Draco had lied when he said he wasn't looking forward to the start of term. Maybe he wasn't thrilled about classwork starting up, but Hogwarts had become his home away from home just as it had for all the other students. What he didn't enjoy was fielding all the usual questions, particularly the one most asked: how was your summer?
How was his summer? He thought of his family fielding reporters at the start, each one clambering for the truth behind Harry Potter's claim that Lucius Malfoy was a Death Eater. That is, until the Ministry declared the Dark Lord had not returned and The Daily Prophet stopped harassing those families Potter had named as his supporters and followers. He thought of his father's absence from home, how he refused to tell Draco where it was that he was disappearing to. He thought of how he had to stay home practically all summer, of his mother's summer parties to smooth over relations with the magical community and his required attendance, of Amaris Grey and her stunning transformation.
How was his summer? His summer was complicated.
And, in no small part, that was thanks to Grey. Draco would have been lying if he'd said he wasn't looking forward to laying eyes on her again after the party, but he didn't get the chance until classes started up again.
Tuesday morning brought the Slytherin's first class with the Hufflepuffs, Divination, giving Draco his anticipated opportunity to see Grey again. She made it to the top of the tower before he did and her back was to him the entire period, but it was enough to confirm some things her summer transformation had made him wonder about, such as how much that unflattering Hogwarts uniform had really concealed.
He could see it now, her slim figure. Those small shoulders, the way the sleeves of her dress shirt were big on her thin wrists, her dainty fingers holding a quill, slim ankles crossed as she sat at her table. He had already admitted to himself of his attraction for her over the summer but seeing her again reaffirmed it. Made him want to peel off the layers of that uniform even more than he had wanted to get under her dress.
Draco hung back at the end of class to see if she would notice him, but she was so caught up in conversation with her friend that she never looked his way, much to his chagrin. Therefore, when she did see him in History of Magic after lunch, he spared her the briefest of glances, mentally tucking away the image of those blue eyes rounded with curiosity as she gazed at him, before ignoring her for the rest of the day.
Which turned into an entire week, as they rarely saw each other again. Except for two classes on Thursday and classes all day on Tuesday, they barely even lunched at the same. She had steadily vanished from his radar, aside from noting her unlikely friendship with the 5th year transfer student, Locke Hayden, whom had been sorted into Slytherin, though that nugget of information was more about him and his friends mocking their fellow Slytherin than it was about Grey. As a result, between Quidditch practice, prefect duties, and the demands of his own social circle, he had quite moved on from his obsession with Grey.
Until he walked into Divination on an unusually warm day in October and saw she had worn her hair in a ponytail, giving him an eyeful of her slender neck. He stared at her the entire class and wanted nothing more than to run his fingers along the slope of it…
That night, he had a very muddled dream of her writhing against him, his hand between her thighs and, inconsequently, his other wrapped around her throat, and he woke up with a ridiculous erection that couldn't seemingly be wished away, much less banished with mere breathing exercises and repelling thoughts. Mortifying as that had been, he found himself unforgivably amused when he wrote it down in his dream diary later that day.
Thursday morning's Divination class came with a cold front and a sense of urgency, and he was both elated and aggrieved to find Grey was wearing her hair down once more. The minutes dragged as Trelawney droned on and on until, finally, they were left to their own devices the rest of the period to use that morning's lesson to interpret their latest dreams. He didn't need divination to explain his dream to him—he was a teenage boy who'd had a sex dream about a girl he was attracted to, mystery solved—and so he watched her from across the room.
"What do you think it means?" Pansy asked him, pulling him out of his thoughts. Had she been talking?
"Hm?" He turned toward her and saw her pointing to an entry in her journal. He looked away without bothering to read it. "I don't know. Who cares? This class is ridiculous."
She started to pout but let agreement win out. She always agreed with him, whatever he said. He knew she liked him romantically and he enjoyed the attention she heaped on him, as it seemed to come without any encouragement on his part. He was free flirt or ignore her, so he allowed Pansy her flirty touches to his arm or thigh, but he never gave her the satisfaction of acknowledging them, instead maintaining a bored façade. Draco had never considered dating her properly. Her personality grated on him at times. He could stand being her friend, could appreciate her affections, but never return them.
Eventually, Pansy finished whatever she was stalling with and told him she would see him in the Great Hall. As other students finished their tasks and began filtering out, an unexpected opportunity arose when Hayden, who now sat with Grey every class they shared, bid her goodbye. Left alone at the table—and with his own friends having already gone—Draco made a split-second decision and found himself crossing the room.
Seemingly oblivious to anything but her studies, she didn't notice when he came up behind her and peered over her shoulder. She had her dream diary opened beneath The Dream Oracle, quill hovering over the text as she traced each sentence with invisible lines. As he bent for a better look, he caught a whiff of her perfume, the same scent from summer, and his eyes briefly closed in bliss before he regained his self-control.
"Snakes?" he asked beside her ear and she jerked so violently that he had to put a steadying hand on her shoulder to keep her from accidentally headbutting him. He snorted. "Jumpy, Grey?"
She turned wild eyes on him, her pupils dilated, and was breathing quickly from the adrenaline pumping through her. "Draco," she whispered on reflex. He smirked at her, letting his hand slide along her shoulders, thumb skimming the back of her neck before dropping to his side as he took the seat next to her.
"Dreaming of snakes, are we?" he taunted her. "Anyone I know?"
She took a moment to catch her breath before answering. "That—that's not how it works," she said. "Serpents have a very real meaning outside of Hogwarts' houses."
Of course, he knew that. Didn't she understand he was teasing her? "Nnhm." It was a sharp, mocking sound. "And what does your dream snake tell you about yourself?"
Her eyes widened and he thought she seemed embarrassed. "I haven't finished my interpretation…" she began slowly.
"Your best guess then."
She hesitated. "Serpents have many meanings depending on a number of factors—"
"Spit it out, Grey."
She looked so put out by his interruption but was still flustered from being startled that when she frowned it looked like a pout. When Pansy did it, he felt annoyed. When she did it, he couldn't help but stare at her mouth. He noticed her fingers twitch around her textbook and sensed she was about to make a break for it.
"Well, if you won't talk about your dream, then perhaps you can help me analyze mine," he said casually, tearing his eyes from her mouth.
She stiffened, eyeing him like she wasn't sure if she should take him seriously or not. He honestly had no idea what had prompted him to say it, or if he wanted to take it back. There was no way he could actually tell her about his dream… He calmly ran his hand through his hair, waiting for her response, but she just sat there, staring.
"Honestly, you were a tad more articulate at mother's party. Should I take your gaping silence as a yes, then?"
Her jaw clenched for a moment before she withdrew a leaf of parchment, dipped her quill in ink, and quietly said, "Tell me about your dream."
Draco gazed at her as he thumbed the pages of his dream diary, briefly considering opening it and letting her read the passage detailing his erotic encounter with her. He had been careful to leave her name out of it, after all, noting only innocuous details like blond hair and blue eyes. Truthfully, he couldn't remember if he had really seen those physical identifiers in his dream or not, only remembered knowing beyond a shadow of doubt that it was her whom he was with, but he had been compelled to make note of her somehow since he refused to commit her name to parchment.
He hooked his nail between two pages, on the verge of flipping it open, when he realized he wasn't ready for their interaction to end so soon—and it surely would once she read what he had written.
Draco looked at the students in the classroom. Less than half remained.
"My mother enjoyed seeing you," he said.
"It was nice to see her, too."
"I wouldn't be surprised if she invited you again."
She was quiet for a moment. "I would like that," she said at length, dropping her quill and relaxing against the table.
He scoffed. "Really?"
"Yes," she replied softly. "It's silly but…she reminds me of my mother."
Draco frowned and lifted his eyes to see her staring at the red tablecloth. He couldn't see the connection between their mothers at all. Both blonds, but that was about as far as it went.
"My uncle prefers to pretend as though she never existed. There are no pictures, he kept none of her things, and we don't ever mention her name. It was so long ago that sometimes it feels like it's true." She smiled sadly. "When I saw your mother over the summer—saw her smiling, heard her voice—it made me think of my mother, the way they used to talk to one another. It reminded me that my mother did exist. She had friends, a life, and I was part of it. Does that make sense?"
Yes. It made sense. But it was such a lonely and depressing thought, and it made him uncomfortable.
"Are you using my mother to keep the memory of yours alive?" he sneered.
She seemed taken aback by the question. "I didn't mean it that way." She swept her hair back, giving him an eyeful of the slope of her neck. "I just meant that it was pleasant."
He tapped the cover of his dream diary twice. "Fine," he muttered. "But if you wear anymore ridiculous shoes, I'll just break them again."
She studied him for a beat too long. "We're you trying to be kind?"
"What?" he balked, marginally offended that she would even suggest it.
"When you broke my shoes, did you do it so my feet wouldn't bleed again?"
"Ridiculous," he spat. "You should have been concerned about your bleeding feet, not me."
Her lips quirked in a small smile and he rolled his eyes.
"Is that why you sent me the scones?" he asked, annoyed. "You thought I was being nice?"
"No, I owed you a present."
"I didn't ask for it. I told you I would tell you what I wanted."
"You did, but you left before you could." Her expression became hopeful. "Did you like them?"
Yes. They had been delicious. He savored every single bite. But he just couldn't bring himself to tell her that, so he said, "They reminded me of your mother's."
She smiled happily and nodded, pleased with herself. Draco couldn't stand her joy, like she had won something. He thumbed the corner of his dream diary, felt the pages sliding against his skin, as he narrowed his gaze on her.
"Are you quite done poaching Slytherin students for your little Mudblood-loving club?" he bit out. She flinched at the word and her smile instantly vanished. Satisfaction rolled over him. "It's bad enough you insist on tarnishing your good name."
Grey shook her head and looked away.
"Nothing to say for yourself?" he asked.
"We're just friends," she answered then quickly collected her dream diary, stuffed it into her bag, and began to rise from her seat.
"Where do you think you're going?" he asked and she stilled. "I asked you for your help." When she didn't budge, he said, "Sit down, Grey."
For a moment, he thought she might leave anyway. But she took a deep breath and slowly lowered herself back onto her pouffe. The thrill of giving her an order was heady, but even more so when she followed it.
Grey picked up her quill, her studious mask slipping into place, and gave him her full attention. Her face was as blank as the parchment beneath her fist. Draco ran his nail across the pages of his diary again, on the verge of opening it up, but changed his mind at the last second.
"I was flying," he began, "in my dream. On my broom. Over the Quidditch pitch." He spoke the lies as they came to him, one after the other. "I was alone."
She nodded and scratched a few notes. When she looked up from the parchment, he continued.
"I was flying," he reiterated, "when I looked down and saw something strange moving on the pitch. So, I went lower. Lower. And then I saw it…"
She waited, quill poised and ready to write, her attention undivided.
He smirked. "A snake."
Grey's face burned with embarrassment as she realized he was mocking her. Her quill smacked against the table, blotting the parchment with ink. This time, when she hurried from the classroom, he didn't stop her. He chuckled, scooped up his dream diary, and sauntered back to his table. He thumbed through his copy of The Dream Oracle until he came to the section on animals then flipped to the entry on snakes.
Grey had been right about one thing: the meanings behind snakes in one's dream were quite varied, and every single one of them interesting. In general, a snake symbolized fear and could allude to a hidden threat. However, it also represented the subconscious, transformation, and even healing. If the dream snake tried to bite you, it was thought to refer to a cold, callous person in your life, particularly an enemy. And, oddly enough, in certain circumstances, the snake also symbolized sexual temptation, particularly of the forbidden nature.
"Bloody hell, Grey," he muttered. "What exactly have you been dreaming about?"
No wonder she hadn't wanted to tell him. But it made him even more curious than before what exactly was written in her diary. He knew he would never get the chance to find out, however.
Draco left tower and went down to the Great Hall for his study period. He plopped down at the Slytherin table next to Blaise.
"Where have you been?" his friend asked.
"That's none of your concern, is it?" Draco snapped. Blaise chuckled.
"Touchy, are we? Fine."
Draco pulled out his Potions books to work on his essay as Blaise went back to his own studies. His eyes skimmed the Great Hall and he caught a glimpse of Grey's back hunched over the Hufflepuff table. Then he looked down at his work and blocked out everything else.
Author's Note: I really struggled with this chapter. I rewrote it maybe five times, which is why it took me so long to post any updates. I still don't know how I feel about it... However, I know where I'm going with this story now! I hope you'll enjoy it.
Locke Hayden is another character I created alongside Amaris over a decade ago. She transferred from Ilvermorny, the American school of magic, when her father took a job at the British office for the Ministry for Magic. Though they had house sorting, too, and inter-house competition, it's far less elitist and she feels really out of place at Hogwarts, which is how she makes friends with Amaris. I don't plan to focus on her at all, but their friendship was a nice catalyst for interactions between Amaris and Draco.
Finally, I've rewritten the first chapter from Amaris' POV, just so that I could see inside her head throughout their exchange and understand her struggles. If anyone is interested in reading that, let me know. I'd be happy to post it.
