In My Dreams [Draco Malfoy]

chapter twenty: with white knuckles

A/N

Hello! I know it's been awhile since I posted an update and I am sorry. I went back to college last week and I feel like I've been jumping through hoops just to get everything situated. This, unfortunately, left very little time for writing, though I hope things will be easier now. Let me know if your guys' schools are behind schedule with COVID, too!

Anyway, this chapter isn't my best piece of writing but I'm ready to be done with it and get back on my own schedule. Most likely, I'll only be able to update once a week, but as long as they're going up consistently, I'm appeased.

(Also, new cover!! I make all my story covers myself, so I hope you like it! :} )

All in all, thanks for your patience and thanks for reading!

Take care of yourselves!

-Mya

INDIGO

I didn't fall back to sleep that night. I spent the following hours drawing and trying not to think—about Cedric, about Voldemort, about Dumbledore and Draco... about myself... For months, I had felt like my life was spiraling out of control, and it was at times like this that I wanted someone to talk to, times like this when I wanted to tell someone exactly what was happening. But I would never actually do it, because to do so would endanger them.

Aria and Blaise remained to be the only two at Hogwarts who knew about me (outside of all of the professors now), and the only things they knew in regards to my involvement with the resistance were 1.) the vision I'd had on the night of the Third Task and 2.) the few theories I had shared with her, Stephen and Su Li. Well, Blaise didn't even know the second part, and neither had any knowledge of my dream of Frank Bryce's murder last summer, nor Dumbledore's impending death.

And I had no intention of telling them anything unless absolutely necessary.

Though, knowing this certainly did nothing to lift my spirits.

When morning came, Aria, Stephen and Su Li had quite obviously realized that I had been crying. Rather heavily, if the swelling was anything to go off of, but it had been months since I had last cried and getting it out had felt too good to deny myself the pleasure. Even if I'd had to keep it to a low volume at risk of waking up my several roommates...

For the next two days, my friends made a point of discussing everything but why I had been upset. By the time Friday reared its head, I was feeling extremely grateful to them, listening as they joked and poked fun at each other, ever careful to keep the mood light, despite it being significantly overcast by my presence.

The subject of today: the party.

"Maybe we should've smuggled in some more fags for tomorrow night," said Stephen, looking at his own pack. After a week of trying to make it last, it was running very low, and he had been getting crankier and crankier from the nicotine withdrawal.

"Well, it's not like we can just go and purchase some in Hogsmeade," said Aria. Stephen opened his mouth to reply but she held up a hand. "And no. The goat lady isn't an option."

"She isn't a goat lady," said Stephen.

"She does herd goats," said Su Li gently.

"But she isn't a goat lady," Stephen insisted. "She's an herbalist."

"She's a hippie, and therefore cannot be trusted," said Aria. Then she looked at me. "No offense, Indie."

"None taken."

I was from a family of hippies, there was no point in pretending I wasn't. Sure, Mum may not look the part but she'd have me chugging down gallons of tea before she ever let me touch a pill.