A/N: Thanks again for all the AWESOME reviews! I thank you for all your compliments and kind words and suggestions and such. Last chapter was short, I know, but I'm trying to make my updates as frequent as possible. I know how horrible it is waiting and waiting for the next chapter to come out. This one's a normal-sized chapter. Yay! But enough from me, go read chapter 6! I hope you like it!

Disclaimer: The only profit I make off of this fic is the happiness in my heart from all the great reviews I get. J.K. Rowling gets everything else. Like actual money.

Chapter 6: Dream-Draco's Bruising Touch

Draco was in absolute agony. Pain was spreading from his dagger wound in hot, sharp flashes across his abdomen like someone was repeatedly carving lightning bolts into his flesh with a hot poker. There were black and white spots flickering all across his vision. He could hardly think straight. All his mind kept repeating was, Granger fucked up, Granger fucked up.

The last thing he saw was her shocked face hovering over him, her eyes wide, her hand slapped over her mouth. Then darkness overtook him and he was plunged into a world of hellish nightmares.

What to do? WHAT TO DO! She had uttered a simple healing charm over the dagger wound and Malfoy had immediately lapsed into convulsions, gasping and clutching at his side, staring up at Hermione with fearful, accusing eyes. Now he was lying quite still, and though he still had breath and a pulse, Hermione was in a state of paralyzed panic. What had she done wrong!

Lupin. She need Professor Lupin.

She tore out the door, into the hallway shouting, "Professor Lupin! Professor Lupin!"

She practically knocked Harry over in her haste to get downstairs. He steadied her and said, "Whoa! What's going on?"

"I think I may have just killed Malfoy," she said breathlessly.

"Really?" asked Harry, not sounding overly distressed.

"Harry!" she exclaimed reproachfully. "Where's Professor Lupin? I couldn't find him earlier."

"He had to leave—"

"When's he coming back?" she asked urgently, cutting him off.

"Soon, probably" said Harry.

"What about Tonks?"

"Kitchen," said Harry.

"Well go get her!" shouted Hermione, tearing back up the stairs as fast as she had descended them.

She burst back through the door. Malfoy was still breathing, though still motionless. His dagger wound was still the characteristic blackish purple, but now sported an angry red tinge all around. She felt his forehead and found to her extreme dismay that he was burning hot. Indeed, his skin was covered with a sheen of perspiration. Why would his body have reacted like this? What had she done wrong? WHY WERE HARRY AND TONKS TAKING SO LONG!

And then Tonks was there, telling Harry to calm Hermione down, kneeling beside the bed to give Malfoy a visual once-over. Then she pulled out her wand, held it over the afflicted area, and said some strange spell that Hermione had never heard before. Red sparks flared out of the tip of Tonks' wand and Tonks shook her head. She left the room hastily and when she returned two minutes later, Lupin was with her. How she had summoned him, Hermione did not know.

Lupin barely glanced at Malfoy but went straight to questioning Hermione. "Did you cast a healing charm?" he asked urgently.

"Yes," said Hermione.

"You didn't wait twelve hours!" he said, as if she would know what he was talking about.

"What? Why should I have?"

"Because," he said, trying to keep his voice calm, "that potion has to pass through the body completely before you cast any healing charms. They react together otherwise."

"What are you talking about? It didn't say that in the book! And I used a healing charm on his legs earlier, and he was fine!"

"On his legs, yes. Not on the cursed flesh of the dagger wound. I told you to consult me on these matters, Hermione."

"You weren't around!" said Hermione defensively.

"Right now that potion has turned toxic in his bloodstream," he explained very quickly, as if there was hardly a second to lose. "The curse is traveling through him. I can take it out of him, but he's still going to be very, very sick. Now everyone leave the room, please."

Hermione's mouth worked open and closed like a fish. She felt so indignant that this was somehow being seen as her fault. But she couldn't think of anything to say, and so she left the room huffily, tears burning in her eyes. She went straight to her room, slamming the door behind her and throwing herself on the bed.

How was this her fault? She hadn't known about the twelve hour rule. How could she have? It wasn't in the book! Professor Lupin should have told her. How could he have expected her to know it? Was she supposed to have guessed? It wasn't her fault he was gone when she had needed his advice!

She defended her actions mentally, but deep down inside she felt like she had failed. She hadn't been clever enough. Oh how she hated failure. It hit her harder than anything. It was like a punch to the gut. She still thought of Remus Lupin as one of her professors and hearing his critical words felt like failing a class assignment. It was horrible.

Not long after, she heard a soft knock at the door. "Who is it?" she called, wiping the tears from her face.

"It's me," said Harry's voice. "Can I come in?"

"Yes," said Hermione, sitting up on the bed. Harry opened the door and walked in cautiously, as if afraid of flying objects.

"You okay?" he asked, sitting beside her lightly.

"Yes," she said, sniffling. "I don't see how it's my fault."

"You couldn't have known," said Harry, patting her on the shoulder carefully. "And it doesn't matter, Malfoy's going to be fine. Just…just make sure you talk to Lupin first, next time you do anything."

Big mistake. Hermione's nostril's flared.

"How could I have talked to him if he WASN'T EVEN IN THE HOUSE?" she gritted out, her face turning red.

Harry jumped up. "I think I hear Tonks calling me," he said, dodging out the door before Hermione could hex him.

She let out an exasperated cry and fell back on the bed. She lay there like that for quite a long time, perhaps thirty minutes, before another fist rapped on the door.

"Hermione," called Professor Lupin. "You can come back now."

"No thank you," said Hermione. "I've had quite enough of the healing business."

There was silence on the other side for a moment. "He needs you now, Hermione. I've done all I can. His condition is…well, it's strange now. You need to see."

Hermione glanced at Crookshanks, who was now curled up in his basket, as she thought, Curiosity killed the cat, and it may as well take me too. She badly wanted to know what this "strange condition" was, but even more so, she wanted the ability to ignore the wretched little curious kitten inside of her that always wanted to know everything. Of course, that second part was impossible, so she opened her door and walked past Professor Lupin without even glancing at him, straight down the hall to Malfoy's room.

She saw that his condition was strange indeed. He was lying on the bed curled up on his side like a small child, one arm wrapped protectively over his body, the other reached up to press a fist tightly against his mouth. He mumbled and muttered unintelligible words and his closed eyelids fluttered and shifted as if he was having a very graphic dream.

Lupin entered behind her. "The potion is gone from his system. He'll live. But, as you can see, there were side effects. He's in some state of feverish delirium. He won't wake. But if and when he does, you'll have to make the same potion again. The curse is still upon him."

"What do you mean, if he wakes?" asked Hermione with apprehension.

"His future is uncertain," replied Lupin. "I've never dealt with a case like this before. But I know he has to break this fever by himself, without the aid of magic. Any more potions or charms or spells would tip the very thin balance I've created in his blood. They would probably kill him. And I have an inkling this state he's in, this…dream state…is as much psychological as it is physical. Something he has to overcome on his own."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean…I think he has some very fierce demons in the back of his mind. Things he keeps hidden. And I think they've come out now, they've overwhelmed him."

Hermione was very confused, very uncertain. "What do you want me to do?" she asked.

Lupin stared at her for a moment, as if weighing things in his mind. "You need to just be here. He's not himself. Just make sure he doesn't hurt himself, and…" he trailed off.

"And what?"

"Just…be gentle. I know you hate him and I know you have good reason to, but there is much, I think, that none of us know about him. Treat him as you would a sick child. I don't think he's much more than that right now."

Hermione looked down at Malfoy's troubled form and did indeed see the sick child Lupin referred to.

"Be careful with him. Call me if you need anything, I'll be here," he said.

Hermione nodded distractedly as Lupin headed out the door, her mind already overtaken by the boy before her. This was an odd puzzle, a mystery. She would solve it. She knelt down on the floor beside the bed, her face close to Malfoy's and said softly, tentatively, "Malfoy?"

He looked so vulnerable, so child-like. His features were screwed up in fear, an expression she couldn't remember ever seeing on his face before. What went on behind his eyes? What was he seeing? Hermione's curiosity was indeed provoked. What did it take to make Draco Malfoy whimper in fear like a small child?

His manner did not change at all. He just kept murmuring, his eyelids fluttering, his face fearful.

"Malfoy?" she said, a little bit louder this time.

Still, nothing.

"Draco?" she tried, a bit hesitantly. The name was strange and foreign on her lips, but it seemed to reach him. His eyes opened wide for the briefest of seconds and then shut tightly again. She saw that his gray eyes were wild, searching, frightened. She had never seen Malfoy in a state like this before. She had never seen anything but amusement or anger or disgust or a sneer on his face. His features looked so different now, soft, almost childlike. It frightened Hermione.

She felt his forehead and found that he was still very warm. Too warm. But she couldn't use any more magic on him. Instead, she conjured up a soft cloth and a bowl of cool water and began mopping his forehead with it, letting the water trickle down the sides of his face and into his hair.

He continued mumbling and she leaned close to hear him. She couldn't, for the life of her, make out what he was saying. It was just some kind of gibberish, some kind of nonsensical dream-language.

"Malfoy," she said, staring at him intently. "Malfoy, can you hear me?"

He made no response whatsoever, just kept mumbling. Hesitantly, Hermione reached out a hand and placed it on his bare shoulder. She shook him slightly.

"Malfoy," she said loudly. "Wake up."

He did not respond.

"Draco," said Hermione, shaking him again. "Draco, get up."

His eyes popped open at the sound of his first name as they had before. He stared at Hermione with frightened eyes for a moment, seeming not to recognize her. Then he turned his head toward his shoulder and looked at her hand resting there as if it were some interesting creature that he remembered from a story book. And in a quick, sudden movement, he grabbed onto her wrist with his hand and held onto it tightly, pulling her arm close to his body like it was some kind of doll or teddy bear. His eyes shut again and his incoherent mumbling resumed. He held on with a grip that brought tears of pain to Hermione's eyes. Where had this strength come from? Wasn't he supposed to be weak? But no, Hermione could not even get her arm away. She pried at his fingers, but they would not loosen. He just gripped even tighter, digging his fingers into her small wrist like iron claws. She gasped at the continuing pain. She brought up her wand, but realized instantly that she could not use it. She couldn't use any magic on him at all. Why was he doing this?

"Malfoy, let go!" she said in a hoarse whisper. "Let go of me! Draco!"

His eyes opened again at the sound of his name, but closed almost immediately. Hermione struggled against his grip, trying to pull away, but he was far too strong. Every time she tried to pull away, he just tightened his grip and pulled her arm closer, causing even more pain.

She thought of calling out to someone, Harry or Lupin, but what could either of them do? Pry him off by force? They would have to break his fingers first. So she just stopped struggling.

Mind over matter, she thought.

She calmed herself with deep breaths and pushed the throbbing pain to the back of her mind. This was not Malfoy, she realized. This was some stubborn child. If she couldn't win this little battle physically, she would use her brain to outwit this stupid Dream-Draco. He acted like a stingy child clutching at a toy. (Unfortunately for Hermione, that toy was her arm and the "child" was a teenage boy with abnormally strong hands.) So she would treat him like a child.

"Draco?" she said, trying very, very hard to speak in a pleasant voice. His eyes opened and he stared at her. "Draco, I need you to let go of my arm," she said clearly and with a façade of patience, like a first-grade teacher would speak to one of her 6-year-old students. He looked slowly from Hermione's face to her arm and back again several times. At least he knew what she was talking about.

Then he closed his eyes and started mumbling again. Hermione sat very still, unsure of what to do. The pain was terrible. Her eyes were streaming. She was about to have another emotional breakdown, that was for sure. But she didn't dare move her arm, for fear of him tightening his grip even more and breaking her wrist. MERLIN it hurt.

She was just contemplating sawing her own arm off when Malfoy stirred slightly and loosened his grip. He was still holding on very tightly, and it still hurt, but not nearly as much as before. Hermione silently thanked whatever gods were watching over her. She didn't even try pulling her arm away. She knew what would happen. He would just pull her back into that tear-wrenching grasp.

He was not letting go. She resigned herself to the fact that she might be sitting here on the floor for a very long time. So, trying very hard not to shift her wrist at all, she moved her legs out from under her into a more comfortable position and turned so she could lean against the side of the bed. She wondered when this would be over. When he would wake up and notice this awkward situation. She didn't even let herself think of the other possibility: that he might not wake up at all. That he might just slip deeper and deeper into himself until he died.

She realized all she could do was wait. Just wait and see where this would go. Just leave Malfoy to his own devices and hope he could fight off whatever had taken over his mind. That, and she could sleep. It had been so long. She didn't care that this was probably one of the most uncomfortable positions she had ever experienced in her entire life. She was exhausted, literally. She could go on no further. She…

And then she was asleep, her head resting lightly on the bed not six inches from Malfoy's own.

ZZZ

She woke with a start and couldn't immediately remember where she was. Then it all came back to her with a gasp and she realized Malfoy was shaking and groaning and writhing around in front of her, still holding onto her wrist, still in that strange dream state. But he was acting differently now. He was panicky, sweating, and speaking real words.

"No!" he cried out in a half-whisper, as if he struggled to form the words. "NO! They didn't…they didn't do…take me!…NO! Not her! NOT HER!"

Tears spilled down his cheeks as he struggled violently against invisible barriers, still grasping onto Hermione's arm tightly. She just watched him aghast, her eyes wide, her mouth dangling open. What in the world was wrong with him?

"Malfoy!" she shouted at him, returning to her senses. "Draco Malfoy, WAKE UP!" And she slapped a hand across his cheek, for no longer could she stand the pain in her wrist. She had to be free of him. He had to wake up. NOW. She reached down for the bowl of water she had used to cool his face and dumped it on his head. Then she threw it on the floor with a crash and slapped him again, a loud, wet, stinging slap. Lupin wanted her to treat Malfoy like a sick child? TOO BAD. She had endured this pain long enough.

Malfoy's eyes flew open and he struggled to sit up. His eyes were wild, confused, his breathing labored, his face streaming with water and tears. He looked Hermione straight in the eye and she knew he was really seeing her this time.

"They made me watch," he said hoarsely, searching her face frantically as if trying to see if she understood. He must have seen nothing but her confusion. "They made me watch!" he repeated with more urgency, grabbing the front of Hermione's shirt with his other hand and pulling her closer.

"They—they? Who? Watch what?" she stammered.

"The Dark Lord," he whispered, his eyes wide. "He made me…he made me watch it—I couldn't save them, I couldn't—"

And comprehension hit Hermione over the head like a sledgehammer. She gasped.

His parents.

"They made you watch while he…murdered your parents?" she asked in a tiny whisper.

He nodded fractionally, staring wildly back and forth between each of her eyes. "He—he tortured them first…my mother—I couldn't stop it…I couldn't…I…"

And then his eyes rolled back in his head and he fell limp onto the bed. Hermione was…shocked, to put it mildly. She couldn't move, couldn't even think of moving. Couldn't even remember what moving felt like. She just knelt there staring at Draco Malfoy with wide eyes. It might have been thirty seconds, might have been thirty minutes before she realized that his hand was relaxed and she could reclaim her arm. She rubbed the feeling back into it, seeing even in the dim lighting of the room that bruises were already cropping up. She didn't know what to think, or what to feel. He had just shared his nightmare with her. Now she knew what haunted him: he had been forced to watch his parents be tortured and then murdered by Voldemort. She couldn't even imagine what that might do to someone, especially someone so young.

Hermione's heart was racing. She felt faint. She stood up and walked blindly to her own bed where she laid down and pressed her hands to her forehead, as if trying to stifle the thoughts that overwhelmed her mind.

But his eyes. The confusion, the pain in them. Malfoy was tortured by these memories. And he had actually shared them with her. She wondered how lucid he had really been. She wondered if he would remember any of this when he woke the next time.

Draco woke to a splitting headache and the memory of many strange, horrible nightmares. He felt like all the life had been sucked out of him. He lifted his head weakly from his pillow and searched his surroundings with his eyes. What drew his attention immediately was the sight of Granger, fast asleep in her bed. She had been in his dreams. He thought back to them…he remembered a feeling of helplessness and despair. He had held onto Granger right here in this room and shared with her that horrifying memory of his parents that he kept always locked away. He had told her and she had understood. It had felt so good to share it with someone, even if only in a dream, and even if that someone was Hermione Granger. It had felt comforting to see his own horror mirrored in someone else's eyes. It lightened the heavy load that constantly pressed down on his conscience. It made him feel less…alone.

Slowly, the memories of everything else came back. Granger saying the charm. Pain lancing from his dagger wound. Some man shoving potions down his throat and uttering difficult spells. Then the dreams. The nightmares. And now, finally, reality.

He was thirsty. And he needed the bathroom.

Damn bodily functions to hell, he thought bitterly. This time he would make it on his own. He was not about to wake up Granger to ask her for help walking down the hallway. Hell, no. He was Draco Malfoy. He could do anything if he really wanted to.

Slowly, painfully, he wrenched his body into a sitting position. He steadied himself with a few deep breaths and then lowered his feet onto the floor. Supporting his weight on the bedpost, he stood, shakily to his feet. So far, so good. Now for the actual walking part.

Not so easy. Was it possible that he was even weaker than before? It sure felt like it as he put all his might into a few baby steps.

Why am I not wearing a shirt? he suddenly realized. He hated this feeling of not being in control. He looked down at his dagger wound. Still there, still gross, still painful. Granger was obviously not cut out to be a healer.

More baby steps. He reached the door and went to twist the door handle. Why did his hand hurt so much? Strange. The door opened with a creak.

And damn it, Granger woke up.

"Malfoy? What…?" she questioned groggily, rubbing her eyes and lowering her feet to the floor.

Draco was extremely unhappy to see her awake, but extremely happy to see her hair back to the poofy mess he was used to. She looked like some kind of furry cat monster wearing gold pants.

"Are you okay?" she asked gently with a concerned look.

This was certainly…new. He looked at her quizzically. "…Not especially…" he said.

"What are you doing?" she asked, apparently just realizing he was halfway out the door.

"Trying to get down the hallway. If you don't mind…" he said, taking another baby step out the door. Oh, how ridiculous he must look to her.

But suddenly she was there beside him, clutching her arm around his bare waist.

"Don't be stupid," she said. "You can't walk on your own."

This surprised him. He tried to step away from her, but only managed to stumble into the doorjamb. She caught him.

"Told you," she said.

He looked down at the arm that seemed to be so willingly clutching onto him. And his eyes went wide.

"What the fuck…?" he said, lifting her arm away and holding it up to the light in front of him. Her thin, pale wrist was covered in dark bruises. She snatched it away and hid it behind her back.

"It's nothing," she said.

"Nothing?" he asked skeptically, grabbing her by the elbow and pulling her wrist back up in front of his face. He stared at her, daring her with his eyes to try and say "It's nothing," again, when it was obviously not nothing.

"Who did this?" he asked.

She looked at him with a deeply curious expression. "You don't remember?" she asked.

His eyes went wide in sudden realization. The dream. His aching hand. Her bruises. It had been real.

He dropped her arm as if she had burned him, stumbled back inside the room, and slammed the door in her confused face.

A/N: Ha-cha-cha…You know what to do. REVIEW! My unwaveringly loyal band of reviewers, tell me what you thought of this chapter!