No Mouth But Some Serpent's

Chapter 3 - A Touch of Sirius

Wow. I am shocked by the enthusiasm for this story. Hopefully I'll continue to meet people's high expectations. Thank you for letting me know that you like it so much!

A few important scenes in this chapter. Also, Sirius is Irresponsible.

Chapter Three: A Touch of Sirius

"Hello, Harry."

Harry blinked. He was dreaming; he knew that, because in front of him the dark figure curled in the space too small for it screamed in pain and the figure in the space only slightly larger whimpered and writhed. But for the first time, he wasn't looking at the images like a painting in his head. He seemed to be standing back from them, in a cool, dry place.

He looked around. There was a stone wall at his back, like one of the corridors at Hogwarts. It stretched away beyond the dark figures, then curved back and vanished behind them. Harry studied the floor underneath him. It was made of stone, too, he thought, but covered with sand.
He thought he should be more frightened than he was. At least, he thought as he touched the familiar weight in his sleeve, I still have my wand.

"Hello, Harry," the voice repeated, and this time Harry became aware of someone leaning on the wall next to him. He turned his head.
The figure was a young man, tall enough to be a sixth-year or seventh-year at Hogwarts, his face sharp and arresting. He had dark hair. Harry found himself looking automatically for scars, but couldn't see any. His fingers were long, though, in a way that reminded Harry of Snape's. He wondered if this man was also a Potions Master.

"Hello, Harry," the man said a third time. There was an impatient tone in his voice now.

Harry saw no reason to answer strange people who appeared in his dreams, who might be only dreams themselves. He watched him instead, and said nothing. He had his wand ready to draw in an instant.

The stranger took a step forward, and Harry drew his wand. That made him pause. He tilted his head to the side, and Harry felt a brief bolt of pain in his forehead. It was similar to the pain he had felt in his scar during the last school year, when Quirrell tried to reach the hiding place of the Philosopher's Stone. Well, that only made sense, Harry thought. This was another prophetic dream, or at least an odd one.

"My name is Tom Riddle," said the man at last. "Do you know me?"
Harry shook his head. He thought his best course for now was to stay silent and alert. He might have tried using pureblood courtesies, which put an acceptable distance between the speaker and strangers, but Riddle was no pureblood family name he had ever heard, and he couldn't be sure the man would understand them.

"I thought you didn't," mused Tom, and glanced at the two dark figures. For a moment, he blinked, as though he didn't understand what he was seeing. Then he sighed and waved a hand.

The images vanished. Harry saw another stone wall where they had been. He brought his wand and his guard up. Perhaps Tom Riddle was just a dream, but he didn't trust other people who could do wandless magic. Harry himself had only learned it because he wanted to defend Connor. Who knew what purposes, obscure or even Dark, someone else might have for learning it?

Tom turned back towards Harry, his smile pleasant. Harry wondered if the presence of the images had been bothering him, and he had banished them because of that. Then he frowned. Even if he did banish them because of that, that doesn't excuse the fact that he's doing wandless magic in my dreams.
No, it doesn't.

Harry jumped for a moment, then felt a twist of motion about his arm and glanced down to see Sylarana moving there. She said nothing else, however, and after a moment faded into his skin again, this time on his right arm near his wand. Harry let out a shaky breath. My dreams are getting rather crowded, he thought crossly.