AN: Welcome Fanboys and Fangirls. It is a pleasure to have know that you saw this Fanfiction, read the summary, thought it looked interesting, and clicked on it. You will not be let down my dear Fandom members, for within this tale is excitement, death, suspense, all of that good stuff.
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter
Chapter 1
It was nearly midnight when the striking blonde women entered the small shop. She looked around the empty shop for a moment before briskly walking to a table shoved into the very back corner of the shop. She pulled out a notebook and pen and jotted down some notes. A tall, lanky, brunette man strode over to her and sat down next to her. The two sat in silence for a spell, mentally sizing each other up before the woman spoke up.
"He lives," she barely whispered.
"Even through the Kiss of a Dementor?" the man asked, wide-eyed.
The woman glared at him with sterling silver eyes. "No, I was joking. I only wanted to get you into the most remote shop in London, at midnight, to play a practical joke on you," she smacked the man on the top of his head with her book. "Yes, even through the Kiss of a Dementor!"
The man rubbed his head, scowling. "Simmer down, Hot Stuff," he hissed, earning a piercing glare. "We need to warn someone."
"Who would listen to us? The Ministry has not been the same since Kingsley left. The red-haired fellow is not quite the same. He's a little too much like Fudge."
"Minister Weasley runs a tight ship. He is not likely to take to heart what we two have to say," the man mused, stroking a thin mustache that was starting to form upon his upper lip.
Suddenly there was a loud boom, echoing throughout the town. The blonde haired women glanced towards the ceiling nervously. "We have stayed too long. It is time to leave, but we will meet again soon to exchange plans of attack."
The two stood and walked to the front of the shop. When the women reached for the door handle, the man grabbed her wrist. She looked up at him, staring into his soul with her silver eyes.
"It was good seeing you," said the man, releasing her arm. "Miss Lovegood."
"And you Mister Longbottom."
Albus woke with a start. He sat up and opened up the thick red curtains that hung around his four poster bed. The rest of his dorm-mates were still sleeping, so he slowly padded out of the room, to the common room. There was a figure sitting in one of the chairs in front of a blazing fire.
"Hey, Al," an older version of Albus greeted, without turning his head.
"How did you know it was me?" Albus asked.
"Because," James replied, "You are the only person here who doesn't wear a robe over your pajamas," James turned his head and emerald green eyes met a pair of chocolate brown. "I didn't hear swishing."
"James, I had another nightmare," Al said, walking over to his brother.
"Al, I don't have time to worry about your scary dreams. It's only the first month of school and I already have an arse-load of homework."
The eleven year old started at his brother pleadingly.
"Fine," groaned James. "Tell me your dream and I'll pretend to be a nut job with thick glasses who will give you some BS reading on it."
Albus disregarded his brother's disgruntled persona and settled into the squashy armchair across and started recounting his dream.
"There were two people in a shop, and one of them was Professor Longbottom,"