In Your Dreams

He shut his eyes tightly, in an attempt to block everything out, and opened them again. His heart was pounding rapidly beneath his ribcage, and beads of sweat formed on his forehead. Darkness surrounded him. Blindly, he reached over to his nightstand and fumbled in the darkness for his wand. When he felt the smooth, polished mahogany wood beneath his fingers, he picked it up and muttered, "Lumos."

His room was immediately filled with a dim light from his wand. A sense of comfort filled him as he beheld the familiar furnishings of his room; the comfortable leather armchair across the room, by the fireplace, the oval-shaped rug on the hearth, and then down to the oak bed, with the black satin sheets that were currently wrapped around his bare torso.

With his free hand, he snapped his fingers, and a house-elf instantly appeared in front of him. Its eyes were slightly wider than their normal saucer-like diameter from surprise at being called at this time of the night.

"H-How m-may Minny be helping Sir?" it squeaked in a high-pitch voice that clearly indicated it was a girl. Draco stroked his chin thoughtfully for a moment before answering.

"Bring me some hot chocolate," he ordered the terrified-looking house elf. Her fear didn't immediately strike him as odd, as all the Malfoys' servants had always feared them. This was due to the fact that they had never been treated kindly.

"Yes, M-master Draco," she squeaked in reply, before disappearing with a small *Pop*.

Draco knew it was no use trying to get back to sleep, and, anyways, he had already had the elf get him some hot chocolate. So, while he awaited the house- elf's return, he reached down to the trunk next to his bed and began to fumble with the latch. Once he got it open, he searched its contents until he found what he was looking for. In the moonlight streaming through the window, the world 'Journal' glittered in gold letters on a small, black, leather-bound book. He thought of what his friends would say if they knew he kept a journal. Journals and diaries were for girls. But Draco found that it was nice to get all his thoughts down on paper instead of having them cluttering his mind.

With his thumb, he flipped through the pages until he found the first blank one. Then he picked up his quill and set it on the page; thinking. After a moment, he began to move the quill, filling the white page with his words.

August 3rd

I had a strange dream last night. It was really unclear, though. All around me, there were people screaming, like they were in danger, but I couldn't hear them very well, or even move, or see anything. I've never had a dream like that before. On the rare occasions that I can remember my dreams, they're always about school, or Quidditch, or something. Never like this.
Father wants to see me today. He says he has something important to give me. I don't have the faintest idea what it is, though. I'll have to write more after I see him and find out. Perhaps there is nothing, and he just made it up to get me to go and see him. It's something he would do, so he could torment me somehow, as it seems to please him greatly. And he hasn't got much else to please him right now.

Finished, he set his quill down on the stand next to him and closed the book, before returning it to the inside of his trunk. As soon as he had closed the trunk and fastened the latch, he heard a small *Pop* that indicated the return of Minny the house-elf.

"Y-your hot chocolate, Sir," she squeaked as she handed him a tray with the mug on it. He mumbled a, "Thanks. That's all," and she quickly disappeared.

As sipped his hot chocolate, he was deep in thought. The dream weighed heavily on his mind. The lack of details in the dream frustrated him to no end. Straining his memory, he tried to picture it more clearly in his mind, to remember the sounds, sights, feelings, anything; but it was no use. He let out a sigh of frustration and attempted to think about something else. His mind quickly switched to the upcoming visit with his father.

Lucius Malfoy, as it was commonly known among witches and wizards, and had been for years, was a Death Eater, and a powerful one at that. Which was why no one had dared try to imprison him before. He'd had the entire corrupted Ministry in the palm of his hand. However, when Harry Potter had defeated Lord Voldemort the previous year, Lucius was one of the ones that was caught and thrown into Azkaban, where he was currently imprisoned, and would be for the rest of his life. No one feared him, or any of the Death Eaters, now that Harry Potter had defeated the Dark Lord himself, because Harry was on their side.

When Narcissa had gone to visit Lucius the previous month, she had brought back the message that he wanted to see Draco, to give him something of great importance. He had also requested the Draco come alone, without his mother (or anyone else, for that matter). His family was only permitted to visit him once a month, so Draco had been forced to wait a whole month to quench his curiousity reguarding what the mysterious item was. But today was the day he would finally find out.

Draco slurped teh remaining few drops of his hot chocolate, still deep in thought. Once again, he absently snapped his fingers, and the obedient house-elf appeared, looking much less surprised, but still terrified.

"You w-wanted m-me, Master?" she stuttered nervously.

"Yes. I'm finished with my hot choclate, so you can take my tray now."

"Yes, S-sir," she stammered. "Is th-that all?" He noddeed and waved his hand to indicate that she could leave. She obediently took his tray and disappeared. After she left, Draco laid his head down on his pillow. For awhile, he just lay there, tossing and turning, becoming tangled in the sheets. Eventually, though, he drifted off into a light sleep.

Draco awoke the following morning at the crack of dawn, just as the first few rays of sunlight were beginning to creep in past his heavy black drapes. He sat up and pushed away the heavy blanket that covered him. Setting his bare feet upon the floor, he barely noticed how cold it was at he stood up and walked towards his large, antique wardrobe. After he had selected a pair of black trousers and a grey shirt, he got dressed and combed back his hair in the same way he always did. Standing back, he admired himself in the full-length mirror. He had grown much taller than he was back in first year, but he still had the same small, lean build of a seeker.

Satisfied with his appearance, he headed down to the Dining Room for breakfast, stomach growling with hunger.

Three flights of stairs later, he reached the huge, high-ceilinged dining room, and found his mother already there, seated at the table. This wasn't surprising to Draco; she, like him, was an early riser, and he couldn't remember ever waking up before her. He pulled out a chair and sat down at the long table which was large enough to seat about thirty, but, ironically, there was only two seated there.

A pair of sky blue eyes looked up at him, and a warm smile spread across his mother's face when she saw him enter the dining room and sit down. "Good Morning, Draco," she greeted him cheerfully, as she spread jam on a slice of toast.

"Morning, Mother," he replied, his voice lacking the warm emotion of his mother's.

Draco felt as if he was just getting to know his mother all over again. Not that he had known her very well before; but her attitude had changed considerably since Lucius has been arrested and jailed. She was warmer, gentler, and much kinder than she had been when Lucius was around. Almost a completely different person. Draco had only just begun to get used to the changes.

However, she offered no explanation for this sudden change, and Draco often wondered about it, although he hadn't mentioned this to her. He thought it might offend her if he pointed out how cold and distant she used to be. In addition to that, he didn't want to think, much less talk, about his dark childhood.

"I made breakfast," she told him, interrupting his thoughts and gesturing proudly towards the steaming plates of food on the table.

"You made breakfast?" echoed Draco, raising his eyebrows. She nodded and looked at him expectantly.

"Looks...Good," he lied, forcing a smile, when he saw how proud she was that she had actually cooked a meal, without the help of the house-elves, who prepared most of their food.

Most of the food was burnt, but Draco pretended to be enjoying it, while he nearly broke his teeth on an overcooked muffin (he thought it was blueberry, but he couldn't really tell).

While he was eating, Draco's mind was again on the upcoming visit with his father. If it weren't for the fact that he was supposedly going to be receiving some important possesion of his father's, he would've been dreading the visit. Actually, he probably wouldn't be going at all. He and his father didn't quite have a loving relationship. Quite the contrary. They hated each other. Draco had long known that the only reason that he existed was to carry on the Malfoy name, because that was all his father cared about. Lucius had never been the type to encourage his son, or congratulate him if he did well with something, or just generally be kind and supportive. After Draco had made the Quidditch team, his father only kept asking him why he couldn't beat Harry Potter. Why Harry Potter was better than him, a Malfoy. Draco loathed Harry. Everybody loves Potter. Potter's so talented. Draco is that jerk from Slytherin that Potter hates, and that can't beat him at anything. Yep, that about summed it up. And the only reason Lucius bought Draco the most expensive things was to show off his own wealth. Draco was always arguing with him or trying his best to defy him (without being beaten or subjected to the Cruciatus Curse for it). He despised his father, and was actually glad that Lucius was imprisoned, far away from Malfoy Manor.

When they had both finished eating, and the house-elves had scurried over and taken their plates, Narcissa asked, "Are you ready to go see your father?" The happiness and contentment in her expression faded, and she said the last two words as if they were a nasty taste in her mouth. That was another big change Draco had noticed. She had suddenly become so cold towards his father, which was very uncharacteristic of her.

He nodded his head in response to her question. Silently, the two of them stood up and exited the dining room, heading towards the library. As they made theri way down the hallway, Draco looked around at the familiar portraits of his ancestors; All with identical cold, blue-grey eyes, and the characteristic Malfoy scowl literally painted across their faces. It was from them that Draco had inherited his looks.

When they reached the library, Narcissa reached out a perfectly manicured hand and turned the brass handle on one of the elaborately carved wooden doors. As the door swung open, Draco caught a quick glimpse of the very same house-elf that had brought him his hot chocolate the night before, dusting off one of the old, worn books over the fireplace, before she squealed and fled at the sight of them. The feather duster, along with the book she had been dusting, fell to the floor with a soft thud. Draco glanced at the title, Rare and Powerful Magical Items, before Narcissa bent over and picked it up, placing it neatly back on the shelf.

"Poor dear," she muttered sympathetically, clearly concerned for the petrified house-elf. Draco felt no sympathy for the elf; he never felt sympathy for anyone. He found the elf's behavior odd, however. Most of the house-elves had stopped acting so nervous when Lucius left, as Narcissa was much kinder toward them than her husband had been; but apparently this one had not quite gotten over her fear.

Narcissa silently beckoned Draco to follow her, and the two of them crossed the large room. They halted in front of the huge marble fireplace. Despite the fact that it was swelteringly hot, the fireplace, like always, had a roaring fire crackling in it, so that the Malfoys could always be reached by Floo. This wasn't so necessary now that Lucius was imprisoned, as there was no Death Eaters trying to reach him anymore with Voldemort's latest scheme for World domination. Nevertheless, Narcissa liked to contact her friends from time to time to keep updated on what was going on outside the walls of Malfoy Manor.

Marcissa took a pinch of a fine powder from a glass jar on the mantle and threw it on the flames, which turned instantly blue. Before Draco left, she straightened his collar and smoothed his hair down in a motherly way (althought it really wasn't necessary, as Draco was always immaculately groomed), telling him to be careful and be home within an hour.

"Mother," he protested, rolling his eyes and pushing her hand away. "Don't worry. I'm sixteen years old; I'll be fine."

"Alright," she replied, with an exasperated sigh. Apparently, through the attitude change, she hadn't lost her impatience. He allowed her to hug him before he left, but did not hug her back. In his mind, sixteen years old was way too old to be hugging his mother. Not that he ever had when he was younger.

Draco was careful to clearly articulate the words, "The Fortress of Azkaban," as he stepped into the flames, which were pleasantly cool to the touch. Suddenly, everything around him was spinning, faster and faster, making him feel nauseous...And then, as suddenly as it had started, it ceased, leaving him with a dizzy, light-headed feeling. Coughing and sputtering, he fell out of a fireplace and landed on all fours. Floo definitely wasn't his favorite way to travel. Stupid Ministry, he thought to himself.If it weren't for the age restriction, I could've apparated here.

Brushing himself off, he stood up to see a tall, muscular wizard standing by the fireplace, eyeing him with one eyebrow cocked in mild curiousity. He definitely wasn ot the most pleasant-looking person in the world, and didn't look like someone you wanted to cross, but Draco supposed that was why he was working there, in Azkaban, the dreaded wizard prison.

"Are you here for a visit?" he inquired, in a tone that clearly indicated that he couldn't care less.

"No," Draco replied, with a sarcastic edge to his voice. "I just enjoy falling out of random fireplaces."

The guard ignored his sarcasm. "Whom do you wish to visit with?" he snapped impatiently.

"Lucius Malfoy."

"And your relation?"

"I'm his son," Draco answered, getting bored with the questioning and just wanting to go and get this visit over with.

"Very well. Follow me," the burly guard beckoned. They walked in silence, past cells containing some very shady-looking characters. Some glared at them as they passed. One was curled up in the corner, rocking back and forth, and muttering things to himself. Another stared at the wall as if it was the cause of all his troubles. There was a woman there, with her head buried in her hands. She looked at them pleadingly as they passed. Her eyes looked ghastly hollow and empty, and her features were thin and gaunt. She looked as if she wanted to cry, but that she had already shed all her tears. Draco shuddered as he passed her, and continued on, behind the guard, who obviously knew his way around. Draco had stopped trying to keep track of all the twists and turns long ago.

At last, when Draco felt as if his feet couldn't carry him any further, they reached their destinatin. Draco peered into the cell. There, sitting on the cold, cemented floor, back against the wall, was his father. His blonde hair, the same shade as Draco's, was in a state of disarray, and his face was gaunt and pale. He would have been unrecognizable, except that his eyes still held the same cold, malicious glint that Draco remembered so well. At first, Lucius appeared to be sleeping with his eyes open, as Draco had seen him do on occasion, but he looked over when he heard their approaching footsteps.

"You have twenty minutes," the guard's deep voice boomed. "I'll be back to get you when your time is up." He then turned around and returned to his post.

"Hello, Draco," Lucius greeted his son. If he was at all glad that his son had come to pay him a visit, he hid it well.

"Hello, Father," Draco replied mockingly. "You wanted to see me?"

"Not particularly," his father replied silkily, not looking at Draco, but at the opposite wall of the cold, damp cell instead. "I asked you to come here because I have something to give you."

"Yes, I know, Mother told me," he clarified, glaring at his father. Lucius stood up slowly and limped towards Draco, resting his hand on one of the solid metal bars taht restrained him to support himself. He drew in a deep breath and began talking.

"Before my master was defeated by Harry Potter, he of course, being the wise wizard that he is, saw the possibility of it coming. He took the necessary measures to ensure that he will rise again, even more powerful than before. He put in my possession something very rare, and very powerful." He slowly reached into his pocket and withdrew something from it. It was thick, golden chain, and on it, a large, red jewel glittered as a ray of sunlight streaming in through the tiny, barred-up window shone on it.

"I was instructed to give this to you if I was ever captured and imprisoned."

"What do you want me to do with it?" Draco asked looking at the item in his father's hand with great curiosity.

"Hold on to it," his father instructed. "Tell no one about it. Not even your mother, for she will want to take it from you. You will find out soon enough what you are to do with it." Draco nodded as his father handed him the jewel.

"Why must you give it to me, and not someone else?" Lucius's eyes turned to Draco and he grinned an all-knowing grin.

"You shall find out soon enough."

Draco then opened his mouth to ask what was so special about the jewel, although he knew he probably wouldn't get an answer, but stopped and shoved it into his pocket when he heard footsteps coming their way. The guard was returning.

"Your time is up," he said, and Draco followed him, without even saying good-bye to his father. They walked past the same cells, containing the same people. Draco focused his eyes straight ahead, trying not to look at them. When they reached the fireplaces, the man grabbed a jar from a shelf protruding from the brick wall, and held it out to Draco. Draco took a pinch of Floo Powder and tossed it into the fireplace.

"Malfoy Manor," he annunciated clearly, and felt the familiar spinning sensation. When it stopped, however, his head was still spinning from all the questions that clouded his mind.

Draco managed to stay on his feet this time when he was deposited out of the fireplace and into the library of his home. His eyes moved across the room, to where his mother was sitting at her father's old desk, engrossed in a lengthy novel. She unconsciously tucked a stray lock of curly blonde hair behind her ear, and looked up to see Draco standing in front of the fireplace, brushing the soot of his clothes.

"How is he?" Narcissa asked, without a shred of concern in her voice.

"Fine, I suppose."

"That's good," she replied, although Draco could tell that she didn't really mean it, and was only saying it for his benefit. He nodded.

"I'm going to my room," he informed her.

"Mm-hmm," she replied absently, once again absorbed in the book that she was reading. "Dinner's at seven."

"Are you cooking?"

"No, not tonight, Dear," she replied, and Draco let out an inward sigh of relief that he wouldn't have to suffer through another meal with his mother's "cooking."

Once he was out of the Library, he quietly closed the door behind him, and walked slowly down the hall. The flickering tongues of fire from the candles lighting the corridor sent shadows dancing across his pale face. He walked on until he reached the end of the corridor, where there was a large, rather plain painting of a lake in the summertime. It really didn't fit in at the Manor, but his mother loved it and had always insisted on keeping it. Draco stopped to look at it. It was a nice painting. Tall, evergreen trees surrounded the lake, and the sunlight reflected off the surface of the gently rippled water.

Draco put his hand on the side of the painting and pulled. It swung open on its hinges, revealing a hidden staircase, which was normally only used by the house-elves. Draco had discovered it as a boy, when he had been exploring the Manor one day. That had been his favorite pastime as a child. He had sometimes used the staircase to hid when his father was particularly angry, to escape his fury. It had been one of his favorite places to go, because it was a secret; a hiding place all his own. The house-elves were the only ones that knew this, and they stayed away from the staircase when they knew he was there.

In the stairway, there was a loose brick, with a space behind it sufficient to keep a small item in. This was where Draco intended to hide the jewel. As he climbed the stairs, he felt the weight of it in his pocket. When he got about halfway up the steps, he grabbed a brick that was protruding slightly from the wall, and wiggled it until it came free. With the other hand, he reached into his pocket, and felt the metal, warm from sitting inside it, and pulled it out. Even in the dark, the gold shone, and the jewel sparkled. It's probably really valuable, Draco thought to himself, before putting it in the wall and replacing the brick.

A yawn escaped him as he ascended the remaining steps. He reached the top, and the hinges creaked as he pushed open the hidden door. His feet hit the carpet in the hallway with a soft 'thud' as he climbed out of the hidden stairway. His room was the first door on his left, so he didn't have to walk far to reach it, and he was glad for this. Exhaustion crept over his entire body. Setting his hand on the knob, he turned it and pushed the door open. Without even changing into his pajamas, he walked across the room and collapsed onto his bed. His head had barely hit the pillow, and he was fast asleep.

He strained to see the scene unfolding before him. It seemed familiar, somehow, only more clear than it had been when he last saw it. The faint outlines of people stood before him, and he barely heard their pleading cries. Their was another person, too, in front of them; he seemed to tower over them. He laughed; a high, cold, cruel laugh. The people were begging for his mercy, but he showed them none. Draco fought deperately to get up, to help them, but he found that he couldn't move. He tried to yell, but no sound escaped his lips. So he lay there on the ground, helpless. The people didn't even seem to notice his presence. And once again, it was leaving, although he struggled to hold onto it; it was fading away...