Stop the World, I Want Off
Chapter 3: Waiting for a Boy
Molly stared at the plates left on the drain-board from earlier that morning, concentrating on a small spot on the face of the one closest to her, wondering how that had gotten there. She had moved to the kitchen to start dinner, leaving her young guest in the living room to - well, as rude as it may seem, Pansy Parkinson had been left to entertain herself because, really, there was only so much time one could waste waiting for a boy who was bound to come home. Pansy hadn't minded when Molly excused herself and had taken up Molly's offer to make use of the book case. Last Molly knew the girl had curled into the cozy armchair by the fire with her nose in an old copy of Vita Fata Morgana. That was one of Draco's favorites, too.
Molly pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders and closed her eyes. No matter how much magic helped to insulate the Burrow, something about the day and the chill seemed to penetrate even those barriers. Suddenly, Molly wondered how her children were. She usually reserved such musings for late at night; not that she could ever put her children (including Harry, Hermione and all the others she had cared for in the past seven months) out of her mind. Were they suffering the harsh winter weather? Shaking her head, she forced herself to stop thinking about it. She knew where paths like those lead, to tears of rage and helplessness and, really, that wasn't good for anybody.
Where was Draco? She fingered the edge of the kitchen curtain, looking out past the garden and into the distance where the Malfoy had disappeared. She spied a vaguely humanoid figure atop a hill not far away, unmoving. So that's where he'd gotten off to. She sighed; at least he was heading back now.
She looked down at her hands and then at the pots in the sink. Deciding against getting her hands wet in the chill, Molly flicked her wand at the dishes and turned out of the kitchen. In the living room, Pansy was in the process of turning the page when Molly walked in.
"He's on his way back," Molly stated. "He's stopped on his hill. It'll be ten minutes at the most."
Pansy nodded, sitting up but not primping the way Molly had expected. She simply straightened out her robes and pushed a flyaway wisp of hair behind her hair. I suppose that means they won't kiss, Molly thought to herself. But that really wasn't any of her business.
"Would you like some tea?" Molly asked, well aware of the fact that what was coming would be daunting for both teens.
"Yes, please." Pansy's voice was low. Molly got the distinct impression that the girl was desperate for any semblance of normalcy in such an utterly unprecedented situation. Molly didn't blame her, either. Turning on her heel, the Weasley matriarch marched back into the kitchen and spelled a pot of tea together.
Molly was sitting at the kitchen table studying the slight discoloration on the plate from that morning when the backdoor opened and Draco walked in. He took one look at the tray of tea, laden with his favorite cookies, and murmured without an ounce of pretense, "You shouldn't have, Mrs. Weasley."
"It's not for you," she told him. "There's a guest in the living room I think you'd be interested in seeing."
He began protesting, a little of his defiance from before rearing it's head. "I'm not inclined to-"
Molly leveled him with a look she'd developed specifically for Fred and George (and sometimes Arthur). "Take the tea into the living room, Draco."
He stared at her, his eyes blazing with fury because, underneath all of his disillusion and depression, he was still a Malfoy and he did not take orders. She stared levelly back at him until he caved and picked up the tray.
As his footsteps moved further down the hall, Molly turned back to that plate. Really, what was that stain?
TBC
Author's Note: I felt I was losing the essence of Draco in the first two chapters so I've sought to salvage a little bit of him here. Hopefully, we'll see more of him in the upcoming chapters.
Vita Fata Morgana - Roughly translated from the Latin, this means "Life of Morgaine Le Fey". To my knowledge (limited as it is of Mideval texts) this book does not actually exist, the title iscoined fromVita Merlini, which does exist.