English Summer Rain

A story about what it takes for little boys to change.

~~~Prolog~~~

(Draco's thoughts in bold)

He had to do it the Muggle way.

The wards around the Manor that prevented magical fires were very difficult to crack or decipher, but the wards against Muggle fire were virtuously non-existent.

So he bought ten, five-gallon canisters of gasoline and stole a book of matches from a pub somewhere in Whales.

But before he could do anything he took five items out of the Manor.

The first was a picture, the second a book, the third a long winter coat (although it was June) the forth was a wand and the last was letter written in red ink. They had all been placed in a worn leather rucksack and set on the lawn fifty feet away from the mansion, then he abruptly returned into the house.

He covered every part of the Manor in the acrid smelling gasoline until the only thing left was the front hallway. He held the can behind his back so that it left a wet trail behind him as he walked towards the exit, the brown liquid lapping at his heels, the path stopping at the huge oak front doors at the feet of the boy with a match in his hand.

There was a scratch and a hiss and the sharp smell of sulfur and then bright orange and blue and he stepped back to watch, standing a little to close, so that the flames reached for him like fingers, enticing him to move inside their embrace. But he just stared, letting the fire lick and lash out, knowing that he had completely lost control, the heat coming out of the Manor feeling like a punishment, or an awakening.

And that was how the Aurors found Draco Malfoy, hours later, with burns on his face and hands, his eyes and the Manor still smoldering.

CHAPTER ONE

~Punishment~

"Do you know why we have called you here today?"

Don't smirk don't smirk don't smirk don't smirk don't smirk don't smirk don't smirk don't smirk

The left corner of Draco's mouth was twitching like mad, but he didn't smirk. Never let it be said that Malfoy's didn't have any self-control.

In fact, for Draco, self-control was an art form.

Except when it came to breaking rules.

That was when rule breaking became the art form.

"Yes."

"Care to explain?"

Draco took a deep breath.

"What would you like to know?"

"What were you doing on the night of June 21st?

Draco couldn't help it, he smirked.

"I was at my house."

"And what were you doing there, Mr. Malfoy?"

"Studying."

"Since you were at your house the night of June 21st, could you perhaps tell the jury how it came to be that Malfoy Manor caught fire?"

"Somebody lit a match."

"Do you know who?"

"Yes."

"Care to share your little secret?"

"No."

"May I remind you that you are under oath?"

"What's the point of being under oath if you don't believe in God?"

"You have not answered the question."

"I did."

"No. Mr. Malfoy. You did not!"

"That isn't what I meant. I lit the match. But you already knew that, didn't you counselor?"

"Why?"

"I can't tell you that."

"Why not?"

"Because then I would have to kill you."

The loud banging of a gavel echoed through the courtroom.

"Mister Malfoy! You will not threaten anyone in my courtroom."

Draco turned towards the judge slowly.

"My apologies." He said, his hand resting gently over his heart, his head bowed slightly, but his eyes raised to the judge's face. Only a Malfoy could make submission look like an insult.

"Do you know what the penalty is for arson?" the prosecutor asked, as Draco's eyes moved from the judge to a spot on the back wall of the courtroom.

"Yes."

"So you are aware that you could get up to 15 years in Azkaban."

"Yes."

"Draco, why would you just throw you life away like this? Do you honestly think you deserve to spend the greater part of your life in that Hell?"

"Yes."

"And why is that? Why would a boy who is only 16 throw his life away?"

"What life?" Draco said, his voice with an amused lilt to it.

"Stop avoiding the question! This was a senseless act of violence that you knew you were going to get caught for! You haven't, as of yet, given the court a reason why."

"Of you had bothered to learn anything about me at all, then you wouldn't need a reason."

The judge opened his mouth to reply, but the doors of the courtroom opened slowly, admitting one very tired looking Albus Dumbledoor.

Everyone assembled did a very good impression of a goldfish.

"Master Schmeebly," Headmaster Dumbledoor said, addressing the judge. "I request a pardon for Mr. Malfoy. In place of a sentence at Azkaban, I ask that he only be given to St. Mungo's for the summer, as a volunteer."

"Why?" The judged asked.

Draco said nothing.

"As a special favor to me. Draco can stay in London by himself, just for the summer. Hogwarts will provide him with a flat, but he'll have to get a second job to provide himself with food."

"I don't see how any of this is punishment. He burned his own house down, Dumbledore!"

"For a boy who was born with a silver spoon in his mouth, this will certainly be adequate punishment."

The judged seemed to be mulling over the pros and cons of it in his head. Draco was sending Dumbledore a look that pickled toads. (Or the look you would be giving toads if you were trying to pickle them…)

"I will allow this, but I will have workers at St. Mungo's send me a weekly report on your progress, Mr. Malfoy, and I will be expecting a report from you too. You are dismissed. Do not make me regret my decision."

Draco stood up and headed towards the exits. Dumbledore stopped him with a hand on his arm. Draco turned and glared at the old man.

"Don't think that this means I am in your debt. I owe you nothing."

"I didn't say you did."

"Then I've got nothing left to say to you."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The flat had to be the most disgusting this Draco had ever seen. Well, give or take a few Death Eater meetings.

The walls had probably been white at one point or another, but were now a pleasant shade that closely resembled vomit. The pipes, as Draco soon found, provided him with freezing cold murky brown water…and not much else. It was a studio apartment about 600 square feet, with a single dusty mattress on a wooden floor and a metal folding chair as its only decoration. Oh and…it smelled like dead rats…or maybe cats?

Probably both.

"I am not sleeping here." Draco declared to no one in particular.

"Not like you have a choice." Spoke the ominous voice behind him.

"Bloody hell." Draco squeaked, spinning around only to almost collide with Albus Dumbledore.

"Constant villagence!" Dumbledore reminded him.

Completely off his rocker…

"Ahh…yessir. Constant vilagance."

"Well, before you settle in, I'm going to have to tell you some basic rules. They're quite simple. You can do magic only at St. Mungo's and only under supervision. Even then, you will probably be doing only janitorial work, as you are not an experienced Healer or MediWizard. You have a 12 o'clock curfew. IF you break it, you will be locked out of the house and I will see for a harsher punishment for you. You can have a later curfew by special request. Your school trunk will arrive in a few minutes and you will be expected to do all of your homework. You are allowed to go into Muggle London, but only if you are accompanied by someone who knows it well enough and has met my standards for approval. You should know that there are anti-drinking and drug-taking charms on you, as well as a Chastity Spell."

So…absolutely no fun at all for the rest of my life. Ever. This is better than Azkaban, right?

"Other than that…you can be very grateful for being a free man"

It was at his point in Dumbledore's rules that Draco's school trunk (which he was quite sure he left at school) appeared in the room with a pop.

"Ah well! I will leave you to sort through your things then."

Draco waited for the pop and then bolted toward his trunk, crouching down and ruffling through his school books until he found…

Oh thank God. I knew the Aurors were good for something. What would I have done if they'd kept it?

Draco pulled out the worn leather rucksack and clutched it to his chest.

Hope lives inside it.

~*~*~*~*TBC~*~*~*~*~

A/N So uh…yeah. This is a very very short first chapter, but the next will be longer. This will probably be a Draco/Neville. It's a bit of a character study for me. I'm trying my darndest to make Draco stay incaracter but still expand and change. And Neville. Oh Lordy, I'm looking forward to writing him. I'm so glad JKR gave him the personality I'd always pictured him with. But I wonder…the movie made him a brunette, but the book says he is blonde, so I'm asking you readers (assuming there are some readers) How do you see him? You'll definitely not change my view of him, but I was just wondering. The title is something I stole from Placebo. I'd suggest you download the song, but its got nothing to do with the story. This isnt a song fic, but music is prominent in everything I do, so expected lyrics or smoky nightclubs or loud concert halls. Sorry for all spelling mistakes, I post on ff.net pre-beta. So read, review and all that jazz. And check out some of my other stories too! Oh and…they uh…don't belong to me. Blah.