Chapter 17 Memories and Dreams
925 Words
The doors to the library shut behind him with a heavy thud, but the sound barely registered over the storm inside his mind.
He’s dead.
The words echoed—his own voice, sharp, certain… practiced.
But now—
Now they didn’t sit the same way.
He moved through the corridors of the keep, guards bowing as he passed, servants stepping aside, shadows bending to his will… yet for the first time in a long time, Draco noticed none of it.
All he could see—
Was a child.
Small.
Alone.
Screaming.
He stopped abruptly, his hand bracing against the cold stone wall.
A flicker—just a flicker—
of memory broke through.
Laughter.
Warmth.
A woman’s voice… soft… calling his name.
Not my King.
Not lord.
Just—
Draco.
His breath hitched.
And instantly, the walls came back up.
“No,” he muttered under his breath, pushing away from the wall. “Weakness.”
But the word lacked conviction.
Back in the library, Selene hadn’t moved.
She still sat by the fire, though her book now rested forgotten in her lap. Her gaze remained on the door long after he left, her expression calm… but thoughtful.
She wasn’t surprised.
She had expected resistance.
You don’t break chains like his in a single moment.
Meanwhile, Draco found himself somewhere he hadn’t intended to go.
Somewhere he hadn’t stepped foot in since… he couldn’t even remember when.
A forgotten wing of the keep.
Old.
Silent.
Untouched.
The doors creaked as he pushed them open.
Dust lingered in the air. Moonlight filtered through tall, cracked windows.
And there—
in the center of the room—
sat something small.
Out of place.
A wooden carving.
Crude.
Worn by time.
But unmistakable.
A small wolf.
Draco stared at it.
His chest tightened.
“I don’t remember this,” he said aloud.
But that wasn’t true.
Not entirely.
Slowly, almost against his own will, he stepped forward and picked it up.
It fit in his hand perfectly.
As if it always had.
Another flicker.
A much smaller hand holding it.
A voice—his own, younger—
“Look, father! It’s me!”
Laughter.
Deep. Warm. Proud.
Draco dropped the carving.
It hit the floor with a sharp c***k.
“No.”
His voice was harsher now.
Controlled.
Forced.
“That is gone.”
But Selene’s voice slipped in anyway.
He’s still lost.
Draco clenched his fists, his breathing uneven now.
Why?
Why did her words linger?
Why did she look at him like that—as if she could see something even he couldn’t?
Because she didn’t look at the King.
She looked through him.
Back in the library, Selene finally exhaled softly, leaning back into the sofa.
“He’s closer than he thinks,” she murmured to herself.
A small, knowing smile touched her lips again.
Not triumphant.
Not manipulative.
Just… patient.
In the abandoned room, Draco stood frozen.
Torn between two truths:
The King he had been forged into—
And the boy he had buried.
And for the first time…
He didn’t know which one would win.
For the first time in many years, Draco dreamed.
He dreamed of a little boy running through open fields, laughing.
“Catch me, Papa! Catch me!”
Then the dream shifted. He saw his mother, her voice soft as she sang him and his siblings to sleep.
Was that real?
Was that… him?
The warmth twisted suddenly into something cold.
Darkness.
An army advancing.
His father’s voice cut through the chaos.
“Run, Draco! Run!”
His mother screamed. His brothers, his sister—everyone screaming—
And then—
Blood.
Blood.
Blood.
Blood.
Draco woke with a violent jolt.
He was already moving before he understood why. Out of bed, through the corridors, driven by something he couldn’t name.
He stopped only when he reached Selene’s room.
She woke with a start. “What’s wrong, Draco?”
He didn’t answer properly—just climbed into the bed beside her, the words coming in fragments. The nightmare. The feeling of being lost.
Selene didn’t press him. She simply stayed. When Draco woke again, there was warmth.
Light filtered softly into the room. An arm was wrapped around him.
He blinked, disoriented.
Where am I?
How did I get here?
Selene stirred beside him. “It’s okay, Draco,” she murmured. “Go back to sleep.”
And he did.
A few hours later, he woke again.
This time, he felt… different.
Rested. Calm. The usual edge of rage—the constant tension beneath his skin—was gone.
Selene shifted beside him, stretching lazily. “You snore.”
Draco glanced at her. “I do not.”
“Yes, you do,” she said, yawning as she sat up.
She looked at him, softer now.
“Let’s have breakfast in here,” she said. “Let’s talk. About the past… about the future.”
A small pause.
“Let’s just be normal. For one moment.”
Draco didn’t answer right away.
He sat there, the warmth of the room unfamiliar… the softness of the bed even more so. For years, his waKing moments had been sharp, immediate—alert, guarded, ready for threat or command.
This?
This was… quiet.
And it unsettled him.
“You snore.”
His gaze snapped to Selene, a faint narrowing of his eyes.
“I do not.”
She raised an eyebrow, completely unafraid. “You do.”
A pause.
Then—very faintly—
the corner of his mouth almost moved.
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