Title: Dreams

Summary: They're just dreams, aren't they?

Disclaimer: I just own the plot.

Setting: Book 4 & 5? Didn't happen. Voldemort hasn't become corporeal and started his great war. Let's just say things were postponed. They're now all in their sixth year, and because Voldemort didn't become corporeal, Sirius is still alive, and that means Harry will be slightly different as well.

"Bring me the mudblood"

A half unconscious Hermione, tortured with the Crucio until she could barely speak anymore, was released from her chains and brought forth to the Dark Lord. She was thrown down on the floor, her head facing his feet.

"Get up"

She barely heard the words that he uttered in his usual slithery voice, and even if his command had fully registered her foggy brain her limbs wouldn't have been able to comply.

"Get up you filthy mudblood whore"

Another harsh voice spoke. She shuddered, remembering the pleasure with which he had spoken the unforgivables, all directed at her.

Hermione woke up feeling all sore, as if the dream she had just been having had been a reality. The thought of Lucius Malfoy, because it was of course him that had enjoyed torturing her, made her sick.

She crawled out of bed, noticing a sharp pain in her lower abdomen. For one second she feared that somehow the effects of the Crucio had actually been placed on her, she felt relieved when she discovered that it was just the beginning of her period.

"Bring me the mudblood"

She was chained to the wall, blood dripping all over her face and into her eyes. The shackles around her wrists were digging deep into her flesh, thanks to Lucius Malfoy who had conjured them for the sole purpose of hurting her.

She couldn't remember what had happened in the last few hours. The last thing she remembered was walking into Malfoy Manor with Ron and Harry.

What had happened to them? Did the deatheaters kill them? Or were they locked up in another chamber, tortured like she had been. Why was Voldemort here with her? She would have expected him to be with Harry, enjoying the last few moments of the boy-that-should-have-died.

Yet he was here now. Did that mean Harry was dead and the world would once again be covered in darkness?

She closed her eyes, pretending to have fainted, but secretly she was just trying to fight back her tears.

"Something wrong Hermione? You don't look so well"

Hermione sighed. She did indeed. The last couple f weeks she had been having these strange dreams, always starting with the same sentence.

Bring me the mudblood.

The feelings, the surroundings, everything seemed so real. Too real to be just dreams. She wondered if maybe these dreams were something more. Maybe they were a warning. A sign not to do anything rash.

But why would they go to Malfoy Manor? Voldemort, even if he really was there, could not do anything until he became corporeal. Still, it would be stupid to take him on without telling anybody.

She quickly discarded her thoughts when she saw her friends Ron and Harry look at her, and faked a smile.

"It's nothing...I've been up late to finish my Potions essay"

Both boys obviously assumed she was telling the truth, and went back to talking about the upcoming Quidditchmatch against Slytherin, leaving Hermione alone with her thoughts once again.

She couldn't tell them until she knew more. What if they really were just dreams? Harry would argue that they were. He was always like that. Ron would take his side and she couldn't blame them for it, because she had no proof they were anything but dreams. Nothing, except her gut feeling that something was coming.

For the first time in her life she wished she wouldn't have dropped Divination. Parvati had told her that they were currently working on premonitions and dreams, but Hermione couldn't ask too many questions about that without anyone getting suspicious.

So for the time being, she would just have to hold on to her old method. The library.

Being a Prefect, and one of Hogwarts best and favorite students, Hermione was one of the few people in school that was allowed entrance to the forbidden section.

She went up to the library late at night, when nobody but the prefects were allowed out of their dormitories. When she entered the library, it was empty, save one student.

Malfoy.

Like her, he was headed to the forbidden section. She wished she could tell him off, but sadly, like her, he was a prefect.

Determined not to pay any more attention to the worthless git she grabbed a couple of useful looking books and settled down at a table. She took up the first book and had just opened it when Draco grabbed it out of her hands.

"Hey!"

Draco cockily raised one eyebrow but otherwise ignored her frustrated exclamation. Calmly walking up to another table he sat himself down with a grin on his face.

She wondered whether he really needed the book or just wanted to torment her. Determined not to give him this satisfaction she took up another book from the pile on the table and opened it.

They worked in silence for a while, both flipping through the pages and occasionally scribbling something down on the parchment before them.

Hermione wondered what Malfoy could be up to. He wouldn't need books from the forbidden section for his homework so she expected him to find ways to hex people, or 'how to get rid of Mudbloods'.

At this her thoughts once again travelled to Lucius Malfoy. She thought she had known hate, known torture. Now it turned out that Draco was nowhere near as evil as his father. No longer did she care when Draco called her mudblood. Though she did not like it, the name just didn't sound so degrading as it had been in the past. The way Lucius still made it sound.

She shivered a little, then shook her head to get rid of the nasty thoughts. Taking a deep breath she took up yet another book to rummage through.

Suddenly a book was thrown on her table. On her hands, to be more exact. She bit her lip in pain, knowing that Malfoy had intentionally tried to hurt her, and not wanting him to know that he had.

He smirked. A foul smirk. Walking past her she could hear him humming, like he had found what he was looking for.

She just wished she could say the same.

The next time she had awoken from her dream she kept replaying one image in her head. Over and over again she saw him, walking over to her, carressing her cheek while wiping away a tear. Nobody knew. Nobody saw. But she knew. And every time he brushed past her in the hallways she thought back of that single moment that he had been nice to her.

She couldn't find a reason why. She had expected that if this was all a premonition he would be thrilled to see her so submissive; defenseless, chained to the wall. But the look in his eyes told her otherwise. There had been pity in it, guilt, shame for being family to the people who did this.

And yet he looked so much like them. Like his father he still called her mudblood, still seemed to hate her. Why then would he take pity on her, if she was everything his family was against?

Instead of paying attention to the monotone voice of the ghost hovering a few feet above the ground she focused her gaze on a certain pale blondhaired Slytherin.

It was almost like he could feel her gaze piercing into his back, because as soon as she fixed her eyes at him he turned around and stared her straight in the face. She had expected him to carry his usual sneer, the arrogant look that clearly stated that he felt himself to be above her. But it didn't. He looked at her with a mingle of amusement, loathing, but the part that made her wonder most was that he looked like he needed her help.

They silently communicated with their eyes. Hers widened a bit when he nodded at her, then conjured a small bathroom sign when nobody looked. He wanted to meet her in the prefect bathroom. Why? What the hell was going on?

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