Well, I can tell you this now, this is nothing like my usual writings, for one thing there is absolutely no romantic...anything, involved...for another, it's kinda...dark. I usually hate this type of thing, but It kinda stuck with me and I had to write it. Just so you know my prompt word for this peice was Amnesia (I'm really hoping I spelled that right...you know, that would be a beautiful name if it didn't mean something so tragic...random thought) but anyway, I hope you...enjoy it...anyway.
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter!
Amnesia's Dark Hold
by Starflower Gem
A jolt of happiness ran through Harry's body as he stared at the man in front of him in surprised delight. It was impossible. It was unbelievable. It was Sirius Black, and he was very much alive.
He felt hot pricks of tears behind his eyes, and a grin spread across his face. He'd been dreaming of this moment for two years, ever since watching his godfather slip through the tattered, shadowy curtain leading to death.
He could still feel the chills run up and down his spine as he thought about the voices he had heard coming from the thin veil, he could still feel the hopelessness that had seized his soul as he'd watched his father figure disappear behind it.
But now he was back. As impossible as it seemed he was back, and he was looking directly at Harry.
But something wasn't quite right. Sirius wasn't smiling like he should be. He wasn't racing towards his best friends son to embrace him and tell him it was okay, that he hadn't left him.
Instead he was staring at Harry with a cold, blank look on his slightly healthier features. "Harry Potter?" He asked in a voice devoid of all emotion, dead. Like Sirius was supposed to be. But he wasn't, he was alive, he was here. So what was wrong? Why was he acting like he'd never seen Harry before.
Suddenly uncertain Harry took a step back, the grin sliding from his face, "Yes Sirius?" He asked cautiously, a slight hint of what could only be fear slipping into his tone.
Slowly Sirius reached into his rather rich looking robes and pulled out a long, slim black wand, "Prepare to die, Harry Potter, because you will not believing this place alive." He said simply, his wand pointed squarely at Harry's chest.
The young boy's heart seemed to freeze, the world and time seemed to stop moving as he stared at his godfather.
This couldn't be happening. This could not be happening.
A sob caught in his throat, "What are you talking about Sirius, it's me, Harry." He said, hoping to talk some sense into the older man.
But the black haired wizard merely stared at him with cold eyes, "I know exactly who you are Harry." Sirius said, expression still blank, and Harry felt his heart shatter into a million pieces once more, "You are a threat to my Master. My job is to see you dead."
Harry couldn't hold back the tears that pooled in his emerald eyes and slipped down his pale cheeks, "Sirius." He whispered, but didn't move. He couldn't move. Sirius was going to kill him, that was all there was too it. His god father was going to be the person to murder him, not Voldemort.
"Interesting isn't it?" A new voice asked from right beside Harry's ear, sending cold shivers down he boy's spine. Hatred welled up inside his small frame and he turned furious eyes on his enemy. "Interesting how I found him just wandering around with no memory. How easy it was to convince him he belonged to me. So simple to make him believe he hated you."
"Voldemort." Harry spat the name, his eyes glittering with unrestrained hatred. He'd done this, he'd turned Harry's godfather against him.
Voldemort just smiled thinly, garnet eyes gleaming in the dim light, "Oh, yes, little boy, I shall enjoy this immensely." In a flash he turned his eyes to the black haired man staring blankly at the scene playing out before him, "Kill him." He hissed in excitement, stepping back.
Harry braced himself as those to words he so hated escaped his godfathers lips and a flash of green light headed straight for his chest.
Harry sat up gasping for breath, the blankets of his bed clutched tight in his fingers and sweat trickling down his back, matting his Harry to his face. He panted heavily for a few minutes, staring blankly in front of him.
That dream again. He hated that dream, and recently it had been occurring far more frequently. Something in the back of his mind told him it was more then just a dream. A part deep inside him warned him to be careful, that things were just about to take a turn for the worse.
Sitting casually in a graveyard, leaning against a cracked headstone, was a man dressed in poorly put together clothes his face and figure gaunt and his eyes lost and haunted. In detachment he watched a snake coil itself around the headstone near him, a form emerging out of the darkness behind it.
Lazily the man looked up into burning garnet orbs. The figure in the darkness stretched it's lips into a thin smile as he regarded the broken man before him.