Often, the door reappeared, and Sirius's heart experienced a transient high of excitement. It faded, though, making his heart shrink in disappointment as he heard the intoxicated slurring of a distant, butchered folk song, and the too familiar smell of sherry filled his nostrils.

He sighed, his shoulders slumping in displeasure. He had put his faith this room. It had provided for him, kept him alive, so to speak. The room had given him a disembodied friend, a confidant. This mysterious place had earned his respect, his trust. And yet, the room made a door materialize, only to fade away again, always tantalizing him, leading him on and deeper into insanity. It was a jail that drove its prisoners insane, but it was nothing like Azkaban. He was trapped here, physically as well as mentally, unable to leave. He was in a straightjacket filled with useless shit that constricted his every movement and his every thought. Trying to get out only made it worse. His ears rung and his head buzzed with the words of the voice, making his straightjacket feeling more maddening. He had to leave. He had to get out. He had to get to Harry, help him fight, finish his duties as godfather. He needed a second chance to make up for lost time, to spend every possible moment with Harry. His godson was in trouble, he could sense it somehow and he had to help him. He could still hear his calls for him, resounding in his mind, mixing cacophonously with the voice's distant tones.

Harry… the baby boy he held in his arms. Harry… the child he should have watched grow up… Harry… the teenager he should have seen of to Hogwarts every year… Harry… the young man who was so much like his father that it brought proud, nostalgic tears to Sirius's eyes. And he hoped, with every fiber in his body that his godson was safe…

The sun was shining brightly through the windows that led to nowhere, the light swallowing the whole darkness from the night before. The sunlight reflected off the bottles and remaining sherry droplets and made kaleidoscopic patterns that danced freely on the wall. But no matter how freely the danced, they, like Sirius, were contained only to this room and escaping wasn't feasible. But unlike Sirius, they were happy, unable to feel the constricted, refined feeling that this room trapped them in, like fireflies in glass jars.

Sirius felt around him, unsure of what he was searching for. He was wet, drenched in his own sweat, his face salty with tears and all ten of his fingernails glared sparkly with crimson.

"You were talking in your sleep." It was the voice once more, and this time, Sirius knew exactly where she was. He was led to believe she was standing, visible in the corner. All he had to do was turn around and he would see her at last. But he didn't move. He was glued to his spot from the shock she inflicted on him with her sudden piercing of the thick sheet of silence. "Is Harry your godson?"

"I— Yeah… He is. Was—was I talking about Harry?"

The voice hummed a sound that replaced the verbal 'yes'. "You sounded worried about him, you were so nervous you chewed your nails until there was nothing left, I'm assuming. I've mended your wounds the best way I could without a wand.

"Harry sounds familiar, very brave from what I heard. You sounded very proud, but very, very, terribly concerned. Is Harry all right?"

"I—Yeah… No. I—I don't know." But Sirius got the impression that the voice wasn't listening to him anymore.

"He… He sounds familiar…" The voice was trailing off melodically, "So familiar…" She was so absorbed in her thoughts, her voice sounded trance-like.

"Familiar how?"

"My daughter knows him. They were here."

Sirius's heart was now on a rollercoaster ride. He was excited to know that Harry was here, in the same room as him at some point in time. He was disheartened knowing he had missed him. He was also disappointed when taking into consideration he was dead and here. If Harry was here, was Harry okay? And then his heart felt light once more when remembering the very much alive alcoholic that utilized this room to conceal her collection of sherry bottles. That must have meant Harry was alive as well; he just came in here to hide something, right? But why was the voice's daughter here?

"What," Sirius asked carefully, "what was he doing here?"

"I couldn't tell," she said, her voice much like that of a sleepwalker with logorrhea, "he was talking. Just talking. There was yelling, too. He spoke to my daughter kindly, as if she was an equal, a friend. I appreciated that. I like him."

"Yeah, yeah. He's a great kid. But was he okay?" Sirius said, ignoring the pain in his red fingertips as fresh coat of blood began to issue forth.

"I suspect so." She said.

Silence drifted once more, like falling snow over them, dusting them in a thick layer of soft whiteness. It was almost unbearably quiet. Once the silence was broken, Sirius didn't want to put it back together once more. So he broke it again, hoping the soft dusting of silence would melt away, leaving him in comfortable conversation and sound once more. He wanted, needed to know that all of his sense still worked.

"So, do you have a name?" He asked, the silence thawing away as he thought—and hoped—it would.

The voice laughed. "Every living thing on Earth has a name, Sirius."

Sirius was taken aback. "What? How did you--?"

"Know your name?" she finished for him. "Sirius, you talk in your sleep. When you hear that, you're bound to pick up on things."

"That's not fair. You know my name, but you've never told me yours. Don't tell me I have to guess, because that would be such a buzz kill right about now."

The voice laughed. "Loralee. That's my name; Loralee."

Sirius smiled. "That's beautiful," he said.

"Well, I'm glad you think so," the voice named Loralee responded.

They fell silent for a moment, but Sirius's stomach broke the quiet like a knife. He simply looked up at the ceiling and said. "I really need food."

Nothing happened.

"I really, really need food." Sirius begged, one hand holding his stomach silent.

Still, not even a crumb materialized.

From somewhere in the room, Loralee sighed. "It's no use, Sirius. There isn't anymore available food. It's all gone."

"What do you mean by 'available' food?"

"You're an animagus. You must be good at Transfiguration, are you not? You tell me."

Sirius thought about this. "Well," he started, searching the depth of his mind, "you can't conjure food…"

"Exactly!" Loralee responded happily, as if she was at Sirius's abilities.

"We'll then what are we supposed to do, then?"

Loralee, even in a time like this, managed to chuckle. Sirius, confused, heard rummaging and what sounded like a stone rolling away. He was immediately hit with the smell of Danishes and eggrolls. Sirius followed his nose, but saw no one where he was expecting Loralee to be. Instead, a passageway fell into his field of vision.

"Go on," Loralee encouraged, an invisible hand attached artfully to her words pushing Sirius forward. Down he walked, the longing for the food at the end of the tunnel being his driving force.

There were no steps. Just a steep slant downward, spider webs and dimly lighted torches met him on his descent into near darkness.

The heavenly scent seemed to grow stronger and stronger by each inch he walked.

At last, Sirius reached a dead end. But the aroma of awaiting Chinese food and wonderful desert was tantalizingly close. Sirius placed his forehead against the wooden door. "You were right, Loralee, it's no use."

"Come now," said Loralee in a singsong voice, "Things aren't always what they seem."

"What are you? A Ravenclaw?"

"And what's wrong with that?" Loralee's voice was now stiff and proud.

"Nothing," Sirius said, holding his hands up, squinting into the distance, looking for Loralee now instead of just hearing her. "The woman I loved back when I was younger was a Ravenclaw. I'm just saying; it explains a lot." Sirius turned back to the wall. "Things aren't always what they seem, you say…?" Sirius placed his hands on the wood, running them along its weathered surface. In doing this, he came across a peculiar engraving. "Runes?" He asked looking at them. "Loralee, I never took Ancient Runes."

But Loralee, as she so often did, only giggled once more. "Look closer. Things aren't always what they seem," She repeated encouragingly. Sirius was sure by this point that even Loralee wasn't even sure of what was going on. For all he knew, she could be unknowingly leading them into a trap.

But Sirius did as she told him. He squinted, rubbed off decades of dust, and cocked his head sideways. After staring at the odd carving, it came to Sirius. These weren't ruins at all, but an intricate design in the wood. In English, the words "Welcome, friend" were written, and were repeated in Latin. Below the elegant engraving was a year: 1849. And below the year were three tick marks.

"What does that mean?" Sirius asked the shadows beside him, which he assumed Loralee was hiding in. The wall was obviously very old, centuries even. And finding a way through it was going to be challenge implanted by some wise old man with knowledge that exceeded any living witch or wizard living; Sirius was sure of it.

"You figure it out." She said simply. "I believe in you." These were words Sirius hadn't wanted to hear, but had expected.

He clenched his fist, and rapped thrice on the beautiful carving. The rose that had been there bloomed to reveal the head of a lion that smiled up at him and bowed to them with a soft, throaty rumble. The sound of tumblers in a lock clicked cleanly into place and Sirius heard a door creak open. "That was it? No riddle? No odd, death-defying task? If only all things in life (or death) were this easy..." he said laughing, relived.

Sirius barged quickly through the door, light flooding the tunnel like water rushing into a gutter. He squinted his eyes as he emerged into it. The moment his eyes adjusted, he lowered the hand that shielded him.

Nothing could prepare him for what awaited him; a scared looking woman armed with a kitchen knife.

***

A/N: Dear readers, feel free to send me predictions in reviews and private messages. I encourage your involvement and interest in my stories. I will be selling thinking caps at the concession stand during intermission if you need any help with my guessing games ;). I hope you have enjoyed the latest installment of DMR, and I hope to hear from all of my lovely viewers. Much love to you all. Peace out, CrayonQueen.