Rapunzel and the Three Little Dwarves

Draco's always had a dream. A life void of evil overlords, mangy hair and rotting corpses. Opening his eyes in the gentle rays of dawn, Draco never once thought about power, or blood-trodden helms. He reminisced of the rain, trees, and dirt.

Years later, when the war was over, life became much simpler. It had been so long since any of them had the freedom to choose; to live without the necessity of fighting. Draco had long forgotten to dream, lost in the horror and bloodshed of warfare. He wandered around aimlessly, lost in his own imagination, trapped in his lack of dreams.

It was almost like a fairy tale. As he wandered, he came across an enchanted forest. His shorn blond hair, tinged with the crimson of guilt, started to grow in ringlets, cascading down his shoulder. Leaving behind the pathetic cries of a huntsman and two abysmally overweight stepsisters, Draco ran.

He came to a stop, outside of a straw hut. As he slept that night, with coarse bed sheets which bruised his tender skin, he dreamt of a big bad wolf. Gusts of wind, seemingly brought on by magic, caused Draco to shiver and borough deeper into his bed of straw. The next morning, he decided to leave the straw hut.

Next, he came across a shack made of branches, harboring seven tiny beds. He dreamt again that night, of a dead girl, and her prince, preferring her lifeless form and carefully avoiding her lips. He woke up smelling of death, and found himself trapped in bloodbath, ex-girlfriends staring at him with their lifeless eyes. He wrote with their blood, but left by nightfall.

Exhausted, he stumbled into a gorgeous mansion in the dept of the forest. The house was entwined with powerful magic, and the stench of rotting meat hung damply in the air. He witnessed the big bad wolf, gobbling wrinkled skin with his sharp teeth and large ears. Draco escaped on a broomstick, after trapping the witch in the oven.

Finally, Draco came across an ordinary wooden cabin. The windows were large, the sun was rising, and the trees glistened with morning dew. It was all so tantalising, and when Draco fell asleep, he dreamt of his long forgotten dream.

A cosy cabin, smelling strongly of damp wood. Large window seats, ideal for the perfect book, and perhaps, even the perfect sunrise. A porch with swings, laden with blankets, to watch the thunderstorms and witness the fairies duel. To wake up before the first glimpse of dawn, under a gray sky; to realise that the covers had fallen off during the night, and to be glad for the friction of the blankets; to cuddle against the damp, and to fall asleep listening to the pitter-patter of the rain, without a care in the world.

And, at last, Draco thought, when the window opened. It was Prince Harry, with absolutely beautiful words. Though uttered through a hoarse throat, with screams more restrained than Draco had hoped, there was the phrase he had been pining for, all his life.

Rapunzel, let down your hair.