Author's Note: Blaise wanted to speak Italian in this chapter, but because I've never studied it, I refused to let him. I made him stand up, be a man, and face his enemies without resorting to insulting them in another language. By the way, the incomparable Lewis Carroll created the setting for Blaise's dream in this chapter.

So he went down to the lake. No big deal, right? Lots of students spent time down by the lake. Happy, fun time with friends and all that.

Just not Blaise.

He hung out with people sometimes, but never for very long at a stretch. If he were to sit at the lake with everyone else, he would be forced to make small talk, something he avoided like the plague.

Today, however, here he was, down at the site of his most recent dream, comparing the notes in his 'idea log' (no, not a dream journal – only girls have those) to the actual area, looking for a clue. He had successfully avoided the groups of students scattered about the lawn surrounding the lake, and was just beginning to examine the place, when he heard lumbering steps behind him. He knew who it was without looking round, and by the time the other boys were near enough to talk, he had reduced his parchment, placed it in a tiny caplet and swallowed it (it would be a few days before he could get it back – gross, huh? However, it was the only sure way of keeping his idea log from Malfoy). He pulled a piece of his Transfiguration notes out of his robes, along with his wand.

"Zabini."

Blaise vanished the ink on the parchment very obviously and deliberately before turning to face the trio leering at him.

"Malfoy. Morons," he added in a polite tone, addressing Crabbe and Goyle, who looked at him blankly. He tended to insult Malfoy and his henchmen constantly, and though it had earned him a few black eyes, he felt that it was worth it. It just made them so mad.

"Zabini. You have yet to attend a meeting. Did you think I wasn't going to notice? I know Pansy told you about the one last night."

"Parkinson's a cow. I tune her out as soon as she starts talking. Don't you?"

Malfoy's face turned ugly, as only his could, in a split second. He slammed Blaise's back into a tree; an action Blaise felt was a bit uncalled for. After all, Malfoy had called Parkinson much worse, to her face, on many occasions. Blaise grinned at him.

"When are you going to straighten out, Zabini? I have more trouble with you than the rest of the house altogether. You need to make your loyalties clear, now, before people start to get suspicious."

"You really are thick, aren't you, Malfoy? I am loyal to one person: me. I've never tried to hide that fact. I'd rather kiss Crabbe than bow down to some psycho who calls himself a "dark lord". Voldemort is as pathetic and as misguided as you are."

Malfoy looked livid, and was about to speak, when Crabbe jumped in with, "Hey, you said my name!" and punched Blaise in the jaw. He saw stars, and though it was by no means Crabbe's best work, he was knocked again up against the tree, and sat down hard. The three boys began to close in, and Blaise shook his head to try to get his thoughts together enough to jump up and make a run for it, when he heard the sweetest sound in the world.

"Hey, Malfoy!"

It was Hermione. She seemed to float down the long slope from the castle to the lake. Malfoy swore under his breath and stepped away from Blaise nonchalantly. He had been civil to Granger since the beginning of the year. He claimed it was because they had to work together as Heads and he was acting professional, but everyone knew that it was because she had very publicly hexed him in a very private area. Her picture graced the Slytherin common room dartboard, but Malfoy certainly wasn't about to get on the wrong end of her wand again if he could help it.

"Yes, Granger, what is it?"

"Dumbledore sent me to find you. It's time for your monthly talk with him. I've just had mine."

"Alright then. Let's go." Crabbe and Goyle began to follow Malfoy back to the castle.

"Oh, wait." Malfoy turned and pointed his wand at Blaise.

"Accio parchment." Blaise's wiped Transfiguration notes soared through the air and into Malfoy's hand. He grinned, and said, "Did you really think I'd forget to take your little diary, Zabini? You've got to give up this writing business, you know. It just isn't normal." Hermione watched the exchange with a confused look on her face, but said nothing. She turned to Blaise, and gasped as she noticed the way his jaw was rapidly swelling. She kneeled down on the grass next to Blaise and put a hand on his shoulder. He turned to face her, and tried hard to focus his swimming eyes on the girl.

"Oh, dear. Are you all right? Did Malfoy do this to you? I've told that git a thousand times-"

"S'alright. I'm fine." Blaise shook his head again and rubbed his jaw as he stood up, leaning against the tree for balance and turning to look at Hermione up close for the first time in years.

She was smaller than he remembered. Shorter, and her features were tiny framed in that wild nest of hair. She had it pulled back into a bun with a quill sticking out, but he got the impression that it didn't help much. She had her hand on his shoulder still, and was looking up at him with concern.

"Can I do anything for you? Do you want to go to the hospital wing?"

Blaise shook his head, dusted off his clothes, and started back up the hill with Hermione at his side. It was so similar to some of his dreams that he had to keep his hands in his pockets so that he didn't reach for her hand.

At the Entry Hall, he turned to face her at the foot of the large staircase. "Do you ever have – strange dreams, or visions, or anything?" he said, amazed that he could keep his voice so steady.

"Sometimes. I haven't for a while though."

"Yeah, me too." He turned and headed for the dungeons.

"Wait, what do you mean? Why did you ask me that?" He didn't answer her.

As he walked he could feel her eyes on his back until he turned a corner. He sat down, breathless with the thoughts of her, before an idea came to him.

He was going to take a nap.

The Nightmare Dream

Blaise landed on all fours, catlike, with a soft thump and cracklings from the dried leaves and twigs underfoot. He looked around, and nodded grimly to himself. He'd been here before.

From the dim light drifting down from the shaft he'd just fallen through, he could roughly make out the bottoms of shelves and cupboards he'd passed on his way down. He could hear screaming down the passage and followed it, knowing that it was her.

He reached the hallway full of doors just in time to see the Jabberwock galumphing full force towards the looking-glass house far in the distance. The door he could see the beast through slammed shut. He tried all of the doors on that side of the hall before he remembered that if a looking-glass beast were running rampant, things were getting twisted. He immediately walked backwards to the other side of the hall and melted through a door directly behind him.

He had never seen the outside of the hallway he had just left, and this time was no different. As soon as he had passed through the door, he was outside, and facing the direction that the Jabberwock had been heading, with nothing in-between but a twisty path, some dark woods, and a small riverside shop. The river ran parallel to the direction he was going, and he hoped that he wouldn't have to cross it. In Wonderland you never knew.

He reached the shop after a few tries, when he realized that he needed to run in the opposite direction. He entered to find the sheep proprietress knitting. It looked as though she was using about fourteen needles at once. She didn't look up when he entered, just said, "Sixpence."

"What do you mean, 'sixpence'? I haven't even chosen anything to buy, yet!"

She looked at him disapprovingly, and bleated, "I thought you knew the rules here. You're acting ridiculous. Sixpence."

He paid the sheep with a sigh, and looked around. He didn't know what he came in for, but he knew that whatever he needed most would be here, if he only could pick it out.

After what seemed to him an interminable amount of time, he saw it, far up on the wall of the dark shop. He didn't look directly at it, finally remembering one of the rules, but climbed a small ladder attached to rails on the wall. When he saw the object approach out of the corner of his eye, he dove for it, and just managed to slip through the small mirror.

Hermione was sitting in an armchair next to the chessboard. She looked up at him as he came crashing through the mirror, and her relieved face was all of the thanks he needed. She ran to him, and hugged him tightly before he bent to begin repairing the curios and whatnots on the mantelpiece in looking-glass house that had crashed to the floor with him. He and Hermione picked them up as they shouted and cried indignantly. Luckily he had his wand with him, as many of the pieces were chipped or broken.

"I knew you'd come for me."

"You probably could have escaped by yourself."

"I doubt it. I lost my wand running from the dementors and the vorpal blade is nowhere to be found. I looked for it in all of the cupboards, but it wasn't there, and the Jabberwock was waiting at the bottom of the rabbit hole."

"You- wait a minute. Did you say dementors?"

Hermione looked at Blaise as though he were insane. "Yes, Blaise. You were there, remember? You woke up, just as the dementors were coming. I ran, and fell down here. I haven't seen anyone though. I thought the Cheshire Cat would be here, anyway, but something's mixed up Wonderland and looking-glass world. The Jabberwock broke through somehow, before his poem was written, I guess, or he'd be dead, wouldn't he? I was afraid that you wouldn't be able to find me at all."

"It's just – my dreams have never been continuations before. Where's the Jabberwock now?"

"In the garden. He's tramping on the flowers – they got lippy with him. He dropped me on the doorstep, and I tried to run away, but of course I just ended up back here, so I came in and waited for you. I'm glad you found a mirror."

"It isn't my place to kill him, or yours, we know that. My guess is that we have to write the poem, which will bring the youth with the vorpal blade to destroy him. That should set everything to rights."

"Oh, Blaise, you're brilliant! Why didn't I think of that?"

"Only one problem, love. I don't remember the entire poem."

"Oh, I do!" Hermione placed her heels together, toes turned out, and her hands behind her back. Blaise grabbed up a book and pencil sitting next to the chess board, ignoring the White King's protests. As she began to recite, Blaise wrote the words of the poem, marveling as they flowed in perfect mirror writing from his pencil.

" 'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves-"

While Hermione recited and Blaise recorded, they could hear the sounds of a fierce battle raging outside looking-glass house. As Hermione reached, "And through and through/The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!" They felt a huge vibration as the Jabberwock's body hit the ground, and heard the hoofbeats of the youth's horse riding away. As she finished reciting, there was silence, and the Cheshire Cat appeared in the armchair.

"That was nice of you. Though not nice for the Jabberwock."

"It had to be done."

"I suppose. Although he hadn't quite finished destroying the garden. You could have waited, you know."

"I don't suppose you're going to help us to get home."

"Naturally I will. You don't belong here anyway. Look in the mirror."

Blaise and Hermione turned, and saw Alice playing with a small kitten in the drawing room opposite. As they watched, she held the kitten up to the mirror.

"Oh dear. Blaise, we need to hurry."

"Well?" said Blaise, turning back to the Cheshire Cat, who was already disappearing.

"Floo Powder, of course. You wizard types aren't too bright, are you?" His grin disappeared with a snap, following the rest of him. Blaise grabbed a small jade container from a table next to the fireplace and he and Hermione flooed just as Alice perched precariously on the mantel above them.

They landed in Dumbledore's office, but no one was around. Even the pictures had fled their frames, with only one wizard in dark green robes peering down at them curiously.

"Oh, lovely," the portrait drawled. "Our hero is here. Now maybe you can do something about the dementors swarming the castle. Or do you lot have to snog a bit first?"

"Dementors, where?"

"Everywhere. I thought you two were supposed to be intelligent? Dumbledore is holding them back as best he can, but he said to send you down as soon as you'd returned with Miss Granger."

"I'm off then. St- Oh, damn. I'm waking up!"

"Blaise, wait!"

Blaise awoke yelling, and lunged for his parchment. The nap had been short, but he had jumped into the dream immediately. He heard one of his roommates exiting the dorm, calling back to him, "C'mon, Zabini, ya puff! It's supper."

He had only just walked into the Great Hall when a tiny owl landed on his shoulder, holding his leg out importantly as he twittered and hopped around. Blaise grabbed him long enough to get the message from his leg, and sat down to read it a little apart from everyone else at the table.

Zabini –

I don't know why you asked me about dreams earlier, but today I had one. A weird one. Involving you. And now that I think of it, you have been in all of my weird dreams, but I didn't know that it was you until today. This doesn't make sense, I know. I want to talk to you about it, please! Meet me in the library after supper.

" 'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves-"

Ring any bells?

-H.J.G.

He looked at her across the crowded Great Hall, and in the brief instant that their eyes met he could tell that she was as frightened and as mystified as he was.