In My Dreams

But I remember you.

I lie awake and try so hard not to think of you.

But who can decide what they dream?

And dream I do....

He wraps his strong, large hand around her delicate, thin waist and pulls her close to him. She giggles in delight, and prepares herself for kissing by licking her lips and has just begun to pucker up when-

Slammed against a tree, the wind has been knocked out of her. She gasps for breath, and looks for him.

Where did he go? She wonders and suddenly she sees him. He has his wand and opens his mouth to yell two of the most dreadful words that she has ever heard in her life. "Avada Kedavra-"

Hermione woke up, her chest heaving in and out as she searched for oxygen to fill her lungs with. Sweat rained down her forehead like a rainstorm, coursing over her thick, black-brown eyelashes, and down her sloped chin, mixing in with salty tears that she licked away with her berry-red tongue. Her body lay in a flood of cold sweat and her sheets were completely soaked. Oh God, oh God was all she could think.

She looked around in the darkened room. Lavender was softly snoring and occasionally snorting in her heavy sleep. Parvati quietly muttered about Seamus, her ex-boyfriend and that he's "a flaming, cheating bastard with the dignity of a cow!" The red fire was slowly dying in the center of the room as stuffy, gray smoke rose up above it like a specter. Hermione told herself to inhale the lavender scented cream that Lavender used every night religiously, and her nostrils flared.

She choked on the air, coughing quietly into her cupped hand. She suddenly began to shiver violently as the chilled air set into her body, as she had swept the heavy blankets off to the side after waking. Sliding smoothly out of the four poster bed, she decided to go into the common room and have some tea made.

But before she went downstairs, she went over to her desk and, muttering an unintelligible word, a clandestine compartment slid out from the side. Her long, slender hands found the picture that they were looking for and slid under it, picking it up. Having memorized the face, the body, everything that lay in the still picture, she kissed the mouth. "I love you, baby," she whispered softly into the unknown, limp figure lying in the depiction. Having completed one of her nightly rituals, she put it back in the niche and murmuring the same word, the nook became invisible.

She reached for her quilted, Gryffindor colored dressing gown that lay over the hardwood chair in front of her table. Sweeping it over her shoulders, she began to walk downstairs.

She entered the Gryffindor common room surreptitiously so as to not wake anybody. It would not do for her to have it known that she was sneaking out of bed at night. She couldn't afford such rumors, as her reputation had diminished after her fifth year and, with anything else, she would be known as the suicidal whore. A soft laugh bubbled up in her throat and escaped through her red mouth. She covered her mouth suddenly - where had that come from? Oh well, she told herself, and went to sit by the couch but-

There was a figure standing by the opened window. A cylinder stick that burned at one edge was held in the figure's right hand - a cigarette, she realized, or some other sort of drug - while in the left there was a bottle of beer, no doubt. At the figure's feet there lay several other bottles, some of them smashed.

"Harry," Hermione whispered the name so softly that the wind coming through the window carried it away quickly. "Harry?" Now it was a question, making sure that this man was Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived.

He dropped the bottle at the sound of her voice. "Fucking Christ, Hermione!" Harry exclaimed as the glass shattered into a million brown daggers.

"Sorry, Harry."

"Goddammit, why are you... still up?" His speech was slurred from the alcohol and, as he stepped closer to her, towards the fire, she could see that his eyes were bloodshot - no doubt from the marijuana that he was inhaling - and heavy bags lay under his eyes. His whole body was convulsing, although from what Hermione did not know.

"Same old, same old." It was her usual response and Harry inquired no more.

Another weekly tradition - sometimes more - was the silent hours they spent "with" each other in the common room. Harry would get high and drunk to escape his life, and Hermione's mind would wander off into a flowery oblivion, forgetting all about her past experiences. Nighttime was their friend, they could omit their pain and past from their minds for a few hours and gaze into the flaming fire, just contemplating what made the fire burned. They didn't have to think about why anything of it had happened to them. The only part of nighttime that they both hated was when they slept. Memories haunted their dreams, flooding their brains with too much, so much that, like Hermione had just done, they would wake in a panicked, sweaty state before realizing that that had already happened and it was over. Completely over.

"And you?" Hermione prompted him.

"The usual. Do you know when Malfoy'll be back?" he asked. Malfoy was the Drug Master in Hogwarts, and he was the one that Harry bowed down to and begged for his drugs - his marijuana, his cocaine, his beer, everything that he existed on. Food was no longer a necessity to Harry Potter.

"No, but soon," she answered and looked away from Harry's ashen wax model of a face. She couldn't believe how they had come to this, ignoring all of their problems and preferring to live in a world of lies rather than face the truth in the hard eye.

Malfoy was away on vacation in Cancun, no doubt "living it up" as they called it- Partying, having sex, and getting drunk in other words. Malfoy's hobbies.

"That's good. I've started to run out," he said, flatly. He didn't say of what, but she knew. She wondered how he could be running out when he had purchased pounds of weed and pot just a few weeks ago. He had been using extra, no doubt skipping class to press his lips to the cigarette and inhaling it deeply, taking in the pleasure of getting high.

"Oh," she replied and rubbed her clammy hands together. She sat down on the crimson couch positioned in front of the huge fireplace that had the insignia of Gryffindor all on the marble tile around it.

He took a long drag, and leaned back against the cold, stone wall, flinching as it sent chills down his spine. He put his head back and blew smoke up into the air.

Hermione ignored the fact that the drugs were killing him and that soon he'd be dead. She overlooked the fact that all the alcohol he consumed daily was gnawing away at his liver. Instead she thought about how tomorrow she was going to pass the Potions test. She had studied two hours for it - a record since fifth year - and she was determined to get at least a B. Maybe an A. She couldn't afford to do poorly on another test as she would then fail Potions for the term.

"Can I have a cig?" she asked timidly. Sometimes it was good to get high for her, too. Harry held out one.

"Need a light?"

"I'm a witch. What do you think?" she retorted playfully, and for just a fraction of a second, a smile flickered across Harry's face and things were the way they had been. She mumbled a word and the drug lit up. She pushed the object in between her lips and sniffed it in so deeply she almost fell over. Oh sweet bliss. This is a godly thing, this marijuana, she thought.

Harry's joint was nearly done and so he dropped it onto the expensive, aged rug and rubbed it into the red segment of it.

"You know, they'll find it," Hermione said after taking in another whiff of the smoke.

"So what? They'll just think that Finnigan's been doing it."

"True."

They sat in silence, just inhaling and exhaling the smoke that drifted above them and out the window. Hermione hadn't done this in a while, and she was enjoying it thoroughly.

"Well," He paused for a second as he gulped down another beer, "it's getting late. Test tomorrow in um...uh...dunno...but going to bed..." He dropped the bottle onto the sundry amounts of other bottles and left, trudging up the stairs as if he were using all of his energy.

Life could only get as good as this, Hermione decided and snubbed her joint into the couch. Screw the rules.

Life had rules and they had been broken.

* * * *

She lay in bed in the early morning, around four o'clock or so, and sat up sharply. She swore she heard someone calling her name, someone saying, "Hermeeon...I'm here...."

Krum's name for her.

Hermeeon.

She shivered in the dimness and closed her sienna eyes.

He is dead, Hermione, she reminded herself. He is never coming back.

Section 2

Ron Weasley woke up with a start that morning when someone threw a pillow at his face.

"Stop it, Harry," he moaned quietly.

Propping himself up on his knobby elbows, he looked around. Seamus, Harry, Neville (who was sucking his thumb), and Dean were still sleeping peacefully, occasionally turning over. None of them could have thrown that pillow at him. Then he remembered - it was the alarm clock's warning before it went off, but it was too late.

"GET UP RIGHT NOW! DO YOU WANT TO BE LATE FOR CLASS?? I DIDN'T THINK SO! GET UP! I SWEAR IF YOU DON'T GET UP RIGHT NOW RONALD WEASLEY I WILL-"

Ron slammed his fist down on the clock, and his mother's voice abruptly stopped.

"Jesus Christ Ron why do you have to have that?"

"'Cause the last one wasn't loud enough," Ron shot back at Seamus, also known as Finnigan. Indeed, the last one hadn't had enough decibels to wake up the seventeen year old boys in time for class, and had resulted in fifteen points from Gryffindor each and morning detentions for a week.

"Fine!" Finnigan retorted and rolled over, promptly falling out of the bed. "Goddammit!" He began to swear, finishing the alarm clock's job.

"Shut up, Finnigan!" Harry yelled, waking into a poor mood. He fumbled for a cigarette, and walked out into the recently infused balcony. Slamming the doors behind him, he carefully lit it and took a long, deep breath.

"Jeez, what the fuck is Harry's problem?"

"Do we have to start the cursing so early?" Neville wanted to know, his voice trembling. Although Neville had grown bolder over the years, he still hated the constant swearing that took place in the boys' dormitory.

"Oh grow up, Neville!" Ron shouted suddenly frustrated with him. "I'm taking a shower." He threw the covers off of his spindly body, and got up. Taking his uniform thrown over his trunk, he went into the lavatories.

Harry walked back in after rubbing out his cigarette. His mood change was quite noticeable, although it was for the better.

"Good morning, chaps!" he snickered, although it was with good and not bad intent. Going over to his battered trunk, he pulled out his uniform and left quickly for the bathroom.

If anyone noticed the sudden smell of cigarette smoke, they did not say anything.

~*~*~

It was Lavender who woke Hermione up.

" Are you gonna get up yet, girl?" she drawled, sounding instantly like Draco Malfoy, an obnoxious Slytherin. Lavender had decided that slurring her words and rolling them in her mouth attracted more men and women.

"Oh man..." Hermione trailed off, rubbing her ivory face. She glanced over at the alarm clock - seven o'clock. She had managed to gain only two hours of sleep, maybe three.

"For someone who was supposed to be Head Girl you don't look too enthusiastic to be going to class." Now Lavender was sounding like a British girl from the west.

"Oh go to fucking hell, Lavender!" Hermione shouted, aggravated by the girl. Hermione was supposed to have been Head Girl this year, but because of the past events - it had not happened. Professor Dumbledore, whom Hermione now considered a slimy old bastard, had informed Hermione that she would not be able to handle the duties and responsibilities of Head Girl.

Case closed.

Mandy Brocklehurst had received her Head Girl Owl in July. And that was that.

Lavender stepped back from Hermione's bed. "Jesus Christ, girl! What the hell is wrong with you?"

"None of your fucking business! Now would you excuse me, I've got to get dressed."

With that remark, Hermione got out of bed and snatched her uniform from her chair and

left.

"I think you need to chill a bit!" Lavender called after her. She turned back to Parvati who was standing by her bed in a matching, lacy black bra pushing up her pearl breasts and thong showing off her body nicely. "Well, now we've got her gone."

She stepped so close to Parvati that she could feel her hot breath on her cheeks, and pulled her body so that it pressed against hers. Slipping her hand down the thong's string and squeezing Parvati's derriere, she licked her lips. Suddenly they were a world away, with only flesh, lips and tongues...

~*~*~

Harry, Hermione, and Ron met in the common room about a half an hour later. All of them, except for Ron who kept himself clean and tidy as he was a prefect, looked worn and tired, as if they had only gotten a few hours of sleep - which they had.

Harry's tie was coming undone, and though Ron had mentioned it a few times, Harry didn't seem to care. Hermione's shirt was not tucked in. A hint of peach powder on her collar revealed that she had used makeup today, most likely to cover up a zit, which was the first time in months.

"Erm, guys, you think you could tidy yourselves up a bit?" Ron glanced over at the two of them, and shuddered in disgust as if they were covered in mud and had flies swarming above their heads.

They looked better than they normally did - Harry had shaved today, the first time in a week or so, and Hermione had remembered to put on stockings that didn't have runs in them. wHarry muttered, "Oh, go to hell, Ron. We look a lot better than you."

"Oh, and I suppose a slob looks better than someone neat!" Ron exclaimed loudly. His ears were turning pink, as was his face.

"Shut up, Ron, just shut up." Hermione chewed on her fingernail. This habit had developed a year ago when she was so nervous that she felt that her lungs had closed up and she couldn't breathe.

"Stop chewing on your goddamn nails!" Ron replied harshly. "My god, Hermione, you used to never do this, just because of your freaking Krum does not mean you can act like this, I mean-"

Hermione had had enough. No one dared to breathe Viktor Krum's name in her presence, and now Ron was berating her about him. Her mahogany eyes were flaming. "Fuck you, Ron. Fuck you to hell and back and maybe you'll understand why we're the way we are. Let's go Harry."

She stormed out of the tower, but Harry did not. He stared at Ron's eyes like a hawk.

"What the hell is wrong with you, Ron?"

Ron shrugged, his fingers playing with his Prefect badge.

"You have no idea what shit she's been through, Ron, and you manage to yell at her anyway. What the hell is wrong with you?"

"Nothing. She could just take better care of herself that's all, so -"

"She's doing the best she can, you asshole." Harry walked out.

"Oh, come on, Harry!" Ron yelled after him, glancing around to see if people were staring at him or not. They were.

"Just a bit of a mix-up, that's all," he explained hastily.

His ears were now tomato red.

~*~*~

Harry rushed after Hermione and quickly caught up with her. Her chocolate eyes were full of crystal tears, yet she was determined not to cry. "Hermione, don't get so upset!" Harry said desperately. "Here."

He pulled her into an unused janitor closet. He fumbled for a cigarette. "Have one."

She slapped it away from his hand. It fell onto the floor. A tear glided down her wan face. She wiped it away hurriedly.

"What, Harry?" she asked, her voice cracking. "What do you want? I have to go to breakfast."

"You don't eat anything anyway so you can wait a second."

She fell silent, surprised that he had noticed that all she did with her daily pancakes was cut them, and push them around on her plate. The only thing she swallowed was a cappuccino.

"Don't listen to, Ron, Hermione. He's under a lot of pressure from his mother to do well, okay? She was horribly disappointed when he wasn't commissioned Head Boy, okay?"

"I wish he was Head Boy," she sniffed loudly before continuing. "Then he'd be out of my bloody face."

"No you don't. Don't say that." Harry touched her face with his pointer finger delicately. She shivered under his touch and moved out of the way.

"Yes I do. I hate him. How dare he talk about Krum? He's got no fucking idea what he did to me-"

"You've been dreaming about him again."

Hermione stopped and there was a terrible silence. The statement was so simple but so painful. She nodded slowly.

"How...how did you know?" she whispered, afraid to ask the question.

Harry's emerald eyes shone but he shifted nervously. "When I was talking to Lavender she said that sometimes while you sleep you mutter 'Krum, no, Krum!' and things like that."

"He's getting stronger, Harry. He's a weight in my mind, I don't think he's dead. Oh, Harry..." she trailed off, unsure of how to clarify her assertion.

"We better be going, Herm," Harry announced, and she nodded again. "We'll deal with Ron later."

It would not do to be late for class.