We Are Nothing
Part III
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 III
Those little slices of Death
\oOo/
It had been several hours since the assembly in the Gryffindor common room and the revelation that Draco Malfoy had suffered an untimely demise. Nobody had been able to go back to sleep afterwards, no matter how tired they were. This was something of a blessing as far as Harry was concerned. He had little desire to find himself once again in Freddy’s presence, especially now that the scarred man was revealed to be a murderer in fact, rather than just talk.
There was a chance that this was merely a coincidence. A chance that Draco had just so happened to die the very night that Harry had dreamed of such a thing occurring. A chance that Freddy Krueger was merely a figment of the Boy-Who-Lived’s tortured imagination and not some sort of spectral killer who inhabited the realm of dreams.
Yes, there was a chance.
Unfortunately, Harry had stopped believing in coincidence some time during second year. Coincidence, he had found, was only something that happened when you were without the big picture and thus unable to connect all the dots. His dreams were a dot. Freddy Krueger was a dot. Draco being killed by Freddy in a dream was also one. Draco being found dead in reality shortly afterwards was another.
So what picture did you get by connecting them all?
Not a pleasant one, at least from Harry’s perspective.
“Harry? Are you all right?”
“Just tired, Neville,” he replied. “It was a long night.”
Too true; the sun had finally risen above the horizon less than half an hour ago. Harry had spent most of that half hour in the showers, under a strong and steady spray of hot water. Almost scalding hot water. For some reason he felt dirty and in need of a thorough cleaning. Nearly boiling himself alive in the showers seemed like the only answer.
Now he stood by his bed, only half dressed and hopelessly distracted by what he had just heard. He could not, and likely never would, understand how gossip could spread so quickly and easily. This especially when each house was currently in lockdown and unable to interact with the others. Yet, somehow, details of what had happened in the Slytherin dormitories were making the rounds. Despite the gruesome nature of the incident nobody had said murder, just yet.
That was about to change however.
The latest little titbit, delivered by Seamus Finnegan, had hit Harry like a sucker punch to the gut.
“Harry?”
He looked up at Ron, who was frowning worriedly at him.
“Lavender said he was stabbed. Stabbed or cut?” he asked of Seamus, ignoring his friend for the moment.
“Yeah... Why?” confirmed the Irish boy.
“Do they know who did it?”
“No,” answered Dean, having heard the question as he returned to the dormitory from the showers. He tossed aside the towel he had wrapped around his waist as he began to get dressed for the day. “Rumour has it he started screaming and yelling in his sleep while cuts and slashes just appeared on him out of nowhere. Whoever did it must have been invisible.”
“Invisible,” repeated Harry, sharing a significant look with Ron. He was, after all, the only person in the school with an invisibility cloak. He swallowed nervously, having the unpleasant thought that the label of ‘lead suspect’ was about to be added to his current title of ‘disturbed and deranged attention-seeker’.
“Well... shit.”
-oOo-
Not even the machinations of Dolores Umbridge, Hogwarts’ High Inquisitor, could keep news of the night’s events quiet. Not when it involved the son of her boss’s principal patron. By the time the students were released from their dormitories and allowed down for breakfast, the cold-blooded murder of Draco Malfoy was front page news in the Daily Prophet.
Harry’s only concern, really, was whether or not his name was mentioned anywhere. Fortunately that was not yet the case, but with the small army of Aurors that had shown up, that was likely to change.
“This is horrible,” muttered Hermione as they sat down to eat. “Can you believe it - Draco’s dead! Murdered!”
“I can believe it,” replied Ron, tucking in to some bacon and eggs.
“He wasn’t exactly making friends while on the Inquisitional Squad,” agreed Neville.
“But still! It’s awful!” Hermione insisted.
“What’s awful is that I can bet you a Galleon for a knut that the Ministry will try and put the blame on me,” grumbled Harry, who had already noticed a couple of glances being sent his way. He didn’t bother serving anything up onto his plate. He had no appetite; for a number of reasons.
“They wouldn’t,” Hermione tried to object, but her protest dies at the look her friends gave.
“Sure they would,” replied Ginny. “After all, they’re pretty much blaming him for everything else.”
“Please, Ginny, stop trying to cheer me up,” said Harry dryly.
“Look - look!”
The hushed command from Neville drew everyone’s attention to the main entrance to the Great Hall. Minister Fudge had arrived, and with him were Draco’s parents. Even at first glance it was obvious that the two adults were devastated. Lucius had a look of black despair frozen on his face and as a whole was looking a little unkempt. Narcissa was in tears and clung to her husband like a drowning woman. His arms, one around her waist and the other round her shoulders, seemed to be the only thing holding her upright. This all, more than all the accumulated rumour and gossip, brought home the fact that something truly awful had happened.
“Heh-Hem!”
It was only the direness of the situation that prevented eyes from rolling as Umbridge stepped forward to address the school.
“Due to last night’s unfortunate incident,” she began, ignoring a fresh wave of tears from Narcissa, “classes will be cancelled for the day. This is to allow the Ministry Aurors to conduct interviews.”
This set off an explosion of whispers and mutterings amongst the students.
“Interviews? They’re going to interview us?”
“What? Why?”
“Can they do that? Are they allowed to do that?”
“Does this mean they think one of us is the killer?”
This last question was soon the one on everyone’s lips as speculation ran wild. Harry resisted the urge to smack his head on the table. He just knew that he was the one that all the fingers would soon be pointing at.
“Heh-Hem!”
Reluctantly, discussion was hushed as all eyes turned back to Umbridge.
“Rest assured that the perpetrator of this heinous and cowardly attack will be found and dealt with in due course. The Ministry shall be dispensing justice both swiftly and surely,” Umbridge pompously announced. She let he gaze move across the Great Hall, no doubt in an attempt to mimic Dumbledore’s grandfatherly familiarity with each student. “At the same time, I urge anyone that knows anything about this tragedy to come forth. A substantial reward will be offered for any information leading to the capture of the murderer.”
Her words were perhaps a little insensitive, as Narcissa burst into heaving sobs at the mention of “murder”. Lucius immediately gathered her even more tightly in his arms and quickly escorted her out of the Great Hall. This left Fudge gripping his lime-green bowler hat and looking embarrassed by his subordinate’s gaffe. He was quick to hurry after the departing Malfoys, but not before sending an unhappy glare in Umbridge’s direction.
“Ahem,” Umbridge cleared her throat, only now realising her mistake. “In the meanwhile, everyone is to remain in the Great Hall. When the Ministry Aurors are ready for you, they will call your name. Answer promptly and do not keep them waiting. Is that understood?”
There was some muttered agreement, which only served to aggravate the woman. “Is that understood?” she demanded in her usually sickly sweet tone, though the anger behind it was obvious to those that looked for it.
“Yes, Professor Umbridge,” the children chorused, many of them rolling their eyes.
“Good. Carry on,” she concluded before descending to speak to the Auror in charge.
“Ugh, why couldn’t they’ve killed her instead of Malfoy,” groused Ron, turning back to his meal.
“Ron! Don’t say things like that!” chided Hermione, scandalized.
Ignoring his two best friends as they once again began to argue, Harry surreptitiously observed the Aurors. The only ones he recognised were Kingsley Shacklebolt and Tonks. There were one or two others that looked vaguely familiar, but that was it. He silently pleaded to have one of them be the one to question him, but doubted he would ever be that lucky.
-oOo-
“Sit down, Mr. Potter.”
As it turned out, Harry’s luck had taken a slight turn for the better. One of his interrogators was, as he had hoped, Kingsley. Unfortunately his luck had its limits and one of the school professors was expected to accompany him during the questioning. Naturally, Harry drew the short straw and had Snape of all people as his Hogwarts representative.
Taking the offered seat, Harry smiled tentatively at the waiting Auror. It was the wrong situation for a smile, he knew, but he was too relieved not to. Of course, having Snape looming forebodingly and stoically in the corner of the otherwise empty classroom put a dampener on his relief.
“How’re you holding up, Harry?” asked Kingsley.
“I’m fine,” Harry replied, using his pat answer for such a question. Seeing Kingsley’s sceptical look, he amended, “Just tired.”
“Tired?” repeated Kingsley.
“I’ve been having trouble sleeping - nightmares,” elaborated Harry.
“Doubtless due to your hopeless inability to practice proper occlumency,” commented Snape snidely.
Harry grit his teeth and bit out, “I’m pretty sure Voldemort has nothing to do with it.”
Snape took a long stride forward and glared furiously at him. “Do not say his name so frivolously!”
“It’s not frivolous!” argued Harry, pushing his chair back and rising to confront the man.
“Enough! Both of you!” thundered Kingsley, his deep bass tones cutting off the argument before it could properly start. “Snape, stop antagonising the boy. Harry, don’t let his words get to you like that.”
“Sorry, Kingsley,” muttered Harry as he sat back down. He wondered if anyone in the Order would ever completely side with him during his tiff with Snape. Everyone, other than Sirius, seemed happy to play peacekeeper and blame them both equally.
“Now then,” said Kingsley after they had settled, “Tell me about these nightmares. How can you be sure they’re not the word of You-Know-Who?”
Harry mulled over how to answer that. He decided to give only the broad strokes, while leaving out any mention of Freddy. Having to explain the crazy man’s presence in his dreams was not something he wanted. Doubtless the powers that be would only decide that more occlumency lessons with Snape were in order.
“I’m trapped in the Great Hall,” he explained. “All the doors are locked and there’s no way out.”
“Is there anyone else with you in the dreams?”
“Nobody I know in real life.”
“Oh? Who’s there? Can you describe them?”
“A little girl in a white dress, skipping with a jump rope,” said Harry with a shrug. “She’s singing some sort of children’s song.”
“I see,” murmured Kingsley. “That seems a bit odd.”
“It’s better than Voldemort turning into a snake and sneaking into the Ministry,” replied Harry dryly.
Kingsley shifted just a fraction, but otherwise hid his discomfort at Harry’s subtle probe. “All right then, I suppose we should get started on the reason I’m here.”
Harry leaned back and tried to relax. He had nothing to worry about; after all, he hadn’t done anything.
“Tell me about everything that happened yesterday,” Kingsley ordered.
“Everything?”
“Everything.”
“Okay... well, Ron woke me up and I punched him in the mouth--”
“What? Why?” asked Kingsley, startled. Even Snape reacted, though only raising an eyebrow.
“I was having a good dream and he interrupted it,” explained Harry flatly. He knew how the adults would interpret that.
Kingsley blinked. He nodded slowly and waved for him to continue.
Harry thought back and resumed recounting his experiences the previous day. He decided to keep things short. If Kingsley wanted any details, he could ask for them. “We had breakfast and then went to class. First was Transfiguration with Professor McGonagall, then Defence with Umbridge. Had lunch. Went back to class. Potions with Snape, then History with Professor Binns. Did a little homework, then had dinner. Went to detention with Snape--”
“That was an occlumency lesson, Potter, not a detention,” interrupted the man in question.
Harry ignored him and carried right on. “After detention with Snape, I returned to Gryffindor Tower and straight to bed. I woke up with everyone else when Professor McGonagall called assembly in the common room.”
“Have you noticed anything strange that’s happened recently?”
Harry stared at the Auror for a long moment before answering, “Nothing that doesn’t happen on a regular basis.”
Kingsley gave a small grimace, but acknowledged the point. Strange and unusual were actually rather common occurrences in the magical world and at Hogwarts in particular. He asked his next question. “Can you think of anyone who would want to hurt the Malfoy boy? Did he have any enemies?”
Harry just could not help himself.
He burst into laughter.
Kingsley seemed startled by the outburst, but Snape was quickly turning red with anger. Neither man had a chance to speak, however, as Harry managed to chortle out, “Enemies? Hurt?”
“Yes?” said Kingsley slowly.
Having regained some measure of control, though still beset by the occasional giggle, Harry laid out his thoughts on the matter. “Kingsley, every non-Slytherin student in the school has had reason to want to hurt Malfoy,” he explained. “Since the evil little git joined Umbridge’s Inquisitional Squad, every Muggleborn and half-blood has had even more reason to hurt him. If you want a list of his enemies, get a roll call for Gryffindor, Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw.”
Snape had clenched his jaw so tightly that the creak of his grinding teeth was perfectly audible from where he remained standing.
The bluntness of Harry’s answer seemed to have left Kingsley somewhat flummoxed. He blinked repeatedly before asking, “So you agree that it was a student that killed him?”
This time Harry fought down his laughter, though an unpleasant chuckle still escaped from him.
“The only students vicious enough to do something like this are the Slytherins,” he began.
“And once again your egotistical superiority shines through,” interrupted Snape, coming close enough to losing his temper that he stomped forward and loomed menacingly over Harry.
Harry ignored him and continued, “They’re all mostly Voldemort’s supporters, so nobody should really be surprised by that. It’s the fact that they killed Malfoy and not an innocent Muggleborn that’s caught everyone’s attention. If that had happened, I’d guarantee the Ministry wouldn’t have sent a single clerk to investigate, let alone an Auror.”
Snape actually grabbed him by the shoulder and spun him round in his chair. “Now listen here, you arrogant little--”
“Snape! Let him go!” boomed Kingsley, rising to his feet.
The professor glared balefully at him. “He--”
“Let - him - go!” Kingsley repeated, leaving no room for argument. “Everyone’s entitled to their own opinion. This is Harry’s. If you don’t like it, then maybe you should have tried a better way to change it over the years.”
“As if a Potter would ever do that,” Snape retorted, but he did release his hold on Harry and returned to his skulking in the corner.
“So, Harry, you think this might be some sort of power play in Slytherin?” asked Kingsley as he reclaimed his seat.
“No idea if it is,” confessed Harry with a shrug. “Maybe one of the other snakes got tired of hearing him boast about how he was practically Voldemort’s heir. Heaven knows the rest of us were.”
“Well, it’s certainly a reasonable hypothesis,” Kingsley admitted, “but not the one Madam Umbridge or Minister Fudge were looking for.”
Harry groaned and closed his eyes. “Let me guess; I’m their lead suspect.”
Kingsley offered him a commiserating smile. “I’m afraid so.”
“Typical bloody Malfoy,” Harry groused as he dropped his head into his hands. “Even after he’s dead he’s still causing me trouble.”
“You’re a disrespectful little bastard, Potter! How dare you speak that way about Draco?”
Harry glanced pointedly at the incensed potions master. He knew his next words would cost him, but his hatred of the man, after so many hours of tortuous “lessons”, overrode his restraint. “Why shouldn’t I?” he demanded in return. “After all, you and dear departed Draco do it to me all the time.”
Snape went from red with anger to white with rage.
As satisfying as it was to have delivered such a successful verbal salvo, Harry was not looking forward to his next occlumency lesson.
“Thank you, Harry, I think that will be all,” Kingsley quickly interjected.
“Can I go back to the Great Hall then?”
“Of course. Professor Snape will have to escort you there though.”
“All right.”
-oOo-
“You little bastard! You unbelievable, arrogant, spoiled little shit stain!”
“Fuck!”
Harry and Snape had made it less than halfway back to the Great Hall before the sallow faced man struck. Without warning, he turned on the young wizard, grabbed him by the front of his robes and slammed him into the nearest wall. The suddenness of the attack stunned Harry, but it was the crack of his head against the stone wall that stunned him to the point where he was unable to even think of retaliating, let alone defending himself.
“You really are your father reincarnate, Potter,” sneered Snape, his breath hot against Harry’s face.
“Let me go, you--”
“Shut up, Potter! Don’t think for a moment that I’ll let you talk your way out of this - Dumbledore is not here to protect you and McGonagall has been rendered powerless.”
“What the hell is wrong with you?!” demanded Harry, trying to break loose of the man’s grip.
Snape did not bother answering. Instead, he shoved himself away from Harry, managing to knock the younger wizard’s head against the stone wall for a second time. Reaching into his robes, he withdrew his wand and levelled it at Harry.
“Clear your mind, Potter,” commanded Snape, spitting Harry’s name like it was a curse. “Legilimens!”
-oOo-
Harry spent the rest of the day in a daze, barely aware of anything that went on around him. He was actually a little surprised when he found himself standing aimlessly in the Gryffindor common room. He could not remember getting there. He could not remember being dismissed from the Great Hall either. He absently wondered what arrangements had been made for the Slytherins; he did not imagine that they would want to return to the dormitory where one of their number had been so brutally murdered.
“Harry, mate, are you sure you’re all right?”
“I’m fine,” replied Harry, not really hearing Ron’s worried question. He hardly noticed as his friends exchanged worried glances, though he was aware of it. He was somewhat touched that they cared, but at the same time was somewhat annoyed by the attention.
“It’s just...”
“You’ve been a little... off, since your interview,” elaborated Hermione.
“I’m fine,” he repeated.
The Sorting Hat was right; he should have been a Slytherin, for nobody in the other three houses would have been able to make such a bald-faced lie while keeping a straight face.
Harry, to put it plainly, felt like shit.
It really was not the most accurate way to describe his current state of being, but it was the most appropriate. He had nothing to compare it to, but he felt incredibly dirty now that he was beginning to come back to his senses. Then, as more and more memories came forth of what Snape had done, the feeling of violation grew almost painful.
Squeals of surprise drew his fractured attention to the fireplace, which was suddenly blazing like a miniature hell storm. Apparently he was so upset that his magic was lashing out, much as it had against Aunt Marge, and had thereby caused the fire to grow and burn in much the same way his growing fury was beginning to burn.
When next he saw Snape... he was going to kill the bastard.
A person could only take so much abuse, after all, before striking back. He knew that he would get into trouble, more than he was already in. He knew Dumbledore would be disappointed. He knew there was very little chance that he would succeed, let alone get away with it.
But, in the end, it boiled down to the fact that he simply did not care.
He was always in trouble of some sort, so what difference did a little more make? Dumbledore could scarcely be bothered to talk to him, so who cared what his opinion on the matter might be. As for doing the deed and getting away with it, well... that just meant Harry would have to be creative.
Oddly enough, most of his ideas involved cauldrons...
Settling in his chair, Ron and Hermione watching worriedly over him, Harry spent the rest of the evening immersed in one fantasy after another. He was sure that his friends were quite disturbed by the occasional giggle that escaped him whenever a particularly amusing way to kill Snape came to mind. In any case, he ignored their questions and lost himself in plots of death and murder.
When the time came to retire for the night, Harry climbed the stairs to the boys’ dormitory in a surprisingly chipper mood. He still felt as if he had been squashed by a giant and the dirty feeling had yet to fully fade away, but several hours of visualizing Snape’s gruesome demise had certainly elevated his spirits somewhat.
“You sure you’re--”
“For the sake of Merlin, Ron,” he interrupted as they changed for bed. “I’m fine.”
“Sorry,” Ron apologised. “It’s just... well...”
“I’m tired, that’s all – nothing a good night’s rest won’t cure,” asserted Harry.
“Well, if you’re sure...”
“I am. Now, go to bed, Ron.”
As the fifth-year Gryffindor boys settled down in their four poster beds, Harry could not help but wonder what tonight’s dreams would bring. His last nightmare had coincided with Draco’s murder. Was it only a coincident, something he doubted, or was there more to Freddy Krueger than just bad dreams?
Harry Potter was many things, but he was not patient. This was strange considering how much time he had spent, as a child in number four Privet Drive, locked in the cupboard beneath the stairs.
It took a very long time before sleep, and the accompanying dreams, came to him.
-oOo-
The Great Hall at Hogwarts was ominously dark. No candles were floating in the air. The wall torch sconces were empty. The ceiling’s enchantment was gone, leaving only blank stone. All in all, the room was giving off a foreboding air. Harry briefly wondered if this was a reflection of his mood, or perhaps that Freddy was somehow affecting the dreamscape to present a more sinister décor. If so it was working. These thoughts did not last long however, as the Boy-Who-Lived quickly spotted the reason he had trouble getting to sleep.
“Krueger! You son of a bitch!”
“And a bastard as well,” added Freddy, lounging in the headmaster’s chair.
“It was real! You killed him! It was really real! You killed Draco!”
Freddy rolled his eyes and snorted. “Well, of course it was fucking real!”
Harry stormed up opposite the scarred man and glared furiously at him. “Why did you do it? Why did you make it real?”
“Because that’s what you wanted. He pissed you off; you wanted revenge.”
“I didn’t want him dead!” Harry all but screamed.
“You wanted him to be punished; to pay for what he’d done,” countered Freddy, waving aside the accusation.
“That doesn’t mean you had to kill him!”
“Of course it doesn’t,” Freddy concurred amiably.
Surprised by this ready agreement, Harry managed an intelligent, “Huh?”
Freddy smiled viciously, “I killed him - because it was fun!”
Harry stared at Freddy with a complete lack of understanding. The pure enjoyment the man received from his act, his butchering of Draco, was simply too alien for the young wizard to properly comprehend. Voldemort, the Death Eaters, Umbridge, Fudge, they did what they did because it served their purposes; it furthered their goals. This, however, did nothing for Freddy save give him some measure of sick pleasure.
Harry swallowed the rising bile and clenched his jaw.
“You’re not going to do that again,” he stated firmly.
“Oh? And how do you plan to stop me?” asked Freddy. “After all, you’re the one who’s letting me out!”
“I can stop you,” Harry insisted.
“Don’t bet on it.”
“I can stop you!”
“I’ll believe it when I see it, kid,” Freddy smirked. He turned away from Harry and began to retreat into the shadows. “In the meantime, I have an appointment to keep. Seems like somebody’s went to bed an angry little boy...”
“No!”
“Ha ha ha hah!”
“Freddy, no!”
Fire burst into being, lining the Great Hall with scorching flames that reached almost as high as Harry was tall. Startled by this sudden change, and more than a little afraid by the implications, Harry retreated from the high table and took refuge in the centre of the room. Only once he was well away from the crackling fire did he begin to look for a way out.
“You’re afraid.”
Harry whirled in place and found himself face with a little girl, eight or nine years old at the most, dressed in a snow-white summer dress with lots of frills. Her hair was a deep red and seemed almost alive under the flickering light caused by the flames. She looked up at him with a solemn expression.
“It’s okay to be afraid. We were all afraid. Warn your friends. Warn everyone.”
“What--”
“Gotcha.”
“Freddy!” Harry spun round to look for the source of Freddy’s voice, but found nothing. When he turned back, he found the girl to be gone. Now extremely worried and, as she said, afraid, he began to frantically turn in place, desperately searching for some way to escape this latest nightmare.
“FREDDY!!”
-oOo-
Severus Snape was dreaming. He knew this by the fact that he was currently staring at the impossible. It was the park he had played in as a child. The park where he had first met Lily Evans, oh so long ago. It had been nearly two decades since he had last been here - yet nothing had changed.
This was not the first time the potions master had experienced lucid dreaming. It was actually quite a common phenomenon amongst practiced occlumens.
What puzzled him was the distinct lack of people.
“Why am I here?” he asked of himself as he walked across the damp grass.
“You’re here because I want to talk to you, Severus.”
The hauntingly familiar voice caused Snape’s heart to skip a beat even as he froze in place. It was her. He slowly turned around, almost afraid of what he might find, but unwilling to miss the opportunity to see her again.
“Lily,” he breathed in awe as he caught sight of her.
“Hello, Severus,” she politely greeted.
Snape swallowed, a painful lump in his throat. “It’s good to see you again, Lily.”
Lily smiled softly at him, the way she so often did before their falling out. She was wearing a simple blue summer dress, the colour of which contrasted wonderfully against her hair and eyes. The familiar pang of longing and guilt in Snape’s chest became an almost palpable thing as he took in the sight of her.
“So, Severus,” she said, “can we talk? There are some very important things we need to discuss.”
“Of - of course,” Snape stammered. He looked around for something. He pointed to the swings that stood nearby. He could remember spending many an hour sitting on them, talking with Lily.
“Actually, I was hoping for someplace a little more private,” Lily demurred.
This time Snape looked around in confusion. They were in a park. Private was not likely to occur.
“Come on,” she said, unexpectedly grabbing hold of his hand and leading him off. “Let’s go to my house; we can talk there.”
“What about Petunia?” asked Snape, somewhat dazed.
“Oh, she’s out on a date with that Vernon boy,” Lily answered. She smiled coyly. “We’ll have the house all to ourselves.”
Now wondering if this was one of ‘those’ dreams, Snape allowed himself to be led off by the woman he had once and still did love. He scarcely noticed their surroundings as they walked, his attention focused almost entirely upon her. He was vaguely aware of some young girls, wearing frilly white dresses, playing with a skip rope. They were singing as they jumped; some sort of banal little ditty. He ignored it, more intent on Lily than anything else.
“Here we are... home sweet home.”
Snape looked away from his companion and saw that they were indeed standing outside the Evans household. Like the park they had just left, it did not seem to have changed since the last time he had been there. Of course, since this was only a dream, that was perfectly understandable.
Feeling strangely chivalrous, Snape moved to open the door and gestured for Lily to precede him into the house. Ladies first and all that.
Lily graced him with another smile as she slipped passed. Her shoulder and hip brushed provocatively against him as she did so.
“Thank you, kind sir,” she declared as she disappeared into the house.
Struggling not to start smiling like an idiot, Snape followed her inside. He stopped two steps across the threshold.
This was not Lily’s house.
A slam from behind caused him to spin around. The door had swung itself shut. Turning to ask Lily where they were and what was going on, he found that she had vanished.
“Ah, the man I owe my return to,” announced a rasping voice. “I’ve been expecting you.”
“Who’s there?” he called cautiously.
“Speak of the devil and I shall appear,” announced Freddy, stepping out of the shadows by the staircase.
Snape regarded the other man with a jaundiced eye. He swept his black gaze over the shabby trousers, the ragged green and red striped sweater. Special note was made of the wicked-looking knife glove worn on his right hand. Finally he settled on Freddy’s disfigured face, crowned by the battered fedora. “Funny,” he concluded dryly, giving no hint as to his true feelings, “but I always pictured the devil as being... taller.”
“Ooh, you cut me, sir!”
“A kindness, I’m sure.”
Freddy let loose a burst of coarse laughter, throwing his head back in amusement. Snape took the chance to grab for his wand, but found that it was missing. He was alone and unarmed in a situation that he was not liking. He began to slowly inch back to the house’s front door.
“Uh uh,” Freddy shook his head chidingly. “You and me need to have a little talk, Sevvie. I can’t have you leaving here till it’s over. Door’s locked.”
“Who are you?” asked Snape, keeping his eyes on the other man but using his peripheral vision to search for an escape route.
Freddy sketched an overly elaborate bow, “Freddy Krueger, at your service.”
“And what do you want with me?” asked Snape.
The answering grin finalised Snape’s decision to flee. Concentrating on his occlumency, he forced his way out of the dream. He was unpleasantly surprised when his consciousness bounced off some sort of barrier. He blinked and found himself standing exactly where he had been a moment before; still in the dream and now possessing a bit of a headache.
“Uh uh uh,” said Freddy, wagging a bladed finger. “Like I said; the door’s locked. You’re not going anywhere until I say so.”
Surprised and alarmed that he was trapped; Snape repeated his question, hoping to stall for time to find a way out of the house, if not the dream.
“What do you want?”
“Oh, a little of this, a little of that,” replied Freddy easily.
“How did you get passed my occlumency shields?” demanded Snape, slowly edging his way to the nearest door. It led to what looked like the living room and he was hoping to perhaps escape from there by crashing through the large front windows. Hopefully putting some distance between himself and Freddy would free him to use his occlumency to wake up.
“I didn’t,” replied Freddy with a shark-like grin.
“Then how...” Snape trailed off.
“Didn’t need ta,” explained Freddy. “Your fancy pants ‘shields’ don’t work on the inside, Sevvie. Your dreams let me in - and now we’re gonna have a little talk.”
“About what?”
“About poking that nose of yours into a place you really shouldn’t have.”
“I’m quite sure I don’t know what you are talking about,” asserted Snape.
“Of course you don’t,” agreed Freddy. “That’s what’s gonna make this so much fun.”
“I see,” murmured Snape. His sense of self preservation was now screaming for him to flee this man’s presence. He became a little more blatant in his edging towards the living room.
“Ah - ah - ah!” tutted Freddy, wagging his bladed index finger again. “Sorry, Sevvie, but you’re not allowed to leave until our little discussion is over.”
A twitch of that same finger resulted in the door to the living room slamming shut. The bang was much too loud to be natural and resonated through the house like the tolling of a massive bell.
Snape paused, uncertain of what to do now that his most obvious escape route was cut off. His eyes drifted to the nearby staircase. The idea of fleeing upstairs occurred to him, but was quickly dismissed. He had never seen a Muggle horror movie, but his real life experiences as a Death Eater had taught him that such an act would not help him.
“You’re a teacher, aintcha?” asked Freddy suddenly.
“Yes, what of it?” replied Snape cautiously, a little confused by this seemingly irrelevant question.
“Then you must understand the necessity of punishing troublemakers, yeah?”
“Yes,” he confirmed, worry blossoming in his stomach as he deduced where this line of questioning was leading.
He shifted his stance in preparation for the attack that was coming. Without his wand he would have to rely on hand-to-hand, not something he had much experience with. Freddy’s knife-hand made that an even more unpleasant prospect. He tried to keep an eye on those blades, while at the same time watching for Freddy’s attack.
“So tell me, Sevvie,” asked Freddy, “What would you do with a troublemaker that went looking where he shouldn’t have?”
Somehow, Snape knew that he was the one being discussed. He tried to think of what he might have seen that had brought this maniac to him, but nothing sprang to mind. Almost all of his attention these days was divided between the Dark Lord and the Potter boy. There was no reason he could think of to explain this visit.
He was startled by a finger tapping him on the shoulder.
“Severus.”
That was Lily’s voice speaking from behind him! He was halfway turned around when he realized what a stupid mistake he had just made. His dream Lily was obviously a decoy, used to lure him to this place where Freddy had been waiting. And now he had allowed that same decoy to distract him - to draw his eyes away from where they were needed. Doubtless the attack would come now, while his back was exposed to Freddy’s attention.
The sight of Lily, standing there right in front of him, was almost enough to stall him. He ignored her, however, and began to turn back to Freddy. He was wondering why he had not yet struck, when a glint of steel caught his eye. The motion of Lily raising her arm caused him to pause.
The gleaming edge of the straight razor was the last thing he saw before his vision went black and pain erupted through his very being.
Snape staggered back, unable to hold back a cry of pain as he clutched his hand to his ruined eyes. He knew this was a dream, but the pain was all too real. The fact that it was Lily who had blinded him was almost as painful, despite the knowledge that she was merely a construct of Freddy’s.
“Ah, such lovely screams,” declared Freddy as he sidled up behind Snape and held him in a firm grip.
“Wuh - why?” asked Snape, using his far too extensive experience with the Cruciatus to push his way through the pain. That and he kept reminding himself that this was only a dream. Everything would be fine, once he managed to wake up.
“Because, Sevvie, you were looking in places you shouldn’t have. You almost found me too. The only reason you didn’t was because you weren’t really looking for me,” explained Freddy.
“I never...”
“Oh, but you did... And now I need to make sure you don’t go talking about what you have seen.”
Fingers playing over his lips were the only warning Snape had before his mouth was forced open. He tried to lock his jaws shut, but Freddy was too strong. His struggles grew frantic when grubby fingers latched onto his tongue. From what Freddy had said, he knew what was going to happen next.
The sharp pain of his lost eyes was almost lost in the biting agony of having his tongue cut out. Snape’s screams were choked and half formed as blood immediately began to pool in his mouth.
“Mm-mm,” he heard Freddy hum, the madman releasing his hold on Snape and letting him fall to the floor. “I love tongue. Especially on toast. Yes, toast. With an extra helping of ketchup.”
Snape was in too much pain to pay any really attention to Freddy’s demented raving, but the thought of being slowly cut apart and consumed piece by piece brought new feelings of horror to him.
“Aw shit – the brat’s waking up,” Freddy suddenly announced; his disappointment plain to hear.
Snape had no idea what the burned man was talking about, but fervently prayed that whatever it was would offer him some relief. He had already given up any hope of escaping this nightmare on his own. His only option was to ride it out on the chance he would emerge on the other side.
“Well, see you tomorrow night, Sevvie,” Freddy concluded as he faded away.
-oOo-
“Harry! Harry!”
“Huh? Wuzzah?”
“Wake up, Harry!”
“M’wake, m’wake,” slurred Harry as he slowly regained coherence.
He stared blearily up at Ron and Neville, who were leaning over him. It was hard to make out their expressions without his glasses, but he got the impression that they were worried.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, pushing himself up onto his elbows.
“You were talking in your sleep,” answered Neville.
“Sounded like you were having another nightmare,” elaborated Ron. Harry could easily hear the unasked question as to whether or not Voldemort was somehow involved.
“Sorry if I woke you up,” he apologised.
“It’s all right,” said Neville. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine, Nev. Thanks.”
“Was it... you know... You-know-who?” asked Ron, unable to contain himself any longer.
Harry bit off a scathing reply and took a moment to compose an answer. He certainly couldn’t tell them the truth. He already had the uncomfortable feeling the Freddy’s encounter with Snape had been just as real as the one with Draco.
“No, it wasn’t Voldemort,” he finally said, taking a small measure of satisfaction in watching the redhead flinch at the name.
“Oh... That’s good,” said Ron, almost sounding disappointed.
“So, what was it?” asked Neville. He immediately realized the intimate nature of his query and quickly qualified it, “If you don’t mind telling us.”
“It’s okay, Neville,” answered Harry. He decided to mostly stick with the story he had told Shacklebolt. “I was dreaming that Umbridge locked me in the Great Hall and I couldn’t get out.”
“Well, that’s not so bad,” said Ron.
“The whole place was on fire,” concluded Harry dryly.
“Oh... well... that’s...”
“Not so good?”
“Yeah.”
“I don’t soddin’ care if it’s bloody good or not - just shut th’ hell up! Some of us’re tryin’ to sleep!”
The three boys were startled by the sudden outburst from Seamus’s bed. Realising that he did have a point, they exchanged guilty looks and quietly apologised.
“Don’t say you’re sorry - say good night!” grumbled Seamus darkly.
With more muted apologies, Ron and Neville returned to their own beds. Harry remained in place, arms folded around his knees and propped up against his bed’s headboard. He sat silently in the dark and listened as his friends slipped back to sleep. When Ron’s snores once again reverberated through the dormitory, he let out a breath he did not know he had been holding.
“Good night my arse,” he whispered.
He would remain unmoved and wide awake through the rest of the night. For the first time since he was a little boy, living in the Dursleys’ cupboard, Harry was too afraid to go to sleep.
TBC...