The Dream Trilogy Book Two: Tread On My Dreams (A Harry Potter FanFiction)

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty

Harry crouched down in the lift so he could see where he was the second it broke through. He was in an wide underground corridor with crackling fireplaces lining each side and dozens of people frozen mid-action. He could hear himself breathing rapidly as his eyes scanned the men and women from the Ministry who were mid-stride, mid-conversation, checking their watches, reading documents. It was true then. 

Harry stood up slowly once it was clear no one was awake to see him, and waited for the lift to stop. It did so with a 'ping!' and the telephone box door swung open. Harry waited for anyone to react to his presence, then stepped slowly out. 

How could they have commandeered the Ministry as well as the school, how? There must be countless spells and enchantments in place to stop this from happening. He sighed and walked slowly through the statues of people towards a large golden fountain at the end of the corridor. He could worry about the why later, he reasoned, for now he had to try and find his friends without getting caught. 

The sound of voices made him start and whip his head around in panic. He wasn't at the end of the fireplace corridor yet, so he couldn't really tell which direction they were coming from. He looked around desperately for somewhere to hide; he could jump into a fireplace but where would he go, how would he get back? He then realised he had no Floo powder anyway, so that wasn't an option. The voices were getting closer, and the telephone booth had retracted back up to street level taking with it his only exit. Maybe he could try and hide behind a person? 

Or why hide at all? He froze where he was, as if he was walking towards one of the mantelpieces. He slowed his breathing down as much as he could, and stared unblinking at the floor. He was far enough back and in amongst plenty of people, if he had any luck at all whoever it was would walk right past him without a moment's pause. 

And then, Harry remembered that luck wasn't always his friend. Out of the corner of his unmoving eye, he saw two figures turn the corner and head straight for where the phone box had just left. Harry could feel a bead of sweat pricking on his temple, and he did his best to will it not to roll down his face.  

"-can't believe they ate all the chocolate digestives," moaned a familiar Welsh accent. "Do you think one of them Muggle shops would take a Galleon?" 

They stopped barely a few feet from Harry and the taller one with the salt and pepper hair did something with his wand, presumably to call the booth down again. Harry felt dizzy with the effort of concentrating on not moving. Come on, he urged the phone box, come on hurry up. 

"Hey," said the one who wasn't Welsh. "Hey look at that bloke, he looks a bit like Harry Potter doesn't he?" 

Harry felt the world tilt, but strained every muscle not to react. He prayed his hair was at least covering his scar. "Yeah," said the Welsh one, surprised. "It's the glasses I guess, and he's a bloody midget."  

Harry felt the was rich coming from him, who was barely taller than himself, but he was more concerned that Salt-and-Pepper was moving over to him, and leaned in to stare at his face. "Um - he's got a scar as well?" 

"What?" asked the Welsh one, ignoring the phone booth as he lowered to the ground. "Are you kidding?" 

He came and stood beside his partner, staring at Harry's face. There was nothing for it - his wand was already in his hand after all. 

"Hello," he said. 

The two Death Eaters jumped back in shock, and Harry aimed a spell over his shoulder at them as he took off like lightning. "Expelliarmus!" he cried, not sure if he hit anything or not. His trainers slapped on the polished oak floor as he sprinted away. The men were yelling and roaring after him, and Harry jerked to the left as a blue spell went flying over his head.  

It missed him by a foot or so, but it hit the golden fountain at the end of the corridor in a spectacular explosion of sparks. With a crash like a roll of thunder the fountain blew apart and water escaped it's confines in all directions, pouring out disproportionately all over the floor, flooding the auditorium in seconds.  

Harry didn't have time to think, he just pelted beyond the wreck of the fountain with its half destroyed golden statues and down another corridor. The water was chasing him, rushing along so he was now running through a good few inches of water.  

The Welsh man and Salt-and-Pepper were cursing him, and Harry could hear them splashing behind him, but he didn't stop to look. His corridor became a crossroads, and he veered left, shooting past a series of offices. It was at this point he dared look over his shoulder, and when he saw there was no one following, he darted into the nearest office and threw himself behind the door. 

He gulped down several breaths, then strained his ears to hear whether or not he was being followed. The two men were still shouting, but from the sounds of it they had gone straight on at the crossroad, and soon enough all Harry could hear was the lapping and whooshing of water. He looked down, incredulous as the Ministry's new lake rippled excitedly around his shins. How could one fountain produce some much water? Whatever the blue curse must have been, it had obviously had an unhappy reaction with whatever spells were infused on the fountain. 

Not wanting to wait until the Death Eaters came back, Harry headed back out of the office, and headed in the direction several signs told him the elevators were.  

If the fountain kept this up, he'd soon need a snorkel to try and find his friends.