Disclaimer: Did you know, I read an article about what J.K. Rowling thinks of fan fiction. She loves it, just for your interest. But she also asked authors (that includes me! excited shiver) to stop crediting her, because she just provided the characters/settings etc for these stories, we come up with the plots, and we write them. How cool is that?? So I don't have to do anymore disclaimers! Yay! We all know you guys don't read them, anyway.

A/N: Hey everyone! Sorry this took so long to post, I had the flu (and we all know how bad that is), then Prisoner of Azkaban got closer, so I was spending all my time looking at pictures and reading interviews (bad me!). Then it came out (last Thursday, actually) and I was so excited, I couldn't think of writing! I've seen it twice already, and plan to see it LOTS more before it leaves the cinema. I love that movie. Hugs Tom What a hottie! And to my reviewers:

Cliche'Brat: First off: thank you! Second: Harry does not think well under pressure, as you'd know if you've read Order of the Phoenix, with the mirror/Sirius thing. Although, granted, he hadn't even opened it, but STILL! Anyway, in Chapter 4, Draco was in a daze/angst, remember? Now take that daze/angst and multiply it by seven thousand and then add the fact that Harry has a hero complex and seems to care more about saving other people than himself. So he really wanted to find Hermione. As do all you reviewers ()! So he wasn't thinking too clearly. Also, that would take the 3-Day search away and I wanted it in there! I didn't use the Cloak, either, did I? When they went to get Draco? No Invisibility Cloak.

Silver Mist 4: You reviewed again! Huggles for you! Yes, well, Dumbledore's not used to having 2 students suddenly disappear, is he? I do know what you mean, though. Winces at line Yes, bad wasn't it? I hope there are no lines like that in here!

s91: Bows Thank you!

3 reviews (there might have been a 4th, but it could have got deleted … I think there was: if that was you, thank you!)!! Come on, my friends! I love reading reviews as much as I love writing this story! What if I get no reviews? Will the story keep getting written? Not a threat (), just an observation! While we're on this topic (what topic? you're asking), are there any drawers out there that want to draw pictures to do with my story? (e.g. a scene?) That would be so cool! Just a (wishful) idea! Anyway, enjoy!

UPDATE If this isn't the chapter title you remembered, I'm sorry! If you're reading this for the first time, no worries. However, if you know the other title, I apologise. I accidentally put in next chapter's title. Sorry!

Chapter 6: Memory's Dream

Draco was cold, so very, very cold. He shifted his position on the broom a little, but nearly fell off, so he decided not to try that again. He gazed down at the lights below him; he'd just left the mountains, but already he was unimpressed with the shining globes below him, mainly due to the fact that he had to keep swerving off course to avoid them. He was flying much faster than usual; he was surprised his Nimbus could go so quickly. He was not really looking where he was going, instead glancing up every so often to check he was going in the right direction.

It was on one of his glance-ups that he noticed a large cloud hovering some twelve feet away; Draco was heading toward it with great speed. He swore, pulled his broom around sharply, diving as he did so, but it still wasn't enough; he whipped through the cloud, finding it, not like butter, as he had always childishly imagined, but wet and even colder than the night sky, which was almost unbelievable.

He finished the dive and came out on the other side of the cloud, soaking wet and shivering.

'Bloody clouds,' he muttered, running his hand over his face, upwards, to get rid of some of the water now running into his eyes. It was then that Draco decided to stop flying for the night; he hadn't seen the cloud a minute before the "crash", when he had looked up. In his opinion, it was getting too dark to see.

He dived a bit lower, so he could make out individual houses and trees. He spotted an excellent landing point behind some bushes; it was sheltered from the road, and yet not visible to the house to which it belonged. Glancing around quickly, he sped toward the ground, aiming for behind the bush, but collided with it instead.

Wincing in pain, Draco extracted himself from the prickly shrub and squatted down behind it.

'Ow,' he said quietly, as he pulled his cloak free of a branch. 'Stupid bloody bushes. Why would anyone want one of these? What's wrong with a daisy bush for Merlin's sake?!' He glared at the offending plant, as though being planted there was its own fault, then looked toward the house, which was only ten feet away. Through an open window, he could see a woman sitting on a couch in front of a strange box which seemed to glow.

'Impossible,' he muttered, 'even Muggles aren't stupid enough to invent a glowing box!' He realised he was looking through a kitchen, but without anyone in there, he hadn't realised what it was; he was too preoccupied with strange Muggle contraptions. He supposed taking Muggle Studies would have been a good idea, but it had seemed so pointless at the time. It still did actually; the box was of no interest to him.

Standing up and grabbing his broomstick and bag, Draco crept out from behind his thorny shelter and snuck to the window, peering into it, completely fascinated. A man came out from a room, which looked like the bathroom, settled himself down beside the woman and put his arm around her. Now, Draco wasn't stupid; he knew what the gesture meant, but he felt a pang which came from the deepest, most hidden corner of his heart. Apart from Pansy (who didn't really count for much), no one had ever put their arm around him. He'd never felt as though some one had cared for him, really wanted to see him do well, for himself, and not for other people. He knew Lucius' reasons for being the way he was, but he didn't particularly like how he was treated.

Draco moved away from the window, across the yard. He vaulted the back fence and stepped out onto the footpath, his hands in his pockets, his broom slung across his back by a strip of leather. As he passed under a streetlight, Draco heard someone yelling in the distance. He looked up, not expecting to see anything, but he did; a man in a long, forest-green cloak was peering in bushes, carrying something in his right hand. Draco peered at it, and when the man turned, he saw it in all its ten-inch glory; a thick, ivory wand, clutched tightly.

Gasping, he took a step backwards, then turned and darted into the bushes by the side of the road. He peered out through some branches, and surveyed the man closely. How did they find him so soon? Dumbledore and the others would only just have figured out he was gone, surely? Had someone seen him leave and alerted someone? Draco's heart was beating painfully against his Adam's apple, and his hands were trembling, because he knew no one would believe he was out to save Hermione. After a moment or two of pure panic, a woman came out of the house behind the man.

'Dad!' she called crossly, striding down the path to him. 'Haven't I told you before not to wonder off? What are you doing with that piece of pipe? Is that from Danny's science project? Dad, you can't just take his things apart, you know …' her voice grew fainter as she took the old man by the arm and led him toward the house. Draco breathed a sigh of relief and laughed weakly. He was stupid to think they'd found him already; they wouldn't even know he was in this town, as this wasn't even his destination, but merely a stop along the way. Now that he was calmer, he realised that the cloak was nothing more than a green dressing gown.

Draco stepped out from the bushes once again and continued down the sidewalk, eager to find somewhere to sleep. But now he avoided the streetlights, fearful someone would see him. Who knew how many wizards were in this town?

After ten minutes, Draco found himself standing outside a house with a sign that read: Collanew's Inn of Serenity. Despite its strange, if somewhat corny name, Draco ascended the steps leading to the wooden door with stained glass panels to the left and right of the centre. The picture on the glass was of a dagger with gold hilt entwined in a rose. Draco thought it both odd and beautiful. Shrugging, he pushed it open and strode inside. The first thing his numb senses realised was the warmth. A fire was blazing in one wall, crackling invitingly to him. Draco closed his eyes, savouring the heat that alighted his senses and mind. When he opened them, he saw a young lady behind a dark oak counter, smiling serenely at him. He ignored her at first, choosing instead to take in the room.

It was painted pale yellow, but the bottom half of the walls were wood-panelled, making everything seem warm and inviting. A red sofa stood against the opposite wall to the fire, to his left, over which hung a portrait of a girl in a white-lace dress standing in the middle of a forest clearing, posed in mid-twirl, her hair and dress flowing as though in a breeze.

On either side of the counter was a red-stained wooden door, with a brass handle. Looking down, Draco realised he was standing on a dark red rug, which lay over dark floorboards. He glanced up again, and the woman's smile had not changed. He approached the counter apprehensively, not entirely sure how to do dealings with Muggles.

'Er – hello,' he said, when the woman didn't speak.

'Oh, hello, sir!' she beamed, her eyes focusing on him. 'How may I, at Collanew's Inn of Serenity, help you this fine evening?'

Draco glanced back at the stained-glass door through which he had come. It was certainly not evening any more; he decided this lady was somewhat out of it. Good, he thought, I might be able to get away with this! He cleared his throat. The woman, whose eyes had focused on somewhere to his right, slid back to him, her smile still in place.

'I'd like a – er – a room for tonight. Please,' he added, for her smile had faltered. She hitched it back on her face and put one hand up to her dark red hair. Draco considered this very odd behaviour, as her hair was in a bun, and didn't look in the least like it was going to come out.

'A room, sir? Why of course! We have several rooms available at the moment, four of which contain a spa and TV.' She pulled a heavy-looking, brown book out from under the counter and set in on top, about three feet to Draco's right. She flicked it open and said, 'this room is available, as are the ones on pages three, eighty-four, seventeen, nine, twelve, and one hundred and eleven.'

'Er, thanks,' said Draco, moving down to the book. The woman smiled vaguely and stared at the stained-glass door. He flicked through the pages, so he looked like he was doing something; he really couldn't care less which room he took: if it had a bed, he was happy. He wasn't normally that simple, but he didn't know any Muggle contraptions, and didn't care about them. So he picked room eighteen, on page seventeen.

'That one, please,' he said, pointing to it. The lady looked at the page and her face fell.

'But that one doesn't have a spa or TV, sir!' she exclaimed, as though not having these features was a mortal sin. But Draco was used to sinning. He sneered at her.

'I don't care about spas and TVs!' he snapped. 'I just want that room!'

His waspish attitude must have brought her to her hospitality senses.

'Of course, sir,' she said graciously. 'That will be seven Galleons. If you'll care to follow me, I'll take you to your room.'

She took a brass key from a rack behind her and opened the red-stained door.

'This way,' she said unnecessarily.

Draco followed her into a hallway with dark wood panelling and dark wooden floorboards. It all looked very humble, but at the same time, strangely rich. The lady had passed a lot of red-stained doors with brass numbers on them, when she stopped, rather suddenly, beside one with '18' on it. She handed him the key, which had a tag with the number of which room it belonged to and pushed the door open. Draco hadn't seen her unlock it, even though it clearly was before.

'Thanks,' he said slowly, watching her shrewdly. What was with this woman? She was now staring off down the hallway, seemingly oblivious to him. She suddenly turned her head, so her large mop of red hair wobbled dangerously on her head.

'No problem, sir,' was the chipper response. 'If you need anything, I will be behind the counter!' Then, with no further ado, she glided off down the hall, back toward the front room. Draco did think she glided more than walked, but he didn't waste too much time on it.

He walked into his room, shutting and locking the door behind him. No one could be too careful, especially with that strange woman about. He turned into his room, trying to decide if it was suitable for a pureblood of his excellent breeding to stay in. His verdict was: it'll do.

The room was small and square, with only the tiniest variation of shape thanks to the bathroom, which, while also a square, was partly overlapping the room. The room contained two beds, a small refrigerator, a strange rectangular box which sat on a table, a lamp and another rectangular box that stood upright on the floor and came to about his waist in height. The room was painted pale yellow, like the front room, but with no wooden panelling. The carpet was navy blue with miniscule, pale blue diamonds.

He knew he'd stayed in an inn once, with his parents when he was younger, but he couldn't remember it very well, so he had nothing to compare this room to. For all he knew, it might be a standard room, or it could be the richest.

Draco took off his broomstick, bag and cloak and dropped them onto the spare bed. It was only after sinking onto the other bed, his head in his hands, that Draco realised the woman had said the room would cost 'seven Galleons'. Not pounds, but Galleons. His tired mind tried to hold onto that thought, but it slipped away as sleep pushed it aside and he fell backwards, too tired to hold his head up.

It was the summer holidays. Draco was standing outside the Library door, hoping to hear their conversation. He peered through a crack between the door and the wall, trying to see his father and the guest.

'He wants us to go through with it, then?' the man was saying, and he passed in front of the gap, making Draco hold his breath, so as not to be heard.

'Yes,' Lucius said, and Draco could hear him pacing. The man moved away from Draco's viewing hole. Now he could see partly see his father standing beside his desk, looking toward the fireplace. 'We have to be prepared, because when he says the word …' His words trailed off suggestively.

'Yes,' agreed the man. 'We would not want to keep the Dark Lord waiting, especially when he has waited for just the right time. When do you suppose it shall be, Lucius?'

Lucius paused, apparently to think.

'I'm not entirely sure, as neither are you, Nott, but I think it'll be in the holidays, or there about: the Dark Lord doesn't want Dumbledore meddling in this. It would be disastrous. But, then again, he might be going for the element of surprise, and so could be any time. We should get ready immediately, so we're ready to act.'

'Hmm,' said Nott thoughtfully. 'She'll be easy to take? If they are as good friends as Draco says, I can't see Potter letting her go without a strong fight.'

'That's exactly what the Dark Lord's banking on,' said Lucius impatiently. 'If Potter gets wind of her kidnapped, he'll go to her aid immediately. She is on her own at school – occasionally, but not often – so it is possible he will take her then. However, and this is just my opinion, she'd be much easier to kidnap during the holidays, but that is only if she goes home … without Potter and Weasley. If she stays at Hogwarts, we might have to act then. The Dark Lord might even wait till the summer.' Lucius shrugged.

Nott laughed, a cold, humourless laugh.

'And once we have the Mudblood –'

'– Potter will come to us –'

'– And we will finish him off!' Nott paused in his sadistic laughter. 'But what if Potter thinks it's a trap and we don't really have her?'

Lucius hesitated before answering. 'We kill her,' he said finally. 'Potter will come after us for revenge … then we will take him!'

The pair laughed again, sending excited chills down Draco's back.

He leaned back against the wall, smirking. So that was what his father had been discussing with Narcissa the past few days. He had known something was up, and now he knew! The Death Eaters were planning on kidnapping Granger to lure Potter to them … Hey, he thought nastily, it worked once, with that Black man, so why shouldn't it work again? Of course, he reasoned with himself, last time Potter had "seen" Black: how would he know Granger was gone? Draco knew his father and Nott would figure it out: they were smart, malicious men, and they knew how to play dirty.

Draco admired that about his father … most of the time. There were times when Draco wished they were a normal family, where he didn't have to worry about being mean and cold, but he loved his parents despite … everything.

More laughter filtered through the wooden library doors. Draco stepped away from the wall, pleased with his detective skills.

He wandered down the hall … he should go outside … why was his sight becoming blurry? … He fell, but reached no floor …

Draco sat straight up, gasping for air and shaking. His gaze flicked around the room several times before remembering where he was. He sighed and slid back down to the end of the bed.

What had that been about? He tried to remember, grasping at the details … he had a feeling that it hadn't been good … suddenly, as though he was doused in cold water, everything about the dream came flooding back, right down to the feeling of the wall as he'd leant against it. Even the slight breeze that came from the gap between the wall and door pushed into his mind, crowding it.

It hadn't been a dream, he realised suddenly. It had been a memory. His memory. Now he remembered Nott visiting his father and listening in to their conversation.

Draco groaned and glanced toward the window; the light that was filtering in from around the heavy curtain told him it was day already. He stood up, wincing slightly at the pain from his head; he hadn't slept on the pillow, as he'd just fallen backwards onto the bed.

He walked groggily into the bedroom then, after he'd had a shower (no Malfoy ever embarks on a rescue mission without proper cleaning), grabbed his stuff; he now knew what he had to do: Hermione had been kidnapped by Nott, as part of the "master plan" to do in Potter. Draco couldn't care less about Potter, or Hermione of that matter, but his sanity and freedom were on the line, here, so he had to do something.

He grabbed his broomstick, slung it over his shoulder, so it would sit on his back again, then his bag, stuffing his cloak into it: he was wearing plain Muggle clothes that consisted of black pants and a black t-shirt, and didn't think he should be any more obvious than he already was, thanks to his broom.

It was only as he was locking his room and caught sight of the number 18 on it, that he remembered the strange woman and her mention of Galleons. This memory shocked him as much as his previous one. So it was with barely contained curiosity that he opened the wooden door at the end of the hall, the one that led to the front room.

There she was, standing behind the counter, a vague smile on her face, while her previously-red hair was dirty blonde and fell down to her waist. This caught him by surprise too, and he stared at it for a minute before walking into the room and shutting the door loudly behind him. The lady didn't budge.

'Hi,' he said politely, approaching the counter cautiously. The woman looked around at him and beamed in her blank, expressionless way.

'Why, hello there, sir! You're checking out, then? Did you enjoy your stay?'

'Er, yes, thank you,' said Draco, placing the key down. He looked at her shrewdly for a minute, until she suddenly laughed. He jumped and took a step back; this woman seemed to be in need of a little sanity herself.

'You're wondering about me, aren't you, sir?' She grinned at him, but this wasn't much improvement from the vacant beaming. 'Don't worry, you're not going mad!'

Draco thought it useless to point out that he was more worried about her going mad than him.

'Not only does this inn support Muggles, it's also a popular spot for wizards.'

This surprised him on two accounts. One was that he hadn't even thought about a wizarding inn, but the other –

'How did you know I'm a wizard?' He was quite startled about this information: if what Fudge had said was true, he would be wanted by now; he couldn't afford anyone knowing who he was.

But the woman merely laughed again.

'Most Muggles do not carry broomsticks around on their backs.'

Now it was Draco's turn to grin: he should have expected that. What did he expect people to think when they saw him? Embarrassed, he looked down, then back up.

'Are you a witch?' he asked.

'Yep,' she said cheerfully, gesturing around. 'A witch in a Muggle inn.'

Draco followed her hands as they flew through the air, signalling the room around her. But his eyes stopped in their tracks as he caught sight of a clock.

'Is that the time?' he asked stupidly, his stomach taking a great leap.

The woman looked around.

'Yes, I suppose so,' she answered, 'we have charmed it so it will always tell the time, so I guess it's right.'

Draco fumbled around in his bag until he managed to pull out seven Galleons, then slapped them onto the counter. Eleven o'clock was late in the day to be moving out.

'In a hurry?' said the woman, slipping the Galleons into her register.

'Yes,' Draco said, slipping from the leather strap that was tied to his broomstick. 'A huge hurry.' He finally grabbed the broom properly and almost ran to the front door. 'Thank you!' he called over his shoulder as he threw the door open. 'It's a nice inn!' He had no idea why he said that, as he'd only seen two rooms, but it seemed the right thing to say.

He ran onto the lawn in front of the inn, looked around to make sure no one could see him, but he was shielded by bushes, so there was only a small chance of that. The day was overcast, so he decided to fly above the clouds, only going beneath them to see where he was and if he should change his course.

Draco looked back toward the inn one more time before kicking off from the ground. He soared above the clouds, ignoring the cold dampness from them, but his heart beat faster as he suddenly recalled something from his dream:

'But what if Potter thinks it's a trap and we don't really have her?'

'We kill her.'