Need [ dramione ]

Chapter 8

31 October 1998 - Four Days before the Full Moon

While most were celebrating Halloween, or Samhain in the Slytherin common room, Draco had decided to spend the evening in the library. He had no real reason, but something told him... to just be sitting in a back corner chair reading, flipping through books...

He knows researching bonds and binding and blood magic is pointless. What he wants, what he's likely searching for, is most probably in the Restricted Section, and he had been quite unable to get back there again.

So instead, he flips through the Astronomy books, as though he doesn't already know the constellations. Still, there's something comforting in rereading that which he already knows.

It feels... constant. Steadfast. Something about it... there's so many things he just doesn't even know. This, sitting here reading this... it feels simple. A time far away. Back when... he wasn't a pariah. When he wasn't the bad guy. When his family had honor, power, and prestige.

Back when Granger wasn't a werewolf, and he wasn't having constant dreams of her.

The dreams were all still the same. The same thing on repeat. Granger, or the mystery girl, whatever he wants to call her... she's on top of him, facing away, or she's on her hands and knees, or she's pressed against a wall, or-

It's the same thing, over and over. A body, a warm body that has no real marking he can see - and he had looked - with hair wild and curling.

The more he thinks about it...

He can't see her shoulder, where he knows there's a scar from the night at Malfoy Manor. He knows there's a scar on her arse and hip, which had turned her into a werewolf. He knows about her arm, the blood curse that has somehow healed.

And yet, when he goes to look, he can never see them in the dream.

Is she blocking it, somehow? Or is his mind... he doesn't know anymore.

All he knows is her body, arching back against his, the way they fit together perfectly, her hair...

It's always her hair. It's the constant. It's the thing he knows, he sees. It's big and full, the curls a riot, full of life... it's her hair that tells him it's her. He would know that hair anywhere.

Even when he had mocked it back in first year... he had always known it. The way it had a life of its own. The way her hair was an extension of her magic, of her personality, of her knowledge. The way her hair...

The way he wants to tangle his fingers in it, knowing he can't run them through, instead just wanting to cling to her, to hold onto her, to hold her close, to kiss her-

He wants to just... kiss her.

In the dream. Not for real.

She would probably kill him.

His eyes fall off of the page of the book, and for a brief moment, he can't help but to imagine it. To really, truly imagine it. Not just... not just in his dreams, with his cock in his hand when he wakes up. He imagines it... for real.

He imagines her, walking towards him, likely in the library. He imagines her hair, bigger than life, part of it pinned up, or perhaps half braided, but falling out. He imagines her wearing those Muggle clothes, the stiff denim that Muggleborns prefer, and a soft sweater, too large for her, so likely stolen from Weasley or Potter.

He imagines her sitting across from him, then coming to look at what he's reading, and then...

Him, being brave enough to pull her into his lap. Him, being brave enough to run his hands into her hair. Him, being brave enough to kiss her.