Remember Me

Harry screwed up his eyes against the fierce wind that forced its way around his glasses. It was unbearably cold, and he could hardly feel his numb hands that were clenched on his broom handle. A strong sense of déjà vu was creeping over him. Harry had escaped from the Dursley’s house in the same way last year. Lupin, Mad-Eye, Kingsley…all had come to guard him, and Harry could well remember the relief he had felt of being with wizards again, of having that sense of being liked after spending so long at his aunt and uncle’s house.

Moody’s guttural growl sounded from somewhere to his right, presumably to suggest flying higher, and Tonks’s loud complaint could be heard easily through the wind rushing through his ears. Five of them had turned up to escort him to Grimmauld Place, the explanation being hissed quickly as they levitated all his possessions into his trunk. There was no time to wait, as there had been a year before.

He had been going to Grimmauld Place then too. Only this time there would be no Sirius there, waiting to greet him.

Don’t think about it, he told himself for the thousandth time.

Hestia dived down through the many layers of cloud and he mirrored her action, eager to get into the warm. The two terraced houses stood before him, and he quickly looked down at the sopping sheet of paper, unwilling to take his eyes off the surroundings for fear of attack. His eyes flew across the stylised script, memorising the words and then Harry looked up.
Number 12, Grimmauld Place stood in the middle of Muggle London.

He was pushed forcefully inside by Moody and waited in the dark hallway while the Order members locked the door.

Sirius’s home…

It had never been a cheerful place, even when his godfather was alive, but now the house was full of shadows. An empty hole of what might have been. Here, he could have lived with Sirius. Maybe, in the end, Sirius would have been cleared of all charges against him and could be free. It would be a home to Harry, a proper home. He would come back here for the holidays, be able to invite Ron and Hermione round, Sirius would…

Harry leant his head against the wall. Memories hit him with the force of a bludger in the dark. Memories of the Department of Mysteries…

And the knowledge, the burning, painful knowledge that it was he that had caused it. He had led his friends into danger. Hermione had nearly been killed.

Sirius had.

The dreams were the worst. Dreams where he saw Voldemort’s face in every corner, where he relived the pain he had felt when possessed. Where he saw Cedric die in the graveyard, where he saw Sirius fall behind the veil. Nightmares of blood, danger and death.

Harry rubbed his scar, pressing his hands to his forehead. It had barely stopped prickling all summer, but he had stopped worrying about it now. He had got used to it.

The lights flickered on, casting a glowing light onto the faded wallpaper. “Ron’s upstairs, Harry,” said Hestia. “Probably asleep…I expect you’re tired too?”

Harry nodded and went into the room he had shared with Ron last year. She was right; Ron was lying on a bed, mouth open, snoring loudly. Harry envied Ron for his peaceful sleep. He did not have to watch his friends die over and over again, like a movie that was played in his head every time he closed his eyes.

He slipped in between the cover, his freezing body soaking up the warmth.

Nightmares of blood, danger and death.

*

Cassandra woke with a start, her grey eyes flying open in the darkness. A wave of relief swept over he as she saw her surroundings. Just a dream she thought, trying to comfort herself. It’s only a dream. Her breath had evened out now, and she flopped back into her untidy bed.

She had the same dream every night, but in the morning Cassandra could never remember the exact details. Only a sense of hurt, indignation…and loss. Loss and sadness. She angrily rubbed her eyes and blinked, making sure she was fully awake. Only a dream.
Cassandra’s bedroom had not been decorated for seven years. Her floor was covered in rubbish – sweet wrappers, broken quills, screwed up pieces of parchment. A passage ran from the door to her bed; it was the only part of the room not swamped in litter. Cassandra had got so used to her bedroom she had stopped seeing it.

“Cass, breakfast!” Debbie called.

“Okay!” she wound an old lilac dressing gown around her body and hurried down the stairs, lighting the lamps with her wand as she went by. The Decree of Underage Magic didn’t affect her, for she had been home-schooled by her adoptive parents. However, this meant that she had had a very sheltered life, with hardly any contact with people of her own age. Cassandra had asked repeatedly for five years to be able to go to school, but Debbie and John had always refused. But this summer thing had changed.

“Sleep well?” asked Debbie, stirring sugar into her coffee and looking concernedly at Cassandra.

She shrugged. “Not bad.” She didn’t mention the dreams to her.

“I thought I heard you-“

“No.” There had been an incident a few months back when Cassandra knew she had screamed in her sleep. Debbie bursting in through her door at three in the morning had effortlessly banished the dreams, but also all hope of relaxing at night.

Cassandra sat down at the table, sipping her coffee carefully. She hated burning her tongue, which she had done once too often for her liking.

“Any owls?”
Debbie shook her head. “Cass, I’m sorry about this but it’s got to be done. Are you sure you’re okay with going to Hogwarts?”

Cassandra rolled her eyes. “Debbie, I think I’ll cope.” As if she hadn’t been begging to go for ages! To get to know people of her own age…to not be taught by people who alternated teaching with doing the washing and cooking. A lot of the spells Debbie had taught Cassandra involved household maintenance.

Debbie sighed, draining her mug. “Well, we’d better be off soon. Come on, get dressed. Chop chop!”

Cassandra rolled her eyes again. “Debbie…” She grabbed a banana and went up to her room again.

Forget about the dreams. They’re not important. Just a dream…