Sea of Waking Dreams

Sea of Waking Dreams

By Cinnamon

Chapter Seven

In preparation for the task, Draco began working with Lucky again, having her use her power on him, and then trying to break out of its grasp, as he would have to once he had gotten into Harry’s subconscious to wake him. Lucky enjoyed the attention and she though it was just a new sort of game, so she didn’t mind it at all. Again, Draco started with the weaker emotions, building up his resistance to happiness, melancholia, triumph, and fear. Each time he managed to break out of the spell, however, he was left weak and exhausted, and Ginny carefully regulated the amount of time he spent building up resistance, telling him he wouldn’t do any good to anyone if he worked at it so much that he ended up worse than Harry.

Finally, after a week of practice with the lesser emotions, Draco was ready for Lucky to channel hate. Worried about the welfare of the other children, Ginny left them with Hermione and took Lucky and Draco somewhere where they could try the spell safely. They didn’t know if Draco would have the strength to break out of it, and he might hurt someone.

They went up to the battlements. It was a cool spring day, the sky was heavy with gray clouds and the air smelled of salt and rain.

Draco turned to Ginny with a reassuring smile. “You know what to do if it goes on too long?”

“Stupefy,” she said solemnly.

He nodded. “But only if you have to. The trick to snapping out of the spell is to have something else to focus on. It’s rather like the Imperius Curse, I realize that what I’m saying and doing isn’t really me, but I am just too weak to resist. If I have something to focus on, something to concentrate on, then I can break it. Are you ready, Lucky?”

The little girl was scowling. “I don’t like this game anymore,” she said. “I can see into your head, Draco, and there are monsters. I don’t want to make the monsters come out.”

Draco looked a little nervous at this, but he petted her head reassuringly. “What did I tell you about monsters?” he asked gently.

“That it’s your job to scare them away,” she said doubtfully.

“Exactly.”

Lucky bit her lip but raised her wand, closing her eyes and calling up her magic. A second later, Draco sucked in a painful breath, his eyes narrowing and turning nearly black. He turned to Ginny and hissed, “You stupid boy.”

Then Ginny felt something else take over her body as well. The hatred Lucky had channeled from Draco’s mind was too intense, it had caught Ginny as well. She tossed her head arrogantly and sneered, “What, father, are you jealous?”

Draco backhanded her across the face. “Of you? And that worthless professor? Does he touch you, Draco? And do you like it?”

Somewhere in Ginny’s mind, she started screaming, trying to make it stop. It didn’t. She howled in outrage. “He’s more of a father to me than you have ever been! I wouldn’t expect someone like you to understand! Fathers don’t hit, fathers don’t laugh when their children cry!”

Draco raised his fist and Ginny flinched. His voice was a low hiss. “If you think what you let Snape do to you is what a real father does to his son, then let me show you how wrong you are.” His fist swung down and slammed into Ginny’s jaw. She stumbled backwards and, as she fell, he grabbed her roughly by her arm, jerking so hard that it came out of its socket. He let her go, laughing scornfully when she fell to the stone floor.

Suddenly, it started to rain. The feeling of the rain on her skin and the burning pain in her shoulder was enough to snap Ginny out of the spell, and for a moment she lay on her back, white fire in her shoulder, staring up at the clouds that suddenly opened above, turning the misting rain into a shower. Draco was shouting, something about teachers taking advantage of students and teaching Draco not to like it. He raised his fist to hit her again, and Ginny flinched. “Draco,” she whimpered.

Draco froze, his eyes lightening to their natural gray. His face went very pale and he fell to his knees beside her. He was trembling, fighting the hatred had been very hard and he was nearly passing out from the drain it had caused. Instead, he knelt beside her, searching for wounds. Ginny was whimpering and crying, and she couldn’t tell him where it hurt through her sobs.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” he whispered, running his hands up her side, looking for the injury. She screamed when he touched her shoulder, and Draco flinched. He took a deep breath, grabbing his wand and holding it, whispering the mending charm. Ginny screamed again as her bone was forced magically into its socket.

Performing that last spell had sucked the last of Draco’s energy, and he slumped, unconscious, to the stone floor beside her.

Ginny calmed herself, the pain gradually fading. Somewhere, she could hear Lucky crying, and she forced herself to sit up. Her face hurt where Draco had hit her and her shoulder still ached. “Lucky,” she called, searching for the child. She was huddled in the shadows by the tower and scurried forward when Ginny called. “Do you remember the way to Madam Pomfrey’s?”

Nodding, Lucky whimpered, “I’m sorry, I tried to stop it.”

“It’s all right, honey,” Ginny told her. “But I want you to run and tell Madam Pomfrey that Draco is hurt. Will you do that?”

Lucky took off running into the tower, and Ginny turned to Draco, rolling him over onto his back. His face was ashen and his eyes were closed. She pushed his wet hair out of his face. “It’s all right,” she told him, though he couldn’t hear. “Everything’s all right. I’m so sorry he did that to you.”

Madam Pomfrey was gasping for breath after running up the stairs. “I sent the child back to the north wing,” she said, kneeling beside Draco. “What happened to him?”

“He was trying to break a spell, it always drains his energy, only this time, I guess it was too much,” Ginny explained.

“The girl said you were hurt too.” The nurse examined Ginny’s bruised face and clucked her tongue. “Follow me to the infirmary,” she said finally, conjuring up a floating stretcher for Draco and leading the way into the castle.

Draco was put on a bed in the hospital room, a curtain pulled around him, and Ginny told to wait near the door, seated in an armchair. Her arm was stiff and sore, her face ached, and she was dripping from the rain.

Madam Pomfrey treated Draco and then told Ginny, “He’s just exhausted, he should be fine. He was lucky this time,” she scolded. “He could have been killed. And as for you, have you any other injuries other than the bruise?”

“My shoulder was dislocated,” she admitted, grimacing. “Draco mended it, but it hurts.”

Pomfrey healed her bruised face and then gave her a potion for the pain in her arm. When she was done, Ginny asked, “When is Draco going to wake up?”

“I gave him some Madam Whitley’s Quick-Dry Energizing Serum,” Pomfrey said. “It will replenish his energy in about ten minutes or so.”

“Can I wait for him to wake up?”

“Even after his energy is replenished, he may sleep for some hours yet. His body was suffering from symptoms of chronic insomnia.”

“I’d like to wait. Please?”

Pomfrey sighed. “I don’t see why not, as long as you don’t disturb him.”

“I want to be here when he wakes up so he knows I’m all right,” she said. “I suspect he’ll be feeling really badly when he does wake up.”

Nodding though she didn’t really understand, Pomfrey left the room, going to check on some of the younger wizards who had come down with a violent flu.

Ginny pushed the armchair into the small curtained alcove where Draco lay, sliding it until it rested against the side of the bed. She curled up on it, shivering. She dried her clothing with a soft spell and folded her arms beside Draco on the bed, resting her head on them. Soon, she’d drifted off to sleep.

She dreamed of castles built high in the clouds. The only way to get to them was to climb the highest mountain, which was made of bones, and no matter how Ginny tried, she couldn’t make it up to the sky. The bones would collapse under her feet and she’d slide back down with a shower of skulls, finger bones, and vertebrae.

Then a voice started calling her name from the base of the mountain, and Ginny looked down. It was dark and she couldn’t see who was calling to her, and for a moment, Ginny was torn between continuing her hopeless journey up the mountain of bones to those indistinct castles in the sky or going back down to see who it was who waited for her.

“Ginny, Ginny,” they chanted in a musical voice. Trembling, Ginny started making her way down the mountain, squinting into the darkness. “Ginny, are you all right? Ginny?”

She had just reached the base of the mountain and looked up as the shadows melted away to see who waited there when she woke up, sitting up suddenly with a gasp. “Draco!”

He had been touching her face, calling to her, and he pulled back, startled. Then his eyes ran over her face worriedly. “Are you all right?” he asked.

Ginny swallowed, pushing her hair off her face and taking a deep breath. “I am,” she told him. “My arm’s fine. Are you all right?”

He nodded, still looking unconvinced. “Are you sure you’re all right? I’m so sorry, I tried to break it, but I wasn’t fast enough. It wasn’t supposed to involve you.”

“I know,” she said, brushing his hair with her fingertips. She smiled. “It’s all right.”

“Lucky sure does know how to pick a good monster to channel,” Draco joked weakly.

Ginny bit her lip. “Draco, I’m sorry. You’re father —”

He shook his head quickly. “Don’t. It’s okay. It’s over. It doesn’t matter anymore.” There was an awkward silence, and then he asked, “Why did you shout my name when you woke up?”

She squirmed a little. “I was dreaming about you, actually.”

Draco grinned slowly. “Oh really? Was it a good dream? I thought you said you did not find me sexy.”

Ginny rolled her eyes. “No offence, but I don’t. And no, it wasn’t a good dream, not really. But you did make it better, somehow.” She smiled at him and he smiled back.

“I guess I need more practice breaking through hate,” he murmured, and Ginny squeezed his hand.

“Practice with love,” Ginny suggested. “It tends to hurt less.” She cringed a little, thinking about Hadley, but didn’t mention it.

“Lucky would have a hard time channeling that from me,” Draco said seriously.

“She can take it from me,” Ginny told him. “I’ve had enough of it to share.”

Madam Pomfrey bustled in then and made Ginny leave to give Draco time to rest, and he promised to come and visit the children as soon as he was well.

It was dark by now and Hermione had already put the children to bed and gone back to her room, but Ginny wasn’t tired. She paced around her room for a bit before deciding to go see if one of her brothers were awake. She ended up playing chess with Ron until dawn.

Draco came to the north wing again, practicing with Lucky all the next day. She channeled love through him, and by the end of the day, he was strong enough to break the spell in a matter of seconds. Hate was harder. They practiced that one for three days after, and then, finally, Draco decided he was ready to try going after Harry.

Ron, Hermione, Dumbledore, Lucky, and Draco all crowded into Harry’s room on the day he was to try, gathering around Harry’s bedside. There was a moment of silence, and then Dumbledore cleared his throat. “This may be dangerous,” he warned.

Draco smirked. “You only think of this now?”

“I am just telling you that channeling into Harry’s mind will be different than into an awake person. You will actually be taken into his dreams,” Dumbledore explained gently.

“But it’ll work, right?” Ron asked.

“If Draco is strong enough and Harry really wants to come back,” Dumbledore said solemnly.

“He will,” Hermione stated firmly. “He’s Harry.”

“Are you ready, Draco?” Dumbledore asked him.

Draco shrugged. “Sure.” He smiled at Lucky and took her hand. “Now, don’t worry, Lucky, everything will be all right.”

She nodded, biting her lip and lifting the wand. With a graceless wave, she released her power into it and channeled the hate she could feel radiating from Draco that was directed towards Harry.

One second, Draco was sitting in the chair at Harry’s bedside; the next, he was falling as if the ground had turned to clouds between his feet. It was disorienting and Draco closed his eyes as he fell. Finally there was a soft impact; he had landed on his feet and it felt like he had fallen onto a mountain of pillows. He opened his eyes and glanced around. There were no colours, only varying shadows of grey, and everything was very still. Harry stood a few feet away, his head cocked at a strange angle, his classes askew, his hair laying flat, and his eyes glazed. Draco took a few steps towards him and, before he could stop himself, slapped Harry hard across the face.

Even in the dream world, it was the same as in reality. The feeling of someone else stepping into his skin. Only this time, the someone else was him, from all those months before. Draco cringed as realization of just what hateful experience was being channeled.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he hissed.

Harry straightened his glasses and squinted at Draco. “Oh, it’s you then,” he said.

“Of course it’s me!” Draco snarled. “I came looking for you because Sirius was worried. You didn’t show up at the meeting point, we were supposed to meet an hour ago to get out of here! Instead, we have to go back into Hogsmeade, to search for you!”

Harry shrugged. “I was busy, Malfoy.”

Laughing scornfully, Draco gestured to where the phantom memory of the bed was, with the girl reclining gracefully on it, naked, and watching the exchange with interest. “And what about Hermione?”

Harry scowled. “Hermione? What about her?”

“Come on, Harry! Don’t tell me you two have had a falling out and you nearly jeopardized our mission to fuck around to get back at her!”

There was dark rage flickering in Harry’s eyes, and he stepped closer, leaning forward to hiss, “Don’t think you have the emotional capacity necessary to understand, Malfoy.”

“Let’s just go, all right? Work this out with Hermione when we get back to the castle, I don’t care.”

Suddenly Harry looked like he was about to cry. “I don’t want to go back,” he said petulantly, sounding like a little boy. “I don’t ever want to see her. I want to hurt her.” His eyes suddenly narrowed and he tilted his head a little, inspecting Draco. “You can help me hurt her,” he whispered, stepping closer.

“What are you –” Draco began, but he never got to finish. Harry suddenly grabbed him by the shoulders and jerked him forward, slamming his open mouth over Draco’s lips and kissing him furiously, sucking and nibbling at Draco’s lower lip. For an instant, Draco froze, eyes going wide, and then he shoved Harry with all his strength, scrubbing his mouth with the back of his hand. “Potter!” He cried. “That’s disgusting! What the hell is wrong with you?”

The girl on the bed had laughed, Draco remembered. She had laughed, and Harry had looked furious. But Draco didn’t want to relive what was coming next, and the part of him that could fight the spell was struggling wildly, deep in his subconscious, for something that wasn’t right to focus on, something to break out of the enchantment. Harry was stepping closer, backing Draco against what had suddenly become a wall. He was stroking his hands down Draco’s chest, pushing his hips against Draco’s and whispering something that Draco certainly did not want to recall. But Draco’s hands slipped up to Harry’s chest and then around to his back, sliding down, down, down, to Harry’s waist and then further.

And then, subconsciously, Draco began to dance in triumph. He had found something different, and his mind latched onto that with all its strength. There was a soft snap and the spell was broken.

With a slow grin, Draco drawled, “Leather trousers, Potter?” his hands still resting on Harry’s hips.

Harry blinked, pursing his lips in confusion. That confusion broke the spell for him, and awareness suddenly clouded his eyes. He jerked away with a yelp. “What are you doing here, Malfoy?” he said with a furious scowl.

“Why’d you dress your dream self in leather trousers?” Draco countered.

Harry glanced down at his skintight black leather trousers and then back up at Draco. “They reminded me of someone,” he said slowly, as if it were a struggle to remember.

Draco rolled his eyes. “I’m honored, really, that my leather trousers were that inspiring to you.”

Pouting like a little boy, Harry said, “What are you doing here?’

“Trying to save you again,” Draco told him. “So let’s get on with this.”

Harry turned and walked away, his trousers creaking with every step. He waved a dismissive hand and called over his shoulder, “If being saved means leaving this place, I’d really rather not.”

Draco glanced around the flickering room doubtfully. “Why not?”

“It’s quiet here.” Harry’s voice was soft and wistful. “I can stand here and think forever and no one tries to kill me.”

“If you stay here much longer, you’re likely to die anyway,” Draco said rationally.

Harry sat down heavily on the floor, and a pillow appeared underneath him. His eyes were very wide, and he asked longingly, “D’you suppose it’s quiet when you’re dead?”

Draco couldn’t help it, he was feeling just a tiny bit worried. The fate of the wizarding world depended on a clinically depressed, coma-bound, sullen little boy? Although he wasn’t sure if Harry’s dream world included the ability to feel pain, Draco still walked up to him and slapped him, hard, across the face. He realized rather woefully that it was the second time he had done that today, and that it was a rather feminine gesture. “You think any of us like the noise?” he snapped, while Harry held his stinging cheek and shot him a hurt look. “No, we don’t. But we’re dealing with it. So grow up, get over it, and do what you can to help. This entire situation is too important to lose because you don’t feel like getting out of bed! You think you’re the only one who hurts? We’ve all got scars, and we’re still fighting.”

“It doesn’t matter anyway,” Harry said. “I don’t know the way back.”

Draco blinked. Neither did he. Not really. Oh shit. “I think… if you hold my hand or something, and I just wake up, you’ll probably come with me. Isn’t that how these things work?”

Harry hopped to his feet. Draco was beginning to see that in his dream world, Harry was nothing more than a little boy. “I get to hold your hand?” he asked eagerly.

Draco took a step back. “Okay, calm down, Potter,” he snapped. “I did not come here to indulge in whatever sick little fantasies you’ve come up with in here!”

Looking crestfallen, Harry mumbled, “I didn’t come up with them here.”

The implications of that were too strange for Draco to really put much effort into considering. “Okay,” he said. “Okay, Potter. I’ll let you hold my hand if you just come back with me.”

Harry smiled angelically. “All right.”

Draco winced but held out his hand. With a trusting, little boy smile, Harry slipped his hand into Draco’s. Holding onto Harry, Draco closed his eyes, trying to wake up. Nothing happened.

Aware that he was standing in the middle of a huge room holding Harry Potter’s hand, and what it would look like if anyone saw, Draco scowled. “It’s not working.”

“Maybe I should try to wake up,” Harry suggested, seeming perfectly content to stand there holding Draco’s hand.

Draco shot him a furious look. “So you could have woken up all this time and just didn’t?”

Harry shrugged. “Didn’t want to.”

Suddenly there was a shifting around him, and the gray room flickered again and this time, the colour stayed. The floor was made up of every colour of the rainbow and it was blinding. Before Draco could comment, everything slipped away and it felt like someone had tied a rope around his waist and jerked sharply, pulling him straight upwards, still holding Harry’s hand.

There was a sucking feeling, and Draco closed his eyes. Everything was spinning wildly and he was feeling a little sick. Suddenly, with a sick ‘whap’, everything stopped spinning and he slowly opened his eyes. Harry was laying on his bed, his green eyes staring at Draco in shock. He was still holding Draco’s hand. With a yelp, Harry dropped it, and then he started swearing violently.

There was a stunned pause and then Hermione shrieked, throwing herself onto Harry and bursting into tears. Chaos erupted as everyone tried talking at once, and Draco, weakened as usual from the process, left his chair, grabbed Lucky’s hand, and walked out of the room.

“I’ve got to teach you to choose your emotions more carefully,” he chided without heat. Lucky just sucked on her fist and allowed him to tug her back to the north wing.

It was later than he thought it was, and Ginny was putting the children to bed. She hurriedly helped Lucky with her pajamas and then put her to bed as well before turning to Draco and scanning his face worriedly.

“How’s Harry?” she asked.

“Awake,” Draco said. Then he had the horrible feeling that he was about to faint. His face went pale and he swayed a little. Ginny grabbed his arm and pulled him across the hall to her bedroom, forcing him to lie down on the bed. He did, only because he was too weak to argue.

Ginny felt his forehead worriedly. “I think you’ve got a fever,” she told him.

“I’m just tired,” he replied.

She scowled at him. “Shut up and let me hover over you like a worried mother, it’s what I do.”

He smiled weakly and let her fret around him, thinking it was rather nice to have her tuck the blankets up to his chin and bathe his face in cool water. He fell asleep a short while later, and Ginny sat beside him on the bed for a long time, watching him sleep and thinking about how strange it was that Draco should be the one to save Harry again. Most people in the castle still didn’t trust that he was really on their side, they thought he was a spy. Maybe this would be enough to convince them.

The wind was howling outside, and Ginny shivered. It almost sounded like someone was screaming.

She finally fell asleep, curled up at the foot of the bed so as not to disturb Draco, and he woke before she did, rolling his eyes when he saw her there. He nudged her up to the head of the bed and covered her up; she didn’t wake up throughout the whole process, and then Draco left the room, closing the door softly behind him.

Ron was waiting in the hallway, leaning against the wall across from the door. Draco stumbled to a surprised stop when he saw him there, and then he scowled. “What do you want?”

Ron looked him up and down and then said in a quiet voice, “You saved my best friend, Malfoy, so I’m not going to ask what you were doing in my little sister’s bedroom for so long.”

Draco laughed scornfully. “Really, Ron, what do you take me for? You think I run around snogging everybody in the bloody castle?”

Ron shrugged. “I don’t know, and honestly, I don’t care. You don’t concern me. You’re a good ally to have and I’m thankful that for the moment, you’re on our side. I may not like you, but I suppose I trust you. Even so, Malfoy, if you hurt my sister, I’ll kill you.”

Draco sighed, leaning back against the door and crossing his arms over his chest. “Did you come here to threaten me, or do you honestly have a reason for hovering around waiting for me to come out?”

“I wanted to thank you for doing what you did for Harry. I went to your room, you weren’t there, and I figured this is where you’d be. You don’t think I’m stupid enough not to notice that Ginny’s taken you in like another little stray, do you?”

Draco’s eyes were flashing with fury. “I am not a stray,” he snapped. “And I’m not going to hurt your sister.”

Ron looked thoughtful. “Are you in love with her?” He asked suddenly.

Draco looked surprised. Then, he laughed. “No.”

“You should be. I think you might be good for her.”

He walked away quickly, as if that admission had hurt, and Draco rolled his eyes, shaking his head a little. All the Weasleys were mad, he decided. And he certainly wouldn’t be good for Ginny. He didn’t even know what love was.