A/N ~ OK please don't hurt me!! I was away for 5 weeks, that's why this story hasn't been updated in so long! I swear I intended to finish it all along, I'm sorry I didn't let you know that I wasn't going to update for a while, it just slipped my mind! Anyway, here is chapter three, I hope you like it! please review!

THANK YOU SO MUCH TO :: broom, RandiLynn, Vbabe3, Mari, Jadziadaxx, mila2, Fashiondiva, Bloody Love, harrysgirl, Willow23, dracosgirl, *butter~cup* (x2), Rashaka, Desiqueen, Scarlett8, and three-days-grace . . . you all make my day with your reviews!!

Mari :: ok, I know that they could ask for a key, but that would ruin the whole plot of my story so just go with it here! And as for a sleeping bag, I know that they could ask for it, but Hermione expressly said that she would not sleep on the floor, and a sleeping bag would entail sleeping on the floor. And I mean, come on, Draco Malfoy in a sleeping bag? I think not, he would probably feel that sleeping on the ground was below him, so asking for a sleeping bag would have been pointless J

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"Of neither could she think without feeling that she had been blind, partial, prejudiced, absurd."

-Pride And Prejudice-

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Chapter Three :: Alucinor Ad Me Aetas

It wasn't one of the most pleasant nights Hermione had ever experienced. Yes, the bed was extremely comfortable, and it was neither too hot nor too cold in the room so the setting for sleep was ideal. Yet what prevented her from sleeping as well as she should have was the fact that at two different times during the night she had been abruptly startled awake by mumbling and talking coming from the boy next to her. 

She would have never pinned Draco Malfoy as one who suffered from nightmares, for some reason such a trivial thing to her seemed below his aristocratic character. Yet, never the less, he seemed to be plagued with the same, repeating, awful dream. She had deduced this from the fact that both times that she had woken up he had been mumbling and crying out the exact same thing. At first his words seemed nonsensical, but she had resigned to the fact that she wouldn't be able to fall asleep again after the second incident, and as such had been given ample time to think over what he had been saying.

"Yes of course . . . I'm so sorry." Had been the two primary phrases Draco had spoken in his sleep, and between these there were various mutterings about his father, his 'duty,' and low moans that seemed to be a result of a dreamt punishment, and she had felt him jerk and spasm a little several times during the course of his ramblings. To Hermione it seemed that Draco had been dreaming about something to do with a confrontation with his father, a confrontation that began with a discussion of Voldemort and ended in his own immense physical pain, she also guessed that it had been his own father who caused this suffering. Yet Hermione and Draco had been enemies for nearly five years, and this caused her to believe that whatever punishment he had dreamt about he probably had coming for something awful that he had done.  Still, Hermione was pure of heart, and as she looked over at the boy next to her she couldn't help the small feeling of sympathy that began to glow inside of her despite the fact that she was supposed to hate everything about him.

Draco hadn't come around yet, he was still breathing in the subdued pattern that told of sleep and he hadn't appeared to have had any more jarring dreams since he had woken her nearly an hour earlier.  Oddly enough, when Hermione looked over at him she for a moment did not recognise him. He just looked so innocent when he was sleeping, like he was some kind of fabled angel, pure of heart and soul. She snorted immediately and dismissed the thought with haste.

Upon glancing at her wristwatch, Hermione deduced that it was a quarter past eight, and it was time that she got out of bed and got dressed. Even if she was to be stuck in a room with nothing to do there was no need to lie in bed all day. So she pushed the thick comforter off of her and slipped to the floor, stretching her arms and yawning out of the exhaustion that was a nasty upshot of her lack of sleep.  She looked down at the tousled sheets for a second, before muttering 'Abrogo' and watching as the silver line contracted and vanished in a pea green puff of smoke, leaving Draco with the option of making the bed, though she doubted he would.

The bathroom was actually quite nice; it seemed that when you asked the Room to provide you with something it obliged only with the best and highest quality. The lighting was soft and subdued and helped to encourage the room's peaceful atmosphere. The floor was made of sandy coloured tiles and there were 'his and hers' sinks before a large, regally framed mirror.  On the marble topped counters around the sinks Hermione saw that all of the essential toiletries had been provided, two toothbrushes and a tube of fresh toothpaste were sitting next to a large brush, a comb and, to her utter dismay, a large pot of styling gel obviously meant for Draco's perpetually inflated, sleek blonde head. The bathtub resembled the one in the prefect's bathroom, large enough to be a small swimming pool with various taps around the edge, each undoubtedly emitting a different type of bubble bath or soapy lather. There was a shower in the corner with a door made of textured glass, yet it wasn't like the showers in the non-magic world. Instead this one had at least twelve different spigots that would move about on their own accord so the person who was showering would be jetted with water from all sides, and the walls and floor were all made of a metallic material that seemed like a course type of mirror making it so you could see yourself at all angles. In all honesty Hermione found this particular attribute of the shower a bit disconcerting, she had never been so self involved that she enjoyed seeing herself at all times, especially while showering, yet she smirked a little as she thought how suited it was to Malfoy, who she knew was just that self centred.

Hermione brushed her teeth quickly and had just begun to sort out her sleep-knotted hair when she heard stirring in the other room. She walked softly to the bathroom door and looked out at her companion. Malfoy was sitting on the edge of the bed facing her, his feet resting idly on the floor in the same manner that his hands were sitting by his sides, his eyes were dull and tired and, to Hermione, he seemed to look much less like himself in the mornings. He obviously wasn't the stereotypical 'morning person,' his face and really his entire posture were relaxed from fatigue instead of etched into their usual pompous appearance and she noticed that circles of weariness rested under his eyes and his unkempt hair was hanging lazily about his face instead of smoothed carefully back. She couldn't exactly explain it, but the fact that he no longer appeared physically flawless made him seem more real to her, more like a normal person and less like he was eternally posed. She looked him over again, and it dawned on her how washed-out he looked, his face seemed drawn and his eyelids sagged slightly, as if he hadn't had much sleep last night and, upon remembering his nasty nightmare, Hermione almost felt sorry for him.

"Is there a reason why you are staring at me mudblood?" he asked uncaringly as he lifted himself off of the bed and began to walk in her direction.

Almost.

Hermione's face stiffened angrily, but it was early and she wasn't nearly as witty as she would be later and consequently was in no state for snappish arguing, so she contented herself with wheeling about on her heel and slamming the bathroom door in his smug face with a sigh and an exaggerated roll of her eyes.

Hermione derived great pleasure from taking as long as possible to bathe and get dressed in a set of fresh black robes, wishing her nightgown away and drying her hair carefully. It was so enjoyable for her because of the fact that she could hear Draco grumbling and complaining from the other side of the closed door. He obviously hated being delayed from his morning rituals and, from what she could hear, 'needed to use the bloody toilet so hurry the hell up.' She just smiled spitefully, relishing the victorious feeling of subtle payback.

After nearly forty five minutes, Hermione threw open the door and walked out of the bathroom, pausing to smile innocently at Draco as he brushed haughtily past her, mumbling something about inaudible yet in such a rude tone that Hermione was sure that the word 'mudblood' must have been used at least once, more knowing Draco.

As it turned out, Draco took nearly as long as Hermione in the bathroom, and when he did finally step out it seemed as if he was expecting some type of applause for his immaculate appearance. If she hadn't been able to mentally list six or seven girls that she knew he was seeing, then she would have thought he was gay. No normal, straight man spends that long making sure that he looks fantastic, most of them are more versed in the art of falling out of bed, walking out the door, and calling their tousled appearance a new trend to be followed.

There was no conversation during breakfast, none at all. The silence rested like a thick quilt, smothering any inclinations to speak in its deep folds even before they reached the back of the tongue. The two teenagers just sat and noiselessly ate their eggs and bacon, focusing solely on their task and barely even glancing at the other. It was only after breakfast, when there was nothing else to do, that Hermione chanced an attempt to stir up whatever weak conversation was possible between two enemies.

It took a while for her to draw up the courage to speak to him, not because she was afraid or intimidated by the blonde Slytherin, but more that she was extremely tired and wasn't sure if she wanted to get in an argument or listen to his arrogant rants. Yet she had wanted to mention this to him since she woke up, and curiosity as to how he would answer was what eventually drove her to speak.

"I never would have thought of you as one who had nightmares." She said simply, hoping to seem nonchalant as she absently traced figures on a piece of parchment with her wand and watching as the enchanted cartoons ran around beneath her, not daring to meet his eyes but sensing his head shoot up to stare at her. She had to be very, very careful if she wanted to get and actual answer, Malfoy's temper was infamous, he ignited like petrol if provoked or insulted.

"I don't." Draco replied shortly, going back to doing the Ancient Runes translation that he had brought with him to do the night before.

Now Hermione looked at him, "I didn't sleep last night." She said quietly, and when he did nothing to indicate he had even heard her she pressed forward, "I heard you." She whispered, "You kept me awake." Her tone was cautious and delicately probing, her words just fanning the boy before they fell away and evaporated, like she was afraid if she spoke even slightly louder or seemed at all accusatory that he would ignite into a type of furious rage and completely close off. Even so, she had no idea why she was speaking this gently to he whom she despised; it was beyond caution and more like tenderness. Hermione simply dismissed it as her own sense of compassion for anyone, even a smarmy git, who was upset or suffering. Still, she shouldn't care if he sneered at her and she shouldn't want to know why he dreamt of such things, but she did.

He heard every word she said, but Draco still didn't reply, he was silently and methodically doing his work, keeping his mouth in check, and praying that she would just leave the subject to rest. He knew what he had been dreaming about last night, it was the same thing he dreamed about every other night, and unlike most he always could recall every detail of his dreams, every single aspect be it ever so small or trivial. He could remember the vicious gleam in his father's hateful eyes, the cold rain that cascaded around him in violent torrents, soaking his robes and blurring his vision, the indescribable pain icily burning within him at just a single word. Absentmindedly his fingers rose to the topmost region of his chest just below the collarbone, tenderly fingering the scar there. Everything had been so vivid in that particular dream not because it was a sadistic nightmare, no, it was a memory;  a memory that plagued him only at night when his subconscious was most susceptible to drift to the deepest branches of his mind and recall that which he buried when he was awake. 

 Hermione sat completely still, fascinated by what was happening before her. The Slytherin's face was no longer emotionless, more like quite the opposite. He did not look vulnerable, more so tired, exhausted from holding up a mask before his face whenever he was with other people and exhausted from the years he had not yet lived but knew what was to fill them. The moment she told him she had heard him the night before he seemed to forget she was even there and his eyes glassed over and focused on nothing in particular, as if what she had said had provoked a memory to come forth and make itself known, and now emotions were flitting across his face at an extremely rapid pace . . .

 . . . Fear

. . . Hatred

. . . Capitulation

. . . Pain

. . . Sorrow

Yet as quickly as it had happened it was over, "Well I'm so, so sorry if I've inconvenienced you, god only knows how much beauty sleep you require to look halfway decent, I apologise for disturbing you." Malfoy had seemingly come back to the present and spoke with nothing short of abhorrence, but his eyes gave him away, they were still blazing with the reminiscence of emotion, the hatred he aimed at her was forced and his strained sarcasm fell bland on her ears. This sudden abnormality in Malfoy's behavior had sparked the fire of curiosity even brighter within Hermione, and she dismissed his insult without a second thought. She reviled him, yes, but that didn't stop her from wanting to understand him.

"What were you dreaming about?" She asked, though the inquiry was pointless, she already somewhat knew what it had been and it seemed he was aware of this.

"Don't ask questions to which you already know the answer." He said in an attempt to be scathing, "You said you heard what I was saying." But again his voice failed him, he had no idea why, but he couldn't seem to muster the strength that hate required at the moment, it was like a prolonged flicker of weakness, if his father knew what his son was experiencing he would have been disowned. Malfoys are not weak. Never weak.

Hermione just looked at him, more then slightly confused with the conflict in his conduct, "Why do you dream about that."

"Why do you care?" He said, his voice no longer even trying to be sharp.

"I don't"

"I've told you once already; do not ask if you do not care." He said, returning to his translation.

Hermione sighed in exasperation, "Fine, I care now, if you please, answer my question."

"Don't lie to me Granger, you don't care you're just too nosy to let something like this go." Malfoy said, pausing for a minute while he leaned back in his chair and surreptitiously rubbed his tired eyes. When all four legs of the antique, mahogany chair were back on the ground Draco folded his arms and fixed his eyes on Hermione, who was perched atop the same old bookshelf. She squirmed a little uncomfortably under his scrutinizing stare, something that she knew the Slytherin noticed yet he didn't make some lewd comment, nor did he insult her as she had expected. Instead he bent his head down and resumed translating the Runic into English.

It had been nearly a minute before he spoke, slowly and calculatedly with a hint of his usual lazy drawl, "I do not dream. I remember."

Hermione hadn't moved when he had spoken, but she had heard every word. She rolled her eyes, now what the hell did that mean? Damn him for being so annoyingly cryptic.

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It was dark outside. The foreboding sky was coloured deep purple, and menacing thunderheads were towering like broad-shouldered giants over the horizon. It was silent as well, there seemed to be no one left on Earth tonight, save for himself. Not a cricket sang nor did a mosquito buzz, the wolves in the forest did not howl, yet the moon was full and inviting to them, even the wind, which should have been roaring in his ears at this velocity, seemed to have lost it's voice. Indeed, the only thing that was heard was the sound of Draco's feet as they trudged expectantly over the gravel path toward the guest house that his father used as a study and a place to escape the narcissistic blonde stick insect that was his mother.

He knew what was coming, he had been waiting for it all day, and so when Lorry had knocked timidly on his door and told him, in a voice that seemed to pale as it stood in the shadow of it's young master, that his father had summoned him to the study he had barely flinched. Instead he drew himself elegantly from behind his desk and descended the floors of Malfoy Manor with the stiffly proud air of a condemned man taking his final walk. Yet now that he stood before the large oaken door, he felt his resolve beginning to ebb away. It started to rain lightly around him.

Draco lifted a determined hand to the gold embossed crest on the door and crashed the knocker down four times in quick succession before stepping back and bracing himself.

Lucius Malfoy appeared suddenly, darkening the doorway with his austere posture as he glared down at his son, who seemed so much like himself. Yet at the moment he was angry. In better terms, he was murderous and had it not been for his wife, who had some type of motherly attachment to the boy, he may well have acted on his emotions.

Two days and a night had passed since he had returned from Romania, where he had been scouting for defected Death Eaters; cowards who had not been loyal enough to return to their master's side when he had called for them. And what had happened in those two days? Well he had been questioned and defied by his only son.

"I assume you know why you are here, Draco?"

Draco did not move, every muscle in his body was buzzing in wary anticipation. 'Dear God just do it . . . please just do it quickly . . .' he thought nervously

"You have disgraced me son, how dare you fail? How dare you question your father" Lucius began his voice low and ominous, brimming with disgust and rumbling with the intimidation that rivaled the thunderclouds overhead.

"I am always right, you on the other hand are young and naïve. Do you understand what lies I have had to tell our Lord so that he wouldn't murder you himself? You have shamed not only me, but all of us. It was your test Draco. It was simple. She is a mudblood." He spat the last word as if it stung his mouth to even speak it.

It had begun to rain harder now, Draco's robes were getting wetter by the minute as he felt himself beginning to sag under the weight of the downpour of both cold rain and words piled atop him by his father. Yet he didn't flinch, he was barely breathing.

"All you had to do while I was away was kill her, how hard could it have been? You are competent enough; this should have been child's play. How dare you defy our Lord." He finished, his cold silver eyes steeling over and penetrating Draco with a glare that could have frozen the weak of mind into an icy statue.

'This is it. Show no emotion. Do not let him see you flinch. Do not let him win.'

'Crucio' Lucius hissed, his wand pointed directly at his son's chest.

Draco gasped in pain as his knees buckled immediately and he was on his back, his legs folded beneath him and his hands gripping the wet grass. It was indescribable, utter, consuming, agony. He could scarcely breathe as what felt like a thousand white hot daggers were being driven through his body, and then it was like an explosion from within, his mind went numb and he focused solely on not screaming out in absolute anguish. Dear god it was like fireworks shooting off in his chest.

Show no emotion. Don't let him see you flinch. Do not let him win.

Lucius watched with sick pleasure as his son twitched and spasmed at his feet. The pale, aristocratic boy's face was screwed up in such pain and torment he seemed to be wishing for death to come quickly and put a stop to this. Yet he wouldn't lift his wand, he would not remove the curse until he had defeated his own son.

"Lucius!"

A tall blonde woman was streaking toward him from the wide open door of the Manor.

She stopped as she reached her husband and yelled at him through the pouring, icy rain, "Lucius that is enough. Look at him! Stop this; you are carrying on to long." She said as she tried to grab the wand but the blonde man held out his left arm to stop her.

"He must learn his lesson." He said firmly, his wand arm still stiffly pointed at the boy on the ground.

Draco's mind was now reeling, his whole body shaking as if it were being torn up from the inside out.

Show no emotion. Don't let him win. Don't cry out. Oh Dear God.

This had never happened before. All of the thousands of times that he had been punished he had never felt this. The Cruciatus Curse was not supposed to leave physical marks, but just then he screamed out loud in such anguish that both adults started a little. It had felt like his chest had literally cracked open, and from just below his collar bone there was such a blinding pain that when he opened his eyes all he saw was a throbbing white and blue light, his vision completely distorted.

Lucius Malfoy smiled savagely as he stood above his son. He lifted his arm the moment the boy had showed his capitulation by crying out, and watched as the long body before him relaxed in defeat. He paused as he began to turn back to his study, "You have one year to redeem yourself Draco. At the time of the next initiation you will either be ready to kill that foul mudblood or you will die." He whispered venomously, but he was not finished yet, "At my hands." There, now he was done. The man turned sharply on his heel and walked back into the guest house.

Narcissa Malfoy stood above her prostrate son and just gazed upon him with a blank expression before saying curtly, "You are lucky he didn't kill you. The elf will be out momentarily to get you to your bed." And with that she turned and glided back into the manor.

Draco just laid there for what seemed like eternity, white lights still blinking before his dazed eyes as the rain pounded down on his face and robes, soaking him through but he didn't notice, he could feel nothing save for the pain on his chest. It wasn't supposed to work like that, there wasn't supposed to be any type of lasting damage, the pain was supposed to stop the second the curse was lifted. Every other time it had stopped and he had been fine.

Draco slowly brought his hand to his chest and felt the sticky warmth of blood, and in the feeble light from the garden fairies he could see that the hand that had touched his robes was deep scarlet. Draco coughed harshly and he sat up using all the energy he had. Looking to his left and seeing the elf Lorry kneeling bedside him, holding his hands over Draco's cut. The elf delicately pulled up the black robes the boy was wearing and held out a bandage that sprung to life and wrapped itself around Draco's middle, covering the wound which spanned the entire width of this chest. "Young Master must go to bed now please." Said the timid elf quietly, lifting his hands to levitate Draco to his room. 

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Hermione Granger's eyes shot open and she sat bolt upright in bed so quickly that you would have thought she had been electrified. She was breathing fast and hard, gasping in air as if she had been submerged in the frigid ocean without a breath to sustain her.

Yet the part that disturbed her the most was the fact that her body was still tingling from the effects of the curse, she was still shivering from the cold of the rain, she could still feel the blood on her hands and she was still seeing stars. It had all been so real.

Then it occurred to her.

Perhaps it was.

"I do not dream. I remember."

She could still hear his voice distinctly, echoing through her brain.

 Slowly she looked down at her hand. It was sitting atop a long, pale arm and where the two bodies touched there was this magnetic heat that seemed to bind them together. She felt her mouth open in shock as she realized that she was touching him. That had been his dream, the very same dream that had plagued him the night before.

His memory.

Slowly, the two rivals looked down in realization, in their haste to escape each other for the comfort of sleep they had forgotten to place the Divider Charm on the bed. Suddenly the arm jerked away and she looked sharply up at Malfoy. He was lying stock still, his normally placid face slack with utter astonishment and horror, he knew what she had seen.

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A/N Alright, there it is, I'm not sure I really like it but whatever! Please Review!

Alucinor Ad Me Aetas – Latin; roughly translated it means 'Dream Of My Life' . . . I think.

Abrogo – Latin for 'to remove'