Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, J.K. Rowling does.
Harry Potter and the Fight Against The Dark Lord A Plan
"Wormtail," a raspy voice hissed dangerously, "does the magic work?"
"Yes, yes my Lord. It works." A cowering man with a silver hand beamed up fervently at the Dark Lord Voldemort, an adoring expression vile over his rat-like features.
"Good; very good. I expect the plan to go smoothly tomorrow." Voldemort narrowed his eyes menacingly. "The results may determine whether or not you live, Wormtail," he added thoughtfully, motioning at the meek figure.
Wormtail whimpered piteously as Voldemort lowered a finger towards his shoulder, lifting up the sleeve to reveal a black tattoo of a serpent, the dark mark. He pressed his cold, bony finger to the pulsating mark. A spasm of pain jolted up Wormtail's arm, causing him to squeal in agony and collapse onto the ground.
"You are disturbingly weak, Wormtail. Nonetheless, a snivelling rat like you has its uses. You would do well to prepare for the attack tomorrow," Voldemort sighed and curved his lips up into a wicked sneer at the pitiful figure hunched below him.
The faithful followers of Voldemort, his Death Eaters, with masks to hide their identity, appeared with muted pops and took turns to bow at his feet, muttering, "My Lord," as they did so.
After they were done, Voldemort smiled evilly and announced loudly in the charismatic voice that once drew devotees to him like eager bees, "Tomorrow, my followers, we shall attack Hogwarts!" he raised in hands in a triumphant gesture.
The Death Eaters that swarmed before him cheered loudly and stamped their feet, raising clumps of dirt in the air, in everlasting support of their all-powerful leader.
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Startlingly emerald eyes flew open as Harry Potter pressed his hand cautiously to the lightning shaped scar on his forehead. He groaned in pain and shifted uncomfortably on his bed, rolling over and landing with a soft thump on the floor.
He lay there clutching his head as the pain slowly, torturously receded. When it had been reduced to a dull ache, he reached out his hand and groped blindly for his glasses on the bedside table. He found them and put them on, drawing and releasing shaky breaths.
Harry arose unsteadily and scrutinised the clock. It was three o'clock in the morning. Hastening to tell Ron about his dream, he clambered over his bed to Ron's and drew back the curtains impatiently, to reveal a mess of ginger hair covering a sleeping face.
The lanky boy bent down to shake his best friend, whispering, "Ron! Ron! Wake up!"
Ron, still deep in the lulling embrace of sleep, opened his eyes blearily, swiped blindly at Harry's face, flipped over and went back to sleep. Harry blinked owlishly at Ron's back and rolled his eyes. He would have to do it the hard way. He retrieved his wand, aimed it at Ron, and muttered, not without a certain sadistic pleasure, "Aguamenti."
Ron made the mistake of rolling over just then, resulting in getting his face splashed in water that was puddled around his pillow.
"Bloody hell! What is it, Harry? It's three in the morning!" he stared incredulously at his best friend as if he had lost his mind.
Harry told him about the dream in hushed tones and Ron was staring open-mouthed at him by the end of it but managed to stutter, "B-but You-know-who is not going really going to attack Hogwarts is he?" The redhead had gone slightly green in the face and looked to Harry, pleading for reassurance.
"Sorry, Ron, but it's likely. Now that Dumbledore's gone, Voldemort's less afraid to attack," Harry reasoned, causing Ron to flinch. Ignoring it, Harry continued, "In my dream, he said that he would attack tomorrow, since it's three, that means…"
A look of comprehension dawned on Ron's face and he finished Harry's thought: "He's going to attack TODAY!"
"We have got to tell Hermione, NOW!" they cried simultaneously and hurtled out of their dormitory, seizing their brooms along the way.
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