Short Stories

Cold By Cacigrace

Author's note:
Hi, I know these Author's note things are annoying but I promise this'll only take a minute. First of all this book is a Harry Potter fanfic (if you haven't read Harry Potter it will make no sense). Secondly this is also my first fanfic, I know some people (like my friend Drop_Of_Inspiration) who are awesome at writing fanfics. Sadly I'm not one of those people. Thirdly I admit that while I do love Harry Potter, I'm not an expert (my friend says they're called Potterheads, I'm still struggling to believe that but it's open for debate). So while I did base this book off actual events in Harry Potter, some things I'm unsure about (i.e I don't think Dementors talk). So yeah, I'm totally open for suggestions or corrections. Please check out the other stories written by my friends and don't forget to vote and comment. Thanks!
- Cacigrace

Cold. That was what woke him. A blast of freezing cold, English winter's air. It gusted through the cold cell bars and breathed in his face. Whispering secrets. What it was saying he didn't know. But it woke him. It woke him, alright. Or the nightmare did.

It was the usual, of course. He was standing on a dark footpath, enveloped in black. Nearby was a house, its windows were lighted, the open curtains revealed a man and a woman, playing with a small baby. He knew who they were of course. And he knew what would happen next. Sirius Black had had this dream every night for twelve years.

Next a dark, hooded figure ghosted its way down the front path. White fingers opened the front gate. The figure strolled through the yard in an almost proud manner, as if he owned the place.

Sirius followed him. He could not help it. Although he knew only too well what was going to happen, he had to see it.

He did see it.

The cloaked figure opened the front door. The woman and the baby had gone upstairs and man was sitting on the lounge, rubbing his eyes and running his hands through his unruly black hair.

He yawned and looked up at the picture over the fire. It showed two boys, about twelve years old, their arms around each other. Both had black hair and were both wearing identical grins.

James Potter smiled at the photo. The boys smiled back.

The dark figure stepped over the threshold. He raised his wand. Standing in the doorframe, Sirius wanted to scream. He tried to, but no sound came out. It was useless. The hooded figure pulled his wand from his cloak.

James heard him now. He leapt up, but it was too late. He was unarmed after all. Voldermort killed him with two words.

Avarda.

Kedarva.

Sirius felt the cry well up in his throat. The words were on his lips but he could not say them. All he could do was stare at the unseeing eyes of his best friend.

Just then a scream filled the house. It was a woman's scream.

Lily.

Sirius turned and bounded up the stairs. Those stairs, the ones he climbed a million times. The same stairs he and James had pushed Harry down in the laundry basket. The same stairs Lily had stood at the bottom of, glaring at the sight of her one-year-old hurtling down in a basket, laughing his head off. Those same stairs.

Sirius leapt up them and ran. He knew where they were. He knew exactly. Quickly he turned the handle and flung open the door. The scene, the scene he pictured exactly, looked like one out of a horror story. A true horror story.

Lily stood in one corner, her beautiful eyes wild as she threw her arms in front of her son, who was standing upright in his cot. Voldermort stood over them, enjoying the moment.