To Dream of Reality
Disclaimer: The characters in this story belong to J.K. Rowling. I'm still borrowing them. And it's still slash. Don't like it? Don't read it. Now on to the fic. Enjoy.
The dream comes again two days later.
And this time he's truly alone, no ghosts, just slithering shadows he can only see out of the corners of his eyes to keep him company. He is wandering the halls of Malfoy Manor and the portraits of his ancestors are hanging upon the walls. They aren't moving though, frozen into stillness like a Muggle picture. The odd lack of movement makes him shiver. He passes Uncle Mortimer and Great, Great Grandfather Augustus as well as Grandmother Margaret whose fan is frozen in mid air, blowing a silver curl out of place from her usually perfect coif.
He slinks past the main stairs and the drawing room, towards the North Wing because throughout the whole house it looks as if only the house elves have been here in recent years. Dusty sheets are draped over the furnishings, lending room after abandoned room an eerie air. Despite the thick layers of dust, the air doesn't smell musty. It smells fresh and clean with the underlying scent of beeswax.
He winds his way upstairs and down, through secret passages and over moving stairs. Parts of the Manor are strange and different than memory dictates; he walks right through a wall, but thinks nothing of it. The soles of his bare feet are chilled and his footsteps disturb the dust, sending it into eddies around his ankles. He is searching again, searching for that elusive presence that was always hidden from him no matter how hard he looked. He catches a quick glimpse of a moving figure out of the corner of his eye and sets off after it. This isn't a shadow, but the hidden one, ducking out of sight once more. His heart pounding in his chest, Draco sets off at a run, skidding around a corner and up a flight of stairs. Wait he wants to shout. Don't go, don't leave me all alone. Wait damn you, he wants to bellow out in frustration, but he is incapable of shattering the silence.
He always is.
He finds himself in the conservatory, among the potted plants that his mother cultivates carefully with a loving hand. The marigolds are blooming while all the other flowers have withered to dry husks, despite the fact Narcissa would never stand for it. Draco stalks towards the side door that leads out into the grounds and opens it, watching with bleak hopelessness as the figure slips soundlessly away into the gardens, but not before giving him a jaunty, mocking wave. Don't leave me. Don't leave me here by myself. Please, please come back. Please-
"-wake up! Malfoy! Damn it!"
"What do you think is wrong with him?"
"He looks to be sleepwalking. It is more prevalent among boys than girls, but it's more common between the ages of eleven and twelve. He's almost seventeen, he should have grown out of it by now, though there are exceptions of course."
"Of course. You would know, wouldn't you?"
"Don't be like that Ron. I wish you would-"
"Hey, he woke up!"
Draco's eyelashes flutter and once his gaze focuses he sees that he is surrounded by worried faces. He shakes off the hands steadying him and takes a step back, eyes widening with panic at being hemmed in so thoroughly. "Give him some room." The crowd shuffles back obediently at the quiet command and Draco turns to see Harry Potter watching him with a piercing, green gaze. His wild black hair is even messier than usual and the familiar ugly spectacles are perched crookedly on his nose. "Alright, Malfoy?"
"I'm fine, Potter." He says tiredly, his brain too sleep addled to tint his words with the familiar distaste so often employed in Potter's presence.
Potter watches him quietly, observing him with those brilliant Avada Kedavra green eyes. Draco glances uncomfortably away from the other boy and looks around, surprised at his location. He is standing outside of the portrait of the fat lady again, but this time it's hanging wide open. The room inside is decorated in red and gold and Draco suddenly realizes it's the Gryffindor common room. Wary of the commotion drawing McGonagall again, he simply turns and walks away, the whole of Gryffindor House gawking at his back as he stalks back into the darkness.
He's realized something this time, some truth that has previously been out of his reach; He just doesn't know what it is yet.