Chapter 8: Sunlight and Sunflowers
Disclaimer: Harry Potter is not mine. I wish I was making some profit from this but too bad I'm not.
Read and review! Hope you enjoy this one.
The meeting with the executives of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures went exceedingly slowly. It took a total of three hours, thirty-eight minutes and sixteen seconds for the assembly to convey their thoughts and additional remarks for the project of a certain Hermione Granger.
It was fifteen minutes before eight that the assembly finally concluded their conference. Everyone looked contented and pleased that their department was finally getting the attention of sponsors, and a big one if anyone was referring to the Malfoys. When the meeting proper ended, Hermione was immediately bombarded with congratulations and compliments from her co-workers, even by their Head, Mr. Lanphear, who was known to be very hard to please.
"Well done, Ms. Granger," he said stiffly. Their Head was not known for being expressive when it came to feelings and emotions, much less praising his workers. "I'm…glad that you made another development in our department. This will undoubtedly show to the others that we're as capable as anyone or anything in this Ministry."
"The pleasure's all mine, sir. I'm just doing what I think is best for the beings that we serve but I don't think that I'm the only one who should receive the praise that you've given me. The people in my branch worked hard to help me with this proposal."
"I see. You can extend my congratulations to them."
"I'll see to it, sir."
As handshakes and praises were exchanged, Hermione casually plastered a smile on her face, wondering if they really meant what they said. After a moment of small talk and cheer, she was finally free from the grasp of her over-enthusiastic colleagues. She couldn't blame them, though. It's not every day that someone from her department received a grant. Most philanthropists preferred more famous ones such as the Department of Mysteries or the Department of Magical Law Enforcement or other private organizations, for that matter.
While walking back to her own sub-department, her mind wandered to the enigma that was the infamous Draco Malfoy. She thought she would only consider herself truly lucky and blessed if only her sponsor wasn't him. It would've been better if it was his mother who offered the help because it was she who was more active in this kind of affair. But no, it had to be him. And it wasn't simply the fact that it was him who was going to back her up, it was because he was the one who initiated the offer, not with the head of her department but to the minister himself. To Hermione, this action was not only suspicious but also dubious.
She opened the oak door, instantly saw her bag and picked it up. There was still a pile of papers that needed to be re-evaluated, she remembered. On top of it was the copy of her proposal. She needed to review every detail of it and if possible improve them. She wanted to show Malfoy that her project was worth his galleons. Even though it was still a month before the official meeting with her sponsor, she wanted him to know that she hadn't lost her touch, as some people claimed. Taking a last look at her desk, then to her whole office, she nodded her head in the affirmative.
Time to go home.
Turning off the light, she suddenly saw the silhouette of the flowers and the vase on her window ledge. The artificial light outside made the white roses grim and depressing.
Oh! I almost forgot, she thought. "You have better use in my home than here at the office", she said to the inanimate object while striding forward to get a couple of stems. She contented herself with five, cast a spell to retain their freshness, deposited them in her bag and went to her door and closed it.
Walking down the halls of the Ministry at night was a thing she enjoyed, especially when the place was deserted. The thud of her heels against the floor was a rhythm she knew. She looked with wonder upon the eeriness of her surroundings. The shadows only held mysteries to be uncovered and not to be feared. The essence of magic in the air was soothing. But not this night; this night she was cautious, guarded. Every shadow or immediate noise was deemed suspicious.
Constant vigilance, constant vigilance, she chanted while remaining alert.
The incident that afternoon was enough to switch her battle mode on. Even during and after her unannounced meeting with her bosses, she kept her senses up. The increasing incidence of being watched and observed was disconcerting and she wouldn't take any chances. Not anymore. She would be on guard. Even though she had doubts if she really was being followed by someone tonight, she would trust her instincts. They had saved her a dozen of times already, and right now, even though the environment was tranquil, she would still hold on to its declaration that afternoon. Someone followed her in the hall near the minister's office and she was sure that it was the same entity as at Chetham's Library.
Her eyes scanned the last corridor leading to the lift. There were two people waiting for the elevator. One was a tall man that looked scrawny, even with the robes that he wore. He donned a very pointed hat that only added to his height. Beside him was a woman with waist-length, blonde hair. There were streaks of blue in her otherwise fair head. She was wearing a lime green robe that covered her legs and feet. Hermione knew exactly who she was and hurried her steps to talk to her friend, Luna Lovegood.
Before even uttering her friend's name though, the blonde already tilted her head as if she knew that Hermione was approaching her.
" Hermione," she said dreamily. She now turned her body so that she was facing her.
The brunette smiled and hugged her. "You're back, Luna!" she stated. "I missed you! It's been months since we last saw each other. Any luck with the Crumple-horned Snorkack? And what are you doing here? I thought you're still spending another month in Papua New Guinea."
Luna was a naturalist who travelled the world in search of strange creatures, leaving her little spare time to be around her friends. She worked for a private organization that specialized in that field of study. There were times that Luna consulted Hermione and vice versa since the nature of their work was related.
The blonde hugged Hermione back but didn't answer her inquiry. She only looked at the brunette wistfully and touched her right cheek.
"Is something bothering you, Hermione? There's something…new, different, about you," she said slowly ignoring Hermione's questions.
Hermione couldn't think of anything to answer so she just smiled.
"There's nothing new about me, Luna. Maybe you're just adjusting. You've been on the other side of the world for two months."
"Hmmm...," the blonde only looked at her as if she was a new creature she just discovered. "Is that so? If you say so, Mione," she finally smiled.
The lift arrived and they went inside. The blonde retained her dreamy look and voice while relaying the sights and the new creatures that she'd seen and discovered. The brunette, on the other hand, tried to follow Luna's stories, nodding her head and mumbling words of agreement every time she deemed it was necessary. She knew it was rude of her to be inattentive, especially to a friend she hadn't seen for months but her words, Luna's words, were stuck in her mind.
What could possibly be different about me? Nothing new has happened except for my abnormal dreams. It couldn't have affected me physically. Well, I'm not having the same amount of sleep since... when did it start again? Ah, two weeks ago. And it couldn't have affected me, right? A couple of additional bags under my eyes are nothing new. Or maybe it's something else. Luna is the most perceptive person I know. Maybe, maybe something is different. I want to ask her but…she looked at her friend, Luna was waving her hand while giving a very descriptive picture of the mountains in the Highlands…but I'm sure that it's still too early. I haven't told Harry or Ron, or even Ginny about the latest development in my dreams and the stalking, and I'm not planning on telling them either. I know that I can do this alone. All I need is a little more time to further my research and I know I will get somewhere.
"…so I've been to this really majestic mountain called Mount Wilhelm and I think I've finally seen a real Ropen, as Muggles there call it. But I think it's a relative of the dragons, don't you think, Mione?" Luna looked at her expectantly.
Hermione was woken from her musings, eyes opening and closing rapidly. "Ahh...yes, yes. I think they are," she answered without really knowing the topic of their conversation. It was something about mountains, and...and…
Luna looked at her with a small smile on her lips. "It's alright. The Umgubular Slashkilter is known to distract people. Maybe the one owned by Fudge is still here in the Ministry," she said slowly, retaining her dreamy tone and ignoring Hermione's inattentiveness.
Hermione was thankful for Luna's ever present understanding of when to ask questions because she honestly didn't know what to tell her. She wasn't ready to disclose anything to her friends yet.
They exited the lift and walked the short way leading to the fireplaces. Unbeknownst to them, a pair of grey eyes was focused on their forms. It strayed to the blonde's retreating back but lingered on the brunette.
He smirked when he saw the sudden change in her stride. It was stiff and calculated, as if she sensed the piercing stare. The atrium was still full of people so he wasn't worried about being caught. He continued looking at her until the two friends waved goodbye to each other and proceeded to floo to their respective destinations.
I know where you're going, love, but I'm afraid I can't accompany you now. Later, I promise I will be with you later tonight.
He was playing with the petals of a single white rose in his hand. Lifting it to his patrician nose, he smelt the fragrance that he knew the brunette loved.
The manor was lit with soft lights. A person outside in the late September chill would surely long for the warm glow that the house emitted. The curtains and draperies were designed so as to give off a sense of comfort and homeliness in the otherwise huge, cold, haunting house. Pictures and paintings of ancestors lined its walls. Flowers of various origins could be spotted in strategic places, on tables, in little corners, their scent filling the air. Every room was graced by the highest quality furniture and rugs.
Seeing the manor in its present state, no one would think that it once housed the darkest wizard the magical world had ever seen. The time when Lord Voldemort occupied the house and property, and his merciless mission for Draco to uphold the family name, only proved that the Dark Lord was willing to sacrifice every one of them all, the Malfoys and all his servants, just to attain his goals. His Death Eaters were merely playthings that he knew he could replace immediately. They were dispensable objects, not even life-long service was enough to spare the child of one of his most loyal servants. The reverence that they had given him was exposed as only fear, backed by intimidation, coercion and manipulation. They were simply puppets. He viewed them as things that would answer to him whenever he called.
The youngest Malfoy, although at first swayed by the lure of the Dark Lord came to realize all this: that the mission the Dark Lord gave him was only a ruse so that he would die in the process, that he was being used as an example for those who failed their tasks. He only fixed the vanishing cabinet because he wanted to preserve his family. He didn't care much for his father at that time. It was his mother who he wanted to save. He was left with no choice but to do what he must do.
The fireplace in the main receiving area alighted with green fire as the youngest Malfoy emerged. He was still holding a single white rose in his hand. A small pop ensued with a squeak from one of their house-elves.
"Good evening, Master Draco."
The house-elf bowed lowly. He immediately went to his master and took his robes. The house-elf was still young, maybe in his early twenties when compared to human age. The eyes of the elf were big with the colour of the night sky. He was wearing an emerald pillow case with the Malfoy insignia printed on its centre. His ears were floppy and his nose was long and pointed.
As per Ministry order, every house-elf in Britain was to be paid and would be subject to privileges and rights such as sick leave, maternity leave and so on. This order was of course the doing of Hermione Granger. Narcissa, and even Lucius, didn't mind this which extremely surprised and amazed Draco.
Draco, for his part, thought that the rule was not necessary. His simple reasoning was that every house-elf longed to be of service to their masters, but he also thought that no one would be harmed if the house-elves were given privileges. It would only increase their dedication and devotion. The Malfoy Enterprise even went as far as to release a statement stating that they supported the said order. Other private properties that employed house-elves followed their lead. Some wizarding families, though, fought for the order to be abolished. They went to court but lost in the end.
"Same to you, Apple. My parents?" he replied while looking down at his loyal servant, the rose now nowhere to be seen.
"They has been waiting for you, sir. They has finished their dinner just a while ago and they was now in the sitting room."
Draco arched one of his pale eyebrows. "Ah...are they furious that I didn't join them?"
"Apple, don't thinks so, sir. They was talking something about you and your business with the Ministry. The Lady, though, isn't so happy. She wants you to join master and her every dinner," the elf answered while waiting for the next order.
"I better talk to them," he uttered more to himself than to the elf.
He waved his hand dismissively to the elf. It bowed once again reverently and disappeared with a small pop.
He went to the sitting room that his family frequented and saw his parents sitting side by side on a dark green chaise lounge that matched the whole set-up of the room. The rug in front of the fireplace was black while the table and chairs were made of dark oak.
"Draco, dear!" His mother exclaimed while giving him a peck on the cheek. "Where have you been? I thought that you would be at the Ministry for only a couple of hours. Goodness! But you've been gone the whole day? Did you have other appointments besides your meeting with the Minister?" she inquired while smoothing his hair.
"Honestly, Narcissa. He's not a young boy anymore. Look at him," Lucius waved his hand toward his son. "He's even old enough to have his own family. Don't treat him like he's still a baby to be cuddled," a hint of repugnance laced his voice.
"Oh, stop it Lucius. He's my son, my only child, so I will do whatever I deem necessary for him," Narcissa replied while giving a pointed look at her somewhat bored-looking husband. Lucius huffed and mumbled something unintelligible.
Draco had already seen this kind of interaction between his parents. At first, he was extremely suspicious. He thought that they were behaving as a normal couple because that's what the Ministry would like to see, but as time went on, he saw with his own eyes how his father changed from someone as cold as ice to a father who truly cared for his family.
Not that Lucius became as warm as the head of the Weasley clan. He didn't become affectionate or touchy-feely instantly, that would be unthinkable, but Draco knew, felt even without physical displays, that his father cared for him and his mother. He wasn't the glacial, frightening and unsympathetic father that he once knew. The change was miniscule, visible only to those people that he cared about, but it was a substantial change and it was enough to make Draco accept his father once again. Outside their home, the family exuded an air of elusiveness, authority and mystery. They had to keep up appearances, after all, as all Malfoys had done in the past, but in the confines of their home they acted as a normal family would do.
Draco never asked his father about it and Lucius seemed contented on not explaining anything. It was a silent understanding between father and son. Narcissa, at the time when the War just ended and Lucius was sentenced to house arrest, became a bridge between her husband and son. Only she understood the two Malfoys and only she had the ability to make the two understand each other. The pureblood supremacy that his family was known for was not gone but it was toned down considerably.
"Have you eaten, dear?" Narcissa asked while resuming her seat next to her husband. Draco leaned on the mantelpiece to stare at a particular painting on the wall next to it.
"I'm not hungry, mother," he lied, head raised and eyes focused on the painting of Mars, the Roman god of war.
"But Draco, you need to eat," his mother continued. "Do you really think that I didn't notice that you rarely eat these days? Do you have something on your mind, dear?"
Draco faced his parents at this, face masked with indifference. Do I have something on my mind? Of course, I have and it's been there for years.
"There's nothing wrong, mother," he said slowly, voice as silky as the rest of his family. "You know that I'm just busy with work and all."
"I understand, dear but…" Narcissa was stopped from her worrying by her husband. His hand was raised, entreating her to allow him to speak. She looked at him with understanding. Clearly, they were about to say something to their son.
"Draco," his father's voice was the same as ever, low and still icy. "What your mother meant to say is, we've…received an interesting piece of news from the Ministry."
Here we go. I hope this won't be long.
"…something about you and the funding of a project."
Draco walked to the other side of the room to sit on a chair. He crossed his legs and employed a stance as if he was in a meeting.
"We, your mother and I," continued Lucius, "don't have any qualms in terms of your choices. We know that what you and your mother have done so far has helped in easing our…dark background. But we were only wondering if it's true that you're going to support Ms. Granger's project. She's from what department, dear?" he looked at Narcissa for an answer.
"I believe she's under Lanphear, in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures."
"Ah, yes, yes. How could I've forgotten about it," Lucius said with a glint in his eyes. He was clearly remembering the order that the Ministry enacted pertaining to house-elves.
Draco hid his smile in a fake yawn.
"I don't see any reason why you're asking me that, father. I've funded projects before, don't you remember? I don't think this project with Granger is any different. I see no reason why we're having this conversation."
"We're just curious, son. An old man like me, confined to this house, would want to know the happenings outside...," he took a sip from his glass of firewhiskey while maintaining his look on Draco, "especially if it concerns my son."
"I never thought that I had a nosey father," Draco answered looking straight at Lucius.
"Not nosey, concerned, if you will," the older man replied coolly.
Draco huffed at this.
"I will not answer any questions tonight. I have an early start tomorrow and I badly want a rest. Father, Mother, if I may?" He stood up and walked to the door.
"This is not the end of this conversation, Draco," his father added.
He stopped. "I know, father."
"Good night, darling," Narcissa added.
Draco didn't look back but he answered, albeit softly, "Good night."
Hermione would trade anything that she possessed right now, except for her wand and her books and some trinkets that she had acquired throughout the years, for a tranquil, dreamless sleep. She had been up and about for almost an hour already: she lay down on her bed, stood up to go to the kitchen to drink some water, sat in front of the telly to surf the channels, picked up a book and scanned its contents, she even dared to open her trunk from when she was in Hogwarts and looked at her notes from when she was still eleven, but still her mind was reeling with activity. One second she was already feeling sleepy but a millisecond would pass and she was alert already.
Hermione never imagined that she would feel dread with the thought of sleeping, but here she was now, sitting in front of the fireplace, dreading sleep, a notebook and a pen in front of her.
She wanted to be true to herself. The atmosphere and the crackling fire was the perfect setting for what she was about to do. To complete the ensemble was a tea set beside her. She was wearing pyjamas and a loose shirt that belonged to Harry. Unbeknownst to many people, Hermione had a liking of wearing men's clothes. When asked about it, she said that it was more comfortable than the usual tight-fitting shirts and dresses that women commonly wore.
The brunette decided to write what she really thought about the man who haunted her dreams and the one who stalked her. This time, she wouldn't allow herself to counter whatever it was she was thinking. She would let her thoughts flow and would not worry about the repercussions that might come from what she wrote.
She took a deep breath and started to write.
Draco was in his study. It was draped with dark green curtains and lined with walls of books. His table was in the centre, the two arched windows on his left. In one of the corners of the room was a glass casing housing his Quidditch uniform. In front of him were stacks of documents that he was currently reviewing. Contrary to what people believed, Draco was hardworking, bordering on being a workaholic. He had a direct hand in managing the various companies and investments that their enterprise had. Yes, they hired people to do this kind of job but Draco, as was his nature, didn't easily give his trust to anyone.
He looked at the grandfather clock and stopped his perusal of the papers. It was nearly midnight and he had business to do. He smiled to himself and stretched his arms. Waving his hand, his cluttered desk was immediately put to order. He stood up and went to one of the walls lined with tomes.
He tapped three books on three different shelves and instantly the books in front of him moved to reveal a compartment in the wall. He uttered the password and downed the wards around it. Tapping the flat wall, a key hole appeared. Draco reached for an innocent-looking pen in his pocket, transfigured it and an intricate-looking key reappeared. He opened the compartment using it.
Inside was an small, old, weathered and stained book. He reached for it and smoothed its cover. It looked dewy on the outside. He held the book in his hand and went back to his desk. He picked up the white rose on his desk and went to his bedroom down the hall.
It took Hermione two hours to pour out every emotion that she felt regarding the dreams and the man involved in it. She didn't expect that simply writing would consume all of her energy. She was currently sitting on the couch and she felt drained, her eyes droopy and her body feeling like jelly. Every activity that day was now catching up to her mortal body.
Her mind screamed that she should re-read what she wrote, that it was very vital for her to know how she perceived this strange occurrence in her life, but her body urged her to sleep. Ten minutes of debating with herself was all it took to finally give in to sleep. It was already midnight when she looked at the wall clock. She yawned and stood up, then picked up the notebook and the tray of tea, and went to the kitchen. After washing the utensils, she went to her medicine cabinet and grabbed a vial of potion.
She turned off the lights and went to her living room once again. Although already sleepy, Hermione still checked the wards, found them intact and working, then she proceeded to her bedroom.
She sat in the centre of the bed, uncorked the vial of dreamless sleep potion and downed it all in one gulp, silently praying that it would work. Instantly, she felt the pull of slumber at her eyelids, willing her to follow its command. She gave into it immediately and the second that her head hit the pillow she was already fast asleep.
It felt as if she was lying on something made purely of cotton. It was so soft, comforting and warm. She could feel the mild breeze on her face and arms and the air carried a sweet scent. Then she heard the rustling of leaves around her. The cool wind increased its pace and she was compelled to open her eyes slowly. At first, everything was a blur. She sat up and her hand made contact with the grass that she was lying on. She closed her eyes once more and when she opened them she finally saw her surroundings.
She couldn't help the gasp that came from her lips. This wasn't like the previous dreams that she had before. The sun was out and its rays showered onto the field of sunflowers before her. The sky was a pure blue with little patches of white. The wind was not warm but also not cold. Just right, she thought. She suddenly realized that she was under the shade of a tree. Looking up, she saw the towering column with its branches twirling upward to meet the rays of the sun. Some wayward light passed through the opening of the branches and leaves and she could faintly feel the warmth from it. The tree was on a small hill at the centre of the sea of flowers.
She looked around, expecting that the mysterious phantom-like shadow would appear at any moment, but she was alone. Utterly alone. She was still wearing her pyjamas but as with the previous nights, she was wandless. She hugged herself upon remembering her last dream.
Will he do it again? Was he just biding his time?
She stood up and took tentative steps around the tree. Her feet were bare but she didn't mind; the grass was soft and she felt comfortable.
She continued walking when she heard the rustling of grass. A couple of feet away from her was the man. But he was not a shadow anymore. She could clearly see that the person who haunted her dreams was wearing dark slacks.
So, he's not some magical creature or something. Not an incubus, that's for sure, she thought.
He was wearing a white shirt with the cuffs folded neatly just under his elbows. His hands and forearms were bare.
She wanted to see his face but it was covered in shadow, though she could clearly see that he was of a pale complexion. He was just standing there, near the trunk and the lowest lying branch of the tree, not saying anything. She had never seen his eyes before but she was sure that he was looking at her at that moment. It was the same gaze that she felt that afternoon.
Her brown curls were bouncing with every breath of wind that came into contact with it.
I must look a sight right now. She reprimanded herself at this. Hermione Jane Granger! What are you thinking? You're at the mercy of an unknown, crazy and delusional man. You do not have a right to think of your image!
She opened her lips partly to speak but the man beat her to it.
"I see that you're rather fond of flowers. Do you like the place?" The voice was as silky as always and he gestured his hand to the field around them. His voice didn't have any malice or lewdness in it. Maybe he was simply curious.
"I don't have to answer your question," Hermione shot back. "So, this is another dream again, huh? Isn't it enough that you violated my body last night?"
The two were unmoving in their respective places. Hermione, for her part, was cautious. Any sudden movement might provoke him. She didn't want a repeat of the events of the night before.
"An interesting choice of word." Hermione thought that if she could only see him, she would surely see a smirk on his face. "...violated. But I don't think I did something wholly unwanted. Your moans are still fresh in my ears, love," he drawled.
Hermione flushed at this. She looked at the other side of the field where she couldn't see him. After a couple of seconds of calming her furiously beating heart, Hermione looked once again at the man. His face and hair was still undetectable under the shadow, but was it the shadow or some sort of spell that was keeping her from seeing his face. She didn't know.
"Why…why are you doing this?" her voice slightly faltered.
The man shifted on his feet. Was he nervous?
"Hmmm…let's see," he said after a pause. "Do you have any inkling of who I am, Hermione?"
There was it again. Whenever he said her name, it was as if she had heard the voice somewhere in the real world.
"Do you honestly believe that I would leave you unscathed if I knew who you really are? I would've hexed you so badly that you wouldn't leave St. Mungo's for a year and the both of us would not be here, talking aimlessly in this…beautiful place." She answered with a hint of warning although she couldn't denigrate the sight around her. The place was breathtaking. It was like a scene from a painting or from a movie.
He softly chuckled. It was like the soft ringing of bells to her ears.
"Right, right. You haven't changed a bit and that's one of the things that attracted me to you. Always the feisty one, Gryffindor to the core," he stated, mirth still in his voice.
Was he complimenting me?
"I ask again. Why are you doing this?" Hermione said forcefully. She took two steps towards him.
"Are you, by any chance, trying to intimidate me, love?" he asked amusedly. "I don't want to disappoint you but I'm afraid it's not working. You look as stunning as ever, though, in this light and with the wind blowing your hair like that, you look truly ravishing."
She couldn't fight the blush that crept once again on her face. Her body instantly became a lot warmer. She took a deep breath and tried to mask her embarrassment with a frown. He was clearly distracting me. Don't listen to his words. Focus. Focus.
"You didn't answer my question, mister." She paused for effect. "Why are you doing this? And don't give me the reason that you've used before. Saying that you want me and all that crap is genuinely disgusting. Judging from the things that you're capable of, I say that you're a pretty powerful wizard, albeit a dark one. What you're doing is completely against Ministry rules and I will make sure that you will get into trouble when I found out who you are." She was surprised at her own boldness. Either she was completely courageous or an utter fool, she didn't know but it felt like that was the right thing to say.
"There's nothing disgusting in wanting you," his voice immediately turned deadly col. "I say that the people who you're now with are fools for not seeing how great you are, Hermione. But be thankful that you're not romantically involved with anyone. I don't know if I can restrain myself from hurting any person who would take you away from me. "
Hermione felt like she was glued to the soft grass. Was that a threat? Will he truly resort to hurting innocent people?
"As for the Ministry, I highly doubt that you would succeed in such an endeavour. Every one of them is easy to manipulate. Except you, love. You've always been a challenge." The man spoke again as if remembering something. "Ah, I almost forgot." The trace of seriousness and coldness wasn't in his voice anymore, it sounded excited, to say the least. "You're visiting Hogwarts tomorrow, right?" he asked casually as if they were friends talking over a cup of tea.
She was dumbstruck. How did he know that was visiting her school?
"How did you know that?" she asked quickly.
"I have means, dear and I will use every one of them to know your every action."
Unbelievable! Now what should I do? Where should I go? To Harry? Ask for his help and protection?
"But don't worry," continued the man under the shadow. "I will let you do what you want to do. Read books if you like. Consult the greatest wizards alive. But I know that you won't find the answers to your questions anywhere." Finality and confidence was in his voice.
"I would love to talk to you longer but this ends my visit tonight, love. I know that you're tired from your work at the Ministry and you need to rest." Genuine concern was in his voice and his tone seemed dejected.
"Then stop appearing in my dreams! If you're really concerned about my welfare, you will stop whatever you're doing!"
"I'm afraid I can't, Hermione," he said softly that it was almost like a whisper to himself.
A huge surge of wind blew, the petals of sunflowers danced in the wind, forming a yellow sea between her and the man. The last thing she remembered seeing was a pale hand amidst the yellow sea of petals reaching to caress her form.
A/N: This is a lengthy one guys. I really, really want to know your ideas about it. Is my writing improving? Or I'm getting worse? Do you think I should continue this story or should I just stop wasting my time? Because, believe me, I'm also as clueless about what's going to happen next as you, dear readers. Make my day and review! Thanks for reading, loves!
