Chapter One:
The sitting room in which the two men sat was dark and had an unpleasant smell surrounding it. There were two arm chairs and in between them sat a spindly coffee table. Behind the chairs, the wall was covered in bookshelves and a grimy window getting hammered with rain was cut into the wall opposite the chairs. The only bits of light were coming from the window and a dusty lamp hanging next to one of the tall armchairs, where one of the men was sitting. Although they were both cloaked, the eerie lighting revealed a long hooked nose on the face of one and, on the other was a pair of bright red eyes.
"Severus, you have played your part very well. I am very pleased with you," said a hissing voice. "You have kept that old oaf in your pocket for months. I'm am quite proud."
The other man bowed, his hooked nose becoming concealed with greasy black hair.
"My Lord," he began, "Dumbledore is becoming weaker by the day. The ring has weakened him greatly. What are your orders?"
"I want you to keep near Dumbledore, make sure that he does not suspect you. Keep your nose clean and await further orders. You have been a great help to me, Severus," the hissing voice echoed off the walls of the tiny room. The now gentle pitter-patter of rain illuminated the silence.
"I will do anything you ask, My Lord," Severus replied.
Harry rolled over in his bed and kicked the unnecessary comforter off, leaving just sheets. He was staying at The Burrow for the end of summer and Mrs. Weasly insisted on being very motherly; which in this case included adding much to many blankets to his bed in the middle of summer. Mrs. Weasly claimed the wind would chill him to the bone. It was still night outside although Harry was not tired even in the least. Bad dreams seemed to flock to him even more now that he had contact with the magical world again. In fact, Harry didn't remember having any interesting experiences while at his aunt and uncle's at all over the past few weeks. He thought that possibly Dumbledore had made sure to cut him off from everything magical, but about this he was very doubtful. The bedroom was alive with Ron's snoring and Hedwig's nervous hooting. Harry found it quite hard to fall asleep again now that he was so wide awake, he got out of bed and slipped out of the room into the hallway. The house was dark and no one but him was up. Suddenly, Harry fancied a glass of water and turned down the stairs and into the kitchen. The clock that held all the faces of the Weasly's and what they were doing sat in it's normal place, atop a tittering tower of clean folds, and all the hands were pointed to 'Mortal Peril' but, this was normal. It seemed that everyone was in mortal peril at the time being.
Chapter Two:
Harry sat at the long kitchen table in the Weasly's dining room. Everything was a buzz, but Harry's senses still seemed a little groggy from the dream. There was musty room... with books. Two men were in the room and... Harry squeezed his eyes shut, trying to remember something more about the dream.
"You okay, mate?" Ron said, sitting down next to Harry with his plate high with breakfast. Harry's stomach churned as the smell of bacon filled his nose.
"I had the weirdest dream last night, Ron. I'll have to tell you and... where's Hermione?" Harry asked, just now recalling not seeing her at all that morning.
"Oh. She went with Professor Lupin to Diagon Alley. They were getting something for mum. She wouldn't say what though," Ron added, thoughtfully before diving right into his ham and porridge.
Harry sighed. If anyone could tell him what he should do, it'd be Hermione. She always seemed to have the answers to everything Harry threw at her. In fact, he could hear her now, "Harry. Maybe you should write Dumbledore about all this. Your dreams, they may have something to do with Voldemort reading your mind." Her voice made Harry's headache worse. All Dumbledore needed was another issue on his plate, another problem to deal with. No way. Harry would make sure that he didn't bother the headmaster about something as petty as a dream.
Hermione returned shorty after breakfast, deciding not to eat even against Mrs. Weasly's protests. Harry acted on a impulse and didn't tell Hermione about his dream; she would surely not drop it until he wrote a personal letter to Dumbledore. But Harry did tell Ron while they were washing dishes. Ron stopped scrubbing a pot and stared at Harry, his mouth open a little.
"What do you think it means?" Ron asked.
"I have no idea what it means. I don't even know where the place is... I've never seen it before." Harry replied, trying to think back to if he had ever visited a place looking even similar to his dream. He had no explanation.
"Did you tell Hermione about this?" Ron asked, going back to scrubbing the pot of grease and spaghetti sauce.
"No way. You know what she'd say, Ron. She'd tell me to write to Dumbledore. I don't want to bug him to death with my silly dreams..." Harry trailed off, were these dreams really silly? He was thinking about the last time he had doubted a dream; Mr. Weasly had almost gotten killed by a giant snake. Then again, there had been someone he knew in that dream. There was no one that he could remember knowing in this one.
"...she can get like that. I agree with you, Harry." Ron said, sounding matter-of-fact. Harry nodded, having not heard the other half of what Ron said. "Look, just lay low. And if you have another dream, tell us." Ron added, shrugging and rinsing the pan clean.
Chapter three:
A week had passed since Harry and Ron's conversation and the dreams seemed to be getting worse. At first the same scene would play over and over again. But now... another scene seemed to be folding into place. There were two other people in the room now. One with white-blonde hair and the other with matted black. They were circling the men, shrieking loud and angry things that Harry couldn't understand. And, every single night, Harry would awaken sweaty and shaking. These nightly episodes did not stir Ron in the least, but more then once Hermione would awaken and ask Harry an array of questions that his brain was able to handle. She insisted, like Harry suspected, that he write Dumbledore right away. Harry refused, clinging to the fact that the headmaster was busy, too busy to hear his complaints about lack of sleep.
Harry was sure that Hermione had forgotten about his dreams. That is, until the day that she walked into his and Ron's room looking extremely confident and a little smug.
"Harry! I have found the solution to your dream issue." She announced proudly to the unsuspecting Harry and Ron. Ron glanced over at Harry with a strange look; it appeared to be a mix of confusion and curiosity. Harry remained silent, looking up at Hermione. "Well if no one is going to say anything, I might as well say what this solution is." She said, matter-of-factually. "I got a dream pensive!" Hermione said, happily. Her smile faltered at Harry and Ron's faces. "It's a device that let's people view your dreams!"
"Hermione. What in the bloody hell are you talking about. And where did you get that thing!" Ron snorted. Hermione was holding a tiny bowl of what appeared to be water. But this water was swirling and swishing like pearl; it had a shimmery blue tint.
"Wait a minute! I thought a pensive was only used for memories?" Harry blurted out, finally recalling that Dumbledore had a pensive in his office. He had been sure that Dumbledore said it was only for memories. Hermione flashed a smile and took a seat on the bed. She clutched the pensive like it was her last remaining life line.
"They can be, but they can also be used to view memories of dreams." She said, sounding extremely pleased with herself. "And I thought that with all of us looking at it at one time, we could find a solution faster!" She added, gleefully.
"Well... I suppose we could try it then..." Harry murmured The sooner the three of them discovered what was happening to him the better. He was tired of being so tired all the time. Harry and Hermione both looked to Ron. He shrugged.
"I guess I'm in, too. Don't really have a choice, do I?" Ron said, sighing. At this, Hermione put the pensive onto the floor in the middle of all of them. The contents swirled faster, seeming to know it was about to be used by three children. Hermione looked anxious but she pulled her wand out of her pocket, turning to Harry.
"Alright Harry. Close your eyes and think hard about the dream." She said, her voice shaking slightly. Harry shut his eyes, trying to relax. He let the image of the room swim back into his mind.
"Hermione... are you sure you know how to do this?" Ron said, sounding distant. There was a moment of thick silence.
"No. Not in the least," Hermione said, a frown in her voice. Harry's heart rate sped up. He opened his mouth to say something, but the cool tip of Hermione's wand made him stop. Everything began to swirl, Harry felt like he was spinning even though he could feel the floor beneath him. The distant voices of Hermione and Ron faded away into a thick swirling noise.
Chapter four:
Harry felt light headed. The room finally came spinning right back to where it was, Hermione and Ron were staring at him.
"What happened?" Harry asked, his voice coming out more slurred then it was in his head.
"We got the memory out. Now all we have to do is... enter the pensive." Hermione noted, looking thoughtfully down at the memory bowl. The contents were now a deep forest green, still swirling and swishing around like before... but with more of an intensity. Harry nodded, his eyes still glued to the pensive.
"Well then. I'll go first." Hermione nodded, pressed her face to the top of the pensive, Ron was the next to go, and finally Harry.
The light from a tiny window was not enough to keep this room completely lit. There were six wrinkled bookshelves surrounding the room. Harry found Hermione's arm in the dim lighting, and Ron found Harry's. As the rain outside lightened up, more light ca through the window and cast strange shadows on the walls. There was a rustling from across the room and, as Harry's face seemed to turn toward it in slow motion, a figuresat like an ugly blot of black ink in the arm chair. The other figure, Harry noticed, was much smaller and more hunched over then the first. They made the very air gloomy and frightening.