A/N This chapter is told from Hermione's perspective and would fit into the Dreams of Requirement story pretty early on. After many of their philosophical debates, but before a true romance set in. Since Draco stole that show, I hope this will be enjoyable to see inside her head a little as well.
"You were in a particularly wretched mood in Ancient Runes today."
Hermione is sitting cross-legged on the Hogwarts grounds just out of reach of the whomping willow when she sees her dream version of Draco approaching from the direction of the Quidditch pitch.
He flops down next to her, rather close for her liking. Well, maybe she does like it... a little. What's the harm in that? He's just a pretty face here anyway. She has struggled a fair amount with her own self-respect as she finds herself attracted to someone who would treat her so terribly for years.
But that's the real Draco who was so vile. This one is much more civil. Still a bit bigoted but at least he argues reasons for his beliefs instead of spouting thoughtless hate. She might not agree with the conclusions he has drawn, but she has trouble arguing the base points. Muggles probably would treat witches and wizards horribly, some of them anyway. Purebloods have a right to be a little afraid.
Not to mention, when they aren't debated pureblood beliefs, he can be funny and charming and handsome as all get out.
"Fucking Pansy had just been hounding me to a detour with her into a broom closet."
She shoulder checks him, uncharacteristically forward for Hermione Granger, but the nature of these dreams has that effect on her. "I can't believe you'd turn down the offer, even if it was Parkinson."
He snorts and leans back on his elbows, lounging beside her with his face turned up into the sun and eyes closed. "Maybe a year ago but I can hardly stand to listen to her simpering nonsense now. No reason to settle. I'm a Malfoy: I can do infinitely better."
That annoying little fissure of jealousy cracks at Hermione's insides but she manages to stuff it down deep. It's a ridiculous thought anyway, to give into such a notion. Jealous of what? Her own imagination? The goings-on of a boy she can't stand when she's awake?
Instead she plays along with the banter. "Oh yes? And what would live up to Prince Malfoy's standards then? She's pureblooded, relatively pretty if you get past that nose of hers, Slytherin, and worships you like a parchment colored God."
He laughs a little. "You know you can keep poking fun at my complexion but I rather like my fair skin."
"I'm not really poking fun," she admits with a light blush. "It is rather becoming... I mean with your hair color and all. It's... it's appropriate is all I meant." She looks away, ignoring the smug look she seems to have created on her fantasy's face.
After a moment, he takes mercy on her and goes back to the original topic. "The trouble with Pans," he works out slowly, "is she's just... what you see is not what you should get. You think she's an empty-headed twit I'm sure but she's not. That fawning and pouting is just her act: What's expected from her family. I'd probably have more patience for her if she'd stop." He considers a moment before he continues thoughfully, "I've seen it, the real Pansy. She's actually sort of clever. Funny even. Back when I fancied her, I thought maybe she'd be different when it was just us but she can't seem to let go."
"I'm sure that's true of a lot of your house. Isn't that the Slytherin way after all? Put on a mask. Be who you need to be to get what you want."
He eyes her before he replies, "well then if she wants me she's going to have to find a new mask because I'm not interested."
"So... you want someone clever then do you? Or is it honesty you're after?"
"Oh both definitely," he grins. "Why? Are you applying for the position?" He wriggles his eyebrows at her and it makes her blush just a little deeper.
Is this what she's looking for? She thought what she wanted was the familiar warmth of her friend. Hermione was positive that Ronald Weasley was it for her. All stocky build and friendly face and casual intimacy. Instead, when she finds herself in what feels like a very good dream, she's faced with this arrogant, pointy aristocrat with lovely grammar and slender frame. He's difficult and challenging and just utterly everything that Ron is not.
Yet here she sits, all flushed and flustered with a fluttering from her tummy to her toes and an undeniable urge to reach over and brush that very pale and decidedly not red hair off his alabaster skin.
So of course her response to discomfort is absolute denial. "Of course not. I have a bit too much respect to lower myself to someone as close minded as you."
He looks a little hurt but quickly schools that expression and instead just says casually, "Suit yourself. I'm sure there's a destitute muggle with a heart of gold ready to fill you full of half-blood babies and pretend he's not terrified of you."
Well that cut to the quick. Just as soon as she lets herself think these dreams are some sort of fantasy, they jab at her concerns and fears. The kinds of things she hides even from herself.
As unwelcome as she has felt in the Wizarding world at times, she is doubly aware she can't really go back to her old life either. Muggles, outside of maybe her parents, will never understand her. (Neither will her parents truthfully but the unconditional love to a child is her saving grace with them.)
So if not someone like Malfoy because he hates where she's from, but not a muggle because they can't understand what she is, and not Ron apparently because she's not enough of a giggling tart for him...
Her dating field is depressingly slim. Maybe she should just let that Neanderthal McLaggen have a chance.
She shudders to herself. No, that's still not a good idea.
"Who says I'm even interested in that sort of future? Do I seem the overly domestic type to you? I'll have an education and a career and if I deem someone worth my time, maybe I'll marry later in life. Consider a family if it fits our life."
Ok so yes she's fronting a little. She does want a family. Hermione was raised in a home with two career oriented parents and yet they were a loving and close unit as well. She wants what she had as a child. She's surprised the dream doesn't already know everything about her. But then, she has noticed she's pretty capable of lying to herself or the Room or whatever this magic is. This Draco might press for answers, but with the ignorance of someone who knows her barely at all.
"I suppose that's possible," he shrugs. "You don't strike me like the pureblooded girls trying to make a proper match. I guess that's an effect of your upbringing?"
She's pleased that there doesn't seem to be the usual derision in his tone when he mentioned her family or her blood. Maybe her fantasy is allowing her to believe she could actually change hearts and minds in pureblood circles if given the proper chance.
Not likely of course, the idea of convincing Draco Malfoy of anything is laughable, let alone his family and friends.
"I suppose yes, it is. It's very common for muggle women to have careers and start a family later in life... or even not at all."
"Would you really be happy?" he asks? He seems genuinely curious. "Would you be satisfied without leaving a family, a legacy?"
Well, he did say he wanted honestly in a witch. Just because he's not real, why deny him? "No," she admits carefully. "I don't know for sure that I would be satisfied. Waiting, yes I don't mind waiting. But someday... I guess I do envision having that. A husband, children-"
"How many?"
She starts. It seems an abrupt question and she answers truthfully. "I guess I have no idea. Two maybe?"
"Not a brood like your friend Weasel?"
She glares but without a lot of heat. She can't be too angry when this figment is just parroting her deep and honest opinions back. "No. Not a brood. I have no interest in shackling myself to a nursery and I can't see having a career with that large a family."
He regards her for what starts to feel like an uncomfortably long time before he just nods and goes back to sunning his face, eyes closed, luxuriating in the warmth. "That sounds like a reasonable opinion."
It's her turn to snort. "When have I ever been anything but reasonable?"
"How about when you campaigned for the rights of a savage creature that nearly mauled me to death?"
"Oh my God... Buckbeak? Are you seriously still whinging about that?"
"You know, Granger, that monster actually hurt me. I'm sure my well-being didn't mean much to you and Potter," he spits out Harry's last name like he always does, like it tastes sour on his tongue, " but it wasn't just the scratch you all seemed to believe."
She actually had heard that, after the fact. Heard he was in the hospital wing for hours, painfully knitting flesh back together and choking down blood replenishing potions.
Maybe because Draco had been at fault, taunting the Hippogriff, she hadn't wanted to admit his injury had some merit. To do so would be giving credit to the notion of putting the animal down and she couldn't allow that, even in the back of her mind. Out of loyalty to Hagrid if nothing else.
Then again, hadn't she already decide that Hagrid was an irresponsible and unprofessional instructor?
"Still, you didn't have to make such a big deal of it," she sniffs.
He grins, maybe seeing through her sad attempt at deflection. "But making a deal of it won me so much favor with the witches, didn't you know?"
She rolls her eyes and stamps down that fissure once again, feeling a little sick inside at the thought of Draco laying bandaged and smiling like a cat amongst a harem of pretty girls. She settles on a simple, "You're incorrigible."
"So I've come to understand. Not such a bad thing to be though is it? I'm entertaining."
Hermione can't argue with that; she does find herself endlessly entertained most nights. Frustrated often, intrigued occasionally, but never bored. So she grants him a rare smile and nods. "Yes I suppose you are that. Shame really, it can only happen in dreams isn't it? I mean I love Harry and Ron dearly but it would be nice to occasionally share a meal with someone who knows which fork to use."
He smirks and quips, "Oh Weasley knows. At least for his purposes, the answer is "none of them". Not when you have two monkey paws to shovel it in faster."
She laughs before she can stop herself and then tries to straighten and chastises, "stop that," around a snicker. "He's not… that bad."
"Is that the bar to which you measure your friends then? Not too bad? No wonder you crave my affections."
There's that blush again. "I think you're overstating my interest don't you?"
A slow smile spreads and he leans just a bit closer, checking her own shoulder back playfully. If her heart wasn't racing before, that certainly speeds the pace. His silver eyes are entirely to intense and then, almost to prove a point, he lets his eyes pan down her just barely, just to her lips, and then back up to meet her eyes. She can't hide the hitch in her breath and curses herself for it. "On the contrary, it might have even been an understatement."
"I- in your dreams." She means it in the muggle way that refers to wishful thinking but she sees him sigh and lean away from her again as if she's hit a literal truth.
"Don't remind me. It's nice to pretend, isn't it? Just let it be real for a moment, instead of whatever madness awaits us this year?"
She doesn't like when the dreams take these melancholy turns, her dream Draco voicing her own inner concerns. But she can't argue with the sentiment. So instead she just lays back in the grass and watches the clouds float by, momentarily obscuring the sun and casting them in shadow. "It is nice. Let's just… pretend then."
She feels him lay down beside her, so close she can almost feel his arm brush the skin of her hand. If she sneaks her own arm just a smidge closer, she'll never tell.
She dozes off in the dream with a soft smile on her lips and swears she hears him whisper goodbye before she wakes.
A/N Me again :) Reviews would be delightful! Thank you as always for those reading, following, and reviewing!