We are kissing.

It's bright outside, and we are lying on the grass; our bodies intertwined beneath the late January sun. The sun shines through his hair, illuminating his intense gaze. I am blushing, but staring curiously back at him nonetheless - his striking features never fail to amaze me. He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, saying, "You're so beautiful."

His grey eyes look more stunning than ever as I stare into them, an abyss of silver, shades upon shades of pure metallic, almost unreal -

-and then I wake up, hot and sweaty, staring not at the eyes of Draco Malfoy but at the crimson drapes of my four poster bed.

What the hell?

Did I just have a dream about Draco Malfoy? And not just any dream – we had been kissing and... This isn't happening. No. I shake myself and stand up out of my bed, giving it an accusatory glare as I do so. No, I refuse to acknowledge it. The dream doesn't mean anything, it can't... But then again, people say that your dreams are just really your subconscious speaking and -

"You okay, Isobel?" says a voice behind me, and I jump. Hermione is standing at the corner of her bed, looking at me weirdly, like she knows exactly what is going on.

"Bad dream," I mumble, straightening my covers to avoid her piercing gaze. I look up at her guiltily, on the brink of confessing. But she just gives me a little smile, and moves on to change.

It's weird that I should dream about Draco, as he has been avoiding me for a while now. He hasn't talked to me or even acknowledged me whatsoever for the past week, pardoning the occasional awkward eye contact. He seems sulky, which is strange, but I prefer it this way – there had been some kind of – something - developing between the two of us, and it had to be stopped.

-

As I walk to my first class, I furrow my eyebrows and try to forget about it. But it's hard, and I have to restrain very hard from hitting myself – Draco Malfoy? Really? Why couldn't I have chosen someone sensible to dream about, like Harry or Ron?

Just then, the two pop up beside me. Immediately, I feel a huge sense of relief; if there is anyone to cheer me up, it's these two. I give them a tired smile. "Hey."

Harry gives me a mischievous grin. "Hi, Isobel. You happy to see Ron?"

I stare back blankly. "Uh, sure. Hi, Ron." But Ron's eyes are on the stone floor, determinedly avoiding mine.

"Go on, Ron," Harry teases. "You are her boyfriend after all."

"Oh!" I flush, understanding the situation all too quickly. "Ron, I - Sorry about that. Did Malfoy say something to you?"

Ron looks up, his face bright red. "Yeah, he mentioned something about it yesterday."

I smile sheepishly. "I'm so sorry. It just slipped out."

"If you wanted Ron to be your boyfriend," continues Harry, slinging an arm around my shoulders as we walk, "there were better ways to go about it, Isobel. I would happily have-"

I interrupt him by awkwardly shrugging off his arm. "No, no," I say, with a weak giggle. "Malfoy was annoying me, and I was just saying it to, uh-" I pause. I'm not sure I want to tell them what was really going on.

Harry looks at me seriously. "Isobel, if he's bothering you, you just tell us-"

"I know!" I say quickly. "Don't worry, I can handle him."

"Handle who?" says a voice very close to my ear, making me jump.

Harry and Ron round on Draco immediately, scowling. "Leave her alone," says Harry, warningly. People swarm around us, trying to get to class. I shoot Harry a grateful smile, but my heartbeat picks up nonetheless.

"There's no need for aggression, Potter," replies Malfoy coolly, but his eyes are fixed solely on mine. "She's a big girl."

Noticing how close Draco is to me, Ron steps forward angrily. "What do you want, Malfoy?"

Draco shoots Ron an even fouler glare than usual. "Just a word with your girlfriend, Weasel," he replies, and with a strong tug, pulls me to the side of the corridor and out of the flow of students. I motion reluctantly for Harry and Ron to go on without me. They slouch onwards, hard looks on their faces.

Draco faces me, leaning at ease against the stone wall. "Finished that potions essay?"

I narrow my eyes at him and fold my arms. "Why the sudden change of attitude?"

He looks at me with big, innocent eyes. "Whatever do you mean?"

"I mean that this last week you haven't been quite as annoying as usual." I purse my lips. "You were very distant."

"Missed me, did you?" When I don't reply, he grins widely. "I don't know what you're talking about," he says. "So? That potions essay?"

I roll my eyes and turn away to look at the crowd of students, which is starting to disperse into class now. "I changed my mind," I tell him. "You were less annoying back when you were mean."

"Ouch, Belly. I thought you wanted me to be nice to you?"

"I said nice, not so... Melodramatic."

"I was just trying to help," he says, his voice singsong.

"Well," I say. "I'm seeing far more of you these days than I would like to." He stays silent, watching me. The corridor has emptied out now, leaving just the two of us leaning against the stone wall. However, for two people – two enemies – we are in awfully close proximity. I clear my throat awkwardly. "Was this really worth making me late to class for?"

He smiles. "Absolutely."

"I thought prefects were supposed to set a good example?" I go on, speaking nervously through the silence. "That – being late – that's not a very good example."

He cocks his head, as if the conversation is boring him. "Exceptions are made for inquisitorial members."

I snort. "You're part of the inquisitorial squad? Oh, I should have known." He says nothing, so I go on. "You're perfect for it. It's basically a group of suck-ups who don't do anything except 'patrol the corridors', which is rubbish-"

"Did you know," he interrupts, "that we can take house points?"

"I highly doubt that."

"Oh we can," he says. "And especially from people who insult the board of organization like that."

I gaze at him unabashed. "Prove it."

Without warning, he turns and nudges me against the wall, locking me in place with his knee. "Make me", he breathes.

I gasp. "I-"

"How many points from Gryffindor?" he asks softly, a smirk tempting to play across his lips.

I determinedly avoid his eyes, staring at the wall behind him. I don't struggle, as I am trapped now, but at the same time, I'm not uncomfortable. I bite my lip.

"I can feel your heart beating," Draco says, his eyes sparkling. I gulp – my heart isn't simply beating, it's hammering, ready to burst out of my ribcage. He sneaks closer. "I bet Weasley never does this to you."

I can feel the warmth of his breath against my face. "What are you doing?" I hear myself say, my voice unusually high.

He grins. "What are you doing?"

"I don't-"

"Are you uncomfortable?"

I hesitate. He's close enough to me now that I can see every tiny hair on his face; I could probably count every one of his eyelashes if I wanted to. His hand is touching mine, barely, and I can't help but notice how much softer it was than I imagined. I realise that I never noticed the pink curve of his lips, or how many shades of light and dark blue splash his grey eyes.

He is in such close proximity that I can feel his heart beating – but nowhere near as hard as mine, which is by now thumping in my throat; in such close proximity, that I could easily just lean forward and-

Then I come to my senses and shrug him off.

You see, when things shake you in life, they don't always do it all at once. They often pass in a blur, and hit you bit by bit until you understand what's going on. You're left at the end of it to figure out what had just happened, how you feel towards it, and even things you should have said or should have done. But now, I am scared and I am confused, and I make this very clear to Draco as I clutch my books to my chest and hurry out of the deserted corridor without a word.

However, as I cross the Hogwarts courtyard to my next class, I realize I've never quite appreciated how blue the sky can be.