Standing Beside the Fallen

Chapter Six - Talking it out, Part I

Flying on a broomstick had to be the best feeling in the world. The safe and secure feeling of pushing through the air and feeling it gently whip at your body, the open and relaxing poise set on the broomstick, and the thought that there was nothing to stop you from moving forward was what made flying the wonder that it really was. It was here, on a broomstick that Harry felt the safest in the world, away from the danger on the ground that constantly crept in the corner of his eyes like a lurking shadow. Up here, he could be free, he could be Harry.

The sky was dark, pitch black with no stars and no moon. It looked merely just like miles of endless ebony waves soaking the world above. As he flew, the only light was the specks from the town below, the moving cars on the streets, the streetlights and the lights from inside the people's homes. So far up in the air, it looked more like a maze. A maze of light leading you from one end to another. It was beautiful. The wind was warm for a summer's night, and he felt like he did not need a jacket or anything to cover up with. The air swept in through his clothing gently, making him feel elated just to be able to move through it.

As he flew on, he realized that the lights below him were growing thinner and it was harder to see anything down on the ground. The darkness was creeping in on him, and with no stars and moonlight it looked more eerie than it did magnificent. A sudden chill was sped down his spine as he started to feel his broom jerk. His thoughts turned towards the Quidditch math in his first year, in which he had been attacked by Quirrel so that his broomstick would throw him off. A curse had to be doing this to his broom, otherwise, why would it be trying to buck him off?

Harry yelped and grabbed onto his broom tighter as he felt the nose tip downwards and suddenly he was falling, falling hundreds of feet, speeding like a comet down towards the earth, nothing to slow him down but air resistance, which obviously wasn't going to help him very much. He closed his eyes as he saw the ground inching nearer and nearer. This was it, he was bound to die. It was ironic, that the end of the boy-who-lived was from the force of a sidewalk on his broom. What a pitiful way to die. He sensed the sidewalk underneath him, and bracing himself he took a deep breath -

He was walking now, smoothly and straight backed down a dark hallway. The torches on the wall barely flickered with life, and the paintings and tapestries loomed like forgotten shadows in the darkness. He blinked and his eyes narrowed, a look of vindictive pleasure creeping on his ugly features. Behind him, the sounds of half a dozen men walked quietly, armed and ready for what they were about to do.

He had been waiting to do this for several long and agonizing years. And finally tonight he was going to do what he should have done fourteen years ago.

In the blink of an eye the stone passage he had walked down was gone, and the surroundings were replaced by a suburban area street, the stillness of night lurking in every corner. Streetlights shone above them, shining against the white masks of the men behind them. Without hesitation, he started to walk up the drive of one very ordinary house. The only difference of this house besides all of the others was the number of the house - Number Four Privet Drive.

Without hesitation, Lord Voldemort proceeded to raise his wand and blow the door clean off its hinges in an explosion of flames. It was send swiftly down the hall and lay burning the kitchen some ten feet away. He paid no attention as his men proceeded in front of him, half going upstairs to find the boy and his relatives, the rest send to search the downstairs, destroying anything in their path. He heard the screams upstairs belonging to a woman, and the yelps of a teenaged boy, and a satanic sneer spread on his face, his features twisted to resemble that of an ugly withered snake.

Voldemort slowly headed up the stairs, savoring each step in his memory as the approaching death of Harry Potter. It felt so sweet to know that the boy was caught in his hands, with no protection, and blackmail so severe that he would no doubt give up his life with the brave stubbornness such a Gryffindor could possess. The ultimate blackmail that made little Potter weak - his family. Blackmail was Voldemort's favorite word.

He reached the landing and he savored the sounds around him, as though he were getting physical pleasure from the noise. He could hear the boys aunt screaming, a haunting screech that came only with the pain of a cruciatus. Ah, one of his favorite spells. He could hear the boy, Potter's cousin, yelling and crying, and the furious bellows of the oversized muggle uncle. Downstairs, the sounds of breaking china, flames and splintering wood entered his ears. Ah, bliss.

But where was Potter? Surely he would have heard the boy's pleas by now. He fingered his wand in his long and deathly pale fingers as he walked menacingly down the hall and entered the room where the torture took place. It was a basic muggle room, matching bed and furniture with a flower petal decor. The woman, a blond horse looking woman was lying on the ground, bleeding and lying at an odd angle. Her eyes were wide and staring unblinkingly up at the ceiling. By now, she was obviously dead, given into the pain. No surprise from such a weak muggle. That was the drawback of playing with muggles, they always died quicker than muggleborns and half bloods did.

The fat ugly man was cowering in the corner, shaking and yelling for his Death Eaters not to kill him. A putrid smell reached Voldemort's nose and he smirked. The man had wet himself from fright no doubt. One of his men, his most trusted of course, stepped forward. Lucius Malfoy had a grace about him, something that Voldemort had always admired. There was a craft to his killing that nobody else could match. The man enjoyed murder almost as much as Voldemort did, and he prized this in his followers.

With the raise of a wand and in the blink of an eye, the overlarge muggle was dead, crumpled on the floor face down, only a few feet away from his wife. Disgusting, he thought to himself as he gazed upon the room. The boy, the teenaged cousin of Potter no doubt was hidden in the closet, hardly fitting in the slim walls, his bulk hanging out from the door. His limp figure told Voldemort immediately that this boy was dead as well, never having stood a chance. But, as satisfying as these murders were, he wanted to ultimate one. He wanted Potter.

"My Lord," Said the voice of Macnair behind him. He turned and glowered at the man, and he was pleased to see the man noticeably shiver with fear. "My Lord, we can't find Potter. He's not here."

Voldemort himself felt like a fool at that very moment. And when Voldemort felt like a fool, his anger flared. And when his anger flared, people were usually tortured or even killed from his bad mood. Foolishness and embarrassment were not something he liked to have happen to him, especially now, when he had been so close to having Harry Potter in his grasp.

"WHAT?" He bellowed and stalked past Macnair throwing the man unconscious into a wall in the process. He proceeded to check every room, noticing the bare room at the end, no trunk or magical items in any. Voldemort screamed in anger. Potter had slipped away again!

Three minutes later, the house of Number Four Privet Drive was gone, and Vernon, Petunia and Dudley Dursley were all dead, their bodies encased inside a flame infested home, smoldering ashes keeping out the on-looking neighbors and police officers. The only evidence of foul play as they could see from the house, was an illuminated mark in the sky, in the shape of a skull with a snake protruding from it's mouth.

In the darkness, Voldemort stalked off, his anger flowing off of him like rivulets. He was intent on making somebody pay for his own miscalculations. Because Voldemort never made a mistake, and never would. He disaperated to a room full of fearful Death Eaters, were he freely let the curses fly, screams of anger heard above the cries of pain.

In the heart of London, inside the dusty old house of Number Twelve Grimmauld Place chaos reigned. The inhabitants had been woken up several minutes ago to pain filled screams and pleas, and all had rushed up to the bedroom on the second floor to where they had come from. Harry Potter was currently screaming at the top of his lungs, clawing at his forehead and thrashing so hard in bed that his head hit the wall with a sickening crash, echoing through the room and even above the boy's screams.

Every person in the house was accustomed to Harry's dreams but none had ever been this bad before. Never had Harry been thrashing around so hard that nobody could get near him, and never had they heard his screams so filled with pain and agony. It broke all their hearts as they rushed in, screaming for the boy to wake up but it was absolute no use. As much as they shook him, restrained him, and yelled, the boy was lost in his own world, the world of an agony filled nightmare.

It took nearly five minutes before Sirius had managed to get Harry to open his eyes and wake up, but the screams did not stop. Sirius was on top of him holding his arms in place while Remus and Kingsley held onto his legs, pinning him to the bed. Tonks had rushed downstairs to the fireplace, quickly trying to get a hold of Dumbledore and Severus Snape, or somebody who could diagnose something so that Harry would not be in such pain.

It was obvious that Harry was having a Voldemort induced dream. His forehead was bleeding from the claw marks made around his scar, the actual scar raw red and vibrantly pink. Harry's voice had started to go hoarse with the intensity of his screams and Sirius knew that Harry would be lucky if he still had his vocal cords intact if he kept this up. The boy screamed in pain, feeling the sensation so badly that his mind was burning to nothing and Harry could not tell what he was doing, where he was, or why he couldn't move. It was just too much to deal with.

It felt like an eternity, an eternity filled with yells of pain, pleas and tears before Harry's screams died and the boy went limp, too exhausted to even blink as his chest rose and fell quickly, taking in long and shallow breaths. The grips on his hands and legs receded and Sirius got up from the bed, hovering by the boy's head.

"Harry?" He said urgently. "Harry, can you hear me?"

Through the haze of fog and pain, Harry was sure that he could hear a voice. It sounded distant and the tone was filled with urgency and fear. He wanted to reach the voice and find out what they were saying to him but it was too much effort. He wanted to drift into unconsciousness, to not have to feel this pain, but something was not allowing him to do this. There was something nagging at his head, something that he needed to say. But he couldn't remember what it was.

There was a commotion somewhere around him and as the fog slowly started to clear he could make out snippets of conversation, yells, cries, panicked voices . . . he thought he even recognized some. He could hear Sirius, who for some reason sounded near hysterics and was shouting very loudly. He thought he had heard Dumbledore, and most oddly enough Professor Snape. But it was too much effort to open his eyes and find out if he were alone or in the company of others. Oh wait a second, his eyes were open.

He found himself staring up the ceiling, Sirius's face swimming in and out of view as his wide eyes blinked finally registering him. Already aware of the searing pain in his head, and the sense of exhaustion that consumed his body, he concentrated on breathing and listening to what Sirius was saying. Because he was moving his lips but the words could not seem to register in his mind.

Oh hey, there they were.

". . . Please Harry if you can understand what I'm saying just say something and if you can't just squeeze my hand!" He yelled. Harry noted that Sirius's eyes were glassy and his cheeks were streaked with tears. Harry found himself surprised. Was Sirius crying because of him? He found himself obeying Sirius's orders and managed a quiet rasp.

"Sir'us?"

"Yes, Harry, thank Merlin!" Sirius yelled and hastily wiped the tears from his eyes.

"Good, he's coherent now Black, now will you get the hell out of my way!" Spat a horrible voice to his side. It took a minute for Harry to realize that it was Professor Snape. Sirius gave him a brief, watery smile and squeezed his hand before he left Harry's line of vision and Snape entered, sneering horribly down at him.

"Cant you keep yourself out of trouble for two seconds?" Snape sneered.

"It was a Voldemort dream Severus, as you know," Said a calm lucid voice somewhere in front of him. He had no trouble recognizing at as Dumbledore. It took a moment as Snape checked his pupils and pulse what exactly he had said. A Voldemort dream . . .

It came back to him so plainly that he gasped and felt Sirius jump beside him. In a fit of adrenaline he sat up quickly, nearly colliding with Snape's head. His eyes went wide as the memories rushed back to him and the emotions of guilt and horror flooded into him.

"Voldemort. . . " He rasped out, turning his aching head and looking Dumbledore straight in the face. " Voldemort . . . Dursley's . . . dead." His throat was so raw that he could hardly make out the words, but Dumbledore understood them as though they had been shouted in his ears.

"Are you sure, Harry?" He asked quietly. Harry nodded and Dumbledore nodded to him and swept out of the room, calling for Kingsley, Tonks and Remus to follow him. Sirius grabbed Harry's shoulders and forced him to lye down again. Harry had no trouble complying as he closed his eyes and allowed the tears to leak through. He didn't care that Snape was hovering on top of him, watching as he cried. All he knew was that his relatives were dead, and it was entirely his fault.

It had been a mixture of emotional exhaustion and a string of spells that had forced Harry into a dreamless sleep after the Voldemort nightmare he had had that night. Snape had quickly gave him a checkup and a few potions and declared him healthy enough before leaving, no doubt to check up with Dumbledore and see if Harry's accusations were true. Sirius had sat with Harry for several hours before several Order members came flooing back to the house, where he left momentarily to see what was going on.

This was how Harry awoke, to the sounds of talking and hard arguing voices. They sounded close as if they were coming from outside of his bedroom door. He rolled over and tried to get himself to go back to sleep. He didn't care to know why his head was hurting so badly or why people were awake at such an hour at night. He just wanted to go to sleep.

But the voices sounded as they were coming closer, as if they were walking towards him. Grudgingly, Harry opened his eyes and blinked, staring at the alarm clock on his nightstand, the blurry numbers telling him it was ten past three in the morning! He groaned and groped in the darkness for his glasses and slid them on his face. He sat up and felt his head swimming, an unbearable headache forming everywhere in his head. His throat felt raw, but nothing that a drink of water couldn't cure, he hoped.

He suddenly realized as he looked towards his door, that he could hear as a group of people walked up the stairs towards his bedroom. He pierced his hearing as he stood up in bed, and after steadying himself, he crept to the door and pressed it against the keyhole.

". . . and Harry saw it all in a vision did he," Said a woman's voice, which sounded merely familiar to him.

"Yes." Someone sighed, and he realized it was Remus. "It was absolutely horrible. We all thought for a few moments that Harry was going to die, that's how intense his dream was. When he came out of it, we momentarily thought he had lost his mind from the cruciatus curse or something until he recognized Sirius. I could tell that even Severus was relieved that he was aware. That and surprised. . . "

"That has to be absolutely horrible," Tonks said as their voices stopped in traveling, and Harry guessed they had stopped at the top of the stairs. "Witnessing your relatives die like that!"

"They abused him!" Sirius hissed. "And they left him in an emotionally crippled state with no sympathy at all. I'm saying they deserved what they got."

Harry's eyes went wide. He had seen exactly what had happened to the Dursleys and he had to disagree with Sirius fully. Nobody, not even his relatives deserved to have died in such a state. Their bodies had been reduced to nothing but ash, so it was impossible for them to even be buried properly together. He winced at the thought of his aunts pale face, staring lifeless up at the ceiling and he bit his lip to stop a sob.

"Sirius, they were still people, people Harry saw die." Remus said. "Do you understand what this might to do his subconscious - to the state he's in right now? If you thought he was troubled before, well lets just say things got twice as worse."

Harry scowled for a moment. What did they think he was, a crazed child?

"It is really a horrible situation," Said the unfamiliar woman again. "What did the Ministry have to say about this? Are they accepting Voldemort's return now?"

He heard a growl and a deep sigh. "No." Kingsley answered out of them. "They said, not even with the Dark Mark that they hadn't had enough proof." Kingsley, even with his soft monotonous tone he usually carried, sounded bitter and angry at these words. "First they tried to blame the whole event on Harry, or at least Fudge did, but when it was confirmed by several sources, myself included that Harry was not in the house and had an alibi, Fudge concluded that it had to have been you Sirius."

"WHAT?" Sirius bellowed and Harry's eyes widened in horror.

"Shh! You'll wake Harry!" Tonks hissed to him. "Fudge is just trying to cover up the fact that there was a real Death Eater attack! He says that it was the work of a rogue Death Eater, most likely the work of the most wanted of them all, Sirius Black, escapee from Azkaban."

Harry leaned away from the door and stood up straight. His blood was boiling at the thought of the Ministries incompetence. How could they blame something so plainly from Voldemort on Sirius? The world just didn't seem to make sense. His godfather was blamed for his relatives death, and Harry was feeling sadness at the thought they weren't dead. Harry wasn't supposed to be sad, he was supposed to feel relieved about this. But for some reason, he couldn't.

Harry woke up very late the next morning, so late in fact that when he came downstairs, Remus was making lunch. He looked up and gave Harry a half smile as he entered the kitchen, which Harry plainly ignored and sat down at the table. No words were exchanged as Remus allowed Harry to be in silence for a while. In the corner of his eye he watched as Remus went over to a cupboard and took out three potions, poured them in separate goblets and placed them in front of Harry.

"What are they?" Harry said, realizing his voice was very raspy and quiet. He saw Remus fidget as he took a plate of sandwiches and a pitcher of pumpkin juice and place it on the table.

"Potions that Professor Snape told us to give you when you woke up." He said simply and placed a sandwich on Harry's plate. "One is for your throat, that's the brownish looking one, and another, the blue one is for your concussion and the other is a muscle relaxant, which is the vibrant purplish one. I'd suggest drinking some of that pumpkin juice afterwards unless you want the taste in your mouth all day."

Harry grimaced. Potions in general tasted rather badly, and even after the wide variety Harry had experienced all his life, the taste he knew was never going to get any better. He took the purple one first and didn't dare look at it for much longer. The smell alone made him want to gag, but he took a deep breath and downed it, grimacing the entire time. Remus chuckled and Harry threw him a dark look. He downed the other two just as quickly and dived into his pumpkin juice, earning a very amused smile from Remus.

"Do you feel any better?" Remus asked, the smile slipping off his face as he said this. Harry nodded.

"I still have a headache but that's to be expected, I guess." Harry whispered, realizing his throat didn't spark in pain anymore every time he talked. "How did I get a concussion?"

Remus looked uncomfortable for a minute before he answered. "When you were having your vision last night you were thrashing around so badly that you hit your head pretty hard off the wall."

Harry nodded and looked down at his untouched sandwich. More to have something to do than the fact that he was hungry, he took a bite and stared down solemnly at his plate. Upon hearing footsteps on the stairs he tensed. He had memorized the footfalls of every person who stayed in the house. The heavy shuffling he was hearing now belong to Sirius no doubt and he was the last person Harry wanted to face right now. Only because he knew that Sirius would question him.

Sure enough when he entered the kitchen, he spotted Harry and the questions started to fly. He wanted to know how he was feeling, if he had taken any potions, if he wanted to talk and said then all so quickly Harry didn't even dare try and get a word in edgewise. He turned and looked at Remus with his mouth slightly agape.

Remus took out his wand and put a silencing charm on the man. "Enough with the twenty questions," He said and then hastily removed it after the venomous glare he was receiving. "This is not the way to do this."

Sirius sighed and looked at Harry. "I'm sorry." He said. "I'm just worried about you." He wrapped his arm around Harry's shoulders but Harry instinctively twisted away and Sirius's arm fell. Harry cheeks burnt and he quickly looked away.

"I think it's time we've had a long overdue talk." Remus said suddenly. Harry quickly turned and looked at him. "You can't avoid this, and it's easier to say it now than keep putting it off."

"I don't want to talk." Harry said quickly. He stood up from the table. "I'm going to go find Tonks."

"Tonks is at work." Remus said and Harry paused. "As is Kingsley. They had to go in early to deal with what happened last night and are working late. Which means, its ample time for the three of us to sit down and have a long uninterrupted talk."

Harry glanced over at the door and wished that Sirius had not gotten up to block it. There were no other escape routes out of the kitchen, unless he turned and hauled himself into the pantry, but that led to a dead end and didn't have any doors to close it off. He was stuck, and he was pretty sure that this time, there wasn't going to be a way to get out of it. He wished he knew where Sirius kept the floo powder.

"Please." Harry begged, looking at Sirius straight in the face. "Please don't make me."

Sirius looked for a moment as if he was about to back away from the door, but he blinked and held firm. "I'm sorry Harry, but this is never going to go away if we don't talk."

"There isn't anything to talk about!" Harry said wildly, his throat starting to protest at his yelling.

"That's a lie, Harry, and you know it." Sirius said. He turned and closed the kitchen door, locking it. "Sit down."

Remus banished the forgotten lunch in front of them, and Harry almost wished he hadn't. At least if he was eating he'd have an excuse to stay silent, but now there was none. Slowly, he sat down in a chair staring at the table. I wish I could disappear, he thought as the two sets of eyes pierced on him.

"I think its best if we start from the dream last night and backtrack." Remus said. "First of all, why don't you tell us exactly what happened?"

Harry swallowed and hesitantly looked up. Without even realizing it, his mouth had opened and he started to talk from the very beginning to the very end. He found to his immense surprise, it hadn't been as hard as he thought. Sirius's comforting hand on his shoulder wasn't making him as uncomfortable as he thought and Remus holding his hand was welcomed. Maybe he could do this.

Authors Note: Finally we get down to the talk. I don't skip over it, it goes into detail the next chapter, it's a two part. I warned you all that the fluffiness was gone, didn't I? Thanks for the reviews on the last chapter by the way! And also I got bored so I created another story and I've posted it. It's called Through the Sands of Time and it's very enjoyable, I've been told. So review this story and then go read that story and review that too.

In search for a Beta for either stories, any takers? E-mail me or tell me in a review please.