We Are Nothing
Part IV
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 IV
And God-appointed Berkeley
\oOo/
Harry felt absolutely terrible as he went down to breakfast. It must have been obvious that he had not had a good night’s rest, as Hermione had been hovering over him from the moment he had descended the stairs into the common room.
Ordinarily he would have felt comforted by the attention, considering how bad he felt, but her repeated suggestions to skip breakfast, in leau of a visit to Madam Pomfrey, were fast beginning to get on his nerves.
“For the last time, Hermione,” he asserted as their group entered the Great Hall, “I’m just a little tired due to lack of sleep. I don’t need any potions or spells from Madam Pomfrey. A strong cup of tea and a proper breakfast will fix everything up.”
Harry’s skills at blatantly lying to his friends were increasing by leaps and bounds. The truth was that he doubted anything less than divine intervention would lift the bone weary lethargy that currently permeated his entire being.
“Well, if you’re sure...”
“I am.”
“Fine,” she reluctantly relented, “but if you’re not looking better by lunch then I’ll drag you to the hospital wing myself.”
“I’ll be all right,” Harry asserted with false confidence. “After all, today couldn’t possible be half as bad as yesterday.”
“Hey, have you heard? Someone attacked Snape last night! Gouged his eyes out!”
Harry turned to stare balefully at Colin Creevey, whose enthusiasm quickly died under the Boy-Who-Lived’s glare.
“Um, sorry?”
Harry ground his teeth and turned his glare heavenward. “I just had to open my big mouth, didn’t I?”
“Colin, are you sure?” asked Hermione.
“Yeah!” he confirmed, nodding his head rapidly. “Apparently the Aurors heard him screaming in his room and managed to save him.”
“He’s alive?” asked Harry, slightly surprised that Freddy had not finished the job.
“Uh-huh. Stephanie Miller saw them levitating him to the infirmary.”
“Bloody hell,” said Ron, summing up the situation.
Harry turned to Hermione as they settled into their usual seats at the Gryffindor table. “So... first Malfoy and now Snape.”
Hermione nodded grimly, “Yes, this is getting serious. I wish Dumbledore were here.”
“Not while the Ministry’s still looking for him,” Ron reminded her, filling his plate.
“But this is serious!” she repeated.
“The Ministry will handle it. More interviews, more Aurors at the school, less classes... more homework.”
“But whoever it is that’s doing this attacked a professor!”
“Well... better Snape than one of us,” opined Ron.
“Ron!”
“I don’t often say this, but he’s right,” said Ginny, who had been listening from her spot a couple of places down the table.
“Yeah,” agreed Neville softly. “Besides, he was a horrible teacher.”
“Maybe,” Hermione reluctantly agreed, “but it’s still a dreadful thing to say.”
“Ah, fuck.”
“Harry!”
“Look around us,” Harry told them as he dropped his cutlery onto his plate.
His friends made a surreptitious sweep of the Great Hall and quickly spotted exactly what was bothering him. Apparently the much famed and much dreaded Hogwarts Rumour Mill was churning at maximum capacity. A great many eyes were making glances in Harry’s direction and his name was being mentioned in hushed tones.
“This is really beginning to piss me the hell off,” muttered Harry.
“Harry...” Hermione trailed off at his glare.
“I’ve been asleep and in my dormitory both goddamn times, Hermione,” he snapped. “What do the bloody fools think - that I can kill them with just my mind from the other side of the sodding castle?”
“It... they... they’re just scared, Harry,” was all she could say in their defence.
Harry glowered unhappily at her. “So what gives them the right to take it out on me?”
Not having much of an answer, Hermione was left struggling until Ron came to her defence. “Just ignore it all, mate,” he said, clapping a hand on Harry’s shoulder. “This is just like second year and all that Heir of Slytherin nonsense. It’ll blow over in a couple of months.”
“If memory serves,” snapped Harry, “I had to climb into the mouth of a hundred-foot long basilisk before it blew over last time.”
“Uh...”
“I’m honestly beginning to hate this place,” he grumbled, pushing his plate away.
His appetite was completely gone, as was Hermione’s it seemed. Fortunately Ron ate enough for all three of them.
-oOo-
Their classes passed by and Harry’s hold on his temper began to fray under the constant barrage of suspicious looks being sent his way. By the time they were done for the day, having just left a transfiguration class that he had hardly bother paying much attention to, Harry was feeling equal parts depressed, angry and resentful. The only bright point he could think of was that Snape was not the direct cause of his currently raging headache.
They had just settled down in the common room, having dropped off their book bags and hoping to relax for a bit before going down to dinner, when Harry was hit by an idea.
Knowledge, he realized, was power and just about everyone he had to deal with were doing their utmost to keep him in the dark and thus; powerless.
Of course, nobody other than himself was aware of the fact that Freddy had taken up residence in his dreams, but the fact remained - he needed more information about what was going on if he were to have any hope of settling things.
Naturally, he turned to the one person he knew would be able to help him discover what he needed to know.
“Hermione,” he began thoughtfully, “you’re good at researching things.”
“Well, yes, I like to think so,” she replied, pleased by the perceived compliment, even as she tried to be modest about it.
“What about your parents?” he asked.
Hermione blinked at the unexpected question. “I suppose they’re rather good at it as well. Why do you ask?”
Harry gnawed on his bottom lip. “Do you think they’d mind looking up something in the Muggle world for me?”
“Of course they wouldn’t mind,” she replied without hesitation.
“Fantastic.”
“What do you want to know?” she asked.
“I want them to find out everything they can about a town called Springwood. It’s somewhere in America - I don’t know where exactly.”
“America?” repeated Hermione in surprise.
Harry nodded, ignoring her curious expression. Instead, he asked the last part of his request. “I also need to know about somebody who used to live there. A man called Freddy Krueger...”
-oOo-
Harry’s dinner was interrupted by a summons that left his already unpleasant day in complete ruins.
“Hello, Mr Potter. I’ve been expecting you.”
He decided against pointing out that it was obvious Umbridge was expecting him, as she had been the one to summon him to her office.
“Sit down; we have a lot to discuss this evening,” Umbridge commanding, indicating the chair set in front of her desk.
Reluctantly taking his place, Harry waited for what doubtless be another round of infuriatingly stupid and inflammatory discussion. Staring at the woman that currently held Hogwarts under her thumb, he wondered, not for the first time, if he could not somehow dispose of her in some way and maybe get away with it.
“You wanted to see me, Professor?” he asked, hoping that she would get to the point and thus conclude this meeting as quickly as possible.
“Here, Mr Potter, have a cup of tea,” she said, pushing the tea tray on her desk towards him.
Remembering the last time she had offered him a drink in her office, Harry shook his head and politely declined. Veritasserum was the last thing he needed, especially now that he had a murderous lunatic living in his dreams.
“No thank you, I’m not thirsty.”
“I insist.”
Understanding that this was a battle he would not win, Harry took the offered cup. Trying to act as natural as he could, he settled back into his chair.
“Excellent, Mr Potter,” said Umbridge, lifting up her own cup of tea. “Now, I would like to discuss the recent happenings in this school.”
“What about them?” asked Harry. He lifted his teacup to his lips. As he saw Umbridge lean forward in anticipation, he lowered it without having actually drunk anything.
Umbridge scowled for a second before reclaiming her usual mask of cheerful sweetness.
“As you are no doubt aware, Draco Malfoy has been murdered and now Professor Snape had been grievously attacked.”
“Yes,” agreed Harry grudgingly. “That seems to be about the only thing everyone’s been talking about.”
“Biscuit, Mr Potter?” suggested Umbridge, holding out a plate with an assortment of snacks.
“Yes please,” said Harry, taking a couple of the chocolate coated biscuits and placing them on his teacup’s saucer. He sat back and waited for Umbridge to resume speaking.
Scowling again at how Harry had yet to touch his tea, the woman took a noisy gulp from her own cup and proceeded to stare beadily at him. Her fake smile seemed to be growing a little more forced.
Just to tease her, Harry once more brought his cup up to his lips. This time he held it there for quite a while, using it to hide his smirk at Umbridge’s impatient expression. He raised his head a fraction and blew softly, as if to cool the steaming tea down.
“What do you think of this affair?” asked Umbridge with a small twitch.
Harry set his cup back down on the saucer resting on his lap. He picked up a biscuit and, reasonably sure it was not dosed with anything, popped it into his mouth. He chewed it noisily, making sure to crunch between his teeth as loudly as possible.
“Tragic,” he said, though his tone suggested his feelings on the matter were otherwise.
“Yes,” agreed Umbridge, obviously biting back something more scathing. “As you might imagine, the Minister is not happy with the situation.”
“Yes,” agreed Harry, once again raising his cup to hide a smile. “I imagine you and him are having some trouble over all this.”
“Yes,” she hissed, now openly glaring at him.
“Have the Aurors found any clues about who’s responsible?” asked Harry.
“They are following up on several leads,” she replied.
This was a blatant lie, Harry knew, as the actual perpetrator of both attacks was a madman that lived in the Boy-Who-Lived’s dreams. Not the kind of figure that could leave behind any clues, seeing as he had no physical body.
On the other hand, Harry had a feeling that Umbridge and Fudge would be perfectly happy to implicate him in the attacks, regardless of whatever evidence the Auror did or did not have.
“Well, I hope they catch whoever’s responsible soon,” said Harry. “Otherwise people might get the idea that Hogwarts isn’t safe.”
“Hogwarts is perfectly safe,” Umbridge automatically replied.
This time Harry couldn’t the smile. “Of course it is.”
“Are you enjoying your tea?” asked Umbridge through clenched teeth.
“It’s delicious, thank you,” replied Harry. He imagined he could almost hear her teeth grinding. He lifted the cup up to his lips once again, but again made not attempt to actually drink.
“Then maybe you should finish up and let me pour you another cup.”
“No thanks, I’ve had enough.”
Umbridge tried to maintain her faux smile, but it was impossible to miss the hatred in her eyes. Her smile split as she bared her teeth.
“I insist,” she commanded, repeating her earlier command.
Having had more than enough of this woman, Harry held up the tea and deliberated turned the cup over and poured its contents onto the office floor.
“Sorry, but I’m full,” he stated, never breaking her now furious gaze.
“Detention, Potter!” she snapped, leaping to her feet. Harry stood to match her. “Detention, with me, every single night from now until this is over!”
Harry smiled nastily at her, “That may be sooner than you think.”
“You dare think you can threaten me?” Umbridge all but screamed. Harry almost expected her to go for her wand.
Walking away from her desk, Harry paused at the office door and looked back at her. He gave her another nasty smile.
“Somebody killed Malfoy and almost killed Snape,” he told her. “What makes you think they’d like a bitch like you more than those bastards?”
-oOo-
Having finally escaped the clutched of Hogwarts’ High Inquisitor, with screams and threats and promises of things even worse than detention ringing in his ears, Harry returned to Gryffindor tower. He was feeling utterly exhausted and in dire need of a hot shower followed by a good night’s sleep, but unfortunately, had the suspicion that only one of those were likely to actually happen.
Giving the password to the Fat Lady, Harry stepped into the Gryffindor common room and found himself confronted by the sight of Seamus Finnegan apparently holding court about how Harry was the most likely suspect for the murders.
It was the most infuriating thing had had seen the entire day, which was really saying something considering he had just finished having ‘tea’ with Umbridge.
“What the hell is wrong with you, Finnegan,” he snapped angrily, announcing his presence.
Hermione, who had been trying to shoot down Seamus’ arguments, muttered a low and frustrated, “That’s something we’re all asking.”
Slightly surprised and embarrassed by the sudden arrival of the very person he had been speaking against, Seamus flushed red and retaliated, “I’m just saying out loud what everyone else is thinking, Potter - that you’re somehow behind all this.”
“Well, I’m certainly not thinking it,” declared Neville. There were several other voiced agreements, though a disheartening number of his fellow Gryffindors remained silent.
“You’re accusing me of killing them? Me?” Harry furiously demanded.
“Everyone knows how much you hated Malfoy and Snape,” Seamus stated.
“And naturally that means I killed them, of course,” scoffed Harry.
Seamus shrugged unconcernedly.
Seeing this, Harry spat on the floor. “Then you don’t know me at all.”
Now Seamus did speak up. “And how’s that our fault, Potter?” he asked. “Weasley and Granger are your ‘two best friends’, after all. You hardly ever talk or spend time with the rest of us. The only time we do know what you’re doing is when you’re getting into trouble, losing points and racking up the detentions.”
“That doesn’t make me a murderer!”
“Maybe not, but it makes it very hard to give you the benefit of the bloody doubt!”
Harry paused and stared at the other boy. He had the sudden realization that he was in an argument that he simply could not win. Seamus would take whatever he said and twist it to suit his needs; namely vilifying him in a manner not unlike the more rabid stories in the Daily Prophet. What he really could not understand was why he was being like this. While there had been some friction between them at the start of the year, mainly caused by Seamus’ mother’s opinion of him, Harry had thought that they had managed to move passed that and start working together.
Realizing this, that nothing he said would make any difference, Harry threw up his hands and abandoned any pretence of trying to force some sense into his antagonist’s thick skull.
“You really are a bloody idiot, aren’t you?” asked Harry in pure exasperation.
Seamus bristled and began to retort, “Just because I--”
Harry cut him off, “If I really was the killer, Finnegan, aren’t you worried that with your attitude... you might be next?”
The silence that fell over the common room was almost shocking in both its abruptness and its totality. Seamus was left gaping at Harry, eyes bulging and the colour slowly draining from his face. Just about everyone else was in a similar state and likewise staring at him in disbelief. Hermione and Ron in particular seemed especially flummoxed.
Harry offered all of them the very best smirk he could muster through his exhaustion.
“Now, if you’ll excuse me,” he said, beginning to ascend the stairs, “today’s been another shitty day, so I’m going to bed.”
The common room was unnaturally quiet as the rest of Gryffindor watched him leave.
-oOo-
Ordinarily the fact that Harry Potter was having a bad day would have caused Severus Snape some small measure of satisfaction. It was petty and mean, he knew, but his hatred of James Potter had long since overwhelmed reason where the younger wizard was involved.
Today, however, Snape was far too preoccupied with his own troubles to spare a thought for the distressed Boy-Who-Lived.
He had not been fully conscious at any point, but had gained enough lucidity to realize that his ordeal was over and he was safely ensconced in the school infirmary. He desperately wanted to talk to Dumbledore, or anyone else for that matter, to warn them of Freddy’s existence. A difficult thing without his eyes and tongue, but he had to try.
Unfortunately the combined pain of his injuries and the numerous potions that had been poured down his throat kept him in a state of delirium where reality and dream seemed to blend together.
Eventually, however, everything caught up with him and he slipped into a fitful sleep.
Snape rested in the darkness that was now his existence, the only sound being his own steady breathing. He focused on his Occlumency and began to sort his thoughts and memories - it was a welcome diversion, which he needed to take his mind off things.
The sudden bang of a heavy wood door being slammed open jolted him to full alertness. In his surprise, he opened his eyes to see what was going on.
He blinked in further surprise as he found his eyes restored and his ability to see returned to him. He was so shocked by this that it took several seconds before he realized where he was and, more importantly, who was with him.
“Listen up, maggots! There’ll be no silly wand waving in my class!”
Snape stared in mounting dread at the ominous figure of Freddy Krueger. The setting of this dream was the Hogwarts potions classroom. And Freddy was the teacher.
It was also obvious exactly who Freddy was role playing as. He was dressed in Snape’s voluminous robes - which were billowing theatrically despite the fact that he was standing still. Topping it off, his burnt and scarred head was covered in a thick and greasy black wig, styled identically to his ‘student’.
“Now, you useless dunderheads, let’s begin tonight’s lesson...” declared Freddy, clapping his hands together.
He rounded on Snape, looming over him. The real potions master tried to back away and flee, but found himself unable to leave his seat.
“Sevvie,” commanded Freddy, “tell me; is it your unrequited love for dear, delicious, departed Lily that makes you such a bastard? Or is it just a case of really bad blue balls?”
Realizing that he was trapped and unable to escape, Snape tried to remain calm. He looked at Freddy, who was waiting impatiently for an answer. Ignoring the question, he decided to do what he did best and gather as much information as he could on his captor.
“Who the hell are you?” he asked, only realizing as he spoke that he still had his tongue.
“Wrong answer!” exclaimed Freddy. He shook his head. “Tut tut, it seems that being a bastard is not everything.”
Snape narrowed his eyes. Obviously Freddy had set up this entire dream as a bastardized reproduction of Snape’s traditional introductory class to the first-years - particularly Harry Potter’s first year.
“You’re mocking me,” he concluded.
Freddy smiled viciously. “Tell me, Sevvie, does spying for both sides make you feel special? Do you get a hard-on from kissing the asses of both your masters? Do you get off on being their slave?”
Snape’s lips drew into a thin line even as he grit his teeth. “Since you seem to know so much about me,” he demanded, “why don’t you tell me the answer!”
“Ah ah... I hate to do this, but two fingers from Slytherin for your disrespect!” declared Freddy.
“Fingers,” repeated Snape dully.
Freddy grinned back at him and lifted up his knife-hand, finger blades spread wide. “Much better than points, dontcha think?”
Snape came to the obvious conclusion, “You’re mad.”
“Mad?” repeated Freddy, cackling. “Of course I’m mad. Mad for blood!”
Before he could do anything, Freddy had reached over the desk and grabbed Snape by the arms. With strength that could not be resisted, he forced his hands down on the tabletop. As soon as he was released, Snape tried to pull back, but found that his hands were stuck in place, with their fingers splayed wide and thus easily accessible.
“Now, two fingers, wasn’t it?” asked Freddy.
Snape didn’t have a chance to do anything, not even scream, before Freddy’s knives swung down. His horror at what was happening was momentarily delayed by the odd thought that the thunk of the blades cutting into the desk sounded very much like the sound of a butcher’s knife embedding itself in a cutting board.
Shortly after that, however, pain lanced from his left hand and stabbed into his brain like a red-hot poker.
“Ah, finally... an answer,” crowed Freddy.
It took a while, but eventually Snape was able to push back the pain. He was gulping air in deep breathes and trying to focus on the blackboard at the front of this dream classroom. It took his all not to look down at his mutilated hand and confirm the loss of his pinky and ring fingers. So long as he did not look he could pretend otherwise, even if he already knew that his injuries in this dream would bleed over into the waking world.
Freddy was either kind or, more likely, cruel enough to wait for Snape to recover somewhat before he spoke up. His next words caused Snape’s rapid and shallow breathing to catch in his throat.
“Now, for another finger, I want you to answer this next impossible question...”
And so it continued; with Freddy asking Snape one question after another and exacting his terrible punishment when the man failed to answer to his satisfaction. He seemed to take a perverse delight in making the questions as intimately embarrassing as possible.
Finally, after a question alluding that Snape had been sexually abused by his father, Freddy removed the last of the potions master’s fingers. Snape was almost relieved, as this meant his punishment would soon be over.
“Awwwww...” moaned Freddy in disappointment. “We seem to be all outta little piggies.”
Snape was in too much pain to bother wondering at why his fingers were being compared to pigs of all things. He had, to his extreme distress, glanced down at the fingerless stumps that were now his hands. His screams of horror were even louder than his earlier screams of pain.
He prayed that this really was just a nightmare. For the first time since he was a young boy, he prayed in true supplication instead of mere phrase. He prayed because he knew that even after the nightmare was over, his ordeal would continue.
There were instances of blind potion brewers. More than most people would believe, actually. There was not, however, any possibility of someone brewing potions without their eyes and hands.
His attention was so scattered, through physical and emotional pain, that he hardly heard what Freddy said next. When the words did finally seep through the pain and register in his mind, he wrenched his head upright and stared at his torturer in even greater horror.
“W-wuh-what?” he managed to choke out.
Freddy’s answering smirk was vicious. “I said; time for the last question for today’s lesson.”
Snape’s gaze involuntarily dropped to his ruined hands. At least, he thought morbidly, there were no more fingers he could lose.
Freddy’s eyes followed his and the scarred man laughed darkly.
“Of course, for this question. I’m gonna have move down to something else to take off if you get the answer wrong again.”
Snape stared blankly at the man for a long while, unable to understand what was being said. There was nothing left, was all that he could think again and again.
Seeing his confusion, Freddy leaned over the desk until he was almost nose to nose with Snape. He not so subtly glanced down. When this also failed to enlighten his prisoner, he resorted to pointing with his bloody finger knives.
Snape very nearly fainted as the realization dawned on him.
“So, tell me, Sevvie,” Freddy asked, “How does it feel, knowing that it’s almost entirely your fault I’m out and about? How does it feel to be responsible for all the little kiddies I’m gonna play with?”
“I’m not!” Snape managed to protest, even as he made one desperate last attempt to escape.
“Oh, but you are,” gloated Freddy.
“I never saw you before!”
“Maybe, but you helped let me out.”
“I didn’t do anything!”
“In a way that’s true... Which I’m sure your student would agreed was half the problem.”
“I’m just a potions professor!” wailed Snape, his composure and fortitude long broken. “I never taught anything to do with you!”
“Oh, I wouldn’t be so sure about that, Sevvie,” said Freddy, leaning in close. “You taught one very important lesson... You taught him how to hate.”
Snape could only stare back, unable to understand how that had anything to do with what was happening to him.
Then Freddy leaned back a bit and held his knife hand at the ready. Snape began to thrash about, his movements violent in their desperation, but he remained unable to leave his seat.
“Now, I strongly suggest you try and ‘clear your mind’; that way this’ll hurt more.”
The words struck right to the very core of Snape’s being and he froze. He recognised them, of course, having repeated them on an almost nightly basis ever since the new year.
“Potter,” he rasped in sudden understanding.
Freddy grinned in acknowledgement and slashed down with his blades, slicing into Snape’s groin like a farmer’s thresher. This time, the potions master’s screams were particularly high pitched and of a much longer duration.
Laughing in delight at the broken man’s agony, Freddy swivelled round and plopped himself down in the seat next to Snape. He waited for the hoarse screams to die down to moans and whimpers before draping his arm over Snape’s shoulders in a deceptively friendly manner.
“Well, I guess this is it”
Snape continued to moan, unable to do anything else.
“Can’t have you talking, yeah?” Freddy explained. “If you did that, it might spoil my fun.”
With a deft slice to the side, the blade on his index finger split Snape’s throat open with preternatural ease. The incision was elegantly made, but brutal in its execution, cutting through the man’s flesh, larynx and oesophagus, reaching almost all the way back to the spine. The resulting spray of blood from the severed jugular stained the front of his robes an almost Gryffindor crimson.
Freddy grinned cheekily and waved goodbye.
“Ta ta!”
Snape’s last thought, before he was claimed by oblivion, was that he had been right after all. It was all Potter’s fault.
-oOo-
The Great Hall was exactly as Harry had come to expect it. Dark and foreboding. Of course, considering how he had been feeling lately, that was a perfect reflection of his mood and thus quite appropriate.
At the same time, however, Harry was feeling particularly conflicted.
He turned from his place by the professor’s table to face Freddy as the scarred man popped into being with a brief rain of confetti, balloons and a trumpeting fanfare.
“Freddy,” he greeted, ignoring the melodramatic entrance.
“Bit of a dick, wasn’t he?” Freddy asked.
“You get used to it,” replied Harry blandly.
He would never admit it, but there had been something satisfying about seeing Snape on the receiving end of such a brutal assault. The final coup de grace was a bit much, but Harry simply could not bring himself to feel too much over the death of someone who had tormented him relentlessly for so many years. Especially after what the bastard had done to him the day before. He would have preferred to leave the potions master alive and unable to practice his art, but could just as easily accept his death.
“Why kill him?” asked Harry, more curious than anything else.
“Like I said; we didn’t want him to spoil our fun.”
Harry looked at Freddy pointedly and repeated, “We? Since when was there a ‘we’ in this?”
Freddy smirked knowingly and answered, “Since you let me out to play.”
“How do you do it?” asked Harry. “How do you get into people’s dreams?”
“Dontcha know?” countered Freddy in jest. “Life is but a dream!”
“You don’t expect me to row a boat up a river, do you?” asked Harry dryly.
“Ha ha! Now you’re getting into the spirit of thing!”
“Oh, happy days.”
“Oh, don’t be such a stick in the mud, Harry. Learn to live a little and enjoy yourself,” Freddy told him. “Odds are you’ll be dead when this is over, so try to have some fun before your time runs out.”
Ignoring what seemed like a fairly subtle threat, at least from Freddy, Harry tried to get the conversation back onto the subject of the madman’s abilities.
“You said you weren’t a wizard; weren’t magical,” Harry said, “So how do you do it?”
“Jealous?”
“A little, yes.”
Freddy offered him a sly and salacious grin. “I bet I know exactly what kind of dreams you want to visit.”
Harry tried not to blush at the insinuation, but could already feel the blood rushing to his cheeks.
“That’s not what I meant and you know it!”
“Oh? So you don’t wanna see if Hermione has a wild side? You know what they say about the quiet ones.”
“I don’t think about her like that!”
“Sure you don’t,” taunted Freddy. “But if you’re in denial, why not visit little Gin-Gin’s dreams? You can be her knight in shining armour... And get a reward for saving her from the giant snake. Or maybe you’re in the mood for some Chinese takeout...”
“Just answer the bloody question, dammit!” snapped Harry. “How are you doing all this without any magic?”
Freddy’s smile took on a sharper, crueller edge. “Why not?” he decided. “It comes down to belief.”
“Belief?” repeated Harry, unsure of whether Freddy has having him on or nor.
“Belief,” confirmed Freddy. “So long as the children of Springwood believe in me - remember me - then I’ll always be able to get into their dreams!”
“This isn’t Springwood,” noted Harry.
“Hahahaha!” laughed Freddy. He gave a crazed smile and spread his arms wide, as if to encompass the entire castle surrounding them. “Don’t be silly, kid - if there’s one thing I’ve learned over the years - it’s that every town has an Elm Street!”
“Krueger, this isn’t a town - it’s a castle somewhere in Scotland,” Harry pointed out. “That means there are no streets.”
“Pfft, like I’m gonna let some technicality stop me,” scoffed Freddy.
“All right then, different question,” declared Harry, deciding to try another approach. “Why Malfoy and Snape? Why go after them?”
Freddy laughed at him. “Please, kid, you can’t be this stupid. I’ve already told ya - it’s ‘cause you were angry with them. It’s ‘cause you hated them. Nothing more. Nothing less.”
Harry swallowed a lump that had formed in his throat.
“You mean you killed them because I wanted them to die?” he asked, a little worried by that thought.
“You are an idiot. I killed them ‘cause it was fun. All you did was point me in their direction,” explained Freddy impatiently. “Well, for the Malfoy kid, yeah. Snape was all that and the fact that his snooping around in your thick skull might’ve led to me being discovered. We can’t have that now, can we?”
He then abruptly turned away from Harry and strode down the hall’s length.
“Now, if you’ll excuse me... I need to go reap the harvest of your anger.”
And with that, Freddy vanished back into the shadows.
Harry was left standing alone in the Great Hall yet again. This seemed to be how all his dreams went lately. More of less resigned to it, he moved over to the teacher’s table and settled down in the headmaster’s luxurious chair. If this dream held true to form, then he would soon be witnessing more of Freddy’s fun and games.
Though he knew it was a horrible thing to wish. he hoped it would be Umbridge that fell to the badly burned man’s blades.
-oOo-
Seamus Finnegan was parched. It was for this reason that he had saddled up his horse, left his cattle ranch and made his way into Daisy Town in search of something to quench his thirst. For some reason, a glass of well turned Irish Whiskey was the only thing he wanted.
Tying off his horse, a magnificent black stallion called Midnight, he turned to the nearby saloon. He hoped that Madam Lavender would be there - then he could maybe have a chance to quench a different kind of thirst. Crossing the town’s main street with long strides, he smiled as the clink of his spurs reached his ears.
“Now hold on there, Pilgrim,” a familiar voice called.
Surprised at been hailed, Seamus turned to find himself faced with the small gang of outlaws that had been stirring up trouble throughout Daisy Town for the last few years. They were an unruly and thuggish looking bunch; despite their frequent claims to being of quality breeding. Taking in their faces and the eager anticipation therein, he realized that this could be trouble.
There, to the left, was Calamity Crabbe - whose broad Stetson shaded his beady little eyes. A few paces away, on the right was his partner in all things; Gruesome Goyle, dressed in an almost identical manner, save for his gleaming Rattlesnake boots.
And there, standing in between them, his expression one of pure arrogance; Ferret-Face Malfoy.
Nobody ever called him that to his face, of course, as it was guaranteed to turn his disposition sour and likely get you killed for it.
Malfoy smirked across at Seamus and with a brush of his hand, parted his long coat to expose the pearl handle of his Army Colt. His other hand pulled playfully at the green neckerchief that was the only splash of colour in his otherwise pure black attire.
“We’ve been looking for you... sheriff,” Malfoy drawled, fingering his gun.
A little surprised at being addressed this way, Seamus glanced down to see that, yes, he had a silver star pinned to his red and gold checked shirt. Realizing that as the town’s lawman, he was the one tasked in dealing with these troublemakers, he moved his hands down to the twin six-shooters he wore at his hips.
“And what d’you want, Ferret-Face?” he asked, deliberately using the name that he knew would provoke Malfoy.
Malfoy sneered angrily at him and reply, “We were wantin’ to string you up like the yellow-bellied Irish pig you are!”
Seamus breathed deeply, his nostrils flaring at the insult. “Nobody calls me a yellow-belly, Malfoy!”
“Then draw, Finegan!” Malfoy challenged, his two companions stepping in line with him and also showing off their guns.
His hands went for his guns and they cleared their holsters before the three outlaws even began to draw. They didn’t call him Quick-Draw Finnegan for no good reason. He squeezed the triggers of both pistols in such perfect synchronisation that the resulting bang sounded like only a single gunshot. He smiled as two little red holes appeared in Crabbe and Goyle’s foreheads. Seamus shifted his aim towards Malfoy even as his companions’ bodies began to fall to the ground.
By now Malfoy had managed get a grip on his gun’s handle and was beginning to draw, but it was too late. With a loud crack, again sounding like a single shot, Seamus fired both guns and put a slug in each of his enemy’s eyes.
Ferret-Face Malfoy joined Crabbe and Goyle in the dirt.
“NOOOOO!! DRACO!!”
Seamus whirled and almost fired again before he recognised the source of the cry. It was Miss Pansy, who owned the Snake’s Pit bordello on the edge of town. She dashed frantically out of the saloon and rushed to where Draco had fallen.
“Draco! Draco!” she wailed, falling to her knees and cradling the dead man’s body to her.
“I’m sorry, Miss Pansy,” said Seamus, “but I had no choice.”
“There’s always a choice, son,” said a voice from behind him.
Seamus turned to see the town preacher approaching. He struggled not to wince; Father Freddy was horribly burned. There had apparently been an accident with a locomotive boiler that had exploded over in Springwood City. Whatever the cause, the results sure weren’t pretty.
“I’m sorry, Father,” he said, “but it was me or them.”
“Then you should have been a good Christian, Sheriff, and turned the other cheek,” declared Father Freddy piously.
“I’m sorry, Father,” Seamus repeated, this time with a frown, “but as the town sheriff, I couldn’t do that.”
“You murdering, bastard!” screamed Miss Pansy, her mournful wails giving way to furious grief.
“Yeah!” called Barrister Finch-Fletchley, standing in the doorway to his office. “You should have brought them in for a trial - not shot them down like that!”
“Must be illegal, what he just did,” mused Madam Lavender from the where she was standing with everyone who had been in the saloon during the gunfight.
“They called me out!” protested Seamus unhappily. He really did not see what all this fuss was all about. He was the sheriff and it was his job to deal with outlaws and scum like Malfoy. He bitterly recalled that there had been no such protests a year ago, when he had hunted down and shot dead that dog Punxsutawney Potter. Heck, there had been celebrations in the streets when he had brought Potter’s boy in for his bounty. That had been the same day the townsfolk had elected him as sheriff.
“The path of the righteous man is beset on all sides by the iniquities of the selfish and the tyranny of evil men,” quoted Father Freddy, holding his bible up over his head.
“Exactly!” exclaimed Seamus.
Father Freddy lowered the book and stared at him, “I was talkin’ about you, son. Get him.”
The townsfolk surged forward at the preacher’s command. Seamus, panicking at being rushed by so many, drew his guns and fired a warning shot into the air. It did nothing to slow them and a second later he was flailing under the assault of a dozen people he once called friends.
“No! No - let me go!” he yelled, struggling.
“Take him to the Judas tree!” ordered Father Freddy. “Hang ‘im high!”
“No!”
“Hang ‘im high!” chorused the mob as they began pulling Seamus away.
“String him up by the neck!” yelled Dean Thomas, the town blacksmith.
“No! No! You can’t do this!”
“The wrath of God is slow but sure, Sheriff! It is His will,” Father Freddy stated.
“What about a trial?” demanded Seamus, his struggles weakening as Neville Longbottom slugged him in the gut.
“The crime is murder!” proclaimed Finch-Fletchley, somehow having changed into a set of Judge’s robes and the accompanying wig. “The verdict is guilty!”
“GUILTY!” chorused the rest of the crowd.
“Thou shalt not kill,” agreed Father Freddy.
“The sentence is death... by hanging,” concluded Judge Finch-Fletchley.
“No!” protested Seamus as he was forcefully lifted up onto a horse. He dimly noticed that it was his own steed, Midnight, that he was being mounted upon.
“Shut up, you murdering dog,” spat Miss Pansy, hurling a fist-sized rock at him.
The rock struck him in the face, breaking his nose with a loud crack that sounded almost like a shot from his own guns. Blinking away tears and trying to stop Longbottom from properly tying the rope’s noose round his neck, Seamus absently noticed Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle getting up from where they had been lying in the dirt and walking off towards the saloon. Malfoy even paused at the doors and gave him a little wave.
“Any last words?” asked Father Freddy.
“You can’t do this,” protested Seamus desperately. “I’ve done nothing wrong!”
“Very well,” said Freddy, grinning dementedly. “May God have mercy on your worthless soul!”
With that, Freddy slapped Midnight hard on the horse’s flanks. Already upset by the press and noise of the crowd, Midnight whinnied loudly and bolted. Constrained as he was by the rope around his neck, Seamus was unable to remain in the saddle and, with a sharp jerk, he was pulled off.
“No!” cried Seamus as he fell. After that, the rope was too tight for him to make any attempt at protest.
-oOo-
Dean Thomas was the first of the fifth-year Gryffindors to wake up. This was not unusual, as he had been waking up first from practically the beginning. Occasionally Seamus or Neville would beat him, but it was normal for Dean to be the first to stir.
He spent a few minutes this morning just laying in bed and enjoying the peace and quiet. Those were rare commodities in any dormitory, but had been even harder to find this year.
Dean tried not to lay the blame at anyone’s feet, but between Harry’s nightmares and Seamus’ rather unnecessary antagonism, things had been more than a little unpleasant.
In truth, Dean could understand and sympathise with both boys, but he preferred not to take sides. He had other things to worry about this year. After all, the only thing worse than being a Muggleborn right now was being a black Muggleborn in a Hogwarts ruled over by Dolores Umbridge.
A loud snort, followed by a chainsaw rumbling from Ron’s bed, brought Dean out of his introspection.
Deciding to get up and enjoy the luxury of an uninterrupted shower, Dean gathered his toiletries and exited his curtained four-poster. As luck would have it, he stepped out on the side of his bed adjacent to Seamus’ bed. As such the very first thing he was presented with was the Irish wizard’s body.
This was so unexpected that Dean did not at first realize exactly what it was he was seeing. He stared blankly at the body, which had a slight sway to it, hanging from the frame of his four-poster bed with a makeshift rope made from his sheets wrapped tightly around his neck. His eyes took in the sight, but his brain failed to properly process it.
He blinked again and again as the stench of voided bladder and bowels began to permeate his consciousness.
Suddenly, Dean knew exactly what it was he was looking at.
His assorted toiletries fell from his limp hands and clattered to the dormitory floor. Nobody really noticed, as they were sleeping peacefully and blissfully unaware in their beds.
Their peace and bliss came to an end as Dean started screaming.
The other three boys woke abruptly to the sound of Dean’s frantic yells. Ron’s awakening was harder than Harry and Neville’s as he literally rolled off the bed and fell to the floor with a thump. His angry curses joined Dean’s screams, adding to the confusion.
“What’s wrong? What’s wrong?” asked Neville, tripping over his blankets as he tried to get out of his bed.
“Soddin’ hell, Dean, shut up!” yelled Ron from his place on the floor.
“What’s going on,” grumbled Harry, putting on his glasses and looking round to see what was causing Dean’s distress.
Once he could see clearly and had managed to move his drapes out of the way, Harry immediately saw what all the fuss was about.
He should not have been surprised, as Freddy had shown him everything that happened. Yet, now that he was seeing it with his own eyes, he could not help but fall on his rear in shock.
He was vaguely aware of Neville and Ron’s reactions as they too finally caught sight of Seamus. He was also aware that both boys sent significant glances in his direction, no doubt remembering his ill-chosen words the previous evening.
Harry stared at his roommate’s dangling corpse; terrible proof that his dream during the night had now become a very real nightmare.
In the end, there was only one thing he could think to say.
“Oh, you have to be fucking kidding.”
TBC...