Love Is The Darkest Art

Part 6: Trelawney & Dreams

Scene 9:

Hermione was worried. Sitting in the next class, feeling dejected at her tardiness, she pondered what was being discussed between Malfoy and Umbridge. Though Dolores made it seem like he'd been late for a prearranged meeting, Hermione had a distinctive feeling that Draco was either getting raked over the coals or made to do near endless detention like Umbridge had done to Potter. Maybe she was trying to punish all students who held any kind of influential sway over their peers.

Hermione fidgeted in her seat, but thankfully Professor Trelawney didn't notice. In fact, the teacher was droning on and on about prophecy and how it shapes young lives, that Hermione found herself closing her eyes and wishing she were with Draco. Perhaps together they could thwart whatever Umbridge was planning to do about them. But Professors of any kind soon left her thoughts and she found herself wading through a thick gray fog. A strange melancholy tune seemed to surround her saying, "rest your head and read a treasured dream...."

Trelawney's monotonous voice trickled off into the void, replaced by the song and the sound of bare feet traipsing through puddles. She looked down and wondered where her shoes were. She also wondered why her skirt was so short. Was it torn or had it been made that way? It was even shorter than the dress she wore to the Yule Ball last year. And then she realized another thing. Her white blouse clung to her as if she'd just come out of a rain. A couple buttons were missing which bothered her, as she was usually orderly and clean with her wardrobe, even when some of her clothes were secondhand from a muggle thrift store.

Motion in front of her startled her investigation of herself. Figures were swirling out of the fog. Dancing couples who looked remarkably like her friends. Harry came waltzing by, Cho Chang on his arm. Both of them smiling and throwing their heads back in laughter. Ron danced, or perhaps shuffled by as well, both Patil girls on his arm. He looked almost bored, despite the attention the giggling girls were giving him. Next came another awkward-on-his-feet friend Neville Longbottom, and he cast her a look as if to say, "I know what you've been doing." Of course, the whole time he said it his hands were busy trying to disappear in the blond strands of Luna Lovegood's hair.

Hermione looked around her as the dancers one by one disappeared into the fog and suddenly she was overcome with an intense loneliness, an instant sorrow that nearly reduced her to tears as she wondered why no one was dancing with her. The strange melancholy song resumed, this time telling her, "you cry a little in the dark," followed by a whisper of "Well, so do I."

And then he came, sauntering out of the fog in tight dark pants and an open velvet shirt the color of violet. The moisture of the fog glistened on the bare pale skin of his chest, down to his navel and taught abs. She'd never imagined he'd look so sexy in this state. He'd always been kind of scrawny in her recollection. Not the kind you'd consider buff, and yet here he was, muscles tight and skin so touchable it made her breath stick in her throat.

Draco smiled. "I don't know why I feel the way I do," he whispered, coming face to face with her. His silvery eyes seemed to draw her in. "All I know is I can't bear the thought of never knowing your touch."

Hermione couldn't help herself. The invitation was too alluring. She reached for him, her fingertips coming to rest on his chest, hands sliding beneath the cloth of his unbuttoned shirt.

His scent pleasantly assailed her. Something earthy like Sandalwood or Patchouli. She breathed him in, his heart drumming against her fingers. She spread her hands out against his chest, palms flat against his fog touched skin.

Draco stood, eyes closed, as if letting the sensation of her presence surround him. Then he reached out and took her face in his hands. Hermione felt herself wanting to let go, to take all of this out of the dream with her and celebrate it into life. She felt her hands drifting from his chest to his abs and then his lips were upon her. First her neck, then her throat, until they slid to her own waiting lips.

If at first she was trembling, now she was visibly shaking, delirious cold chills across her entire frame, followed by a warmth in her stomach that said she desired more than just this kiss . She craved him to envelop her and she closed her eyes to welcome it. But he did nothing more than kiss her. Where others may not have stopped there, even ones as mischievous as he, Draco's passion was one of both delerium and respect. And she loved him for it.

At this thought of the possibility of love, her eyes sprung open in surprise. She thought she heard the resounding echo of her own voice shouting, "love?!" But so had everyone else. The class was silent, except for the sigh of Trelawney interrupted from her long winded speech, and possibly a question.

"No Henrietta," she said, getting her name wrong as usual. "The answer is not love, as you shouted, but fate. Fate and prophecy are entertwined to suggest a path for our lives. And though they are changeable, it is rare that they do. Unlike love, they are set in place long before the heart ever is."

Hermione, still embarassed, looked around the room at her peers. Most were no longer looking at her in amusement with smirks on their lips. Most had gone back to their work and quills, and yet two of the students were still staring at her with Slytherin sneers, as if they'd been observers of her dream. Crabbe and Goyle. Out of every classmate, they were the most dangerous to her secret, for they blabbed everything to anyone they came in contact with.

She made a face at them just as Trelawney realized something. " Why do we have an empty seat? Who is missing?" From her desk she pulled a seating chart and scanned it with bespeckled eyes. "Mr. Malfoy? That's unusual." She looked up at the class. "Has anyone seen Draco Malfoy?"

Hermione had to force herself not to raise her hand. Though she loved being first to answer virtually any question first, this was one time she knew she should stay quiet. To acknowledge she knew he was with Umbridge would reveal the fact she'd been with him. That she'd known more about his movements than anyone else, even his own friends and gang. So she sat there mute, squirming in her forced silence, while her mind returned to the most threatening question of all: Was she in love with Draco?