Dark corridors haunted his field of vision. Shadows moved in slow, hypnotic waltzes at the corners of his eyes: effects from the dancing of candlelight that lazily illuminated the tight halls through which he now strode. Doorways and arches freckled the walls at both sides, yet he held no interest in what lay beyond them. Quite the contrary, for Sirius Black was not just idly patrolling these corridors. No. These mysterious passageways were leading him somewhere. Where to he was not certain, but an indescribable urge to move forward lead him swiftly from one corridor to the next, lead him as though by the very nose. Indeed, for the canine within him smelled trouble. The hair on the back of his neck was raised in trepidation and his mouth had gone oddly dry. The spasmodic twitching of his lean but muscled frame had already caused him to sweat. It was all Sirius could do to keep his teeth from chattering out of nervous tension.
It seemed as though he'd been walking the corridors for hours; days even, yet he had come no closer to the mysterious conclusion of this maze than when he had first started. Or so it seemed. Yet for all that his brain told him, Sirius' senses seemed much more informed. They knew that there was very little distance to cover now. Whatever Sirius was supposed to be reaching, he would soon grasp it. Only a few more steps, a few more turns, a few more corridors, and he would behold his prize.
'So strange,' he thought while drifting through the dark halls. Everything seemed transformed, yet oddly familiar. He wasn't sure why. He had never known a place to have such uncomfortable surroundings, except perhaps Azkaban; but even their corridors were spacious enough to allow for three to five men walk to abreast comfortably. So why, then, the odd sense of familiarity? Nothing was recognizable in Sirius' eyes, yet at the same time his brain screamed 'deja vu!'. A chill ran down his spine as he passed more doors; more pictureless walls. His heart began to race. His hands shook rapidly as he saw before him a door at the end of the hallway. Finally! An end to the maze! He was free! He could return home!
Rushing jovially to the exit, Sirius threw open the door to see...
...The Great Hall at Hogwarts.
Confused, Sirius stepped forward lightly, careful to measure his steps. Why had he been lead here, of all places? One glance around proved that nothing was out of place. The students were gone, most likely to their classes or dorms by now. He couldn't tell if it was day or night due to the fact that the shades had been drawn on the vast and numerous windows that polluted the Hall. A bright flame crackled warmly in the fireplace, and thousands of tiny candles floated languidly above his head. It was, in truth, the Great Hall just as Sirius had remembered it in his school days, and it was surely the Great Hall that Harry and his friends knew now.
But why was he here?
Sirius took a few steps forward. He blinked without thought, and found himself suddenly transported to the Gryffindor common room, which had in fact taken on a great many changes. He grinned at the memories that suddenly flooded back to him here, but his grin was soon washed away at the curiosity that suddenly roused within him. Where were the students? A glance out of the now unconcealed windows told him that was night, and very late at that judging by the position of the moon and stars. Surely students would be up and around, buzzing about the common room and the stairs, bugging friends for last minute answers to homework and cramming for tests. But there was nothing, and as he trailed up the stairs to the boy's dormitory (the fifth years, though he wasn't exactly certain why) he was more disturbed then perplexed when he found that no one was there either. What was going on?
Frowning, Sirius pondered going to Dumbledore's office. He turned on his heel to flee the room, only to be struck down by a horrible pain in his forehead.
Sirius' knees buckled beneath him. His hands covered his face and his eyes in hopes to somehow stem the agony. He cried out in pain, hoping that someone, anyone, would hear him and relieve him of the anguish he was now experiencing. His wish was granted, however. The pain ceased, and when Sirius let his hands fall from his eyes he found himself no longer in Gryffindor tower, but home at Grimmauld Place; more specifically, in the Drawing Room.
Blinking sharply in case the pain returned, Sirius cast his gaze in all different directions. He found nothing out of place or out of the ordinary. In fact, everything seemed just the way he had left it. Why, then, had he been transported here? Sirius lifted himself up and immediately cast a spell to illuminate the candles on the walls. What lay on the floor froze him:
There on the ground, just as it had been the evening when Mrs. Weasley had been fighting the boggart, was Harry's body. It lay eagle-spread on the floor. Green, lifeless eyes gazed without focus toward an unforgiving ceiling. Harry's wand was still clasped in his right hand, though his fingers had a much looser grip on them now then they most certainly had previously. His mouth hung agape, as though in awe or terror of his very last sight, and his skin had the distinct, clammy look of a corpse. There was no denying it. Harry Potter was dead.
Sirius' own mouth fell agape at the sight, and for a moment he froze, petrified at the very idea. Then, without warning, he cast himself forward onto the floor and landed with a dull thud upon his knees. He reached to pull the body closer to him, but to Sirius' horror it disappeared. Thin wisps of smoke danced mockingly between his still extended fingertips before dissipating into nothing. His first belief was that he had been left alone, but he was wrong.
With the sudden sense of an extra presence behind him, Sirius whipped his gaze around to find a Death Eater standing in the entryway of the Drawing Room. When the hooded robe fell back, he gasped in astonishment. It was Bellatrix Lestrange, her wand drawn and at the ready. Her mouth moved in silence, and suddenly a green jet of light hit him square in the chest. He had a vision once more of Harry's body lying on the floor of his home before realizing that his eyesight was blurring and growing inexplicably darker.
Sirius awoke in his bed with a start. Immediately he sat bolt upright, panting and shaking uncontrollably. Sweat beaded in torrents down his brow, and he was forced to dab them away with his sheets while struggling desperately to maintain a single, coherent thought.
It had been a dream, and nothing more.
Or had it? A sudden wave of panic flooded Sirius' body. He rushed out of his room and stormed down the stairs without a care to who he might awaken in his trip. (Remus and Tonks had stayed over, having nowhere in the vicinity they could stay comfortably for the night.) He threw open the Drawing Room door and nearly collapsed in relief when he found the floor very corpse free and lackingpf Harry.
With a sigh, he allowed himself to fall into the nearest chair where he stared at that one particular spot on the floor for many moments. A knock at the door startled him.
"Come in," he answered, resuming his gaze.
Whoever it was sighed. "You've been doing this often, you know?"
He did not need to look up to acknowledge Remus Lupin's presence. Sirius had partly sensed that it had been him all along.
"I know," he admitted with no sense of guilt. "I can't get over it."
Remus shook his head. "It was just a boggart."
"I know that."
Another pause.
"Then why do you torture yourself?"
Sirius breathed hastily through his nose. "I wasn't ready for it."
Frowning, Remus crossed his arms over his chest. "What do you mean?"
"For that," he went on. "I wasn't ready to see it."
"Harry's body?"
Unable to answer (for his throat had gone dry at the words) Sirius shook his head. Remus sighed and took a few steps into the Drawing Room, his eyes now also observing the space where the boggart-dead-Harry had occupied some time before.
"None of us where," Remus said. His voice had lowered into a hushed whisper. It made Sirius uneasy, as though they were speaking at someone's death bed. "How do you think I felt at first when I saw the boggart? For a moment I'd forgotten it was there. I thought it was really him, even though we'd just passed him in the corridor."
"So did I," Sirius croaked. "I thought my heart had stopped."
"As did I," Remus stated, adding a chuckle in hopes of relieving the tension. "Moody said he felt as though he'd swallowed a shelled egg."
Sirius laughed at the notion that Moody too had been swayed to remorse at the thought of Harry being dead. He did not, however, dismiss his own fears initially.
"I don't think I could take it if he died."
Remus swallowed. "He won't."
"How do you know?"
"Because he has you," Remus stated very matter-of-factly. "And he had Dumbledore. And the Weasleys and the Order behind him. As long as any of us is still around, Harry will be okay."
Sirius sighed. "Dumbledore told me he would have to go through this alone in the end."
For a moment Remus seemed lost in thought. Then, without warning, he said; "Are any of us ever truly alone?" and with that walked away leaving Sirius in thoughtful silence.