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Notes: This story is the result of my interest in Fred and George’s Daydream Charms. My
take on how the charm works is that one eats a small piece of candy, says the spell, and
the fantasy starts – I hope that keeps any confusion at bay. Whether it does or doesn’t,
please review and tell me what you think.
Also, special thanks to PythonBlossom for the beta.
A Taste of Reality
-----------------------------------
She swallows the rest of the sweet, says the incantation, and tries not to let her excitement
get the best of her. While she is out in the open, the spell will only hold up as long as she
maintains a modicum of calm. Furthermore, the corridor near Snape’s old quarters –
which is where she will be seeing him – has retained the dour imprint and chastising spirit
of the wayward Potions Master. Even now, between shivers of anticipation, she can
almost hear her old professor’s finely acerbic tones telling her to get on with it or leave.
Ginny is only too willing to oblige.
As if trapped inside a haze, the door opens slowly. There are a few small candles spread
around the room to create the kind of atmosphere that, she has said, can really only exist
in fantasies. Undaunted, he has argued that it is just as well; he doesn’t see the sense in
liberally scattering sticks of fire about for ahhm-bee-ahnce (she swears that is just how he
says it), at the risk of setting his bedspread on fire. He insists that it is a very real
possibility as it happened to Blaise Zabini just last month, and had to be passed off as a
heating Charm gone wrong.
She laughs, knowing that this entire scene is just short of reality – there is no way that she
is arguing about romantic settings in the prodigal Draco Malfoy’s dormitory, nor is there
any remote possibility that the striking Blaise Zabini could be so severely lacking in
finesse.
Besides, he continues, voice deep and even slightly playful (tone caressing her a bit more
decently than the long-fingered hand pulling her closer), she is his lovely stick of fire,
melting deliciously under his warm gaze like the scant columns of ivory wax pooling in
the corners of the room.
She pulls away frowning. She is aware that their time is limited, but surely he could come
up with something better…she has never dreamed that his shameless attempts at flattery
could fall so disappointingly short. Hermione has often remarked that Ginny’s fascination
with Fred and George’s Charms would get her into trouble (while stubbornly denying her
own interest with the gags), and the redhead recognizes the validity of such an assertion
for the first time. It will not do to spend every waking moment hidden away in a
dormitory under a blanket of cloudy, dream-like passion, no matter how enticing that
actually sounds…
His expression is sardonic, though discerning, and when he blinks she sets aside her
concerns. Her feet are uncovered, save for white knee socks that are a bit itchy, especially
where they fold just under her knees. Knees that lead to soft thighs and blushing skin,
upon which his hand is alternately resting and stroking, at once calming and then
soothingly sensual. It almost feels good enough to distract her from the uncomfortable
twisting of her skirt around her waist.
She says so, and he smirks. He knows that if she were truly put off by her warped attire,
his pub-crawl come-ons, and the lack of romantic lighting, that her second-hand shoes
wouldn’t be halfway under the bed, nor would his tie be swinging jauntily from the
doorknob. What's more, she would remember how and when they had come off in the
first place.
And though it is not easy, she sets aside the others’ voices (including her own); after all,
it is not a crime to want release. He leans forward and she stills, the anticipation in her
eyes is assent enough. Her hand touches his chest, right above his heart, and she sighs.
His lips slant over hers and all is quiet. The glow of the candles dims slightly, for illicit
meetings are usually held in the dark and the light is feeling shy.
But there is no coyness in his whispers that turn into anguished moans, or in her throaty
demands which become incoherent cries in the silence of the chamber.
It is a shame that there is not enough time.
The taste of the candy from her brothers’ joke shop is dying in her mouth even faster than
the rate at which she feels herself coming alive. This boy of mockery and shame, of tears
and tossed shoes and ties, of discarded shirts and salty skin and dry smiles and feverish
cries, will be the end of her. There is no Draco of an unspoken “I Love You” or “You Are
Mine”, and Malfoy of “You Are Dirt to Me” and “See You in Hell” no longer exists.
When she sees him outside of this room, all she will have is his silence, and he will again
become one of the infamous phantoms of Hogwarts: a lurker with an unfortunate story,
bound to none but himself – not even to the earth.
So by the time the sweet has delivered its last rush, they are saying their goodbyes. He is
opening the door and looking both ways before letting her leave, and she is placing one
last kiss upon his mouth before the dream rests.
She whispers the incantation that keeps her figure hidden in shadows. He leans back
against his wall, watching the candles sputter out against a chill that has suddenly crept
in. The whispers of the doubtful and the dead slide over his form like Ginny’s lips,
begging to have their way with him next, trying to siphon out what little humanity he has
left.
Halfway down the hall she can still taste him – it gets more and more difficult to forget
silly things like that, no matter how often she tells herself to forget what cannot exist, and
she is catapulted abruptly back into the world of Gryffindor reds and golds. She smiles at
the others, before setting herself down upon a maroon sofa and rummaging around in her
rucksack for another Cherry Drop. The confection will do, she decides, closing her eyes
against a wave of sudden weariness.
After what she has just gone through, she could really go for one of Fred and George’s
Daydream Charms, and she ponders the feasibility of asking her brothers for a lifetime
supply; it seems as though she’ll need one to get through the night.
More is the pity then that she finished off the last one last week.
-------------------------
Please review!
take on how the charm works is that one eats a small piece of candy, says the spell, and
the fantasy starts – I hope that keeps any confusion at bay. Whether it does or doesn’t,
please review and tell me what you think.
Also, special thanks to PythonBlossom for the beta.
A Taste of Reality
-----------------------------------
She swallows the rest of the sweet, says the incantation, and tries not to let her excitement
get the best of her. While she is out in the open, the spell will only hold up as long as she
maintains a modicum of calm. Furthermore, the corridor near Snape’s old quarters –
which is where she will be seeing him – has retained the dour imprint and chastising spirit
of the wayward Potions Master. Even now, between shivers of anticipation, she can
almost hear her old professor’s finely acerbic tones telling her to get on with it or leave.
Ginny is only too willing to oblige.
As if trapped inside a haze, the door opens slowly. There are a few small candles spread
around the room to create the kind of atmosphere that, she has said, can really only exist
in fantasies. Undaunted, he has argued that it is just as well; he doesn’t see the sense in
liberally scattering sticks of fire about for ahhm-bee-ahnce (she swears that is just how he
says it), at the risk of setting his bedspread on fire. He insists that it is a very real
possibility as it happened to Blaise Zabini just last month, and had to be passed off as a
heating Charm gone wrong.
She laughs, knowing that this entire scene is just short of reality – there is no way that she
is arguing about romantic settings in the prodigal Draco Malfoy’s dormitory, nor is there
any remote possibility that the striking Blaise Zabini could be so severely lacking in
finesse.
Besides, he continues, voice deep and even slightly playful (tone caressing her a bit more
decently than the long-fingered hand pulling her closer), she is his lovely stick of fire,
melting deliciously under his warm gaze like the scant columns of ivory wax pooling in
the corners of the room.
She pulls away frowning. She is aware that their time is limited, but surely he could come
up with something better…she has never dreamed that his shameless attempts at flattery
could fall so disappointingly short. Hermione has often remarked that Ginny’s fascination
with Fred and George’s Charms would get her into trouble (while stubbornly denying her
own interest with the gags), and the redhead recognizes the validity of such an assertion
for the first time. It will not do to spend every waking moment hidden away in a
dormitory under a blanket of cloudy, dream-like passion, no matter how enticing that
actually sounds…
His expression is sardonic, though discerning, and when he blinks she sets aside her
concerns. Her feet are uncovered, save for white knee socks that are a bit itchy, especially
where they fold just under her knees. Knees that lead to soft thighs and blushing skin,
upon which his hand is alternately resting and stroking, at once calming and then
soothingly sensual. It almost feels good enough to distract her from the uncomfortable
twisting of her skirt around her waist.
She says so, and he smirks. He knows that if she were truly put off by her warped attire,
his pub-crawl come-ons, and the lack of romantic lighting, that her second-hand shoes
wouldn’t be halfway under the bed, nor would his tie be swinging jauntily from the
doorknob. What's more, she would remember how and when they had come off in the
first place.
And though it is not easy, she sets aside the others’ voices (including her own); after all,
it is not a crime to want release. He leans forward and she stills, the anticipation in her
eyes is assent enough. Her hand touches his chest, right above his heart, and she sighs.
His lips slant over hers and all is quiet. The glow of the candles dims slightly, for illicit
meetings are usually held in the dark and the light is feeling shy.
But there is no coyness in his whispers that turn into anguished moans, or in her throaty
demands which become incoherent cries in the silence of the chamber.
It is a shame that there is not enough time.
The taste of the candy from her brothers’ joke shop is dying in her mouth even faster than
the rate at which she feels herself coming alive. This boy of mockery and shame, of tears
and tossed shoes and ties, of discarded shirts and salty skin and dry smiles and feverish
cries, will be the end of her. There is no Draco of an unspoken “I Love You” or “You Are
Mine”, and Malfoy of “You Are Dirt to Me” and “See You in Hell” no longer exists.
When she sees him outside of this room, all she will have is his silence, and he will again
become one of the infamous phantoms of Hogwarts: a lurker with an unfortunate story,
bound to none but himself – not even to the earth.
So by the time the sweet has delivered its last rush, they are saying their goodbyes. He is
opening the door and looking both ways before letting her leave, and she is placing one
last kiss upon his mouth before the dream rests.
She whispers the incantation that keeps her figure hidden in shadows. He leans back
against his wall, watching the candles sputter out against a chill that has suddenly crept
in. The whispers of the doubtful and the dead slide over his form like Ginny’s lips,
begging to have their way with him next, trying to siphon out what little humanity he has
left.
Halfway down the hall she can still taste him – it gets more and more difficult to forget
silly things like that, no matter how often she tells herself to forget what cannot exist, and
she is catapulted abruptly back into the world of Gryffindor reds and golds. She smiles at
the others, before setting herself down upon a maroon sofa and rummaging around in her
rucksack for another Cherry Drop. The confection will do, she decides, closing her eyes
against a wave of sudden weariness.
After what she has just gone through, she could really go for one of Fred and George’s
Daydream Charms, and she ponders the feasibility of asking her brothers for a lifetime
supply; it seems as though she’ll need one to get through the night.
More is the pity then that she finished off the last one last week.
-------------------------
Please review!
The End.
spider is the author of 2 other stories.
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This story is a favorite of 4 members. Members who liked A Taste of Reality also liked 1109 other stories.
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