The room remained completely hushed that night at Grimmauld Place 12, save for the intense creaking of the bed frame under Sirius' restless shifting.

He lay sprawled on the bed, the sheets were in disarray, tossed aside as he shifted and turned for the last hour. His bare chest rose and fell rapidly, and with each turn, his limbs twitched and jerked, showing his uncovered feet sticking outside the crumpled sheets. The creaking was also followed by his continuous groaning and gasping.

The same long corridor again. Sirius cautiously navigated the corridor, his wand gripped tightly in his hand. The familiar doors that had previously lined the passage were nowhere to be found, leaving him trapped. He needed to keep moving, to find a way to get out of there.

Suddenly, a door swung open, breaking the oppressive stillness.

The same woman again, her hair cascading around her shoulders as if caught in a breeze. But the room was suffocating; it was her movement, her attempts to tell him something desperately, again. He started moving closer, but he could not speak, he could not make a sound, but he yearned to know, to know who she was. He needed to reach her.

Yet the closer to her Sirius got, the more elusive her features remained. She pointed urgently towards a single door that materialised before them, tears streaming down her face as she uttered inaudible words.

Compelled by a desire to see her, Sirius approached the door, drawing closer and closer. His longing to reveal her face grew with every step. Slowly, she turned her back towards him, and with a gradual, deliberate motion, she faced him. But instead of the woman he had anticipated, his eyes met the chilling gaze of another woman, one he wished to forget.

His cousin, Bellatrix Lestrange, stood in front of him smiling menacingly. Her black eyes were shining with discovery.

Sirius took a step back instinctively, unable to comprehend what was happening, his wand pointing at her directly. He shouted at her but could not hear his words, he was not even sure if his words could leave his body. Instead, he just stood there, looking at his horrible cousin feeling rage erupting within him, setting him alight.

Bellatrix advanced towards him, her words ringing with a sinister clarity in his ears. "Time to claim you," she whispered in a silky voice. "You are mine, always have been," she added with a horrible toothy smile.

Her presence engulfed Sirius like a suffocating fog. She was tall and graceful with a mane of dark waves, she carried the familiar features of the Black family but in a sinister twist, in a chilling aura. The air turned heavy and Sirius felt like he was falling into the veil again, unable to react, unable to do anything at all.

When she drew nearer, Sirius could smell her, an intoxicating mix of flowers, dirt and decay, mingling with the acrid scent of magic. It clung to his senses, invading his nostrils, it was sickening.

Without him knowing what was happening, without being able to react, she was close to him, very close and every inch of his skin prickled with repulsion as her body pressed against his, her cold hands brushing through his face, his cheeks, and finally his neck, tracing an ugly movement on his Adam's apple. Panic surged through Sirius, his instincts screaming at him to break free from her grasp. His muscles tensed, ready to push her away, but his body felt heavy, as if imprisoned by an invisible force.

"How does it feel that you'll go from my hand?" she purred, her hand still on his neck.

Sirius mustered every ounce of his willpower, his voice raw with desperation as he attempted to scream at Bellatrix, to push her away. He fought against the rising panic but it was as if his muscles strained against an unseen force, his limbs heavy and unresponsive. It was as if he stood at the mercy of a paralysing spell.

He was not sure what happened or how, but her lips met his, and he could do nothing to stop the fleeting cold physicality. The sensation was soft but chilling, a mockery of intimacy. It ended as it started, and her crazed face was near again, her teeth bare, eyes rolling in laughter.

A family greeting , her high-pitched voice echoed in the room. Again, again, until Sirius felt like falling, as he closed his ears, his scream ever inaudible in contrast to Bellatrix's voice.

Gasping for air, Sirius catapulted out of bed, his heart thundering in his chest. He looked at his surroundings quickly and realised he was in his old room before sprinting towards the bathroom as he felt the familiar bout of nausea hitting him hard.

He slammed open the bathroom door, and stumbled forward to his knees in front of the toilet, his body convulsing violently, as he vomited.

Rising unsteadily, Sirius staggered towards the sink, his face pale and contorted with a mix of disgust and terror. He twisted the faucet handle, and scrubbed his features ferociously, his fingers digging into his skin as if trying to erase the lingering touch of Bellatrix's lips. He was a terrible sight, he noticed. Pale, almost green, with bloodshot eyes, his hair dishevelled and drenched in sweat.

Swiftly, Sirius tried to even out his breathing and ran a hand into his hair, not looking in the mirror anymore. He knew what he needed to do, it was impossible to avoid anymore.

He swiftly returned to his bedroom and frantically scoured the area. His eyes darted around the room, scouring for a quill and ink to scribble a letter to Dumbledore. The room felt stuffy, like a sauna, as if the weight of his nightmares still hung in the air, suffocating him.

Perched at his desk, shirtless and a hot mess, Sirius gripped the quill tightly, its ink-stained tip hovering over the parchment. His throat felt scratchy, raw from the earlier ordeal. With shaky hands, he began to write frantically.

Could Bellatix have possessed him? Was this something similar to what had happened to Harry the day when the Death Eaters invaded the Ministry to get the prophecy?

As the words took shape on the parchment, Sirius's mind raced with a mix of determination and exhaustion. Dumbledore needed to know of this, there was no doubt.

Finishing the letter, he folded it meticulously, sealing it. He then clapped his hands sharply to summon the owl and moments later a sleek owl perched outside his window.

Sirius ambled toward the window, weariness tugging at his sore limbs. With graceful precision, the owl glided through the open window, its feathers gleaming in the dim room. It extended a leg, waiting expectantly for the letter.

"Take this to Dumbledore immediately," Sirius said in a voice that was strained and worn. He gingerly attached the letter to the owl's outstretched leg and the owl took off, vanishing into the night, carrying Sirius's words to the one person who might bring him assistance.

Sirius left the window open so the night autumn breeze could enter his bedroom and with a deep groan he slumped forward, his head against the cool surface of the desk, sighing heavily.

Emma carefully arranged a row of vials on a sturdy wooden table, her brows furrowed in concentration. The room smelled of antiseptic and potions, a familiar blend that reminded her of St. Mungo's. As she glanced around, she took in the transformed space. The once-empty first floor had transformed into a functioning medical facility, with cots, shelves filled with potions, and various medical supplies neatly organised.

For the past two weeks, Emma had been Eulalia Shackelbolt's trusted partner in smuggling essential resources from St. Mungo's to the Order's hospital wing. Emma's days had become a whirlwind of action. She and Eulalia decided that it was easier to act fast in the early morning hours when most healers had not started their rounds. Emma would patrol specific corridors waiting for Eulalia who stashed materials and potions in her cubicle under a concealment charm.

As she kept looking at the meticulously arranged supplies within the hospital, Emma couldn't help but feel a swell of pride. In cases of emergency, their little makeshift hospital wing could host up to fifteen members, as they were using the whole first floor, above the library when the Order meetings were held. She was not sure how many floors Grimmauld Place 12 had as she had not dared explore the premises, but the mansion seemed expansive and she guessed that its permanent occupants were staying above. Emma had not dared explore the other floors as her duties grounded her to the making of the hospital out of the old rooms, which were unoccupied. She later found out that the rooms were Black's parents' bedrooms. Yes, they slept separately because they were clearly extremely posh. Tonks had also confirmed that since apparently she and Black were related.

Tonks was one of the permanent members she would see every day at the hospital since the young woman had taken a liking to Emma and sought out her company. Perhaps it was also that the younger guests of the mansion, Harry Potter and his friends, had left for Hogwarts and their absence left a palpable void in the air.

Emma occasionally caught glimpses of Potter and his friends, their fleeting presence capturing her attention. Each time she saw him, her heart skipped a beat. Emma was keenly aware that Harry did not know their shared history. Her connection to his parents through Peter, remained a secret to him. What would the boy think if he knew, she pondered often when she found herself alone arranging the shelves of the hospital.

Black was also conspicuously absent from her affairs and for that she was grateful.

During the few times she had caught a glimpse of him in the hallway or on her way downstairs speaking with someone or with Tonks, she would swiftly hide. She had memorised his brisk and energetic walk and this gave her time to sneak into one of the rooms without being noticed.

And there was also Lupin, who lived in the headquarters. Emma was curious about him. She couldn't help but be intrigued by Lupin, Peter's other friend who resided in the headquarters. She observed Lupin's peculiar behaviour, always dressed in turtleneck sweaters and cardigans, probably to conceal his odd-shaped scars. Her medical mind ignited with curiosity, wondering about the stories behind those hidden marks.

Despite the air of mystery surrounding him, Lupin seemed gentle and accommodating. He would occasionally seek Emma out on the hospital floor, inviting her to join him and Sirius for lunch or supper. She would quickly decline, hastily fabricating an excuse to escape the situation. To her relief, Lupin never pressed further, respecting her boundaries. He seemed agreeable, not detached and broody like Black, who seemed to be hiding in his bedroom.

Emma couldn't help but wonder about the dynamics between Lupin and Black. They seemed close, even after being separated for twelve years after Black escaped from prison. But Remus Lupin was not only a friend of Black's. He was also a friend of Petey's. Deep inside her, she questioned whether Lupin held the knowledge she longed for, the answers to what truly transpired between Sirius and her brother.

The door swung open suddenly and Emma gasped but it was only Eulalia with Alastor Moody.

"You won't believe what I managed to snag this time," Eula said, her voice a hushed but excited whisper. Mood was moved at the back of the room, grunting, and looking over all supplies with his magical eye.

"Don't mind me," he grumbled.

Emma turned to face Eula. "What did you get, Eula? Please tell me it's something we desperately need," she said mischievously, the corner of her eye-catching Mood at the far end.

Eula's grin widened. "Oh, it's something we need. How about a stash of rare potions and some top analgesic ointments with dragon tears? St. Mungo's won't even notice they're gone. I had to dodge a snoopy healer, though. Nearly got caught red-handed!" She chuckled, her wide eyes gleaming.

Emma's eyes widened in amusement at the giddy reactions of her eccentric supervisor. "Eula, you're a legend! How on earth did you manage that?"

Eula shrugged nonchalantly. "A little bit of charm, a dash of distraction, and a whole lot of luck. It's all about timing, my friend."

"And constant vigilance," barked Moody, whose eye was inspecting the vials and the instruments on the triage table.

Emma couldn't help but laugh, a mixture of relief and excitement bubbling up inside her. "Well, you've got the knack for it. This place is coming together, thanks to your skills."

Eula nodded. "Aye, it's a labour of love, but not only mine," she winked and Emma smiled pleased at the acknowledgement. Eulalia strode around the counters with the instruments and stood near a gurney, addressing Moody. "We wanted to make sure everyone here had what they needed, even if it meant some risky moves. And those three big bedrooms we found? We've turned them into spaces for patients. Black's parents would be rolling in their graves if they knew," she said amused, chuckling gutturally.

Moody grunted approvingly, his magical eye scrutinising the high ceiling of the room. "Impressive work, girls. We'll need every advantage we can get in the coming days, and this hospital will be vital."

Emma felt her insides swell with pride at Moody's words, as she wanted to get along well with the intimidating former Auror. After a while, though, when he finalised inspecting the hospital wing, and Moody greeted both healers and departed, Emma felt a sense of relief that she was not under his odd eye's watch.

But then something odder than Moody's eye happened, as Eula leaned in closer to Emma, her voice a low rasp. "Come, I have to show you something," the older healer said, looking around her as if to make sure they were completely alone.

Emma curiously approached her supervisor, confused and curious. Her gaze also darted toward the door, which Eulalia had shut and locked with her wand. Emma could see she had something in the front pocket of her burgundy cloak.

"Listen up, kid" Eula grumbled. "There's something you need to know, but it's strictly confidential. It's about a patient. Within the Order," she clarified as she took her hand out of her pocket. She clutched a letter and a small vial containing a mysterious, foggy substance.

Emma turned, her eyes widening in surprise. "What's that you've got there?" she asked, curiosity tinged with concern. "And what patient? When did we have the time to get a patient, was there a mission?" she asked in a stressed tone.

Lowering her voice, Eula leaned in closer, her tone hushed and conspiratorial. "No–nothing like that. This letter…it's a special prescription from Dumbledore," she whispered, her gaze flickering to ensure no prying ears were nearby. "It's a dream potion, specifically designed to treat night terrors."

Emma's brow furrowed, her gaze shifting between Eula and the vial. "But who is it for?" she asked, her voice filled with a mixture of intrigue and worry.

Eula's eyes darted around once more before she let out a sigh. "It's for Sirius Black."

Emma blinked a few times. "Oh," she managed to say, her mind making wild scenarios.

"The poor bloke's been battlin' some serious side effects," Eula said, wiggling her eyebrows meaningfully.

"What–what kind of side effects?" Emma inquired, her voice hushed and intrigued.

Eula leaned in even closer, her gruff voice barely audible. "In June, there was a skirmish at the Ministry, when the Dark Lord appeared to young Potter," she started in an odd voice that showed hesitation. "Anyway, during the battle, Sirius was hit with some kind of curse from his cousin Bellatrix Lestrange, and he–uhm–how can I put this," she said scratching her cleft chin. Emma's heart was racing, as she waited.

"He was pushed into this archway at the Ministry, they call it the veil of death because, well, that's what it's supposed to be. No one comes back" she divulged, her words carrying a tinge of foreboding.

"But, he-Black-he came back?" asked Emma, confused.

Eula nodded gravely. "He simply landed on the other side of the room unconscious and was asleep for almost two weeks"

"Asleep?" asked Emma.

"Correct. I was following him, you know when I supposedly had a convention in Dublin on Muggle medicine," she said, rolling her eyes. Emma was speechless.

"Long story short. Ever since he's been plagued by nightmarish visions. The kind that makes your skin crawl," she said gravely.

Emma's brows furrowed, a shiver running down her spine. "Nightmarish visions? That's dreadful," she whispered, her voice heavy with sympathy, something that surprised her. She was not supposed to feel sympathy for this man.

Eula nodded curtly, her demeanour stern and enigmatic. "Aye, it's a rough road for him," she acknowledged, her voice hinting at hidden depths. "That's why Dumbledore has sent us on a quest to brew a special potion," she said seriously.

"A dream cleanse?" asked Emma, still trying to grapple with the details. The veil, Black's cousin, his summer slumber.

"An oneiric intrusion potion, to be exact," Eula said.

Emma gaped at her. "Oneiric intrusion?" she asked. "Those are notoriously difficult to brew, not to mention…problematic," she remarked.

"That they are," she acknowledged, her tone carrying a grudging respect. "But Dumbledore believes it's the key to figure out what it is Black dreams of, or who he dreams of," she said quietly.

Emma couldn't help but think that the Oneiric Intrusion Potion was a shady deal. This potion, brewed under specific climatic conditions and with the right spell work, gave someone the power to invade another person's subconscious. It wasn't like sharing made-up memories or anything. This was the real deal, a direct ticket to someone's reality, their truest self. Nothing could be altered or fabricated in this case, unlike shared memories in vials or pensieves.

Emma's eyebrows furrowed as she imagined the potential chaos if a dark wizard got their hands on this potion. They could use it to mess with someone's mind, invade their dreams night after night, and leave them completely defenceless.

She shook her head, trying to shake off the creepiness of it all.

Emma's head was buzzing as Eula was explaining how they had tried to manage his sleep patterns and study Black's dreams and everything over the last months. She found it hard to swallow also when Eula explained that Dumbledore thought that the incidents of Voldemort's snake biting Arthur Weasley and Black having night terrors since the veil might be related. Emma placed a clammy hand on her face, while she slumped on the chair across from Eulalia.

As Emma contemplated the implications of the Oneiric Intrusion Potion, she couldn't help but feel a surprising twinge of empathy towards Sirius Black, the very person Dumbledore intended to use the potion on. It caught her off guard, and she hastily tried to dismiss the thought.

Sirius Black was a convicted criminal, accused of heinous acts, including his involvement in her brother's death. She should not be feeling sympathy for his night terrors. She reminded herself that it wasn't about personal feelings but rather the ethical considerations and potential risks that came with such an invasive potion. She had a responsibility to ensure that it was used judiciously and without causing further harm…or chaos.

"That's –that's what you smuggled, from Mungo's?" she managed to say after a while looking at the vial Eula had with her.

Eula shook her head. "It's Dream Essence for the basis, we would have to make the Oneiric Intrusion ourselves, I am afraid. It is traceable and we would be noticed," she added.

Emma could not believe what she was hearing. She knew this would be a mess, that some of the missions would be dangerous, but did she want to be the one to assist Dumbledore with accessing Black's dreams through an extremely difficult brew?

"You know we need a potioneer for that," Emma hissed.

"The Order has delegated potioneering to us, I am afraid," Eula said irritated.

Emma closed her eyes in a pained expression. "Does–does Black know?"

Eula nodded. "If he is letting Dumbledore navigate his mind, shit has hit the fan with his nightmares. Perhaps he is seeing V–the Dark Lord himself," Eula said in a chilling voice.

As the realisation sank in, she stood there, shocked, unable to fully grasp the gravity of the situation. The implications of the potion were daunting. The thought of delving into someone's subconscious, experiencing their dreams firsthand, and accessing their deepest truths left Emma feeling both awe-inspired and apprehensive.

But maybe–that was it. What if this experimentation of Dumbledore could access deeper memories of Black's through his dreams, deeper truths?

Her eyes were burning and she kept blinking. "Okay," she said softly to Eula. "You know we need a cold musty room for this, right?" she asked, raising an eyebrow and looking at the bright surroundings of the hospital.

"You are in the right place for that," said Eula. "I'll have a cold potion-brewing room for you, probably upstairs, where Black stays. Or the attic."

Emma swallowed hard. Wonderful, she thought.