"Is this yet another dream?" For once, it looks like a pleasant one. I see Potter bent over me, his mouth opening on words I can't discern in my sleepy haze. His brows are furrowed in irritation, but a spark of humour brightens his eyes. Humour suits him. It's been more and more rare to see those kinds of emotions openly gracing his features. During all these years, he's always looked concerned about something, always angry or agitated. He was continuously in movement, as if he couldn't stop and rest. I certainly didn't help, I know that. In fact, I was one of those responsible for his misery. I actually was longing for it, for any sign of weakness I could preciously collect. I realised a year ago that I was playing a role all this time. And I was doing it so perfectly, I couldn't even tell myself the difference between Draco Malfoy and just Draco. What else should I have done after all? This behaviour was exactly what was expected of the Malfoy heir. So, I resolved myself to keep my mask on for as long as I could. It was easier than to begin questioning my entire life. But everything changed when Potter resurfaced. I couldn't keep up with this farce any longer. In a way, I'm still trapped by other's expectations. I'm painfully conscious of what is required from me, what could be the end of my family and what offer us survival. And the question is, in all this chaos, where do I find my balance again? I was dealing with this depressing thought before being convinced to come back to Hogwarts.
I finally understand what Potter said. It's been such a long time since I've felt so peaceful, why would he want me to wake? I don't want to leave this beautiful dream. Heavy magic permeates the air of the room in a cloud of sparkling particles. It soothes me. Mine is slowly billowing around both of us. I always knew my sensibility to magic wasn't common. Having the faculty to see such feat, is an incredible gift that I deeply cherish. Mother always urged me to improve my strengths, quietly telling me stories about powerful ancestors in the privacy of my room. Saddened by the thought of her, I listen to the sweet lullaby of our tangled magic. The feeling of safety brought by it is welcoming. "I'm right where I belong". The thought comes and go. "But wait… why does he speak about a train?" And suddenly, the whole situation hits me in the face. "Shit, how could I fall asleep? What do I do now?", I mentally fuss. I shut my eyes again, silently praying that my face doesn't fucking betray my turmoil.
"Does it ring any bell?", Potter taunts me, tilting his head to the side.
"Why the fuck are you molesting me, Potter?" I croak, followed by a deathly silence.
"And here I was, thinking you'd changed, Malfoy. A fucking idiot, that's what I am", his voice grates my ears and self-hatred makes me want to throw up.
He's already in movement when I'm brave enough to open my eyes again. Panic builds up in my veins. I apparently can't notice when to shut the fuck up, these days. The glassed-door creaks when he brusquely opens it and it only takes me the time to stand on shaky legs for him to step his right foot out. His magic is like a furnace now.
"Wait", I whisper.
But he's gone. I feel the loss of his magic like someone detaching a part of my soul and running away with it. The world is turning on its axis. I try to control it, slow my breathing, calm my flashing thoughts. But nature doesn't allow it. Small golden dots flow across my vision, as if I had been watching the sun too closely. My retinas itch. I feel like sand has been rubbed in my throat. A glacial thrill stretches from the back of my skull to the bottom of my back. How stupid I was to pass so much time with him, but perverse curiosity got the best of me. He didn't seem to be conscious of anything, almost as if he didn't know. "Or did he play me so well I didn't realise it?"
"Draco!", a voice like Pansy's shouts, followed by quick steps. "Absolutely outrageous! Where the fuck... Draco?"
My legs finally let go and I drop to the ground, hands gripping the cushioned bench. I can't let it out now. This is definitely Pansy, I can't put her in danger. Shiny black shoes, a pair of black tights, then delicate hands with deep red painted nails enter my sight. Her hands gently cup my cheeks. The touch is calming. I let a reluctant huff out.
"Oh, Draco. Come, darling. We have to get out of this disaster they call a train", she whispers.
She puts a reassuring arm around me. As fast as my weak state allows it, we hurry out of the compartment. When we step out and onto the perron, the fresh wind traitorously licks the sweat at the back of my neck.
"So cold", I distantly say.
"The carriages are waiting. Wait until we're in the safety of the common room", she replies.
And in the devil snare we go.