Harry Potter and the Love of a Veela
Chapter 8 - Classes Begin
(New teachers and New Lessons)
By: Schittlez
The first official day of class was frenzied to say the least; and all Draco was focused on was having it end. His thoughts were overwhelming him since yesterday and he wasn't feeling well enough to deal with the daily, hectic schedule of Hogwarts. Thankfully, it was over now, but Draco still had one more class to attend before dinner.
As he approached his teacher outside, the sun was still full and clear in the sky but was already showing signs of being swallowed by the horizon. The last moments of Monday would soon come to an end.
"Now that you've arrived, we shall begin."
"Yes, Professor." And Draco followed his Potions teacher out into the woods that bordered the school.
Once they had found their way in deep enough and Professor Snape spotted a clearing, he motioned them to stop.
"Tonight, Mr. Malfoy, I will be instructing you on how to bring the elements out and learning how to manipulate them…understand?"
Draco nodded.
"Then, let us start with a simple meditation. This will help you open your mind and spirit and focus on the energies around you. Please sit down."
The blonde Slytherin, for the first time that night, questioned his instructor. "On the ground, sir?"
Snape lifted his eyes to the sky as if he could draw patience from it. "Yes, Malfoy, now sit."
"Why do we have to practice out here in the Forbidden Forest?"
"I do not feel as though I should have to explain myself, but when learning to channel energies from the elements, to be surrounded by the very nature you see here provides you with a strong and wide variety of opportunities. Since it is so readily available right before you, bringing it in should require less energy. Now sit down or your lesson of wandless magical study for tonight is cancelled."
"Sorry, Professor," Draco replied to the dirt floor. He then lowered himself onto a patch of grass and waited for the Potions teacher to respond again after he was firmly seated on the ground.
"Now," Snape continued. "Please be advised that it is recommended for you to sit in a cross-legged position. In doing so, you are acknowledging, to the nature around you, that your core is exposed and you welcome all energies to use you as a vessel."
Draco obeyed by bending one leg in towards him and bringing the other over top of it; but he cut in a tiny inquiry. "Will I have to do this every time?"
"No, Mr. Malfoy. As you hone your ability to connect with the elements, conjuring them to do your bidding will become less and less tedious to the point where simple focus is all you need. Are you ready?"
"Yes, sir," Draco replied.
"So, I have knowledge that you do know basic rules of focus on wandless magic, considering you have performed some simple spells using this method, am I correct?"
Draco nodded.
"Then, beginning our first lesson shouldn't be difficult at all and I expect you to adapt well. First, you will need to learn how the elements revolve around you. Once you have figured out that aspect, it will help you locate them so you can center in on them with your mind and embrace them."
"Okay," Draco nodded his understanding, ready to start. The sooner he finished, the sooner he could get up off this god-awful ground.
"Take in the picture laid out before you and then close your eyes. Bring out your sense of concentration—the exact kind you use when performing one of your simple, wandless spells. Keeping that focus, imagine a mental image of the picture I told you to take in. Let it bleed all over your mind until that is all that surrounds you. Do you have a picture?" Snape asked as he walked around Draco, maintaining a watchful eye, monitoring his progress.
"Yes, I have one," Draco responded, his eyes remaining shut.
"What do you see?"
"It's a little strange," the student trailed off.
"I want to hear it anyway."
"Well, I don't necessarily see the original image I remember. Instead, all of these… colors—they're swirling and mixing together. They're constructing shapes of the objects from my mental image of the forest. There aren't many different kinds of colors. Just a few basic ones."
"What are they?"
"There are reds and oranges blending amongst each other into one, whenever I see them. They're reflecting off of different 'objects'. Um… there's a white swirling mist. It's all over—passing by along everything. The ground is glowing green, almost like a pulse and for some reason, I see specks of blue. They are really tiny, but they are literally everywhere."
"Anything else?"
"I feel your footsteps. Every pound on the soil is clear to me. It's very loud—almost too loud."
"Good. I see your previous knowledge of focus has helped us get to where I need you to be. Now, open your eyes very slowly, never taking a single thought away from your mental, concentrated image, and see how you now view the world around you through your conscious eyes."
Without moving a single muscle, besides his eyelids, Draco slid his eyes apart and brought out his image onto whatever was in front of him. The blends of energies did not cease, instead they covered every last piece of scenery in front of him. So now, he had a view of the normal illustration of the forest, with his subliminal view now revealed and blanketing over it.
"Do not speak," Snape ordered. "Do not break contact with what stands before you. Now, pick an object to narrow in on and, whatever your eyes are set on, analyze what color it holds. If there are many, focus on just one of the following…"
"White, for air. Blue, for water. Green, for earth. Red, for fire and warmth. Pick the first one on your mind that you wish to experiment with."
Draco found the colors he envisioned still enveloping him even now. His head was swimming, but he dared not to break the connection. He gazed at all the options, floating in front of him, and decided on the red beams of light that cascaded down from the sky and picked the spot where a few rays in particular had settled on the tree, perched in front of him. He gazed with interest as it began to burrow into the bark. The fiery color spread out in circular forms on the trunk, where ever the rays had landed. Draco never took his eyes off of that spot.
Snape allowed the boy to focus for a few seconds longer before speaking up again from behind him.
"Now, if you have chosen a color, you must allow it to enter yourself. Think of what that color is doing or what you want it to do, and make it real by letting the thought swallow up your entire body. Make your vision stand true."
Draco did not know what to expect, but did as he was told. Not one part of his body wavered in centering in on his desired task. The feeling tunneled inside him and he let it do so. It poured over him and burned every fiber of his being until…
At the base of the tree, a small area of bark had engulfed into flames. The reds and oranges that Draco had envisioned were now dancing across the surface of the trunk, licking everything it touched.
The ignition startled Draco and brought him out his 'other plane' of consciousness, but when he realized what he just did, he was happy with the results. He turned his upper body around to see if his teacher was pleased as well.
Professor Snape's face was a total mask, if there was feeling coursing through him at that moment. However, he did verbally express his thoughts.
"This evidence shows promise that you will adapt to the lessons at hand, and hopefully you can soon learn actual, wandless spells. This is indeed the first step in learning to conjure and manipulate the elements."
That was good enough for Draco to hear and provided a smirk in response.
"Interesting that you chose fire," Snape added.
"Why is that, sir?" Draco asked.
"As a Veela, you have the gift of learning to control and mold all four elements. But the first one you choose to work with says something about you as a person." Snape was now staring directly at Draco and nothing else; the fire that was conjured to attack the tree was very small at first but showed a sign of growing stronger. Draco hadn't noticed.
"What is it? What does it say about me?" Draco scrunched his brows together as he listened.
Snape spoke as if he were reading the context of a book and nothing more. "By you picking fire, you show a strong sense of vehemence about you. That's the closest way to describe the type of passion that, when choosing this element, embodies a person. Impulses are easy to follow and you adore challenges because they force you to bring out your level of commitment, which can be intimidating to other people. You do grow a sense of following your heart. However, this poses a problem."
"Like what, Professor?"
"This shows that you live a very conflicting life, because, as you should be well aware, living life on strictly impulse is difficult and not always smart, considering rules and the way of life—especially when you are brought up in a way that denounces living in that sort of manner. So, you hold it in and manifest it into a separate being so you can push it away, letting you get through life as unscathed as possible."
'He's creepy.'
'Will you hush?'
'I'm just saying... he doesn't know me.'
Not waiting for a response, the Potions master then brought his attention elsewhere and began to extinguish the flames that threatened to climb the tree and take the whole thing down. He raised his hand, palm side up and before Draco knew it, the entire body of fire lifted off of the tree and condensed into a small ball of flames as it floated over to Snape and hovered over his hand. Then, it vanished in the blink of an eye.
"How did you do that?" Draco couldn't stop himself from asking.
Snape stared at his pupil for a minute as if contemplating an answer and whether or not it should be spoken.
"I am definitely not a Veela… However, I do possess the ability to manipulate one element in particular. Obviously, you should know what that is now."
Draco nodded, taking in what the professor said but then immediately thought of something else and perked up again.
"So… if fire is your controllable element, does that mean the personality descriptions you gave me are true to you as well?"
"Our lesson is over," Snape insisted.
Draco uttered no more.
Tuesday morning brought the topic of complaining about schedules to the breakfast table. Harry, Ron and Hermione were already discussing their O.W.L. results and how it affected their course-study.
"I'm just grateful that my results let me continue my aspiration as a healer," Hermione stated before taking a bite of toast while reading the Daily Prophet. "However, I do want to continue my other dream in the cooperation among wizards and magical creatures."
Harry rolled his eyes in response to the latter comment, while Ron addressed the first, stuffing a sausage in his mouth before speaking. "Let you continue your career path?" he asked incredulously and a few bits sprayed, to Hermione's dislike. "Based on your results, what school schedule, or career path for that matter, would you not be allowed to enroll in?"
Hermione shot Ron a glare as she took another bite, chewing with her mouth closed a little exaggeratedly to get a point across to the red-head.
"Well, it is nice that some of our classes are still with each other," Harry cut in. "We all have Defense Against the Dark Arts together, as usual."
"Yeah," replied Ron. "I wonder what the new teacher will be like. Did you see her?" He began gazing at the floating candles as if they were the most beautiful things he had ever witnessed. Hermione caught this.
"No need to ask if you got a good look at her," she snapped before roughly straightening out the newspaper and hiding her face behind it. Ron didn't even notice. Harry sympathized with the poor girl.
Ron then turned his attention to Harry. "So, who do you think is gonna be the new Gryffindor Quidditch captain, now that Angelina is gone?"
"That's right. I forgot to tell you," Harry smacked his forehead.
"Do that again," Ron piped up.
The raven-haired teen narrowed his eyes. "Ha, ha…"
"So, what did you forget to tell me?"
"I'm the new Quidditch captain. Dumbledore handed me the letter himself."
"That's great, mate!" Ron exclaimed, turning full around to face Harry—meaning his back was now towards Hermione. This, Harry believed, was enough to prevent her from interesting herself with the conversation. "I was wondering if I'd even be let back on the team this year, but now, no worries!"
"Ron," Harry sighed. "I'm taking this very seriously. I have to pick the best candidates."
"Sure thing," the red-haired teen didn't seem to be taking it in though. "But you wouldn't replace your best bloke would ya?"
Harry just shook his head, exasperated.
"So, when are you holding tryouts?" Ron ignored him.
"Dunno. I guess I should give it a little time so everyone has a chance to sign up. Er, Friday?"
"Excellent! I'll go spread the good news."
And before Harry could open his mouth to reply, Ron already hopped out of his seat and dashed out of the hall. Harry threw Hermione a pleading look, who simply replied by saying, "Don't look at me. He's your best friend." She then looked at the clock and added, "We'd better get going or we'll be late for our first lesson."
Harry nodded and gathered everything in his bag before following her out of the Great Hall.
Harry and Hermione sat next to each other in the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom as they waited for Ron to arrive.
"He should have been here by now."
"He's got five minutes, Hermione."
"Well, I'm not worried." She tilted her head in the air a little. "It would serve him right."
Harry smiled, paying her no attention, as he turned his head around to see all who were in their class. He looked to the right, over Hermione's figure, and saw that Dean, Seamus, Neville and the Parvati twins all made it passed their DADA O.W.L.'s. Then, he turned to the right, but immediately frowned.
Malfoy was coming up the aisle, realizing there was only two seats left—one to the left of the Gryffindor student, on the other side of the aisle, or one behind him. Harry didn't approve of either option.
The blonde-haired Slytherin glanced at him for a second and an awkward expression swept across the aristocratic teen's face for a moment, like it always had that year, before being replaced with his usual, haughty sneer. Harry rested his eyes on the blue-eyed boy for a moment longer, after Malfoy turned his head away. He was getting tired of being baffled about his rival's peculiar behavior. One doesn't go from a menacingly annoying, all-around brat and bully to a bumbling, stammering, shy student in the course of only three months.
If anything, Harry thought, he expected Malfoy to really send the threats flying this year, with some possible action to back it up, considering Harry sent his father to Azkaban. This change, though, it was so…weird—far from everything Harry expected. What was going on with him?
'Maybe he went through a drastic change over the summer,' Harry thought. Not likely. He still believed Malfoy to be as shallow as they came. He turned his attention elsewhere and looked up at the clock. Class was about to begin and Ron had less than a minute or he was going to be late…
A red mop of hair poked through the classroom's entrance exactly one minute after class was scheduled to begin. Luckily, their teacher hadn't stepped out of her office yet; but she did emerge out of the door seconds after Ron dove into the seat behind Harry.
"Just in time. I had to set up the flyer for tryouts on the notice board in the common room," Ron panted, leaning forward to whisper the news.
"There shall be no talking in my class unless you raise your hand to be called…"
Her voice was as smooth as silk.
Professor Deldri glanced right at Ron with those sparkling, cerulean eyes the moment she stepped down off of the office staircase.
"Sorry, ma'am, er, Professor," Ron tripped over his words and it wouldn't stop, earning him another intense stare from the new instructor. "I'll just…shut up, now."
Professor Deldri casually smiled as she approached the teacher's desk. Many of the students seemed quite surprised as they finally had a good, close look at her; and they had good reason to do so. Their professor couldn't have been a year over thirty and that appeared to be pushing it.
Instead of having a seat in her chair, she walked around to the front of it, as if she was floating, and placed her hands on the desk behind her to pick herself up and have a seat on top of the furniture. Her legs flowed flawlessly, like the fabric of her robes, all the way to the tips of her shoes. Needless to say, she had the class' full attention. Guys gawked, some girl gazed with interest, while other females appeared ready to kick her off of her desk.
"Welcome, students, to your new Defense Against the Dark Arts class. I am Professor Sandra Deldri, as most of you are aware, but you may refer to me simply as Professor Dee. Now, let us start by taking out our textbooks and begin practicing the first lesson."
Every male in the room, aside from Harry himself—and surprisingly Malfoy—raced to dig their books out of their bags and immediately turned to the first chapter. Hermione looked over her shoulder, at Ron, and 'tsk'ed quietly before snapping her head back to face the front of the class.
'This is going to be interesting,' Harry smiled.
Harry's brain was fried beyond measure as he gasped desperately. It was bad enough that his classes were more demanding than last year, but adding this extra-curricular lesson was just plain torture.
"You are not focusing hard enough. Your strength of control must be greater than this for us to proceed any further… So typical of you, Potter."
'How about I stun and disarm you to death for half an hour and see how much you can handle control,' Harry cursed to himself.
"Forgive me, Professor, but how can being physically attacked help me control my transformation?"
"How dim you are," Snape scathingly replied. "And I do not recall allowing you to address me with any questions. Now, get up and try again."
Snape hovered over Harry's supine form, waiting for his command to be obeyed. His reluctant student looked up at him disbelievingly for a moment before finally attempting to get his body back up on its feet again.
Harry had no warning made available for him. As soon as he lifted his wand above his waist, Snape exclaimed the spell, "Expelliarmus!" and the battle commenced once more.
Harry held on tight to his own wand, silently ordering it to remain clasped within his fingers. It burned like hell and the painful sensation ran through his entire being. He grabbed the professor's black eyes into a dead-lock with his own. He pulled every last fiber of strength and will power he had within him to keep himself going.
He knew his fangs were exposed by now, through his gritted expression, but he didn't grace it with another thought. His fingertips were searing with excruciating agony as he could literally feel his nails being overtaken by razor-sharp replacements. The only thing that kept him putting up with it and pushing through was the pure hatred and anger he felt toward the man standing before him; and the determination to strip Snape's throat of all those smart-ass, sarcasm dripping statements.
Harry's change of motivation excelled him further than ever before because, moments later, he felt the spell being released off of him. He would have even tempted the possibility that the professor had let up on him if it wasn't for the visible shockwave of energy that cut through the air and sent his opponent flying backward.
Harry took the opportunity to regain his senses that began to feel all haywire. His chest finally stopped heaving as his potions teacher took it upon himself to stand up. The green-eyed vampire brought a finger up, raked his pointed nail along his fang and cursed—quite colorfully aloud. What happened with the potion?
"I will not tolerate that language during my lessons, Mr. Potter. Ten points from Gryffindor… It will be twenty, added by a detention, if you continue to glare at me like that," Snape threatened. He walked up closer to his pupil and said, "I suppose recognition of progress is in order. If you avidly applied this much effort during my Potions lessons, I might not be as surprised to why you made it into my N.E.W.T class."
Harry bit his lip to reserve his retort, causing it to bleed. The puncture reminded him of his original question and pulled him away from his anger. "I thought the potion was supposed to last twenty-four hours?" he inquired while licking his bottom lip.
Snape surveyed Harry for a moment before reluctantly replying, "The purpose of the potion is to help suppress your heightened emotions, preventing changes in your features. However, when you reach stress levels that surpass the potency of the mixture, it nulls the effects and transformation is inevitable. It would be safe to say that this lesson, although designed to be a simple task, provided more stress than you can normally control on a regular basis."
If Harry survived his remaining after-school classes with Snape, he was sure he'd at least be a master at ignoring vindictive comments. When Harry didn't respond, the potions teacher added, "Simply take an extra sip of the potion, when needed, and continue in keeping your normal, scheduled dosage.
The sixteen year-old nodded as he reached for the flask that was fastened to his hip, underneath his robes. When the disgusting liquid hit his stomach, his fingernails and teeth no longer resembled sharp objects. He then wiped off the remaining blood, which was beginning to dry on his face and hands, with the inside of his robes.
"This lesson is now, thankfully, over. Here is your disguised pass to get you through the guard without suspicion and back to your common room." Professor Snape handed a small piece of parchment over to Harry and then added, with a raised eyebrow and a smug smirk, after the Gryffindor student took the note, "Although… the thought of you forced to spend the night out on the grounds is tempting." And with that, the professor left him without another word.
Harry was glad he drank the potion.
"Password?"
"Castellum Valens."
"Proceed."
The Fat Lady portrait granted him entrance and Harry stepped over the threshold, only to be immediately beckoned by his two best friends to have a seat with them.
"Oy, Harry. Over here," Ron waved and the green-eyed sixth-year strolled over to the sofa and sat in between the pair. "So, how was your lesson with Snape? Awful I bet. Do you still have to learn Occlumency?"
"Geez, Ronald," Hermione huffed. "Can he exhale for a moment before having to brave your bombardment of inquiries?" Ron rubbed the back of his head sheepishly before the bushy-haired girl continued. "How was it? Alright?" Concern swelled over her eyes.
"As alright as a lesson with Snape can get, I 'spose," Harry shrugged. "Still wanted to hit the bastard like always."
"What are the lessons for?" Ron cut in, unable to wait for a response any longer.
"Nothing too special. Snape is still trying to make me control my mind and learn other things that will probably help me defend myself against-"
"Don't say it." Ron covered his ears.
"-Voldemort," Harry finished, ignoring the red-head. He then started to breathe a little easier. He came up with his cover story, let it all out and it wasn't really lying. He just wasn't exposing the unnecessary details.
Hermione looked almost reluctant to buy his explanation in its entirety and asked, "What else is he going to teach you?"
"He didn't say," replied Harry; that was the truth, after all. "I guess the prude will only announce it when he sees fit, regardless of the benefit towards me-or lack there of."
"Harry, you really shouldn't refer to him like that. He is still your professor," Hermione suggested.
"Yeah, a professor who takes pride and pleasure in watching me squirm like a worm on a hook—not a very respectable character, in my opinion," Harry threw back.
Having been defeated in changing Harry's attitude, Hermione switched topics. "You know a few students have come up to me and asked about the old DA meetings we had. Have you thought about restarting Dumbledore's Army for this year? I doubt it would have to be as secret or dangerous this time."
"I have thought about it," said Harry, turning back to look at Ron for a second, who was engaged in watching two second-year students play wizards' chess and muttered 'amateurs'.
Harry turned back towards Hermione and spoke up once more. "Some of the old members asked me if it would continue this year. I said I wasn't sure. I mean, we orchestrated that group because we couldn't properly learn defensive spells when Umbridge was our teacher. We have what appears to be a competent professor in our Defense Against the Dark Arts class this year."
"That's your opinion," Hermione interjected.
"Mine too," Ron added, raising his hand but never taking his eyes off of the game. Hermione's jaw clenched.
"Anyway," Harry moved on. "I suppose it couldn't be a bad idea. It would provide extra practice for students, considering the impending war and so many people are keen about coming."
"Well, when do you propose we hold these lessons?" Hermione asked, puling out a piece of parchment with her quill at the ready.
Harry thought for a second. Did he even need the added pressure? He guessed it couldn't hurt to review defensive tactics once a week.
"How about every Monday?"
"Okay," Hermione agreed, scribbling furiously over the once-clean sheet. "I'll arrange a registration meeting to be held in the entrance courtyard next Monday."
Harry nodded his approval. "Sounds goods, but I think I'll head in early," Harry yawned. "Today was pretty gruesome." His two friends bade him goodnight as he carried himself up to his dorm room and barely got his robes off before collapsing on the bed sheets.
'So inviting.'
He pulled his blankets over himself and drifted away.
Harry found himself in an unfamiliar area. It was thick with tension as nervousness crawled up all over his skin. He absent-mindedly rubbed his arms, underneath the sleeves of his robes, and looked around.
"Where am I?" he asked the murkiness that engulfed him. "Hello!"
No answer.
"Okay," Harry trailed off, taking a step further. The blackness beneath him rippled away from his feet with every step. Harry was nothing short of confused. Why was it so…dark? He could see his hand reaching forward—see his feet when he looked down. Everything else was just black and there was just nothing else to witness, Harry guessed.
Then, a figure emerged and pulled away from the image of darkness; but the figure was also dim. It held the same absence of color, but Harry noticed it as a separate object from his gloomy surroundings because it was of a lighter shade.
Hesitant at first, Harry began progressing towards the object. As he grew closer, the form grew slightly larger until it appeared to be the size of an average person. 'So, perhaps it is human,' Harry thought. He hoped so. His assumption proved to be correct as the silhouette resembled a robed person, covered from head to toe in fabric. Harry gained another step closer to the hooded being before addressing it.
"Er, hello? Who are you?"
The character was at least a little coherent because it responded by raising its head a little. Apparently, its back was turned towards Harry, but it still gave an impression of being quite interested in him. It kept looking from side to side, as if trying to find out who uttered the question.
"Um… my name's Harry. Wh-what's yours?"
The stranger shook their head furiously.
"Okay?" Harry blinked a few times. "Can you tell me anything?"
They shook their head again.
"Why not?"
There was a pause and then, the being shrugged.
"Well…may I come over?"
The hooded stranger paused again and then nodded their head this time. Harry cautiously walked closer until he was only three feet away. He was so intent on finding out who the mysterious person was that he didn't realize what he was approaching; and what happened next was something Harry never experienced.
A strong, tingling sensation overwhelmed him and surged through his entire body in the blink of an eye. Startled at first, Harry tried to pull away, realizing what was going on. He was picking up on the person's emotions; but what emotion was this? It was undeniably strong. It intoxicated him to no end and a swell of dizziness took over his mind.
Harry was thinking no longer—just inviting the feeling. It completely consumed him in a manner of minutes and the passion was so… severe. Without noticing what he was doing, he drew closer to the elusive individual, desperate to touch them. Oddly enough, when he stretched out his hand and placed it on the person's shoulder, the stranger didn't retract. It was quite the opposite. They willingly responded to it, rising up into Harry's touch.
He stepped forward until their back was resting on his chest. The heat radiating off of their bodies was maddening. What was this…desire? So powerful. The deepest feeling Harry ever felt.
He craved more. He felt like his very blood was feeding off of it; but as he began to bring his arms around their body to explore, the figure was fading away. Harry began to panic as he barely traced his fingers across their soft lips before he was violently yanked away from the scene.
Harry's upper body bolted off the bed. Sweat poured over his skin in rivets and he couldn't catch his breath. His eyes screamed for an explanation, scanning over the dark dorm room, believing an answer had to lie somewhere. His demand was only answered by the awkward lullaby of his school-mates' snores.
"What in the bloody-"
He could still feel it all, right down to the feeling of the person's lips on this two fingertips. He raised them up to his own pair and pressed gently as if that would suffice for the kiss he had been so eager to possess moments ago.
Harry was embarrassed to say the least. Luckily, his subconscious adventure wasn't audible enough to stir the others out of their beds so they could witness the dramatic moment, through Harry's sleeping form, and have a good laugh; but the feeling that ran over him during his encounter… it was far from funny. It was so strong, it ached—literally in certain areas.
Harry sighed in defeat and fell back on his pillow. Unbeknownst to him as to why the dream even occurred in the first place, he gave up on it and forced himself to go back to sleep. Eventually—and unfortunately—a dreamless slumber crept over Harry's mind for the remainder of the night…
Draco lied in bed, clearly frustrated.
'So close.'
'You're not helping.'
He feared of moving, so he remained still. What he was afraid of, he didn't know.
Was the dream an acceptance of what his heritage fated him to accomplish? He was willing to refuse, but his soul wouldn't allow it. The touch, the fingertips sweeping across his lips, the fervent desire for more. It was too much proof to deny what he was feeling. He'd be a fool to refuse how pleasurable that experience had been.
He felt Harry for the first time, despite it being just a dream; and for once in his entire life, Draco actually wanted more—to be with Harry, impossible as it seemed.
'I knew you'd come around, eventually.'
'I'll castrate it, I swear.'
'You wouldn't.'
'...'
'Good night.'
Draco rolled over here and there, unable to get comfortable, wishing for the dream to return where it left off. When he finally fell asleep, though, his vision was no where to be found.
... to be continued...