Draco Malfoy Ginny Weasley
Drama Romance
Multiple Eras
Philosopher's Stone Chamber of Secrets Prizoner of Azkaban Goblet of Fire Quidditch Through the Ages Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them
Published: 08/16/2002
Updated: 12/01/2002
Words: 98,611
Chapters: 18
Hits: 65,644

Sea of Waking Dreams


Story Summary:
Draco Malfoy has seen his share of nightmares and now, as the war with Voldemort rages around him, it takes Ginny Weasley and a ragged band of orphans to teach him what true love and loyalty really are. Draco/Ginny, and a few brief instances of m/m kissing.

Chapter 02

Chapter Summary:
In which random snogs are exchanged, Oliver fears for his life, Lucky is bathed, and Ginny is introduced.
Author's Note:
I hereby acknoweledge all the dedicated work my beta put into this with me, and dedicate this story to her, because she deserves it. I also want to dedicate it to the fond memory of two nearly-naked guys and a roll of Saran Wrap.

Sea of Waking Dreams

By Cinnamon

Chapter Two

Oliver’s eyes flew open and for a moment, he did not know where he was. It slowly came back to him: the stable he and the others had hidden in for the past few days, monitoring Death Eater movement.

It was early morning, and he lay there for a few moments, listening to the soft breathing of the people around him.

Someone was crying.

Oliver sat up, pushing his hair out of his eyes. It had grown too long, he’d have to have it cut when they got back to the others. He glanced around in the dim light, shivering. It was winter, a terrible time for scouting missions.

He could still hear the cries, coming from the dark corner, and he pulled his cloak on over his shoulders. It sounded like Lavender.

He was about to call out to her when she stepped out of the shadows, her face abnormally pale. She was trembling. Oliver opened his mouth to speak, and she fell forward, wrapping her arms around his neck.

“They’re coming,” she whispered tearfully.

“We’re safe,” he countered, vaguely surprised at his own words. He surely hadn’t meant to say that…

“I can feel it. Can’t you feel it? They’re coming, they’re coming, they’ll kill us all.” She buried her face against his neck, her chest heaving against his, and Oliver felt strange heat run through his blood. Which was ridiculous, this was Lavender… Of course, at the same time it wasn’t, and he couldn’t help himself from replying, from slipping his arms around her and lifting her against him. She wrapped her legs around his waist and he moved into the shadows, pressing her back up against the wall. “I’m so scared,” she whimpered, sprinkling tiny bits over his neck, down to his collarbone.

He moaned a little, burying his face in her hair. “Donna,” he moaned weakly, his hands shaking. “It’s going to be all right.”

“I don’t want to die, I love you, I’m not supposed to die,” she whispered. “I’ve seen the way you look at me. And they’re coming, they’re getting closer.”

He didn’t speak again, his hands moving without conscious thought, as if someone else were moving them, sliding them up her arms and to her throat, pulling at the buttons to her shirt. She was panting, tears running down her face, her dark hair sweaty and her eyes wild with fear and hunger. Oliver bent to kiss the hollow of her throat and she whimpered, twisting against him and pressing a feverish kiss to his lips. “Hurry, they’re coming,” she whispered. “I love you, Scott…”

Everything around them shifted and snapped back into place, reality returning with a jolt, and Oliver blinked, is eyes flying wide as he suddenly realized just what he was doing and with whom. Fred was going to kill him.

He stepped back so quickly that Lavender, whose legs had been wound around his waist, slipped to the ground, nearly stumbling. She was still breathing heavily, her lips slightly swollen, and looking at him in horror. “What… what was that?” she whispered.

Oliver ran a trembling hand through his hair. “I have no idea.”

“We- we can’t tell anyone, Oliver. We can’t. I didn’t mean to — It wasn’t me.”

He nodded quickly. “Of course. I won’t tell. It was… maybe we were sleeping. It could have been a dream.”

It was ridiculous, of course, but Lavender leapt on the possibility desperately. “That’s it,” she cried. “Just a dream.”

In the hay nearby, there was a sharp inhalation of breath and then a piercing shriek, and both Oliver and Lavender spun around to see what was going on. The little girl Hermione had brought back the night before was standing there, her face as white as snow, her tangled hair wild around her, and her eyes fixed on Lavender and Oliver as if they were monsters.

“Leave me alone,” she shrieked, tangling her fingers in her hair. “Leave me alone!”

“L-Lucky!” Lavender stammered. “It’s all right, we won’t hurt you!”

Her screams had woken everyone else up and Draco was the first to her side. He knelt beside her and started murmuring soft things in her ear, his hands stroking her skinny arms. She gradually relaxed, her breathing softening, and then she wrapped her arms around his neck and he lifted her against his chest, shooting Lavender and Oliver a dirty look before climbing out of the loft with the child.

“What did you do?” Hermione asked breathlessly, still mostly asleep.

“Nothing!” Lavender cried.

“Who was that little girl?” Oliver was feeling slightly guilty, his face flushing as he remembered what exactly he and Lavender had nearly done.

Hermione explained to him and the others where she had found Lucky, and then that they were going to be leaving the stable to return to Dumbledore immediately. Glad to be leaving the stable at last, they all went about packing up the camp, Lavender and Oliver careful not to make eye contact.


Draco was furious. It was one thing for him to publicly announce that he would have nothing to do with the little girl, it was quite another to watch Lavender and Wood torment the poor thing and make her cry.

He carried Lucky out of the stable towards the campfire where Terry Boot was making breakfast. He got Lucky a piece of bread and left her by the warmth of the fire, walking into the trees almost aimlessly. He didn’t like to be around people for very long anymore, if he ever did. They always seemed to want to talk, and that was something Draco did not want to do.

He knew where he was going even without really caring to ask himself why. He had found the place on their first day in the stable, when he had gone to scout the area, leaving the setting up of camp to the others. Ever since then, he had retreated there whenever he needed to get away from them.

A weeping willow grew beside a small pond that had frozen over, and carved into its twisted trunk were the initials ‘K.R + L.S.’ inside a heart, and for some reason, this was the only place he found peace. He sat on the knot of roots at the base of the tree and closed his eyes, leaning back against the trunk.

His eyes flew open when he heard someone speak. “I thought I’d find you here.”

“Weasley?” He asked, wary. And then there was that strange feeling, of someone else stepping into his skin, the same he had felt in the ruins with Hermione. His lips started moving and words that were not his came from his lips. “You shouldn’t be here.”

Ron stepped forward, looking solemn. “No one saw me leave. They don’t know I’m here. I couldn’t stay away.”

Draco stood up slowly, licking his lips. “This is wrong,” he said. “You know this is wrong.”

Ron stepped forward, very close now, his chest nearly touching Draco’s. “How can something like this be wrong?” He whispered against Draco’s lips. He put his hands against the tree trunk on either side of Draco’s head so that he could feel the initials carved there pressing into his skin and Draco couldn’t turn away. “You want me, I know you do.”

“No,” Draco lied.

Ron grinned wickedly. “That’s not what you said last time,” and then he slammed his lips against Draco’s, forcing his tongue passed Draco’s lips and into his mouth. Draco moaned, opening his mouth wider and moving his tongue against Ron’s, his hands coming up to lay hesitantly on Ron’s chest. He could feel his body heat through the layers he wore, his heart pounding behind his ribs. It was going nearly as quickly as his own.

It was when Ron was running his fingers through Draco’s hair and trying to force his knee between Draco’s thighs and Draco was fumbling with Ron’s pants when reality came back with a jolt.

Ron’s tongue was still in Draco’s mouth.

His eyes grew huge and Ron pulled away as fast as he could, whimpering and scrubbing his mouth with the back of his hand. Draco, a little disoriented, still breathing heavily, the taste of Ron still lingering in his mouth, couldn’t help but smirk a little.

Ron started swearing violently. “What the fuck was that?” He asked finally. “Malfoy, if you ever do that again—”

“If I remember correctly,” Draco sneered. “You kissed me. But don’t get your knickers in a knot, Weasley, it happened back at the ruins with Hermione as well.”

Ron’s face was turning an alarming shade of red, and he snarled, “Oh, that’s all right then. Everything’s all right, because you snogged Hermione as well.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “I’m flattered you’re so intent upon believing that whatever this was, it was real, but I assure you, it’s wasn’t. I think it’s an aftereffect of all the magic that was used during the siege. Sort of like the Imperius Curse, I guess.”

Ron was scowling. “It was still disgusting.”

“I rather liked it,” Draco said mildly, sarcastically. “You’re quite good at that whole ‘ravaging against a tree trunk’ thing, Weasley. I was suitably impressed.”

Ron glanced down at Draco’s hips and then back up again. “Yeah, I can tell.”

For the first time, Draco looked slightly embarrassed, but he didn’t comment on it, only adjusted his robes and pushed away from the tree. “We’d best be getting back, before you try to sexually assault me again,” he said stiffly, walking back towards the stable.

Ron, spitting a few times and trying to wipe the kiss from his memory, followed him.

The camp was nearly packed up, which was what Ron had searched Draco out originally to tell him, and the others were waiting to leave, broomsticks in hand.

Hermione was standing with Lucky, who was wearing a set of Hermione’s robes and wrapped, again, in Hermione’s cloak. Draco cursed softly at the responsibility he felt towards the bratty little girl, but that didn’t stop him from walking over to her and pulling Hermione’s cloak off and handing it back. “You’ll freeze without it,” he said curtly. “I’ll take the kid with me. I’m the best flier here. I’ll wrap her in my cloak, she’ll be warm enough.”

Before Hermione could argue, Draco gestured impatiently to Lucky and walked away. Much to Hermione’s annoyance, Lucky happily followed.

There were twelve of them in the unit, and they flew too high for any Muggles to see them. They flew without rests until sunset, when they finally arrived back at the isolated castle were Dumbledore had taken refuge after the fall of Hogwarts.

Seandrar Castle was perched high atop a jagged cliff beside the ocean, and as such, was a barren, windswept, frigid place. The only good thing about it was that it was only reachable by air, the road leading to it from the town a long ways away had been washed out years before. It was easy to defend, and therefore the most logical place for Dumbledore and his forces to gather, planning their counterattacks and defensive strategies. It was all pointless, they knew. No amount of defensive maneuvering would help. What they needed was a concrete plan to destroy Voldemort, and their only weapon, Harry Potter, lay in a magic-induced trance of some sort that no one had been able to break.

They landed in the inner courtyard, and Charlie Weasley, the head of the sunset guard, came running out of the northern watchtower. He was wearing, as usual, dragon’s hide, though he hadn’t been close to a dragon in years. After the war had begun, he had left Romania to do all he could to help.

“Any news?” he cried, skittering to a stop.

“They’ve got a strong hold on the forest and Hogwarts,” Ron said with a shrug. “From what Hermione’s told me of the ruins, there’s not much worth going back for. What of Harry?”

“The same.” Charlie forced a smile. “I’m sure he’ll be fine. If anyone can help him, Dumbledore can.”

Ron nodded, and then glanced at Hermione. “You better bring Lavender and the kid to Dumbledore. As crazy as it is, she can probably explain what that kid is doing here better than you can. I’ve got to go wash my teeth and see if I can’t conjure up some breath mints or something.”

Draco choked back what sounded suspiciously like laugher (except Draco didn’t laugh anymore, not since the fall of Hogwarts), and Ron left quickly.

Hermione wanted to run straight to the medical facility to visit Harry, but she knew that he wouldn’t even know she was there, so she took Lucky’s hand and led her into the castle, Lavender following behind and mumbling to herself quietly.

Dumbledore was waiting for them in the room he had converted into an office so that he and his commanding officers could plan their strategies and such. He offered Hermione a serene smile when she stepped into the room, touched Lavender’s shoulder gently, and then crouched before Lucky, his eyebrows drawn down into a thoughtful frown.

“Most interesting,” he said softly, brushing his fingers along her grimy cheekbone. “What is your name, child?”

“Lucky Arlington,” the girl replied.

“We found her in the ruins of Hogwarts,” Hermione explained.

Dumbledore’s head snapped up and his eyes narrowed. “You were not to go into the ruins,” he said, his voice unusually steely. “It was a scout mission only.”

Hermione grew flustered. “I know, but Lavender had a vision,” she said weakly.

Dumbledore straightened, turning to Lavender thoughtfully. “A vision? Madam Trelawney always said you had great potential to become a seer, but I had learned early on not to trust everything that fool woman said. But this is interesting indeed.” His eyes flickered back to Hermione. “But that still does not give you the right to risk your life.”

“It was for Harry,” Hermione mumbled. “Lavender said there was a treasure in the ruins that would save him. And besides, Malfoy came with me as well.”

Now Dumbledore, whose face had never shone anything more than sharp intelligence or soft humour in the days before the war, looked furious. “You risked him as well? He is perhaps our only hope!”

Hermione flinched. “I had to get the treasure! She said it was Harry’s only hope!”

“And where is this treasure?”

“I left it,” said Hermione reluctantly. “It was leave it or leave Lucky, and I couldn’t leave her.”

“There is more than one type of treasure.” Lavender’s voice was soft and trembling. She sounded as if she were in pain. Her emerging talent as a seer brought with it intense migraines.

“Indeed,” Dumbledore echoed, smiling at the little girl. “We will discuss this later. First we must see to Miss Arlington. Miss Brown, I suggest you go to the medical wing, they will be able to help with the headaches; and when that is taken care of, perhaps you should report to Miss Caraway, head of the Division of Prophecy. I am sure they will welcome an emerging divination talent. Miss Granger, take the child to Miss Weasley, she will know how to care for her better than you or I, and then go and find Mister Malfoy and Ron Weasley and meet me back here. I’ve got some quick research to do and then, if Miss Arlington is who I believe she is, I will have something to tell you.” He crouched again before the child, touching her shoulder gently. “Fear not, Lucky,” he said very gently. “You will not be harmed here.” He glanced up at Hermione. “Be sure to tell Miss Weasley to be careful with her, though I am sure she’ll be most gentle anyway. Miss Arlington has been in more pain than you can even imagine.”


The war with Voldemort and his army had taken its toll on the wizarding world, and had left more than a few children orphans. One section of the castle had been allotted for these orphans, and Ginny Weasley assigned as their guardian. She was the best suited for the task as she was very gentle and loving, very sweet, and children naturally took to her. She was even more suited to the task as she was certainly not made for dangerous missions and magical battles. She was too kindhearted.

Whenever orphaned children were found, they were sent to the north wing of the castle where Ginny and her orphans lived, and Ginny would do her best to comfort them when they cried out for their mothers and rock them back to sleep after they had bad dreams.

There were only five children in the castle as most of the orphans they had found had been sent away to aunts or uncles. Ginny was devoted to her charges. The morning Lucky arrived, she had woken early to begin preparing the lessons she intended to teach the three older children that day. When Hermione stepped into the room Ginny had converted into a schoolhouse, the sun had just risen, but Ginny was already up at her desk, lost in her notes.

“Ginny,” Hermione called, smiling a little when Ginny jumped. She pulled Lucky forward. “Dumbledore told me to bring her here, she needs to be cleaned up.”

Ginny’s mouth dropped open a little as she stared at the skinny, filthy girl, and her large brown eyes filled with tears. “Poor little darling,” she whispered, leaving her desk and falling to her knees before Lucky. “Where did you find her?”

“At Hogwarts. Dumbledore told me to tell you to be gentle with her.”

“Of course I will,” Ginny said, smiling gently at the girl. “I’ll take good care of her.”

“Her name’s Lucky.” Hermione petted the girl’s tangled hair and told her good-bye before hurrying away, and Ginny took Lucky’s hand.

“You’re all right here,” she said softly, smiling. Lucky watched her solemnly, her dark blue eyes skeptical. “My name is Ginny. Come along, we’d best get you cleaned up.”

Ginny took her to the bathing chamber, running her a warm bath while Lucky watched worriedly from the doorway. She still hadn’t spoken, and Ginny wondered if she even knew how. After the bath was run, scented heavily with watermelon bubbles, she turned to Lucky and held out her hand. “It’s all right,” she said coaxingly, smiling again in that way that few children could resist. Lucky reluctantly took her hand.

“What is it?” she whispered, her voice thick. She was staring with horror at the bathtub.

Ginny frowned. “You’ve never had a bath before?”

Her eyes filled with tears. “I don’t remember,” she said.

“Shh. It’s okay, Lucky.” Ginny hugged her and Lucky sniffled. She didn’t want to cry in front of Ginny because crying was wrong. That’s what she remembered about her mother. Being told crying was wrong. She didn’t want to cause Ginny to look at her the way her mother had every time she had cried.

Ginny took off the robes Hermione had wrapped the girl in and took her hand, helping her into the bath. “I’ll help you,” she promised.

She washed Lucky’s hair and without the dirt in it, it was so black that it seemed to have midnight blue highlights. Ginny helped her scrub the filth from her skin. Her complexion was very pale and there was a faint strawberry-coloured birth mark on one of her cheekbones.

When Lucky was clean, her skin pink from the warm water, Ginny lifted her out of the bath and wrapped her in a huge towel. She then sat on the floor, lifting Lucky onto her lap and grabbing a comb, gently working her way through the tangles.

Just as Ginny finished with Lucky’s hair, a strange feeling came over her, like a cold fist had reached inside her head and wrapped its fingers around her mind. Her mouth began moving, her voice cold, as words she did no mean to say spilled from her lips.

“Your father is a mad man,” she snarled. Her fingers tightened around Lucky’s arm. “We never needed him. If he wants to go off and join with Voldemort, then all the more power to him! We don’t need him. I’ll never cry again, mark my words, I’ll never cry again. Crying is for the weak!”

In her arms, Lucky, looking terrified, started to cry. “You’re hurting me, mama,” she cried, trying to pull away.

“What did I tell you about crying?” Ginny shouted. “You’re disgusting! Stop it, Lucky!”

Lucky pulled away, sobbing, and crawling under the sink, flinching. Ginny kept shouting, the words she said weren’t hers at all, but she couldn’t make it stop.

Then the door flew open and Belle, a tall, slender, brown-eyed eight year old, stood there, looking frightened. “Ginny,” she cried.

Ginny’s mouth snapped shot and the cold fist in her mind slipped away. She touched her forehead, shaking her head. “What… Oh god. Lucky…”

Lucky, still crying, shot out from under the sink, wrapping her arms around Ginny’s knees. “I’m sorry,” she cried. “Don’t send me to daddy, don’t send me away! I’ll never do it again!”

“No,” Ginny said weakly. “Lucky, I didn’t… That wasn’t…” She looked to Belle for help and Belle, more mature than any eight year old had a right to be, swept to her side.

She pried Lucky’s arms away and knelt beside her. “It’s all right, no one will send you anywhere,” she promised. Ginny leaned against the wall, sinking until she was on her knees, still shaking. What on earth had happened?

Taking a deep breath and forcing herself to calm down, she touched Lucky’s hand. “I’m sorry,” she told her. “I didn’t mean to shout.”

“It wasn’t you,” Lucky said, her arms wrapped around Belle’s neck. “I make people someone else sometimes.”

“No, honey, you don’t,” Ginny whispered, even as chills ran up her arms.

“That’s why mama sent me to daddy.” Lucky buried her face in Belle’s long hair, and Ginny closed her eyes.

“It’s all right,” she said. “Whatever it is, we’ll help you.”

“Ginny,” Belle whispered, holding the littler girl tightly. “The others are looking for you. We were scared you went away.”

“Of course I didn’t. Let’s take Lucky to the dormitory and find her some clothes, all right?” She forced a soothing smile, trying to ease the worry she saw in Belle’s eyes. She was frightened enough of her outburst without terrifying Belle. Maybe she was going mad?