Kay: Welp, here it is; the next chapter of Harry Potter and the Revival of the Lost. I'm not sure if I've said this already, but this story takes place during Harry's 6th year at Hogwarts. Thankyou to everyone who reviewed. This chapter is dedicated to you guys. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or any of its characters. If I did, I would be filthy rich, and wouldn't be writing this stuff (or maybe I would, just for the fun of it. Who knows?).

Chapter one
Him

I looked at him. He was quite, and his eyes were unseeing. He was thinking of something, I could tell. And I knew from experience what was troubling him, too. He was thinking about him again. He hadn't stopped thinking about him for the past sixteen years. Not since he and I got killed by that man. He had been especially fretful since the one person we were hoping would protect him out of school had died doing just that; protecting him. Protecting our son.

"Don't worry; I'm sure everything will be fine. Dumbledore will take care of things, I'm sure of it," I said, looking towards my husband.

"I know, but you can't blame me for worrying. He's our child, after all." I looked at him sadly. Despite everything, he was right. We had a right to fret. He was our son. He was our messiah. He was Harry Potter.

-

Harry sat up, panting. He and his sheets were covered in sweat. Slowly, he placed his hand on his scare. That dream, again. He had been having the same dream ever since the incident at the Department of Mysteries. Ever since Sirius…

Harry shivered. He didn't want to think about it. He really didn't want to think about it. Sirius had been the closest thing to a parent he had ever had, and now… He shook his head. No, Harry, bad. Don't think about things like that. But he missed him. He had been one of the only link to his parents he had had.

Harry finally gave up, lay down, and cried. It felt good to let it out. He was an orphan, and his god-father was dead. There, he had said it. Sirius was dead. He wasn't coming back. No more letters. No more birthday presents. No more Christmas presents. No more stories about his dad when he was alive. It was gone. He was gone. They were gone.

Harry gently started to massage his forehead. That was the weird thing. Before, whenever he had a weird dream, and that had been happening a lot lately, he would feel a searing pain in his forehead. But this time, nothing. It didn't hurt, but what it did feel, was warm. It felt as if a gentile hand had been resting on it all night.

What it was, he didn't know, but it intrigued him. He wanted to know what it was. Why didn't it hurt this time. Who were those people? Why did they seem so familiar? Who had died? What would Dumbledore take care of? Who was it they were referring to? Who was it that needed protecting? All these questions, and no answers. It then occurred to him that writing a letter to Dumbledore might be useful.

"HARRY!"

...Right after breakfast.


Kay: I know, it's unsatisfyingly short. But bear with me, people. This is my first Harry Potter fic. Review, and I'll see y'all in the next chapter!