Author's note: I posted this earlier, asking for reviews, but only got one. I added the rest of what I was planning for this chapter and hope you guys will review, because it's always encouraging to know someone is reading your work, whether you like it or not. I also changed the summary, because it wasn't very good at all.
P.S. Since I was inspired by songs, this will be a 'songfic.' I'm not even sure what that means, I'm just going to italicize the parts of the song that inspired a particular part of the story.
Here I am, standing in a circle of quiet
Where a truce is tacitly observed
Standing in a circle of quiet
Waiting for the world to turn
Waiting for the world to turn
A ripple of lightening exploded across the indigo sky and the ground under a rain-drenched black leather boot vibrated as thunder reverberated off the low hills. A tall, slender figure stood gazing across a nearly flooded lawn at a house that was emitting a warm glow barely visible in the downpour. The figure stood perfectly still for a moment longer, dark eyes gently squinted against the freezing raindrops, before moving. A chilling gust of wind cut through the torrential rain and the figure shivered slightly.
If someone had glanced from the steamed windows of the house, had dared turn away from the warmth of the fire and peered out into the violent storm, they would not have noticed the cloaked figure hesitate at the gate, lifting an arm to slide a wand back inside sopping wet robes.
Any inhabitants of the house would not have been able to discern the squish of boots as the figure strode purposefully towards the house. They would not have seen the figure slow as the front door came into view. They would not have seen the hand push sodden hair out of a shadowed face or the pearly white lips that had revealed the ghost of a grin.
But no one glanced outside; they were not expecting visitors until the next evening.
Standing, at last, in front of the crumbling porch, the figure closed their eyes, taking in the sound of the rain, a rain that was pounding the earth so mercilessly all other noises were eliminated. Another sudden clap of thunder concealed the hammering of a heart.
With one last deep breath, the figure stepped forward, up the three small steps into the dryness of the porch, gave the faded red door two quick raps, seized the knob and pushed the door open.
Ginny Weasley was home.
He was sitting perfectly still as a crisp breeze twirled the hem of his cloak. His dark eyes shifted as he registered movement. He scooted his chair back and stood gracefully, lifting a black-gloved hand to smooth his robes. He closed his eyes for a flicker of a moment, listening to the low whisper of conversation that had broken out. He heard a loud clap of thunder somewhere far above the dungeon room as he gazed at the other masked figures, some of which were disappearing with quiet pops.
With a nod to the person beside him, he turned and walked to the nearest fireplace, deftly gripping a fistful of powder and tossing it into the flames. He waited for the color to change, clearly spoke his destination and relaxed slightly as he felt the flames warm his frigid body.
An angry flare of lightening illuminated the spacious room as he stepped from the flames.He peeled the gloves from his hands and tucked them in his trouser pocket. A deafening rumble of thunder resonated through the room as he tugged the mask up over his head. He studied it for a moment, once he was free of it. He felt a strange twinge low in his gut. His eyes roamed over the stiff black material and he beckoned the soothing numbness.
The room was splashed in light once again and he roughly folded the mask into an inside pocket of his robes. He glanced up at the enormous floor to ceiling windows and his footsteps echoed lightly as he made his way across the room to peer out into the storm. As he stepped closer to the glass he could feel the temperature drop suddenly and he knew the rain must have been freezing. He watched the rain pound the ground, observing how little puddles were filling the yard.
He raised his hand slowly, until it was level with his face, and let it rest against the rain-streaked glass. The shocking cold was calming and steam was fogging the glass around his formerly warm hand. He thought fleetingly of jerking the window open and stepping outside to let the rain wash over him. He could almost feel the cold burn of the rain, the way the wind would slash through his cloak, and his skin tingled.
Standing in a circle of quiet
Waiting for the world to turn
Waiting for the world to turn
He let his hand drop from the glass and turned.
Draco Malfoy had work to do.