Chapter 14: Holding On

Rising to his feet, Sirius headed for the stairs, taking them two at a time. When he got to Harry's room, he saw his godson hadn't moved since he'd left. His eyes were closed, his body tense and his hands curled into tight fists; he was still trembling and the beginning of a flush was creeping across his face. As Sirius brushed Harry's fringe off his forehead he could feel the heat radiating off him.

"Harry?" Sirius perched on the edge of the bed and waited for Harry to look at him. "Where does it hurt? And for that matter, how did you get hurt?"

"My connection with Voldemort means I can feel the effect of his spells and, through his connection with the Death Eaters, their curses as well." Harry explained wearily.

"What… what spells did they use?"

"Sirius..."

"I know you don't like being fussed over but I need to know if we're going to treat the aftereffects," Sirius said firmly. "You said the Death Eaters tortured the man for a while… did you feel all of the curses?"

"Yes," Harry admitted reluctantly.

Sirius flinched. "Which spells?"

"I can't remember all of them. There were some I'd never heard of…"

"Stop stalling, Harry. Just tell me the ones you recognised."

Harry hesitated before saying in little more than a whisper, "The Cruciatus."

Sirius felt as if the ground had disappeared under him. "Oh, Harry," he breathed.

"I'm okay, Sirius."

Shaking his head, Sirius answered firmly, "No, you're not. You're still shaking, you keep biting your lip against the pain and you're developing a fever. Besides, no one is ever 'okay' after being subjected to the Cruciatus. I'm calling Madam Pomfrey."

"Isn't she on holidays?"

"Yes, but she'll come. She has some familiarity with your visions and won't sell the story to the Daily Prophet. I can't guarantee the same for anyone from St Mungo's."

As Harry nodded tiredly, reluctantly, Sirius pulled out his wand and gave it a wave; an immense silvery four-legged creature erupted from it and streaked off out the window into the darkness.

"Was that a Patronus?" asked Harry, keeping his eyes open with difficulty.

"Yes, it'll go to Pomfrey and speak the message in my voice. It's useful when you don't know a person's exact location; it's much quicker than an owl."

"Right," said Harry vaguely; his eyes fell closed of their own accord.

"Harry? Harry, you should try to stay awake until Madam Pomfrey comes."

Sirius' voice seemed to be coming from a great distance.

"Mmm…"

Harry felt an arm slide under his shoulders and ease him into a sitting position. "Come on, stay awake for a bit longer. Keep talking… what's this I've heard about a troll, a baby dragon and a three-headed dog? Sounds like you've had a busy few years."

"That was all first year," said Harry dimly. He had to hold onto Sirius' shoulder to stay upright; he was grateful that Sirius still had an arm behind him as he was feeling a bit woozy. "And you forgot the oversized bat."

"Bat?"

Harry managed a small smile, "Yeah, Snape."

Sirius chuckled then grew serious. "I would like to assume your second year was a nice, quiet year, but the evidence so far suggests that would be overly optimistic."

"Just a bit," said Harry sheepishly as he tried to keep his head from drooping onto his chest.

"Please tell me you gave the dragons a rest."

"Yeah, I did… at least until fourth year. Second year was an overzealous House Elf, a killer tree, gigantic man-eating spiders, a conceited wand-happy idiot, a Basilisk and a memory of a 16 year old Voldemort… but that was nothing compared to third year. Did you hear about that crazy mass murderer who was after me?"

"Just in passing. Personally, I think the guy is pretty cool."

As Harry opened his mouth to retort, the scar on his forehead burned so badly that he gasped and clapped his hand to it; he suddenly felt dizzy and weak, and would have toppled off the side of the bed if Sirius hadn't grabbed his arms.

"What is it?" asked Sirius, sounding alarmed.

"Scar," Harry mumbled. The pain was steadily worsening.

"It'll pass soon." Sirius replied, not sounding at all convinced.

"I don't… think… so…"

The room, the gentle night noises, the sound of Sirius' voice were all extinguished. Pain cleaved Harry's head like a sword stroke. He was standing in a dimly lit room, and a semicircle of wizards faced him, and on the floor at his feet knelt a black-robed, quaking figure.

"I only asked you to do a simple task, Macnair. Surely a man of your… caliber could manage to find and kill a child, a mere infant." His voice was high and cold, but fury burned inside him. To leave this task unfinished was a show of weakness and he, Lord Voldemort, would not be considered weak by anyone.

"My lord, we searched the house and yard thoroughly, and my men have combed the woods. She is not there."

Macnair was trembling and avoiding his eyes; it brought him a small degree of pleasure to see the strong and resilient man brought so low.

But he could not have such a weakling under his authority. He must be taught a lesson in strength. Who better to teach it than he? Hadn't he created a reputation that had witches and wizards everywhere so afraid they trembled at the mere mention of his name?

His yew wand slashed through the air and the kneeling man fell forward, thrashing around on the floor, screaming high-pitched agonized screams, lost in the unforgiving clutches of pain.

Two hundred miles away, another person was yelling and convulsing in a similar fashion as two figures tried desperately to wake him.