Beautiful Illusion

CHAPTER 03 - DREAMS AND DELIBERATIONS

***

"Do I know you?
Have we ever met?
You've got a smile I could never forget

Perhaps you've mistaken me for someone you know."

***

Harry had never slept well. Ever since he could remember, his dreams had been plagued with visions of terror, death and pain. The screams of innocent people and the pain on their faces were shocking enough, but their cries for help that he knew he could not answer were far worse. Being a helpless bystander when others so obviously needed him was abhorrent to Harry. Yet, he relived this horror almost every night in his sleep.

That is, if he even got to sleep in the first place. It is interesting how nature provides us with so many in-built curiosities that we cannot understand, yet the most important one of all, sleep, had forever remained a source of pain to Harry. He spent most of his nights in a semi-lucid state, quickly rousing himself when he began to hear the screaming, and see the faces materializing before his eyes. Perhaps his bizarre form of insomnia had been his own personal form of defence against the nightmares that so haunted his dreaming hours. The lack of sleep had never really affected him; he had become accustomed to it, as we all become accustomed to circumstances that we cannot change.

Tonight, however, Harry was tired. The adrenaline rush of his collision with Draco, followed by the anxiety prior to his waking up, and finally the erratic, confusing jumble of emotions their "first" conversation had brought out in him had combined to leave him feeling more exhausted than he could ever remember feeling.

After parting ways with Draco, he had stumbled back to his cabin and collapsed upon the bed, his over-stimulated brain demanding proper, refreshing rest. Unable to fight any longer, he had given in and opened himself up to once again face the demons of his dreams. His tired eyes had closed, and his body relaxed. As he drifted off, he released a soft, sweet sigh, not the sound you would expect from a hero, but the sound of a boy.

So he had begun to dream, for the first time in many months.

All he could see was snow. Thick, icy snow was falling all around him, sprinkling his body with little jabs of ice that he really shouldn't have been able to feel through his thick snow gear. It quickly rose to his knees, his navel, his armpits, his neck, until it covered his entire body. Smothered, he tried to claw his way out but the snow was far too heavy to move, and he was bone-achingly weary. It would be so nice to just stop struggling, and wait for the hazy blackness that was beginning to fog his vision to envelop him. Just when he felt as though his lungs would burst, a hand reached through the white and pulled him up and out into the beautiful, cold world. Breathing in deep lungfuls of bracing air, Harry turned to face his rescuer. The snow fell softly around him now, effortlessly pretty as it danced carelessly through the air. He turned a full 360^o, searching desperately through the dancing veil, but there was no one there. Once again, he was alone.

At this point, Harry's brain sank into a deeper, more restful state of unconsciousness and he feel into the deep, refreshing sleep that he hadn't realized he so badly needed.

When you have the weight of the world on your shoulders, sometimes you need a good night's sleep.

***

The wintry sunlight filtering through the glass skipped cheerfully over Draco's sleeping face, too weak to warm him, but giving its best shot. The restless beams of light pierced through Draco's awakening consciousness, and brought him back from his baffling dreams of the night before. What had he been dreaming about? All he could remember was brilliant colour, and a strange but incredible feeling that still lingered in him even now. Draco was unused to pleasant dreams and this new sensation of waking up happy felt really, really good.

Cracking a smile, he stretched and opened his eyes. The opulent yet tasteful furnishings of his room greeted him. Everything in here, from the plush carpet and the peppermint satin sheets to the marble fireplace screamed "Wealth! Power! Importance!" These three things were, coincidentally, what Draco most craved. Or so he thought.

His still-drowsy mind drifted back to the meeting of yesterday, and the unfamiliar emotions that the boy had stirred up inside him. He couldn't remember feeling this unsettled, on-edge, or excited around anyone except Potter.

He's not Potter!

Draco's constant comparison of the new boy to Potter was beginning to become a source of great annoyance to him. Potter and his antics already filled up the vast majority of Draco's schooling life, so why did he have to go and start obsessing about him now, on his vacation? There was absolutely no reason for this kind of paranoia, he reasoned.

Except for his eyes.

"Screw his bloody eyes! They're brown, for Merlin's sake."

Draco was usually extremely competent at disguising his emotions, and this uncharacteristic outburst unsettled him further. He attempted to reason with himself, and focus on this new boy instead of Harry-Sodding-Potter.

Now, what was his name? Draco thought it was Charlie, but he told himself that he couldn't be sure. It was easier to pretend that the earlier conversation between the two of them was of little significance to Draco, rather than admit the fact that he could remember every word, every nuance of the dialogue as clearly as if it was taking place now.

Charlie was an aristocrat, obviously. You had only to look at him to recognize the aristocratic facial structure, only had to hear his voice to identify the upper crust accent. Yet he didn't act like someone of that stature at all. He seemed anxious, and eager to please, traits that a true aristocrat, such as himself, would never display openly.

He wasn't that eager to please, if I recall correctly.

The boy, Charlie, had actually had the nerve to challenge him, Draco Malfoy, to a ski-off. Draco couldn't help the smirk that came across his face when he remembered the boy's ungainly stance on his skis and the look of pure terror evident on his face as he slid down the very mild slope. Only an absolute beginner would be that scared sliding down a slope that size. Still, the challenge had been offered and Draco was certainly not one to refuse it. The question of why Charlie would challenge someone of such evidently superior skill was far more intriguing to Draco than any other aspect of the boy. There was something about him, a quiet self-belief and fire that made Draco feel more than slightly uneasy. Well, if he was that determined to make a fool of himself, who was Draco to stop him?

There really is one born every minute.

Draco decided that he was confident that he would win, and easily. Why wouldn't he be? Charlie was obviously a complete novice when it came to skiing, no match for someone of Draco's skill. And if, when, he won, he was going to want a reward. Oh yes, for after all, what was the use of competition when there was no reward for the winner?

Draco's well-developed imagination was already running scenarios through his head, each more appealing than the last. He slipped lightly off the bed in one fluid motion and headed for the bathroom. He could feel it in every inch of his body. Today was going to be a very good day.

***

The small, dark room would not have been the least imposing under normal circumstances. The shadowy, colourless stone walls were crumbling slightly, as if tiring under the weight of the building. The empty fireplace was stained with black ash marks scattered across its once-white surface, the stacked logs charred and blackened. An ancient, moulding sofa that looked as if it would disintegrate at the lightest touch sat in front of the fireplace, on top of a threadbare rug which had most likely been placed there to counter the chill of the stone floor. At this moment in time, however, every shadow seemed darkly menacing, every breath as bitter as death. The malevolent, unnatural tones echoing off the stone walls increased this aura tenfold.

"Do I make myself understood? I cannot allow any margin for error, no matter how slight. I believe that you understand the consequences if anything untoward were to occur?"

"Certainly, I understand them, Master. However, I cannot help but wonder if Draco is the right person for this mission. He is young; there are many useful functions that he could perform amongst our ranks..."

"You dare to question me, Lucius? You should be honoured that I have chosen Draco to be the one that finally reveals to the world the consequences of attempting to resist Lord Voldemort! I have heard whispers that my name does not command the fear it once used to...and now you, who I once considered to be amongst my most loyal followers, are questioning my authority."

"I meant no impertinence, my Lord. I just assumed that somebody older, with less potential use..."

"You assume NOTHING, Lucius! My decision is final. Draco shall be the one. Dumbledore and his foolish, bleeding-heart followers will rue the day they crossed me."

The room and its chilling atmosphere slowly faded away, but the madness he saw in those terrible, red eyes remained.

A slick sheen of sweat coating his glacial features, Lucius drew in a sharp breath and opened his eyes. His heart was hammering wildly in his chest, which was unusual in itself, as he prided himself on remaining poised and in control in Voldemort's presence. Once he had convinced himself that he was, indeed, alone, Lucius settled back into the luxurious sheets with a sigh. That particular meeting had occurred months ago, and it puzzled him as to why he should dream of it now. After pondering this for a few brief moments, Lucius cast the thought aside. Dreams were immaterial. It was actions in real life that mattered.

Speaking of actions, Lucius was beginning to question his own involvement in his Master's latest and most horrific scheme. At the start, it had all been about power. The way Lucius saw it, the world revolved around Power. You either possessed it, or craved it. Underneath his impenetrable exterior, Lucius knew that he was weak, and hiding this weakness behind the Malfoy name had no longer been enough to satisfy his feelings of inferiority. He was one of those people who craved power, and that was something that the Dark Lord could offer him.

He had been only too happy to serve the powerful wizard, and his reliable, detached obedience had led to his rapid rise up through the Death Eater's ranks. During this time Lucius had noticed his Master becoming further unhinged and more obsessive in his plans to conquer the Wizarding World. Lucius was nothing if not observant, and he had seen the madness creeping into the Dark Lord's eyes, consuming him from within. Lucius wasn't stupid, and he realised that the insanity would eventually destroy his Master, which left him in an undesirable situation. The Malfoy name carried with it an image of prestige, power and control. The demise of the Dark Lord whilst he remained amongst his ranks would destroy this image, perhaps irreparably. That was not something that he was prepared to let happen, yet he could see no way out. There were no shades of grey in the Dark Lord's eyes and Lucius knew that desertion would see him and his family killed, perhaps not immediately, but eventually.

The honour of the family name may have been the most important factor for him to consider, but self-preservation was undoubtedly a very close second. Desertion, therefore, was not an option. He had still been contemplating a solution to the conundrum when the situation changed, and everything suddenly became far worse. When his Master had first presented him with the details of his most recent power-scheme, the shock waves that had coursed through his body had been debilitating, although he had, of course, presented no outward sign of emotion.

A potion that harnessed the power of the Dementors would be powerful; there was no question of that. To be able to command any person in the world would be a greatly desirable outcome for the Dark Lord. It would not, however, be desirable for Lucius. A world under the Dark Lord's control would be a world with nobody left to look up to him, to cower in his presence, to speak the word 'Malfoy' in hushed tones of admiration. This was not an acceptable outcome, yet he could see no possible way to stop his now-insane Master's plan from coming to fruition.

Then he had been informed of Draco's role in all of this. Contrary to what the majority of the wizarding world may have thought, Lucius loved his son. He was careful never to show this, as he knew that the time would come when he would no longer be in Draco's life. If Draco were to know how much Lucius cared for him, he would reciprocate, and the eventual loss of Lucius would be far more devastating a blow. As it was, Draco had always been far too emotional for a Malfoy, a trait that Lucius had been attempting to correct for many years. He had lost count of the number of times that he had repeated the same phrase over and over again to his son.

"A Malfoy never shows emotion. Emotion is weakness, and weakness causes pain."

He had hoped that he was beginning to get through to Draco. The bright smiles and loud, happy shouts of Draco's earlier years had of late been replaced by a cool, mask-like veneer, much like Lucius's own. As events stood, he normally would have believed that Draco was ready for a role in the Dark Lord's plans. This particular role, however, was not what Lucius had been expecting. He prided himself on being a man who was not easily surprised, but he had definitely been shocked when informed of what his son was expected to do. Nevertheless, he had agreed and had informed Draco of the basic details of the arrangement, omitting the most important details as he had been instructed to. Draco had accepted his role without question, although Lucius had seen a shadow of [digust, fear, contempt] some indescribable emotion cross his son's eyes. He had chosen to dismiss this, and had sent Draco away.

Now, here he was, alone in his bed, musing about circumstances that he could not change. He wished Narcissa were beside him, if only for the comforting warmth of another human being. He knew that it was his fault that they now utilised separate sleeping arrangements, but he was far too proud to admit that he missed her. The gradual demise of his marriage (which had, strangely, been for love) only served to reinforce his belief that emotion was weakness and weakness caused pain. He would not be weak again.

His heartbeat calmer now, Lucius rose and dressed meticulously (appearances were everything to a Malfoy). Breezing confidently out of the room, he pushed his earlier musings to the back of his mind. Thinking about less-than-ideal circumstances won't change them, he told himself. When an undesirable, yet irreversible situation arose, there was nothing he could do but accept it.

***

What have I gotten myself into?

Harry ploughed clumsily through the snow, marring its soft, creamy perfection with his unwieldy gait. As he moved, he cursed himself for his stupidity in challenging Draco to a ski-off. One near-death experience on the slopes was quite enough for him, thank you very much. Alright, perhaps he was being slightly melodramatic about the 'near-death' part. The fact of the matter was still that Draco could ski, and he couldn't.

At least he won't know it's me out there making a fool of myself.

That thought was strangely less comforting than he had imagined. Frowning, he struggled on towards the area where Draco had arranged for their competition to take place. As he shuffled gracelessly onwards through the snow, he watched fellow skiers stream by, their movements as fluid as quicksilver. He gazed in awe as the figures became airborne over slight rises in the white, melting through the air weightlessly before raising small puffs of opaque mist as they landed smoothly. How he longed to fly as they did, instead of the awkward, tiring shuffle he had perfected.

Pausing to rest his protesting muscles, Harry unfolded the map tucked into the pocket of his ski jacket and stared uncomprehendingly at it once more.

I could really use that four-point spell right about now.

His strict instructions not to use any magic in the immediate future were starting to grate on him. Although nearly sixteen, he was still underage and would not normally be able to use magic during vacation. This made no difference to him at Privet Drive, as he spent much of his time in his room, musing idly about all the questions that we ask ourselves but can never quiet seem to answer. Here at a ski resort, though, the situation was different. It was so tempting to cast a few quick charms to increase his skiing prowess...

But he knew he would never do it. Dumbledore had specifically told him not to use magic, and what Dumbledore said, Harry did.

My life's just like a screwed-up version of monkey-see, monkey-do.

For all of his rule-breaking, Harry knew that he had never done anything that Dumbledore wasn't aware and approving of. The twinkle in Dumbledore's eye whenever Harry had been sent to see him for misbehaviour seemed to say "I knew that you would do this before you knew it yourself." The Headmaster's seeming omniscience had begun to grate on him lately, and just for once, he wanted to do something that Dumbledore would never see coming.

Casting a spell in front of hundreds of muggles, however, was not that thing. Bringing the map closer to his face, as if hoping that would somehow make his destination clearer to him, he studied it once more.

"Would you like some help?"

The friendly offer nearly made Harry jump out of his skin, so deep had his puzzlement been. Looking up into the kindly, pale blue eyes of a female ski instructor, he cleared his throat and answered.

"Yes, please, if you wouldn't mind."

"Where were you looking to go?"

Harry told her, and for a moment she looked puzzled, before her face reshaped itself into an expression of mild concern.

"That particular area is on the very outer edges of the ski fields," she began, gesturing towards the extreme south-eastern corner of the map.

No wonder I couldn't find the bloody place.

"That section of the mountain is a double black diamond trail," she continued. Catching the blank look on Harry's face, she explained further. "A double black diamond trail is for very advanced skiers only, which I'm guessing you're not."

Her words, which were meant kindly, only served to increase Harry's already rapidly growing feeling of inadequacy.

"I'll be fine. Thanks for pointing me in the right direction." He began to lumber off, pretending that he couldn't hear her shouted warnings. They were half-hearted at first, for the instructor had seen far too many adrenaline junkies who simply turned back once they realised just how advanced the trail was, but then she remembered something important.

"Sir! I just remembered that nobody is allowed to ski on that trail, we had a tree overturn on it last night!" She began to race after Harry, and with her quick, nimble movements she would soon have caught up to him, if it hadn't been for the group of intermediate skiers that unexpectedly streamed in front of her in a thick wave. By the time they had cleared, Harry had disappeared, and her frantic shouts were lost in the wind.

***

Where is he?

Waiting at the beginning of the track, Draco was beginning to get impatient. He made an effort to always be punctual, and when others didn't return the courtesy, he became annoyed. Nobody kept a Malfoy waiting. Inhaling the crisp mountain air deeply, he told himself to relax. Charlie had probably just been waylaid, and as soon as he arrived, they could begin.

Excitement welled inside Draco at the prospect of finally being in a competition that he could win. For so long, he had been the runner-up, the valiant loser, the person who always let victory slip out of his grasp, and he was tired of it. Tired of the pitying stares, tired of the disappointment in Professor Snape's eyes, tired of the harsh words he received from his father. Tired of the triumphant gleam in those blazing green eyes, as the golden snitch Draco longed to catch brought Potter accolades and admiration yet again.

You'd think that the bastard would have the manners to let me catch it at least once.

Adrenaline now speeding through his veins, Draco swept the scene once more, his keen eyes searching for his [victim] fellow competitor. He saw him, trundling along the mountainside with all the grace of a troll. His eyes narrowed, and his lips formed an all-too-familiar smirk.

"I'm sorry I'm late, I got lost..." Charlie's breathless words filled Draco with even more confidence, bringing rosy colour to his cheeks and sparkle to his eyes.

"It's unfortunate how that sometimes happens, isn't it?" The casual rebuff kindled a flame of hurt in Charlie's eyes, which was quickly replaced by that disquieting gaze of relentless determination that had so intrigued and terrified Draco the day before.

"Well, I'm sorry. It's been a while since I holidayed here."

Whatever you say, Charlie.

"No matter, the delay only gave me more time to prepare myself. Are you sure that you can handle a trail of this difficulty? It's a..."

"Double black diamond, I know," Charlie cut in.

Maybe he does know his skiing, after all.

"That's right; this is a double black diamond trial, for the most superior skiers only. If you aren't up to the task, I won't think any less of you for pulling out."

Of course, Draco knew that Charlie wasn't going to pull out. He had only ever seen a look of such one-sided determination once before, and it was definitely not the look of a quitter.

"Of course I won't pull out. Are you ready?"

For a moment, Draco could almost feel the olive silk of his Quidditch robes whispering against his skin, could hear the roar of the crowd as he walked out into the blazing sunlight, could see that emerald gaze challenging him, drawing him into a world where only two people existed, and winning was everything.

He found himself staring into a brown gaze that promised exactly the same, and exhaled.

"I'm always ready. Let's go."

He could still feel those eyes on him as they stood at the top of the mountain, both intently focused and alert. As he stood there, Draco knew that he was going to win this race. There was no other option.

Both boys began to move forward, and the mountain beckoned, with its most treacherous twists and turns still unseen, but promising racing heartbeats, fierce challenges and pain.

Let the games begin.

***

"There's a look in your eyes
I've seen before
It's all too familiar but I can't be sure
I've got a memory somewhere
That looks a lot like you..."

***