A/N: Yup, this is a weird story. Rated T because I'm not entirely sure were this is headed...Honestly , the worst that can happen is a bit of vulgar language so, just being safe.

2 separate points of view switching between Harry and Draco.

Well, hope you enjoy & please review :)

Harry dreamt of the Fiendfyre.

Crabbe fell into the dragon's mouth, only now it was made of icy shards instead of flickering flames, still very much as fierce, if not more.

"You're not safe. You're not safe!" Draco screamed at him as they flew out of the room of requirements.

It's the same thing he'd hear every night for the last couple days just before he woke up, each dream different, all revolving around ice. This was the first one Malfoy was in, or that the warning had come from someone other than just the wind. Now the scream was almost deafening, and he woke up with a jolt.

Why wasn't he safe? Safe from what?

Not that it mattered in his groggy state. Once fully alert, Harry brushed it off as another senseless nightmare. Bad dreams were something The Boy Who Lived had more than plenty of after the war.
It had only been a couple months since Voldemort's cold, lifeless body hit the ashy warzone that was Hogwarts' grounds, marking the final victory. That had been enough drama for one school year. Or any school year. Harry decided he'd seen the end of Hogwarts. A celebrity like him—possibly bigger than Merlin—didn't need further magical education to facilitate his future career anyhow.

Luckily, he wasn't alone.

Ron had skipped the rest of his seventh year too, along with Ginny in her sixth. The rest of his undergraduate friends remained at the school. After the battle, the school year was repeated once again due to lack of proper education from the former death eaters running the place. For now, Harry slept in the burrow, taking a well-earned rest from war troubles.
Life was good now.
And what a dream life it was. Most nights he and Ginny would sneak onto the roof of the burrow and fall asleep counting the stars. However, Harry was a bit busy counting the flaming red hairs on her precious head.

Everything was good and beautiful until night began.
Ginny knew of his night terrors. Harry told her all his dreams…except these new ones.
Something about them was different. They weren't like his dreams of the war. A more hyperreal and—at the same time—dubious sensation of the voice was left in his core once they ended.

Not even the soothing touch of his girlfriend could make it better.

"You look horrid," George told him.

Breakfast in the morning was never easy with such restless nights.
Of course, George didn't look any better himself. An unshaven beard and—now permanent—bedhead accompanied the bloodshot eyes and dark circles.

Harry didn't say this. Fred's death had been hard on all of them, but mostly George. Breaking down into a hot mess was part of the healing process.
As was the ex-twin not touching his breakfast—again.
George stood up from the table after the concerned stares of his parents and siblings' became too much. "I'm going back to bed."

The war had taken a toll on all of them, but day by day, things got better. Weasleys stuck together, and Harry had now become a part of them. He didn't want to think about those who'd been left with no one.

Four owls swooped through an open window, slightly startling Harry in his half-dead state.

"The mail's here," Mr. Weasley stated.

"Anything from Hermione?" Ron asked.

"As always," Ginny answered, giving Ron and Harry their letters.

Ron was quick to open his while Harry waited till the last of his eggs were cleared off his plate.

Ron's eyebrows knitted together. "This is odd," he said.

"She break up with you already?" Ginny asked.

"Not yet," Ron smirked. "But it seems like Professor McGonagall is having a bit of trouble with the enchanted ceiling."

"Trouble?" Ginny asked.
The whole table looked at Ron. Hogwarts' issues, no matter how small, tended to be of interest to the Weasleys.

"Yes, well, she says the whole school has had random episodes of snow raining down on the Great Hall roof in mid-summer." Ron began to read from the letter, "The temperature inside has strangely been affected as well. One second the warm summer temperature fills the air, the next we're wearing sweaters.
The cold lasts up to an hour at most before it mysteriously disappears.
"Strange, isn't it? The celling isn't supposed to make us feel the temperature (as stated in 'Hogwarts a History'), only allow us to see the outside weather. I made some observations myself, but the temperature outside is cold during the moments too. Though, only for a couple feet around the school. I'm not too sure it's the ceiling, but we don't know much about it."

Ron paused.

"Why'd you stop?" Harry asked.

Ron blushed. "Well, she didn't say anything more about it." He folded the letter. "The rest isn't important."

Harry and Ginny burst into laughter. Mrs. Weasley tried to scowl at them but failed.
A few jibes were made at Ron before a discussion began on the puzzling weather occurrences.
Magic did tend to act wild at times. This was something Harry would have brushed off quickly, only taking mild interest on the dull topic.
If put in muggle terms, defective magic ad Hogwarts had become a broken air conditioner that wouldn't take up too much conversation time to explain away.

However, Harry felt uneasy with this new-found information. Maybe it was post-war trauma; the new explanation for everything.
But maybe. Just maybe. Something was really wrong.

"Harry, you alright, mate?" Ron asked, beginning to clear the table.

"I'm fine," Harry said, standing up to help before stumbling back down.

"You should get some more rest, dear," Mrs. Weasley said. "I'll get you some blankets and you can nap on the sofa."
Harry smiled gratefully, holding back a yawn.

Ginny kissed his cheek. "I'll help Ron with the rest of the table, It's alright. You were tossing and turning all night," She whispered the last part as to not inform the household of them sleeping together.

He frowned, still only remembering fractions of the dream.

He walked over to the couch, Hermione's note in hand and lied down. The only things that Harry could remember from the dream were some strange looking animals. Maybe a magical creature for all he knew. They were rocky, small, and big-nosed.
No, it was not them he'd been afraid of.

The only other thing that came to mind was a young girl around his age. Harry couldn't recall who else was in the dream, or what exactly happened for that matter.

In the end, all he could piece together was a bunch of nonsense followed by the strange 'you're not safe', but none of it appeared Voldemort related.

He's dead. Harry told himself.

Letting out a deep breath, he repositioned himself into a sleeping position on the couch before unfolding Hermione's letter.

School had only begun a week prior. Hermione had written to them every day since. Other than the celling malfunction, nothing else was off about the letters, including this one. She kept them up to date with the latest Hogwarts' news.

A lot had changed at the school with so many student losses during the battle. The ones that remained had matured after the circumstances, but not too drastically. Teens—unlike adults—adjusted quickly to the grief and damage. Their personalities remained mostly intact.

Hermione spoke about Draco being one of the exceptions. The young Malfoy had become much more reserved and timid. Completely the opposite of his old self. Shame from his actions as a Death Eater must've consumed him over the summer.
Sideglances and whispers from strangers probably helped with that too.

It was well-deserved, Harry supposed.

Still, nothing was amiss.

With that, Harry relaxed and let his eyes flutter shut.

(Draco P.O.V)

Sick. He was sick. That had to be it, right?

Some weird magical malady that would soon pass.
Moaning Myrtle sure didn't think that was the case. Bloody hell! When did she become his only friend?

Yes, he was sick, but there was no need to see Madam Pomfrey. Not that it was such a serious matter which would lead him to not trust anyone but a ghost. It was just that…it would pass. It had to.

The door to the girls' bathroom was locked behind him.

Myrtle soon appeared in front of him.

"Draco, is it back?"

"What?" Draco spat, all but crawling into the stall. "The bloody snow or the panic attack?"

"Well, they tend to come at the same time, Dray," she said, concern in her tone. "But I was talking about the snow."

"I don't know," Draco answered, laying his head on his knees. "Maybe."

"It'll be fine. I had plenty of those when I was alive."

"So you've said." Draco scoffed. "But I bet ice didn't shoot through your fingers when that happened."

Myrtle stayed quiet.

The room began to frost.

"Draco…?"

Then the snow came.

"What's wrong with me?"

Again, Myrtle didn't answer. "I'll go check the corridors."

Draco was left alone. His breaths became shorter, and even though he couldn't feel the cold himself, his body shook.

Just calm down.

Yup. That never worked.

Every second felt like an eternity when he felt this way. A constant falling feeling as if his body were plummeting to the ground.
No one to catch him, no one to—

The stall doors around him froze solid, locking him inside. The coldness spread throughout the bathroom like a plague.
For crying out loud, when would Myrtle be back?

Once the anxiety passed, it would take quite some work to get out of here. He was already skipping potions. It would be a miracle if he passed any of his classes this year.

"Goodness, Draco!" he heard a ghostly gasp. "It's getting worse!"

"Really? Hadn't noticed."

"The students outside are complaining about the temperature, and there is bits of frost in some areas, but no snow."

His breathing slowed some.

"But they're bound to know sooner or later." Draco sighed.

"We'll keep it hidden. I know we can."

"How?"

"We'll find a way."

"We don't even know what's wrong with me. No book I've found can explain it. I'm done for."

Myrtle floated next to him, her ghostly presence brushing against his shoulder.

That was all she could do. Provide a hollow comfort that would pass right through him.

Not even Draco's parents were aware of his predicament. Even if they were, Draco doubted they would comfort him.

Myrtle was all he had. And in his gut, he knew he'd soon lose her too.

A/N: should I continue or..? I wasn't too sure about this fic since I wrote this entire chapter at 2am.

Regardless, hope you enjoyed and let me know I should update :)

-lauralydney