"I was just wondering if you put me in the right house."
"Yes...you were particularly difficult to place. But I stand by what I said last year. You would have done well in Slytherin."
The rain trickled off the glass window, creating a soft, enjoyable lullaby. The falling droplets could lull anyone to a deep sleep, though one boy seemed to be deep in thought, ignoring the blessed song completely.
Harry Potter laid on his twin-sized bed, fully awake, without any chance of falling back to sleep again. He had awoken from yet another dream. Why his dreams disturbed him so much, he would never know. But this dream kept on repeating itself. The conversation between him and the Sorting Hat in his second year of Hogwarts. It was a simple, meaningless conversation, nothing more. Just small statements to fill the awkward quiet in Albus Dumbledore's office. Still, why, why was it bothering him now?
This had nothing to do with his light crush on Malfoy, right? Even if it did, it was still absurd. Harry and Draco, a package, or whatever you call couples these days. The thought was insane. But at the same time Harry couldn't help himself. The way Malfoy walked so elegantly, the way his hair flowed like sun drops over his eyes, hiding any trace of the blue-grey orbs. His skin resembled the outside of a porcelain doll, reflecting any light that it could catch, giving him that angelic glow. Even the way he talked seemed graceful, even though most of it were raging insults. Harry really couldn't resist from his current heartthrob.
But the dream was about being in Slytherin house, not his Malfoy-gawking obsession. The conversation replayed in his mind yet again.
'You would have done well in Slytherin.'
Those words were a deadly poison, and Harry knew it. If anyone in Gryffindor found out he was meant to be in Slytherin, we would never hear the end of it. To make matters worse, the very crush Harry admired too much knew about his dilemma. Why did Harry have the habit of talking to himself? If could keep his mouth shut when he was in his own lonesome, like a normal person, Malfoy would have never been that big of a problem to begin with. Harry could remember it like it was just a second ago.
"Harry Potter, meant to be in Slytherin? That one, I admit, I never thought I'd hear come out of your mouth." Draco stated very snarky-like. His hair was, again, in his eyes, making it nearly impossible to see his emotion clearly. "You know, you can transfer houses. Pansy did. She was appointed to Ravenclaw in the first year, but asked the headmaster to switch houses, and she is much happier now. At least she says she is anyway. It get annoying from time to time."
"What are you trying to say?"
"I'm saying, if you do switch, we welcome you. So, what do you say?" Malfoy extended his hand, much like how he did in year one. The smile on his face was sincere. Harry wanted to take his hand, just to feel how soft his skin was, then pull him in to touch their lips together, to feel his warmth.
Harry could feel himself blushing. Just the thought of Malfoy's possible taste made his erotic. Whether he was sweet or sour, Harry never could care, it would be perfect. It would be Malfoy. No, Draco. It would he Draco's blissful taste.
Harry's head snapped up. Damn it, he's still here. "Ah! Sorry Draco, I'll get back to you on that! Now, if you do so please,"
And the next thing Harry knew, he was laying in bed, watching his room-mates walk in to put themselves to sleep. The brunette would be sleeping to, if he knew he wouldn't have that stupid dream again.
Deciding this was the only way to put himself to sleep, Harry reached down to his leather book bag, shuffled for a while and pulled out a large book. His Divination textbook, to be exact. Why he did this, he'll never know. His problem was a dream, so might as well read about them.
Turning to page 394, he read the top of each paragraph, seeing if anything would be even relative to his Slytherin problem. It was irritating work. Nothing seemed to be able to help him. Just as he was about to close the large text, a word seemed to appear out of thin air. This may be it. The solution to his problem. Harry read intently, to the point the world around seemed nonexistent.
'Some dreams portray odd conversations. These are what are known as Transitional Dreams, or Pathway Leaders by the American branch of wizardry. These dreams are simple enough to understand, but are known to drive people mad. They are simply dreams swimming in our subconscious, giving us a clue to what should have happened in our past that would have made events more enjoyable in our future at that moment. These dreams contain conversations of some group or job. For the example, let's use a Hogwarts student. Perhaps said student felt out of place in his selected house, and dreamed about a seemingly harmless conversation about another house. All this student must do is place his right hand over his mouth and whisper into his palm 'Chargnificus Desterinus (Give placement in question here)' three times, the the subject in question will appear written on your palm. If the word is red, you are meant to be in that house. If any other color, it was never fated.'
"What utter trash!" Harry yelled angrily, slamming the book closed with a thud, shaking his bed.
"Huh? Waziz happenin'?" a tired voice quietly recited. Ron sat up tiredly, squinting in Harry's direction through sleep-covered eyes. "Mate, why are you up? It's two in the fucking morning."
"Sorry. I was just reading." Harry replied in a slight whisper. He leaned over the side of his bed, located his book bag again, and shuffled through to find room for his book. A snort sounded from above him, his motions ceasing.
"Ron? What's wrong?"
"N-nothing. Hermione's starting to rub off on you, reading your Divination book all hours." Ron called between laughs. "I don't even know why you'd think about reading it. You said yourself the subject was a waste of time. Or was it Hermione? Maybe Seamus? I don't know, I'll find out soon enough." Rolling onto his side, the ginger settled instantly, falling back into his previous engagement of sleep.
Harry laughed to himself. "It's was Draco." he whispered before following Ron example, asleep minutes later, his thoughts finally at rest.