Dare I Dream

Disclaimer: All belongs to JKR. I can't handle all that responsibility.

Note: This is old. Definitely. I came across it, written on six pages of college ruled notebook paper - the result of boredom in high school AP Biology. Be kind. There are bound to be mistakes, grammatical or no.

Plot: There is none, basically - shameless smut.

Dark eyes. Angular face. Aristocratic hands tangled in her hair, heat like fire scorching through her bones. Lips bit and nibbled and touched, knees pressed and broken through, halfmoon crescents in too soft skin. Rippling muscles slipped over silk sheets, arching backs and fair hair over pillows.

Her eyes sensed light as she was sucked into consciousness, the dreams slipping away as she floated into a waking slumber.

The morning felt warm and confusing as she peeled her eyes open, her hands sliding up her thighs as she unfisted them from her sheets. Her body felt jelly filled and weak, making it a difficult and exhausting task just to stand in the shower and attempt to calm her raging hormones and racing heartbeat with hot water.

She hummed to herself quietly, rubbing her body dry. It was when the soft terry of the towel brushed the inside of her thighs that his face flashed before her, the gentle stubble of his chin sliding along her leg, his hot mouth rising to meet the heat flooding from the apex of her thighs. She felt the shiver run down her spine and went rigid as her eyes flew open, absorbing the very public sight of the girls' showers. She flushed bright red and hurriedly wrapped herself in her robe, scurrying out of the showers with her head ducked, the dream falling from the forefront of her mind as she escaped into her room.

The lusting images disappeared from her mind for most of the rest of the day, until her Double Potions class, the last block before dinner. The Slytherins took front this particular afternoon, and toward the end of the class, the greasy-haired Potions Master had trained all of his patience and focus on his little Slytherin hatchlings, leaving the Gryffindors to book work and some secret free time for early finishers, like Ginny and Hermione. However, where the brunette girl kept studying, the redhead had folded her arms on her desk and rested her head upon them for a nice nap.

She'd only been asleep for a few minutes, quarter of an hour, maybe, when a vague part of her subconscious recognized the dream. The inward Ginny groaned, embarrassed that her imagination was getting carried away with lust of the much sought after fair-haired boy, but she knew it wasn't only lust. His beauty entranced and enthralled her, especially the way his long, platinum hair fell along his back in wispy waves, released from its usual low-neck ponytail. She could practically feel his eyes, mercury and smoldering, curious and cold, every time she caught them, but was awoken moments later by a subtle prodding sensation - in her mind? - that felt so soft and demanding she came to grumpily.

"Hermione, please stop poking me in the head. You're scaring away my dreams," the redhead mumbled, eyes falling closed again. The brunette rose from her book and frowned.

"I haven't touched you, Gin," the brunette murmured back, putting down her quill. "Just like I didn't wake you this morning, or yesterday."

Ginny pulled her eyes open to stare at her friend.

"Someone has been, and you're the only one with that kind of 'access'," Ginny hummed back tersely, keeping her voice low so as not to give away the brunette's Legilimens gift.

Said brunette rolled her eyes and resumed her note-taking.

"The only logic is that it is someone else, Ginny, unless you can tell me why I'd want to peek into an adolescent's wet dreams."

Ginny gasped, pinched the snickering girl, and giggled quietly.

"Tips, maybe? So you admit it!" she smirked, but Hermione sighed and shook her head.

"I only know as much as you tell me. I only use my gift in absolutely dire situations," she informed Ginny gravely.

"Like when you need to find out what Ron and Harry want for Christmas?" she snickered, and Hermione flushed.

"Look, Ginny, I'm sure I'm not the only one. Maybe it's Malfoy. They're just dreams, nothing to worry about. Don't fret," she said, giving the redhead a curious glance as blood flooded her pale face, before turning with a dismissive flick of her quill to her book.

Almost right away, Ginny felt the pressure of eyes on her forehead. As she looked up, she met them, caramel to mercury, across the crowded room.

Draco? she thought. He raised an eyebrow in response as if she had spoken aloud, and she gasped. The platinum haired man's vulnerability fell as he turned away, his cold, angular face slipping into a solid arrangement of expressionless features.

For the remainder of the class, she alternated between staring at him intently, trying to get him to meet her eyes again, and randomly shouting his name in her mind, watching him jump.

After a few moments of his hard pressed concentration and lack of cooperation, her mind strayed back to her frequent dream. As she rested her chin in her hand and explored every detail of it, she felt the familiar prodding in her mind: glancing up, she watched him wiggle uncomfortably in his chair. Was he - was he watching her dream? He flinched a tiny bit as the thought hit him, and a spark she was careful not to voice lit up her eyes. By the way his hips shifted and his careful façade twitched as she recalled how her mouth had trailed down his chest, nibbling at his stomach as her fingers slipped through that fine trail of hair, she stumbled upon the conclusion that he was, so very distinctly, lusting after her.

Her realization brought his eyes back to hers, and she flinched; yet, the icy, angry eyes she had been expecting to see were instead like molten lava, clouded and blazing. His eyebrow quirked as he melted her body with his roving eyes, and ashamedly, she felt herself dampen at the unspoken gesture. She bit her lip as his tongue snaked out to taste his own; she became suddenly and increasingly curious, and a flashing image of all the things that tongue could do was shared between them from her mind. Amid Snape's monologue, Draco's groan was barely audible, but the older man only cast a sideways glance at him, continuing on. The Weasley girl, however, had the most peculiar expression, but he was too fond of his most truly advanced student to call her out.

He only watched warily as Draco gripped his table for life and Ginny fisted her hand in her hair, as if holding them down from doing something drastic. The air between them was so thick he stepped away, hurrying to finish his speech as though his very life depended on its end.

Quite suddenly, a deep, husky voice was groaning in her head.

"Ginevra," it hummed. "Merlin, I need you."

The shivers she felt flow through her were crazy and undoing, heightening her pleasure to its utmost silent degree. She whimpered, so quietly that it was barely a sound, but it didn't go unnoticed by the crook-nosed man.

He halted his lecture and cleared his throat, his dark eyes piercing her.

"Mr. Malfoy," he drawled, his eyes never leaving Ginny's, "Would you be so kind as to escort Ms. Weasley to the Infirmary? She's looking a bit peaky."

The blonde took a couple lungfuls of air, blinked very slowly, and stood wordlessly. His body - so muscular, lithe, graceful - gave no hint to the flaming desire she felt emanating from him.

She stood carefully, a bit wobbly, and waited for him to approach her row; when he finally came to a jittery halt, her heart leapt into her throat as his eyes moved to hers.

"Hurry," was the whisper that chased across her mind, and she found her steps become quicker, jolting movements that interfered with the roiling heat coursing its way through her body. He didn't touch her as they made their way in silence to the door, but she could feel his presence, and his heat mingling with her own was suffocating.

Unknowing classmates followed with curious eyes until the door swung shut with a resonant bang.

The force with which he attacked her knocked the wind out of her, but the cold stone wall paired with his devouring mouth more than made up for her breathlessness.

Her thoughts were swarms of dreams past and present, glistening blonde tangled in red as fingers flexed and they clawed closer, his low growls animalistic and wild in her ear.

"Merlin, stop, we're in a hallway," he muttered, but his mouth didn't stop assaulting her neck and her hands hadn't halted their search for skin through his robes. He flexed a knee between her legs and nipped her throat, fingers sinking into the uncovered flesh of her hips.

"How long," she managed, her head rolling back against the stone.

He trailed hot kisses to the exposed skin of her shoulders, but didn't look up.

"Weeks. Fuck, weeks, Ginny. You can't walk out on a bloke, no matter how slimy a git he's been."

She arched her back as his hands traveled up her sides and brushed his thumbs over her barely hardened nipples.

"Let that be a lesson," she murmured, before she dragged his head back up to her mouth by the hair of his neck and took his mouth in a searing kiss. His lips tried to wander, but she held firm.

"Mmph, Ginny, please," he moaned, sliding his hands into the back of her skirt. She wiggled, attempting to get away.

"Apologize," she demanded, and he felt excitement stirring in his abdomen.

"A man doesn't apologize," he stated proudly, capturing her lips. He almost thought he had her, when she broke the kiss, pulling away.

"Then a man can stay alone," she huffed, attempting to disentangle, but he hurriedly folded her in his arms and growled.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled into her neck, spanning his elegant fingers across her jaw, turning her eyes to his. "I am."

She smirked devilishly and brushed her palm against the front of his trousers, pressing an open mouthed kiss against his jaw.

"Those dreams," he groaned, hooking her leg over his hip so he could press more intimately against her. The whimper that escaped her lips was liquid gold in his ears.

"Oh, fuck this," he hissed and pulled away, seizing her wrist as he dragged her around the corner. The staircase trembled as they fled down it, but the hurried tapping of their feet hit the landing before the stairs could budge. As soon as they'd rounded the corner and taken the dark corridor by storm, the bell rang, signaling the stampede of dismissed students.

He shoved her roughly against the portrait, raking his hand through her hair.

"Ah, just in the nick of time," she whispered, and he chuckled, murmuring the password to the portrait, which opened instantly, muttering beneath its breath.

Oh, Merlin, she thought as her back hit the bed, his body clambering over hers, tugging eagerly at her robes, the images in her head forming more defined memories.

The feral moan that erupted from her throat as he caressed the root of her passion was undoing; he moved away quickly to tear off his robes before returning to his actions. She writhed as his hand rubbed and explored, slipping buttons away from their holes, pulling her shirt off with only the smallest participation on her part. She managed to undo his own before she slid her hands in, raking her nails over the puckering flesh, connecting his perky nipple with her tongue. Gently, he pulled her pouting mouth away, scooting her up his bed.

"All of you," he managed in a strangled voice. "I need to see all of you. Now. Please."

Her breath rushed out of her in the sweetest wave of a sigh at his request. She loved knowing she had this power over him, reducing him to a begging mess with only her body, but she quickly obliged.

The lacy contraptions and skirt socks shoes hit the floor at the same time his pants and boxers joined his shoes and robes. Before she could even admire his symmetrical beauty, the smooth planes of his perfect skin, his head dove downward as his mouth met the center of all her dreams and her vision exploded in stars, making her cry out. She fisted her hands in his hair, bucking gently against his mouth, but he didn't complain; the muffled sound he made passed as a moan as he slid his hands beneath his traveling tongue and stimulated her more forcefully. Her arching back moved her up the bed slowly, her gasps leaving her breathless, her chest heaving. She had her hand clenched around a pillow, the other fisted in his feather light hair, wisps wrapped tightly around her fingers. She was panting random noises, little mewls and squeaks, her face flushed, when he abruptly drew away, leaving her teetering on the edge, lingering in the shadow of pleasure while aching at the pain of loss.

She opened her eyes, begging, almost, until she saw him at the foot of the bed. Silver eyes were liquid lust as he gazed over her; she could imagine herself in his eyes, squirming in pleasure, whimpering from his hand. She grinned impishly and sat up, taking his hand in hers.

"So beautiful," he whispered as he crawled on top of her, hands smoothing across her flesh as her legs fell open to accommodate him.

"Angelic," he murmured next, pressing a kiss to each of her eyelids, her forehead, both of her cheeks.

It wasn't until he thrust slowly into her, capturing her lips in a kiss that seared every nerve in her body, made every end zing through her, that she realized his slowness, his sudden gentleness. Confusion crossed her face as he touched hers with his hand, before moving it to brace himself on the mattress beside her head.

"Draco, I - " she began, but he angled his hips differently, shifting her legs to curl around his back, and the smooth press of his hips against her thighs coupled with the sweet stroke of his shaft against that spot that made her tremble hushed her quickly. Even though his movements were slow, gentle, almost reverent, each thrust exploded her body in shooting tingles, pleasurable waves that found her slipping much closer to her peak than was normal so early in coitus.

She managed to watch his face as he touched her, his hands traveling her arm and stomach as he kissed her shoulders and face, her body winding up like a tight violin string. He was whispering, murmuring into her ear as he started moving faster, his thrusts erratic, yet still calm, his eyes glossy and dark, imploring her soul. Her heart exploded as she read his face, succumbing to his touch as he reached between them, pushing her first and fast. His mouth was panting, an 'I love you, I love you,' mantra rushed and hot in her ear, her body shattering into a billion pieces, only brought out by his final stroke, the groan and cry as she milked him of every last ounce, every last word.

The heaving of their bodies, collapsed and exhausted, matched the rhythm of her heart, which thundered wildly in her chest. His fingers laced between hers as he curled his face toward hers, eyes opening, probing. Calmly, she blocked her mind from him, closing her eyes with a gentle satisfied sigh.

Their silence continued to stretch on, until the jabbing feeling in her head returned. It proceeded for a moment, before he jerked his head off her shoulder and stared at her, confused. She kept her eyes closed and her face smooth, although her mind was reeling.

"Ginny?" he murmured, and her eyes didn't flutter, although he watched the barrier in her mind ripple. "Ginny, please. What is it?"

She opened her eyes, careful to clear them of emotion.

"Nothing is wrong. Why d'you ask?" she hummed, as nonchalant as she could manage.

He frowned.

"You won't let me hear your thoughts anymore," he replied, watching her turn her gaze away.

"I don't want you to, right now," she whispered, unable to watch his reaction. The Draco lying next to her was different; he was no longer the lusty Slytherin bad boy, and she was afraid to get close to this lover she didn't know for fear he'd break her heart.

He touched her face more tenderly than he ever had. Tears sprang into her eyes.

"Why?"

She shook her head and pulled her eyes away, focusing through the liquid at the light escaping through the heavy drapes.

"I don't want the hurt," she said, clearing her throat. "The misuse. Manipulation. You can't say it if you're going to take it back. I'm already in bed with you, Draco, that requires no further magic."

He studied her in silence, but she was afraid to meet his eyes.

"Ginny," he began slowly, picking his words with care, "I don't call it magic that brought me to you. It wasn't tricks or games. It was fate. And that same fate that stirred you in me, has stirred up love as well."

So slowly it was barely noticeable, she finally met his gaze, lowering her block with hesitation and fear. Her memories began to flood him; he closed his eyes to take them in. He watched them meet from her perspective; the first time they were alone together; their first brutal kiss, her tears alone afterward; her anger at his scared ignorance; the time he yelled at her; the first time they shagged, heartbreakingly good for him, painful for her; his leaving, afterwards; every shag since then, and all physical feelings, dreams, words she wished she'd said.

It all hit him in one stride, every rush of emotion she'd felt in every situation she'd been put in because of him; he could practically taste the saline of her tears through her memories, and it was thick in his mouth. The images, flooding, colorful, angsty, flickered fast until he could see them now, as they were, at that moment. Then, nothing. After a moment, he glanced up at her to see her staring blankly; the thick fog of tense anxiety floated through his head, nearly palpable as it radiated from her body beside him. When he finally focused on her expression, he saw that she was staring at him with that same blank expression, her face void of all emotion, her eyes dewy but no longer wet. He blinked his eyes once - then twice - and cleared his throat loudly, blinking rapidly.

"Ginny, I - " he began, but she shook her head, bravery gone.

"At least you know now, though, right? You saw all the dreams of a naïve girl, physical and fantasy. Go ahead. Treat it how you like."

With that said, the anxiety was replaced by a deep sorrow, so overwhelming he almost didn't notice her rolling out of his bed. There was no shame in her as she gathered her clothes, but in his mind he heard her screaming obscenities at herself. How had he never noticed this before? He watched her pull her skirt up, hastily zipping it over her shirt. She was sloppily put together, but the disheveled state of her only made her more beautiful to him. All these things he pondered lazily, a cold tangle of knots in his stomach as he noticed her reaching for the door.

"Ginny, wait!" he called out, wrapping his sheet around his slender, god-like waist. She was too afraid to turn away from the door, so she denied herself the chance to see his helpless expression. He held his hand out to her, touching her back.

"I wish - I wish you had told me these things long before now. I wish I had known, Ginny, because it would have been so much easier to change things," he murmured. Her shoulders tensed, and her hand clenched tighter around the door knob. "Please turn around. I need to see your face."

She shook her head slowly.

"I think it would be, perhaps easier, for both of us if I just left. I had forgotten how difficult it is to be you."

His jaw clenched and then softened. Her hand trembled as it turned the knob, but he reached around her and closed it as it opened. Her face crumpled; the tears were threatening to fall, but he had ruined her escape. He dragged his hand over his face.

"I don't mean change as in I regret it, Weasley."

He drew a deep breath, an attempt at composure.

"I don't know how to begin the change for you. I have always been who I am.. I have never had any inclination to change for anyone. Yet, I… I find myself inside you, around you, before you and - and no matter how hard I'm trying to keep this just a quick fuck, Ginny, I have found I am no longer capable of separating those feelings."

The silence was filled with whispered hopes.

"You're so remarkably different. Your hair, your smell, your words. You're smarter, softer, more lovely than any of those whores that come in here expecting to go 'round. It's murder to think of," he chuckled darkly, "that I, Draco Malfoy, deny numerous plastic tits and fake tans for red hair and freckles."

Ginny felt the twinge of pain echo through her at his words. He noticed her body tensing again and licked his lips, opening his hands, palms up.

"The funny thing is, though, I don't care about all that." He was whispering, now, as if talking to himself. "I don't care if my father disowns me to the wizarding world. I don't care if Death Eaters storm the castle to kill me. I don't care if nobody respects me again for the rest of my life, so long as you turn around and tell me you feel the same way."

Her shoulders were shaking now, and he felt worry prick his skin at her silence. He slipped into her mind and watched her thoughts swirl in her head, revolving around his words. He watched her slip into the future, sliding into the room of a big house with a handful of children, rolling in silk sheets in broad daylight. It was all sucked through a straw as he grasped her rigid shoulders and cried, "Yes, that's exactly what I want!" despite himself.

Her turn to face him was slow and thoughtful, although he was no longer probing her thoughts. Her eyes were wide and dry as they met his, and her hand was steady as it stroked his cheek.

"I can't ask you to do that for me," she murmured, brushing her fingertips along his jaw.

He watched her pull her thoughts aside and grabbed her reaching hand, cupping it to his face.

"You don't have to," he said.

Her gaze slid away from his, to stare at her fingers, which were gently stroking his temple.

"I'm not going to have you rub this in my face every time you're angry, Draco." Her voice was strong and confident, but her eyes were still pained. "I'm not your secret anymore."

He tugged her by the elbow, relaxing when there was no resistance.

"Well, I'll make an announcement at breakfast," he murmured, although his insides shrieked with glee.

"I'm not your whore, either," she added, and he shook his head, wrapping his arms around her.

"The thought has never crossed my mind," he told her neck as he pressed his lips against it.

"And you can't keep reading my mind. I hate being at a disadvantage," she mumbled, her voice falling away as her unbuttoned shirt slid from her shoulders.

"Let me make love to you, Ginevra," he whispered in her ear.

Shivers tumbled down her spine, her legs weak. She ran her hands down his bare back, molding herself against him. Her mouth closed over his earlobe, causing him to shudder when her tongue flicked out to taste his flesh.

"You already have," she murmured into his ear, and her clothes couldn't come off fast enough.

The rest was a hum of 'I love you's, tuned bodies and aristocratic hands. Bold hair fell across black silk, pale digits fisted in sheets, limbs tangled together.

Through the electric zing of his touch, the recognition of difference in every swipe of a hand across her skin was sharp in her mind like a flame. Although their earlier trysts were sharp, passionate, and fast, in dark alcoves, deserted bedrooms and corridors, the last one slow, gentle, but nonetheless passionate, this was different. This was mapping, giving, open, bleeding, simmering, careful, slow… every arched back a bridge, every gasp an echo, and every cry a green light. She felt him pulling her desires from her head to please her, every predicament and fantasy made true. It was a constant hum of electricity, bodies moving in tandem, constantly connected through body and mind.

Later, as she slept, wrapped around him for the first time in a place that felt as old as time, the dreams flickered.

Green grass. Pink hair, freckles, gray eyes. Toys. Swing sets. Grandparents, breakfasts, beds full of little beauties cuddled around a pair of intertwined bodies. Pancakes, Quidditch, baseball, King's Cross, Hogwarts -

The prodding jolted her awake again, only in her thigh. She peeled her eyes open, lifting into wakefulness as a smooth, warm body closed over hers.

"Draco?" she mumbled as he brushed his lips across her chest, falling between her thighs.

"Yes?" he drawled, dragging his tongue up her neck. Her stomach quivered, her body already alert.

"What are you doing?" she asked, drawing tiny circles on his back with her pointer finger.

"Well," he hummed, swirling his tongue around her earlobe, "I figure, I've already made one dream come true, so why not work on this other one as well?"

The laugh she emitted was delighted and a whisper until it was sharply swallowed in kisses and a delicate thrust of hips.

~ fin

Well, what can you do except submit it :P