Je t'aime Tou Jour

I wake up from that dream again and I'm still in the empty Transfiguration classroom. My History of Magic textbook is still in my lap, and my hand is resting on the page. I have thirteen more pages to read, but somehow, I cannot concentrate. I hear the screaming and cheering from outside, and I quickly move to the window. The light is on over the Quidditch field, illuminating it, and I can see the stands full of people, watching and waiting.

The clock on the wall reads eleven. I would do anything to be down there now, watching the third and final task, but I can't. I have work detention, and also, I don't want to see Draco right now. I can't deal with him, with that image of him and the girl on the bed and the red curtains behind them and the lamp on the table and the wind in the trees in the background.

And then there's the dream.

It started last night. And it's always the same. I run through trees and hedges and more trees until I reach a clearing. My hand reaches out and grabs the cup in front of me, and then I'm swirling through the air, faster, faster, until I only see black, and then I land on the ground, hard. I get up and run through the trees and the grass until there's no more grass, just cold, hard dirt under my bare feet. There's a skeleton in the tree, hidden by a black cloak, and I fall to my knees, my eyes tightly shut. Slowly, those masks appear, the long white ones that only hide half the face, yet I can't see the person underneath. Except for Draco. I see his face, haunting me, I feel the wand pointed at my back, I hear that voice say Avada Kedavra and Draco's staring at me, doing nothing, and then I hear a flash of green and then, then I wake up.

I'm wandering over to the desk in front of the classroom without thinking, and I sit back in Professor McGonagall's chair and lean my head back, taking in the cheers behind me, soaking up the light from the torch on the wall. I sift through some papers in front of me, bored. I sift through a pile of Daily Prophet clippings about the Triwizard tournament, and pick up a Muggle newspaper clipping. I begin to read about some man named Riddle, a old doctor who lived in some old house in the middle of nowhere. He was found dead in his house over the summer, with his family too, and they have just arrested a suspect, the family's old gardener. It's not very interesting, and I'm about to put it down when I catch sight of the picture on the page. It's of a house, presumably the Riddle man's house, taken from the front driveway. There's a tree to the left and a cloaked skeleton is hanging off. I feel my stomach drop.

It's the house from the dream.

I read the article again. I'm trying to remember where I've heard that name, Riddle, but I don't know. In the back of mind I'm drawing a face, a memory, a shadow, an echo, but I don't know where from. I walk to the window again, watching the faces and hearing the screams of the people. The hedges snake around the Quidditch field, dark and mysterious. I watch for a while, thinking of my dream. I've probably seen the article in the newspaper before, and I'm just getting nightmares. The hedges are still snaking, and I watch them in the darkness. Somehow, all I can think about is Draco. His face, staring out at me from under the mask, his eyes boring holes into me, the red curtains and the girl's green shirt on the floor. Out of habit, I search for him in the crowd on the field, and I see him, his scarf blowing in the wind. For a second, he stares straight at me, and I think he sees me, but then I realize it's impossible. He gets up from his bench and quickly disappears under the bleachers. I see him a couple of yards down, walking against the wall of the maze, his face pressed to the hedge, almost like he's listening in. He turns a corner and disappears from view, but I watch the same spot on the hedge, wondering.

And as I look, I start to realize something. Quickly, I turn toward Mcgonagall's desk where I know the cutouts from the Daily Prophet are. I find one with a picture of the Triwizard Cup. I can't believe I've been so stupid, I can't believe I didn't see it before. I close my eyes and feel the swirling from the dream, I see myself falling forward and grabbing a cup. The Triwizard Cup.

The Cup is a portkey.

Draco's gone, and the Cup is a portkey.

It's just a dream, I tell myself, but I don't believe it. I remember what he said that night. It was just two weeks ago, but it felt like another lifetime. "I will do anything for that," he said slowly, drunk. "For what?" I whispered, and he looked at me. "That," he answered, shrugging it off, but as I left I heard him whisper so softly "Power."

I push open the door and run out to the field.