A/N: This was supposed to be a HPSB but I'm changing it to just a Harry and Sirius bonding fic. Sorry, I know a lot of you were excited about it. I'm working on the next chapter and my reasoning will be explained there. I still want to dedicate this whole story to EnglishMuffin2, who I can't say I've ever really talked to, but she writes amazing Harry/Sirius pairings. Go check her out now. Forget this story. Anyways, I hope she stumbles upon this sometime to see that she's sparked some of us. This is something I'm writing as it hits me, so any ideas for the future plot would be helpful. It's all for you guys anyways.

For those of you who haven't caught on, I am a huge Perks fan. Hence my pen name, my profile, oh, the title of this story. Actually, for those who don't know, Asleep is a song by the Smiths. It's my absolute favorite song. Go check it out sometime.

"Sing me to sleep
Sing me to sleep
I'm tired and I
I want to go to bed

Sing me to sleep
Sing me to sleep
And then leave me alone
Don't try to wake me in the morning
'Cause I will be gone
Don't feel bad for me
I want you to know
Deep in the cell of my heart
I will feel so glad to go

Sing me to sleep
Sing me to sleep
I don't want to wake up
On my own anymore

Sing to me
Sing to me
I don't want to wake up
On my own anymore

Don't feel bad for me
I want you to know
Deep in the cell of my heart
I really want to go

There is another world
There is a better world
Well, there must be
Well, there must be
Well, there must be
Well, there must be
Well ...

Bye bye
Bye bye
Bye ...

Disclaimer: I don't own anything Harry Potter related!

Asleep

Chapter 1

Crack. Graveyard. Crack. Kill the spare. Crack. Dead Cedric. Crack. Dead eyes. Crack. Dead body. Crack. Crack. Crack. Dead dead dead. In his mind it sounded like a boggart, why couldn't it be?

A sharp, quick slap to the side of his head brought fifteen year old Harry Potter out of world he had been trapped in for the past month. With everyday came more time spent in the wrong place with the wrong accusations. He continually felt sick now, an aching in his lower stomach. A heavy pain always sitting right on top of his head.

As he looked down he could see he had been dragging his overgrown nails over his arms again, leaving not only scratches but actual holes in some spots where he'd been absentmindedly digging at. He felt so hungry and so tired that his body was starting to shut down. The smallest movements caused him to shake as he tried to complete them. His hair was matted down with dirt and blood from a small injury on the side of his head where'd he hit his head up against the window, resulting in a small piece of glass imbedded there. He wasn't sure if it was still there or not. He couldn't remember. Even worse than his arms was his back though, which in some spots was missing rather large pieces of flesh and had bruises shaped like hands on the tops of his shoulders where he had grabbed onto when things really got bad. He hadn't cleaned at all in a week and there was a collection of blood sitting underneath his fingernails.

Every time Harry was broken out of his state of mind, he'd look down at those hands and panic. He'd run to the bathroom and try to wash them, scrubbing as hard as he could to get all the blood gone. From the smears on his skin to the blood mixed with dirt under his fingernails he'd try to get rid of it, as if when the blood were gone, it'd make him a sane wholesome person who hadn't killed anyone. He hadn't seen a mirror since he had left Hogwarts, and can only wonder what his hair looked like now. Besides from the substances in it, in one of his fits after one of his longest lapses, he had taken a razor and cut off some of his hair, not really sure which world he was in.

Currently it was Uncle Vernon trying to snap him out of it. To Harry it was like a flash – one minute he'd been in the graveyard then he'd be in the Dursley's living room. Even though days went by when he slipped into these modes, he could only recall them as short periods of time though although he was losing sight of everything. He could barely make out Hogwarts or Ron's brilliant red hair or Hermione's profile curled up reading a book.

"Boy, I want to you to go take a shower, now," Uncle Vernon said. When he saw Harry wasn't looking directly at him, he grabbed him to turn him towards him. Making sure he had eye contact, he continued, "Go now. Take as long as you need to. After you're clean, you're going to eat something. And then, you're spending the day outside."

Though unknown to Harry's wandering mind, the Dursleys had been taking turns over the break to try and crack Harry out of...whatever was haunting him. Vernon and Dudley usually only helped by demanding him to eat and then trying to exhaust him so he'd sleep. Petunia, who somewhat knew of his history and really the only one who could help if she wanted to, wasn't a sentimental person at all nowadays, even less than Vernon now.

They still all took their turns however watching him and trying to get him to participate in the present. While Dudley was still too young to really understand that he was losing his cousin, Vernon had especially taken up trying to communicate with the boy. Communicating, unfortunately for the one person who was willing to try, was all about food to Vernon. Especially with a boy so sickly skinny. Seeing his nephew was still sitting in the chair staring at nothing while still looking him in the eye all at once, Vernon signed and stood up. All of a sudden the boy was making him feel more and more insecure as the days went on. When his nephew looked at him like he was nothing, that's what he felt like. He blamed the fact that he was trying so hard to help the boy all on the reality that it'd help himself feel better in the end.

Grabbing the boy's arms and pulling him up, Vernon saw that the back of the chair now had blood smeared on the back. At first he felt angry, for ruining his furniture as years in the past he had leapt for any chance to reprimand the boy, but after a moment that passed and he was left feeling empty again. It was his fault that his nephew had sat there after all. After the first week of the boy's vacation had gone by without him doing so much as to move from his bed (though Vernon knew he wasn't sleeping), he had forced him to come out and sit in the living room in a little chair in the corner, one no one liked because you couldn't see the TV from it.

Moving to the back of him, Vernon began to push Harry out of the room and up the stairs. The boy's body seemed to work numbly under him, to Harry his legs seemed to move without moving at all, and once they were standing outside of the door and Vernon had disappeared inside it, he wondered how he had gotten there at all.

Inside the bath room his uncle was turning on the shower, and seeing his nephew's shaking figure, he turned it up so it'd be warmer for him. He grabbed a large, fluffy yellow towel and set it on the toilet for him before gently grabbing his arm and pulling him inside.

"Take as much time as you need Harry, but when you come out I better see you clean," Vernon said gently. He could have sworn he saw a brief nod, so he then fled the small cluttered room and closed the door behind him. Signing once again, Vernon thought to himself that he had never taken such care of Dudley. Petunia had always been there to do it, but now as he helped Harry, he couldn't help but wonder if he had missed out on something. Sure, he wasn't enjoying having to pretend like his nephew was six again, but there he was making him think and making him feel.

Inside the bathroom Harry was standing there, looking at the same spot where his uncle had just been standing. And close to him, he could hear that shower running, beckoning to him, while downstairs he could almost smell food waiting for him. But he could hardly recognize these simple things anymore, and he was already slipping away.

What am I doing in here again? Harry asked himself dully. I was probably supposed to be cleaning for the Dursleys. I better turn off the water.

So he did just that, and he put away his yellow towel, and he grabbed the cleaning supplies from under the sink and he started to wipe off the faucet while his mind slowed and sucked him somewhere else.

For Harry it always started off dark. It was so black. There was nothing. Then something would start to change-

"Boy! What did I tell you?" Harry was jerked out of this by the sheer voice of...someone. He couldn't remember who. He didn't bother to turn his head, it'd just hurt too much.

Vernon Dursley had left his nephew alone for fifteen minutes before going back upstairs to check on him, only to find him scrubbing the faucet like a robot while his eyes had that abstract look to them that meant he was gone, thinking about whatever those freaks thought about. Having enough of this for one day, he grabbed the boy's arm (roughly this time) and jerked his back to his room.

The rage he felt at that moment, not only at the boy but somehow at himself as well, which led him to hate the kid only more, pushed all caring thoughts to the back of his mind as he practically threw him in his room. He could only wonder what injuries the boy had already, let alone without his help. Oh well, he'd had to check that out later. Or maybe it was time for desperate measures...Damn! There was a broken window in the boy's room! One with blood dripping off the corner of it! Vernon angrily slammed the down and knew it was time to contact that Bumbledee.

Flash. Somehow, Harry found himself on the room of a small bedroom. Trying as hard as he could to remember where exactly he was, he stood up only to fall back down from dizziness. He landed on top of poking and prodding objects, one of which (after staring at it for an unidentified time amount) he finally realized was his wand. Everything caught up to him again, but this time it was in the present.

Maybe these lapses I have aren't so bad, he thought as he slumped the rest of his body down. At least when I came back for...however long I'm here, I can't remember much...Why can't I sleep...oh right. Voldemort. That's why I can't sleep. It's been so long...

He knew these were his last thoughts coming, before he'd either drift into a nightmare or into one of his lapses. He didn't want either, and he was desperate for any way out. Just then he recognized another thing he had landed on, parchment. Letters, in fact. Letters from the Order, from Ron and Hermione, from Lupin, and from Sirius though he couldn't see or recognize that at the moment. This did seem to spark a name deep somewhere inside his head though, one that slowly floated to the top...

Sirius...he smiled. That name sounded nice. He wondered if that person was nice in all reality.

A/N: Crappy ending, I know, but I wrote this all in one hour, which is like a record for me. Why can't I update my other story as fast? I wonder that also. I was just this inspired. Review! Help me out with what you want to happen!