Ballad For Dead Friends

Harry Potter, names, characters and related indicia are copyright of JK Rowling and Warner Bros ™

The title of this fiction, as well as the lyrics it contains, are the property of Dashboard Prophets. (Words: Dye/Music: Dashboard Prophets – Meyer, Bocci, Evanski, Dye). Published by Bent Halo Music/Weird Water Music/Garg Music/Here Comes Treble Music (ASCAP). Property of 1996 Dashboard Prophets.

In short, I claim nothing as my own except the plot… and even that is doubtful.

3. Dreaming

Have you been dreaming?

The Great Hall had been, as was traditional, decorated elaborately for the Christmas festivities. Lights glowed and flickered eerily as Harry stood a little way to the side of he dance floor, wand in hand, eyes scanning the crowd for anything that could possibly be construed as Death Eater activity. So far there had been no sign of trouble. Many students and teachers were standing around the drinks table, chatting to each other whilst consuming copious amounts of mulled wine and Butterbeer – the apparent joy of a peaceful Christmas breaking down the usual barriers constraining their interaction.

Harry's eyes flitted to the dance floor where the remainder of the faculty and children were dancing – and odd, synchronised, predatory dance. In one corner a lone couple waltzed in time with the music. Remus and Sirius, paws clasped and noses held aloft, barked and whined, singing along with the music, to which they were rotating around and around in a tight circle, tails wagging gently from side to side.

Sirius let out a series of short barks and yaps of greeting as they passed Harry, who stopped dead in his tracks, and began pushing his way through the throng of people toward the edge of the dance floor. Sweating slightly, he stumbled into the corner where he had last seen the pair, to find the space empty. Looking around wildly, Harry saw the tip of a tail disappearing back into the crowd in the direction from which he'd come. Without hesitation he made his way back onto the dance floor, determined not to lose sight of them.

As his feet touched the floor, the tempo of the music increased and the dancers began spinning circles around the dance floor. Harry desperately pushed them aside, forcing his way deeper into the crowd. A particularly energetic dancer knocked his feet from under him and he came crashing to the ground, wand flung from his grasp and his glasses knocked askew. Disoriented, and vision blurred, Harry threw his arms out blindly in an attempt to get back to his feet. The swirling of dress robes whirled around and around him until all he could see was a spiralling blur of colour. As he tried to scramble to his feet and fight the growing feeling of suffocation gyrating bodies bumped and jostled him, repeatedly preventing him from regaining his balance. His glasses slipped off his nose and Harry caught them a split second before they hit the ground to be crushed underfoot.

Encouraged by having his glasses settled once again firmly on his nose, he grabbed onto the closest swirling mass of colour and used it to propel himself back up and onto his feet. As he dusted off his robes, resuming his perusal of the celebration, the deliberate movement of a wand caught his eye and he glanced toward its source. Standing at the head-table was Snape, appearing to be lost to the merriment as he practised wand movements. A look of intense concentration distorted his features as he slashed at Draco Malfoy, whose chest was repeatedly lacerating with each flick. Malfoy did not seem to mind – or, indeed, notice – that he was bleeding profusely from his chest, his silver dress robes dripping freely and stained scarlet. He continued chatting animatedly to Blaise Zabini, whilst Pansy Parkinson floated above him looking, to Harry's eyes, a pink, over-inflated balloon as she stroked Draco's hair back from his face, whispering in his ear. He slapped her away, absentmindedly, as if she were a fly, and appeared only vaguely aware of anything happening as she proceeded to sprout wings. A few students laughed and pointed as her eyes swelled enormously and filled with tears, but most did not appear to notice anything as she flew away sobbing, in a manner not unlike that of Moaning Myrtle.

Over to the side of the room Dumbledore danced with Cedric Diggory in a kind of reverse tango, whilst McGonagall twirled in pirouettes around them in a tartan tutu. Snakes slipped in and around their feet, cursing mudbloods in sibilant whispers; and Hermione, dressed in a tea-towel and tea-cosy watched Dobby, Krum and Ron dance to ring-a-rosy in the middle of the floor.

The lights suddenly dimmed and several people screamed as the hall was pitched into darkness. Wand miraculously returned to his hand, Harry muttered under his breath and the lights came back on.

His relief was momentary.

Finding his shoes damp, Harry glanced toward the floor and retched as blood began seeping up through the cracks in the stones. He ran forward, trying to calm the crowd of frightened children, but the room began to spin. Without warning, he was immobilised, and could only watch in despair as Sirius re-appeared in front of him, now locked in fierce combat with Bellatrix Lestrange. Knowing what was about to happen – locked within the loop, unable to move, unable to scream, unable to look away – Harry was forced to watch helplessly as Sirius once again was struck with the surge of red light.

Heart breaking, Harry struggled and struggled to move; if only this time he could get there, he could make it, he could catch Sirius before he fell through the curtain. In slow motion he watched again as Sirius fell. Every detail the same, his astonished face still alight with the laughter Harry had seldom seen in the last months of his life. The veil, once again, lifted from the floor as if caught in a gale and, once again, came to rest still rippling in the breeze that disturbed nothing else.

Too late again.

Straining so hard he thought he might haemorrhage, Harry began to break through the spell. Non-verbal incantations flowed through his mind as he slowly began to move his head, eyes watering from exertion as they automatically sought Dumbledore. He was still dancing with the Hufflepuff quidditch captain, apparently unconcerned, despite the fact that one of his hands had mysteriously blackened and was smoking slightly. He was watching as Snape continued to cut at Malfoy, occasionally sending a random unforgivable curse into the crowd of students, with a benevolent smile on his lined face.

Turning, Dumbledore looked straight into Harry's eyes, 'You must remember, Harry, I trust Professor Snape. He is the key. He is the truth. Above all, he is my friend.'

Harry wrenched free of the remnants of the curse, ignoring the sudden movement behind Dumbledore, his mouth already open in protest, 'But, sir!'

A flash of green light lit the room without warning and Cedric Diggory was lying spread-eagled at Dumbledore's feet on the grave of Peter Pettigrew. Harry instinctively raised his wand as his eyes adjusted to the sudden dark of the moonless night, fighting the bile that was rising in his throat. He tore his eyes from the still form of the handsome prefect to look for Snape, who was now two-stepping with Dumbledore over and around the graves.

Harry furiously starting toward them found himself being held back and, whirling around, found Draco Malfoy, sobbing bitterly as he continued to tug on the back of Harry's broom. His face smoothly melted into Snape's who chuckled maliciously, 'Remember, Mr Potter, I know your every thought, not matter how hard you try. Subtlety is incomprehensible to you.'

There was another flash of green and Dumbledore was tumbling over the battlements of Hogwarts. With a scream of fury Harry tore himself from, the again sobbing, Malfoy; but then Ron was there, his eyes glowing red as he snatched the fake horcrux from around Harry's neck.

Harry screamed, his ears were filled with a rushing sound, the room was spinning again, tables and chairs flying, a high wind began tearing curtains and drapes, students began revolving around him as if caught in a whirlwind, he was falling into darkness, something stuck him across the face and he looked up…

The light was streaming in through the drawing room window and he shook his head slightly before rising stiffly from his chair, ignoring the books and papers that fell from his lap, and moving away from Ron and Hermione's concerned gazes.

I don't dream at all.

I have nightmares.