The day before his wedding, he woke in a sweat, chest heaving and heart pounding.
But it wasn't Voldemort or the Death Eaters or watching Crabbe die or the green light hitting Dumbledore's chest causing the man to fall endlessly from the tower or any of his regular nightmares that caused the reaction.
Actually, this one could have been a good dream, had it happened to someone else, in another life.
He had been dreaming of Luna playing with a blond, gray eyed, pointy chinned toddler that was unmistakably his son.
He owled her as soon as it was daylight, begging her to come see him about something important. He sneaked her through his private floo into his bedroom, where she told him it had only been a dream.
She wasn't pregnant.
There was no anger, only acceptance. His life had been planned long before he was born, and Draco had always known he was destined for a marriage that would net his family political and financial gains rather than himself an affectionate, understanding mate.
"I'll come to you tonight." He whispered. "The last time."
She nodded sadly.
As if by unspoken agreement, they made their last night together one that they would both remember for the rest of their lives. They both poured every ounce of the feelings they adamantly denied having for one another into their lovemaking.
Somewhere in the darkness, Draco forgot the spell he always whispered religiously when he was in Luna's arms, and inadvertently, he made his dream come true.
As he lay beside her in the dark, Luna whispered. "I love you."
He didn't answer.
She hadn't expected him to.