A Dream Too Real

        Disclaimer: This fanfic is based up characters and events owned by J.K. Rowling and various publishers. No copyright or trademark infringement is intended. Other citations will be made where necessary.

            Author's Note: Once again, here we are, chapter two of  A Dream Too Real. This chapter is a bit slow, too, and I promise it'll get better next time. I've introduced some Draco into this chapter, let me know what you think. Again, constructive criticism and ideas concerning improvement are welcome.

Ginny Weasley turned around a corner to head to her Charms class, keeping her head turned, calling final goodbyes to her friend, Lavender Brown. "All right, Lavender, I'll let you know what--augghh!!"

Before she could stop herself, she had plowed right into a very tall, very slim, very firm body. Her books tumbled out of her arms, and her bag spilled out onto the floor. Ginny felt her knees buckle and she slid backwards, landing on the floor with a hard thud. Quills, parchment, and broken bottles of scarlet ink littered the floor around her. The bell chose this time to ring, declaring her lateness.

Ginny looked up to see just whom she had run into, and groaned inwardly. She squinted her eyes shut. Not him, please, anybody but him, she thought to herself. But, alas, when she opened her eyes again, he was still there. Crouched in front of her, picking up his dropped books and quills, was silver-haired, light-eyed, very gorgeous Draco Malfoy.

            Draco's eyes met hers, and Ginny flushed scarlet. "Well, if it isn't Weasley and her secondhand books," Draco drawled.

            Ginny rushed to gather her things, ignoring Draco's snide comment. She pulled her wand out of the pocket of her robes, and muttered "Reparo," while pointing her wand at the shards of inkbottle on the floor. Quickly, they zoomed back into place, and she placed it back inside her bag, nestled between her Charms and Transfiguration books.

            "What's the matter Weasley, why aren't you talking to me? Don't tell me your secondhand books are more important than me. Who knows, this may be your one and only chance to strike up conversation with Draco Malfoy," he hissed in her ear.

            Ginny stood, and Draco followed suit. "What's the matter, Weasley--" Draco began again, but Ginny cut him off.

            "You know what, Draco? Go to hell." With that, Ginny stalked past him, her robes swishing behind her.

            But, the familiar cold voice stopped her in her tracks. "So, you have a backbone after all," Draco called. Ginny turned to face him. He was grinning from ear to ear, and when he found she had no remark, he turned slowly and continued on his way down the hallway.

            Ginny turned around again, and went on her way to Charms, which there wasn't a point in going to anymore. She slipped through the door, receiving a reprimanding glance from Professor Flitwick as she hurried to her seat and took out her books.

            Yet her mind wandered all through class. Why couldn't she get Draco out of her mind? And what was it about him that made her heart race like that?

***

            Why couldn't he get Ginny out of his mind? There was nothing special about the girl, of this he was sure. She came from a family who was a disgrace to the wizarding name, was the youngest from a family with more children than they could afford, and had a Muggle-loving father who had a collection of Muggle items in his garage. Ginny was part of everything Draco despised.…..but he couldn't get her out of his thoughts.

            Flanked by Crabbe and Goyle, as usual, he entered the Great Hall at dinnertime, throwing menacing looks at the Gryffindor table, and receiving looks just as menacing from that Potter idiot.

            "What're yuh glaring at?" Crabbe asked, in his usual clueless tone.

            "Nothing," Draco spat, "Just Potter." He took his seat at the Slytherin table, just as the plates before him started filling with food. Ginny was almost completely out of his thoughts, when he happened to glance up for a split second, and catch a glimpse of the familiar Weasley hair.

            It had to be, of course, Ginny. She weaved her way around the tables until she reached the side of Gryffindor table where Potter, the other Weasley, and Granger were sitting. The other Weasley slid over just enough to allow Ginny to squeeze her small frame in beside him and Hermione. He could see her face perfectly from where he was sitting. That meant she could see him, too. Oddly enough, he felt his heart jump a little at the idea.

            Suddenly, he felt arms encircling his neck, and a sickenly sweet smell enveloping him. He coughed and spluttered as he shoved the arms away from him.

            "Pansy--what the devil are you doing?" he gasped, leaning away from Pansy Parkinson, who must have attempted to hug him from behind. Of all the girls that had fallen for Draco, Pansy was by far the most daring.

            "I just--I wanted--," Pansy stuttered, wringing her hands together. Obviously things were not going as she had planned.

            "You were trying to hug me, weren't you? Weren't you?" Draco hooted, beginning to laugh. "Pansy.…..I've never been hugged before in my life." He shook his silvery head, and turned back around, away from Pansy's pug-like face, shaking with silent laughter.

            His light eyes found their way to Ginny again. She was staring directly at him. There was no mistaking it. Their eyes locked. Dammit, not her again, he thought.

            Draco had an idea. He leaped up, grabbed Pansy from behind, whirled her around and planted a long, hard kiss on her mouth. When he pulled away, Pansy stood looking shell-shocked. But Draco wasn't looking at Pansy. He was gazing at the slim form of Ginny Weasley, rushing out of the Great Hall, her eyes on the ground.

            Draco didn't know why, but suddenly he felt like the lowest human being on the face of the Earth.

***

            "And then he……Ginny? Ginny?" Hermione stopped telling her story at the look on Ginny's usually rosy face. Her face instead, was pale, her eyes wide and disbelieving. Ginny jumped up from the table, knocking over a pitcher of pumpkin juice as she did so. Without so much as a word goodbye, Ginny fled from the room. Hermione turned her bushy head in the direction of Ginny's stare, and knew immediately what was bothering her. Draco Malfoy was standing up, his lips planted firmly on Pansy Parkinson's ugly face.

            Ron pulled an old piece of parchment out of his bag, and attempted to sop up the mess of the pumpkin juice.

            "Ron, parchment isn't going to do a damn thing," Hermione snapped. "Accio napkins," she said, her wand pointing to the end of the table. The napkins zoomed toward her, and straight into her outstretched hand. "Here," she continued, slapping half of the napkins in Ron's hand, the other half in Harry's. Then, she stood, jamming books carelessly into her bag, a very un-Hermione like thing to do.

            She bent over, kissed Harry's cheek and said, "I'm going to find Ginny. You two stay here." With that, she left the Great Hall and hurried toward Gryffindor tower. It was easy enough to find Ginny. She was lying on her bed, eyes fixed on the bed draperies. She didn't turn her head when Hermione entered the room, only sighed.

            Hermione sat on the edge of Ginny's bed, like her mother used to do whenever Hermione was upset about something. At the thought of her mother, she felt her heart give a little tug. No, best not to think about her right now. Too painful.

            "Ginny……" Hermione began.

            "Go away, please," Ginny said tonelessly.

            "Not until you tell me what's wrong," Hermione stated firmly.

            "I have a stomach ache."

            Hermione sighed. "Ginny, don't lie to me. I saw Draco kissing Pansy. That's what's bugging you isn't it? You like Draco."

            Ginny sat bolt upright, shaking her head vehemently, and her long hair swinging violently. "No! I don't……not Draco……"

            Hermione felt her eyes go wide and her pulse begin to quicken. If it's not Malfoy then who is it? She thought.

            "Not Draco? Ginny, don't tell me you have a crush on Pansy," Hermione said incredulously. Ginny was the last person she'd expect to have feelings for girls.

            Ginny stared into Hermione's confused brown eyes, and then collapsed into hysterical peals of laughter. "Pansy!" she hooted, falling over backwards and clutching at her stomach. "Pansy!"

            Hermione felt her face begin to relax. "So it's not Pansy?" she asked, grinning a little.

            Ginny gasped for breath. "No, it's not Pansy!" she laughed. "Why would you even think that?"

            Hermione shrugged, and she felt herself blush. "Well then, who is it?"

            Ginny's laughter stopped abruptly. "Nobody," she replied softly, her eyes downcast.

            Hermione stretched out her arm, and pushed a lock of Ginny's red hair out of her face, the way her father used to do. Again, Hermione felt that tug at her heart. Thinking about her father was painful, too, and she pushed him into the corners of her mind.

            "Ginny, don't lie to me. Please, I hate it when people do." Her mind went to the night before, and the dream she knew she had shared with Harry, although he wouldn't tell her. A shiver went down her spine as she remembered her dream. So real…it had seemed so real.

            Ginny was silent for a moment, and then she looked up at Hermione, bearing her heart in her eyes. "You guessed it, Hermione. I'm in love with Draco Malfoy."

            Hermione swallowed hard, and nodded. It had to be Draco, didn't it? Why couldn't it have been anyone but Draco? She thought to herself. Yes, Draco was exceedingly good-looking, an excellent flier (though not nearly as good as her Harry), and if you gave him the chance, Draco could charm the pants right off of anyone who could stand to listen to him long enough. But, although Draco did have a good side however miniscule it was, he also had an ego as big as Britain itself, which he seemed immensely proud of.

            Ginny's voice snapped Hermione back to reality. "But Draco seems to be with Pansy, so I'm out of luck." Ginny sighed heavily.

            Hermione bit her lip. "Ginny, I don't mean to sound rude or anything, but Draco……he's a Slytherin," she said.

            Ginny smirked. "Good call, Hermione."

            "Well, what I mean to say is, he's a Slytherin and you're……well, you're not."

            "Hermione, do you have a point or do you just like listening to yourself talk?" Ginny asked, beginning to become agitated. "Because you know, you don't have to worry about me and Draco getting together. He's got Pansy Parkinson to occupy his time, remember?"

            Hermione pursed her lips together, and ran her hand through her hair. "Look, Ginny. You need to get your mind off Malfoy. I'm taking you out tonight. We're going dancing at The Three Drumsticks," she declared, getting up off of the bed.

            Ginny looked ready to protest, but before she could open her mouth, Hermione continued. "Be ready at eight o'clock. And wear your dancing shoes." She winked, and left the dormitory.

***

            "It worked, Master, the Dreaming Drought has worked!" a greasy-sounding voice cried.

            "You're sure, Wormtail?" the cold voice responded.

            "Positive, my Lord, positive. I heard the girl tell Harry Potter last night by the fire. I had taken my rat form, and crept in after that forgetful git, Neville Longbottom. There I sat below a chair, waiting for them. And they came, Master, they came!" Wormtail exclaimed.

            "And they're at Hogwarts, you're sure?" the cold voice asked.

            "Yes, Master, I'm positive."

            "And Harry—he'd do anything for the girl, would he not?"

            "He would, my Lord, he would."

            "Good. Now, Wormtail, go to Cornelius Fudge. Tell him Voldemort has risen again." He laughed a cold, high-pitched laugh that could chill someone's very bone marrow. It was pure evil……he was pure evil.

            And what the good wizards in the world had feared for seventeen years had become a reality, although they did not know it yet. Voldemort was back.

***

Cornelius Fudge, Minister of Magic, sat behind his polished oak desk, reading the day's Owl Post. He shook his head, his bowler hat slipping sideways. "Alastor. I should have known," he said, staring at the piece of parchment he held in his hand. He shook his head again. "Peter Pettigrew, Alastor?" he muttered. "Peter's been dead for seventeen years……"

                A crash resounded through the room as the door was flung open. Fudge jumped to his feet, eyes wide, and mouth hanging open.

            "Bloody hell," he gasped, "It can't be."

            But it was. Before him stood a short, middle-aged man with a portly build. His hair was thinning, so much so he was nearly bald. His eyes were blue, and would've been comforting if they weren't so watery and beady-looking. Fudge also noticed, at the end of one fat arm, was a metal hand.

            "Hello, Fudge," Pettigrew sneered.