Draco Malfoy had gone to sleep thinking about three different strategies to divert Harry Potter and catch the snitch next year. It was a diverting amusement, at any rate, picturing exactly the right push, or the correct dive to take him just over McGonagall's head (one avoided Snape's head - and Dumbledore's, like the plague. Either might be amused enough to cast a "harmless" spell - Snape to teach a lesson, and Dumbledore to have fun. Draco wasn't quite sure which idea was worse, actually). With that in the forefront of his mind, he had dreamed about flying, sometimes in a game, often dancing about Malfoy Manor's grounds - through wood and down vale. Sometimes nude.
So, when he felt someone nudge at his shoulder, his immediate response was to brush at them, with more annoyance than irritation. When he felt the nudge again, he responded similarly, even though he was shedding his dream like a snake sheds his skin - in drips and drabs and pieces. "Draco, wake up." Narcissa Malfoy's voice held a level of icy urgency that he had rarely heard - not since he was seven (he had been flying upside-down, inside no less). Blearily blinking his eyes, he focused on waking up, shaking the sleep out of his limbs. Smoothly, he sat up, looking at his mother. Narcissa straightened, no longer bending over the bed to wake her son. The picture of good breeding and common sense, she said gracefully, "You must leave now, Draco. Go to our abode in London. Explanations later." Draco looked at his mother intently, seeing the faint lines of worry on her face, as he nodded curtly. Without saying a word, he slipped nearly soundlessly down his hall, heading towards the nearest fireplace. He didn't need to think, he just went - the way long since memorized.
Blinking as he stepped out of the Floo, Draco looked over the simple dwelling - one story, but it looked to be the fifth floor, judging by the windows. Not important, he thought, as he waved his wand, first brushing away the ash from his clothes, and then resetting the wards. The Malfoys were well known to have a talent in Warding, and he knew that, barring a dragon, he was the safest he could hope for - outside of Hogwarts and the goblin's lairs, both of whom used magick most arcane.
Heaving a great sigh, he stumbled toward the only bed in the house, and flopped down on it, still in his pajamas. Seconds later, he was asleep.
[a/n: originally, this had more exposition. But I think it works better with just the bare basics. Anyone care to guess what's going on?
Up Next: explanations!]