I'm going to attempt to write back to each of you that has reviewed my ff
since chapter 13. Here I go:
Dela- I know, I hate when ffs make Draco all mushy and angelic. There is NOTHING angelic about this kid. Any intelligent person could pick up on that when reading the books. There are things that may be less evil then other things, but he's not a "good guy."
Loving- I agree! I hate it that Harry ALWAYS has the better come backs, is ALWAYS better at everything just because he's the hero. I thought it was high time he got a whooping. Glad you agree with me.
Alice28- Thanks! Though I think my fic is far from perfect, I will accept the compliment anyway!
Calla-ForEvEa- Glad you like it! I'll keep writing as much as I can as fast as I can!
*:) * - Draco and "saintly" so do not match. That's definitely not a bad thing as "bad boys" are so much more fun to write about.
ChaoticSlytherin- I'm not actually sure I know what you meant by your comment so I'll just smile and nod.
Kayumanggi- As you can tell by this chapter, you're going to have to wait a bit for Ginny's reaction. Sorry, lol. Glad you are still reading this ff of mine. I know Draco can be a bit frustrating, but he's a Malfoy... feelings are a bit difficult, especially when they pertain to certain lower class witches. Anyhow, I hate when ffs have Draco like automatically love Ginny. I think it's more of a lust/obsession thing, that turns into a gnawing to be around that person... as you can tell.
XxDrAcOs-XO-AnGeLxX143- That IS a rather funny picture when you think about it. For some reason I can really see Draco saying something like that. Glad you liked it!
Well, I don't really have anything else to say, so on with the story.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~ ~~~ ~~ ~ ~~ ~ ~ Chapter 15: Dreaming and Reality
There will be no sleep tonight, he thought, settling himself on the edge of his canopied bed. Draco had gotten little sleep the night before, the night when Ginny came to him, but his thoughts were determined to keep his body from fulfilling what it desperately wanted.
Looking at his pocket watch, Draco swung his feet onto the bed and leant against the head board, fully clothed. Today Draco was 18 years old. He was no longer considered a child in most cultures, though Draco never personally believed age had much to do with obtaining such a title. He sighed, loosening his tie and unbuttoning the top button of his collared shirt, his mother's rules of dress did not apply in Draco's room.
Without thinking, Draco glanced at his pocket watch again, growling in frustration and placing his watch face down on the nightstand, refusing to look at it again. He could not sit here and wait for his father to come for him, it would drive him mad. It was the not knowing that made waiting so difficult. Tonight Draco would receive the Mark. He'd become a Death Eater. He'd vow to serve the Dark Lord. He'd turn his life over to darkness. But how?
Goyle, who turned 18 at the beginning of the school year, said it was a gruesome ceremony beginning with an agonizing test of endurance and ending with a final test of loyalty. But then, Goyle was not the most reliable source. On the other hand, Death Eaters were not known for their good- naturedness.
Draco shuddered, it would be painful. Goyle had difficulty forming a coherent sentence, and sometimes Crabbe would need to translate Goyle's garbled ramblings, but Draco knew he hadn't exaggerated.
Though his mind was racing, sleep overcame Draco as if the very air had been suddenly saturated with one of Professor Snape's sleeping powders. His eyelids closed instantly and Draco did not struggle against them, he welcomed the end of that day. But soon his brain was spinning once again, for it was not ready to be silent.
It was as if a silent mist had fogged Draco's vision only to vanish without a trace, having transported Draco to an entirely new location. Draco immediately recognized the Malfoy Manor dining hall. Nothing had changed. The stale air still had the familiar hint of upper class, and for a second Draco assumed he had simply dozed off during dinner.
His blurry, sleep ridden eyes finally focused on a woman at the other end of the table, sipping tea with her well-bred pinky finger pointed just so.
"You're slouching," the woman chastised. Draco straightened up out of habit, but the hard brown eyes of the woman did not even glance his way. Draco's gaze traveled to his left where a platinum-haired boy sat with the same stiffened frame and quiet demeanor. It was as if Draco was looking at photo of himself at a younger age or perhaps even a well-brewed Polyjuice clone.
"As I was saying darling, the Head Master said they're considering Dag for early enrollment."
Draco's eyes shot over to look at the woman that appeared to be addressing him. He studied her expression and her face with a vague sense of recognition. His steely eyes took in the woman's familiar brown hair, now slightly lightened with age, and her matured face with the small, unwanted wrinkles magic has a difficult time hiding.
"All I had to do was casually mention you'd prefer it and the Board signed the consent," the woman said, straining and percing her lips to hold back a squeal of delight.
Draco blinked, lips parted slightly in unfeigned surprise. How could this be so real?
"Darling?" The woman called as Draco continued to gape at her, his searching eyes trying to decipher her identity. "Darling?" She added, more impatient.
Coughing, Draco managed to find his voice. "Yes," he choked out, feeling slightly foolish for having answered a figment of his imagination.
Someone was playing a cruel trick on him, it had to be that. One of his Slytherin friends had sent him a dreaming charm to mock him for being sent away—Crabbe or Goyle, maybe. Even more likely, it was the result of one of their endless potion blunders, Draco thought to himself.
The woman seemed satisfied with his simple response, as if his indifferent tone was not only customary, but expected. Despite the burgeoning nausea in the pit of his stomach, Draco pulled himself shakily to his feet and propelled himself forward, to the other end of the table where the woman ate.
Feelings of familiarity screamed in Draco's head, but his mind was plugged as if somehow had blocked his synapses from making the necessary connection that would solve this bizarre riddle. Everything seemed so long ago as Draco stepped closer to the woman, as if he hadn't really been a teenager only moments before. It was as if he had aged simply by falling asleep.
Draco took his steps more quickly with a sense of urgency. The woman would know what was going on. She would be able to explain it all. He just had to make it to her and everything would make sense. Yet as his pace quickened, the woman only looked farther and farther away.
"I have a question," Draco called lamely. But the woman continued to sip delicately at her tea, oblivious to Draco's plea.
Draco began to run, but the table seemed to stretch and the woman was now a dot in the distance. Even the child was a faint silhouette that seemed miles away, sitting withdrawn across the massive table. Suddenly, Draco's right foot caught on an invisible wedge and his body was thrown forward, landing roughly against a jagged surface.
The power of the fall caused Draco's eyes to shoot open, unsure of whether it was all part of the fanciful dream. Impenetrable darkness invaded his eyes and Draco blinked several times, to make sure his eyes were indeed open. He felt around, blindly groping in the darkness for something to reassure him he hadn't been sucked in a black hole. Draco's eyes widened as his hands fumbled over what felt like cool grass and pebbles, obviously the cause of the numb feeling in his lower back.
As his hands crept along the ground farther, Draco's fist closed around what felt like the hem of a cloak. Suddenly Draco felt several massive hands pull and grab at his arms and legs, heaving him upward and carrying him deeper through the darkness. The dream had ended, and now all Draco was left with was the reality of turning 18.
Dela- I know, I hate when ffs make Draco all mushy and angelic. There is NOTHING angelic about this kid. Any intelligent person could pick up on that when reading the books. There are things that may be less evil then other things, but he's not a "good guy."
Loving- I agree! I hate it that Harry ALWAYS has the better come backs, is ALWAYS better at everything just because he's the hero. I thought it was high time he got a whooping. Glad you agree with me.
Alice28- Thanks! Though I think my fic is far from perfect, I will accept the compliment anyway!
Calla-ForEvEa- Glad you like it! I'll keep writing as much as I can as fast as I can!
*:) * - Draco and "saintly" so do not match. That's definitely not a bad thing as "bad boys" are so much more fun to write about.
ChaoticSlytherin- I'm not actually sure I know what you meant by your comment so I'll just smile and nod.
Kayumanggi- As you can tell by this chapter, you're going to have to wait a bit for Ginny's reaction. Sorry, lol. Glad you are still reading this ff of mine. I know Draco can be a bit frustrating, but he's a Malfoy... feelings are a bit difficult, especially when they pertain to certain lower class witches. Anyhow, I hate when ffs have Draco like automatically love Ginny. I think it's more of a lust/obsession thing, that turns into a gnawing to be around that person... as you can tell.
XxDrAcOs-XO-AnGeLxX143- That IS a rather funny picture when you think about it. For some reason I can really see Draco saying something like that. Glad you liked it!
Well, I don't really have anything else to say, so on with the story.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~ ~~~ ~~ ~ ~~ ~ ~ Chapter 15: Dreaming and Reality
There will be no sleep tonight, he thought, settling himself on the edge of his canopied bed. Draco had gotten little sleep the night before, the night when Ginny came to him, but his thoughts were determined to keep his body from fulfilling what it desperately wanted.
Looking at his pocket watch, Draco swung his feet onto the bed and leant against the head board, fully clothed. Today Draco was 18 years old. He was no longer considered a child in most cultures, though Draco never personally believed age had much to do with obtaining such a title. He sighed, loosening his tie and unbuttoning the top button of his collared shirt, his mother's rules of dress did not apply in Draco's room.
Without thinking, Draco glanced at his pocket watch again, growling in frustration and placing his watch face down on the nightstand, refusing to look at it again. He could not sit here and wait for his father to come for him, it would drive him mad. It was the not knowing that made waiting so difficult. Tonight Draco would receive the Mark. He'd become a Death Eater. He'd vow to serve the Dark Lord. He'd turn his life over to darkness. But how?
Goyle, who turned 18 at the beginning of the school year, said it was a gruesome ceremony beginning with an agonizing test of endurance and ending with a final test of loyalty. But then, Goyle was not the most reliable source. On the other hand, Death Eaters were not known for their good- naturedness.
Draco shuddered, it would be painful. Goyle had difficulty forming a coherent sentence, and sometimes Crabbe would need to translate Goyle's garbled ramblings, but Draco knew he hadn't exaggerated.
Though his mind was racing, sleep overcame Draco as if the very air had been suddenly saturated with one of Professor Snape's sleeping powders. His eyelids closed instantly and Draco did not struggle against them, he welcomed the end of that day. But soon his brain was spinning once again, for it was not ready to be silent.
It was as if a silent mist had fogged Draco's vision only to vanish without a trace, having transported Draco to an entirely new location. Draco immediately recognized the Malfoy Manor dining hall. Nothing had changed. The stale air still had the familiar hint of upper class, and for a second Draco assumed he had simply dozed off during dinner.
His blurry, sleep ridden eyes finally focused on a woman at the other end of the table, sipping tea with her well-bred pinky finger pointed just so.
"You're slouching," the woman chastised. Draco straightened up out of habit, but the hard brown eyes of the woman did not even glance his way. Draco's gaze traveled to his left where a platinum-haired boy sat with the same stiffened frame and quiet demeanor. It was as if Draco was looking at photo of himself at a younger age or perhaps even a well-brewed Polyjuice clone.
"As I was saying darling, the Head Master said they're considering Dag for early enrollment."
Draco's eyes shot over to look at the woman that appeared to be addressing him. He studied her expression and her face with a vague sense of recognition. His steely eyes took in the woman's familiar brown hair, now slightly lightened with age, and her matured face with the small, unwanted wrinkles magic has a difficult time hiding.
"All I had to do was casually mention you'd prefer it and the Board signed the consent," the woman said, straining and percing her lips to hold back a squeal of delight.
Draco blinked, lips parted slightly in unfeigned surprise. How could this be so real?
"Darling?" The woman called as Draco continued to gape at her, his searching eyes trying to decipher her identity. "Darling?" She added, more impatient.
Coughing, Draco managed to find his voice. "Yes," he choked out, feeling slightly foolish for having answered a figment of his imagination.
Someone was playing a cruel trick on him, it had to be that. One of his Slytherin friends had sent him a dreaming charm to mock him for being sent away—Crabbe or Goyle, maybe. Even more likely, it was the result of one of their endless potion blunders, Draco thought to himself.
The woman seemed satisfied with his simple response, as if his indifferent tone was not only customary, but expected. Despite the burgeoning nausea in the pit of his stomach, Draco pulled himself shakily to his feet and propelled himself forward, to the other end of the table where the woman ate.
Feelings of familiarity screamed in Draco's head, but his mind was plugged as if somehow had blocked his synapses from making the necessary connection that would solve this bizarre riddle. Everything seemed so long ago as Draco stepped closer to the woman, as if he hadn't really been a teenager only moments before. It was as if he had aged simply by falling asleep.
Draco took his steps more quickly with a sense of urgency. The woman would know what was going on. She would be able to explain it all. He just had to make it to her and everything would make sense. Yet as his pace quickened, the woman only looked farther and farther away.
"I have a question," Draco called lamely. But the woman continued to sip delicately at her tea, oblivious to Draco's plea.
Draco began to run, but the table seemed to stretch and the woman was now a dot in the distance. Even the child was a faint silhouette that seemed miles away, sitting withdrawn across the massive table. Suddenly, Draco's right foot caught on an invisible wedge and his body was thrown forward, landing roughly against a jagged surface.
The power of the fall caused Draco's eyes to shoot open, unsure of whether it was all part of the fanciful dream. Impenetrable darkness invaded his eyes and Draco blinked several times, to make sure his eyes were indeed open. He felt around, blindly groping in the darkness for something to reassure him he hadn't been sucked in a black hole. Draco's eyes widened as his hands fumbled over what felt like cool grass and pebbles, obviously the cause of the numb feeling in his lower back.
As his hands crept along the ground farther, Draco's fist closed around what felt like the hem of a cloak. Suddenly Draco felt several massive hands pull and grab at his arms and legs, heaving him upward and carrying him deeper through the darkness. The dream had ended, and now all Draco was left with was the reality of turning 18.