As usuall, I don't own Harry Potter.
~ ~
°
***********************************************************************
Her words still echoed in his mind....
*"I don't care what you say, Frederic Weasly. They're still on our side!" Hermione yelled at him, her eyes bright.
"How can you trust them, when they would have to kill you if ordered?" he demanded. "They're bloody backstabbers and you know it!"
"Draco's been in the circle since He rearose four years ago. I've known him for three." She glared at the older teen. "Severus Snape. At age twelve he was inducted. At age fifteen he became double agent. At age thirtyeight, the only one with full acces to the meetings."
"That still doesn't say we can trust them."
"What says we can't?"
"Voldemort."
"Why?" Hermione demanded an answer.
"The bloody fucking bastard is to powerful, and to freehanded with the Imperious."
"They are strong, possibly stronger than Harry against that attack." Her confidence was overwhelming to a boy who didn't trust them.*
Even in his unconcious state, he felt that some thing was wrong. It was probably during this time of heigtened psychic awareness, though, that gave his next dream it's shape.
*He was standing in a clearing, fighting Percy. "Traitorous bastard!" he cried, lunging in with his sword. Out of seemingly no where, his brother's girlfriend appeared, shooting the blade with her semi-automatic gun.
"What were you saying, Fred?" Percy asked, catching the gleaming sword. "For if you can remember, your twin has allready died. Do you want that?"
Fred struggled against Penelope as Percy approached. "Dying trying to bring you down is more honorable than helping Voldemort rise!" He glared up in mutinous helplessness as the gleaming sword point rested at the base of his throat.
The images swirled, and Fred suddenly found himself looking at a clearing deep in the forest. In the center stood three figures-Draco, Voldemort, and Hermione. At the edge he could make out the vague shapes of Ron and Harry, fighting against a barrier of somekind. He gasped as he watched Draco close his eyes, mutter something, then slide a silver knife between the girl's- young woman, really-ribs. "Hermione! No!"
"You foolish mudblood! Did you honestly think that love would save you!" Voldemort cackled, watching the girl's knees buckle and slump against Draco. "For nothing-not even the great Harry Potter now-can defeat these powers of darkness I have Summoned!"*
He sat up and banged his head on the upper bunk. "Godammit!" he swore, then slouched over, slowing his beating heart as he raked the hair from his face.
"What's wrong, bro?" George asked, his tousled head appearing-upside down- beneath the edge of the upper bunk.
A soft knock answered. "Come in!" Fred lightly called.
Hermione enterred, looking concerned. "Are you okay, Fred? I sensed some distress."
"Just my dreams. I swear, as soon as I get the chance, I'm gonna kill that bat Trelawny. For once she wasn't wrong about something." He hung his head, closing his eyes tightly.
*"I don't care what you say, Frederic Weasly. They're still on our side!" Hermione yelled at him, her eyes bright.
"How can you trust them, when they would have to kill you if ordered?" he demanded. "They're bloody backstabbers and you know it!"
"Draco's been in the circle since He rearose four years ago. I've known him for three." She glared at the older teen. "Severus Snape. At age twelve he was inducted. At age fifteen he became double agent. At age thirtyeight, the only one with full acces to the meetings."
"That still doesn't say we can trust them."
"What says we can't?"
"Voldemort."
"Why?" Hermione demanded an answer.
"The bloody fucking bastard is to powerful, and to freehanded with the Imperious."
"They are strong, possibly stronger than Harry against that attack." Her confidence was overwhelming to a boy who didn't trust them.*
Even in his unconcious state, he felt that some thing was wrong. It was probably during this time of heigtened psychic awareness, though, that gave his next dream it's shape.
*He was standing in a clearing, fighting Percy. "Traitorous bastard!" he cried, lunging in with his sword. Out of seemingly no where, his brother's girlfriend appeared, shooting the blade with her semi-automatic gun.
"What were you saying, Fred?" Percy asked, catching the gleaming sword. "For if you can remember, your twin has allready died. Do you want that?"
Fred struggled against Penelope as Percy approached. "Dying trying to bring you down is more honorable than helping Voldemort rise!" He glared up in mutinous helplessness as the gleaming sword point rested at the base of his throat.
The images swirled, and Fred suddenly found himself looking at a clearing deep in the forest. In the center stood three figures-Draco, Voldemort, and Hermione. At the edge he could make out the vague shapes of Ron and Harry, fighting against a barrier of somekind. He gasped as he watched Draco close his eyes, mutter something, then slide a silver knife between the girl's- young woman, really-ribs. "Hermione! No!"
"You foolish mudblood! Did you honestly think that love would save you!" Voldemort cackled, watching the girl's knees buckle and slump against Draco. "For nothing-not even the great Harry Potter now-can defeat these powers of darkness I have Summoned!"*
He sat up and banged his head on the upper bunk. "Godammit!" he swore, then slouched over, slowing his beating heart as he raked the hair from his face.
"What's wrong, bro?" George asked, his tousled head appearing-upside down- beneath the edge of the upper bunk.
A soft knock answered. "Come in!" Fred lightly called.
Hermione enterred, looking concerned. "Are you okay, Fred? I sensed some distress."
"Just my dreams. I swear, as soon as I get the chance, I'm gonna kill that bat Trelawny. For once she wasn't wrong about something." He hung his head, closing his eyes tightly.