Title: The Act of Fervent Wishing

Beta: CleopatraIsMyName

Rating: T/PG-13

Warning(s): Angst, drama, and sad!Draco.

Disclaimer: This work of fiction is in no way connected to the author of Harry Potter, JK Rowling. Harry Potter is owned by her, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Summary: Draco just wished that reality was more like his dreams.

Part Ⅱ

the reality

"The best thing about dreams is that fleeting moment, when you are between sleep and awake, when you don't know the difference between reality and fantasy, when for just that one moment you feel with your entire soul that the dream is reality, and that it really happened." - Bernajoy Vaal

Draco lay there for a few moments, lying between the dream and reality. For a split second, it felt as if he were still there, living the happy and carefree life.

But, eventually, he sat up and looked over his room, all bare walls and sterile toys, and curled into himself.

'I wish that was real,' he thought mournfully, his throat closing up with a burn. He willed away the tears from his eyes and forced his mind blank, and his breathing slowed to an even rhythm.

When he woke up, hours later, he wasn't woken up gently by his mother. No, it was by a house elf.

"Master Draco," his father's personal elf, Dobby, shook him gently. He scrunched his nose and turned onto his right, looking into the familiar elf's large eyes. The house elf trembled slightly, and there was a new bandage wrapped around his limp left ear.

"What did Father do this time, Dobby?" he whispered sadly.

"Nothing that Dobby not deserve, Master Draco," the elf waved his hand, as if shooing the issue away with a mere gesture. "Now, yous need to get dressed for breakfast."

Draco nodded his head tiredly, before sitting up and stretching. His feet met the cold, barren floor with a soft thud, and he shivered slightly, pulling at his customary night shirt.

Running a hand through his flaxen locks, the young aristocrat wished fervently to be within the bounds of his imagination, his dreams, again.

Life was a much harsher reality than fantasy, after all.

He walked to the loo without hesitancy in his little steps, and picked up the practice wand that leaned against the sink. A few Freshening and Cleansing charms later, and Draco was much more awake, though there were still small bags underneath his eyes. Another swish of his wand took care of the blight in his appearance.

After relieving himself and dressing, Draco opened the door to his rooms slowly and looked around. Sighing, he reluctantly dragged himself towards the Dining Hall.

His mother was seated at the long table, already, looking through the Daily Prophet. She smiled at the sight of Draco, and motioned for him to move closer.

He did so with a feigned bounce in his step, and kissed her dutifully on the cheek.

"Hello, Mother," he greeted. Narcissa tucked a stray strand of hair out of his eyes before replicating his gesture, and repeating his words.

Draco sat in a chair a little ways from her, and was immediately greeted with the sight of scrambled eggs and smoked salmon. He smiled brightly. Looking up at his mother, he thanked her for the difference in food.

When she saw his plate, she instantly frowned, and Draco's expression fell slightly. Bringing back up the mask he was used to hiding behind, he just stared at her.

"Dippy," she called. Instantly, a female house elf popped into existence next to her, and Dippy's wide eyes grew even more bulbous at the sight of the younger blond's food.

"Missus," she cried out, before snapping her fingers. Draco's plate of food was replaced by muesli and bread, and he nearly cried at the loss. "I is sorry about that. Dippy don't know nothing about Master Draco's food, and Dippy apologizes for it."

Narcissa raised an eyebrow, before sending the elf away.

"Bloody elf," she cursed underneath her breath in a soft tone, probably so that Draco wouldn't hear; however, he could still hear the words, and his mood soured significantly.

Breakfast went by with nary a sound, and the young flaxen-haired boy just wanted to go to sleep. His father, Lucius, hadn't made an appearance this morning, for which he was thankful.

However, later after noon, his father arrived at the Manor and made his presence very clear. He sashayed towards the Dining Hall's table with little more than a slight skid of his dragon hide boots on the floor of the room, and sat down.

He scrutinized his food before eating silently, and Draco found himself bracing himself for some sort of disparaging comment. The minutes dragged on, and the blond found it to only be excruciating.

"Draco," his father called as soon as lunch was over. Draco trembled slightly, before nodding his head.

"Yes, Father?"

"Come with me to my study."

With a farewell to his mother, Draco followed his father up the stairs and winding corridors to the older man's study. Once seated in one of the uncomfortable straight back chairs, Draco found himself almost fidgeting.

"Stop that squirming," his father chastised, a frown marring his forehead. "It is unbefitting of a Malfoy."

Draco gulped and nodded his head, straightening his own back and not moving an inch.

"The Parkinsons, Goyles, and Crabbes will be coming to the Manor tomorrow."

Draco froze and nodded his head silently.

"You will be on your best behaviour, and will not bring shame to the family. Not only that, but the Parkinsons are currently negotiating a marriage contract between you and their daughter, so you are to show a vested interest in her."

Draco nodded his head again, his father sneered.

"Use your words, not your gestures."

"Y-yes, sir," Draco nearly squeaked in alarm, grey eyes wide. "I'm sorry."

"Malfoys do not apologise," Lucius instructed in his familiar, icy tone. Draco nodded his head before answering again.

And the lecture droned on and on for what almost felt like forever for Draco, but was probably only about twenty minutes.

"Oh, and Draco," said his father, before the young blond child could leave.

Without turning back around, shoulders drooped in their usual manner, Draco called back tentatively, "Yes, sir?"

"We will be going to a Quidditch game at Hogwarts."

Draco turned around with a huge smile on his face, "We will?"

Lucius frowned, "I need not repeat myself, boy. I already said we will."

Draco nodded his head, but his expression froze at the next words:

"It will be Slytherin versus Gryffindor, and I will be expecting you to act as best befits a Malfoy, as we will be joined by Minister Fudge."

With another acknowledgment, Draco felt the excitement for the match nearly dissipate at the mention of who would be with them. Minister Fudge was a source of Father's amusement, but only in the worst of ways. The man never seemed to know that he was being manipulated within an inch of his life, and Father made sure his boastings were all the more clear at home.

Draco hated it when he was in that sort of mood, as the older man was even worse on those days, bar whenever something infuriating happened.

'Those,' Draco thought to himself, as he sat on the floor within his rooms, 'are the days that I wish I could just lock myself up within my imagination.'

Father would usually walk around the Manor in a huff, finding things wrong with every single thing in every single room. He berated Draco for the smallest of things – 'Just because we have the money to replace your clothes, doesn't mean you have freedom to have the slightest smudge of dirt on your robes. We are not the Weasleys.' – and found the most miniscule of things to beat the house elves over. Of course, Lucius did it in the privacy of his own study, but Draco could see the remnants of those days on poor Dobby.

Draco was kept completely isolated at the Manor, unless one of the other families was invited over. Those were the days that Draco had the most fun, though the only returning companions were those from the Parkinson, Nott, Crabbe, and Goyle families. The one time the Zabinis had come was the only time, since Blaise's mother didn't like Narcissa.

And he just wanted to sleep forever, if only because fantasy was better than reality.

Author's Note:

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