Disclaimer: Becky mine. Harry Potter no mine. Volders no mine. Boo-hoo. Things me could do…

Well, here's the next chapter, everyone! I'm still working on the format so that it'll be easier to read, so bear with me! Remember, I'm new to fanfiction, and from what everyone says, this is a new(ish) format, so I'm still grappling for understanding of it.

Chapter Four

Becky lay on her bed, staring out the window that was one of her walls. One of the panels opened, and she was expecting a letter that day. She had just gotten out of the Death Eater meeting, which had mostly consisted of bickering about how they would fail Harry at Potions, which seemed to be his worst subject. They imagined it would be because that traitor, Snape, disliked Harry, and everyone who wasn't Slytherin, for that matter, so that his Potions classes would be miserable.

She sadly slipped a book out of her pocket. It was a small book, the deceased Regulus Black's diary of being a Death Eater. He had written it, she had found out, in case any other Black or other person wished to become a Death Eater. If they read it, when forced to be a Death Eater, they would know how to cope. She sighed, and then began to read.

She was in the middle of scanning the pages of crimes gone by when there was a tap on the giant window. She looked up sharply, and then grinned. It was a large snowy owl, with big yellow eyes and three letters tied to her legs. It was Hedwig.

She opened the little pane that would open, and Hedwig soared into the room. She alighted and thrust her leg out to Becky, who rushed over and removed the letters. She did so an instant before Hedwig took off again. Right before she soared away again, Becky called softly out the window, "I'm sorry you had to come here to find me. I would get away, Hedwig. But I can't."

The beautiful owl turned back and gave one small, sympathetic hoot, then whirled around and flew out the window. Becky shut the pane of glass, caked with grime and soot, and ran back to the bed. She slammed onto the mattress and unraveled the first letter.

It was obvious by the handwriting that it must be from Hermione.

Becky, the letter said, in neat, even print,

I'm not sure whether to trust you or not yet, but I'm choosing to trust you. Harry says that he met you this summer before he went back to the Burrow. He says you were helpful to him. I think we can trust you.

Becky thought back to that night and smiled. Harry had been planting flowers outside in his Aunt Petunia's garden. He was seventeen, but he was still under Aunt Petunia's power as long as he lived with her. Becky, as she passed by, had loudly mocked him, and then had waved her wand as the flowers magically moved into place. She had muttered her address, whispered that she was a spy and to trust her, and then Disapparated. It was funny to think back to that night, remembering his face as a complete stranger had helped him with his chores and told him that she was a spy.

We promise we'll help you. We want to know what Voldemort is plotting. You must help us. We'll do what we can to foil his plans.

I understand that it must be hard for you to foil his plans and act as though you're working FOR him. We'll help as much as possible. We'll also try not to write too often. We've been taught a way to talk without using owls. We're going to use it on you soon. Please have your wand on you at ten-thirty SHARP tomorrow night.

My work at school will become very steep very fast, so we'll try to use wand communication then, as well.

If you have any DADA tips, please send them to me. Harry would help, but he's busy with Potions. Snape may be gone, but Potions is still Harry's weakest subject, so he'll be struggling with that.

Hermione

Becky smiled and picked up the second letter, opening it thoughtfully. She could send Defense Against the Dark Arts tips easily; after all, she had gotten an O in her DADA N.E.W.T.'s. Hermione must really be suffering this year, if she needs tips.

She looked down at the next letter, and realized that it was from Harry.

Hello Becky,

We're going to help you as much as we can. I'm glad I met you. You're doing something really brave for the Order.

We're going to try and contact you tomorrow night. Hermione must've told you. She thinks of everything.

Pig, Ron's owl that Sirius gave him, is ill. We don't know what to do. Hagrid doesn't even know what's wrong. Can you help?

Give us a list of the Death Eaters. We're going to turn them in to the Ministry.

Good luck!

Harry

Becky sighed. Sadness everywhere. Ah, well. Better read Ron's letter.

Hi Becky. This is Ron, Harry's best mate. Listen, how come you're not dead yet? If you aren't dead, tell us. If you are, wrong house.

She smiled as she produced her first genuine chuckle since she had arrived at this terrible place. She planned on enjoying replying to his letter.

She curled up into a little ball on the bed. Folding the letters into her robes, she tried to think of how to make Voldemort lose it. How would she make his head go spinning off to the grave? She thought for a moment, and then smiled. Becky was a sly gal. She knew how to annoy better than most.

She gathered what she would need for her next few pranks. Her wand, for starters. Also magic markers, glitter glue, yarn, knitting needles, and her hands and voice. She opened the windowpane in preparation.

These were going to be good.

tHiS iS a BoRdEr ThIs Is A bOrDeR tHiS iS a BoRdEr ThIs Is A bOrDeR

Voldemort was smiling. Below him was Harry Potter, dead. His wand lay crushed beneath his feet. Dumbledore was lying on the ground, blood pouring from wounds. He panted hard, his awful silver beard tangled around his head in shining masses.

Voldemort leaned to Dumbledore's level. "You said you would protect Harry Potter," he hissed in his high, cruel voice. "But you failed. And now, I'm going to finish you--"

Dumbledore's fans and family were breaking down the door. James Potter rushed into the room, followed by Lily. Aberforth ran after them, and Sirius Black and Remus after him. Order member after Order member rushed into the room, as Dumbledore stood, regaining strength, blood simply fading away. Harry practically flew upwards as well, grabbing his newly repaired wand in his fist. They closed in…

Voldemort awoke, shaking. That was a rather odd dream…

The door was still being broken down. I must not have awoken properly. Or, he added, shuddering, I might not have awakened at all! He might be in one of those dreams where you think you're awake, but you're still asleep.

But the door was still shaking in the doorway. He decided, annoyed, "Even if it is a dream, I might as well kill something."

He shot out of bed and opened the door.

There was no one there. He thought, for a moment, that he heard a snigger, but he decided that he must have imagined it.

He went back to bed.