Title: The Protagonists

Chapter: Prisoner of My Mind

Disclaimer: Roses are red, Violets are blue, Only the poem and plot are mine, So please review.

Rating: PG

 

So she screams,

But no one hears her,

So she cries,

Her tears unshed.

So she hungers

For someone near her

To offer comfort

With words unsaid.

So she rages,

Her anger silent,

So she weeps,

Her grief long gone.

So she plays

With those around her

For she is the Queen,

And I her pawn.

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It was getting worse.

The voices had slithered in like snakes in a mongoose farm at first, but were now leaping out at her at all times of the day. At first it had only been in Malfoy’s presence, and she had suspected he was pulling a ventriloquist trick on her. But that couldn’t be right. It followed her everywhere now, whispering thoughts and flashing pictures through her mind.

Memories that weren’t hers haunted her dreams. Nightmares of blood spilling across marble floors. Fantasies of riding unicorns over rolling grassy hills. The frightening thing was that all of them were real. She could smell the stench of rotting meat, taste the salty blood as it flowed from her mouth, feel the air as it whipped through her hair. Every night, the same dream…

The man with the beautiful hands seemed to be waiting around every corner now. In the sweetest, most caring voice ever to grace human ears he assured her that she was a worthless disgrace to all of wizard-kind. His long, perfectly shaped fingers wrapped around her shoulders, lifting her up to eye level. He stared deep into her eyes and whispered gently, "I hate you. You are the disease that plagues me night and day. I will scream in triumph at your death, may it come soon. Live in pain." His fingers very slowly uncurled, letting her fall to the floor in a heap.

She curled into a pitiful ball, sobbing hopelessly as he kicked her, and watching through tear-blinded eyes as he swaggered out of the room, locking the door behind him. As soon as he was gone, she leaped up and flung herself against the heavy mahogany door and pound on it, her fists drumming out a sorrowful rhythm. He laughed merrily at her despair.

><><><

"Ron?" Hermione’s voice was rather faint. "I… What… How?" Her eyes finally came into focus and she shook her head to clear her muddled thoughts. "Why the hell did you follow us?" She finally managed.

Ron blinked at her. "Because," He explained patiently, "you’re my friends. You think I’m just going to let you romp around the country side with Death Eaters on the loose? I’m coming with you, whether you like it or not."

The muffled sound of someone trying to disentangle themselves from a number of cumbersome sheets surfaced from somewhere over toward Hermione’s left. Turning her head, she watched, bemused, as Harry thrashed like a dying fish. One leg from mid-calf down protruded from the left side, a mess of rumpled hair lay somewhere north of the rest of the cotton mess, and an elbow jutted out from the tangled brown sheets like a lone mountain surrounded by masses of small rolling hills.

After several seconds of intense labor, Harry surfaced. He stood up shakily and walked toward Ron, dragging the sheets (Which had decided they liked him, and had knotted themselves around his ankles. Sheets can be very stubborn.) behind him. He positioned himself directly in front of his red-headed best friend and took his hand, shaking it firmly. He said, "Good show, old boy. You gave that platypus a jolly good run for his money. I’m afraid I have an appointment with the Earl of Cacophony in two hundred and sixty-nine years, so I really must be off. Be sure to stop by my stupid overgrown white bouncing ferret and grab some Dementors. I bid thee farewell, Sir Ronald."

Hermione and Ron both stared at him. After a few moments in the empty silence, Hermione broke it with a gentle cough. "Err… I think he isn’t entirely awake." She waved a hand in front of his face, got no response, and leveled her wand at him. "Aquius!" she snapped, and a wave of water hit him full in the face.

Harry blinked a few times, shook himself thoroughly, and glared at Hermione with water dripping off his nose. Then he turned to Ron. After blinking a few more times, rubbing his eyes, and shooting one last fleeting glare at Hermione, he pointed toward a softer spot on the ground. "I hope you thought to bring a sleeping bag, because we don’t have an extra. There’s a reasonably cushy spot over there-or at least as cushy as the ground can get, anyway-and if Hermione would be so kind as to use a drying spell, we can all get a decent night’s sleep. Goodnight." And with that, he marched back to the jungle of enraged sheets that made up his bed, untied the spare ones from his ankles, and fell asleep.

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Ginny was curled up in an ancient over-stuffed armchair. Her long mane of crimson hair had been pulled up into an extremely messy bun-like style, and strands of it were spilling down onto her face. Her shapeless fraying robes drooped around her. Her head was tilted down, her eyes half-lidded as she struggled through Variations and Levels of Witchcraft and Wizardry, which was comparable to a crate of immortal flobberworms. The overall effect was one of extreme exhaustion.

Draco, who was sprawled across the sofa opposite her, looking equally rumpled. His silky silver-blond hair was so out-of-order it put Harry’s to shame. One arm hung limply off the side of the sofa, swaying slightly. He was forcing himself to read the indescribably boring Advanced Arithmancy and Its Connections to Hogwarts, and hating every minute of it.

The pair had come to a kind of unspoken truce. Insults were permitted as long as they weren’t serious, no blows could be exchanged, and they both got the work they were assigned done. Neither one of them ever referred to the other by their first names. Instead, they called each other ‘Malfoy’, ‘Weasley’, ‘Lava-for-Brains’, ‘Lava-Hair’, ‘Mr. Icicle’, or ‘Malfoy the Wonder Ferret’.

As long as neither one of them talked to, looked at, or breathed in the general direction of each other, everyone got along just find and no major wars erupted. Ginny and Draco went together about as well as a cigarette and a thousand gallons of oil. In other words, they were explosive.

What people don’t often consider is that an explosion, while deadly, can be beautiful and fantastic.

><><><

Hermione consulted the map. It might have been an easy task if it was not for Ron peering over her left shoulder and Harry hovering over her like a hyperactive hummingbird. "It," she said, "is rather hard to concentrate with two pairs of eyes boring into me like a Jarvey in a gnome hill. Shoo." She waved them away and resumed studying the map.

Apparently, the P.R.A.T.S. (Patrol Regarding Anteater or Termite Situations) office was approximately four days away. If they followed the most direct route, they would be flying over forests and mountains all the way. On the other hand, if they took the five day route, they would be flying over towns for the entire journey. After considering how much sleep she got last night, she decided on the more comfortable, if slightly longer, road.

Ron’s brow furrowed as he considered her proposal. "I guess… But shouldn’t we just put up with the rough terrain and take the shorter route? We’re trying to get there before the Dark Lord does, you know."

Hermione glared at him as if he had betrayed her. "We’re doing this to prevent mishap, not stop it. The Dark Lord probably doesn’t even know that there is a portkey to Hogwarts, let alone where it is. One day won’t cost us, I assure you. And would you rather sleep on rocks and tree roots, or soft mattresses? I know my preference."

Ron rolled his eyes and threw his arms into the air. "Fine, but I still think it’s a mistake." He told her.

"Did you have to come along? No! In fact, you weren’t even supposed to follow us. Please respect the decisions of the senior officers." She snapped sarcastically, ill-tempered with the knowledge that she would spend the next five days on a broomstick. With one last glance at the wonderful ground, Hermione mounted the broom and kicked off.

><><><

Ginny drew the curtains tightly around her bed and sat cross legged, waiting for the others in her dorm to fall asleep. Only then could she herself slip into dream land. So she waited.

…

..

.

..

…

And then, after what had seemed like eternity, the last girl dropped off to sleep. Slowly, so quietly, Ginny slipped off the bed and grabbed her wand off the night stand. She cast a silencing spell around the bed, testing it to make sure it was working correctly. She couldn’t let any of the girls hear her when she shouted out in her sleep. She was having nightmares every time she dropped off now, and they all featured the man with beautiful hands. Every night she would wake up screaming, clawing at the bed sheets. But if anyone found out what she was happening, Ginny was sure that she would be locked up in the insane wing of St. Mungo’s.

After finishing the preparations, Ginny crawled in under the sheets and fell asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow. For some inexplicable reason, the ability to fall asleep at will had been granted with the nightmares.

><><><

She was standing in the school library, arguing heatedly with Draco. She couldn’t understand what either one of them were saying, but she gathered that it was something trivial blown up into something huge. Dream-Draco must have said something particularly nasty, for her dream-self slapped him as hard as she could.

Dream-Draco staggered, clutching his cheek where her hand had connected. He took his hand away, and Ginny automatically stepped back. Dream-Draco’s hand was coated in scarlet blood. The blood ran up, as well as down his cheek, spreading across his entire face, neck, and torso. It fell about him like a vermilion sheet, hanging off his limbs and dripping to the ground. There was a slight rustle as the sheet quivered in the wind and dried.

The previously ruby-red cloak of blood had turned midnight black. Draco’s long pale hands pushed back the cloak by his arms to allow crude sleeves and Ginny nearly screamed. The hands… Draco’s hands… They were those of her nightmares. They were the hands that attacked her mind, seeking to kill her in her own imagination. And suddenly it was reaching for her, seeking her throat.

This time, Ginny really did scream.

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A/N And the plot thickens.

Thank you all my wonderful reviewers, but specifically these people.

W&M_Law-For being a good friend, and good former-beta, and for convincing me that R/Hr was meant to be.

StrangerWithMyFace-For posting this story on her web site, http://www.geocities.com/dracoginny

And my wonderful beta (who I don't know the penname of yet, but thank you all the same…)

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