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Daydreams	By : BitterWind Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Draco/Hermione Views: 8997 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of the characters, settings, etc from those books or movies. I do this as a creative writing exercise and do not earn any money from writing this fictional story.

Chapter List
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Chapter Two: Just Once

Draco sat in the garden. He went there a lot really. Strange. Not a place he had ever frequented as a student. But now he was no longer a student, not a teacher, not a guest even. He had a room to himself in the same hallway as the professors, thought he doubted their rooms were as small as the closet he’d been given. Only a bedroom and a small sitting room, no fireplace even. His own set of rooms in Malfoy Manor had been larger than the entire Great Hall here at Hogwarts. But he didn’t really care. If he really wanted, he knew several enlarging charms that would open the small room up, creating as large a space as he wished. But why? No reason. He only really went there to sleep or sit in the window seat when the ever present unseeing eyes got to be too much. No more bathrooms with Moaning Myrtle for him! Now at least he had a private sanctum to flee too, if need be.

Well...not flee, of course, but...whatever.

The garden was strangely soothing. Before all of...well...before, he would never have been caught dead in a garden, his place of choice had been at the center of his many, many admirers, or if need be, in a cold, dark room alone. But now, the smell of the rosemary and lavender, appeased him somehow. The drone of the bees, even late on this October afternoon, busily attending their duties, helped quiet the restless feeling in his limbs

He felt he should be flying, training. But that pleasure, as little as it might seem to some, was forever denied him. The Ministry had doled out his punishment for the part he played six months ago. Many felt his sentence to be so light as to be nonexistent. To never fly again seemed a very small price to pay for his crimes. But when the spell had been cast, and the question posed to him, “What would you miss, more than anything? What part of your life makes you happiest?” his first thought had been the feeling of freedom granted when he was alight on his broom. So that is what they took away; never again would a broom, creature, spell or potion allow him the ability to fly.

The sunlight was a faded orange, the hours slipped slowly away, and still he sat there, fingering a small green bottle. It was smooth and slippery. If he dropped it, against the rock near his feet, and it broke splattering it’s precious contents into the dirt, why, then the decision would be out of his hands, literally. But instead of falling, the bottle remained in his hands, calling to him with a voice he felt he really should ignore.

In his mind he replayed what had happened at breakfast this morning. Waking at dawn he had dressed in his usual black slacks, a green Slytherin inspired jumper. No ties or robes for him. He wasn’t a student. The jumper might not be his first choice but the castle was cold, and these days he was happy to take what little warmth was available for him. He found none, no warmth that is, at the long tables in the Great Hall. He sat alone at one far end of the Slytherin table, ignored by the few fellow Slytherins who had returned to Hogwarts at the beginning of fall term. He sneered at them, babies, second years, he hadn’t associated with any of them previously and would continue to ignore them in this odd situation he found himself in. And yet, as he drank the cold pumpkin juice and ate toast with marmalade and buttered eggs, sitting alone, day after day, breakfast, lunch, dinner and times between had already gotten old and it had only been a few weeks.

He had looked around the room, and any eye that met his had quickly looked away, as if by even looking at him, they would be turned to stone or horribly cursed. The only person who had held his eyes for an instant was Granger, who had met his eyes with a look of fierce bewilderment. An angry curiosity. But she too had only looked away after a few seconds.

When Professor McGonagall had appointed his father to the position and allowed for his son Draco to accompany him at Hogwarts during his tenure as the Potions master, Draco had also learned that Granger had requested to do several years independant study at Hogwarts. McGonagall had warned him that although he was not a student, and thus not subordinate to her or the school’s rules, she expected his behavior to Granger to be vastly improved compared to her treatment during their time as students. He had acquiesced easily. She was one of the last people he ever wanted to see or speak to again.

And true to his word, he ignored her whenever they rarely found themselves in the same room. Well, really only the Hall at meal times, had he even seen her; that witch whose life had been so intertwined with his. Today was the first time she'd looked at him.

But after that first meeting with McGonagall, and today’s encounter with his father, he had spoken to no one. He might not be a student, professor or a guest. Maybe, truly, maybe he was now a ghost.

It was a thought he’d had several times in the last few weeks, and sitting here in the garden, contemplating the dinner alone before him and the endless meals and days alone with his unhappy memories, the thought became more persistent. As a ghost, he would have a place, a role to play here at Hogwarts. Who would miss him? His mother, perhaps. His father? No. No one else to consider.

His mouth twisted and he bared his teeth to the climbing vines that surrounded the small stone seat he occupied.

Footsteps halted his bloody thoughts. Across the garden came that know it all, of all people. Granger had a book in her hands and sat on the wooden bench not too far away. Several tall plants separated him from her, and she completely missed seeing one of her worst enemies, at least for a time. Absently she flicked her fingers, illuminating a glowing orb right above her, in order to read as the sun slowly slipped below the horizon. In the soft light her brown hair took on goldish reddish tints. As she read, she constantly tucked and retucked errant hair behind her ears.

Malfoy watched her, fingering the bottle. His silver eyes slitted.

Perhaps.

Perhaps, just once. Just once before he made a choice. What could she possibly wish for, daydream about? To him, her life appeared charmed for happiness denied him. She had saved the day, was respected and admired by all. It made him ill.

Without his eyes leaving the sight of her bent over her book, ignoring him, as always, he gently unsealed the green bottle, turning it over with his thumb covering the opening. The liquid that touched his tongue was cold and tasteless, and burned down his throat.

His eyes watched her.

Just this once.
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Daydreams