geoviki | Autumn Can Really Hang You Up...

Title: Autumn Can Really Hang You Up the Most
Author: Duinn Fionn

geoviki
Pairing: none - gen
Rating: G
Author notes: A stand-alone fic in the world of A Thousand Beautiful Things, sometime post-War.
From a suggestion by

ravurian for autumn fic. Uncharacteristically descriptive for me.

Draco Malfoy felt the chilling wind in his face the moment he pulled the castle door of Hogwarts closed behind him. It was still early enough that twilight had just begun to descend - Severus doggedly followed the school's pattern of serving an early supper, although they'd dined in his dungeon rooms and not the Great Hall. Thank god.

Dinner had been excellent – he never knew how Severus managed to cajole the house elves into preparing such fine meals, featuring out-of-season delicacies that they both relished. And during this visit, he'd managed to avoid nearly all the other residents. He'd passed Flitwick on the way in, exchanging neutral nods and meaningless greetings with his former teacher, who seemed disinterested in further conversation. And after dinner, he'd dodged the cluster of students emerging from Firenze's Divination classroom, with only the stragglers catching sight of him and reacting in that sudden rush of hissed whispers that always reminded him of startled snakes.

The centaur had caught sight of Draco and fixed him with that uncanny stare of his. Firenze had looked as though he wanted to say something, so Draco had hesitated in careful politeness.

"Unresolved," he'd said, in a deep, sonorous voice, before turning away with a clatter of hooves.

A wave of irritation had passed over Draco, and he'd tried to shrug it off. He had wondered if the odd creature thought he was offering up some insight, or rather, was he simply compelled to pass along these random utterances? There was a time when Draco would have puzzled over the word for hours, but today he'd dismissed it as annoyingly cryptic and had tried to brush it aside.

Every time he walked the road to Hogsmeade, he remembered the night he made his escape from Hogwarts to join the Death Eaters. Now it felt as recent as yesterday – had it really been years ago he'd stumbled this way with fear clutching at him like a living thing? But that had been on a moonless spring evening, with the nighttime breeze promising a return of warmth and longer days. Tonight, autumn wrapped itself around him, the season even now retreating under a thick blanket of clouds that threatened colder weather to come.

His footsteps seemed unbearably loud, a blend of sole against gravel and fallen leaves that crunched under his shoes like broken bones. The rowans lining his path had already shed their leaves and stood with stark branches against the dimming sky, while the oaks clutched their dying foliage as tightly as goblins' fingers grasping Galleons. Honey locusts were losing their battle to resist the oncoming winter, and their tiny leaves whispered goodbyes as the wind stripped them apart and sent them down like golden rain to eddy at his feet. He scuffed them aside and continued down the path to Hogsmeade.

Abruptly, the setting sun slipped below the edge of the cloud bank, somewhere far to the west where the country was still fighting the inevitable change of seasons. The sudden burst of golden rays caught him off guard, forcing him to shield his eyes against the brightness and sending impossibly long shadows racing beside him to blend with the darkness of the encroaching forest.

He was unexpectedly reminded of another autumn day – seventh year? No, sixth, because Vincent had still been part of the band of friends that day making their way to Hogsmeade. The sun had been warm, almost liquid, with high horsetail clouds tracing lazily overhead and a distant sound of laughter floating up from students further down the path. The day seemed to be made to embrace tightly against the coming winter. He remembered feeling uncharacteristically happy – the autumn days had been bright with promise, he was away from Lucius once again, and even Quidditch was offering hope for an ultimate Slytherin victory. His secret evenings with Severus were still merely abstract lessons on topics that left him more curious than afraid, and he was beginning to feel the first stirring of desire in the company of his mentor.

He and Vincent had been tarrying deliberately to give Gregory a chance to chat privately to the girl at his side – if the road to Hogsmeade could be considered at all private. Draco could barely remember her name after all this time – Daphne something, a fifth-year Slytherin who had somehow caught the fancy of his awkward friend.

"Ask her for me," Gregory had pleaded weeks before that day. "I don't know what to say to her, and she'd listen to you, Draco. I know she would."

"You'll have to talk to her eventually," he'd replied, trying to sound annoyed, although what he really felt was amusement.

"C'mon, just this once." Draco knew he would do what his friend needed him to – there had never been any question of that.

At first - and predictably - Daphne had thought Draco was asking for himself. He could read it in her coy expression when he approached her, in the way she gracefully turned her wrists before raising her hands to brush her hair back off her face, in the sudden softening of her voice as she answered, "What do you want, Draco?" He saw it in the unmistakable disappointment in her eyes when he told her it was Gregory who wanted to escort her around Hogsmeade. He briefly wondered if her dashed hopes would have faded if he admitted that he wasn't interested in any girl, not just her, but of course he wasn't about to admit that to anyone.

She'd agreed to go and left it unspoken that she did it to please him, because she never went out with Gregory a second time. But on that first date, Gregory's excitement and pleasure in her company had been unmistakable. Draco, trailing along behind with Vincent but paying him no mind, had watched Gregory muster up his courage and ask her a question – he hadn't heard what he'd asked, but Daphne had responded with enthusiasm. Unwittingly, Gregory had fallen upon one sure-fire way to make his companion unfold - by letting her talk about herself at great length and listening to her with undivided attention.

It was here, near the edge of Hogwart's grounds where the ground leveled out and where several paths converged, that he remembered most clearly that look on Gregory's face when he finally got up the courage to take this fragile creature beside him by the hand. He'd cautiously turned to her, and even at a distance Draco had caught the instant when the fear in his eye had been supplanted by rapture when she didn't pull away from his touch. For just a brief moment Gregory had looked altogether different, almost handsome, as though someone had dropped a transfiguring glamour on him.

There were times now that he missed Gregory so much it hurt.

The sun finally slipped below the horizon, and the unnaturally golden light faded away. In the darkness, the susurration of dead leaves winding around him seemed louder. He fumbled with the latch on the gate that led off Hogwarts property, wincing at the sudden coldness of the metal beneath his fingers. As he roughly swung the gate closed, he thought he heard a metallic echo voicing the centaur's enigmatic word: unresolved.

He felt the first touch of snowflakes brush his face just before he Apparated back to the warmth of his London flat.