The Meaning of Dreams

The Meaning of Dreams

Chapter 2: Turning Your Back On Your Dreams Won't Make Them Go Away

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When asked later, those Gryffindors who had witnessed Harry’s arrival at the Great Hall for breakfast would say that The Boy Who Lived wasn’t looking all that well that particular Wednesday morning. His black hair was messier than usual, his face too pale and very dark circles showed under green eyes.

In conclusion, all evidence seemed to indicate that he hadn’t had a very good night.

If asked, Harry would have said that was the understatement of the century, and then tell his interrogator to sod off.

It wasn’t that he was feeling a little down or tired. He wished that was all. But the truth of his state was that his emotions were going from downright miserable, to disgusted at the world in general, complete with a lovely ‘totally horrified’ wrapping.

A night like the one he had experienced tended to do that to a boy.

His entrance in the Great Hall had bordered on spectacular. The whole Gryffindor table had gone silent upon seeing Harry crawl his way to his usual seat next to Hermione and Ron, dragging rather than carrying his schoolbag. When he reached his destination, he had tossed said bag carelessly aside and let himself fall on the chair, as if wanting to be one with the wooden object. Then he had muttered four words and ignored the curious glances his fellow Gryffindors were giving him.

“Coffee. Black. Double. Now”. The mug apparated on the table, courtesy of House Elves Enterprises and Harry grabbed onto the vessel as if his life depended on it.

Word was that Gryffindors were brave, loyal and they never let down a fallen comrade. And all the young men and women munching on their respective pieces of toast or drinking their coffee at the table were Gryffindors all right. But, against Slytherin popular belief, they were not stupid, and knew how to recognize a life-threatening situation when they saw it.

The problems usually came when they had to avoid said dangerous scenarios. But not this time.

The exchange of looks and silent deliberation that had taken place upon Harry’s arrival seemed to have lead to the consensus that trying to talk to the dark haired boy could end up in the loss of vital body parts. Consequently, they left him alone with his coffee mug.

Harry was deeply grateful for his friends’ observation skills.

Sadly, Hermione wasn’t one to be easily intimidated, and ignoring all the signals that would have dissuaded a Dementor from getting near the raven-haired teenager, she put a hand on Harry’s arm, looking at him in concern.

“Harry, are you feeling well?”

Bloodshot eyes raised from their mug surveillance to give her a sarcastic look.

“Fine, Herm. Just fine”

Harry resumed his previous stare contest with his coffee, leaving a very worried and very bewildered girl looking at him. Not easily dissuaded, Hermione opened her mouth to keep questioning the green eyed boy about his welfare, but an elbow to her ribs stopped her.

She turned around to glare at Ron, but he simply whispered in her ear, ”Leave him alone. He’ll tell us when he thinks he’s ready.”

Overhearing his friend, Harry could have kissed Ron then and there –if not for the extreme yuckness factor involved. The redhead’s suggestion made Hermione rethink her actions, and she finally let go of the issue –if only for the moment. And the last thing The Boy Who Had Had A Night To Run Away From Screaming wanted right then was to bring up the cause of his messier-than-standard looks and horrible mood. He had done a fairly good job of avoiding everyone in the dorm that morning by pretending to be asleep, to throw it away now and start spilling about his awful night-time experience.

Just thinking about the whole mess made him want to throw up, so much it revolted him. Actually, he was entertaining the idea of hiding under the Gryffindor table with his coffee mug and not getting out.

Ever again.

Not that it would help him stop thinking about the dream, mind you, but he would not have to face the reactions of his friends when he –eventually, maybe the next century, if he had any say on the matter– told them.

And if theirs were something like his, they were going to be one hell of a reaction.

His subconscious, not happy with waking him up sometime around five that morning, kept serving up vivid flashes of the most enjoya— disturbing images of the dre— nightmare. No more calling it a dream when it was surely sent by evil demons from hell.

So he had been reliving the nightmare, finding himself unable to prevent the images from coming to his mind.

Even hitting the dorm wall with his head hadn’t helped him on that task.

The other reaction he had gone through had been a bout of intense brooding. After realizing he would be unable to stop the stream of images, he had put the few brain cells that hadn’t gone catatonic from the shock to work, in a desperate attempt to find a cause for all that upset.

In a move he would regret later, he had welcomed the continuous replay of his oneiric scene, to analyze and then overanalyze a little more the workings of the nightmare. The most repeated phrase in his musings had been, “Why!!??” This query came in several degrees of desperation and/or rage.

After a couple of hours of intense self-torture he had only gotten one hell of a headache, and none of the answers he’d been searching for.

All this combined had had as result a very snappy and almost homicidal Harry at the first light of dawn. Reason enough for him to avoid any kind of personal contact that morning, with his pretence of being asleep.

Ron would never know how close he had been to losing a finger when he had poked Harry on the shoulder to wake him up…

Luckily for his friends, he had somehow controlled the nastier impulses by the time he had come down from Gryffindor Tower for breakfast.

Still, if anyone brought up the subject of Jenkins’ project…

Absorbed in his own thoughts, Harry had effectively failed to notice that, as a matter of fact, none of the 6th Year Gryffindors at the table were mentioning a single thing about the Defence assignment. The green eyed boy was far too preoccupied with the cause of all the mess he was in, to pay attention to little details.

Well, more like who was the cause, actually. Harry’s problem was entirely focused on the identity of the person playing the lead role in his nightmare.

He would have been able to handle dreaming of his parents. He did that a lot. If Cedric had appeared, he wouldn’t have been surprised at all. Even Voldemort would have been welcomed with open arms, for Merlin’s sake! But he hadn’t been prepared at all to deal with the Bludger his subconscious had decided to throw at him.

Apparently, the Boy Who Lived liked it rough, so he had gone and dreamed of that filthy, intolerable, vain, snobby bastard and evil git also known as Draco Malfoy.

He had bloody dreamt of Draco Malfoy, of all people!!!

The mere concept could be enough to cause him an aneurysm.

Could anyone really blame him for not wanting to go to his best friends and tell them: ‘Remember Jenkins’ project? Yes, the one with the dreams? What, you didn’t dream of Malfoy??? Oh my, you so don’t know what you’re missing… He was in my dream and he was…’

Er.. maybe kind of… perfect.

Well, yes, there was no use in denying it. The Malfoy in his nightmare had been the epitome of everything un-Malfoyesque; sweet and tender, and amazing, and caring…

And that’s what made it all so bloody disturbing and utterly terrifying, Harry mused silently while trying to vanish the unwelcome revival. If Malfoy had appeared in the drea-nightmare torturing him, he could have found it normal…

Wait, that didn’t sound too well…

He slapped himself mentally before his traitorous mind started conjuring Leather-Clad-Malfoy images. Next he would find himself entertaining the idea of being tied to a black-sheeted bed and blindfolded with a velvet ribbon by the blond demon…

Oh God! Could anyone say ‘very bad visuals’ here?

He was desperate: He didn’t know what to think, what to feel, what to do… In very few and blunt words, he was totally at loss.

It was at this point that Harry realized he had been stirring his coffee for the last ten minutes, and the black liquid was almost freezing cold. Given the concerned look on Hermione’s face, she had noticed it as well.

Great. He was in for one of Hermione’s Talks™ later. Just bloody wonderful.

Harry somehow managed to fight the urge to bang his head against the table, but couldn’t help the little groan that escaped his lips. He wished away the cold coffee and asked the House Elves for a fresh mug. Instantly, a new one apparated on the table, thin swirls of white steam coming off the black surface of the liquid.

He took it and raised the warm container to his lips, all the while wishing for the gods to show some mercy and free him from such torture. Eradicating all trace of Malfoy’s presence from the face of Earth didn’t sound half bad, either.

But it seemed the gods were feeling particularly sadistic that morning, because that was the precise moment the object of Harry’s obsession chose to attend breakfast.

Harry froze mid-sip and for an eternal second, gray eyes locked with green ones and The Boy Who Lived was treated to a fast-playing montage of the whole Malfoy-influenced part of the dream (nightmare!).

He then proceeded to violently choke on his coffee.

Harry was almost grateful for the coughing fit that accompanied such a controlled reaction to Malfoy’s presence. It had prevented him from witnessing the nasty smirk he betted now adorned the handsome Slytherin’s chiseled face.

Hey! Don’t start!, was his mental scream at the rebellious part of his psyche that repeatedly insisted in bringing up the nightmare memories and insistently pointed out Malfoy’s best physical qualities.

His only response was a soft snickering, which irritated him to no end.

“Harry, are you sure you’re alright?” Hermione patted Harry’s back to help him breathe normally again, concern evident in her brown eyes. Even Ron had started looking worried enough to take a break in his Quidditch-focused conversation with Seamus.

“It’s nothing,” he dismissed his friends with casual wave of his hand. “I’m not planning on drowning in my coffee cup, really.”

For the looks on their faces, they didn’t seem all that convinced, but Harry just ignored them and went back to his coffee-drinking, fixing his green gaze on the wall behind the Ravenclaw table. Which happened to conveniently be situated in the opposite direction to the Slytherin zone of influence.

The last thing he wanted was to catch a glimpse of He Who Haunted His Nightmares, and let himself be distracted remembering the way his silvery blond fringe fell over his forehead, or how those ice-pink lips could create sweet smiles, or the softness of his touch, or how his silvery eyes narrowed when he was glaring at him…

One moment, the raven-haired boy’s mind froze. Glaring? There hadn’t been any glaring on the nightmare…

Oh God!, Harry panicked, I’m staring at Malfoy! I’m staring at Malfoy! And I hadn’t even realized I was doing it!

Harry’s battered brain cells went on a horror trip then and there, while a mammoth-sized wave of despair washed over him. Amidst all the confusion he was suffering, he somehow realized that he had been seeing the dr-nightmare-Malfoy’s image superimposed on the real one and hadn’t been able to tell one from the other! And that made him have the reactions he had experienced towards his nightmare Malfoy directed now towards the real life one.

This is so not happening, his mind whined. I’m not doing this. There is no possible way I’m doing this. This is a horrible, horrible nightmare and I’m going to wake up at any moment and then laugh at it all.

So you say, the traitorous part of his mind told him, but then, why are you still looking at him, hmm?

Oh dear Lord! It’s real!

Harry’s sorry attempt at denial cracked like a mirror under an elephant’s leg, and the Gryffindor felt as if he had lost his very best friend.

But the mourning for the lost denial lasted only until the raven-haired boy saw suspicion starting to rise in the gray eyes of the Slytherin, and panic reclaimed its well-earned place.

Oh. My. God!, Harry thought frantically, he is going to notice! And then he’ll know and I’ll have to jump off Gryffindor Tower to never face such an embarrassment; better death than fancying Malfoy!

I have to do something!

But what, exactly?

Must find something I can work with, something familiar, and nice and warm and…

Harry’s green eyes widened with newfound realization. That’s it, of course!

Remembering the How to be a Good Gryffindor handbook, Harry used the standard procedure for this sort of cases: when faced with irrefutable symptoms of most mysterious evil, the only possible culprits are the Slytherins.

This was all Malfoy’s fault!

The influx of anger in Harry’s system caused by this statement, curiously enough, made the teenager feel calmer than he had been since he had woken up. The Malfoy-loathing territory was something he had been used to since he was eleven, after all.

Of course, he concluded in totally unrealistic triumph, all this dream-evil has to be a insidious plot of that vile Slytherin! He had intruded in his dreams to make his life a living hell!

Harry wisely decided to ignore the little voice in the back of his mind pointing out that he had been the one to drink the Somnus Veritas potion and dream of Malfoy; and that it was highly improbable the other boy could have done anything to interfere. This time, denial had come hand in hand with the usual anger directed towards the Slytherin, and it wasn’t going to let itself be crushed by piddling reason.

What had previously been a somehow lost gaze directed at the Slytherin, turned into a full glare. Harry observed, feeling deep relief, how suspicion was erased from the silver eyes and the blond boy returned the deadly look in full force.

But being in the intense state of denial and ire Harry was experiencing had made the raven-haired boy lose any trace of rationality he might have left. He discovered that after the initial moment, when he had welcomed the Slytherin’s glare with heartfelt gratitude, he had started feeling outrageously offended by the fact that Malfoy dared to even glance at him, when the blonde had been responsible for all his misfortunes.

The Boy Who Was Severely Pissed Off rose to his feet abruptly, his hands clutching at the breakfast table until his knuckles went white. The sudden movement attracted the surprised glances of his fellow Gryffindors, but he didn’t acknowledge them. He was too absorbed by restraining himself from going over to the Slytherin table, and doing something painfully violent to Malfoy.

Oooh, kinky!, purred the little sly voice in his mind. But there are other much more interesting things that could be done to that sexy blond piece of fantasy...

That was more than Harry could stand at the moment, and in a faster-than-lightning move, he grabbed his schoolbag and stormed off the Great Hall, not caring at all that he had left a considerable number of very bewildered people behind.

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"I’m going after him"

That said, Hermione pushed away her breakfast and quickly started gathering her things. She had barely got a handle of her overweight schoolbag, when a hand at her elbow stopped her.

"Hermione, I wouldn’t go after Harry right now." Ron looked seriously at her. "I really don’t think he wants to talk to anyone, don’t you think so?"

"But..."

"I mean," the redhead continued, "he looks like he had an awful night, which we kind of expected anyway; and you know how he acts then. When he is ready, he’ll tell us."

Hermione stared at her friend in a mix of understanding and horrified realization. They had been so used to Harry’s nightmares that they already thought of them as ‘normal’ occurrences.

"Ron, he looked more upset than usual," and Hermione mentally winced at how casual they sounded talking about their friend’s problems. "I’d dare say that he seemed pretty freaked out. And I haven’t seen him anything like this since..."

Words died in the girl’s lips, but she silently finished the statement in her mind: since the beginning of 5th year, and his never-ending Cedric nightmares...

"More reason then to leave him alone, Herm," Ron said. "I already told you that we were expecting something like this, didn’t we? And that was why we decided not to mention Jenkins’ assignment when he arrived for breakfast."

"Ron’s right, Hermione." Seamus put down his buttered toast and joined the conversation. "I mean, if you had had a nightmare in which, more than probably, you had to face your worst enemy, or keep remembering those who died, you’d like to have some time alone..."

The Gryffindor girl looked at her two friends, evaluating their words, and she admitted they might have a point. But that didn’t help the fact that she was awfully concerned for Harry. She had been observing him since he had appeared in the Great Hall, and most of his reactions were way out of what they would name ‘Harry’s post nightmare behaviour.’ The way he had stormed out the Hall wasn’t how Harry would act. There was too much restrained violence in his actions, to let her think this was one of ‘those’ usual occurrences.

"I don’t care what you say," the girl’s voice was stern. "I have to be sure he is all right."

Ron shrugged. "Don’t say we didn’t warn you when he sends you back here, Herm."

Hermione glared at her redhead friend and in the corner of her eye saw how Seamus discreetly resumed his toast-munching, deciding it would be best for him not to interfere anymore. In her eyes, it was somewhat amazing the way boys happily sidestepped anything related to emotional turmoil and acted totally nonchalant about the whole thing.

Ah well, she added bitterly, it’s all part and parcel, I suppose.

The auburn-haired girl walked away from the Gryffindor table carrying her heavy schoolbag, but when she only was a couple of meters away, she turned around and fixed the redhead with a meaningful look.

"You know, Ron, it will never cease to amaze me the way you take everything for granted." Her voice was calculatedly casual. "Maybe one day life will give you a nasty surprise."

Hermione resumed her way with a little triumphant smile, after seeing the uneasy expression in the tall boy’s face. She knew he had understood that she was talking about more than just Harry there.

Let’s give him something to think about, she thought somehow smugly, and crossed the Great Hall’s threshold in search of Harry.

She didn’t really need to look for too long before she finally found him.

The dark-haired boy was sitting at one of the History of Magic classroom’s desks, legs drawn against his chest and his head buried in his arms, looking absolutely miserable.

It seemed that he had calmed down since he had left the breakfast table and she was grateful for it, but this air of endless hopelessness surrounding him worried the auburn haired girl even more.

"Harry," Hermione called out softly.

The boy did nothing to acknowledge her presence. He seemed decided to block out anything around him and obviously that included her. But Hermione hadn’t come this far to give up, so she walked until she was next to Harry’s desk.

She put a hand on his arm and said his name again.

"Harry..."

"Go ’way Herm," was the muffled response.

Hermione looked intently at her friend but did nothing to comply with his request.

"Harry, I...", she hesitated, not really knowing how to start the conversation. "I just wanted you to know that you can talk to me about anything that bothers you."

For the first time Harry raised his head and gave the girl a slightly exasperated look.

"There’s nothing to talk about, really."

That brought Hermione’s patience to an abrupt end.

"You could have fooled me," she started a little irritated. "You appear at breakfast looking as if you had gone to hell and just come back; keep on spacing out and reacting strangely, and then you storm off totally enraged for no apparent reason. Yes, I guess you’re just fine."

When she saw Harry's green eyes harden as he glared at her, she inmediatly regretted her outburst.

"I’m sorry, Harry. It’s just that I’m awfully worried about you and you won’t let me help..."

Harry sighed and his face softened.

"I know Herm, I know," he said tiredly, and ran a hand through his disheveled black hair. "It’s just that I don’t feel like talking to anyone."

"Is it that bad?"

Harry looked at her with a sombre expression for a long moment before answering.

"Worse."

"Was it...," she hesitated again before voicing her theory, "...You Know Who?"

Hermione’s eyes widened in surprise when she heard her friend’s muttered "I wish".

"What?"

"It wasn’t Voldemort," Harry clarified a bit dejectedly, and then, so softly that Hermione barely made it out, he added, "It was worse."

Unlike many other people in the school, the girl didn’t visibly flinch at hearing the forbidden name, but she realized she would never get used to the way Harry was able to, sometimes carelessly, throw that feared word around. Anyway, this posed yet another question.

What could have Harry dreamt that made him wish to have faced the Dark Lord instead?

She asked her friend as much.

"What could be worse than You Know Who?"

Harry gave her a despairing look before burying again his head in his arms, refusing to answer. The girl couldn’t stop the agitation laced with worry and fear for her friend that clenched her heart. What could be that bad?

"Harry, please," Hermione insisted urgently, "whatever it is that has put you in this state, it won’t go away if you ignore it."

"I can damn well try," Harry said stubbornly.

"It will only get worse," reasoned the girl. "You need to talk to someone about it. Don’t keep it all to yourself if it bothers you that much."

When Harry didn’t respond to Hermione’s suggestion, she sighed in defeat. She knew all too well that when her friend got like this, it was really hard to make him talk. He had always been used to dealing with his problems alone and usually refused to ask for help from others. This time wasn’t different.

She stared helplessly at her friend, feeling utterly frustrated at not being able to do anything for him. Even if it was due to his pigheadedness. She sat down on the desk next to Harry’s and looked sightlessly into the dark board, doing the only thing Harry seemed to allow her to do: offer silent company.

"Malfoy"

The word was barely over a whisper, but startled Hermione enough to make her turn quickly to look at Harry with wide eyes.

"What?"

"It was Malfoy," the boy muttered from under the shelter of his arms.

Hermione looked incredulously at her friend. She was having problems trying to wrap her brain around the concept that having a nightmare about Draco Malfoy could render Harry into a state such as this.

"And you’re like this just because Malfoy appeared in your nightmare? It’s not as if you don’t deal with his evil ways every day, Harry."

Harry was silent for a short instant, and she got the feeling that he was considering something very crucial to explaining all this mess.

"It wasn’t —exactly a nightmare," Harry’s voice sounded small and laced with... embarrassment?. "At least not until I woke up."

Hermione stared at the raven-haired boy uncomprehendingly for a long moment, until the implications of what he had just told hit her like a Bludger.

If whatever Harry had dreamed hadn’t been a nightmare and it had put him like this... there was only one possible option.

"Oh."

Now she understood completely why her friend was reacting like that. Hell, if it had happened to her she wouldn’t have gotten down from the Gryffindor dormitories. Ever.

"I’m so screwed..."

In one of those moments that came once every thousand years, Hermione found herself in trouble to find the words to refute Harry’s despaired statement.

"Er..."

She cleared her throat. "It’s not that bad, Harry. Really. ... and being gay is something natural..."

Harry looked incredulously at her.

"I am not gay, Hermione," his voice was steely. "And I wouldn’t fret like this if I discovered I was, believe me.."

Hermione made a quick mental note about this and wondered how many polls on the sexual leanings of The Boy Who Lived would be cleared out by the confession. She was sure that if the news reached the student population they would generate a considerable amount of dreamy sighs. From both genders.

"Anyway," the boy continued, "you’re not anyone to speak, Herm." Harry raised his head again and offered a hard look at her, "You haven’t dreamed about him, have you?"

The girl shook violently her head, dissipating the horrible visuals Harry’s words had conjured.

"But it is only a dream..." she added after regaining some composure, sounding not entirely sure. So much for trying to reassure her friend...

"Only a dream, you say? If I remember it right, it was a dream induced by a potion that was going to show me my innermost desires, and I ended up dreaming of Draco Malfoy!"

Harry got up from the desk in a harsh motion, and stared with wild green eyes at Hermione.

"You can’t understand, Hermione," he nearly screamed. "You just can’t. In my dream, he was perfect. He was everything anyone could dream of —literally. Can you really tell me that you wouldn’t feel crushed if you discovered that the incarnation of your ideal person is the one you despise the most?"

She looked helplessly at her friend.

"I’m sure there is a logical explanation for this." There has to be one, she wished silently. "And this is an isolated occurrence, right? Because you haven’t dreamed of him before, right?"

Hermione decided to wisely ignore the dismayed way in which her last sentence had cracked. Harry dreaming repeatedly about The Gelled Embodiment of Everything Evil and Irritating, also known as Draco Malfoy, was something she wasn’t sure she could fathom.

"Of course not!," Harry scoffed, totally affronted.

Hermione didn’t hold back the sigh of relief.

"Good," she started, "so this has only happened once, and given the way dreams work, you shouldn’t take it literally."

Alright, it seemed that she had found something to work with and it didn’t sound half bad.

"The project’s main idea," Hermione continued, "was to see how we would interpret the truth shown in our dreams. Maybe you should try to focus on the general meaning of it all, and not get stuck in a particular case..."

Harry looked somehow disbelievingly at her.

"So you say," he replied, "that I have to pay no attention to the fact that Malfoy decided to drop in on my dr-nightmare, and instead look at it all from a neutral point of view. As if he was only the representation of something more abstract?"

Hermione nodded.

"Exactly," and she prayed Harry started to believe it.

"Hmm, it makes sense —I suppose." He didn’t sound entirely sure but seemed as if he had started to feel slightly comfortable with the idea.

"You should talk to Professor Jenkins anyway..."

"No!" Harry shook his dark head vehemently. "This doesn’t leave this room, Herm. You can’t tell anyone. Especially not Ron," he added with a ring of finality in his voice.

Hermione’s could clearly see the boy’s point. After fainting dead at the news, Ron might try to exorcise the devil out of Harry for having such a dream. The redhead’s hate for Malfoy was something that even first years had heard of –and that, even before entering Hogwarts.

"Don’t worry. I won’t tell."

Harry offered her a curt nod and went back to sit on the desk. They still had twenty minutes until the class started, and it was evident he didn’t want to go back to the Great Hall.

"How I wish this day would end..." Harry wistfully commented. "I’m not sure I’ll be able to refrain from throttling Malfoy if I ever cross paths with him. I so hope I can avoid the insufferable git..."

Hermione looked back at him when hearing this.

"Er... Harry," she hesitated, a little wary of what Harry’s reaction could be. "You do realize we have Care of Magical Creatures with Slytherin this afternoon, don’t you?"

The boy stared at her in downing horror.

"Fuck!" Harry buried his head in his arms once again, utterly defeated.

We are in for a very interesting day, Hermione mused silently while she got her things from the heavy schoolbag and placed them with great care and precision on her desk.

I hope we all come out of it alive.

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Infamous Last Words: Will the Gryffindors and Slytherins at Care of Magical Creatures survive the awaited Potter/Malfoy meeting? Will Harry finally strangle the Slytherin or will he prefer other ways of er.. body contact? And will the Malfoyness of the dreams continue? MoD3 will provide the answers… or not. *grins sadistically*
Extra thingie: not hidden at all in the chapter, there's a little tribute to Maya's amazing fanfic: Draco Malfoy the Amazing Bouncing... Rat? You so rock, Maya dearest! *smiles*