o0o
Thursday, March 2nd 2000
The wood of the handle was smooth against his palms, the crisp air kissing his face and the rising sun painted oranges, pinks, purples and blues reaching towards him from infinity. As Draco rode the zephyr his only thought was that if he could crash into morning he would find wild, euphoric freedom.
o0o
Thursday, December 22nd 2005
She had abandoned him. He was sure of it. Precisely as he predicted she would.
He had risen to find her gone. No note. No breakfast. So he had dressed in the clothes she had given him and chopped wood. Because it helped him work out his frustrations. Helped him think clearly. But most importantly, helped him feel useful; good.
She hadn't returned to make him lunch. So he used a knife and cut a couple of slices of bread. He found a jar of something called 'peanut butter' and made him a something to eat, just as he had seen her do so many times before.
He decided it was tasty, but stuck to the roof of his mouth. So he deduced it was a concoction to silence someone for a short period of time. He made a note to shove a spoonful down Hermione's throat next time she began to nag. That is if she ever returned.
Which he doubted tremendously.
After an inspiring debate with his stomach, he concluded that since he was alone, he had no immediate need for conversation. So he ate seven more sandwiches
It was late in the afternoon, and his boredom was at its zenith. This was invariably a dangerous situation for him. He started off pacing the large expanse of the Cottage. It was one open room and then an enclosed washroom. Not much to speak of or look at really. Then he rearranged the bookshelf in alphabetical order. Then he managed to wash the cup, knife, and plate. By hand. Like a muggle. Before he knew it, he had scrubbed the kitchenette clean, folded his robes and blankets and put them in a trunk near his sofa. The entire shack was immaculate.
He felt…accomplished.
However, as he surveyed the room, admiring his work, he heard the distinct sound of hooves in the distance.
They've found me.
Immediately he cursed Hermione and dashed for the trunk holding his cloak. He searched the pockets thoroughly, but came up empty handed.
His wand was gone.
So he was stuck in a shabby shack defenseless. Only then did it occur to him that she had set him up. Let him get comfortable. And Merlin, he had trusted her. For some strange reason he had trusted the Muggleborn witch. Had believed that she wanted nothing more than him to achieve redemption.
He called himself a pitiful fool and many other things besides.
But as his breathing became deep and erratic, he could only wonder at the constricting pain of betrayal in his chest.
Through the window, he could see a cloaked figure galloping closer at break-neck speed.
He backed to the wall and decided he would not go down without a fight.
But then…
"Draco?" Her sweet song rolled over him in waves of light.
He felt foolish, angry, but surprisingly relieved.
As he marched through the door, he found her dismounting a magnificent Palomino gelding.
"Where have you been? What were you doing? And where in the fuck did that come from?" He thundered as he came to her side. He wanted to grab her, shake her, and strangle her. And something else he couldn't quite identify.
Hermione blinked at him with surprise, her cheeks red from the cold wind, and her feral hair in a messy cloud around her shoulders. Topaz eyes glistening with wonder. "Oh Draco, I'm so sorry, I just went to the village for supplies. I didn't mean to worry you."
He hated her, because he had been worried.
o0o
Thursday, June 15th 1995
The entire castle was thick with early summer's unexpected humidity. His school robes stuck to his body uncomfortably, sweat dampened his hairline and when the weight of the accumulation became too heavy, beads ran down his cheeks and dripped from his straight nose. However, amidst the sweltering heat of the afternoon, tensions ran high and there was a generous stench of stale foreboding that made Draco feel suffocated. He wanted to escape.
He just couldn't seem to catch his breath.
There were not many places to escape the heat inside the castle, and so the majority of the student body had found refuge in the cool shade of the ancient building and its gardens.
Luckily, they had decided to abandon the lake. So that was where he found his solitary peace.
It was a deep lagoon, creeping just barely into the Forbidden Forest to keep the water secluded and fresh.
Glancing around once more to be sure that he was indeed entirely alone, he began to divest of his clothing. Then without another thought, he ran with childish abandon into the water until he could no longer tread, and under he went.
Slowly, he let the air held in his lungs carry his weightless body to the surface. Once his face broke free, he relaxed his muscles and simply floated.
Because there in the water, his worries disappeared and he knew with absolute clarity where his place was in the world.
Nothing but an object of matter. Simply molecules, cells, and energy. A carbon-based life-form floating along the ripples of space and time.
With nothing on its mind but the glorious sound of silence.
o0o
Thursday, December 22nd 2005
Hermione was darning a wool sock as she tip-toed the rocker into motion. Her chocolate curls were resting on her right shoulder, showcasing her fine features glowing in the warmth of the fireplace. Her mouth was relaxed in an endearing pout and her topaz eyes glittered with private thoughts and concentration. A harmonious humming radiated from her throat.
Draco studied her peripherally and felt greatly perplexed at her menial activity and the foreign tugging at his compressing sternum. He recognized it as longing and he wished he could feel disgusted with himself. Yet, he could not find the will to do so.
He wanted to know a million answers to the billion questions she represented.
Why darn a sock when an easy mending charm was just a wand a way?
Where did she find the sensational gelding residing in the stalls outside?
What did she want so badly that she would have to struggle to obtain it?
Would he ever be redeemable and allowed to leave this cabin?
Did he want to?
He stood and silently crossed to her, his heavy book held gingerly by his fingertips.
"What is that you are humming?" He spoke as gently as he could, not wanting to break the spell of serenity she created.
She paused and let a smile curve her mouth. "Just a song my mother used to sing to me. Is it bothering you?"
Unfortunately, no, it was not bothering him. In fact, he found it to be rather reassuring and it seemed to calm his tempestuously confusing thoughts.
When the shack was quiet he could almost forget the big bads of the world. Including himself.
"What's it called?" he asked instead of answering her.
She bit her lip hesitantly. "It's Gershwin, and rather inappropriate for this time of year."
He raised a puzzled brow and tried not to look down his nose at her.
"Summertime. It's called Summertime." A redness rushed her heart-shaped face and she returned her eyes to her darning.
"Do you know the words?" he asked, he tilted his head letting his fringe fall into his hoary gaze as he studied her nervous movements.
"Yes."
"Will you sing it for me?"
Her blush deepened further, and she shook her head. "Oh no, I'm terribly off key."
Draco felt as if he had left his body when it bent towards her and prepared to whisper into her ear. She smelled of cold weather and lavender. Assaulting his senses. Her aura washed over him in waves making every hair on his body stand at attention. He nearly forgot himself. "Sing like nobody's listening, Hermione. Loud and out of key." Then he laid his book into her lap, careful to mind that his fingers did not touch her person, and placed it so that the parchment with his spidery scrawl was showing between the pages.
He could feel her eyes on him as he crossed to his lumpy couch and settled himself on it. As he faced the back of it and pulled his care-worn quilt over his shoulder, he heard her begin tentatively.
"Summertime. And the livin's easy." Her tone was soft and barely audible. "Fish are jumpin' and the cotton is fine. Oh your daddy's rich," a pause, "And your mother's good lookin'," a smile, "So hush baby, don't you cry."
He heard the rustle of the pages as she slid the parchment from between them. Her rocking had ceased. "One of these mornings, you're going to rise up singin'." Her voice wavered at the end, but she continued again, "Then you'll spread your wings and take the sky." Hermione's breathing was erratic. "But until that day, there's a nothin' can harm you…ohh." She gasped
Draco let his eyes close because he felt good, safe, and liberated. A satisfied smirk traced his lips because he knew the words on the paper were the nicest things he could and would never say.
Besides, he decided that it was okay to enjoy her singing, no matter how terrible it really was.
o0o
Thursday, September 18th 1986
He stood as straight as he possibly could before his mother's seated form. His hands were clasped behind his back, his mouth set in firm determination.
"I want a baby brother, Mum."
She leveled her azure gaze on him and pursed her lips to hide her amusement. Her little man was all business that afternoon. "Do you, Draco? And have you thought about what having a baby brother would entail?"
"Yes, I would have someone to play with." Draco began to pace in front of her, like he had seen his father do whilst spying on business meetings. "You are fun, but a little brother would rather catch frogs and chase snakes." Because his mother was rubbish at it. After all, she was a girl.
"I see. But a baby brother would have to share the attention you receive and I'm not sure how you would feel about that. I would have to give him hugs and kisses and tell him bedtime stories. As a big brother, you would have to give those up."
He paused, his eyes wide and stricken. It wouldn't do to have his mother giving his affections to a little brother.
"Besides Draco, a baby brother takes a long time to make, and sometimes, regretfully, you get a baby sister instead."
No, that would not do at all. He was impatient and girls were ridiculous creatures. Like Pansy. Wearing dresses and crying when they scraped their knees or got dirt on their nose. And Pansy screamed at the sight of worms and would not be convinced of the tastiness of a mudpie.
"I don't want a baby sister. Girls are gross," he stated simply, but he then saw sadness darken Narcissa's face and mistakenly thought he hurt her feelings. "Except for you, Mum, you are nice and smell good. I like having you around."
He took her hand in his because he liked holding her hand best of all things.
"I'm glad darling, because I like having you around also." And she placed a loving kiss on his forehead.