A/N: Sorry this one turned out so short. Another one will be up as soon as possible, since this one was so short, the next should be pretty damned long. I'll slave over it as much as I can this weekend. I'm thanking everyone who's been reviewing in the next chapter, but right now I'm in a bit of a rush to get this betaed and up. This is another one of those short chapters that if I hadn't putten in there would be no point in my writing this. Oh, and please be patient, Harry/Draco in the next chapter. Thanks again! Hope you enjoy!
Game Over
Chapter 6
Remus was standing in the middle of the vast room, darkness was sweeping from every corner to reach him. Death Eaters encircled him, Harry and Draco lay at his feet. He was their last chance to survive. If he managed to fight off the black-cloaked demons he could possibly save them, and the wizarding world. Not the most simple thing, really. He took an intake of breath to shout out his first spell. Sweat perspired on his forehead, a headache started at his left temple. He shot off a couple of stunning spells, and that's when he smelled it. A fragrance that smelled of leather, and familiar cologne hit him hard. He glanced around towards the source of smell. The Death Eaters had halted their attack.
There was figure, it was a man. His hair was black and matted. He wore a long coat, sweeping the floor. His favorite trench. His boots didn't make a sound on the marble floor. He walked an inch above the ground. A whisp of what could be.
"Sirius!" Remus choked, completely taken aback. He stumbled backwards, trying to regain his composure. This couldn't be happening. Sirius was...dead. Yes, and there he was. A memory, faint and distant. A messenger. He wasn't a ghost, just a start of something everyone wanted him to be. Alive.
The Death Eaters began advancing, finding the fading figure no threat as he had not attacked them, but once again they were forced to hault in midstep. A voice strong and warm echoed through the room. It was coming from Sirius.
"We never spoke in words what we want
We turn the lights off to find a way out
We've never chosen to keep what we've got
Don't turn the light off and leave me in the dark." The image of Sirius began to fade, slowly diminishing. The words seemed to echo through Remus' mind. He was trying to think what Sirius was trying to tell him, but his mind felt like a lake thick with mud. His mind was moving slowly, like trudging through the mud, walking through the murky water, thoughts swirling in and out of focus through his brain. He knew the lyrics meant something. What was it...
Remus sat up calmly. Usually when he woke up from a dream like that he was frantic. Anything with Sirius in it was a nightmare, because it depressed him to think that his lover was dead, but he had to keep the dream fresh until he got it on paper, then he could be as sad as he needed to be. He could feel the sweat all over him, sticking his clothes to him, but yet a chill ran up his spine. He put his feet on the cold hard-wood floor, which was scruffed and scratched. Then again, he lived in a scruffed and scratched house.
With a sigh that whirled his thoughts and almost lost his dream he made his way to his desk. One leg was missing, but it was held up by magic anyway. He had the dream notebook open and ready to be written in, a quill lay next to it. He had hoped Sirius would contact him in dreams more often than any others. He practically expected it since they had loved eachother, still loved eachother, even through Sirius' death.
Instead Sirius was sending messages to Mrs. Weasley and Harry more it seemed. Everyone knew Mrs. Weasley had dissaproved of Sirius right at the beginning, so why was Sirius even going through the troubles of talking to her? Well, in her dreams he had shown her some of the crueler beatings he had endured by his mother, only the verbal ones. It was as if he was trying to show her the resemblance between the two. So much like him to try and make her feel bad about what she made him remember, especially when she said things to him at Grimmauld Place.
Remus lowered his quill to the paper and wrote furiously, dying to let out his pain. There were fifteen pages of the notebook filled in. Most of the dreams so far had been short ones. Like Sirius kissing Remus, or dates of their's, like he could make up for some of the times they could've had while he was in Azkaban, or dead by sending memories. But they hurt Remus more than healed him, maybe Sirius realized that, but the fact was that Remus didn't hurt as much now as he usually did after one of the dreams.
It seemed silly to be thinking about Sirius so plainly, just as if Sirius were just writing letters describing what he wanted them to see. However, it was totally different. Sirius' spirit was restless, and wanted to help still. Remus guessed Sirius had been floating about the world of the dead, thinking what he could do, and then it hit him he could probably plant seeds of a dream, the frame and everything into the minds of people he knew or loved. Dumbledore wasn't even sure how it worked, nobody was. Still they kept the dream journals, although most of them thought they were all suffering from loss. Mrs. Weasley was making up memories of Sirius' family life because she felt guilty, and meanwhile some others thought Sirius was actually contacting them. It was still a blur of an idea however, and Dumbledore couldn't elaborate it.
Draco felt like shit. There was no other way to describe it. He had hit Pansy, she was pissed at him, he was pissed at himself, and Dumbledore still hadn't got back to him about the letter he had written. Draco wasn't sure why that bothered him so much, but it did.
He turned over. Crabbe and Goyle still slept downstairs. He wasn't sure why, since Pansy had elected to go back to the girls dorm's for the time being, or forever. Draco's head began to throb at the thought of them not being together. He loved her, right? Yeah, he probably did, but at the moment he wasn't even sure if his feet were working.
Slowly moving his legs to the edge of the bed he let them drop limply to the floor. Pressing them to the cold floor, he decided to give standing a go. Hefting himself up with the help of his foreposter dresser he managed to stand with wobbly legs. After he had left Severus' office he had gone on a nice run. Well, nice wasn't a way to describe it. He had skipped so many classes he was sure it was going to make his head spin, literally. He had run as fast as he could, for as long as he could. Which was pretty damn long.
He moved slowly to his dresser to pull out his uniform. It felt like fighting his way through a pool of molasses, in the end he was sure he would get to all of his classes with five minutes to work. His muscles ached with a newfound pain.
"Absofuckingly fabulous..." Draco hissed through clenched teeth as he struggled to pull his pants on and stay standing.
"Blaise, wake up." Draco sluggishly threw a stray shoe at Blaise's head, and Blaise popped up obediantly, and looking strangely like a trained dog trained to do his business outside, he got dressed. No words were spoken the rest of the morning. They silently went to breakfast. Draco took it Blaise had seen his friend's arms, and was giving Draco a break from constant chatter. It wasn't like Blaise, but Draco didn't argue. Never argue when you're winning. He had read that from a book once, he couldn't remember what book, but it was a muggle one.
By their first class, Care of Magical Creatures, the two boys had settled comfortably into the silence, so when Hagrid's gruff voice boomed across the area where the classes met both boys jumped, eyes widening. It was going to take a lifetime for the class to end, and an eternity until the day following ended.
"Harry." Ron hissed between his lips. The Dream Trio had grown accustomed to not talking during Hagrid's classes. If they talked, he thought the class must really be a boring one, because they were his best students. Harry didn't turn his head, he just blinked to show he was listening. Blinked very slowly, mind you, to put emphasis on it. Harry could never tell if Ron understood what he was trying to tell him.
"Malfoy looks like he needs a ruffing up."
"Ron..." Harry began, actually moving his lips to show he really thought this was pointless.
"Well, he does-"
"After class." A nudge in the ribs from Hermione prevented Ron from continuing because he probably didn't want her to know what he was talking about. Harry preferred it that way too. If, a very heavy if, they jumped Malfoy, Hermione would be the last to know. Harry didn't want to, and he knew Ron didn't either. Ron wasn't like that, Ron was a loyal friend, but he guessed Ron wanted to give a taste of what it was like to be a Weasley to Malfoy, and Harry couldn't say he blamed him. He agreed Malfoy needed a good idea of what his father was doing to innocent muggles, and muggle-borns. So, naturally, being the boy he was, he talked to Ron after class.
Strolling up the lawn, Ron sighed. They had just managed to get Hermione to run to the library quickly, convincing her she needed a new book to read. She had been suspicious why they wanted her to go get a book, but she guessed they wanted to talk alone, so she ran off to pick Ginny up from Herbology.
"Weasley, Potter." A voice from behind started the two boys from even starting their conversation. 'Please let him give us a better excuse to beat him up.' Harry prayed silently to himself.
"Whats the deal with Black? He wants your hide, and yet you love him? What are you, masochistic?" Draco's voice actually sounded interested, like he wanted, or needed to know why the hell Harry would care about the 'murdurer.'
"Is that a good enough reason?" Ron asked through gritted teeth. Ron looked at Harry, and almost hugged him. Harry looked absolutely lost, like a stray puppy on a rainy night trying to find a place to shelter himself. Harry's green eyes were watery, tears threatening to brim over. His usually perfectly tanned skin had dropped to a sick pale. He shook from head to foot, and his back had slouched slightly, making him look smaller and vulnerable.
"Alright, wasn't my place to ask Potter. Don't have an orgasm just thinking about him." And Draco headed off with his companion. Ron expected to hear jeers and laughter from the two, but they moved in silence. Odd, and fucked up.
"What was that about? I thought we agreed to lay off-"
"I have to insult them if I want my dick when I get home!" Draco whispered angrily. Gods, he was fucked. He was NOT going to be a perfect replica of his father, but if he didn't throw a few insults out there he was going to get worse than just rape and a beating.
"Harry, are you alright?" Ron asked, knowing his friend wasn't, but all the same Harry nodded. Speaking of Sirius around Harry had been the worst you could do lately. The dreams were costing him late nights, and he had become even more depressed about the death with contact from the one man he needed and couldn't see. Sure, in dreams he saw him, but it didn't count, because he knew when he woke up, Sirius wouldn't be there.
"We're ruffing him. We'll have Pansy help, I'm sure she'll be happy to do so," Harry's face hadn't regained any color at all, but anger lined his voice. Okay, so Ron had underestimated Harry. It wasn't the worst thing you could do, it was the absolute stupidest thing you could do. Ron suddenly felt terrible about what they were going to do to Draco, but the small, very small, part of him that wanted to do it had convinced Ron he had to.
"Boy, Harry, wonder where you got that impression?" Ron asked sarcasticaly. Harry didn't grin like he usually did, instead he began to speak rapidly of his plan. Ron listened eagerly, and Draco trooped along miserably next to Blaise, who kept glancing sideways in all directions to make sure Pansy wasn't around to melt Draco with her stare.
A/N: Yet again I apologize for the length of this one. A small disclaimer: Never argue when you're winning-Laurell K. Hamilton's Anita Blake Vampire Executioner Novels.
Game Over
Chapter 6
Remus was standing in the middle of the vast room, darkness was sweeping from every corner to reach him. Death Eaters encircled him, Harry and Draco lay at his feet. He was their last chance to survive. If he managed to fight off the black-cloaked demons he could possibly save them, and the wizarding world. Not the most simple thing, really. He took an intake of breath to shout out his first spell. Sweat perspired on his forehead, a headache started at his left temple. He shot off a couple of stunning spells, and that's when he smelled it. A fragrance that smelled of leather, and familiar cologne hit him hard. He glanced around towards the source of smell. The Death Eaters had halted their attack.
There was figure, it was a man. His hair was black and matted. He wore a long coat, sweeping the floor. His favorite trench. His boots didn't make a sound on the marble floor. He walked an inch above the ground. A whisp of what could be.
"Sirius!" Remus choked, completely taken aback. He stumbled backwards, trying to regain his composure. This couldn't be happening. Sirius was...dead. Yes, and there he was. A memory, faint and distant. A messenger. He wasn't a ghost, just a start of something everyone wanted him to be. Alive.
The Death Eaters began advancing, finding the fading figure no threat as he had not attacked them, but once again they were forced to hault in midstep. A voice strong and warm echoed through the room. It was coming from Sirius.
"We never spoke in words what we want
We turn the lights off to find a way out
We've never chosen to keep what we've got
Don't turn the light off and leave me in the dark." The image of Sirius began to fade, slowly diminishing. The words seemed to echo through Remus' mind. He was trying to think what Sirius was trying to tell him, but his mind felt like a lake thick with mud. His mind was moving slowly, like trudging through the mud, walking through the murky water, thoughts swirling in and out of focus through his brain. He knew the lyrics meant something. What was it...
Remus sat up calmly. Usually when he woke up from a dream like that he was frantic. Anything with Sirius in it was a nightmare, because it depressed him to think that his lover was dead, but he had to keep the dream fresh until he got it on paper, then he could be as sad as he needed to be. He could feel the sweat all over him, sticking his clothes to him, but yet a chill ran up his spine. He put his feet on the cold hard-wood floor, which was scruffed and scratched. Then again, he lived in a scruffed and scratched house.
With a sigh that whirled his thoughts and almost lost his dream he made his way to his desk. One leg was missing, but it was held up by magic anyway. He had the dream notebook open and ready to be written in, a quill lay next to it. He had hoped Sirius would contact him in dreams more often than any others. He practically expected it since they had loved eachother, still loved eachother, even through Sirius' death.
Instead Sirius was sending messages to Mrs. Weasley and Harry more it seemed. Everyone knew Mrs. Weasley had dissaproved of Sirius right at the beginning, so why was Sirius even going through the troubles of talking to her? Well, in her dreams he had shown her some of the crueler beatings he had endured by his mother, only the verbal ones. It was as if he was trying to show her the resemblance between the two. So much like him to try and make her feel bad about what she made him remember, especially when she said things to him at Grimmauld Place.
Remus lowered his quill to the paper and wrote furiously, dying to let out his pain. There were fifteen pages of the notebook filled in. Most of the dreams so far had been short ones. Like Sirius kissing Remus, or dates of their's, like he could make up for some of the times they could've had while he was in Azkaban, or dead by sending memories. But they hurt Remus more than healed him, maybe Sirius realized that, but the fact was that Remus didn't hurt as much now as he usually did after one of the dreams.
It seemed silly to be thinking about Sirius so plainly, just as if Sirius were just writing letters describing what he wanted them to see. However, it was totally different. Sirius' spirit was restless, and wanted to help still. Remus guessed Sirius had been floating about the world of the dead, thinking what he could do, and then it hit him he could probably plant seeds of a dream, the frame and everything into the minds of people he knew or loved. Dumbledore wasn't even sure how it worked, nobody was. Still they kept the dream journals, although most of them thought they were all suffering from loss. Mrs. Weasley was making up memories of Sirius' family life because she felt guilty, and meanwhile some others thought Sirius was actually contacting them. It was still a blur of an idea however, and Dumbledore couldn't elaborate it.
Draco felt like shit. There was no other way to describe it. He had hit Pansy, she was pissed at him, he was pissed at himself, and Dumbledore still hadn't got back to him about the letter he had written. Draco wasn't sure why that bothered him so much, but it did.
He turned over. Crabbe and Goyle still slept downstairs. He wasn't sure why, since Pansy had elected to go back to the girls dorm's for the time being, or forever. Draco's head began to throb at the thought of them not being together. He loved her, right? Yeah, he probably did, but at the moment he wasn't even sure if his feet were working.
Slowly moving his legs to the edge of the bed he let them drop limply to the floor. Pressing them to the cold floor, he decided to give standing a go. Hefting himself up with the help of his foreposter dresser he managed to stand with wobbly legs. After he had left Severus' office he had gone on a nice run. Well, nice wasn't a way to describe it. He had skipped so many classes he was sure it was going to make his head spin, literally. He had run as fast as he could, for as long as he could. Which was pretty damn long.
He moved slowly to his dresser to pull out his uniform. It felt like fighting his way through a pool of molasses, in the end he was sure he would get to all of his classes with five minutes to work. His muscles ached with a newfound pain.
"Absofuckingly fabulous..." Draco hissed through clenched teeth as he struggled to pull his pants on and stay standing.
"Blaise, wake up." Draco sluggishly threw a stray shoe at Blaise's head, and Blaise popped up obediantly, and looking strangely like a trained dog trained to do his business outside, he got dressed. No words were spoken the rest of the morning. They silently went to breakfast. Draco took it Blaise had seen his friend's arms, and was giving Draco a break from constant chatter. It wasn't like Blaise, but Draco didn't argue. Never argue when you're winning. He had read that from a book once, he couldn't remember what book, but it was a muggle one.
By their first class, Care of Magical Creatures, the two boys had settled comfortably into the silence, so when Hagrid's gruff voice boomed across the area where the classes met both boys jumped, eyes widening. It was going to take a lifetime for the class to end, and an eternity until the day following ended.
"Harry." Ron hissed between his lips. The Dream Trio had grown accustomed to not talking during Hagrid's classes. If they talked, he thought the class must really be a boring one, because they were his best students. Harry didn't turn his head, he just blinked to show he was listening. Blinked very slowly, mind you, to put emphasis on it. Harry could never tell if Ron understood what he was trying to tell him.
"Malfoy looks like he needs a ruffing up."
"Ron..." Harry began, actually moving his lips to show he really thought this was pointless.
"Well, he does-"
"After class." A nudge in the ribs from Hermione prevented Ron from continuing because he probably didn't want her to know what he was talking about. Harry preferred it that way too. If, a very heavy if, they jumped Malfoy, Hermione would be the last to know. Harry didn't want to, and he knew Ron didn't either. Ron wasn't like that, Ron was a loyal friend, but he guessed Ron wanted to give a taste of what it was like to be a Weasley to Malfoy, and Harry couldn't say he blamed him. He agreed Malfoy needed a good idea of what his father was doing to innocent muggles, and muggle-borns. So, naturally, being the boy he was, he talked to Ron after class.
Strolling up the lawn, Ron sighed. They had just managed to get Hermione to run to the library quickly, convincing her she needed a new book to read. She had been suspicious why they wanted her to go get a book, but she guessed they wanted to talk alone, so she ran off to pick Ginny up from Herbology.
"Weasley, Potter." A voice from behind started the two boys from even starting their conversation. 'Please let him give us a better excuse to beat him up.' Harry prayed silently to himself.
"Whats the deal with Black? He wants your hide, and yet you love him? What are you, masochistic?" Draco's voice actually sounded interested, like he wanted, or needed to know why the hell Harry would care about the 'murdurer.'
"Is that a good enough reason?" Ron asked through gritted teeth. Ron looked at Harry, and almost hugged him. Harry looked absolutely lost, like a stray puppy on a rainy night trying to find a place to shelter himself. Harry's green eyes were watery, tears threatening to brim over. His usually perfectly tanned skin had dropped to a sick pale. He shook from head to foot, and his back had slouched slightly, making him look smaller and vulnerable.
"Alright, wasn't my place to ask Potter. Don't have an orgasm just thinking about him." And Draco headed off with his companion. Ron expected to hear jeers and laughter from the two, but they moved in silence. Odd, and fucked up.
"What was that about? I thought we agreed to lay off-"
"I have to insult them if I want my dick when I get home!" Draco whispered angrily. Gods, he was fucked. He was NOT going to be a perfect replica of his father, but if he didn't throw a few insults out there he was going to get worse than just rape and a beating.
"Harry, are you alright?" Ron asked, knowing his friend wasn't, but all the same Harry nodded. Speaking of Sirius around Harry had been the worst you could do lately. The dreams were costing him late nights, and he had become even more depressed about the death with contact from the one man he needed and couldn't see. Sure, in dreams he saw him, but it didn't count, because he knew when he woke up, Sirius wouldn't be there.
"We're ruffing him. We'll have Pansy help, I'm sure she'll be happy to do so," Harry's face hadn't regained any color at all, but anger lined his voice. Okay, so Ron had underestimated Harry. It wasn't the worst thing you could do, it was the absolute stupidest thing you could do. Ron suddenly felt terrible about what they were going to do to Draco, but the small, very small, part of him that wanted to do it had convinced Ron he had to.
"Boy, Harry, wonder where you got that impression?" Ron asked sarcasticaly. Harry didn't grin like he usually did, instead he began to speak rapidly of his plan. Ron listened eagerly, and Draco trooped along miserably next to Blaise, who kept glancing sideways in all directions to make sure Pansy wasn't around to melt Draco with her stare.
A/N: Yet again I apologize for the length of this one. A small disclaimer: Never argue when you're winning-Laurell K. Hamilton's Anita Blake Vampire Executioner Novels.