Oneshots in one place. Not many yet... but there will be more! Your thoughts and comments are much appreciated =)

Dribble One: September and a Sickle

Length ~ 2.9k words

Rating: T

Oh, Beltane. Your fires light the night. Red and orange sing among the hues of opal. Is it real? Is it just a dream, a dream that comes to those who sleep? I don't know. I just see the fires and revel in their light.

People dance and mingle. They laugh, their voices carrying to the twinkling stars above. Tonight, all fears are gone; only the allure of mystery remains. Who are these people? Draco doesn't care. He's come here to forget and, for once in the past several years, become emancipated from the heavy burdens that trouble his dreary days.

So Draco joins the crowd. Ancient magic coats the area. It conceals identities, covering faces like a fog in nippy, late-autumn air, making indistinguishable any personal feature. Anyone can be anyone, and the promise of anonymity has been a temptation few proved able to resist. They've flocked here in droves, the many becoming one, and one becoming many. Draco walks among them, smiling to those who meet his eyes.

...His eyes… the eyes of a former Death Eater, but they don't know, so they smile back and shake his hand and throw their arms around his shoulders, holding him tight until the ice in his heart melts and he can hardly see, because the world has blurred into a kaleidoscope of melting color. His chest shudders, and he recalls the years in which he was cherished, accepted, adored. Those times have passed now. Until today, tonight. Beltane...

There's no stigma here, only love. Only Beltane. All are equal under its tender gaze.

"Have a drink!" He does.

"Try the pie – baked it meself, I did!" He takes a bite, flavors of cherry and waning summer exploding in his mouth. He finishes it in one sitting and thanks the woman, walking on.

A couple musicians strike up a merry tune, and a girl pulls him into a dance. They whirl in circles, going 'round and 'round and 'round, till both are laughing and stumbling from dizzy glee. When the music ends, she presses a kiss to his cheeks and whispers, "Find me later," her breath ghosting over the skin of his ear.

Shivers race down his spine, and he jerks a nod, but she's already gone; she's moved on to the next fire and the next dance.

Does an hour pass? Or maybe two?

There's sweat on his brow, and the moon is high, shining down with its drunk, uncaring light. He doesn't want it to move, because he cannot bear the thought of the night ending. He's in too deep now. He's tasted the forbidden fruit, inhaled the sweet aroma of happiness. It was only a dream before, but some dreams can become reality… if only for a single night.

He takes a seat near a fire, resting his legs. There's almost no one here; he's wandered far, to the very edge of this magical place. A single shape shares his company, a woman. He can see her hair – unruly curls that tumble down in glowing cascades of honey and almond. The smell of asters and foxberry hangs in the midnight air.

"Hi." A shy smile tugs at the edges of her lips.

"Hi," he responds.

They sit for a moment, breathing in the silence. She breaks it first.

"Did you find it?"

"Find what?" he asks.

"Whatever made you come here."

"Oh." He ponders the question and nods. "I did. Not for long, just for the night, but…" He trails off, and she understands.

"It truly is magical, isn't it?"

"It is."

The fire crackles; wind whispers through the leaves. He takes a breath: asters and foxberry. "I have a big day tomorrow," he suddenly announces. Why is he sharing this? He doesn't share; he doesn't ever permit himself to open up. He's been a prison, closed off for years, locked behind his facade of rigid indifference. To show emotions is to admit weakness, and that is the one thing he cannot afford. But, something in this night lets him speak. His lips move, telling his tale to the stranger he just met; one he will never see again. Maybe that's the reason behind his unexpected actions. He doesn't think about it too much.

"Tomorrow is a day when I can get a second chance," he says. She slides near, listening closely. "My life has been… difficult the past several years. It's something I struggled to accept at first."

"The difficulty?"

"No, the reasons behind it," he clarifies, looking past the woman and into the mesmerizing dance of the ethereal flame. It captures his vision, and he stares at it achingly before continuing.

"For a long time, I blamed everyone for my troubles. My parents, my peers, my friends, my enemies. I hated them all so much. It was like… a black cloud that hung over my shoulders, turning the world into this perpetual shade of ashen gray. I was miserable and I lashed out frequently, spewing out my anger and resentment to those nearby. I did it so much, that, one by one, they disappeared, and then there was no one left to lash out to. I became all alone. Do you know what a terrible thing that is – loneliness?"

She sits still, looking down at the ground until an answer tumbles from her lips: "I did once. Long ago, when I was very young, just growing up… I was always by myself. The other children didn't like me. They never played with me or shared their dolls or took me on little adventures. No. I was always by myself, reading books and imagining a world where I actually belonged."

"And then what happened?"

"And then–" She smiles "–that world found me. It wasn't perfect – few things are – but it gave me a home and people to call friends. I've been grateful ever since."

"Sounds like it worked out for you, then."

She glances down to a part of her arm covered by the sleeves of a light, cashmere sweater. "Not at first," she responds, voice heavy. "But, eventually, yes. That's in the past, however. Why's tomorrow so critical for you?"

"Because I realized something very important," he declares, unfazed by the change in topic. "I came to see that, no matter what happened in the past, there was only one person whom I could blame for my current predicament. It was me. I could continue on, trying to fight the world at every angle, or I could accept a simple truth. That I had to move on. That I could become someone better, even if no one else believed it. And, tomorrow, I have that chance. It'll be a hard task: I have to convince several individuals who despise me that I'm different now, and I know it's almost hopeless, but… I have to start somewhere, right?"

There is a desperation in his voice by the end, and he looks at her, seeking… affirmation, or possibly just simple support. She stares at him intently, and he startles when he feels her hand press into his. It's been so long since he's had the pleasure of human touch. Only tonight. Only Beltane.

"You've traveled a long road," she states, "and most of your journey has been solitary. I don't know what difficulties lie ahead, but when you speak, I can hear the notes of conviction in your tone. Your heart is in this, and what can be more important? And, as for the people that you claim hate you… you don't know that. Time has passed; things may have changed. They could be all different now."

"Not to me. Not after what I've done."

"Rubbish!" she scowls at his despondent tone. In the distance, fireworks sparkle among a sea of stars. People cheer them on – bright flashes that burn yellow and purple and green. She takes her hand away and joins him, staring at the fire. "If you've changed, then so have they." Her words are almost a sigh, a whisper in the night.

A night which seems so much lighter now. "Thanks," he says, after a while. "I think I needed to hear that." She hums her agreement, her shoulder touching his. They don't say anything for a while, watching the logs burn. Time passes them by, small increments that can be judged through the celestial journey of the constellations above. They sit there, together, two strangers at the crossroads of destiny, bathed in a silver glow.

"Change," she finally mumbles and then takes a deep breath like she's about to jump down a cliff. "I'm trying to change too."

He steals a surprised glance in her direction. Her eyes are locked on the flame, and she's nibbling on her bottom lip with worry. He wasn't expecting her to reciprocate his admissions, but then he realizes that she wants to unburden herself too. She'll never see him again, which gives her enough courage to confess her deepest secrets, as if he's a priest hidden by the veil of his confession booth. She's locked a part of herself away too, and now it wishes to be free.

"There was this boy," she huffs. His eyebrows rise in merriment and she shoots him a glare. "Not like that. No. He was… well, he was actually quite terrible. I knew him in school, and he taunted me at every turn. And then… well, there was the war, and we found ourselves on opposing sides of the barricades. I always thought he represented everything wrong with our world; for me, he was the ultimate symbol of intolerance and cruelty. Even when the war ended, I continued to hate him. Despise, even. That's a good word you used, and those were my exact feelings towards him. And then…"

She pauses, and the man turns, giving her a slight nudge. "And then?" he prompts.

Her expression is almost mourning, eyes haunted by scenes no one should witness. "I got to thinking one day," she says, "about how my past – my blood – came to dictate the paths I'd follow. How where I came from informed my final destination. I never had a choice, I realized. I don't believe in fate, but that's what it was, in a way. I was part of a galactic testament, a microbe on the robe of eternity, and how can a microbe alter what is set to be? And then I suddenly thought: well, he – the boy – is no different. He was molded from the same clay, just a different texture. And that idea crashed my world. I looked around with new eyes, and saw the same prejudice and the same hatred that rotted away the old society except, for once, those feelings weren't directed at me. And I want to change that and heal our world. It's not too much to ask, is it? For a society that doesn't care about blood, but nurtures us all to be the best that we can? And I can achieve that. I will achieve that." She speaks earnestly, a fire in her eyes that burns more fiercely than the flames before them. It's the passion that fills her to the very core, and forces her to commit all her strength to a single cause.

"And, tomorrow is actually a big day for me too, because I can begin working towards that goal. This boy I spoke of – well, he's trying to do something and I think I can help. And, even if he still hates me or can't stand the sight of me, it wont matter, because it's an act that I will repeat, again and again, until my children and their children will be free to talk and mingle with anyone they choose, regardless of the past!"

She pants, having finished her monologue. "I think you'll do that, and more," he states, as her breathing slowly returns to an even rhythm. "Notes of conviction, did you say? Well, I'm hearing an orchestra right now." He takes out a flask that someone handed him and summons two glasses. "To change," he says. "To change," she echoes, clinking her glass against his, and then they drink, a flavor of spice and berry lingering in their mouths.

"I don't even know your name," he muses, once the wine is gone.

"I thought that was the point of this: full anonymity."

"Well, I have to call you something," he reasons.

"Alright." She raises her head, watching the last fireworks dot the sky. "I was born in September, so call me that: September."

"September." The name tastes sweet on his tongue.

"And you?"

The man rummages around in his pockets and retrieves their contents. There's some lint, a scrunched up chocolate frog wrapper, and a pair of sickles. He takes one, thrusting it out.

"A sickle," he says. "It's not worth much, but, invest it correctly, and it can grow to be a galleon. That's much how I feel right now. That I can be so much more. So that'll be my name: Sickle."

"Well, I'm very pleased to meet you, Mr. Sickle." She sticks out her hand.

"As I you, Ms. September." Grinning giddily, he grips it and gives her a firm shake.

"And what do we do now?"

"Would you care for a stroll?" he says, still holding her hand.

"I'd love one." She smiles up at him, dimples peeking out on supple cheeks. They walk around, talking about everything and nothing, till the moon falls below the horizon and tinges of pink begin stretching out, heralding the dawn of a new day. They part ways just before the fires go out, a little lost, mournful that they'll never see each other again. She gives him a kiss on the cheek, and he breathes in deep, storing the scent of asters and foxberry deep in his mind. He'll carry this memory forever, he thinks.

They don't bode each other farewell, just share a glance that is more meaningful than any words. The suns peeks out, and she apparates away, gone forever.

"Goodbye, September," he whispers and then takes out his wand, disappearing before the last enchantments of the night fade away, allowing everyone to see the ex-Death Eater in their midst. "Goodbye…"

That following morning.

Draco Malfoy strolled purposefully into the Ministry meeting room, taking a seat across from several members of the government. He showed none of the turmoil he faced inside; on the contrary, he seemed composed, professional. His clothes were freshly pressed, the creases so sharp they could cut like a knife. He held a briefcase in his hand, one which he opened to disclose several stacks of marked parchment.

"Mr. Chiffle, Mr. Rebcott, Ms. Simmons," he greeted the board. "I'm grateful you took the time to meet with me. I'd like to begin by saying–"

"One moment," Mr. Chiffle, the head of the board, interrupted, his lip curling in distaste. He held no love for this boy – he ought to be in Azkaban. "There is a last minute addition to our group… we're just waiting for her… Ah, there she is! Ms. Granger, welcome."

"Mr. Chiffle," the curly-haired witch responded politely. Malfoy swallowed a sudden lump in his throat. Granger! He hadn't counted on her. What was she doing? Would she sabotage his plans? They had little chance of success anyways, but if she was here to punish him for his schoolyard bullying or his part in the war – his aunt! –, then he stood no chance! Draco's heart thumped in his chest, sending adrenaline down his veins. His fingers trembled, and he stilled them, forcing a flimsy smile onto his rapidly paling face.

"Malfoy." She acknowledged him with a nod. He didn't know what to make of that greeting. It was too ambiguous, and he couldn't read her – not at all.

"Granger," he replied cautiously, trying to maintain his quickly shrinking hopes. He stood and walked over to shake her hand, praying his own wasn't clammy with sweat. "I didn't know you'd be here. If I had, I would–"

Draco froze, unable to complete the remainder of his phrase. No. It can't be.

Impossible.

"Malfoy?" She stared at him curiously, but he didn't care, because, all of a sudden, his senses became aware of that magical, that tantalizingly sweet smell, one which he thought he'd never breath again.

Asters and foxberry.

Beltane.

Impossible.

His mind a whirl, he lost control of himself for a moment and whispered a single word, watching her eyes widen in recognition.

"September."

Granger parted her lips, exhaled a shocked breath, and then, like a sliver of sun peeking out from over stormy clouds, smiled at him with the happiest, most radiant expression he had ever seen.

"Sickle," she answered him softly, and he basked in her glow, breathing in the heavenly light.

Written in candlelight under the winds of Irma and posted the moment I got power back :D

Edit: The initial one-shot is continued in later chapters, if you wanna skip over to them immediately. Just check the titles.