January 16th, 2018
Author's Notes: I re-evaluated the smut I wrote for the FIA/AO3 versions of chapter six and decided that what I ended up cutting out of the FFN version was actually less graphic than what I'd left in. So I added the censored scene back in but edited it a bit so it was less graphic. I think it's tasteful enough for FFN now (I guess I'll see eventually if it offends anyone :P). However, I did raise the rating of the story from T to M just to be safe. If you would like to read the full, unedited version, you can still do so at the Fire and Ice Archive and Archive of Our Own. The editing was minimal, though.

Malfoy's Patented Daydream Scheme

Chapter Seven: Acceptance

For the next four days, Draco snapped at his students and was sullen with the staff. Even Neville, who had tolerated him in his worst moods so far, couldn't stand to be around him and sat on the opposite end of the high table between Pomona and Hagrid rather than ruin his appetite with Draco's foul mood at each meal.

When he wasn't teaching or in his office, Draco stomped around the castle advertising his displeasure.

He really couldn't fault Weasley for her reaction, which of course was one of the reasons he was angry. From the beginning, his intentions had been dishonorable. While what had intrigued him most about the daydream potion project had been the puzzle of it, how to mix certain ingredients to achieve the outcome he wanted, he would have been lying if he'd said he hadn't hoped to make some kind of money off the result and undermine the Weasleys' product in the process. Weasley had certainly pegged him on that point.

But it wasn't stealing if Draco developed and improved the Weasleys' idea in a different form. As he'd said (and he'd checked to be sure), the Patented Daydream Charm was protected by patent as a charm only. The concept itself could not be patented. What did Weasley even know about patents? Draco's knowledge was sound because his apprenticeship had included a unit on patent law from Slughorn himself. Without a base knowledge of the law, no potioneer could ever hope to protect their creations from replication by apothecaries and rivals alike.

It wasn't Draco's fault that he had discovered a potential need and had the means to produce a solution for it. Weasley had been way off base to accuse him of stealing the idea, and she'd been downright wrongwhen she'd accused him of using her. Sleeping with her had had nothing to do with his project; it was simply something he had wanted to do because of her. Because he had thought she respected him as a person, or, at the very least, saw him as one. How wrong he'd been.

The wind whistling off the lake should have frozen Draco's ungloved hands, but he couldn't feel any of the bitterness that hinted at snow. His fury simmered in his veins, circulating through his system so that the frigid weather couldn't touch him or his ire.

"Oi! Malfoy!"

Draco ignored Neville and continued his march around the lake. He was on lap number three now and no closer to cooling off than he'd been before he started.

Neville, to Draco's indignation, would not be ignored and followed Draco, pelting him with wet rocks he picked up from the lake shore.

After six minutes of this atrocious treatment, Draco finally faced his attacker. "Will you stop that!"

"Will you?"

"What am I doing to you?"

"It's not me! Not just me, anyway. You're agitating the whole castle with your scowling and glaring and growling. You've even scared off your admirers."

"Idiots, the lot of them! They're just children with romantic ideas of who I am. A fantasy is all they see. If they only knew what I was capable of, none of them would admire me. They'd hate me. They—they—they would—"

His hands constricted into trembling fists at his sides, his jaw clenching so tightly his teeth might shatter at any moment.

Neville caught up to Draco and reached a hand out as if he'd planned to place it on Draco's arm, but his hand dropped at the same time that Draco dodged his touch.

"It's only a matter of time before everyone starts to hate me. I don't give a damn if a gaggle of teenage girls hate me, too."

"Hm," was all Neville said, his brow furrowed in thought. When he made no move to say anything more, Draco turned and continued his furious walk around the lake.

Draco concentrated on the dense crunch of the wet sand and rocks shifting under his feet. His Occlumency had failed him days ago. He hadn't been able to achieve the calm required to compartmentalize his feelings and tuck them away where he wouldn't have to deal with them. This lakeside trek and the sound of the sand under him was as close as he'd come in the last four days to peace—that is, until Neville had ruined it with his presence.

Just when Draco had begun to think the Herbology apprentice had returned to the castle, Draco heard his voice calling out behind him.

"I think you do give a damn, you know!"

Draco stared at the ground, watching his feet displace enough sand to leave shallow footprints. He imagined Neville's head getting trampled with each step, and that brought a sneer to his lips, his first semi-positive expression in days.

Neville jogged up beside Draco. "You do. Why else would you agree to do that Witch Weekly interview in the first place? Why would you admit you regret the decisions of your youth? Or say all those things about your apprenticeship being an opportunity to start a new life?"

"You read that fucking article, too?"

Neville ignored him. "You don't like to be the center of attention anymore, Malfoy. That's why you're hiding here at Hogwarts. That's why your post-Witch Weekly fans annoy you. So why did you do that interview unless you wanted someone to see you for who you truly are—not for who they think you are?"

Draco was flayed by Neville's words. How in the bleeding hell did Neville Longbottom of all people see that much of Draco? When had he figured it out? Draco certainly hadn't, not until Neville had laid it out before him. Only then had Draco recognized it for the truth.

He didn't say anything in response. Honestly, he couldn't. But he slowed his stride, the anger leeching out of him as he thought over what Neville had suggested. He should have denied it, should have called Neville a tosser for joining the hordes of people who only had romantic notions of who Draco truly was.

How strange that Neville was the only one who knew him at all. Neville Longbottom!

They walked in silence together, Neville no longer bombarding Draco with questions and revelations, just simply being there with him while Draco sorted it out.

Finally, Draco stopped and turned his head to stare out at the lake he'd been traipsing around all afternoon without once glancing at it, circling his problem while refusing to confront it.

"Is Ginny the one who misunderstood you so badly?" Neville asked, his voice low as if trying to coax a cornered animal.

Draco's head turned so quickly a cramp developed in his neck.

"I saw her leaving the castle a few mornings ago. She looked upset, and you've been in a foul mood since."

Draco and Neville's tolerance of one another had evolved today. Was this friendship? A step closer to it? Draco wasn't sure, but he did know that none of this was Neville's business. Even if the tiniest, most undetectable sliver of Draco appreciated being understood for once since the end of the war, he was in no place to confide in anyone else, especially not Neville.

"I'm done here," he said, and he meant it conversationally and physically. He turned to go back up to the castle, Neville following suit a moment later.

Back in his office, Draco stared at the variety package of daydream charms he had yet to open as if sizing up an opponent in a fighting ring.

During the return walk from the lake, his anger had ebbed, leaving room for the cold to seep into his bones. He'd gone over Neville's words repeatedly, looking for some other reason to be angry and finding none.

As soon as he'd stepped into his office, his eyes had landed on the empty cauldron on the workbench. His first attempt at a daydream potion had been discarded two days after Weasley's departure, when the concoction had gone putrid from neglect. Since then, he hadn't had the motivation to begin a new attempt, so here he was, staring at the box of charms, using his time oh so productively.

He wasn't going to give up on this project, but he realized now how dangerous it had been not to inform the source of his inspiration of his intentions. Weasley was still in the wrong on the issue—legally Draco wasn't stealing, and he hadn't used her to obtain any sort of secrets—but maybe there was something Draco could do to prevent a future disastrous encounter, this time with George Weasley himself.

Draco sighed. He couldn't bring himself to open the box and use another daydream charm. He was afraid, even as angry and hurt as he was, that Ginny Weasley would meet him in his fantasies, taunting him with an acceptance she was unable to give in person.

On his return from the lake, Draco had ruminated over things Weasley and Neville had both said, and he'd realized that the reason the daydream charms had played such simple, innocent plots was because the charms reflected Draco's truest desires. With the ability to fantasize about anything, Draco's fantasies had featured the object of his attraction… accepting him for who he was. They hadn't needed to be elaborate or sexually charged (his and Weasley's real life chemistry had plenty of sexual energy), because the only thing Draco wanted was the trust and companionship of being Weasley's friend. All he wanted was to be noticed, to be liked, and to be recognized despite his past.

Well… maybe that wasn't all he wanted.

When Weasley had climbed into Draco's lap and kissed him, he'd let himself consider being accepted by her. When she'd agreed to meet him at Hogwarts despite the false pretense for the meeting, he'd dared to hope. When she'd looked at the remnant of his Dark Mark and told him that it changed nothing for her—well, he'd tumbled hopelessly off a cliff he hadn't realized he'd been standing on.

And then she'd abandoned him there to climb out of the canyon on his own. She'd proven herself to be just like everyone else because she'd believed a fantasy of him, and she'd been disappointed with the reality. No, she hadn't even seen him in reality because she'd hopped from a positive fantasy of him to a negative one, missing the real Draco altogether.

Huffing, he shoved the box of daydream charms into his desk drawer and then rifled through his notes about the daydream potion, determined to drown his thoughts out with work. He paused at the bottom of the stack of parchment and scoured through it again. And then one more time for good measure.

A page of his notes was missing.