Disclaimer: Once again, the only thing that I own is the plot. So yeah, you get the idea.

Miriel- thanks for the review, and thanks for being my beta reader

Bellatrist- Thank you for also being my beta reader even though you're not a big slash fan. You're still an awsome cousin.

Jaded- Thanks for the advice, I hope that Draco seems more fitting to what you think he's like in this chapter

MOI- Here's your next chapter, glad that you liked the first

Belle- The dream was during the summer, and I hope I got this chapter out fast enough for you

Sami- I love this song too, and it always reminds he of Draco, thank you for reviewing

Laurie- Thank you for wanting me to continue, I know that I'm not the best writer, but thank you for reading this!

Escape Dramatic- Thank you for being the first person that reviewed, sorry you thought it was generic, and I hope I improved.

Chapter Two

[And I don't want the world to see me

Cause I don't think that they'd understand]

Far away, in another part of England, Harry Potter's eyes snapped open as the clock tower in the town stroke two in the morning. He sat up and looked out of his window for Hedwig, or any other owl that might have a letter for him, but saw none in the dark abyss that was the night. He was hoping that Ron or Hermione, his two best friends from Hogwarts, would have replied to him by now. But, as fate always seemed, they were only just receiving their letters.

'That dream again,' he thought to himself, staring out of the barred window.

The windows were a coming home present for him. The Dursley's has received a letter from Dumbledore at the beginning of the summer, delivered in person, much to the anger of his uncle. But his uncle had listened to everything the elderly wizard had to say, for he knew what power Dumbledore possessed. He also knew that everytime a wizard was present, Dudley had a part of him altered by that 'devilry', so chose to listen, barely contained in his rage.

"You are too much work for your own good!" Vernon had yelled at Harry the moment Dumbledore had apparated out of number 4 Privet Dr. " You and your whole lot of trash should be thrown out!"

"You're just like Lily, can't stay out of trouble," his aunt Petunia sniffed at him, "and you'll both die the same death too."

"My mom died bravely," Harry had muttered to himself.

"DON'T YOU TALK BACK TO HER!!" Vernon screamed in rage, slapping Harry across the face, where a huge bruise still remained. "NOT WHILE YOU LIVE HERE!"

That was at the beginning of the summer, about two months ago. It was now passed his birthday (which of course the Dursleys had ignored), and he was looking forward to returning to Hogwarts in a few weeks time.

What he really had wanted to do was stay with the Weasleys the last part of the summer vacations, but Dumbledore had told him that the Burrow would be watched by Voldemort, and wasn't a safe place for him to be.

So, even though he hadn't wanted to, he had been sent back to his own personal hell on Privet Drive. Even the threat of Sirius hadn't scared the Dursleys this summer. Uncle Vernon had pronounced him fake, for if he was real, why wouldn't he take the time to visit Harry. He was so glad that Sirius wasn't there to see what his Uncle Vernon did to him sometimes, Sirius might do something rash, getting him in even more trouble with the wizarding community. He had gotten a telescope from him on his birthday, but hadn't heard from him since, and was growing increasingly worried.

The only thing that kept Harry's mind away from all of things, was a reoccurring dream that he kept having. He could never clearly see the person, but the voice, that voice, was so familiar, yet so foreign to him that he couldn't figure out who it was. The dream was always the same, and it startled him that he subconsciously thought this way about someone that he couldn't even remember.

The kisses and being that close to someone was what made Harry wonder even more. He had never had a relationship before, or really ever felt the way he felt about this person. Yet, he didn't know whom she, or even he was. He would have tried a spell, but his wand was taken from him on the first day of the summer vacations, so he was magic-less. The only thing he had were the course books of next year, which Hermione had ever-so-nicely sent to him for his birthday.

He lay back down on his bed, and tried to catch the lull of sleep, but seeing how everything was there to taunt him, it couldn't be caught. He sighed, and got out a book from under the loose floorboard in the room. He cracked it open, and began to read the assigned section, sighing for it was the Divination course book for the upcoming year.

Dreams

A very important part of Divination is the dream world. It can often tell us what the future holds when read correctly. Many things in dreams have different interpretation in our lives; for example death means the start of a new life, so only when read correct, do these have meaning.

Harry sighed, Divination was always boring. He almost wished that he had dropped it like Hermione had. He knew that he would have to read it eventually, but for the moment, just skimmed over a few parts until something caught his eye.

Reoccurring Dreams

It is not unheard of to have reoccurring dreams. Most of these are slightly altered everytime, but if it is never altered, then it shows one of the possible outcomes of the future. Reoccurring dreams happen when two or more wizards wish for whatever happens in the dream to be a reality. Most of the time, they can even talk to each other through their subconscious, on the planes of the sleep world.

Harry quickly re-read the paragraph. Did someone also want what he did, and they were able to connect through their subconscious minds? If they did, then who? Harry's mind was a jumble of what to do.

'Is it really what the book says,' he thought to himself. 'I wonder who is thinking the same things that I'm thinking.'

All the while, his arch-nemesis, and now unknown object of affection, was just an eye blink away.

[When everything's made to broken

I just want you to know who I am]

Draco dragged himself up to his room, bleeding freely from several gashes on different parts of his pale skin. The pushed open the door to his bathroom, and turned the water on to fill up his black bathtub. He had spelled it black, so the water would also look black, so he couldn't see all the blood that would wash off of him.

He looked in the mirror, at the hazardly thin and pale face that glared like a zombie back at him. A long cut, from his temple all the way to the bottom of the right side of his face, made his hair a sickening shade of blood red. He had cuts on his arms, all over his back, and down his legs, all flowing with rivers of blood. This wasn't the first time it had happened, on the contrary it happened almost every other week, but Draco never seemed to be able to do anything right.

He sighed, and stepped into the bathtub. He picked up a bar of soap, and started scrubbings at his skin, flinching at the stinging when it got in the cuts. He washed the blood out of his hair, got out, and dried off, putting on his white linen pajamas. He did a quick drying spell on his hair, and walked into his room, the reminiscent of what had just happened flashing before him.

"You'll get the dark mark whether you want to or not," Lucuis had growled at him, putting a paralyze spell on him.

He went over to the hidden closet on the wall, and pulled out his favorite leather whip. He turned to face Draco, and let his rage come out onto his son.

"You won't embarrass me anymore," he snapped, "you'll get the dark mark and serve our lord. You're a Malfoy, and this is what we do. Until you learn that, you'll just keep getting this over and over!"

Draco had eventually lost consciousness, and was awoken by the prodding of a house elf an hour later. Just like his father, Draco had an uncontrollable rage, and lashed out at the poor elf, leaving a bruise where he had slapped it. The only time he was able to control his rage seemed to be in public and when his father was beating him.

"He should die," Draco whispered to himself. "He will die, and I'll be the one to kill him and anyone who has ever touched me. They'll all die!"

He took a book at his bedside and hurled it at the mirror, shattering it into thousands of sharp blades of glass. A few shards flew close to him, and cut his hands and arms, staining the white bed clothes with blood. The vase that contained the flowers that he had asked not to be put in his room flew out of the window, followed by his glass spell bottles thrown on the floor. After breaking a few more things, and thoroughly stained red, he sank to the glass littered floor, breathing hard.

"And I'll be the one to kill them, they don't even know the real me," he snapped at himself in his rage. "No one knows me, not even he knows me, I want him to know me."

A furious knocking came at the door, followed by his father's furious voice, asking him if he hadn't already had enough.

"Oh yes, they'll all die," he whispered faintly, before the ground began to tilt and sway like a ship, and he tumbled into his own oblivion.

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I hope that you liked it, review for suggestions and tell me what you think ^_^.