Author's Note: I'm so sorry that it has taken so long to update. Things have been hectic with my life (personal stuff I won't go into here), and I just started back at uni last week too! I'm going to try and post as frequently as possible. Thank you to everyone who continues to favourite, alert and review this story – it's lovely to see so many of you interested and has helped encourage my writing!


Chapter Eight – Dream a Little Dream

When Hermione woke, she was puzzled more than anything. She was cocooned in a thick quilt that smelt heavily of a male. It made her head swim. Her dazed and confused head was supported by a squashy pillow, and light filtered through thin curtains, splashing across a carpeted floor. She could hear the noise of traffic and machinery from outside, the shout of children, foreign languages… It was like being home in her own flat, but of course, she wasn't. She had no recollection of where she was, or how she had got here, although one thing for sure was that it was better than an animal cage.

She tried to sit upright, but pain flared through the old scar. Clutching her hand to it, she settled back down amongst the warmth she had created in the bed, letting her thoughts swirl around her. Her palm was pressed against the raised mark that not even Madam Pomfrey had been able to fully get rid of. She had considered approaching a Muggle hospital before going back to Hogwarts for her sixth year, but it would only raise questions – how she had got it, why did it appear the way it did, etc.

She stamped down on that thought, and had confided her fears and concerns over its appearance to Ginny Weasley and much later, to Luna Lovegood. Both girls had said that it was a reminder of how strong she could be, that she had faced death once and nothing could compare to that. Ginny had said that it could hold the key to something one day, like Harry's scar, but Hermione doubted that very much. Luna, however, remarked how it would build character, although right now, with pain shooting through it, she felt as helpless as when that troll had cornered her in the girls bathroom in her first year.

As her fingers traced the mark through the thin material she had been forced to wear at the old theatre, she cast her mind back to the strange dream she had been having. She didn't put much stock into analysing dreams, unlike Parvati Patil, and Lavender Brown, Merlin rest her soul.

It had been so odd…


Hermione descended down the stairs into the Entrance Hall at Hogwarts. To her right, was the Great Hall – music and laughter floated through, trying to entice her further in. Her hair was bound tightly upon her head, with light tendrils escaping and framing her face. There was a distinct smell in the air – make-up, perfumes and hair potions. She was wearing fancy dress robes of periwinkle blue, with little lace edgings that were a deeper blue. As she walked, the lace edgings caught the light of the candles, making it appear as if she was walking through water, although the illusion was helped with the dainty high heels she wore.

She had been here before. This was Hogwarts in her fourth year – this was the Yule Ball where she had danced the night away with Viktor. She had not let her evening be spoilt by Ron and his jealous attitude.

As Hermione's feet met the floor, the doors to the Great Hall swung shut ominously, making the candles flicker unpleasantly. She found herself searching for Viktor. He was nowhere to be seen, and to her shock, she could not open the doors that led out to the grounds. Swearing under her breath, she had searched every inch of the Entrance Hall, but still no Viktor. It was getting frustrating, and she was about to head back up the stairs to the dormitories, take down her elegant hairstyle, bury the pretty robes and shoes in the bottom of her trunk, crawl into bed and cry her eyes out, when the Great Hall doors creaked open.

Soft music played, like nothing she had heard before, and almost trancelike, she headed towards it, all the while searching for her wayward date.

There was a lone figure standing in a bright spotlight in the middle of the Great Hall. Other than this person, the room was empty. Tables and chairs looked neat and tidy, although somewhat abandoned. Instruments played by themselves on a dimly lit stage.

Hermione continued to approach the figure. He was tall, taller than Viktor, with a different build. More muscular, stronger. He wore black dress robes, lined with purple – a purple that seemed to shift and change with each step she took. In his hand, he carried a red rose. There was something magical about the rose – it was so unlike anything she had ever seen. The figure's face was in shadow, but finally, she was before him.

He looked up, and Hermione felt her heart stop, and perhaps what was more startling, was a fire growing deep inside of her. The figure took her hand, kissing her knuckles. Finally, his eyes met hers.

"Hermione," Antonin Dolohov said softly.


It was a startling dream, and Hermione shook her head to be rid of it.

"Bloody ridiculous," she murmured, as she pulled the quilt from her. "Like that would ever happen."

She took in the bedroom with more detail.

There was a set of plastic drawers, filled with clothes. The top set showed balls of threadbare socks and embarrassingly, underpants. The second was Muggle shirts, and the third, neatly folded trousers. In the bottom drawer was a set of black robes that made Hermione shiver. There was no way of hiding that this was the uniform of a Death Eater. It was all there – from the robes, to a set of heavy black boots, and most scary of all, the mask. She slammed the drawer shut, wishing she could stamp out her curiosity.

Along the skirting board was a selection of well-thumbed novels – Muggle novels, she didn't fail to notice. She recognised a few popular titles, as well as a few classics. Hermione crouched down, and selected a book at random, flicking though the dog eared pages. She found herself caught up in the tale – a thrilling adventure of one girls struggle with the government, and training to survive a deadly arena. It was like something straight out of her life – it was almost like Harry trying to survive the Triwizard Tournament in her fourth year!

Hermione settled herself cross legged on the floor, leaning back against the bedframe, as she turned the pages. She was so engrossed in the tale that she did not hear the door creak open.

"Miss Granger? Are you awake?"

Hermione dropped the book, accidentally tearing a page in panic. She sprang to her feet, backing up as far as she could against the window.

Antonin Dolohov was stood in the doorframe, a laden dinner tray in his hand.