We Are Nothing
Part VII
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 VII
Days of danger, nights of waking
\oOo/
“One, two, I’m coming for you...”
Delores Umbridge had to wonder where she was and, more importantly, how she had been brought there. She grimaced unhappily as she surveyed the ankle deep water she was standing in. Whoever had gotten her into this situation would be finding themselves in a great deal of trouble. All the more so because this place was obviously one of those disgusting Muggle factories – dirty and messy and filthy... much like the water she was being forced to walk through. She had never imagined simple water could smell so pungent.
“Three, four, don’t bother locking your door...”
Even worse; whoever had done this was trying to scare her with some bastardised version of an immature children’s song. Never before had she been so insulted. As if some still words could frighten her. She almost gave voice to the thought that the Potter brat was responsible, but that seemed unlikely – not while he was bedridden and confined to the Hogwarts infirmary after her failed... interview.
“Five, six, throw away your crucifix...”
“Heh-hem,” she cleared her throat and stood tall in defiance. As one of the most senior officials in the Ministry, she refused to put up with this. “I do not play games,” she called, her voice echoing flatly along the bare concrete of the corridor. “I am the Senior Undersecretary for the Minister of Magic and I order you to stop this nonsense and show yourself!”
“Seven, eight, it’s much too late...”
Sucking her teeth at being ignored, Umbridge huffed. “I will not repeat myself, you miserable little ingrates!” she snapped, convinced that if it was not Potter, then it had to be his delinquent friends. “Cease this foolishness at once and come out, or I’ll see that you spend a long while in Azkaban!”
“Nine, ten... I’m really gonna enjoy gutting you, bitch.”
Umbridge spun round, as this time the mocking voice had not come from all around her, but rather from directly behind. Seeing who it was that was no stood before her, Umbridge had a hard time deciding whether to recoil in disgust or to soil herself in terror.
“Who the – what the hell are you?” she demanded as she stumbled back, trying to put some distance between herself and this... man.
“Who am I?” repeated Freddy, as if offended by the fact that she did not already know. He held up his bladed knife-hand and pressed it against his chest. “Aw... I’m hurt.”
“Listen, whoever you are, I don’t care who you think--”
“You should,” Freddy cut her off. “You see, Delores – can I call you Delores?”
“No, you may not!”
“Thanks, Delores, that’s sweet of ya.”
“Stop that at once!” Umbridge shrieked furiously, stamping her foot and kicking up a spray of foul liquid.
“You really don’t have any idea who I am, do you Delores?” asked Freddy with a sly smile.
“A freak is who you are!” snapped Umbridge. “A burned up, ugly freak!”
“Tut tut, Delores--”
“Stop calling me that! I am the High Inquisitor of Hogwarts and Senior Undersecretary to the Minister of Magic!”
“--I thought we were talking about me, not you,” finished Freddy as though he had not been interrupted.
Umbridge glared spitefully at him. “I am not burned up. I am not ugly. And I am most certainly not a no-account, deviant freak like you!”
Freddy shook his head mournfully. “Sorry, Delores, but I’m afraid you’re all of those things.”
“I am not!”
Freddy held up his right hand and extended his index blade. “One; you are ugly as shit.”
“Shut up!” yelled Umbridge, stomping her foot again and sending up another spray of water. Most of the pungent liquid landed on her clothes.
Smirking, Freddy extended another bladed finger, “Two; you are completely worthless.”
Infuriated beyond reason, Umbridge began searching for her wand. She was going to show this pathetic abomination exactly who he was dealing with. Only, her wand was not in its usual place and the rest of her pockets were turning up empty.
“Three; you are a freak,” continued Freddy, extending a third blade.
“I am not a freak!” insisted Umbridge shrilly. “I am a pureblood and your superior!”
“And last, but not least,” declared Freddy, ignoring her protestations as he now held up his knife hand with all its blades at the ready, “you’re just as badly burned up as I am!”
Umbridge stared at him in disbelief at this blatant fallacy. Her attempt to retort never had a chance to get going as Freddy swung his arm in a wide arc. He was too far away to strike her, but she was not his target. The blades of his knives hit one of the exposed steel pipes and caused an impressive shower of sparks to fly through the air.
The tiny motes of brilliant light seemed to fall in slow motion, drawing Umbridge’s eyes to them. Her eyes promptly grew wide in terror when the sparks landed in the water. Only, it was not water. Too late to do anything but scream, Umbridge was quickly engulfed as the pool of gasoline she was standing in exploded into flames.
Her screams were remarkably loud, but quickly cut off as the flames were sucked through her open mouth and into her lungs. Her frantic and spastic capering lasted less than a minute before she finally collapsed, her gasoline soaked body continuing to burn merrily.
“Aah,” Freddy sighed with satisfaction. “Nothing like a good night’s work to get the blood flowing. And just in time for breakfast.”
-oOo-
Harry returned to the waking world slowly and with a muggy head that left him wondering where he was and what had happened to send him there.
“Welcome back, Mr Potter.”
He recognised Madam Pomfrey’s voice, but his mind immediately went back to his first visit to the Leaky Cauldron and the reaction of its patrons when they had learned his identity. Someone had said that to him then. He forgot who. He smiled groggily at the memory of better, innocent days.
The present and its harsh reality forcefully reasserted itself when a small potion vial was pressed to his lips.
“Drink this,” Pomfrey commanded without preamble.
Reluctantly Harry did as he was ordered. For once the potion was not too foul tasting. He had barely finished swallowing before it took effect and the cobwebs in his head began to vanish.
“There you go, that should help clear things up,” said Pomfrey with satisfaction.
“You slipped me a sleeping potion, didn’t you?” asked Harry, recognising that his slumber had not been a natural one.
“You needed your rest,” was all Pomfrey said. “Now, I have a lot of packing that needs doing. In the meantime, you can talk to your friends.”
Blinking at the school matron’s abrupt departure, Harry fumbled for his glasses and soon found himself facing his friends. They were clustered by the foot of his hospital bed and were clearly bothered by something if their pale and anxious faces were any indication.
As Harry had witnessed first-hand exactly how busy Freddy had been recently, he understood why they would this way.
“Hi guys,” he greeted. “How long have I been out? Seemed like forever.”
“The potion Madam Pomfrey gave you put you in a healing coma for five days.”
“FIVE DAYS?” repeated Harry, incredulously. Now he knew how Freddy had managed to perform such a slaughter instead of the usual one or two murders a night - it hadn’t been just a single night or two, but a string of them, one after the other.
“It really was for the best, Harry,” Hermione told him.
“Ugh.”
Settling back on his pillows, Harry looked at his friends. Clearly the last few days had not been a pleasant experience for them. He would have sympathised with them, but having had to endure his own unpleasant experiences, he had little sympathy left to offer. Despite having been asleep, his nights had not been restful.
“How’s everyone?” he asked. Of course, he already knew; having been forced to watch Freddy’s depredations for five nights in a row.
His friends exchanged nervous glances. Harry could not miss the sudden tension that sprang up, even if he did not already know in advance.
“What happened?”
More concerned looks were shared before Ginny decided to cut to the chase and answered him.
“There were more murders while you were asleep,” she said.
Despite his foreknowledge, Harry winced. He already knew that, having been forced to watch it all happen on the dream Dursleys’ television in Privet Drive.
“They’re also closing the school,” Hermione told him, her voice soft.
Now this truly surprised Harry. His startled reaction almost caused his glasses to fall off his face.
“What? When?”
“Today,” confirmed Ron. “All the students are being sent home in the next couple of hours. We’re all going to be staying in headquarters. Well, except for Nev.”
“Yeah, I’ll be staying with my Gran.”
Harry lay back against his pillows. He knew that closing the school was the only reasonable thing to do. All the murders had happened to people in the castle. Or at least, all the murders that the Ministry cared about.
Reminded of that, he turned the conversation back to the deaths that had happened while he was asleep. He already knew the answer, but asked the question anyway, as a means to get the proverbial ball rolling.
“Who’s been killed?”
More worried looks, but this time with honest fear behind them. No doubt the much larger number of deaths had drummed home the seriousness of the matter.
“There - there were a lot more this time,” said Hermione, licking her lips.
“Parkinson was the first,” listed Neville.
“M-M-Michael,” stammered Ginny, composure cracking at the mention of her boyfriend. Hermione and Neville immediately moved to comfort her.
Harry grimaced. He had forgotten that she had been dating Michael, even if the relationship was not that serious. He resolved to never mention that it was his displeasure with Michael’s attitude that had allowed Freddy a door into the boy’s dreams.
“Zacharias Smith and Crabbe were also got to,” muttered Ron.
“Marietta was killed this morning, a couple of hours ago,” finished Hermione, hugging Ginny to her even as she herself shuddered at the memory.
“It happened in the middle of the Great Hall,” elaborated Neville, his face losing more colour. “Everyone was sleeping there last night. Safety in numbers... supposedly. Like that time Sirius Black snuck into Hogwarts.”
“Yeah, Madam Bones even had a dozen full squads of Aurors here - four of them in the hall with us,” said Ron. “I almost felt safe.”
“She just started groaning and then screaming,” whispered Ginny.
“She was screaming so loudly... and the cuts, they appeared out of nowhere...,” said Neville distantly. “It was the most horrible thing... There was so much blood...”
“The Aurors were useless,” declared Ron hotly. “Their spells didn’t hit anything and they couldn’t stop her thrashing about.”
Harry was not surprised. The only way to free someone from Freddy’s grasp, he knew, was to wake them up. He doubted the Aurors had thought to try that, considering that the girl was already screaming and thrashing about.
And even if they had, he would not have put much faith in their chances of success. Freddy was very good of dragging his victims very deep into their dreams, making it very difficult for them to wake up.
“But how can this be happening?” asked Ginny, her voice rising despite Neville and Hermione’s attempts to calm her down. “We were sleeping in a sealed room, full of people and with Auror guards! How did they get in? How do they do it?”
“That’s the question on everyone’s lips,” agreed Hermione. “After all, everyone was just sleeping in their... sleeping... bags...”
Hermione trailed off, her eyes glazing over as she became lost in though. Everyone watched expectantly, waiting to hear what it was she had worked out.
“Sleeping,” she muttered. “Sleeping... and dreaming.”
She turned expectantly towards Harry.
He stared blankly back at her, too sore and too tired to really care. He was a little pleased that she had finally worked it all out, but not enough to get excited about it.
“Whoever’s doing this is killing them while they sleep,” Hermione stated with certainty. “He’s killing them in their dreams.”
“Er, how d’you figure that?” asked Ron, having no idea what she was talking about.
“It makes perfect sense,” Hermione continued. “That’s why the Aurors can’t stop him - he’s not here, he’s in their dreams!”
“But how can people be killed just because they’re dreaming?” asked Neville, doubtless voicing the question on Ron and Ginny’s minds.
“Psychosomatic injuries are not unheard of, though they’re rarely this bad,” explained Hermione.
“Psycho-whasit?” asked Ron, voicing the question on everyone’s minds.
“Basically,” Hermione clarified, “if you experience a real enough dream your body will mimic whatever injuries occurred there.”
“So you’re saying the killer is murdering us in our dreams and that causes it to actually happen in real life?” asked Ginny, breaking the explanation down into a simpler form.
“Essentially yes,” confirmed Hermione.
Harry was not too surprised that she had worked it out. She was the smartest out of all of them. What he did wonder was whether anyone would make the connection between the murders taking place in the victim’s dreams and Harry Potter being asleep the entire time.
He had the damnedest feeling they’d immediately start blaming him for it all. Which was perfectly right, for once, as he was the one responsible for Freddy being on the loose.
He also wondered what Hermione, more specifically her parents, would manage to turn up about Freddy and his exploits in Springwood. While he wanted to ask her how that investigation was going, he stayed quiet in the presence of their friends. He resolved to ask her later, as soon as he had a chance.
“Well, at least Binns should be happy,” he quipped. “Now everyone has to stay awake in his class.”
His bad joke was met with no laughter.
-oOo-
“Good morning, Mr Potter.”
Harry had been expecting a visit from the Aurors. He had not been expecting the head of the DMLE to be the one to pay him said visit.
“Hello, Madam Bones,” he greeted politely.
“I gather you’ve heard about everything that happened last night?” Bones asked as she took a seat next to his hospital bed.
“Just what my friends told me.”
Bones hummed thoughtfully and adjusted her monocle. “Then you have not yet heard of what happened to Madam Umbridge.”
Harry looked at her in surprise and asked, “Umbridge? What happened?”
“She was burned to death in the early hours of this morning. It was shortly after Marietta Edgecombe was killed.”
“She’s dead?” asked Harry in surprise. He had not seen or heard anything on the dream television about this.
“By the time the on duty guards got into her cell it was too late to save her,” confirmed Bones.
Harry had to fight not to smile. He was not entirely successful. He was helped by the thought that, as Freddy usually avoided killing adults; Umbridge must have garnered his ire due to her poisoning of Harry with the veritaserum. The thought that he might actually have to thank Freddy for it dampened his spirits somewhat,
“Well,” he said, lips twitching at the corners, “I hope you won’t hold it against me when I say I’m not at all sorry to hear that.”
He paused as a worrisome thought occurred to him. “You’re not going to blame me for it, are you?”
Though her face remained expressionless and her voice betrayed no opinion in the matter, Harry got the distinct impression that Madam Bones was amused by his concern.
“Having spoken to my niece, Susan, about what’s been going on at Hogwarts this year, I can safely say that I won’t be looking too deeply into the fate of your late Defence professor. And as you were here in the Hospital Wing, asleep, the entire time... you have a cast iron alibi,” explained Bones.
“Really?” asked Harry in surprise.
“Despite whatever the Minister might like to think, I don’t believe you’re capable of cold-blooded murder, Mr Potter,” Bones asserted.
“Mind telling the Prophet that?”
Bones’ lips gave only a single twitch, which Harry only saw because he was looking for it.
“I’ll release a statement,” she told him.
“Thanks.”
As if by the flip of a switch, Madam Bones’ expression and entire demeanour changed. Any hint of humour vanished and a sombre and serious air seemed to settle around her.
“Now, Mister Potter,” she said, leaning forward intently, “Please tell me everything you know about Freddy Krueger and the town of Springwood.”
“How do you know about that?” asked Harry, startled by her knowledge of something he had been sure only he knew. His stomach twisted into a knot at the thought that someone might know his darkest and most terrible secret.
“Miss Granger mentioned it to me. Apparently you thought it was important.”
Harry silently cursed Hermione and her all too frequent readiness to trust those in authority. While he could understand, and even appreciate that she was only doing this to help, it was still left him feeling a little annoyed.
He resolved to give her a piece of his mind as soon as he had a chance. This was a little different from handing his Firebolt over to Professor McGonagall.
“Well?” prompted Bones.
Licking his lips, Harry stated, “You’re not going to believe me.”
“I’ve seen a lot of strange and disturbing things over the years, Mr Potter. Try me.”
“Springwood is where he lived,” began Harry.
“Freddy Krueger.”
“Yeah.”
“And why do you believe he has anything to do with what has happened?”
Gathering himself, Harry directed his eyes to Madam Bones’ and tried not to flinch as he admitted, “Because I was watching when he killed them. All of them.”
Bones arched her eyebrow enough that her monocle fell out of place.
“You saw them being killed?” she asked incredulously.
“Yes.”
“I thought you were asleep on each occasion.”
“I was.”
“Does this have something to do with those ‘visions’ that the Prophet occasionally mentions?” asked Bones.
“Not really,” replied Harry. “Freddy actually interrupted the last one. Beat Voldemort up before tossing him out of my mind. Might’ve even killed him again if we’re lucky.”
Madam Bones stared at him for a long time. Just when he was starting to feel uncomfortable under her gaze, she broke the silence with a single command.
“Explain.”
“I asked Hermione about Springwood so that her parents could look it up for me. It’s a Muggle town, somewhere in America,” Harry began. “Freddy’s told me a little, but I wanted to know more.”
“And what is it ‘Freddy’ has told you?”
“He told me how he died.”
“Died?” repeated Bones. “He’s dead? Is he a ghost?”
“He’s dead,” confirmed Harry, “But whatever he is, it’s no ordinary ghost.”
“How is he killing people?” asked Bones, trying to get to the heart of the matter.
Harry smiled listlessly. “He’s killing them in their dreams,” he explained. “That’s what he became after he died; some kind of dream ghost. He calls himself the Lord of Nightmares.”
Bones sat back in her chair and thought about what Harry had just told her. While it was completely unbelievable, it was no more so than his tale of Voldemort’s return. He had been proven to be telling the truth in that regard, so now...
“How is he killing them in their dreams?” she asked.
“With his knives, mostly,” Harry told her. He held up his right hand, bending his fingers into claws. “He has a glove with knives for fingers - like really long and sharp nails. He uses that. Mostly.”
“I meant how is he doing it?” Bones elaborated, more interested in the means of Freddy’s murders, rather than the method. “Dreams don’t usually kill people.”
“Not usually,” agreed Harry.
“Then how?”
Harry shrugged. “I don’t know. He kills them in their dreams and that kills them in real life. I don’t know how he does it,” he confessed. “Hermione mentioned something about psychotraumatic injuries or something. She might be able to explain it.”
“All right,” nodded Bones, accepting his explanation for the time being. “Now, how is it you can see what he’s doing? And why the devil haven’t you told anyone before now?”
“Why didn’t I tell anyone?” repeated Harry. He laughed; a hollow and humourless sound. “Have you not being reading the newspaper? I’m just a deranged, attention-seeking delinquent. Telling anyone would have only made things worse.”
Bones grimaced. The boy was not wrong there. Up until a few days ago the Ministry and it propaganda machine the Daily Prophet would have used that information to further damage the Boy-Who-Lived’s image. As it stood; the newspaper was now desperately scrabbling to reaffirm Harry’s place as the saviour of them all, now that Voldemort’s return was confirmed. She doubted that he would care about their abrupt turnaround.
“The truth would have come out,” she told him. “Just like it came out that you were telling the truth about the Dark Lord’s return.”
Harry stared blankly at her. “And before that I was slandered, ridiculed, tortured and damn near killed on several occasions. Fuck that.”
Managing not to wince at his blunt words or his crudity, Madam Bones could again say nothing to rebut his claims. Though the mention of torture was interesting and something she should probably look in to.
“You can’t paint everyone with the same brush, Mr Potter,” she told him gently. “There would have been people who would have believed and supported you.”
“Yeah, but they’re rather outnumbered by the mindless idiots the Ministry prefers to cater for,” Harry retorted bitingly.
This time Bones did not fully hide her grimace and even gave a sigh of agreement. “I wish I could easily argue the point,” she admitted.
Shaking herself out of the rut Harry had so quickly dug for her, she turned back to the matter at hand.
“You still haven’t explained why you are the one that can see him doing these things,” she prompted.
“Snape,” said Harry succinctly.
Bones blinked at the unexpected answer. “Professor Severus Snape?” she asked. “What does he have to do with it?”
“Bastard was supposed to be teaching me Occlumency - to help keep out Voldemort’s visions,” explained Harry.
“I take it something went wrong.”
“Arsehole broke my shields wide open instead. Anyone can get inside my head now, without even trying.”
“Including Mr Krueger.”
“Yeah,” Harry nodded.
“And how does this allow you to see what this maniac is doing?”
Harry shrugged again. “Freddy doesn’t just enter your dreams and kill you - he can control them.”
Madam Bones swallowed. The more she learned the worse it seemed to get.
“He can actually control a person’s dreams?”
“I think so,” confirmed Harry. “But he can only do it one at a time. I’m special because without shields he can enter my dreams without having to leave the dreams of whoever he’s killing at the time.”
“Is that why he only kills one person a night?” asked Bones, looking for anything she could use.
Harry frowned thoughtfully and considered that. “I don’t think that’s right. He could probably kill a dozen people a night - if he wanted to.”
Bones frowned. That did not make sense. “Then why doesn’t he?”
Now Harry smiled unpleasantly, “Because it wouldn’t be as much fun.”
“Fun?” repeated Bones, revolted at the implications.
“Freddy kills for fun,” Harry verified. “If he killed them all at once; it would be over too soon. This way he can draw it out.”
“And enjoy his ‘fun’ for so much longer,” Bones concluded.
“Exactly,” agreed Harry. “And that’s why he hasn’t killed me yet; he likes making me watch him ‘play’. I think he enjoys having an audience.”
Bones sighed again and commiserated, “You seem to have drawn the short straw, Mr Potter.”
“Life isn’t fair, Madam Bones,” muttered Harry in reply. “Sometimes it seems it’s never fair.”
“And has it been unfair to you, Mister Potter?” she asked, already knowing the answer.
Harry looked at her flatly before rejoining, “You met Umbridge, didn’t you?”
Madam Bones had to smile a little at that.
“Can you think of anything we can do to stop Krueger?”
Harry shook his head. “He’s already dead, so you can’t kill or arrest him and since he lives in people’s dreams, you can’t even get to him.”
“There must be something we can do,” insisted Bones, not willing simply give up.
“He lives in dreams,” repeated Harry. “Closing the school isn’t going to help. Eventually the children will go to sleep. And when they dream, he’ll be able to find them. Being at Hogwarts or not won’t make any difference. At this point, your only hope is to wait it out. Sooner or later he’ll hopefully get bored and go back to Springwood.”
“Hopefully,” repeated Bones.
“It’s all you have.”
“I do not like the feeling of being so utterly helpless,” she confessed.
“How do you think I feel?” asked Harry grimly. “I may be safe for the moment, but when he finally leaves I’m going to be his last playmate.”
Bones nodded, growing progressively less happy. “There has to be something we can do,” she repeated. “Maybe we can’t stop him, but he has to have some sort of weakness we can exploit.”
“Do you want some free advice, Madam Bones?” he offered. At her slight nod, he told her, “You and Susan should start drinking coffee. Lots and lots and lots of coffee. The stronger the better. You might want to take an ad in the Prophet, telling everyone else to do the same.”
“Coffee?” asked Bones, obviously confused.
Harry wanted to roll his eyes. It was so obvious it was almost painful. Of course, most witches and wizards had a hard time using what most people would consider common sense. He decided to speak slowly as he explained.
“Freddy kills you in your dreams. As long as you stay awake - he can’t get to you.”
-oOo-
Relocating from Hogwarts to number 12 Grimmauld Place was complicated due to Harry’s condition as something of an invalid.
Despite his protestations that he was fine and could walk perfectly well, Madam Pomfrey put her foot down and threatened him with another week long sleep. Alarmed, and secretly frightened by the idea of returning to Freddy’s domain, Harry shut up and accepted his situation with as much dignity as he could muster.
Thankfully all the other remaining students had already left in the thestral-drawn carriages by the time Harry’s bed was levitated through the corridors. Ron, Hermione and Ginny had gone with them, planning to floo from the Three Broomsticks in Hogsmeade to the Leaky Cauldron in London. There they were met by Arthur Weasley and Hestia Jones, who would escort them through to headquarters.
Harry, however, was forced to take an alternate route. Once out the castle he was transferred to a plain black Bentley, the back seat of which had been magically expanded to accommodate the both the bed and Harry’s escort. Apparently the Ministry was trying to make amends for their earlier treatment of him. Harry was not particularly impressed.
“Hold onto your butts,” proclaimed the car’s driver, who proved to have learned how to drive at the same school as Ernie Prang, the driver of the Knight Bus.
Suffice to say; the ride from Hogwarts castle to Diagon Alley was a little nerve-wracking.
“Yes,” Madam Pomfrey muttered to Harry as they disembarked, “perhaps you were well enough to take the floo.”
Harry was wise enough not to say, ‘I told you so’.
Getting from the Leaky Cauldron to Grimmauld Place was somewhat anticlimactic by comparison to the car ride, but Harry was too busy trying to pretend he did not exist to really care. The Notice-Me-Not charms on his bed did help, as fewer people actually saw his embarrassment, but he still found it horribly humiliating to be floated through the London streets in a hospital bed.
“Harry!” exclaimed Sirius loudly as soon as they had entered. Unfortunately his boisterous greeting set off the portrait of his mother.
“TRAITORS! MUDBLOODS AND BEASTS!”
“SHUT THE FUCK UP, YOU FUCKING BITCH!” roared Harry in return.
To everyone’s surprise, the portrait did exactly as it was told. This was probably because of the sheer crudity of Harry’s return shout, which shocked the woman into a temporary silence.
“Harry! Language!”
The bedridden wizard looked away from the quietly sputtering portrait to see Hermione and his other friends descending the stairs. They quickly crowded round his bed.
“That was brilliant!” cheered Ron.
“You actually got her to shut up,” said Tonks in awe.
“I’m going to have to remember how he did that,” agreed Sirius, beaming with pride.
“Yeah, wonderful,” grumbled Harry. “Can I get out of this damn bed now?”
“Oh no you don’t,” declared Pomfrey, recovering from her own shock at hearing such vulgarity.
“Wonderful,” repeated Harry, his tone indicating that the situation was anything but.
“Don’t worry about it,” said Sirius, trying to cheer him up as they resumed levitating his bed and directing it up the stairs. “You’re getting one of the large bedrooms all to yourself.”
“I don’t want my own bedroom,” declared Harry.
He had no intention of going to sleep any time soon, so a bedroom was currently superfluous.
“What I want is to get out of this bloody bed,” he insisted.
“You’ll be staying in that bed, Mr Potter, for the next ten days,” Pomfrey sternly told him. “If you don’t complain too much I might, might cut it down to nine.”
“I was poisoned,” said Harry. “It’s not like a short walk is going to kill me.”
“Actually, it just might,” asserted Pomfrey.
“How?” asked Harry in pure frustration.
“Despite the flushing potions I gave you, there will still be traces of the veritaserum in your system for the next couple of weeks,” explained Pomfrey as they reached the second floor landing.
“Walking around with cause the potion to circulate more,” elaborated Hermione. “If that happens it will take longer for your body to get rid of it.”
“Fucking hell!”
It was misfortunate that Harry chose this moment to swear as he did, for it just so happened to coincide with the moment that Molly Weasley emerged from the room they had been preparing for him.
“Harry Potter! What do you think you’re doing, talking like that?!”
“I just can’t win.”
-oOo-
In truth Harry’s new bedroom was very nice; perhaps the nicest room in the whole house. He also had to admit that the idea of avoiding Ron’s snoring was part of the appeal to having the room to himself.
His fear of falling asleep put a dampener to most of his enthusiasm, as did Madam Pomfrey’s persistent hovering.
“Now, remember, Mr Potter,” the matron lectured, “what your body needs now is rest. So stay in the bed and try to get some sleep.”
“I don’t really want to sleep right now,” Harry told her.
“You don’t have to sleep right away. Just try to relax and get some rest. The sleep will come on its own, soon enough.”
“What d’you mean by that?” asked Harry suspiciously.
Pomfrey rolled her eyes and explained, “It’s a small side effect of the healing coma you were in. Your mind and body will need time to get back into a regular sleeping rhythm.”
Not really sure what she meant, Harry asked, “Huh?”
“You’re going to fall asleep very soon,” Pomfrey told him patiently. “Probably sometime in the afternoon - definitely before dinner.”
“Can’t I have some coffee or something to stay awake?” pleaded Harry.
“You need to rest, Mr Potter,” Pomfrey repeated. “Your body and magic won’t begin to heal properly until you do.”
“You don’t understand,” he insisted, “I really don’t want to sleep.”
“I’m afraid, Mr Potter,” replied Pomfrey as she left the room, “that you really don’t have a choice.”
“Bugger,” Harry concluded as Sirius and his friends barged into the room now that Madam Pomfrey was gone.
“What’s wrong?” asked Sirius, grabbing a chair, spinning it round and straddling it.
“Pomfrey says I need to sleep,” explained Harry.
“Good idea,” said Ron. “You look like you could use it.”
Harry stared at him for a moment before replying, “Thanks, Ron, you’re so considerate.”
“Harry,” Hermione gently chided.
“I don’t want to sleep,” he groaned. “I really, really don’t want to sleep.”
“You were poisoned by Umbridge, possessed by You-Know-Who and put in a coma by the school nurse,” listed Sirius. He spread his hands wide, almost knocking Ron in the face. “Frankly, Harry, a good night’s sleep is probably exactly what you need.”
Harry chose not to remind them about Freddy and how he had a habit of killing people during their good night’s sleep. Apparently Madam Bones had not yet released all the details of her discussion with him. He decided to let them learn it all with everyone else in the next edition of the Daily Prophet.
He sighed and moaned, “I just spent most of a week asleep--”
“A coma is very different from proper sleep, Harry,” interrupted Hermione.
“I don’t care,” he pouted. “I just want to stay awake as long as possible.” Realizing who he was speaking to, he tried a different approach. “I must have tonnes of homework to catch up. Not to mention studying for OWLs...”
For a moment she wavered, but was quick to spot what he was trying to do.
“Fine,” she relented anyway, “but it won’t make much of a difference.”
“Poppy did say you were going to nod off,” agreed Sirius.
“But we’ll help you put it off as long as possible,” offered Ginny.
“Thanks,” Harry accepted, returning her wan smile with one of his own.
“So, how’re we going to do that?” asked Ron. “Chess?”
Ron was lucky that there was nothing available for Harry to throw at him. Ginny corrected this fault by smacking her brother across the back of the head.
Seeing that the youngest Weasley had her brother somewhat under control, Harry turned to Hermione. He had originally wanted to talk to her in private, but no longer saw any point to keeping quiet on the matter.
“So, Hermione,” he began, waiting for her to turn her attention away from the bickering siblings. “Have your parents found out anything about Freddy?”
Hermione looked startled that he was asking this while the others were present. Watching her closely, he saw as she realized he knew that she had told Madam Bones about his query.
“Well?” he prompted.
“Harry...”
“I understand why you told Bones,” he said, folding his arms and leaning back to stare sternly at her. “I don’t like it, but I understand.”
“I’m sorry, but I thought it was important,” she apologised, ducking her head to avoid the puzzled looks the others were giving her.
“I understand,” repeated Harry with a sigh.
“Harry--”
“Hermione,” he interrupted firm. “I understand. Just, please, next time can you at least ask me first?”
-oOo-
Number four Privet Drive, or rather its dream world equivalent, was deathly silent when Freddy Krueger finally arrived.
The reason for the unnatural silence was that Harry had been sitting in what would normally have been his Uncle Vernon’s favourite armchair, while staring blankly at the television which was tuned to show Freddy’s incursions into the dreams of his victims. He had been watching it intently during his five-day-long healing coma. Watching as Freddy slaughtered his way through Harry’s classmates.
Now, having returned for another night, he was silently waiting for Freddy to make his usual appearance before rushing off on his eternal killing spree.
“Honey, I’m home!” called Freddy as he strode through the front door.
Receiving no reply, not that he had expected one, Freddy moved further into the house. He found Harry where he had left him, sitting and staring at the inactive television.
“Hey, kid, enjoy the shows?” he asked.
He was a little surprised when Harry spun out of the chair to confront him.
“You bastard! You son of a bitch!”
“Hmm,” mused Freddy scratching his chin thoughtfully, “I’m guessing you’re trying to suck up to me for something. ‘Cause you can’t be dumb enough to try insulting me.”
Freddy was more than a little surprised when Harry hauled off and slammed a right hook into his jaw. Surprise quickly gave way to annoyance, especially when Harry started yelling at him.
“You bloody bastard! What the hell are you doing!?”
“I’m doing what I’ve always done, kid,” replied Freddy, stroking his jaw. “Having fun.”
“Having fun? Having fun?” repeated Harry, his voice rising to a near shriek.
“Yep... fun,” confirmed Freddy languidly.
“But you’re killing them?!”
“So? That’s what I do, Potter.”
“But they’re not all like Malfoy and Snape!” protested Harry, grabbing Freddy by his jersey. “Some of them are good people you’re killing!”
Displeased at being manhandled like this, Freddy shoved Harry away with a short backhand that knocked the young wizard off him.
“Listen, shit-stain,” Freddy growled, poking a bladed forefinger against Harry’s chest. “Snape was a freebie. I don’t like killing adults - it ain’t good enough for me; I don’t enjoy it as much. What I like is the children - the kiddies - the brats - it’s better than fucking sex!”
Holding his throbbing jaw, Harry stared at Freddy in incomprehension. He was knocked further back by a follow-up punch, this one right in his face, which sent his glasses flying.
“I dealt with that greasy haired bastard because he almost found out about me visiting your dreams,” explained Freddy, advancing on Harry as he reeled back with a bloody nose. “If he knew I was here, he might’ve done something to fix whatever he did that let me inside in the first place.”
“But--”
Freddy’s next punch was a simple shot to the stomach, folding Harry in half as all breath was driven from his body. Several more blows, mostly centred on Harry’s head and shoulders, rained down on him. Freddy continued to speak as he beat his dream host.
“Voldemort and Umbridge damn near killed you,” he continued. “Now, let’s be honest; I don’t give a rat’s ass if you live or die - and you’re gonna die, ‘cause I’m gonna kill you. But, if you die too soon then my fun time with the kiddies gets cut short – and that ain’t gonna happen until I say so!”
By now Freddy’s hands had a light sprinkling of blood on them, caused not by stab wounds, but by the repeated pounding of his fists into Harry’s now very bloody face. His lips were split, his nose broken and one eye was beginning to swell shut.
“I’m fucking killing the rest of those little brats because I enjoy it.”
Another backhand sent Harry stumbling. When his back struck something hard, he glanced round to see that he had retreated out of the lounge, into the entry of the house and had just bumped into the front door. Through tear-filled eyes, he could see the green and red blur of Freddy advancing on him to continue the beating.
Fumbling for the doorknob, Harry fled out into a night time copy of Privet Drive.
Running as fast as his legs could manage, and not daring to look back, Harry looked around desperately for either some way to escape his nightmare or find a place to hide until it was open.
“Now,” said Freddy, not bothering to pursue, but rather watching from number four’s doorway, “Time for one more lesson before the kid wakes up. Gonna have to be extra messy.”
TBC...