A/n: After months of being unable to write due to doing a super intense master's program in neuroscience, I decided to join the Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition in order to write again because I just missed it so much. So, I shall be posting a story every 2 weeks or so, and they should all be Drarry stories, unless I decide otherwise for some reason. So, hopefully, I shall keep you entertained with these Drarry one-shots while I work on writing new chapters for my other stories.

This a little headcanon I've been wanting to explore for some time now. May write about it a few more times since I enjoyed writing this one a fair bit. Enjoy!

QLFC practice round prompt for Beater 2: Brood - to think alone. Optional prompts: (word) dreary, (emotion) afraid, (word) belief.

Open Windows and Welcome Dreams

Pieces of me seem to vanish into the morning mist and I am left with only ghosts amongst the fog.

- Sabina Laura

I awaken to the sound of silence.

I lay still for a long moment, staring up at the ceiling, a single thought flitting through my mind like a raindrop sliding down the edge of a leaf.

Forgot to shut the windows again.

Rolling out from under the covers, I walk over to the wall-length sliding doors standing ajar at the far end of the bedroom. The muslin curtains rustle gently when I reach past them to pull the doors shut. A tired sigh escapes my lips as I draw the curtains close, my eyes following the path that a narrow sliver of moonlight casts as it filters in through the crack in the curtains. A shiver runs down my spine, and I rub my palms up and down my arms, feeling unsettled.

I am unnerved, unsure of what had awoken me in the middle of the night. The sky is dreary outside, threatening to storm, yet everything is absolutely still—unnaturally still. Almost as though someone had frozen time.

I laugh nervously to myself and try not to be paranoid. After all, powerful wards protected me from the dangers of the outside world.

"Go back to sleep," I mutter under my breath as I walk back to the bed and slip beneath the covers. The unsettling feeling hasn't dissipated as I stare up at the ceiling, and I anticipate being unable to sleep. Inhaling deeply, I let my eyelids flutter shut, and exhale through parted lips.

The next time I open my eyes, it is light out. A new day has begun, but my mind fights the exhaustion clouding it. I vaguely think that I feel so much more awake in my sleep than when I am awake. I feel a draft and glance towards the sliding doors at the far end of the room, clicking my tongue in disapproval at the sight.

"Forgot to shut the windows again."

I can't stop thinking about the windows.

I can't seem to decide whether I dreamt that I closed them the previous night or if I really had. But if I did close them, how did they come open again?

The hair on the back of my neck prickles, as though telling me that my intuition is right—that something was amiss. But what?

I have the odd feeling of being watched—my every movement under scrutiny of prying eyes—but after being undercover for so many months, I can no longer distinguish between paranoia and instinct.

"Remember to always trust your instinct."

I scoff at the memory that trespasses into my mind amidst my brooding. I recall green eyes twinkling with far too much mirth for someone wishing me good luck before parting ways to go to what I believed to be our imminent deaths.

"But what if my instinct is wrong?" I remember asking him.

"It's got you this far, hasn't it?" he said. "Have some faith."

"The same way the Ministry has faith in me?" I replied with a scoff.

"They wouldn't have chosen you if they didn't." He sounded convinced, but I didn't find his naivete charming then, nor do I now.

"It's a win-win situation for them, isn't it?" I said to him. "Whether I succeed or die."

The twinkle left his eyes then, and I felt a twisted sense of satisfaction from being the cause for the sombre expression on his face. But the words he said in reply were more of an instigation than his blind optimism.

"I don't know about anybody else, but I believe in you."

A sharp rap on my desk brings me back to my senses. I look up to find my superior watching me with a concerned frown.

"You look ill," she comments, but I wave away her worry.

"I'm fine. I've emailed you the files; have you received them yet?"

She nods and smiles. "Great job. It's no wonder the big boss wants you at tonight's big meeting."

I try not to let my elation show. "He what?"

She claps me on the back. "All your hard work finally paid off."

I watch her walk away with a sense of awe settling over me. The previous night's feeling of foreboding momentarily forgotten, I excuse myself from my desk to quickly send my handler the good news. Finally, after months of working a dreary Muggle desk job, I had secured a face-to-face meeting with my target.

Having come this far, I was determined to see things through. After all, what could go wrong?

I spot the flaming mop of red from across the road and recognise the person even before they turn towards me. I can't help but smirk at the annoyance on his face at having to have a meaningful interaction with me against his will.

"I thought I was meeting my handler discreetly, not having my cover blown," I say as I come to a stop before the other man and hold a hand out.

The redhead shakes my hand begrudgingly, his obvious displeasure furthering my amusement. "Hahaha. Very funny, Malfoy," he says in the sourest voice I've heard yet. "That joke's staler than week-old chowder."

"Glad to see that you still have your wicked sense of humour, Weasley," I reply with a smirk. "Although just barely."

"Not all of our jobs involves masquerading as a highly paid Muggle editor in one of the most talked-about companies in England," Weasley says with an impressive amount of scorn.

"No, not all," I agree. "Only those talented enough to actually hold such a coveted position while also being undercover."

I can practically see the steam hissing from Weasley's ears and decide that it was the perfect opportunity to rub in my victory.

"Enough with the pleasantries," I say as I lead Weasley to a less conspicuous corner of the busy street. "Have you come to congratulate me on a job well done?"

Weasley doesn't look half as elated as I thought he would. In fact, he looks disappointed, and I don't like the look of disappointment, especially when directed at me.

"What?" I demand.

"Unfortunately, there's trouble in paradise."

"Oh?"

Weasley glances around before saying, "We've lost contact with Harry."

My breath catches in my throat and my heart begins to race. "What? How?"

"It's too risky to have you continue the assignment," Weasley says, ignoring my questions. "If they suspect something, we risk the entire operation."

"So… what?" I ask, already knowing the answer.

"Your assignment has been called off. Leave tonight. You can tie up any loose ends remotely."

"Tonight?" I snap. "That's impossible. I finally managed to—"

"What part about this being an emergency did you not get, Malfoy?" Weasley interjects.

We stare at each other for a long moment, and the intensity in Weasley's eyes convinces me that the situation is dire. For the first time in months, fear slowly creeps its way back under my skin. A sudden thought occurs to me, then.

Did I really shut the windows last night?

"Where is he?" I ask, my voice barely a whisper.

Weasley shakes his head. "We're trying to track him."

I swallow thickly. "Is he… alive?"

Weasley's face turns gaunt. "We believe so."

I nod. "OK. I've been asked to attend the meeting tonight. I should still be able to meet with Myers and plant the bug—"

"It's been called off, Malfoy," Weasley interrupts again. "Do as you're told."

Anger replaces fear momentarily. "I can't let months of hard work go down the drain just because Potter was stupid enough to get caught!"

Weasley's eyes flash with fury and his expression is menacing. "You're two of our best, and you know it. If Harry's been caught, it may not be long until they find you."

I run a hand down my face and take a moment to think. "Alright," I finally say. "I'll do as you say. I'll disappear."

I stand in front of the sliding doors, my hands behind my back, contemplating the day's happenings. The clouds part outside, revealing a full moon, its light nearly as bright as day. A gentle wind rustles the muslin curtains by my feet, and I shiver. Then, just as the night prior, everything goes still.

A flicker of movement catches my eye, and I stiffen. A wand tip is pressed up against the side of my neck in a flash, cold and deadly, but the eyes that meet mine in the reflection on the glass are warm and familiar.

"I hoped it was you," I whisper, unclenching my fists.

After a moment's hesitation, the wand disappears, as though never been drawn, and I come face to face with the man whom the Ministry was desperately searching for.

"Potter," I say in a low voice. "What are you doing here?"

Emerald eyes shine with conflicted emotions as the other man hesitates. He turns away abruptly and walks over to the fireplace. With a swift wand movement, he's unlocked the secret compartment beneath the mantle and pulls out a scroll of parchment and a small case.

"I came for these."

"Why does Wealsey think you've been captured?" I ask.

Harry tucks the scroll under his shirt. "Because I want him to believe so."

"Why've you been lurking around my house instead of making yourself known?"

"I did. I opened the windows."

I grit my teeth in frustration. You opened the windows? I want to shout. What idiotic—

"What are you doing here?" Harry asks, interrupting my mental tirade.

I deliberate whether or not to lie. In the end, I decide to take the risk. "I was waiting for you."

Harry's expression softens and he walks over to me without making a sound, like a deadly panther prowling the night, waiting to pounce on his prey. He looks deep into my eyes, and a shiver runs down my spine. A mixture of fear and lust blooms in the pit of my stomach.

"You disobeyed orders," he states matter-of-factly. "You met the target and planted the bug."

My breath hitches. "I did."

"It was reckless. You risked exposing the entire operation," Harry murmurs, his voice deep and threatening. "Years of hard work could've gone to waste."

I exhale through my mouth, resisting the urge to reach for my wand. "I only did what you would do."

For a moment, I think Harry will press his wand to my neck again, and I quietly let mine slip down my sleeve and into my palm. If Harry noticed, he doesn't make it known. Instead, the corners of his mouth twitch upwards into a smile.

"Since when did you become the reckless one and me the careful, calculating one?"

I swallow down the lump of fear. "Why are you really here, Harry?"

He doesn't answer. He simply looks at me for a long moment and leans close. He places his hand on mine and squeezes. For a fleeting moment, I think he's going to kiss me, but a sudden rustle of movement outside the window catches our attention. I snap my head to the side, scanning the perimeter.

By the time I look back, Harry is gone. And with him, months worth of data I had recorded and the transmitter for the bug I had placed. A few seconds of crushing defeat overcome me as I'm overwhelmed with the feelings of abandonment and my worst fears coming true. Stray thoughts flood my mind.

The Ministry has finally decided to discard me. I have reached the end of my usefulness. I am going to die. A shuddering breath escapes my lips. I don't want to die.

I clench my fists and feel something cinch my skin. I look down at my hand—the one Harry held—and notice a thin silver band halfway up my ring finger.

A Portkey.

New emotions flood through me, replacing the previous moment of devastating fear. Hope. Trust. Belief.

The ring glitters in the moonlight as a sudden gust of wind throws the doors open. Black-robed men appear all at once, their wands drawn. The curtains flutter around me, the flimsy muslin gentle to the touch. There is a flash of light, and a spell hits me in my side. I bring the ring to my lips and close my eyes.

I awaken to the sound of screaming.

I can only see darkness from behind the blindfold. My left side is on fire. My ankles and wrists are sore from being bound. My mouth is dry from being gagged. My skin is wet from perspiration and… something else.

The screaming subsides to whimpers. Someone grabs me by the hair and strips the blindfold from my eyes and the gag from my mouth. I stare into emerald eyes.

There is no mirth in them this time. Only fear. Unfocused and dazed. All encompassing and all consuming.

Then life returns to them, followed by recognition. Slowly, hope. Belief.

We will escape, they say. We will make it.

Then the screaming starts again. This time, it is mine.

Through the pain, I briefly register the hardness of a thin band around my finger. I wish on the magic of the Portkey to whisk me away from the torture. I am being pulled to my feet, but I falter and fall. Instead of hitting the ground, I keep falling.

I'm spinning through time and space, weightless and airbourne, drifting through the memories of yesterday and the promises of tomorrow. When I land, it is in a cascade of down in a room of white. The feathers float down gently all around me as I sit upright.

Double windows stand ajar several feet away, but the muslin curtains are pure white this time instead of a warm ivory. I rise to my feet gingerly, the dull throbbing in my side turning to sharp pain. The pain is proof that I am alive, and laughter bubbles up inside me and escapes my lips in a breathy giggle. I look down to see bandages wrapped around my naked torso and wonder how long I've been asleep.

I look past the doors and am welcomed by the sight of a field of sea lavender. A warm, sandy beach sprawls out into the distance until it meets the sea where the waves lap at the shore. A familiar figure appears through the lavender.

He has wind in his hair and his expression is one of ease. His shirt is loose and crookedly buttoned, and his trousers end at his knees. He's barefoot and wandless, his smile widening as he walks over to me.

"You're finally awake," he says, his voice teasing. "Thought I'd lost you for a while there."

How did we escape? I want to ask. "Am I really awake?" I ask instead. I reach up to press down on the wound in my side and wonder if I actually feel the pain or just think I do because I know it's meant to hurt. "Or is this all a dream?"

"If it is a dream," Harry says as he comes to stand in front of me. "Then when did it begin, and when does it end?"

I think on that for a moment. "I don't know," I say. Then, I ask, "Where are we?"

Harry smiles and tilts his head, his green eyes shining. "Where do you want to be?"

I inhale the scent of the sea and taste the sticky saltiness in my mouth. "In a dream."

Harry holds out a hand, and I take it without hesitation. "Then that's where we are."

We step through the doorway and onto the warm sand. I gasp as my feet sink into its soft caress, laughing lightly at the sensation.

I feel weightless and light, fearless and free. Someone's voice echoes through my mind like a forgotten whisper.

Disappear.

And so I did.