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CHAPTER 8

Nightmares

Draco's grey eyes snapped open, and, at the same time, he tried to take a deep breath. The room was silent, and the light was conspicuous by its absence. Only the greenish light coming from the lake, penetrating through the narrow glass windows, prevented the total darkness. The first thing he saw when his eyes adjusted to the blackness was the canopy of his bed, embroidered with a large and silver 'S'. His heart hammered in his chest like a galloping horse.

He got up awkwardly until he was sitting down, and felt a chill run through his body; the sheets were drenched in cold sweat and stuck to his body, as well as his pyjamas. He felt like something was clogging his throat, causing unpleasant nausea. He squeezed his eyes shut, still breathing heavily. He had suffered a nightmare. He didn't even remember what was happening in the dream, but it had been terrifying. And chillingly realistic. He had heard heartbreaking screams that still rumbled hard in his head, seen vaporous black shadows surround him, bars, and a pair of grey eyes that looked at him lifelessly...

He was still barely able to breathe. The burden grew inside him, causing nausea to rise almost uncontrollably in his throat, forcing him to clench his jaws until they ached. He pushed back the sheets and coverlet with shaking hands and climbed out of bed. He got to his feet, strode across the room in quick, barefoot steps, and jerked open the bathroom door, turning on the light at the same time with his other hand. He barely managed to close the door behind him when he was forced to drop to his knees and vomit into the toilet. After several anguishing and unpleasant seconds, he managed to calm down somewhat. Still with his eyes closed, he reached out a cold, trembling hand and yanked on the chain. Feeling more relaxed by the sound of running water, he rested both arms on the rim of the toilet, and buried his face in them. The retching still made him convulse, but he no longer had anything to throw up. He hadn't eaten much for the dinner.

It wasn't the first time it had happened to him. For over a year, ever since his father was sentenced to Azkaban, Draco suffered from nightmares on a fairly frequent basis. Almost every month, he lived through a horrible nightmare involving things he couldn't remember, waking up in the middle of the night frightened, distraught, and nauseated. All he remembered from his dreams were her father's grey eyes, empty and lifeless. He had noticed that those nightmares were more frequent when he was sick or stressed. Or both.

Like the other nights when that happened, he tried to take slow, deep breaths to control the urge to vomit, and tried to stop thinking. Leave the mind blank. Even if it was only for a few seconds. When he felt his heart beginning to return to normal, he pushed away from the toilet and sat on the floor with his back against the icy bathroom wall. His hands were still shaking, and he was very cold, but he didn't feel so bad anymore. His stomach was beginning to settle little by little. He touched his forehead and felt it burn intensely against the frozen back of his hand. A throbbing pain settled in his temples.

On a sudden impulse, the fingers of his right hand — stiff from the cold he felt — lifted the left sleeve of his pyjamas clumsily. The sensitive, white skin of his forearm was exposed, and his fingers tightened on it. He leaned his head back, resting his neck against the cold wall, and closed his eyes. His father was in Azkaban. Life imprisonment. The Death Eaters had a vacancy, which he had to fill very soon. That was how it had been decided, her mother had told him at the end of the summer. He was to follow in his father's footsteps. He wanted to follow in his father's footsteps. And the time had come. The next time he returned home, he would officially join their ranks, despite not having finished his studies yet. Or, at least, that's what they told him. Apparently, the Dark Lord was in a particular hurry for him to join his ranks. They needed him for some reason he was still unaware of, which, of course, didn't exactly reassure him.

Draco took a breath and let it out slowly. This time he did feel that his lungs were completely filled with air. Becoming a Death Eater would be a brave act, and he was thrilled about it. He could be everything he'd ever dreamed of being. He could prove himself. At last. Although his body and his dreams didn't seem to agree. But that, he had forced himself to think, meant nothing. He was just nervous, which was understandable; it had all happened very quickly, sooner than he had imagined, that was all. It had caught him off guard. But he wanted to. He wanted to be a Death Eater. He wanted to avenge his father, and help the Dark Lord carry out his plans. Why would he not want to?

There were barely a few days left before the Christmas holidays began. To come back home. He wanted to.

"I'm looking forward to doing it. I'm impatient to serve the Dark Lord," he reassured himself.

Glad to have not found in himself doubts about it, he rose slowly to his feet, swaying slightly as his icy bare feet barely supported him. He turned off the bathroom light and opened the door to return to the dark room.

"Are you okay?" a sudden voice inquired in the gloom, as soon as he stepped onto the floor of his bedroom.

Draco would have been startled if he hadn't experienced the same thing several times. He already expected it. He managed to make out a figure sitting up in Nott's bed, looking at him carefully. The blond young man didn't say anything and just moved towards his own bed, laying down on it again, letting himself fall abruptly. He didn't even bother to cover himself up. He was exhausted. He reached up an arm and covered his weary eyes with it. Nott, who had watched him in silence as he lay down, finally got up from his bed and sat on the edge of his friend's.

"Are you okay?" he repeated, taking a quick look to see if the rest of his roommates were still asleep. Goyle's deafening snores confirmed that it was so. If the others weren't awakened by those sounds, inherent in a dying elephant, they wouldn't be woken up by their whispers.

"No," Draco growled hoarsely, not removing his arm from his face.

"Do you want some water?" his friend offered, calmly. Although he couldn't quite make it out, Draco managed to see a discreet concern in his eyes.

"I think so," the blond murmured, making as if to get up. There was a sour, unpleasant taste in his mouth.

Nott got up and walked over to the only desk in the room, which was situated between Zabini's bed and Goyle's. He took the jug that was there and filled one of the glasses that was next to the container. Then he went back to his friend's bed.

Draco took it silently and downed it in a few gulps. He was beginning to feel better, but now he felt a painful emptiness in his stomach, since he no longer had any food left inside him. He lay back on the bed and placed his forearm on his forehead.

"Another nightmare?" Nott wanted to know, delicately, as he left the empty glass on his friend's table.

"Another nightmare."

"You have many," Nott murmured, his voice impersonal. "I still think, even if you don't listen to me, that you should go to the Hospital Wing and tell Madam Pomfrey about those nightmares. It is not normal. And you shouldn't consider it as normal. In addition to the fact that you have been kind of sick for several weeks, and I think it also affects you..."

"Don't talk rubbish. It only happens to me from time to time, it's not a big deal. Everyone has nightmares. And I'm not sick," Draco muttered with emphasis, though his voice was muffled slightly by Crabbe's snoring, now added to Goyle's. "Fuck, are they such animals that they can't breathe without making the room shake?" he added impatiently.

Nott ignored his comment, sensing that he was obviously in a bad mood, and continued to look at him uneasily.

"I don't throw up when I have nightmares," he replied instead, unfazed. Draco didn't answer, and didn't look like he was going to. Finally, the dark-haired boy let out a resigned sigh and added, in a low voice, "Can I do… something?"

Draco took a long few seconds to respond. He felt that he should say something to reassure his friend, and thank him for his concern, but he didn't have the strength. At that time, he had no strength at all. He felt very fatigued and all he wanted was to sleep for days. The headache was beginning to overwhelm him. But despite that, a wave of appreciation for Nott washed over him. He felt that he was the only friend he had, the only one who genuinely cared for him.

And his way of thanking him was leaving him alone to go off with Crabbe, Goyle and Zabini.

Nott had also been promised the rank of Death Eater, as his father was still in Azkaban, and there was another vacancy to fill. He came from a family of Death Eaters, and it was his duty and responsibility. But they still hadn't specified when it would happen; perhaps at the end of the year, or even before. What was clear was that it would happen. When Lord Voldemort claimed you to his ranks, denial was not an option, unless you fervently wished for a gruesome death. Nott seemed to understand that he had no choice, and had resigned himself to the fact that one day he would become an active Death Eater, even though his ideas were already far from being the same as Lord Voldemort's. But he had to pretend that he still believed in the cause, that he longed to become a Death Eater. For his own safety.

"No," Draco finally murmured, his eyes still covered by his forearm. "I'm sorry I woke you up," was the only thing he managed to say, with the softest voice he could emit.

"Don't worry," Nott replied, in the same tone, shaking his head. "Cover up and try to sleep," he murmured, getting up and heading to his own bed. "Good night."

The young Malfoy didn't answer. Not because he was trying to sleep, since he himself knew he wouldn't be able to sleep the rest of the night, but because he wanted Nott to believe so. It was the only way he could think of to make the dark-haired boy fall asleep and not continue worrying about him.

Which Draco, although he was unable to say or show it, was sincerely grateful for.


In the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom, the strumming of feathers was the only thing that broke the crushing silence. No one dared even to whisper a little, and everyone strove to clear their throats as quietly as possible. Snape's almost inaudible footsteps pacing the classroom sent nervous shivers down the spines of the students, and the hissing of his long black robes only added to the discomfort.

"Time's up," said Snape suddenly in his deep voice, making his students shudder. "Drop the quills immediately."

They all obeyed instantly; except for Hermione, who hastily tried to add the last few words to her little essay, twice as long as her neighbours'. The professor walked around the classroom with his deep black eyes stopping at each of his students, apparently enjoying the almost tangible tension in the atmosphere.

"Mr. Weasley," he called suddenly, caressing the syllables, causing Ron to flinch visibly, "come out here and read us what you've written," he said, nodding to the empty space to the side of the teacher's desk, in front of the class.

Ron made a rueful grimace and took a quick glance at his parchment. From his expression, his friends guessed that he was not very satisfied with the result.

"I don't want to… go out there," he muttered, even knowing it wouldn't do him any good.

"Did I begin the sentence by saying 'if it pleases Your Majesty'?" Snape replied, unperturbed. "Come out here, Weasley."

Ron groaned under his breath and rose to his full length. He pushed his chair back with a gesture and strode like someone going to a slaughterhouse to the front of the class, parchment in hand.

"Read it," Snape ordered, standing with folded arms in the middle of one of the aisles between the rows of tables. At one of the desks to the professor's left, Malfoy, sitting next to Zabini, was whispering into the latter's ear.

Ron cleared his throat, looking at no one in particular, and began to read:

"One of the ways to —"

"Read the question first," Snape interrupted flatly.

The red-haired's ears turned an instant reddish hue. Ron seemed ready to point out to the professor that the question was written on the board immediately behind him, but he barely contained himself. He cleared his throat louder — again — and began again:

"'How to differentiate an Erumpent from a real rhinoceros?'" He raised his eyes to look at Snape, expecting him to criticize him again; but, seeing that he was silent, he continued: "One of the ways to differentiate them is to look at the shape of the horn, since this is —"

"I can't hear him," Zabini protested quizzically, rather loudly, from a table in the second row. Suppressing a laugh, he added, with mock deference: "Speak louder, Weasley, please."

Malfoy covered his mouth with one hand, stifling a fit of laughter. Pansy let out a loud laugh. The rest of the Slytherins chuckled as well, quietly but definitely audible. The entire Gryffindors turned to look at the Slytherins with identical expressions of spite. Ron fell silent, blushing, turning to look at Zabini with deep hostility. Snape smiled cynically.

"Go ahead, Mr. Weasley."

Ron started once again, his voice considerably louder, bravely ignoring the laughter.

"One of the ways to differentiate them is to look at the shape of the horn, since this is —" He narrowed his eyes and brought the parchment closer to his face, as if he couldn't see well or didn't understand what he had written. "It's... Ah! Large, grey and spiral-shaped. While that of rhinos is rather white and smooth…. And the tail is shaped like a rope, which a rhino's isn't..." He lowered his voice as he finished the sentence, aware of the silence that reigned in the classroom, and Snape's smirk, that his exercise was not particularly brilliant. Even so, he added with courage and decision: "And I haven't put anything else on it."

"Mediocre, Weasley," Snape said, savouring the words. "Almost as mediocre as your penmanship. Sit down."

At that point, there was no telling where Ron's red hair ended and his ears began. Forcing himself to wear a determined expression, he stumbled back to his place, amid the muted jeers of the Slytherins. Hermione saw that Harry was going to protest, indignant, but the girl put a hand on his arm and silenced him with a look. They both knew it would do nothing but earn certain punishment from Snape.

"It is clear that not all students have the same degree of understanding and the differences between these two creatures have not been clear to them," Snape said with his eyebrows raised in an ironic grimace, while Ron fell into his seat, exhausted. "Let's return our attention to the book Dreadful Denizens of the Deep which, as I suppose everyone but Weasley knows by now, contains the answer to my question. Mr. Malfoy, read page one hundred ninety-four aloud."

Hermione felt a small piece of lead settle in her stomach just hearing his name. She closed her eyes to fight the urge to pinch herself for being an idiot. She shouldn't get upset because of hearing his stupid name. She shouldn'tfeel anything at all.

After several seconds of expectation, Draco began to read aloud, not hiding one iota of how little he wanted to do it. They all understood that, had it not been Snape who had asked him, he would have refused to read anything.

"The Erumpent is a grey-coloured beast, native to Africa. It is of great size and power," he began, in his slurred, sneering voice. "It typically weighs over a ton and can be mistaken for a rhino from a distance. Its thick skin repels most enchantments..."

Hermione tried to keep reading in her own book, but, to her own frustration, every few seconds found herself staring blankly at the book, completely lost in reading, and only listening for Malfoy's voice. Avid reader that she was, Hermione knew how to spot a natural reader from miles away, and Malfoy was. He read really well. Despite his bored tone, he had a very clear pronunciation, and you could tell that he understood absolutely everything he read, even if it didn't interest him. His voice was — She liked it. Despite herself, she liked listening to him read. But that didn't lessen the bitterness she felt at hearing his voice.

She was very angry. Not just with Malfoy, but with herself. She had been thinking about him for days, and, every time the possibility of spying on him again appeared in her mind, the image of Draco hitting the lamp in the Changing Rooms materialized before her. And also his face, charged with bitterness and sadness. And his grey eyes, bright with frustration. She had realized that she was not going to be able to do it. She couldn't blackmail him. She didn't want to spy on him anymore. She didn't want to play dirty. Her last few forays had ended in the worst possible way, and she had realized that, even if she found something against him, she wouldn't be able to use it.

Hermione thought, with some embarrassment, that it wasn't the first time in her life that she had blackmailed someone. She remembered how, years ago, she had threatened journalist Rita Skeeter about revealing that she was an unregistered Animagus, so she would stop writing that bogus gossip and slop for Witch Weekly magazine. At the time, she didn't mind doing it in the slightest. She felt it was the right thing to do. Skeeter was an ambitious and unscrupulous woman, who profited from lies and the suffering of others. And, if she thought about it coldly, the truth was that Malfoy was not very different from her. He had just shown his lack of scruples, once again, with the trick they had just pulled on Ron. With the difference that she had discovered that Malfoy did have feelings. That he was capable of suffering for feeling alone. Excluded. Even if he didn't show it very often, especially not in public, he was capable of feeling that way. He felt that way. Hermione had checked it out when she caught him breaking the lamp in a fit of frustration at having caused his team to lose a Quidditch match.

She didn't know what to do to stop his wanderings in the Ancient Runes, but luckily she wouldn't have to worry about it for a little while. Christmas holidays would start soon, which consisted of a week without that stressful subject. And without Malfoy's face. She could forget about him for at least a few days.

When they returned to classes, if everything remained the same in Ancient Runes, the war they had established would still be on. About that there was no doubt. But until then, she could put her mind off everything to do with Malfoy.

"There it is," Snape said suddenly, startling the girl from her thoughts. She realized a second later that Malfoy had already finished reading. "As you can see, there are many more ways to tell these two creatures apart than Mr. Weasley has pointed out; like, for example, the ability of his horn to detonate and —"

A metallic sound filled the room. The bell had finally rung, and the long-awaited lunch hour had arrived. However, no one dared move or begin to pick up until Snape permitted them to do so. Past experiences had made them see what would happen if they expressed their desire to go out.

After making sure no one had moved from their spot, Snape added:

"For tomorrow, bring me an extensive exercise with all the differences between the rhinoceros and the Erumpent. Extensive," he pointed out, staring at Ron; then turning away, his robes billowing. "You can leave."

The usual hubbub took over the room as everyone packed their books and belongings into their backpacks and headed out the door. Harry, Ron, and Hermione didn't say anything as they packed up, nor when they make their way to the exit. Passing by where Malfoy sat, Hermione instinctively clutched the book in her hands closer to her chest, as if she wanted to protect herself from something she didn't even know what it was. She straightened up slightly, and walked more firmly. Suddenly, she was seized with a sudden desire to look into his eyes, to gaze at him fleetingly but directly, but luckily her sanity prevailed and she forced herself not to look at his face at all. And she sensed that he didn't look at her either, because she thought she saw that he was very busy listening to something Zabini was saying to him. As she passed him, Hermione felt with shame that the lead in her stomach grew as she realized he hadn't looked at her at all. Not even by inertia. She hadn't felt his grey gaze on her. How could it have bothered her that Draco Malfoy hadn't looked at her as she passed him? How could she have even noticed such a detail?

Once they were outside the classroom, Ron couldn't contain himself any longer.

"Have you heard him? That my writing is not extensive! Damn bat! If he doesn't know how to ask questions, it's not my fault. Won't you tell me that in the question it was understood that he was talking about differentiating them with the naked eye? If it wasn't like that I would have put more things too! Does he want me to go to the rhino and ask 'excuse me for interrupting you while you're eating grass, but is your horn explosive?'!"

"Relax, there's nothing to do," Harry said, putting a hand on his shoulder as they walked down the hall. "You already know Snape; even if it had been perfect, he would have found something wrong with it."

"Yeah, but it makes me sick that he always takes us Gryffindors out to talk to humiliate us," Ron insisted, especially grumpy. "And to make us available for the Slytherins to spit out a taunt. He could take a Slytherin out , for a change. But no, what does he ask them to do? Read! That can be done by anyone!"

"Don't be so sure, Weasley," said a voice behind them suddenly, slurred syllables. Hermione felt the piece of lead in her stomach do a pirouette, and she was the first of her friends to turn to find Malfoy standing behind them, accompanied by his pals, wearing a mischievous smile. They hadn't realized they'd been out the door seconds after them. "Not everyone can read, believe me. I've been about to fall asleep listening to you. I didn't think you could have more defects, but I see that in addition to being poor, ugly, lanky, and with big feet, you're kind of myopic."

Crabbe and Goyle, on either side of him, roared with laughter, though everyone present assumed they hadn't understood half of what Malfoy had said. Zabini, behind them, also let out a laugh.

Ron's fingers twitched instantly.

"Hold this for me," he snapped at Harry, and slammed the backpack into his chest, ready to have his hands free to strangle the Slytherin's pale neck with them. Harry hastily grabbed his robes, stopping him, as it was clear that Crabbe and Goyle would give him the beating of his life.

"Do our ears a favour and jump off the Astronomy Tower, Malfoy," Harry snapped, still holding on to Ron.

Draco's smirk widened further. His eyes, of their own accord, focused on Granger, who hadn't said a word and just stared at him, her expression somewhat defensive, but definitely immune to his acid comments. As always. Was he crazy, or was Granger everywhere? He had been seeing her everywhere lately. Every day. Or perhaps it was that he noticed her presence more easily than before. It was possible. And it was her fault, of course. Because she always had to meddle in his business, and she was always around him to tell him off. Unfortunately, he was almost getting used to the sight of that face, framed in that hideous brown hair. It was already almost familiar. Goddamn shit...

"It must be that spending too much time with you, Potter, spoils anyone's eyesight," Malfoy continued, just as mischievously, directing the insult at Harry but not taking his eyes off Granger, wanting to see her reaction. She, however, deflected hers indifferently, catching Ron by the sleeve of his robe.

"Leave it, Ron, don't waste your breath on Malfoy," Hermione told him undaunted, turning around and pulling Ron away from the blond. "He is not worth it."

Draco narrowed his grey eyes. His wry smile faded from his face. Unbelievable. Now she was pretending she wanted to ignore him? After chasing and cornering him numerous times to tell him various rants about the Ancient Runes thing? Now he has seen everything. He couldn't believe she was so hypocritical. No, absolutely not. That stupid brat had no right to ignore him now like he was nobody.

"If you keep spending time with Potter you'll end up the same way, Granger! Mudblood and also myopic!" Malfoy yelled viciously at her, as the girl stalked away, pulling Ron and Harry along, who were still glaring at him over their shoulders. But Granger didn't even turn around. "Or maybe Weasley's problem is his bad handwriting, typical of a kindergartner of the same mental age, and that's already rubbed off on you, Granger!"

Nothing, there was no way. It was undeniable that she was hearing him, but she was ignoring him. His words rolled right off her back, as if they didn't affect her in the slightest. He felt a furious burning in the pit of his stomach. He wasn't about to go after her, so he stood still in the middle of the hallway with his colleagues, watching her walk away. He wanted to yell something else at her, something really hurtful, but nothing came to mind anymore. He was too irritated. Too disappointed. Granger kept striding away, head held high, accompanied by those two jerks, until finally she was out of sight. Beside him, Crabbe and Goyle were still laughing at his jokes, but he was tempted to tell them to shut up.

Once Harry, Ron, and Hermione were far enough away from the Slytherins to no longer hear Malfoy, the girl allowed herself to take a deep breath. Her heart hammered in her chest, and her stomach felt hollow, but she felt pleased with herself. She had hit Malfoy where it hurt him the most, in his pride, and it felt so good. Although maybe not as good as it should feel. But the piece of lead that she felt in her stomach, curiously, had disappeared.

Although they were already several corridors away from Malfoy, Ron was still growling and complaining at the blond's words.

"How I would like to kick him all over his —"

"Calm down, Ron," Hermione advised quietly. "You know how Malfoy is. Forget what he said, you know he's not right."

"Hermione's right, let's forget about it. Don't let him ruin your day. Think of something else," Harry suggested, looking as angry as his friend was, but trying to hold it back. He hesitated for a moment, pondering some more pleasant subject, as they descended the great marble staircase. Suddenly he added, uncharacteristically jovial: "Think of the Christmas holidays, which are just around the corner. A holiday without Malfoy's face."

"That's true," Ron smiled, relaxing with a sigh and assuming a suddenly dreamy expression. "It will be great. Good thing you come to The Burrow, Harry."

"You bet," the dark-haired boy smiled gratefully as they passed through the double doors that led to the overcrowded Great Hall. He turned to his other friend, "You're going to go home in the end, aren't you, Hermione?"

"No, not in the end," replied the young woman, outlining a resigned smile. "I forgot to tell you. My parents have a dental conference that will last through Christmas week. In Edinburgh. So I'll have to stay at Hogwarts. I've already put my name on the list left by Professor McGonagall."

"What? You should have said it! Come to The Burrow then, woman!" Ron offered, his face brightening at the prospect of the three of them in his house, together.

"We're not going to let you spend Christmas alone," Harry added, frowning and looking at her as if it were self-evident. "By all means."

"You don't have room," Hermione objected gently, smiling. "Ginny told me that Charlie and Bill are going home to spend Christmas too, right?" she added, turning to Ron. "So with Harry you are already complete."

"Well, yeah," Ron hesitated, suddenly speechless. "But it doesn't matter, just come, we'll manage —"

"No, don't insist, I'll spend Christmas here. It's not going to be so bad, the castle looks beautiful around this time," Hermione commented, shrugging contently. "Besides, Neville told me that he's staying too, so I'll be with him. I won't be alone. Don't worry, it was my fault for finding out about my parents at the last minute..."

Harry and Ron looked visibly sad, but they won't insist as Hermione seemed satisfied like that. They sat in their usual place at the Gryffindor table, in silence, both racking their brains to find some more favourable solution for their friend. But they didn't have any bright ideas.

Just as she had said, The Burrow was in full.