Disclaimer(s)
One, I don't own this.
Two, this page gets a bit more graphic than the last. You've been warned.
Three, if you can't tell... Harry's getting progressively darker here.
Officially a Threeshot. Don't count on more, but if the mood strikes... maybe.
Harry sighed as he lazed by the pool. It was a pretty day. Perfectly calm and quiet, with only a few puffy clouds littering the sky.
He cracked one eye open as a shadow fell over him. "Hey, Freddy."
The burned man looked around. "What are you doing here? And... isn't this a bit cheerful?"
Harry shrugged and gestured to a lounge chair that appeared next to him. The plastic monstrosity creaked a bit as Freddy settled into it. "Eh. Got hurt in a quidditch match this afternoon. Pomfrey pumped me full of dreamless sleep. It doesn't seem to stop me from entering the Dream anymore, but most of my targets are awake. I figured if I had to be bored, I'd catch some rays and relax since I never had a chance to try it."
The Nightmare nodded and rested his clawed hand on his stomach as he reclined. "Well, I suppose that makes sense. So, who's your next target?"
Harry shrugged. "Since I'm in the hospital wing until tomorrow, I figured I'd tear into the supposedly adult Dursleys. The matron can vouch for my whereabouts, after all."
"Makes sense."
Harry shifted onto his stomach, his back showing a ghostly image of belt marks for a few moments. "If I finish with them early enough, I may grab another person. Margarita?"
"Thanks. Want me to get your cousin?"
"I'll think about it. I may want to help."
The Order of the Phoenix sat about drinking tea in the kitchen, waiting for the rather tardy Headmaster to arrive. The air was tense and wary. Many had died over the last few days. The children of Death Eaters – and many of the Death Eaters themselves – had dropped dead in the oddest places. Remus Lupin watched the various expressions of nervousness and fear as he sat in a seat near the wall.
Minerva McGonagall was even more pinched-faced than normal. Her hat was slightly askew as if she had jammed it hastily on her head and her robes were rumpled. "I'm telling you, Molly, it was horrifying. The entire class saw it, too. He just floated up and gashes started appearing out of nowhere..."
Molly Weasley was sitting next to her, her eyes wide with horror. "Do you think we should pull the children out of school?"
Minerva shook her head. "The Parkinsons tried it. Pansy was in St. Mungo's the next day with burns over most of her body. She died that afternoon. Her parents were dead the next morning." She looked a bit ill. "I understand that her father had been hung using her mother's intestines."
Elphias Doge, at that point, had been about to take a large bite of noodles in tomato sauce. He set his fork down and delicately pushed it away. For once, Mundungus Fletcher didn't even comment. He was a pale shade of green.
Nymphadora Tonks, her hair a mishmash of deep colors, shuddered. "That's not the half of it. Runcorn died this morning at the hearing the Ministry convened to investigate the... incidents. He appeared to be sleeping, but his head literally fell off when Madame Longbottom nudged him to wake him for a vote."
Remus frowned. "I find it interesting that none of the murdered have returned. Surely they must have some unfinished business... If only to find out who their murderers are. Or perhaps accuse them."
Moody glanced over at the werewolf with a frown. "That's the thing. The Department of Mysteries is a hard group to get information out of, but I managed to talk with an Unspeakable this morning. He let slip that it almost resembles a dementor attack in nature. The people apparently lose their souls before they die completely..." He took a sip of his flask. "Well, if an Unspeakable can ever be said to 'let' anything slip. They seem to be as stuck as we are and are probably hoping that we'll figure it out."
Severus Snape had no idea how he wound up in Potter's house but, when he broke out of the small cupboard, that was exactly where he found himself. The walls were splattered with blood and bits of flesh. The carpet was soaked through and a small sanguine stream proved that the floor was not level as it dribbled from the kitchen.
He looked into the living room first and was glad that he was a Death Eater – otherwise he would have vomited. Vernon Dursley was moaning, or trying to, from his position. He was literally staked to the wall. Spikes were driven through his wrists, elbows, knees and hands. His throat had been carefully excised. Blood flowed out and slowly gurgled on his every breath, but it wasn't a fast flow. No major arteries and veins were even nicked.
He passed by, entering the kitchen. Petunia was broken on the floor, literally. Every bone – with the exception of her skull – had been shattered in multiple places. Some were poking out of her flesh, some were not. A frying pan lay discarded next to her, and there was tape over her mouth.
Her eyes were glassy with the approach of death. He leaned down and pulled the tape away from her lips, only for the smell of bleach to fill the air. Shoved inside was an entire car sponge soaked in the caustic liquid. He pulled it out, examining the damage. "Petunia? Can you understand me?"
The voice behind him was painfully familiar. "Considering that this is only the latest in a long line of tortures, and that she stopped screaming hours ago, I assume she doesn't recognize much of anything anymore."
Snape snarled and turned. "Potter."
Harry quirked one eyebrow at him. "Am I?"
He sneered. "Don't play games with me. Fifteen points from Gryffindor."
The boy laughed. "I don't think that it's me that you want to take those points from. And my father's been dead a long time, Snivilous."
Snape reached for his wand, only to realize that he didn't have it. "Let's make that fifty points, Mr. Potter. Would you care to try for a hundred?"
To his ire, the boy's laughter just danced around the room again. "Points? Is that your answer to everything these days? Guess Dumbles is right, you really are a tame Death Eater now."
His hands clenched at his sides. "That will be detention for a month."
Harry snapped his fingers and a spike grew out of the floor directly beneath Petunia's heart and through her body. If he didn't know better, Snape would have said that she made a sigh of relief as she died. The gurgling had also cut off in the living room. "Really, Snape. That's just pathetic. Why don't I show you real punishment?"
Her shot the boy a glare and turned to walk out of the door, only to find that he was now in the dungeons of Hogwarts. The halls were darker than he remembered, and manacles hung from the walls. Harry's voice floated eerily out at him. "It's amazing what they don't tell us about the past, Professor. Perhaps that's why Binns likes to focus on the Goblin Wars. They're less bloody than what we've done to our own... But, these halls remember it well."
A manacle whipped out and grabbed his arm, pulling him to one wall. He reached to pull at it, only to find the opposite wrist seized and yanked back painfully. "They dream of the blood that was spilled here. The souls of the tortured dead who were used to animate the place still cry out their pain and lust for revenge. It seems that the modern purebloods are right. Muggles weren't good for much, unless the Founders needed living sacrifices for now-forbidden rituals. Even Gryffindor considered that an acceptable fate for captured combatants... I wonder if Hermione knows about that? Not that it really matters, of course."
The Potter boy appeared in front of him, this time accompanied by a rail-thin man in a fedora. His grating voice made the hair on Snape's arms stand on end, as the more primitive part of his mind screamed 'predator.' "Heh, so this is the fucker who thought he could rule through fear?"
Harry shook his head. "No, this is that fucker's apprentice and Potion's Master. I already killed Tom."
One claw delicately traced Snape's jaw and he had to resist the urge to swallow. "Pity, I would have liked to watch that..." Hard blue eyes stared into his. "Wha'dya gonna to do to him?"
Harry shook his head. "I have so many ideas. There were so many suggestions he's given me over the years. I could feed him the congealed mess of all of Neville's potions over the years. I could dice him up for potions ingredients... The list is long."
The claw nicked into his sallow skin. "Boiling in oil's been done. A lot."
"Mmmm. Gang raped by dragons?"
"Eww. I dunno if even I could put up with watchin' that."
"True. And the poor dragons."
The burnt man laughed lightly. A rush of fear flooded it's way down Snape's spine, even as a slightly more yellow trickle ran slowly down his leg. "Burning's a horrible way to go. I should know."
Potter shook his head. "No offense, but I don't want to wind up breathing this arse in."
The claw traced further down his neck and chest, the razor sharp metal slicing away his robes and shirt with ease. "None taken. Whipped?"
"Too close to home. I could pull a Vlad the Impaler."
"Do you really want to see him without pants?"
"Point." Harry frowned. "I need to read more torture methodology."
"Mm..." The gentlest scratch of the claw cut nearly into the right side of his rib cage. He barely resisted screaming. "Blood Eagle? Or we could fill his innards with hot coals and sew the incision."
"I've never seen a Blood Eagle. Can you show me?"
"Sure." Snape lost the battle against screaming shortly after the man grinned at him.
Madam Pomfrey was perplexed. A bottle of Dreamless Sleep should have blocked the Potter boy's dreams for hours. Yet, here he was nestled snugly beneath the covers and smiling. Every now and then, a small chuckle escaped.
