The Lost Wolf (a Harry Potter Fanfiction)

Jigsaw Falling Into Place

Grey eyes.

Bright as silver. Troubled as storm.

They are watching you. They beg you.

Green eyes.

Frozen like sage in winter. Warm with love.

They are searching for you. They miss you.

Emerald eyes.

Dead, yet alive. Shining in the dark like a precious diadem.

They don't know you. Yet, they need you.

Hazel eyes.

Dull with death. Bright with tears.

They are talking to you.

Help them.

Help your friend.

Help your father.

Help your brother.

You wander through the ruins of a town.

A man approaches you. He says "come with me, we'll find your dad".

You don't trust him.

He hurt your dad.

He hurt you.

But he says he'll find your dad.

You need your dad.

And Padfoot.

And Prongs.

And Lily.

You take the man's hand.

He draws his wand.

Obliviate.

And you're gone.

Cassandra woke up with a start, her battered heart racing and her sheets drenched in cold sweat.

Damn.

Flashbacks and nightmares. They'd got worse. She couldn't sleep, because every time she closed her eyes, images and sounds invaded her mind. She couldn't work, because every sound or smell triggered a memory, alienating her from the rest of the world.

Memories. They were so absurd. So surreal. Strange ceilings, hooded figures, colorful flashes of light. Wands. Cassandra knew what a wand was. She had read about them when she was six, in a children book. Wands were magic. Magic didn't exist. Did it?

Cassandra was confused. And tired, oh so tired. Initially she thought that her new friend could save her from madness, but his presence seemed to make things worse. Not that he wasn't a good dog, actually he was almost too... understanding. Every time she woke up from a nightmare or she fell in her "trance", as her boss called it, Doggie was there, licking her face and nuzzling her neck. It looked like he wanted to comfort her. And it usually worked, for a couple of minutes. The fact was that the dog looked familiar. His grey eyes, his fur... She remembered them, but they didn't cause any flashback. Just like the pictures of Sirius Black.

Ah, Sirius Black, the man of the mystery. Her father knew him. She knew him. The question was how. Cassandra spent hours in the archives looking for more information about the escaped convict, but she didn't find anything, apart from two newspaper articles and a few photos of the crime scene. She couldn't even find out the name of the prison he had been sent into. According to the archives Sirius Black didn't exist, yet everybody talked about him and his horrible crimes. It didn't feel right.