risks of operating the Cauldron Cooker. Harry got the impression that Sirius had strayed from the topic for a reason. He took one last glance towards the canvas before putting it out of his mind.
Harry spent the rest of the day in the bedroom, studying for his classes. He could hear Sirius conversing with Figg, but what they spoke of was as much a guess for Harry as it would be for anyone else. By nightfall, Harry was more than grateful for forty winks. So much had happened today, Harry could hardly keep his eyes open as he read his textbooks. At around 7 o'clock Sirius stopped in to check up on Harry.
"Hey, Harry. You got everything you need?"
"Yeah, I'm good."
"Alright then. You don't mind if Ara…Mrs. Figg stays a while, do you?"
"Not at all," said Harry, although he couldn't help but smirk Sirius shook his head the way parents do when their young children say something ridiculous, and smiled in return as he slowly closed the door behind him. Harry yawned, hungry for sleep. Not wanting to waste another second, he hurried over to his trunk. If Harry wasn't so busy looking through his trunk for his pajamas, he might just have heard the small click from the door.
During the middle of the night, Harry woke up with a start. His hand flew directly up to his scar. He felt a quick burst of pain, but it disappeared instantly. Harry didn't know what that could've been, but he didn't want to risk anything. Slowly and with great caution, Harry threw himself out of bed, and the torch on the wall began to glow strongly. He hastily put on his glasses and tossed on his cloak. But when he tried to open the door, it was locked. Shaking the knob furiously, Harry tried again while shouting out to Sirius, but to no avail. He then pulled out his wand.
He studied the door carefully, saying "Alohomora."
Nothing happened. Panic building inside of him, Harry rammed the door a couple times, hoping maybe, somehow, it would – fall down? How ridiculous, thought Harry. He threw one of his heavier textbooks at the door repeatedly, only creating dents in the old wood. He then ran over to the small window, which also turned out to be locked.
With no other alternative, Harry grabbed a rather heavy flowerpot resting in the corner of the room and chucked it with all the force he could muster. Maybe he imagined the round vase to be a Bludger, or Snape's head. Regardless of exactly what was running through his head, a deafening smash soon echoed throughout the room, and surely throughout the thicket outside as well, followed by shards of glass scattering across the floor. With many questions and concerns running through his mind, he climbed out the shattered window, careful not to cut himself.
It was completely dark outside, with the exception of the bright radiance of the full moon. He whispered, "Lumos," and as he explored the environs of the cabin, it seemed that there was always something peering over his shoulder or rustling in the shadows of the copse.
"Sirius? Padfoot? Buckbeak?" he called out nervously. Over his years at Hogwarts, he had developed a great dislike for strange noises during the night. Harry approached the thicket, reconsidering his actions with every step he took. He didn't see anything, but suddenly heard a quiet voice from behind him.
"Potter?"
Paralyzed with fear, his heart skipped a beat or two. He didn't want to turn around, but the cold, flat voice also seemed oddly familiar. Upon turning, his face changed from fear to anger.
"Malfoy...what are you doing here?" His voice was a barely audible whisper.
Draco Malfoy, Harry's unpleasant school rival from Slytherin house, stood still. The moonlight left bizarre shadows on his pale figure and highlighted his silver-blond hair. He seemed a bit disheveled, but obviously was attempting to hide this from Harry. Without another word, the boy turned away and began walking towards the thicket.
Harry wouldn't let him off the hook that easily. With quick steps, Harry shot out his hand to grab Draco by the arm, causing him to cringe at the contact. Harry spun him around and stood face to face with his rival, whose sharp grey eyes were more intense than ever. The boy still seemed to be hiding something, his mouth twitching just slightly.
"I'll ask you again. What are you doing skulking around here?" demanded Harry in a louder tone.
Draco remained reserved as he quickly pulled away from Harry's tightening grip and began leaving again. But before he was completely immersed in the dark thicket, Harry saw him stop and reach into his black robe. Expecting Draco to pull a spell on him, Harry lifted his wand, prepared to duel. Draco, however, didn't turn around. As if with great thought, he gradually pulled out a small object, swallowed as he looked downward, and with a swift flick of the wrist, tossed it towards the ground near Harry.
Harry could only stand and watch as Draco disappeared into the shadows of the thicket, his black cloak floating mysteriously behind him.
Still quite confused as to what just happened, Harry reluctantly bent down to pick up the object. It was a worn velvet pouch, almost completely empty. He flipped the pouch upside down and a shiny key fell into his hand...
In a split second, Harry looked around and found himself in the cabin once again. He was sitting upright in the bed, and Sirius was standing next to him, looking ever so concerned. Harry looked down at the floor, searching for the slivers of glass, but there was nothing. He blinked heavily and shook his head.
"Sirius...where were you?"
"I'm right here, Harry. Nothing to worry about. Everything's fine...just fine."
"But - the door was locked – and the window smashed – Draco..." Harry attempted to retell what he had gone through, but it came out as a jumble of words. It wasn't dream; it was reality. Of this he was absolutely sure. Harry's eyes darted left to right, and something popped back into his head. "THE KEY! Where's the key?" He grabbed for his robes and searched the pockets, but they were empty except for his wand. Sirius stood calmly the whole time, his expression unchanging.
"You must've been dreaming, Harry. You've been in bed the whole time, and I've been on the couch the whole time. I know you've had a long day, so just go back to sleep." Sirius patted Harry's head, vainly attempting to console him, and left the room. As he closed the door behind him, Harry could see the obvious indentations in the old wood.
TO SLEEP, TO DREAM
Floating several yards off the ground in a normal little town was the notorious Sirius Black. He remained motionless with an expressionless guise on his face, his black, ragged hair now cut neater, but still draped in a kind of sadness. Yet everyone knew what he was actually like: that cold heart of his had betrayed James and Lily Potter and then mercilessly slaughtered thirteen innocent muggles years ago. He, however, had been unsuccessful in hunting down his evasive target, Harry Potter. And to the horror of wizards everywhere, he escaped the death sentence that he so dearly ought to have.
This was how every wizard would remember Sirius Black. Except, of course, those few people who knew the truth. Sirius Black was framed for the Potters' murder fifteen years ago by Peter Pettigrew. Even worse, Peter Pettigrew used to be one of their closest friends. They were the rat pack of Hogwarts: James Potter, Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, and Peter Pettigrew. Their presence was magnetic, their spirits were intense, and their friendship was unlimited. If only things could go back to the way it used to be.
"Good day, Harry! Didn't give you too much of a fright, did I?" yelled Black as he set the motorcycle down. Harry smiled and shouted back to his loving Godfather, "Not at all, Sirius. Good to see you!"
Black didn't hesitate to head over to Figg, who stood propped against the lamppost. Her dark hair just grazed over her shoulder, her eyes twinkling. Harry watched as he smiled warmly at her. The feeling was most definitely mutual.
"Hello, Sirius," she said kindly. "I see you've finally rid yourself of that unkempt hair." She raised her eyebrows teasingly.
Sirius breathed an audible sigh of amusement. "Hello, Arabella. Hope this day's finding you well." He reached for her hand and placed a gentle kiss on the back, not breaking eye contact even once. At first she only looked at him, but then there was a tentative laugh, as she said, "Haven't lost your chivalry, at least. But you do know…Sirius?"
He grinned ineptly and looked down. One could barely hear him whisper, "Yeah…of course."
Harry didn't quite know what was going on (which seemed to happen a lot), but he figured that his godfather must've had some kind of connection with Figg in the past. Perhaps they had worked together.
"You guys know each other?" queried Harry bluntly.
Sirius was taken aback for a second, as if waking up from a daydream. "Oh, well…yeah, since you were just a wee babe."
Figg added, "You probably don't remember, but Hagrid actually brought you this exact place on this same motorcycle." She smiled warmly. "It was a wondrous day."
Averting his eyes to the ground, Harry tried not to think about what had happened on that day. It was Halloween night fifteen years ago when Voldemort had broken into the Potters' house at Godric Hollow and ruthlessly murdered Harry's parents.
Figg bit her lip nervously, an empathetic look on her face. "Oh, I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have brought it up."
Sirius walked over to him and placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. Harry tried to smile, but he couldn't, not while he knew that Voldemort was still out there with plenty of followers.
"Harry, believe you me that so many people are trying to comfort and protect you. You've already been through so much, and at such a young age... If you ever need something - something to get you through all of this - just tell us."
Harry slowly raised his head, his eyes meeting Sirius'. "I know something. I need to know the truth, the absolute truth. I want to visit the place where my mum and dad were killed." Harry's eyes burned with gravity, and his voice was strong. Sirius obviously wasn't quite ready for this. He didn't know how to respond to this, as he kept glancing at Figg. She apparently didn't know what to say to Harry either. Sirius' face became sorrowful, and his voice became quieter as he began to answer Harry's request.
"Look, you know how dangerous the world is right now. There are so many people that would just love to get their hands on you and - well - you get the idea." Sirius evidently wasn't the best at comforting people in mortal danger. "Anyways, there are just as many people who want to keep you safe, to protect you. And you know very well that I, as well as Dumbledore and everyone else in the Ministry, am one of them."
Harry just looked back at him sharply. "I need to know the truth. I deserve that much. You can't just decide that I'm unable to handle the reality when I've already been able to deal with dragons, broomstick curses, mountain trolls, basilisks, death eaters, the unforgivable..."
"Okay, okay. I think we've got your point now." Sirius sighed in defeat. "If you really want to know more about your past, you're going to have to see Professor Dumbledore. I don't think I'm qualified to give you all the facts, but I'm sure he is. He's quite possibly the best friend any wizard could have, that man." Sirius paused with a certain air of abstraction.
Clearing her throat, Figg interrupted his thoughts. "Perhaps we should get moving, Sirius? Someone might see us."
"Ah, we certainly should. Ready to visit my humble abode, Harry? It's really not much. But really, it's quite a palace compared to that dingy little cave with all those bats, annoying bugs, and puddles of..."
"Yeah, I think I've got your point now," said Harry with a grin.
***
That day Harry learned what an awful driver Sirius was. Harry hung onto dear life, as well as his godfather's neck, while the motorcycle zipped through treetops and telephone wires at near ninety miles per hour. It became quite clear to Harry why Mrs. Figg decided to simply use Floo Powder rather than get a ride from Sirius.
"Are you alright back there?" Sirius yelled against the rushing wind.
Harry didn't answer because he couldn't. All the noise that came out of his mouth quickly disappeared with the rushing wind.
"Harry? You're still there, right?" Sirius screamed again, this time battling the squawks of a flock of geese that seemed one goose too many.
Harry finally managed to shout a little. "Yeah...doin' great."
Sirius smiled and sped up just a little. Harry held on even tighter.
***
Finally, they arrived at Sirius' house. The small brick cabin, red in colour, was situated in the midst of a small forest. There was a small pond nearby as well as a thicket.
"Not bad," said Harry honestly. "Do you like it here?"
"Well, beggars can't be choosers. Besides, it gets better in the inside. Dumbledore made sure I had everything I would need, just in case. Anyways, all your cases are in the bedroom, Harry. You take my bed; I'll just use the couch."
"Oh, but really I'm just a guest, so –"
"I insist," he countered with the slightest hint of a growl in his voice.
Harry suddenly didn't feel up to challenging Sirius. He did what he was told.
Upon opening the main door, Harry's eyes brightened in delight. The cozy house was plain, yet it was full of magical implements that must've been provided by Dumbledore himself. Harry's eyes scanned the entire room, trying to take in every little detail as if they would disappear in a second. It was almost as breathtaking as the Weasley's burrow.
Sirius walked in after Harry and saw the look of astonishment on Harry's face. Figg, who must've been there for a while already, had made herself comfortable at the kitchen table. A cup of hot tea rested on the table, and she held a newspaper in her hand. She looked up at Harry and Sirius and smiled.
"Now you're free to look around the house," continued Sirius. "I've got but one request. Don't send out Hedwig, not even to Ron or Hermione or Hagrid..."
"Not to worry," said Harry quickly. He knew that owls were often intercepted, and letters could fall into the wrong hands. Sometimes wizards were even bribed to find information from letter-bearing owls. "I would never do anything that risky," Harry lied.
The rest of the day went by quickly. Sirius explained some of the magical instruments in the cabin, like the Inferno 500, the top-of-the-line automatic torch that would turn on whenever light was needed. Or that metallic cube that hung from the ceiling that kept precise time.
Harry noticed that above the fireplace (which was most likely used only for the purpose of Floo traveling) there was a painting - that is, if one could call it a painting at all. There wasn't a picture in the frame at all. Supposing they characters had run off to somewhere else like at Hogwarts, Harry stared long and hard at it, but nothing happened. Harry just couldn't resist asking.
Sirius turned to faced the large white canvas and cocked his head a tad, but didn't say a word. Harry thought he saw his mouth twitch, about to say something, but it must've been his imagination.
"Just an old painting," he responded before quickly describing the risks of operating the Cauldron Cooker. Harry got the impression that Sirius had strayed from the topic for a reason. He took one last glance towards the canvas before putting it out of his mind.
Harry spent the rest of the day in the bedroom, studying for his classes. He could hear Sirius conversing with Figg, but what they spoke of was as much a guess for Harry as it would be for anyone else. By nightfall, Harry was more than grateful for forty winks. So much had happened today, Harry could hardly keep his eyes open as he read his textbooks. At around 7 o'clock Sirius stopped in to check up on Harry.
"Hey, Harry. You got everything you need?"
"Yeah, I'm good."
"Alright then. You don't mind if Ara…Mrs. Figg stays a while, do you?"
"Not at all," said Harry, although he couldn't help but smirk Sirius shook his head the way parents do when their young children say something ridiculous, and smiled in return as he slowly closed the door behind him. Harry yawned, hungry for sleep. Not wanting to waste another second, he hurried over to his trunk. If Harry wasn't so busy looking through his trunk for his pajamas, he might just have heard the small click from the door.
During the middle of the night, Harry woke up with a start. His hand flew directly up to his scar. He felt a quick burst of pain, but it disappeared instantly. Harry didn't know what that could've been, but he didn't want to risk anything. Slowly and with great caution, Harry threw himself out of bed, and the torch on the wall began to glow strongly. He hastily put on his glasses and tossed on his cloak. But when he tried to open the door, it was locked. Shaking the knob furiously, Harry tried again while shouting out to Sirius, but to no avail. He then pulled out his wand.
He studied the door carefully, saying "Alohomora."
Nothing happened. Panic building inside of him, Harry rammed the door a couple times, hoping maybe, somehow, it would – fall down? How ridiculous, thought Harry. He threw one of his heavier textbooks at the door repeatedly, only creating dents in the old wood. He then ran over to the small window, which also turned out to be locked.
With no other alternative, Harry grabbed a rather heavy flowerpot resting in the corner of the room and chucked it with all the force he could muster. Maybe he imagined the round vase to be a Bludger, or Snape's head. Regardless of exactly what was running through his head, a deafening smash soon echoed throughout the room, and surely throughout the thicket outside as well, followed by shards of glass scattering across the floor. With many questions and concerns running through his mind, he climbed out the shattered window, careful not to cut himself.
It was completely dark outside, with the exception of the bright radiance of the full moon. He whispered, "Lumos," and as he explored the environs of the cabin, it seemed that there was always something peering over his shoulder or rustling in the shadows of the copse.
"Sirius? Padfoot? Buckbeak?" he called out nervously. Over his years at Hogwarts, he had developed a great dislike for strange noises during the night. Harry approached the thicket, reconsidering his actions with every step he took. He didn't see anything, but suddenly heard a quiet voice from behind him.
"Potter?"
Paralyzed with fear, his heart skipped a beat or two. He didn't want to turn around, but the cold, flat voice also seemed oddly familiar. Upon turning, his face changed from fear to anger.
"Malfoy...what are you doing here?" His voice was a barely audible whisper.
Draco Malfoy, Harry's unpleasant school rival from Slytherin house, stood still. The moonlight left bizarre shadows on his pale figure and highlighted his silver-blond hair. He seemed a bit disheveled, but obviously was attempting to hide this from Harry. Without another word, the boy turned away and began walking towards the thicket.
Harry wouldn't let him off the hook that easily. With quick steps, Harry shot out his hand to grab Draco by the arm, causing him to cringe at the contact. Harry spun him around and stood face to face with his rival, whose sharp grey eyes were more intense than ever. The boy still seemed to be hiding something, his mouth twitching just slightly.
"I'll ask you again. What are you doing skulking around here?" demanded Harry in a louder tone.
Draco remained reserved as he quickly pulled away from Harry's tightening grip and began leaving again. But before he was completely immersed in the dark thicket, Harry saw him stop and reach into his black robe. Expecting Draco to pull a spell on him, Harry lifted his wand, prepared to duel. Draco, however, didn't turn around. As if with great thought, he gradually pulled out a small object, swallowed as he looked downward, and with a swift flick of the wrist, tossed it towards the ground near Harry.
Harry could only stand and watch as Draco disappeared into the shadows of the thicket, his black cloak floating mysteriously behind him.
Still quite confused as to what just happened, Harry reluctantly bent down to pick up the object. It was a worn velvet pouch, almost completely empty. He flipped the pouch upside down and a shiny key fell into his hand...
In a split second, Harry looked around and found himself in the cabin once again. He was sitting upright in the bed, and Sirius was standing next to him, looking ever so concerned. Harry looked down at the floor, searching for the slivers of glass, but there was nothing. He blinked heavily and shook his head.
"Sirius...where were you?"
"I'm right here, Harry. Nothing to worry about. Everything's fine...just fine."
"But - the door was locked – and the window smashed – Draco..." Harry attempted to retell what he had gone through, but it came out as a jumble of words. It wasn't dream; it was reality. Of this he was absolutely sure. Harry's eyes darted left to right, and something popped back into his head. "THE KEY! Where's the key?" He grabbed for his robes and searched the pockets, but they were empty except for his wand. Sirius stood calmly the whole time, his expression unchanging.
"You must've been dreaming, Harry. You've been in bed the whole time, and I've been on the couch the whole time. I know you've had a long day, so just go back to sleep." Sirius patted Harry's head, vainly attempting to console him, and left the room. As he closed the door behind him, Harry could see the obvious indentations in the old wood.
