a/n: Ah... thank you for the reviews... I love reviews... it is hot out... It's sunny out... Sun means hot... hot means... *passes out from heat exhaustion*
Chapter 4: Dreaming of Death Eaters
On Monday night, the Harry and the Weasleys (minus Mr. Weasley, Bill, Charlie, and Percy) were gathered around the kitchen table for dinner. Just as Mrs. Weasley sat down next to Ginny, Percy and Mr. Weasley promptly bustled in, finally back from the Ministry.
"Oh, Arthur, thank goodness you're back!" Mrs. Weasley got up again and embraced her husband and then Percy. "And you, Percy- you are NOT going to work tommorow."
"Oh, shush, mum!" Percy managed to say between Mrs. Weasley's arms. "This is a very important meeting tommorow. If the Scandinavian Minisitry does not restrict the number of immigrants to Britain, there will be more smugglings of Scandinavian Black-thorned Dragons into the country, and they- "
"Ok, ok, we get the point, Perce," Ron said exasperatedly. Percy glared at him in indignation and took a seat next to Harry.
"In any case, it's as safe as it will get. We've changed the time, we've moved the place... The Minister has granted us some Ministry protection, which is more than enough to hold back a few Death Eaters-"
"A few death eaters! Percy, you were too young to remember how it was before You-Know-Who's downfall. Those attacks- you never knew who was going to drop down dead- Oh, Percy, I don't want that to happen to you, too!"
"Listen, mum. The Scandinavian ministry is already being quite uncoraporative (sp?) with all this business and now they are annoyed about the adjustments we've had to make. If they come to this meeting we issued and our own Head of International Relations is absent, Scandinavian-British ties will surely fall to an all-time low."
Fred eyed Percy warily. "So you're basically telling us that our whole relationship with Scandinavia is dependent on you, Perce?"
Percy glared at him. "Of course not. But it does have a profound effect..." He sighed as the twins snickered under their breaths.
"What took you so long at work, Dad?" Ron asked, shoving a forkful of chicken in his mouth.
Mr. Weasley looked up from the current Evening Prophet. "Ah... Well, they say that the supposed Death Eater strike will bring in many captured Death Eaters," he said slowly. "The Ministry had a vote as to what we should do with them. Fudge wants to just throw them all in Azkaban."
"He's right, too," Percy said. "The fewer the supporters You-Know-Who has, the weaker he'll be. I personally voted to also have the Kiss administered on prominent Death Eaters."
"You did?" Mr. Weasley eyed his son. "See, the more the Dementors are exposed to Dark supporters, the more likely they would turn if You-Know-Who asked them. If Azkaban fell, it would be a disaster. I voted to send off a few, but keep most for questioning and to see if we could get some more spies from them."
"Are spies really that trustworthy? Death Eaters may agree to spy to get out of our hair, and then feed us false information," said Percy.
"But, see why we need the most we can get? Presently, Dumbledore only has about three, I think, main spies, and Fudge, only one or two. If we have more, then it will be much more easier to determine what is the truth. And it doesn't take much to find out who's a false spy."
Ron, having cleaned his plate, took it to the sink, saying, "You have officially lost me." Mr. Weasley chuckled. "Come on, Harry." The two boys headed upstairs to Ron's bright orange room.
Meanwhile, as Percy and Mr. Weasley were bickering over such matters, Cornelius Fudge himself was lounging behind his desk, gazing at the results of that day's vote at the Ministry.
"Oh, I don't care what these results are," he said, finally. "It's obvious that any Death Eaters we capture should all go to Azkaban. Is it that big of a deal, anyway?" He handed the papers to the representative from the Department of Ministry Defense. "I understand, anyway, that it's just a death eater gathering, like at the World cup last year," he sighed. "Just make sure you have adequate protection at the meeting, and it'll all go fine." The Ministry official nodded, took the papers and left.
The next morning, while the sun was high in the water-washed blue sky, Harry and Ron headed outside to clean out the gnomes from the front garden.
"Wish Hermione's wildcat were here," Ron said. "It always liked these things. Aha!" Ron grabbed a dusty, potato-headed creature on legs and flung it around his head like a sling. Harry did the same with a couple that he found. The gnomes squealed as Ron and Harry competed to see whose would go the farthest.
After slinging a few gnomes into the nearby woods, Harry collapsed on the garden bench behind him.
"Sorry Ron... It's so hot out here... Can you do the rest?" He said, wiping the long greasy hair out of his face. "Yuck... wish that orange potion would come out of my hair..." He ran his hands over it a few times.
"Sure- it looks like they're starting to leave. Oh, no you don't-" Ron lunged for a gnome's little booted legs as it cried, "Geroff me! Geroff!" and squeaked with laughter.
The few cries of the little gnomes were all that broke the deathly silence that seemed to settle like a hot dust cloud over the dry garden. Harry laid down on the bench, giving in to his leadened eyelids and closing as if they were glued shut.
"You alright there, Harry?" Ron called out as he, too, laid down on the golden blades of grass under the sun.
"Yeah, I'm fine," Harry replied, smiling slightly, his eyes still closed. But there was a tacit agreement between the two; to put it bluntly, the sun was too hot.
The buzzing of early cicadas buzzed on as drowsy sun rays rocked the two boys into deep slumber. Ron smiled on the grass, enjoying a ggod chance to get a nap, but Harry turned fitfully on the bench, slipping into dreamland.
Harry meandered through the woods, following a stag that held its head up proudly. He was confused, because when he spoke to the stag in Parseltongue, it understood but never replied.
The stag finally bowed his head and lowered its back for Harry to climb on. Harry did, and the stag stood up and raced swiftly in and out between the trees until they came to the edge of the forest. The stag slowed down and let Harry get off. When Harry looked back, the stag had turned into a dark- haired man (whom Harry could not see the face of). The man, which Harry's subconscius told him was his father, followed a dusty rat, which led Harry and his father to a building supported with magic.
A crowd of ash-colored people were gathered in front of the building, and Harry watched as they broke down the doors and flooded into the building. Wizards came up to meet them, but cowered away as a tall, ghost-white man with blood-red slits for eyes brushed them away. The Dark Mark glowed on the left arm of all the death eaters as they poured into the dimly-lit building. His father... Harry's father, the glorious James Potter, he assumed, was roughly pulled to the front. James Potter, a Death Eater? Harry tried to step forward for a better look. Yes, the dark-haired man stood beside Voldemort, in gray Death Eater robes. Harry's father cringed into Voldemort's arms, took out his wand, and shouted, "Avada Kedavra!"
Harry found himself beside his father, on the other side of him as Voldemort. He fell to his knees when his scar exploded with pain. Two flashes of green light followed, and two young men crumpled in front of them; one fair-haired and one red-headed.
Snape watched the scene in horror. Prominent Light ministry wizards scattered under the Dark Lord's mere gaze; obviously, they were expecting a mere rally, not a full-fledged attack led by You-Know-Who himself. He had forgotten what it was like to be in the midst of a crowd of Death Eaters.
A bony hand gripped the back of his robes, and Snape found himself practically being dragged to the front of the Death Eater crowd by the Dark Lord. He spotted Percy Weasley a few feet in front of him, glancing fearfully at Voldemort and backing away. "Kill him," Voldemort hissed into Snape's ear.
Snape stared at the group of wizards, recognizing most as ones from the Department of International Relations. There were other unfamiliar ones... The Scandinavian ministry, it looked like... His heart pounded in his ears, and he was quite sure that he was visibly shaking. No... he couldn't kill anyone...
And then the most peculiar thing happened. Snape looked out into the sea of people- they were so full of anger and fear that they looked ready to kill as well had You-Know-Who not been present, gripping Snape's arm over the aching Dark Mark. Snape saw them shoot piercing glares at him, and he cowered, unconsciencly seeking protection from Voldemort.
And then it was gone, as he felt a thin wand point into his back. Snape faintly wondered why he had tried to shrink into Voldemort's arms as a child shrank towards its mother. "Are you not my Death Eater, Severus? Do you know what happens to spies and unloyal Death Eaters?"
"Y-yes, sorry, Master." Snape hurriedly took out his own wand and pointed it in front of him. Shutting his eyes tightly, he called out, "Avada Kedavra!"