Draco would often wake in the night either furious with himself or ready to duel with anyone who would cross him. He would go down to the common room and then pace around the high-backed chairs and the regal love seat until he sat on the floor in the low light of the fire to assess his own thoughts.
Soon though, he'd end up asleep, curled in front of the fire like some sort of cat. But he'd wake in about fifteen minutes or so, only to repeat the process. He hated his dreams, and often thought of becoming an insomniac, but quickly released the thought every time.
He'd ask Pansy in the morning sometimes, what it meant if he creamt of someone everynight. She would bat her eylashes and reply, "Ohh~! Draco! That means you're in love!"
He hated that idea, that possibility. He could not love the person he hated so much He could not love the person that he had to cast away as they got older.
He could not love Harry James Potter.
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