AUTHOR'S NOTE: Hello all! Welcome to Chapter 6 ½—it's a very strange chapter and consists only of Draco's dreams. They are in no particular order. Happy reading and analyzing! ~~
Chapter 6.5: Draco's Dreams
Draco held out his hand.
"Take it." He demanded, but she simply stared. She was standing on the other end of the room. He motioned harder for her to come to him, but she wouldn't move.
Draco was becoming frustrated. They needed to go. Potter was coming with that ugly carrot-head friend of his. Draco couldn't believe she'd ever dated him. He needed to hide her—quickly.
"Hermione!" he bellowed, "Come!"
She seemed to register him now, her large eyes finally focusing on his face. She still didn't move, but this time Draco noticed the chains on her wrists and ankles.
Draco tried to run to her, except his legs wouldn't pulled out his wand and tried to aim a confringo at the chains, but his wand wouldn't work.
He waved it to-and-fro frantically; he was getting more and more panicked as nothing was happening. Hermione had started crying, pulling on her shackles now. Draco pulled his wand close to examine it carefully. Indeed, it wasn't his wand at all; it was only a crooked stick.
He started to panic in earnest. He knew this feeling—being left without a wand was like having both of your arms chopped off and being told to eat sushi with a fork and spoon using your feet. He looked around desperately—and realized he was standing in the Great Hall at Hogwarts. Hermione was now on her knees, sobbing into her hands. The chains appeared to be getting tighter against her skin—she was bleeding from both wrists and her feet were covered in blood.
Draco needed to run to her, but it was like he had never used his legs before. Every step was abrupt and awkward, and he was constantly falling to one side or the other. After what seemed like minutes of effort, he had not made any progress at all. She still remained on the other end of the Great Hall.
He screamed her name, but it was too late.
Potter came in first, his head the size of a balloon, his scar stretched out until it was almost unrecognizable.
Next came in Weasley, taller than Draco had ever seen him. Without ceremony, Weasley stood behind Hermione and lifted her by her hair and dragged her up against him until his arms were wrapped around her possessively.
Draco tried desperately to crawl towards her, but felt chains on his ankles forming, turning into vines wrapping his legs tighter and tighter. The Great Hall transformed into the Forbidden Forest, and for a moment he couldn't see anyone but the thick trees growing over him, onto him, until he screamed with all his might CONFRINGO!
Draco had never cast wandless magic before, and he watched with wonder as an enormous fire engulfed the wood around him. The trees started to melt away to reveal his foyer, and he ran to where he knew she would be… where she always was.
She lay on the floor screaming, his aunt crouched over her, a knife in her hand.
He lunged, and landed squarely on her back, pulling his Aunt Bella off her so quickly he surprised himself. Confident now that he could handle Bellatrix Black, he hit her on the mouth as hard as he could, drawing blood. He didn't have a wand, but he could fight with his fists like a bloody muggle. He was straddling her now, hitting her head over and over until he was up to his wrists in blood. He stopped, realizing she had stopped struggling long ago. Her head was twisted to one side, covered in her mass of thick curly hair. Draco gingerly turned her face so he could assess the damage.
But when he turned her face, he realized she wasn't Aunt Bella at all.
To his horror, he was sitting on top of Hermione Granger.
He screamed No! so forcefully he woke with a full-body jolt. His face was drenched in tears.
He rolled over and screamed into his pillow.
He lay quietly until sleep took him again.
XXX
Draco was in his laboratory. She was there too, stirring her potion.
Her hair was longer than he'd ever seen it, past her small waist and almost touching her bum. Draco was behind her, and he watched her body as it swiveled with the movement of her arms. Her shirt was thin, and he could see the outline of her black bra against her tanned skin.
She turned to look at him and smiled when she caught him staring.
"Draco, come here." She ordered.
He obeyed. When he was close enough to touch her hair, he lifted his hand to feel the thick curls between his fingers, but she evaded him, and motioned for him to look at her cauldron.
Bubbling blood.
Draco looked up to see Weasley sneering at him.
"Do you really think she would ever love you, mate? She hates your guts. She's only ever been with me."
Draco wanted to disagree, but he couldn't find his voice. Weasley had summoned a black mug from the shelf and was dipping it in the cauldron.
"You have to drink this." He ordered, holding the mug to Draco's lips.
Draco drank the disgusting iron-sweet liquid. It burned his throat so that he sputtered.
"You're not her type, you know." Weasley noted casually, refilling the mug. Blood dripped down the sides and onto his shoes as he held up the cup to Draco's lips again, gently cradling his chin.
"She's only ever loved me, and still does really."
Draco drank. It burned. He coughed; he gagged.
"Please." Draco whispered.
Weasley only smiled. "You should see her naked. She's very beautiful."
Draco began to vomit very violently. It didn't seem to phase Weasley at all. He was stroking Draco's hair now, and offering him the mug more urgently, as if it was the answer to his current problem.
"Tastes good, right?" he asked, his voice taking a harder tone. "It's one hundred percent pure." He promised.
Draco heaved and wretched. He drank the blood, then vomited. He drank, then vomited.
"Pure?" he asked, gasping.
"Yes," Weasley explained, "It's our blood. Mine and yours. Pure."
Draco woke up sweating; he ran to the loo before he could throw up in his bed.
XXX
Draco was in his garden. Not the one behind the Manor, but the one on his small balcony in his flat. The daffodils were in full bloom, filling the air with their soft scent. He sat down on the white wrought iron chair, wishing she would come sit across from him to enjoy the flowers together.
As if by magic, she walked out onto the balcony with a tray of biscuits and tea.
"Hermione," he said, savoring the way her name felt in his mouth.
"Draco," she replied sweetly, dropping one sugar cube into his cup after placing the tray on the little balcony table.
"You're here." Draco pressed, silently asking how?
"Of course I am," she raised an eyebrow at him, "I live here."
The daffodils were wilting in front of Draco's eyes, as he were trapped in some sort of time-lapse film he'd seen muggles make. He grabbed Hermione's hand to make sure she wouldn't disappear with the dying flowers.
She squeezed his hand and said, "Don't worry. Look."
In place of the dead daffodils, whose remains had now completely disappeared, were rows and rows of tulips. So many tulips that the balcony seemed to expand with them, until they weren't on his balcony at all, but in a wide-open field.
"Can we just stay like this?" he asked, holding her hand gently in both of his.
"Forever," she promised.
Draco woke up with such an ache in his heart that he would never be able to describe it. A rush of sadness so severe overtook him that he lay paralyzed in bed. He stared at the ceiling until the light tinted blue, agonizing over the impossible.
XXX
He was in his childhood room, sorting through his books by the fireplace. The texts were strewn about him on the floor, forming a small semi-circle around him. He was going to start his first year at Hogwarts. His father and mother were sitting on the sofa on the other side of the moat of books. They were lecturing him.
"Now, of course you will be sorted into Slytherin," his father started, stroking the head of his cane, "as that is where all pureblood wizards belong."
"Yes, father," Draco agreed nervously, looking at his mother for an encouraging smile.
Instead, she frowned and said, "Draco you mustn't slouch so, it's unseemly."
Draco straighten his shoulders. His father picked up a tome off the floor and read the title.
"Magic for Beginners. Written by a witch well known to be a mudblood! Pah! The school is going to ruins Narcissa, I tell you the boy is going to be poisoned there."
His mother placed her hand on his father's leg to soothe him. She then turned to Draco and ordered, "You can never read this book, Draco. You must burn it."
Draco tried to protest. "But mother, how will I pass my classes if I burn the book?"
"Don't argue with your mother, Draco!" his father warned, and Draco took the text from his mother, glancing at the title and author name.
Magic for Beginners by Hermione Granger.
"She's not a mudblood! I know her!" Draco exclaimed.
"Mudblood? Who said anything about a mudblood?" his father snatched the book back from Draco, "She's a house-elf."
His mother nodded her assent. "Hermione! Come here." She ordered.
But Hermione wasn't the one who came. It was Dobby who walked in, except he had hair. A lot of it. Crazy, curly, wild hair.
"Burn this book." His mother motioned to him, and Dobby took it from her gingerly.
"Yes, missus." Dobby said in his small voice, evading her eyes.
Draco lunged at Dobby to snatch the book back, but Dobby wacked him on the ear so hard Draco could hear bells. He started crying.
"How unbecoming of you to cry." His father chastised.
Draco protested, crying harder, "That's Dobby, not Hermione Granger! She isn't a house-elf daddy!"
His father kicked him, "She is! And you can't play with house-elves!"
His mother clucked, "How many times have we warned you, Draco? You oughtn't play with house-elves. It's unseemly. Look at all the nice toys and books we've bought you. Why don't you go play with your broomstick instead?"
Draco woke up, his only thought being: what in the bloody hell was that about?
XXX
Draco was in the Slytherin common room, trying to move through the hoards of students to find a seat. It was New Years, and the despite the fact that it was the holidays, the dungeon seemed about to split with the sheer amount of bodies occupying the space.
Dark green and silver streamers were draped on every sconce in a haphazard way. Someone had hung up a disco ball, and it was casting bright lights and colors on the dingy stone walls.
Draco pushed more insistently now; he could see her frizzy hair behind a group of third years. A pointed look was enough to make them scram. She was sitting by the fire, reading a book. Her back was slightly toward him, but he could just make out the side profile of her nose.
He watched her for some time. Despite all of the noise in the common room—laughing, music, loud arguments and conversations—she was totally focused. Draco started to feel nostalgic. Was this what she was like in her common room when they were growing up? Even though he was seventeen now, he was still somehow aware that he was twenty-nine as well. This realization pushed him to speak to her. Why was she here?
He walked around the sofa in order to sit down, and at first she didn't look up to see who had taken the seat next to her. He shifted his weight so he was closer, and she glanced up.
"Oh, Draco. You're here finally. I need to finish this arithmancy homework—Professor Vector said it's due at midnight!"
Draco glanced at the clock above the fireplace. It read 'almost there.'
"What's the homework?" he asked conversationally, leaning even closer to look at the open page. Their knees were now almost touching.
"It's a puzzle," she explained, pointing to a block of numbers.
9
"She said I need to solve it by midnight or else I won't get the extra credit." Hermione frowned, looking up at the clock again. It now read, 'you're running out of time.'
"Can I help you?" Draco asked, reaching over to take her notes.
"I'm the one helping you." Hermione stated, "Watch—eleven is K, nine is I, nineteen is S… it means kiss!" She suddenly looked around panicked. "Who am I meant to kiss? I'm almost out of time!"
The clock now read, 'go for it, you fool.'
"Can I help you?" Draco asked again, leaning in closer, "for your extra credit's sake, of course."
The clock began chiming, '10… 9… 8…'
"I suppose…" Hermione combed through her hair with her fingers contemplatively, "I wouldn't want to fall behind in arithmancy…"
'3… 2… 1…'
Draco kissed her.
Her lips were soft. She smelled good. She tasted better. He felt warm, unbelievably warm. He heard cheers and laughter and celebration as he pulled her face closer to his. She was sweetness personified. They were seventeen, and they were kissing. Students were cheering. There was no Lord Voldemort, there was no war, there was no death. There were only lights, and music, and warmth, and parties. This is how it should have been. This is how—
They weren't in the dungeon anymore. They were on his four-poster bed. She was still letting him kiss her. Draco felt braver now. He held her head firmly in his hands, his fingers tangled in her hair. He moved his lips slowly, wanting to savor every moment, every feeling. Her nose lightly brushed against his as she adjusted the angle, and he felt a thrill in his stomach.
Hermione.
He woke up. It wasn't real. Draco sighed. Unable to release his frustration, he grabbed his pillow, and smacked himself in the face several times.
XXX
Draco was in healing school again, dissecting his first cadaver.
"Malfoy, hand me the scalpel. It's on your end."
Matilda was holding up her hand expectantly without looking at him. She was dissecting the cadaver's wand arm, trying to manually separate the brachial plexus from fascia and muscle.
When Draco didn't place the scalpel in her hand quickly enough, she looked up.
"I don't have all day."
Draco moved over to the metal tray that held all of their tools, but everything was covered in waste. Feces, blood, and mucous covered the tray completely. Draco backed away in disgust, bumping into someone behind him.
"Hey, watch it!"
Draco turned around. It was Crabbe.
"Crabbe!" He almost shouted in joy, "you're alive!"
"Of course I am, mate." he said in his strangely soft feminine voice, "I'm gon'ta be a healer!"
Draco smiled in relief. He was puzzled how Crabbe managed to get into healing school, but he was glad he was alive. For some reason, Draco had thought he was dead.
"Oi!" Matilda turned into Goyle, "Scalpel, please!"
Draco ignored Goyle and turned back to Crabbe.
"How have you been mate? I've been thinking about you." Draco pressed, "When did you start healing school?"
"Well, I was out with my dad for a while in Mauritania," Crabbe replied, "we were hunting for poffle out there. You ever heard of poffle out in Mauritania, mate?"
"No, mate." Draco said, "It's way too hot."
"OI! SCALPEL!"
"Hold on, I'll give it to him," Crabbe walked over to the tray, and picked out a clean scalpel and handed it to Goyle.
"This isn't what I asked for!" Goyle shouted, and jumped over the cadaver to attack Draco. Draco stumbled to the floor with the weight of Goyle against his chest, whacking his head against the linoleum floor. Goyle was almost sitting on his chest, slapping him repeatedly in the face. Crabbe started hitting him too, landing blows on his legs.
"Ow! Stop it!" Draco protested, trying to fend them off with his elbows.
"You killed Crabbe!" Goyle accused.
"You killed me!" Crabbe agreed, kicking Draco hard. Draco tried to cover his head, but someone else was smacking his arms away to give Goyle a clear shot.
"You killed Crabbe!" Hermione seethed, "You're a murderer and a coward!"
"I didn't!" Draco cried, trying to free his hands to protect his face, "He cast the curse, I told him not to practice that—I told him never to use it!"
"You left me in that fire!" Crabbe was shouting now, "You left me!"
"You fell!" Draco cried, "I swear I didn't want you to die!"
Goyle hit Draco so hard his teeth rattled. "Shut up! You're a liar! You filthy Death Eater scum. You taught us Crucio!"
Draco tried to open his eyes to see Hermione's reaction to this shameful bit of news, but his eyelids were too swollen. Somehow he could still see Crabbe though, and the left side of his face was now an oozing mass of burnt skin.
"It was you who wanted to find Potter." Crabbe blamed, "It was you who told us the Dark Lord would reward us."
"Please," Draco panted—Goyle was still hitting him—"I didn't know… I didn't know it would happen like this…"
"WHAT DID YOU THINK?!" Crabbe bellowed, "YOU'RE A FOOL."
He pulled out his wand. Draco realized suddenly that Hermione and Goyle were gone. He was in the Room of Requirement again. Draco turned in place, panicked. He fell back when he saw the cabinet looming over him.
"No!" Draco screamed, but the cabinet seemed to warp and lean over his cowering body, slowly opening its doors, about to suck him inside until he was lost… lost forever.
"MALFOOOOYY!" Crabbed called from a distance. "MALFOY, WHERE ARE YOU?"
"Here!" Draco yelled, "VINCENT, HELP ME!"
But Crabbe's voice continued to get more and more distant. Draco was suffocating, the cabinet had wrapped around his body like a snake and was squeezing him. It was going to crush him if he didn't get out. He was on his dining room table, being watched by masked spectators chanting: "Nagini… dinner."
Draco woke up with a start, touching his face and ribs gingerly as if to assess the damage. Unable to believe he was unharmed, he walked over to the bathroom and looked in the mirror. There were no bruises, no bleeding. He looked as he usually did. Pale face, sunken eyes, white-blond hair. He lifted his shirt to examine his sides, and saw nothing but smooth pale skin.
He leaned over the sink, holding his aching skull. He hated dreaming about Vincent Crabbe. He hated knowing he was dead. Sure, Goyle had been in and out of Azkaban on petty crimes for years, but at least that had nothing to do with Draco. But Crabbe… he was another enormous sin on Draco's conscious. What would Granger say if she knew what he had done and said that year? If she knew what he was like as a Death Eater; if she had ever seen him in his robes and mask, touching his dark mark with the tip of his wand?
Draco felt disgusted. He was covered in a filth he couldn't wash off.
He got in the shower anyway.
XXX
Draco was in Hermione's flat.
He would have felt anxious, but it looked to be completely empty. Draco sat down on the couch, and began reading the book Hermione had left out for him. It was a title he'd never heard of before—likely muggle. He flipped through the pages lazily, not full paying attention.
He had a nagging feeling that he was meant to do something.
He looked around. The flat was small, definitely smaller than his. The kitchen and the living space were connected. A bright yellow tea pot sat on the stove. Next to the kitchen was a powder room, and behind the couch was the door to Hermione's bedroom.
The door to her bedroom was a plain one. For all intents and purposes, it was a regular door. There was nothing special about it. Yet, Draco felt a sense of dread wash over him, followed by intense curiosity.
Was she inside?
He stood and walked closer to the door, until he was almost touching the handle. The door began to grow. Or was he the one shrinking? Draco wondered if it was locked. If he turned the handle, would it open?
Would she leave her door unlocked for him?
Just as he placed his hand on the handle, he woke up. His heart was racing.
He closed his eyes and went back to sleep.
XXX