Weather

Draco cherished the snow. Every year, when the first snowfall came, he'd be standing outside, watching the flakes fall to the ground. He blended right in. The scene reminded one of those cheap little snow globes that swirl around pseudo snow. He always appeared like an angel, standing in a mass of white. When he came back inside, his cheeks would be flushed, nose red, hair disheveled. It was an endearing sight.

Malfoy detested the snow. When everyone was outside playing, he would be indoors, studying and sulking. Whenever he was absolutely required to venture outside, he would walk cautiously and make sure that not a single flake would flutter onto his expensive, tailored robes. One year, Goyle (being the way he was) had hit Malfoy with a snowball. There had been rumors circulating about that Goyle had had to stay in the Hospital Wing for three weeks afterward. No one knew what had really happened but now Goyle sported new scars.

Draco loathed the rain, said it made everything too damp and muddy. Said that it made him feel like the air was trying to suffocate him. He especially hated rainstorms during the summer. Those tended to hit hard and continue on endlessly. On those days, he would just sit and read aimlessly. A mug of hot chocolate would often be resting by his books. He would furrow his brow in concentration, unaware of the world around him. Every now and then, a few strands of his hair would escape and fall onto his face. He'd tuck them away, though they always returned.

Malfoy preferred the rain. Many times during such storms, a blur of sliver and green could be seen over the Quidditch pitch. He held the record for most lectures pertaining to the dangers of flying during a storm. He never heeded them. During every storm, Filch could be heard complaining about mentally unstable students who muddled his precious clean floor. There was never any doubt about the identity of the person. Only one person would ever drench himself for some leisure flying: Malfoy.

Draco adored the wind. On breezy days, he would take extended walks around the grounds. He would stand there, letting the breath of air billow his cloak out behind him. He knew how erotic it looked, that was probably the reason he would stand out on the cliff hours on end. He just stood there, gazing into the horizon while the last golden rays of the setting sun reflected in his steel-grey eyes. Beautiful, and he knew it.

Malfoy despised the wind. The dust it carried always irritated him. During the springtime, he could be seen shuffling about with a handkerchief, sniffling every so often. Not that he ever admitted being uncomfortable. Either way, not a soul messed with him on windy days.

Draco disliked cloudy days. His spirits seemed to complement the heavens. He would be gloomy, like the overcast sky outside. He preferred to stay inside on days like that. On sunless days, the Library usually contained a certain disgruntled Slytherin. Hidden behind his mountain of literature, he would snap at all who disturbed him. Only certain people could stand him on cloudy days.

Malfoy enjoyed cloudy days. Very few knew precisely why. Rumors often flew that he plotted evil most easily on these days. It was common knowledge that he was more...civil when clouds were present.

Draco was fond of sunny days. That just proved his emotions followed the atmosphere's patterns. He delighted in idling around during such fine weather by the lake. Occasionally, there would be a picnic as well. The picnics were especially fine.

Malfoy abhorred sunny days, for they were not kind to his pale complexion. Overexposure to the daylight turned his pearly skin rather raw. Obviously, this did not please him. His inevitable taciturnity contrasted with the sunshine streaming in through the windows. During such times, he was rarely visible beyond the Entrance Hall gates. A few Hufflepuff first-years theorized that he was part vampire. The idea was ludicrous. Malfoys would never allow their blood be contaminated in such a way.

Draco was quite indecisive when it came to weather. It was enjoyed during certain times and a nuisance during others. Sometimes he appreciated it and other times he resented it. Some matters are simply not definite.

Malfoy was impassive about the weather. He tolerated it, watched for possibility of future uses. It could be an advantage. It could be an obstruction. He exploited it when he saw fit. To him, like all other insignificant matters, it existed and nothing more.

And Harry? He loved Draco. With every inch of his heart. He loved him so much so that he forgot the distinction between reality and illusion. Yet, that was perfectly fine because he had his Draco.

~Fin~