Sirius had been scared the first time it had happened, truly and honestly scared. He'd been in a dreamless sleep, relaxed and sated after an evening spent talking, and drinking, with Remus; later, when he sat back to observe what had happened, he cursed himself for not having seen it sooner.
Nightmares. Nightmares that curled behind the emerald surface of Harry's eyes; dreams that itched deep inside his chest.
The screaming woke him first; the horrid, bone-chilling screams that Sirius hadn't heard in months; the sound curled into him with a paralyzing agent, icy bands contracting around his wrists and ankles as his heart stopped and jump started in a staccato rhythm. It took a few moments for him to swallow, to shake his head against the fear and move past being an observer to his reality. The screams drove into him like a thousand splinters that lit every one of his nerves on fire.
It took him even longer to tiptoe around his bedroom, gathering his clothes before making his way to Harry's room, where the nightmare was intensifying, if the sounds behind the door were any indication. The muttered litany of, "No, no, no, no, no!" curled around his wrist and twisted the knob; Harry's fear was pooling beneath Sirius' skin in a cold sweat that slid against his skin in clammy comfort.
Harry's pain was evident in the closed fist grip upon the sheets, bare chest heaving for air as he unconsciously bit back another round of screaming; Sirius' body slid into a protective mode it hadn't seen for a while, and seemed to work without his permission. It recognized this phantom horror and sought to remove it on its own accord; he knelt on the bed, half across Harry, and lifted the thrashing head with gentle, calloused fingers.
He was kissing tears away before it had a chance to register; open mouthed whispers that sought the emotional pain and drew it out like a salve. He was crying as Harry stilled, hands fighting his gentle hold for just a moment before surrendering and curling into Sirius' hair with a sob. The grip was harsh, fingers clenching in half-awake dreams, but Sirius pressed forward, slipping kisses into matted hair, onto tear stained eyes.
When Harry woke completely, it was to curl his body into Sirius' frame, to pull him down, weight keeping him from the pain as it had so many months before. Harry's head was cradled in the space between Sirius' arms, and a dry mouth pressed kisses to a wet jaw, and they both were crying as Sirius slid down Harry's body to press his face into the hollow below his ribs, hands pressing against Harry's collar; neither was sure who needed the comfort, but both were willing to give.
They laid in the position that represented a time that they had been at last safe, and it scared Sirius because he shouldn't have remembered every last detail from those hours. But Harry was crying again, hands tracing the scars, inside and out, with shaking hands that spoke of love, and Sirius pressed a kiss to a bare stomach that whispered the, "I'm sorry, so sorry...so, so, so sorry," that threatened to escape.
I do not own Harry Potter, any of the characters involved, and I am not making any profit from this work of fanfiction.