Darkness filled the room; only a pale rectangular shadow falling across the floor gave any indication of the soft light of the moon in the cloudless sky outside. Shadows caressed the room and its objects, giving a soft and sleepy tone to the ordinary; but the objects in the room were anything but ordinary, at least if you were a muggle.
The desk in the corner was a simple wooden structure but the objects on it were quite unusual, a stack of books lay in disarray against the wall with titles ranging from Matilda Hedgerow's Guide to Advanced Flora Vol. 3 to an open book with a aerial view of an oblong field with 14 small blurs whizzing from end to end with the words 'The match between the Kenmare Kestrels and the Wimbourne Wasps was one of the greatest in the history of Quidditch' written beneath it. An empty birdcage stood to the upper-right of a bottle of Iris Irridesa's Multicolor Ink, an unconsciously chewed quill pen, and a small stack of parchment paper. Across the room, on the back of the door was a poster of seven athletes dressed in bright orange who appeared to be asleep standing up, the bold name 'Chudley Cannons' flashing in large letters below them. These weren't the only treasures to be found in the room. If one were to pry further into the room and its furniture one would find a set of black robes with a lion and the word 'Gryffindor' emblazoned on it proudly in red and gold; a broom lay carefully tucked away in its own corner of a closet, newly polished; and a curious assortment of equally unusual candy, which the room's occupant would tell you were a life-sustaining necessity, hid carefully beneath a loose floor board.
The room and its belongings, strange and intriguing as they are were nothing compared to their owner. The objects of the room lay scattered in the confidently careless way of other boys his age; however, Harry Potter was not your ordinary, run-of-the-mill 16 year old, he was a wizard, or at least a wizard in training. Harry was a 6th year student at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and Seeker for the Gryffindor house quidditch team, a game played in the air upon broomsticks, the same one that was playing out in the book on the desk. For as long as he could remember he had lived at number four Privet Drive with his muggle, or non-magic, relatives: uncle Vernon, aunt Petunia, and his cousin Dudley Dursley. They had hid his wizard heritage from him till he had turned 11 and had received his letter from Hogwarts. Now that he had completed 5 years at Hogwarts and was to begin his 6th his relatives had given up on discouraging him and now ignored him as completely as was humanly possible. They still left most of the chores to Harry, at least those that required manual labor; however, beyond that they couldn't have cared less that his room was covered by that OTHER filth, as they called it; the M-word was not tolerated in their midst. Harry had learned soon the value and the pleasure of stirring clear of the Dursley's. In the end, the Dursley's seemed better off and Harry could spend time alone, studying or honing his reflexes. He preferred the second.
It would have seemed sad to most people, that lack of interest and feeling that carved a crater between the Dursleys and Harry; however, Harry would simply have shrugged it off. The Dursleys weren't his family; his real family was in the wizarding world or at Hogwarts, and Harry was counting down the days till the school year started. Something was pulling on him, tugging constantly at his mind. Things would change this year, as they always would do, but he couldn't shake the feeling that this year would be significant.
It was that thought that had him up and awake after midnight again, that and the burning sensation that coursed like a heartbeat through his scar. The pain was nothing like what he had experience at the beginning of the summer holiday, that had been excruciating, seeming to sear through his body. The experience had left him unconscious for a full 35 hours; this, this was simply a dull echo to what he had went through then. The pain would dull. It always did.
Pushing a hand through his unruly hair he sighed, "Knew it..." Grinning slightly to himself as the pain faded as quickly as it had come. 'Perhaps I will speak with Madame Pomfrey about it when I return to Hogwarts.' With that he drifted back to happier memories, the pain would be forgotten completely as well as his intended visit to the hospital wing's resident witch. His memory forced everything else from his mind and he followed the images...
Harry stood beside the window looking out into the black night as if he could see Hogwarts tucked in its beautiful surroundings, smell the exotic fragrance of the Forbidden Forest mingling with the musty stone of the castle, and feel the air rush through his hair as he soared around the quidditch pitch, having to squint as the light reflected off the lake. A wistful smile tugged softly at the corners of Harry's mouth, his emerald eyes mirroring the glow of the stars as they became dreamy.
Familiar faces swirled behind his eyelids as he closed them. The ancient halls and staircases blurred by with wonderful detail, but it was the faces that had him smiling. Hermione, bent over a stack of books worrying her bottom lips between her teeth; Ron's grinning, freckled face as he watched Hermione beneath tendrils of red hair that was always untidy; and through the myriad of other faces Harry couldn't help noticing the repetition of a blonde haired youth. Slate gray eyes shaded silver burned into Harry's mind in all their icy aloofness.
How long had he been there? Why was he there at all?
"Draco", Harry whispered.
Catching himself quickly, Harry cleared his throat to the empty room.
When had he started calling Malfoy by his given name?
Shrugging off the question he turned almost reluctantly from the comforting night and crossed the room to his bed. Removing his glasses he placed them upon the nightstand and drawing the sheets of his bed back slipped between them. Laying on his side his eyes grew heavy and the lids fluttered softly down over his cheeks as his subconscious took him home early, his mind only balking for a minute as a dream image of Draco wrapped its arms around him.
As Harry slipped further, the dream, and Draco, became almost tangible and Harry smiled into his pillow, a soft blush sweeping his cheeks. The dream would be forgotten tomorrow, but for now, just for that moment he could dream. Could let himself fall into the image's embrace.
Just for now he could return it.
Just for now...
