He fell into a restless doze, and in his dreams Draco felt his mother’s cool, gentle hands stroking his hair off his forehead, her soft voice whispering comfort. In his dream he was clean and his hair shiny and smelling of hair potion. He was dressed in perfectly pressed and tailored clothes, and he lay on a chaise lounge in his bedroom suite, a light rug over him. His mother sat gracefully on a high-backed chair to his left, smiling down at him. Draco was home, in the Manor, and the Dark Lord and all his followers were gone; the sanctity of his home restored to him.