Harry Potter Of Dreams

_Lumos._

A soft otherworldly light illuminated the darkness. Flush against an alcove on the sixth floor, watching out the ancient windows as torrential rains flooded the Forbidden Forest, Hermione Granger was interrupted from her brooding by Draco Malfoy.

He looked as disheveled as she felt; his shirt was untucked, his hair mussed, his tie loose. His robes were nowhere to be found. It was past midnight, and it wasn't a particularly warm evening, even for spring- which isn't particularly warm in Scotland to begin with. In the eerie glow of wandlight, Hermione could see her own breath- and his as well, from where he was standing.

"Good evening, Draco," she sighed. Normally she would've shot up out of her seat the moment he'd lit his wand. Normally, she would have spat out a biting remark or even a hex. Normally… she barely remembered what normal felt like anymore.

There was a war brooding, she could feel it. She should have been scared, or anxious, or even excited- she was a Gryffindor, after all- but all she felt was tired. Exhausted, really. Burdened and defeated and just tired.

She felt like he looked, really. She didn't even have the energy to mentally prepare herself for whatever brutal insults he felt like issuing.

He sat down across the bench from her, resting his head against the cold stone wall and closing his eyes, looking strangely peaceful as he listened to the water strike the glass. Peaceful wasn't a word she'd ever expected to use to describe Malfoy, but nothing surprised her anymore.

"Who do you think will win, Granger?" he half-opened his eyes, lolling his head to one side to stare off into the darkness. His wand hung low beside the bench, casting shadows on the walls and ceiling like the last embers of a campfire.

"I don't know," she said truthfully, quietly. After a long pause, she continued: "Us, I hope."

His eyes gradually turned to look at her, his head remaining motionless. "Us as in you and your friends, or us as in you and I?"

She nodded.

Minutes of silence passed.

Finally, as the sounds of thunder grew increasingly distant, Hermione stood. "Goodnight, Malfoy," she said truthfully, quietly. He stared after her long after she had disappeared back into the darkness.

_ Nox._

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><p><em>Lumos.<em>

She'd wandered off. It was stupid and dangerous, the kind of thing she would've berated Ron for hours over, but it was past midnight, and she couldn't sleep and Ron was _gone_, had left weeks ago, and Harry barely functioned anymore. She'd tried to fall asleep, but after hours of staring at the ceiling of the tent, she admitted defeat and rolled out of bed. Nothing but potions could seem to slow her mind enough to put her to sleep, and they'd run out of those right after they'd run out of Rons.

But then, ten minutes into her wandering, she'd heard the sound of footsteps that weren't hers, and she'd instinctively- _stupidly -_ lit up her wand in curiosity and fear, realizing just a split second too soon that she'd revealed her position to any potential attackers.

A chill ran down her spine that brought the image of dementors to her mind's eye. Standing before her was a black hooded figure with a silver mask.

The demon made no movements as she whipped her wand in his direction, the blue light emanating from the tip betraying the inherent lethality the instrument in her trembling hand carried. She was confident she could fight off a single Death Eater alone, but she doubted this one was alone. Cowards always traveled in packs.

Slowly, the man moved his hands to his mask, removing it and the hood at the same time. "Good evening, Granger," he smiled. Neither the words nor the facial expression held an ounce of happiness, but neither did they display any malice. She breathed a sigh of relief.

"We're a hundred miles from Malfoy Manor, what are you doing out here?" she did not lower her wand, but her hand had stopped trembling.

He shrugged, wringing his hands awkwardly. "Sometimes I like to go for walks," he answered, staring intently at the tree immediately over her right shoulder, which had suddenly become the most interesting thing in existence.

Finally, she dropped her wand, and with a heavy sigh, sat down against the tree. It wasn't raining.

With no invitation, he moved to sit beside her, except the tree wasn't very thick, so he ended up sitting sort of behind her and facing away from her, but he took her hand in his anyway. He tried to think of a good reason- because his was cold, because it would've been uncomfortable to find a different place for it, because he wanted to reassure her that he wasn't reaching for his wand- but in the end, he settled with "because she didn't move hers away".

A silent understanding passed between them. She didn't ask how he found her- didn't even think to wonder. Nor did she imagine he'd ever betray her location to his masters.

"Who do you think will win, Malfoy?" her voice cut through the darkness far better than the light did. Off in the distance, no crickets chirped.

"Us," he replied kindly, confidently. She didn't question what he meant.

They sat in silence for long hours. Hermione was fairly certain she dozed off at one point, as the light of her wand had gone out, but his had been ignited, and she couldn't remember when that had happened. Whether she had been asleep or just day dreaming, she was interrupted by him squeezing her hand to get her attention.

"Can you cast a patronus, Hermione?" he said. She wasn't sure if he was asking if she was capable, or if he was asking her to do so at that moment.

Deciding that she could answer both questions simultaneously, she focused all her thoughts on one subject- a laugh, a smile, a voice- and whispered the words: _expecto patronum._

A silver otter leapt from the tip of her wand, as bright and iridescent as the light emanating from his own. It bounced around the trees for a few moments, before coming to rest in between them, inches from where their hands remained clasped.

He let go of her hand, reaching out and stroking the shape. She knew he couldn't really feel anything, since it was just a spell and not a physical animal, but she smiled anyway. So did he. Neither could see the other's face.

"Can you cast a patronus, Malfoy?" she broke the silence.

He shook his head, and she perceived the motion through the corner of her eye. "I've tried," he mumbled, and that was answer enough for the both of them. The otter vanished.

He stood, and she took the hand he outstretched, standing after him.

"Goodnight, Hermione," he said kindly, confidently. Before he could protest- although if given the chance, he wouldn't have- she embraced him, sweater'd arms wrapped around his waist. He returned the gesture.

She let him go.

She didn't need to hear the _crack_ of apparition to know he was gone. In the darkness, his absence was deafening.

_Nox._

* * *

><p><em>Lumos.<em>

He awoke with his heart pounding, and lit up his wand on instinct. He'd had nightmares before, but not like this. In his nightmares, he often stood by uselessly and watched as innocents were tortured before him. Once he knew for himself what the wrong end of a cruciatus curse felt like, they changed, and all of a sudden his nightmares were blinding pain, the feeling of every mite of one's skin being removed bit by tiny bit, the feeling of one's whole body being turned inside out and back again.

This, however, was a new nightmare. Never before had he dreamt of a soft hand, the smell of oak and parchment, the feeling of frizzy hair tickling his nose.

No, this wasn't a nightmare. There was a different word for things like this.

This was a _dream._

He cleared his mind, thought of nothing. Then he let the dream invade his consciousness once more. Wand still in hand, the words seemed to burst forth of their own volition: e_xpecto patronum._

A silver otter stumbled out of the end of his wand, looked around curiously, and settled at his feet, curled into a ball. He wasn't sure if patronuses could sleep, but this one apparently could.

He smiled despite himself, leaning back into his pillow, wand still in hand.

He dreamt of a soft hand, the smell of oak and parchment, the feeling of frizzy hair tickling his nose.

_Nox._

* * *

><p><em>Lumos.<em>

A compulsion to go down a back alley on her way home from work. The inexplicable desire to take a detour, _this exact detour_, despite her rational half screaming at her to stay in the public, well-lit areas so helpfully provided to her by modern society.

An alcove bathed in blue light.

A black robe. Silver-blond hair.

She was in his arms in seconds. She smiled through the tears. He pressed his face into her hair, kissing the top of her head. She let him.

"Hello, Hermione."

_Nox._

* * *

><p><strong><em>Disclaimer: None of the characters, concepts, or places in this story belong to me. <em>**


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Harry Potter, Drama, Romance