Rated R: for all the stuff I said earlier in the story.

Chapter 1.5

Harry awoke early the next morning as he always did: drenched in sweat and breathing heavily. "Dreaming about those dragons again?" Ron asked him as he sat down to have breakfast.

"Huh," Harry said, obliviously

"This morning you were muttering about dragons in your sleep again. I think you were moaning, too."

"Oh, yeah," Harry said, reaching for a piece of toast. "it was the dragons again. They were, er, making me tap dance."

Ron chuckled. "You've been having these dreams for a long time, mate," he said. "I'm starting to think you should get yourself checked out."

"Nah," Harry replied, "I think it's just a phase I'm going through. Nothing to worry about."

"Whatever you say."

Harry was quite relieved when Ron turned to speak to Seamus. He knew he hadn't dreamed about dragons last night, in the sense that Ron was speaking of, and he was in no mood to discuss it.

Over the hustle and bustle of the steadily crowding Great Hall, angry footsteps could be heard approaching the table. Harry turned around to find Hermione walking quickly towards the Gryffindor table with a large sack. She seemed to be having trouble carrying it but Harry soon saw that that was probably due to the fact that it was wriggling uncontrollably. As soon as she reached the table, she slammed the sack down onto it, sending several plates and goblets clattering to the stone floor. Harry was just about to ask her what was wrong when she turned to Ron and gave him a smack across the back of his head.

"Ouch, Hermione!" he exclaimed, turning around to face her. "What was that for?"

"That," she said, her nostrils flaring dangerously, "was for the 'present' you left in my bed."

A look of realization came to his face but it was quickly followed by one of innocence. "I don't have the slightest clue what you're talking about."

"Oh, really?" Hermione asked, her face growing a darker shade of red each second. "Maybe this will jog your memory." She turned to the sack and opened it. Immediately after doing so, a small pile of medium sized stones with arms and legs leapt out of it, onto the table.

"Oh," he said as if he had just realized what she was talking about (though, it wasn't very believable as he seemed to be stifling back a fit of laughter at the same time), "that present." As soon as the words left his lips, he and Seamus, who had been watching, simultaneously burst into fits. Hermione, in a spasm of fury, leapt at Ron and reached for his throat. In seconds, they were both on the floor. "Oh, come on, Hermione," Ron said, still laughing but blocking Hermione's blows at the same time, "it was just a joke. It's not like you got hurt or anything."

Not too long afterward, a crowd began to form around them. People from all of the house tables were pushing and shoving to catch a glimpse of them. Harry took this as an opportunity to get an early start to his first class. He had already seen so many displays like this one since the term had started that he was quite used to them. It seemed that since his elder brothers' departure, Ron had taken it upon himself to continue their legacy and his favorite target was Hermione.

Five minutes after leaving the Great Hall, Harry was approaching the door to Greenhouse four. The bell rang at that moment and, seconds later, he began to see a crowd of his classmates coming toward him.

Harry tried hard to listen carefully to Professor Sprout as she explained what not to do when handling mimbulus mimbletonia but every so often, he found his mind drifting back to the dream he had the night before.

He had been sitting in the middle of a dark room, on a metal chair. As in all of his dreams, "A Little Slice of Paradise," (the song he had first heard The Dragon dance to) was playing somewhere far off in the background. Then the Dragon appeared and he suddenly found his arms bound behind the back of the chair. The music grew louder and a spotlight was placed on the two of them. Dressed in all back leather, with a mask, and armed with a long whip, The Dragon approached him and began to dance.

"I've got a little slice

A little slice of paradise

So come and take a bite

'Cause I'm saving it just for you...(you...you...you)," the song went. The Dragon of his dreams twisted and turned, cracking his whip sporadically, throughout the dance. It wasn't long before some of his clothes began to come off.

"Let me tempt you

Let me tease you out of that mind

That troubled soul of yours

Have a taste, know what it feels like,"

Watching his mystery lover dance both aroused and frustrated Harry, even in his dreams. He was dancing just close enough close enough for Harry to touch him but, his hands were still tied around the back of the chair, and his fingers were itching with the desire to touch.

Oh, how I want to taste you, Dragon, Harry thought, still lost in the memory of the dream, how I want to run my tongue all over your smooth white skin and wrap my arms around your slender...

"Harry!" Ron's voice called, from beside him, wrenching him from his musings. His head jerked up from where it had been laying on the table and turned to Ron.

"What?" he asked, a hint of bitterness lining his tone

"You were moaning, that's what." Ron replied, with a broad grin.

Harry immediately felt the all the blood in his face rush to his cheeks. "Uh, that was...er...I mean to say...I was..."

"Don't even bother, mate," Ron said, "who is she?"

Feech's Note: Okay so I made a serious error when I first started writing this story. I wanted it to be all about Draco but it has become apparent, to me anyway, that it's really about Harry. I'll still switch between their points of view like I planned to; I just didn't want it to be mostly Harry's pov when the story is supposedly about Draco. Well, now that I've gotten that all straightened out, I'm writer's block free and chapter "two" can be expected shortly. Maybe even early next week, if MCAS doesn't kill me. Peaches!