AN: I do not own Harry Potter, that honor goes to J. K. Rowling.

Chapter 8 - Fever Dream

Harry sat with his back to the wall, staring at the two open books on the transfigured stone table made from parchment beside his bed. The black printed text blurred and distorted as he stared at the image moving image of a robed figure moving through a door into a hallway filled with different styles of doors and gates. His eyes flicked to the other book with a tiny, handwritten text and a different moving image. It depicted a tiered tower with no doors, no windows, and thick walls of smooth stone. Master Ogata's version of a Mind Castle promised a near-impregnable fortress to protect his mind, but it would require years of dedication and effort to master.

He'd been attempting to adopt both schools of thought with little success. The darker, deep hurts and shameful experiences in his life, he'd locked away, even from himself, behind thick walls of black stone. He never wanted to see them again, never wanted to think about it. His long forays into his mind made him realize how jumbled his thoughts, memories, and long-term knowledge were. He could do little to rearrange everything, to organize his mind, but he did manage to cordon certain memories.

One memory he couldn't touch was the last one of his mother's sacrifice. He could watch the memory as if it were happening in front of him, but he couldn't seal it away or barricade it behind strong walls. It had taken five attempts of watching the horrible scene before he gave up and relaxed his focus. The faint taste of salty tears and trembling hands had lingered with him for over an hour.

"Harry, you look dreadful," Ginny whispered, breaking him out of his concentration.

He looked up to see a red-haired girl, her hair wet and disarrayed, standing in the open door of his room. It took him a moment to realize where he was and who he was. "Ah, uh," he muttered as his brain tried to process what his eyes were seeing. "I was practicing Occlumancy," he got out after a moment. "It's hard work."

"You've been crying," Ginny said in a soft voice, almost too low for him to hear. "Mum called for you to come down to dinner, but you didn't make it. Fred stunk up my bathroom, so I used the one up here. Are... you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," he answered and looked away. He'd just realized Ginny wore little more than the large pink towel wrapped around her slender, athletic frame.

"I can listen if you want. Luna says I listen well," she offered and took a step into the room. The distinct sound of light footfalls echoed in the stairwell. Ginny started, her eyes going wide, as she turned to look behind her. Without another word, she darted out of the room and across the landing toward the bathroom.

"Harry, dear, is everything alright?" Mrs. Weasley asked less than a minute later as she popped her head in the open door. Her eyes scanned the bedroom, her lips pursed.

"Yes, ma'am. I just got lost in practicing what Professor Lupin gave me," he lied. He wasn't sure how Mrs. Weasley would take it if she knew he accidentally read her mind sometimes. Both books talked about unskilled Occlumens picking up surface thoughts and warned against mentioning it. They said one's mind is a sacred place, a final refuge, for most witches and wizards.

"Have you seen Ginny? She said she was going up to our room to shower."

Harry fought to keep his expression neutral. "I think she stopped by a bit ago, but I've been focused on this," he said and gestured to the books in front of him.

"When you're hungry, I left a plate for you by the fridge. Don't stay up too late," Mrs. Weasley called and disappeared, closing the door behind her.

Pushing Ginny's odd behavior out of his mind, Harry lay back against the pillows propped up against his back, and stared at the far wall. Moving pictures of Ancient Runes covered Bill's side of the room. He still hadn't mastered all of the Western Ancient Runes, and many of the ones closest to Bill's pillow looked odd to him.

That night, he slept badly. Strange images, distorted as if he looked through a green, distorted lens, flashed in his mind. A desire to hunt echoed in the back of his mind, an ever-present need to kill. He woke sweating and noticed the white streaks on his arms where he'd scratched himself.

"Blimey, can you believe it? Only three days till the Quiddich World Cup," Ron said at breakfast.

Mr. Weasley, fussing with his tie, grinned. "Right nice of Sirius to get us those tickets, eh? Fudge and Ludo tried to get me tickets for all of us, top box too. That is, if I helped sign one of Fudge's new laws banning werewolves yet another privilege. Something about healthcare at St. Mungos," he muttered, his voice trailing off. "He's got some new witch in his office that hates anything not purely human. Anyway, Ludo still wants to help with some things around the office. I helped his brother get out of a rather tight spot with the Ministry. Something about an aggressive Muggle lawnmower."

Harry blinked and turned to look at Mr. Weasley. Nothing the middle-aged wizard said sounded good. He knew Mr. Weasley sometimes bent the rules, but the way he spoke sounded like trading favors was a common practice within the Ministry.

"Blimey, what would the good werewolves do if they didn't have access to the Wolfsbane Potion?" Ron gasped and shook his head.

"Probably be rounded up and locked up or killed," George commented with a dark look in his eye. "What? I got high enough marks in History of Magic to realize it's the sort of thing they did in the sixteen-hundreds, if you read between the lines. The Wolfsbane Potion is a relatively new discovery, and the Ministry might have been doing that all along," he said, defending himself from a doubtful look from his mother.

"I'm very proud of you," she answered in a strained voice as her smile slipped a little.

"The Ministry mostly keeps them in... villages. Way out in the wilderness where no one is harmed if they go wild. There is a nice place somewhere in the Ardennes," Mr. Weasley answered in a slow cadence with a strained smile.

After breakfast and Mr. Weasley had gone off to work, Ron stopped Harry from going upstairs to get ready to go to class. "Are you going to Sirius' house tomorrow? You come back looking like something Errol brought in," he asked with a smirk. "It's almost time to go back to school, can't you relax?"

"I'm so close to getting into the last room on the second floor. Who knew Professor Lupin would spend so much effort enchanting a bedroom to send gouts of water at me," he seethed. "I've managed to learn how to adapt a version of the Shield Charm to direct elemental magics of a sort, which is pretty amazing to watch."

"Blimey, isn't that N.E.W.T. level?"

"Yes and no. Yes, because I'm learning more about the way the elements react to our magic and elemental focused spells, but no, because I don't have the foundation necessary to truly understand what Professor Lupin is teaching. It's still hard to understand how fire and water can amplify one another yet at the same time cancel each other out. Lupin says it's all about energy, but I don't understand what he means."

"Way over my head, mate," Ron remarked with a strained laugh. "Anyway, want to come up to the orchard with me before we head to Diagon Alley?"

"Why not, I'll get my broom."

Professor Lupin greeted everyone with his usual smile. Harry noticed the deep dark circles around the shabby wizard's eyes and winced. "Morning, professor," he greeted, trying to keep his voice even.

"Harry," Lupin greeted in a warm voice, his eyes brightening a little as he looked Harry over. "Ready to continue working on your elemental shields?"

"I've done my studying over the weekend. I still don't understand why you say energy is the key. When fire hits water, the water becomes steam. How is that a transfer of energy?"

Professor Lupin smiled and looked at Sirius, standing by the fireplace. "Remind you of anyone?" he asked with a laugh.

"James struggled with the same thing. Remus and I have always been better at Charms and Elemental Theory, but your father could talk us into an early ghosthood whenever he started explaining about Transfiguration," Sirius explained with a chuckle. "He got there in the end, just like you will. Once you understand, you'll look back, just as he did, and wonder how it didn't click before. We just have to find the right metaphor to explain what we mean."

"Integorus," Harry chanted as he focused his will on shaping a dome-shaped shield in front. "Ready," he instructed and looked toward Sirius. His godfather nodded and shot a blast of air from the tip of his wand with an intense look of concentration on his face.

The visible blast of air impacted on Harry's shield with a horrendous screech as the water and air mixed. A large, hole appeared near the top of the water shield until Harry spun the tip of his wand. The water rushed around in a circular motion as he focused on gathering as much of the air into the shield as he could.

"Very good! Very good," Professor Lupin praised as he looked at the spinning ball of water a foot away from Harry. "You adapted the air and coalesced it into the Water Ball Spell. Now, can you dismiss the large mass of energy safely?"

Harry concentrated and grinned as he looked across the empty room to where Sirius stood. "Exsolvus," he intoned and watched with some glee as his godfather's eyes widened. Long streams of water shot from the rotating water ball at Sirius who dodged the first one and deflected the second with a quick spell.

"We'll see how you handle it then," Sirius growled, but the light in his eyes gave away his true feelings.

For the next twenty minutes, Harry, Sirius, and eventually Professor Lupin engaged in a water-slinging contest where Harry ended up soaked from head to toe. Sirius got hit a few times, but Remus remained completely dry as they made their way back to the main classroom.

"Blimey, mate. You go for a swim in there?"

"Wet dog is a good look for you," one twin commented with a smirk.

"We heard you shouting, but Fred said everything was okay," Neville commented with a frown that didn't quite hide his smile.

"Yes, I went for an impromptu swim," Harry muttered with a dark look at Sirius. He made a mental note to get him back for the jet of water that went down his trousers. The shock of the cold water allowed him to get hit by three streams of water before he could get his shield back up.

"Right, Potions practice for the lot of you," Sirius said with a grin as he turned away from Harry's glare.

The next day, Harry stood in the stairwell to the second floor of Grimmauld Place. The stuffed heads of dead house-elves made his skin crawl. Kreacher, Sirius' house-elf that had hidden in the home since his master's death, told him in a bright, awestruck voice of his forebearers of the Black House and his ultimate wish to have his head stuffed and placed on the wall after he passed.

"Sirius, please," Harry commented in a low voice. "Can't you see the dark black ribbons around Kreacher? He's practically covered in them. Be nicer to him."

"That bloody," Sirius growled before his voice trailed off. "Yeah, after you spotted it... I saw. He's got something darker than anything I realized would be here stashed somewhere in the house. It might be dangerous to us too. The Dark Arts in general corrupts the mind in different ways, but this is the... strangest manifestation I've seen. It's like Kreacher is subservient to the house itself, which may be true. I can't stand to let him into my heart."

Harry froze with his foot on the top step. "You'll let him die?" he asked, unable to keep the surprise from his voice. He turned to see a complicated look on Sirius' face.

"Kreacher loved Bella and my mother. Worshiped the very ground they walked on. It made my life... difficult as I grew up. I can't forgive the twisted little git for some of the things I was forced to do."

"Then give him away or kill him. I understand how tied to the house he is. Dobby told me how house-elves are unmade. That's plain torture."

It was Sirius' turn to look shocked. "I can't kill him, Harry! Why would that even be something you suggest?" he muttered, his eyes wide.

"There are fates worse than death. A Prisoner of War of the Muggle Second World War spoke briefly about some of the camps he'd found. I know you aren't like those guards, but that old soldier said that death wasn't the worst thing that could happen to a human."

"I think... I need to do a little more research into what exactly that school was teaching you boys."

"I've given it plenty of thought. How to die," Harry muttered and heard Sirius' stumble behind him. "What is in this last room by the way? You and Professor Lupin spent a lot of time enchanting it," he asked as he glanced at the two suits of French Calvary Armor guarding a sitting room on the left. They'd attacked him with metal fists the second time he'd come this far into the house. Sirius wasn't at all pleased with Kreacher's prank.

"My mother's room," Sirius answered, the jovial tone in his voice gone. "I was hoping you'd destroy it, but so far, you haven't lived up to your reputation."

"The pantry incident was not my fault!" Harry hissed. "Who sticks two boggarts in a closed space like that? I'm kind of glad I didn't bring the entire house down."

"Your anger issues almost did," Sirius remarked with a bark of a laugh. "I thought Remus was going to go spare trying to hold up the two main supports in the kitchen with magic. Learned not to use fire magic in an enclosed space, eh?"

"It was the barrel of rancid oil that did it," Harry growled and tried to relax the tight knot between his shoulder blades.

"Ah, good times," Sirius laughed and shook his head. "You'll conquer this room today. Try to at least destroy one of her portraits for me?"

Harry shuddered and shook his head. The images of those blackened portraits on the wall outside Moaning Myrtle's Bathroom still haunted him. "Silver threads of magic still interlock in those portraits. Every moving portrait. I've even seen them in the Daily Prophet. A picture captures something... more."

"Hogwash. There is no evidence to support your theory. It's probably part of the spell and potion they soak the pictures and portraits in to protect them, nothing more. Don't give it any more thought than you have to."

Harry disagreed with Sirius' casual views on the subject, so he dropped it. The last door at the end of the hallway had a golden plaque, burned black by magic, affixed to the middle of the door. The snake-shaped handle clicked as Harry drew closer. "Alohomora," he said and flicked the tip of his wand.

Harry sagged against the wall, his eyes stinging as he stared at the hole where Walburga Black's bed used to be. The opulent four-poster bedframe lay in pieces around a large hole in the floor. "Bloody brilliant," Sirius commented as he strode into the room. "I've wanted to do that for years," he commented as he walked over to the hole in the floor. "Bugger, you didn't take the house down with the bed," he joked and pursed his lips. "I think she kept a vault under her bed. Look, there are stairs downward."

Harry shook his head. "Why did you enchant the bed to hide a fire-breathing lizard in it?" he grumbled and levered himself to his feet. The boiled remains of the Tibetian Mountain Lizard lay against the far wall, wedged between the blackened cherry dresser and a revolting flowerpot with a dead plant in it.

"I told you creatures would be let loose in the house. I really don't care what happens to this place. We didn't enchant anything. Just left it in here for you to find."

"It almost took off my leg!"

"We'd have grown it back," Sirius commented with a wave of his hand. "I'm going down. Do not, for any reason, follow me. My mother collected some dark objects she liked to bring out when some of the other families got together."

Without another word, Sirius descended the narrow stairs into the darkness below. Harry peered down the hole he'd inadvertently made and shook his head. He couldn't see his godfather, nor could he hear any footfalls. Trusting the more skilled wizard, he walked over to the dead lizard and levitated the corpse to the door so they could bury it. The water spout he'd used to hit the lizard in the face just before it spewed more fire had done catastrophic damage within the small beast. He felt sorry for the small creature and worse that he'd been the one to kill it, even accidentally.

A feeling, unlike anything he'd ever had, washed over him as he dismissed the spell, letting the corpse drop to the ground. He looked around until he thought he found the source of the strangeness within the room. A young man, who looked a lot like Sirius, stood in the middle of a small pedestal on the dresser. Jewelry and ornate boxes littered the top of the dresser but the small shrine was untouched by the mayhem Harry had caused. In front of the picture was a strange silver locket. A snake, embossed with green glittering stones, decorated the front of the polished metal surface. It looked familiar, but he couldn't remember where he'd seen it before.

"I see you've found my brother," a voice said into the silent room.

Harry blinked and realized his finger hovered mere millimeters away from the locket. As he jerked back, he thought he saw the snake on the locket shift and move for a heartbeat. "Ah, yeah," he managed to get out. "He looks like you."

"Regulus," Sirius said in a low voice. "He became a Death Eater. Sometime near the end of the war. They killed him. I was on the hunt for his killer when... when what happened, happened. Supposedly Voldemort did it himself, but his death wasn't public enough for that to be true. It's why I wasn't near Godricks Hollow that night. Kreacher knew before any of us did, that he'd died. To my knowledge, the damned house-elf didn't tell my mother how he knew." Sirius stared at the picture a moment longer before he turned away.

Harry blinked and rubbed his head where a headache was forming. "Can we go now? I'll bury the lizard. It's the least I can do," he muttered."

"I'll take care of it. You look terrible. I'll talk with Remus. Maybe we're pushing you too hard."

"No, no, I'm enjoying this. I just didn't expect to kill the poor thing."

"Every action has a consequence, sometimes small, sometimes large. Yes, your spell killed the creature, but did you mean to kill it? Was that what you wanted?"

"No, I wanted to subdue it."

"Even our best intentions don't always work out how we want them to. Remember that. Dumbledore taught me that," Sirius commented with a dark look that flashed across his face.

The headache persisted through the rest of the day. Harry, unsure of what to do, took one of his experimental Sleeping Draughts, the one he'd been testing with the twins. As soon as he drank it, he realized it was a bad idea. His mind went a little fuzzy, and the world seemed to disconnect a little. Giggling madly, he rummaged around in his trunk for a Mind-Sharpening Potion.

"Fred," he called, as loudly as he could, laying on the floor between the two beds.

It took what felt like an eternity before the door opened upward, crashing into the ceiling. When he blinked, the door was against the wall, and he was looking down from the ceiling.

"Uh, Harry? What are you doing?" a concerned voice called.

"Bad time," he managed to get out. "Potion fun," he giggled.

"Bugger me, I think he mixed something good," another voice said from a long way off.

"Let's get him down," the twins chorused.

It took twenty minutes for Harry to feel normal again. "Bloody hell, that wasn't pleasant," he muttered as he held his head.

"You looked like you were having the time of your life. We walked in, and you were floating across the ceiling."

"Yeah, you giggled every time you hit your head. What did you do?"

Harry's head pounded as he told them his mistake.

"Bugger me, you might be onto something. Could you imagine if we could somehow make this a safe potion combination? We know those Muggles use psychotics or whatever to have fun, and so do those crazy seers like Professor Trelawney, but if we could make it safe, then that would be brilliant."

"Hey, Fred, fancy a go?" George asked as he lifted the two bottles.

Fred looked at Harry and shook his head. "More testing is required," he joked. "Can we get you anything?"

"Water, please," Harry muttered through his hands. He heard the distinct sound of a zipper. "From the tap!" he yelled to a chorus of laughs from the twins.

"Technically, you can drink it," George said with a grin as he passed Harry a glass of water a few minutes later.

"I'll leave that sort of experimentation to you two."

Harry lay in bed well into the night, staring at the ceiling. The effects of the experimental potion had worn off, but the Mind-Sharpening Potion still coursed through his mind and thoughts. Every thought seemed to spark another question he couldn't help but try to find the answer for. He'd had to give up reading and sifting through his hoard of books and go to bed, or he'd never get any sleep.

His thoughts drifted through his day before focusing on the locket in Sirius' mother's bedroom. He knew it was familiar, something he'd seen before, but the memory seemed distant, sealed somehow. With a start, he realized why he couldn't remember. Closing his eyes, he appeared in his mind as an older, wilder version of himself. He threaded his way through the hallways of Hogwarts. Through experimentation, he'd found the walls of Hogwarts a haven from his previous life, and imagining those strong stoned corridors helped solidify his Mind Castle.

He strode down the stairs by the Entrance Hall and into the darkness below. His trainers made no sound as he padded his way through the blackness, following his intuition to find the memory he had locked away. He came to a stone door at the end of a corridor and stopped, his heart hammering. One of his worst memories lay behind the door, and he loathed to watch it again, but he had to know. The influence of the potion was telling him the answer to his question lay behind this door.

Harry stood in the middle of the Chamber of Secrets, staring at the frozen forms of the guardians who came to save a little girl. Moody, his scarred face, had a deep scowl as he stared into the distance. Lydia, her beautiful face alight with joy, looked behind her at him. Thaddeus, his powerful, regal demeanor standing as still as a statue. Dawlish, the wizard who everyone spoke highly of but someone Harry never got a chance to know. He didn't really know any of them, even Moody and Kingsley, who looked powerful and imposing.

Standing in front of the group, towering high into the sky, was the stone statue of Salazar Slytherin, his monkeyish face drawn up in a sneer. Around his neck was the object Harry was looking for, the Locket of Salazar Slytherin. The design was the same except instead of metal and gemstones, the locket on the statue was made of stone.

Having found his answer, he tried to escape the memory but found himself stuck, forced to watch those who came with him die. Little things stood out to him as he stood aside, a casual observer to his memory. He looked small, insignificant compared to the might and power of the trained adult wizards. His mistakes and triumphs seemed to be amplified by his current knowledge and the help of the potion. He closed his eyes, trying to will himself out of the memory.

"Children at it again," a somber man said, his raspy voice jarring Harry from his attempt to escape his memory.

A thin man, stooped with old age and a heavy limp, ambled across a dilapidated kitchen. From the faded finery and grime-stained walls, the kitchen had once been a lavish room. Harry heard the man grumble a dark obscenity when he saw a pair of worn boots by the open arch to the next room. A name came to him, unbidden and whispered as if he remembered a memory of a memory. Frank Bryce, the old caretaker, and groundskeeper of the Riddle Manor. Harry was sure he'd never met the man before, but two young boy's faces flashed across his mind. During his recent excursion, he'd listened in as the boys planned a prank on the old man near the front gate.

The dream, for that, is what it had to be, moved behind the old man in a bobbing motion, keeping low to the ground. It was jarring, but at the same time, right. Harry followed behind in silence, careful to keep against the baseboards of the hallway and up the stairs. Frank took his time on the stairs, careful to keep his limping footsteps as quiet as possible. They were loud to Harry as he stared at the man's back. A quiet, cold hunger grew in his stomach as he watched, waited, and listened.

"Not children," Frank whispered to himself, as he paused at the top of the stairs. "What then?"

Harry's stomach lurched as he realized the information came to him the same way as before, a memory of a memory. Voldemort had come home. The knowledge itself made his vision swim and the dream shake. The sick feeling in his stomach grew as he realized something was wrong with the dream, but he couldn't focus, he could only watch.

"There is a little more in the bottle, My Lord, if you are still hungry," a quiet, familiar voice offered from down the hallway. Harry felt his stomach clench, and what should have been his hands shake as he recognized the voice of Peter Pettigrew. The traitor who helped murder his parents and send Sirius to Azkaban.

"Later," a second voice answered. It belonged to a man, ageless but sounded strangely high-pitched. The words rolled over Harry like a cold winter wind. "Move me closer to the fire, Wormtail," the voice ordered.

Harry knew who it belonged to, knew it in the depths of his soul. Voldemort's voice, though it wasn't quite the same as the one he remembered in his memory. Harry moved in the corridor, and Frank turned to look toward him, squinting his eyes. After a moment, the old man turned back to the cracked door, his eyes wide with fear. Harry could taste the sweet emotion in the air.

"Where is Nagini?" Voldemort asked in his high-pitched, horrible voice.

"I... I don't know, My Lord," Wormtail answered, his voice quavering. "She went to explore the grounds, I think."

"You will milk her when she returns. The journey has tired me."

Harry waited before slowly making his way toward the door again. He didn't want to let the Muggle know he was there until the last moment where he could taste the spike in fear and adrenaline from the old man.

"How long will we remain here, My Lord?" Wormtail asked, his voice pitched low.

"A week, maybe a little more," Voldemort answered, his voice cracking at the end. "This is a moderately comfortable location, and our plans can't continue until after the Ministry finishes with the Quidditch World Cup."

Harry saw the old man mutter under his breath and rub his ear. "We will move then? I've already done the scouting. We could move now," Wormtail suggested.

"Fool, it would be folly to move too quickly. I would not be able to assist you until I regain my strength. That requires time. A few days before the first part of our plan starts as it is. I know you loathe to care for me."

"My Lord! I don't."

"Liar," Voldemort hissed. "Your clumsy care and foolish decision to scout out the Burrow robbed me of the little strength I regained. The plan will gain me a true, strong follower."

"I am strong, and I am true," Wormtail answered in a sulky voice.

"You are a rat, through and through, Wormtail. You have done me great service, and I always reward that, but it wasn't out of loyalty. Your old friends want you dead. Not to mention the Ministry has a bounty on your head. You did it out of self-preservation, little more."

"My Lord," Wormtail simpered. The sound of shuffling boots echoed in the dark hallway.

"Silence! The plan will continue, and your continued care will have to do. We will hit both targets within hours of each other, while the Ministry rests. I must admit, the one you Imperioused will be of some use, but he will be discovered before long."

"We could use any magical wizard. We had him... and Jorkins. Do we need to do all this to get to Potter?"

"You question me yet again, Wormtail. My patience grows thin," Voldemort warned. The temperature in the hallway seemed to drop as the Dark Lord's last words echoed in Harry's senses. Frank shivered and rubbed his shoulders.

"It must be Potter. One person stands in the way of the plan working, one who won't even realize we're coming."

"We could take him from the Burrow."

"And risk everything we've gained on a chance, a mere chance? Dumbledore will have protections around the boy. However, your pawn might come in handy to probe those defenses. Ah, Nagini approaches."

Harry was so focused on the conversation, trying to understand what was going on, that he failed to realize he was moving past the old man. The sharp, sweet smell of fear assaulted his nose again as he glided into the bedroom. A four-poster bed, lined in cobwebs and dust, sat against the far wall. He moved to the over-large, leather-backed chair by the huge fireplace. "A Muggle listens," he announced, his voice a hiss of displeasure.

"Interesting news, Wormtail. A Muggle listens at the door. Welcome him in," Voldemort ordered with a cruel, childlike laugh.

Wormtail rose, and Harry looked at his parent's old friend. The traitor looked even worse than he had while in the Ministry's custody. Little patches of hair remained on Wormtail's head, and his face was gaunt. The rat-like wizard shuffled over to the door, his wand held in a high-guard, as he opened the door.

Frank Bryce bit his lip as he was ushered into the room. Harry tried not to watch, to listen, as Voldemort taunted and questioned the old man. Deep in his heart, he knew the man would die. Voldemort questioned Frank, who claimed people knew he was there, but the Dark Lord saw through the lie. Harry could tase the fiction on the tip of his tongue. The sensation distracted his focus as Harry tried to understand what a sleepy, disconnected part of his brain was trying to tell him.

Less than three minutes later, the body of Frank Bryce sprawled across the floor, the look of defiance on his face never slackened as he took the Killing Curse to the chest. It was then, Harry looked at the infantile body of Voldemort. The shock, fear, and loathing that hit him made him scream.

The floor rushed up to meet him as he rolled away from what he expected to be his death. Pain lanced through his entire body as he tried to remember how to work his limbs. One thing stuck in his mind, Voldemort was coming for him.

"Harry?" a quiet voice called from the bottom floor as Harry strode out of Bill and Charlie's room less than three minutes later. He'd tried to contact Sirius through the mirror, but his godfather was either asleep or unavailable. The knowledge Voldemort might send someone to test Dumbeldore's defense echoed in his mind.

"Ginny?" he called, pausing on the stair to go up to Ron's room.

"I heard you scream and fall," she called back in a low voice. "Are you okay?"

"No, I need to tell Ron something and then use the Floo," he answered as he saw her face appear on the stairs. Ginny wore pink pajamas, and her flaming hair was a mess. Clear liquid clung to her cheek as she looked at him with worried eyes.

"What's wrong?" she questioned, her voice strained.

"I can't tell you. I'm not even sure myself. But, please believe me when I say it is important."

Ginny's face contorted before it set in a determined grimace. "You need to leave," she stated and nodded her head again. "I'll get the fire started. You tell Ron whatever you need to. Just make sure you tell me what's going on so I can run interference with mum. I do it for the twins all the time," she stated before going back down the stairs.

Ron wouldn't wake, even after Harry pushed on his shoulder. With a sigh, Harry retreated from his friend's room and went down to the kitchen. He thought he heard movement from Mr. and Mrs. Weasley's room but wasn't sure, so he'd picked up his pace.

"I'll look after Hedwig," Ginny promised as she stood by the kitchen table. "Harry, what's going on?"

He grimaced and looked toward the narrow passage. He didn't want to explain things to Mrs. Weasley but knew it could be important to let someone know of the possible danger ahead. "Don't ask me how I know, but I do. He is back, here in Britain," he said as he moved toward the lit fireplace.

"Who? Who's back?" Ginny questioned as she followed him.

"Voldemort," he answered and turned back to see Ginny staring at him, wide-eyed. She swayed on her feet, her eyes unfocused.

"You can't be serious?" she gasped out, but before Harry could answer, she steeled herself and set her jaw. "No, you wouldn't be this pale and worried if you weren't sure. What do you know? How can I help?"

Harry stared at his friend's sister standing in her pink pajamas with a determined look. "Someone may come looking for me. I can't stay. It places Ron, you, your entire family in danger if I do. He's back, and he has some plan," he said before sucking in his breath and continuing," some plan that involves me." He realized his voice cracked near the end as the face of Frank swam in his vision.

"I'll let Mum know. Go if you need to. She won't understand, but if you think it best," she answered after a moment, the unspoken question hanging in the air.

"I need to," he confirmed. Just as he was about to explain himself more, he heard movement from above them. "I need to go," he announced and made for the fire.

"I'll see you at Hogwarts if not at the Cup," Ginny called just as the green fire enveloped Harry. The last thing he saw before the darkness of the Floo Network took him was a scared but determined young witch with white knuckles as she gripped her father's armchair.

Harry rocketed through the darkness, ignoring the fireplaces that flashed by him. He willed himself to move faster, to get to Sirius as fast as he could. Focusing all of his attention and will, more to shut down the rising panic in his chest than anything else, he exploded out of Sirius' fireplace at a near run, wand held high. His whole body shook as he flicked his eyes around the flat. Two broken wine glasses lay on the floor among the scattered remains of dark, soft objects. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust and realize they were clothes. Just as Harry was about to take a step forward, Sirius appeared in the open doorway to the bedroom, his wand held high and a dented silver goblet in one hand.

"Harry?" the older wizard questioned, his eyes going wide. He turned his body sideways and tried to slip back into his bedroom.

Harry, shut his eyes as soon as he realized the state Sirius was in. "Ah, yeah, sorry," he apologized and turned his back to the doorway. "There was ah... sorry," he got out again. He decided that maybe he'd try a Memory Charm to scrub the vision of his naked godfather from his mind.

"Harry, what's wrong?" Sirius asked, his voice heavy with concern and a little higher pitched than Harry had ever heard before.

"He's back in Britain," Harry hedged, not knowing who would be in Sirius' bedroom. His brain engaged enough to realize there were female clothes on the floor too.

A pregnant pause lingered for a few seconds before he heard Sirius' exhalation of breath. "Are you hurt? Is everyone at the Burrow safe?" he questioned in a rush. He heard rustling behind him but wouldn't open his eyes or turn around.

"I can't explain it, not now," Harry pleaded. The last thing he wanted was an outsider to know he somehow saw Voldemort in his dreams. That thought alone made him shiver.

"You can turn around, now. Let me look at you," Sirius said after a moment.

Harry turned to see his godfather had wrapped a fluffy black and green bathrobe around himself and was striding across the glass-covered floor in his bare feet. He didn't seem to notice or didn't care as he left red streaks on the hardwood floor. "I'm okay," Harry reassured his godfather, but Sirius ignored him and placed a hand on his forehead. Closing his eyes, Sirius mumbled under his breath and took three deep breathes.

"Minor fever, head cold, and sleep deprivation," the older wizard announced as he removed his hand. "We need to talk, but not yet. If you will, put on a pot of tea. Magic is fine to use... well, no, maybe not this time," he said with a grimace at the open door. "Give me a few," he said before moving back across the bloodied floor and into his room.

Harry grimaced and wished he hadn't come to Sirius right away. His godfather looked more relaxed than he'd ever seen him. With a shrug, he stepped over the garments strewn across the floor and made his way to the small kitchenette. Five minutes later, Sirius appeared in the doorway, dressed in his usual dark robes. "The tea is nearly done," Harry said with what he hoped was a smile.

"What you see doesn't leave this house," Sirius said in a strangely serious tone. When Harry didn't immediately speak, his mouth scrunched up. "I need your word, Harry."

Blinking, Harry put the kettle back on the stove and nodded. "You have my word that nothing I see will leave this house. I won't talk about whatever it is, no matter what," he promised with a nod.

Sirius' shoulders relaxed a little as he glanced over his shoulder. Harry looked as well and froze. He was glad he put the kettle back on the stove because his entire body went numb. Madam Amelia Bones, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, stepped into the living area with her head held high. It was obvious she'd taken the time to comb out her hair because not a single strand was out of place. "Madam Bones," he greeted in a strange, distant voice.

"Harry, or is it, Mr. Potter," Madam Bones said back, a small smile playing on her lips. She wore form-fitting, light robes as she closed the distance between them. Her eyes flicked across the room and then to Harry before setting her jaw and nodding. "I do appreciate your word about not saying anything. It would... seem unseemly to certain people."

Harry found himself nodding. "I can imagine," he finally got out and forced himself to stop nodding like a bobblehead doll.

"Sirius," the Ministry Official said, her voice quieter than Harry had ever heard it. "We will do this another time. I expect something pressing has come up."

Sirius Black barked a laugh before stifling it by clicking his teeth together. "Madam," he announced before bowing deeply and taking her hand. He lightly kissed her knuckles before righting himself and still holding her hand. "I would be honored to keep you company again. Something serious has come up... but try not to think any less of me," he muttered in a soft voice Harry just made out over the boiling kettle.

"It certainly isn't less," Madam Bones said with a smile Harry had never seen before. It made her look younger by ten or more years. She turned to him and nodded again before taking her hand back. With a crack, just loud enough to be heard over the whistling steam, she vanished.

Sirius breathed out and turned to Harry, his eyes worried. "What's going on?"

It took the better part of two hours of intense questioning before Sirius was content with Harry's story. The older wizard asked questions Harry had never thought to ask; like what style layout was the sitting room and kitchen of the house in his dream.

"Everything suggests that you didn't have a fever dream, despite your symptoms. If I ever hear you've consumed one of your experimental potions without me or Remus around... well, I can't say I didn't do the same thing, but please, Harry. That alone could have been catastrophic for your mind. Think next time!" Harry opened his mouth to protest, but Sirius sighed, and his shoulder sagged. "When did I get so old as to say something like that," he mused. "Molly and Arthur will probably get most of what is going on out of Ginny. Why you brought her into this," he questioned with a raised eyebrow.

"She heard me fall out of bed. Which... now that I think about it, is odd. I use Muffliato every night before going to bed."

"It isn't so strange," Sirius said with a laugh, but he shook his head when Harry shot him a questioning look. "Never mind, it doesn't matter. What does matter is what we need to do next. I... I guess I need to inform Dumbledore."

Harry found the statement odd but ignored it as Sirius rose. "What can I do to help?" he asked, the adrenaline of the night's events still coursing through his head.

"Help me clean up, please, and... be mindful of certain articles of clothing. Best if you leave everything on... the... actually, no. Please call Dobby to take care of cleaning everything up. I'll worry about my room later. You... I... drat what is the safest thing to do," he muttered and stared into the distance. A look of pure loathing appeared on his face a moment later as he looked at Harry. "My family's old place," he muttered to himself.

Harry tried to follow his godfather's ramblings as he stared into the older wizard's eyes. Surface thoughts like little bubbles seemed to flit in and out of existence as he watched his godfather's mind race. It was a surreal and scary thing to watch. Some of the thoughts made Harry's cheeks color, and he clamped down on his senses, forcing himself out of his godfather's thoughts.

"Grimmauld Place is the best place for you to be right now. If there is a threat, and I believe you, then that place... however distasteful it is, has some of the best protections available outside of Hogwarts."

Harry tried to mentally catch up as Sirius strode toward his room. "Wait, why there?" he asked but stopped himself. "Oh, all the enchantments I saw," he muttered. "Are you sure? You hate that place."

Sirius stopped before reaching the doorway and turned to look Harry in the eyes. "Nothing is more important than you. I may hate the place, but most of what I hate about it is gone. The only thing that remains is memories, and they can be ignored for your sake. I'll be ready to move in five," he said before going back through the door.

The simple truthful statement, not only in Sirius's words but also in his mind, stunned Harry. He stood, rooted to the stop as the kettle whistled somewhere in the background of his subconscious. Harry had come to like Sirius and enjoy his company when the older wizard wasn't acting a prat, but the simple truthful statement struck him harder than he'd realized. The words rang in Harry's mind like a bell, strong, sharp, and clear that Sirius Black, his father's friend, and his godfather, would do anything to see Harry safe.