FIC: Inevitable 60: To Sleep, Perchance To Dream (AB/HP)
I said I was going to have this up by Friday. I lied. Please don't kill me after you've read it.
Inevitable Sixty: To Sleep, Perchance To Dream
by Mhalachai
Disclaimer: Laurell K. Hamilton owns all things Anita Blake. J.K. Rowling owns all things Harry Potter. Only the story is my own.
Note: As a reminder, the first-person point of view is Anita; third-person-limited point of view is Harry.
Previous parts here.
Warning: This chapter contains scenes of implied and explicit violence and disturbing imagery. Please recall that this fic is rated R.
~~~~~~~
The sun was just beginning to rise over the river as I eased my jeep onto the freeway. I was tired but I felt great. I'd raised eight zombies tonight, and I had that kind of fading endorphin rush you get after a good run. It was times like this that I loved my job.
Of course, the lack of sleep was making me loopy. Added to that, I was still a little bit thrown from a phone call I'd gotten between zombie number three, Carl Solomon for a will review, and zombie number four, Melissa Dupont for some psychiatric junk.
Damian had a girlfriend.
Not only that, he'd wanted permission to stay over for the day with her at the Circus. That was fine, but him asking had creeped me out. The only saving grace was that he seemed as uncomfortable about asking as I was to be asked. Hopefully, we wouldn't have a repeat.
The lady in question was Elinor, one of the British vamps that came over about a year ago. She was all tiny and dainty and quiet, not at all like me. That was good, right?
I shook my head as I changed lanes and sped up, while glancing in the rearview mirror to make sure my shadow was still behind me. Sure enough, the little grey car had changed lanes as well.
The familiar annoyance clenched in my stomach. It had been almost two months since Edward called to warn me about Olaf, and so far, no one had seen hide nor hair of the psychopath. I still had around-the-clock wererat bodyguards, not that they'd had to do anything resembling guarding my body.
So often in the last couple of weeks, when Olaf didn't make a move, when Edward hadn't called, I'd thought about sending the bodyguards back to Rafael. Nothing was going to happen. It had only been a faintly disturbing call from Edward that set this off in the first place.
And yet... every time I picked up the phone to call Rafael, something stopped me from dialing the number. I wasn't psychic, never had any real flashes of insight, but there was a tiny prickling at the back of my head when I thought about Olaf. Call it woman's intuition or plain old paranoia; whatever it was, it meant I bit my tongue and accepted the bodyguards in uneasy silence.
I shook my head. I was almost home. Micah went to work a couple of hours ago and wouldn't be home until noon, which meant Nathaniel and I had the house all to ourselves. He was probably already asleep. I'd get the hell out of this skirt outfit to take a quick shower, climb into bed next to Nathaniel and get some well-earned cuddles.
I pulled into my driveway and parked my jeep. Undoing my seatbelt required more effort that usual; the sleepiness, I supposed. I grabbed my bag off the passenger seat and managed to spill a mound of papers to the floor of the car.
"Fuck," I muttered. Piles of paperwork from the office now blanketed the bottom of my jeep, and on top lay that letter from Harry I'd been carrying around for the little while. Ignoring the paperwork, I leaned over to pick up Harry's letter, glancing at it again.
Hi Anita. Thanks for your letters, it was good to hear from you all.
Things are okay as can be expected here. That teacher I told you was no good? Snape? He's teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts this year instead of potions. We had class on the day that I got your letters. I got in trouble but the headmaster said it was okay, and he wasn't going to expel me.
I don't know what I'm going to do at Christmas. I usually go to the Weasleys' house, but I don't know what's going to happen this year. If I can go back to St. Louis, I'll do that. I miss you guys.
I'm going to mail this from Hogsmeade, the village near my school. We don't get to leave school grounds except on special occasions. I think you'd like the place. I know Jason would. It's not big like St. Louis, but there's a lot of forest around.
Tell Damian I said hi. I told my friends that he's my grandfather. Ron had a problem, but I told him I don't care and that he was being an idiot. He says he's fine now, with me having a vampire relative. I mean, it's not like I slag on his family. Except Percy, who's a Ministry toady, but that doesn't count.
Oh! I'm the house Quidditch captain. I know you probably won't care, but it's really neat. Our team will be really good this year, lots of new blood.
I keep talking to Reece, he's the little guy we saw at the train station. He's from Wales, and he's muggleborn, and he's been like that since he was little. He likes it here. That's good; I was worried that he'd be like Remus, that friend I told you about. But I've been thinking. Remus didn't have a supportive pack and Reece does. He (Reece) said his mum's really nice, a teacher or something, and his dad's a mechanic.
I'm bad at letters, too, so I'll stop now. I'll be careful. I promise.
Harry.
I folded the letter up, smiling again. The letter felt like Harry had left something out, but I figured it was probably a girlfriend or something. I made a note to ask Nathaniel or Jason about that.
I put the letter back in my bag and got out of my jeep. Tony, last night's bodyguard, was standing in the door of his car. "Claudia should be here in a minute," he said in his oddly nasal voice. "Do you want me to come in?"
I hesitated before I answered. Claudia was coming in from farther out, she was probably stuck in traffic. "No, go on," I said, shutting my door. "I'll see you tomorrow night."
He nodded and slid back into his seat, driving away before I even locked the jeep's door.
I stood, my hand on the key still in the door. Tony wasn't usually so impatient to leave. He said very little, but then most of the bodyguards did that.
Nothing was wrong, I told myself. Just because a guy wanted to take off work early was not a big deal. He was probably tired.
But he was a bodyguard. Wererat bodyguards didn't leave early.
He was one of Rafael's men, I contradicted myself. Rafael was nothing if not professional, and expected all his rats to be the same. Breathing deep, I decided to call Rafael when I woke up and mention Tony skipping out. It was probably nothing.
I put my bag, with my zombie kit and my lunch bag, on the hood of the jeep to get my hands free, and looked around. Everything looked normal. Nathaniel's car was in the driveway like it should be, the lawn neat. There was nothing that should be sending these chilly shivers up my spine.
Nothing that made me put my keys in my pocket and pull my Browning out of its holster as I walked toward the front door.
My foot was on the first step when I saw the white box, brilliant in the sunlight, on the welcome mat. It was one of those gift boxes, with a lid on top, hiding the contents from view. My heart was pounding as I stared at that box.
No one should be leaving me presents on the front step, not with Nathaniel home. It could be a bomb or something equally horrible. I should get the hell out of there and call the police, just leave--
The wind shifted, and there was a wisp of movement around the box. Tiny strands blew in the breeze, caught between the box and the lid.
Tiny auburn strands, against the stark whiteness of the box.
A small sound escaped my throat as I stumbled up those steps, dropping all my mental shields and reaching out for Nathaniel. My mind touched the deadness of Jean-Claude and Damian, only minutes after sunrise. Richard's confused thoughts brushed mine; he was awake, but he wasn't the one I wanted.
I couldn't feel Nathaniel.
Logic deserted me as panic rose, screaming and clawing at me. I pulled the lid off the box in one jerky movement and let it fall to the porch from my suddenly nerveless fingers.
The box was full of auburn hair, Nathaniel's hair, long and loose and spilling over the sides in the sunlight. The world was going grey around the edges as I fought to keep breathing. The air I sucked in smelled like fur and vanilla and Nathaniel, and under it all the metallic scent of blood.
Not caring any more, I plunged my hand into that box and tried to pull the hair to the side. My fingers hit something solid under all that hair, and the world stopped.
I closed my hand around all that hair and pulled it out of the box. The sun shone bright and uncaring on me as I looked down into the bottom of that blood-soaked box, at Nathaniel's severed hand .
No sound came out of my mouth, but I screamed loud and long in my head, terror rising up until it threatened to choke me. Across the city, I felt Jean-Claude and Damian wake, Richard's panic, but it didn't matter. My hand was pushing the door open in a second, my whole world narrowing down to one thought: I had to find Nathaniel.
MA PETITE, NO-- Jean-Claude's scream in my mind cut off abruptly as I stumbled across the threshold. I tried to raise my gun, but all my strength was falling away, falling like I was falling to the ground, my body going limp as I toppled onto the white carpet.
I had to get to Nathaniel. I managed to roll onto my back, screaming at my body to work. I had to find Nathaniel. But I couldn't move, nothing was working and I didn't know why. The sun was shining through the windows onto the white walls, bouncing through the open front door onto the mirror and painting a bright spot on the stairs, and I could only lay there.
Footsteps, soft in the carpet, started toward me. I couldn't see who it was, what they were doing. The footsteps stopped, and there came the tiny click of the latch as the front door swung shut.
Someone knelt beside me; I could hear the breathing, but I couldn't turn my head to see. I had faced vampires and zombies and witches, but nothing in my life had terrified me as that anonymous breathing.
My gun was pulled away from my limp fingers. Large, blood-covered hands came into my line of sight, lowered to the sides of my head, sinking into my hair and gently moving my head around.
Olaf.
I tried to cry out, but still I couldn't move. Olaf slowly let go of my head, a strand of my hair sticking to the thick red blood on his hand as he moved back. He looked just like I remembered from the last time I'd seen him; tall and muscular and bald, a strange sort of expression in his eyes.
Just like last time, he was covered in blood.
I tried to scream out for Jean-Claude or Richard, Damian or Nathaniel or anybody, but everything was silent.
Olaf brushed his fingers over my temple. His touch made me want to throw up, but my body wouldn't even respond enough for that.
"Anita," he said, his voice obscenely tender. "I've been waiting for you. For this." His fingers moved lower, down my face and throat, toward my shirt. "So very long."
He slid his arms under my body, lifted me carefully. I tried to fight, to kick or shift around to unbalance him, to no avail.
My head fell back over his arm, and I watched the hall wall give way to the living room. Flecks and splashes of bright red blood coated the cheerful yellow paint, the front of the television, the bookshelf. Olaf knelt to lay me down, my skirt bunching up my legs. As he pulled his arms out from under me, my head rolled to the side, and I finally caught sight of Nathaniel.
What was left of Nathaniel.
Then the ruined body moved slightly, a tiny twitch, but it told me something that couldn't possibly be true, not with that much damage.
Nathaniel was still alive.
This wasn't real, this could be real. Olaf wasn't here, Nathaniel wasn't like that, I wasn't here. It wasn't real.
I couldn't look away from Nathaniel as I felt Olaf's fingers on my wrists, bringing my arms up over my head. Then a hand balled in my hair and jerked my head around. "You're going to be looking at me," he said. There was a spark of something in his face now, but it didn't matter. I was going to kill him for what he'd done to Nathaniel, even if I couldn't move a muscle.
Olaf held something up, which I recognized as a voodoo fetish, a human hand bone with a single strand of dark hair tied to it by a red cord knotted around the bone several times . "This is why you cannot move," he said in a low tone. He fingered it, then untied the bottom knot.
Immediately, breathing was easier, and the stench of blood got thicker. I concentrated around my fear and panic, and felt my fingers begin to respond. Olaf stood up and moved out of sight. "I can't let you get away, Anita" he said. "Not yet."
I moved my hand one inch to the side before he was back, straddling my chest. His hands were full of something, but it wasn't until I saw the first flash of the silver spike that I got feeling back in my legs and tried to press my foot into the carpet. He reached up over my head, and drove the first spike into my palm.
I screamed.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Exhausted, Harry stood in front of McGonagall's desk, holding out a parchment. "Here."
McGonagall looked at the proffered roll. "What is this, Mr. Potter?"
"My essay," Harry said, waking up a little. "The one that was due on Monday morning? Like, now?"
"I am aware of what it is, Mr. Potter. I was under the impression that you were coming to ask for an extension, in light of Saturday's event."
Harry blinked. Oh, right, the werewolf and full moon thing. "You never said anything, I thought I had to have it done," Harry said thickly. "I stayed up all night."
McGonagall plucked the parchment from Harry's hand and began to skim the essay.
"So, uh, can I have an extension?" Harry asked, plastering what he hoped was a winning smile on his face.
"There is no need," McGonagall said, rolling up the parchment and placing it in a pile on her desk. "It's perfectly acceptable."
"Okay," Harry said, although he wasn't sure he agreed. He'd spent all night on the essay, finishing ten minutes before the homework was due. Like most of his essays, the content was less governed by quality than the time limit. "Bye then."
Harry wandered out of the room, nearly being run over by McGonagall's next class. Sleep, Harry thought wistfully. I'm too tired even to eat. I'll go to sleep. Nice sleep. Should tell Neville to wake me before Astronomy at midnight.
Ron was in the dorm frowning down at a book when Harry stumbled over to his bed. "Hey, you hand in your essay?" Ron said.
"Yeah," Harry muttered, pulling off his robes and dropping it in a heap on the floor. "I'm going to sleep."
"Don't let me bother you."
Harry grunted something as he dropped his glasses on the bedside table and collapsed, fully clothed, on top of his bed. He was sleep before his head even hit the pillow.
And he dreamed.
He was in Anita's house, standing in the front entranceway. Sun was shining off every surface, the air muffled. Harry tried to call out, but the air was like thick cotton, and the noise was swallowed up.
His eyes drifted over the hall. Everything was white and shiny, everything except Anita's black gun lying on the carpet.
Sounds fought their way out of the living room, muffled and confused. Harry tried to walk into the room, but it was like moving through a wall of sand, hard and slow. The more he struggled, the less progress he made.
Somehow, he got to the living room door. If he could have screamed, he would have, at what he saw. A tall man, almost a giant, was picking up something from a box by the wall, his back to Harry. Harry's gaze fell to Anita, flopping weakly on the floor. His eyes couldn't understand what was beside Anita, something bleeding and meaty and not quite in the shape of a man.
Harry fell slowly to his knees, reaching for Anita, but he was held in place on the rug. He couldn't reach her.
In slow motion, the man across the room stood up.
Anita twisted and turned, her hands held above her head by large silver nails. Her eyes met Harry's, and she froze.
She saw him.
Harry reached harder, trying to push his hand that extra inch to reach Anita, just as the man across the room turned around. It was like trying to reach through a stone wall, impenetrable.
NO! Harry screamed. He strained to reach Anita, and she raised her hand, sliding up the nail embedded in her palm. Almost, almost...
The man knelt by Anita's side.
Harry's hand touched Anita's, and he gripped her palm so tightly the sharp edge of the nail bit deep into his flesh. All his rage and fear exploded as he held onto Anita for dear life, ignoring the screaming pain. Anita's cold power erupted like ice in Harry's chest, as cold as death in his body. "Impedimenta!" Harry screamed.
The man froze, knife poised midair.
The door behind Harry flew apart in an explosion of sound. Another large blast and the man's head exploded in a shower of brains and blood.
Another blast, and the falling body jerked as a hole appeared in the chest. Someone with black boots walked around the body, firing the gun again and again into the man's body.
Harry looked up from Anita to the newcomer. The man's pale blue eyes stared back at Harry. Even though Harry had never seen this man before, he knew who it was, just as Anita knew.
Edward.
"Anita?" Edward said. He moved toward Anita, one hand outstretched, as the world began to swim in screaming colors and sounds, and Harry opened his eyes to see Ron leaning over him.
"Harry?" Ron said worriedly. "You were screaming."
Harry rolled and leaned over the side of his bed as all his panic and terror came up and he threw up all over the floor. Shaking, he wiped his mouth with his hand. Something red dripped to the floor, and he shakily turned his hand over.
The flesh of his palm had been sliced open, with a mark on it just like a large silver nail.
...to be continued
Inevitable Sixty: To Sleep, Perchance To Dream
by Mhalachai
Disclaimer: Laurell K. Hamilton owns all things Anita Blake. J.K. Rowling owns all things Harry Potter. Only the story is my own.
Note: As a reminder, the first-person point of view is Anita; third-person-limited point of view is Harry.
Previous parts here.
Warning: This chapter contains scenes of implied and explicit violence and disturbing imagery. Please recall that this fic is rated R.
~~~~~~~
The sun was just beginning to rise over the river as I eased my jeep onto the freeway. I was tired but I felt great. I'd raised eight zombies tonight, and I had that kind of fading endorphin rush you get after a good run. It was times like this that I loved my job.
Of course, the lack of sleep was making me loopy. Added to that, I was still a little bit thrown from a phone call I'd gotten between zombie number three, Carl Solomon for a will review, and zombie number four, Melissa Dupont for some psychiatric junk.
Damian had a girlfriend.
Not only that, he'd wanted permission to stay over for the day with her at the Circus. That was fine, but him asking had creeped me out. The only saving grace was that he seemed as uncomfortable about asking as I was to be asked. Hopefully, we wouldn't have a repeat.
The lady in question was Elinor, one of the British vamps that came over about a year ago. She was all tiny and dainty and quiet, not at all like me. That was good, right?
I shook my head as I changed lanes and sped up, while glancing in the rearview mirror to make sure my shadow was still behind me. Sure enough, the little grey car had changed lanes as well.
The familiar annoyance clenched in my stomach. It had been almost two months since Edward called to warn me about Olaf, and so far, no one had seen hide nor hair of the psychopath. I still had around-the-clock wererat bodyguards, not that they'd had to do anything resembling guarding my body.
So often in the last couple of weeks, when Olaf didn't make a move, when Edward hadn't called, I'd thought about sending the bodyguards back to Rafael. Nothing was going to happen. It had only been a faintly disturbing call from Edward that set this off in the first place.
And yet... every time I picked up the phone to call Rafael, something stopped me from dialing the number. I wasn't psychic, never had any real flashes of insight, but there was a tiny prickling at the back of my head when I thought about Olaf. Call it woman's intuition or plain old paranoia; whatever it was, it meant I bit my tongue and accepted the bodyguards in uneasy silence.
I shook my head. I was almost home. Micah went to work a couple of hours ago and wouldn't be home until noon, which meant Nathaniel and I had the house all to ourselves. He was probably already asleep. I'd get the hell out of this skirt outfit to take a quick shower, climb into bed next to Nathaniel and get some well-earned cuddles.
I pulled into my driveway and parked my jeep. Undoing my seatbelt required more effort that usual; the sleepiness, I supposed. I grabbed my bag off the passenger seat and managed to spill a mound of papers to the floor of the car.
"Fuck," I muttered. Piles of paperwork from the office now blanketed the bottom of my jeep, and on top lay that letter from Harry I'd been carrying around for the little while. Ignoring the paperwork, I leaned over to pick up Harry's letter, glancing at it again.
Hi Anita. Thanks for your letters, it was good to hear from you all.
Things are okay as can be expected here. That teacher I told you was no good? Snape? He's teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts this year instead of potions. We had class on the day that I got your letters. I got in trouble but the headmaster said it was okay, and he wasn't going to expel me.
I don't know what I'm going to do at Christmas. I usually go to the Weasleys' house, but I don't know what's going to happen this year. If I can go back to St. Louis, I'll do that. I miss you guys.
I'm going to mail this from Hogsmeade, the village near my school. We don't get to leave school grounds except on special occasions. I think you'd like the place. I know Jason would. It's not big like St. Louis, but there's a lot of forest around.
Tell Damian I said hi. I told my friends that he's my grandfather. Ron had a problem, but I told him I don't care and that he was being an idiot. He says he's fine now, with me having a vampire relative. I mean, it's not like I slag on his family. Except Percy, who's a Ministry toady, but that doesn't count.
Oh! I'm the house Quidditch captain. I know you probably won't care, but it's really neat. Our team will be really good this year, lots of new blood.
I keep talking to Reece, he's the little guy we saw at the train station. He's from Wales, and he's muggleborn, and he's been like that since he was little. He likes it here. That's good; I was worried that he'd be like Remus, that friend I told you about. But I've been thinking. Remus didn't have a supportive pack and Reece does. He (Reece) said his mum's really nice, a teacher or something, and his dad's a mechanic.
I'm bad at letters, too, so I'll stop now. I'll be careful. I promise.
Harry.
I folded the letter up, smiling again. The letter felt like Harry had left something out, but I figured it was probably a girlfriend or something. I made a note to ask Nathaniel or Jason about that.
I put the letter back in my bag and got out of my jeep. Tony, last night's bodyguard, was standing in the door of his car. "Claudia should be here in a minute," he said in his oddly nasal voice. "Do you want me to come in?"
I hesitated before I answered. Claudia was coming in from farther out, she was probably stuck in traffic. "No, go on," I said, shutting my door. "I'll see you tomorrow night."
He nodded and slid back into his seat, driving away before I even locked the jeep's door.
I stood, my hand on the key still in the door. Tony wasn't usually so impatient to leave. He said very little, but then most of the bodyguards did that.
Nothing was wrong, I told myself. Just because a guy wanted to take off work early was not a big deal. He was probably tired.
But he was a bodyguard. Wererat bodyguards didn't leave early.
He was one of Rafael's men, I contradicted myself. Rafael was nothing if not professional, and expected all his rats to be the same. Breathing deep, I decided to call Rafael when I woke up and mention Tony skipping out. It was probably nothing.
I put my bag, with my zombie kit and my lunch bag, on the hood of the jeep to get my hands free, and looked around. Everything looked normal. Nathaniel's car was in the driveway like it should be, the lawn neat. There was nothing that should be sending these chilly shivers up my spine.
Nothing that made me put my keys in my pocket and pull my Browning out of its holster as I walked toward the front door.
My foot was on the first step when I saw the white box, brilliant in the sunlight, on the welcome mat. It was one of those gift boxes, with a lid on top, hiding the contents from view. My heart was pounding as I stared at that box.
No one should be leaving me presents on the front step, not with Nathaniel home. It could be a bomb or something equally horrible. I should get the hell out of there and call the police, just leave--
The wind shifted, and there was a wisp of movement around the box. Tiny strands blew in the breeze, caught between the box and the lid.
Tiny auburn strands, against the stark whiteness of the box.
A small sound escaped my throat as I stumbled up those steps, dropping all my mental shields and reaching out for Nathaniel. My mind touched the deadness of Jean-Claude and Damian, only minutes after sunrise. Richard's confused thoughts brushed mine; he was awake, but he wasn't the one I wanted.
I couldn't feel Nathaniel.
Logic deserted me as panic rose, screaming and clawing at me. I pulled the lid off the box in one jerky movement and let it fall to the porch from my suddenly nerveless fingers.
The box was full of auburn hair, Nathaniel's hair, long and loose and spilling over the sides in the sunlight. The world was going grey around the edges as I fought to keep breathing. The air I sucked in smelled like fur and vanilla and Nathaniel, and under it all the metallic scent of blood.
Not caring any more, I plunged my hand into that box and tried to pull the hair to the side. My fingers hit something solid under all that hair, and the world stopped.
I closed my hand around all that hair and pulled it out of the box. The sun shone bright and uncaring on me as I looked down into the bottom of that blood-soaked box, at Nathaniel's severed hand .
No sound came out of my mouth, but I screamed loud and long in my head, terror rising up until it threatened to choke me. Across the city, I felt Jean-Claude and Damian wake, Richard's panic, but it didn't matter. My hand was pushing the door open in a second, my whole world narrowing down to one thought: I had to find Nathaniel.
MA PETITE, NO-- Jean-Claude's scream in my mind cut off abruptly as I stumbled across the threshold. I tried to raise my gun, but all my strength was falling away, falling like I was falling to the ground, my body going limp as I toppled onto the white carpet.
I had to get to Nathaniel. I managed to roll onto my back, screaming at my body to work. I had to find Nathaniel. But I couldn't move, nothing was working and I didn't know why. The sun was shining through the windows onto the white walls, bouncing through the open front door onto the mirror and painting a bright spot on the stairs, and I could only lay there.
Footsteps, soft in the carpet, started toward me. I couldn't see who it was, what they were doing. The footsteps stopped, and there came the tiny click of the latch as the front door swung shut.
Someone knelt beside me; I could hear the breathing, but I couldn't turn my head to see. I had faced vampires and zombies and witches, but nothing in my life had terrified me as that anonymous breathing.
My gun was pulled away from my limp fingers. Large, blood-covered hands came into my line of sight, lowered to the sides of my head, sinking into my hair and gently moving my head around.
Olaf.
I tried to cry out, but still I couldn't move. Olaf slowly let go of my head, a strand of my hair sticking to the thick red blood on his hand as he moved back. He looked just like I remembered from the last time I'd seen him; tall and muscular and bald, a strange sort of expression in his eyes.
Just like last time, he was covered in blood.
I tried to scream out for Jean-Claude or Richard, Damian or Nathaniel or anybody, but everything was silent.
Olaf brushed his fingers over my temple. His touch made me want to throw up, but my body wouldn't even respond enough for that.
"Anita," he said, his voice obscenely tender. "I've been waiting for you. For this." His fingers moved lower, down my face and throat, toward my shirt. "So very long."
He slid his arms under my body, lifted me carefully. I tried to fight, to kick or shift around to unbalance him, to no avail.
My head fell back over his arm, and I watched the hall wall give way to the living room. Flecks and splashes of bright red blood coated the cheerful yellow paint, the front of the television, the bookshelf. Olaf knelt to lay me down, my skirt bunching up my legs. As he pulled his arms out from under me, my head rolled to the side, and I finally caught sight of Nathaniel.
What was left of Nathaniel.
Then the ruined body moved slightly, a tiny twitch, but it told me something that couldn't possibly be true, not with that much damage.
Nathaniel was still alive.
This wasn't real, this could be real. Olaf wasn't here, Nathaniel wasn't like that, I wasn't here. It wasn't real.
I couldn't look away from Nathaniel as I felt Olaf's fingers on my wrists, bringing my arms up over my head. Then a hand balled in my hair and jerked my head around. "You're going to be looking at me," he said. There was a spark of something in his face now, but it didn't matter. I was going to kill him for what he'd done to Nathaniel, even if I couldn't move a muscle.
Olaf held something up, which I recognized as a voodoo fetish, a human hand bone with a single strand of dark hair tied to it by a red cord knotted around the bone several times . "This is why you cannot move," he said in a low tone. He fingered it, then untied the bottom knot.
Immediately, breathing was easier, and the stench of blood got thicker. I concentrated around my fear and panic, and felt my fingers begin to respond. Olaf stood up and moved out of sight. "I can't let you get away, Anita" he said. "Not yet."
I moved my hand one inch to the side before he was back, straddling my chest. His hands were full of something, but it wasn't until I saw the first flash of the silver spike that I got feeling back in my legs and tried to press my foot into the carpet. He reached up over my head, and drove the first spike into my palm.
I screamed.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Exhausted, Harry stood in front of McGonagall's desk, holding out a parchment. "Here."
McGonagall looked at the proffered roll. "What is this, Mr. Potter?"
"My essay," Harry said, waking up a little. "The one that was due on Monday morning? Like, now?"
"I am aware of what it is, Mr. Potter. I was under the impression that you were coming to ask for an extension, in light of Saturday's event."
Harry blinked. Oh, right, the werewolf and full moon thing. "You never said anything, I thought I had to have it done," Harry said thickly. "I stayed up all night."
McGonagall plucked the parchment from Harry's hand and began to skim the essay.
"So, uh, can I have an extension?" Harry asked, plastering what he hoped was a winning smile on his face.
"There is no need," McGonagall said, rolling up the parchment and placing it in a pile on her desk. "It's perfectly acceptable."
"Okay," Harry said, although he wasn't sure he agreed. He'd spent all night on the essay, finishing ten minutes before the homework was due. Like most of his essays, the content was less governed by quality than the time limit. "Bye then."
Harry wandered out of the room, nearly being run over by McGonagall's next class. Sleep, Harry thought wistfully. I'm too tired even to eat. I'll go to sleep. Nice sleep. Should tell Neville to wake me before Astronomy at midnight.
Ron was in the dorm frowning down at a book when Harry stumbled over to his bed. "Hey, you hand in your essay?" Ron said.
"Yeah," Harry muttered, pulling off his robes and dropping it in a heap on the floor. "I'm going to sleep."
"Don't let me bother you."
Harry grunted something as he dropped his glasses on the bedside table and collapsed, fully clothed, on top of his bed. He was sleep before his head even hit the pillow.
And he dreamed.
He was in Anita's house, standing in the front entranceway. Sun was shining off every surface, the air muffled. Harry tried to call out, but the air was like thick cotton, and the noise was swallowed up.
His eyes drifted over the hall. Everything was white and shiny, everything except Anita's black gun lying on the carpet.
Sounds fought their way out of the living room, muffled and confused. Harry tried to walk into the room, but it was like moving through a wall of sand, hard and slow. The more he struggled, the less progress he made.
Somehow, he got to the living room door. If he could have screamed, he would have, at what he saw. A tall man, almost a giant, was picking up something from a box by the wall, his back to Harry. Harry's gaze fell to Anita, flopping weakly on the floor. His eyes couldn't understand what was beside Anita, something bleeding and meaty and not quite in the shape of a man.
Harry fell slowly to his knees, reaching for Anita, but he was held in place on the rug. He couldn't reach her.
In slow motion, the man across the room stood up.
Anita twisted and turned, her hands held above her head by large silver nails. Her eyes met Harry's, and she froze.
She saw him.
Harry reached harder, trying to push his hand that extra inch to reach Anita, just as the man across the room turned around. It was like trying to reach through a stone wall, impenetrable.
NO! Harry screamed. He strained to reach Anita, and she raised her hand, sliding up the nail embedded in her palm. Almost, almost...
The man knelt by Anita's side.
Harry's hand touched Anita's, and he gripped her palm so tightly the sharp edge of the nail bit deep into his flesh. All his rage and fear exploded as he held onto Anita for dear life, ignoring the screaming pain. Anita's cold power erupted like ice in Harry's chest, as cold as death in his body. "Impedimenta!" Harry screamed.
The man froze, knife poised midair.
The door behind Harry flew apart in an explosion of sound. Another large blast and the man's head exploded in a shower of brains and blood.
Another blast, and the falling body jerked as a hole appeared in the chest. Someone with black boots walked around the body, firing the gun again and again into the man's body.
Harry looked up from Anita to the newcomer. The man's pale blue eyes stared back at Harry. Even though Harry had never seen this man before, he knew who it was, just as Anita knew.
Edward.
"Anita?" Edward said. He moved toward Anita, one hand outstretched, as the world began to swim in screaming colors and sounds, and Harry opened his eyes to see Ron leaning over him.
"Harry?" Ron said worriedly. "You were screaming."
Harry rolled and leaned over the side of his bed as all his panic and terror came up and he threw up all over the floor. Shaking, he wiped his mouth with his hand. Something red dripped to the floor, and he shakily turned his hand over.
The flesh of his palm had been sliced open, with a mark on it just like a large silver nail.
...to be continued