Second Happiest Thought

Harry's Second Happiest Thought

He walked into the common room, wincing slightly as the back of his etched hand brushed against the rough stone of the wall. Even with the handkerchief tied around it, it hurt like the foulest denizen of hell.

Walking over to the couch, he practically flopped down, extremely thankful for the lack of people in the room. Instantly, as if he hadn't in years (and technically, he hadn't), he fell asleep, and into one of the strangest dreams of his life.

He was in the hallway leading to the door again. This time, however, the door looked different. He couldn't trace exactly how, but he knew this wasn't the door from his usual nightmares. For one, he was able to approach (and even open) this door...and there was no light in this room.

He walked into the room, and two torches lit as the door closed behind him. Two other torches at the rear area of the circular room lit, dimly illuminating a somewhat diminutive figure curled up on the floor. Piteous moans and squeaks to even move a mouse's heart emitted from said pile. He could feel his face twist into a hideously cruel smile.

"Do you like this, Dolores," he asked her. "Are you...er...comfortable?"

Umbridge lifted her head from the floor, fear and loathing mingled as one in her eyes. "Potter," she spat, "you are the foulest, most spiteful freak of a wizard that I have ever had the great misfortune to meet!"

He merely cocked an eyebrow, his grin deepening. "Really? Of course, I'm flattered."

She merely harrumphed in response, when he added, "You think your greatest misfortune is already past?"

There was nothing but absolute terror in her now, followed by mind-shattering pain.

"Oh, no, Umbridge. This is only the beginning. The beginning of the end."

As he watched, she was forcibly pulled upright, spread-eagle, floating in midair. Great hooks pierced her hands through the palms and soles, and barbed wire shot through the holes to tie the hooks to her. She nearly collapsed into sweet unconsciousness, had he not conjured a stream of extremely cold water to spray directly into her face. The water reached her arms, drizzled down her legs over her feet.

She licked her lips, and tasted the salt and....was that lemon? It didn't matter when the burning started.

"Do what you will to me!" she screamed. "You are no better than the Dark Lord!"

He found himself chuckling. "Too right you are, my dear." Strolling quietly over to her, he put his face so close that their noses were touching. "I believe you will find me much worse than Voldemort."

She spat in his face. He laughed, and then turned to walk away. As he did so, she heard something that sounded roughly like "Serpelenguis".

Her tongue seemed to rend itself to pieces. Opening her mouth to scream, she discovered to her great horror that her tongue was now a small hydra--firmly anchored to her lower jaw, just behind her teeth.

As he turned around, he saw her crying, moaning as desperately as a gossiping slave whose tongue had been removed. A curious thought crossed his mind, and he quickly removed the Hydra.

Catching her breath, she made the mistake of laughing. "Potter," she panted, "I believe I'm beginning to get to you."

"Do you?"

"I always knew I'd get you in the end."

"What do you believe in, Umbridge?"

This took her a little off-guard. Questions like this were generally followed with some sort of torture. "I don't understand."

"It's a simple question, really--simple enough even for one of your mind," he scoffed. "What do you believe in?"

Before she could stop it, the first word out her mouth was "The Ministry."

He cocked an eyebrow. "Is that a fact?"

She found herself surrounded by a ring of flames.

"Look around you," he ordered. "Read what the Ministry has written."

When she looked, she was shocked to see every Ministry edict ever written on the walls...in something that looked quite unnervingly like blood. "How could I forget?"

"Now, you won't have to." It was then that she noticed an odd quill in his hand--blacker than nothingness, with a venomous-looking silver tip. He poked the tip into his palm, walked over to the wall, and stuck both quill and bleeding hand against some of the writing.

This was when the pain had really started. She knew all too well what this curse was. It was the very one she had used on other students at Hogwarts. This curse was still different, however...the words were etching themselves into the bone, it seemed, not just scratching them into the skin. And it didn't stop at the hands...no, it didn't even start there. It rained down her back like a cat-o'-nine-tails, showered over her shoulders and sides, tore across her chest, and spilled down her legs to her feet. And, when it seemed that there was no more room for all the other words, they simply crowded themselves onto the first words.

In short, she was dead, and she knew it.

"Ah, but not yet," he admonished. Pointing his wand, he removed much of the lettering, still leaving much of her body covered.

"This next move is to honor those Muggles who think just as morbidly as I do."

Small, barbed hooks shot out of the wall, hooking onto various chunks of skin like some sickeningly twisted Sun Dance ritual. She didn't even bother to scream--it didn't hurt anymore. At least, it wouldn't hurt in a few moments.

"And Merlin wept," he muttered.

As if on cue, the hooks shot back to their places--peeling the skin from what was once a woman. The corpse fell to the floor, mouth still partially open.

"Accio Wand," he muttered, opening his hand to accept the shattered bit of wood as it flew towards him.

He woke up the next morning, startled and a little nervous...and yet, strangely relieved. Maybe it was the fact that he had actually managed to get some sleep for the first time in how many godforsaken months?

The fact that it was him in the dream, doing all those things, made him a little scared, but all in all, he was morbidly happy with the outcome.

After all, the bitch had deserved it.