Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Awakening To the Dream	By : ChimaeraChan Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 45316 -:- Recommendations : 2 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-CH1
- 2-CH2
- 3-CH3
- 4-CH4
- 5-CH5
- 6-CH6
- 7-CH7
- 8-Ch8
- 9-Ch9
- 10-Ch10
- 11-CH11
- 12-CH12
- 13-CH13
- 14-CH14
- 15-CH15
- 16-CH16
- 17-CH17
- 18-CH18
- 19-Ch19
- 20-CH20
- 21-CH21
- 22-Ch22
- 23-CH23
- 24-CH24
- 25-CH25
- 26-CH26
- 27-CH27
- 28-CH28
- 29-CH29
- 30-CH30
- 31-CH31
- 32-CH32
- 33-CH33
- 34-CH34
- 35-CH35
- 36-CH36
- 37-CH37
- 38-CH38
- 39-CH39
- 40-CH40
- 41-Ch41
- 42-Ch42
- 43-Ch43
- 44-Ch44
- 45-Ch45
- 46-Ch46
- 47-Ch47
- 48-Ch48
- 49-Ch49
- 50-Ch50 *End Part 1*
- 51-Ch51
- 52-Ch52
- 53-Ch53
- 54-Ch54
- 55-Ch55
- 56-CH56
- 57-CH57
- 58-CH58
- 59-CH59
- 60-CH60
- 61-CH61
- 62-CH62
- 63-CH63
- 64-CH64
- 65-CH65
- 66-CH66
- 67-CH67 *New 6/6/2015*
- 68-CH68
- 69-CH69
- 63
- 64
- 65
CH64
Surprising, Zabini was far from disagreeable when Dean trudged into the hospital room with his books in tow, a small Band-Aid on his forearm the only sign of the chaos that was his morning. Zabini was, well, disappointed seemed the best description, but why, Dean couldn’t say. As if drawn, he found his eyes gazing down the long room to the end, where shadows shielded another’s presence.
“You’re not Shiny.”
Dean stopped in the middle of the room and looked down at himself. “No… I’m not even sweating.”
Blaise gave a small sigh, and then straightened and held his hand out welcomingly. “I don’t think we’ve ever been formally introduced. I’m Blaise Zabini, and this is my uncle, Clive Forrestal. Please, excuse his silence; he’s in a mood today.”
Dean glanced over to the bed where for the first time he noticed someone cocooned in the blankets. “Hello, Mr. Forrestal, Zabini. I’m Dean Thomas.” He shook the boy’s hand, pausing and taking in the changes that had overcome the Slytherin that year. There was an obvious attraction thing going on similar to what Malfoy had been giving off. It was nothing Dean couldn’t ignore. Setting the books down on the desk, Dean took the free seat and pulled out Neville’s lesson plan. “I’m taking Advanced Transfigurations, so we’ve pretty much covered what the other class is going over. The same with Arithmancy, Astronomy, Charms, and History of Magic.”
“You and Granger must be competing for brain of the year.” Blaise flipped open his sixth year History of Magic book, and pulled out his quills: one for notes, the other for formal essays. “Are you taking Habits of MC? Oh, and Divinations? Neville is absolutely rotten in the seer department.”
“Yeah, well that’s to be expected the way he loses everything.” Dean glanced at the page Blaise had opened to. “Seamus could never shut up about Habits of MC, but I’ve never taken the class myself. And you’d probably have to tutor me on Divinations before I could get a passing grade in that class. I dropped it after getting my OWLS.”
“Don’t worry about it. It’s the sort of class you either have talent for, or you don’t. I think the majority of the class is bullshitting anyways.”
“So… you’re psychic?” Dean asked, honestly curious.
“It runs in the family. I’m pretty good at seeing past events, unlocking old energies waiting to be released, that sort of thing. I’m the person always finding the one lost shoe,” Blaise said with a wry smile. “I’m also an advanced empath, although I’d be happy if I didn’t have to deal with that seeing as it’s likely what’s keeping me stuck in this room…” He stopped his rambling to glance sideways at the quiet boy. “Speaking of which… you totally give off a feeling of calm. That’s pretty odd for someone our age.”
Dean shrugged, not sure what he was supposed to say to that. “I’m used to dealing with things. Heh, looks like you’re still stuck in the middle of the fifth Trolls’ Revolt. I was so glad when we got to the Elf Wars; at least that was interesting.”
Blaise stilled. He slowly placed his pen safely on the table and looked over to where Dean was obliviously flipping through his textbook. “You do realize you are in the presence of two noble blooded Incubi, right?”
“…Uh huh.” Dean found his page and glanced up to see Blaise staring at him intensely. “What?”
“Just how far are you into the Elf Wars? I’m an Incubus. Who the hell do you think the Elves were fighting?”
“What, you lot still care about that after all these years? I thought the two of you lived in peace now since the forming of the High Tieren, and their incorporation into the Heralds of the Fae.”
“Outsiders aren’t privy to the complexities of our relationship with the Elves. But that’s beside the point. Just… just try to refrain from describing the slaughter of thousands as interesting, okay? It was a very fucked up war, the worst of its kind in all of our history. I’m ashamed my people were even a part of it.”
“Okay, I can do that,” Dean said agreeably. “It was nearsighted of me to assume how the descendants of the wars would feel. I’m sorry for misspeaking.”
Blaise stared. There was no way he was talking to a Gryffindor. Gryffindors didn’t apologize, never mind admit that they could possibly be wrong. Well, Neville did… but that was different.
“He reminds me of Lady Iedette’s father. You’ve a very wise soul, Mr. Thomas.” Clive, still bundled in blankets, sat up in the bed. A silky mess of hair and sheets, it took a moment for Dean to find and meet his gaze.
“Whoa.”
“Yeah, Clive’s a hottie.” Blaise had taken his semi-normal human form ever since he’d realized their caretaker was actually attracted to them. Clive thought it was funny; Blaise just couldn’t deal with something that weird. “So Thomas, what’s your bloodline?”
Dean started at the innocent sounding question. He wanted to tell the boy to mind his own business. “I don’t really know.”
“You’re only half muggle. That means the other half has some sort of traceable line,” Blaise pressed, not deterred by Dean’s thin frown. “It seems like something you should know.”
“Yeah, well I don’t.”
“Touchy…” Blaise’s smile turned condescending.
His glare scathing, it took Dean a moment to realize that the boy was only getting him back for his comment about the Elf Wars. It was completely juvenile, and petty. Blaise wanted to know his background so that he could tear his bloodline to shreds with his superior lineage. Well the boy would soon find there was nothing worth looking for. “My birth father sort of went off and left right after I was born, so it leaves me with little to go on. Mom never knew much about him; obviously, given she didn’t even know he was a wizard. If he does have a family out there they haven’t come looking for me.”
Blaise’s smirk faded. “That must have been difficult for you.”
Dean looked away and shrugged. “I didn’t learn about it until recent. In my mind the father I have is the only one. My family loves me, and I love them, and that’s all that matters.”
Blaise nodded. “That’s a good attitude to have. No point mourning what never was.”
“Mm…” Dean changed the subject after a pause. “Have you started on your end of chapter essay?”
“Pretty much.”
“Well… did you want me to look it over for you?”
Blaise shook his head. “That’s all right. I think I got the gist of it.”
Dean didn’t say anything, just held his hand open until Blaise handed his paper over.
“You’re a funny guy, Thomas.” Blaise cheerfully began tapping his quill on the table. “You know, I can ask around for you, if you like. There isn’t any wizard family line that the High Tieren doesn’t know about. You should probably find out, if only for your own good. I had the best of precautions done by my family for my exritus, and I’m still stuck in the hospital ward.”
“Oh… I didn’t think about that.” Dean probably should have, given all the boy’s in his dorm had been turned inside out by the whole thing. He gave Blaise a thoughtful look, wondering what else he knew about. “Hey, you’re pretty much the only Slytherin to change, aren’t you? Well, you, and Malfoy.”
“The last I heard. I’m sort of out of the loop while in here.” Blaise indicated the spacious prison with a sigh.
“Well, it’s just none of the Ravenclaws or Hufflepuffs have changed, just you two from the Slytherins, and everyone besides me that shares my dorm. Isn’t that a bit odd?”
“Not really. Potter is quite a force, after all. It only makes sense he’d affect his dorm mates… But I imagine you have no idea what I’m talking about,” Blaise added at Dean’s confused look. Now he really wanted to know the boy’s bloodline. There was little doubt that Thomas would have a powerful exritus since he’d been bunking with Potter all these years… Just like his father…
“What?”
Blinking, Blaise looked away from where he had been staring at Dean unconsciously. “Your father. I can see him.”
“Oh.” Dean studied his hands. “Sorry—I mean, it’s got to be annoying for you to pick up stuff like that.”
Blaise ignored Dean’s apologetic nature as more images flashed through his mind. “He was a leader… from the far South… Oh—owww… that’s a nasty way to die.” Eyes gaining focus, Blaise shook his head a few times, wishing the vision away. No doubt that was going to give him nightmares.
Before it faded, he reached for his pen and scribbled on the nearest piece of paper. “It’s a noble line… I can’t pick up the Clan name, but there will definitely be records. His name… was… Xiuhtolas… Woo, try saying that three times fast. It’s likely a serpent Clan, if his name is Clan oriented. If not, then I have no clue. It seems like he was of a Tribe. The High Tieren will be able to figure it out.”
“What does… that is… what does he uh, look like?” Dean asked tentatively, not sure if he really wanted to know anything about the man that had sired him. It had been a shock when his mother had told him the truth, but he had never really intended to seek the man out.
“Well, it’s hard to say. I don’t really see faces, so much as sense people, moods, that sort of thing. He was a pensive, strong-minded person. Bit of a badass too… he seemed to have a very clear focus, as if he knew what he wanted no matter the situation. His death, well… it could have been less, err, gory. Voldemort made sure he didn’t survive…” Blaise shook his head again, pickings up feeling from beings he really didn’t want to feel. “I don’t think they knew he had a son.”
“So he’s really dead…?”
Blaise’s eyes widened. “Shit, I shouldn’t have blurted that all out like that! It’s just, once it gets going I really don’t have much control over it. I once divulged to the whole dorm that Pansy had gotten her first training bra, just because someone had made a crude joke about underwear. It’s really not intentional.”
“…Relax, it’s okay. I’ve dealt enough with Trelawney’s insanity to expect the worst when it came to the real seers. Now, really, I think it’s time to get to work,” Dean said briskly, taking the information that Blaise had just hit him with and filing it away for a time when he wasn’t around people.
“Yeah, okay. I just didn’t want you to think I was intentionally trying to hurt you with it, or something. It just takes control of me, and I’m sort of a heavy talker as it is.”
“It’s just a matter of keeping one’s mouth shut.” Clive spoke up with a smile, a soft buzz going through the room, and straight to Blaise’s toes.
“You’re one to talk… or not talk.” Blaise stretched out on the table, resting his head on his arms while he watched Clive stand and untangle himself from his blankets. The young man was sleek steel, his bare powdery flesh doing nothing to disguise the unrelenting muscle that his years of studying out in the wilds had given him. He had a scar gained when he was barely a child that his soul form hadn’t fully healed. The long mark that ran across his back from right shoulder to the opposite side of his waist had turned silvery with his transformation, almost decorative. Seeing it brought instincts to the surface that Blaise had difficulty fighting, and they only increased when Clive turned, his chilly eyes burning with similar thoughts.
“…Put some clothes on,” Blaise ordered, his voice shaken. “Poor Shiny would have had a heart attack if he saw you like that.”
Clive raised an eyebrow; that had been the intent, after all. “If he faints dead away it would make it hard for him to run off.”
“Devious bugger.” Blaise had only encouragements for such a plan. “Eyes forward, Thomas. Clive seems to have lost his pants, and it wouldn’t do to embarrass him further.”
“Oh, he certainly sounds mortified,” Dean said dryly, not buying it for a second. “Stop drooling over your boyfriend and start reading the chapter. I have my own homework to focus on, so I’d like to get your stuff out of the way as soon as possible.”
“Boyfriend?” Blaise snapped his gaze away to stare at Dean. “He’s not my boyfriend. He’s my… well…” he stopped, confusion crossing his features. “Clive, what the hell are you?”
“Yours,” Clive said simply, bending over to snag his boxers from their fallen place on the ground.
“Mine.” Blaise repeated it a few times quietly. “He’s not my boyfriend. That’s like suggesting we could just break up after a few months. He’s mine. Forever.”
Dean rolled his eyes, wondering when Blaise would figure out that he really didn’t care as long as he could do his homework without interruption. “Forgive me. I misunderstood. Read the chapter.”
Blaise gave him a hard look that went completely unnoticed since Dean was buried in his own work. “Fine.”
They continued in silence for a few minutes but soon it became very clear to Dean that Blaise was nearly as bad as Seamus when it came to focusing. First his eyes began to stray to the windows, and then to the room, and then, naturally, over to Clive who was watching from a chair now that he had finally dressed. Blaise started to tap his quill. This continued for a good five minutes until, and Dean was expecting it at this point, the boy began to hum.
“I know you’re at the top of your classes, I just don’t know how when you can’t even finish reading a page,” Dean commented mildly. It was easy enough for him to block out the extra noise; he’d had plenty of practice after all. “No wonder Neville is always frayed by the time he gets back from tutoring you.”
Blaise grinned. “Yeah, that’s why. He just can’t stand my ADD.”
Dean gave him a look that Blaise was sure sent lesser men hiding. “If you must know, I’ve already read the text. One of the preparations for my exritus was to study all my classes over the summer, and then once school started I could focus on the problems that would likely arise with my new powers. It’s all just review for the most part, except the practicals. Sadly, Neville refuses to let me near pointy objects and dangerous chemicals. Seems he thinks I’m unstable or something.”
“…Then why do you even need a tutor?”
“I don’t. I can’t help that the Headmaster has insisted. I think he just wants me to get some company, and really, I’m not complaining. I turn my assignments in on time, and I get to pester a new face on the weekends.”
Dean was not in a hurry to be pestered. He pulled out Neville’s lesson plan and looked it over again. Just as Blaise had said, there weren’t any lessons with wand work or potions, just essays and written assignments. Well, that just wouldn’t do. If he had to be forced to spend his day there, the Slytherin was going to at least learn something. “Do you have your wand?”
Pulling himself from the seat he had taken on the windowsill, Blaise gave Dean a startled look before leaping and sliding over to the cubby closet where Madame Pomfrey kept his belongings. His wand was in a long, solid case made for storing the precious instrument. Blaise skipped over and placed it on the table triumphantly. “I would kill to do some magic.”
Dean stared at the box. There was a lock with Madame Pomfrey’s personal seal on it. “Sucks to be you. Did you blow something important up?”
“No. Magic messes up my, uhh… stability, I guess you could say. ‘Course, I keep trying to explain to her that I can’t get all the negative magic out without my wand. But she’s afraid it will only double back and, well, kill me or some rot like that… I really need to get this out of me,” Blaise said, his voice tinged in desperation.
Dean picked the box up, judging the lock. It wasn’t magical, just a simple, muggle lock with anti magic charms. The irony of course was that a wizard would actually find it difficult to break, while most any muggle would have had it opened in a minute. Well, at least the few mischievous ones that had a delinquent for a best friend.
“What happens if it backfires? I don’t want to be responsible for getting you killed.”
“If we channel it out into the hallway, the wards of the room will keep it from bouncing back,” Clive answered, watching intently to see what Dean would do.
“Yeah… but what will happen? What about the people out there?” Dean waved to the hall vaguely. “It’s a hospital ward; you can’t let raw magic out to wreck havoc on sick students.”
“Ummm… the window?” Blaise suggested, leaning over to push the pane open and let the chill November air in.
After a long moment of weighing the odds, and a short staring match with Clive, Dean nodded. “Alright, but I’m setting up a spirit catcher, just incase.” That way the released magic would have no choice but to be absorbed by the catcher, and not the Incubi. “I’ll need to get some things first. It shouldn’t take more than an hour to get set up.”
Blaise grabbed his arm before Dean could leave. “Why are you doing this? It’s not like we’re, uh…”
“Friends?” Dean snorted, pulling himself free. “I don’t need to have a reason to help a person out. That’s a Slytherin trait.” He stared at the boy who was almost eye level to his own impressive height. It was rare for him to meet someone on the same level, and he found Blaise’s eyes startling up close. “Outside of your motives, you’re helping me find out my bloodline. I don’t like leaving debts unpaid.”
Blaise nodded, able to understand that. “Okay. Just don’t tell Neville, if you can help it.” The boy had a knack for stopping people from taking risks, and even if Dean didn’t know it, both Blaise and Clive were well aware of just how dangerous this idea was.
Dean gone, Blaise turned to the window before Clive could pin him with his gaze. It was a short reprieve. Clive got up and waited quietly until Blaise turned and faced him.
“Are you strong enough?”
Blaise shrugged uncomfortably. “We won’t get another chance. He’s a calm, steady presence, and gifted at spell work.”
Clive opened his arms and Blaise fell into them, his form trembling slightly. “You shouldn’t have read him in your condition.”
“It got him to help us.”
“You’re too weak.” Clive tossed his hair back so Blaise wouldn’t get tangled in the locks. “Or do you want to lose all sense of reality?” he asked, even though he knew a part of Blaise would like that very much. “Go lay down and gather your magic while I prepare the room.”
“Are you…?”
“Do you expect me to let you break apart? Go lay down. I am still capable of this level of meditation and control.” Blaise nodded at Clive’s order, and slipped away to curl up in the blankets. Clive sat in the chair opposite him, and Blaise didn’t look away when the man closed his eyes and began to slow his pulse. Clive opened his mouth, sounding a soft note that echoed through the room. A chill began to nip in the air, curling up from the stone floor and settling in an unseen haze above as it grew. Blaise sighed and let his eyes shut, Clive’s soothing magic quickly pulling him down.
*******
Dean was not a stupid person. Yes, he chose the most reckless boy in the school to be his best friend, and constantly found himself shirking responsibilities for the joy of sitting outside and drawing the landscape. He got into his share of trouble, he risked his neck a few too many times to be considered rational; he was a teenage boy, after all. That said, he was not so foolish to try and attempt what he was about to attempt without some information. Information he had a feeling only one particular person would be willing to share with him.
“Get out of my sunshine. …And before you make a crack about how no one owns the sunshine, and therefore you can stand wherever you like, realize that I’m grouchy, and have very pointy teeth.”
“Nice to see you too, Malfoy,” Dean answered dryly while stepping out of the warm light coming in through the windows. “Do you always nap at Harry’s bedside?”
“Must I mention my pointy teeth again?” Draco sighed and opened one of his eyes. “Pomfrey’s busy, and more importantly, not here.”
“Well, the thing is, I’m actually here to see you. I know, try not to die from the shock of it all.”
“I’ll try…” Draco stretched and sat up, carefully rolling his injured shoulders to get the kinks out. “So… what can I do for you, Thomas? Seeing as you did at least attempt to save me this morning, I’m feeling somewhat generous. Although, to be clear, I’m not available.”
Dean shook his head, wondering how anyone could be that vain. “Your friend Zabini is having magic problems, and I’m in a position where I can help him. But he wasn’t clear with me, and I’m afraid that allowing him to release the negative magic in his body could send him into some form of shock, or what not. I’m not that inclined as a healer, all I can see is the theory.”
Intrigued, Draco fought through his hazy state of mind to think the situation through properly. “…How did Clive seem through all this?”
“Ah, Clive gave me the impression that if I refused he’d take that long hair of his and strangle me. I don’t know if that’s because he likes the idea, or if he’s just siding with Zabini, though.”
“Clive would never allow Blaise to be injured. He must think the risk is worth it. Pomfrey would never take the chance… but it’s always easier to risk your life than risk someone else’s,” Draco mussed. “What did Neville say?”
Dean’s eyebrows scrunched together. “What would Neville have to say?”
“Bloody hell…” Draco growled tiredly in exasperation. “Look me in the eye and absorb what I am saying, Thomas. You cannot, under any circumstances, allow any spell concerning Blaise, or Clive, or both, to occur without Neville Longbottom present. Do not ask me why. Do not ask me how to convince him. Just know that that is the only way it can be. Understand?”
“…No. But I imagine you know what you’re talking about,” Dean said with a shrug. “How’s a spirit catcher sound to you?”
“It sounds like a good idea.”
“Cool.” Dean nodded to Draco and took a few steps back. “Harry wake up?”
Draco shook his head, settling back down on Harry’s bed. “I don’t think he’ll wake up for a bit. But… well, at least now we know he can wake up.”
“Yeah…” Dean studied Harry’s sleeping face for a moment, and then turned away. “Thanks for the help, Malfoy. I’ll let you know how it turns out.”
Draco closed his eyes, listening to the boy leave. He didn’t quite know what to think about Dean Thomas. Helping people he didn’t know… helping people his friends hated, going out of his way for said people… Bit of a weirdo, really.
- 63
- 64
- 65
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

Awakening To the Dream