Author's Note: In case you didn't notice, this is an AU fic.

Hermione took one look at Harry and sighed. "You need to get more sleep."

Harry looked at the girls Hermione had been talking to, who all stared at the dark circles under his eyes and he sighed. "Could I have a private word, do you suppose?"

"Of course," Hermione got up, and Ginny and the other girls, who she had been talking to, started to talk amongst themselves. Harry and Hermione moved over to the side of the common room.

Now out of the earshot of others, Harry still found himself to be rather incapable of saying what he wanted and needed to say. He was tired; he was disoriented and completely embarrassed. Hermione waited patiently, her expression both neutral and compassionate.

"My dream changed," Harry said, as he began to blush furiously at the thought of the changes. In his mind, he sighed at himself. A 7th year? Him? He felt more like a twelve year old with a crush.

But Hermione's expression didn't turn to disapproval or amusement, she just asked, "In a good way? You're still obviously losing sleep."

"What's going good this way?" Ron Weasley asked as he entered the common room, spotted the two of them, and made his way over.

There was a bit of a pause, because Harry didn't know what to say. Ron didn't find the pause as awkward as he did wrapping his arms around Hermione's waist and giving her a small hug. The simple gesture made Hermione beam happily as she looked at Ron.

"It's about his dream, anyhow," Hermione said, and Harry nodded, having nothing better to do. Ron knew about the dreams. The past summer, when Harry had started getting them, he had been staying at the Burrow with Ron and Hermione (the two had, at the end of the summer, finally stopped dancing around their feelings for each other and officially started dating).

Harry looked up at the ceiling which stared blankly back and Harry cast his thoughts back to that summer.

He woke up, breathing hard. His heart beat seemed faint. What had inspired that dream? It was fuzzy about the edges of his mind, but the aching presence between his legs helped him start to remember quite clearly.

Draco Malfoy, that boy who had dedicated the past six years of his life to tormenting Harry in person, and now – apparently – he had found a way into Harry's head a well. But how was the culmination of years of the back and forth between them presenting itself in this manner? Why?

For a week that warm summer, Harry kept the dreams to himself, although they felt as though they were being burnt into his brain. And by the next Monday, he could bear it no longer. Before breakfast, he shared the contents of his nighttime trauma with Ron. Ron had listened carefully and couldn't help but laugh a little at the sheer oddity of the situation. Finally, after Harry gave him a pleading look, Ron suggested that they go talk to Hermione.

It sounded like a plan enough to Harry, who was decently desperate for an explanation and solution for his horrible yet strangely exciting dreams. They went to Ginny's room, where Hermione was staying. Ron went in the room briefly and returned with Hermione. She was sleepy; apparently she and Ginny had stayed up late gossiping last night (later it was found out they were dissecting Hermione's crush on Ron).

The three of them went back up to Ron's room, and slowly Harry re-explained his dream. Hermione nodded thoughtfully, and said that she understood and that it made sense that Harry was dreaming about Draco.

"After all," she said with her air of knowledge, "People tend to dream of other people in their lives. The content of the dream is a little odd given your relationship to him, but then again, dreams are odd." Hermione glanced a little at Ron and smiled.

Harry agreed with her. Ron agreed as well.

What else was there to be said though? The three agreed that it was best to try to take Harry's mind off of it, and so the next few days were spent exploring the area, playing Quidditch, and some studying at Hermione's insistence.

Every night, however, it was the same.

Harry woke up on a cool Saturday morning, knowing in the back of his head faintly that soon they would be packing to head to Hogwarts for their final year. He groaned as the remnants of his dream manifested themselves strongly in his pants.

Once I see Draco at school, they'll sort themselves out he thought to himself, mentally preparing himself for the day and year to come.

Back in the present, Hermione's voice cut through his thoughts: "So what changed after all?"

And Harry went back to blushing.

Finally he said, "I can't go into details, but for the first time I – he – wasn't out of reach. It was odd. It was just like it normally was, and I was about to wake up and then he just stopped moving away."

"Ah Harry, you're such an odd one," Ron said after a moment, and laughed.

Harry agreed. Did friends usually share these kinds of dreams? He didn't think so. But Ron and Hermione seemed to understand the considerable pain they brought upon him.

"Well, does that mean that you're good then? You can stay asleep a whole night now, you think?" Hermione asked.

"I don't know," Harry replied. He looked into the distance thoughtfully. "I hope so of course. But help me out here.. I still want to know why it's so persistent. Why him? If I had to pick any guy in the world to dream about, why him?"

"The whole enemies for several years," Ron offered helpfully. "He's on your mind a lot whether it's good or bad."

And yet now when Harry saw Draco in class and at dinner, he couldn't help but stare and wonder how accurate his dreams were as to what was underneath those long black robes. Harry grinned to cover up another blush.

"Maybe I'll talk to him," he mused to Ron that night. Ron shrugged and said good night.

It was late, Harry knew, and he thought to himself: Why do I bother to close my eyes?

He answered himself sleepily, happily, embarrassed: Because I know what I will see, and it will most certainly be you.