Thank You's to: Just-mee, firefairy91, scorpiogurl2910, Ellie, DragonOfWinter, CareBearErin, me, Steelo, Hanvu, far away for far too long , PassegeWanderer02, kissmyattitude, joliese, cellosrock753, Pigwidgeon188, anonymous j, missez tom felton, Fallen Flower, Quiescent Sanity, sakuraangel90, DancingBabe, Perfectcircle, SuperSammie325, Dooki, LILHOUSELF, MondayMornings, and Firefox Sunset.
TwilightGirl: Thanks for your betaing. I hate it when I miss typos, and I'm a terrible editor.
RebelSheepSayMoo: Well, I'm glad that I finally can get some insults that sting. It's so pleasing to know that I can have the power to make characters say such evil things.
Sakura Angel90: Actually, I think "Vorare amni" means "Absolute Power". I had a list of Latin words somewhere, and I ended up loosing them. No grammar, just the words. But I'm pretty sure it doesn't mean "I love to eat". Ha, that's kinda cute to think Draco's password would mean that.
Snorlax1084: Thanks for your encouragement. I really do appreciate it.
Cry Me Tears of Fire
By Pensive Puddles
Draco sat by his open window, slowly taking in his last cigarette. He savored each breath and with each exhale, felt a burden press harder and harder against his chest. Wasn't he supposed to be feeling better? What was so damn troubling that wouldn't leave him alone?
He tried to be ignorant to the voice in his head that told him that he knew exactly what was the matter. Having a strong will power, Draco suffocated the voice with nicotine smoke. Yet no matter how long he held his breath, questions still pestered him.
Why had he said such cruel worlds? It started off childish. Taunts and barbs he had been using since second year (which made him feel even more childish for reusing his insults). But the taunt had turned into a death threat, and he had felt the venom drip from his tongue. He knew it hurt her. Not the first part; she had always been indifferent to his Mudblood comments. But the last part, where he said he'd kill her, she gave him this…ghastly look. He hadn't seen someone so terrified before. And usually he loved those looks of horror. But this was coming from Granger, a girl who he had studied and observed for a year, and was completely fascinated with. There was just something…wrong in the idea of her being shaken by him.
But why? Why couldn't she be terrified of him? He was Volemort's heir, unknowing to her. She was supposed to fear him.
He didn't now. All reasons told him that she was supposed to be scared of him, and that look of fear in her eyes was supposed to be victorious for him. It foreshadowed his evilness. This was supposed to be to his advantage.
And yet, there was something that told him it was wicked…it almost made him feel…guilty.
His mind replayed the incident. It hadn't been the first time. Running away from her and shutting his door to the moment of cruelty didn't stop his mind from reliving the moment. And it hurt to see himself be so brutal to her. It hurt to see her eyes. Those brown, deep brown eyes.
He closed his eyes, freezing time in his mind and observing her face. He could see her tears, catching the fireside glow. He could see her bottom lip trying so hard not to tremble. He could look into those eyes, usually bright and understanding, suddenly shattered and confused.
Draco jerked himself out of his recollections as burning ashes fell against his arm, singeing his skin. Cursing, Draco took one last breathe from his cigarette and snuffed it out. Feeling exhausted, he crawled to his bed, cowering under his soft covers and passed out. Maybe he'd be fortunate again and wouldn't be bothered with those nightmarish dreams of his. Curiously, they hadn't been as frequent since the beginning of winter break.
He chases after a girl who is running before him, her long hair swings around her back as she turns to look back at him, taunting him to keep up. Her laugh jingles in the air, and it's pleasant to listen to it. He doesn't know who she is, but he feels as if he knows her. He catches her and swings her around.
"You've caught me," she laughs, and snuggles up against his chest. He can't see her face; but it doesn't matter. She grabs his hands, pressing them against her lips, whispering, "Promise me that you'll always protect me."
"Of course, I will," he promises, kissing her hands in return. She giggles and embraces him. His heart sores.
"Let's go…let's run away," she says. His heart cries out yes. His mind says to go. But he can't move. She's about to ask him what was wrong with him when all joy they had created evaporates and leaves them alone in a dark room. Evil laughter fills the silence, and dark figures emerge from the shadows.
"Now, to prove yourself," the Dark Lord hisses from his throne. "I don't believe the rumors that fellow men have whispered into my ears. Not about my dear heir, oh no. But to prove to them, and to snub whatever future suspicions may rise, you must show your loyalty. Prove that you are my true heir."
"Draco? What are they talking about?" the beautiful girl questions, sliding her shaking hand into his. He feels sick. He's scared of what will happen. He knows something terrible will happen.
"Ah, I see you've brought your own prey. Good. Better than the one that we caught for you," the Dark Lord remarks. He waves his hand and two of the figures that encircle the couple and the Dark Lord steps out and grabs the girl, dragging her away from Draco. She screams for him.
They tie her hands above her head and let her struggle. Draco watches in suspenseful horror.
And then the Dark Lord confirms what his mind had hypothesized in fear since the darkness over came them: "Rape her."
"No! I won't!" he shouts. But the words never leave his mouth, and he watches in chilling revulsion as he starts to walk towards the girl.
He wants to shut his eyes. He wants to run away. But he can't, and he finds himself obeying the Dark Lord. His eyes watch her face twist in pain, in disbelief, in anger as he rapes her. She screams his name, begging him to stop. Tears of mortification spill from her eyes, making his own water, his heart screams in agony.
He doesn't know how long it lasts. It's horrible. He hates every second. And yet, even when he wants to stop, he can't. It's as if another force is controlling him. "Draco…" the girl says weakly, and he looks down at her face, shocked to finally see the face of his victim and wishes he never had.
"Hermione…?" he gasps. A wave of nausea sweeps over him. Her face is bruised, as if they had beaten her. Parts of her hair are matted with blood. Cuts run all over her chest, bruises from where they grabbed her, touched her, molested her. Vile words and names are engraved into her skin, and he so desperately wants to heal her wounds and take her away to some place safe. He is pinning her hands down over her head and he quickly lets go. "What have I done? What have I done?" he questions, revolted at what he was forced to do.
A knife is handed to him, and he takes it. He wants to plunge it into the Dark Lord's heart for making him do such a heinous act.
"Kill her."
It becomes a chant by the others who watch. And he screams to himself to stop. He shouts to wake himself from his nightmare, but he only hears silence. He yells an inhuman, unnatural sound, as he raises the dagger above his head and brings it down into her chest.
:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:
Draco's eyes jerked open to reveal panic, pale, dilated pupils. He had a crazed look on his face, so scary that Hermione gasped sharply. When his eyes locked with hers, she was even more startled by his piercing shriek of fear. His face paled of all color, and she wondered how there had been any color before.
The moment became stranger with each confusing second. Draco, still half asleep, or half crazed, clasped her head, and looked at her as if seeing her for the first time. His eyes were red, puffy, almost as if he had been crying. Sweat beaded his brow still, matting his usually styled hair. His chest rose and fell heavily, as if he had been running for a long time. She wondered if maybe she was hallucinating, for she could have sworn that he was caressing the side of her head.
"I didn't want to do it. I swear, I didn't," he said frantically.
"Draco, what's wrong?" Hermione asked. He merely bowed his head and heaved dry sobs, his body shaking uncontrollably. He seemed to momentarily forget that she was there.
After Draco had gone to his room, she had stormed to her own, so angry that she started to throw books around until she banged her elbow sharply against some shelves. The pain brought tears to her eyes, tears of pain that quickly unleashed the tears of sadness she had wanted to shed. She had cried herself to sleep. But then Draco's screams had woken her. He was screaming frantically, and she feared the worse. Rushing over to his room, she found him wiggling on the floor, wrapped in his sheets, clawing at the side of the bed. It was as if he were having a spasm. And now he was mumbling incoherent sentences, denying something she didn't know what.
"What's wrong, Draco?" she repeated, fear turning her insides. She had never seen him so chaotic. It was as if he were insane.
"I tried to stop. I said I wasn't going to do it. And then…and then they took you and they made me…they made me…" he couldn't finish. He looked at her and begged sincerely, "Please don't hate me. Don't hate me."
"I don't hate you," she said, trying to ease his troubled mind. His face somewhat relaxed. And slowly, the crazed glaze faded from his eyes. The two sat there in silence, Hermione watching for another spasm, and Draco trying to grasp his surroundings. Hermione estimated that half an hour passed before someone spoke.
"What time is it?" he asked quietly, his composure blank, except for the exhaustion that his face obviously expressed.
"I don't know. Two? Three?" she estimated, looking out the window.
"You should be asleep," he commented, and she wanted to laugh. He stood up, piling his sheets back on top of his bed and laid down, his eyes transfixed on the wall. She slowly got up and stood silently next to him. Finally, she made a move to the door and his pale hand reached out and grabbed her by her shirt, lightly holding it. He whispered, "Don't go."
It was quite unlike him, and she turned and stared at him. His face looked up at hers pleadingly, almost like a child who had been scared of the monster in his closet. As she came closer, he took her hand in his and held it, pulling her to sit on his bed next to him, whispering again, "Don't go."
"I won't," she responded, and her heart tugged in pity as his hand squeezed hers tightly, in gratitude, in dread to witness more disturbing images he wasn't prepared to see. Hermione found herself incapable of moving, and she didn't feel bothered in the least.
His eyes remained fixed on the wall and she wondered what he was looking at. She looked at him, studying his features. She could somehow tell that he was still half asleep, half trapped in the nightmare he had dreamed. He acted completely unnatural, almost hypnotized. As she continued to hold his hand, she noticed how he slowly relaxed. She dared not speak in fear of breaking his stoic composure and release his fears again.
"They made me do it. I felt so sick, doing it," he said, raising questions in Hermione's head.
"What did they make you do?" she coaxed.
"You looked so happy. I wanted to keep you safe. I wanted to set you free. I wanted to kill them for hurting you like they did," he said almost in monotone.
He dreamed about me? she thought.
"In my mind, I was cutting you free from your bonds and setting you free. But every time I looked, you were still there, trapped. I don't know why I couldn't get away. It was like they had me in an Imperious Curse," he continued. His face finally contorted into an emotion: anger. And he hissed, "I bet he Imperio'd me, and just watched again, that basterd! Just like last time…"
Hermione's mind went numb as he continued to talk to himself, continued to recollect his dream. "You screamed for me to stop. But I couldn't, not matter how hard I tried. They had me controlled. And after I had raped you, they handed me a knife, and told me to kill you. I didn't want to. You looked at me…so…crushed, at what I had done. I have never felt so ashamed. And I wanted to free you from that pain that I had caused you. But I didn't want to kill you. I never did. Never. They must have cast a spell on the knife, commanded it to raise my hands and stab you. Oh, Salazar!"
He clutched her hand, his body shaking as he remembered. She didn't pull her hand away, even when he crushed it in his. She couldn't move. He had dreamed he had raped her? Killed her? She felt sick, and wanted to run away from the monster that held onto her.
And as she glanced at him, she faintly grasped that he hadn't wanted to do such a horrendous thing. He had tried so hard to free her in his mind. He had tried so hard to save her. He had been forced to do the wicked deeds. Her heart cracked, as she watched him cover his face, watched him tremble. She asked, "Would you do it, Draco? If they asked you to and you had a free choice, would you rape and kill me?"
He pale eyes, less crazed than ever, look at her and he replied steadily, "Never."
She gave a soft, comforting smile, and reached out to lightly stroke his face. "Then you don't have to worry about anything. I'm alive. I'm fine. It was just a dream."
"Just a dream…" he repeated after her, and rested his head back on his pillow. "It felt so real…"
She didn't know what to say. She just held his hand as he faded into sleep, exhausted.
:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:
Draco groggily opened his eyes, feeling a warm body pressed up against his chest. Pansy's back from vacation already? he wondered. Blinking back sleep, he looked to see who was the girl who had her fingers laced with his. His eyes widened as he looked down at Hermione's sleeping figure.
Her wild hair cascaded all over her face, and her exhaled breaths blew strands away from her nose. Draco could see dark bags under her eyes. She wasn't getting enough sleep these past few days, he noticed. He couldn't move. He was lying on his one free arm, and the other hand was encircled in hers. He rested his head back on the pillow, looking at the back of her head. His mind told him that this was wrong. He shouldn't do these types of things with girls like Granger. The Dark Lord's heir shouldn't snuggle with Harry Potter's best friend. This was wrong.
But each breathe that made her side rise and fall, make her back press into his chest, each breathe pushed back those thoughts, and he found himself enjoying the comfort and serenity he hadn't felt in a long while. Slowly he blinked his eyes until they were almost closed, until he was almost asleep, and then she stirred, sighing deeply and rolling on her back and making her way to lay on her other side. Her head bonked lightly against his and he opened his eyes. He watched, fascinated, as her eyelids stirred and finally opened to reveal her hazy brown eyes. They were more exotic up close.
"Are you ok?" she asked quietly, almost afraid to break the morning silence. He wondered if she noticed that they were still holding hands. He hoped she didn't.
Finally registering her question, he only nodded, trying to remember why she'd ask such a question. Eventually, the night's memories fell back into his conscious mind and he looked away from her, feeling ashamed, and then checking himself. He shouldn't feel ashamed. He couldn't feel ashamed. And then he felt her hand stir in his, almost holding it closer, and when he looked back at her soft, concerned countenance, he wanted to feel ashamed. Somehow, feeling ashamed for that face wasn't so ludicrous. She certainly was a strange and powerful girl. And the beauty of it was that she didn't know it.
"You stayed the whole night," he said more than asked. He rolled his eyes in his head. Obviously, you moron.
She nodded. "I was worried what would happen if you woke up and I wasn't there. You'd probably be fine. You always seem to be fine," she mumbled off into incoherent, embarrassed sentences and Draco felt a small grin tug at his lips. She cared for him. Even after what he said to her, she still would do such a kind act for her enemy.
"Thank you," he said, cutting her off.
Looking up into his face, rosy cheeks darkening into a pleased hue, Hermione replied, "You're welcome."
Their breaths were shallow as they rested in silence. Neither wanted to move, neither wanted to get up. Draco finally stretched, letting go of her hand. And when he did, he immediately longed to feel her soft palm cradled in his hand again. He looked up at the ceiling, savoring the peace between them. It felt good.
She sat up in his bed, her legs swinging over the bed, her toes almost grazing the floor. She paused and he questioned her where she was going. "Don't you want me to leave?"
He was silent. Should he tell her what he truly felt, even when he wasn't sure himself? He wasn't sure if he was ready to trust his own feelings. "I don't know."
Draco tried not to look at her, but by his peripheral vision, he could see her head turn slightly and her lips pull up in a small grin. After a few moments, she finally spoke, "I can't believe this is the last day of winter vacation."
He sighed in agreement. He was looking forward to seeing Pansy and Blaise again, but wouldn't that then mean that he couldn't be friends with Hermione again? These little associations would have to stop, and the bickering and name-calling would start up again. He didn't want that to happen. He had finally found someone somewhat like him, someone that understood the pain and ecstasy in Dark Magic. These comforting bonds they had built so awkwardly were soon to be shattered by the incoming call of the Hogwarts train.
Little did he know that the same thoughts were flowing through Hermione's head as well.
:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:
"Come on, quickly!" Hermione whispered in the dark staircase, her feet lightly tapping against the steps that spiraled upwards.
"I'm tired. I don't want to see fireworks," Draco grumbled, trudging alone after her. Neither spoke about last night. Neither spoke about the change that would take place when their friends came back. They simply pretended that nothing was the matter. And they both enjoyed this ignorance. He tripped over a step, quickly catching himself, and snapped, "I can't see anything!"
Taking out his lighter, he ignited a small ball of fire in his hands that light the staircase in front of them. "Not so bright!" Hermione hissed. Draco decreased the intensity of the flame before asking, "Where are we going again?"
"I told you, it's a surprise," she said, and he could almost feel her anxious smile laced with the words she spoke.
"I hate surprises," he mumbled, and she pretended not to hear him.
Eventually, the steps stopped and he watched Hermione push roughly against a battered door. The hinges creaked and they both winced at the loud sound. Nonetheless, they were soon outside, standing one of the rooftops of Hogwarts. The wind blew roughly against their skin, and Hermione held out her hands, focusing on tunneling the wind to fly over them. Draco watched, fascinated. Wiping her brow, lightly sweating from the long trek up the steps and the use of her powers, Hermione sat down and motioned Draco to sit next to her. He came and stood, not wanting to dirty his clothes if he didn't have to. Hermione rolled her eyes.
"And what are we looking at?" Draco questioned, trying to see what her eyes were fixed on.
"There's a tale that two drunk wizards bought all the fireworks in Hogsmeade one New Year's Eve. They wanted to have the brightest, wildest display of the century. They ended up drinking all day and passing out before they could even light the fireworks," Hermione giggled at the wizards' idiocy. "They woke up the next day at the same time, and still thinking it was New Year's Eve, set off the fireworks. And to honor that stupidity, Hogsmeade sets off their fireworks a day late."
"They don't set them off on New Years then?"
"No. They still set them off on New Years. They just save all the good ones for the following day. Quite convenient for people like us, wouldn't you say?" Hermione remarked, laughing. Draco chuckled. Hermione looked at her watch. "They're about to start. You can't see anything from over there, Draco. The towers will get in your way. It's always better when you sit. Ron discovered that. Harry and I sat down throughout the fireworks display, 'ooh'-ing and 'ahh'-ing and Ron never saw one firework! Turns out one of the towers blocked his view. He couldn't hear anything either, because Hogsmeade somehow is able to control the sound waves from traveling over to Hogwarts and waking up the students."
Her eyes widened and she pointed excitedly, "Look!"
Draco looked and found himself with Ron's problem years ago: the towers blocked his view. Squatting down next to Hermione, he could see the lights amongst the pillars of towers. Sitting down next to her, he was finally able to see the fireworks completely.
"You know, I think the last time I saw fireworks with my parents was four years ago," she remarked sadly.
"I haven't watched fireworks with my parents at all," Draco commented. He wasn't fishing for sympathy. Besides, he didn't want any in the first place. He immediately heard her sympathetic sigh and he shook his head, laughing it off, " It's not that big of a deal. My parents were off at their own parties when I was too young to go, and then I was off at my own parties when I could leave the house. I don't like spending the holidays with my family anyway. Too boring and superficial."
"The holidays are supposed to be a family time," Hermione remarked. "Or at least they were."
"Times change," he shrugged, his eyes taking in the exotic spirals and sparks of purple and white and blue.
"They sure do," Hermione replied.
Draco looked at her, watching the afterglow of the fireworks flicker in her dark eyes.
This is fine. This is as far as it goes, Draco. After this night, everything will be back to normal, and this will just be a closing chapter of Hogwarts, he thought.
What if I don't want this to be a closing chapter?
You have no choice. Listen, you've had your fun. You've "experimented" and now you're done. It's time to go back to the way things were. It's time to go back to the old ways, the ways you were taught to do. No more associating with Mudbloods. No more associating with Potter's friends. This is it.
I might as well get up and leave now then, he snarled at the cold voice; it sounded so much like his father's.
Yes, you should.
Draco found himself incapable of moving. He enjoyed this power of disobeying his father. The darker part of him started to speak, snarl, hiss, taunting him.
Get away, you weakling. You're too good for her. You're going to have to kill her anyway.
I won't kill her.
You won't? We'll see about that when she has her wand pointed at you and kills you with a quick 'Unforgivable'. We'll see then if you won't have the motivation to kill her. Survival of the fittest. Everyone saves their own skins. You know this.
He blinked, focusing on her smooth skin, her dark eyes, her full lips. If this was their last night together, he felt as if he needed to know, once and for all, what those lips felt like. And maybe these torments and fascinations would stop.
But he couldn't kiss her. He wouldn't kiss her. He was afraid of what would happen. If kissing her, would he discover that her lips were something that were so captivating that he found himself ensnared by her forever, or would he discover that they were just like all the other lips of girls and destroy this beautiful fascination he that was Granger? Was he willing to destroy this fascination? Yes. Was he willing to find out that maybe this fascination was the best thing ever, something that he couldn't tear himself away from, something that he grew to feel affectionate towards? No. He wasn't ready for that.
And even in kissing her, it was like secretive revenge against his father and the Dark Lord: the heir of Voldemort kissing a Mudblood. But in doing so, he'd let down his family, break his own code of conduct he had learned since first understanding words. And in kissing her, he could finally do something he had wanted to do for so long.
Or even if in kissing her, he would destroy the perfection that was Hermione, that was Granger. He felt evil when he was next to her. By touching her purity with just a brush of his lips…he didn't know if he could handle the…guilt? No, Malfoy's never felt guilty.
But he wasn't like Malfoys in the past, now was he? Maybe he did feel guilty. Guilty for dreaming of killing her, guilty of dreaming of assaulting her, guilty of tarnishing her innocence. Yes, he felt guilty, or would feel if he did.
He couldn't kiss her. He couldn't.
She turned her head towards him, her face incredibly close to his. She didn't pull away, and he didn't move either. He watched in horror as his hand reached up and lightly touched the side of her face. He watched in anticipation as he moved forward. He watched, his chest numbing with incessant heat as her eyes closed. And he found himself closing his eyes as well, and titling her head up to touch her lips to his.
It would have made a beautiful picture, the fireworks creating the background as the two silhouettes closed and became one. Gently he kissed her, holding her head lightly, and she reached up and held onto his jacket, responding to his kiss. And then the moment of beauty faded and was replaced by one of guilt, anger, and confusion.
Draco pulled roughly away from her, pulling so hard that he flung himself off the ground. He clutched his head, his eyes shut tightly. What had he done? What had he just done?
Hermione sat, puzzled and scared as Draco paced back and forth, mumbling incomprehensible sentences. She somehow sensed that this was wrong. Hermione was a smart girl. She put Draco's personality and Draco's family background together and knew that what he had just done violated everything he knew.
"Draco?" she called, getting up off the ground. Her lips still tingled.
"No! That shouldn't have happened, that shouldn't -- " he cut himself off, pounding the side of his head. Hermione could guess that he was confused. But to what state of confusion, Hermione would never know.
So confused was he that Draco's sense were totally burned. His emotions were uncontrollable. On one hand, that kiss was the best thing he had had in a long while. On another hand, it was the last thing that he was supposed to do. He had unleashed the curiosity inside of him, and he finally experienced the one thing that he had always wondered. And now, knowing that it wasn't terrible, that it wasn't trite, was crushing. He wanted to return to it, wanted to experience it forever. But he couldn't, because he would have to kill her one day, not by choice, but because it was required.
Hermione watched as his skin started to glow a dark red. She watched, shocked, as his skin burst into flames. Draco released an unearthly shriek of pain as the fire licked his body. Taking out her wand, Hermione screamed, "Aquarious!"
Draco was doused in winter that instantly steamed. Lying on the rooftop, burnt and charred, Draco gasped in pain. The wind broke past the barrier that Hermione had created beforehand and blew against them both. Using the wind, Hermione lifted Draco lightly in the air and ran him to the Infirmary.
Her cries startled the nurse as the doors burst open. Hermione was almost sobbing. Madame Pomfrey quickly laid him on one of the beds and asked, "What happened, child?"
Hermione's mind searched for a logical answer. Finally, not knowing what else to say, said, "He was lighting fireworks on the roof. I followed him because I didn't know what he was doing. I ended up startling him and the rocket he was trying to light backfired and exploded on him."
"Damn, the second year in a row," the old nurse cursed. Hermione tried to hide her surprise. "You may leave if you wish. This might be a little messy."
Administrating a bottle to Draco's lips, who drank it painfully, the nurse went to work at healing his body. After a long while, the nurse said, "I'm afraid that's all I can do for the time being. The dead skin will start to flake off into ashes. I don't know what his features will be like when the ashes all fall off. I must have a word with Dumbledore. The poor man doesn't sleep that much anymore. This is the last time where fireworks are permitted. Someone could get killed next year!"
The old nurse hobbled off after making sure her patient was rested and out of terminal danger, and after making sure that Hermione didn't need any attention either. Hermione wiped her face, rubbing the dry residue of salt off her skin. She looked at Draco, whispering when she knew they were quite alone, "I know your magic will heal you. You've done it before. I've seen you do it."
Draco didn't respond. His eyes were drooping. The potion was tiring him. Right before he fell into a deep sleep, Hermione whispered almost in awe, "Look, Draco! It's finally snowing!"
Hermione thought he was looking out the window and admiring the soft, white flakes. All the while, he was really looking at her.
:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:
A/N: Yes, I know, I know, it's been over a month. Good news is that the cast it off (which probably won't mean that my editing will get any better)! Bad news is that my school grades are dropping. Which means that I have to put homework (blah) first instead of writing this story. Actually, this chapter was one of the hardest to right so far. I seem to say that every chapter now. But I've got half the next chapter done – it in truth it was supposed to be in this chapter, but oh well. Actually, that whole dream scenario of Draco's just popped into my head when I wrote. Who knows if I'll ever use it again for some future foreshadowing, but if I ever need anything, hey, there's some connection I can create.
To all you fluffers out there, I finally got a kiss in. Of course, it might not have gone according to what you'd like. :giggle evilly: I must ruin all beauty.
If you'd be so kind as to leave a note of what you thought, I'd most appreciate it. By the way, what were your thoughts on the 4th Harry Potter film? I'd be curious to find out.