Disclaimer: We do not own the Harry Potter characters or world, but the over-active imaginations that produced this we will claim.

Rituals and Consequences

by mmagicwolf and WickerChair

Chapter One Hundred Six: A Dream Remembered

Friday, July 26, 1991

Harrison had been rendered unconscious before and was all too familiar with the twilight when the only sense that functioned properly was hearing. He could not remember being struck or falling; the last thing that he could recall was an arm locked around his chest and an unfamiliar voice saying the word "Sanctuary." Now he was locked in a world that contained only sound.

The roaring of wind that was his own breathing was identified, acknowledged, and filed as unimportant. This was normal on returning to consciousness for Harrison. Other sounds of breathing were identified and acknowledged, but as Harrison filed them away he realized that he did not recognize the pattern of the breathing. It was not one of the Dursleys. Dudley breathed shallow and light, and excited, especially if Harrison were recovering consciousness under his gaze. The first twitch would result in more blows, so Harrison had learned quickly to identify Dudley's breathing. The breathing of Dudley's friends had also been memorized for the same reason. Vernon's breathing was deeper and heavier as though the muscles in his chest protested the passage of air. Harrison was even more terrified of regaining consciousness with Vernon standing over him than Dudley, because Vernon would wait until Harrison was almost able to escape before striking again.

The last member of the Dursley household, Petunia did not match the pattern that Harrison heard now either. Petunia's breathing was light and almost whistling as it escaped through pursed lips or compressed nose. Harrison mentally shook himself, he could ignore the unidentified sources of the breathing as long as they did not move closer. He listened for the usual sounds of Privet Drive, but they were not present.

The silence of Privet Drive was not silent at all. In the most silent of times, Harrison could almost hear the rattle of the train that passed through Greater Whinging on the way to London. Normally the only sign of its passage was a bass rumble and subtle shaking of the ground that most people learned to ignore. Harrison had never learned to ignore that rumble as it served as a much kinder alarm clock than his relatives. Here, however, there was no rumble of trains, no traffic noise, and not even the sound of a ticking clock or the refrigerator cycling on and off. Unfamiliar sounds meant trouble to Harrison, but this unfamiliar silence was worse. Harrison strained his hearing to its greatest extent and realized that he had miscounted earlier. There were three sources of breathing, not two.

One was very light and high pitched, something small like a mouse or rabbit, perhaps. The others were deeper, Harrison would have identified them as human, but the rhythm was wrong. Humans normally breathe between twelve and twenty times per minute, and these were faster at almost thirty breaths per minute but there was no impression that the breathing was labored. It almost sounded as though something were panting? This could be horrible. Harrison could not remember a time that he had regained consciousness away from Privet Drive; the Dursleys would not have allowed it. Memories of earlier incidents told him that all he could do was wait. The longest he had been locked in this stage of unconsciousness had been before he had started school; but that time he had been aware that his own breathing was off. This time his breathing was normal.

Harrison was bathed in warmth as his sense of touch returned. Warmth was not completely unfamiliar, summers were hot, and he had dozed beneath the shrubs behind the house occasionally before being yelled at for lazing about. Harrison acknowledged the warmth and it was followed by softness combined with smoothness. This too was something to which he was not accustomed, but it was not completely foreign. He had experienced soft beds and covers when staying with Mrs Figg. He was even accustomed to the sensation of fur in his dreams remaining on waking as Mrs Figg's cats would occasionally curl up at his shoulder or nestle behind his knees. However, the cats purred where they had settled, and there was no sound of purrs.

The softness shifted with the breathing, and Harrison recognized the feel of fur against the side of his face. He had once been allowed to pet the fur of a lamb brought to the school, and this was somehow reminiscent of that, only longer and shaggier. Harrison waited for more senses to return, but was rewarded only by a sensation of movement followed by a low grunt that reminded Harrison of the way that Ripper had grunted as he turned over beneath the tree in which Harrison had been trapped. Harrison panicked for a moment at the memory, then calmed as the grunt was followed by heavy breathing.

"Awake?" asked a light voice by his ear.

Harrison could not respond to the voice, but noticed that the sounds of breathing changed. The voice sounded familiar; Assiyah was with him. What if the sources of the breathing hurt her? The sense of touch faded in and out as if it were to provide too much information if Harrison regained it all at once. Harrison lost the sense of touch again at the sound of joints separating and bones creaking almost to the point of cracking. That sound Harrison knew well from cutting chicken into pieces for the chicken pot pies that Petunia served to the ladies of the garden club. He was also knew it from the sound of his own bones cracking as he was thrown against a wall by Dudley. Someone or something was in pain, and Harrison could not use his senses to find the source. After ninety-eight breaths, Harrison counted his own breaths to distract himself from the sounds, the sounds stopped to be followed by the sound of a person panting in pain. Harrison tried to open his eyes to see what was the matter, but they would not move. He waited, hoping for another sense to return for a very long time.

"It's fine," said Assiyah. "I've never seen a werewolf transform. Mother told us about werewolves, of course, but I'm just a hatchling. I can't protect you very well. Are you a danger to the speaker, Wolf?" Assiyah waited for a few moments for a response, then grumbled, "That's right, only a speaker can understand me. Well, Wolf, you had better not harm my speaker or I will bite you."

Harrison wanted to laugh at the assertion that a new hatchling could defend him; he could not even defend himself. His body refused to cooperate with the desire to laugh, and the humor turned to panic at the sound of a balloon popping, followed by a voice, high as if a child's but stern.

"Mister Lupin will need clothes. Missy will get them and a pain potion. Mister Lupin is not to move."

The popping sound repeated twice more.

"Here are clothes for Mister Lupin and a potion. I bring clothes for Master Sirius as well. You will put the clothes on, Mister Lupin."

Harrison heard a chuckle before he lost his grip on reality again. This was too like his dreams, two warm bodies curled around his and a stern voice rebuking them for something.