A/N: This was written for Aleta-Vera. :) Here ya go! Hope you like it:) The rest of you, let me know what you think...this is a very different story line for me. Also, this would take place before 6th year, most likely during Draco's 5th year at Hogwarts.
And a very big thankyou to Tayz for betaing.
Draco shifted uncomfortably in his sleep; he was restless. Stomach churning, he awoke to find his peers still lost in deep slumbers. He lay back on the pillows, trying in vain to ease his mind and agitated stomach.
The preceding hours had been the oblivion after torture. His father had retrieved him from the school for "a highly important social banquet." No one voiced it, but everyone in Slytherin knew that this was the banquet at which Draco would be presented to the Death Eaters as a candidate. If he made a good impression, it was quite possible that he would be admitted at the lowest rankings -- but admitted nonetheless. His father had been so thrilled with Draco's uncharacteristic social behavior that he had poured his son a goblet of unusually potent Fire Whiskey (Draco's throat had burned for hours afterwards). Others added to his glass, apparently taking Lucius's lead. That night, his cup was never empty and he didn't not thirst for anything: respect, wine, attention…even personal pleasures.
Eve Breklin -- four years Draco's senior -- had insisted on sitting particularly close to him for the majority of the banquet. As they toasted each other more and more, the space between them lessened, and soon Narcissa was ushering both of them into one of the guest bedrooms. "Enjoy yourselves," she chided, closing the door with a soft click. Before he knew it, clothes were flying and he was shoved down into the mattress, a pair of warm lips crushed to his own.
Draco had woken up in that bed, Eve entwined in his arms. It was only 11:14 P.M. Somehow, he'd been sure that epochs had passed him by. Two glasses of wheat colored liquid for him and Eve on the nightstand. A letter addressed to him, saying that his father would escort him back to the school at 11:30 sharp, accompanied them. Wasting no time, he worked Eve and handed her one of the glasses, keeping the one embellished with the Malfoy coat of arms for himself. They tipped their glasses towards each other. "To one night stands," she toasted.
"To one night stands." He dropped the syrupy liquid quickly, bolting from the bed to find his clothes. On the journey back to Hogwarts, Draco had felt unusually lightheaded and briefly mused over whether there had been something wrong with his last drink. His thoughts returned to that now. Maybe someone had spiked the drink…
He didn't know much about hangovers, so opted to rationalize that his restlessness and upset stomach could be a side effect. Instinct told him that the explanation wasn't that simple, but his senses were so numb that he paid instinct no attention. He figured that the sun was probably rising, but rolled over and buried his face in the pillow, thinking that he didn't want to day to start, that he wanted to be back in bed with Eve, the sweet smell of alcohol on his breath. If only he knew that soon his hangover would surpass this simple head and stomachache, his sleep might have been more troubled. But he did not know this, and after he'd settled into the mattress, sleep and drunken dreams overwhelmed him.
0.o.0
He awoke hours later to an empty dorm. This is strange, he thought, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Usually I'm the first to wake up on Saturdays. But then he remembered all the alcohol he'd consumed and figured it was not strange to sleep in on account of a hangover. Upon moving and watching the dorm spin at Mach 4, he decided it was best to sleep.
Early afternoon came and went, and by 4 o'clock the dizziness had subsided enough that he ventured into the Common Room. He sank immediately into a wing-backed chair, mentally willing the floor to cease its somersaulting.
"GATO!"
"What?" Draco snapped to attention.
"Draco…don't move. There's a gato on your head," Goyle warned, creeping towards Draco with very imperfect stealth.
"There's a what on my head?" His senses were still numb.
"A gato…shh…"
"What the hell is a gatOOOOO!" Draco yelped as Goyle lunged at him. He managed to scramble out of the chair before it and his attacker crashed to the floor.
"I…almost…Crabbe! Help!" Goyle bellowed, grappling with an unseen animal in front of the heart. Draco watched with confused horror plastered over his face.
"What is it, Goyle? Didja finally get one?" Crabbe asked, leaning over his apparently insane friend.
"Yeah, but I've only got three of its legs. Couldja give me a hand?"
"I would, Goyle, but I already caught two for myself. I'd haveta let go of one to help ya."
"That's alright. What colors are yours?"
"I got a white one and a gray one."
"Cool. Mine's black. Found it on Draco's head."
"Really? That's awesome!"
Draco stared in disbelief at the two. There was nothing in Crabbe's hands. Goyle was wrestling with nothing on the hearth. And there had definitely been nothing on his head. It was official. They had both lost it.
"To answer your question, "gato" means cat in Spanish."
Draco whirled around to see Pansy and sank gracefully into the seat next to her.
"Where did Goyle learn to speak Spanish?"
She shrugged. "Stranger things have happened." Her voice seemed unnaturally high-pitched to Draco, but he attributed that to the hangover as well.
"If you say so, then I gu-"
"Pansy! Pansy!" Blaise rushed towards her, talking louder than was necessary. "Look at the cat I captured! It was grooming itself and then -- BAM! -- I pounced! It's got black stripes."
"I'm sure it does, Blaise," she remarked pleasantly.
"I caught it for you," he confessed nervously, thrusting a section of air into her lap. Draco's eyes widened; not Blaise too!
"Like, omigod Blaise! You soooooooooooo shouldn't have!"
Draco's gaze shot towards Pansy. Why was she talking like a ditz?
"But, sweet stuff, I just don't…like…see it."
"He's on your lap, Pansy."
"Like…my lap? You mean, like, right here?" She slapped her thighs in an indication of where "here" was.
"Pansy! You scared him! Ugh, now I have to go and catch him again." Blaise ran out of the Common Room, apparently after a cat that Draco couldn't see.
"Toodles dahling!" Pansy cried in an extremely overdone and haughty English accent. "Can you believe how classless he is? No manners, no grace…not like you dear, dear Draco. You are class!"
"What's going on, Pansy?" Draco demanded, rising as Goyle yelled, "Gato!" and threw himself onto the floor.
Her eyes grew wide in panic and she began to scream like a six-year-old. "AHHHHHHH! Don't hurt me, mister! Don't hurt me! Daddy! DADDY! Help me! Help meeeeeeeeee!"
Draco stared as she continued to shriek. Completely lost, he staggered from the Common Room. Just as he reached the hallway, he heard a squeal from Pansy and a, "Oh Blaise, dahling, you shouldn't have!" What was happening to his world?
Any thought of hunger or leisure had long been forgotten. He moved quickly through the halls, trying to convince himself that all the, "Hey Danny, didja see that cat?" – "Naw, where did it go?" – "That way! C'mon!" was his imagination and that nearly grown boys were not chasing after imaginary cats.
Finally he reached the library, praying that he would find solace in the room directly ahead of him. As soon as he entered, he quickly realized that he would find none. There were cries of cat sightings or attacks and feminine shrieks of emotion. Ginny Weasley pushed past him.
"Watch it, Weasel," he sneered. "Weren't you ever taught to respect your superiors and elders?" She turned to him slowly, and Draco was shocked by what he saw. The young, pretty girl was hunched over and was squinting up at him. Oh no, not her too.
"You, young whippersnapper," she squeaked, sounding like an eighty-year-old woman, "need to speak up. I couldn't hear what you said. You young people with your mumblings and lightening fast speech. The world isn't going anywhere." She paused and absorbed his face. "You're a handsome young fellow. If you keep sneering like that, your face will stick." She reached up and squeezed his cheek in a very grandmotherly fashion. "You're a handsome young man, you are."
"You already said that," he spat, hitting her hand away.
Ginny straightened and shook half of her auburn locks over her eyes. "Treat me like that and you don't get any sugar, sugar."
"But you just…and…old…" he stammered, his caustic manner melting away in confusion. He could only back up when she began to move towards him seductively.
"Aw, hush sugar. Mama will make it all better." And before he knew it, Ginny had pushed him up against the wall and was kissing him hard. In his shock, his mind drifted back to the night he'd spent with Eve. Completely prepared to relive that experience, he was jolted back to reality when Ginny began to slide her hands past his waist. Pushing her off him, he staggered away from her.
"Keep your hands off, Weasel." At that, he broke into a run and didn't stop until he reached the Slytherin Common Room. Even this far down, shouting matches over cats and quickly shifting conversations echoed and began anew.
"Clandestine," he muttered frantically, entering the Common Room as soon as the wall opened. He didn't stop for anything until he reached the soft sanctuary of his bed. Fully clothed and not the least bit tired, he decided that this was all a horrible nightmare. Soon, he would wake up to a horrendous hangover and to a group of allies who would interrogate him about the banquet. Hours, minutes, or seconds passed. Draco finally gave into the noting surrounding him and cast a sleeping charm on himself.
0.o.0
When Draco awoke the next morning, his peers were still in their beds. He felt much more controlled than he had the day before, and after preening himself, sauntered confidently towards the Great Hall. He didn't encounter many people en route but stopped short at the sight of Potter, Weasel, and the Mudblood. He felt the sneer overtake his features. A day without insulting anyone resulted in a surprising amount of pent up animosity, and these three were just in time to receive it full force.
There was still a good fifteen feet between Draco and his pray when he saw Harry turn to the empty space beside him in what looked amicable conversation.
"Weasel! You better tell your boyfriend there's no one there. Seems the golden boy is loosing his mind."
No one answered him.
Ron merely threw his head back and laughed. "That's a good one, Jerry! Tell me another!"
Jerry? There was no Jerry around. Draco was just about to yell, "Jerry? Is that your pet name for the Mudblood?" when he realized that she looked rather distraught, as if she'd lost someone.
"Mabel," she called softly. "Mabel, where are you? This really isn't funny!"
Draco stared at the trio in disbelief. They traveled down the hall, never saying a word to each other and only speaking to an imaginary friend. The trio didn't even seem to be aware of the presence of the others. He was too stunned to even try to understand and made a bolt for the Great Hall. He wanted to eat before he lost his appetite.
Once in the Great Hall, he realized that eating would be impossible. Not one student was speaking to another. House tables were mixed and no one seemed to care. He cautiously approached the nearest table. There was a free seat on the edge of the bench and a third year Ravenclaw was fighting forcibly with it.
"No! I'm not the insensitive one! You're the one who ran off with…with that tramp!" He slid into the seat once she'd turned her back to it. Just as he touched one of the bagels, she shipped back around. "I'll never forgive you for this."
He jerked his head back. "What?"
"I said I'll never forgive you for this."
"I don't even know you."
"Stevie! How dare you say such a thing!"
"My name is not Stevie and I…" Then Draco finally understood. This girl wasn't talking to him, but to whomever she saw sitting in his place. He paid no more attention to her ramblings and picked up a bagel.
"Stevie look!" she cried, terror creeping into her voice. "The bagel's moving! You don't think there's a ghost do you? Oh Stevie, I'm scared!"
At that Draco sprang up from his seat. They couldn't see him? He waved his hands in front of the girl's face. Nothing. Each person was the same. They reacted to invisible, imaginary, and otherwise unseen people, but they could not see him. "You all are crazy!" he shouted, stalking from the Great Hall. No one responded. They couldn't hear him.
He left the building and paced the grounds. Something unexplainable had happened. All of Hogwarts was insane, loopy, off its rocker. How he wished for another sane person…any person.
Hagrid came into view. He wasn't talking at all and carried himself in a seemingly sane manner. Draco fell back behind a row of bushed to watch. Upon closer examination, Hagrid wasn't walking normally. His hands were curved around near his hips and he kept readjusting his shoulders. "Whoa there, Leon," he chortled. "Ya don't want ter strangle me now, do ya?" The comment was directed to the space above his shoulder. No, Draco thought. 'Now that's better. Where did ya want to go? Oh right, the owlry."
Draco watched Hagrid's receding figure in utter shock. The teachers too! He lay down behind the bushes and closed his eye to think. What to do? What to do? In his not quite relaxed silence, sleep crept up on him. It was all too much to handle. Not wanting to deal with anything, he allowed slumber to overcome him.
0.o.0
Students were rushing past him to Herbology by the time he awoke. Sunday had left far too abruptly in his opinion. The last thing he wanted was to be holed up in a room, unable to escape from his peers. Nonetheless, a sense of duty dragged him down towards the dungeons for Double Potions with Gryffindor. He ignored the stiffness in his neck, and instead gave thanks for the empty hallways…no one to deal with. For once, he didn't care if he was late.
He ambled into the classroom in the middle of Professor Snape's speed.
"Glutonosh riki sezei doo. Burabagot dingoot zeblaba sheek."
Draco stared at his Head of House in disbelief. Did anyone else realize that the Potions Master had just spoken in a completely incoherent and nonsensical manner? A look around the classroom gave him his answer. The studious ones, like Granger, were rapidly taking notes. The Slytherins were paying very respectful attention. Weasley was falling asleep and Potter was trying to stay awake. Everything was as it should be, and everyone who was interested apparently understood every word. Why did it sound like gibberish to him?
In his bafflement, Draco failed to notice Snape. The Professor moved closer and closer to the doorway, his voice taking on a deadly edge with each step. "Xinja Cetsi!" he shouted in Draco's ear. "Legrid snizzle fritz veltra snizzle shoop snizzle tainga blecno niha ri zoony bogleshwaps?"
"I can't understand you, sir."
Snape stared at him icily. "Kli peril hooha na!"
All the control Draco had exhibited for the past few days snapped in an instant. "Stop speaking like that!" Suddenly the whole class was chastising, questioning, or soothing him…in gibberish. "SHUT UP ALL OF YOU! I don't know what this is, but it's not funny. For the past two days I have been living in a hellish alternate universe. First, everyone either sees cats or is a psycho…twenty different people in one…calls people 'dahling' or 'sugar.' And then each and every one of you could se and imaginary friend but not each other!" He pointed to Harry, Ron and Hermione. "You three were the worst! And now…now everyone is speaking in gibberish. And I'm just…so…tired…"
He collapsed against the nearest table. Why had his reality been turned upside down? When he raised his eyes to the class, he was surprised by the confused and perplexed stares. "What? Why are you all looking at me like I'm crazy?"
0.o.0
The last thing Draco remembered was a blinding flash of purple light. He awoke in a white, clean smelling room. He awoke to silence. Felling safe, he closed his eyes and slept.
Hunger roused him from his sleep. He did not recognize the room but rationalized that there would be food somewhere. He tried the doors. Locked. He would just charm them open…but he couldn't find his wand. A window. Only white walls. He looked around anxiously, his eyes darting in and out of corners. Where was he? Where had they taken him?
He rushed to the doors again. "Let me out!" he cried. "Let me out!" There was a small pane of transparent material in the door and he pressed his face to it, searching for any kind of life. Then he saw it, in unobtrusive silver letters: St. Mungo's Mental Ward. "No!" he shouted, pounding on the door. "I'm not crazy! I'm not!" But there was no one to hear his pleas of sanity.
0.o.0
In a dark corner of the world, the Dark Lord waited for a full report. Lucius Malfoy strode into the shadowed room. "My Lord."
"How is Draco, Lucius?"
"Locked in St. Mungo's. They say he only speaks in gibberish to an imaginary person named Stevie."
"Is that so?"
"Yes." Lucius paused, remembering more of the diagnosis. "He does not acknowledge anyone else's presence but Stevie's and claims to see an innumerable amount of cats."
"Then the potion was a success?"
"Severus says it was."
"Good, good. A weapon this strong shall be saved for my most hated enemies."
Lucius nodded before gathering the courage to ask the question weighing on his mind. "My Lord, what will become of my son?"
"I believe that he will lead a very comfortable life at St. Mungo's, don't you?"
"Yes, my Lord."
Lucius moved quickly to the door, stopped only by his master's voice, "Many of my followers have made sacrifices…your sacrifice shall never be forgotten." The Malfoy nodded before resuming his exit, pushing all thoughts of his clinically insane song from his mind.