Disclaimer: All characters belong to JK Rowling, you know the drill.

Draco had ran until every breath felt like fire in his lungs; until his legs felt like he'd been hit with a jelly-leg jinx; until his vision blurred around the edges and felt like he might pass out. The Forbidden Forest was impossibly dark. He looked around around him, squinting to get a better look but there was nothing but pitch black darkness surrounding him.

And yet a white fog rose from the forest floor. It was cold and strangely palpable. He was afraid that if it kept rising he would drown in it. He already couldn't breathe without wheezing. He was terrified of breathing so loudly; surely something, anything, everything could hear him. He tried to stifle his breathing but it only served to choke him. He sputtered desperately in the darkness. Fear pulsated through every vein in his body. He knew he was not brave. He never had been. But now he knew it was be brave or die. The problem was he didn't know how to be brave.

And then a small, cold hand shot out of the darkness and grabbed his forearm. He let out the most undignified scream. He'd always hated these bloody woods and how bloody dark they could be. He yanked his arm back to him but the hand didn't let go. In fact, he pulled the person closer to him, into the light. It was Hermione Granger. Her hair was wild as a lion's mane, with bits of twigs and leaves stuck in it. There was dirt and blood streaked across her face. Her eyes were clear and focused. She was calm. He could only stare at her in awe.

"Shh," she soothed. "You don't have to be afraid."

He had nothing but questions but his mouth couldn't find any words. He wanted to know what was going on, why she was here but he couldn't.

"Granger?" His distraught whisper into the endless darkness. Then she was gone.

In her place was Goyle, his big, squishy face peering down at Draco with legitimate concern. His big sausage fingers wrapped around his friend's pale arm.

"Draco, mate, you awake now? You've been having a nightmare."

Draco frowned and snatched his arm back. He sat up, resting his back on the headboard. He hated sharing a room with these idiots, especially at times like this, when he could really use the privacy.

"And you only just thought to wake me?" he snarled, rubbing his arm where both Granger and Goyle had held him. Somehow, his mind kept tricking him into believing that he could feel that it had been her small hand instead of Goyle's big one. It was disconcerting to say the least.

Goyle looked over at Crabbe for assistance, looking as helpless as ever.

"Well, the thing is mate, we've been trying. You just weren't waking."

Draco scowled but internally he was panicking.

"Did I say anything?" he asked, narrowing his eyes.

His friends shook their heads.

"Nah," Crabbe replied, "You were just wheezing and twitching. Were you being chased by a Hippogriff or something?"

Draco sent his pillow sailing toward Crabbe's head and it smacked him in the face with a satisfying thud.

"Shut up," he grumbled, yanking the covers off his legs and throwing them towards the foot of the bed. He rubbed the back of his neck vigorously as he hurried to the bathroom. He had no idea what had prompted such a horrific nightmare. He hadn't had too much tea before bed or had any chocolates. Hell, he wasn't even sure if he'd seen Granger at all yesterday. She'd been spending all her time keeping bloody Potter from dying in the Triwizard Tournament lately. No that he'd been paying attention, of course, but one does hear things.

He took a longer shower than usual, spending more time trying to decipher his dream than actually washing his hair. He had been so afraid- but of what? And why in the bloody name of Merlin was Granger there? He couldn't figure it out.

"Bloody dreams…" he muttered, angrily rubbing the shampoo in his hair. "They don't bloody mean anything anyway…"

Dreams don't mean anything. Unless you're a true Seer, perhaps, and even then the majority of their dreams are just an amalgamation of images, thoughts and ideas from the day before blended and strung together in whatever narrative their subconscious can make. Divination is a load of garbage anyway and none of it should be believed to be anything meaningful. Draco told himself this fact over and over again. At least once a week he dreamt of Granger saving him. The threat was always ambiguous but the terror was real. And she always saved. It was bloody stupid.

He watched her carefully crushing her beetles in Potions. She was cautious but she was confident as well. She handled the knife like it was the most natural thing in the world to her, as though she had done it a thousand times before. He looked around and no one else was as graceful as she was. They were awkward and self-conscious, visibly unsure if they were getting it right or not. But not Granger. She was so comfortable she might as well have been wearing slippers and a dressing gown. He shook this thought out of his mind.

"Mr. Malfoy?" Snape called from the front of the class. "Do you intend to actually brew a potion today or just observe?"

Malfoy pinked slightly and went back to work, modeling his own crushing technique after hers. She might be a filthy mudblood but her marks were always good. Whatever she was doing was probably the best way to do it and he wasn't about to let his resentment toward her cause him to get bad marks.

A half hour later and Snape gave him a good grade, but expressed little enthusiasm. Draco wasn't sure if he should have expected anything else but it did feel like faint praise considering the work he had produced. He packed his bag roughly and headed to lunch. He barely had time to settle in and fill his plate before his friends started begging for his attention. The bloody leeches couldn't make it ten minutes without wanting something from him.

"Have you given any thought as to who you are going to ask to the Yule Ball, Draco?" Pansy asked, her tone suggestive. She served him a healthy portion of curry. He didn't even like curry.

He shrugged. "Hadn't given it any thought, honestly."

Pansy lifted her eyebrows.

"Really?"

"Really."

Her brows lifted higher but she said nothing, her lips tightening into a thin line. Goyle leaned forward, his usual expression of confusion deepened.

"But you have to go, though," he said. "And you can't go alone. You're dad would hate that."

Crabbe nodded in agreement, taking a moment to swallow his mouthful of food.

"Yeah. We have to have dates."

Malfoy sighed and sat his fork down. They weren't going to give him a moment's peace until he engaged them.

"Then ask someone. Surely you don't expect me to find your dates for you?"

Crabbe and Goyle looked between themselves, looking hesitant.

"We have dates already," Crabbe replied at last.

Pansy slammed her fork back down on the table.

"What?" she asked harshly, her cheeks flushing. They looked at her, their faces blank. Fury flickered in her hazel eyes. "What the bloody hell did you just say, Crabbe?" His name left her lips like profanity.

"We have dates?"

"Who?" she demanded.

"I've asked Millicent Bulstrode and Goyle's asked Rachel Bickham."

Pansy's mouth fell open, a blotchy red stress rash crept up from under her uniform's collar. Draco could read her like an open book, she was a girl entirely without self-restraint. He knew exactly what kind of humiliation was running through her mind at this particular moment and it was nothing less than delicious. He suppressed a grin.

"Millicent Bulstrode and Rachel Bickham already have dates to the Yule Ball?" she asked incredulously. Draco grabbed his glass and took a deep drink to hide his glee at her distress.

"What? Don't you?" Goyle asked earnestly.

Draco inhaled his pumpkin juice sharply and choked. He sputtered, gulping for breath.

"Wrong pipe," he assured Pansy who looked like she wanted to strangle him to death right there and spit on his corpse.

A few moments later, Draco lifted his attention from his plate.

"Pansy, I suppose I could take you," he said, deliberately offering to take her to Yule Ball in the least thoughtful way possible. "Since no one else is going to."

Draco was sure that the worst aspect of his life was that Crabbe and Goyle were too stupid to get half of his jokes. They didn't so much as snicker at his comment. But Pansy wasn't as stupid as she looked. She knew what Draco was doing. She glared him but stayed silent. She knew this was the best offer she was going to get. The worst part was that she had already ruined her chances of anyone else asking her to go because she'd already spread around the rumor that she was going with Draco. She could have ripped him a new one to ease her wounded pride but she decided against it. Her mother had taught her better than that.

A frighteningly calm smile spread across her face though her eyes were still dancing with murderous thoughts.

"Why yes, thank you, Draco, I would love to go to the Yule Ball with you," she replied sweetly.

Draco lifted his brows, giving her a curt little nod. She exhaled aggressively and turned her attention back to her food.

"I'm wearing green, obviously. Juniper. Plan accordingly."

Draco grinned and nodded. "Yes ma'am."

He looked out across the Great Hall just in time to see Viktor Krum talking to Granger by the exit. There were rumors they were dating but Draco didn't believe them. Granger would never date someone like Krum. He could barely speak English coherently and he wasn't very bright. That wasn't even taking into consideration how his curved nose was so distractingly large that you had to look at him a couple times before you could notice that his eyebrows looked exactly like oversized caterpillars. Krum leaned and whispered something into her ear. Granger looked surprised for a moment and then blushed fiercely. She nodded and Krum looked exceedingly pleased. Draco slammed his napkins down on his plate and got up.

"Crabbe, Goyle, let's go. It's time for class."

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Thanks for reading! This is my first published fanfic in like a decade so please leave a review and let me know what you think! More to come soon!