Cho Must Die a Horrible, Painful Death

Chapter Four: I Dream of Harry

**

Harry was in a state of shock. Though he smiled and casually told Ron and Hermione that he was going to sleep as he passed through the Common Room, inside he was freaking out. His inner monologue consisted mostly of a running stream of obscenities.

He had kissed Draco Malfoy, and Draco Malfoy had kissed him back. As he peeled off his clothes and crept into bed, Harry tried to think of what he had been expecting. Amazingly, he hadn't thought beforehand how the kiss between them should go. Nonetheless, he wouldn't have imagined that Malfoy would have been such a willing participant in the act.

Drawing the curtains around his bed, he recalled the way the scent of Draco's cologne mingled a hint of sweat and potion smoke had lingered around his lithe body. Harry closed his eyes and breathed in the air around him, hoping to catch a hint of that scent again. He fell back against his pillows in frustration when he couldn't find it. Gryffindor Tower was simply too drafty to allow Harry to recapture the spirit of the moment.

As he crawled in between his sheets and drew up the covers, Harry wished he could taste Malfoy again. His essence was like a foreign delicacy to Harry's tongue, and he wanted more.

A fleeting image of a naked Malfoy, laid out across the crimson sheets of Harry's bed, and all his for the tasting, danced across Harry's fancy He reckoned he ought not think of such things. Nothing like that kiss could ever happen again - he had seen the confusion and anger in Malfoy's gaze and was quite sure that he would have to remain the Forbidden Fruit to Harry's Eve.

Harry drifted off into a dream-laden sleep state, and slept the night through for the first time in months.

**

Harry awoke the next day feeling refreshed, but couldn't seem to tear his thoughts away from his kiss with Malfoy. He sat distractedly through Transfiguration and Charms, though it was a combination of thinking about Malfoy while he sat only a few seats away from him in each subject that had Harry out of sorts. It also didn't help that he had Hermione writing notes to him, asking what had happened and if he was alright. He recounted only some of the details, not wishing to relive those moments while McGongall was lecturing on advanced Switching Spells.

It didn't look like Malfoy remembered, he was being his normal sneering self, but Harry couldn't shake the feeling the blonde wanted to speak to him. After both subjects, Harry dashed from the classroom, narrowly avoiding the approaching Malfoy.

That afternoon afforded Harry the luxury of forgetting his troubles at Quidditch practice. When Harry was flying through the air, the wind whipping through his robes and hair, he couldn't be bothered with worrying thoughts. Of course, it didn't stop him from recalling his masturbation-fantasy of a few weeks back. But masturbation-fantasy-Draco was an improvement on real-life-freaked-out-by-Harry-snoggage-Draco.

By the end of the practice, Harry was feeling slightly calmed down and felt cooled by the slight sheen of sweat that had built up on his brow. He and Ron trailed behind the team on their way to the changing rooms, engrossed in lively conversation.

"No way, Harry, the Starfish and Stick move is far more effective than the Double Eight Loop," Ron mused enthusiastically.

"Ron," Harry grinned at his best friend, who had grown into quite the Keeper, "The Starfish and Stick is too dangerous and you usually end up concentrating more on not falling off your broom than blocking goals."

Ron frowned, "Are you saying I can't do it?"

"Hardly, Ron," Harry playfully nicked Ron's shoulder with his fist.

"Alright, cause if you..."

Ron was cut off by Malfoy's sharp voice calling out, "Hey, Potter!"

Harry froze in his tracks as Malfoy, in full Quidditch uniform, sauntered towards them. Damn green for being his color!

"Funny I should run into you, Potter," Malfoy drawled.

What did he want? Did he actually remember? Harry threw Ron a 'leave him to me' look and stepped forward to join in the confrontation. Ron went off into the changing room, though he looked like he wanted to stay and watch the altercation.

"What do you want, Malfoy?" Harry tried to sound threatening rather than scared out of his wits.

Malfoy rolled his eyes, "Isn't it obvious?"

Harry's breath caught in his throat. Shit.

"You're a ruddy coward who doesn't feel his presence is necessary when he arranges a duel," Malfoy finished.

Harry released the breath he had been holding. "Oh *that*," he answered.

"Yes *that*, Potter," Malfoy spat, his lip curling slightly and his brow furrowing with anger. "What the bloody hell did you think I was talking about?"
Harry responded by shrugging his shoulders, as he figured saying 'Well, I reckoned you might have remembered my backing you up against a wall and sticking my tongue down your throat' wasn't the best approach.

"Listen, Potter," Malfoy continued, placing his hand on his cocked hip. Suddenly Harry wished he had some corrosive potion handy. "You're not backing out of this. No one stands Draco Malfoy up."

Why did Harry feel like they were discussing a date?

"Well, you're particularly daft today, aren't you Potter? What are you, mute?"

"Hardly, Malfoy," Harry finally managed. He smiled, impressed at his own ability to sound as biting as Draco. "Just because I choose not to dignify your prattling with a response doesn't mean that I can't."

"Whatever Potter," Malfoy shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "As much as the many ways in which you justify your stupidity amuses me, it's beside the point. Meet me tomorrow night, 11 o'clock, in the dungeons. And do please show up this time." Malfoy smirked one last time before pushing past Harry, knocking his shoulder deliberately as he went.

**

Draco Malfoy was a light sleeper. Such was the case with all Malfoys. After all, you couldn't be a fabulously wealthy and powerful family without collecting a few enemies over the years. And, particularly in the days of old, enemies had a knack for striking in the dead of the night. So, all Malfoys had developed an instinctive light sleeping pattern. It could come in quite handy to wake easily when some culprit fancied himself vengeful and took a knife to your throat.

This Thursday night, the night of his and Harry Potter's second duel date, Draco Malfoy was particularly at ease. A slight smile graced his sleeping features at the pleasure of standing up Harry Potter. He wondered how long Potter had waited in the dungeons for him. But he didn't dwell on it. Instead, he fell into a peaceful, dream-filled sleep.

However, even in sleep, Harry Potter seemed to infiltrate Draco's thoughts. As dawn approached, a slew of images danced across his subconscious, mostly of a very ill-dressed Potter dueling with him, Draco.

He and Potter had their wands drawn. If Potter got himself out of those horrible jeans, he might have a nice figure. At least his dueling stance seemed to indicate that he had a set of muscles to rival Draco's own. Potter locked the door. Lucid-dreaming-Draco found this odd.

"Locking the doors, are we? Don't want anyone to hear you scream? Oh, don't worry, Potter. I'll make you scream loud enough for everyone to hear."

His voice sounded disjointed. Was he really saying that? Odd dream, really. He could feel himself smirking. Suddenly Blaise Zabini appeared, which Draco thought illogical, as Potter had clearly locked the door.

"I really need to finish my bloody Transfiguration homework. That McGonagall is a real bat."

What? Draco was confused. Dream-Harry just stood there and grimaced as it began to thunder outside the room. But as far as Draco could see, it wasn't raining.

"Shut the fuck up, Crabbe!"

Zabini again. Funny thing was, he had started to sing a tune Draco thought he recognized as one of the Weird Sisters'.

"Wake up, Draco."

His subconscious was speaking, but it was Harry Potter's mouth that was moving.

"You really should wake up, Malfoy. It leaves you quite vulnerable."

That was it, this was just too fucking weird. Draco forced his eyes open. He rolled over and grabbed one of his spare pillows, which he threw through his bed curtains and into those of the bed beside his.

"You fucking woke me up, Zabini," Draco snarled. "And could you not wake up to the Wizards' Wireless? I hate those bloody songs in my dreams."

A slightly disgruntled Draco threw back the covers and hopped out of bed. After smoothing his green silk pajamas, he sauntered over to Blaise's bed and violently jerked the curtains back. Blaise sat there, arms crossed, with a smug look upon his face.

"It's not my bloody fault you're such a light sleeper, Malfoy. You don't see anyone else complaining," Blaise countered.

"Well, if by 'anyone else' you mean Crabbe and Goyle," Draco snapped, "you can hardly expect them to wake. One sounds like a foghorn and the other is practically comatose."

Blaise shrugged his shoulders and went back to reading his Transfiguration text book. Draco turned around and headed towards the bathroom to wash up.

"And Blaise," he halted on his way and turned to ask the boy a question. Blaise looked up from his text thoughtfully. Draco continued, "Who the bloody hell were you talking to? About McGonagall and your homework... there's no else here."

"Oh," Blaise smiled serenely, "that was just my split personality. You see, sometimes I'm a girl."

Draco furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. He'd always known Zabini was an oddball, but... "Um, okay Blaise," he said soothingly as he backed toward the bathroom slowly. First dreaming of Harry Potter and now a psychotic roommate. Bloody Fantastic.

**

Draco loved Potions. Three times a week he was delightfully entertained by the sight of Professor Snape calling out the Gryffindors, Harry Potter in particular, and deducting from their house points. Occasionally he got really lucky and one of them got detention.

This week Draco was especially proud of himself, as Potter had lost his house fifty points and gotten a detention on account of him. Sure, in order to achieve this, Draco had had to stand around Potions in his underwear, but he had a fabulous body and knew it, so it was no matter.

In Friday's class, Draco was torn between glee over Potter's increasingly dark mood (Snape kept making references to his impending detention) and the irksome feeling related to his odd morning wake-up call. His dream with Potter had seemed so... familiar.

Usually when he experienced lucid dreams, he could control things - change people about whom he didn't want to dream, tweak dream-Draco's speech, and affect the outcome of the dream however he wished. He had torn himself away from many a nightmare by willing his dream-self to triumph over obstacles. But in this case, he seemed outside of himself in the dream. Try as he did, both his and Potter's lines were quite fixed. And, had he had his way, he would have killed Potter or something and woken up happy and refreshed.

It didn't make things easier that Draco could practically feel Potter staring at him. He was probably miffed about Draco's skipping on their duel date. And obviously, Potter didn't like being stood up, because he just wouldn't let up. Ogling girls was one thing, but having Potter concentrate on him was unnerving.

Draco spun around to face his admirer, sure to check that Snape wasn't looking first. "What do you want, Potter?" Draco was pleased to see that Potter looked positively terrified.

"Nothing, Malfoy," he answered, though Draco thought his tone lacked the usual malice that traded between them.

"Then stop bloody staring at me, Scarhead," Draco snarled. "I can feel your eyes on the back of my neck, and it's fucking annoying."

Potter seemed to comply, because Draco worked the rest of the class without the sensation that he was being watched.

Later that evening, as Draco was headed towards the Slytherin common room after a random tryst with some Ravenclaw girl, he came across Potter serving his detention in the Potions room. Draco smiled to himself. If Potter was so insistent on staring at him during class, then he would stare at him too. And reveling in Potter's detention would be a lovely secondary pleasure.
Draco sauntered into the classroom and noted Snape's absence. He took a seat behind the professor's desk and fixed his gaze upon Harry. Minutes ticked by before Harry glanced up and realized that he had company.

"Malfoy!" he gasped indignantly, "what are you doing here?"

Shrugging and grinning slyly, Draco responded, "Felt the need to catch up on a bit of reading." He held up a random book from Snape's desk.

"You're kidding me, right?" Potter questioned and Draco dismissed the idea that he was shaking. Happy, heroic Harry didn't shake, surely.

"No," Draco responded nonchalantly, "Professor Snape is always happy to lend me the use of his private library."

Harry rolled his eyes and flipped around, his body language indicating that he was rather put off by Malfoy's presence. Good, Malfoy thought, this would be fun.

Draco continued to stare at Harry for the next thirty minutes, watching as he pulled various vials off the shelves, examined their contents, and sorted and labeled them. His dark-haired prey was visibly tense and his cautious movements betrayed his knowledge that he was being watched.

During his optical assault of Potter, Draco couldn't help but observe how much his enemy had changed over the years. Where he was once a gangly, messy looking thing, he was now gracefully tall - Draco guessed he was around six foot - and the hair that had once been an untidy mess, now looked like a casually tousled mop of curls. Much to his disgust, Draco could actually understand what all the girls saw in Potter. He truly looked the dashing hero.

Finally reaching the end of his tether, Harry spun around and seethed at Draco, "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"Why, Potter," Draco simpered, "whatever do you mean?"

"You know precisely what I mean," Harry retorted. "Stop staring at me like... like... just stop it!"

"Fine, Potter," Draco rose from the desk and stalked over to him. "But I'd advise you not to glare at me in class. If you have a problem with me, come out and say it."

Harry didn't speak.

Draco snorted lightly. "Where is that Gryffindor courage everyone goes on about? Seems you're just a right coward. The answer to your question, Potter, is that I couldn't be bothered showing up. You're simply not worth my time."
He turned on his heel and sauntered out of the room, but had he looked back, he would have seen the skeptical look on Harry's face.

**

"We all know I'm gorgeous, Potter. But on to more important things. Well, nothing's more important than I am, but still. Let's get on with it."

Draco's voice echoed in his dream. He and Potter were in the same room as they had been the night before.

"Fine." Dream-Harry answered him. Draco felt himself raise his wand. Potter did the same.

He and Potter glared at each other. Harry's eyes shone unusually bright in front of him. Draco couldn't help but stare the jade eyes shining out from Potter's glasses. They really were crap glasses, Draco mused. Almost as bad as his hair. And that outfit. And that outfit... what were the odds of Potter wearing the same pathetic ensemble in two consecutive dreams?

"Any rules?" Harry queried.

"Only that there are no rules," dream-Draco responded.

Was his brain sending him a message? Maybe he should have shown up for that duel, after all. From the looks of things, he was ready to kick Potter's ass. Wait. What was Potter doing? He locked the door, then Draco heard himself speak.

"Locking the doors, are we? Don't want anyone to hear you scream? Oh, don't worry, Potter. I'll make you scream loud enough for everyone to hear."

Talk about Deja' vu. Draco distinctly remembered saying that last night in his dream. What was this - some sort of recurring nightmare?

They faced off again. Dream-Draco hit Harry with a Leg-Locker Curse, much to his delight. Potter folded in no time, and fell to his knees. Draco smirked. Served the bastard right, considering he and his bloody goons had used the same hex on him on the Hogwarts Express fourth year.

Draco heard Potter whisper something under his breath, just as he was slammed against a wall. Everything went black.

End Chapter Four