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"Dragon Dreams" (H/D, PG-13)

Title:"Dragon Dreams"
Once upon a time, this fic was a confusing mess here.
Author: lilian_cho
Beta: spiderstars, somigliana
Britpicker: underlucius
Genre: Humor, drama, romance
Audience: [Almost Anyone]
Pairing: H/D
Warnings: AU!Book Two through Seven
Length/Complete?: 8778 words, one-shot
Summary: A Harry Potter fairy tale based on "Sleeping Beauty," "Sun, Moon and Talia," "The Young Slave," "Beauty and the Beast" and Greek mythology.


Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Notes: Thank you jen_deben and dream_labyrinth for confirming what bothered me about the original. I'm proud of the metamorphoses of this fic. That said, I'm open to concrits, nitpicks and suggestions. This is my first time writing kissing scenes, so concrit re: that are greatly appreciated. Please also tell me which parts feel jarring to you (abrupt language shift etc.)



Dragon Dreams
He'd almost be glad of a sight of his archenemy,
Draco Malfoy, just to be sure it hadn't all been a dream...



THERE was formerly a pure-blood couple reigning over Slytherin House, who, upon the completion of their studies, formed an advantageous match with their parents' approval. It was a turbulent time, and so they were not sorry at all that they had no children; on the contrary, they employed charms and potions to ensure their childlessness.

But it happened that once, when the lady was bathing, her potions were tampered with. Perhaps it was his father's parents, unwilling to wait longer for a grandchild. Perhaps it was her husband, acting on the Dark Lord's wishes. The lady kept her suspicions to herself.

And so the lady had a little boy who was so pretty that her husband was torn between joy and despair at his heir's looks. He would say—to anyone whose gaze lingered on his son's pale features—that the little boy would surely grow into his Malfoy features.



Autumn 1991

Harry Potter was not impressed by Draco Malfoy’s looks, but the young saviour of the Wizarding world did pay the Malfoy heir greater attention than he did anyone outside Gryffindor House. After his second encounter with the boy, Harry found himself having a strange dream.

A big purple turban was telling him that Slytherin was his destiny. As he struggled with the turban, which got heavier and heavier, he saw the pale boy laughing at him. Hands pulling at the turban, he watched the boy turn into the hook-nosed teacher. High and cold laughter rolled over him as a burst of green light ended his dream.

Harry never did remember this first dream he had of Malfoy.


NEARING the end of his eleventh year, the Malfoy heir ceased to look pretty. The father's relief was so great that he ordered a great feast for his son's twelfth birthday that spring, before the end-of-year exams began. He said that his son deserved this after suffering a most traumatic—and unjustified—detention at the Forbidden Forest. His wife arched a delicate eyebrow but said nothing.

The heir welcomed his father's seven old associates, and by this means received the most amazing, useless gifts imaginable. After the necessary niceties were over, they entered the manor's ballroom, where a great feast was prepared. Before every one of them was a set of spoons, knives and forks, all of sterling silver set with opals.

As they were all sitting down at the table they saw a thin young man in a big purple turban come into the hall. The uninvited guest was received with contemptuous politeness, until he revealed that he hosted a very old wizard, who opened the Chamber of Secrets fifty years ago. A decade had passed since the old wizard had been hit by a certain Killing Curse, and he was believed to be either dead or, at the very least, disembodied.

Although a place was quickly set for him at the table (Malfoys never run out of silverware), the old wizard felt slighted by the initial lack of welcome. Atmosphere tense with foreboding, only good manners made the seven guests, appetites gone, pretend to enjoy the feast.

One of the guests sitting by him was also the old wizard's favourite minion, and he suspected that the old wizard might give the little heir some unlucky "gift." As soon as they rose from the table, he went and hid himself behind the hangings, so that he might observe the evil which the old wizard intended.

Meanwhile, all the other guests began to give their gifts to the heir. The first gave him the most beautiful, blemish-free skin (Malfoys never have acne). The next, the utmost perfect hair at all times (the boy preened). The third, that he should dress perfectly well. The fourth, wonderful grace on a broom. The fifth, the most charming lies. And the sixth, the wit of the devil.

Next was the old wizard's turn, and he wished to avenge himself for not having been invited. A loud voice cried out from the turban, "The heir shall have his hand pricked with a splintered broom, and fall down dead."

Silence reigned in the ballroom since the guests were afraid to further aggravate the old Wizard. Satisfied that the Malfoys had paid for their slight, the old wizard turned around and left for Hogwarts in search of a certain stone.

After ascertaining that the old wizard was truly gone, the hiding guest came out from behind the hangings. The other guests had all left discreetly through the fireplace.

"Be assured, O Lord and Lady of the Manor," he said in a calm voice. "Your son shall not die of this disaster. I believe the manor has started to weave its protection."

The lord nodded tersely, and the lady grasped his hand with hope shining in her eyes.

The guest then took leave to brew a certain potion that exploited the blood connection the heir had with his parents and his Malfoy ancestors.

After the heir had drunk the potion laced with his parents' blood, the guest said, "Curses and prophecies are tricky—the boy most likely shall prick his hand. However, the manor's ancient magic and blood connection shall prevent his death. He shall fall into a profound sleep instead, which shall last until the demise of the Dark Lord, when a noble saviour shall come and awake him."

Nevertheless, the Lord of the Manor tried to avoid the foretold misfortune by commanding the house-elves to burn all the brooms in Malfoy Manor.

At this proclamation the heir fell into a tantrum, for had not his father promised him the latest racing broom? How was he supposed to win glory for the Slytherin House team without a broom?

Even in the midst of this tantrum, the heir's complexion stayed smooth and his hair stayed in its utmost perfection. However, his charming entreaties that the potion would keep him safe did not move his father to change his mind. The boy was not to touch a broom for the rest of his life.

*******

About two weeks after, the lord and lady being gone on one of their pleasure trips, the young heir happened to divert himself in marching up and down the manor—aggravating one squeaking house-elf after another by trampling on their toes. Coming into a little room on the top floor, he saw a house-elf crouching in front of the fire.

"What are you doing there, Doody?" said the heir.

"It is Dobby, Master Draco. And I am carrying out Master Malfoy's orders," said the house-elf, his hand on a shiny black broomstick handle.

"Ha!" said the heir, "these are beautiful racing brooms; what do you think you're doing, turning them into firewood?"

Sensing the house-elf's hesitation, the heir continued, "Father meant them as gifts for the Slytherin House team."

He had no sooner gripped one of the brooms than, whether the broom was somewhat defective, or that the Dark Lord's decree had so ordained it, a splinter pricked his palm, and he fell down clutching the broom.

The house-elf, whose toes were injured in the process, squeaked for help. It took several more squeaks for other house-elves to come in from every quarter. They threw water upon the heir's face, took off his socks, attempted to muss his hair; but nothing would bring him to himself. Further, they could not loosen his grip on the broom.

At this, the house-elves wailed and struck their heads repeatedly on the wall. Instead of reprimanding the house-elves for disturbing them, all the paintings in Malfoy Manor started to fall asleep, as the protective magic began to draw power from them to maintain the heir's magical stasis.

The father, who immediately noticed the drain of his magic, caused the heir to be laid upon a bed all embroidered with silver as befitted the Malfoy complexion. The lord commanded that his heir should sleep undisturbed till his hour of awaking was come.

The family friend who had saved the heir's life with his potion was at Hogwarts, but he was instantly informed of the accident by Dobby. He arrived seconds later in the lord's private library.

Seeing that the lord was in genuine distress over the state of his heir, the friend thought it safe to share certain confidences with him; and this was what they did: they began to gather the scattered pieces of the Dark Lord's soul in order to precipitate his demise.

Immediately, the lord remembered a certain diary which had been entrusted to him by the Dark Lord. Using Dobby, they crafted a plan to ascertain the diary's destruction in the hands of the Wizarding world's saviour. All this was done painstakingly, as they did not wish to make their activities known.



Winter 1993

Draco Malfoy did not have very agreeable dreams. As the seasons passed and his dreams continued, the Malfoy heir explored his strange connection to Voldemort. This time, he found himself floating above a throng of people who were crowding around a cage.

He recognised some of the faces in the crowd as his Hogwarts classmates, and he could have sworn he saw Doody the house-elf among them. The Hufflepuffs were urgently whispering among themselves, while his Housemates were coolly standing near one side of the cage.

Willing himself to lower to the ground, he saw a card reading "Parselmouth" attached to the cage. Inside, laying in the middle of the cage with snakes slithering over him, was Harry Potter.

Amidst the snakes' hisses and occasional rattles, Potter kept pleading over and over, "Stop it...Leave me alone..." Whether he meant the snakes or the crowd outside his cage, Draco did not know.

Potter opened his eyes. Staring at him through the bars, Draco vanished.


AND now the lord and the lady, having kissed their dear child without waking him, proclaimed that their child had died after a prolonged ailment in a wizarding facility abroad. A private funeral was held for the heir of the Malfoy fortunes, and the Daily Prophet solemnly announced that the lines of the houses of Malfoy and Black had ended.

This news resulted in rampant speculation at Hogwarts as to the nature of his ailment. Some thought that the Malfoys had him put to sleep after suffering a werewolf bite; others thought it was a backlash from Unforgivable Curses. Another fancifully suggested a failed attempt at the Wronski Feint. Nobody suspected that the boy continued sleeping in his own bedroom at Malfoy Manor.



Spring 1994

At this point Harry Potter dreamed, or imagined dreaming, of the sleeping boy.

He saw dragons soaring above the Quidditch field. In the middle, sitting astride a dragon with pearly scales, was Malfoy, his hair gleaming in the moonlight.

Hands gripping his broom, Harry watched the dragon open its jaws, sending a spurt of flames straight at him. Heart beating faster and faster, he frantically flew away when the dream suddenly deprived him of his broomstick. He started falling into the darkness below when a voice interrupted his descent. "Quidditch jitters, Potter? How common of you."

He turned his head and saw Malfoy next to him, absently patting the dragon's head. What was Malfoy doing in his dream? Did he die of Wronski Feint injuries then? Was he now condemned to haunt Quidditch dreams forever?

"Fine, don’t answer me," said Malfoy sulkily. "Just dream me into existence and then ignore me."

He urged his dragon to fly away, leaving the falling boy to the mercy of gravity.

"Malfoy!" shouted Harry, a bit panicked. "A little help here!"

"Oh, all right," the boy steered the dragon downward to break Harry's fall. "Although I don’t see why you don't just dream up another dragon for yourself."

"Well, I can't exactly control my nightmares," Harry found himself riding comfortably behind Malfoy. "As demonstrated by your presence here."

Malfoy looked pleased at that. "You mean I'm your greatest fear in Quidditch, Potter? Your faith in my skills is entirely justified."

Harry noted that Malfoy did not look like the first-year boy he remembered. Do ghosts grow up?

"You were not even in the Quidditch team, Malfoy. Unless there's some incorporeal Quidditch team I didn't know about."

Malfoy went silent at that. He turned a wistful face at the lightening horizon. "Time to wake up, Potter," he said sedately, "I can hear the Weasel calling your name."

"Where are you going?" Harry asked, taking hold of Malfoy's arm, which felt solid in his hand. "Are you a ghost? Do you appear in other people's dreams?"

Malfoy just gave him a crooked smile.


THE LADY of the Manor gently ran her fingers through her son's soft locks. She had heard rumours of the Dark Lord's imminent resurrection. Her husband would think her unwise, but her cousin needed to know this.

Your beloved Headmaster is not telling you everything. I have lost a son to the Dark Lord. You, a brother. Are you going to sit back and leave your godson at the mercy of the Dark Lord?

There was no reply, but the lady was not concerned. She had fulfilled her obligations to her blood-kin. Continuing to stroke her son's hair, she hummed his favourite lullabies in a lilting voice, heedless that he could not hear her.



Summer 1995

What assured Draco of his existence independent of the dream connection was the space that remained around the dreams, a mist in which he liked to wander. The air shimmered, and Draco heard bubbling water from a nearby dream.

A mermaid was laughing, holding Potter's Firebolt like a fishing rod. Meanwhile, Potter threw vicious glares at her, when he wasn't too busy trying not to sink. A short distance away, a Hungarian Horntail watched the scene with yellow, catlike eyes.

Mounting the black dragon, Draco sighed. He really should talk to Potter about this fixation with dragons. And Quidditch. He snatched Potter's Firebolt from the mermaid, remorselessly hitting her head with the broomstick while doing so.

Draco extended the end of the broomstick to Potter, who blinked before pulling himself up behind Draco. The rest of their flight was uncharacteristically silent. Draco stole a glance at Potter, who was shivering in his dripping clothes.

Draco sighed again. "For goodness' sake, Potter. Just dream your clothes dry. Or dream a warm blanket into existence, at least."

When Potter continued to say nothing, Draco reached into the thread that he wove into the mist and pulled. A deep green blanket and a mug of hot cocoa materialized in his hands. He watched Potter silently wrap himself in the blanket, then thrust the mug at Potter.

"You know how it is with food and drink in the dream world," Potter said quietly. "If I drink this, I might not be able to wake up."

Draco made a noise of exasperation and pulled again. "If you don't want it, give it here." Three marshmallows now bobbed in the hot cocoa. "It's not like I remember what real cocoa and real marshmallows taste like."

Potter clutched the warm mug possessively but made no move to drink. "The warmth feels real, and I—" Draco had to lean close to catch his mumbling. "I like the smell. It soothes me."

Draco said nothing. He didn't bother pulling at the thread for another mug. Cold, hunger—he felt none of these things. This was not his dream, after all.

"Malfoy, I...Why does your father follow Voldemort?"

Frowning, Draco stared at Potter's pinched expression. What was he on about?

"I mean, someone who would curse his follower's only son just because of a breach in politeness? Why would anyone willingly follow that kind of madman?"

Draco didn't know what to say. As the Dark Mark reappeared on the Death Eaters, dozens of new pathways had appeared in the mist. His cautious exploration had uncovered two pathways to his father and Professor Snape.

They had reassured him of their efforts to break the curse, and—when told of his connection to Potter—had ordered him to keep Potter in the dark. Potter was too Gryffindor to be trusted with such sensitive information.

Draco hesitated. Potter was still looking at him with owlish green eyes.

"He's just biding his time, Potter. I'm sure my father will find a way to break the curse in time for me to take my O.W.L.s." Draco valiantly tried to smile, but his mouth refused to cooperate.

"You don't believe that, do you? His curse on you wasn't broken when he was disembodied. Why would it be broken now that he's back in the flesh?" Potter's mouth twisted.

Draco had heard of Potter's role in the Dark Lord's resurrection. And of Cedric Diggory's death. He felt a vague sense of guilt, but he could not bring himself to care about the Hufflepuff's death. It was clear, however, that Potter carried an immense guilt over the boy's death.

"The Dark Lord is just a wizard, Potter." Potter flinched at the title, but Draco continued relentlessly, "A very powerful wizard, but a wizard all the same. Even Merlin was not infallible."

Potter's eyes shone with—hope?

"Do you really think so?" He licked his lips. "It's true that Voldemort seemed afraid of Dumbledore..." he trailed off.

Draco rolled his eyes. His fate was in the hands of a Gryffindor who deified that fool of a Headmaster. He wondered at Potter's blindness to the Headmaster's manipulative ways.

"The man hired Dark Creatures and sadistic Aurors for professors, Potter. I suggest you reconsider your blind faith in him."

"Don't speak of Professor Lupin that way!" Potter snapped, shoving Draco's shoulder. "And it was Barty Crouch Jr., not the real Moody!"

Draco gave him a languid smile. "And no one discovered that he was Polyjuiced—why? Because he was acting like the real Moody would."

Potter looked away, like he always did when he knew that Draco was right. Draco was not going to let him get away with it this time.

He poked Potter in the side. Hard.

"Ouch!" Potter looked at him balefully, rubbing his side.

Draco sneered. "I will poke you with your broomstick until you admit that I am right."

Potter's eyes widened in alarm. Draco wasted no time and started assaulting him.

"That hurts—ouch—I'll fall off!" Potter wrenched the broomstick away from Draco.

Draco did not let up and continued his assault on Harry's ribs with his fingers.

"Stop poking me—"

Harry's exasperated voice was cut off. The air shimmered, and Draco found himself back in the mist.


AN OWL bearing a letter alighted in front of the Lady of the Manor at breakfast. She had been expecting her cousin's letter since the end of the Triwizard Tournament. After relocating to the Black ancestral house, her cousin had scrutinized the tapestry.

You told me you lost a son to Voldemort, yet I see no date of death on the family tree. How do I know your son's supposed death is not a bloody Death Eater set-up?

The lady ignored the accusation. She had always made clear where her obligation lies: her family. He would seek her soon for help, and so she did not spare any thought to the terse letter. She walked upstairs to her son's chamber to give him her customary greeting.

*****

The Dark Lord was greatly displeased to discover the state of his diary. However, he thought his minion was ignorant of the fact that it was a Horcrux, and so let him off after several minutes under the Cruciatus Curse.

Picking himself up from the floor, the Lord of the Manor bowed, begging the Dark Lord's forgiveness. He considered his son's freedom worth playing the grovelling minion.



Winter 1996

Now, Harry's mind set out dismantling his daylight experience piece by piece, reconstructing it in other ways. It placed Harry in the Defence Association room with an angry Cho Chang.

Hundreds of Chocolate Frog Cards flew out by fistfuls from inside Cho's robes. Under the rain of cards, Harry saw her turn into Hermione, who scolded Harry for breaking his promise to Cho. Harry protested when she suggested giving his Firebolt to Cho as compensation. Anyway, the whole thing was ridiculous...

Hermione turned her face away from him. Harry followed her line of sight and saw Malfoy at the entrance to the Room of Requirement. Never having Malfoy intrude in his people dreams before, Harry wondered how they would interact.

Malfoy smiled. Harry blinked, and felt even more confused when Hermione winked at Malfoy. It was almost as if the two were flirting with each other.

Hermione looked as if she wanted to say something, but she disappeared with a shake of her head.

The room suddenly felt small. Harry stood silent, staring at Malfoy. Malfoy cocked his head, then brushed his hands down the front of his robes.

"So," he started, "Potter. Finally made a conquest among the ladies, didn't you?"

Harry stammered a denial, and Malfoy smirked, tucking his hair behind one ear. That's when Harry noticed that Malfoy had something in his hair.

"Malfoy, are those," Harry peered at the flowers peeking from Malfoy's hair, "white rosebuds in your hair?"

Malfoy's cheeks flushed, and Harry wondered how he could have ever thought of Malfoy's skin as paper white.

"It's my mother," Malfoy said, tilting his chin. "She must have been bored this morning and braided flowers into my hair."

Harry could tell that Malfoy was embarrassed, but he made no move to dislodge the roses from his hair. The roses made Malfoy look—not girly, exactly—but definitely like one of those pretty boys Parvati and Lavender giggled over.

"Don't change the subject, Potter," Malfoy's words drew Harry's attention away from his hair. "You. A Ravenclaw beauty. Spill."

Harry blushed and said nothing. How could he tell Malfoy that there's nothing to spill? Malfoy must think him stupid for only having a grand total of one kiss his whole fifteen years.

"I'm waiting here, Potter," Draco tapped his foot impatiently. "I have to live vicariously through you. Bloody unlikely for me to get a snog while I'm stuck in dreams."

Oh, there's that. Now Harry felt even more stupid for not having more experience. But if all kisses are like that wetness of his first kiss, he'd rather pass, thank you.

"Pott-terrr," Malfoy was definitely pouting now, his pink lips pursed in annoyance.

"Uh, well—It's really not what it's cracked out to be." Harry fumbled for words to describe his disastrous kiss without making him out to be a total loser.

Malfoy stamped his foot. "Details, Potter. Where were you? Did you hug her waist? Did she close her eyes? What did she taste like?"

Harry's face was flaming red now, but Draco continued relentlessly, "Was there any tongue involved? Did your hand 'wander'? Potter, you lucky sod, tell me everything about the kiss right now or I'll sic a dragon on you."

Harry shuddered. He knew that Malfoy could very well call up anything in the dream world to torment him.

"Well, see—we were just done with one of our DA meetings when Cho cornered me," Harry began. Malfoy made a "go on" gesture at him.

"Um, so there's this mistletoe over my head, and she said she really liked me, and so I—you know," Harry made a vague gesture with his hand.

"Oh yes, Potter. I'm a skilled Legilimens and can read your mind," Malfoy drawled. He sounded alarmingly like Snape. "Of course I don't know. Now continue!"

"Uh, so I stepped closer and um, pressed my lips against hers, and it was all wet."

Malfoy gave a long whistle. "So, tongue, and then?"

"What—NO! Not like that!" Harry protested.

Malfoy frowned.

"I mean—it was wet because she—" Harry continued. "She cried when I kissed her," he finished in a small voice.

Malfoy continued to frown. "Really, Potter. Are you that bad of a kisser?"

Annoyed, it was on the tip of Harry's tongue to tell Malfoy to try it out for himself.

Remembering what Hermione had said about Cho's "delicate condition," Harry sighed. "Well, she was Cedric's girlfriend, so—"

Malfoy made a dismissive noise, cutting Harry's explanation off. "No matter. You could have played the concerned friend and took advantage of her at a later date. Tell me you at least held her as she cried her heart out?"

"Erm—"

"You didn't!" Malfoy sounded scandalized. "Potter, I don't believe you!"

"Well, I did pat her on her back," Harry said defensively.

"Pat her on the back. Hah!" Malfoy threw up his hands. "You have a maiden in dire need of comfort, and Saint Potter patted her back."

"You're being melodramatic, Malfoy."

"You're the one who wasted a perfectly good snogging opportunity!" Malfoy jabbed him in the chest.

"Whatever, Malfoy," Harry said nonchalantly. "What was the deal with Hermione earlier, anyway?"

Malfoy still looked upset at Harry's "wasted opportunity"—it made Harry feel strangely better over his disastrous first kiss.

"Don't think I didn't notice your attempt to change the subject, Potter," Malfoy said sulkily. "If you must know, that wasn't Hermione—it was Morpheus."

Harry looked at him, uncomprehending.

"Really, Potter! Do learn your Greek mythology," Malfoy scolded. "Morpheus is the Greek god of dreams; he can assume the form of any human being."

"So—just now, and Cho earlier—that's..."

Malfoy nodded. "Morpheus."

Harry thanked the stars that he did not kiss this Morpheus guy when he was in Cho's form. Malfoy wouldn't let him live that one down.

"How does this Greek god person know you anyway?"

Malfoy shrugged, the gesture crumpling the rosebuds in his hair. "I was in the mist outside of dreams when I walked into a field of poppy flowers," he said. "He came out of this cave and introduced himself to me—said I drew his interest." A smile tugged at his lips, as if amazed that anyone would find him interesting.

Harry thought Malfoy should be more careful with perfect strangers who lurk in dark corners. "Hhm."

"He's cool. It turns out his brother Icelus was in charge of beasts. Dragons are his specialty," Malfoy grinned.

Really, how could Malfoy just follow this stranger and meet his whole family? And he talked about taking advantage of "maidens."

"I have to go, Potter," Malfoy said suddenly. "I can feel this thread tugging at me. Professor Snape's waiting for me in his dreams."

Harry opened his mouth to ask how Snape could just demand Malfoy's presence like that, but the dream shifted and Malfoy was gone.


THE DEPARTMENT of Mysteries debacle angered the Lady of the Manor. Her husband had saved her cousin's life at the expense of her sister's, but now both her husband and cousin were consigned into Azkaban with other captured Death Eaters.

The Dark Lord had shared his plans only with her sister, who was in charge of the operation to retrieve the prophecy. Thanks to her husband's friend, she now knew at least part of the prophecy.

See what harm you have done for not trusting me more, cousin.

She was able to warn him of the plan to capture his godson, at least. The lady donned her formal robes and instructed the house-elves to keep watch over her son. She had a headmaster to confront.

*****

The Wizarding world's future saviour stood in the Headmaster's office, not knowing what to believe, as he heard the lady's cultured voice recount the efforts in years past to collect "horcruxes" in order to defeat the Dark Lord.

He now owed the Malfoys a great debt: to the lord, for saving his godfather's life, and to the lady, for depriving her of a sister and a husband. The least he could do was to break the curse on their son.

In a haze, he listened to the prophecy concerning him thus:

"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches ... Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies ... And the Dark Lord will mark him as equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not ... And either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives."

He now saw that he was the only one with the power to put this to an end; and, pushed on by friendship, he resolved at that moment to destroy Voldemort utterly.



Autumn 1996

Not-Potter dreamed of a man, and he described him to Draco:

"This man rules a flying ship. An oracle said that he would be the one who would find the saviour. However, upon swallowing red, the saviour still does not believe him."

Draco rolled his eyes; how was he supposed to recognize the man with that kind of description?

He watched Not-Potter wrap himself into another form, that of the man in his dream.

"You look like Blaise's creepy uncle," Draco wrinkled his nose. "Why don't you just assume your own form?"

Morpheus winked and changed into the form Draco was used to, a pale black-haired man. "This isn't my original form," Morpheus informed him. "I've assumed so many different human forms over millennia that I've forgotten what form I was born with."

Draco made a non-committal noise in his throat. "This form suits you, and seeing you assume Potter's form bothers me."

Morpheus leaned forward and smirked. "I thought you missed talking to him. I'm just being accommodating."

Draco snorted. He didn't deny Morpheus' assessment of his mood.

"You could always assume my mother's form, you know," he said in a monotone. "I miss her dreadfully."

Morpheus' expression softened. "You'll be able to meet the real her soon enough."

Draco said nothing, lying down on his back among the red poppy flowers. Now that Potter was practicing Occlumency and his father was in Azkaban, the only contact he had with the real world was through Professor Snape. Like his father, the professor relayed messages from his mother, but it just wasn't the same.

He knew his mother was using resources from the Black and the Malfoy Houses to collect the remaining Horcruxes. According to Professor Snape, Potter was seriously training to face the Dark Lord, unlike his half-hearted effort back in fifth year. Thus the successful Occlumency.

Draco sighed. He knew Potter needed to guard his mind against the Dark Lord, but he missed the Gryffindor's company.

"Red suits you." Draco was startled, thinking Morpheus had somehow read his mind.

Morpheus was lying on his side, looking at him. "But white suits you better," he added, tucking a white poppy flower behind Draco's ear.

Draco considered taking offence at the gesture, but the god surrounded his own bed with red poppies. Maybe it's manly for ancient Greeks to adorn themselves with flowers.

Morpheus was looking at him intently.

"My very own personal Adonis," he smiled. "Persephone has to share hers with Aphrodite, but I have you all year round."

Draco raised an eyebrow. "You're not planning to kill me off to keep me in the Underworld forever, are you? Because frankly, the idea of skipping around in the Elysian Fields doesn't appeal to me."

Morpheus laughed. "No, but I might slip some Lethe water in your drink," he handed Draco a goblet of sparkling water.

"Professor Snape will hunt you down if you drug me," Draco peered into the goblet before drinking it.

Morpheus gave him a fond smile and ruffled his hair.

*****

Winter 1997

Lips clenched nervously, Draco watched as Morpheus assumed Draco's form and entered Potter's dream. Potter's Occlumency shield kept Draco out of his dreams, unable to be anything more than a spectator. But shields could not keep gods away.

Morpheus was dressed in Draco's favourite white robe, the one that was getting too short around the ankles. Draco was pleased to see himself standing a bit taller than Potter. Being flat on his back all these years had an advantage after all—gravity could not check his growth spurt.

But...that's not his face. Draco had always thought he would grow up into a copy of his father, but the boy standing in front of Potter had none of Lucius' intimidating presence. He had Narcissa's fluid beauty instead.

Professor Snape kept on saying how Draco had grown into a captivating young man, but he had dismissed it as stock praise from a doting "uncle."

Potter's eyes registered surprise, then pleasure, at seeing Not-Draco.

Is that how Morpheus saw him? Is that how Potter saw him?

He saw himself with red, red lips—he couldn't believe Potter hadn't figured out that it was not him. His lips were pale, like the rest of him, and not red like poppy petals.

He heard Potter's breath hitch as Not-Draco sidled closer. After a moment of hesitation, Potter lifted his arms and awkwardly drew Not-Draco close.

Not-Draco hummed contentedly and started playing with Potter's tangle of hair. What was Morpheus playing at? He often ruffled Draco's hair in that same gentle way.

Harry, those red lips mouthed as long fingers tugged at an unruly lock. He couldn't fathom how sensual Morpheus made his voice out to be.

He could feel the air pulsing, as if in tandem with Potter's heartbeat.

Not-Draco smiled. Harry, he repeated.

And Potter just stood there, staring at Not-Draco as if he could not believe this turn of events. He bloody well should be suspicious, Draco would never—

Harry tilted his head and brought their lips together.

The air froze for an instant.

Not-Draco's eyes fluttered closed, and they tightened their embrace, bodies moulding into each other.

The heat was suffocating. He had to get away, now. He frantically felt around for a thread—any thread—and pulled.


THE HOUSE-ELF who was in charge of the heir's grooming in the morning screamed with horror at the scene that welcomed him. All over the heir's shirt front and the silver sheets he laid upon, blood had stained the fabric rusty brown. Blood continued to trickle down the heir's nose even after the house-elf performed healing magic.

The lady, informed of the emergency, immediately ran into his son's chamber, noticing that the sleeping paintings along the way had started fading, as if they were painted in watercolour.

She cast every healing magic that she knew, even the Dark Arts ones, yet the blood showed no sign of stopping. Her son's complexion looked paler and paler by the second.

"Severus!" The lady gave a hitched sob at the man's arrival. Dobby had informed him of the incident immediately.

She watched as the man attempted to save her son's life yet again. He sat on the bed, putting some pillows under her son's back and pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Muggle remedy," he explained. "It's so that he doesn't choke on his own blood."

The lady made a muffled noise of distress.

"Magic is not going to help him now," he continued. "He's bleeding because his body could not stand the amount of magic that has been keeping him alive all these years. The curse...is getting stronger as he nears his age of majority."

Pale and trembling, the lady met his eyes and nodded; she knew what she had to do. The friend immediately sent for phials of Blood-Replenishing Potion for the heir. He doubled the nutritional potion that the heir had been consuming, in the hopes that the boy's physical body would grow strong enough to withstand the maelstrom of magic inside him.

After half an hour, the boy finally stopped bleeding. His mother changed his shirt and gently wiped his face clean of blood. She ordered her writing desk to be brought into his son's chamber. She would not let him out of his sight if she could help it.

Now that the immediate danger had been averted, she applied herself to writing letters inquiring for the slightest hint of the Horcruxes' whereabouts. Her husband still had connections in the Ministry, and the combined influence of the Malfoy and the Black names is a force to be reckoned with.

*****

Harry was horrified when the Potions master informed him of the boy's near-miss with death.

He flushed as he remembered his dream the previous night. Could it have anything to do with the curse suddenly growing stronger?

Upon reflection, he realized that the boy could not have been Draco. His shields had worked perfectly all this time; there was no reason for it to suddenly let the boy in.

The Potions master looked at him calculatingly, as if suspecting that he was the cause of the Malfoy heir's condition.

Clenching his fists, he vowed to do anything to hunt down the remaining horcruxes and destroy Voldemort.



Spring 1997

It is time, Harry thought, and he dreamed of a field of poppy flowers, dripping milky sap from their stems. In the center of it all sat Draco, pale hair glistening in the midst of red and golden flowers.

Draco looked pale even in the dream world, as if he had not taken his Blood-Replenishing Potion.

"Go away, Morpheus," Draco said in a tired voice. "I told you I don't want to see his face anymore."

Harry's heart skipped a beat. Did Draco know about—Was he now disgusted at Harry?

Harry cleared his throat. "Draco," his tongue tripped over his name. "It's really me—Harry. I dropped my Occlumency shields for tonight."

Draco turned bleary eyes at him. "True that Morpheus would've picked better clothing for you."

Harry fidgeted on his feet. This was not going as well as he expected.

"Why are you here, Harry?" Harry looked up at Draco's use of his name.

"Are you here to tell me that I would die, after all?" Draco pulled at the flowers near his feet. "I already knew that. My seventeenth birthday is coming up soon."

"Draco, NO! Why would you ever think that?"

Draco shrugged listlessly, then laid down on his back, twirling red flowers around his fingers. Harry noted that he looked paper white among the red flowers.

"Red makes you look washed out," he blurted out. Draco finally turned his face and looked at Harry.

He smiled wanly. "Morpheus likes me in red, but he thinks white is the best colour for me."

He tucked the red flowers he was fiddling with behind his ear, as if challenging Harry to protest.

Draco looked as if he had not slept for a very long time, which was ridiculous, since he had done nothing but sleep for the past five years. Maybe it's a manifestation of the magic eating away at his soul, in which case Harry better hurry and finish his job.

Draco coughed into his fist, thin shoulders shaking at the effort.

"I—Are you having trouble breathing?"

Draco just smiled. "I am being crushed by the dream world's weight, Harry. It looks like I'm overstaying my welcome here."

Harry's eyes grew wide in horror. "But that's horrible! Couldn't this Morpheus guy do anything about it?"

Draco shook his head. "He might be the god of dreams, but he holds no power over life and death. Short of escorting me to the Underworld, there's nothing he can do for me."

Harry gripped Draco's shoulders. "Stop that talk of death and the Underworld! You will live, do you hear me?" he said fiercely. "We have all six horcruxes now, and we will have Voldemort killed before your birthday."

Draco blinked his long, pale eyelashes at Harry.

"Don't you see, Harry? I am already dead to the world."


THAT same evening, the Dark Lord was holding court over his minions when he heard rumour that his favourite minion had betrayed him.

The Dark Lord presently felt his mortality returning to him, and being mad that he had been thus deceived, he commanded (with a most horrible voice, which made everybody tremble), that they should bring in this traitor and torture him for weeks on end before throwing him into a cell to be preyed upon by the Dark Lord's great serpent.

The traitor was brought in accordingly, and the Dark Lord's minions were just throwing their first curses, when the Order of the Phoenix Apparated into the middle of the meeting circle. The Dark Lord's favourite minion had purposefully let himself be caught so that he could take down the Anti-Apparition wards from within.

The Dark Lord, all enraged to see what had happened, threw the Killing Curse at the traitor. However, the Lady of the Manor, who was among the circle, pushed the friend away from the curse's path just in time.

Order Wizards engaged the Dark Lord's followers in order to let the son of the prophecy pass through. Harry walked up to the throne and cast a Slashing hex on the Dark Lord's entrails.

No longer immortal, the Dark Lord screeched in agony as blood started pouring from every single orifice in his body. Harry's face stayed unmoved by the scene. Only after the blood had soaked the cobblestone floors red did Harry cast a powerful Incendio. The Dark Lord's body shrivelled and crumbled into a grey mound of ash.

Terrified, the Dark Lord's minions started Apparating away, but the Order wizards had reinstated the Anti-Apparition wards once they got in. The lady rejoiced as the capture of her cousin's former school friend would prove her husband and cousin's innocence.

Harry remained quiet during the roundup of the Death Eaters, even when the Headmaster collected the Dark Lord's ashes and assured him that the Dark Lord had been truly and utterly destroyed.

The Order wizards suffered injuries but no casualties, and after helping transport the injured wizards to St. Mungo's, Harry did not stop and celebrate the freedom of the Wizarding world. Instead, he continued on his way to Malfoy Manor.


*****

Following the direction that the lady gave him, he arrived at a magnificent manor, which had a court paved with marble. Walking up steps that shone, he came into the second floor, where house-elves in monogrammed pillowcases stood wringing their hands in excitement.

He walked past several paintings of gentlemen and ladies, all just awoke from their years of sleep, staring after his progress down the hall. A painting of a distinguished old gentleman, looking greatly like the Lord of the Manor, arched an eyebrow as Harry approached his destination. He must have deduced Harry's identity, for he did not say a word as Harry passed the threshold into the chamber of the Malfoy heir.

In the middle of the chamber, decorated with golden suns and silver moons, was a silken-canopied bed upon which Draco lay, still gripped by sleep. Trembling with exhaustion, Harry sat down gingerly on the bed.

"Draco," he said fondly, not quite believing that he was finally here. "Draco."

The curse must have been broken. If not, the paintings would not have awoken. He looked askance at Draco, who was breathing softly through parted pale lips.

Harry raised a hand to brush Draco's hair away from his face. He thought he heard the hint of a sigh, but it was perhaps only imagined.

"Draco," he said again, the name a caress. "I told you we were going to kill the bastard before your birthday. And we did."

He ran his thumb across Draco's cheekbone. His skin felt paper thin. Did it work? Did Draco care? Was he staying with Morpheus instead?

Harry's voice was barely a whisper now. "Can I tell you a secret? That curse which finished Voldemort off—I had so much trouble learning it at first."

His throat felt dry as he continued, "But then I started to pretend—I pictured that it was Morpheus. That he was keeping you in his cave, where he plied you with food and drink and flowers so that you'd forget me." Forget us. "I pictured his blood drenching the ground, and poppy flowers blooming red, vivid like blood."

"I wonder what you would say—Saint Potter wanting someone dead over something that wasn't even that person's fault." Harry shook himself.

"To be honest, I really didn't care that you were trapped in the dream world," he paused. "So I could not hate Voldemort for laying that curse on you. If not for the prospect of your death, I'd rather keep you there—forever in my dreams."

He was now gripping Draco's fingers tightly.

"Because that way I—I wouldn't have to share you with the world." His confession rang clearly in the room. "There's that creepy dream god, but I know you prefer my company to his." God knows why.

Looking at Draco's face, he could have sworn that those cheeks had some color in them now.

"I know I'm selfish, and more than a bit mental, and most likely will hurt you," his voice cracked. "But please wake up. Please."

Holding Draco's hand in both his hands, he noticed an irregularity on the skin surface. Bringing the hand to his lips, he whispered a spell into Draco's palm. A tiny splinter fell out.

Perhaps it was the spell, or perhaps it was Harry saying "please"—

The enchantment was broken, and Harry watched pale eyelashes lift, revealing eyes warmer than their grey colour might admit. He held his breath as those eyes slowly focused in recognition.

"Harry," Draco breathed with a smile, sounding only half-awake.

Harry flushed, remembering the first time he heard his name breathed that way, in a dream mere months ago. He wanted to avert his eyes but could not look away from the sight unfolding before him.

He could tell when Draco gained full consciousness, as he saw Draco's emotions gathered and locked away.

"Looks like I get to take my N.E.W.T.s after all," Draco said blithely, now leaning against the headboard.

If Harry's laughter was a bit hysterical, neither felt compelled to point it out.

Draco pulled absently at his hair, which now reached his shoulders. "What's today's date?" he asked.

"June third," Harry cleared his throat. "Year ninety-seven."

Draco's eyes flickered, but his expression didn't change. "Playing it a bit close, weren't you? It's barely two days before my birthday."

Harry just continued watching Draco's face. Somehow, someway, Draco looked less real now that he was awake. Unnerved by Harry's scrutiny, Draco tucked an errant lock of hair behind his ear.

Harry made a noise of recognition. "I missed watching you fiddle with your hair."

Draco blinked at that. "All these years, and you miss my playing with my hair? Surely I'm not that bad of a conversationalist, Potter."

Harry's brow furrowed. "Harry," he said firmly.

Draco scooted backward against the headboard. "Alright," he conceded, "Harry."

After a moment of silence, he seemed to come into a decision. "Look, Harry—I want you to know something."

Harry braced himself, knuckles white against the sheets. This is where Draco would thank him for saving his life, but that he didn't feel that way, and would Harry kindly back off?

"Harry? Pay attention," Draco's voice was kind but firm.

He reluctantly dragged his eyes back to Draco's face. Draco's eyes were bright.

"This is important. Concentrate."

He wanted to run away, but Draco had taken hold of his hand. He watched helplessly as those pink lips formed the rejection he knew was coming.

Draco inhaled softly through parted lips and leaned forward slowly, as if he wanted to whisper a secret, but he didn't stop, and Harry just sat there, frozen, as soft lips brushed against his.

Oh.

And the lips pressed against his were not wet, or red, but pale like the silly rosebuds that Draco wore in his hair—pale with just the slightest hint of pink. And Harry thought he could taste Blood-Replenishing Potion on Draco, and his glasses were digging into his nose uncomfortably, but it didn't matter—

Draco's fingers were tangled in the hair at his nape, tugging as if in silent command to pay attention, and it's not like Harry had ever not paid attention to him. His heart was thundering in his ears, and he was still staring disbelievingly into Draco's eyes, which grew increasingly hooded—

And oh God this was Draco's first kiss, and what was he doing sitting still like an idiot?

I really, really like you. Harry's eyes held Draco's, and Draco must have read his reassurance there as his eyes finally fluttered closed, and Harry would have killed to be a skilled Legilimens right then just so that he could know what Draco was thinking. About the kiss—about Harry—about them.

Harry leaned forward and increased the pressure between their lips, and it was a bit dry and chapped but hard and heart wrenching at the same time.

Their hands were still intertwined, and Harry lifted his free hand and placed it at Draco's back, pulling him closer into an embrace. And Draco made a soft noise that sounded like a sob, which vaguely registered in Harry's mind, but Harry felt like crying himself at the
realness of it all.

Because Draco was here, and Draco was alive, and Harry felt he might be taking advantage but he didn't care—Draco might have kissed Harry because he was the first qualified person that Draco saw but that was fine too—

Harry felt the hand at his nape tugging him away, and reluctantly detached himself from Draco's lips. He refused to remove his hold on Draco though, and by the almost painful grip on his hand, he suspected that Draco didn't want him to either.

Heat flushed Draco's cheeks, as he attempted to slow his heart rate.

"I couldn't breathe," Draco said simply. And this time the laughter Harry gave was genuine and carefree, as he pulled Draco back into a fierce embrace. His heart stuttered as Draco wrapped his arms around him, not letting go.

They would have sat there in each other's arms for hours, had not a cough interrupted them.

*****

Lucius Malfoy was standing across the room with a slight flush on his face. "As charming as this had been, I was just released from Azkaban and would like to reunite with my lovely son."

Draco's smile was dazzling and immediate.

"Oh, Draco." Narcissa was suddenly sitting on the bed, gathering Draco close. Draco released Harry's hand and hugged her back. "Mum," he whispered, sounding like a small child. Narcissa was caressing his hair over and over.

Harry peered at Lucius, but thankfully he did not seem inclined to jump into the bed while Harry's still sitting on it. He stepped away from the bed, and Lucius was quickly at his son's side, placing a paternal hand on his shoulder. Harry was just thankful that Snape was not included in the hug fest.

Only then did Harry notice a figure standing at the doorway. Sirius was there, eyes bright and lips twitching with amusement.

"Guess I missed a lot this past year in Azkaban, eh?"

Harry ran and almost knocked Sirius off of his feet. "Sirius! You're free!"

"Easy there, kiddo," Sirius chuckled, pulling Harry into a one-armed hug.

"I bloody well should, or who's going to give you the talk about the bird and the bees, eh?" He ruffled Harry's hair. "Or in this case, the bird and...the bird."

Harry's face was dark red. "Sirius! That was awful!"

Sirius just grinned unrepentantly. "So Harry, when's the wedding date?"

"Oh God," Harry buried his hot face in his hands.


*****

WHEN the reunions had ended, the Malfoys welcomed Harry and Sirius as their own kin, and commanded the house-elves to prepare the best guest rooms for them.

Everyone fussed over Draco, and over time he regained his health and became as captivating as ever. The Malfoys gave a great banquet in celebration of the restoration of their heir, and bade Harry relate to the guests the story of their struggles. Everyone was moved when they heard of the despair in which Draco was embroiled during the last year of his enchantment.

All the wizarding publications fought for the right to write their story. Harry, remaining close-mouthed regarding his role in Voldemort's demise, nevertheless enthused in his joy over Draco's freedom.

After summer months spent studying and playing Quidditch, Draco took his O.W.L.s and earned Outstanding in Potions and Defence Against the Dark Arts. Both Harry and Professor Snape were smug about Draco's accomplishment.

Summer finally drew to an end, and now the boys looked forward to their seventh year together at Hogwarts. But that’s a story for another day.


*******

Vocabulary:
The dragon Draco rides in the third dream is an Antipodean Opaleye.

Morpheus is the Greek god of dreams, in charge of the dreams of heroes and kings; he assumes the form of loved ones in dreams. Icelus, his brother, is in charge of beasts and birds.
Adonis is a beautiful man shared by Aphrodite (goddess of love) and Persephone (goddess of the Underworld). It is said that roses are red because of Aphrodite's spilled blood when she was looking for Adonis.

In case anyone's wondering: Draco got cursed at his 12th birthday party on May 31st, as June 1 to 4 are exam dates (Draco's birthday is June 5, 1980). Harry defeated Quirrel on the night of June 4th.

Resources:
Basile, Giambattista. "Sun, Moon and Talia." Il Pentamerone, or The Story of Stories. John Edward Taylor, trans. London: David Bogue, 1850.

Basile, Giambattista. "The Young Slave." Il Pentamerone, or The Story of Stories. Sir Richard Burton, trans. London: Henry and Company, 1893.

Bettelheim, Bruno. The Uses of Enchantment: The Meaning and Importance of Fairy Tales. New York: Vintage Books, 1975.

Calvino, Italo. Invisible Cities. William Weaver, trans. San Diego: Harcourt, 1974.

de Villeneuve, Madame. "Beauty and the Beast". Andrew Lang, ed. The Blue Fairy Book. New York: Dover, 1965.

"Harry's dreams." HP-Lexicon.

Maya (sarahtales). "Maya's evidence of H/D in canon."

"Morpheus." Wikipedia.

Perrault, Charles. "Sleeping Beauty." The Blue Fairy Book. Andrew Lang, ed. New York: Dover, 1965. (Original published 1889.)


Author’s notes: Yes, there will be a sequel (Here's a teaser). Which most likely will be written in May. This was originally a 2300-word Christmas fic for albichorizon. It was a struggle to write, unlike "Green Eyes" (H/D adaptation of "The Frog Prince"), which pretty much wrote itself.

Again, thank you jen_deben and dream_labyrinth at realreview for confirming what bothered me about the original. Thank you spiderstars for the endless MSN conversations we have over this fic--and for your nitpicks over tenses. Thank you albichorizon, anyotherknight, why_me_why_not, ltlredhairdgirl and the rest of my F-list for answering my random questions. Thank you underlucius for Britpicking and looking over the kissing scenes. Thank you somigliana for nitpicking canon capitalization and spelling.

While you're at it, please suggest some title(s) for the sequel, which will be based on "Beauty and the Beast," "Cupid and Psyche," "The Young Slave," perhaps "Rapunzel" and "Bluebeard" too.

Icon art: The icon is a cropped image from the cover of Hiwatari Saki's manga Global Garden.

Comments

I must admit, I was cynical. Fairy-tales, Greek mythology and non HP books2-6 compliance...

I also have to admit that I was tempted to stop reading until I reached Winter 1993...sorry *embarrassed*. It isn't to say that the start was bad or anything, it simply had too many coincidences and clichéd moments. Realising that this was only in effect because of the fairy-tale that you were employing. In knowing that, I ploughed on...and I'm glad that I did!

I kept reading and it was a really good work. I didn't feel compelled to nitpick anything and could let the story just wash around me as the time flowed on.
I particularly enjoyed the way that while it was an AU fic it held true to the main events of the books, but moreso that way in which you managed to make it so different. I'm not sure if that makes sense, but it was enjoyable.

As I said before, my only qualm with it is the tone of the first chunk - but I can appreciate that it was necessary because of the style!

Cheers,
Signet
And I now realise that I should also edit and re-read my comments as well

second paragraph, third and fourth sentence should have been combined into

"I realise that this was only in effect because of the fairy-tale that you were employing and in knowing that I ploughed on..."

Sorry!
Fairy-tales, Greek mythology and non HP books2-6 compliance...

Hhmmm, maybe I should take those warnings out :-P
But na-ah...people will hate me if I waste their "clicking" time. Uh, for some reason all my fanfics so far are AU...

I avoided copperbadge's Stealing Harry/Laocoon's Children for the longest time because they were AU. Now it's one of my three all-time fav. HP fanfic. And now I'm addicted to well-written AU stories, actually ^^;;

It isn't to say that the start was bad or anything, it simply had too many coincidences and clichéd moments.

*cringe* I know there's OoC-ness in there too.

I've invested a lot of myself in totally revamping this fic from the original, so I don't think I have the motivation to do any major revisions until, uh, maybe at least a few months later.

I realise that this was only in effect because of the fairy-tale that you were employing and in knowing that I ploughed on.

I know that the first chunk is slow...jen_deben and dream_labyrinth also commented about it and I've pared down on it a bit, but AUGH it has to stay in there for the sake of the fairy tale, the plot and the style ~_~
I'm definitely not using this style again for the sequel. Too many grammatical errors this way too :-P

I particularly enjoyed the way that while it was an AU fic it held true to the main events of the books, but moreso that way in which you managed to make it so different.

Thank you :-)

Yes, yes, I totally understand what you mean! That's exactly how I feel about copperbadge's AU fic too. The plot obviously deviates from canon, yet it reads like canon. (Instead of plots like Harry suddenly achieve new super powers and make the evil D.E.s see the error of their ways, etc. etc.)

Um, would you be interested in a sequel, btw? I feel that this story is too...neatly wrapped, when there are actually a lot of emotional loose ends left. As you can read from the teaser, it's not happily ever after.

Actually, I had to force myself to write a fairy tale-y ending for this story. I was writing the happily-ever-after part when Harry and Draco started arguing. Big time. And I went, "O-kayy...so no happily ever after for you guys then."
Awesome, would love to see a sequel!
Alright, will do so! :-D
I'll probably start it officially in May, although I already wrote a few pages of some scenes in my notebook.

...I'm rather disappointed with the reception of this fic (considering how much time and effort I put into it). So, off to plug it to a gazillion communities! (Okay, okay, two dozens or so.)