The Dream Trilogy Book Two: Tread On My Dreams (A Harry Potter FanFiction)

Chapter Forty Eight

Chapter Forty Eight

Draco crouched on the stone window sill, the storm raging in the night's sky behind him. The Great Hall of Hogwarts School was throbbing with students screaming and shoving each other, some sobbing, some waving wands. Some had blood matted in their hair, others ragged holes in their sides. 

A girl in the crowd's centre saw him. Over the thundering din, all Draco heard was the soft 'oh' of recognition that escaped her lips. Everybody in the room stopped moving, stopped talking. Now there were all looking at him, and he watched them back, hunkered down like an animal, sizing up its prey. 

Seamus Finnigan stood behind the girl, the girl with wavy brown hair and kind brown eyes. "Hermione," said Draco told himself, but nobody else heard. Seamus had his hands on her hips, and as Draco watched her swept her hair back and slowly kissed her neck. 

Hermione raised her hand and pointed at Draco. "It was him!" she screamed. 

Now it was the students who were the animals, the predators, and Draco was their prey. He jumped from the window sill, and ran as if through treacle out of the hall and down the corridor, bodiless hands groping at his clothes, pawing at his skin. The grand double doors stood open before him, beckoning him out into the night. In his way stood his father, who became his mother, then his father once again. As Draco charged at them, the formless figure blew away into smoke, releasing him into the raging storm. 

The rain vanished as soon as Draco reached the entranceway steps, but the wind howled, tearing at the trees, stripping them of their leaves. He ran along the wall of the school, until he found the rope he knew would be waiting for him. He climbed up, as if he weighed nothing, until he reached the broomstick perched on a ledge by a sad looking gargoyle.  

Draco's fingers were reaching for the broom, when suddenly there was a tug on the rope tied to the middle of the broomstick, and it and Draco began to fall back to Earth. "Fly!" he told the broomstick, and so it did, even though Draco was still dangling below, hand wrapped around the rope. They soared over the dark grounds of Hogwarts School, but Draco knew they were not alone. The girl was hanging onto the rope below him, only she was no longer Hermione, but Blaise Zabini hiding behind a sheet of long brown hair. 

He wound his other hand around the rope to make it into reigns, spurring the broomstick on. Blaise was thrown from their ride, falling to the ground and smashing into a thousand pieces. 

They galloped on, and Draco found his legs astride a pitch black warhorse, flying down a railway bridge that stretched out of sight. They rode and rode, and after forever and a blink of an eye, the train line was running into a castle, surrounded by walled up medieval town. 

Someone was behind him. He couldn't see who it was, no matter how he twisted and turned, but he knew they were there. He knew it was a knight, in gleaming armour and billowing red and gold standards, driving forward a large white horse. But he never once caught a true glimpse of the rider.  

There were people waiting for him in the town centre. Sirius Black sat atop a horse even bigger than his own, and around him were countless other figures, their features hidden by brown cloaks with long overhanging hoods. Townspeople stood amongst them, their faces gaunt, their hands holding burning torches aloft.  

"You cannot go on forever," Sirius called to him as Draco tried to calm his rearing horse.  

"Who says I can't?" he replied, the heat from the torches flushing his cheeks.  

"I do." Draco pulled the reigns to turn the horse, eager to see the voice who had spoken behind him.  

"Harry!" he said happily, jumping down from his ride to throw his arms around his friend. Harry Potter did not return the embrace. "Harry why can't I keep running?" he asked, letting him go to look at his face. He looked so old. 

"Because it's not you they want." 

All of Draco's skin was burning now, he could feel the heat emanating from it. "It is," he insisted as Harry's clothes caught fire. But the other boy shook his head. 

"It never is," he said as his burst into flames, melting right through Draco's fingertips.

***

Draco awoke with a start. His breathing was heavy and his forehead was damp with sweat. He was on a metal cot bed, tangled in several blankets, in a shadowy room with wooden panels and beams, and a fire roaring in a stone mantelpiece that filled the whole wall. Several portraits on the wall in front of him were pointing and staring. A woman with chocolate brown ringlets curling from underneath a bonnet spotted he was awake. "Ooh look!" she said delightedly. "I think dear Ric, our visitor has regained his senses!" 

"Then let's not scare them away again Jane," said a handsome man in an adjacent painting. He looked like a medieval knight, in red and gold livery, and something about the dream resonated at the back of Draco's bleary mind. 

"Draco." He snapped his head to the left, where a slimly built man he didn't recognise was sitting on a sofa, his fingers interlaced, his pale face troubled. 

"Who are you?" Draco demanded, still feeling sick from the dream that was quickly fading from his memory. The man was extraordinarily good looking, with spikes of blonde highlighted hair and wearing scuffed up jeans, pirate boots and a t-shirt with a design so faded Draco couldn't even make it out in the dim light.  

"A friend," said the man with a sign. "Oh Draco, what have you done?" 

Draco stared at him. "I don't know," he said. "Something bad?" 

"Oh no," said the man, raising his eyebrows and leaning forwards. "Something wonderful, something exceptional." He licked his lips, and leant back on the sofa with his hands behind his head. "Just...something unexpected." 

There was a yapping noise, and something started tugging on one of Draco's many ragged blankets from the floor. "What's that?" he asked, leaning over to see a tiny white terrier puppy, a woollen tassel clamped between its jaws. It growled in a high pitched grunt every time it jerked at the blanket. 

"Ah!" said the man happily. "Don't know, he's new round here." He leant forward and scooped the puppy easily up in one hand to plonk him on Draco's bed. "I decided I was a bit lonely, wanted someone to talk to. He may not have a name yet, but he's a very good listener." The man ruffled the puppy's soft, downy hair as it bounded over to Draco, who couldn't help but pet him too as he jumped around and nipped his fingers. Draco laughed, then spotted a collar around his neck. 

"His name tag says he's called Sir Woofsalot?" 

"Does it?" said the man, delighted, picking up the pup and taking a look at the silver disk. "So it does, well hello there Woofsy, have you made friends with Draco?" 

Draco was feeling dizzy from the heat of the flames to his right. "How do you know my name?" he said as his eyes dropped. "What did I do, who are you?" 

The man sighed again, and rested Sir Woofsalot on the sofa beside him. "Don't worry," he said kindly as Draco felt the darkness rushing over him. "I'm pretty sure we'll be seeing you again soon."