Seemed everything I did at one time or another would come back and bite me. This time, it bit me when I least expected it— in the middle of the night.

I'd been dreaming again, about my past (or maybe future). I'd promised myself that I'd stop reliving the events that led up to Lily and James's death after I got out of Azkaban— it hadn't happened. They came less often, or they had when I was on the run and not at Grimmauld Place, but they hadn't gotten any better when they came. It was the second one I'd had since ending up in my past, and somehow they were getting worse. The last time I'd been soaked in sweat by the time I'd finally woken up.

Something jolted me out of the street confronting Peter and back into my room at the Three Broomsticks. I rolled over in bed and sat up in time to watch Lily take a disillusionment spell off herself. I jumped. "What're you doing here?" I demanded.

"Asking questions I want a straight answer about," she snapped, then paused. "Nightmares?" she asked me softly, sympathetically.

"Well, yeah," I muttered, yawning. "So . . . what did you want to talk to me about?"

"This." She dug into the pocket of her robes for a moment, then came up with the letter I'd written her. "What's going on?"

"Why're you out of the school at night?" I countered.

"I'm as perfectly capable of breaking rules as . . . as . . . as Potter and Black," she announced defensively, glowering. I thought it best to take a look at the letter. I'm dead, I couldn't help but think when I found what had irked her— I'd signed it with my real name rather than "Scott". I was just too comfortable with Lily!

"Well?" she asked when I looked up.

"Turn around so I can get up and we'll talk," I told her sensibly.

Lily muttered something but turned around, letting me get out of bed and find a pair of trousers. "You can talk now," I muttered as I pulled a shirt on and started looking for robes.

"I thought it was perfectly clear," she answered, turning back around. "Why did you sign the letter with Black's name instead of your own? Originally I thought he'd stolen it and written his own reply— he would make that mistake." I had grin weakly at that; oh, he had alright. "But his handwriting isn't that neat. It wasn't funny."

"No, it wasn't," I agreed under my breath.

Lily tossed me my robes. "You know, you'd be able to find stuff a lot easier if you actually put them away where they belonged."

"The thing about being a bachelor is that there's no woman to nag me about these things," I muttered, putting it on. "Why'd you come all the way over here to ask me about it?"

"So I could be sure you knew what I was talking about," Lily snapped. She paused for a moment or two, looking oddly at me. "Scott, what exactly were you dreaming about?"

"Nothing," I answered, but the moment I said it I knew it was a little too quick.

She tossed me a hairbrush, and I muttered something about how she really ought to get back up there before she was in even more trouble. "Really, Scott, I'm not stupid," she reminded me. "Something's wrong, and I want to know if I can help."

"You can't," I told her shortly. "It's three in the morning and I'm having nightmares. We both go back to bed and I'm fine about dawn, isn't that the way it goes?"

"Scott. . . ."

"Reliving the night my best friends were murdered," I growled, concentrating more on the rats in my hair than on her. "Happy?" She was silent for long enough I turned from the mirror to her. She was pale against her red hair, and it took a minute for me to get the guts to ask her what was wrong with her. "Lily?"

The night your best friends were murdered?" she repeated softly. "No wonder you're having nightmares, or that there's shadows in your eyes."

I glanced back at the mirror. Azkaban had faded everywhere else, but it was still— literally— staring back at me in my eyes. "Lily, it's been . . . a long time. Really. It just comes back to haunt me from time to time." I swallowed. It was still sore, and talking to Lily about what would eventually be her own death hurt.

"Did you ever get any help?"

"Huh?"

"Did you ever see anyone about it? I mean, you must've talked at the funeral, but since then . . . maybe professionally?" she pressed.

"I couldn't even make it to the funeral," I growled, running the brush through the back of my hair again, and running so hard into so many knots I yelped. "There was some little rat. . . ." I faded off sheepishly, picking some of the hair I'd ripped off out of the brush and trying to calm down.

"I'm listening," Lily prompted.

I swallowed again and shook my head. I was not going to start crying over this. It hurt, yeah, but it was an old wound. "I'm not sure . . . I don't really want to talk about it."

Lily wandered over and through the mirror I watched her put a hand on my elbow. "But if you're having dreams about it, maybe you need to let it out."

"You've been reading too many books on psychology," I told her uncomfortably, still picking at the brush but not shaking her off my arm. "Why don't you try to something else. . . . What've you been up to lately. . . ?" I fumbled for a change of subject, too awkward to get anywhere.

"You're avoiding it," Lily pointed out.

"I've been avoiding it for years," I retorted. "Lily . . . I'm fine, really I am."

"This is coming from the man that asked me if there was anything left in his brain that hadn't already been addled," Lily added with a weak smile. "Scott. . . ."

"Yes?"

"How long has it been?"

I chose not to give her the real truth of the matter— almost fifteen years, the first twelve of which were spent waking up every other night in a cold sweat, shouting at my imbecilic self. Instead, I gave her the length of time it would be before it happened to her. "Five years."

"Five years? And you're still like this about it?" she asked, wide eyed. "I thought it might be something like five months."

I finally looked from the mirror to her. She was there and very much alive, her grip on my arm had tightened. It would leave marks when she finally let go, and we both knew it. "Lily . . . you don't . . . I could've prevented it, really."

"Do you have idea how many people think that?"

"No, Lily, honestly, if I hadn't made one stupid mistake and done it myself. . . ." I muttered, fading off. "You don't understand. We knew someone was after them and they had a secret keeper. It could have been me, but instead it was . . . a little rat we'd thought was a friend."

Lily's grip on my arm tightened again— I winced under it. "Obviously you didn't know. Scott, you need to get help," she told me firmly. "If you don't you'll be having these dreams— and dodging the question of if there's anything wrong, forever. Really . . . Sam's dad's a Muggle, but he's also a therapist, and he'll know some things about magic. If you'll give into your stubborn pride, I'll get her to write him."

"Lily. . . ." I started.

"I mean it, Scott," she told me firmly. "You need to talk to someone if it's been five years. If it'd been only one I'd refuse to leave until you'd talked to me, but I think you need someone who knows what they're talking about."

I glared at her. She matched me jaw set. I'd known her for . . . . eleven years, really. There was no getting past her. "Fine. If it'll make you feel better, Evans."

"Trust me, it will."

"It'll make me feel better if you get back up to the castle and in bed. You're not getting in trouble because I pulled a stupid prank, okay, Lily?"

She nodded, cast a disillusionment spell again, and I heard her walk off.

Author's Note: Really not what I expected from a lift in my writer's block. Hopefully, however, it worked. And all of you that demanded to know what happened when Sirius signed his name have the answer. I think my blocks gone so I can return to weekly updates, but knock on wood (Sirius: Or find some kind of creativity charm. . . .) To be completely honest, the letter signing was a spur-of-the-moment thing I caught but fit with the "uncertain" points of the plot too well.Almost seventy reviews? Wow. . . . Gotta thank everyone for that. And everyone who was helpful, pointing out things and asking questions (and yes, I am a little scatterbrained, but that's what's fun in life). Until next time, Cheers! — Loki