Day 17: Draco-

His dreams were growing more vivid. Nightmares buried him as soon as his eyes shut, drilling into his consciousness with fierce determination. Draco often woke sweating, panting, and with a headache that shook his skull. Meanwhile, across the way, Astoria slept soundly. That, or she didn't sleep at all.

On the seventeenth evening of his stay in prison, Draco had a nightmare about Astoria. He entered the Grand doors of Hogwarts, wearing his sleek robes and shiny prefect badge. It was just like his school days—the first years cowered in his wake, Crabbe and Goyle waited dutifully, stupidly, by the Grand staircase, and Pansy Parkinson and her friends giggled as he walked by. He glanced around, smirking, chest puffed out. And then he heard screams. Terrified, mind-bending, throat-tearing screams. His name. Astoria's voice. He pulled open the doors to the Great Hall, and found that everyone had disappeared, except Astoria. She was sitting at the Slytherin table, her back to him. Draco walked towards her, cautiously, waiting for her next scream.

"Astoria?" He asked, and got no answer. He raised his voice. "Astoria, are you okay?"

She shook in response, her shoulders tight and hunched like an old woman. Draco reached out and placed a hand on her left shoulder. Astoria turned around to face him, her face puffy and streaked with mascara and tears.

"Astoria," Draco murmured, leaning down. "Are you alright?"

Astoria sobbed harder.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, before reaching up with one hand to brush aside a loose piece of his hair. She tucked it back into his part.

"For wha-" He didn't finish, he was cut off by the impact of the steak knife Astoria slid into his chest. She dug the knife into his heart, sobbing, and twisted the blade.

Draco awoke, sweating and swearing. He clutched a hand to his chest, to feel the reassuring beat of his heart. His nerves were on fire. He peaked across the way, and saw Astoria laying on her cot, flat on her back, her arms by her side.

"Astoria?"

"I'm awake."

"Okay." He wasn't sure of what to say. He wished he could talk to her, tell her about his dream, but how was he supposed to put that into words?

"You had a nightmare," Astoria said in the dark. Not a question.

"I dreamt about you," Draco said hesitantly.

"A wet dream, then." Draco didn't laugh. Astoria rocked up and stared at Draco, her eyes burning through the iron bars. "What? You know I can handle it."

"I dreamt…" Draco shook his head. "I dreamt you stabbed me. I dreamt you killed me." Astoria's mouth parted slightly, and then she shook her head. "You were crying about it. You cried for me."

"Well of course I did," Astoria said sarcastically. "Don't all killers cry?"

"You were sorry."

Astoria pulled her legs up to her chest before leaping off her cot. She grabbed onto the bar installed into the wall, lifted her chin up to the bar and held her pose. Draco watched, entranced, as she repeated this five times without fail, before dropping down to the floor to do a pushup. She stopped, midway through.

"That's how you know it was a dream," she said, tucking back a piece of her hair. "I'm not usually sorry."

"I don't believe that," Draco said, looking down at his hands. He ripped off his shirt in the dark and then hunkered down into his bed. "You're tough, but you have some compassion. You have a heart. You know when you've gone too far."

Astoria began doing her pushups one-handed.

"But do you?"

"Do I what?"

"Do you know when you've gone too far?"

Draco didn't have an answer for that.

Day 145: Astoria-

She had a nightmare about Draco, in return. He had awoken and told her of his dream. He had gone back to bed minutes later, tossing and turning in his cot, mumbling to himself. She had tucked in a bit later, her eyes crossing as she looked at the ceiling. She was tired of thinking, of existing. She wished she could fall asleep for hours, days, maybe even years and not have to think. But that wasn't the way her mind worked. It wasn't that she didn't want to sleep for so long—it was that she couldn't, not with another person there. The only person who kept her the slightest bit sane. He stirred up protection in her, Draco. She felt an aching urge to throw herself over him, not sexually, (though, the thought had crossed her mind on numerous occasions), but as if she could shield him away from the world, and Hermione Granger herself. Her dream presented the situation a bit differently.

She was dressed opulently. Astoria looked down at the dress she wore, surprised by the elaborate garb that looked like nothing she would have ever picked for herself. It was virginal white, embellished with pearls and diamonds. The bodice narrowed her waist and accentuated her small chest. Astoria turned to see herself in a mirror, a hall of mirrors. Her hair was set into a pile of delicate curls, her eyes wide and naïve. Across the room of mirrors, there was Draco. He was dressed in a tux, and he smiled at her, wickedly.

"Care to dance?" He asked, extending a hand to her. Astoria ran towards him, bare feet pounding on the wood floor. He caught her waist and lifted her up high, holding her above his head, before lowering her down and holding her tightly against him.

"Where are we?" Astoria asked, glancing around at the mirrors.

"Our home," Draco said, dipping her back and skimming his lips against her throat. Astoria's breath caught in her chest. "You picked it out, my love."

"Oh," Astoria said. "I did?"

Draco spun her out and then drew her back in. He pressed his forehead against hers, and smirked just like he always had at school.

"It hurts me that you don't love me the way I love you."

"I love you," Astoria protested, trying to look into his eyes. Draco shook his head and drew back.

"You don't care. You don't care about our past."

"O-of course," Astoria stuttered, confused. "Of course I do."

Draco roared, his eyes suddenly blazing. He grabbed Astoria and plunged a hand through her chest. Astoria gasped as she felt his fingers graze her spine, and Draco cackled. He pulled her heart out from her chest, blood dribbling down his fingers and onto the floor. With a triumphant look at her, gasping and wide-eyed, he bit into her heart. Blood spattered over her dress.

"I told you our love would consume your heart. It has. I have."

Astoria's eyes snapped open as she remained motionless. She rolled onto her side and forced herself into a ball. She blinked twice, and then glanced up at her cell window. The sun had already risen, and she could hear Draco running water in his sink.

"Hey," Astoria said after a moment, sitting up. Draco glanced over the sink at her, water running in rivets down his neck. For a moment, Astoria saw blood, but then blinked again.

"What's up?"

"Do you dance?"

"Sorry?" Draco asked, frowning.

"Do you fucking dance?"

"I—no."

"Good." Astoria buried her face in her hands and got out of her cot. Draco strolled to the bars of his cell, and Astoria crossed her arms across her chest. She padded her feet on the floor, trying to warm up, and then glanced at him. "What?"

"Maybe they'll stop," Draco said, his voice uncharacteristically genuine. "When we leave." Astoria bit her lip.

"Yeah." She crossed the cell, towards the front of the bars. She reached out towards him, silently, and Draco raised his arm out towards her, too. She longed for a touch, a reassurance. He nodded, as if confirming this. "Hopefully."