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a/n: I had a sudden flurry of inspiration listening to old 70’s classic rock tunes on my radio the other day. Blame this one on Al Stewart’s Time Passages.
Disclaimer: All characters owned by J.K. Rowlings, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera….
Draco sat back in the leather arm chair staring out the window at the falling snow. The hotel room was warm from the logs crackling in the fireplace, yet Draco couldn’t have been colder. This cold wasn’t from the weather though. It came from a place deep inside his very soul.
A shudder racked him, and Draco reached for his cloak. Swinging the garment to his shoulders he strode out the door and down the stairs of the hotel. Ignoring the doorman, who hurried from his warm post just to the left of the outer doors to open them for him, he burst into the cold evening air.
As he wandered the cobbled streets, he saw none of the brightly colored window dressings of the quaint shops or the laughing, warmly bundled people that lined them. Instead his mind was plagued with memories of a time long gone and he wondered why it was that he felt drawn back into that past time and time again. Was there something he had yet to learn from it?
Draco shook his head, as if to clear the recollections from his head. He didn’t believe in living in what could have been. There had been a reason for everything he had done, a logic to every decision. In hindsight, some had been good decisions and some had been no so good. Still, the days ran by too quickly, the years moved on too fast, to dwell on choices that had already been made.
Still, when late December rolled around, he always seemed to find himself here, in this melancholy state of mind, thinking of what he’d walked away from. His life was not a bad one; he had money, international respect, and power. And he was alone. Not that there weren’t women. As many as he liked, actually, and as often. But even when he was with one, he was still alone. A chance to live a different sort of life, to be someone in opposite of who he was today had been laid at his feet as a gift, and he’d turned his back on it, left it behind. Left her behind.
The black velvet of night flowed around him like a river, chasing away the gray of the day and twinkling electric lights flickered on in converted old fashioned street lamps. Suddenly, Draco was snatched from his reverie as a flash of copper caught his eye in the crowd. He felt his feet speed up of their own violation in order to keep up with the waterfall of red hair several yards in front of him. He pushed past holiday shoppers, laden with bundles, desperate to catch up with the woman. His brain steadily told him that it couldn’t be her, she wouldn’t be here, there was no reason for her to be away from her happy life during a time meant for family togetherness. Still, the woman had hair that he’d never seen before, except on one person and that was enough to give him some small hope. He had made it within a few feet of her and was about to call out her name when a man came up behind her and touched her shoulder. She turned then and he saw what he already knew in his heart. It wasn’t her.
Disappointment burned in his chest as he walked just below what would be considered a run into a small alleyway. With some amusement he noticed when he glanced up that the street sign named the alley as Memory Lane.
At the end of the alley, he found himself in a small garden, enclosed by the backs of the four shops surrounding it; it was probably used by the employees of the shops, for breaks and lunches on nice days, or for mothers to send restless children while they shopped.
Draco sank down onto a small bench as he fought for control of his breathing and his emotions. As his tunnel vision cleared, and the ringing in his ears stopped, he could hear a familiar tune playing faintly in the air that sent him right back into the past he fought to return from. Suddenly the echoes of the past became real and before his eyes he saw it all again.
He stood in a group of young people he had once considered friends. Zabini, Parkinson, and Bulstrode all stood around him in a circle, laughing at some snide remark Blaise had just made. The Great Hall was festively decorated, candles floating above them, giant firs festooned in each house’s colors in the four corners of the room, a veritable feast on tables across the outer wall. Even Peeves was in the holiday spirit as he mercilessly teased Professor Snape by holding mistletoe over the head of Madame Pince. Draco looked up to see a lovely copper haired Gryffindor making her way deliberately in his direction with a smile just for him. Merlin, she was beautiful with that burgundy dress and that wreath of holly on her head. He felt his heart speed up as she neared him and reached out with his hand to grasp the one she extended towards him.
“Ginny,” he whispered when she was inches away.
The loud blaring of a horn permeated his brain and Draco found himself standing in the center of the garden, a hand outstretched towards a stone statue of some muggle hero. It had all been just his mind, playing the same old game on him. Dropping his hand, he sighed and turned, head down, to trudge back into the streets full of people.
At the entrance to the alley, Draco turned back once more to look into the little garden in which the past had come to life again, if only for a moment. Going back suddenly to the bench, he bent over and picked something up to examine it. Yes, it was holly.
Looking up with a sudden determination, Draco stuck the sprig of holly in his cloak and made his way back into crowds. He quickened his pace, weaving in and out of pockets of people, headed for a particular destination.
The man behind the counter looked up at the tall blond man and smiled. “Can I help you sir?”
“Yes, are there anymore trains to London tonight?”
“Why yes sir, just one more. Would you like a ticket?”
“Thank you.”
As the man handed over the ticket and took the money from the blond man he remarked, “I have to warn you sir, the heating on the train isn’t running properly. Unless it’s urgent, you might want to wait till morning and another train.”
“That’s alright, “Draco said, “I don’t mind a little cold.”
“Yes, sir. Any luggage?”
“No, everything I need is at the end of this train ride.”
“You must be anxious to get home, then, sir.”
“Yes,” Draco said, smiling and thinking of copper colored hair. “I’m going home.”
Disclaimer: All characters owned by J.K. Rowlings, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera….
Draco sat back in the leather arm chair staring out the window at the falling snow. The hotel room was warm from the logs crackling in the fireplace, yet Draco couldn’t have been colder. This cold wasn’t from the weather though. It came from a place deep inside his very soul.
A shudder racked him, and Draco reached for his cloak. Swinging the garment to his shoulders he strode out the door and down the stairs of the hotel. Ignoring the doorman, who hurried from his warm post just to the left of the outer doors to open them for him, he burst into the cold evening air.
As he wandered the cobbled streets, he saw none of the brightly colored window dressings of the quaint shops or the laughing, warmly bundled people that lined them. Instead his mind was plagued with memories of a time long gone and he wondered why it was that he felt drawn back into that past time and time again. Was there something he had yet to learn from it?
Draco shook his head, as if to clear the recollections from his head. He didn’t believe in living in what could have been. There had been a reason for everything he had done, a logic to every decision. In hindsight, some had been good decisions and some had been no so good. Still, the days ran by too quickly, the years moved on too fast, to dwell on choices that had already been made.
Still, when late December rolled around, he always seemed to find himself here, in this melancholy state of mind, thinking of what he’d walked away from. His life was not a bad one; he had money, international respect, and power. And he was alone. Not that there weren’t women. As many as he liked, actually, and as often. But even when he was with one, he was still alone. A chance to live a different sort of life, to be someone in opposite of who he was today had been laid at his feet as a gift, and he’d turned his back on it, left it behind. Left her behind.
The black velvet of night flowed around him like a river, chasing away the gray of the day and twinkling electric lights flickered on in converted old fashioned street lamps. Suddenly, Draco was snatched from his reverie as a flash of copper caught his eye in the crowd. He felt his feet speed up of their own violation in order to keep up with the waterfall of red hair several yards in front of him. He pushed past holiday shoppers, laden with bundles, desperate to catch up with the woman. His brain steadily told him that it couldn’t be her, she wouldn’t be here, there was no reason for her to be away from her happy life during a time meant for family togetherness. Still, the woman had hair that he’d never seen before, except on one person and that was enough to give him some small hope. He had made it within a few feet of her and was about to call out her name when a man came up behind her and touched her shoulder. She turned then and he saw what he already knew in his heart. It wasn’t her.
Disappointment burned in his chest as he walked just below what would be considered a run into a small alleyway. With some amusement he noticed when he glanced up that the street sign named the alley as Memory Lane.
At the end of the alley, he found himself in a small garden, enclosed by the backs of the four shops surrounding it; it was probably used by the employees of the shops, for breaks and lunches on nice days, or for mothers to send restless children while they shopped.
Draco sank down onto a small bench as he fought for control of his breathing and his emotions. As his tunnel vision cleared, and the ringing in his ears stopped, he could hear a familiar tune playing faintly in the air that sent him right back into the past he fought to return from. Suddenly the echoes of the past became real and before his eyes he saw it all again.
He stood in a group of young people he had once considered friends. Zabini, Parkinson, and Bulstrode all stood around him in a circle, laughing at some snide remark Blaise had just made. The Great Hall was festively decorated, candles floating above them, giant firs festooned in each house’s colors in the four corners of the room, a veritable feast on tables across the outer wall. Even Peeves was in the holiday spirit as he mercilessly teased Professor Snape by holding mistletoe over the head of Madame Pince. Draco looked up to see a lovely copper haired Gryffindor making her way deliberately in his direction with a smile just for him. Merlin, she was beautiful with that burgundy dress and that wreath of holly on her head. He felt his heart speed up as she neared him and reached out with his hand to grasp the one she extended towards him.
“Ginny,” he whispered when she was inches away.
The loud blaring of a horn permeated his brain and Draco found himself standing in the center of the garden, a hand outstretched towards a stone statue of some muggle hero. It had all been just his mind, playing the same old game on him. Dropping his hand, he sighed and turned, head down, to trudge back into the streets full of people.
At the entrance to the alley, Draco turned back once more to look into the little garden in which the past had come to life again, if only for a moment. Going back suddenly to the bench, he bent over and picked something up to examine it. Yes, it was holly.
Looking up with a sudden determination, Draco stuck the sprig of holly in his cloak and made his way back into crowds. He quickened his pace, weaving in and out of pockets of people, headed for a particular destination.
The man behind the counter looked up at the tall blond man and smiled. “Can I help you sir?”
“Yes, are there anymore trains to London tonight?”
“Why yes sir, just one more. Would you like a ticket?”
“Thank you.”
As the man handed over the ticket and took the money from the blond man he remarked, “I have to warn you sir, the heating on the train isn’t running properly. Unless it’s urgent, you might want to wait till morning and another train.”
“That’s alright, “Draco said, “I don’t mind a little cold.”
“Yes, sir. Any luggage?”
“No, everything I need is at the end of this train ride.”
“You must be anxious to get home, then, sir.”
“Yes,” Draco said, smiling and thinking of copper colored hair. “I’m going home.”
The End.
Grayecam is the author of 3 other stories.
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