Moonlight illuminated the field of close-cropped grass. Now and then, a
patch of dark would float across the field from right to left, as a thin
whisp of a cloud passed overhead. But even with the occasional cloud, the
field could be seen as clearly as if it were midday. It wasn't, of course;
judging from the position of the moon it was late night. Nearing midnight. In the foreground, the back wall of a small cottage stood to the right and
isolated a large rectangle of shadow from the moonlight, but if one
squinted, one could make out a very large cauldron sitting in the middle of
the rectangle. A door opened and a short, balding man emerged.
The man looked alarmed at the sight of the cauldron. Immediately he
gathered an armful of firewood from a pile near the door and carried it
over to the cauldron. He placed it underneath, stretched out his wand, and
ignited it. The door opened again and he turned around, alarmed.
"Wormtail," a cold, high-pitched voice called.
"Y-yes my Lord," the short man answered in a timid squeak.
"How is it coming, Wormtail?" The second man merely stood in the
doorway. By the light of the newly-ignited fire he could see the firewood,
barely scorched, sitting under the cauldron, atop a pile of smoldering
ashes.
"Very well," Wormtail answered, feigning cheerfulness.
"The fire has gone out."
"No! It was--it was smoldering, but it's lit now! No harm done." The
short man had drawn a wand from beneath his cloak and had begun stirring
the cauldron. As he stirred, he furtively glanced sideways at the other,
taller man. The second man did not move.
"Do not let it happen again, Wormtail." The high-pitched voice was
steely-cold, and cruel. Its owner was losing his patience. "We cannot
take any longer than we have to--if you were to ruin it, we would have to
start all over again."
"But it's not ruined! It's fine!"
"It must be perfect. One tiny mistake and all would be lost."
"No! We haven't made any mistakes!"
"We?" The cold voice quieted to a whisper, and gave way to a cruel
laugh. "No. We haven't made any mistakes. You, on the other
hand--"
"No! It's fine--come see for yourself!"
But the taller man didn't move. He regarded Wormtail for a moment. "How much longer?"
Trembling, the short man drew a small piece of parchment from inside
his cloak. "Lumos," he muttered. The tip of his wand lit up, and by its
light he began to read to himself.
"The eggs must stew for two more months. Then we can add the
Lobalug venom. But--" Wormtail's voice turned to a timid squeak now "-
the unicorn hair--"
"Do not worry about that now," the tall man interrupted. "We have
three months to locate it, and a contact to procure it for us. Very well,
Wormtail. Mind you don't let that fire burn out again. I may not be so
kindly disposed toward you next time."
"Yes, my Lord," Wormtail responded in a hoarse whisper. The tall man receded into the shadow the doorway, and the door banged shut behind him.
***
"Geez, Harry, didn't you sleep at all?" Ron asked as he, Harry, and
Hermione sat down to breakfast the Tuesday after the Quidditch match
against Slytherin. Ron must have noticed the dark circles under Harry's
eyes. Harry hoped he didn't look as bad as he felt.
"Yeah. I mean, I think so. I don't remember."
"I dunno," Ron said, filling his glass with orange juice. "You woke me
up twice with your tossing and turning. And the moaning. You were having
some kind of nightmare."
Hermione looked concerned at this. "Harry, did you--did you have any
dreams last night?" She stared at him. He knew she was remembering the
dreams he'd had last year, involving Voldemort. He shook his head and
reached for the serving dish, the one holding the scrambled eggs.
Eggs. Suddenly Harry stood up. "I've gotta go," he said quickly and ran
out the doors of the Great Hall, through the entrance hall and down the
stone steps of the castle. Alarmed, Ron and Hermione left their
breakfasts and rushed after him.
It was blindingly bright outside, but chilly, and the air was beginning
to smell like autumn. Harry began to run toward Hagrid's cabin. Not far
from it, he could see Professor Green standing between the lake and the
Forbidden Forest, pausing to watch three exhausted third-years run by. Sitting next to her on the ground was the person Harry wanted to see.
He ran over to Professor Green and, panting, explained that he needed to
speak to Sirius.
"Hang on," she answered gravely. "What is it? What's wrong?"
But he didn't want to tell her. He wanted to tell Sirius. Before he
could think of a polite way to say this, she nodded.
"Alright, but listen, you can't talk to him now. Would look a little odd,
wouldn't it, you running out here in a panic and demanding to take my dog
for a walk? Come by my office at one o'clock, after lunch, and you can
speak to him then."
Harry suffered through Professor Binns' History of Magic lecture, then
lunch, feeling as though one o'clock would never come. He had told Ron and
Hermione what he had remembered of his dream, and they had agreed that
he should tell someone.
"I think you should go straight to Dumbledore," Hermione had said. "I
don't see why you don't."
"Well, he can ask Si-Snuffles about it," Ron had answered, glancing
around the Gryffindor table to make sure no one was listening, "and if he
thinks it's important enough, Harry will go to Dumbledore. But he
doesn't know if it's worth bothering Dumbledore about yet, does he? I
mean, he doesn't even know that it wasn't just a regular nightmare."
At one o'clock, just as Harry was about to knock on the door to
Professor Green's office, it opened, and she appeared before him. "Come
in," she said. Harry stepped inside, and she shut the door behind him. Instantly the large black dog on the rug in front of the fireplace
metamorphosed into the person Harry wanted so desperately to speak
with.
"I'm leaving now," Professor Green told them, walking to the door. She
remembered something. "Oh, yes--"
"We know. Don't touch anything." Sirius smiled at her.
She smiled in return, nodded, and left.
Sirius watched her leave, then turned to Harry, still smiling. "So," he
said, "what's this you wanted to speak with me about?"
Harry told him everything he could remember about the dream: Wormtail, Voldemort, the cottage, the field, the cauldron, the potion. When he described the ingredients he had heard them speak about--some
sort of eggs, Lobalug venom, and unicorn hair--he was surprised to see
Sirius merely nod, as though he already knew.
"Harry," Sirius said as he began pacing back and forth before the fire. This was a habit of Sirius', Harry was beginning to realize, and he felt
oddly comforted by it. "Do you remember at the end of last term, in the
hospital wing? I was told that Dumbledore gave--Snape--" he said the
name as though he found it difficult to pronounce "--a task."
"Yeah," Harry answered, remembering. "But he didn't say what it was."
"Right. I will tell you now, if you promise to keep it a strict secret. Dumbledore wanted to keep it quiet as possible but, considering what you
already know, I don't think it will make much difference if I tell you.
"That night, Snape prepared a Mind-Blocking Potion and went out to see
an old acquaintance of his--Lucius Malfoy. His task was to find out
everything he could about the Dark Lord's whereabouts.
"He didn't find out anything, although he was convinced that Malfoy
knew more than he was letting on. But he kept in contact with him. Eventually, Snape started getting requests. For potion ingredients.
"Dumbledore directed Snape to pass the ingredients on to Malfoy, under
the pretense that Snape was trying to help the Dark Lord return to power. All the while, Snape, Dumbledore, and a close circle of our allies have
been keeping track of which items Voldemort has requested, in order to
try to figure out what he's planning.
"So far, we can't see how he can use these these items to create
anything dangerous, or even all that beneficial to himself. Some of them
are hard to find, but none of them is very powerful. The eggs you heard
about were probably the Doxy eggs that Snape gave Malfoy at the beginning
of the summer. We didn't know about the unicorn hair--that was a good
tip--but even with that piece of information, I doubt that Dumbledore
will be any closer to knowing what Voldemort's brewing.
"Maybe it's just a regular Wit-Sharpening potion, or some sort of a
healing potion. We can't be sure. But as long as Voldemort keeps asking
Snape for things, Snape's going to give them to him. We think Voldemort
may be testing Snape's loyalty. Snape's hoping to eventually regain
Voldemort's trust, and work his way back into his inner circle."
Harry was fascinated. "So he's trying to spy for Dumbledore--again? But isn't it dangerous?"
Sirius nodded. "It is. Incredibly dangerous. He's taken every
protective measure he can, but still--" The disdain toward Snape that had
marked in Sirius' tone seemed to recede a bit. "I didn't think he'd survive
this long, to be quite honest with you. But Voldemort hasn't even tried to
hurt him yet. Hasn't even spoken with him face-to-face. It's as though
he's trying to be very careful. As though he's biding his time, waiting for
something."
