Disclaimer: J.K. owns it all

Beta Read By Ootp-Rules

When Nightmares Are A Good Thing

Chapter 1: Harry's Odd Dream

It had been the hottest day of the summer, so far on Privet Drive. The neighbors had seemed to forget all about competing for the best looking lawn of the summer in the latest wave of lethargicness. As the last light of the day faded, one by one the neat windows of Little Whinging began to emit bright yellow lights, illuminating the prim and proper looking streets and houses. At number four, Privet Drive a boy could be spotted staring out of one the windows on the second floor.

Harry Potter was a skinny, black haired boy of almost sixteen. His eyes were colored a startlingly bright shade of rhiane green, and he had grown quite a bit since his last summer at his Aunt and Uncle's house. He had always been the shortest of his age, during his fifteen years of life. His friend Ron's height had always seemed to be a target that was far out of Harry's reach, but he was now nearing a respectable height that would allow him to now look Ron in the face when speaking to him, rather than his neck or shoulders. Of course, Harry hadn't noticed this. He had never paid that much attention to his appearance and most certainly not after what had happened last June.

Even though Harry had only been at Privet Drive for a week, he had received as many as fifteen letters from his friends and Order members. He hadn't bothered to open any of them, though. Somehow he just didn't feel that anything that had been written in them would help. He had opened the first few, only to find lame words encouraging him to get over his godfather's death and to stop blaming himself for it. The actual wording had of course been much more subtle, but Harry felt he had gotten the gist of it all just the same. After finding the third letter to be just like the first two, he had decided to simply stop reading them. Nothing important would be relayed by owl post anyway.

No matter how hard Harry had tried, he couldn't stop missing Sirius and he was convinced that it was indeed his fault that he was gone. Being truthful to himself, Harry realized he found savage pleasure in being depressed. He didn't want to be happy. He had rightfully earned this pain. All he wanted now was for Sirius to be alive.

Ever since his death, Harry had been propelled into nightmares of that day in the Department of Mysteries, when Sirius had been led to his doom. Those weren't the only nightmares he had; Harry had also repeatedly visited the graveyard where Voldemort had been resurrected, had half-visions of the Halloween night that his parents had been murdered, and many other dreams in which his friends and various members of the Order blamed him for their own horrific deaths. It made Harry dread going to sleep; something he used to enjoy so much when he was younger.

Harry sighed as he plopped down on his bed. He pulled his shirt over his head and untidily folded it to set on the battered nightstand by his bed, then took off his glasses and placed them on top of his shirt. Next he picked up his wand and held it tightly in his hand, for he had lately become accustomed to sleeping with it at close hand. Harry felt he should be wary of another unexpected trick that Voldemort might try on him in his dreams, though he had no idea what they might be. He could use every bit of extra safety he got his hands on, after all.

Harry lay down without bothering to get under the covers, he knew they would either soon end up causing him to sweat more than usual from his nightmare, or they would be twisted and tangled around his legs, efficiently immobilizing him.

Tired as he was from his last two sleepless nights, Harry was finding it hard to drop off. He felt his eyes starting to sting as he thought about watching Sirius die in his dreams again. The dream was always the same one, everything would happen the way it had on the day that Sirius had died, exactly as Harry remembered it.

He blinked furiously against the haziness that was clouding his eyes. Feeling sorry for himself had never helped to change a thing. The Dursleys had taught him that properly. But thinking of Sirius always seemed to trigger something within him that made his stomach tingle unpleasantly and his throat obstruct.

After about twenty minutes, Harry finally drifted to sleep out of sheer fatigue from his attempts to stay awake and stave off all unwanted thoughts and emotions. His world seemed to be spinning as the air surrounding him dissolved into white fog.

Harry cast a nervous glance around to take in his new dream-like state. Everything seemed so blurry, almost as if he had forgotten to put on his glasses before walking through an open field in the midst of a snowstorm. Harry shook his head bewilderedly, vaguely wondering why he was there.

"Is someone there?"

Harry's ears perked up, having heard another human voice calling out. He looked around trying to determine where the voice had come from. It had sounded oddly familiar. Then he saw it. A faint shape was visible about fifty feet away, so Harry decided to walk closer.

"Who are you?"

Yes, he definitely knew that voice, but he still couldn't quite place to whom it belonged to. As he continued to walk closer to it, some of the fuzziness seemed to be ebbing away from the form. Harry took in the size of the person that was now approximately fifteen feet away. He was positive that it was a male, because of his voice and build. The man appeared to have dark hair and a very lean stature.

Harry choked as realization dawned on him. "Sirius?"

"Harry!" Sirius sputtered back.

Harry wasted no time in running to his godfather. For once, Harry was in a dream with his father's best friend, who was not falling through a veil, blaming Harry for his death, nor was he having his soul sucked out by a dementor. Harry felt elated.

Yet, as Sirius made a motion to hug Harry, they were both dismayed to find that his arms went right through Harry's body.

'Is he a ghost?' Harry wondered to himself.

Harry looked up to tell Sirius that he missed him but found himself being jerked backwards, away from his godfather and out of the dream completely.

He awoke in his bed at Privet Drive, sweaty and disappointed. Harry sighed. He had gotten to see Sirius without being blamed for what he thought was obviously his own fault, but he hadn't even gotten to apologize for it. The dream had felt so real...

'Oh well,' Harry thought. At least he had gotten a good night's sleep out of it.