Waking Dreams

Chapter 3 - Fear Itself

"Hello?" he called as he opened the heavy wooden door. "Hello? Is anyone here?"

A high, startled noise nearly made him jump. Luna looked up from where she'd apparently fallen asleep on top of her desk.

"I'm sorry," she said with a smile, her eyes only slightly shadowed. "Do come in. It's always nice seeing you." She turned to pick something up from beside her and placed it on the table. "And look! I found the tea set, finally!"

Malfoy laughed uneasily and sat down opposite her, pushing his robes back behind him. "You've been having some trouble, I hear?" he asked.

"Oh, perhaps a bit," Luna said with a kind of obviously forced cheer. "I'm sure things will look up soon."

Yes, I'm sure they will, Malfoy thought darkly. Because the werewolf went and hit below the belt. "Most likely," he agreed amicably, watching as she heated the tea with a tap of her wand and poured him a cup.

Even the way she poured her tea made him want to hurt her.

Luna looked frazzled - there was no other word for it. But then, it was what he'd been trying for, so it shouldn't have shocked him quite so much.

She sipped at her tea and seemed to calm slightly. Soon, the tension that had been so evident in her body before disappeared, just as Malfoy slipped his hands into his pockets, as he'd taken to doing when he got uneasy. Again, he found the mini-boggart sitting in one, and again his hands pulled out quickly to stay limp at his sides.

"I'm very glad you came by," Luna said lightly. "Familiar faces are so comforting these days."

Malfoy suppressed his snarl at her tiny manipulation and pulled his wand surreptuously. "I'm sure that's true," he said. "When I first started teaching, I was lucky enough to have Snape to help me somewhat..."

The wand pointed under the table as he brought his own tea to his lips, savoring the clear, sweet scent for a moment.

"Volcurem Letabo," he said into the cup.

Only someone who was looking for it would see the slight shock at the back of Luna's wavy hair or hear the tiny squeal as the manufactured thing fizzled out.

Malfoy took a sip of his tea calmly - then blinked.

"This isn't the Hogwarts tea," he said in surprise and not a little alarm. "Where did you get this?"

It tasted sweeter. It had a unique tang to it that he couldn't immediately place - which made it dangerous.

Luna's smile was now back to its normal, serene state. "It's my own blend," she said. "I've never had anyone notice the difference before." Her face took on a thoughtful expression. "Perhaps because I never seem to have tea with anyone."

Malfoy stared at her for a moment, gauging her intent. She didn't seem to be waiting for him to drink more - and she had taken her own tea from the same teapot. Carefully, he took another sip, rolling the tangy liquid over his tongue. The Hogwarts house elves made fairly good tea, of course, but truly good tea took a unique kind of skill. He supposed he shouldn't have been surprised that their new Divination teacher could make it.

Though.

He frowned as he swallowed again.

That spoke of... well... some kind of qualification.

Malfoy shook it from his mind. Her qualification didn't matter. He wouldn't be able to survive a whole year of Luna Lovegood.

He blinked as he realized she was talking.

"What was that?" he asked instinctively.

"I said I was joking with you about Lebanon," Luna repeated, brushing a stray hair from her eyes.

Malfoy choked on his tea, quite certain that the plague of locusts and hellfire hailstones would begin appearing any minute now.

"Because you went to school with me, you mean," he coughed after a moment, while Luna watched with slight concern.

"Oh- oh no," she said, setting her cup down and moving to take his own while he hit at his chest to expel the tea from his throat, gasping. "Just that I don't think you would lie about it."

Malfoy stared at her, now beginning to search her expression for ulterior motives.

"You mean," he enumerated slowly, "that you can easily believe I somehow regressed in age, found myself a place in a pureblood family, and joined Hogwarts as a first year - but not that I might lie to you?"

Luna laughed, a soft, breezy giggle that made him think, of all things, of his mother. "But you didn't lie that time," she pointed out with a glowing face.

Malfoy rolled his eyes at his cup and turned his eyes from her.

He looked up at the dark, starry pseudo-sky, his fingers curled about the steaming cup, and felt himself relax as he saw it spiral up into forever. Perhaps there really wasn't a ceiling - perhaps it did open up to a sky, somewhere...

"You see it too," Luna said softly, and instead of disturbing him as he might have thought it would, it soothed something inside of him that was still raw and aching.

"It's why I love this room," she continued quietly. "It's filled with peace of mind."

A stab of uncertainty hit him as he looked up into the infinite heavens, then.

"I think," he said stiffly, rising from his seat and forcibly pulling his eyes from the sight of the sparkling swirls of stars, "I think I should leave now." And then, despite himself, he found himself saying, "But I'll come back some other time."

Luna Lovegood surveyed him with an almost sad expression as he left - but he didn't see it, as he turned his back on her and disappeared out the door, his footsteps echoing hollowly behind him.

-----

Draco Malfoy found, to his supreme frustration, that he could not sleep.

He had tossed and turned for three hours, found absolutely no rest, and was now coming to the unhappy conclusion that something more productive was going to have to be done.

It had nothing to do with Loony Luna. Nothing.

Malfoy growled to himself, then stalked to the window to stare outside. He found, to his surprise, that it was misting gently.

On any other night, the vision of the crescent moon with its blurry halo would have been breath-taking.

Tonight, he shut his shades with an oath.

"Fuck her anyway."

-----

"You look tired, sir."

"Yates?"

"Yes, sir?"

"I wasn't ever consulted for your career advice, as I remember. Perhaps you should apply for a position at the Ministry as 'Stater-of-the-Obvious'."

"I'll keep that in mind, sir."

Malfoy rubbed at his face with a growl, feeling the weight of a night with little sleep. As it was, he'd nearly told his second year class to put foxglove into their neutralizing potions instead of foxgrape. Thankfully, he'd caught himself and thought very furiously about what he was supposed to say. The poor student that had suggested the next ingredient had found themselves down by ten points and sentenced to an hour detention with Filch.

'Hissy fit' was being murmured astutely by a few students, who nodded at each other as though he couldn't see them. Malfoy nearly dismissed his class then and there - but he managed to hold himself in check and only give them four rolls of parchment for homework instead.

The bell rang, the sound of glorious freedom resounding through his classroom for a few seconds - and then, in a blur, the students were gone.

The last period was over. Thank whatever higher being was watching out for him that day.

Malfoy leaned back in his chair and sighed, rubbing at his temples. He could really use some tea, he decided.

Then immediately frowned, at the thought that he was craving, inexplicably, some of Luna's tea.

"Sir?" a voice asked from in front of him. Malfoy jumped, putting a hand to his suddenly leaping heart. He looked up to see Yates standing in front of him, looking down at him with a slightly concerned expression.

"Yes, Yates?" he gritted out, inwardly calming his furiously beating heart.

The boy was scrutinizing him carefully - Malfoy was almost surprised to see such calculation on his normally mercurial face.

"I meant what I said, earlier," Yates said quietly. "You're not looking very well. And I think I have some kind of idea why."

Malfoy twitched. "I'm sorry to tell you this, Yates," he said in a tight voice, "but you didn't develop omniscience from that bad potion you made."

His student gave a lopsided grin. "That's what everyone says. I'll believe it when you can empirically prove it."

Malfoy felt himself relax a little. If nothing else, he would always be smarter than his smart-ass students. "It can be empirically proven," he replied. "None of the ingredients produce such effects, in any kind of amount or combination. Neither does any such potion exist."

Unfortunately, the quick side-stepping the conversation had taken didn't last. Yates refocused his attention. "If you want us to get rid of her," he said quietly, "we will."

Malfoy froze.

"But," Yates continued easily, as though he hadn't just witnessed a tell-tale sign of the truth, "I don't think that's what you really want. So maybe you should figure it out."

"If I need your advice," Malfoy said coolly, regaining his composure with an effort, "I will ask for it. Until then, it's five points from Gryffindor for disrespect and that potion you blew up last week."

Yates shrugged. "Sure, sir." He regained his smile, then, effortlessly, and picked up his bag.

And Malfoy was alone in the room.

A large frown had spread across his face with Yates' departure. His own behavior had been unnerving - he wasn't used to being quite so obvious about his feelings. When it was bad enough that his students could tell, there were problems.

The idea that he might not want her gone was utterly stupid, of course. Had he gone through all this trouble because he really wanted her to stay?

Yates was, and always had been, an idiot.

His frown deepened, suddenly, and he reached into his pocket to withdraw something small to fiddle with nervously.

But...

But.

Could he have possibly misjudged her?

The idea rankled. He didn't misjudge people. It didn't happen. He had spent his whole life looking behind the most carefully placed faces to see the ugliness behind them, the true motives behind the actions.

You misjudged Remus Lupin and Albus Dumbledore. You misjudged yourself.

There had been certain moments of reluctant epiphany in his life before. Finding his mother could cry. Learning his father was not perfect. Discovering that he didn't know everything, that the Cruciatus hurt, that beneath Voldemort was not where he wanted to be. Understanding that Hermione Granger could grieve just as well as he could.

And now, he began to suspect his own motives.

He'd barely known Loony Lovegood in school. He'd hidden a few of her things, insulted her to her face, and otherwise been a rotten bastard to her, but he'd never actually talked to her. Why would he have such an unreasoning hate of her now?

Malfoy realized belatedly that he had unwittingly begun to tear at the plastic wrapping of the thing in his hand. And then, once that avenue of nervous behavior had been exhausted, he'd begun to tap on it pensively...

It was a small ball, barely the size of his thumb.

A potent oath escaped his lips as he realized what it was. At the same time his mind discovered the answer, it slipped from his fumbling hands and bounced off the desk and out of sight.

The mini-boggart.

Malfoy scrambled from his chair, now in a cold sweat. This was, possibly, one of the most idiotic things he could have done. His worst fears were things no one in the school would be happy about, least of all he himself.

He searched the room quickly, scanning the desks and shelves, then dropping to his knees as he realized that the tiny ball could be underneath the furniture.

Unexpectedly, his eyes encountered a pair of black shoes, swathed in equally black robes.

If this is Yates again, by god, I'll make him scrub the hospital bedpans for a month-

His eyes traveled upwards, past the hem of the long robes, up to a tall height that signified this person was most certainly not Yates.

A pair of steely grey eyes were looking down on him.

He stood up slowly, but knew before he could make it to his full height that he would be barely at the man's chest. A cold, tight smile was on the other man's lips.

Sirius Black stepped back from him easily. But his eyes didn't leave Malfoy's.

"What is it, Black, can't you see I'm busy?" Malfoy sneered in the coldest voice he could possibly muster.

Black chuckled. There was an undertone of death to it that could not be mistaken.

An eerie chill went through him.

"What is it?" he hissed, uncomfortably aware now that the torches were flickering. "What do you want?"

He stepped back toward him now, and he noticed with alarm that this was not Sirius Black. Not as he knew him now. No, this was the Black of his waking dreams, the accuser in his soul.

"What's the matter, Draco?" he said quietly, the smile still chillingly in place. "Are you afraid of me?"

Malfoy stepped back falteringly, unable to tear his gaze away from the apparition.

"No," he said, but it came out barely a whisper. His back hit the desk, though, and he jumped.

"That would be slightly silly," Sirius told him with his fearful smile. "After all, you're innocent, aren't you? No blood on your hands to speak of..." He was advancing slowly, easily - but Malfoy had a sudden fear of what would happen when he reached him.

"I didn't do anything," he hissed, his eyes darting around the room and landing on the door. Closed. "I didn't do anything, do you hear me?"

"You were a Deatheater," the other man said mildly, watching him. "You aren't going to deny that, are you?"

"I never denied it," Malfoy gritted out. "I still have the mark, I haven't destroyed it-"

"Does it redeem you, then, to bear your own personal cross?" the thing sneered, moving close enough that he could feel its cold breath upon his neck. "Does that repair the damages you've done, does that wash away all your responsibilities?"

Malfoy felt a surge of enraged desperation seize him. He pushed his hands into the semi-solid thing - it reeled back only slightly.

"I don't care!" he shouted at it. "I don't care what the hell you think I should've done, I don't care what happened, I don't care about anything! Why didn't you do something, you bastard?" He pushed his finger into its chest - but found, to his sudden terror, that he was pointing at himself.

"No," said Draco Malfoy, the same cold smile playing about his lips. "I don't care. I don't care about anything."

Malfoy stared at his own face in horror, suddenly painfully aware that he had just uttered those very words.

The doppelganger chuckled at his expression, then reached forward to touch him-

There was a hot pressure on his chest - everything was spinning - and the thing was melting in front of him-

Something hard impacted on the back of his head, and the world disappeared.