Chapter 4 - Second Dream

He was left behind, almost felt like being abandoned, deceiving. Why did it feel this way? Why did he care so much?

Draco sat down on the floor and began to pick up the books he lost. He stood with the thighs in his arms and saw a drop falling on the top book.

Great, did he stand and cry? Really? He got angry with himself and threw down the books on the table, as if it were their fault that he felt it like this.

He had to think through everything, get some kind of response. Dreams. It was just dreams, and he had never had a real conversation with Potter. Common. Perhaps that's why he dreamed like that, because he basically wanted to be his friend?

Sure, he thought, as if I did not try it, first grade ...

He thought back the first time they met, at Madam Malkins. They had a nice conversation, thought Draco, so why did not Potter want to be his friend? He decided, at any rate, to stop thinking about it and wiped his eyes. It was so stupid all!

When it was dinner, Gregory Goyle sat next to Draco at Slytherin's table. He did not wonder why he just ate the food, that was something they were used to. Draco did not realize that Goyle did not notice how close he was. Maybe he's always like that, maybe Goyle is just stupid.

"Hi, Draco ..."

He turned around. Pansy Parkinson stood oblivious to him. "Hello?"

"Yes ... I've heard about your dad. I'm so sorry. Is there anything ... I can do for you?"

"Well ... oh ... no ... thank you?"

"I thought ... We're still friends, well? I mean ..." she lowered the voice. "I know you're having trouble. Sorry, I just finished doing that, I should have supported you instead."

"Thanks, Pansy. But it's really not necessary."

"Tell me anyway." She patted him on her shoulder and then went from there.

"What was that about?" asked Goyle who opposed.

"I really have no idea. Minx wants to get me back." he grimaceed unmistakably. Why would he even play so tough for everyone? And especially for Goyle?

"I can do that!" laughed Goyle. "Now that you have inherited and ..."

"SHHHHH!" hushed Draco. "Your idiot! No one knows so shut up!"

"Oh…"

The legacy, yes ... From Draco's secret old fortress. She was one of the richest witches in the entire wizard world. But nobody knew, because she was so anonymous. To hide their billions, the old hag was living in a small cabin, a cabin in the woods ... Why did not she just give away the gold directly?

Lucius Malfoy, Draco's father, had in recent years been very nice and lovable to her; invited her to dinner at least once a week. At last she died this summer - the day before Draco's birthday, in fact - and had signed in her contract that the family Malfoy would get everything she owned. Including the cottage. But the Malfoy family, it was left where it stood.

After dinner, Draco did not have to carry out several punishments, but was free at the moment. Instead of accompanying the Slytherin flock down to the basement, he went straight through the iron doors to the school yard. He walked past the fountain and out through the gates. They closed nine so he did not have to think about where he went so far. Instead of moving forward to the open fields and the black lake, he turned to the left and followed the wall. He did not really know where he was heading. He only knew he could not go to his room because he had promised Nott that he would have to be alone with his new girl there after dinner.

Finally, Draco stopped a few hundred meters from the Quidditch Arena. It was enlightened - someone is training there.

He wanted to see him. Wanted as much answers as he could.

A very strange feeling of Draco's stomach when he took the first steps towards the stadium, a feeling he could not really explain. Nervousness, maybe? He would definitely not be excited to spy if it were Gryffindor's team that was training right now.

He walked through the stands between the stands and climbed silently on the first and hid behind a pillar, hoping no one had seen, or should see him.

"Well done, Tom! Take this!"

Pots flew around and threw more thunder against his new battles, who then smashed with clubs. The hunters flew to the other side of the plane and fit the clone between themselves and attempted to score at Ronald Weasley.

"Harry!" Weasley shouted precisely and caught something golden glittering just flew in front of his stomach. Then he threw away the poke and pots began to chase after it.

Draco must admit it - pots were very good at flying. He was smooth, fast and ... good.

He threw himself under one of the benches when Potter flew just over him and crossed. At first, Draco thought he had been discovered, but then Potter flew from there again with his hand raised in the weather with a pair of silver wings stuck out between his fingers. He threw up the twinkle in the air again and continued training his fighters.

Draco went to school and decided to inform everyone in his team that they would have a competition on Sunday. Immediately after dinner. He would play Quidditch again. When he got rid of the prefect mark, he also thought he would automatically lose the position as the team captain of Slytherin's Quidditch team, but McGonagall had said he would continue. For some fun, he would be able to do in his spare time, that's what Dumbledore had done. That old toddler, why was he so kind? He was weak ... maybe because he was dead now?

Later in the evening, Draco had distributed flyers to Nott, Goyle and three others from the lower classes. He told them to hang them up at school so that the Slytherin students could see that it was a competition. He himself hung just outside and one inside the door of the living room, sent an owl to his mother with a letter that she would buy a blurred to him and then went into his room and lay in bed.

He lay there looking up at the ceiling, but was not tired. The time was only half past nine. But he still pulled the veil around the bed and turned his side and blew. For some reason, he began to think of Potter and began to boast of anger. But then when he got up Potter's face in his head ... then he fell asleep.

When he woke up, he had forgotten what he thought of before he fell asleep, and did not remember what he had dreamed. Draco can not sleep for so long because it was still dark outside.

He was thirsty and stood up to go to the bathroom and drink some water. So he walked out the door and discovered that he did not have his clothes anymore except the boxer shorts, and had fallen asleep with his clothes.

I must have put them in sleep, he thought, it became hot when I was sleeping.

He went down the stairs to the living room and to the boys' restrooms, went to a sink and started the crane.

"I have been waiting for you."

Draco turned around as soon as the blurred blurred out of the room - except the dull light that came in through the door from the dying fire in the living room - and he saw nothing but the reflection on the shiny stone floor.

"Who's there?" he asked the horror. He had no stick with him, did not even wear a pair of pants.

"But ... guess?"

"I know ..." sighed Draco. "I'm dreaming again."

Torches on the walls lit immediately and pots appeared in the light. He was wearing a pair of regular jeans and a black, tight t-shirt on the upper body. The same clothes he had when they encountered each other in the Diagonal Trend. The black hair was as ruffy as it usually used to be and the glasses were fine and nipped on the nose.

"We have the same dreams." he said, as if he had a bad conscience about not saying it in the library the same day.

"Do you have the same dream I am right now, or do they just resemble each other?" asked Draco.

"I think they're just like each other, but not that we're dreaming exactly the same."

"Okay, you know why?"

"I have no idea, but I'm not telling anyone, either."

"Neither do I." murmured Draco. He lied in his own dream.

"So ... what should we do now?" Potter slowly began to move towards Draco, looking at him from eyes to knees. He smiled a cheeky smile. "You're already ready."

Draco also began to move forward. He knew he could not do anything. And to be honest he liked this. Right now, when he dreamed, as he knew he did. He would certainly regret when he woke up, but it was worth it right now.

Potter put his hand on Draco's shoulder and pulled it down his arm until he reached his waist. Draco gets rid of the soft touch. No one had touched him that way before. He answered the touch by choking Potter's breast with one hand and his back with the other. They looked into each other's eyes all the time - green into silver - leaning close closer to each other's faces.

"Malfoy"

Draco woke up with a jerk. That's how they remember their dreams, being disturbed in the midst of them. And he still felt Potter's creations when he was confused and looked around for the one who had called his name. "Harr ..? ... Who?"

"You have slept all day. Are you good?" It was Goyle who spoke.

"What's good?"

"Are you sick or something?" wondered Zabini.

"What time is it then?" Draco got up on one elbow. He had pain in the whole body.

"It's lunch soon. You've been sleeping almost all day."

No! Have I missed all my punishments? Draco started thinking and flew right out of bed. How could I sleep for so long? "Why, why did not you wake me up earlier?"

"We thought you were sick ..." muttered Goyle.

"So ..." he noticed that he had his clothes on again and went to the door. "Thank you ..." he wanted it to be angry and sarcastic, but it seemed as if he were really grateful.

And once again he could not stop thinking about the dream, and went through the living room and felt some sort of longing for the black-haired person who visited him almost every night.

...

He told me about the prevail for the president, who did not get angry, but said that if it were to happen, Draco would not even play Quidditch anymore. She had seen the flyers that were everywhere in school, and therefore she used it as a punishment.

"I understand that today you will have the competition. You can have them and train your team as much as you want," said the director. "But next time, you'll have time to find another team captain."

"Thank you, Professor ..." Draco murmured with a lowered head.

He departed from there and was as angry as usual about having to act like a foolish subject to the old aunt.

.

.

.

In the evening, right after dinner, Draco went down to the Quidditch Arena to find out his new team. The broom had arrived in good time, and he had it thrown over his shoulder as if he were the best Quidditch player throughout the ages.

When he arrived, several Slytherine students stood there, and this time none from the first grade, so he did not have to waste any unnecessary time. They all looked up when they saw Draco come walking with their completely brand new Awakening, and just a few months before another, newer model would come out! They admired it with his eyes and Draco was not ashamed of the attention, but sunk in it.

Goyle continued to be a battle man, Montague and Warrington continued as hunters, Draco was the searcher and Bletchley was still the team's guardian. Everything Draco needed to do where to find a new hunter and a batter, then the team would be ready.

"I only need a hunter and a batter." he said loudly to the students who stood around him, most bounced and began to mumble swearing. "So you others, who would try to get something else, may unfortunately leave so I can find two people fast."

Some went, but there were still four people left, one of whom was Pansy Parkinson.

"For real?" Draco moaned her. "I've never seen you ever sit on a broom."

"Why do not you think I'd be fine enough?"

Draco started laughing and the rest of the team laughed with him. "Because you are a girl, it may be a reason."

"The Gryffindor team has girls. And they win over you all the time!" She stormed from there and Draco was still laughing.

A guy named Adrian Peucey, whom Draco was friends with during his third year, could be the last hunter. Then he pointed only to the biggest of the last two who could be the second battleground.

…

They practiced diligently and a bit harder than Potter had exercised his team. But it was necessary, thought Draco, for this year they should win.

.

.

.

The days went by and Draco always tried to fit in training times so that they would always work just before or after Gryffindor. He wanted to see pots, wanted to see him fly. Maybe hit him in the locker room ... But he would never, because all the student homes had their own locker room. He also did not really know why he wanted these volatile meetings with the Gryffindor - but there was nothing he would question.

A week after joining his team, Gryffindor played his first match against Hufflepuff. The week after that, Slytherin would play against Ravenclaw. Because the Slytherin team became complete so far after everyone else, they got to work harder than they have ever done so far. They practiced in the morning, day, evening and weekends. Autumn promise approached, but it also made the first match.

The night before the match between Gryffindor and Hufflepuff, Draco went out of the dressing room together with his team behind him. Pots still trained Gryffindor in the arena, and they had about three minutes left before they had to leave. Draco sat down on the stands and watched, while his team sat and bowed to Gryffindor and tried to disturb them. But Draco sat quietly, looking at Potter, who flew at the moment.

When Potter saw Draco he increased the speed, as if trying not to make eye contact with him. As if he was afraid to look into his eyes.

When they were done, they went, and Draco had not looked away from Potter once. He does not really know what he was thinking, he just could not look away. It was something that always made him almost as in transit as he watched the Gryffindor.

"Died ..." he said loudly, clapping his hands and getting up. "Then we get started!"

.

.

.

It was only a few minutes left before the sun would appear far, far away in the horizon. The sky was deep blue with springs of gold from the far end. The last stars were extinguished and a light breeze over the school's fields. A few test lines turned out at the woods away at the Forbidden Forest, but backed in again when they saw the man who went straight to them.
He was tall, tall and straight in the back. The mantle, which was black as the night, flatted easily with the wind the man created by taking such long and fast steps.

He was determined, he knew where to go. The fingers on the right hand touched the inner pocket of the jacket, slammed easily over the patch that lay in it.

I'm waiting for Hogsmeade. At sunrise.

He had read the note so many times that he had not even had to check it one last time before he left off. But it may also have been because there were so few words. So few, yet so much hidden in them.

The man walked past the forest guard cottage, past the pumping, past everything. He just continued to go until he reached the edge of the village. He could not see what he was looking for, but he knew it was close.

He heard someone cry for help. Something had gone wrong, his meeting was not what he had hoped for. Immediately he slipped into action, took out the rod and started running out against the cry.

The cobblestones felt like sharp knife blades under his feet and he discovered that he had no shoes. When he looked down he saw that the pants he wore was far too long, and he tripped over them.

"HELP ME!" he heard someone cry again, this time higher ... more painful.

He got up quickly and started running again, trying not to stumble over his own feet. When he arrived behind a house, he saw someone lying on the ground, on the stomach, trying to creep up with the elbows.

Draco rushed to the man, kneeling next to him, grabbed his waist and gently turned his back.
"What has happened?" he asked the panic team.

Harry Potter, with blood all the way up to his ears and blue-legged legs, looked up in Draco's face with horror in his eyes.

He did not get a word, so Draco shook him. "Please answer!"

Potter opened his mouth in a silent letter. The glasses were cracked, but Draco could see his own pale, panic-shaped face in them.

He looked up and tried to see if anyone was nearby, someone who could help when he saw it. An old mirror was leaning against a tall fence near some houses. He immediately recognized that mirror, because he had seen it on an image in one book once.

It was the erected mirror, which showed the spectator what he wanted most of all in the world. He saw his mirror image, but he did not see his own face.

In a desperate attempt to prove to himself that it was not a mirror, he raised one hand against his face. The mouth was open, the eyes closed. Red eyes, in a pale face with thin slits to nostrils.