Disclaimer
Again with the thinking we want to make money off of this stuff. Hell-O! It's a "fan fiction" site!
Note
So I wound up with a little more material. /shrug/ It's now officially a two-shot.
Chapter Two
Dumbledore frowned as he stared out the window of his office. The settings sun cast gorgeous splashes of color all across the grounds and forest, but he was too lost in thought to appreciate it. He couldn't quite decide where things went wrong. And there were a lot of things that had gone wrong.
Harry had stopped responding to Severus' taunts. This was disturbing, as he'd used the severity of the responses to gauge the boy's emotional state. He'd also depended on Severus' actions to keep the boy humble. Much like he'd depended on the Dursleys.
The boy had also completely broken with the Weasleys. He wouldn't have cared about the Granger girl, but he'd depended on the family to keep him firmly leashed. It wasn't a good idea to let the boy make too many powerful connections. If he did so, there was a chance that he would learn things he shouldn't... like being able to compel a trial for Black in front of the Wizengamot.
Hell, he might even find out that he had a title and seat!
Instead, Harry was cultivating a relationship with the Longbottom, Lovegood, and Bones children. The Longbottom boy was heir to his own title, and might let slip things that should be kept quiet. The Lovegood girl came from a long line of part Fae Seers. Who knew what she'd relate to him?
The Bone girl had ties to the DMLE. If she found out about half the things he'd maneuvered Harry into, he'd have so much Veritaserum poured down his throat that he'd be able to float in it. This wouldn't advance his plans, but would hinder them – perhaps even stop them completely. The Department of Magical Law Enforcement was remarkably short sighted when it came to the Greater Good.
They had the uncomfortable tendency to ask things like, "Whose Greater Good?"
Then, there were the strange incidents last night and this morning. Both the Malfoy boy and that interfering bitch, Umbridge, had woken up in the early morning with severe injuries. Poppy had been frantic. She'd spent hours meticulously healing every injury as none of the more broad-spectrum spells had been effective. Then, she'd had to deal with neither patient wanting to return to sleep.
She hadn't been able to do anything about the Defense Professor. Draco Malfoy had actually insisted that his father come to the school before he would allow her to give him anything. Lucius had shown up and spent a half hour closeted with his son. The end result was that the boy drank his Dreamless Sleep and Lucius demanded to know why his "son was babbling about burnt-faced, muggle freaks and the Potter boy."
Harry had several very solid witnesses (including the Fat Lady) that cleared him of anything to do with the mess. The portrait stated that she hadn't been opened since early that evening – at all. And all of Gryffindor saw the boy in the tower that night. Then, the child stood in front of both himself and Lucius and took a magical oath that he'd been asleep in the tower at the time of the attack. Afterward, he'd been almost cheeky about tossing a patronus out of his wand to gambol about the room.
The elder Malfoy was furious. Whether it was the person who injured his son that raised his ire... That was anyone's guess. He could have been angry that Harry was proven innocent. Possibly both.
Umbridge had returned to her quarters, only for a frantic House-elf to report that she was dead when morning came. It had been... particularly gruesome. He honestly hadn't realized that there was that much blood in the human body. It had even been sprayed across the ceiling.
The two Aurors that had come to investigate her death – the most junior a five year veteran of the force – had both stepped out of the room to vomit on seeing the strips of skin that were woven into a blanket and artfully draped across her corpse.
He moved to his desk and started working on his paperwork. He had much to do. He was expecting a call from an irate Fudge – and probably the Board. Hopefully he could get a positive response from his chosen Defense teacher before the Minister realized that: 1) he was still the headmaster, and 2) the post was empty.
Freddy looked at the boy sitting in a squishy armchair in his boiler room. The steam wasn't even raising the slightest sweat. He actually appeared quite comfortable as he sipped a frosty glass of lemonade. It was amazing the amount of control he'd picked up in a week. "Isn't it a bit early for you to be here, brat?"
Harry grinned up at him. "Eh, taking a nap. They did wake me up last night with all that nonsense." He shook his head in mock sadness. "You know, in polite society we wait until after breakfast to interrogate potential murderers."
Freddy snorted. "Riiiight. Nice job with the quilt, by the way."
Harry's eyes lit up. "Oh, did you like it? I made sure to weave a kitten face into the pattern. I know how much she loved them."
The Nightmare snorted again and leaned against the metal railing. How had the people in that school missed the vicious streak? "Fuck, I probably would have just fed her to a bunch of them."
The green-eyed boy shook his head reprovingly. "There's no need for animal cruelty."
Freddy laughed. "So, who's tonight's victim? That fucking Minister?"
Harry pondered for a moment. "Maybe. Or, I could start closer to home. Would it be too obvious to go after Snape next, do you think? Or the Dursleys?"
"Probably."
"Damn. I'll have to think about it then." The boy created a card table and chairs. "Poker?"
Voldemort rubbed his eyes and sat up. It felt like he'd just laid down to sleep, but there was sunlight shining outside his window. He slowly pulled his aching body out of the bed and stretched, causing a dozen or so small pops in his back, before shambling across the room and into the bath. He blinked at the cracked mirror. The haze left his mind as his body tensed.
He didn't look like himself.
His eyes were no longer red. He had a nose. His hair was mussed, but it actually existed. He wasn't too sure whether to be happy about this or not. On one hand, he could go out and wander around wizarding areas without worrying about someone tossing a finite at his glamour. On the other hand, he'd now have to glamour himself every time he called his followers.
He blinked and his reflection changed. Potter was in his mirror!
He reflexively reached for his wand, only to realize he didn't have it. He didn't remember seeing it on the nightstand either. It didn't even occur to him to use his fist to break the mirror. Instead, he began backing away from it, only to be stopped when he ran into the wall.
The reflection smiled. "Did you know that horcruxes dream, Tom? It's hazy, but it's a dream."
Voldemort blinked. He wasn't sure where this was going. Was one of his own horcruxes trying to talk to him in dreams? Why would it look like Potter? Wait, he was dreaming?
Potter's smile turned into a wicked grin. "Of course, since they don't have real bodies they can't wake up to escape their nightmares..."
He was confused. "What?..."
Harry smiled. "They all died, Tommy. They're all dead. You're going to join them."
The wall behind him became spongy, then liquid as it flowed around him. Tendrils bound him in place as it pulled him inside the strange substance, then poured into his mouth and down inside him. He tried to scream, but that just opened a new avenue of attack. The strangely aware goo flowed down into his lungs and filled them.
Just as suddenly as it started, he was spat out and onto the floor of his now-pristine bathroom. The light had faded and he could hear night birds calling out. Potter's voice floated from nowhere and everywhere. "Did you really think I'd let you die that quickly? I have fifteen years of hell to revisit on you."
Voldemort ran from the room and checked his bedside table. His wand wasn't on top or in the drawer below. It hadn't fallen on the floor that he could tell, and it wasn't under his pillow. He whirled around and frantically checked every surface.
Potter might have kept talking, but Voldemort didn't hear him. He was too busy running from the room and down the stairs. He searched for his minions, but there wasn't even a house elf to be found. He'd forgotten that he might be dreaming.
He headed for the door to the outside and grasped the knob firmly. He didn't have time to react as the metal twisted and writhed underneath his hand, then expanded out in sharp spikes. Thankfully, they retracted, but his wand hand was now useless and dripping blood across the floor. Behind him, Mrs Cole appeared and started haranguing him about the mess.
He turned to face her in shock. He hadn't seen her in years, not since he left the orphanage for the last time. Her sharp features were twisted in hatred, as usual, and she held a mop in one hand. Her dress was stained with what appeared to be dried blood.
She slapped him across the face. "Are you listening to me Riddle? Get a rag and clean this mess up. I will not have it! Parents are coming to look at the normal children tonight!"
Out of long-forgotten habit, he started to stutter an apology. That's when he realized the top of the mop handle didn't look right. Above her grip, it turned into a wicked-looking sword. Blood slowly dripped down towards her hand.
Mrs. Cole's expression changed. Her eyes glimmered killing curse green and her mouth widened into a sinister grin, the gaping hole wider than any human should have. The corners of her mouth almost reached her ears, and the teeth were sharp enough to make the Basilisk's look dull. "Noticed that, did you? It took you forever. You always were worthless, Riddle."
Her head cocked suddenly. "Heh. I guess we'll have to cut this short. Too bad. Still, not sorry to say that it's time to die."
Voldemort screamed as his world turned into an inferno of white-hot pain.
Harry rubbed his eyes and looked at the pajama-clad Neville Longbottom. "What?"
His round-faced roommate eyed him in worry. "You sounded like you were having a nightmare..."
Neville didn't understand why Harry smiled, nor why it terrified him so.
