Unofficial Portkey Archive

A/N: I own nothing but the sarcasm in my head

Part one of two. Thanks to Tawny Spitfyre for the beta!

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The Benefits of a Bad Night's Sleep

I think anyone would agree with me when I say that, when it comes to dreams, I pretty much got the splintery end of the broomstick with a broken cushioning charm. Or, something like that. The point is that I've never been one to have good dreams, though once I did have an interesting dream involving Pavarti and Padma Patil…ah, twins….

Er, where was I? Oh yeah, dreams. Anyways, while my roommates were having wonderful dreams involving Celestina Warbeck, a bikini, and sandy beaches (bikini and sandy beach optional), I was often stuck with images of Voldemort dancing through my head. And while a dancing Voldemort might sound humorous, it really isn't. Trust me.

To be fair, having my little spy camera into the back of Voldemort's head wasn't all bad - just mostly bad. In fact, if not for the blinding, mind-ripping pain from my scar that made me want to cry out for a quick death, it was actually pretty useful at times. I mean, at the beginning there, I was getting the inside scoop on his latest dastardly plan, though being the dense boy that I was, I usually couldn't understand any of it. And then, there were a few times when I tapped into Voldemort's head, only to see him going about his daily business; I tell you, you don't know the meaning of the word "bored" until you've watched Voldemort pick out a set of robes to wear for the day ("Black is black! It's all the same!" I wanted to scream many, many times).

All those good times, such as they were, ended in fifth year when Voldemort caught on to my little peep show. At that point, he began producing his own home-movies for me to watch, which led directly to the death of my beloved godfather. Though, truth be told, some of the blame must be placed on the shoulders of He-Who-Doth-Not-Telleth-Harry-Potter-Things; I'm not naming any names, but let's just say that this person's name rhymes with 'Stumblemore.' I mean, it would have been nice to know that Voldemort was trying to get into the Department of Mysteries before I went there, but there's not much I can do about that now (except to be bitter and resentful, which I'm already doing quite fabulously, thank you very much).

After Sirius' death, I learned to block some of it out, but sometimes Voldemort would manage to slip in a few horrifying images for me to fall asleep to. When I finally managed to heroically and boldly defeat the foul monster last year (which involved a lot of heroic running away and some bold cowering in fear), I had hoped that the bad dreams would end. Finally, after almost six years of waking up in cold sweats with my scar on fire, I could finally dream like a regular seventeen-year old guy; in other words, I was hoping to meet the Patil twins again with a side of whipped cream. Unfortunately, as with everything else in my life, nothing was that simple.

I had just woken up from a reoccurring dream that I've been having for a few years now; ever since third year, in fact. Though sometimes there were subtle differences, the main plot is always the same: I'm outside Godric's Hollow minutes before Voldemort kills my parents, but there's always something stupid and silly preventing me from reaching them in time. Sometimes I've forgotten my wand, and I waste time trying to find it; other times, I'm at the door to the house, but I can't remember even the most basic unlocking spell to get inside. I tell you, it's pretty frustrating. Tonight, my wonderful subconscious decided to put in a little twist to the standard dream - instead of my mom falling lifelessly to the ground, she was thrown backwards and into a black veil. Gee, I wonder what that could mean?

So now I was wide-awake and, frankly, a little shaken. I looked over at the clock and saw that it was still too early, and that I should be sleeping. No, really, that's what it said - literally. Stupid wizarding clocks always have to give some kind of commentary rather than the actual time. I fumbled around a little for my Muggle wristwatch and saw that it was only two in the morning. I spent the next half-hour fruitlessly trying to get back to sleep before finally giving up. That dream definitely messed me up. I decided to be productive for once (instead of rolling around my bed for another hour) and review for Potions for a couple of hours, and then I would try and go back to sleep. I quietly grabbed my bookbag and slipped out of the dorm room, careful not to wake up any of my roommates, all of whom were probably dreaming about naked witches playing Quidditch. Lucky bastards.

I made my way down the stairs and was surprised to see that I wasn't the only one awake at this time of the morning. Sitting at the long table and surrounded by books, her quill scratching away at a parchment, sat one of my best friends, Hermione Granger. I paused on the stairway, suddenly caught up in the sight. With the fireplace flickering behind her, giving her a certain glow, she looked so peaceful, like she was in her natural element. It was very picturesque. I suddenly felt like I was intruding, and I considered backtracking up to my room. But before I could move, she noticed me.

"Harry!" she said in surprise, her hand clutching at her heart. "You scared me!"

"Sorry," I said contritely as I made my way down the rest of the stairs and sat beside her. "I wasn't expecting anyone to be up."

She shrugged. "Just doing some homework."

"Homework?" I asked a little dubiously. I walked over to her table and looked over the pages that one of the books was open to. "Homework for when? Two months from now?"

She smiled a little sheepishly. "Well, it never hurts to be prepared."

I smiled back. "I know. Well, good news! Since you're up, you can help me with Potions," I said brightly.

"Oh yippee," she said dryly. Then her eyebrows furrowed slightly. "Harry, what are you doing up at this time of the night? And don't even try and tell me it's because you wanted to study potions."

Ah yes, that was a very good question indeed. I really wasn't in the mood to relive my dream with her, not to mention that being unable to sleep because of a 'scawy' dream wasn't exactly something suitable for the savior of the wizarding world. I had a reputation to protect, after all, even if that reputation often fluctuated from savior to nutter and back again. I pulled my Potions text from my bookbag while I answered nonchalantly. "I just couldn't sleep. I figured a little Potions would put me right back to bed."

"You're lying," Hermione said instantly.

Huh? What the…? "Huh?"

"Look me in the eye and say that again."

Ah, so that was it - Hermione was using her little Harry-lie-detector again. Somewhere along the way, she came up with the theory that I couldn't lie to her when I looked her in the eyes, and that I was lying if I was purposely avoiding her eyes. Well, I'll show her. I sighed and dramatically turned to face her, staring into her eyes.

"I just couldn't" - she had a strand of hair drifting across her cheek - "sleep. That's all." Gah! Damn eye flicker!

"That's what I thought," she said, a little smugly.

"No, wait! Let me try that again." Okay, focus now. "There's absolutely nothing" - the fire seems to be getting lower - "wrong with me." Urgh!

Hermione looked at me sympathetically. "Do you want to talk about it?" she asked softly.

I shook my head. Like I said, I really wasn't much in the mood to rehash the death of my parents and Sirius; plus, opening up and sharing my feelings isn't exactly the Harry Potter way. I'm more of the 'keep-my-feeling-inside-until-they-explode-and-I-yell-at-everyone' kind of guy; Harry 'the ticking time-bomb' Potter, that's me. I was about to tell her a firm no when she screwed it all up by putting her hand over mine.

"I dreamt about my parents…the night they died."

Ah well. There was just something about the way her hand felt over mine… Besides, I didn't mind so much talking to Hermione; I suppose it was probably because Hermione was one of only two people, Ron being the other, who really knew me, the real me, and not just the Boy-Who-Lived, although Ron at times did lose sight of that. With those two, I didn't have to maintain my steely façade at all times, though, of course, I would never share my feelings with Ron; we're both guys, after all, and it's just not a 'guy' thing to do. But Hermione was a girl, so talking about feelings with her was socially acceptable. I proceeded to tell Hermione about my dream, surprising even myself by not leaving out any details. And by the end of the tale, I actually did feel a little better.

"Oh Harry," she said sadly. I looked at her, expecting to hear some encouraging words or some advice, but instead, she startled me by flinging herself at me and enveloping me in a tight hug. I sat there stunned for a while. Despite the years of closeness we shared, I was still very uncomfortable with hugs; I'm guessing I'll either need years of therapy or a good Oblivious to repair the emotional damage the Dursleys inflicted on me. Anyways, it took me a few seconds to react, and I somewhat awkwardly put my arms around Hermione.

And lo and behold, after a few seconds, it actually started to feel good. It felt comfortable, peaceful, and just plain nice. And a few seconds after that, a few moments longer than necessary, we let each other go and just stared at each other. I then realized that things were getting a little awkward, and I cleared my throat.

"So…uh…about that Potions."

That seemed to snap Hermione out of it as well. "Oh yes, potions," she said, turning to riffle through her stacks of books and parchments. I wasn't sure, but I thought I saw her cheeks turn a little pink, but maybe that was because of the fire. We spent the next hour going over Potions (okay, technically I spent an hour going over Potions, Hermione spent an hour patiently explaining it all to me). But after that, I still wasn't sleepy so I started on Transfiguration while Hermione went on to Arithmancy. After about ten minutes of silence, I looked over at Hermione and saw that she had her head down in her book, her eyes closed.

"Hermione?" No response. I gently shook her shoulder. "Hermione?"

"Mmmmm?" She sounded very sleepy. And cute, not that I notice such things about my best friend.

I chuckled a little. "It's late; you should get some sleep."

She shook her head a little, hard to do since her head was still in lying on her book. "No," she mumbled. "Stay with you."

For some reason, hearing that gave me a strange warm feeling inside. I knew I should've insisted, or just Mobilicorpus'ed her up the stairs, but frankly, it felt very nice being with her, just the two of us, even if she was sleeping. "Okay," I said softly, and then returned to my book. About an hour later I finally felt sleepy myself, and after nudging Hermione awake, we packed up and went to our dorm rooms.

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Getting up the next morning was definitely tough. After taking a few seconds to rub all the gunk out of my eyes, I somehow managed to get dressed (thank Merlin for uniforms; I definitely lacked the mental capacity to match clothes) and stumbled my way to the Great Hall for breakfast. As I sat down across from Ron, he looked at me curiously.

"Man, Harry, you look terrible," he said. I grunted in response as I reached for the pitcher of pumpkin juice. "What happened?"

"Bad dream," I mumbled without thinking. And just my luck, for some reason Neville, Dean, and Seamus decided at that very moment to listen in.

"Bad dream, huh?" Seamus asked/snorted.

Oops. It's one thing to tell Hermione that I had a bad dream at two in the morning. It's a totally different thing when dealing with the guys. Bad dreams just aren't the things that tough guys lose sleep over; the Creevey's maybe, but not Harry Potter. Fortunately, I knew how to salvage the situation. "Yeah. I was remembering the final fight with Voldemort," I said nonchalantly. Though I made no outward show that I noticed, I was pleased to see the expected shudders (and a small squeak from Neville) that the name Voldemort still elicited. Being troubled by bad dreams may be wussy, but dreaming about Voldemort is another thing entirely. After that, the guys dropped the subject, probably because they knew that if they inquired further, I'd keep saying 'Voldemort' over and over again rather than 'You-Know-Who,' and despite his death, hearing Voldemort's name still scared the bejeezus out of them.

A few minutes later, as conversation turned safely to Quidditch and classes, Hermione made her way to the table and sat beside me. I gave her a quick smile and mumbled a greeting. I think she was avoiding my eyes, but since I was avoiding her eyes as well, I really couldn't be sure. Ron gave her a funny look as she sat.

"Sheesh Hermione, you look beat too. Don't tell me you had a bad dream as well?"

If Hermione glanced at me at the mention of 'bad dream' I couldn't be sure since at that moment I found my eggs absolutely fascinating. I did, however, hear her answer, "No, no bad dream," she said. "I was just up late studying."

And for some odd reason, I was pleased by her response. Now, I'm not saying that I regret telling her about my dream last night, but things do look a little different under the bright morning sun. I really didn't want to talk about the dream anymore, and I felt a bit awkward now, knowing that I had revealed so much to her, that I appeared so…vulnerable. I was half-afraid she would give me pitying looks and lose respect for me, but to my immense relief, she acted as if nothing had happened at all.

Another reason that her answer made me happy was that I suppose when I told Ron and the others that I dreamt about Voldemort, I unconsciously made the decision to keep the events of last night to myself. When Hermione responded the way she did, it seemed that she too had chosen to keep it just between us. It's not that I like keeping things from Ron, but it did feel oddly nice, knowing that Hermione and I had this little secret; something that was just between the two of us.

The rest of the day went rather quickly, but that was probably because I fell asleep in almost all of my classes - time sure flies when you sleep through it. After making the mistake of eating a plateful of pasta for dinner, I felt myself slipping into a food-coma. I could barely keep my eyes open, so I gracefully retired for the night, barely avoiding stepping on Crookshanks as I climbed the stairs.

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The next morning, I awoke refreshed and ready to start the day. Everything seemed to suggest that today would be a good day - the sun was shining, the birds were chirping. Predictably, things seemed to go downhill rather quickly from there. I walked with Ron and Hermione to the Great Hall for breakfast and had just started on my plate of eggs when Hermione spoke:

"I think we should start getting serious about NEWTs tonight. I've already drawn up a preliminary study schedule for us…" My fork clattered against my plate as the reality of what she just said set it. NEWTs. For some reason, I had completely forgotten about them! Hermione looked at me curiously. "Are you all right Harry?"

I nodded my head slightly and tried to clear the away the panic. "Er, yeah…I just…"

Hermione frowned. "You have been studying, right?" When I failed to respond, her frown deepened. "Right Harry?" she repeated.

I think I was too shocked to feel guilty. "Well…"

"Harry Potter!" she exclaimed. "I expected this kind of behavior from Ron-"

"Hey!" Ron protested, to no avail.

"-but not from you," Hermione continued unabated. "Well, you'll just have to work twice as hard now, since NEWTs are only two weeks away," she said resolutely, as she handed me my schedule.

Two weeks? TWO WEEKS? Did she just say that NEWTs are TWO WEEKS away? For the love of… I just barely maintained control of my bladder. If I didn't know that Voldemort was dead and buried, I would have suspected that this was some infernal plan of his to make my life a living hell. How did the entire school year go by without me realizing it? TWO WEEKS?

I numbly looked over Hermione's study schedule and received the second shock of the day, or was it third? Hermione had listed all the NEWT classes that I was taking, including Herbology and Charms. Oh crap. I had been skipping my Herbology and Charms classes all year! I didn't even know where the classrooms were. How in God's name (er, Merlin's name) was I going to cram a year's worth of knowledge into two weeks, especially given that I hadn't gone to a single class all year? For once I was glad that I had been facing death every year since I was eleven - it prepared me for this very moment, for otherwise I would probably have been struck catatonic with panic.

I considered my options. Obviously, since I had to study for every subject in the next two weeks in the first place, there was no way I could possibly make up for never attending Herbology or Charms. Maybe Dumbledore could do something for me. After all, I had been just a little busy the past couple of years, dealing with that whole 'saving the world, Dark Lord trying to kill me' thingie…maybe he could get me a special exemption or an extension? Sounded like a plan, and since nothing else came to mind, I decided that I would go talk to Dumbledore after lunch.

Heartened a little, I looked up and was startled to find that I was alone in the Great Hall. What the… I checked the time and saw that the first class had started ten minutes ago! How had I missed the entire Hall emptying? I stood up and hastily gathered my things, a little miffed that my two best friends left me here to vegetate for ten minutes. I rushed out of the Great Hall when I realized that I didn't know where I was going. Where was my first class? What was my first class? I scrambled through my bookbag, searching in vain for a schedule. Okay, calm down Potter. I straightened and took a couple of deep breaths, hoping to calm myself. Surely the realization that NEWTs were so close must have muddled my brain. All I had to do was to relax and everything would come back to me, right?

I relaxed for a few seconds, and then became worried that nothing was coming back. So I forced myself to relax again, which only made me worry more because nothing was coming back; I found myself becoming more and more panicked the more I tried to relax! Almost to the point of hyperventilation, I saw a glimmer of hope approaching me.

"Hermione!" I cried out. I suppose I should have wondered why she was out and about and wandering the hallways rather than in class, but I was just too relieved to see a living person.

"Harry," she said excitedly. She was clutching a textbook to her chest. "Are you busy tonight? Quidditch practice or anything?" she asked in a rush, clearly oblivious to the fact that I was about to pass out. "Do you think you can you help me with Super Advanced Defense Against the Dark Arts tonight? I want to study for that test next week and…"

But I tuned her out at that point. Super Advanced Defense Against the Dark Arts? What was that? "Hermione," I said, interrupting her in mid-sentence, "What are you talking about?"

She looked at me oddly. "Super Advanced Defense Against the Dark Arts? You promised you would help me study, remember?"

Actually I didn't, which wasn't all that surprising by this point. "Erm…"

She frowned. "Harry, you do remember promising me, right?" Before I could answer, she continued, "Well, no matter, you can still help me study, if you have time that is. We're on Chapter 183 now, and I'm having a little trouble with the Buplerificus Tolarbiliferous spell."

The what? What is going on today? "Er, Burpercus Tobercus spell?" I asked weakly.

Hermione frowned again. "Harry, you do know the Buplerificus Tolarbiliferous spell, right? I mean, you are taking Super Advanced Defense Against the Dark Arts, right?"

"Erm…"

"Harry Potter!" she said, shocked. "You promised!"

And while there was a small chance that I was indeed taking Super Advanced Defense Against the Dark Arts and just not remembering, it was doubtful since I'd never heard of the Burper-what's-it spell before. I fidgeted slightly as I spoke, "well, you see…"

But apparently Hermione didn't want to see, and instead she gave me an icy glare before stomping off back in the direction she had come from. As I watched her retreating, I suddenly felt sad that I couldn't help her. I mean, she's always been there to help Ron and me with all our school things, and it would have been really nice if I could have been there for her for once. But before I could think of anything to bring her back, she was gone, and I was left alone once more. Then I remembered that I couldn't remember anything, and that old panicky feeling came back. What was I going to do? I had NEWTs that I hadn't studied for coming up for classes that I hadn't been to all year! And to top it all off, Hermione was upset with me for breaking a promise I don't remember making about a class I'd never heard of before! Argh! I felt paralyzed by my panic; I couldn't think straight and-

With a deep intake of breath, I opened my eyes to the darkness of the dorm room. My heart was racing, and for a few seconds I had no idea whether what had just happened was a dream or not. After that, once I was sure that it had just been a dream, I took a great sigh of relief. God, how I hated that dream as well. That one was also a recurring dream, at least once every other month or so, though the whole thing about helping Hermione out with Super Advanced Defense Against the Dark Arts was new. Fortunately, while it took a few seconds to recover, it wasn't traumatizing like my dream from last night, so I could usually get back to sleep right away. As I settled back into my bed, my mind wandered over the meaning of the Hermione part. It then occurred to me that maybe Hermione was also up, studying again. Maybe she was downstairs at this very minute. I spent about five minutes thinking about that before I realized that I would never get any sleep unless I knew for sure. I was just curious. So, doing my best to be quiet, I slipped out of the dorm room and walked down the stairs towards the common room.

As soon as I saw her figure hunched over a pile of books, an uncontrollable smile broke out on my face. Fortunately, I managed to clear it off by the time she noticed me.

"Harry?" she said, looking up. "Are you okay?" She was giving me that look that one gives to a wet, bedraggled puppy. I knew that look well, for I got that look all the time from the neighbors in Surrey who thought I was some disturbed child and from the wizards and witches who knew that my parents had been murdered. It was a look of pity, and I hated that look. But for some reason, I didn't mind that look so much coming from Hermione. I nodded my head as I walked down the last few steps. "Did you have a bad dream again?" she asked.

I considered that for a second. Technically, I did just have a bad dream, though it didn't really bother me. But still, a bad dream is a bad dream, right? "Yeah," I said in what I thought was a brave and stoic-sounding voice.

"Do you want to talk about it?" she asked, her eyes filled with worry and concern.

"No, I'll be all right," I said bravely as I stoically sat down next to her.

Fortunately, she didn't press the issue, though I could tell she wanted to. "Is there anything I can do?"

Not the kind of thing an attractive girl should ask a seventeen year old male, because a whole bunch of impure thoughts flew through my brain, thoughts that I should not have about my best friend. "Er, no, I don't think so," I said valiantly.

"Do you want to study, to get your mind off of your dream? Or maybe just talk?"

As studying was rarely a preferred option of mine, it wasn't that hard of a choice. I smiled and replied, "I think talking would be okay." Hermione smiled back and closed her book, signifying that I was to be her sole focus of attention. I felt a flutter in my stomach, which I promptly ignored. We spent the next few hours talking.

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