In Every Darkness
Chapter One: Pleasant Dreams
9.7.1996(Morning)
By morning the wind had dropped, and the sun rose over the town, illuminating damage that would most likely take several weeks, if not months, to repair. More than one car had been turned over; trees were uprooted onto roads; homes were partially demolished from the flying debris.
The sun crept further up in the sky, its rays lighting up more and more of the town, until finally they shone through a window, remarkably undamaged by the night's violent gale.
The rays shone directly onto the face of a sleeping boy. Harry screwed up his eyes without waking, and half turned his head, as if to hide from the glaring sunlight.
The only other occupant of the room, the owl Hedwig, looked at her master thoughtfully. He hadn't slept much, and he'd been angrier than he used to be. But he was her master, and despite his anger, she loved him. After all, he was only human.
He was sleeping soundly, she noted with an almost maternal pride. She knew that he was not sleeping as much as he should, and that when he did, he always woke unrested, and angrier than before.
But now … now he seemed to be sleeping soundly. He wasn't thrashing about like he usually did, nor was he muttering words that, to Hedwig, made little sense at all.
He was peaceful. Hedwig thought for a moment and decided it wasn't worth waking her master to demand breakfast. She closed her eyes and decided to have a short nap. When she awoke, hopefully her human would be awake also, and ready to feed her.
###Harry's Dreaming ###
Harry walked down the corridor of the Department of Mysteries. "Oh great. Nightmares again," he sighed, readying himself for the now-familiar experience.
In his dream, he no longer felt the emotions that swamped him when he awoke. It was part of the nightmare, and the only part of the process that Harry actually liked.
He was calm and could think clearly, unhindered by the emotions that normally tore at him. But at the same time he was withdrawn in his own mind – soon the terror of the dreams would begin.
To his surprise, however, nothing seemed to be happening. There were no Death Eaters storming the place, as often happened, he didn't see himself doing something foolish … but then … "Sirius?"
Though he now knew that this nightmare would be one of Sirius blaming Harry for his death, some young, childish part of Harry wanted this to be the real Sirius, the Sirius that would do anything for him.
But even this expectation was wrong. "Yeah kid, it's me," Sirius told Harry, smiling slightly.
"You mean … it's really you? I dreamed the last few months and you're still alive!" Harry desperately wanted this to be true also.
Sirius's expression became sad. "No, Harry. I died, and that can be neither reversed nor helped. But I can talk to you, sometimes."
"What do you mean, sometimes?" Harry questioned. "Why can't you all the time?"
Sirius sighed. "Come over here and sit down. I'll tell you over a mug of butterbeer," as the man said it, two bottles of the famous drink, as well as two mugs appeared on the ground beside him.
Cautiously, Harry ventured closer. This had never happened before. None of his dreams of Sirius were ever nice…
"There's no need to be afraid," Sirius told him, and suddenly looked around at their surroundings. "Well, no wonder you're nervous! This is no place to be drinking butterbeer!" With those words, the dream-scene changed.
They were sitting in an empty Three Broomsticks, the butterbeer on the table in front of them.
"How did you do that?" Harry asked, his curiosity overwhelming his urge to get away before his godfather turned mean, as always happened eventually in nightmares.
"It's a dream, kid. Dreams are controlled by the mind … when the mind knows how to control them, anyway. Drink your butterbeer, it'll make you feel better!" he added brightly.
"Since when do you care if I feel better?" Harry asked, smiling slightly. "You always left the mothering to Mrs. Weasley."
"Molly isn't here," Sirius replied. "Besides, I'm not mothering, I'm getting you to have a nice drink – and you need to feel better. You're feeling bad enough already! And it's only been a few days."
Harry took a sip of the drink, becoming cautious once more. Sirius was going to get mean soon, he knew it. It had to happen, didn't it? That was the way these things always worked. It got worse. Sirius would blame him …
"Harry, I'm sure you've been having nightmares, I know you did about Cedric's death, but listen to me now: it's not your fault. I died the way I wanted to. Not when I wanted to, no, but at least how I wanted to. I died helping my friends and fighting Death Eaters, not rotting in Azkaban.
"You made the last few years that I lived worth it. You believed me when I told you I was innocent – that's the greatest gift you could ever give me.
"Sure, I never got to know you like I'd wanted to. I never got proved innocent, like I'd wanted to … but I kept up with the Order. I couldn't help in battles (not that they actually fought any, at least, not until the one that killed me), and I had to stay at home, but I did give them a place to use as Headquarters …"
"Are you saying that you're happy here?" Harry asked, suspicious. This wasn't at all what he'd been expecting.
"Yes, Harry. I am happy here – your parents dwell in the Realms of the Dead also, and James was my best friend. Now I can see him, talk to him … it's not the same as being alive, but at least they are here with me. That doesn't mean that I wouldn't be happy back in the Living Realms – I miss you, and all of the Order, but I'm dead and there's no changing that now."
Harry bowed his head. He'd finally accepted that this was really Sirius. He couldn't be a nightmare, not now.
"You said you'd met my parents?" he asked his godfather, green eyes suddenly fixed on Sirius's, hunting for the answers to a million questions he'd probably never ask.
"Yeah. They said to say hi and that they wished they could have known you," Sirius replied, almost nonchalantly.
"But … why didn't they come to talk to me? Didn't they want to?" Harry needed to know. Did his parents hate him? Please let the answer be no …
"They wanted to come, but they can't."
"Why not?" Harry demanded. "You're here, aren't you? Why can't they come too? Don't they love me or something? You can just tell me if that's the case – I don't want to live a lie."
"Of course they love you!" Sirius appeared, and sounded, scandalized. "I guess I'd better explain. Come on, it'll be better if we do this while taking a nice walk."
Immediately they were standing in a large forest. Sirius ambled down the only path that Harry could see, and the boy followed him.
"So, why don't my parents come to see me?" Harry demanded, when Sirius made no effort to start talking.
"It's because of how they died, and how I died. They were killed. Their souls departed their bodies, which were later found and buried. But I wasn't like that. I fell into the Realms of the Dead, rather than dying. As far as magic is concerned, I'm still actually alive," Sirius started.
"You're alive? But you said …"
"I said that according to magic, I'm still alive. I haven't died yet. But that isn't really the case, because I'm in the Realms of the Dead, which means that I must be dead. So I'm dead, but not dead, and alive, but not alive.
"I'm not a ghost, but I can exist in dreams. I mean, be someone in a dream. Your parents are completely dead, so they can't come with me … it's kind of weird, but I think it almost makes sense."
"You mean that because you're not alive or dead you can enter dreams, but because mum and dad are dead, they can't leave the Realms of the Dead?" Harry clarified.
"Yeah, something like that," Sirius said with an eloquent shrug. It was then that Harry noticed his godfather looked quite different. He seemed to be in the prime of his life, the years that Azkaban had added to his face and body were gone. His godfather really was quite handsome.
"I'm sorry, kid. You'll never get the chance to meet them. But I can bring you messages in dreams."
Suddenly a sound filled the air. Harry and his godfather started, and the sound came again, unceasing. The dream world was breaking up, and Harry looked back at his godfather, his eyes wide with longing and almost fear…
Aren't I horrible? Review please!
WolfMoon