(Disclaimer disclaimer, yadda yadda, if you recognize it from somewhere else it's not mine. And I recommend reading "Draco's Nightmare" before you read this, if you haven't already – it's a 3000-word one-shot, so it shouldn't take you too long. Have fun!)
The Phantom Nightmare
A knock sounded on the door of Severus Snape's office.
"Enter."
"You wanted to see me, sir."
"Yes, Mr. Malfoy. Sit down."
Draco Malfoy sat in one of the chairs in front of Snape's desk and looked a trifle nervously at his Head of House. "Have I done something, sir?"
"No, Mr. Malfoy, it is what you appear not to have done that has caused me to summon you here."
"Sir?"
"Mr. Malfoy, I shall be blunt. You look as if you haven't slept for a week."
The boy winced. "I'm fine, sir."
"You are not. I have here – " Snape pointed to a stack of parchment. "Five separate complaints from your teachers about you sleeping in class, and one note from the captain of the Quidditch team about you falling asleep on your broom at practice. Now, if this is some kind of health problem, a result of that concussion you sustained last month…"
"No!"
Snape was taken mildly aback by the strength of the boy's reaction. "No?"
Malfoy went slightly pink. "No, sir. It's nothing to do with that. Just…" He looked away from Snape for a moment. "Just bad dreams, sir."
Bad dreams. This sounds like something I'd expect to hear from Potter. What's gotten into him? "Have you asked Madame Pomfrey for a potion for dreamless sleep?"
"Sir, I can handle this."
"Obviously not, Mr. Malfoy. It is beginning to have an adverse effect on your schoolwork. Wait here." Snape went into his private storeroom and pulled out a bottle of Dreamless Sleep Potion. Returning to his office, he placed the bottle on the desk. "The cap acts as a measuring cup, Mr. Malfoy. Take one dose before you go to bed."
The boy looked torn. His hand actually started forward to take the bottle before he pulled it back. "Sir, I – the dreams – they're – " He licked his lips. "Well, they're not so much bad as they are just… strange, and I…" His voice had a quality of pleading in it that Snape had never heard, or expected to hear, from the arrogant Malfoy heir. "I want to see what happens next."
"And yet, the dreams disturb you so much that you apparently cannot sleep enough at night to avoid falling asleep in inappropriate places during the day." Snape looked hard at the boy. "Mr. Malfoy, what are these dreams about?"
Malfoy avoided Snape's eyes, staring instead at the wall behind him. "A woman," he said quietly. "A woman dressed in white. Veiled. She has something. It's white, and shaped like half a face, and she wants me to take it and do something with it. And I don't know if I want to or not, because I know if I do, I'll change. Something will change me. And every night that I don't take it, she shows me something."
"What does she show you?"
The boy was sweating now, as if telling this was a strain. "Bits and pieces of someone's life. Like a play, but I know it's real. Or it could be – it could have been – it might be somewhere else – I don't know!"
"Whose life does she show you?"
Malfoy's eyes closed, and to Snape's utter astonishment, he saw a tear emerge from between the lids. "Mine," the boy said quietly. "Only it's not me. It's someone who could have been me. Or I could have been him, if things had happened differently. Sir – " Malfoy looked at him with a sudden, desperate hope in his eyes. "You asked me about the Quidditch match where I got concussed. Do you remember how I acted after I woke up the first time?"
"Yes, of course." I am unlikely to forget. You were quite rude, and almost completely incomprehensible.
"Sir – I don't. Because I wasn't here. I was… I don't know where I was, but it wasn't here. It was Hogwarts, but things were… different. I had a different name, and a different life – I was a Gryffindor, for Merlin's sake!"
"I do recall you telling some tale about a dream you had while you were unconscious. I assume this is it."
"Yes, sir. But it wasn't a dream – it can't have been – because the other boy, the other Draco – he came here. He was the one who was rude to you, not me. Did he tell you not to call him a Malfoy?"
"He did." If you are not making this up.
"I went to see you, while I was there, sir. In the other Hogwarts. And you – your counterpart, I guess – told me that I had been taken away from my parents when I was four, and raised by someone else." Malfoy looked at the floor. "He didn't say who, but I think I know, now."
"Indeed." Snape was, in spite of himself, interested. "Will you deign to divulge that information?"
Malfoy blushed again and mumbled something.
I cannot have heard what I thought I heard. "Speak up, boy."
"Sirius Black," Malfoy said, just loud enough to be heard.
Well, it seems I can. Snape leaned back in his chair, trying to be at ease. "You know perfectly well that is impossible. Sirius Black was in Azkaban when you were four."
The boy shook his head. "Not in that world. I've seen it. I watched him escape, with a friend helping him. I saw him get married, and have a baby, and take me home with him, and…" He broke off. "I'm not making any sense, am I?"
"Not much, Mr. Malfoy. And all this fails to explain why your – counterpart – would not wish to be called by his name."
"But it isn't his name, sir. His name is Black. Draco Black." Malfoy's eyes squeezed shut again, and his whole face contorted as if in pain. "And he's happy. He's happy as a Gryffindor. He's happy as Harry Potter's bloody brother!"
"Harry Potter's brother," Snape repeated in tones of wonder.
"And Hermione Granger's," Malfoy said, as if unburdening himself of all of his bad news at once. He gave a slightly hysterical smile. "No, wait, Granger-Lupin. That's her name there. And he's friends with the Weasleys, and Longbottom, and…" He made a noise that, in anyone else, Snape would have called a giggle. "He's in love with Luna Lovegood."
This explains a great deal. Not, of course, how such an insane thing could have happened, since it obviously could not have… "So, you see what you consider to be a possible alternate life in these dreams, and they disturb you so much that you cannot sleep. Is this correct?"
Malfoy nodded, staring at the floor.
"Mr. Malfoy, as your Head of House, I am ordering you to take this potion tonight. In fact, I am ordering you to the hospital wing, for a day or two of bed rest. Give Madame Pomfrey this note – " Snape scribbled a few lines on a piece of parchment, telling the nurse that Malfoy had been sleeping badly and needed at least a night and a day to recover. "And I do not wish to see you again until you no longer look like a cross between a vampire and a walking corpse."
Malfoy smiled lopsidedly. "Yes, sir." He picked up the bottle of potion and headed for the door.
"Oh, and Mr. Malfoy."
"Yes, sir?"
Snape sighed. "Do remember that dreams are only that – dreams. They are not real."
"Yes, sir." And Malfoy was gone.
That sounded properly inane. But what can I tell him? Not to be disturbed, when he so obviously is? No wonder, of course – if I had dreamed of seeing myself friendly with James Potter and Sirius Black – their brother, even, Merlin forbid – I might well be disturbed by it.
The potion will help him. I have never known it to fail.
Comforted by that thought, Severus Snape returned to his work.
Madame Pomfrey bustled about the hospital wing, setting up screens around the bed she assigned Draco, Summoning his pajamas from his dormitory, and checking on the potion Snape had sent with him – "Not that I doubt Severus, but it's always a good idea to double-check" – until Draco wanted to scream.
Finally, she poured him out a generous dose and left him alone.
Thought she'd never leave. At least she trusts me to take it by myself.
Draco picked up the cup of potion, stared into it, and felt a sudden surge of rebellion.
Why should I keep trying to deny this? These dreams are trying to tell me something. Why don't I just listen?
His bare feet noiseless on the stone floor, he made his way over to the shelves holding Madame Pomfrey's most commonly used potions. It was the work of a moment to find the Reversing Potion he wanted.
The red one, not the blue. The blue would give me the Dreamless part without the Sleep – make me lie there awake, but not thinking of anything – and that's NOT what I want.
The red potion. There. He pulled it down.
This will reverse the Dreamless part of the potion. So it will still make me sleep, but now I'll be more open than usual to dreams.
Carefully, he added three drops to his goblet and swirled the mixture, watching it change color.
Raspberry red. Seems appropriate, considering what I'm hoping to dream of.
Returning the Reversing Potion to its place, he went back to his bed and sat down on it.
Hoping to dream of being a Gryffindor. That's insane.
But no more insane than the rest of this. Maybe, if I just take whatever the thing is the woman's trying to give me, I can finally get this over with.
Defiantly, he lifted the cup and drank the potion in three long gulps. Here's to you, Draco Black.
It worked quickly. He barely had time to swing his legs into bed, lie down, and pull the sheets up before he felt his eyes close –
And open again, onto a scene of swirling fog, where he stood in the only clear patch.
That didn't take long.
"There you are," said a woman's voice. Draco turned toward the voice and saw what he expected – the mysterious, veiled feminine shape, all in white, holding some kind of strange object. "Are you all right?"
"Are you real?" Draco asked instead of answering. Answer questions with questions. Keep her off guard.
The woman laughed, a strangely familiar sound. "I'm as real as you are."
"No, you're not. I'm real, this is my dream. You're just a figment in it."
"No, this is our dream, yours and mine both. We share it. I created this dream-place for you to come, so that you could learn what you want to learn."
"And what, in your opinion, is that?" Draco sneered.
The woman whistled, and a small bark answered her. More like a yap, really, Draco thought. A small, white fox came trotting through the fog to the woman's side, to stand next to her and regard him with wise gray eyes.
Gray?
Draco gulped. He knew those eyes. He saw them every day.
In the mirror.
Without warning, the fox was gone, and a blond, handsome – and very familiar – young man stood beside the woman. "You want to know more about me," he said, in a pleasant tenor voice. "About who I am, and how I got that way. Because you know perfectly well that we started out the same, and that either of us could have been the other one, if things had turned out differently."
Draco Malfoy stared at Draco Black and was, for once, completely without an answer.
The woman held up the strange object she carried. Suddenly Draco realized what it was. "A mask!" he blurted. But it's all cut off… as if someone had something they wanted to hide on just one side of their face…
"Not just any mask," Black said. "It's yours."
"Mine?"
"Well, it could be," Black amended. "If you take it."
"Put on the mask, Draco," said the woman in a tone that seemed a cross between command and entreaty. "Put on the mask, and learn how to take it off."
"What?"
"You wear a mask every day of your life," Black said. "So do we all. But yours is harder and thicker than most, and you've been wearing it so long you may have forgotten it even is one."
"I don't understand."
"Your arrogance," the woman said, taking a step towards him. "Your indifference. Your cruelty and snobbishness." Each quality she named brought her a step closer. "Your calculated rudeness and sarcasm. You hide behind them so that others will think you are sophisticated. You have no one to whom you can take off your mask. And if you wear it much longer, it will no longer be a mask, but your true face."
"It happened to your father," Black said flatly. "For him, it is too late. But there is still hope for you. Not much, but some. Take the mask. Take the chance. Learn who you are, and become more."
The woman held it out to him. "Put it on," she said quietly. "Trust us. There may be pain, but so there is pain in all of life. And there will be also excitement, and joy, and wonder."
"And music," Black added from behind her. "Haven't you ever been curious about music?"
He had to put that in, didn't he. Music was Draco's secret love. His father had, grudgingly, allowed him to attend concerts, but he had never been allowed to learn to play an instrument, or, Merlin forbid, sing. It wasn't proper. It wasn't dignified.
But it was what he wanted.
Draco Malfoy stretched out his hand and took the mask. He regarded it for a moment, with its one eyehole, half the nose outlined, and the graceful curve across the cheek, leaving the mouth free. Then he turned it around and lifted it to his face.
It fit as if made for him. And it clung.
A burst of music, loud music, made him gasp, as the woman and Black vanished in a blast of wind. In their place stood a tall, gilt-edged mirror. He stared at his masked reflection.
Damn, I look good in this thing…
The wind blew his hair back as chords and drumbeats crashed around him – and his clothes were beginning to change –
He wore black, all black, with a cape which billowed in the wind as the organ played on, variations on the original theme of five notes up and five down –
Another face swam up from the depths of the mirror. A girl, a beautiful girl, with her long hair streaming fire-like out behind her – he should know her name, but it was lost in the music, in the melody the organ had finally gotten to after improvising on chords for almost a minute.
He stretched out his hand and took hers as she stepped out of the mirror into reality – into his reality – for she was his, now, and he would never let her go. Right hands palm to palm, they circled each other in the stately measures of a courtly dance, her eyes sometimes cast down to the hem of her white gown, sometimes raised to his, showing a strange mixture of fear and adoration.
Exactly as it should be. She is mine – my creation, my angel –
What am I thinking? This is insane!
But the music continued, and Draco was unable to tear himself away.
It changed suddenly – the theme the organ had been playing alone was taken up by an entire orchestra – and the girl broke from him, running into the arms of a man who emerged from the fog, hair windblown, naked sword in hand.
Him. He dares come here – he dares invade even my dreams!
Draco pulled the sword he only now realized was sheathed at his waist and struck at his rival, who parried adeptly. The game was on. They battled furiously, swords ringing in a strange percussion to the music, as the girl watched in horror, seemingly not sure which was her champion, which her enemy.
The original theme of chords returned, and the girl made up her mind – she leapt between them, forcing them both to stop, and pleaded silently for Draco to run, to run far away, to save himself –
And to escape the sight of her clinging to him, Draco dropped his sword, turned, and ran, as the music –
Stopped.
The fog hid the two from his sight. He was alone, in silence.
Tentatively, he raised his hand to his face and lifted away the mask.
Uh, no. No way. Not happening. Not going to happen. No.
I don't even like her. She's a blood traitor. He can have her.
"So what was that supposed to be about?" he asked in frustration. "Some kind of repressed thing I have for the Weasley girl? Because I don't. And I already knew I hated Potter. If that's all this was about, it's pretty lame."
"It's not," the veiled woman said, emerging once more from the fog. She held out her hand for the mask, which he gladly gave her. "It's about this." She held it up. "While you wore it, you surrendered yourself to it. You allowed yourself to be free, to do and think things you ordinarily never would. That is the power of the mask. Remember it. And remember, also, that taking off a mask can be as effective as putting one on."
"And if you're wondering where the mask and the music come from," Black said, appearing beside the woman, "I can show you that. Do you want to see?"
Draco nodded, and abruptly the fog cleared.
He was standing in the Great Hall at Hogwarts, but he had never seen it like this. What was usually the teachers' dais was now a huge, red-curtained stage. The tables had been replaced with rows of cushioned seats, where hundreds of witches and wizards, both students and adults, were sitting and talking excitedly.
"What are you doing out here?" an irritable voice asked him. He turned to see Hermione Granger, dressed in an old-fashioned Muggle gown, glaring at him. "You're not even made-up! Get backstage, we're less than ten minutes from curtain!"
"All right," Draco said bemusedly, letting himself be bustled away. Whose world is this, anyway – mine or Black's?
His doubts vanished within the next few seconds, as Black's little sister Meghan opened the stage door for them. "Get in here," she hissed at him. "I have to fix your face."
Black, you sod, Draco thought in sudden panic. I have no idea what to do!
Just relax, the answer came back to him. The lines will come if you don't panic. You knew what to do back there, didn't you?
Yes, but I didn't have to talk! And – this is a musical, isn't it? Do I have to sing?!
Are you kidding? You have the title role! Of course you have to sing! Mentally, he heard Black chuckle. Don't worry, you'll like it. It's a great show.
Yes, but what is it?!
Meghan hunted around on the overcrowded dressing room table for something. "Hold this," she said, shoving a piece of paper into Draco's hands.
It was a program.
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry presents
Andrew Lloyd Webber's
The Phantom of the Opera
Draco closed his eyes. I'm dead.
Funny, Black commented. You'd think you'd have stopped walking around.
Draco snarled silently. Have you no shame? Stealing lines from Potter?
Shame, what's that?
Shut up.
Meghan went to work with some kind of goop, smearing it on the side of Draco's face. Somewhere in the near distance, he could hear an orchestra tuning up.
"Five minutes!" called Ron Weasley's voice. "Five minutes to curtain!"
"Five minutes, thank you!" Meghan shouted back.
Ready or not, Draco Malfoy was going to be in a show.
(A/N: Me and my random inspirations...
I wrote the section describing Draco's dream-scene with Harry and Ginny (from "A burst of music" to "Stopped.") to fit the timing of the Overture of The Phantom of the Opera. The version I have is 2:08 on the CD, and if I read that section aloud with a fair speaking tempo, the music changes where the words say it does. At least it works that way for me. If you happen to be a theater buff and have the Overture handy, give it a try and let me know if it works!
For "Draco's Nightmare" readers, Meghan Black is the younger girl Draco didn't know in the hospital wing scene, the third-year that Snape referred to as Draco's sister. She came by her last name in the normal way, and her parents are in the audience tonight. Just so you know.
Oh yes, and if you liked it, review it and let me know – because I have two other stories going and one I should start soon, so I won't continue this unless people want me to!)