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Harry Potter and the Dream Come True

Chapter Twelve - Dementors

Swinging on a swing in the deserted park, Harry forced himself to clear his mind like Decimare had taught him to. This time he managed, and nearly twenty minutes passed before he came out of the trance-like state he'd been in. During that trance he was oblivious to the world, which meant that he never saw the small, toad-like woman who'd walked through the park, saw him sitting on the swing, and ran off cackling with glee.

He was therefore completely surprised when, ten minutes later, two Dementors seemingly materialized out of nowhere and swooped towards him menacingly.

Almost immediately an intense wave of cold swept over Harry, drowning out his senses. A faint screaming echoed in his mind - his mother's voice - slowly growing louder and louder as the Dementors approached. Harry leapt to his feet, drawing his wand hastily from his pocket.

The Dementors couldn't be more than twenty feet away by now. The nightmarish creatures shrieked into the night air, sending a chill down Harry's spine. He looked around desperately for an escape route, but the swing was in the corner of the park.

He was trapped. It was time for an act of desperation.

Summoning the happiest memory he could think of, Harry waved his wand and cried out, "Expecto Patronum!" A huge, silvery stag burst forth from the end of his wand, lowered it's antlered head, and charged at the Dementors. Ramming its antlers into one of the Dementors' middles, the stag forced the pair back a step. It backed up, and snorted warningly at the pair, who seemed to consider their options and, defeated, were forced to flee.

As the Dementors swooped away, Harry's senses and happiness returned in a wonderful rush. He then realized how draining the encounter had been, and sank to the ground in an attempt to recover his strength. As Harry sat and recuperated, a sudden thought struck him. He'd just used an amazingly powerful spell in the middle of a Muggle area, and, more importantly, didn't have the protection of Potter Manor to shield his magical aura. There were no witnesses, save him. No one would believe him if he claimed to have used the magic in self-defense.

A sudden noise jolted Harry out of his contemplation, and he scrambled to his feet (albeit slowly, due to his exhaustion), looking around wildly. It sounded a great deal like footsteps... of more than one person. That meant it was either the Ministry or the Order, and Harry wasn't sure which one he'd prefer.

"Harry?" a man's voice rang out through the empty park. "Where are you, son? There are Dementors around; we need to get back to Grimmauld Place now!" Harry heaved a sigh of relief.

He stepped out from behind a large oak tree, and came face to face with James Potter, who looked greatly relieved to see him. James rushed forward and hugged his son tightly. Then he stepped back and fixed his son with a piercing gaze. "You are never to wander off without permission again! Who knows where you could've gone!"

Harry frowned. "I didn't 'wander off', I went for a walk and told Ron before leaving."

James scowled. "You might've checked first to make sure he was listening to you! When I realized you'd gone missing, Sirius had to drag the information out of Ron with a memory recall spell. Do you realize what could've happened?"

"I imagine I could've run into, say, two Dementors." Harry said dryly. James paled a bit.

"Did you say, 'two'?

"Oh yes. And if we continue our 'what if' game, I'd guess that the Dementors approached from the North East, stopped by this exact tree, and then fled for some unknown reason. Am I close?"

James was definitely pale now. "Right on, actually. That's what Mundungus said, anyway, and he's the one who spotted and tracked their movements. After sending a message back to base control, of course." He grasped his son by the shoulders and looked him straight in the eye. "Harry, son, please tell me that you didn't run into them. Please tell me it was some other, of-age wizard."

Harry sighed. "Wish I could, dad, but I'm afraid not. I was… er… day-dreaming, and I didn't notice them until they'd already cut off my escape route. I'm so sorry." He winced. "I'm in trouble, aren't I?"

"You're in trouble, but at least you aren't dead," Sirius proclaimed, hurrying over to the pair. His lined face looked graver than usual, although there was a touch of relief in it as well. "Securing the perimeter," he said to James by way of explanation. "I don't know how Dumbledore is going to smooth this one over."

Harry had had enough of this. "Look, I know I shouldn't have used magic, and that there weren't any witnesses, but at least I'm alive, right? From the way you two are acting, it's as if it would have been better to have let the Dementors kill me."

Sirius and James exchanged grim glances. James, one hand still on Harry's shoulder, guided his son forward as he spoke. "There is nothing more important than your life, Harry, please know that. You know that we care about you."

Harry sighed. "Yeah, I know that. I just don't get your attitudes. There can't be that much trouble over one case of underage magic!"

"On the contrary, Harry," Sirius stated, loping easily along beside Harry. "Expecto Patronum is a powerful spell, and done in a Muggle area, with no witnesses - I'm afraid that the courts just aren't going to believe us."

"Us?"

James scoffed, and a smile lit his face for the first time. "Of course, 'us'. You didn't think we'd leave you to take on the Ministry all by yourselves, did you?"

"Oh. Right," said Harry, feeling foolish.

"Back on track," Sirius continued. "There is one very important factor that you don't know, Harry, and that we forgot to tell you. Then again, it only happened yesterday, so you can't blame us, but-"

"Are you going to tell me, or what?"

"Oh, yes. Cornelius Fudge has been… well, he's been reinstated as Minister of Magic."

Harry stopped dead in his tracks. "What?"

James winced. "The Auror's council changed their minds, apparently, and somehow they got the Wizengamot to back them. Fudge is back."

"But how could they? How could Moody?"

Sirius smiled grimly. "Moody was kicked off the council for 'having a bad attitude'. Load of rubbish, if you ask me. Fudge probably bribed the Auror's council."

Harry grimaced. "I can see your point. Fudge hates me after the Tournament last year, and now with your public declaration of Voldemort's return… I'll be expelled in an instant."

"It gets worse," James said darkly. "Voldemort hasn't shown his face ever since the confrontation we had with the Minister two weeks back. People are starting to doubt his return. They are starting to believe that Hell addled my eyes, so that I didn't see what I thought I did."

"You mean the Ministry is starting to think that he isn't back? They're going to step down on security? They can't do that!" Harry said loudly.

"What security?" Sirius snorted. "I personally doubt there will be a difference. It's not like the Ministry has done anything since they publicly announced Voldemort was back."

"No, no, no! You don't understand! I know Voldemort! I know what he's doing, and he's fooling everyone!" Harry shouted, this time in real panic. They had to understand. Although Harry didn't really know what the Dark Lord was thinking, he'd certainly met up and fought with him more than enough times to at least guess what was on the man's mind. Most suddenly, Harry remembered the dream concerning Pettigrew stealing the shield from Voldemort. This only further boosted Harry's panic. "The Ministry mustn't step down security! This is exactly what Voldemort is waiting for!"

James placed a comforting hand on Harry's shoulder, trying to restrain the look of suffering crossing his face. This fifteen year old boy, through experience alone, knew more about the Dark Lord than the entire Ministry of Magic - could you get any more tragic than that? "I agree with you, Harry, but with Fudge in charge, the Ministry won't listen-"

"THEN WE'LL MAKE THEM LISTEN!" Harry bellowed in rage. "THEY ARE ENDANGERING THE LIVES OF THE ENTIRE EFFING WORLD!"

"HARRY!" Sirius shouted, cutting off the boy mid-rant. "We know that, you know that, and the Order at least has some clue. As much as I wish we could, we can't! We don't have control of the Ministry, and we won't have it any time soon! We can't rely on the Ministry!" This seemed to take the fire out of Harry, who would have slumped onto a nearby street curb if he hadn't already been supported by his father's arm.

"Then who can we rely on?"

"Dumbledore."

Harry's eyes lit up. He'd almost forgotten about Dumbledore. Then again, after the man had rescued him from the Dursleys, he had made no effort to contact Harry. He had even visited the Manor at times, but only when Harry was otherwise occupied. Harry had begun to believe the man either didn't care about him anymore, or was simply keeping information from him in an attempt to 'spare him pain'. That was more often than not the excuse Dumbledore would give Harry after finally revealing some small yet ever so crucial piece of information to him. Harry's eyes closed.

"Dumbledore. Right. Yay."

Sirius sighed. "Now Harry, I know that you're a bit annoyed that he's been avoiding you-"

"He's been what? I knew he wasn't trying to contact me, but purposely avoiding me? Oh, this is too rich."

"Did I say that? I didn't say that!" Sirius denied hastily, avoiding James's glare.

"Oh yes you did!"

"WOULD YOU TWO BE QUIET!"

Harry and Sirius immediately shut up and, in unison, winced and covered their ears. Once having determined his father wasn't going to yell anymore, Harry gingerly removed his hands and forced a small smile to his face.

"Look Sirius, I know I'm being out of line, and I'm sorry. I just get really annoyed when people keep things from me."

"They only do that to keep you safe," James said sternly.

"Oh really? Then why, father, do I always find out what's going on? Every. Single. Time. When has keeping things from me helped in the slightest? Look at last year! Because of things kept from me, Voldemort came back! Oh, well done! Bravo! The world is completely doomed, but at least poor little Harry is safe!"

Sirius and James shared one more look. James faced his son. "Harry. I understand exactly what you are saying. You want to know what's going on. That's not too much to ask, right?"

"No, it's really not."

"Fine. If you promise to stop freaking out, then once we get back to Grimmauld Place, Padfoot and I will tell you everything… well, everything we can without Dumbledore putting a ransom on our heads. Deal?"

Harry heaved a very heavy sigh. "You promise?"

Sirius grinned. "'Course we do, right Prongs? Now, can we get back? I need food, and my hair is undoubtedly a mess."

"And once we get back, you two can sort out my Dementor problem," Harry grumbled.

James smiled. "That's right. Don't worry, we'll sort it out. No worries. Well, some worries, but… never mind. Say, just out of curiosity, where exactly did this conversation start?"

The three thought back. Then Sirius's face brightened. "We were glad you weren't dead, we told you that Fudge is Minister and they're about to step down defenses against Voldemort and… uh… oh! Then you exploded because we, and, more specifically, the Order, were keeping things from you!"

"You sound pretty happy about that," Harry noted.

"Think happy thoughts! Padfoot was just happy that his memory hasn't completely failed him, right?"

Sirius, who for some reason was scanning the sky, gave a start. "What? Oh, absolutely!" He glanced nonchalantly up at the sky again, and then added, "Why don't we hurry now? It's getting late, you know." Harry looked up at the sky to try and see what was bothering Sirius, but as he was shuffled away he could find absolutely nothing out of place.

By the time they reached Grimmauld Place, Harry was asleep on his feet. The fight with the Dementors, and the shouting match that followed, had completely drained him of energy, and it was all he could do to make it to the living room sofa. James and Sirius watched as their charge drifted off into a peaceful sleep, neither guessing that Harry would have more than just simple dreams that night.

James turned to his best friend, his youthful face creased with worry. "Do you think he'll be alright, Padfoot?"

Sirius regarded his best friend somberly. It had never struck him so profoundly how… young James was. He had been so ecstatic to see his friend alive that he'd completely missed the fact that James was still twenty years old. He was barely an adult physically, yet mentally, Sirius couldn't even begin to imagine. The man had sacrificed himself to save his wife and child - and then spent fourteen years in Hell as a reward. Hell. Sirius had no idea how that must have affected his friend, and he sure as hell wasn't about to ask him.

James cleared his throat. Sirius had that far-away look in his eyes again, and damned if James would let that continue. Sirius had suffered enough on his behalf. He coughed softly. It was enough to snap Sirius out of it.

"Sorry?"

James sighed. "Forget it Padfoot. Don't worry. Everything's fine. Really." Sirius smiled sadly, and James couldn't help himself. His life was so insane, and yet all could think about was how thankful he was to be alive. Talk about a messed up life. Against his better judgment, James allowed himself to shed one small tear. Sirius looked like he was about to join him.

"Geez, Prongs, turn on the waterworks, why don't you?" Sirius grumbled, patting his friend sympathetically on the shoulder. This show of caring only caused James to cry harder.

"I miss her so much," he sobbed.

Sirius just barely managed to hold back his own tears. He had to be strong for his grieving companion. His fellow Marauder. His best friend in the world. As he had in Azkaban, Sirius couldn't take the storm of emotions swelling through him, and shifted to canine form. James sniffed, and then let out a small laugh as he ruffled Padfoot's head.

Ever so slowly, the pair drifted off to sleep, right in the middle of the floor, James's head resting on Padfoot's furry stomach. It was in this position that Remus found the duo a few hours later, and, looking at them, as they lay so peacefully in sleep, Remus finally realized, truly realized, what he'd been fighting for all this time. Peace.

He was in a forest. It was large, and ancient, and Harry realized he knew this place. Over the past two weeks he'd been seeing flashes of it, so brief that he couldn't possibly piece them together. Until now. As he looked up, Harry could make out a range of mountains that stretched as far as the eye could see. He knew this place too. Those were the Alps - he'd learned about them in Geography in grade five.

Well, at least he had some idea of where he was, even if it was a dream.

A sudden movement caught his eye. Something about his size, maybe smaller, running as fast as it could through the trees. Harry heard a yell, a crash, and muffled words. Although he couldn't make out what it was saying, the identity of the voice was as clear as day. Wormtail.

Hate surged through Harry, and he was tempted to march forward and murder the rat where it stood, until he remembered that it would do no good, as this was all a dream. Fine, then. Perhaps Harry could at least see what the rat was up to, now that he'd apparently gone on the run with that bizarre shield he'd stolen.

Harry edged forward, and peered around a large, twisted oak. Sitting in the middle of a clearing, clutching his toe and muttering angrily was Peter Pettigrew. Although his eyes darted wildly up, down, left, and right, they always seemed to return immediately to the package by his side. The shield. The shield that Voldemort, for some strange reason, was after.
"Running and running, for what?" Pettigrew muttered, shoving his swollen toe back into his shoe. "For redemption, to prove I want to come back to the light - nonsense! They'll never believe me. What's the use?" Chuckling, he shifted to the side and pulled a flask of water and a few biscuits from his travel bag. "Can't let Him have it, that's why, Peter. Damn to hell whoever thought up Morals!"

Harry edged closer. The shield was wrapped in cloth, but he could make out a bit of its silver, engraved rim. There was the edge of a pattern that seemed to be the rays of the sun, and a bit of writing, although not in a language Harry recognized. Still, some clues were better than none, so Harry quickly set about committing the strange words to memory.

By the time Wormtail was up and ready to move on, despite it being the middle of the night, Harry had all ten words remembered perfectly. He couldn't even try pronouncing them - they were too strange.

As Wormtail vanished from Harry's sight, and he felt that familiar tug that signaled the end of the vision, Harry couldn't help but let out a frustrated sigh. Couldn't life ever be easy, just this once? He knew the answer, of course. He was the Boy-Who-Lived, and it was his solemn duty to do things in the most difficult and time-consuming way possible.

A/N: This chapter is dedicated to:

Athenakitty

SilverKnight7

Patricia Black

Serendepetee

Amandinka

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