Through the thick fog and mist in the night sky a full moon's silhouette was still made out, and so was the hooded figure that chased me, this time like all the rest. I never got a head start—not that it would help, anyhow. The figure still stalked me all night, as if in hope that the last few hours of my life would be filled with fear.

Even at that moment, the figure came closer to me and the huge town bell began to ring as it always did. I backed away even though doing so only made the creature come closer. Three rings, four rings, five, six, seven---the dreaded moment is getting nearer. My heart began to race and my palms became sweaty. I was breathing heavier now. Nine, ten, eleven—my legs immediately shot forward on twelve. Though I was running as fast as my feet would allow me, the figure was nevertheless dangerously close behind: I needed a way to lose the creature. I thought quickly, before doing the first thing that came to mind; taking a right, then a left, right and left again through the dark, deserted streets.

The creature still seemed to know my path even after all the turns, and my panic grew. I would have to resort to my last plan: the forest. I took a quick gasp for air as I made my way into the black forest, desperate to get away. The deeper into the forest I ran, the harder it became to see, and soon heavy, thick branches were cutting into my sides.

Soon my clothes were torn, wet, sticky blood dripped from my face, and still the hooded figure was hot on my trail. I tried to gather my breath to scream, knowing it wouldn't help. No one could hear me. No one ever did. I was always trapped. I always failed to escape. I panted, finally giving up. There was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. The creature knew me; it knew my every move somehow. I backed into the trunk of an old willow tree as the figure closed in on me.

My mind and body went into a state of horror, too petrified to move or scream. I could no longer care that I was doomed. At that moment I couldn't even think. It was as if the creature erased my every thought and care. I strained to remember my life. It must have been the work of the creature—that or I was so terrified that I couldn't think at all. The figure laughed, finding humor in his work as I still strained for at least a moment—a memory, just one memory of my life, good or bad. I fought against the creature as it leaned forward, lowering its long, black cape to reveal—

"D man—c'mon dude! Wake up; we have class today! It's not Sabado o Domingo!"

I awoke in a sweat, my heart racing and head pounding. I'd had this dream several times before, always waking up at the exact same moment: before the creature revealed exactly what it was. I didn't know if it was a demon, Dementor, Death Eater, or if it was just a normal witch or wizard. I wasn't sure what was under that long, black cape, but it's really beginning to bother me.

I moaned, looking at the clock on my beside to find out I only had fifteen minutes to get to Transfiguration on time. I felt terrible, too. My head pounded, I was sweating and shivering, and to top it all off, my eyes were heavy—I could barely stay awake.

Blaise, who'd woken me, looked down into my face with great concern. "Dude, you coming to class today?" he asked. "'Cause Hector and I are waiting on you."

Apparently, he hadn't noticed that I was feeling sick. "Just give me a minute to get up." My voice cracked and I sniffled, reaching for a tissue.

Blaise gave me an odd look. "D, man, esta bien? I mean, you look a little pale this morning," he said, finally seeming to notice that I felt sick.

I sighed and shook my head. Blaise always seemed to forget that while he came from a Spanish family, I couldn't understand a word of the language, but I got his basic meaning most of the time. I sighed again, looking at my friend. "I shouldn't think that I'm really sick—or at least I hope not. I'm probably just shaken right now because--"

"You had the dream again," Blaise finished for me.

I nodded. I had told Blaise and Hector about the dream the second time I had it. This was the fifth time. Hector insisted that it was just a dream, and it meant nothing, but I kept getting this feeling at the pit of my stomach that it did mean something. Blaise agreed with me. Why else would it repeat itself over and over again? It must have meant something…but what?

I rubbed my eyes and tried to put the dream out of my mind. I had other things to worry about right then…like my health, my friends, getting to Transfiguration on time and other problems besides dreams. I yawned, not feeling any better than when Blaise first woke me up. "Blaise, you and Hector should go on to class, okay?" I told him after a moment of silence.

"All right—but don't forget to come to class after I've gone," he replied, expecting me to laugh, although I didn't.

"Okay, not funny," he admitted after a moment of silence. "It sounded a lot funnier in my brain. You know how that is!"

He sighed, still standing over my bed. "You need to get up, mate," he finally said.

I groaned. Honestly, at that moment, I wasn't sure if I could get up. I didn't tell Blaise this, though. He'd want me to stay in bed, which was something I simply couldn't do. McGonagall was supposed to announce something very important today, and I couldn't miss it. I simply couldn't. "Just go to class, Blaise. I'll get up in a minute or two," I told him, coughing into my hand so Blaise wouldn't get my germs.

"Fine! I know when I'm not wanted! Some people just don't realize how cool I really am!" he said sarcastically.

I gave him a weak smile. "Then go—don't let me keep you," I replied, still coughing and sniffling.

I wondered if I'd caught the flu. "All right—I guess I DOwait for you too much," he said thoughtfully.

I smiled. This was true, no doubt about it. I cleared my throat enough to say good-bye. "See you in a few," I told him, my voice dry and raspy voice.

Anyone would be able to tell I felt sick with the way my voice sounded.

"Adios," Blaise replied, turning around and heading towards the door.

That was Blaise Zabini for you, walking around speaking Spanish all the time without even realizing it. I had to admit, he could seriously get on my nerves… but there was something about his down- to- earth personality that I couldn't help but like. He was one of those people that, no matter how hard you tried to hate, it never worked, and you ended up liking them even more.

Blaise and I became best friends in our fourth year at Hogwarts. Crabbe and Goyle at the time had gotten food poisoning, so I was left alone in the common room that day. While everyone else went to dinner, he came up to me and just started talking. Both of us had stayed behind to finish up our extremely long Transfiguration essay. I remember what a relief it was to actually talk to him—and really talk, unlike the dull, limited conversations with Crabbe and Goyle.

Following that night, I always went to him when I needed a real conversation, and knew he'd help out the best that he could. I still had Crabbe and Goyle as friends, usually to flank me, but not as often. Now that I'm older, and actually have a real friend, I don't need them around as much.

And even though Blaise could completely lose his upper- class manner to the point where anyone would swear he was lower- class if they didn't know him personally, within seconds, he knew how to straighten up. Around his mum, he acted a lot like me—of course, he hated acting that way, which was why he only acted that way around her. Seems a bit odd that he'd consider me a friend because of this, but I suppose true friends are the ones that accept you for who you truly are.

As for Hector Emerson, I got to know him through Blaise. Hector is actually his second middle name, which he prefers over Enrique David. Hector is one year younger, but he takes all advanced classes, therefore he takes class with Blaise and I. Instead of Spanish, he uses lots of American phrases because his mum is a Californian witch. He didn't move to Britain until he was nine years old.

Hector can be annoying, too—but what did I expect from a friend of Blaise's? Of course, Hector isn't nearly as down-to-earth, but he's extremely uptight. If something is out of order or out of place, it drives him insane. Which does make for hilarious pranks…

I looked at my watch again. I now only had eight minutes to get to Transfiguration on time. There was no way I could possibly make it. Not with the way I felt. I felt like I'd fallen off of my broom or I'd just been struck by lightning. Still, late or on time, I had to go to my lesson. I absolutely, no doubt about it, had to go to Transfiguration. If I didn't have to go, I would've told Blaise I felt seriously ill. But I didn't tell him, so I had to get up.

I sneezed, grabbing another tissue. Then, after a few more sneezes, I slowly stood up and untangled myself from the covers, still feeling dizzy, sweaty, and cold. I walked over to my wardrobe and quickly threw on my robes and combed my hair. If I wanted to at least make it to the lesson today, I was going to have to get going.

After taking care of a few more things, I headed for the classroom, stopping briefly every so often when I felt dizzy or nauseous. I also had to move slowly because otherwise I felt like vomiting. This, of course, slowed me down considerably. I had to keep leaning against the wall. A couple of times I even had to sit down until the dizziness passed. Still, I thought I'd be fine once I sat down.

Finally, after much wasted time, I reached McGonagall's classroom, ten minutes late. I gently opened the heavy wooden door and then let it slam shut behind me to grab everyone's attention. Now everyone would know I arrived. As a bonus, it created a stir. If anyone had been about to dose off, the sudden noise prevented that. Not to mention, it completely annoyed Professor McGonagall. I looked around for an empty seat to find there was only one. Too bad that the last seat had to be beside my worst enemy: Harry Potter. Scowling, I sat down as McGonagall patiently waited on me.

"Mr. Malfoy," she said tersely, "exactly WHY do you feel the need to be late for my lesson?"

"I don't," I replied simply, "It was an accident, Professor. I meant to be on time."

"Well, whatever the truth of the matter, Mr. Malfoy, you have just cost the Slytherin house ten points!" She said matter- of - factly.

I rolled my eyes. Could she not tell that I was shaky and sweaty? Did she not care if I was ill?

" Maybe I'm sick, and I threw up on my way here!" I retorted, my voice undeniably hoarse.

" Mr. Malfoy, if you threw up on your way here, why did you even bother showing up? I certainly don't want you spreading germs to the entire classroom. You would be better off in the hospital wing,"

" I didn't say that I did throw up, I said that it could have been a possibility as to why I'm late," I snapped, furrowing my eyebrows.

" Well, obviously you didn't throw up, because otherwise you wouldn't have the strength to argue with me, Mr. Malfoy…"

" That's not fair, Professor, I am sick, just not sick enough to be in the hospital wing!" I explained, knowing I'd made a mistake in making my illness known. The last place I wanted to be was the hospital wing.

" Well, if you are not sick enough to be in the hospital wing, then you are not sick enough to be late to my class without consequences,"

" But--"

"Now, as I was saying," McGonagall cut me off, "you are to work with your partner to find the name of a spell using the clues. Then you shall need to explain what the words are, how many times to say it and the wand movements to match. I'm sorry I had to repeat myself just because Mr. Malfoy wasn't here on time."

I rolled my eyes again.

"Remember, the lesson will end fifteen minutes early so I can make an announcement. Work hard and partner with the person next to you!"

I froze. Oh, bugger, it would be my luck to be sitting next to Potter the day she decided to have your partner be whoever was sitting beside you. McGonagall is such a cow! Even when I felt good and was at the top of my game, I never wanted Potter as a partner. I wanted to deal with him even less since I was feeling so dizzy and nauseous. I turned to face him to see he didn't look too happy about McGonagall's idea, either.

I would have said something nasty to him, but honestly, I really didn't feel like it. My stomach burned, making me feel like all my insides had just caught fire, and my teeth were chattering as I began to feel goosebumps develop all over my arms and legs. The ends of my blonde hair were drenched in sweat as wet drops rolled down my face. It was as if I'd just played a rough game of Quidditch.

My energy level fell down to near-empty, leaving me feeling rather lifeless as I glanced Potter's way once more, wishing I had at least one good insult to throw at him. Yet I had nothing. I moaned, thinking how warm it would be inside my bed. How stupid was I? I should have stayed in the dorms. I really wished that I did…