Lord Voldemort's Nightmares
By Lady Lestrange
Disclaimer: The Harry Potter characters and previous situations belong to JK Rowlings. No infringement is meant or implied. No money is made from this Fanfic. THANKS JK.
Special thanks to my beta, ennui de Morte. Go check out her story.
Lord Voldemort's Nightmares
By Lady Lestrange
Lord Voldemort was asleep. Well, he would have been asleep, resting quietly, if not for the annoying link with Harry Potter that brought the whining voice of that bushy haired Mudblood into his dreams. It was torture. All that droning on about Goblin rebellions was about to make him sick. "Avada Kadavra!" he whispered in his sleep. Of course, she kept right on talking. She pushed Harry's arm out from under his chin, complaining in that shrill impossible voice, "Harry you aren't listening. You really need to revise for OWL's."
"That's not going to be on our OWL's, Hermione," said the red headed Weasley around a mouth full of Bertie Bots Beans. Voldemort tossed in his sleep at the very thought of what that must taste like.
'Honesty,' thought Lord Voldemort, 'what was the point of eating the beans if you mixed ear wax, vomit and chocolate all together?' At least he wasn't in the Weasley's head. He tried to remember if he ever actually tasted anything from Harry Potter. He didn't think so.
The closest he got was nearly kissing Cho Chang, but he managed to abort that catastrophe, putting the pictures of Diggory in Potter's mind, which brought just the right words to his mouth to reduce Cho Chang to tears. It was gratifying to realize you could torture someone so effectively even long distance, but it was such a close thing. Cho's soft lips on his. Voldemort shuddered. The girl was so entirely sweet it made him want to gag.
He suddenly doubled in pain and gripped his solar plexus where the link to Potter was strongest. Groaning and tossing in his sleep, he was forced to witness the writing of three feet of potions parchment. "How do you spell asphodel?" Harry asked the mudblood. "A-s-s-h-o-l-e," muttered Voldemort in his sleep, thinking that, although he couldn't do much to Potter, he could certainly Crucio Snape for assigning the stupid essay in the first place.
Voldemort tossing restlessly couldn't help but think that it would be a very nice thing indeed if Potter actually brewed the potion he was writing about. Draught of the Living Death….yes. That should end Voldemort's nightmares nicely. Truthfully, he was about ready to drink the stuff himself, especially as Harry began his Divination homework, writing that he dreamed that Neville and Professor Sprout were waltzing around the Room of Requirement while Professor McGonagall played the bagpipes.
'Oh Dear,' thought Voldemort. He could almost hear the screeching of the bagpipes. The boy was possessed of nightmares even without his help! In a stray thought he wondered if Minerva really did play the bagpipes and then he shook himself out of the thought.
No. Actually, he didn't shake himself out of the thought. He blinked for a moment looking at a very strange creature. It was like looking into the face of some human transfiguration gone wrong. The woman was part witch and part toad. The snake in him thought for a moment that she might be rather tasty but she cleared her throat in a way that filled him with utter loathing. He felt even more hatred for this creature than he did for the Mudblood. No. He realized that was Harry's feeling. Why did Harry hate the toad so?
"Master! Master!" The banging of a silver hand on his warded door made quite a noise and at last Voldemort was forced to open the door with an indigent wave of his wand.
Wormtail rushed into the room. "Master! You were—" Wormtail suddenly blushed and looked at the ground. One did not tell the Dark Lord of the wizarding world that he was moaning and crying in his sleep and live.
"Wormtail!" growled the Dark Lord as he swung his feet out of his bed and into his fuzzy slippers. "I should curse you into next week."
Wormtail scampered backwards as fast as he could go, until he was trapped in the corner of the room. "But you're bleeding," whispered Wormtail.
Indeed, Voldemort was bleeding. Large red drops were forming on his hand and the words, 'I will not tell lies' were etched into the marble white skin of his hand. 'Perhaps the toad woman had promise,' he thought to himself as he wrapped his hand in a towel.
Wormtail offered his Master a Dreamless Sleep Potion, but it didn't mix well with his snake metabolism. He preferred to count basilisks. He watched them hatch unimpeded in the Chamber of his imagination. One basilisk…two basilisks…three basilisks…soon Voldemort was sound asleep, and he was no longer in the Chamber of Secrets.
No, he was fifty foot in the air on a little sprig of wood and the wind was whistling through his hair. He gripped the broom tightly, gritting his teeth against the neck break speed of the Gryffindor Seeker. "No more Quiddich for you!" shouted the toadlike woman and Harry tumbled from his broom.
Voldemort remembered why he never tried out for Quiddich: Ruddy awful game. Fortunately, he never hit the ground. Instead he floated down beside a disheveled Mudblood whose bushy hair was littered with sticks and leaves. Voldemort wondered how exactly she had gotten so disheveled and then reminded himself he did not want to know. He definitely did not want to know.
In his dream, someone was singing—off key and very loud:
"Weasley is our King
Weasley is our King."
'Oh, they really needed him, didn't they?' Voldemort thought as the crowd sang and jostled him. Several people hugged him, crying, "We did it! We won the cup!"
Voldemort managed to wake himself up before one of the ecstatic Gryffindors kissed him. Panting, Voldemort called to Wormtail. "I've got to stop this," he muttered. "I've got to find something that will make Harry Potter close his mind to me."
"His godfather," suggested Wormtail. "Sirius Black. Perhaps if you did something to Sirius."
"Perhaps," said Voldemort with a feral smile. "Perhaps. I will give it some thought."
"Oh and Severus, is here," offered Wormtail. "He's brought more of the Dreamless Sleep Potion.
"Good. Good. Send him in," said the Dark Lord, readying his wand. No sooner had Snape stepped into the room than the spell rocketed from Voldemort's wand. "Crucio!"
Wormtail scurried from the room in panic. What did Severus do? He wondered silently. It seemed that his Master became more insane each day."