As a lot of you already know, I wrote this story ages ago and many people have wondered if it was going to be continued or not. Well, here's the thing: it was originally supposed to be a one-shot. However, since the requests for a follow-up (or a few), I've been thinking and writing and thinking. Anyway, my point is that I have finally decided to post the companion pieces I've written – I was unsure at first, but I'm gonna do it! These pieces will come over time in the near future.

First, though, I've fixed this up a bit and – quite obviously – reposted it both for your entertainment and as a little reminder.

Enjoy! (Again.)


Draco Malfoy doesn't remember much from his childhood. But he remembers a girl. A girl with brown and hair brown eyes. He remembers her laugh and her voice, but he can't remember her face for the life of him.

A boy with white blonde hair.

A girl with chestnut hair and red ribbons in her hair.

The sound of a swing swinging.

"What's your name?"

"Mummy tells me not to talk to strangers."

"I'm Draco. Draco Malfoy. And now we aren't strangers anymore."


There's something about this girl, in his dreams. There's something so pure and raw and real. Like she's more than just a girl in his dreams. Like she's real. A memory.

But then she couldn't be a memory, could she? Because he'd be able to remember her. But he doesn't.

She's just a girl, with a sweet voice and an adorable giggle, hiding inside his dreams. And he wishes she were real.


A green dress.

A silver tie.

Sand between his toes and in her hair.

"My parents are dentists."

"What's a dentist?"

"They look after your teeth."

"I didn't know that muggles needed their teeth looked after."

"What's a muggle?"


Eight year-old Draco Malfoy wonders why she's in all of his dreams – except his nightmares, she's never in his nightmares. And he's glad for that, because she would be scared and he doesn't want her to be scared. But in every other dream, she's there. Most times she doesn't stop talking. But sometimes she just stands there, watching him with those curious brown eyes and curly brown hair.

That's all he sees of her. Her eyes, her hair, and sometimes the occasional outfit. He never sees her face. He doesn't even know her name.



Damp air.

Worms and mud and rain water. Pink rain boots.

"What's your father like?"


"I've met your mother, and she seems very nice. But I've never met your father."

"He's...he doesn't like...your kind."

"My kind of what?"

"Girls. They have cooties, you know."

"No we don't! Boys have cooties!"

A squeal.




He wonders if she's real. And if she's real, why doesn't he remember her? Why can't he see her?

He's nine when he tells his mother about the girl in his dreams. His mother gives him that disapproving look and he cowers under her light blue eyes, normally so warm and inviting, but now so cold and withdrawn.

"It's just a dream, Dragon," she tells him.

And somehow, for the first time in his entire life, he doesn't believe her. Nor does he understand why she's lying to him.



"What do you want to be when you grow up?"

"I dunno. I've never really thought about."

"I wanna be a writer."

"That's a surprise."

Giggle. Slap.

"I think you'd be a good writer."

"I think you'll be good, no matter what you do."

Hot cocoa and marshmallows.


There are moments, he realizes when he's 10 years old, that he doesn't remember. There are holes in his childhood that he can't fill. It's like he's lost bits and pieces of his life in the shuffle.

Every now and then he can scrounge up enough bits and pieces of his memories to paint a picture of his past. But the picture is never clear. It's like a picture that has faded over time and crumbled in its conditions. You can see the outlines, the shapes and the colours, but you can't see the subject. Sheis that subject. Faceless. Nameless.


Real to him, at least.


Rays of sunshine.

Chirping birds.

Blooming flower.

Budding trees.

"Does your father love you?"

"My father? Of course he does, my daddy loves me."



"I don't think my father loves me..."


"...he's never told me. And he's always angry. Always."

"Your daddy loves you. He has to love you, he's your daddy."


He hears his parents fighting and even though he knows he shouldn't, he stands outside his father's study and listens. They're speaking in loud hushed tones, anger and betrayal in his mother's, and annoyance in his father's.

She tells him it was a mistake to do what he did.

[What did he do?]

He tells her he thought they agreed never to talk about it again.

They did, but his son is starting to get suspicious.

"Does he know?"

"No. But he'll figure it out sooner or later."

"Well then until he does…"

"I told you, Lucius. I told you it was a terrible idea."

Draco doesn't understand what's going on. He wants to ask them what they've done but he's afraid of the answer. A part of him already knows, though. He knows it has something to do with the girl in his dreams.

The girl from his past.




Toy boats.

"Can I marry you some day?"

"Draco! We're six years old-"

"That's why I said some day."


"Yes, I'll marry you some day."


His dreams get more vivid as time goes on. More real. So real, that he can't wait to fall asleep and he doesn't want to wake up. He wants to stay, in whatever world they live in, forever.

He's happy in that world. Carefree.

He can't remember ever being happy in thisworld. Or carefree.


Muddy shoes.

Scraped knees.

Orange and red and yellow leaves.

"I can't see you anymore."

"W-what? Why? Did I do something wrong?"

"No, you didn't do anything wrong. I did."

"What'd you do?"

"I...I can't tell you. It's just...my father, he-"

"Doesn't like girls."


"Maybe we could talk to him? Maybe then he'd like me."

"He won't. I'm sorry."

"I wanted to keep you forever."

"Me too."