Draco Malfoy stood nervously in front of the large oak doors. They were shut at the moment, with the golden handles gleaming in the candlelight. He shivered even though there was a very cozy fire burning at the other end of the room. Stupid house elf, he thought, he knew I would wait here a while, he should have built it up. He dismissed the silly thought that he might be shivering out of fear, since when was he, a Malfoy, ever scared?
Swoosh
The door swung open softly on its polished hinges, Draco drew in a sharp breath, and then quickly released it. It was only the house elf. The wizened creature was precariously balancing a delicate silver tea tray between his two gnarled hands. He wore a broken pair of spectacles and a filthy pillowcase with the letter M embroidered on the edge.
“The Master will be with you shortly,” the house elf wheezed. Draco sniffed at him in annoyance; he was still new to his training. Ever since his father had lost their last house elf (under circumstances he had never been willing to discuss) he had been scouring the country, searching for another one. The result was the demented creature did an awkward bow, before beginning to hobble off with its burden.
“Dippy!” he growled at it, “Do not forget that I am your Master as well.”
“Yes Master,” poor Dippy replied, giving Draco another half bow, it was rather difficult to do with the tea tray.
WHACK!
Draco had delivered a harsh kick into Dippy’s backside, causing the elf to sprawl onto the carpet, spilling the tea tray and it’s contents.
“Remember to give me a full bow,” Draco hissed at him, “and clean up that mess, you clumsy fool.”
“Yes Master,” Dippy muttered mutinously, and began to clean up the rug.
Draco would have continued to antagonize the unfortunate house elf, but the soft sound of footsteps thudding against the plush carpet stopped him. He straightened unconsciously and turned to face the new entrant.
When he entered, Draco drew in his breath without even realizing he was doing it. Before him stood one of the most successful Death Eaters, the one who was going to help them defeat that troublesome half-blood, Harry Potter. His rival. His passion. His enemy. His love. His future. The one and only; Ronald Weasley.
“Have you talked to him yet?” Ron asked him, his clear blue eyes focusing on Draco’s face.
“No, not yet,” Draco answered, stepping on Dippy in effort to get closer to Ron. (“Blast you,” cursed Dippy, but Draco didn’t pay any notice to him, not with Ron there.)
“Well, good luck, I do hope your father approves of our engagement,” Ron stepped closer until he was standing over Draco. Draco felt unconsciously aware of how tall Ron was, how his breath ruffled his own hair.
“Yes, I feel kind of nervous, waiting here for him,” Draco admitted. He would have admitted this to no one but Ron, “but I doubt he would disapprove to the union of our family with so powerful a wizard as yourself.”
“Yes, well, I do have my dazzling qualities, don’t I?” Ron asked, sweeping his hair back in a graceful gesture that took Draco’s breath away again, “But listen, don’t be nervous, everything will be alright.”
And then Ron was leaning closer to Draco, poised to kiss…
“NO!!!” Draco Malfoy howled, sitting straight up in bed. He jumped out of bed and immediately dunked his head into a large bucket of ice-cold water on the windowsill.
“Uh, I think that’s for drinking,” Goyle said uncertainly, sitting up, awakened by Draco’s scream. “It’s a little bit small for a bath.”
“Of course it’s too small for a bath,” Draco snarled. He snatched the sheets off the sleeping Crabbe’s bed and began to dry his face with them. (“Grrnn…” mumbled Crabbe, curling up on his bed, but Draco was too busy to pay attention to him.)
“I just needed to…er…clean my head. Yeah, that’s what it’s for, it’s a head bath tub,” He added, so as not to look like an idiot, he didn’t want to have to explain his nightmare to anyone.
“Oh really?” Goyle asked confused.
“Yes,” Draco said, confidant now, “don’t tell me you’ve been drinking a load of wash water all these past years!” He forced out a laugh.
“Uh…”Goyle said in a monotone voice, trying to understand what was going on, then seeing that Draco was laughing, he began to laugh too, “uh-ha ha HAH!”
“Shut up you idiot! I need my sleep, not a slumber party!” Draco growled, he threw the soggy sheets back onto Crabbe’s bed and went back to his own. Pulling the covers up to his chin, he closed his eyes and was about to drift off to non-Ron thoughts when someone knocked on the door.
BANG! BANG!
“Goyle, go tell those idiots to go to sleep!” Draco ordered, eyes still closed. Goyle hopped out of bed and landed with a loud thump onto the floor. He lumbered over to the door and pulled it open.
“LISTEN UP YOU IDIOTS”” He began to bellow, but stopped as soon as he saw who was standing in front of him. Actually, Goyle had noticed him the minute he had opened the door, but his brain hadn’t properly processed the information until after the damage had been done.
“Yes Goyle?” came Professor Snape’s dangerously smooth voice, “I’m listening.”
“Uh…um…” was all Goyle could say, obviously lost for words. However, Draco wasn’t. As soon as he had heard Professor Snape’s voice he had jumped out of bed and dashed to the door.
“Professor! How good to see you,” Draco began a bit nervously. Normally he would have been confused as to why Snape was there, but after having two other such night time visits, he knew exactly what to expect, and therefore wished to delay the inevitable as long as possible.
“Mister Malfoy,” Snape began, thoroughly irritated, he was wearing a black bathrobe secured tightly around the middle and was carrying his wand a lit. This was, after all, the third time in three nights he had had to come up and investigate, “approximately 15 minutes ago I heard a piercing scream. Being head of this house, I came up to investigate. Now will you please tell me what is the matter?”
Snape really didn’t look as though he wanted to hear the answer, however, so Draco decided to give him the short hand version. Alibis chased each other around his mind; before he could chose one of them however, Goyle spoke up.
“Er, Professor?” he asked tentatively, both Snape and Draco turned to look at him in surprise, “It was me, I just found out that I’ve been drinking wash water these past years.”
Snape forced a very unpleasant smile through his lips. “Very good, hopefully you can resolve your dilemma without waking up your fellow students?”
“Yes, Professor,” Goyle muttered, looking down at his feet.
“Good,” Snape straightened himself a little bit, “and be sure to get your sleep you have the Quidditch match tomorrow.”
With that, he turned and descended the staircase, leaving Draco to gape at Goyle as the door closed.
“Since when do you think that you can make up the excuses?” He growled at him, the fact that the excuse had worked was not processed. Only the thought that he, Draco Malfoy, had not been the one to come to the rescue was mulled over.
“Uh…um…well you were looking kind of like Crabbe usually does, and I just thought…uh…”Goyle trailed off, afraid.
“Drinking wash water?” Draco asked, still incredulous, “Where the bloody hell did that come from?”
“Well you said…and the head bath…and I’ve been…there’s cups right next to it…”Goyle mumbled.
“It doesn’t matter,” Draco fumed, turning over to his bed, “what matters is the fact that I can’t get these bloody nightmares out of my head.” He fumbled around in his trunk for a few moments, frowning in the darkness.
“Grrnnff!” Crabbe snorted in his sleep. Angry that he could not find what he was looking for, Draco lobbed a book at his bed.
“GRNAFF!” Crabbe howled in pain. He sat upright holding the book in one hand and a few teeth in the other; the book had hit him in the face, knocking a few of his teeth out.
BANG! BANG! Pop!
The door flew open. In its threshold stood a very discontented Professor Snape.
“Mister Malfoy,” he spat through clenched teeth, “how long will it take to occur to you that there are other people here who need their sleep?” he was seething with anger, “What was the excuse this time? More wash water?”
“No Professor,” Draco started, his excuse clearly formed in his head now, but Crabbe, who came waddling forward, cut him off.
“I woke up wiff a book in my mouff, Pwofessor,” Crabbe explained. He held out his hand with his two teeth in it.
The situation had become awkward for Severus Snape, a few minutes ago it had been a simple matter of getting some sleep, now it had morphed into two students with unusual snacking habits and some missing teeth. He could turn and walk away, but then he would be questioned the next morning as to why he had ignored student injuries. Resigned, he drew a deep breath.
“Come with me, Mr. Crabbe,” he sighed, “you can spend the night in the hospital wing.”
Crabbe and Snape left, but just before they had turned the corner, Professor Snape turned around and hissed at the two remaining occupants, “Let this be the last I hear of it!”
Goyle shut the door for a second time as Draco proceeded to pick apart one of Crabbe’s pillows in frustration.
“Take that you filthy little (fill-in-the-blank), stealing my excuses!” Draco snarled, pulling out feathers and fluff. Finally, when the pillow had been completely demolished, he focused back to the real reason he had awoken. That dream…nightmare…night horror in which he…and Weasley…?
No. It was impossible; his brain was too well developed to think such thoughts. Still Draco shuddered all the same. He began to pace on the stone cold floor, thinking of what to do.
“Concoct a dreamless sleep potion…build a giant dream block…”
“Uh…Draco…” Goyle drawled, uncertain.
“…spray my bed with a big can of anti bed-bug spray…” Draco continued, pacing the stone floor, brainstorming for ideas, and coming short.
“Um…Draco…”
“…Wear my I-Hate-Ron pajamas…only then it could make it worse…after all I’d be sleeping with his image…. bleah…why did I ever make those as a first year?”
“…Draco…” Goyle tried one last time.
WHOOSH!
“Will you please stop that Goyle!” Draco cried, frustrated, he had lost his train of thought. Then he saw that Goyle was pointing towards the small fireplace in the room. It had burst into flame spontaneously and a small piece of parchment had emerged.
“Oh,” Draco said. He was losing his cool, for a moment he panicked, what if his minion lost faith in him? Then an appropriate excuse arrived and he directed it straight at Goyle. “Why didn’t you pick it up?” he demanded angrily, trying to appear in control, as always.
“But…uh…”Goyle stuttered, thoroughly confused again. He decided it would be best to do as he was told, so he quickly crossed to the fireplace and picked up the scrap of paper. He then scuttled back to Draco with the piece of paper. Draco snatched it from his hand and unrolled it.
“What does it say?” Goyle asked quietly.
“Shh!” Draco shushed him. He bent over the tiny sliver of paper. It was his father’s handwriting.
Draco,
Why is it that an owl in the middle of the night has awoken me? Well, I’ll give you the answer, it’s because my son has a nightmare. A nightmare! Three nightmares in fact! Get a hold of yourself please! You don’t see other people running around complaining about their dreams.
“Potter does,” Draco grumbled here, then stopped. If he was turning into Potter…that was possibly even more disturbing than his Weasley dreams. No, wait maybe it wasn’t because then he would actually be kissing the slimy weasel. Hoping to find some advice, he eagerly scanned the rest of the letter.
If you really need some help, I would advise you to ask your noble, esteemed ancestor; Lucius Malfoy the first, sometime in the morning. Good night.
That was it. The end of the letter. Draco sighed, disappointed, it hadn’t really been of much help. Lucius Malfoy the first? Who the heck was he? Some dead guy? That was the best advice his own father could give him, to summon a dead ancestor? What on earth could a dead guy do? Still…this was the third nightmare he had had…maybe it was worth a shot. He couldn’t wait until the morning; he would need to start the séance now!
“Goyle!” Draco said abruptly, “We need to go get some supplies.”
One hour later
Draco and Goyle were sitting opposite each other on the cold stone floor of their Slytherin dormitory. In between them was a small circle of five crystals. Draco and Goyle were busy chanting.
“Viens esprit, viens esprit…” Draco was half singing, his eyes closed.
“Vivent esprit, vivent esprit…” Goyle chanted, unaware that he wasn’t chanting the right incantation. Draco’s eyes popped open, he had noticed.
“Goyle! It’s ‘viens esprit’! Not ‘vivent esprit’!” Draco raged. He stood up, ready to give Goyle a hard shake, when wisps of smoke began to enter the circle. Thinking better of it, Draco stepped back to watch the smoky tendrils weave and grow, stronger and stronger. Now very worried, Draco quickly consulted the book he had used, he didn’t see anything about using the wrong words.
“Uh…Draco…”Goyle began, the smoke was taking a more defined shape.
“What now?” Draco asked, upset. He shut Les Malafices D’Esprit in his frustration and turned his gaze to the whirling smoke. It had now taken the shape, inside the circle of crystals stood a small wizard; he was wearing a rather demonic expression as he gazed up at Malfoy and Goyle.
“Who summoned me?” he asked in a bit of a cackle.
“Uh…are you…Lucius Malfoy the first?” Draco asked tentatively
“No,” The ghost gave an evil grin.
Draco silently cursed himself, “Then who are you?” he asked, as he searched for the piece of parchment he had scribbled the vanishing of spirits spell on. He would need it to get rid of this meddlesome ghost. Stupid Goyle, chanting “vivent esprits” he thought.
“I’m Satan,” the ghost stated, giving a malicious smile and staring at Draco as he thumbed through the book. How bloody fantastic, Draco thought, we’ve summoned a real coot! That idiot Goyle… The little ghost looked around the room curiously, but he wouldn’t step out of the circle of crystals.
“Found it!” Draco said, waving the piece of parchment in the air, “Vas t’en, esprit! Departer de cette place, esprit!” he read. The ghost stepped away, seemingly surprised that he could leave the circle of crystals, realizing that he could, he tore out of the room to unknown whereabouts.
“That was a complete waste,” Draco cursed, slamming his book shut and kicking around the crystal, “at least I got rid of it. I’ll work on the nightmares tomorrow.” And with that, he lay down on his bed and promptly fell asleep. Goyle did the same.
Outside, however, someone was eagerly rejoicing in his newfound flesh and blood…
A/N: Translations are necessary, I feel, because they are major foreshadowing. ‘Vivent esprits’ means ‘live spirits’. Also, Draco’s “vanishing” spell went like this: ‘Leave spirit! Leave this place!’ Oh, and for those who are curious, the title means: ‘The evil doings of spirits’. And yes, it’s all French because I’m too lazy to learn Latin.