Tom

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Crabbe sat in shocked silence, staring blank at the dark fireplace. The boy had sat politely enough, quiet as he listened through Goyle's entire recount of his dream. But as Goyle went on in detail, Crabbe's expression changed dramatically. I expected him to feel as uneasy as I did but not as... paranoid? Disturbed? Worried even? During certain parts of the story, Crabbe's eyes kept darting between myself and Goyle, especially when Goyle mentioned me. I wasn't sure why. In the end, I was surprised Crabbe didn't just get up and dart from the room, unable to handle what Goyle had to say. He sure was fidgeting enough.



"Damn." I spoke first, cracking the heavy, awkward silence sucking the life from the room, "That's pretty fucked up, Goyle."



"You don't have to tell me," Goyle muttered, sitting back on the couch with the diary in hand, flipping through the blank pages.



He was acting nonchalant, but I knew it took a lot of guts to spill out that story. I wasn't sure if the information from the dream would help us against Tom. If anything, it made me feel all the more apprehensive about the situation. Up until now I had been considering surrendering myself to Tom Riddle. I felt it was my duty to give the Dark Lord anything he needed to help restore him to power. But a little voice deep down in my mind had protested. Probably part of my conscience awakening. I was used to the little voice and it's shrill, moral cries, that of which normally fell on deaf ears. But now, whatever it had to say actually felt important. The voice had screamed any time Tom was around, screamed for me to run, get away from him, he was the purest of evil and deep down I knew that. Especially after our first real encounter, after seeing those... memories. And now, after hearing the rest of the dream I had so thankfully missed out on, the panicked cries of my conscience were enough to make my ears ring.



Crabbe twitched from his stupor and turned to Goyle beside him, "You actually enjoyed it?"



"What?" Goyle peered at him past the small black book in his hands. He caught on to what Crabbe had asked and abruptly hid his face back behind the diary. "It was a dream, you know? You act different in dreams," Goyle muttered.



"Well I'd of kicked his ass!" Crabbe crossed his arms and leaning back against the corner of couch, purposely moving away from Goyle.



"I tried that, didn't you listen? He beat the hell out of me! Fighting wasn't getting me anywhere. Plus he wanted to go after Draco. Me or him, he said. What could I do but give in? I'm sure if I kept fighting him I'd of lost ten times over, only a bloody heap left of me."



"But it was just a dream! He couldn't actually hurt you!" Crabbe snorted.



"Bullshit," Goyle put the book on his lap, now irritated to the point of anger, "Don't you remember Draco's wrist? That was 'only from a dream'. You think I got away as easy as him? I haven't even told you the best part yet." Goyle stood up and started taking off his Slytherin robes.



"What are you doing?" Crabbe asked suspiciously, still apprehensive towards Goyle.



"You'll see," Goyle faced me and dropped his robe on the couch, lifting his shirt clean off over his head.



I watched, wondering myself what Goyle was getting at.



My friend's ample, tan chest dwarfed both Crabbe's and mine. As a young boy, Goyle had been on the chubby side. But his love for sports toned all the fat to muscle and left him the menacing, broad shouldered bully that tormented the nightmares of many unfortunate Hogwarts students. His size was always something I envied, although I knew having Goyle by my side was enough for me. He made a good right hand man. They both did, actually. Besides, I was the looks of us three. You always needed a pretty boy to head the brains of an operation, at least that's what I've always told myself. Crabbe was the smaller one of my two friends, although not by much. Where he lacked, he made up for by being cunning, especially with his words. Those who suffered a beating by Goyle usually felt the wraith of an additional beating by Crabbe's witty yet deadly vocabulary. I believed him to be a lot smarter than he let on, like Goyle. But Crabbe was plagued by laziness. Well, he actually reveled in being a lazy prat, so I can't say he was actually 'plagued' by it. The three of us made a perfectly tight-knit group of friends. We'd handled a lot of odd situations in our days, but this was turning out to be one of the strangest and perhaps most dangerous to date.



"For fucks sake...," Crabbe gasped suddenly. He was staring in horrified awe at Goyle's back, which was turned away from me.



"What? What is it?" I rose from my chair and moved to Crabbe's side to get a better look.



I fell back on the arm of the couch, involuntarily taking a seat as my knees gave out beneath me. I was literally shaken by what I saw.



"There should be eleven cuts. I counted them earlier. That's how many it took for the fucker to get off. Eleven..."



Goyle thankfully put his shirt back on and sat back on the other end of the large leather couch. Crabbe and I sat in shocked silence.



"You have no idea how bad it hurt when he got to eleven. I didn't realize I knew that many swear words" Goyle turned to Crabbe, "Probably learned them all from you."



There was, in fact, eleven long red cuts down Goyle's back. They had begun to scab over but were still a terrible sight to see. I could only imagine what Goyle's bed sheets must look like after waking from that dream.



"Why didn't you say anything earlier!?" Crabbe asked, his eyes wide and unblinking.



I sat in silence beside him, feeling sick with worry, perplexed by the cuts and very guilty. I only had sore wrists, look what Goyle had to go through! And at my sake...



Goyle lowered his eyes, "Didn't want to frighten Draco. I mean, Tom wants him after all. Not me."



"Why'd you do it?" I asked, my voice shaking.



"Do what?"



"Why didn't you just let him fuck me!?" I shook my head, my voice rising in anger, "It wasn't my dream. He can't hurt me in your bloody dreams! Why didn't you just let him!"



Goyle was taken aback, "I- the thought never crossed my mind. Letting him hurt you, I just didn't..." He glanced over at Crabbe, "Either of you."



"Thanks, I feel special," Crabbe muttered, still creeped out by the cuts as much as I was.

"But it wasn't our dream! It was yours!" I lowered my voice again, remembering someone might overhear us, "Bloody Merlin, Goyle! Tom was torturing you! And you just let him!"



Goyle's eyes darted away from both of ours, "Nothing I can't handle."



"But Goyle!" I protesteed, "I mean, c'mon! I'm not worth taking abuse like that!"

Goyle frowned, catching my eyes, "Yes you are."

"Whoa, calm down Drac," Crabbe interrupted, flinging his arms between us, "I think what Goyle did was justifiable. I- I mean, if Tom can seriously hurt us in our dreams then what's to stop him from hurting other people through our dreams? This isn't even dark magic anymore. This is... pure evil shit! If it wasn't for Goyle giving in to Tom, I think Draco would be the one walking around with cuts down his back, or worse. Like Goyle said, Tom's not after him. He wants you, Drac."



I stared at Crabbe in disbelief.



"He's right you know. That's why I did it. To protect you. Even if it was just a bloody dream," Goyle averted his eyes, although he looked relieved that Crabbe had stepped in and said his part.



"I can't believe you two!" I stood up, pacing across the room past the fireplace, "You-you can't just sacrifice yourself for my sake!"



Goyle glanced up at me now, catching my eyes in a deadlock stare, "You would do the same for us."



I paused, shaking slightly with anger and fear. Goyle knew very well I would do anything for either of them. I didn't believe he was doubting me. But it seemed as if he was trying to read me for something. Somehow it felt just like that dreamy, distant stare earlier. I had no clue what was going through my friend's minds. Things just seemed a bit off with Goyle and Crabbe. It had to be all this Tom business messing with us...



"Of course I would," I replied honestly. After an awkward moment, Goyle smiled and looked away, apparently satisfied with my answer.



"Then what's done is done," Crabbe turned to Goyle, "But for fucks sake, you should go see Madam Pomfrey about those cuts. You're gonna have some nasty scars if you don't do anything about them."



"Nah, I've been tossing around some healing charms, wondering which one to try. I'll start one tonight and see how it goes. I can't go to Pomfrey with this. How will I explain it? Bad dreams?"



"True, sorry I even thought it," Crabbe shrugged.



"How will we sleep tonight? Did anyone think that one through?" I asked.



Crabbe glanced at Goyle who shrugged, "We could sleep in shifts?"



"I have a better idea," Crabbe seemed deep in thought, a task that didn't suit his normal personality, "Let's just ask Snape to borrow some Dreamless Night potion? We can tell him we're having bad dreams or something. Shouldn't be too hard, right? I mean, it's Snape."



"Will the potion work?" I wondered aloud. We had studied the potion a few weeks back and I couldn't recall much from it other than it tasted like blueberries. I rather liked blueberries.



"Of course. That potion's 100% effective, isn't it?" Crabbe turned to Goyle for his confirmation.



Goyle frowned, "Yeah, but you're forgetting what we're dealing with here. This Ghost Tom Riddle is supposedly connected to 'You Know Who'. He's not some random jolly wizard. Even if Tom's just the Dark Lord's younger self, he's still bloody powerful. You said it yourself, Crabbe, this is some seriously evil shit. Not your run-of-the-mill curse."



"We've got to try it," I sighed, "I don't think sleeping in shifts is a great idea. But maybe we should do it tonight along with the potions, just in case."



"I could use a drink," Crabbe mumbled, flicking a piece of lint off the back of the leather couch. This was actually a trademark Crabbe comment. Crabbe and Goyle were known to smuggle flasks and bottles of alcohol into Hogwarts. They were the lone suppliers of the Slytherin's booze stash.



"I could use one too, but let's try and keep our heads level for tonight," I sighed, "And let's just hope this works."



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Goyle squinted across room, watching Draco lying still in his bed. The blond boy was fast asleep. The dorm room was lit only by a small lamp near Crabbe's bed, creating more shadows than light.

"So... you think Draco should like, tell Vold- ah, I mean, He Who Must Not Be Named what this Tom kid's doin to him? This Riddle guy?" Crabbe slurred like a drunken sailor as he leaned against Goyle. He was speaking in a forced whisper so the slurring made his words run together. Beside him on the bed sat a half empty bottle of Admiral Nelson's Whiskey. Crabbe had said it was muggle liquor and, by the rough, biting taste, Goyle assumed it really was. How Crabbe had obtained it, Goyle really didn't have the faintest clue. A jolly image of a flamboyant man with a white powdered wig and Napoleon era dress decorated the bottle. The picture was flat and one dimensional, further proving it to be muggle-made.

"Nah, I dunno," Goyle frowned at the glass in his hand, swishing around the brown liquid, "Tom's Voldemort anyway. So what good's it gunna do tellin him about hisself?"

Crabbe recoiled at the Dark Lord's name, nearly falling off the bed, "Damn Goyle! You say his name and he's gonna start writin' in that damn diary! Or poppin' in the window like a damned owl! Dun say it!"

Goyle burst out in muffled laughter.



After desperately trying to hold a serious expression, Crabbe joined in.

"Shhh!" Goyle held a finger to his lips, "Dun wake up Draco!"



Crabbe hiccuped, "Lookit him over there, sleepin like a damn baby..."



Goyle snorted a laugh, quickly covering his mouth.



Crabbe leaned in closer, teetering a little, "Wonder why he din't wanna drink with us. I mean, Tom totally, like, fucked him. Well, he sucked his cock act'ly. Hah! Man, I can't believe he didn't tell us any of that! I'd wanna drink tons if that happen'd to me."



"And have a smoke too, right?" Goyle grinned, using Crabbe to support his weight as they leaned against each other.

"Fuckn' sick man, fuck'n sick," Crabbe chuckled, taking a sip straight from the Admiral Nelson's bottle.

The two boys were propped sitting up against the headboard of Crabbe's bed, trying their best to stay awake and on 'guard duty'. It was a little past three thirty in the morning and Tom hadn't shown up yet. So far as they could tell, the Dreamless Night potion was working beautifully. Goyle had taken the first nap without having any dreams. Crabbe tried to sleep but couldn't relax enough so he had been up all night. Now Draco was taking a rather long nap, sleeping blissfully and without a care. Goyle decided to stay awake to keep Crabbe company for awhile. The alcohol was Crabbe's idea. Draco didn't like them drinking but he could tell his two friends were stressed. A few drinks wouldn't kill anyone. Besides, this was muggle whiskey. Everyone knew you couldn't get drunk off inferior muggle whiskey...

"This shit's awful," Goyle frowned at the glass in his hand, swishing around the golden brown liquid, "Why'd you get muggle whiskey anyway?"

Crabbe shrugged, "Was cheap."

Goyle grinned, "I'm not even drunk. Seriously. I'm, like, perfectly sober right now. Thish is my third glass too!"

"Pssh," Crabbe snorted, "Bullshit, you're hammered! I'm the one who's barely tipsy. Like... I've been way drunker than this offa fire whiskey!"

Goyle held three fingers in front of Crabbe's face, "How many fingers'm I holdin up?"

Crabbe squinted, "Dumbass, I can count! Its three!"

"Ok, alright," Goyle sighed in defeat, "You're sober like a fox."

Crabbe sat in silence for a moment, "Whats that mean? Like a fox?"

"Dunno, I guess fox's are really sober?" Goyle shrugged, "Man, it's nearly four. You think Tom's gunna try anything tonight?"

"Dun ask me. I'm not the one he wants to bone so bad." Crabbe purposely leaned his head on Goyle's shoulder and blinked up at his friend in a drunken, flirtatious manner, "Oh Draco, you're so dreamy! Please be my boyfriend! Pretty please?"

Goyle suddenly shoved Crabbe. This time the boy really did fall off the bed, landing on the floor with a thump.

"Fuck man!" Crabbe hissed, climbing back on the bed.

Draco stirred in his sleep, turning over to face them. The boys both held their breath for a moment, but Draco lay with his eyes closed, still fast asleep.

"What the hell wus that for!" Crabbe whispered angry at his friend.

"You know why," Goyle muttered, finishing off the last of his glass and glaring.

Crabbe sighed, "Aw cm'on. I din't mean it like that! I was pretendin' I was Tom. Y'know?"

"Yeah. Right. Ok," Goyle grumbled, "And what was that bullshit you said to Draco earlier? How 'everyone wants to fuck him'? Seriously, what the fuck..."

"I'll admit that wash totally uncalled for. It just kinda... slipped. Dunno why. I guess that dream you had, it just kinda fucked me up. I thought you were gunna tell him yerself, the way you were goin on... But I din't mean anythin by it, honest!"

Goyle wasn't buying it but he sighed anyway and glanced over at his friend, "I'd just rather Draco din't know..."

Crabbe smiled, "But y'know I'm a great secret keeper! I swear he'll never hear from me about yer little... crush."

Goyle frowned again, "Dun call it that, sounds so gay."

Crabbe grinned suddenly, "But-".

"Shuddup, just shuddup and gimme more of that cheap arse whiskey," Goyle reached past Crabbe, stealing the whiskey from him.

"Hey! That's the last I got!" Crabbe frowned.

"You owe me, arsehole," Goyle grinned, pouring himself another glass.

Crabbe just sighed and glanced over at Draco's sleeping form on his shadowy side of the room, "You think he's gunna be ok?"

Goyle glanced up, following Crabbe's gaze to their friend, "S'long as we're around."


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