In My Dreams [Draco Malfoy]

chapter two: the world cup

INDIGO

As I fell asleep that first night at the Zabini's, I came to two conclusions, the first of which being that I had dreamt of Draco Malfoy. It was a rather easy verdict to arrive at, simply because I know less than one percent of the planet has grey eyes. So, the plausible likelihood of me dreaming about such a rare thing, then meeting someone who possessed said anomaly was, quite understandably, slim to none. That, in addition to his fair complexion and tall stature, I knew it had to be him. Why I had dreamt of him at all, on the other hand, I hadn't the faintest idea, but I rarely had the answers to such questions anyhow.

My second conclusion: Blaise wanted something. This was decided upon using far more thorough means. After Malfoy's seer comment (which, thankfully, was allowed to slip away after I had so effectively shut the topic down), lunch carried on and ended with us listening to Nott as he regaled stories of his "female crusades," as he had ever-so charmingly put it. I was listening but couldn't help noticing the way Blaise was watching me. It was as if he was attempting to decode every move I made, attempting to read my every feeling, thought and memory. It was kind of unnerving, to be completely honest, and I had trouble not recoiling in the discomfort. Whatever he could possibly want, I decided not to think about it until later...

When Malfoy and Nott hiked up to Blaise's room that evening, I retired to bed heaving a breath of relief. It was nice to be alone. Thoughts were never easy to collect in the company of others, especially when said others are rather forcibly trying to include you in conversation. After saying goodnight to Mum, I changed into my pajamas and laid down for bed. l had been wary that I wouldn't be able to sleep in such an unnaturally pristine room but I fell asleep ensconced in soft lavender-smelling sheets and pillows.

Mum must have told Mrs. Zabini about my sleeping habits, I thought, entirely aware that lavender is one of the most highly recommended natural remedies for nightmares and insomnia. It was a thoughtful gesture but anyone who caught a glimpse of how I had set up the bedside table would know something wasn't quite right. There was a book on yoga and meditation, a large box of passionflower tea bags, a bottle of Roman chamomile oil, and four bottles of dietary supplements: melatonin, magnesium, vitamin D and omega-3. These weren't odd things to come by, considering what I was using them for, but the wizarding world had such a condemnatory perspective on any Muggle remedies, I always felt a little sheepish when confronted with what they were. Mostly because I was constantly thinking about the day I would have to explain that they weren't drugs, though it wouldn't be completely unusual for a Ravenclaw to be caught with something like that either...

The following morning, Mum and I awoke well past lunchtime. Mrs. Zabini explained that it wasn't a big deal since we would be meeting with the Minister, as well as many other of her Ministry colleagues, for dinner.

It wasn't going to be a formal occasion, considering that we would have to dress warmly for the match, which started at midnight. Because it was going to be late in the evening and I had a tendency to attract mosquitoes as if I was the last blood-pumping organism on the planet, I had taken care to pack a pair of skating tights I usually took with me to Hogwarts. They were nude and thick, and would do well to off-put any little vampires.

Plus, they would go very well with my: an off-white turtle-neck, a black and white plaid miniskirt, a coppery suede jacket and a pair of black combat boots. I would also be carrying a small over-the-shoulder style clasp frame with an undetectable extension charm on it, containing my travel notebook (in case I happen to fall asleep or, on a rare occasion, have a vision while awake), a few galleons and Muggle pound notes, lip balm and snacks in case Mum or I got hungry during the match.

By the time all of us were ready, Blaise and his mother dressed in similar business casual, it was nearly four-thirty in the evening, perfect timing for us to head out for the World Cup. It was to be an outdoor excursion, meaning we couldn't use the Floo Network, as there would be no fireplace to appear in. So, the four of us—Mum, Blaise, Mrs. Zabini and I—all left the Zabini house and trekked out onto the grounds. Without much comment or indication as to where we were going, Mrs. Zabini led us across the field and toward the border-line of trees. There, safely hidden between the towering oaks, sat an old wheelbarrow. It looked like something I might see while antique shopping, fashioned entirely from wood and obviously from a time long-forgotten. I couldn't help wondering who might have used it once upon a time. I'm sure the Zabini manor hadn't always been inhabited by only the family and the few staff. Perhaps, once, it had been owned by Muggles, or business-owners, that enjoyed exotic landscaping or gardening. It was a little far-fetched but Mrs. Zabini seemed as though she couldn't care less.