Better than dreams – Part 1

Perhaps life is just that... a dream and a fear. - Joseph Conrad

Even before he was fully awake, Draco felt the calmness surrounding him. Never in his life had he felt so at ease with the world. Which was odd because he had no reason to feel this way. His life was a disaster, but in this blissful calmness nothing matter.

He opened his eyes and stretched. He wasn't in his room at Malfoy manor nor at Hogwart. In fact he had no idea were he was, but this place was... soothing.

The bedroom wasn't large, in fact it was probably the smallest Draco had ever seen, but the ceiling was high and two full length, narrow windows gave the room an airy feeling. The walls were soft blue, as was the duvet on the bed. There where a few other things in the same shade of blue: a pillow, a bowl on top of the commode. Everything else was pure white; the ceiling, the doors, the sheets on the bed, the only chest of drawers in the corner, the large bed. There were white curtains hanging on the windows, softening the outdoor light and giving a kind of surreal atmosphere to the room. There wasn't a trace of lace, frill, flowers, or any of those silly things Pansy favoured so much, and everything had clean straight lines, giving the room a feeling of masculinity despite the soft colour. The air felt fresh, clean and smelled faintly of salt and musk.

And there was the calmness.

The house was silent, but not the tense silence of the silencing charm he used to put on his bedroom at home to block his father cries and his mother screams, when he could still feel the rage and tension reaching through the ward. There were birds singing outside, he could faintly hear sea birds from a distance and a soft regular sound. Draco slowly got up and went the the window. He was only wearing white boxers but here, in this calmness, it felt perfectly normal, black silk pyjama would have been an insult to to the clean whiteness of this place.

Draco opened the curtains and saw water, only water, as far as the eye could see.

He wondered if the house was floating. But no, the room was on the second floor and he could see that it was build on a small rocky land, as close to the ocean as the builder had dare. Draco spent a long time looking at the reflections of the sun on the waves. It was calm and soothing. And fresh, so fresh. The dungeons always smelled musty and felt like... like a prison. No windows, no air, no sun. Of course it was unthinkable for a Slytherin not to like the dungeons, the perfect place for mysteries and conspiracies, but Draco secretly hated it. Here in this room, surrounded by the sea and the sun, he, finally, felt free.

He looked at the ocean for a long, long time, savouring the feelings of freedom and serenity.

Eventually, Draco began to feel cold, the sea wind was chilling the room and he was tired, which was odd since there was surely no more than a few minutes that he was up. But looking up, he saw that the sun, which had been high in the sky when he woke, had set and that it was now the moonlight that reflected on the waves.

He yawned and climb back in the bed. He sighed contently at the feeling of the soft cotton sheets on his naked skin. He liked his silk sheets, but these ones felt more airy, less constricting. And his silk sheets came with obligations and so much stress. He much prefer these. He slowly felt asleep. Much later, through his heavy sleep, Draco had a faint consciousness of a warm body pressing against his back and a feeling of profound rightness. This was were he belong, in this house by the sea, in those arms.

DMDMDMDMDMDMDMDM

When the sound of a slamming door awoke him, Draco sat up suddenly in his bed. With silk sheets and green curtains. He could hear the snores coming from Greg's bed and smell the stale, dank odour that seemed to always be present in the dungeons. Pansy was screaming at Blaise, again, in the common room.

A dream. It had been only a dream.

The wonderful bedroom and the sea. The calmness. The hug. All a dream. Draco felt like crying. He punched his pillow instead. Dark green and black and fear, where he wanted white and soft blue and freedom.

Who was he to merit those thing anyway? An unwilling death eater, not faithful to his own side of the battle, too scared to switch to the other side. He was lost in a hostile world without friends, with no money and no family. Lucius was still alive but he was locked away in Azkaban, hopefully the bastard would die there.

He refused to call the man "Father". What kind of "Father" handed his only son at the mercy of a giant and horrible snake? What kind of "Father" fell pride at having his son received murder orders? What kind of "Father" did that to his own wife? His mother, his poor little mother... She was the only human being that had actually cared for him, not his reputation or his last name, but for him.

And Lucius had killed her.

Draco felt the tears threatening to fall. He took a deep breath, mentally grabbed all his emotions and lock them in a corner of mind. He got up and went to the showers with the same mask of cold determination he had wore everyday, for as long as he could remember.

He may have nothing left, but he would keep his pride.

...

As I mostly speak/write in french, I hope you will forgive all those awful errors I surely made.