The next day dawned without soggy sheets and madly maternal house-elves, but sadly still quite filled with dampness, at least in Draco's corner of the world. He had muttered a curse in the general direction of the infirmary and cast waterproofing charms on every surface of the room, including his hair and skin. It felt decidedly odd, feeling water bead up on his skin and slide off, but at least he was spared the indignity of wet sheets.
As he was leaving his room, he saw Pansy Parkinson, who had taken to avoiding him ever since their supposedly mutual breakup, which had actually consisted of Draco telling her he was bored and wanted to date other people. She had wept and stormed and sworn that she would love him forever despite the way her heart was broken, and he had nodded and left to see whether the Ravenclaw he'd heard was quite round of heel was available that night. Deciding that he should make amends as part of his campaign towards niceness, he trudged towards her, the rain a steady grey sheet around him.
"Pans," he said with forced heartiness. "How've you been?"
She clutched her books closer to her bosom, staring at him with suspicion. "Fine..."
"Good, good," said Draco jovially, ignoring the muttering of the various students in the area. "So, do you remember what we said, about--"
"Is-- Is he b-bothering you, Pansy?" came a voice from Pansy's elbow, making up for a nervous stutter with a great deal of bravado.
Draco squinted through the water in his eyes to see who it could be, just as Pansy turned to the source of the voice and said, "No, Neville, it's all right. The worst he can do is water-stain my dress."
"LONGBOTTOM?" Draco was aghast.
Pansy stomped on Draco's foot, hard, the sharp spike of her heel making his instep feel like it'd been broken. "Neville is a nice boy, and he treats me like a princess!"
"Well... Good," sputtered Draco, his brain still reeling. "You deserve it. I just wanted to say..." The words stuck in his mouth as he tried to figure out how someone went about saying this sort of thing. Slowly, he got out, "I'm s- sorr- sorry if I hurt you before, you didn't deserve it."
Draco felt quite pleased with himself. That sounded just like one of those super good Gryffindors would. The cloud's time was up! His bubble of happiness, however, was broken by Longbottom, Longbottom of all people, sneering, "It's too late, Malfoy, she's with me now."
This led to Pansy throwing herself into the pudgy git's arms and the happy couple walking off, which was rather less annoying than the sudden bolt of lightning crackling through the cloud above him, causing the cloud to get darker and rain all the harder. Recovering slightly, Draco managed to call after them, "Well, who wants her?", but it just wasn't satisfying. Still muttering about not wanting any pug-faced wenches with questionable taste, he kicked at something on the ground and found himself coated with glittery ink in a revolting shade of fuschia.
"Not a good look for you, Malfoy," came a voice from nearby, although this one was considerably sexier than Longbottom's.
"D'you think?" Draco sneered. "And here I thought I'd do a Lockhart and market it to pathetic housewives as haute couture."
An umbrella went over his head and he looked into a pair of brown eyes that sparkled more than the hideous ink. "My mum'd buy three, then."
Draco's mouth opened for a comment about the Weasley budget not stretching to a Draco Malfoy couture handkerchief, let alone the yardage necessary to decently cover their matriarch, but then he snapped it shut again. "Thank you for the umbrella."
"Malfoy?" She frowned at him, dislodging the umbrella enough to make it channel water straight down the back of his robes. Thunder rolled as she slapped her hand to his forehead. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing's wrong," he muttered, trying to avoid making comments about mad, violent Weasleys and instead focus on fixing the umbrella's positioning. The rainfall was down to a light drizzle, but it still felt like a river flowing down his back.
She shook her head, her eyes soft as she pushed some hair out of his eyes. "You know, the Weasleys are the best family in all England."
"Uh huh," he said blankly as her hand trailed down to rest over his rapidly accelerating heartbeat. If she got just about an inch closer, he'd be within an inch of lips that he was really thinking might truly deserve comparison to rosebuds or some other poetic rot. One of them was being bitten now, the skin indented around her tooth, and he rather thought he'd like to volunteer to take that chore over. It'd be only nice to save her the effort of biting her own lip, right? Oh, just the smallest bit closer - her breasts were touching his chest, just barely, but enough to make his hormones start a conga line to the beat of his arrhythmically pounding pulse.
"I think you should see Madame Pomfrey." It finally dawned on him that the lips he'd been so focused on had moved, and then a second later his ears managed to get a message past the wild hormone party to his brain, where it called a halt to the festivities to the accompaniment of a fresh burst of torrential rain.
He would have said something, if his brain had been able to produce anything resembling coherent thought. As it was she took hold of his hand again and started dragging him down the hallway, the umbrella increasingly useless as the rain poured down. He could barely hear the other students in the hallway over the rumble of thunder as she tugged him along. She thought he was ill? How pathetic did she think he was?
And yet, he thought, looking at the way her damp clothing was molding to her body, perhaps there were compensations. The rain cleared a bit and he could see that her thin robes were completely plastered to her legs, outlining what was quite possibly the finest arse at Hogwarts. He'd have to do further studies to be sure, but it definitely seemed like it could be world-class. Then a thought occurred, and the cloud drifted higher as an evil smile spread over his face. Tamping it down in favor of a deliberately woebegone expression, he said "Weasley?" in the weakest voice he could muster.
"Yes, Malfoy?" she asked, turning around. He ducked his head a bit to hide the smirk that he knew was threatening to form, and silently thanked whatever deity had decreed that the girls' uniforms no longer included those hideous sleeveless jumpers. Yes, life as Draco Malfoy was looking up a bit, as a very thin, old, white Oxford shirt on the torso of a lovely girl was an absolutely beautiful thing in the rain.
"I think..." He let his breath hitch, or at least stifled a laugh by making it seem like a sob, and said weakly, "I think I need to sit down for a moment."
She looked alarmed, and frantically scanned the corridor before throwing her arm around his waist and pulling his arm around her shoulders. "Just lean on me, Malfoy. We can stop in the History of Magic classroom, it's just ahead."
Draco did as he was told, leaning his head down to rest on her shoulder and get an even closer look at the way her bosom was framed by the wet, transparent cloth. The rain was more of a heavy mist at this point, and he hoped that the ghost professor took Saturdays off, which would mean that he'd be alone with the hot Weasley. Well, hot in the sense of attraction; she was starting to shiver from the damp and he felt a bit guilty, although not enough to stop staring at her breasts.
They finally reached the classroom and he slid heavily into a seat, accidentally pulling her down into his lap as he went so that he could, entirely by accident, put his hands on her arse. He misjudged it a bit, and ended up with both hands full of bum, yes, but also a faceful of breast. There was no way that he wouldn't get in trouble over this. Deciding that he might as well enjoy it before the crying or screaming started, he nuzzled the pale, damp flesh in front of him, wishing like hell there wasn't cloth in the way.
She stepped back rather quickly and the much heavier rain obscured his view of her face, which he thought probably explained why she didn't look angry. That theory was disproven, however, when she laughed. "You faker! You did all that just to touch me up?"
He flinched a bit, as he'd seen the Weasley girl lose her temper once at the Creepy kid, and it had not been pretty. Rain poured down heavily as he tried to comfort himself that at least this time she did not seem to possess a camera to be broken against his skull and then lodged in various orifices. Before he could speak, though, she shook her head, which he could only see through the downpour because of her bright hair and said, "Well, that's a relief. I thought you must be dying if you didn't insult my family, but if you were thinking of me as totty, then I understand."
He swiped at his eyes, unsure where to start with being annoyed. "Can't a fellow be nice without it being about sex?"
"Malfoy, I'll admit that you're good, but the bit where you pinched my bum and nibbled at my breasts gave the game away, don't you think?" The rain cleared a bit and he could see her smirk at him. "Besides, you're not a nice person."
"I can be nice!" he said with some outrage. "I'm a wonderful person!"
She patted his hand like he was a somewhat dotty old age pensioner. "You just go on believing that," she said with distinct amusement before turning to walk off. He was watching her arse again, a bit dazed by events, when she turned and said, "Oh, and Malfoy? Nice shirt."
He frowned in confusion, then looked down. What on earth did she mean? He was just wearing the standard white shirt... And he'd forgotten the waterproof charm, so it was sticking to his own skin. He looked at his outlined chest and stomach muscles, and then to the door where she'd disappeared, and thought, "Hot damn."
As he was leaving his room, he saw Pansy Parkinson, who had taken to avoiding him ever since their supposedly mutual breakup, which had actually consisted of Draco telling her he was bored and wanted to date other people. She had wept and stormed and sworn that she would love him forever despite the way her heart was broken, and he had nodded and left to see whether the Ravenclaw he'd heard was quite round of heel was available that night. Deciding that he should make amends as part of his campaign towards niceness, he trudged towards her, the rain a steady grey sheet around him.
"Pans," he said with forced heartiness. "How've you been?"
She clutched her books closer to her bosom, staring at him with suspicion. "Fine..."
"Good, good," said Draco jovially, ignoring the muttering of the various students in the area. "So, do you remember what we said, about--"
"Is-- Is he b-bothering you, Pansy?" came a voice from Pansy's elbow, making up for a nervous stutter with a great deal of bravado.
Draco squinted through the water in his eyes to see who it could be, just as Pansy turned to the source of the voice and said, "No, Neville, it's all right. The worst he can do is water-stain my dress."
"LONGBOTTOM?" Draco was aghast.
Pansy stomped on Draco's foot, hard, the sharp spike of her heel making his instep feel like it'd been broken. "Neville is a nice boy, and he treats me like a princess!"
"Well... Good," sputtered Draco, his brain still reeling. "You deserve it. I just wanted to say..." The words stuck in his mouth as he tried to figure out how someone went about saying this sort of thing. Slowly, he got out, "I'm s- sorr- sorry if I hurt you before, you didn't deserve it."
Draco felt quite pleased with himself. That sounded just like one of those super good Gryffindors would. The cloud's time was up! His bubble of happiness, however, was broken by Longbottom, Longbottom of all people, sneering, "It's too late, Malfoy, she's with me now."
This led to Pansy throwing herself into the pudgy git's arms and the happy couple walking off, which was rather less annoying than the sudden bolt of lightning crackling through the cloud above him, causing the cloud to get darker and rain all the harder. Recovering slightly, Draco managed to call after them, "Well, who wants her?", but it just wasn't satisfying. Still muttering about not wanting any pug-faced wenches with questionable taste, he kicked at something on the ground and found himself coated with glittery ink in a revolting shade of fuschia.
"Not a good look for you, Malfoy," came a voice from nearby, although this one was considerably sexier than Longbottom's.
"D'you think?" Draco sneered. "And here I thought I'd do a Lockhart and market it to pathetic housewives as haute couture."
An umbrella went over his head and he looked into a pair of brown eyes that sparkled more than the hideous ink. "My mum'd buy three, then."
Draco's mouth opened for a comment about the Weasley budget not stretching to a Draco Malfoy couture handkerchief, let alone the yardage necessary to decently cover their matriarch, but then he snapped it shut again. "Thank you for the umbrella."
"Malfoy?" She frowned at him, dislodging the umbrella enough to make it channel water straight down the back of his robes. Thunder rolled as she slapped her hand to his forehead. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing's wrong," he muttered, trying to avoid making comments about mad, violent Weasleys and instead focus on fixing the umbrella's positioning. The rainfall was down to a light drizzle, but it still felt like a river flowing down his back.
She shook her head, her eyes soft as she pushed some hair out of his eyes. "You know, the Weasleys are the best family in all England."
"Uh huh," he said blankly as her hand trailed down to rest over his rapidly accelerating heartbeat. If she got just about an inch closer, he'd be within an inch of lips that he was really thinking might truly deserve comparison to rosebuds or some other poetic rot. One of them was being bitten now, the skin indented around her tooth, and he rather thought he'd like to volunteer to take that chore over. It'd be only nice to save her the effort of biting her own lip, right? Oh, just the smallest bit closer - her breasts were touching his chest, just barely, but enough to make his hormones start a conga line to the beat of his arrhythmically pounding pulse.
"I think you should see Madame Pomfrey." It finally dawned on him that the lips he'd been so focused on had moved, and then a second later his ears managed to get a message past the wild hormone party to his brain, where it called a halt to the festivities to the accompaniment of a fresh burst of torrential rain.
He would have said something, if his brain had been able to produce anything resembling coherent thought. As it was she took hold of his hand again and started dragging him down the hallway, the umbrella increasingly useless as the rain poured down. He could barely hear the other students in the hallway over the rumble of thunder as she tugged him along. She thought he was ill? How pathetic did she think he was?
And yet, he thought, looking at the way her damp clothing was molding to her body, perhaps there were compensations. The rain cleared a bit and he could see that her thin robes were completely plastered to her legs, outlining what was quite possibly the finest arse at Hogwarts. He'd have to do further studies to be sure, but it definitely seemed like it could be world-class. Then a thought occurred, and the cloud drifted higher as an evil smile spread over his face. Tamping it down in favor of a deliberately woebegone expression, he said "Weasley?" in the weakest voice he could muster.
"Yes, Malfoy?" she asked, turning around. He ducked his head a bit to hide the smirk that he knew was threatening to form, and silently thanked whatever deity had decreed that the girls' uniforms no longer included those hideous sleeveless jumpers. Yes, life as Draco Malfoy was looking up a bit, as a very thin, old, white Oxford shirt on the torso of a lovely girl was an absolutely beautiful thing in the rain.
"I think..." He let his breath hitch, or at least stifled a laugh by making it seem like a sob, and said weakly, "I think I need to sit down for a moment."
She looked alarmed, and frantically scanned the corridor before throwing her arm around his waist and pulling his arm around her shoulders. "Just lean on me, Malfoy. We can stop in the History of Magic classroom, it's just ahead."
Draco did as he was told, leaning his head down to rest on her shoulder and get an even closer look at the way her bosom was framed by the wet, transparent cloth. The rain was more of a heavy mist at this point, and he hoped that the ghost professor took Saturdays off, which would mean that he'd be alone with the hot Weasley. Well, hot in the sense of attraction; she was starting to shiver from the damp and he felt a bit guilty, although not enough to stop staring at her breasts.
They finally reached the classroom and he slid heavily into a seat, accidentally pulling her down into his lap as he went so that he could, entirely by accident, put his hands on her arse. He misjudged it a bit, and ended up with both hands full of bum, yes, but also a faceful of breast. There was no way that he wouldn't get in trouble over this. Deciding that he might as well enjoy it before the crying or screaming started, he nuzzled the pale, damp flesh in front of him, wishing like hell there wasn't cloth in the way.
She stepped back rather quickly and the much heavier rain obscured his view of her face, which he thought probably explained why she didn't look angry. That theory was disproven, however, when she laughed. "You faker! You did all that just to touch me up?"
He flinched a bit, as he'd seen the Weasley girl lose her temper once at the Creepy kid, and it had not been pretty. Rain poured down heavily as he tried to comfort himself that at least this time she did not seem to possess a camera to be broken against his skull and then lodged in various orifices. Before he could speak, though, she shook her head, which he could only see through the downpour because of her bright hair and said, "Well, that's a relief. I thought you must be dying if you didn't insult my family, but if you were thinking of me as totty, then I understand."
He swiped at his eyes, unsure where to start with being annoyed. "Can't a fellow be nice without it being about sex?"
"Malfoy, I'll admit that you're good, but the bit where you pinched my bum and nibbled at my breasts gave the game away, don't you think?" The rain cleared a bit and he could see her smirk at him. "Besides, you're not a nice person."
"I can be nice!" he said with some outrage. "I'm a wonderful person!"
She patted his hand like he was a somewhat dotty old age pensioner. "You just go on believing that," she said with distinct amusement before turning to walk off. He was watching her arse again, a bit dazed by events, when she turned and said, "Oh, and Malfoy? Nice shirt."
He frowned in confusion, then looked down. What on earth did she mean? He was just wearing the standard white shirt... And he'd forgotten the waterproof charm, so it was sticking to his own skin. He looked at his outlined chest and stomach muscles, and then to the door where she'd disappeared, and thought, "Hot damn."
To Be Continued.
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This story is a favorite of 28 members. Members who liked Draco's Dark Cloud also liked 674 other stories.
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