by BlackRose, 2001
BlackRose's Page
Chapter 5 - Dreamscapes and Nightmares
----- Harry -----
He was dreaming.
In the hazy, insubstantial way of dreams he found himself in school. Not the familiar stone walls of Hogwarts but in his old school - peeling plaster walls and dirty tiled floor, full of tired faces in muggles clothes with bookbags and binders. Harry drifted among them like a ghost, his Hogwarts robes whispering, but it might have been his invisibility cloak for all anyone noticed him. They brushed past him in a sea of oblivious eyes as he struggled, looking... but he didn't know for what, he only knew he had to find it soon.
The hall faded and he was in an empty classroom. A huddle of bright coppery hair and wild brown curls was in one corner and Harry breathed a sigh of relief. "Hermione! Fred, George!"
But it was still wrong, Hermione in the skirt and jacket uniform of a proper English school, a muggle school, her arms full of books with titles about biology and calculus. They couldn't seem to hear him and Hermione was arguing with the twins - "No, *I'll* keep arithmancy, you can have history of magic, it's every tuesday and thursday..."
"But Quidditch practice is thursday," George was protesting, and in his hands was a soccer ball.
"Oh, this is so complicated," Hermione said fretfully.
Then the scene shifted again and now it was Hogwarts, the Dungeon, and double potions with the Slytherins. Hermione, looking just like she should, was tugging on his sleeve and hissing. "Harry! Don't drift off in class!"
"Sorry, Hermione," he started to say, but Ron was handing him a stack of books.
"Here," Ron said. "Take one and pass it on."
Harry found himself holding a stack of chemistry books. He took the topmost copy and passed the stack to Hermione, but Hermione was gone and Draco was sitting in her place, his pale eyes meeting Harry's as he took the books.
"More table of elements, I guess," Draco remarked mildly. "Do you really think every snowflake is unique? Maybe Professor Snape will let us brew a snowstorm and find out."
"Harry!" Ron's voice, and the room was shaking - did they have earthquakes in Scotland? "Harry... Harry!"
"Wha-?" Harry came awake with a jolt, blinking. Ron was above him, the other boy's face pale and indistinct in the darkness of their dorm.
"You alright?" Ron whispered. "You were dreaming."
"I'll say," Harry gasped, rubbing at his eyes. "That was just weird... I was back in muggle school. Only Hermione was there..."
"Muggle school? Ugh. Sounds more like a nightmare." Ron yawned largely. "You were tossing around."
"Oh... Did I wake you? I'm sorry."
"No, I wasn't asleep yet." Ron yawned again, scrubbing a hand over one cheek.
"Right," Harry said disbelieving. "Well, you're mostly asleep now. I'm alright. Go back to bed."
"Yeah, okay." Ron slid from the edge of the bed but Harry, reaching out, caught his wrist.
"Ron?"
"What is it, Harry?"
Their whispers were quiet in the dark, muffled. Harry hesitated, then briefly squeezed Ron's wrist. "Thanks. Sorry about waking you."
Ron squeezed back, his palm warm. "No problem. Just get some sleep."
----- Ron -----
Morning. *Early* morning, and all of us yawning and shivering out on the wet grass with the damn Slytherins. I hate care of magical creatures.
Well, no, I like Hagrid. I really do. But the class I could do without, and the Slytherins I could *really* do without.
My eyes feel like hot coals burning into my head. Can a person die from insomnia?
Hermione's so tired her head keeps dipping towards Neville's shoulder, her eyes sort of glassy and half asleep. If I glance over even Draco, damn him, looks tired, with dark circles under his eyes and using Crabbe like a human wall to lean against. Is anybody in this entire school sleeping?
Alright, *Neville* looks like he's awake, but I'm not sure that counts. Neville could sleep through an attack by You-Know-Who.
Harry pokes at me, finger digging in my ribs. I jerk myself up again and he flashes me a wry smile. "Thanks," I whisper back, and try to look like I'm not only alert but attentive.
----- Draco -----
They're like sheep, set to pasture and content to graze. They stand there, dazed and glassy eyed, shellshocked survivors of restless nights but in the daylight the momentum fades and they are sheep again.
I'm a wolf, not a shepherd.
Would they be such content little sheep if the Dark Mark was hovering over the ruined smouldering wreck of their homes and families? I don't think so. There's a bite there, hidden beneath the layers of quiet complacency. There's fangs and real spirit, if you dig far enough. It's the digging that's tiresome.
Weasley's eyes on me are hard and angry. I ignore him. If he can't see what's in front of his face, then I don't have the time. We are defined by the choices we make - if this is his, then so be it. I don't have time for sheep or guard dogs.
Beside him, the morning sunlight glints off of glass lenses beneath the tumbled fall of dark hair. I think we've dreamt long enough, now, Harry. Time to stop playing. This won't wait much longer.
Quotes from last chapter:
Narrator: I am Jack's complete lack of surprise.
-- Fight Club