Chapter One: Nightmares & Dreamscapes

Sirius dreamed. He was walking down a long, moonlit corridor. The wall on his right was lined with windows that were thrown open to welcome the cool night air, and light from the full silver moon, streamed in to touch the cool marble surfaces of the walls and floor, and light up the blue-black highlights in Sirius's hair.

A breeze blew the gauzy white hangings into the hall, and Sirius continuously pushed them out of his way, but they clung to him, pulling him into their grasp. They didn't want him to find her. But he had to. She was calling for him, her voice choked with tears, calling him to her and warning him away at the same time. Sirius! Her voice was filled with painful agony, love and longing. His steps quickened, she needed him.

Oh God, he hadn't heard that voice in so long. Not for eighteen years, at least. Even now, in this horrid place, it filled him with anguish and joy.

Sirius! He heard the call echo through the stone passageways, even more desperate than before. He yanked out of the window curtains' grasp and ran down the corridor, evading their seeking, devious weave by a hair's-breadth. He reached the end of the corridor and turned right, coming up at the foot of a set of spiral steps that swirled up into the darkness above.

He knew this place. This was where they'd come as children to rescue Lily and James. It was the place where he'd almost lost her.

He flew up the stone steps recklessly, knowing only his need to be with her, to save her from the pain her voice, in her heart. At the top, he stared at the wooden, metal bound door. He reached for his wand, only to find he didn't have it, it was gone. Without his wand, he felt incomplete, like he'd lost a piece of himself. He brushed the loss away, because losing her would be to lose himself.

He beat at the door, throwing his whole weight against it. He heard her horrific screams in his mind. He couldn't do it. He couldn't save her. The voice, that wonderful voice, fell silent. His cry was agony that echoed through the tower. Narcissa!

Harry Potter sat up straight in bed, gasping for air. His eyes tried to adjust to the darkness in his tower room, and he groped for his glasses on the bedside table. He shoved them on his face and searched the room. Everything in the room was exactly as it should have been, including Ron's soft snores from the other curtained bed. He couldn't say what had woken him, but he had a vague sense of a hissing voice speaking softly to him in words that made no sense.

He laid back into bed and tried to sleep.

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Down in the Slytherin dungeons Draco Malfoy woke with a start. Unease gripped him as he looked around the darkened room. He had dreamed; he knew he had.

But what?

Having a dream at all was enough to unnerve him, he never dreamed. But not being able to remember it was worse. He looked down at the bed and scowled, the coverlets were twisted around his legs. He'd thrashed.

Malfoys never thrashed. Not even under excruciating torture. Not that a Malfoy had been tortured for at least half a century. They were the torturers.

Hermione came to the surface, gasping for air. Dry, her hair was a nuisance; wet, it was like swimming through the seaweed bed at the bottom of the lake. She pushed it out of her eyes impatiently, and resumed her laps around the pool sized bath tub. She sighed, looking around the Prefects bathroom in appreciation. Having a best friend with an illegal map and an invisibility cloak definitely had its benefits. She played with the taps, giggling like a little girl. Bright colored bubbles and tiny suds poured out of the faucets to mix into the steamy water, surrounding her. Hermione closed her eyes as she allowed the hot water to soak out the kinks in her neck.

"Sorry I'm late."

Her eyes flew open. And stared straight into Draco Malfoy's grey eyes. "What--What are you doing here?" She demanded while staying carefully under the water.

"You mean you don't remember? Why we were supposed to meet here and have mad, passionate sex on this rather hard tile floor." He grinned as charmingly as she had ever seen Malfoy grin, showing her that he was joking.

Hermione wasn't waiting for Harry and Ron this morning, she had studying to do. She walked through the silent corridors (most people considered it way too early to study) purposefully. She was going to the library! She snorted in disgust as Malfoy walked down the corridor toward her. Probably sneaking into some innocent little Ravenclaw first year's bed! He purposefully blocked her way. "Move it, Malfoy, I'm going to the library."

"Bunny, you know you don't have to use that cover story with me. We always meet here."

Hermione's throat went dry. "Bunny?", she squeaked.

Malfoy didn't answer; he was pacing in front of a section of the wall and mumbling to himself in a completely unMalfoy-like show of frustration. And suddenly Hermione knew exactly where they were. They were in the Room of Requirement corridor.

She looked back at Malfoy, wondering if she could outrun him, but it was too late. A high arch hung with silver and gold scarves had appeared. Malfoy grabbed her hand and dragged her in before she could run away screaming dementedly. She looked at Malfoy and her mouth dropped open so far she could have eaten Dumbledore, pointy hat and all (and maybe Flitwick).

He was wearing baggy black silk, nearly see-through trousers that gathered at the ankles, and nothing else. Hermione ripped her eyes away from his chest to look at what the room had become. It looked like a Persian harem! Cushions were piled against the walls and on the floor; the walls were draped in silk of all different colors. There was a suspicious looking lattice on one wall, and Hermione wondered if there was a spectator box on the other side. Against the wall to her left was a screen that was paneled with thankfully solid looking stiff silk. If Malfoy's clothes had changed to fit the room . . . hers must have to. Hermione squeezed her eyes shut, she wouldn't look. She wouldn't. If she didn't look it wasn't real.

Her eyes weren't all that was getting squeezed. "Hey hey hey! Keep your hands to yourself! Or your innocent little Ravenclaw! "

"What?!" he looked dumbfounded.

"You know what--" Hermione started to say, but Malfoy chose that unfortunate moment to do more than touch.

He tasted like peppermints. Hermione was too distracted by this to notice what he was doing with his hands until she felt his hands at the back of her skimpy vest.

"Eeeep!" Hermione squealed and dashed behind the screen just as her top came off in Malfoy's hands. "Give me my clothes, Malfoy or I'll shove one of Fred and George's Ton-Tongue Toffees down your throat!"