Chapter 2
"The plan is almost ready." said a tall thin man with a snake like face. He was addressing a group of people, who were all wearing masks and black robes.
They were in a dark room, that held a fireplace, a large round table and chairs. The room looked as if it hadn't been used in years and there were layers amount of dust on the floor and mold in and on the walls. If someone with really bad asthma walked into the room they would surely died.
"My lord." spoken one of the people in the mask. He was a short man with a bald patch in the middle of his head. He had a wheezy short of voice and a rat like face. "May I ask why do we have to attack the entire castle. There are innocent children. Not that I care about them."
"Tell me, Wormtail," said the tall thin man. "are you afraid of death."
"No. Of course not." he answered.
"Then be quiet unless you want to meet your own." the tall man hissed.
"My
lord." said a tall man with white blond hair, "May I say
something?"
"Certainly, Lucius."
"I care nothing about killing mudbloods and other people. In fact, I can do it with out looking back. But, as my son attends this school. Do you think you can ease up on the attack, so he would not be harmed?"
"Do not worry, Lucius, my friend. The only way anyone will die if they get in the way of my plans. I will not touch your son."
"Thank you, Lord Voldemort."
"Hey, wait a minute." said Wormtail. "You'll listen to him, but you won't listen to me."
Voldemort stared coldly at Wormtail, who began to shiver at the stare. "That is because you annoy me." he hissed. "Your voice is irritating."
"But aren't I entitled to my opionions."
"No you're not." spat Voldemort. "You're opinions means nothing to me you stupid little man. Keep you worthless opinions in your foolish head." Voldemort raised his wand. "Don't ever talk to me like that again. Crucio."
Wormtail was knocked back off his chair and onto the floor, where he was twiching and screaming for dear life. After a while, Voldemort lifted the curse. Wormtail remained on the dusty floor, wheezing worse than ever, gasping for breath. He was still twiching.
"You will do what you're told." Voldemort said softly. "When you're told, and exactly as you're told. Do I make myself perfectly clear?"
"Yes, sir."
"Good. Now as I was saying. The plan is almost ready. A few more days and Harry Potter will meet his death."
"Harry! Harry!"
Harry bolted up straight in bed, panting as though he was running in a marathon. He reached for his glasses on the bedside table and placed them onto his face. The Gryffindor common room came into view. Ron was staring anxiously at him. Harry looked around and also saw that Dean, Seamus, and Neville, were also staring at him.
"You okay, mate?" asked Ron.
"Of course I'm okay." Harry replied. "Why wouldn't I be?"
The truth was that Harry wasn't okay at all. His scar was burning badly, and he felt sick to his stomach. He didn't want to admit that to Ron, because Neville, Dean, and Seamus was still in the room. He had had another dream about Voldemort. This was not the first time that he had a dream about him. After all, last year he had two dreams about him.
"You were muttering in your sleep." whispered Neville.
"And you were tossing and turning." added Seamus.
"I'm fine." Harry said firmly.
"Are you sure?" asked Dean.
"Yes."
"Okay, then let's go down to breakfast." said Seamus.
They dressed quietly, not having much to talk about. Harry had the feeling that Ron was watching him, if he was, Ron said nothing. Harry was in no hurry to say anything about this dream. Especially, when he was in the company of others.
"Are you sure you're alright?" Ron asked, as he, Harry, Dean, Seamus, and Neville, made their way to the Great Hall.
Harry pretended not to have heard Ron. He hated having to repeat the same answeres over and over. They walked pass Peeves, who was tripping people down the stairs.
"Have a nice trip. See you next fall." he said as a first year went tumbling down the stairs.
"Have any of you guys understood a word Snape was saying about bezoars?" Neville asked. Neville was awful at Potions. He would have had a better chance of becoming minister of magic than making a potion.
"It's easy Neville." said Hermione, coming down the stairs behind them. "It's the key ingredient in antidotes."
"It is?"
Hermione turned her attention to Harry and Ron. "Why didn't you guys wait for me?"
"We thought you'd be already half way through breakfast." said Ron, as they watched Neville fall down the stairs. They, however paid no attention. They kept walking.
Mr. Filch came hurtling up the stairs. "Peeves. You've done it this time. Tripping people down the stairs. I'll have you this time."
When they arrived in the great hall for breakfast, they found that it was very nosy. Harry, Ron, and Hermione took their seats at the Gryffindor table, and began to eat. Harry's stomach and scar was still bothering him, so he played with his food, rather than eat it.
Harry wanted to tell Ron and Hermione about the dream, but he didn't know how to tell them. People could over hear them.
"What classes do we have today?" Ron asked.
"How should I know?" said Hermione. "You should know."
Harry was quiet for the rest of the day, trying to figure out how to tell Ron and Hermione about the dream. They arrived at Snape's dungeon after lunch and lined up with the other Gryffindors. Harry's stomach and scar felt much worst and he needed to lie down, but he knew that Snape would never sleep in his class, and if he skived of Snape would hunt him down. Harry felt so sick that not even Draco Malfoy's taunts bothered him. After a while, Malfoy left Harry alone and stood in line with the Slytherins.
When Snape let them in the class, Harry, Ron, and Hermione took their usual seats in the back. They pulled out their parchment, ink bottles, and quills, and set to work. If Harry didn't tell them soon he was going to go crazy. He didn't feel much like talking, ao he took a sheet of parchment and wrote upon it.
I had another dream about Voldemort. I think he is planning to attack the castle.
Harry sled the note to Ron, who picked it up and read it. He lowered his quill to the parchment and wrote.
Are you sure? Why would You-Know-Who want to attack a whole castle for? He'd have to fight off all of the teachers.
Before he could slide the note to Harry, Hermione took it out of his hands and wrote on it too.
You-Know-Who is a powerful wizard. He wouldn't be worried about getting killed by teachers. He'd just kill them.
Not if he has to face Dumbledore.
Ron and Hermione continued to pass the note back and forth, never passing it on to Harry. They continued to do their work, but they were discussing more about Voldemort than bezoars. Hermione had already written more than enough to satisfy Snape, and Ron's work was okay.
Abandoning his assignment, Harry placed his head on top of the desk wishing that his scar and stomach would stop hurting.
Soon Harry was asleep. Dreaming.
He was in a house, not like the one in his previous dreams, but it was smaller. The room was filled with gorgeous white furniture, with matching curtains. It looked as if the house was still inhabitant. A tall skinny man was sitting in a chair by the fireplace, looking at a newspaper that Harry couldn't see the headline on. Harry couldn't even see the man's face, and he had begun to wonder why he was having this dream. It felt so real.
"Look's to me like Lord Voldemort has killed yet another dozen muggles." said the man. He had a very deep voice, and he apparently was a wizard, for he knew Lord Voldemort. The man began to speak again. "He can kill as many muggles as he wants, toture all the wizards that he wants. But he will not, and
will make sure of that, kill Harry-"
"Potter!" barked a voice.
It was Snape who woke him up from his dream. Harry looked around the classroom and notice that everyone was looking at him. Was he talking in his sleep, or was he simply snoring loudly?
As Snape walked over to their table, Harry realized that he didn't start on his assignment about bezoars. He wondered how much trouble he would be in. Then again, if he told Snape what was really wrong, maybe he would slide away easily. Then again, this was Snape he was talking about. The greasy haired Potion Master that only favored Slytherins.
"Potter, inform me of the assignment I gave today." said Snape.
"An essay about bezoars." Harry replied.
"Then tell me why you are talking about theDark Lord in my class." Snape said, picking up the piece of parchment that Ron and Hermione were passing back and forth. Harry knew that he was in troule. The parchment showed all evidence that Harry started the note, as his handwriting was at the top of the paper.
"I. . .um. . ." Harry stammered, not knowing what to say.
"This means detention for the rest of the month. Do you have any obligations?"
Of course he had obligations. He didn't want to be trapped in a cold, dark dungeon with Snape for the rest of the month.
"This isn't fair, professor. I. . ."
For a moment Harry was about to explain about the dream, but he doubt that he would even care.
"Yes?"
"No. . .I'm sorry." Harry muttered.
Harry was in a bad mood for the rest of the day. Ron and Hermione tried to talk to him, but he avoided them, and didn't make eye contact with anyone when he crossed the common room to get upstairs to his dormitory.
Harry changed into his pajamas, got into bed, and closed the hangings hiding him from view. He didn't want to talk to anyone at the moment. He just wanted to get away from his dreams about Voldemort. He even wished that he could go to a place where Voldemort wouldn't find him, and couldn't bother him. Little did he know that most wishes come true.
Harry drifted off into a deep sleep where he had the weirdest dreams. He was dreaming about living with Sirius in Grimmauld Place. But something was wrong. Every time he opened his mouth, a rude swear word would come spilling out. The problem was that he was not saying the words. True his mouth was moving, but the sound that came out was not his voice. It was cold and high pitched.
Then the dream changed. He was asleep in his dormitory, and the castle smelled of fire.
Wait. He is asleep in his dormitory. And it does smell like fire. Harry woke up to the sound of Ron's voice.
"Fire! The castle is on fire!"
I'll just leave it that. As you've noticed, Harry's story tallies with Snape's. Now I'm going to someone else's point of view. Please read and review. Bye.
