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Chapter III "Damn it!" Harry groaned, throwing his sheets off as he sat up, scrubbing at his forehead. "Myrph..." came a mumbled sound from Ron through the curtains of Harry's bed. "Harry, you a'right?" Harry turned his head in the general direction of his friend's voice. "I'm fine," he said shortly. "Go back to sleep." Ron made muffled noise of consent and Harry could hear him turn over. After waiting for the sounds of Ron's soft, rhythmic snoring to start up again, he carefully pushed back his curtain, reaching out to the side table for his glasses and wand, then padded quietly out of dorm, down to the common room. Harry flopped down in one of the armchairs that rested in front of the fireplace, starting up a blaze with a mumbled word and a point of his wand. A warm light filled the room, driving away the slight chill that'd seeped in the tower due to the early October morning. He gazed out the window to his right, wondering if it would start snowing soon, then looked back at the fire, raising a hand to brush against his scar once again. What was going on? Harry couldn't imagine why he was dreaming of Draco's death. Sure, he didn't like the git all that much, but he didn't want anyone to die. It wasn't right, to be dreaming these things. To top it all off, Dream Draco didn't look anything like he did in real life. He looked vulnerable and weak, helpless and, something Harry could admit to himself only at two o'clock in the morning, beautiful. It just wasn't right. He'd tried this time, he really tried. Right after the Death Eater shoved Draco forward into the Strangleweed, Harry managed to take a step forward, though it took every ounce of will he possessed. He wanted to help, wanted to drag that Death Eater away from Draco, save him from the fate he could see playing out all too clearly before it happened. "Too late," Harry murmured, closing his eyes, feeling the sharp prickle of tears dancing behind his eyelids. He refused to let them fall. "Too late." * * * * * * The water streamed down his body, as hot as he could stand, washing away the sweat and tears covering his skin, all evidence of his horrible nightmare swirling away down the drain. Draco leaned forward, resting his forehead against the cool tile of the shower wall, letting the water cascade down his back. This sucked. This really, really sucked. Snape's potions were supposed to work, dammit! Well, Snape was going to get a piece of his mind, that much was certain. Given the way he reacted after Draco told him about the dreams, he expected a better standard of care than what he got. Was he so wrapped up in helping the werewolf that'd he'd let his favorite student's suffering slide to the back burner? Draco ground his teeth and slammed his right fist into the wall, trying to force some of the rage out of his system. "Ow!" Draco rubbed his fist, the pain tingling up through his wrist. "Stupid, stupid..." He reached down and turned off the water, slipping out of the shower. Lifting one of the white fluffy towels from the stack off the cart, he scrubbed himself down until his skin turned red. Draco dropped the towel to the floor, knowing the house elves would pick it up. Yanking on his green silk pajama pants and white t-shirt with swift, jerky motions, Draco stalked out of the bathroom, running a hand through his long, sopping hair, not bothering to squeeze out the excess water. His hair dried perfectly straight anyway. The fire in the common room was already lit. The dungeons became chilly in the summer months, so as winter was approaching, it got down right freezing at times. The large blaze burning in the fireplace served to warm the dormitories located a few floors up and it was never extinguished. Draco sat down on a couch at the far side of the room, pulling up his legs close to his chest, wrapping his arms around his knees. The dreams had been easier to handle when they didn't feature Potter. Draco considered death to be a private thing and did not appreciate his subconscious bringing in witnesses. Although, at least this time, it looked like the Boy Who Wouldn't Fucking Die attempted to help him, even if it wasn't a very formidable attempt. Draco chewed on his bottom lip, watching the shadows dancing on the walls, his body shivering with emotion as the dream slipped back to the forefront of his mind. It was almost funny, is sick sort of way. Draco felt like he could start laughing at any minute, but forced himself not to, afraid the hysterical sounds would wake his housemates and bring them downstairs. Insanity was also a private thing and Draco decided long ago that if he was going to go off the deep end, he'd like to do it all by himself, thank you very much. Spending night after night getting killed by Death Eaters definitely fell into the category of going loopy. And now, having Dream Potter there to witness it... Draco laughed a little in spite of himself, then started humming a cheerful song. * * * * * * "Boy, Harry, you look like death." Harry glared at Seamus across the breakfast table. "Thanks," he replied sourly. He turned his attention back to his breakfast, poking at the runny eggs on his plate with his fork, not feeling very hungry. Putting his fork on the table, Harry reached for his orange juice, raising the glass to his lips and taking a sip. He'd stayed in the Common room until dawn, thinking about the dream and what it might mean. Draco dying made him think of Cedric dying the previous year, wracking him with guilt. Helpless, unable to save the Hufflepuff - there were too many similarities between the dreams and the reality he'd suffered in that graveyard for him to simply ignore it. "Harry?" Hermione asked, sitting to his left, looking at him with concern. Harry gave her a weak smile. "I'm okay," he told her. "Just the usual, you know?" Hermione gave a nearly imperceptible nod, indicating to Harry that they would talk about this later. "Probably just stressing out about the Ravenclaw game in three days," said a chipper, well-rested Ron. "Right, Harry?" Harry nearly dropped his glass, eyes widening in shock. He'd completely forgotten about Quidditch! Game plans, practice times, all of it had slipped his mind. He inwardly cursed his brain, dwelling on fantasies, no matter how terrible, instead of focusing on the here and now. "Um, right," he recovered quickly, ducking his eyes under Ron's peculiar glance. His long pause before replying had drawn him strange looks up and down the table. "The Quidditch game," Harry said, trying to repair the situation. "My mind has been all over that." "Don't worry about it, Harry," Seamus told him. "We'll get those birds, no problem. Their game is spotty, at least as far as what I've seen at their practices." "When did you go to their practices?" Ron asked, curious. "He's dating Mandy Brocklehurst," Neville piped up from where he was sitting at the edge of the fifth year group, next to Ginny Weasly. Seamus blushed, but all eyes turned to Neville, expressions of surprise and curiosity on their faces. "What?" Neville asked, puzzled by the reaction. "I'm quiet, not blind." "Breakfast has been so pleasant," Dean remarked, changing the subject and looking across the hall. "I wonder where Malfoy is." Harry looked at Dean, startled, then spun around in his chair, raking his glance across the Slytherin table. Draco Malfoy was missing. * * * * * * The cot squeaked as Severus sat up, not twenty minutes after he'd laid down. Briefly scrubbing his eyes, he rose to his feet, looking over at the cauldron bubbling gently away over a green fire on a nearby table, bitter smoke floating through the air. Picking up a spoon made of solid oak, he gave the potion three quick stirs in a clockwise direction, then one slow stroke counter-clockwise. The potion turned from a putrid green to a dull mauve, the smoke all but disappearing. Muttering a quick spell, the fire started glowing bright yellow, the potion jumping up to a rapid boil. Severus gave a nod of satisfaction and ran a hand through his greasy hair, grimacing at the feel. No time for a shower this morning, Severus knew, casting a quick refreshing spell over himself so that he would at least smell decent before his first class this morning. Complicated potions were time-consuming and very rarely allowed the maker time to his or herself. Sleeping, showering, and eating all found their ways to the back burner. A potion that one had been working on for three weeks shouldn't be ruined because the composer felt a little grimy. The Curse of the Potion Maker - a lack of personal hygiene - was prevalent with anyone who took the subject seriously. Severus long suspected that in itself made up the main reason why the majority of wizarding world looked upon them with distaste, true masters of the craft often secluding themselves by choice. Wiping the soot on his hands off on his robes, Severus looked down at the Wolfsbane potion one more time, mentally organizing his day around it, knowing he needed to come back to it after his second class to add a few more ingredients and stir a bit more. It would be eight more days before the potion would be ready, just in time for the full moon and - he ground his teeth - Mr. Lupin's arrival. "Jerk," Severus muttered, turning away from his potion and walking swiftly into his main study. He skimmed his eyes across the room, mentally noting which scrolls and items he needed to take with him, but his eyes halted on the armchair in front of his desk. He blinked. "Did you know you have seven-hundred and thirty-six bricks on your ceiling?" Draco asked him from where he was sprawled out across the chair, legs hanging over one arm, head tilted back along the other, his long hair trailing on the floor. "Yes," Severus replied. "What are you doing here?" Draco looked at him as if he was stupid. "Counting the bricks on your ceiling, obviously." "I realize that much." Severus walked to stand in front of his student, looking him up and down. One thing that could be said about Draco was that he was always neat, never leaving his room without his nicest clothes on and hair perfectly styled, just in case. One never knew when one would run into a Dignitary or an influential member of high society, thus one always had to look their best, or so Lucius had informed him once when he asked. However, at this moment, Draco was wearing his pajamas, his hair loose and everywhere, feet bare. The fact that he must have walked from the dormitories all the way to Severus' office dressed like this disturbed the Potions Master to no end. "Then why did you ask?" Draco asked mildly, looking at Severus upside down, his eyes wide and glassy. "What I meant is," Severus began slowly, "is what brings you to my office in the first place?" "Oh..." Draco replied, blinking up at his teacher. "I got choked to death by Strangleweed out at the greenhouse. Very unpleasant." Severus sighed, reaching down to help his student sit up, not liking the red tinge hitting his normally pale cheeks from holding his head upside down. "The potion didn't work, I gather," he said, once getting Draco situated in a what looked like a more comfortable position. "Right-o!" Draco poked Severus in the chest as he spoke, trying to emphasize his point. "That's a black mark on your record. Five points from Slytherin." Severus leaned down, using his fingers to pull down on the skin under Draco's eyes, looking for dilated pupils and sniffing for the scent of alcohol or some other illicit drug. Nothing. "Exhaustion," Severus finally diagnosed, standing back up and crossing his arms over his chest. "Well, that's odd," Draco remarked, letting his head lull to the side. "I mean, just because I haven't gotten a full nights sleep since the end of last May..." His eyes drifted closed for a second, then snapped open, his hands going to grip the edge of the arm chair. "Sleep bad..." he muttered. "These aren't normal dreams," Severus said, taking a step back to sit on his desk. "The potion would have worked, otherwise." Draco "Mmmm-hmmmed," putting his hands out in front of him, straitening and flexing his fingers. Severus watched him repeat this action about twenty times before his arm snaked out and he grabbed Draco's hands in his own, stilling him. Draco raised an eyebrow at his teacher, who rolled his eyes and released the boy's hands back to him. "Something must have caused these dreams to start," Severus continued, his eyes narrowing in thought. "Do you remember anything that might have happened around the time your dreams started? Anything out of the ordinary?" "Um..." Draco began, squinting his red-rimmed eyes in thought, casting his sleep-deprived mind about as best he could. "Finals," he finally said. "End of the year feast, dead Diggory, home... Oh!" He sat up suddenly, then put a hand to his head and slumped back down. "I was cursed," he finished softly. Severus stared at him for a moment, saying nothing. "Cursed?" he finally said. "You were cursed and you didn't tell me?" "Dad knew," Draco replied defensively, rubbing his eyes. "It was on the train on the way home. The Gryffindors. They cursed me." Draco yawned and dropped his hands back to his lap. "Oh, and Vincent and Greg, too," he added, almost as an afterthought. "Which curse?" Severus asked shortly, silently berating himself for not paying more attention to the going-ons of the Malfoy household over the summer. He remembered now that Lucius had mentioned something about Draco and the train, but he was so wrapped up working with Dumbledore, he hadn't paid it much mind. "More than one." Draco put his hand behind his neck to hold his head up. He felt weary and lightheaded, not liking all the thinking he was being forced to do. "I'm not sure which ones. Several." "Hell!" Severus cursed, standing up and smacking a fist down on his desk. "Those blasted little monsters!" He spun around, looking straight at Draco, who was currently staring at the floor with keen interest. "Draco..." The boy looked up, blinking his eyes rapidly. "Yes?" he inquired, his expression fuzzy. Severus took a deep breath. "Who were the Gryffindors that cursed you?" he asked slowly, enunciating each word with care. Draco tilted his head back and made a low rumbling sound in his chest. He eventually managed to look blearily back at his teacher. "The usual ones," he said, his words slurring slightly. "Potter, Granger, the Weasel, the... other two Weasels... I think that's it." "And to think we made that girl a prefect," Severus muttered angrily. "A combination of curses can have a disastrous effect. You three were lucky you weren't permanently injured or worse." Draco didn't appear to be listening anymore. He gave Severus a pleading look, his expression turning distressed. "Severus," he said, shaking his head, his eyes filling with tears, "I'm really tired and I don't feel well at all. Please... I just want to sleep!" Severus didn't hesitate, simply stepped forward and wrapped his student up in a warm hug. Draco tucking his head under Severus' chin, sobbing weakly into his robes. He patted his hair, angry with himself for not noticing his plight earlier. Water under the bridge, he supposed. Once Draco's sobs died down, Severus pushed him back, looking at him straight on. "Please, help me sleep!" he begged softly, tear streaks on his cheeks. "Cut out part of my brain, I don't care!" Severus shook his head. "I'm sorry," he began gently. "We don't know what these dreams are. In light of your best interest, I can't let you fall asleep again, at least until I figure out what curses were cast on you and what effect they might be having." "I think I'm going to throw up," Draco said weakly, looking very green indeed. "Let's get you to Madame Pomfrey," Severus replied quickly, reaching down and helping his student to his feet before he had two messes to wade through, one of them physical. "She can keep you awake and treat you there while I start investigating what happened to you, who's responsible, and what we can do about it." Draco's legs collapsed under him and Severus sighed again, then reached down and easily picked up his student in his arms. "This is so humili.. humili... embarrassing," Draco moaned, swinging an arm around Severus' neck. "You tell me," came the amused replied. "I haven't carried you like this in almost ten years." Severus grunted, shifting Draco's weight as he made his way out the door of his office. "You're actually not much heavier." "Shut up," Draco muttered, burying his head in his teacher's shoulder. "I just hope no one sees us." "They're in class," Severus told him as they walked swiftly to the hospital wing, "as I should be. Those first years are probably tearing my classroom apart." He shook his head, looking down at the boy nestled in his arms. "The lengths I go to for you, Mr. Malfoy." Draco looked up and gave Severus the most dazzling smile he could under the circumstances. "Well, that's what Godfathers are for, after all." Snape gave a small grunt of amusement and resignation, then continued on his way. prologue, part one, part two, part three, part four, part five, part six, part seven, part eight, part nine, part ten, part eleven, part twelve back? |