Disclaimer: I don't intend to infringe on any copyrights laws, I just want to exercise my freedom of speech.
Dreams Come True
In mid November, the leaves had nearly all fallen to the ground leaving skeletal trees behind. It was oddly warm, usually by this time there had been the first frost, and the trees, thinking it was spring, had been tricked into budding again. It was cruel for with the first frost would come the death of all the unborn leaves. But Ron was not paying attention to the odd weather, more preoccupied with something else that was odd.
"I think there's something wrong with him, he's barely said a thing to us all year," Ron said, watching his potion simmering.
"Maybe he's grown up," Hermione replied, already onto the next step of stirring in powdered niffler hooves.
"Not bloody likely," Harry snorted, watching his potion simmer like Ron while grinding the niffler hooves with a mortal and pestle.
"And why not? Just because you two haven't gotten over this rivalry doesn't mean he hasn't."
"But this is Malfoy we're talking about here."
"And I'm not complaining about him. He's called me a mudblood more times than I care to count, but the word hasn't even escaped his lips this year when we're paired in Ancient Runes for translation. He hasn't even bothered me in the library and I've been alone. He's sat at the table next to Ginny and hasn't made a single comment about her robes or anything."
"He's been sitting next to Ginny!?!"
"Ron, now is not the time to get in to your 'big brother' routine. I said the table next to hers, as in separate. Watch your potion."
"Ok, mummy." Hermione sighed.
"It's not my fault," Hermione said, "that people change."
"Hermione, why do you always have to see the best in people?" Harry asked grudgingly.
"Because if you two don't, there's no one left who will."
Ron simmered as much as his potion while he added the niffler hooves and replied sulkily to any other questions that were asked, whether it was Hermione asking for the shrivelfig extract or Harry planning to take his broom out for a glide around the quidditch pitch. Finally he spoke.
"Harry?" Harry looked at him with relief and stopped ladling the potion into a container. "Why did you say Ginny's name in your sleep last night?" Harry flushed and his mouth puckered as if he had just eaten a dozen lemons.
"Did I?"
"Yes, several times." Harry's eyes widened, giving him the expression of someone who was suffocating. Hermione looked like she was torn between intervening and laughing.
"You've got my blessing mate." Harry exhaled, his face melting into normalcy.
"Thanks, Ron. Thanks a lot."
"I can't believe that fourth year banished Flitwick out the window."
"Wonderful, isn't it?" They sat in their usual seats, at their usual table. He looked over at Ginny's empty seat. It was the first time he had been in the library that year without Ginny there. The library felt like a blackened hearth without a fire: cold and worn.
"Somehow you don't think it is."
"No, I think it's wonderful."
"Right…" The book she was opening creaked in objection, but she ignored it and set to work on the History of Magic Essay they had been assigned ("Explain the controversy over animal concealment spells in the 15th century") while Draco researched Crups for Care of Magical Creatures. Fantastic Beasts & Where to Find Them, Wizard's Best Friend, Crup Care, and Muggle Defense Animals lay spead in front of him, full of conflicting information that had changed over time. One book told him that Crups preferred to live in a messy environment so that it could use its natural scavenging instincts to clean up while another warned against leaving the Crup alone in a clean apartment for long for its scavenging instincts would cause it to rip the apartment apart in search for food. The day waned, making the library darker every moment and the fire made the shadows dance like it was burning the shadows themselves. Suddenly, the torches on the wall burst into flame all at once, muting the fire's torment. He was getting nowhere and sighed heavily, leaning back in his chair and looking at the empty one at the next table.
"Preoccupied?"
"You could say that."
"You know, she won't appear no matter how hard you keep looking at the chair."
"Like I want her to." Blaise raised an eyebrow. "It's just a distraction from all this mental activity."
"If you say so…"
He stretched, then bent back over the tomes, making a list of everything he could dig up, marking opposing comments and bringing in another source to reinforce one side or another. More often than not, the third source would either make no mention of the particular fact he was looking for and would instead bring a third point of view into his mind. He was half-way through the introduction by the time the bell rang for signaling the end of classes. He would have a half hour until dinner.
He sighed, raking his fingers through his stiffly gelled hair and then smoothing it down again. "I'll be back." He walked through the dark bookshelves filled with leather-bound books and out of the library with the intention of taking a quick walk to the lake and back to clear his mind. He had not gone more than two steps when he was accosted by Cho Chang, the Ravenclaw Raven. She grabbed his hand and pulled him down a nearly empty corridor. The lack of body heat made the hall chilly despite the torches doing their best to heat and light it.
"I missed you," she said, smiling in the way that had captured the heart of nearly all the Hogwarts males at one time or another.
"I'm sorry. I got sidetracked." She ran her finger up and down his forearm.
"That's not like you, and you know how much I hate being stood up…"
"I said I was sorry." Her smile faltered and her finger stilled.
"No charming smile? No snide yet endearing comment? What's wrong?" she teased.
"I got a better offer." All the effort put into her smile fueled the rage in her eyes as her smile disappeared.
"Fine. Just fine." Furious, she turned and left.
He exhaled and walked slowly back to the library. There may come a time when he needed her to relieve his sexual frustration and he would have to apologize but not now. It was somehow relieving to have her off his back, have her not expect anything from him. He had finished his essay by the time the next bell rang.
At the manor, dinner was an amazingly formal event. Draco would be dressed at exactly 6'o'clock in a nice pair of trousers and shirt, with his formal robes over it. His mother would be dressed in one of her gowns with one of the Malfoy heirlooms glittering at her throat and her hair charmed perfectly in place. His cloak swirling behind him, his father would always enter the room last, after Draco and his mother were seated, walk rapidly along the length of the room and take his seat at the head of the table. The moment he sat down, the dishes would fill with food and goblets with each family member's favorite drink: brandy for his father, champagne with raspberry juice for his mother, and sparkling pumpkin juice for Draco. The meal wasn't over until his father was finished, when he would toss his napkin into his plate like a foodstained flag of defeat and march off to his study. Often, he wouldn't speak at all during the meal.
It was always a shock for Draco when he returned to Hogwarts to eat dinner surrounded but noise and other people jostling his elbows, and when he returned it would be odd not to be greeted by the sound of noise upon entering the dining area.
As Draco and Blaise entered the Great Hall the stars burned brightly against the enchanted ceiling. It was already filled with chattering students and the Slytherins had already saved him a spot. They moved over to make room for Blaise who sat herself between Draco and Pansy, much to the other girl's dismay. Draco silently thanked Blaise, who gave him a knowing wink, then turned to compliment Pansy on her new hairstyle. Her dirty blond hair was curled into shimmering ringlets spilled over her head from a high ponytail. Each curl had been pinned to her head, making her look like a palm tree. Draco stared just beyond her left ear his eyes following the youngest Weasley. She seemed to light up the room, absorbing the light from the stars and shooting it back at every corner of the room. Her hair was pulled back into a messy bun with long, messy tendrils escaping it, and licking her neck like flames. But it was not her appearance that startled him. Laughter exploded from her like fireworks and she walked, leaning on the arm of Lavender Brown for support. Lavender smiled a knowing smile and Ginny, catching her eye once more, said something and took a seat at the Gryfinndor table, still grinning. He had never seen her like this. She wasn't just happy, she was radiant and shared one more glance with Lavender before Lavender leaned towards Harry and teased him. He looked up suddenly and then at Ginny, his mouth puckered with displeasure and surprise. Ginny didn't notice and eventually her glow faded, but he kept watching, willing it to come back. Discretely, Blaise poked him in the ribs.
"What?"
"You're not eating." She followed his gaze. "Unless there is something more interesting than food…"
"Nothing's more interesting than food," he retorted, shoveling mashed potatoes from his plate to his mouth and tearing his gaze from the Gryfinndor table.
"I'd say Professor McGonagall prancing about in her knickers on the teachers table-"
"Maybe for you. Besides, she's not."
"Please," Blaise said, delicately cutting a piece of chicken and eating it daintily, "She's not my type."
"She's not!" He feigned surprise. "I thought you were all for the surly types. You hang out with me, after all."
"You're not surly. You're just my little boy toy." She patted his arm as only Blaise could.
"I am not," he replied, moving from the potatoes to the roast chicken, "little."
"How would I know that? I have no desire to get into your pants."
"Nor do I."
"I have perfectly good reasons to believe you want to get into your own pants, for instance the sweat marks on your sheets every morning. And there was a time you wanted to get into mine."
"Ah well. I was under the Imperio curse, or something like that. Your father wanted to bring you back to the bright side." She smiled.
"Honey, there's no coming back from the Dark Side."
"We'll see about that."
Blaise was drawn back into conversation with Pansy and Draco with Marcus Flint. Discussing Quidditch with Flint took his mind into the realm of strategies and possible new players but a little, dark shadow huddled in the back of his mind, dodging bludgers, the quaffle, and the players that soared in his mind.
The dungeons were cold, but the blood kept him warm. At least this time he knew why he was here, he had been too foolish to enter into the library without checking first and his father had been immersed in dusty tomes of Dark Magic. Not taking lightly to the intrusion and welcoming the distraction, his father had taken him down to the dungeons, shoved his wrists into the shackles and whipped him for what seemed like hours. Draco didn't cry out anymore, and he had only cried the first time. Finally satisfied with the amount of blood, his father had left. Draco knew he would return in the morning.
The stone was cold too, slicked with his blood and the grime and sweat and blood of others. Draco wondered if he's be given the healing potion this time. He probably would; he hadn't done anything too serious, just intruded. But his father was unpredictable. Maybe he would want Draco's back to itch for the next few days. The other times, Draco hadn't been able to lie on his back for a month because the wounds would open and take longer to heal. And the itching was worse than dragonpox.
The skin had broken so many times that when left to heal by themselves, the scars couldn't be charmed off. The last time, his mother had cried while she tried the spell over and over again. The sections of scar that remained had begun to link together, branching across his back like lightening.
The creaking of the cell door grated against his ears, already sensitized by the drip drip drip of a leaky pipe his father never fixed. He knew how much the prisoners hated the drip drip drip. The rustling of silk and click-clack of highheeled shoes made him lift his head, cutting his cheek on the jutting edge of a stone.
Over his shoulder, he saw she was dressed in yellow and was glowing like she had in the Great Hall. She looked like she belonged in some 19th century portrait except for the freckles. He didn't mind, they were like stars across her milky skin. She did not smile at him, studying him with the same twist in her mouth that came when she was contemplating a particularly difficult transfiguration problem. Gently, she touched his shirt. The torn and bloodied cloth melted into the night. Next, she traced her fingers lightly over his back. Her warm fingers balmed his skin with her touch, the wounds sealing themselves. Her face was very close to his, her mouth formed into a pouting frown.
"These are very beautiful," she said, tracing her fingers over the freshly healed skin along one of his veined scars. It was odd hearing her speak. He had never heard her speak before. She pressed a gentle kiss to the highest notch of his spine and he shivered. She was so warm.
"You're cold, aren't you?" The keys tinkled as she undid the shackles. He rubbed his wrists as soon as they were released. She took his wrists in her hands and before his eyes the red vanished. He looked up at her, incredulously. She smiled gently and stroked her finger along the cut on his cheek before pressing her lips to his. He was afraid to touch her and so they stood, their lips parting and meeting over and over. And then, like the red of his wrists and the black of his shirt, she vanished too.
He awoke, very warm in the cold sea of sheets, wet from his sweat. The dreams always began with a memory. They would begin with the memory and get worse and worse until he woke from the fear of it all. This time, he had awoken from gentle shock. Never had the dreams gotten better, and never had she been there.
He wondered how Blaise had found out about his sheets and was thankful she had assumed the sweat was from his pleasure.
"You're ignoring your food again."
Blaise had come down to the common room to find Draco, very much awake, staring intently into the fire while sprawled precariously on a couch. Together, they had gone down to breakfast and the other Slytherins had followed at a more normal hour. At first, he had not eaten anything and they had sat together by the fire in the Great Hall, bantering as they usually did. But when Millicant had come down, Blaise had left him alone, returning when Pansy entered the room. Not liking the girl much, Blaise felt that she needed to protect Draco from her as well, which Draco appreciated.
Stirring his eggs around on his plate, he thought back to last year when he had a violent crush on Blaise. He nearly worshipped her eyes, admired her haughty demeanor which was so like his own, and long to see her curtain of black hair hang over him as they…seeded the garden. And then he found out and he thought himself very foolish for liking her at all, but knowing her secret made him feel closer to her than to anyone; he had never shared a secret before. This time last year, he would have spent all his time with Crabbe and Goyle sharing PlayWizard and Maximus Penis around their room and commenting on the size of the witch's breasts or helping them with homework. Now he was spending time in the library with a girl he wasn't even dating sitting next to a girl who he didn't like. He looked for her again and found her, eating a piece of toast.
"She's pretty isn't she?"
"I suppose."
"Maybe she's not all that pretty-" Blaise rested her chin on her fist, her elbow on the table. "-just captivating."
"You could say that."
"You like her, don't you."
"No, she's a muggle-loving-"
"Spare me." He did.
"Look, if you don't like her so much, you can help me. I like her."
"You do?"
"Don't look so surprised. I think we'd make a lovely couple."
"Yeah, you'd be the couple of my fantasies if you'd let me watch you in the bedroom," he said blandly.
"Don't take that tone with me. I want you to find out if she's like me."
"If you mean cruel and crass then no, she's not."
"I mean if she's a lesbian, you thick-skulled ferret."
"Well if I didn't have a thick skull I wouldn't have survived the bouncing."
"Seriously, Draco."
"I think you picked the wrong guy for this, Blaise. I don't think she'd tell me if I had a smudge of dirt on my forehead."
"And neither would I. It's funny when you don't look perfectly put together."
"It is not!"
"Just try to ask her out."
"She'd say no as an automated response."
"Draco, you could charm a porcupine into giving up its quills with your smile."
"Which is what I'd be doing."
"Just try it. I don't want to let just anyone know about me, you know that. I had to tell you because you wouldn't lay off. Just do the same with her and the secret will be yours."
"It's not that easy, Blaise."
"Please, Draco, just try?"
"Fine," he sighed, looking at the girl that was now his target, "I'll try."
~~~~~
Thanks so much to Adie, SicDreamsInc, and Kris for reviewing. Review more, more, more. I need review. I crave reviews. I lust for reviews…well, maybe not that far but please review. Thanks. And well-rounded reviews are more than welcome. I would like to continue improving, but how can I do that if all the reviews are get are all positive?