Disclaimer: No copyright infringement is intended. Characters etc. belong to J. K. Rowling. This is a work of fanfiction.

Two Dreams and a Maybe

Draco Malfoy was caught between two dreams.

One was older than the other, but then, one was more reasonable than the other. More rational. More respectable. More responsible. And yet...

Growing up, Draco hadn't known that his father was a supporter of the Dark Lord. Sure, he knew his father was as dark as they come. And, of course, he'd been raised to share the Dark Lord's opinions on certain matters. But, with the Dark Lord seemingly finished, it was risky to come out and say you were a supported, or former supporter, especially after you had pleaded otherwise. It was also risky to have your child run around announcing it, and so Draco hadn't been trusted with this information until the end of his first year at Hogwarts. It came as a relief, really, it meant that he wasn't alone in his having Harry Potter as an enemy. In fact, it meant his father wouldn't be disappointed to find out that he hadn't ended up befriending someone so famous and esteemed.

Since than, he had nursed the dream that one day the Dark Lord would rise again, and he would be an important follower. He never really liked being anyone's follower, but if he had to choose someone, it would be Him.

Then there was that other dream. That one had started at the beginning of first year, rather than at the end of it. She was pretty, smart, passionate, funny, everything a person ought to be. Well, except for two things. She was a Gryfindor, and she was a Mudblood. Well, no, make that three things. She also was not a very big fan of Draco, though that was partially his fault.

Admitedly, he had gone out of his way to make sure she knew he hated her. To make sure everyone knew that he hated her. This had gone on for a couple of years, but stopped in third year, quite possibly due to a certain whack in the face. Anyway, until then he had thrown out hints that out of the trio of obnoxious Gryfindors, he hated her almost the most. It was hard to even pretend that he hated anyone more than he hated Potter. He'd done his best job of it during second year, constantly bringing up Granger's death every time someone mentioned the basilisk almost-slayings.

He hoped nobody noticed how awful his act was. He pranced around like he owned the place. Or, at least, he really tried to. The thought of Muggleborns dying, especially that Hufflepuff who's name he hadn't bothered to learn, was generally pleasant. Except then there was the fact that Granger could die. He told himself she was too smart for that. Too smart to die. Or, even, to be petrified. That cat was stupid, all cats were stupid, clearly Granger would know better than to go and get herself petrified. But then she did. And a Ravenclaw did, too. Which meant it really, really wasn't a matter of brains at all. But, the good thing was, she wasn't dead. She was smart enough not to get herself killed, like that last girl had when the chamber opened.

When she had punched him, he decided to tone the act down a bit. Perhaps he'd gone too far too many times, or maybe she really did care about that great oaf. Probably the former. The girl was caring, not confunded.

Well, in any case, they were two very different dreams, and he knew that eventually he'd have to chose one, and he thought it would be easy. It wasn't as if she'd every give him the time of day, anyway. He, the pure-blooded Slytherin, deserved better. And she, the brightest witch of their age, did too. His own father was a death eater, and all of his friends were, and, well, he was too. He'd already made the choice. It wasn't even a choice. It was predetermined. It was natural. It was good. It was easy. It was awful. Anyway, it had already been done. He had the mark on his arm. He was trying to, well, off someone. And then, out of no where, came this choice. It simply wasn't fair. The broom had flown.

"Malfoy?" she repeated. Her words were so soft. She pronounced everything perfectly. She could tell him to shove off and it would sound like delicate poetry. She sort of tilted her head to the side when she tried to speak carefully. Her eyes were already a bright sort of brown, but they seemed to flicker with something when she was thinking. It was rare for her to not be thinking. Her eye brows reflected a sort of pleading look. It was all up to him. He could destroy her. He should destroy her.

And then she spoke more words that had already been said that evening. She thought he hadn't heard her. There was no way he would be polite enough to ignore such a request rather than loudly deny it. "Would you like to accompany me to Slughorn's Christmas party?" she asked again.

He'd always wanted to be favored by Slughorn. That would be his excuse. Why, of course, accompanying the brightest, prettiest witch would attract attention. No, he wouldn't be able to say that. He'd have to say no. He had things to do. Things to try. People to kill. People to kill...

"I'd be delighted." They'd kept Potter alive all those years. They trusted Snape, even though he had the mark and was obviously working for the Dark Lord. Surely, they could find somewhere to hide him. To hide his mother. This was a strategical move. Maybe he wouldn't have to kill someone after all. Maybe he could save them. Maybe they could save him. Maybe the broom hadn't already flown, maybe it was hiding in the shadows, fooling his eyes, maybe...

"Really?"

"Yeah."

Author's Note: ^^ Probably not very original, or fluent, but oh well. I just had the idea, and decided to go for it. Thanks for reading! Reviews are really appreciated! I'm sorry for not updating any of my other stories for ages, I just started high school and the workload is dreadful, I just haven't had the time. [I know, what am I doing writing this, but this is probably a stand-alone, and took be like three minutes max.]