Disclaimer: Nope, I don't own Harry Potter or any of these characters.
Summary: Draco has a dream...
A/N: This chapter has now been beta read by the lovely chanteur dombre.
He was wearing form-fitting black leather trousers. He wasn't sure why exactly, except that all those sexy bitches who write fan fiction seemed to like him in leather. And who was he to deny them the pleasure of ogling his "assets" in tight, shiny hide? Draco was more than happy to oblige.
In any case, poured into his leather pants and wearing a tight fitting black jersey (and a very intense, some would say sexy expression from sucking in his slight - very slight - beer gut), Draco prowled through the darkness. There was a light up in the distance and he could hear the low din of a far off crowd.
As he moved closer to the beacon, the noise grew louder. There were voices, but even more pronounced was a pounding that echoed through the long passageway. With each step, the cacophony of sound - people shouting and feet stomping - continued to rise until it was deafening. It reached its crescendo just as Draco stepped out into the light. And then, as if every droplet of sound had been instantly sucked into a vacuum, it was gone.
If the ground hadn't been shaking only moments before with the ear-piercing chorus, Draco might have thought he was completely alone. But, he could see - very dimly - that the crowd was still there, surrounding the circular arena where he now stood on the edge.
The entire area was bathed in darkness except for two bright spotlights - one on Draco, the other on what looked like a cage, draped in black, at the centre of the enclosure.
He felt his heart stop as a low, rumbling and non-human noise - no, growl - came from inside.
Draco began to move slowly toward it, his feet heavy. There was suddenly a scraping sound on the ground next to him and he stopped in surprise when he realized he held a long leather whip, its end dragging in the dirt. "Where in bloody hell did that come from," he wondered.
When he was just a few feet from the cage, the dark cloth that covered it was swiftly lifted, revealing the magnificent creature inside.
While Draco felt he should be surprised to find himself staring into the large, liquid henna eyes of an enormous lion, for some reason he didn't actually feel at all astounded.
The lion, its long majestic mane like a gorgeous golden halo, gave a powerful roar that made the cage around it quake.
Draco nodded. It was a challenge. For some unknown reason, he was moving closer, steeling himself to go inside. He wasn't afraid. Instead, he felt oddly compelled.
As he finally entered the pen, he noticed there was something familiar about the great beast now that he was near by. Its mane was beautiful, yes, but also a bit…bushy.
"Wait. Just. A. Minute." He stalled in his tracks, only a few meters from the majestic feline. Awareness struck him like a tidal wave and while he still felt drawn to it, fear gripped him.
In place of what he'd thought was a lion moments before now sat the supine form of Hermione Granger, her hair wild and (Draco laughed inwardly at the thought) "untamed." She was clad in a very snug body suit that was the same hue as the lion's fur.
Rather than thinking it was very strange to find Granger in a cage, looking as if she wanted to eat him alive, Draco was decidedly turned on. He took in a very shallow breath.
"Draco," she purred.
For a moment he was transfixed by the sultry sound of his given name dripping from her luscious lips. But then he thought about it for a beat and realized something was dodgy. While he still burned with desire from head to toe, he was able to step back from that sensation.
"Of course," he said out loud. "This is obviously a dream."
She seemed taken aback, but tried to keep him under her spell. "What makes you say that, Dray-co?"
"Because," he explained, "it is way too early in this fanfic for you to be using my first name. That shouldn't happen until at least part sixteen, when you finally realize you've been in love with me since that first time I called you a 'filthy little mudblood,' back in second year."
"Oh." What else could she say to that? She furrowed her brow and bit her lip (it was amazing she hadn't bitten it off after so many years of lip-biting anxiousness). "So, the fact that I was a male lion not a minute ago didn't give it away? It was saying your name?"
"Come to think of it, I suppose that was also a dead giveaway," he reasoned. "Not to mention these naff trousers, since I'm allergic to leather products."
Hermione got up, abandoning her come hither posture. "So, we've established you're dreaming, but what does it mean?"
"Well the lion part is rather obvious. Gryffindor, messy hair, you needing to be tamed."
She raised an eyebrow, "You think I need to be tamed."
"That out of control hair of yours certainly does."
"Sod off," her lips were on the verge of a smile despite the words. "You may be able to push me away with insults when you're awake, but this is your subconscious talking, your hidden desires. It won't work, Malfoy."
He grimaced. "Bloody hell, you're even a bossy bint in my dreams."
"Maybe I am," she conceded. "But you want me."
All at once the emotions he'd been feeling during his waking hours--the inexplicable distrust and anger over Triblehorn, that feeling of loss, the numbness when he looked at other women even as just a glance at Granger stirred something so deep--hit him like a freight train. It had been a hazy mixture of suppressed longing that in that moment came sharply into focus.
He wanted Granger. It could be that it was the barmiest notion he'd ever had in his mostly regrettable life. Yet he knew instinctively that the moment he awoke the desire, the compulsion, would still be present.
"I'm seriously fucked."
"We both are," agreed dream Hermione.