Harry Riddle || Harry potter

Chapter 40: To Dream Is To Nightmare

"I had a horrible nightmare last night," said Hermione, looking as if she'd just eaten a particularly revolting Every Flavor Bean.

"And what might that be?" asked Harry, only semi-pleasantly. It was the last day of school, and they had just left their dorms and met up in a hallway near the dungeons before heading off towards the Great Hall. The Leaving Ceremony was to start in only a matter of minutes, and Harry wasn't eager to attend. He was just as incensed as Draco at Slytherin's impending loss, and he was sure he would have difficulties restraining himself from committing various acts of unspeakable violence when he saw the looks of smugness that would inevitably be plastered all over the Gryffindors' faces.

But what could he do? Sure, if he'd put his nose to the grindstone, he might've been able to think up some plan, but he'd done so much this year, and he was so tired . . .

"I dreamt . . ." She swallowed, still looking vaguely repulsed. "I dreamt that I was married to Ronald Weasley and had a son named 'Hugo'."

Harry stopped in his tracks, slowly turning towards her. He was fairly certain his own face now reflected her expression. "Weasley?" he repeated, sounding both incredulous and dangerous at the same time.

"Hugo?" said Neville only a second later. "What kind of a name is 'Hugo'?"

Hermione grimaced. "Do you think I know? I'd never name a child that. Paired with 'Weasley', it's possibly one of the worst names you could possibly give."

"You dreamt you were married to Weasley?" Harry was still repeating, as if he couldn't process it.

Hermione stared at him angrily. "It wasn't a 'dream'—it was a nightmare. There's a difference. It wasn't as if I was happy with the situation, even in the dream. It was horrible."

Harry shook his head slowly, staring at her. "One more dream like that, Granger, and we're not friends anymore."

She snorted as he turned on his heel and started walking again.

Neville frowned. "I'd still be your friend . . . but . . . if you ever have a dream like—"

"Nightmare."

"—that again, just . . . don't tell me. Please?"

"If I ever have a nightmare like that again I'll be forced to take the Dreamless Sleep Potion every night for the rest of my life," she snapped, turning and running after Harry—

—only to slam into his back after rounding the next corner. He stumbled forward but the glare she was expecting never came; instead, he kept staring straight ahead. After shaking off the impact and stepping back, she followed his gaze and found herself gaping.

One of the hour glasses was drastically different. Not Slytherin or Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff, but Gryffindor; the house seemed to have lost several hundred points, the amount of the little red gems nowhere near what there used to be.

And Slytherin was now in the lead.

"Oh, that." Neville had caught up to them and was talking. "While you two were recuperating in your rooms Draco challenged Weasley and Thomas and Finnigan to duel. Most of the Gryffindors turned up and the professors were mad so they took away a lot of points—"

Harry and Hermione had both turned to stare at him, and the bravado with which he'd started telling the story began to fade.

"—and, uh, I think it was that concussion—Madam Pomfrey told him to stay in bed like she did with you two but he didn't and . . ." He trailed off, laughing nervously.

But then Harry broke into a huge smile, one so wide it looked almost painful.

"Draco, Draco, Draco . . . I swear to Merlin, when I take over, I'm making him my right hand man."

"What?" demanded Hermione.

Harry cleared his throat. "Nothing."

The Great Hall went briefly silent and then burst into hushed chatter when Harry made his overly dramatic entrance, slamming the doors open with enough force for them to bang against the interior walls.

He strutted in, flanked on either side by Neville and Hermione, who both moved to their own tables after a moment. Harry stayed near the doors for a second while he surveyed the occupants of the hall—the professors all looked fairly disgruntled, probably because Slytherin's continued winning streak would make Severus haughtier than ever, while every single Gryffindor seemed about two seconds from murdering something.

Well, thought Harry as he trooped over to the Slytherin table, even if they did, at least Gryffindor House would be dishonored forever and ever.

He took a seat next to Draco and beamed at him.

"You are a genius," he found himself saying. Praise wasn't usually something that crossed his lips, but he meant every word of it, and even Draco's arrogant smile couldn't curb his utter happiness and relief. His father would've been extremely . . . disappointed . . . at the loss to Gryffindor, but now all those worries just floated away, leaving him contently pleased.

"Ahem," said Dumbledore, standing up. He looked slightly put out, but not as much as McGonagall, who was glaring at Snape from the corner of her eye. "Well, my, my, my—the year has passed quickly. It almost seems like yesterday when all of you just came back, and now you're leaving again. And how eventful it's been!" He glanced over at the Slytherin Table, then at the green and silver decorations scattered about the room.

"And I do believe it's time to award the House Cup."

The Slytherins all smiled eagerly at each other, while every Gryffindor second year and up glared violently at the first years.

"In fourth place, with 260 points, is Gryffindor."

Harry and Draco clapped the loudest, smiling mockingly whenever a Gryffindor looked their way.

"In third place, with 423 points, is Hufflepuff."

Despite not winning, or even being in the top two, the Hufflepuffs looked positively thrilled to not be in last place for once.

"In second place is Ravenclaw, with 481 points."

Harry got the vague feeling that the Ravenclaws weren't sure why they kept losing, considering how many questions they answered during class. Harry wasn't sure, either, but it wasn't as though he cared so long as they lost.

"And in first place, with 500 points exactly . . . " Dumbledore took a deep breath which was probably a long suffering sigh. ". . . is Slytherin."

While the members of his house cheered, Draco made some vaguely insulting gestures at Weasley and Finnigan, both of whom glared back.

"Draco, for all your idiocy this year, you've definitely earned my respect."

Draco looked both insulted and pleased at the same time, but Harry turned away and started munching on some sort of potato dish he'd never heard of before coming to Hogwarts.

All in all, he decided while shoving a spoonful into his mouth, it had been a VERY good year.