Note: No pairings, this is basically gen fic. Characters include HP, RL, SB, BL, PP, RB, Crookshanks, and various Death Eaters.
Rating: Is for mentions of violence, I suppose. Poor traumatized boy.
Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling and her various publishers, along with Warner Bros. hold the rights to Harry Potter, the lucky things. Lewis Carroll wrote Alice in Wonderland, but he's dead, so he doesn't care anymore. I solemnly swear that I am up to no good with these unfortunate characters, and I will return them mostly unharmed when my mischief is managed.
Summary: Harry has been having nightmares again. Maybe his unconscious mind is trying to tell him something? Like never read Alice in Wonderland before bed, perhaps.
Feedback: Reviews will be loved and loved to bits. And constructive criticism will definitely be put to good use. Thank you!
"'The time has come,' the Walrus said,
'To talk of many things:
Of shoes - and ships - and sealing-wax -
Of cabbages - and kings -
And why the sea is boiling hot -
And whether pigs have wings.'"
- Lewis Carroll, "The Walrus and the Carpenter"
Harry had been having a terrible, no good, very bad day. It started off with a visit to his parents' graves, where a grumpy old caretaker rudely questioned his identity. Upon hearing that he was the son of the deceased, he was nastily accused of taking his sweet-arsed time paying the proper respects, as the caretaker had, "never seen any of your messy-haired mug here before." Feeling rather ashamed, Harry wished he had purchased something grander than the bunch of marguerites he laid in front of the Potters' monument.
Of course, since it was England, it naturally began to rain. Normally this wouldn't inconvenience a wizard, but thanks to Harry's shoddy Apparition skills, he had to walk all the way to the nearest station in search of transport to number 12, Grimmauld Place. Lupin had informed Harry via letter that the moulding old pile had been vigorously cleaned and de-hexed once again (the house, being quite feisty, never seemed to stay habitable for long).
This being the case, Lupin stated that Harry was now able to take up residence for the duration (how long that would be was not specified). Also, his former professor hoped that he would not mind his company. The Headquarters, they had found, needed a constant resident to make it behave.
Harry didn't mind in the least. Living at his late godfather's house would be preferable to staying with the Dursleys (and thank goodness that was finally behind him), but only just. Without Sirius, there really didn't seem to be any point. Harry planned on spending as little time as possible at the house between bouts of horcrux-hunting. If the creepy mausoleum needed someone to keep it under control, Lupin was welcome to it. Besides, although Harry wouldn't have mentioned it to his face, Lupin had been looking progressively shabbier and thinner for about a year now. Harry suspected that Lupin had been living rough, with or without the rogue werewolf colony.
Once Harry had finally arrived at his destination, Lupin seemed surprised at his soggy appearance. Lupin asked Harry why he didn't think to cast a water-repelling charm, since he was of age now. Thus, and not for the first (or last) time that day, Harry was reduced to feeling like a first-class idiot.
After a rather flavourless tea, Harry decided to inspect the attic, where he found a stack of portraits in a cobweb-clogged corner. The spiders were extremely displeased at being dislodged, and were roughly the size of large kittens. Fortunately, at the start of summer, Harry told Hermione and Ron not to visit until he was settled in. Ron still shrieked like a little girl at the sight of the smallest arachnid.
One slumbering portrait in the middle of the pile was adorned with an engraved plate reading R.A.B. This piqued his curiosity. After a great deal of effort, he managed to wake the inhabitant. Harry then learned several things.
The young man in the portrait was Regulus Black. Blacks apparently were exceedingly foul tempered when roused from their sleep. Blacks were also not shy about expressing their opinions on that and other matters. After hearing the entire story behind Harry's horcrux quest, Regulus let him know that he had been painted before any horcrux snatching had taken place, but considering that Harry (and formerly Dumbledore) was in charge of the operation, "the entire Wizarding world is certainly doomed."
Harry was extremely miffed (to say the least) at this point, but Regulus wasn't finished yet. He then inquired after his brother, and Harry had to tell him all about that too. Then Harry learned that Blacks knew some remarkably inventive swear words, and as he was already aware, were not afraid to scream them at ear-splitting decibels. Regulus made sure to let Harry know that he was a foul little murderer, and that he would be getting off lightly if Sirius haunted him for the rest of his unnatural life.
Harry didn't bother saying that he would be thrilled to have Sirius back in any capacity. He was bitterly disappointed not to find Sirius' portrait among the pile in the attic. Somehow, it had never even occurred to him to look for one before. The omission was another blow to his sense of intelligence.
Regulus' shouting had awakened the other paintings, and it took the combined forces of him and Lupin (the cacophony had carried a great distance) to shut them all up. Lupin had mildly informed him that, "Stupefy works well on them, you know." Oh yes, Harry was feeling brilliant today! Lupin then disappeared as silently as he had arrived, rather like a shadow of his former self.
Having finally made his escape from the miserable storage space, Harry felt filthy both inside and out. On one of an indeterminate number of flights of stairs, he tripped over Kreacher hunched lovingly over some unidentified object. To his immense disgust, it turned out to be a pair of old, slobbery men's trousers. Oh God, Harry thought, Sirius was right! I'll never be able to scrub the image from my mind!
Kreacher was muttering under his breath as usual. "Vile sack of rotting dog slime, not fit to set foot in my family's noble home, ought to be—"
"How the hell did you get here?" Harry interrupted, furious. "I thought I sent you to work at Hogwarts."
"It was thought that since Master had left the school, I could better serve Master where he was going," Kreacher simpered. "The putrid, crusty boil, the—" Kreacher continued to snarl, sotto voce.
I wonder whose bright idea that was, Harry thought. "Piss off!" he shouted at Kreacher. Wait! Damn, that might get me into trouble later, Harry quickly decided. "Go—go sit in the middle of the study for three hours!" There, that ought to be specific enough. Not that I care what he does afterward.
"Master isn't fit to give orders to a flobberworm," Kreacher immediately grumbled. "Oh if Mistress were only here now, she knew how to do it properly, the times when she would kick Kreacher…" he moaned.
"I'll kick you myself if you don't get out of my face quicker! I should chop off your head and mount it to the wall!" Harry said.
"Master isn't deserving of the honour," Kreacher immediately stated, as he left Harry's sight at last.
The day, Harry decided, could not possibly get any worse. What Harry didn't know was that thoughts like these were generally decided to be terribly ill-advised.
That night Harry lay in bed, glaring at the ceiling, mentally cursing the house and all of Sirius' ancestors. Supper had been a very dismal affair, topped off by stale butterbeer and limp sandwiches, as neither Lupin nor Harry was much of a cook. If Harry was inclined to look on the bright side, which he wasn't, he would have said it was fortunate that neither had possessed much of an appetite to begin with.
Conversation on both sides had been non-existent, with the exception of a hoarse good night from Lupin when he left the kitchen. Harry's friends would have been surprised to learn that Harry felt not the least bit of interest to know where Lupin went off to. He briefly considered taking the time to grab some research books from the well-stocked library, but decided to leave it for another day.
The unfamiliar bedroom made him uneasy. Harry felt as if the very walls were breathing noxious fumes over his body. When the tie-backs on the bed curtains actually did try to strangle him, he had to hex them to make them behave. He had decided not to use his former bedroom after losing an argument with Phineas Nigellus' portrait. Ought to burn the lot, Harry thought angrily. Bloody useless portraits.
He glanced at the nightstand beside him and grabbed up the book lying there, only to toss it away in disgust after flipping moodily through its pages. Harry, while looking for a place to sleep, had discovered what appeared to be a nursery. There he found, along with what was probably the magical equivalent of standard nursery fare, shelves of children's books. Even among what should have been innocent tomes designed for tender young minds, Harry saw some truly gruesome subjects. If he only had some dreamless sleep potion so that he could finally get some rest….
Numerous plants encroached upon the barely visible path Harry travelled. Some of their thick, dark leaves were bigger than his head. Other foliage produced sharp thorns which raked across his exposed flesh. Scratched and irritated, he at last came to a clearing and he stumbled in, exhausted.
Laid out before him like some sort of surreal mirage was an enormous oak table covered with a long fine white linen runner. Chairs of various sizes and styles were placed haphazardly along the table's outer edge. At each place rested a motley collection of cups, plates, and saucers.
Occasionally a random bit of silverware would join the place settings, usually only a single fork, or knife (one of which looked capable of craving a giant turkey). One chair boasted a place setting consisting of a tiny orange plate, a used purple butter dish, a large clear jug, and a pair of green scissors. No one seemed to be sitting at any of the spots at the table. Yet evidence suggested that some sort of tea party had been in progress.
Tea puddles marred the surface of the table. Various bits of half-consumed scones lay about, along with numerous crumbs. Jam was smeared everywhere.
Harry decided not to be particular and chose a mostly clean spot to sit down for a moment. Almost immediately a loud crashing could be heard, coming from the dense vegetation. Harry was slightly apprehensive, as whatever it was sounded large and possibly…dangerous.
He jumped up, and instinctively began to search the pockets of first his jumper, then trousers for something. He became rather frantic when he couldn't find it. In the next moment he found this all very curious, because he couldn't for the life of him recall what it was he was searching for.
No matter how hard he tried, the knowledge eluded him. Harry gave up and turned toward the source of the noise. After all the commotion, he expected a Hippogriff to emerge from the clearing at the very least, or possibly a troll. What he saw instead left him frozen in shock rather than fear.
A tall man with his back partially facing Harry stepped out into Harry's field of vision. The man was looking expectantly behind him at the wildly trashing plants. Shining dark hair covered his head, reaching nearly to the top of an old-fashioned, and stiff white collar. Long fringe fell gracefully across the man's face, partially obscuring Harry's view of it. On top of the man's head, tilted at a rakish angle, rested a top hat. Pasted onto the top hat was a label proclaiming in fancy inked script, "9 ¾ in this style." The rest of his unusual outfit was as showy and elegant as his headwear.
Yet despite Harry's obstructed view, there was something about that fine, aristocratic profile that struck a chord within him. Those striking, steel gray eyes, a sharp contrast against the curtain of black hair surrounding them… The haughty, confident body posture, as it turned about and headed for the table where Harry stood, stunned.
Sirius! Harry mentally shouted. He was overwhelmed—his body temporarily unable to obey his command to run toward the approaching figure. But at the same time that his heart cried out in recognition, a feeling rather like fingers combing through his brain, crawling through every recess of his consciousness, seemed determined to prize the knowledge from his mind.
The other creator of the disturbance then walked out into clearing and joined…Top-hat man at the table. Harry could only gape as he slowly sank back into his chair. Lupin? His mind queried, but once again the knowledge slipped from him like sand flowing through a time turner.
This new person had long, fawn-coloured rabbit ears sprouting from his cranium. A shaggy mop of gray hair, threaded through with light brown strands covered the rest of his head. He wore an old-fashioned outfit similar to his companion's, in shades of tan and cream, complete with a waistcoat. Whiskers grew from the strange young man's careworn face. Most improbable of all, however, was the oddly distorted shape of his nose, which was pinker than the surrounding skin and occasionally twitched.
What the—Harry stared shamelessly. He realised that he was a little frightened of these queer creatures sharing the tea-table with him—all right, very frightened.
"It's rude to stare, you know," Top-hat man stated imperiously.
"Likewise it is horribly impolite to join a party without being invited," Rabbit-man said.
"The least you could do," Top-hat man spoke, his words running smoothly after his companion's, "is to introduce yourself."
"Exactly," commented Rabbit-man, as if they spoke with one voice.
"I—" began Harry nervously.
"Eye? What a strange name," Top-hat said, with a thoughtful look on his face.
"No! It's Harry!" he snapped, gaining confidence. "Anyway, no one was here, and I had walked a long way, from…somewhere, and thought that I'd have a rest—"
"Well, I'm awfully glad you came from Somewhere. I imagine Nowhere must be a very dull place indeed," Top-hat man declared.
"But enough about that, let's have a cup of tea," said the Rabbit-man.
"Oh, Remus, tea! It's always tea with you. I'd personally kill for a cup of coffee," Top-hat said. As he spoke, he viciously stabbed a plateful of biscuits into dust with a sharp butter-covered knife.
Watching him, Harry thought that 'kill' was an extraordinarily bad word choice, and felt very worried once more.
"Sirius, you know as well as I that the Queen detests coffee. Besides, it's the very best tea," the man called Remus informed him, pouring some into a cup from a polka-dotted tea pot.
"The Queen is stupid, and furthermore, mad as a hatter!" Sirius said. At this, Sirius and Remus burst into harsh laughter.
"Tea! Where is it? Let me have it! Two lumps, if you please," said a squeaky voice emanating from a small porcelain pitcher. Out crawled a large rodent, which promptly sat and cleaned its whiskers.
While Harry gawked in astonishment at what seemed to be a talking rat, another voice came from the tree above them, gently scolding Top-hat, err, Sirius. "I wouldn't say that about the Queen if I were you," the voice said, slowly materializing into an enormous ginger cat, teeth first.
"Well, then it's a good thing that you're not me," Sirius cheerfully informed the giant orange cat with the toothy smile.
"That's what I always tell him," Remus said primly to the cat, "but he seldom listens to good advice."
"Looking after him is a full time job," the ginger tom agreed, dangling his bottlebrush tail below the branch he was resting on.
"Two lumps, two lumps I say! Bring them over here, straight away!" demanded the squeaky voice issuing from the curiously balding rat. The rat was rather eager to be heard amongst the general discussion.
"But I always offer good advice," insisted Sirius, ignoring the rat, and appearing completely unrepentant.
"Two lumps coming up!" Remus announced, throwing two sugar cubes hard at the rat's face.
"That will hardly matter when the Queen arrives to chop off your head," the eerily grinning ginger feline said.
"I'm not bothered. Who is going to tell her?" Sirius asked.
The rat shook itself, slightly dazed from the twin violent blows to its head. It gathered the sugar cubes close to its body. "Now for the tea!" the rat said.
"As you wish!" Remus said, his nose twitching merrily. All this time he had been pouring tea into the cup in front of him, and it continued to trickle sluggishly out of the spout. Unfortunately, as slowly as the tea filled Remus' cup, it was also gradually seeping out the bottom of the cup. A steadily growing pool of black tea flooded the saucer.
"Rats don't speak," Harry said abruptly, still numb with awe.
Both Remus and the rat looked up at Harry, incredulous. Remus was currently in the process of pouring scalding tea from another pot over the rat. Surprisingly, the rat appeared to be mostly unfazed by this, although it did shudder uncontrollably for a moment.
"Oh, his name is Peter," Remus replied, gesturing wildly with the tea pot and spraying the table with the hot liquid. Remus then dropped both tea pots carelessly behind him.
"A rat! A rat!" shouted Peter as best he could in his small, shrill voice. "I, sir, am a dormouse!" Peter was still faintly steaming from the scorching tea. Peter puffed out his chest the best he could in his rodent body. He placed his paws on his 'hips'.
"The Queen," the immense cat declared, his head nearly rotating upside down as he spoke, "has a spy everywhere."
"Pish! I'm not afraid of her spies!" Sirius said.
Remus clucked his tongue at this statement and took a sip of his rather thick tea.
"You silly, brave human," the cat purred, leaping down from his tree and landing on the ground next to Sirius. The animal was so large it towered above Sirius sitting in his chair.
Harry looked on in horror as the enormous beast rubbed against Sirius. His grin looked big enough to swallow the man whole.
"More sugar!" Peter the rat—ah, dormouse hiccoughed.
An uncomfortable silence fell. "I'm bored. You're not very entertaining," Sirius said to Harry.
"Yes, tell us a story," Remus said, leaning his elbows on the table.
Still looking considerably alarmed at the ginger feline crouching across the table from him, Harry blurted out the first thing that popped into his mind. "Cats, err, cats can't talk either. Or—or grin," he added as an afterthought, feeling stupid.
"Of course Crookshanks can speak! The very idea!" Remus said.
"He's not exactly a cat, you know," corrected Sirius. "He's part kneazle."
"Cat! Where's the cat?" Peter squealed, panicked.
"Now you've done it," Sirius sighed. "He's gone 'round the twist."
Peter began racing about the table, knocking various things over. Crookshanks, who up until now hadn't noticed the dormouse, arched his back and hissed. It was truly an alarming experience to witness such a large cat spitting.
"Get the jam!" Remus instructed.
"Jam? What's the jam for?" Harry asked, confused.
"All I have is strawberry," Sirius said.
"It'll do," said Remus.
Crookshanks looked ready to spring at Peter, and here these…persons were calmly discussing jam. The table seemed incapable of holding the bulk of the cat, not to mention what would become of poor Peter. Harry started to look frantically for something to help the situation.
"Here you are. The best jam." Sirius winked at Remus, handing him the jam.
"Excellent." Remus casually scooped up the dormouse as he ran past, and stuffed him in a deep, chipped mug. Remus proceeded to dump half the contents of the jam jar onto Peter. Then Remus grabbed a small plate and set it on top of the mug.
Crookshanks settled down beside Sirius, his tail swishing back and forth. However, his great yellow eyes focused steadily on the mug. Harry was not reassured.
"What the—just how was that supposed to help?" Harry asked.
"Not much for intelligent conversation, is he?" Sirius asked.
"It's sad, really. It has to be that messy hair atop his head. I think it's addled his brain," Remus said.
"Yes," Sirius agreed. "Your hair wants combing, Harry."
"Now who is making rude comments?" Harry inquired.
"Are they? I hadn't noticed," said Sirius.
"Do you have the time?" Remus began peering under dishes and silverware as he asked.
"No," Sirius replied, "I haven't caught up to it yet."
"Hmm. Let's see what your watch has to say about it," Remus told him.
Sirius pulled a heavy gold watch on a chain from somewhere amongst his clothing and rapped it firmly several times on the tabletop. Crookshanks set his ears back at the noise and took a swipe at the chain. Sirius then pried the watch open with a fork, stabbing himself in the process. His hand began to bleed but he seemed unaware of it.
Harry leaned forward for a better look at the watch face as Sirius and Remus studied it intently. What Harry saw surprised him. Instead of the usual numbers, there were strange symbols and constellations inlayed in various metals over the face of the watch. There were two hands, but they were not behaving as Harry was used to.
"Ah, yes. New moon tonight," Sirius said gravely. "And partly cloudy this evening."
"Humidity's rising and Neptune's ascending," Remus informed them. "The crocuses will come early this year."
"But what about…never mind," Harry sighed in exasperation. "You can tell all that from looking at this watch?"
"Of course." Sirius and Remus looked at him as if he were dense.
Harry shook his head, frowning. "Fine, okay. But why are the watch hands going backward?"
"Why wouldn't they? I'm not getting any older, you know!" Sirius said.
Harry hadn't any response to that at all.
"Winds from the nor' east!" Peter chimed in thickly, from his mug.
Harry glanced over at the mug-and-plate housing for Peter. "Why don't you put some air holes in the plate?" This was obviously disregarding the fact that it would be quite impossible to place perfectly round holes into a glass dish with the tools on hand.
"Why ever would we do that?" Remus questioned.
"So that he can breathe." Harry thought this went without saying.
"Complete waste of time. Breathing isn't necessary; it's all in the mind. Why, I once went without breathing for a fortnight," Sirius said.
Harry blinked. "But that's not possible!"
"Of course it is!" Remus insisted. "Why, whenever I haven't any food, I just tell myself that I am not hungry, and then I'm not."
Huh, I wish. Harry decided to give up on that line of conversation. "You still haven't told me the time," he reminded them.
"It's time for tea!" Sirius announced.
"There isn't any more," Remus said.
"The tea is gone?"
"Yes."
"But why is the tea gone?" Sirius asked desperately.
"Sirius, you don't even like tea! You said you wanted coffee!"
"But there isn't any coffee, Remus! It must be your fault," Sirius decided.
"Queen Bellatrix has decreed that no coffee is to be consumed in her kingdom."
"All right, her fault then. The Queen is a loony," Sirius stated.
Speak for yourself, Harry thought.
"Shush," Crookshanks admonished, licking the spilled jam off the table, one eye still focused on the jam-filled mug containing Peter.
"I told you, I'm not worried," Sirius said.
"Why hello, your Majesty," Remus said nervously, nose rapidly twitching. They all came to attention at his words. "Pleasant day, isn't it?" He started to twist the metal buttons on his waistcoat.
"It is not," she declared. A tall woman with long black hair and pale, fiercely burning eyes swept over to where Sirius was seated. She was wearing an elaborate beaded gown which trailed upon the ground, billowing out around her. Resting on her head was a small gold crown with dark red rubies and white diamonds.
"What, too much sun for your majesty? Afraid you're going to spontaneously burst into flames?" Sirius grinned at the Queen, completely unconcerned at her sudden presence.
"I don't like the taste of charred human," Crookshanks said, licking the jam off his face, showing off an impressive set of fangs. The gleam in the cat's eyes seemed feral, hungry, as he stared at the queen. The moment passed and Harry shivered.
"I don't care what you like. The only thing that matters is what I like," Queen Bellatrix drawled. "And I always know what I like." She drew Sirius' bleeding finger into her mouth and deliberately sucked on it. As she ran her tongue over his wounded flesh, she made small noises of pleasure.
"Humans are such unsanitary creatures," Crookshanks purred. He lifted a paw up close to the Queen's face, spreading his sharp claws wide, before he proceeded to clean himself. His talons, Harry noted, were longer than most people's entire fingers.
Sirius pulled his hand away, frowning. He tipped his chair back, and raised his chin defiantly. His gaze was cold and steady.
Queen Bellatrix pulled him back toward her by his foppish bow tie. "Sirius, how you amuse and infuriate me. Whatever am I to do with you?" She caressed his now exposed neck. "You have no respect for authority. You called me…Trixie during the last royal croquet match."
"And I spent six months cleaning up flamingo shit and hedgehog quills because of it," Sirius said.
"Hmm. Indeed. Yet your behaviour has not improved. I wonder if the punishment was adequate," the Queen said. She leaned closer still toward Sirius, the plunging neckline of her dress further exposing her breasts as she moved. A miniature dagger hung between them on a chain.
"More than adequate, I'm sure, your Majesty," Remus interjected. "He's extremely sorry, too."
"No I'm not," Sirius said.
Crookshanks, sitting on Sirius' other side, had his attention fixed to the dangling dagger on the Queen's neck as it spun and flashed in the sun. Harry felt his hackles rise. He wondered with a pang of fear whether he was slowly turning into one of the monstrous creatures around him.
"Oh yes, you're never quite sorry about anything, are you, gorgeous?" Queen Bellatrix cooed, a mad glint in her eyes. One pale hand threaded through the black hair at the base of his neck, winding the shining strands about her fingers. Her other hand busied itself stroking along his jaw line and down across his throat.
"If you don't mind my asking, or even if you do, why are you here?" Crookshanks asked, his fur standing on end.
"So beautiful," Queen Bellatrix murmured, "so very, very lovely." She cradled his head in her hands, her attention concentrated on Sirius. "I want his perfect head on a silver platter, and I will have it."
Sirius' arms were braced against the table stiffly, as if he meant to push himself away. His mouth twisted in nasty smirk. "Bit of a problem, there. I'm still using it."
"Not for me," said the queen.
"Care for some biscuits, your Majesty?" asked Remus, a slight tremor in his voice as he shoved a plateful of crumbs at the queen. His arm, however, was perfectly steady. He pressed against the queen's side hard with the plate.
"I know what I'd rather eat," she said, never looking away from Sirius.
"So do I," said Crookshanks, purring.
"My spies told me everything, of course. I could have your head off in an instant. I wonder if you would bleed a terrible amount," Queen Bellatrix casually speculated.
"They haven't any proof, you know," Remus said, his voice firmer now.
"Bring them forth to be questioned," Crookshanks demanded. "That ought to be entertaining for at least a moment."
"Did you hear that?" Queen Bellatrix shrieked, turning to address the forest around them. "Speak up! Show yourselves!" She stamped her foot in a temper.
Harry stood up for a better view, looking around eagerly. Oh, what am I doing? Nothing is going to happen. That woman's wand is lit, but nobody is home. Wait. Wand?
A loud sound filled the air, like the beating of a thousand birds' wings. From the upper branches of the trees fell a dozen large ravens, their beaks—no, their faces bone white against a sea of black. Sssssssssshhh. They landed in a circle surrounding the table.
They aren't birds…those are… "Why, you're nothing but a bunch of paper!" Harry yelled. At this everyone turned in his direction, including the mass of black-robed figures. They advanced on him, their bodies twisting about as they wobbled over, closer and closer. Harry laughed at the way their hands flapped uselessly in the breeze. "You can't hurt me!" Harry laughed again. I can barely see how they manage to stay upright.
"Oh really? Just watch us!" the paper people chorused, their voices coming out in a breathy whisper. They flew at him en masse, flimsy bodies seeking to smother him.
Waving his arms about, Harry chanted, "I'm not afraid of you! I'm not afraid of you. I'm not…"
Tangled up in his sheets, Harry fought the sinuous grip of his bed clothes as it tried to wrap tighter around his face and neck. He finally managed to wriggle his hand under his pillow where he kept his wand and break free. I hate this house, I hate dreaming, I hate veils, I hate house elves, I hate being exhausted and unable to sleep…
In the end Harry lay on a bare mattress, every scrap of fabric in the room piled outside his door. The taste of sugary tea still lingered in his mouth.
-finis-
A/N: I had the outline of this written over a year ago. My writing folder contains over sixteen unfinished stories, and more keep popping up all the time. I'm getting so frustrated at being unable to finish anything! In the end, I grabbed this at random and decided to stick with it until it was done. The closer I got to the end of it, the harder it was to write. I'm sure it shows. Absolute crap or not, I need to start writing more or I'll suck forever.
This was inspired by Sir John Tenniel's fabulous art work, and a Jim Henson production of the mad tea party that I saw over fifteen years ago. Everyone should see it. It truly does justice to what I consider the frightening, surrealistic imagery in the Carroll/Tenniel work. No Disney production can adequately capture that spirit. Think "The Dark Crystal" or "The Labyrinth" to see what I mean.