I Learned Your Pulse

"I tend to have nightmares."

Draco wasn't sure what he was doing, but it sure wasn't standing in that Great Hall with the digusting platter of food and the symphathetic losers and the people who were grieving frieds and family as they all shouted at the idea of more death.

Death. It was such a constant thing. Never let up, did it? Someone died in almost every year of his Hogwarts life - Quirrel, the memory of Tom Riddle (the whole school had heard, naturally), that Pettigrew guy came close in third year, he'd heard, in fourth, it'd been Cedric Diggory, and in his fifth year Sirius Black had been killed by none other than Aunt Bella. In his sixth year, the Death Eater had died, and he'd watched Snape kill Dumbledore. But last year... last year, there had been over two hundred and fifty deaths while Voldemort had reigned. And most of them had simply been because they were in the way or because he was bored. Then there were the ones like Charity Burbage that he killed because they had different opinions than he did; and then there was Snape, because he supposedly had something Voldemort wanted.

Snape. He missed his favorite teacher regularly. More than once, he'd wonderd if his portrait was hanging up there in the Headmaster's office, almost always to lie to himself and say of course it was. But he realized now that it probably wouldn't be. He'd been a good man with a lot of bad qualities, but he'd stayed loyal to Dumbledore even after killing him, something Draco had never been. He'd hidden his secret so well, the castle probably wouldn't even recognize what a good man he was, and that he deserved to be  on the wall.

Draco knew that the gargoyle would let him past even if he didn't know the password; he'd heard Flitwick mumbling about it when he was entering his classroom. And so he changed his path abruptly and whirled around to the direction of the Headmaster's office. It'd be empy; McGonagall was still in the Hall.

He was halfway there when he heard the voices from around the corner. He pausred slightly to hear.

"Hermione, what is that?" came a hushed whisper, almost as if the whisperer was afraid to speak out loud.

"It's a Kneazle," came a steadied reply from Granger. "Kneazles are very intelligent magical creatures. They resemble flecked, speckled or spotted cats with a lion's tail and outsized ears -"

"We know what it bloody looks like," muttered Weasley. Granger ignored him.

"Although independent and occasionally aggressive, they can take great liking to certain witches or wizards, making excellent pets. Kneazles have a knack for identifying suspicious persons and for guiding their owner home when lost. Their owners need a license because Kneazles look unusual enough to stifle the curiosity of Muggles. They can cross-breed with cats."

"How will this give us nightmares?" said Weaslette's voice, slightly louder than the other voices.

Kingsley spoke next in a regular voice - he, apparently, wasn't afraid of the Kneazle. "This one isn't particularly disturbing. Given what it shows, I'm surprised this came up."

"What does it sh-"

Potter never finished his sentence, because Granger squealed, Weaslette cursed, Weasley gasped and Potter choked on his words quite literally.

Draco thought only for a moment about his next action. He peeked around the corner.

The Goblet of Fire stood there, unchanged from those many years ago. But the flames dancing at the top of it had an image weaving through the flecks of fire; and the image was gruesome. It showed -

"A Manticore," breathed Granger.

Draco looked as a beast with a human-like head, a lion's body, and a scorpion's tail with a stinger began to eat a young child alive. There was no sound from the picture, but Draco knew the young boy would be screaming.