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The Wand Game	By : ReverieWilde Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 21854 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 5
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or the characters in it. I make no money on the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 13
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- 15
〪o 〫O〬 o〭

November 17 1998

Draco was walking into his dormitory, a sly grin on his face.

“What’s got you grinning like that?” Blaise asked.

“Potter,” Draco responded in a matter-of-fact manner.

“Oh? Things going well?”

“Perfectly,” Draco said. “In fact, I think he’s starting to fall for me.”

Draco collapsed onto his bed and touched his fingers to his lips.

“Watch it there, Dra,” Blaise warned. “It looks like he’s not the only one in danger of falling.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Draco snapped at his best friend. “I would never fall for the Chosen One.”

“Never say never, mate.”

“I’m just putting on a good show.”

Blaise chuckled. “But it’ll be fun while it lasts.”

Harry bolted upright in bed, breathing heavily and sweating.

A groggy voice called from across the room. “Harry? You all right there?”

Wiping his brow, Harry took a moment to gather himself. “Yeah, yeah. I just had a bad dream is all.”

“You sure?” Ron was already beginning to fall back asleep.

“Yeah. Go back to sleep,” Harry said.

Harry got up and went to the window sill. The same one at which he’d spent so much time in his years at Hogwarts. It was a good thinking place. He was thinking about the dream. The dream he had three times prior. Or variations of it. It was slightly different each time.

It was always Draco and Blaise. They were always talking about Harry as if he were a mark they were scamming. Draco’s behavior didn’t give Harry any real reason to be suspicious, but the dreams wouldn’t let up. And Harry had learned that his dreams usually meant something.

For weeks now, Harry had been having dreams in which Draco told Blaise he was setting Harry up for a fall. Harry hadn’t said anything to anyone, especially not Draco. He couldn’t help wonder if the dreams were a reflection on himself or his secret suitor.

Of course, the last time he had disturbingly vivid dreams, his mind was connected to Voldemort’s. And they hadn’t been dreams so much as actual events. This time, though, he was relatively certain no one was inside his mind with him. Snape had made sure Harry learned the basics of Occlumency. He wasn’t proficient by any stretch of the imagination, but he was certainly good enough to be able to detect another student’s attempts at Legilimency.

Harry felt shame at even suggesting to himself that Draco would deceive him in such a way. His lover, almost lover, had been nothing but patient. He’d let Harry take the relationship at his own pace. And on more than one occasion, he’d left Draco frustrated. He knew his partner was tired of sneaking around, yet he didn’t pressure Harry. But the dreams had to mean something.

Padding back to his bed, Harry lay down and tried to will himself to dream about something more pleasant. Fortunately, he didn’t dream about Draco duping him. Unfortunately, it was because he didn’t sleep at all the rest of the night.

〪o 〫O〬 o〭

November 18 1998

“Harry, are you sick?” Ginny asked as she sat next to him at breakfast. “Your eyes look awful.”

“Gee, thanks, Gin. Why don’t you tell me I’m fat and stupid while you’re at it,” Harry snarled. “You’re looking sort of pasty yourself.”

Ginny lowered her head. “I was only concerned.”

“I’m sorry, Gin. I didn’t sleep well last night.” Harry propped his head on hand and closed his eyes.

“Yeah, you woke me up,” Ron remembered. “You said you had a bad dream. You’re not dreaming about . . . you know who again, are you?”

“No, it wasn’t about Voldemort.” Harry waved off the concerned looks. “It’s nothing. But I think I’ll skip Charms this morning and go back to bed. Would you mind telling Flitwick I’m sick?”

“Sure,” Ron shrugged.

Harry got up and made his way out of the Great Hall and back up toward Gryffindor. Before getting too far, though, he heard footsteps behind him.

“Harry,” Draco whispered as loudly as a whisper could be.

“What are you doing?” Harry asked as he turned around.

“Crikey, what happened to you?”

“Nothing, I just didn’t sleep well last night,” Harry snapped.

“Again? Harry, you haven’t been sleeping well for a while now.”

“I’m fine. You should go before someone sees you talking to me.”

Draco crossed his arms over his chest. “So, now I’m not allowed to even talk to you in public? Isn’t that sort of going backwards? I thought we were working toward being out in the open.”

Harry sighed. “Draco, I don’t have the energy for this right now. We’ll talk on Friday in the Potions room.” He turned and kept walking to his dormitory without looking back. All Harry could think about was sleep.

〪o 〫O〬 o〭

November 20 1998

No dreams haunted Harry’s sleep for a couple of nights and by Friday, he was feeling rested and ready to talk with Draco. Unfortunately, Draco was still giving him somewhat of the silent treatment, talking only about class or superficial subjects.

Harry decided he needed to tell him about the dreams. Either Draco would be upset and try to convince Harry that the dreams don’t mean anything, or Harry would see deceit in his eyes. He’d be looking for both. And hoping for the best.

Arriving a bit earlier than usual for their Friday night rendezvous, Harry conjured the usual items --the soft mattress, pillows and candles. Harry especially liked the way Draco looked by candle light. Not to mention, he figured it hid many of his own flaws.

He didn’t get worried when Draco was five or ten minutes late. Sometimes a Housemate would detain one of them. But when ten minutes turned to twenty, then twenty turned to forty-five, Harry knew something was wrong. Since the first wand party, they hadn’t missed a Friday night together.

Just in case, he decided to give it a full hour. When he felt the charms being disturbed, Harry breathed a sigh of relief.

“Harry?”

Harry felt the blood drain from his face. “Hermione, what on Earth are you doing here?”

“I came to tell you that Draco isn’t coming.”

“What? Why? And how the hell did you know where to look for me? And how the bloody hell did you get in?”

“I sensed a silencing charm, but I think you forgot to lock the door,” she answered sheepishly.

Hermione glanced around at the romantic scene. She didn’t know why Draco decided not to show up, but she thought he was a fool if this was the way Harry always treated him.

“One of the Slytherin underclassmen brought a note by,” she told him.

“Oh, I knew there had to be a reason. Did he say what happened?” Harry asked eagerly.

“Actually, the note was from Pansy. And she wasn’t specific. The note only said that she couldn’t get Draco to leave.”

Frowning, Harry confessed to Hermione. “I wasn’t very nice to him the other day. You know, the day I skipped class. I guess he’s still upset.”

“I’m sorry,” Hermione offered. “Why don’t you clean all this up and come back with me?”

Harry patted the pad next to him for Hermione to join him instead.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“Me,” he answered. “Why can’t I make any relationships work? I’m bollocks at them.”

“You haven’t ruined your relationship with me. Or Ron. Or many other people,” she said optimistically.

“You know what I mean.” He paused, then decided to tell her about his dreams. “I haven’t been sleeping well because I’ve been having dreams. Nightmares, really. And it wasn’t just the other night. It’s been going on for a couple of weeks”

“About what?” She lowered her voice. “Voldemort?”

“No, no. Worse. I keep having a dream where Draco is talking to Blaise about me. He tells him he’s trying to get me to fall in love with him so he can humiliate me. So he can get me back for all the things I’ve done to him over the years.”

Hermione waited for more. When Harry was not forthcoming, she spoke. “And? Are you worried it’s true?”

“Mione, I’ve had dreams that came true before. What if this is the same?”

“Those so-called dreams you had before weren’t dreams at all, Harry. You saw what Voldemort saw, or planned. That wasn’t the same thing.”

“How do you know?”

“Has Draco given you any reason to think he’s insincere?”

“No, but--”

“Do you have any evidence at all to support the dreams?”

“Well, no. But I’ve learned to listen to them. Arthur Weasley was saved because of my dreams.”

“Again, that wasn’t really a dream. You don’t think you’re connected to Draco’s mind, do you? I mean, he’s powerful, but not that powerful.”

Harry bit his lip. “You’re right. I just can’t shake the feeling. What if I don’t deserve . . .”

Hermione put her arm around Harry’s shoulder. “It sounds like you’re feeling insecure. I think your dreams are simply a manifestation of your fears. Don’t give in to them. What does your heart tell you?”

“You told me to protect my heart.”

“Now I’m thinking that was bad advice,” Hermione admitted. “Forget what your head is telling you. What is your heart saying?”

Harry sat quietly for a few moments, pondering Hermione’s question.

“This is the happiest I’ve been in a very long time,” he finally said. “I think, if I let myself, I could fall in love with him.”

“Then let yourself,” Hermione smiled. “Love is never wasted. And it might be returned. But even if this doesn’t work out. Even if he doesn’t love you back.” She muttered, “He’d be a fool,”under her breath. “You’ve learned something about yourself.”

“What’s that?”

“You can be happy. And, Harry, you do deserve love.”

〪o 〫O〬 o〭

Upon returning to his dormitory, Harry reached under his bed and took out the box with the Verity Journal in it. He’d been afraid to write in it, though Draco gave it to him three weeks prior. Maybe it would help him sort out his feelings. Maybe it wouldn’t do any good at all. Harry figured he had nothing to lose. He wouldn’t be able to talk to Draco until tomorrow anyway. He drew a deep sigh and poised the quill over the first page.

November 20 1998

I have been having bad dreams about Draco for the past couple weeks.

So far, the journal recorded what Harry wrote as is.

I was not very kind to him the other day and tonight he didn’t show for our usual meeting.

The word meeting disappeared. Frowning, Harry thought to himself, all right, the journal doesn’t like the word meeting. What am I supposed to write?

He wrote in the word date. It stayed. Harry had to admit, that’s what they were--dates. At least now, he knew how the journal worked. He continued.

I’m not certain what the dreams mean

Not certain what disappeared.

Harry wrote in afraid of

The journal added the word that to the end of Harry’s sentence. Did the journal want him to finish it? It wasn’t precisely grammatically correct, but Harry got the idea.

I’m afraid of the dreams mean that Draco will never love me

This time the words of, Draco and never disappeared. Harry was becoming frustrated. It was difficult enough for Harry to write down his feelings. To have everything he wrote scrutinized was aggravating. He looked at the words on the page. What am I supposed to write? he thought to himself.

“I know what you want me to write,” he said to the journal. “I’m not going to. I’m not that pathetic!” He slammed the book shut and tossed at the foot of his bed. He lay down at the other end. Draco warned him about the journal. It wasn’t taking half-truths. It was making Harry look into himself, deeper than he wanted to. He thought about his life. The first half, living with people who despised him, the second half with people who expected him to save them. He wondered if any of them really cared about him. He thought about his parents. They gave their lives for him. He was angry about that. At Voldemort, yes, for killing them. But also at them, for not running away and hiding. If they had done that, they could have raised Harry themselves. Sometimes he couldn’t understand why doing the noble thing was better than the cowardly thing. Did they not love him enough to bear the disgrace of not fighting? Wasn’t raising their son more important than honor?

Tears stung Harry’s eyes. How could he possibly think those things of his parents? He was ashamed of himself. But sometimes we feel what we feel.

He sat up and reached for the journal. Picking up the quill, he wrote in the missing word.

nobody

Harry read the words again.

I’m afraid the dreams mean that nobody will love me

〪o 〫O〬 o〭
- 13
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The Wand Game