So Long Sweet Summer

Chapter Four

High Pitch Screeches

"Draco! What are you doing?! You're not even dressed yet!" cried the high pitch voice of Narcissa Malfoy.

He had to hold back the impulse to plug his ears against his mother's shrieks. "Always the observant one, Mother," he said sarcastically.

Draco reluctantly turned away from where he stood looking out from the balcony. Why he was looking out across the grounds, Draco didn't know. It certainly wasn't because this was the time Hermione was usually swimming laps of the lake. He immediately regretted turning to face his mother's wrath. She was electric in rage; why, he wasn't sure. What did it matter to her if he was still wasn't dressed properly?

"The Parkinsons will be here shortly," she snapped. "As will the Zabinis, Notts, Goyles, Crabbes, and Lord knows who else. I will not have you appearing late." With that his mother fixed him one last glare before turning on her heel and exiting.

As the door slammed shut behind her, Draco sunk into the nearest armchair. He suppressed a moan and buried his head in his hands. He had entirely forgotten that tonight was the annual Malfoy Summer Dinner Party. All the top Death Eater families would be in attendance as well as all the new up-and-comers.

It was a night that Draco had learned to despise. It was a top social event within the Pure-blood families and the who's-who of wizarding society always turned out. Only the best received invites to the party and the best always turned out to be the most dull. An entire evening of having to make small talk with old satanic wizards and witches who weren't all there was pure torture. If he had to endure another rant on how horrid the Muggle-born wizards were today, he wasn't going to take responsibility for his actions. Granted, he thought Muggle-borns were horrid as much as the next person, but having to hear about it ten times in one night was enough to send the sanest wizard around the bend.

Of course there was an upside. He did get to spend time with all his mates from school. But even this year it couldn't cheer him up. The only person Draco could actually have a good time - and an intelligent conversation - with wasn't attending. Blaise Zabini was currently off conducting 'business' with his father and so his mother and older sister would be coming solo. That left him all alone to fend off Pansy Parkinson, Vincent Crabbe, and Gregory Goyle. It wasn't exactly a pleasant thought.

With a sigh Draco hauled himself to his feet and over towards his immense wardrobe. Knowing his father, arriving after any of the guest was an offence worthy of castration.

***

"Draco," whined Pansy's nasal voice beside him. "You're not listening to me!" Her claw like hand clutched at his left shoulder in an attempt to gain his attention.

Shrugging his shoulders in annoyance didn't seem to get his point across. Reaching over he manually pried her death grip off of him. "I'm sorry if hearing about the latest robe shop in Diagon Alley isn't incredibly enthralling," he replied dryly.

He saw her try and pout seductively at him and could feel her fingers lightly caressing his hand. "We could go do something a little more enthralling then," she remarked flirtatiously.

"Give it up, Pansy," Draco said with a sigh. "Find someone else to shag aimlessly. Franklin Collins looks ready and willing; although the effort might kill him.

"Draco!" Pansy exclaimed, wrinkling her nose as she looked over at the old greying man. Draco had to suppress a chuckle when the man winked cheekily back at her.

He felt a hand clap him on the back. As Draco stood and turned around, he got an impression of black hair and golden skin before his vision was obscured as a figure ran at him, stifling him in her perfume and dark curls.

He pulled her arms from around his neck. "Lovely to see you too, Antonia," he said greeting the young woman stiffly. To him, she was just an older version of Pansy, yet slightly more tolerable.

"Draco," he heard a voice greet him from behind the girl.

"Blaise," he replied smirking. Holding out his hand, he shook with his classmate. "I thought you were away on business?"

The two of them began walking away from the crowded dining room. "Turns out I'm quite the inept... businessman," Blaise replied cryptically.

Draco had to laugh, and a genuine smile crossed his face for the first time in a long while. "Can't say I could ever see you playing the evil Death Eater anyway, Zabini," Draco said amused.

"Pissed the Old Man off royally though," Blaise remarked. "Couldn't keep me around for more than a week; just got home yesterday. So, mate, you coming to spend August at Zabini Manor like usual?"

Draco furrowed his brow in thought. It had so easily slipped his mind about how he normally spent the summer in Italy with Blaise's family. They had a gorgeous villa in a small town just outside Florence and Draco had been going there as long as he could remember. The Zabini's constantly had foreign guests staying at their home, good companionship for him and Blaise. As Draco got older, the supply of exotic young witches had been more than enough to entice him to come. But why was Draco hesitating now?

"So?" Blaise questioned, looking over at his friend expectantly.

"I'm not sure," Draco said slowly, buying himself some time. "I think my mother wants me home for my last summer."

"If you say so," Blaise said, shaking his head in disappointment. "Let me know if you change your mind."

Draco saw Blaise hailing Theodore Nott from across the room. As he came over and engaged Blaise in conversation about his summer, Draco slipped away silently. He made his way out of the room and onto the patio overlooking the grounds. Heading in the opposite direction of his parents' breakfast nook, Draco began to wander aimlessly around.

He tried to grasp onto the concept that he had just refused the usual invitation to the Zabini Villa. He never refused; it never occurred to him to do so. To top it off, Draco had lied about why he couldn't come. Not that lying was a problem for him, but just the fact that he had felt it necessary to do so.

Draco raked a hand through his hair. What was getting into him? He hated Malfoy Manor, wanted nothing but to get away from the place. In addition to this, he would be able to get away from the presence of Granger. 'Granger!' he thought. 'Could she be the reason I want to stay?' But that was preposterous; he hated the dirty Mudblood.

Didn't he?