Carpe Noctem (DRARRY)

Chapter 10- Draco Is Impulsive

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Chapter 10- Draco Is Impulsive

~Draco's POV~

A misty space. Fog obscured the walls, if there were walls... Draco took a hesitant step forward and nearly jumped as the ground gave way slightly beneath his shoes. A dream; of course. It had been a while since he had dreamed, and they were never lucid.

He was wearing what he had worn to bed- blonde hair dishevelled, sleep still gathered in his eyes, a t-shirt and jeans that he hadn't bothered to change out of. Light red streaks stood out on his pale skin; wrinkles from the blankets imprinting on his arms and legs.

Intricate for a mere creation of his mind, the fog smelled of must and lukewarm tea. It parted as he walked through it, searching for something- even though he wasn't entirely sure what he was searching for. A presence slowly came closer, obscured of looks, but it somehow was familiar in its scent, or the weight of some essential yet subtle taint.

An angel. It must've been an angel for the person that appeared.

"Draco?"

Jet black hair mussed and reflecting the soft amber glow of the dream, clothes disordered in a charming sort of way, and glasses hastily shoved up upon the bridge of a thin nose.

"Harry?" Draco had expected this- dreaming of Harry, that is. He looked strangely realistic, as if he had rolled out of bed just to meet Draco in this dream. Soft, muted footprints tracked behind Harry as he came closer, rising back up slowly afterwards- like they were walking upon some marshmallow fluff.

He touched Draco with real warmth come from only-imagined fingers; they traced his cheekbones gently with a softness, a sadness. They fluttered down his neck with the melancholy drunkenness of damp, bedraggled white butterflies.

It was a delicate silence; it seemed as if it would break if one handled it too roughly, so they cradled it in their palms. Cool and tea-scented, unsweetened and soaked in dreamlike blurriness.

The silence broke like empty eggshells upon linoleum floors when a melody started to wind through the mist. Harry removed his hands and stepped back softly. The tune was far away but came from a specific place in the fog... They never heard more than a few notes at a time, but it was decidedly classical and discursive.

"Let's follow it," Draco said, perking up a bit. Perhaps this would entail an adventure that didn't have bloodstains and romance written all over it in a red felt-tip pen.

And follow it they did; the floor never fell out from under them, but it shifted from time to time like a restless animal. Harry, to Draco's pleasant surprise, sometimes grabbed onto the other boy's arm for support.

Again, the mist parted before they could struggle through it- but it almost pushed them forwards, the inanimate excited for something the two could never guess. The fog thinned suddenly, pushing them forwards as they stumbled.

A figure was barely visible through it, one long leg crossed over the other. He sat upon the edge of a table, elegant and wood-carved, which sat easily on the floor. Harry and Draco took steps forward to better see them.

It was hard to tell if they were male, female, or something else; for though their hair was short, dark, and mussed, like a traditional male's, their eyelashes were long and their high cheekbones were appreciatively, decidedly aristocratic. A well-tailored suit hugged their thin frame, though the jacket was nowhere to be seen. Upon seeing the two boys, the figure looked up, a charming smile appearing on their face quite suddenly.