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She doesn’t dream of Draco’s memories every night, but they do become pretty regular occurrences as their time apart continues to go on. And maybe that’s what this dream started out as, or maybe it had been her own dream the entire time. No matter which, she dreamed of his room at the manor as it had been in his memories, antique furniture decorated liberally with black, green, and silver. The quidditch mural on one wall his parents had had done for him as a child, players magicked to zip along the wall as they played the game.
In the dream she reaches out and trails her fingers down the carved bedpost, fingers light as they trace down the body of the snake that had been crafted to wrap down the entire length of the post.
“Your family really committed just a little too much to the Slytherin design aesthetic.” She mused.
“Every member of my family has been sorted into Slytherin for generations.” He said from where he was suddenly behind her.
She turned and smiled at him, and he looked just as he had during the best moments in the room of requirement. Hair just a little mussed from its usually precise styling, first button of his shirt undone, sleeves carefully rolled up as he’d only done once around her, though the skin of his forearm was unmarked as she looked him over.
“And I look good in green and silver.” He announced, that oh-so familiar and infuriating smirk twisting his lips and urging her heart into an off-beat tempo.
He steps forward and reaches out, and she’s in her school uniform like that was what she’d always been wearing, his finger trailing down from her throat to toy with the tail of her tie just a moment before lifting it up for her to view.
“You do too, you know.” He murmured as they both looked down at her tie as it flickered from red and gold to green and silver.
And then he’s pulling her toward him with that tie, just a little tug but she’s all too eager to follow, wrapping her arms around his neck and lifting herself up onto her tiptoes to better match their heights.
Their mouths press together and it’s perfect, just as good as that secret moment with Viktor in the library. Ten times better than the messy press of mouths with Oliver George the summer after fourth year when she’d been mourning the loss of her fist love to distance, and he’d been there and willing after a youth footie game her parents had practically forced her to join to keep up with her muggle peers.
That kiss had been an abomination she had admitted to no one, though. Not even Draco had managed to root that out of her head during their legilimency sessions.
They’re on his bed suddenly, him above her looking down, hair a mess like she’d always wanted to see, like she’d just run her fingers through it to finally see if it was as soft as she’d always imagined. His grey eyes were watching her like he could actually see her, and he could, couldn’t he? In truth, he was probably the person who’d seen more of her than anywhere else, and the reverse was true for him as well.
His hands brush up her side, his face lowering back to hers, mouths coming together once again as he whispers her name and she feels like she’s flying without any fear, like she doesn’t have to ever worry about falling back to earth ever again. She feels like she’s doing magic for the first time all over again, power and the thrill of discovery racing through her blood and she never wants it to end.
“Stay with me,” She asked, standing in the room of requirement with him, surrounded by books and secrets that she wanted to discover. That she wanted to discover with him .
“Of course.” He said, holding her hand and looking at her with no secrets between them as the rest of the world burned away outside of their sanctuary.
She comes awake with a gasp, sitting up in bed with her heart thundering, face flushed and body heated for the few moments it took to register that Ron was staring down at her, concerned.
“You okay? You were making a lot of noise in your sleep so I was worried it had been a nightmare.” He asked, smiling hopefully at her.
Every piece of her—mind, body, and soul alike—goes cold as this is said, before flushing dangerously hot.
“Get out!” She screeched, face flushed red and glare more akin to an attack than a look as she scrambled out of her tangled sheets, body shaking from the whirlwind of emotions. “How dare you?”
“I’m sorry!” Ron yelped as he ran away, not quite understanding what could have caused her to act so viciously so early in the day.