Hermione Granger jolted up in her bed with a start. As she awoke, she felt as though she were emerging from the water, pushing through the surface and coming up for air. Immediately, the feeling of dread weighed upon her consciousness. Her mop of dark brown curls clung against the damp nape of her neck and her clothes seemed to suffocate her, scratching against her skin. The memory of the dream poisoned her thoughts and a familiar nausea ebbed upon her.

Some people believed that dreams were a reflection of your innermost thoughts and your deepest desires. In the Muggle worlds, scholars had conducted innumerable studies on the very subject, using science or unreliable whims to produce theories and speculations. But after having the same insufferable dream for the fifth night in a row, Hermione could say with the utmost certainty that the whole ordeal was a load of bollocks.

Her mind was racing. For perhaps the first time in her nearly 17 years, she couldn't think straight. She always felt a bit dishevelled when she awoke from the dream, but this morning was the worst reaction she had yet.

All she could think of was the long stretched out corridor with its eerie cloak of darkness and foreboding, the single shimmer of light at the end. The shadow-concealed figure that awaited her in that illumination. The silhouette of their body that seemed dangerous and yet so safe all at once. But what haunted her the most was the voice, when the figure called out her name. It was utterly unrecognizable to her, but she couldn't shake the feeling that she had heard it before.

Around her, her roommates were getting ready for class as if nothing spectacular had happened, slipping back into their old and easy routine in the past few weeks since returning to Hogwarts. Next year would be their final year of school but graduation did not seem to be any pressing concern on anyone's minds these days. No one was able to fully focus on their studies, not even Hermione. Everyone was wholly preoccupied with the looming threat upon the wizarding world, the danger that seemed to lurk behind each new dawn. All they could do was wait and go on with their lives as if it were any ordinary year.

Reaching over to her bedside table, Hermione fumbled for her wristwatch and blinked a few times before her eyes registered the number. 7 o'clock. There was just under an hour left until breakfast was over in the Great Hall. Afterwards, she would have to rush off to Arithmancy, her first class of the day. With a small grunt, she peeled back the covers and swung her legs over the edge of the bed, letting her feet dangle a few inches off the ground as she stretched out her limbs.

"Good morning, Hermione," Parvati Patil, Hermione's roommate said politely. Parvati pulled the covers taut on her own bed a few feet away, placing her pillow at the head. She glanced at the curly-haired witch and her pleasant expression clouded over with concern. "Are you feeling alright? You don't look well."

"Er, well, yes. Yes, I'm completely fine," Hermione stammered nervously. Cheeks pink as though she was a child who had been caught being naughty, Hermione brought herself to her feet and padded over to her chest of clothes. As she lifted the lid and began to dig for her school clothes, she cleared her throat and smiled brightly — a little too brightly — at Parvati. "I'm sorry. How are you?"

Parvati blinked. "Oh. I'm well. Thanks."

Hermione only nodded in response. Holding in her breath, she ducked her head into the chest and exhaled quietly into the dark container. Even if Parvati wasn't as weirded out as she seemed, Hermione was sure that she had been stirring suspicion ever since term commenced. Each morning that she woke from the dream, she was a mess — fumbling over her words, overanalyzing everything anyone said, staring into empty space.

Her roommates must have noticed the change in her behaviour. Hell, she'd had the dream five nights in a row. Professor Dumbledore probably noticed by now.

Pull yourself together, Hermione silently scolded herself. It was just a dream.

Determined to move past her nocturnal oddity, Hermione pushed all subconscious-related notions out of her mind and resolved to fill the space with academic thoughts instead. She yanked a white blouse and plaid skirt from the trunk and hugged them tight to her chest as she headed to wash up. The whole way along, she mentally repeated her new mantra to herself: It was only a dream.

Twenty minutes past the hour, Hermione entered the Great Hall in her uniform and robes, a pile of pristine hardcover books tucked under her arm. She stood at the entrance of the hall, scanning the room with squinted eyes, searching the sea of students for her friends. Breakfast would be over in half an hour and the room was beginning to empty out, students swarming the aisles between house tables, which obstructed Hermione's view almost entirely. She knew that the only students who would be left at each table would be the upper years. The younger students would already be scurrying off to class, as they were wont to do.

As she lingered in the entrance, Hermione couldn't help but notice a strange feeling sitting heavy in her stomach. It was as though something — or someone — was lingering just behind her ear. A terrible foreboding crept upon her. She shivered involuntarily, glancing over her shoulder, just in case. No one was there. This morning had been far too peculiar for her liking.

"Hermione!" The voice drew Hermione from her thoughts, back to reality. She glanced across the room to find Ginny Weasley half-standing at the Gryffindor table, near the front of the hall, with one leg tucked beneath the table and the other propped up on the wooden bench. The redhead was waving her arms frantically above her head, a wide toothy grin on her lips.

Grateful to see a friendly face, Hermione scurried over. She carefully placed her books down on the tabletop and plopped down beside Ginny. "Hey," she said, aware that she sounded out of breath. Harry Potter and Ron Weasley, her best friends since first year, sat on the opposite side of the table. They both mumbled their greetings to her around mouthfuls of food. Out of the corner of her eye, Hermione could see Ginny staring at her.

"You alright?" Ginny asked, gently nudging her friend with her elbow.

"Huh?" Hermione placed a napkin on her lap and frowned at Ginny, feigning innocence. "Of course I'm fine. Why is everyone asking me that today?"

"I don't know. Your face looks weird."

"Thanks for that, Ginny."

"You know what I mean."

Hermione did know what she meant. She could feel the permanent flush in her cheeks and the purplish, sleepless tint under her eyes. Instead of explaining everything, she did as she had done since the dreams had started — shrugged and ignored the concern in her friend's eyes. There was enough to worry about these days that she didn't need to add another reason to the list. Forcing her voice to sound as normal as possible, Hermione asked her friends what they had been talking about before she arrived and reached for a piece of toast from the platter before her.

Ron swallowed a mouthful of eggs and pointed his fork at Harry. "This one is going on about that damned Malfoy again."

Hermione's eyebrows furrowed. "Malfoy? Again?"

"There's something going on, Hermione," Harry insisted in a hushed tone. He dropped his own fork on his plate. "After Borgin and Burkes, what we saw… Well, I think it's pretty much evident what's going on, don't you agree?"

"No. Absolutely not." Hermione shook her head. "Harry, you cannot be serious."

"I am." A couple of Ravenclaw students scampered by, chatting loudly about their summer holidays. Harry watched them cautiously, waiting for them to pass completely before continuing. "It's obvious that Malfoy has been recruited as a Death Eater. Plain and simple."

Ron rolled his eyes. "He's been at it all morning. Someone has had a spoonful too many of paranoia in their coffee in this morning."

"Think about it. He's directly associated with the Death Eaters through his father who, if you didn't notice, is currently in Azkaban. Malfoy could be filling in for his father's absence."

Hermione sighed. "There is nothing to suggest that's true."

"There's nothing to suggest otherwise, Hermione. I don't see how I'm expected to just go on doing nothing about this. Not after what the Death Eaters did in the Department of Mysteries!" Harry's voice raised a bit, causing a couple of students at the Hufflepuff table to glance over curiously. Hermione's heart panged sorrowfully. She could only imagine the hell her friend had been going through these last few months. Sometimes she forgot how much Harry had lost. Finally, Harry cleared his throat and lowered his voice. "Besides, we practically have firsthand evidence."

"Firsthand evidence?" Hermione repeated. "Harry, we didn't see anything. At least not anything that could prove what you're accusing him of."

"Come on, Hermione. I thought you of all people would be most rational about this." Harry smiled sheepishly as Ginny shot him a dirty look. "No offence. But we can all admit that Hermione's the smartest out of any of us. Plus, she hates Malfoy more than anyone."

"Alright. Explain this to me, Harry. What do you suppose we do to confirm this suspicion of yours?" Ron interjected. "Sneak into the Slytherin dormitory at night and take a peek at Malfoy's forearm? Be realistic. Malfoy's a git, I will grant you that. But a Death Eater? No way. You can't be recruited when you and mummy are still attached by the umbilical cord."

Harry's eyebrow shot up. "Not hard if she's already involved."

Ron groaned loudly. "Oh, for the love of Merlin!"

Suddenly, Hermione felt that strange feeling over her shoulder again. She squirmed nervously, carefully glancing back only to have her suspicion debunked again. Something about their conversation felt unsafe. "We shouldn't get into this right now. Not here. Anyone could overhear."

All at once, as if on cue, her friends turned to stare at her. Hermione's skin crawled. She knew that she was acting insane, but she couldn't stop herself. Every word that came from her mouth was one step closer to her being declared absolutely balmy. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't stop the paranoia from consuming her. She felt like the eyes of everyone in the room were on her, watching her every move. She had to get out of the Great Hall. Immediately.

Harry narrowed his eyes at her. "What's going on with you?"

"Nothing," Hermione insisted. "I'm perfectly fine. Do you know what though? I've just remembered that I have to return a book to the library before class. I ought to head off."

"What? There are still 15 minutes until class starts," Ron pointed out as Hermione started to collect her books. With furrowed eyebrows, he pointed down to her plate which still held half of the piece of toast she had chosen for breakfast. "You hardly ate."

Hermione grabbed the remaining bit of toast and grinned. "It's a portable breakfast, Ronald. See?" She took a bite out of the bread to prove her point. "Mmm. Delicious. It's very en vogue in London right now. I'll see you guys later."

As she turned on her heel, Hermione awkwardly waved goodbye with the arm that was holding her books. Before anyone could respond, she scurried down the aisle towards the exit. Before she was fully out of earshot, she could hear Ron ask Harry, "Did you understand any of that?"

Emerging into the corridor, Hermione allowed herself a moment to relax, unclenching her jaw, letting her shoulders fall. She exhaled loudly, pressing her palm to her forehead. Pretending to be herself was becoming exhausting. As much as she loved her friends, she wished that she could just be alone. At least until she was able to figure out how to get her life back.

Making a sharp turn around the corner, she suddenly slammed into a wall at full force. "Ugh!" Her books tumbled out of her arms, hitting the floor with an audible thud, and her toast followed suit, spraying crumbs all over the ground. She rubbed her shoulder and, to her horror, glanced up to see that it was no wall that she had walked into.

"For fuck's sake, Granger," Draco Malfoy huffed. He ran his fingers through his white-blond hair and glared down at her with his cold grey eyes. "Walk much?"

Could this day get any worse? Hermione leaned down to retrieve her belongings and frowned. "Well, there goes breakfast."

"What are you mumbling about?" Draco snapped. "Breakfast? You've just pummelled into me and that's all you have to say for yourself?"

Hermione pushed a strand of hair behind her ear so that she could look up at Draco. "First of all, I rounded a corner, Malfoy. It was hardly premeditated. Secondly, it's my things that are currently decorating the floor, not yours. And third of all, you walked into me just as much as I walked into you. So claim some of the responsibility, why don't you?"

She began to pile up her books and when she fumbled with them, she prayed that the ground would open up and swallow her whole. She couldn't help but be nervous. Draco made her uncomfortable. He had been the sole provider of her misery and shame for the past six years and that sort of thing did a certain amount of damage to a person. Especially now, when he looked more manly than boyish. He had grown significantly over the summer, now towering over six-feet. He loomed over her with a newfound superiority that superseded his inherent arrogance.

Draco barely listened to her lecture. Instead, he just scowled down at her. "Fuck, you're clumsy. Must be that Muggle blood of yours."

Hermione had every dig at her parentage that he could possibly invent to throw at her over the years. Some hurt more than others. But mostly, she was growing tired of hearing it. She brought herself to her feet, clutching her books to her chest. "Seems you haven't got any books to drop, Malfoy. Go to class, much?"

As soon as the words left her lips, she regretted speaking them.

Draco blinked. "Nice one," he mocked.

"Yeah, well, I'm tired today. Come back tomorrow and I'll try to come up with a more creative retort for you," she sighed.

Finally disinterested, Draco sneered at her and stalked off in the opposite direction, casually adjusting his uniform as he went on his way. Once he was gone around the corner, Hermione groaned aloud. What an idiot she had been. Aside from the constant magical battles against Dark Lords that she had found herself a part of these past few years, she had found her years at Hogwarts to be a breeze. She loved a good academic challenge and that was exactly what the school provided her with. But it was the activities outside of the classroom that she found the most arduous. With the added burden of her new obsession with her REM cycle, her school life had become far more exhausting. Having a showdown with Draco Malfoy in the corridors was just adding insult to injury at this point.

She couldn't imagine how anyone in this world could find his presence to be even remotely appealing. Of course, he did have his two vacuous sycophants who followed his every waking movement. But Hermione couldn't fathom anyone willing spending any time with him for their own personal enjoyment, and not for the prestige that came with a friendship with a highly ranked pureblood. Then again, there was Pansy Parkinson, wasn't there? Everyone knew that Pansy and Malfoy had become somewhat of an item in the past couple years — though God only knew why. Hermione supposed Draco had found a bit of a match there. The two were perfect for each other in that they were both entirely insufferable.

As she dragged her feet through the crowded corridors, aimlessly wasting time before class, Hermione prayed that she wouldn't run into Draco again. At least not until her dreams had stopped and her life had gone back to normal. She couldn't go toe-to-toe with a snake at her regular brain capacity. She would just have to actively avoid him until the dust settled. Then she would show him just who he was dealing with. They didn't call her the brightest witch of her age for nothing.

Her hands shook the whole way to Arithmancy.

It was just a dream.

It was just a dream.