Series 2) Woes Of A Dragon
Sleep. To rest in an unconscious state. We all sleep at one point or another, and we all awaken again. Not entirely true I suppose, some find their swift death while inside the core of their many dreams. Am I morbid? Perhaps, but I know one thing is for certain. Most of us want to sleep forevermore. Escape the grueling ties of this reality and be eternally in peace with ourselves and with our minds. Unfortunately, the lines that make our lives are not drawn that way. They are harshly delicate, and much more unpredictable. Did I forget to give my hello? How improper of me. I imagine you remember who I am from the last and first time we met. I need not say my name. I can tell your memory has not faltered, for we have both been lured here for the same enchanting reason as last. Hermione Granger's poetry. Alluring and whimsical her words are. But, as I enter the shore of this lake, I see not Hermione's face. I see Draco Malfoy's. Do I know why I see him? I do not, but I have an inkling. The Slytherin Prince has his own little secret. He writes poems as well, and not just any poems about anyone. About our Hermione Granger. Ah, the twists of fate life brings us. They do not occur very often, but when they do, they are extraordinary. If Hermione was here, there would be no doubt in my mind that Draco would reflect her. For their attires, are exact opposites. Draco is wearing dark blue jeans, with a long-sleeved, black, silk shirt wrapped around his upper half. He appears to be deep in thought. Which is definitely so, because the first page of the medium-sized, forest green book in his hand is full of expressions. Allow me to show you:
The lake's spray lifts my broken soul Almost to fill this lasting hole Inside my heart it carves it's nest Leaving me in this agonizing unrest Deep inside my frivolous mind There's one who is an innocent kind She grips my spirit in her fragile hand To her, I don't know, where I stand This mean, crud person others claim me to be Is not who I am at all you see I'm afraid to break down my stone-edged walls Afraid to ignore my Lord Voldermort's calls But I am woven entirely, into her charms And I would die to fall asleep inside her arms
My inkling was correct. Draco is in love with our Hermione. He is drawn to her. Like flocks of birds are drawn to the sea. I love the sea. I rest upon the majestic, crystal blue waves that crash onto the beach sand. And I watch the humans pass by without even a backwards glance towards the vast ocean. This amazes me. How much humans take for granted. How much they can see but still not truly see it for all it is, all it can be. I suppose it makes sense within the walls of their minds. "It's just another ocean, just like all the others" they think, "it's just water". For this, I think they are mentally incompetent. Am I rambling on to much? I apologize. As I pause to look around myself, I notice that young Draco has risen to his feet. I see that he has carefully concealed away his medium-sized, forest green book from all wandering eyes. I am also detecting a strong, growing sense of sorrow and weakness, strewn across his essence. Draco's silver-glazed eyes are inert, and without large traces of life. Much unlike when he was writing. Do I know why he is melancholy? Isn't it obvious? Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy are two worlds apart. Draco is a Death Eater, as is his revered father, Lucius. Both are a pride to Lord Voldermort's rise. Hermione is a bookworm, a full-fledged soldier for the army of the Light side. They are taught to be enemies, and to hate one another. Draco knows this, which is why his expressions are so dismal and dispiriting. He knows the two of them could never be together, and this makes his heart sullen. On that note, I have just discovered that the newly born sun is rising upon the horizon. And like Draco Malfoy, I must perform my duty and welcome it with open arms. I will return here again soon, to read more poetry from our two hidden admirers. Who will be present when I return? Will they ever reveal their true feelings for each other? The answers are a mystery to me.