Chapter One: Tea and Dreams
Darkness.
That was all he could see. Not a hint of light anywhere. He could actually feel the dark. It was cold to his skin, and made the hair on his neck stand. Yet oddly enough, it was comforting. The emptiness, the void — it comforted him.
He couldn't see his hands, but he knew they were there. He felt his way around the shadows. Nothing. He was alone.
No matter, Draco thought to himself. He was used to being alone.
Then suddenly light peaked through the black. Like a knife through butter, the light cut through and blinded at Draco. Slowly, the light took shape — two oval slits before him. Eyes.
And fire. He could see fire inside the light.
No — the light was fire.
Red flames that looked like they were blinking when they flickered. The heat of the flames slowly enveloped him, and he felt his contentment leave. It was getting hotter with each breath he took, and he felt the need to cry out. But no sound left him.
Then suddenly he was falling. Falling through the darkness, with only the flames to catch him. He saw the two eyes move into thinner slits and shake slightly. It was laughing at him.
Draco awoke sweaty and panting to the sound of his alarm. The faint beeping noise grew rapidly, but he made no move to stop it. He was sprawled all over his bed, his legs and arms tangled in his silk sheets. He blinked at his ceiling tiles, wondering vaguely where he was. The beeping had progressed to the point that it sounded like a siren now, and only then had Draco glanced at his clock. The illuminated words that hovered above it read, "YOU'RE LATE!" He blinked at it, and felt the heavy anvil of realization squash him.
In a quick and fluid motion, he detached himself from his sheets and sprang into his closet to retrieve his garbs. Resolving that he'd think on his dream later, he left his flat as quickly as he had awoken.
* * *
The sun's rays reflected off of the pavements, adding to the already unbearable heat. Refusing to part with his usual black, Draco charmed his garments with a self-cooling spell to sustain him during his walk through Hogsmeade. Though he had been walking for 20 minutes in the heatwave, he didn't mind. He was due for tea with his old Potions Professor, and normally he'd've Apparated — especially with such harsh weather conditions. But walking always cleared his mind. It helped get his mind off of things — which was exactly the reason he was off to meet the Potions Master. Well — partly. He wasn't ashamed to admit that he enjoyed his afternoon teas with the Professor. They have been most relaxing to Draco, and he was extremely greatful for them as of late.
He felt a rare breeze blow against him, making rogue strands of hair sway in front of his face. He made no move to push them behind his ear like he usually did. He did, however, make a mental note to get it trimmed later that day. It had grown a couple of inches since the summer began, and the ends of his hair was already grazing his shirt collar. Any longer and he'd look just like his father.
Draco shook the horrible thought away as he turned a corner. He was not his father, and he never will be.
"Come again, have you?" simpered an old witch as he passed her. Draco turned and gave the woman a faint nod as she tended to her shrubberies. "Third time this week," the witch said, winking at Draco.
"Have you been keeping track of my visits, Madam Rosa?" Draco asked, flashing the old witch an alluring smile.
Madam Rosa's cheeks turned a shade of red, matching those of her orchids. "Oh, Draco, your ways could slay an old lady like me," she giggled, and hastily turned her blushing face away.
"Ah, then we mustn't let your husband know," Draco grinned, and grasped the old woman's hand to brush his pale lips against them. Giving the tittering witch a final wink, he turned and walked away. He only traveled another block before finally reaching his destination.
The thought of Professor Snape living in a flat was odd to Draco. Snape never seemed to be one who'd enjoy sharing a building with strangers. Then again, who was Draco to assume? Snape, like himself, liked to shroud himself in mystery, often using it to his advantage.
"Ah, Mr. Malfoy," came Snape's usual greeting. "Yes — come in, come in." He took a step aside to allow Draco to enter the flat. Upon entering, Draco felt the chill of one too many cooling spells. He diminished his own cooling spells from his cloak and followed Snape to his kitchen.
It was a small but cozy flat, and though its kitchen was barely big enough for a sink and stove, Snape had magicked it to hold a rectangular dining table — among other things. Draco had noticed that his collection of potion ingredients had grown since his last visit, taking over a full shelf and a half. He made a mental note to avoid ever looking at the hog's testicles again.
"You're late," said Snape, his voice firm.
Draco shifted slightly. Snape always made him feel about five years younger.
"Yes, well, I got a bit tied up." His eyes burned into an ink spot on Snape's table as Snape surveyed him.
"Madam Rosa?" asked Snape simply.
Draco stared at Snape. Slowly his cheeks turned a slight pink, and he smiled sheepishly. He nodded.
"Ah — yes," said Snape and walked over to the stove. "I imagine she's quite liked your visits here. Caught her timing you one time."
Draco's cheeks burned over as the Professor sent him a rare grin.
"Plain?" he asked as he reached for the tea kettle that was already beginning to steam and whistle.
"Yes," answered Draco, and quietly took a seat in the neatly polished table. He accepted the tea cup offered to him as Snape took the seat opposite him. He blew into the simmering tea while Snape fumbled with his milk and sugar.
"I'll never understand how you can just drink tea plain," said Snape, watching Draco through hooded black eyes.
"And I'll never understand Arithmancy," responded Draco, and took sip of his tea.
"Was that why you never took it?" questioned Snape, stirring his own tea.
Draco nodded with a shrug, and set his cup down. Snape followed suit and regarded Draco for a moment. He had grown an incredible amount over the past year, and completely towered over the Professor by at least five inches. Having had Quidditch for six years had given him a good build, though his lengthening hair made him appear quite older.
"You've just turned 18, if I'm not mistaken?"
Draco nodded under Snape's piercing gaze. "Just last Thursday," he said and ran a hand through his silky hair — a habit Draco usually did absentmindedly.
Snape didn't move, though his eyes — if possible — hardened. "July 31st," he said, in a tone that suggested it wasn't a question.
Draco looked at the Potions Master with curiosity, "Sir?"
Snape blinked at Draco. Then, after a quick moment of looking lost, shook his head. "So how's adult life been for you?" he said casually, and tore his eyes away to glance at his tea.
"Er — okay," answered Draco, eyeing the older man suspiciously. "I'm not complaining."
"Have you decided what to do?"
Draco opened his mouth to answer, but found that he hand none. Slowly, he shook his head.
"Might I suggest an internship at Hogwarts?" Snape fiddled with the spoon inside his tea cup, and made tiny clinking noises.
"Hogwarts?" said Draco, raising a silver brow. "I hadn't even thought about going back there." He rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably. "Didn't really have the time of my life in that school."
"Only a suggestion. I'm looking for a pupil to take under my wing, if ever I decide to leave the school," said Snape. "McGonagall has made it quite clear that she's taken last year's Head Girl as her apprentice."
Draco nearly smiled. Their on-going rivalry would be cute if they weren't so old.
"Granger, is it?" said Draco, eyes tracing the oak patterns on Snape's table.
"Yes, blasted Granger," muttered Snape, and took an angry swig of his tea. "You can imagine the bragging Minerva'd subject me to this school year." He turned to Draco with a mad glint in his eyes. "Which is why I thought it'd be convenient to match her Head Girl with my Head Boy. You'd show that Granger a thing or two for sure."
"You flatter me, Professor," smirked Draco. Even though the other man was technically not his Professor anymore, he had grown accustomed to calling him that. "But I'm afraid I've got no desire to return to Hogwarts anytime soon." He caught a quick look of disappointment in the old man's eyes, before it was hooded over again.
"So what are you planning on?" persisted Snape, completely forgetting about his tea.
At this, Draco shrugged. He found himself feeling incredibly weak and unprepared. His troubled thoughts must've been visable on his face, for Snape quickly consoled him.
"You're young," he said, finally turning his attention back to his chilled tea. "You've got time."
Draco gave a small nod and downed his tea quickly. This behavior must've been odd for Draco, for it had prompted Snape to raise a brow.
"Something bothering you, Mr. Malfoy?"
Draco stared. He hadn't given his dream much thought since he had left his flat. Was it really something to tell Snape about? Surely it was just one too many butterbeers from the night before. Nothing to worry about, right? Still, past experiences have tought him never to ignore a sign. But then again, who's to say that the dream was a sign?
Draco frowned. His head hurt. Alot.
He caught the suspicious eyes of Snape and gave an inward sigh. "No, Professor."
The conversation had lightened over the last few droplets of tea, and Draco left with an extreme sense of foreboding. He would soon see Snape again in Hogwarts, as he had promised to play dummy to some of the man's recent potion discoveries.
His subconscience gave an irritable kick as he wriggled out of Madam Rosa's giggle-filled clutches. Should he have told Snape about his dream? It certainly gave Draco an uneasy feeling whenever he thought about it. But he only had it once — it couldn't've meant anything. He came to the conclusion that he was just being paranoid when he finally arrived home.
Chapter Two; Ginny's seventh year in Hogwarts — complete with the Weasley temper, your giggly girl talk, and more of the delicious Draco! Keep your eyes peaked for foreshadows and hints.
Reviews make the world go 'round.
Darkness.
That was all he could see. Not a hint of light anywhere. He could actually feel the dark. It was cold to his skin, and made the hair on his neck stand. Yet oddly enough, it was comforting. The emptiness, the void — it comforted him.
He couldn't see his hands, but he knew they were there. He felt his way around the shadows. Nothing. He was alone.
No matter, Draco thought to himself. He was used to being alone.
Then suddenly light peaked through the black. Like a knife through butter, the light cut through and blinded at Draco. Slowly, the light took shape — two oval slits before him. Eyes.
And fire. He could see fire inside the light.
No — the light was fire.
Red flames that looked like they were blinking when they flickered. The heat of the flames slowly enveloped him, and he felt his contentment leave. It was getting hotter with each breath he took, and he felt the need to cry out. But no sound left him.
Then suddenly he was falling. Falling through the darkness, with only the flames to catch him. He saw the two eyes move into thinner slits and shake slightly. It was laughing at him.
Draco awoke sweaty and panting to the sound of his alarm. The faint beeping noise grew rapidly, but he made no move to stop it. He was sprawled all over his bed, his legs and arms tangled in his silk sheets. He blinked at his ceiling tiles, wondering vaguely where he was. The beeping had progressed to the point that it sounded like a siren now, and only then had Draco glanced at his clock. The illuminated words that hovered above it read, "YOU'RE LATE!" He blinked at it, and felt the heavy anvil of realization squash him.
In a quick and fluid motion, he detached himself from his sheets and sprang into his closet to retrieve his garbs. Resolving that he'd think on his dream later, he left his flat as quickly as he had awoken.
The sun's rays reflected off of the pavements, adding to the already unbearable heat. Refusing to part with his usual black, Draco charmed his garments with a self-cooling spell to sustain him during his walk through Hogsmeade. Though he had been walking for 20 minutes in the heatwave, he didn't mind. He was due for tea with his old Potions Professor, and normally he'd've Apparated — especially with such harsh weather conditions. But walking always cleared his mind. It helped get his mind off of things — which was exactly the reason he was off to meet the Potions Master. Well — partly. He wasn't ashamed to admit that he enjoyed his afternoon teas with the Professor. They have been most relaxing to Draco, and he was extremely greatful for them as of late.
He felt a rare breeze blow against him, making rogue strands of hair sway in front of his face. He made no move to push them behind his ear like he usually did. He did, however, make a mental note to get it trimmed later that day. It had grown a couple of inches since the summer began, and the ends of his hair was already grazing his shirt collar. Any longer and he'd look just like his father.
Draco shook the horrible thought away as he turned a corner. He was not his father, and he never will be.
"Come again, have you?" simpered an old witch as he passed her. Draco turned and gave the woman a faint nod as she tended to her shrubberies. "Third time this week," the witch said, winking at Draco.
"Have you been keeping track of my visits, Madam Rosa?" Draco asked, flashing the old witch an alluring smile.
Madam Rosa's cheeks turned a shade of red, matching those of her orchids. "Oh, Draco, your ways could slay an old lady like me," she giggled, and hastily turned her blushing face away.
"Ah, then we mustn't let your husband know," Draco grinned, and grasped the old woman's hand to brush his pale lips against them. Giving the tittering witch a final wink, he turned and walked away. He only traveled another block before finally reaching his destination.
The thought of Professor Snape living in a flat was odd to Draco. Snape never seemed to be one who'd enjoy sharing a building with strangers. Then again, who was Draco to assume? Snape, like himself, liked to shroud himself in mystery, often using it to his advantage.
"Ah, Mr. Malfoy," came Snape's usual greeting. "Yes — come in, come in." He took a step aside to allow Draco to enter the flat. Upon entering, Draco felt the chill of one too many cooling spells. He diminished his own cooling spells from his cloak and followed Snape to his kitchen.
It was a small but cozy flat, and though its kitchen was barely big enough for a sink and stove, Snape had magicked it to hold a rectangular dining table — among other things. Draco had noticed that his collection of potion ingredients had grown since his last visit, taking over a full shelf and a half. He made a mental note to avoid ever looking at the hog's testicles again.
"You're late," said Snape, his voice firm.
Draco shifted slightly. Snape always made him feel about five years younger.
"Yes, well, I got a bit tied up." His eyes burned into an ink spot on Snape's table as Snape surveyed him.
"Madam Rosa?" asked Snape simply.
Draco stared at Snape. Slowly his cheeks turned a slight pink, and he smiled sheepishly. He nodded.
"Ah — yes," said Snape and walked over to the stove. "I imagine she's quite liked your visits here. Caught her timing you one time."
Draco's cheeks burned over as the Professor sent him a rare grin.
"Plain?" he asked as he reached for the tea kettle that was already beginning to steam and whistle.
"Yes," answered Draco, and quietly took a seat in the neatly polished table. He accepted the tea cup offered to him as Snape took the seat opposite him. He blew into the simmering tea while Snape fumbled with his milk and sugar.
"I'll never understand how you can just drink tea plain," said Snape, watching Draco through hooded black eyes.
"And I'll never understand Arithmancy," responded Draco, and took sip of his tea.
"Was that why you never took it?" questioned Snape, stirring his own tea.
Draco nodded with a shrug, and set his cup down. Snape followed suit and regarded Draco for a moment. He had grown an incredible amount over the past year, and completely towered over the Professor by at least five inches. Having had Quidditch for six years had given him a good build, though his lengthening hair made him appear quite older.
"You've just turned 18, if I'm not mistaken?"
Draco nodded under Snape's piercing gaze. "Just last Thursday," he said and ran a hand through his silky hair — a habit Draco usually did absentmindedly.
Snape didn't move, though his eyes — if possible — hardened. "July 31st," he said, in a tone that suggested it wasn't a question.
Draco looked at the Potions Master with curiosity, "Sir?"
Snape blinked at Draco. Then, after a quick moment of looking lost, shook his head. "So how's adult life been for you?" he said casually, and tore his eyes away to glance at his tea.
"Er — okay," answered Draco, eyeing the older man suspiciously. "I'm not complaining."
"Have you decided what to do?"
Draco opened his mouth to answer, but found that he hand none. Slowly, he shook his head.
"Might I suggest an internship at Hogwarts?" Snape fiddled with the spoon inside his tea cup, and made tiny clinking noises.
"Hogwarts?" said Draco, raising a silver brow. "I hadn't even thought about going back there." He rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably. "Didn't really have the time of my life in that school."
"Only a suggestion. I'm looking for a pupil to take under my wing, if ever I decide to leave the school," said Snape. "McGonagall has made it quite clear that she's taken last year's Head Girl as her apprentice."
Draco nearly smiled. Their on-going rivalry would be cute if they weren't so old.
"Granger, is it?" said Draco, eyes tracing the oak patterns on Snape's table.
"Yes, blasted Granger," muttered Snape, and took an angry swig of his tea. "You can imagine the bragging Minerva'd subject me to this school year." He turned to Draco with a mad glint in his eyes. "Which is why I thought it'd be convenient to match her Head Girl with my Head Boy. You'd show that Granger a thing or two for sure."
"You flatter me, Professor," smirked Draco. Even though the other man was technically not his Professor anymore, he had grown accustomed to calling him that. "But I'm afraid I've got no desire to return to Hogwarts anytime soon." He caught a quick look of disappointment in the old man's eyes, before it was hooded over again.
"So what are you planning on?" persisted Snape, completely forgetting about his tea.
At this, Draco shrugged. He found himself feeling incredibly weak and unprepared. His troubled thoughts must've been visable on his face, for Snape quickly consoled him.
"You're young," he said, finally turning his attention back to his chilled tea. "You've got time."
Draco gave a small nod and downed his tea quickly. This behavior must've been odd for Draco, for it had prompted Snape to raise a brow.
"Something bothering you, Mr. Malfoy?"
Draco stared. He hadn't given his dream much thought since he had left his flat. Was it really something to tell Snape about? Surely it was just one too many butterbeers from the night before. Nothing to worry about, right? Still, past experiences have tought him never to ignore a sign. But then again, who's to say that the dream was a sign?
Draco frowned. His head hurt. Alot.
He caught the suspicious eyes of Snape and gave an inward sigh. "No, Professor."
The conversation had lightened over the last few droplets of tea, and Draco left with an extreme sense of foreboding. He would soon see Snape again in Hogwarts, as he had promised to play dummy to some of the man's recent potion discoveries.
His subconscience gave an irritable kick as he wriggled out of Madam Rosa's giggle-filled clutches. Should he have told Snape about his dream? It certainly gave Draco an uneasy feeling whenever he thought about it. But he only had it once — it couldn't've meant anything. He came to the conclusion that he was just being paranoid when he finally arrived home.
Chapter Two; Ginny's seventh year in Hogwarts — complete with the Weasley temper, your giggly girl talk, and more of the delicious Draco! Keep your eyes peaked for foreshadows and hints.
Reviews make the world go 'round.