I don't own Hellsing or Harry Potter, and I'm not making any money from this.

It was pitch black. The type of darkness that completely enveloped a person and made it impossible to see even the barest hint of things surrounding them. There was no real stimulus to any of Mihnea's senses but the frightening feel of being suffocated. No... that wasn't quite right. He could breathe, but there was something shoved down his throat he had to pull air through to get it into his lungs. Everything else was... water. At least, it felt like water. It could have been some other fluid, given that he couldn't see. But despite the isolation and blindness, he still had the unnerving feeling that he was enclosed in a tiny space. So small that if he were to make the slightest movement, he would encounter the sides of the enclosure. Something he could never hope to escape.

This was what terrified him the most. Being trapped and unable to escape. Powerless and too weak to do anything.

Then... then came the blinding lights and the pain. Voices speaking a language he didn't understand while needles were buried into his skin and blades cut into his flesh. These people... they were trying to put something in him. Something they couldn't seem to make work. He couldn't count the number of times they'd tried. It had been so often, the separate incidents had begun to blur together into one, massive whole. A single experience of being cut open and tortured, able to feel every small sensation, then put back into the tiny enclosure to await their next attempt.

Then, he heard something he could understand. Heavily accented English spoken in ominous tones that did nothing to calm his fears.

"Ve must find a vay." it said. "Ve've created the perfect monster. Ve must be able to control it."

Everything was disorienting. The lights expanded into colors he couldn't comprehend. Mind numbing fear as he realized flesh was being sliced apart and stretched open. The blinding agony... Then there were the sounds. The high pitched whine of saws designed to slice through bone. The deeper, more menacing growl of drills meant to burrow deep. A cold, rubbery feeling hand pressed against his spine and he felt the saw blade placed firmly just below the back of his neck. Mihnea heard the whirring whine first, then felt the pain flood through his body and overwhelm every one of his senses.

Feeling everything with nothing to subdue it, he screamed.

Mihnea shot upright in bed, drenched in a cold sweat. His eyes darted wildly around the room, half expecting to find the specters from his dream there waiting for him. When he saw that nothing was there, he attempted to bring himself under control and calm down. His heart was racing. He took slow deep breaths to make it slow down to a more normal rate.

Nightmares had been a part of his life for as long as he could remember. They weren't a constant occurrence, but they would randomly pop up to torment him. When they began they would usually stretch on for weeks before receding. Memories of things done to him before his parents had found him. Things that he shouldn't be able to remember, but did. Normal people didn't remember things that occurred during their infancy. But Mihnea had never been and would never be normal.

No matter what the people who knew told him, he hated it. The isolation that came from being different. On the outside, he pretended that he didn't care. But deep within, he did. A little too much, in fact. He wished there was a way to make it go away.

Sleep was no longer an option for him. Mihnea was too disturbed to stay in bed. As he pushed back the blankets, he noticed blood under his fingernails. He must have clawed at himself while he slept. It happened sometimes. His suspicion was confirmed when he checked his reflection in the bathroom mirror. There were deep scratches – some still bleeding – all over his neck, stretching down to his shoulders. He couldn't keep doing this. Someone would notice the scratches eventually and question him about it. The last thing he needed was someone, especially a teacher, thinking that he was deliberately hurting himself. Surely there was a potion that would stop the nightmares. Something to help him sleep better at night. His mother could come up with something that always worked, but he couldn't remember the ingredients. They were most likely things he wouldn't be able to find at school anyway.

But he knew someone who might have something. Mihnea didn't particularly like the idea of talking to him about this problem, but it had to be done. Taking a deep breath, he changed into something that was appropriate to walk around the castle in, then headed out to find his head of house.

Professor Snape was in his office working on grading papers. He usually found some kind of paperwork to keep him busy outside of the times he had to be present for meals. The door was cracked, so Mihnea could only see a sliver of the room. He knocked on the door, then waited to be addressed.

"Enter."

The boy pushed the door open and stepped inside. Snape looked up from his desk and took in the sight of him with his dark colored eyes.

"Yes, Mr. Bassarab?" he questioned.

Mihnea never liked talking about things that bothered him because it always made him feel off balance. Vulnerable. It was a sensation he despised. He swallowed down the feeling and cleared his throat.

"I was wondering if I could ask for your help with something, sir." he said.

The Potions Master quirked a brow. "And what would that be?"

"I..." he paused, thinking about the best way to say it. "I'm having trouble sleeping."

Snape didn't look particularly impressed. "Mr. Bassarab, there are a number of potions and remedies for that particular malady. I believe you are perfectly capable of creating one of them yourself. If not, Madam Pomfrey has a collection of them in the hospital wing."

With that said, he went back to grading his papers. Yes, there were plenty of remedies for not sleeping, but dreams were a different matter. He decided he should just come out with it and get it over with.

"I'm having nightmares, sir." he told him.

Snape's hand paused in it's writing and he glanced back up, his eyes narrowing. "You want assistance in getting rid of nightmares?"

Mihnea knew it probably sounded stupid to him. Most people's nightmares were fleeting things. They were scary for a moment, then the fear faded upon waking up. He had an idea of how to convince him that this was different, but he wasn't sure if he should do it or not. However, Professor Snape was the sort of person who knew the importance of keeping his mouth shut when it came to certain things. Mihnea thought if anyone could be trusted with knowing something about himself he didn't want others to find out, it would be his head of house.

"They're... memories." he admitted at last. "Bad memories."

The Potions Master sat back in his chair, looking thoughtful. It seemed he was going to take him more seriously now.

"How long has this been going on?" he asked.

"Off and on for as long as I can remember." Mihnea told him. "Once they start, they go on for weeks."

Snape frowned. "What sort of memories do these nightmares consist of?"

He was probably asking because there were certain potions to deal with specific things. Mihnea took a deep breath.

"Sir... I don't want anyone else to know about this." he said.

Snape studied him for a long moment. Mihnea had the feeling that he was attempting to poke around inside his head to figure out what he was going on about. His mother was immune to magical manipulation like mind-reading and he was thankful now that it was something he had inherited from her. The man could poke and prod all he liked and would never get inside of his thoughts. The Potions Master looked surprised for a brief moment, then made a hand gesture.

"Out with it then." he said.

Mihnea never once thought he'd actually be willing to do this. But it was necessary to get the point across. Taking a deep breath, he turned around and pulled the hem of his shirt up to show the professor his back. He bore vicious looking scars along his spine and across his back from experiments and multiple surgeries performed on him by the Nazis. He had been an infant at the time, but the scars remained to remind him of it. His mother said there was nothing she could do to make them go away.

Magic can heal the most serious of wounds, he remembered her telling him. But even the most powerful forms of magic can't remove the marks left behind. If it could, I would have regrown my ear and removed all of my scars a long time ago.

"I remember this." he said quietly. "And I don't want to have to relive it every night."

When he dropped his shirt and turned back around, the Potions Master was sitting up straighter in his chair, looking more intent and serious than he had ever seen him before.

"Did someone in your family do that to you?"

The boy gave a start. "No!"

It was probably common practice to ask such a question for safety's sake, but he still found the implication of it offensive. Snape studied him carefully, looking like he was trying to discern whether or not he was lying. When he leaned back in his chair once more, it seemed that he accepted the answer.

"When did this happen?" he questioned.

From the moment I was made. Mihnea thought to himself. An honest response wouldn't work, so he had to give him a carefully constructed lie peppered with just enough truth to make it sound believable.

"I don't really know, sir." he told him. "I was... very young."

Snape considered his response, then pushed himself back from his desk. "Follow me, Mr. Bassarab."

Mihnea obeyed and followed his head of house out of his office and into his private storeroom. Students were never allowed in there – and even he hadn't seen it during his many hours of 'restocking'. This storeroom wasn't for ingredients, but potions already brewed and bottled. Kept hidden away in the event they were needed and there was no time to make them from scratch. Fastened to the shelves was a ladder connected to a rolling system that allowed it to be pulled around the room without having to be picked up and repositioned by hand. Snape pushed the ladder over to a particular shelf, then climbed up to look through the collection of colored bottles.

"Dreams are especially difficult to manipulate with magic because they are unique to the individual." he said as he picked up bottles and put them back on the shelf. "Even more so with dreams inspired by memories. The more traumatic they are, the more resistant they are to being suppressed." he finally found what he was looking for and climbed back down.

It was a small, dark blue bottle with a sliver cap. The professor passed it to him, giving him a serious look as he did so.

"This is a newly developed potion which has shown varying degrees of success." Snape told him. "There is no guarantee it will stop the nightmares entirely, but it should make them less severe. Take three drops in a glass of water before bed. If there is no discernible change, you may increase it to four drops the next night. Taking any more than four would be dangerous."

Well, it wasn't very much, but at least it could help take the edge off until his mother was able to come up with something for him. He'd have to write home to ask. In the meantime, this would have to do. Mihnea slid the bottle into his pocket.

"Thank you, sir." he said gratefully.

He turned to leave, but Snape stopped him by grabbing his arm. The man's black eyes seemed to bore into him.

"Is there anything else you need to tell me about yourself?" he asked in a low tone.

Mihnea went very still. Snape was probably curious as to why he'd been unsuccessful in his attempt to read his mind.

"Nothing that anyone needs to know." he replied.

It seemed like forever went by before Snape let go of his arm. The expression on his face was both searching and understanding. Mihnea's intuition told him that the Potions Master had plenty of secrets he hid from the world as well. He didn't know exactly what they were, but he could sense it. Perhaps that was why he didn't press any further.

"Very well." he said with a nod. "If there's nothing else, you are free to go."

The boy had no intentions on going back to bed. He'd just woken up, and he preferred being up during the nighttime hours anyway. He decided to give Snape's potion a try before worrying his mother about giving him one of her remedies. He seriously hoped it would make things better. Having nightmares caused him to be moody and irritable. High emotional states like that tended to make him more sensitive to his surroundings.

Mihnea was going to have to up his blood intake to several times a day until this spell of nightmares was over. The last thing he needed was to smell blood on some random girl and suffer through bloodlust as well.