We Are Nothing
Part II
By Ruskbyte
Title: We Are Nothing
Author: Ruskbyte
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Summary: Snape’s Occlumency lessons have shattered the last defences of Harry’s mind. Now, unprotected, his dreams have become home to a nightmare other than Voldemort. A nightmare that has taken on a life of its own.
“We are nothing; less than nothing and dreams. We are only what might have been, and must wait upon the tedious shores of Lethe millions of ages before we have existence, and a name.” - Charles Lamb, Essays of Elia, Dream Children
/oOo\
Part II
Perchance to dream
\oOo/
Harry had gone down to breakfast in a surprisingly chipper mood. While far from jubilant, this was the most relaxed he had been since the start of the school year. This was very odd, considering his sleep that night had consisted of a rather vivid and disturbing nightmare.
Devouring his breakfast with a bit more enthusiasm than he usually displayed, Harry mused that his somewhat bolstered spirits had to be a result of his night time encounter with the strange, yet undeniably ominous figure of Freddy. He had no idea how he knew the scarred man’s name, but he just knew that it was Freddy. Not bothering to wonder about such inexplicable things, Harry turned his thoughts to the previous night’s dream.
Despite the fact that he had been chased about, attacked, threatened and otherwise insulted, Harry found himself feeling strangely relaxed. If it weren’t for the fact that the man was a hallucination conjured up by exhaustion, he would have shook Freddy’s hand. Or perhaps not, he amended, thinking of the wicked knives on his right hand. Better safe than sorry, after all.
Sadly, however, it was not to last.
Harry’s spirits began to dim almost immediately. At breakfast he was constantly besieged by the typical questions, mostly from Hermione. Are you sure you’re all right? Did you practice your Occlumency properly? Are you sure it wasn’t Voldemort? Then, of course, came the typical suggestions. Maybe you should go and see Madam Pomfrey. Maybe you should contact Sirius. Maybe you should ask Professor Snape for more lessons.
Harry’s mood took a significant downturn at this last suggestion. It was only the fact that he knew Hermione was doing this out of concern for him that he refrained from telling her exactly what he thought about that idea.
Unfortunately, things only got worse from there on.
As was the trend for this year, his fifth at Hogwarts, things began with Dolores Umbridge, the school’s new High Inquisitor. The tyrannical bitch spent most of the morning baiting him with her Ministry approved propaganda and other equally bigoted claptrap. It was all he could do to sit down, shut up and not respond to her relentless string of jabs. Harry liked to think that he was not a violent person, but right now he would have been more than happy to boil her in oil.
While hardly the most studious of people, Harry now found himself actually enjoying his other classes far more than he had in previous years - mostly because they were a brief escape from Umbridge’s presence. The sole exception to this, of course, was potions, where Snape was proving to be just as much of a bastard as ever.
Speaking of which, Harry’s day became as bad as it could get when he was forced to endure not only a double potions lesson, but occlumency immediately after dinner.
As he had come to expect, Snape started the lesson off with the usual barrage of insults, a distinct lack of actual instruction and then the three words that Harry had long since come to hate.
“Clear your mind.”
As he clutched his temples, which throbbed in time to his heartbeat, Harry absently wondered if it were possible for anyone to hate Snape more than he did at that very moment. Somehow, he doubted it.
Gritting his teeth, jaw clenched painfully tight, he tried to bear the potion master’s relentless and unforgiving assault.
Finally, after what seemed like a short eternity, Snape turned away and moved to sit at his desk. Pulling out a thick sheath of assignments, he began to mark them. Harry was totally ignored, save for his curt dismissal.
“Same time tomorrow, Potter.”
Leaving the classroom, feeling as if his brains were oozing out of his ears, Harry began a slow and staggering return to Gryffindor Tower. He was only halfway there, just passing the trophy room, when he heard a hated voice call out.
“Well, well, well! Look who we have here.”
Closing his eyes in frustration, knowing it would not end well, Harry turned to face one of the many people who had been vying for the position as “bane of Harry Potter’s existence”. At the moment Snape and Umbridge were definitely in the lead, closely followed by Voldemort, but Draco Malfoy was hardly out of the running.
The Slytherin boy smirked at him and folded his arms in a self-important manner. “Out after curfew, eh, Potty?”
“I was having potion lessons with Snape, Malfoy,” said Harry, trying not to let his anger show in his voice.
“I don’t think I believe you,” Malfoy instantly countered. Not that it mattered whether he believed Harry’s tale or not. His smirk grew broader, exposing a thin sliver of white teeth. “That’ll be another detention with Professor Umbridge, I think. Tomorrow, after dinner.”
Harry clenched his jaw so tight that his teeth groaned in protest.
“Well? Nothing to say?”
“It’s a date,” Harry managed to grind out, before turning on a heel and stalking off as best he could. He ignored the haughty taunts that followed him, the last few of which might have included the taking of some house points, but he was by this point too sore, too tired and too angry to really care.
His journey back to Gryffindor tower was somewhat easier than the previous night, mostly due to the burgeoning anger that was surging through his veins. He offered the fat lady a curt, “Requiem,” and pushed his way through the portrait hole before she had a chance to speak. He did not care to hear her complaints. His entry into the common room, however, was halted when he found himself face-to-face with Hermione Granger. One look at her expression was enough to sour his mood even further. She was on a mission and he seemed to be the focus of it.
“Harry--”
“Not now, Hermione,” he said, cutting her off.
“But Harry--”
“Damn it all, Hermione,” he interrupted again. “I have a god-awful headache, I’m so tired I’m practically asleep on my feet and right now I really, really, want to punch something. Now, unless you want it to be you, let me go to bed.”
Not bothering to see what she made of this demand, though he did note her startled expression, Harry stormed across to the stairways and up to the fifth-year boys’ dormitory. He was not in the least surprised to find that his four roommates were already asleep. In fact, he heard Ron’s rumbling snores before he even arrived. Taking off his robes and other clothes, he stripped down to his boxers and slipped under the covers of the bed. At least tonight he was not too tired to remove his glasses, which he set down atop of his bedside table before closing his eyes and lying back.
His last thoughts, before sleep quickly claimed him, were of how much he truly hated Draco Malfoy.
-oOo-
Draco was having a wonderful dream.
He was standing in the steaming waters of a Roman bath. As befitting the scene, he was in the nude, as were his companions. The voluptuous Daphne Greengrass was rubbing against him and all but smothering his face in her impressive bosom. She sighed prettily and groaned erotically as he lavished attention on her nipples. Even better was the rhythmic bobbing of Tracy Davis’s head as she knelt in the thigh-high water and pleasured him with her mouth.
“Oh yeah... oh yeah...” he groaned, threading one of his hands into her hair and forcing her to take him deeper.
Yes, life was good. Potter had been crushed underfoot, the mudbloods had been shown their place and these two beautiful witches were worshipping him as he deserved. Everything was perfect. As it should be.
As Davis made the most delightful choking noises round his length, Draco contemplated the difficult decision of whether to finish in her mouth or to reposition her for other pleasures. The sudden and unexpected press of a third nude female body against his back made the decision for him. After all, there were now enough girls to go around without having to repeat himself.
“Yes, bitch! Suck it! Suck it all the way!” he shouted, thrusting his hips violently.
“Yeah, that’s it - tell her who’s boss,” the girl behind him whispered in his ear.
“Yeah!” Draco grunted in agreement, picking his pace up to a frenzied pounding. He wondered who his third treat for the night was. He could feel that she had truly massive breasts - even bigger than Daphne’s. Where was Daphne for that matter? She was supposed to be rubbing her tits over his chest.
“Look at her,” urged the new girl, her hands stroking his arms, ribs and chest. “Look at her as she sucks your cock like the whore she is!”
“Yeah,” agreed Draco as he dutifully dropped his gaze to his groin and Davis.
It took a moment for him to realize that he was holding a decapitated head in his hands and was enthusiastically thrusting into its gaping mouth.
His erection died a sudden and violent death.
Draco almost died himself when, to his further horror, Davis’ eyes rolled in their sockets to look innocently up at him as she pouted, “Aw, but I wasn’t finished yet.”
“GAH!” he screamed, flinging the head away from him.
“What’s wrong, Draco?” asked the voice of the unknown girl, now rough and guttural. Her hands wrapped around his chest. She hugged him close, pressing her breasts tight against his back. “I thought you liked getting a head!”
Terrified by what was happening as his dream turning into a nightmare, Draco pulled away from her embrace and spun around to face her. The sudden movement caused a large splash of the water he was standing in - water that he now noticed as being stained red with blood. He blinked repeatedly to free his eyes of the splashed water that obscured his vision. Slowly his sight began to clear. If possible, he blanched even more than he already was when he finally got a look at... her?
It was definitely a woman’s body; her nudity left no doubt of that. And it was a gorgeous body. Long, lithe legs that reached up to full hips and a decadent bum. A narrow waist with a cute little belly button that was pierced with a Slytherin green emerald stud. The biggest breasts he had ever seen or imagined, far too large to be natural. And lastly a slender neck that led to a face that had to have come straight out of hell.
A male face.
“Hello there,” the terribly burned face greeted, eye dropping briefly to Draco’s crotch, “little man.”
“Fuck,” was all Draco could think to say.
The scarred man grinned toothily and moved his decidedly female body into a series of provocative poses. “Shucks, you do have a way with words, little man, but on the first date? We’ve only just met - what kind of girl do you think I am?”
“Fuck,” repeated Draco.
The man’s grin became predatory. “Yeah, you pretty much are, little man.”
Draco swallowed and finally managed a stammered, “W-wh-who?”
The man grinned again and spun tightly in place, kicking up another large spray of red stained water. When he stopped and the water had fallen back in place, his body was no longer that of a naked woman, but a fully clothed man. A very dirty and grimy looking man, some small part of Draco’s brain noted.
“Call me Freddy,” he said, extending his hand to shake.
Without really thinking, Draco reached out to accept.
It took a few seconds before he realized that something was wrong. Well, beside the obvious. He glanced down to see that his hand was now enveloped in a terrifying conglomeration of leather and metal. Sharp metal. It took another few seconds before he realized that the blood now dripping into the water was his own. Then the pain from the lacerations hit him.
Draco let out a scream that could have been heard from on side of Hogwarts to the other, provided they had been in the castle at the time.
“Damn!” Freddy exclaimed, sounding suitably impressed. “What’d you scream so loud for?”
“You - you cut me,” Draco stammered in disbelief, staring at the bloody mess that was his hand. “You cut me.”
“That’s it? You screamed like that just ‘cause I gave you a fucking paper cut?” asked Freddy in amazement. “Guys don’t usually get that loud till I start castrating them.” He grinned with anticipation. “Let’s see if you can do better, huh?”
Without preamble, Freddy’s knifehand flicked out and made a deft slash across Draco’s groin. A moment later there was a soft splash as the now detached portion of Draco’s anatomy fell into the water. The following spray of blood was impressive, but the water was already so stained with red that it made no difference.
This time Draco’s scream was much louder and continued to ring out even as the young wizard collapsed in agony.
“Ah, I love the screams of eunuchs in the morning,” commented Freddy with a grin.
Noticing that his victim was curled up into a tight ball of pain and misery, Freddy’s grin grew even broader. It became slightly less manic when the screams cut off and he realized that Draco had sunk beneath the water and was in danger of drowning. That would cut his fun short, which he wanted to avoid.
Reaching down, he grabbed Draco by the hair and pulled him to the surface. The air was promptly refilled with screams, moans and the odd bit of gibbered begging. Keeping firm hold on Draco, Freddy dragged him through the water and to the edge of the massive bath, singing as he went.
“What will I do with a dickless faggot, what will I do with a dickless faggot, what will I do with a dickless faggot - earl-aye in the morning!”
Tossing Draco out of the water and onto the hard marble floor, Freddy paused to consider what he should do next.
By now Draco’s shrieks of pain had left him and he had been reduced to begging in weak voice. The words “please” and “no more” were the most common. Those that knew him would have been morbidly amused to note that “my father” was not among them.
Stepping out of the blood filled water and revealing himself to be perfectly dry, Freddy moved to kneel down next to Draco. His close proximity reduced the boy to incoherent whimpers as he was overtaken by renewed terror. The whimpers rose back to screams as Freddy casually sliced open Draco’s cheek.
“Ah,” Freddy happily sighed, “It’s been so long since I’ve had a chance to play like this. I’d almost forgotten how much fun it is.”
He trailed a knife along Draco’s collar bone, slicing through the flesh with preternatural ease.
“I hope you’re enjoying this as much as I am, little man.”
As he spoke he quickly, but with a lazy motion, carved the words, “suck my dick” into Draco’s chest. He moved his knife hand down and scrawled, “oops, don’t have one” across his stomach. Draco continued to scream, only breaking off his howls when the need for air became and issue.
Pleased with his handiwork, Freddy once again grabbed Draco by the hair and dragged him across to a nearby Roman column. Propping the unresisting boy against the gleaming stone he sat down next to him.
“Heh,” Freddy chuckled, slinging his left arm across Draco’s shoulders. “Normally I’d drag this out, make you hurt real bad - but it’s been so long since I had a chance like this. So... see ya in hell, ferret-face. Tell ‘em Freddy sent ya!”
With that, Freddy unceremoniously punched his right hand into his victim’s sternum, stabbing his knives deep into Draco’s chest and straight to his heart. It was a fatal blow, though not instantaneous. He rolled away and onto his feet as he withdrew the blades and watched with satisfaction as great gouts of blood shot from the wounds.
As his world faded to black, Draco had the stray thought that maybe it wasn’t such a wonderful dream.
-oOo-
Severus Snape did not appreciate being woken up in the dead of night. All things considered, he was very used to long and late nights. Lack of sleep was also something he was well used to. But he had been asleep not five minutes ago, before the frantic pounding on his door roused him from his slumber. He hated having his sleep interrupted, mostly because he rarely got enough of it.
“This had better not be a joke,” he muttered ominously as he and Blaise Zabini hurried to the Slytherin dormitories.
It was a measure of how badly shaken the young wizard was that he failed to reply.
“Tell me again what’s happened to Draco,” Snape commanded.
“I don’t know, sir,” answered Zabini helplessly. “He just started screaming in his sleep. When we woke up he was covered in blood and thrashing about in his bed. Greg and Vince were trying to hold him still when I left to fetch you.”
“Ascendancy,” announced Snape as they reached the entrance to the common room.
Passing through the revealed doorway, the potions master could instantly tell that this was not a joke and that his worst fears were confirmed. The common room was crowded with students. It appeared that every single Slytherin was up and about. That would not be the case unless something truly bad had happened.
Silence descended as the children noticed Snape’s arrival.
“Where’s Draco?” he asked.
“He’s... we left him in the dorm room, Professor,” said Theodore Nott.
“You left him alone? While badly injured?” demanded Snape unhappily. Slytherin nature was to look out for oneself first and foremost, but he has displeased to hear that they had abandoned a classmate, a friend so easily.
“There wasn’t any point, sir,” rumbled Goyle, his pyjamas liberally splattered with ominous red.
“Draco’s beyond help now,” agreed Crabbe sombrely. His nightclothes were in much the same condition.
This admission gave the professor pause. He knew what they were saying, but instinctively denied the possibility.
“Very well,” Snape ordered. “All of you are to remain here. Prefects, take a headcount. I want to know if anyone’s missing.”
With a fair amount of trepidation, which he was careful not to show, Snape made his way to the fifth year boys dormitory. He paused outside the door, taking note of the bloody handprints around the doorknob. Crabbe and Goyle had been in a hurry to leave. After checking to see that he was alone and that no students had followed him, Snape girded his loins for what he expected to find. Using his wand to open the door, rather than having to touch the bloodstained doorknob, he cautiously entered the dorm room.
He paused just across the threshold, frozen in place by the gruesome sight laid out before him.
It was impossible to miss.
Draco was splayed across his green and silver four-post bed, though the bed’s colour was now had a large amount of red splattered about. The drapes and hangings had been ripped and torn from their mounts, a testament of the struggle Draco’s dorm mates had made in their attempts to restrain him from further injury.
Draco himself lay in the middle of the bed, tortuously entangled in his bed sheets. His silk pyjamas were so soaked through with blood that they seemed more brown than emerald green. It was difficult to see exactly what had been done to him, but a stain of red across his face revealed a deep cut that had been sliced through his cheek and down to the bone.
Drawing close, Snape stared down at the boy he had once held high hopes for. Draco’s eyes, frozen in death, stared blankly up at him in obvious terror.
-oOo-
Harry stood in the Great Hall of Hogwarts, trying to decide how he felt. At the moment he was having to choose between a sense of smug satisfaction and a stomach churning disgust.
He glared across at the hall’s only other occupant; the man who had intruded into his dreams the previous night.
“So, whaddaya think?”
“What do I think? What do I think?! “
“Uh huh.”
“What I think is you’re a homicidal maniac! A raging lunatic!” concluded Harry.
“Well, yeah, it’s sweet of you to say that, but I was talking about the little show I put on,” said Freddy.
Harry looked at the burnt man and could not repress a shudder of revulsion. “That was absolutely disgusting,” he answered. The more he thought about it, the more agitated he grew. “You cut him apart like he was a side of beef!”
“Nah,” Freddy dismissed the idea. “He didn’t have nearly enough meat for that.”
“Who the hell are you?” demanded Harry. “What the hell are you?”
Freddy grinned wolfishly and said, “You already know.”
Harry clenched his fists at how wilfully obtuse his companion was being. “Freddy,” he said. “Your name’s Freddy.”
“The one and only!” agreed Freddy with a bow. “Frederick Charles Krueger, at your service, kid.”
“All right, now that we both know who you are; what are you doing in my head?!” exclaimed Harry impatiently. “I’ve got enough problems with Voldemort - I don’t need another dark wizard running around in my dreams!”
“A wizard? Hah! I’m no wizard. Never was, never will be.”
This declaration gave Harry pause and left him staring uncertainly at this strange figment of his imagination. Or at least, he hoped it was a figment. The other option was even more disturbing than the thought of sharing his dreams with Voldemort. The dark lord was a monster, to be sure, but at least he was sane - or as sane as any would-be tyrant could be. Freddy, on the other hand, seemed to enjoy maiming and killing purely for the entertainment value it provided.
“If you’re not a wizard, then what are you?” he asked.
“I am master of all I survey!” Freddy proclaimed, spreading his arms out wide. “I am the king of dreams! The lord of nightmares! The son of a hundred maniacs! The Springwood Slasher! I – AM – FOREVER!!”
“Great,” muttered Harry, “Maybe Fudge and the Prophet are right - I am delusional.”
“Heh, don’t kid yourself, kid,” said Freddy dropping carelessly into the empty headmaster’s chair. “I’m my own man - not something you dreamed up.”
“I don’t see anyone else having nightmares about some burnt up freak,” Harry snapped.
Freddy changed positions so quickly that Harry never saw him move. One moment he was reclining languidly, the next he was standing behind him, pressed right up against him. His left arm was firmly wrapped round Harry’s chest, preventing him from pulling away. His right hand was held up, the index finger’s knife blade pressed lightly against his throat.
“Careful, Harry,” Freddy warned. “I need you, yes, your anger is my door into your classmate’s dreams, but it’s not something I can’t do without. This is just a vacation, you see. Something to kill time with until they remember - remember me.”
“Remember you?” repeated Harry, incredulous that anyone could forget such a face. Not without using some very strong memory charms.
Freddy gave him a lidded look. “The Springwood Slasher, that’s what they called me. I had so much fun back then, playing with the children.”
Harry tried not to shiver at the implications of that statement. He was acutely aware of the blade that remained pressed up against his throat.
“But then the kids’ parents got involved - mob justice is a terrible thing, Harry; especially when you’re the one on the receiving end of it,” reminisced Freddy. Much to Harry’s relief, he lowered his bladed finger and stepped away, releasing the wizard from his grasp.
While perfectly willing to admit that he was not a genius like Hermione, Harry was still a fairly intelligent person when he put his mind to it. Thus, he quickly made the cognitive leap that lead him to the conclusion, “They killed you, didn’t they?”
Freddy smiled unpleasantly. “Sons of bitches burned me alive.”
“And then you came all the way to Hogwarts to haunt my dreams. Fantastic,” grumbled Harry.
“Something like that,” agreed Freddy.
“So, this is it, huh? You’re going to kill me now?” asked Harry, wondering if he would be getting out of this one. He had his doubts, having already attacked Freddy the previous night with some of the strongest spells he knew. The nightmarish maniac had barely been fazed.
In reply, Freddy threw back his head and laughed boisterously. “Hahaha! You’re an eager one, ain’t ya, kid?”
Harry considered that and cautiously asked, “So... you’re not going to kill me?”
“Oh, I’m gonna gut you like a Thanksgiving Turkey, Potter... just not yet.”
The casual way Freddy stated this disturbed Harry. There was an ease, behind his words, the kind of ease that came from long practice.
“Why not?”
Freddy smiled. It was an ugly sight, regardless of his already alarming features. “Because you’re the reason I’m here,” he explained. “Whatever that big beaked chemistry teacher of yours did – it let me in to your dreams. And your dreams... your anger... is what lets me into the dreams of the others. So long as you’re an angry little ball of teenage angst; I’ve got a practically free ticket to do whatever I want with them.”
Harry thought about this. It was true; he did hate Draco. Maybe not enough to actually kill the little ferret bastard, but certainly enough to take some measure of satisfaction in watching the other boy have his dreams turned into nightmares. Perhaps a week or two of having Freddy paying him nightly visits would cause Malfoy to start worrying less about his fellow students and more about the sleep he would no doubt be missing out on.
Then Harry’s thoughts began to turn to everyone else he was angry at.
“Would you like a list?”
-oOo-
Harry was unhappily woken by Ron’s hand shaking his shoulder. Rolling over, he stared at his red haired friend and briefly considered punching him again. He decided against it, mostly because he had not been enjoying the novelty of a somewhat different kind of nightmare. True, it had been somewhat cathartic seeing Draco get his comeuppance, however he could have lived without seeing the blonde boy’s wet dream. For that matter, the manner of Draco’s death had been more than a little disturbing.
“Wait, wait, wait,” he said, holding up a hand to stop the stream of words escaping Ron’s mouth.
The redhead obligingly shut up, but remained almost bouncing with excitement. Harry looked around the room. Dean and Seamus were not there, but Neville was sitting on his bed with a shocked expression on his face. Clearly, Harry’s sleep had not been disturbed on a whim. Something must have happened.
“Now, from the beginning; what’s so important that you had to wake me up at...” Harry checked the time and felt his eyebrows rise in surprise, “three in the morning?”
“Malfoy’s dead!” blurted Ron.
Harry’s growing displeasure was snuffed out in an instant. “What?”
Neville nodded in confirmation and explained, “Yeah, Professor McGonagall woke the house up. We’re supposed to assembling in the common room for role call.”
“Draco’s dead?” asked Harry, dumbstruck.
“That’s what she told us,” nodded Ron.
“Holy shit. How?”
“Don’t know,” Ron shrugged. “Not like it really matters. Dead is dead.”
“Holy shit,” repeated Harry. A dark fear bloomed in his chest.
“Come on, we need to get downstairs with the others,” urged Neville getting up and leaving the dormitory. Harry grabbed a robe to throw over his pyjamas as he and Ron followed. As they walked, Harry held a hand up to his throat, where he could still feel the sharp edge of Freddy’s knife-finger pressing against his skin.
“One, two, Freddy’s coming for you,” he whispered.
TBC...