Running The Gauntlet
What if your dreams and nightmares existed in the same place?
What if to gain everything you had to lose everything?
What if to get to heaven you had to brave hell?
Would you still go there?
Draco Malfoy stared up at the green silk hangings of his bed contemplatively. Soft snoring punctuated the silence that otherwise hung in the night air. It was well into the early hours of the morning, but as of yet Malfoy had not fallen asleep. Not that he wasn't trying – but the bloody insomnia that had plagued him for most of the summer had come back with a vengeance. Every time he started drifting off, he was snapped back to full consciousness with a bump.
He let out a faint growl as his frustration got the better of him. Tomorrow lessons would start, and he was in no mood to be yelled at for falling asleep in most of them. Potions would be no trouble – Snape probably couldn't care less if he was awake or not, provided he do his work – but the rest of the subjects would be hell. Having decided to start training as an Auror over the holidays, he was unfortunately taking most subjects for his NEWTs. Not that it was a problem. He was pretty good at all his subjects, and since it was only the base subjects he had to study he had no worries about the course. He didn't know who else was taking the same subjects as him – he wouldn't until tomorrow – but he had no doubt that Potter would be in Defence Against The Dark Arts, and Granger would be taking as many subjects as humanly possible – or inhumanly, knowing the girl.
Crabbe and Goyle hadn't returned for the last two years of school. Malfoy had always thought their collective intelligence to be shadowed by that of a squashed Knarl, and he was quite correct. They had only passed their end of year tests with considerable help from their Housemaster and Malfoy himself, and had received nothing higher than a 'P' in each OWL. Snape had point blank refused to tweak their marks this time around – as he said, year exams were one thing, but these were national exams and he wasn't particularly fond of the idea of being sacked for fixing the results of incompetent students.
Malfoy's grades had been nothing if not pleasing. 'O' in Potions (of course), 'O' in Transfiguration, 'E' in Charms, 'E' in Herbology, 'O' in Arithmancy, 'A' in Care of Magical Creatures, 'E' in Astronomy, 'O' in History of Magic, and 'O' in Defence Against The Dark Arts. He personally blamed his Charms mark on Potter, who had distracted him and made him drop the wineglass he had been levitating. But he wasn't complaining – there were pretty damn good grades as far as he was concerned. If he continued the way he was going, he was certain to get at least five NEWTs at 'E' or above – what was required for Auror training.
He sighed and cleared his mind of everything. His own father was a practised Legilimens, so he had plenty of practice at blocking his mind, releasing all emotions and thoughts. He sometimes found it easier to sleep when his mind was blank.
Half an hour later though, he was still wide-awake. Letting out another small growl in the back of his throat, he swung his legs out of the bed and stood, wrapping a large cloak about his lithe frame before creeping out of the dorm, careful not to wake any of his housemates. He quickly trod the familiar path to Snape's office, the cold stone of the floor numbing the soles of his bare feet and making his near silent footsteps echo loudly. He knocked once on the door and entered.
Snape was sitting at his desk, his normal robes off and thrown carelessly over a nearby chair. The sleeves of his white shirt were rolled up and he was bent over a pile of essays, red quill dancing over them, staining them with cutting insults. Malfoy was puzzled as to why he had some to mark, but decided he had probably set last year's sixth years it to do over the holidays and hand it in this term when they returned as seventh years. He had heard that the workload almost trebled this year, and he wasn't looking forward to it. Snape didn't look up as Malfoy entered, but just kept on marking papers.
"Are you going to explain to me why you have just wandered into my office at half three in the morning or are you going to wait for me to work it out by myself?" he asked coolly. Malfoy winced.
"I just wondered if you had any Sleeping Potions spare. I haven't been to sleep yet," he said quietly. Snape was by no means cruel to him, but Malfoy held the man in respect, by which consequence his voice became reserved when talking to the Potions Master.
"I am sure that if you tried, you would fall asleep in no time," the man replied scathingly.
"I have tried," Malfoy said simply. "I can't sleep,"
Snape finally looked up at him, and surveyed his features for a moment before standing slowly and walking over to one of the cabinets on the wall to his left. Malfoy watched as he unlocked the glass cupboard and drew from it a small vial of red potion. He handed it to his student.
"Go to sleep," he said shortly, and Malfoy murmured his thanks before turning to leave. He stopped at the door when Snape spoke again. "I daresay you will need the energy tomorrow,"
Malfoy frowned, but knew better than to question his Housemaster, especially at this hour of the morning. He left the office without another word.
The next morning he had double Potions, something he would find enjoyable at least. Snape would know why he was tired, and he wouldn't get yelled at and he could sleep between his lessons. He had a free period between Potions and lunch, and could get a couple of hours in then.
He collapsed on his bed again a few minutes later, freeing himself from the cloak and crawling under the covers. He unstopped the bottle and drank half of the contents. His vision began to swim, and he quickly put the bottle back on his bedside table. For one of the few times since June, sleep was coming, and it wasn't being dragged kicking and screaming. Malfoy smiled.
The sixth year looked relatively promising.
