Thunder On The Hill

Bright and early next morning, Draco damned bright and early mornings. As often was the case, he woke to a never-ending to-do list already churning its way through his subconscious. He’d stop for lunch momentarily with the odd-couple. And then lunch with the rather voluptuous but entirely intellectually emaciated little dish, Molly Zimmerman.

After which … a lunch-meeting with The Minister’s assistant Arthur Weasley to discuss his recent findings on a rather beastly case of accidental magic. Including, but not limited to dental floss, a giant spoon and an uncalled for amount of red paint. What Draco had dubbed ‘The Case Of The Disgruntled House-witch.”

And somewhere, in the midst of eating himself straight into obesity in the course of one day, he’d get in some work. And this was Sunday. …Bugger and blast. It was Sunday. Which meant a visit to his Mum’s resting place, as he had done every Sunday for the past two years.

Remembering why he’d become an Auror in the first place, Draco reluctantly opened his eyes. He jumped three feet in the air.
“Bloody hell, Narcissus!” The little Owl was perched on his bedpost, staring down directly at him. “Would you stop doing that? It’s so … creepy.” Draco shuddered.

Ever since Draco had purchased the Owl, being attracted to the pure white of his fur, and, yes, perhaps in need of a little companionship, the thing had sat up at night and watched him sleep. Owls, being nocturnal, always stayed up at night. Of course Draco knew that. But he was different. He would hunt just before sunset. And then, he’d stay up far into the morning. Watching him. Sometimes from his cage or perched at the window, but occasionally, directly above his head. It never failed to give him a shock to wake up to.

The little Owl hooted softly, and then, as if exhausted, his eyes began glazing over heavily. Draco chuckled and the Owl started severely, jumping up and fluttering its wings in panic. Draco only shook his head and cocked an eyebrow at the thing. It sure was a strange one.

A quarter of an hour later, after attending to his toiletries, Draco surveyed his reflection.
After deciding to go with more of a side-part in a moment of sheer inspiration, he was finished. Plucking a single white flower from a vase on his dresser, he patted Narcissus affectionately and disapparated with a loud pop. The Owl tucked his head beneath a pure white wing and hooted softly, expressing extreme contentment that he could finally get some rest.

_

The Gravestone of Narcissa Malfoy, as the woman had been, was a sight to behold.
Whiter than fresh fallen snow, (which was often what made Draco most nostalgic for his mum, though he never understood why) and towering twelve feet from the ground, the sculpture of Narcissa Wendigo Black-Malfoy plucking a wilted Narcissus from a steady flowing fountain never failed to steal his breath away.

It epitomized Narcissus and Echo, his mum’s favourite story to tell him when he was a boy. She’d been named Narcissa, after the vain man in the story, but Draco disagreed. To him, she was Echo. And she had been, in so many ways. Stifled, unable to truly believe in her own passions, only echoing the man she loved. Because love had cursed her. She had been a good woman. Pity that only he knew that. He gently replaced the wilting Narcissus with the fresh one he’d carried with him, before kneeling upon her grave.

“Now, look, you,” Draco said with pseudo cheerfulness “I know I said I’d stop pestering you so much. But I’ve missed you. So you’re just going to have to deal with my constant presence for a while, all right?” He wasn’t sure if it had happened when he’d arrived or not, but he was suddenly aware of boisterous bird-song in every direction. He chuckled.
“Yes, yes, mother. Very impressive.” And even through the foggy melancholy, he felt it: vengeance.

“They’re giving up, you know. There’ve been rumours of dismissing the case. As if it can just be ‘dismissed’.” He tried hard to speak softly. He hated the bitter tone of his voice when he spoke about it. Especially when speaking to her, which he often did. She had been the gentle one. Gentle, but stern. He was trying hard to be more of his mother’s son. If only he’d realised that was an option long ago….

How she’d just withered away. How there’d been nothing to stop it. He crumbled the dying narcissus in his grasp. It fell pathetically to the ground. “But I can’t. Not until I know who did this to you. Not until they too, know what it feels like to lose everything good in their life.”
Draco sighed, hearing his mother’s voice ringing clearly in his mind. “And I know what you’re thinking. –Two wrongs don’t make a right. But nothing about this will ever feel right. …It’s all I’ve got.”

Draco did not cry. No tears were ever shed for the loss of his Mother. But he did grieve, in his way. It was a sharp and poignant grieving. Not blunt and consuming like most.
All the same, he grieved. Sighing, Draco rose. He could never bear to stay for too long. “I expect a symphony next time.” He said, smirking. And as he knew it would, the bird-song began to quiet.

-

When he arrived at Granger’s, Blaise was already there. Sitting on Granger’s plush red sofa, legs propped on her coffee table, as if he felt right at home. Draco stood stiffly in the middle of the room and scowled. Granger stood somewhere between the two, eyeing them both with her ever present curiosity. “I believe you two are already acquainted…?” She asked, smiling in infuriating amusement.

Draco shifted his gaze and eyed her warningly, to which she responded with a roll of her own eyes. She flipped her hair in a huff and bounced from the room. In a very Granger, un-girly sort of way, of course. “I’ll just fetch some tea. Make yourself comfortable, will you,” She called to him from the kitchen. Draco thought it sounded rather like a demand.

“Zabini,” Draco drawled rather coldly. In fact, he was a bit stunned at the iciness in his tone. Until Blaise responded, that is. “Malfoy,” Blaise grinned wickedly, bouncing an apple from one hand to the other. And then he stopped, inspected it for a moment, and took a big, loud bite from the center. Draco, for reasons completely unknown, felt Gobsmacked. “That was my apple!” He exclaimed loudly, “Granger gave it to me!” Blaise only shrugged. “Yes. And you set it down.”

Which of course, was true. Because who the hell hands someone an apple when they walk through your door? He’d dismissed it as some bizarre muggle custom. And being the polite bloke that he was, he’d thought better than to decline the offer, having already offended her on numerous occasions by assuming every thing she did that he found to be strange (which was a lot) was some ‘bizarre muggle custom.’ After being explained to, time and time again that ‘muggles do not have all these silly stupid customs you seem to think they have … except for on some holidays,’ he’d learned to keep any inquisitions about the matter to himself. But still. That was his Goddamn apple.

“Whatever,” Draco muttered bitterly, deciding to change the topic. “You look as if you’ve spent some quality time here. Where can I put my belongings?” Blaise only shrugged, gesturing wildly about the room as if presenting Draco with the whole world. “Suit yourself, mate,” he replied indifferently.

Draco quirked a brow. He had definitely not missed the fact that Blaise made no attempt at denying any accusations of spending quality time at the flat of one Hermione Granger. Gross! Hermione Granger, and Blaise Zabini, of all people. What a complete arse!

Blaise snickered, which served to annoy Draco twice-fold. If Draco Malfoy’s smirk was infamous, so too was Blaise Zabini’s snicker. He was just about to inquire whether Blaise wouldn’t mind if it suited him just fine to shove his belongings straight up his—
“Tea’s ready!”
When Granger called from the kitchen.

Draco begrudgingly waited for Blaise to rise from the sofa and slink very slimily into the kitchen. He followed behind. Her kitchen was rather unimpressive, as was the rest of her flat. Small and dim, it was nothing more than a counter, appliances, and a small wooden table that sat four. Suddenly, Draco was very aware that there weren’t four to be seated. There were three. And he was the third. “Have a seat, Hermione said breezily, setting the tea on the table before him. I’ve made some Cucumber Sandwiches. Nothing fancy, as I’m sure we’ve all got a plethora of eating arrangements for the day …” she trailed off.


For some reason, this was the one thing that Draco admired about Granger; her way of … thinking ahead. One never knew how much they missed it in a person until they actually met someone who possessed it. As he took a seat, and dropped two sugars into his Tea while watching Blaise prepare both his and Granger’s, Blaise addressed him.

“How’s work, mate?” He said simply. Draco wondered if he wasn’t being a complete arse very much on purpose, or if he was simply just a first class moron. Oh, I don’t know. I’m working on a completely useless case with a completely useless bird and getting absolutely nothing done in the process. “Good enough. You?” He replied. Granger shot Blaise what Draco interpreted as a warning glance, and Blaise coughed, quickly changing the topic to some strange muggle thing he’d learned about that morning called ‘taxes’.

So now she didn’t even want him knowing what she was working on? Cor, what had he said that was so bloody awful anyway? And if she was going to be such a bitch, well then out with it. These bleeding pleasantries when she obviously wanted nothing to do with him were more than infuriating. Granted, Draco knew Aurors were prohibited from discussing their own cases with anyone but their own partner. But. Still. He should be an exception. He was her partner. Preoccupied with his thoughts, Draco took a large gulp of hot tea and choked harshly as Hermione rested a hand on Blaise's shoulder affectionately and squeezed.

“That you’re so concerned for muggles well-being will never fail to surprise me Blaise,” she said warmly, syrup practically oozing from her eyeballs. Draco, still gagging, waved frantically at Blaise who was smiling, equally as disturbing as Hermione and completely lost to the fact that Draco was choking to death. Finally, with a very loud cough, Draco’s airways cleared. Only his gasp for sweet, sweet air broke the trance of love between them. That was it. He was getting the hell out of there. STAT.

“Right. Chuffed to bits to have been invited, but I’ve got to run,” he said, still slightly disoriented from his near death experience as Blaise and Granger eyed him curiously.

"Oh," Hermione said breezily as she stood behind Blaise and, Draco couldn't help but notice with a twinge of unease, placed her hand on his shoulder agian, this time rubbing it absentmindedly.

"Do you have to leave so soon?" She pouted. "I was just about to poison the tea." Blaise guffawed loudly into his cup as Draco fought hard not to scowl. He just wasn't in the mood for her banter today.

"I have a date with Molly, actually." And even he wasn't sire why he said it. The way he said it. Blaise was still laughing, of course, but Hermiones attention was noticably piqued. He fought not to smirk with triumph. And then, what the hell.

His smirk only widened when she narrowed her eyes at him dangerously, knowing he’s sensed her flash of....? Whatever it was. "Well, I'm sure that will be mind-numbingly entertaining," She called to his back as he turned to leave.

And that was the ray of sunshine Hermione Granger he knew and loathed.“That smugness of yours really is an attractive quality”. He said tersely, collecting his coat and wand from the hallway as she followed behind him.

"I was hardly being smug, Malfoy. Just realistic. She’s draftier than an empty box and we both know it. But whatever floats your boat," she said tartly. "And you’re one to talk about smugness.“

"Actually, I’m quite happy admitting I’m superior to no one. If you’d forgotten, that sanctimonious little attitude you carry around once got me in a load of shit."

”Well perhaps you should think about going back to that. You must have a very low opinion of people indeed if you now believe they're your equals."

"And I suppose you think you've got something on Molly Zimmerman, do you?" He said snidely, clearly indicating he thought the notion absurd.

And that was it. There was this moment, where he saw, actually saw Granger realise he was daring her. And her eyes became hard.

“Oh, no. I'd never dream of competing with a woman like that"

Draco couldn't help it; he smirked. 'Cause even he knew this was bound be good.

"And what it that supposed to mean?" her asked lightly, quirking an eyebrow.

"Oh, it’s just, I’m sure she’s just gagging for it. And you probably couldn’t handle a woman who wasn’t a complete doddle, smarmy bastard that you are. So you see, even considering competing is out of the question. We both know a woman like her gives in far too easy to make a worthy adversary ... among other things, I'm sure. But if that's how you like it....”

And then, to add just a little more gall, she smiled. As if she’d only been teasing. But he knew better. Oh, did he ever. Cheeky wench! Blaise snickered, nodding in apparent agreement.

“Horses for courses,” he said good naturedly.
Tosser.

“Oh, you’ve got me all sussed, haven’t you?” He said sarcastically.

Hermione nodded. “Quite." she said simply.

And again she smiled in a sickeningly sweet manner, clearly egging him on. But he wouldn't bait into her banter so easily. Just what did she take him for? Summoning up what little energy he had left, he went for the kill.

"…You know, Granger, She’s actually quite brilliant. I've learned a lot of new things, really. But it was all her. I could barely speak I was so enthralled,” he said, finally turning from her and making his way to the apparation point in her living room.

Granger raised a disbelieving eyebrow at his back. “Indeed? Well, perhaps she is your intellectual equal, then. Of course, that doesn’t say much at all, does it, considering that conversing with you is equal to conversing with a brick wall?”

At this, Draco laughed harshly. “Intellectual equal, Granger? Darling ... Who said anything about conversing? I thought we'd covered that that's obviously not where her talents' lie."

And with that he disapparated with a loud pop, but not without first turning to witness Granger's jaw drop a fraction of an inch.

Never had he been so excited to see Molly Zimmerman in his life.