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There was a flash of green light, a rushingh sound, and Frank Bryce crumpled. He was dead before he hit the floor. Two hundred miles away in a quiet terraced house, a boy called Harry Potter woke with a start.

Head throbbing and heart pouding he tried to catch his breath. A stampede galloping through his chest. A cold sweat layered his body like a second skin. It had all been too real, too vivd. The images too crisp to be a dream. The scar on his forehead burned with the white hot intensity of a blow torch. He sat up, one hand still firmy pressed against his scar, trying desperatly at the pain.

Harry tried to recall the dream, it had seemed so clear...he concentrated hard, frowning trying to remember. The dim picture of a darkened room came to him...there had been a giant serpent...wormtail...and a cold high voice...the voice of Lord Voldemort. Harry felt as though he had been suddenly submerged in a vat of ice cold water. Chilling him to the bone. 'It was just a dream' he kept telling himself. 'Just a dream' although he couldnt help the niggling feeling that it was more than that. An omen of something sinister waiting in the wings.

Harry released his face frim his hands, took a deep soothing breath and opened his startling green eyes. After that dream he half expected to see something unusual at the foot of his bed. But just his wooden trunk lay half opened hapazardly beside his broomstick, black robes and assorted spell books. Nothing out of the ordinary (at least to him). On the floor beside his bed a book lay open. Pictures in the book were zooming in and out of sight on broomsticks. He swung his legs onto the floor and kicked the book shut, crossed his room to the window and drew back the curtains. Surveying the street below.

Privet Drive was deserted. Not unusual for the time of night. But Harry felt the darkness like a livewire. The world standing on the tip of a knifes edge, still, there wasn't a living creature in sight, not even a cat. He went restlessly back to bed and sat down, running a hand through his hair before tracing the outline of his lightning bolt scar. It wasn't the pain that bothered Harry, he was made of stronger stuff then that. No, it was the pains meaning. The last time it had hurt was because Voldemort was near...it was impossible 'just a dream' he shook himself wishing, wishing he had someone to confide in.

Ron would just say to tell Dumbledore, but what if it was nothing? Bothering the Headmaster about a twinge in his scar seemed ludicrous. She would know what to do. She always knew. His mind wandered back to that night. In the safety of his bedroom he saw no harm...

"Run Harry! Move!" Hermione screamed pushing Harry with all her might. Almost knocking him to the floor. Professor Lupin was running at them teeth bared, muzzle frothing and blood lust clear as day in his anamlistic eyes. They ran. The sprinted. Their feet barely touching the ground. Escaping into the forest, into the great black. The heavy pads of the werewolf thumping behind them with great booms; fast on there trails. Fear ripped through Harry's body, it raked down his heart like claws.

Hermione! She ran ahead of him a blur of curls weaving between the trees. She flicked her head around, catching his eyes for a brief moment before they widened, terror ecompassing her beautiful face. "HARRY!" The shrill scream tore into the night as he tumbled to the floor. Sharp knives dug into his back. He face planted the dirt, hands splayed out uselessly as the great weight on his back crushed his chest. A crunching and snapping noise emenating from his ribs. He couldn't hold in his cry pain.

Suddenly the knife like claws ripped from his back, the weight gone. He tried to push himself up, but lacked the will power to push through the agony. "Harry come on!" Hermione was by his side. She was alright, a wave of relief flooding his body as he saw the tears freely streaking down her cheeks. "Get up Harry, Lupin won't be down for long..."

Harry turned away from the memory. She had saved him. She had protectred him. And now she wouldn't even look his way. Yes, she would know what to do, but the events in the forest had changed things. They were no longer friends they were something else. What he really wanted, thinking of it made him feel almost ashamed, was a parent. Someone who wouldn't judge him, someone who cared about him, who had experience with dark magic. The solution hit him like a tonne of bricks. Sirius! Harry leapt up from the bed, hurried across the room and sat down at his desk.

He pulled put some parchment grabbed a quill and began to write. Dear Sirius , he paused, unsure how to continue. He almost had a home with Sirius, for a brief moment he'd had a future free of the Dursleys. Harry would gladly destroy Wormtail for what he had done. The little rat had betrayed his parents, sent Sirius to Azkaban and he'd ruined anything he might have with Hermione. Wormtail would pay for what he did in the forest. Harry had sent Sirius a couple of letters over the summer all delivered by huge brightly coloured birds. Harry could imagine the prankster smile painted across Sirius's face whenever one of the birds came flying towareds his window.

Sirius had been entertaining Harry with tails of the Marauders adventures. He had never known anything about his parents at school before. It was amazing to finally feel so close to them. To share in their laughter, their arguments and their love. It had made Harry happy to think of Sirius enjoying his freedom on some far off tropical island. Harry picked up in the quill again, he needed his god fathers advice.

Dear Sirius,

Thanks for your last letter, these bloody birds are getting bigger and bigger. Aunt Petunia almost had a heart attack. Things are the same here, the Dursleys are leaving me alone. Mainly because they think you'll hex them if I ask you too. But, um, something wierd happend last night. I has this dream. It was really vivid...

Once Harry had finished re-counting the parts of the dream he remembered and mentioning his scar hurting. He read and re-read it twice and then signed it Your Godson, Harry. He thought it looked okay. Quickly attaching the letter to hedwigs leg and he sent her on her way. He watched her dreamily as she flew out of sight. The sunrise began to gleam over the horizon. Harry couldn't help but think longingly of Hermione, would she ever forgive him for what he had to do?