Note: With the new Harry Potter movie coming out in July (at least, here in the States), I thought it fitting to include my greatest character ever into the mix with a new fanfiction. I'm in the middle of writing a screenplay of this character's backstory that will be turned into a CGI movie if I ever learn how to use Blender 3-D on my dad's old PC in the basement. For now, however, I'm about 50 pages into the script and I'm officially on summer vacation, which means fanfiction like crazy until September again. I'm going to be a senior come September! I remember starting this account and going into the 8th grade, now I'm going into the 12th. Crazy how time flies, innit? Anyway, have fun with this new sucker. By the way, YES, this will be a HarryXDraco fic at the end. So if you don't like it, you can just click that nice little back button right now and get the hell out of here, because I am a very busy woman and I don't need to be dealing with little shites who get their thrills complaining and bitching about someone else's point of view. If it's constructive criticism, that's fine. I accept that. I encourage it! Please, by all means, help me become a better writer. Do NOT, however, outright flame me. I want literate, grammatically correct reviews or I won't even bother responding. Proofread that shit before you send it to me. I've been lenient in the past but it's a whole new me, now. Thank you and have a nice day.

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or anything related to it, but I do own Droiture LeReve and anything related to him. Steal him without my personal permission and I will personally hunt you down and beat you with a stick. I'm serious. I spent a lot of time creating his story and his character, and him being stolen is the last thing I want to have to deal with. So seriously. Keep your filthy hands off my Duatty. He's mine, bitches.

Memoire d'un Reve

Chapter One: Sandman

"Harry."

"What?"

"Check out the pasty bloke who just stepped on."

"The long-haired one with the talons?"

"That's the one. Looks kinda sinister, doesn't he?"

"You know, I can hear you two whispering about me, you filthy sots."

Harry and Ron shot up straight in their seats as the new teen sat down in their compartment. "My name is Droiture LeReve. I was born and raised in the United States, but I am from a French background. I've been home-schooled but dear old Mum decided she was done torturing me and here I am, living on my own in a shoddy apartment in London. Who are you two judgmental bastards?" Droiture snapped.

"I'm Harry Potter.... Raised in Surrey... This is Ron."

Ron waved nervously. "Ron Weasley...." he said quietly. "Sorry about the whispering, we weren't trying to be judgmental...."

"Yes, well, you should watch what you say around a Daemon. We can hear for many miles."

"You're a Daemon? I thought they were extinct!" Harry exclaimed.

"Oh, they are. Sort of. I'm the last of my species. Don't tell anyone, I don't need media attention. Tell everyone it's a birth defect, okay? Mum didn't choose to birth me, and I've kind of spent my life in hiding."

"Let me guess. Abusive, nasty woman? Father never did anything to stop it? Nasty relatives? Perhaps a religious zealot for a mum?" Harry deadpanned.

"Exactly. Well, my step-dad anyway. My real dad is the Devil, literally, as you could probably already guess. How'd you know?"

"My aunt and uncle are the same way. Well, sans the religious part. Vernon and Petunia."

"They even sound like nasty people. Well, I guess we're on the same boat then. Don't your mum and dad do anything to stop it?" Droiture asked Harry.

"Both dead."

"Ouch." Droiture said, then lowered his sharp acid-colored eye down to his book.

"How'd you get those scars?" Ron asked, referring to the scars bisecting both of Droiture's eyes and giving him a sinister Glasgow smile.

"Born with them. They're tribal birthmarks. Got them all over my bloody body." Droiture shifted his leg and the part of his pants that seemed to be an open fly shifted in a funny way.

"Wha--"

"Born with that too. I'm technically naked from the waist down right now."

"So your zipper--"

"Tattooed and pierced in that fashion."

Both Harry and Ron impulsively grabbed their crotches protectively, staring in horror at the zipper-pull piercing penetrating the tip of what was implied to be this strange newcomer's penis.

"I can tell you're scared. Also, if you haven't noticed. I've got invisible feet, tri-fingered hands, pointed ears, a mouth that bisects my head, and all the markings that mark me as a Daemon."

"That's... terrifying but fascinating at the same time. I'm not sure which is worse."

"I get that a lot." This entire conversation took place and not once did Droiture look up from his book. He flipped his hair, and the front part flipped behind his ear, revealing his right eye to be completely and totally blind. Milky white in color.

The train stopped and Hogwarts students began filing off. Droiture hung in the shadows, blending in with them. Harry and Ron were able to find him only by his single glowing acid-tinted eye. "Droiture, the school is this way. You're a transfer 7th year right? You'll need to be Sorted."

"I've heard about the Sorting." Droiture's voice rang in Harry and Ron's heads. "I suspect I'll be put in either Ravenclaw or Slytherin, but we'll see."

"Why those two?" Ron asked.

"Because, you curious little snot, I'm inherently evil and excruciatingly intelligent." Droiture explained, stepping out of the shadows in a way that suggested he was actually part of the shadows themselves.

When standing at full height, he was much taller than either Harry or Ron, standing at 6'7". He was also extremely skinny, almost skeletal. His green mesh top and black Torque vest didn't help his appearance, nor did his legs, which appeared to be black baggy pants with green futuristic designs including rectangles, dots, lines, and arrows that seemingly mocked his lack of feet. His black hair reached all the way down to his bottom, so long he could sit on it if he chose to. The front was shorter, but still long enough that it covered his right eye completely, obscuring his blindness from view. His mouth was curved permanently in a twisted, evil Glasgow smile lined with rows and rows of sharp, deadly, shark-like white fangs. The fangs were sinisterly tinted pink with old blood. In his right claw, he held a cage with a pitch-black owl contained within. In his left, he had the handle of a cart with the rest of his school items on it. His wand, a black one with a green stripe spiraling along the length and an emerald at the base of the handle, lay strapped to his waist. His appearance was evil at heart, and one who was raised from a wealthy background.

He ominously reminded Harry of Draco Malfoy for some reason. Nasty, distrustful, suspicious of the world around him, wealthy.... parents who didn't care quite as much as they should.... In desperate need of a true friend.... Forced by the world into a position he found repulsive....

Harry blinked and shook those last few thoughts out of his head as the carriage arrived to take them to Hogwarts.

The Sorting didn't take too long. There weren't as many first-years as usual. Droiture got a special little entrance.

"This year at our beloved Hogwarts, we have a special student. He is a transfer from America. His name is Droiture LeReve, and this year will be his first and last at Hogwarts, as he is a seventh-year. Let us place the Sorting Hat upon his head and see what his fate tells."

The hat was placed on Droiture's head.

"Oh! I haven't seen a Daemon in many years. Many years indeed."

"Get on with it, you bloody hat. Put me somewhere my talents lie."

"Oh, this is difficult. I don't normally have this much difficulty placing a Daemon. Usually you all end up in Slytherin... You seem to lean towards a Slytherin outlook on life, yet your intelligence is Ravenclaw-superb. However, you seem brave and loyal to those who you trust, if any. Then again, your inherent magic isn't quite as strong as someone's who is full blood Devil or Human. Where to place you? Where to-- Ohhh! What is this bit, here?"

"You stay out of there, you bloody fucking hat! Those memories aren't for you to see!!"

"Someone worth fighting for? Worth dying for? You'd brave a thousand perils to bring her back, wouldn't you? Because you loved her, didn't you? Her and only her? Poor little Daemon..."

"GET OUT OF MY HEAD!"

"Now, now, Daemon boy, that's no way to speak to an old hat like me. Haven't you ever been taught to respect your elders?"

"This is a violation of my privacy! You have no right to intervene in those sacred memories! They are mine!"

"I know exactly where to place you, my Daemon friend."

"Fucking hat!" Droiture snapped aloud.

"GRYFFINDOR!" The call rang loud and clear through the Great Hall.

Droiture roared and threw the hat to the ground at the cheering of the Gryffindors, but stomped his way over to the table anyway. Harry patted him on the back. "Why so glum, Droiture? Now you're with us!"

"That fucking hat invaded my most cherished memory. The only thing I could truly call my own and that motherfucking chunk of fabric ripped right through it." Droiture said, seething.

"Well that's what the Sorting Hat does. It pokes around in your brain and figures out where to put you. It's kind of the thing's job."

"That I can deal with! Poking around a little, seeing my talents, predicting my success, but I can NOT forgive it for invading my memories. That memory was mine and mine alone." Droiture's voice was quivering, as if he were about to burst into tears.

"You... feel rather violated, don't you?" Hermione asked, placing her hand on Droiture's shaking arm. Droiture's visible eye was glassy and wide, staring at his hands as if he'd just ripped the throat out of.... her once again.

"I've never felt so alone.... All the water in the world won't make me feel clean again...." Droiture let out a sob and buried his head in his arms and cried. It was the second time in his life he'd ever truly cried, the first being when she died. When he killed her out of blindness and anger, by accident.

Hermione, who before this moment hadn't yet been introduced to the strange young man sobbing before her, took Droiture in her arms and held him there as he cried corrosive tears onto her shirt, burning holes in the fabric. Hermione winced as some of the acid blistered her skin, but she didn't pull back. Droiture vaguely wondered why she hadn't yelped in pain yet.

"There, there, Droiture, was it? No need to cry. I'll be your friend. You don't have to be sad anymore, okay?"

Droiture seemed shocked. He pulled back, tears leaving burning trails down his cheeks, looking Hermione straight in the eye with a terrified, hurt expression on his face, and ran for it, heading towards the Gryffindor tower.

"Droiture, wait! Oh!" Hermione seemed hurt as Droiture ran off. "Why did he run from me?"

"Think about it, Hermione. He's never had friends before, from what we heard. He's probably only used to being used and thrown away. When you said you'd be his friend, he probably thought you weren't someone to be trusted because that's what he's learned that word means." Harry said through a mouthful of pudding.

"Oh, should I go talk to him?"

"Let him go until after dinner, at least. I think he needs a little time to cool off. From what we saw on the train, he's got a lot of anger boiling inside him. I think all he needs is a healthy way to get that anger out."

"Poor guy... he must not have had an easy life...."

"From what we heard, his mother was an abusive religious zealot and his step-father was a cold, emotionally distant bastard." Ron mumbled over chicken.

"Didn't he have anyone to turn to?"

"I don't think so, no. He never mentioned anything."

Draco Malfoy came strolling up to the Gryffindor table.

"What had we there? Even a Daemon's afraid of the Mudblood. What did you do, Granger? Bore him until he ran off?" He laughed.

"Suck it, Malfoy, and get out of here. Droiture's not in his right mind right now." Harry snapped.

"Has he ever been?" Malfoy retorted, grinning.

"You know, when I met Droiture, he reminded me of you in a way. Cold, suspicious of the world, put upon by society, a shell of a man who could be so much more if he merely stepped outside the little bubble of safety he created for himself," Harry said calmly, looking Malfoy straight in the eye. ". . .and actually trusted someone besides himself." Harry finished, to Malfoy's stunned expression.

"What are you talking about, Potter?"

"Think about it, Draco. You get off poking fun at us Gryffindors because it makes you feel important. Like your life has some sort of meaning. You threaten us and taunt us, but you never do anything. I think the truth is, you're scared. You've never had a true friend in your life, so you use them and throw them away before they have the chance to do it to you. You create this whole little fantasy world inside your head where you're so important and everyone bows to your will, when in reality you're no better than the rest of us, and you're terrified to face that fact."

Malfoy's legs were shaking so badly he collapsed into the seat Droiture previously occupied. He had the same terrified, stunned expression that Droiture had mere moments before.

"Potter, I...." Malfoy's voice trailed off, and he blinked twice, sending small tears down his face. He couldn't find the strength to make his legs move. Finally, he wobbled from the chair and stumbled off silently. Harry stared at him as he left.

"Wow, Harry. You just broke down every semblance of meaning in that boy's life. How do you feel about that?" Another Gryffindor asked, a smile on his face.

"Like a weight has been lifted off his chest." Harry answered, eating more chicken.

Dear Annabella,

I was Sorted at Hogwarts today. I'm in Gryffindor. Weird, isn't it? The Sorting Hat said that usually Daemons end up in Slytherin. I guess I'm just special. I don't think I like the Sorting Hat at all, though. He probed a bit too deep in my head and found some memories I wanted to carry myself. I guess I can't blame him, I mean, he is nothing but enchanted fabric and stitching. I wonder, if you were still here, would you be in Gryffindor, too? You were always so brave and so loyal. Oh, but you're a bit too young for Hogwarts, still, aren't you? That's right, you'd only be turning ten next week. You need to be eleven to be a First-year. But boy, how time flies. It's only been three years, but in those three short years, I've learned so much and been through so much more. I love you so much, my dearest Annabella, and I always will.

A Lion's Proper Goodbye-

Droiture LeReve