Somnio Salvus DRARRY

Chapter 2

Draco Malfoy stared out of the library window, scowling at the dreary clouds and drizzle. It was Sunday morning and he had been looking forward to some solitary flying practice. One look at the weather had been the end of that plan, as getting cold and wet was not his favourite thing to do on a weekend. So he opted for some quiet study. It was preferable to rainwater dripping down his neck, even if it was stupid boring pointless Herbology.

He sighed and flipped a page of 'Carnivorous Weeds', only half his mind on the gruesome description of a hapless herbologist's encounter with a Venomous Gulpwort. A moment later the door opened and a small group of Gryffindors entered the library. They headed for the large table by the window but stopped when they saw Malfoy seated there, twirling his quill with an air of menace that suggested he would stab it in the eye of the first person to say 'Do you mind if I sit here?'

They passed him and settled themselves at a table behind the Herbology shelves. He didn't bother them. Weasley-baiting was no fun if Potter wasn't there to fly into a rage in his defence, and the Boy Who Lived was conspicuously absent. Malfoy returned to his work. His concentration soon lapsed again, and he found himself idly eavesdropping on the Gryffindors' hushed conversation while he doodled a caricature of Weasley being eaten by a Sabre-Toothed Tiger Lily.

'....ate hardly anything at breakfast. Maybe Madam Pomfrey could do something?'

'We persuaded him to go back to bed. He just needs to catch up on some sleep.'

'It's getting so he's too scared to go to sleep, I can't imagine a nightmare so terrible that...'

Draco's head snapped up. All the usual suspects were there; Weasley, Granger, Finnigan, Longbottom and Thomas all present and correct. So they must be talking about Potter, he thought. What was this about a nightmare? He leaned back and tilted his chair so he could look around the shelves. Granger was leaning across the table listening intently to Finnigan's description of events the previous night, and several other nights in recent weeks. So Potter is having recurrent nightmares! Draco smirked. This could be useful information in his next verbal battle with Potter...

'Poor little Potter, did you have a nasty dream? Didn't Mummy kiss it better and make the scary monsters go away? Oh, that's right, you haven't got a mummy. Never mind, maybe Weasley will let you sleep in his bed next time...'

Draco gathered up his books and walked towards the door, sneering to himself.

As he made his way to the Slytherin common room, his mind wandered to the nightmares he had suffered with as a child. He could just about recall the images. A dim, smoky cave, with several tunnels leading off it. He knew that one of them led to freedom, but which one? He would tentatively set out along one, but it always turned out to be the wrong one, and he would come face to face with a snarling dragon. The beast would sniff and exhale a puff of smoke before opening its mouth wide. Draco remembered the rows of jagged, blood stained teeth and the reek of petrol, then the bright flash as a jet of flame shot towards him...then he would always wake, screaming for his mother.

Draco's pace slowed as he reminisced. The frequency and severity of the dreams had greatly concerned his mother. She had taken him to a Healer who specialised in sleep disorders, a Madam Schlafen. He remembered having a wand-light shone in his eyes, and being made to stay overnight in Madam Schlafen's clinic. He slept inside a magically created bubble while his mother and the Healer monitored his sleep on a little flickering box. He woke to find his mother and the Healer speaking in hushed tones. He thought he remembered the words, '...not strictly ethical, you understand. Restricted since Grindelwald's days and rightly so. Could lose my license...' in Madam Schlafen's squeaky voice.

His mother had responded with a promise of absolute discretion, and plucked a piece of paper from the Healer's hand. Draco had thought nothing of it - that kind of conversation often cropped up between his parents and their acquaintances.