Yours in Mayhem |Dramione

30 yours in candor

Dear Granger--

...Still I admire you.

It was me. I was the one who...

Who is this bloody git named Cinderella?

I did all I could.

Will you save a dance for me?

My father was sent to Azkaban... Kill or be killed... Sectumsempra... Everything is where it should be... Magic is might...

My house and I would like to congratulate you on...

Meet me at sunrise on the point where the sky kisses the sea.

It was all the unsent letters. Flying into his view one by one and then being whisked away. Ink from parchment and parchment from ink, separating themselves over and over again.

The very last one was the one that he was too afraid to send her. He just wants to eat breakfast with her on the beach. The day before...

Draco had the wind knocked out of him in a swirl of letters and memories. Periods of intense light and darkness came in interloping sequences that it was hard to see which is which from the fatigue in his eyes and for a moment he forgot who he was and what was supposed to be. His chin hit a dark carpeted floor-- the floor eerily familiar-- he just don't know where he has seen it but most likely in memory. He felt like he's going to pass out or throw up as the floor started to move. He felt the mechanisms beneath them started churning and cranking as it moved forward.

"Where the fuck am I?" He demanded out loud as he stood up. He felt the heaviness of the locket around his neck, it was hot but the sodding robes that he was wearing made him feel that much more warmer. It made him lose head. The sudden movement made him sway, grasping around as a strong wind came from an open window where sunlight streamed and swept away all the letters that he didn't know was beneath him. It was a tornado of parchment all about to be sucked out from the moving-- now that he saw what was around him from all the boxes where children sat watching him-- train. He jumped around not knowing why he can't reach the letters, are the ceilings too high? This is surreal.

The letters are all getting swept out of the open window. Out in the passing glittering open blue of the sky. Even his worn out journal was flying out.

Everything's too fast, the sun too bright, the wind too strong.

A small hand came up from beside him and was helping him forcibly close the window.

All the letters have flown out the window and out the train and only the journal remained. One page  stuck to the window, holding the journal steadfast to the fast moving vehicle. The small hand yanked out the page and the journal fell from the train, into the waters under the bridge and they were finally able to close the window. It was instantly less chaotic.

"What in the actual living, breathing, bloody hell did you do that for?"

The owner of the small hand has her face covered by bushy brown hair further disheveled by the wind. Draco felt his breath get caught in his throat as she moved the hair away from her face. Amber eyes greeted him, small plump pink lips, creamy freckled skin, stubborn nose, defiant jaw.

She was here in the flesh.

Fresh as a sunrise at only eleven years old. But if she's eleven then that also makes him...

"It will actually do you good if you cut out the constant swearing. I personally find it unnecessary and unintentionally offensive. Also, you fell from the ceiling, did you know?"