Dreaming the Same Dream

Chapter Two: "Comforting Lie"

"Can't get this taste out of my mouth; swallow it down, pretend ... A comforting lie can't last." --"Comforting Lie", No Doubt

**

Draco was just gazing up at the midnight sky, counting the stars from his awesome view at the top of the Astronomy Tower. He was alone shooting the breeze, and he liked it that way. Depressing maybe, Draco much preferred this undisrupted quiet to hanging around most other people these days. This was one of the rare occasions where he actually got to feel at any peace whatsoever. Thus cherishing the moment, it came as a bit of a startle when he turned his head and saw none other than Harry Potter! Yes, to Draco's pure shock, his greatest rival, bloody "Chosen" Potter of all people, had just joined him, effectively ruining his worriless dazing. Instantly defensive, Draco instinctively turned face-to-face with Potter, who looked at very least equally stunned. Indeed the unsuspecting "Chosen One" could not withhold the anxiety from his face, shell-shocked as Draco was no doubt. For a second Potter flinched aback, caught off his guard, and heaved out a slight yet audible gasp.

Knowing Potter's look of confusion would be short-lived, Draco shot him an arrogant, amused-like smirk to further intimidate his rival. Truthfully no less anxious and panicked at Potter's untimely presence, Draco himself fell indecisive. It was like a brainfreeze overcoming him at the worst moment, slowing down his reflexes for a surreal second. Bringing himself back up with what he prayed was a truly restored composure, Draco thought shakily, 'Ready or not, don't let it show, don't let your guard down...C'mon, Draco, NO, get off it--bloody don't let it show! You can't let filthy bloody Potter get to you!'

Meanwhile, Potter was not wasting a moment's hesitation. In a second he'd readily jumped straight into fight mode, and now bluffed forth an unafraid guise. Placing his fist at his hip very inquiring-like, he successfully beat Draco to the punch, for the Boy-Who-Lived practically raced to speak first. "Malfoy! What are you doing up here?!" he demanded accusingly, his jaw shaking with tension.

Draco snickered, looking utterly undismayed. "Ha! I could certainly ask the same of you, Potter, hmm, filthy half-blood?" he hissed through clenching teeth.

At this, Potter understandably could not suppress a momentary look of pure cringe. Swallowing the little bit of spit in his dryish, near-cottonmouth state, he first forced back a rather painful gulp. Then without further pause he fired back a scornful glare, an astounding sight of pure hatred, and resurfaced above water once again. "Maybe. But regardless, it IS you, Malfoy. I think we can both agree you're just a wee likelier to be up to no good, eh? Yep, I'd reckon pretty much everyone sees it like that. Wouldn't you say so, Malfoy? I mean it IS you, bigoted 'pure-blood', hmm?" Harry's face had rapidly switched into a smirking expression of guiltless delight.

Draco was immediately affronted. Sharply turning blood-red in a deep-seated scowl, the angry young Malfoy threw back tauntingly, "Stupid fool, Potter. I'm quite sure you would be so privileged to know what my business is here, now wouldn't you, 'Chosen boy', eh? Ha! But if you actually expect me, the proud and loyal dignified Slytherin and Malfoy that I am, to actually submit to any such demands of yours, I reckon you've gone ruddy mad ... But then again, it IS you, idiotic half-blood Potter after all!" Upon finishing this clever rebuke, Draco immediately shot the Gryffindor opponent in face of him--oh-so-famous (or infamous, as Draco much preferred) Harry Potter to be exact--whom of all by far remained his unarguable very worst enemy, of this there rested no doubt--an unceasing look of sheer, unadulterated hatred.

Potter once again straight-out flinched, animatedly too, in his highly offended surprise. Eyes uncontrollably bulging with focus and alarm, the 'Boy-Who-Lived' thought fast for an even better hand of words to totally stump and, as a hopeful eventual end, scare away Malfoy. With two staring eyes that glowed anger-filled at Malfoy, Potter scoffed unnaturally loud at his confronting Slytherin rival. Then, with a tremendous expression of molting fury at that, he spat down at the ground in disgust of Malfoy. "God, Malfoy, you make me cringe like no one else can," Potter finally iterated through tightly-clenched teeth, his unnerved agitated state progressively tightening up his words into a tongue-twist, until in fact he was barely understandable.

Far from moved, Draco obviously disregarded Potter's spat-out recoiled words. In fact, Draco delicately readjusted his arms' fold at his chest, calmed as ever. Initially unwavering in stiffness, Draco let out a surprising bout of carefree laughter that honestly felt someway vibrational-like nonetheless, to his opponent. Waiting to see its effect, Draco was quickly rewarded by a grim, flustered expression all over Potter's face. Only then did Draco coolly retort, "Oh, Potter, for Salazar's Sake, you don't really reckon that your bratty little pouting has any effect on me, do you? Come now, Gryffindor git, I'd think even you would know better than that ..." Draco daringly moved along unabashed in his speech, prideful of every surly word which he used to demean Potter. "Now, go along half-blood, puny little Potter. That's right, don't waste any more of my time, Potter! Away with you I said, Mudblood-lover, SHOO!" Draco couldn't have sounded any bolder than in this sheerly volatile moment, actually having the nerve to demand his enemy straight away regardless that he had no real standing to do so.

His enemy's eyebrows rose incredulously at this, all the way up into the crease of anxious wrinkles at the top of his forehead. Potter looked by now long-lost of patience, apparently amazed himself by how furious he'd just been made upon this. He could not believe even Malfoy's cheek tonight! How dare he!!! That was it, enough was at last enough for Potter at this point, for then the visibly agitated Gryffindor boy threw up both his hands in frustration, and then startled Draco when he strutted a sudden few unexpected steps toward him. Smiling with satisfaction at Draco's bothered state while simultaneously pulling his wand out from the subtle inside of his cloak, Potter raised the weapon straight at Draco with unmerciful measurement. Light arising fumingly in his eyes, Potter looked pitilessly upon Draco, who felt the inkling that his enemy was about to toss something even more hostile his way. Unfortunately for Draco, his prediction was right. With strong, utmost confidence and an urgent warning attached at tone, Potter threatened very seriously, "Malfoy, take a hike, or I'll drop a hex so great on you, reckon that you'll find yourself in more than one piece about a second from now!"

Potter, smiling evilly, chortled at his own rebuke, bedazzled by the thought of actually making that happen to Draco. Draco took a couple steps back, clearly taken by Potter's threat (at least to some degree). Evidently unable to conceal it anyhow, it took a moment before Draco was able to calm, and only gradually curl his lips back into a smug grin. His arms, still as ever in their fold at his chest, looked impossibly stiff. The contention in the air felt close to fiery-like--literally. "You're a funny man, Potter." And yet his voice remained trickled by the vulnerable star of self-doubt. Either way, nonetheless the forsaken Gryffindor boy in front of him so far definitely was NOT joking. Draco, fazed--so far-out his normal, condescending and tightly-composed character--could only blink as one huge moment of hesitancy came right over him. His next move still ever-undecided, Draco looked stupidly as though petrified, incredibly, before with an alert shake he blinked again, back into his senses, and made a fierce look back at the enemy on hand...

But it was no dice. Potter had very well seen Draco's discomposing state, so such a mediocre return really mattered very little. Grinning madder by the second now, Potter jerked forward his wand closer at Draco no less for effect. It worked. It scared his Slytherin rival even more, who did jolt right back upon this. Witnessing it, Potter couldn't suppress a half-chuckle prior to making a very special empowered speech at his enemy. In a dangerously angered voice that spoke loud-and-clear, Potter threatened, "Malfoy, I'm warning you...Don't think I won't. Go, NOW, or face the penalty, you slimy Slytherin git!" And when Malfoy still remained stiff as a statue, Potter violently raged forth his wand with ever-increasing willingness, exhaling out some steam, and began reciting the heated incantation, "Petrificus--"

Draco dodged just in time. As if defeated on this official instantaneous cue (at least for the present moment, anyway), with little thought he surrendered up his trembling hands. "...Fine, Potter, have it your way then! You bloody win, okay, reckon?!" he bellowed out in total humiliation, fear hopelessly unconcealed.

Potter's eyes bulged wide-open, shocked by his enemy's fast acquiescence. Nodding acceptingly, the undisputed Gryffindor still nevertheless yelled, "Well, then what have you? GO ALREADY!!"

The unexpected scream jolted Draco back even more obviously this time. Looking off, and wanting to bury his head in the sand with all that magnitude of shame undoubtedly contained in him, Malfoy made sure not to catch Potter's eye as he scurried off, reversing in a swift jump back to the staircase passageway which he'd previously ascended, and now descended in order to escape. He couldn't remember another time in his life where he'd hated himself as much as he did right now, cringing infuriation with his every downward step. "Bloody hell, GOD, get over it already!" he muttered at one point such senseless gibberish as this in his race downstairs, back to the castle's main levels--His one pitiful, lonesome designated escape. Draco would surely never tell anyone ever about this night's drama, especially of how it had, by end, excessively compromised him of his personal liberty.

Not ever. And yet at some point in his thought process Draco could not mistake one terrifying thing that'd spontaneously come about him: something about the scene tonight had somehow caused the certain scent to come, that single 'one-of-kind' warmth to fill his "below-the-waist" regions; something in that smile, in the glinting at large intent in Potter's expression, yes, shot a bullet-striking electrical prick throughout his veins, over and over, not stopping...

AND, he, now an utterly dread-filled Draco, suspected that it was maybe not for the first time, either.

**

Harry felt completely bamboozled after Malfoy had unexpectedly raced out of dodge. Standing proud and tall at the top balcony of the Astronomy Tower, he nonetheless the victor felt mixed regards about what had just occurred with Malfoy. Malfoy's most unexpected, most untimely interruption had certainly come like a strike of unforeseen lightning. Harry surprised himself actually, in that he'd at first been so far-gone-startled, so admittedly intimidated by the sudden confrontational encounter, and yet he'd somehow successfully vanquished his infamous Slytherin foe straight away. Never would he have thought things would unfold in such a way.

Yet, though the entire thing had him bewildered from get (to say the least, anyway), when he thought it through more thoroughly and more details arose, Harry was most bewildered of all. One particular stunning, unnaturally dark insight of his deep mind was a very thing which practically vaporized his own rational senses: it started as he spontaneously was struck to, with thunderous avidity at that, recollect the final battle at Hogwarts that unforgettable night of a still recent past month, specifically the memory of saving Malfoy from a certain death in the Room of Requirement. It awed Harry how easily the detailed images from the event resurfaced cleanly back onto the frame of his mindset:

He was riding atop a miraculously summoned-forth broomstick, his one and only hope for survival; he was just barely hanging on for dear life as an ocean of flames grew literally mere feet below him, here in this very strange place, wherein everything happening was but the latest unpredictable occurrence--this was the Room of Requirement. All the while, it was Draco Malfoy of all unguessable people, incredibly enough, who simultaneously held onto him desperately from right behind him, riding along horrified with his arms wrapped firmly around Harry's torso. Ironically, it'd been no one but Draco's own comrade, vile Crabbe, who'd unleashed this doom-spelling Fiendfyre upon them, subsequently destroying the room into truly Hellfire (so it felt at least to Harry). Every second passing was more horrifying than the last and more possibly the one that'd take his life, as sadly, the summoned flames only continued to grow deadlier...

For the first time ever, Harry, entrapped in his own mind's horrific recollection, suddenly was pulled into an actual distraction from the gruesome details. Instead his flabbergasted mind departed away from its wistful stream of thoughts, and oddly redirected its attention to essentially a beyond trivial detail in the grander scheme of things--

Oh, how good it'd felt to feel Malfoy's strong, warm arms wrapped around him; oh, how it had sent prickles up his spine and butterflies into his stomach for a flighty second, coupling, amazingly, with the very grave state of things...Unbelievable it surely was! No way could it have been real...

'NO!' Harry snapped right back into his senses, repulsed that such a thing had even crossed his mind. The famous Gryffindor boy felt like a slug for it. He could not possibly have enjoyed the feeling of Malfoy touching or embracing him, and certainly not so that it stood out as a hallmark to the memory. NEVER! Unfortunately the nonsense of the idea alone did little to humor Harry but much to disgust him. It had no favorable end. Certainly he, Harry Potter, had NOT felt sexually aroused by the presence of, from all insane people to choose from, Draco Malfoy!

Alas, his apprehension suddenly overran him until he thought indignantly to himself, 'REVOLTING that would make me, I reckon! NO BLOODY WAY!', resenting deeply all possibility that he'd ever felt such a disgraceful physical inclination. What a miserable, frightful thought. It was going to nettle Harry to no end. At this point, he felt even unable of surviving the inner humiliation of it. Resigned, Harry vehemently shook his head in rejection, and did his very best to just shake the whole thing off. The stupid idea had tortured him enough already.

**