To Dwell on Dreams

Chapter Two

Draco's Dilemma

It was a week after Harry had left Hogwarts, a week and a few days since Dumbledore had been killed. Harry lay on his bed, staring up at the stars that were somewhat obscured by the mist that had been around since the summer before. Dudley, who was usually home before he was, was coming home tomorrow. Harry didn't care. The Dursleys, if they noticed this apathy, did not comment on it as usual, and Harry found that he was actually glad about this, for that meant that at least something was the same as before.

The note clenched in his fist had been read and reread many times. Harry smoothed it out again for another reading, not caring who R.A.B. was or why he had taken the Horcrux, but rather feeling a dull sense of loss and hopelessness; after all of Dumbledore's suffering, a fake Horcrux was all they had to show for it.

Hedwig swooped in through the open window, carrying a dead mouse, the look in her eyes reproachful as she found her owner in the same position he had been in when she had left many hours before. "It's none of your business," Harry snapped in response to her glare, and then automatically regretted it. Hadn't he told Dumbledore last year that he learned from Sirius's death that he should not crack up or shut himself away? Yet ...

He felt annoyed; no, that wasn't the right word - he was angry at the world. He was angry with R.A.B. for stealing the Horcrux, he was angry with Dumbledore for dying, he was angry with Snape for betraying Dumbledore, he was angry with Voldemort for being the cause of all this, he was angry with himself for being so angry ... With a disgusted snarl, Harry crumpled up the note once more and threw it at the opposite wall. Hedwig hooted with displeasure.

"Shut it, you," said Harry, scowling and falling back upon his bed. He stared up at the ceiling for a bit, then closed his eyes and pushed at his eyeballs with his fingers a bit, opened his eyes again, and watched the little dots of color scramble across the white surface until they disappeared. With a sigh, Harry sat up again, feeling a little calmer. Hedwig had her back to him. "Sorry, Hedwig," he mumbled.

The owl stiffened, but didn't turn. Harry sighed again, straightening his glasses and moving to the windowsill. Under the sky, many miles from Surrey in all directions, were his friends and other people who would die for him. This thought made him feel sad and lucky at the same time; on one hand, his friends were extremely loyal, on the other, he would not have had that thought in the first place if Voldemort had not existed.

Ron was probably out there somewhere, pacing. Harry had noticed in the last few days of the term, after the news of Horcruxes and the death of Dumbledore, that Ron would also have trouble sleeping. Unlike Harry, however, he had paced around the dormitory all night, thinking that everyone else in the room was sound asleep.

Hermione would probably be studying feverishly, flipping through the pages of her already vast collection of Wizarding books, looking for hints on the whereabouts of the four remaining Horcruxes. Her last letter had been hurried, brisk, and all too supporting of the scene playing out in Harry's mind.

In any case, it was doubtful either of them would be asleep at this hour. For a fleeting moment, Harry considered writing to one of them, pouring all his thoughts onto a sheet of parchment, telling them about his bouts of apathy, guilt, and frustration. The thought disappeared almost immediately; it sounded like a stupid idea. He did not want to burden his friends with his feelings.

Then his mind turned to Ginny, and a whole new feeling came over him. What was she doing now? He missed her and wished he could gather the courage to write to her, for seeing her words in a letter would be concrete proof that she was all right physically like Ron and Hermione, but it seemed wrong to write to her after he had broken up with her. A rebellious thought crossed Harry's mind. If you wrote to her, said a snarky little voice in his head, you would want more from her than friendship again. And think of all the danger that would put her in if Voldemort found out.

An overwhelming sense of longing fell over Harry, and he collapsed back on his bed. How he wished that Voldemort did not exist, that he, Harry, was not the Boy Who Lived or the Chosen One, that Cedric, his parents, and Sirius were still alive, that Dumbledore was around still ...

If only this stupid R.A.B. person had bothered to tell Dumbledore or did something useful after stealing the Horcrux. Then Dumbledore would have never left the school, and Malfoy would have never had the chance to set the trap. Maybe his mission would have failed. Better Malfoy dead than Dumbledore, Harry snarled inwardly. Almost immediately, he regretted it. Malfoy had hesitated, and he hadn't been the one to utter the curse. No, Malfoy was to be pitied; he had been trying to save his family. But Harry felt a wave of hatred course through him as he thought of who was at fault.

He wanted nothing more at that moment than to see Severus Snape dead. If Harry ever went back to Hogwarts, he would make sure to retrieve the Half-Blood Prince's book from the Room of Requirement and burn it, since it had once belonged to Snape. And if he ever met Snape face-to-face again, he would - would he kill him? Would Harry be able to cast Avada Kedavra on another human being, like Snape had? Or would he hesitate, now that Dumbledore's death was no longer a shock?

Sighing, Harry rubbed a hand over his eyes and laid his head on his pillow, attempting to sleep again. His brain was tired, and perhaps that would help him sleep. It took a while, but he began to drift off at last, letting the warmness envelope him.

He was in an ornately-decorated corridor. There was an emerald green carpet under his feet and portraits of austere-looking people lining the walls. A decorative sword hung between the portraits closest to Harry, and a suit of armor was standing at the end of the corridor, which led into an enormous ballroom of sorts. He got the familiar feeling that he was in Voldemort's mind again, for what reason, he wasn't really sure.

When this realization hit Harry, he struggled to wake up, but Voldemort held him there with almost effortless ease. Harry found himself strolling slowly through the corridor, taking his time, examining portraits and decorations. It was almost as if Voldemort were teasing Harry, making him wait to see what was going to happen in the ballroom, where they were headed.

Finally, they emerged into the dim ballroom. The only light came from the crystal chandelier in the center of the ceiling; all the other chandeliers were dark. Harry registered the golden walls and unscratched floor, thinking that whoever owned this place was very wealthy indeed, before Voldemort yanked his line of sight to a group of huddled and bound figures on the floor.

From behind Harry and Voldemort came a long line of Death Eaters: first, the unmistakable regal figure of Bellatrix Lestrange, then the sniveling, cowering form of Wormtail, followed by a number of other followers, some whom Harry knew, others unrecognizable under their hoods and masks. Bringing up the rear was an undisguised Fenrir Greyback, a hungry look on his face. He closed the door with a definite bang.

Voldemort - and Harry - strode toward the prisoners in the center of the room. "Severus," he hissed, loosening the ropes on the first figure with his own hands, "rise." Snape stood shakily, the hood of his traveling cloak falling back, revealing a face more emancipated than usual. Harry seethed at the sight of his loathsome countenance, but was unable to do anything else. "I am confused as to why you hid from me, Severus."

"My Lord, I--"

"I am displeased that you did not leave Draco alone to do his job, yes, but my pleasure at your defeating my enemy at last far outweighs the former, Snape." Harry found himself gazing unrelentingly at Snape, like Voldemort was. Snape did not respond. "You will be rewarded beyond your wildest dreams, Severus, my most faithful and useful Death Eater." There was a furious sound from behind as Bellatrix heard the words. The other Death Eaters shuffled nervously.

"Thank you, my Lord," Snape murmured, moving aside.

"However," Voldemort continued, turning to the other huddled figures. Harry suddenly felt a pang of dread. He knew who these two people were. A couple of Death Eaters rushed forward and untied the remaining ropes; clearly, the other two prisoners did not deserve to be untied by Voldemort himself. "However, I am most unhappy about what you did, Draco."

Without warning, the large Death Eater nearest Malfoy, Crabbe or Goyle Sr., Harry guessed, grabbed him by the back of his robes and hauled him upright. Malfoy's hood fell back, and Harry gasped, though no one besides him and Voldemort knew it. The blond-haired boy looked as if he hadn't had a meal for a week: his face was thinner, paler, and sharper than usual, his hair lank and greasy, and there were blue circles under his eyes. He was shaking violently, though from fright or from hunger, Harry wasn't sure.

"Draco, Draco, Draco," said Voldemort, pacing back and forth in front of Malfoy.

"Y-Yes, my Lord?" Malfoy nearly fell over, and Crabbe or Goyle pulled him upright again, ripping his already-torn robes further.

"I was under the impression that I told you to kill Dumbledore, not Severus." Malfoy's shaking grew even more violent. "I am told that the old man was defenseless, ill, weakened ... possibly even inviting you to kill him." Malfoy gulped as Voldemort loomed over him. Voldemort's wand was in his hand, ready to kill Malfoy without warning.

Snape twitched as Voldemort's arm moved upwards. "However," added Voldemort, sounding much more pleasant all of a sudden, "Severus seems to want me to spare you. And that I shall do. You are young and impressionable; perhaps those years at Dumbledore's school softened you. I am willing to give you a second chance to become useful to me. I never would do this with your father."

"Th-Thank you, my Lord," said Malfoy, looking down at the floor.

"Good. Narcissa, stand up, would you?" Voldemort's voice was now too pleasant. Harry felt uneasy. The last figure stood, her hood falling back as well as she straightened. She looked haggard, as if malnutrition, worry, and lack of sleep had taken all her energy. Her expression, though, was nothing less than fierce; it seemed as if she would kill even Voldemort if he approached her son the wrong way. Harry, who had never seen an expression on her face other than boredom, arrogance, and disgust, was faintly surprised. "Alecto, hold her back," Voldemort added in a bored voice, as if he was expecting Narcissa to leap forward like a madwoman.

The Death Eater behind Narcissa, who Harry recognized from the skirmish at Hogwarts, clamped her pudgy fingers around the other woman's slim wrists. Narcissa's eyes narrowed, but she said nothing. "Draco, in order to prove that you're not truly weak, I need you to do something. I want you to kill Narcissa."

There was a ripple of voices as the Death Eaters expressed their shock; Draco was still young, and his mother was a valuable follower of Voldemort. Why waste her life? Why not test Draco on a Muggle? "Once the first kill is made, you can kill anyone," whispered a Death Eater in the crowd. Voldemort chose to ignore him.

Snape was frozen, an expression of horror on his face. Harry felt a grim satisfaction; if Snape couldn't feel horror for killing Dumbledore, at least he could feel horror for this. Malfoy's jaw dropped, but he hastened to pull his wand out, clearly wanting his second chance. Harry felt disgusted. How could he even think of killing his own mother? Narcissa remained calm as Malfoy slowly raised his wand, a small smile growing on her face. Harry realized she wanted her son to have the chance, no matter what the cost, and he suddenly felt that she was like his mother, willing to give her life for her child. It was too bad he only found out now.

Ten seconds passed, and Malfoy's hand began to shake. The atmosphere in the room was expectant; everyone wanted to see if he would actually do it. Twenty seconds later, they were still waiting. Finally, after a full minute of silence, Voldemort snapped, "Bellatrix, come forward. It seems as if we need you to persuade him."

Bellatrix came forward, a twisted look on her face. Her wand was in her hand. "No!" Narcissa cried suddenly, as her sister raised the wand. "No, don't hurt him!" She turned to her son and grabbed him by the shoulders. "Draco, listen to me," she said in an urgent voice. "Look at me." Malfoy looked dimly into her eyes. "Do it. Kill me. Once you do, you'll realize it was for the best. And you'll be useful Lord Voldemort if you can kill. You can help our cause, defeat Dumbledore's followers. You want to rid the world of dirty blood, don't you?" Malfoy hesitated, and then nodded. "How else will you do so, if you don't kill them? Don't think of me as your mother. Right now, I am just another person who must die; do you understand?"

She was crying now, tears running down her dirt-covered face, leaving white tracks behind. Malfoy was barely breathing, and his eyes were shining. For a moment, they stood there, and then Malfoy shook his head, slowly at first, then vehemently. "No!" he shouted forcefully. "No, I won't kill you!" He pulled away from his mother.

Harry watched, horrified, as Bellatrix looked uncertain for a fleeting moment, but screeched, "Crucio!" A jet of red light hit Malfoy, and he writhed, convulsing and screaming. "It's for your own good, Draco," said Bellatrix, over her nephew's screams. "I would do this to my own son." Narcissa tried to run forward to stop her sister, but Alecto held onto her tightly.

The curse was stopped after a few seconds, though Harry knew that to Malfoy, it would have felt like years. "Kill her," Voldemort ordered, a smile coming onto his face. Harry felt sickened as he felt that smile from inside Voldemort.

"Do it, Draco," said Narcissa pleadingly. "Do it."

A tear leaked from under Malfoy's closed eyelids. "No," he whispered. He was hit with the Cruciatus Curse again. Time after time, he refused, until he was on his hands and knees, unable to rise. Narcissa was sobbing.

"Do it now, Draco, or I will be forced to persuade you myself," said Voldemort, his voice barely over a hiss.

Malfoy shook silently for a long time. His heavy breathing was the only sound in the room. Harry wanted it to be over, all of it. Malfoy opened his mouth, and the silence grew even more, if possible. "N-No," he rasped finally.

Voldemort pushed Bellatrix out of the way. "NO!" screamed Narcissa, but the curse was already headed for her son, hitting him ...

It was worse than what Harry had seen used on people like Avery in his fifth year. "You have failed me, Draco," shouted Voldemort. "I shall have to punish you enough to make you learn your lesson. Learn it!" Harry felt Voldemort pushing hate and love for killing toward the other boy, but all Harry wanted was to close his eyes. However, as Voldemort's were open, he couldn't. Malfoy was rolling about on the floor, his screams reaching a crescendo, and then becoming raspier and raspier. He began clawing at himself, as if that would stop the pain. Long red nail marks appeared on his face and neck. Narcissa was screaming as well, but nothing except Malfoy's expression of pain registered in Harry's mind.

Harry tried to reach out from his mind and stop Voldemort, but to no avail. Voldemort pushed his mind back, and Harry was helpless once more. It felt like an eternity to Harry as he watched Malfoy; it was as if he were feeling part of his old school mate's pain too. And then it stopped.

There was an absolute silence once more. Narcissa seemed unable to breathe. Malfoy lay flat on his back, his face turned away from Voldemort. He was still. "Get up," Voldemort said after a minute, giving time for the curse to recede, sounding satisfied. Harry could still hear the echoes of the screams.

Malfoy took a little while to register the command, and then rose. Harry's horror reached a new peak as he took in Malfoy's appearance. Bloody scratches covered Malfoy's face and neck, one on his left cheek that would surely leave a scar. His nails were bloodied as well, and his hair was even more disheveled than before. But the worst thing was his eyes. They stared blankly at Voldemort, as if Malfoy were actually dead.

"Draco, if you would now do as I told you?" Voldemort asked in a pleasantly sinister voice. A spark appeared in Malfoy's eyes, and his lips twisted into a terrible grin. His teeth were red, and he gave off an air of madness. Harry knew this was not the Malfoy from before.

Malfoy turned, and his mother gasped as she took in the sight. Harry waited on tenterhooks for the Killing Curse. He wanted out; he didn't want to see any more of this nightmare. He didn't need to wait long. Without hesitation, Malfoy performed the curse on his mother in a broken voice. She crumpled, and Alecto dropped her in disgust.

Harry felt a searing pain as a thought that wasn't his own leapt into his mind. I thought seeing this might do you some good, Potter. Now you know what reality is ... you're no longer safe. Harry screamed as the pain grew, and he felt himself being pushed out of Voldemort's mind.

He felt a pressure on him, and his irrational brain told him it was Death Eaters, dragging him to meet the same fate as Malfoy so he would kill his friends like Malfoy had killed Narcissa. "Harry! Harry, wake up!" a voice shouted. "Harry!"

Harry stopped writhing and opened his eyes, breathing heavily. He could see a pale shape framed by a cloud of brown. It was on top of a black blob. He felt his glasses being placed on his face, and the shape came into focus. It was Hermione, looking pale and worried. He had barely enough time to register the fact that Hermione was in his room at Privet Drive when she said, "You had us worried, Harry. What was that dream about?"

"It was ..." Harry sat up and felt blood drip into his eyes from his scar. He felt ill. "Voldemort sent a vision." He was shaking, and his skin felt clammy. He could hear Malfoy's screams, Voldemort's amused voice, and Narcissa's sobbing. Narcissa, who had died after watching her only child driven into madness.

"But - he hasn't done that for a year," said a voice from behind Hermione. Ron came into view, his freckles standing out from his white face. "Why did he send one now?"

"He wanted to scare me," Harry muttered to himself more than to his friends. "Why are you here?" he asked after a tense pause, changing the subject. He would tell them later, when the horror wasn't so fresh in his mind.

"We're here to take you to the Burrow, Harry," Hermione replied, wringing her hands. "But Harry ... what was the dream about?" Ron nodded, also looking anxious.

"Look, I don't really want to talk about it now." Harry stood up from his bed, feeling feverish. His legs shook. Ron and Hermione exchanged glances. "Let's just go to the Burrow. I don't fancy seeing the Dursleys."

"Harry, are you ill?" Ron asked quietly.

"No," said Harry irritably, wiping his scar off with a tissue. His forehead felt hot, and he had to grab his bedpost for support. Ron moved forward, and Harry shook him off. "I'm fine," he insisted. "I'm just a little shook up from the dream. Really." Hermione looked doubtful, but she waved her wand, and Harry's belongings flew into his trunk.

"Why aren't the Dursleys here?" Ron said, looking as if he wanted to change the subject. Hermione glared at him and opened her mouth, but Ron shot her a look that clearly told her to be quiet. Harry was grateful for it.

"They've learned to tune my nightmares out," he answered. "But they'll have heard voices. And that'll get them suspicious. Let's go."

"Harry, it's illegal for you to--"

"Oh, stuff it, Hermione. Who cares? It's a war!" Ron exclaimed, grabbing one end of Harry's trunk. "You're fine Apparating, mate? I'll take your trunk."

"Yeah. Thanks." Harry grabbed Hedwig's cage and let her out. "Go to the Burrow, all right?" Hedwig hooted and flew out the window.

"I'll take that, Harry," Hermione said, reaching for the cage.

"He's not an invalid, Hermione," Ron said irritably. "Come on; I don't fancy seeing your relatives either, Harry." He Disapparated.

"Ron got his license last week," Hermione told Harry. "Are you sure you can Apparate on your own right now? I can do Side-Along Apparition, you know ..."

"Really, Hermione, I'm fine." And Harry Disapparated, cage in his arms.