Hopelessly Devoted (to a Malfoy)

But Oh, Those Summer Nights

July 1997, Château Malfoy, Somewhere in the Esterel Mountains

We must enjoy this last summer...

In the wake of receiving his father's foreboding words, Draco had resigned himself to a dreary, lonesome summer. That was — until now.

Hermione Granger was his beacon of hope. He hadn't felt so alive in years as he did when he'd been in her company. As he'd watched her figure fade into the distance at the end of their evening together, he'd allowed himself to believe, for the first time since arriving in France, that this summer might just prove to be the happy getaway that his father had — ostensibly — wished for them.

Draco's mind was reeling that night as he lay in bed; playing the evening he'd spent with Hermione over and over like a Pensieve. Merlin, he couldn't believe his luck.

He'd been engaging in flirtatious, witty banter with a gorgeous, pureblood witch on a deserted beach in the South of France. A witch who, he had a strong sense, was particularly brilliant at magic.

A fire had been stoked inside of him, reigniting his spirits after a long dormancy. Draco realised that, although he had had some quaint flings with Pansy and a couple of other Slytherin girls, he'd never felt this way about somebody before.

Now, he just had to solve the pesky problem of the cavernous hole he'd dug himself into when he'd made up that bit about "a significant magical reason" for the timing of their adventure that would "tickle her fancy". He'd sort of gone off of a whim in a desperate moment, putting far too much trust into the claims of ancient magic in the area, without having done any research to see if they had an ounce of truth behind them. He truly was a Slytherin to the bone.

Tomorrow was going to be a very busy day indeed. Draco dug out a piece of parchment and a quill from the drawer of his bedside table, and took a few minutes scribbling some things down. Then, with a quick snap of his fingers, there was a loud crack!, and the Malfoys' new house elf (post-Dobby) appeared.

"Master Malfoy! So good to see you sir," said the little elf, whose voice was slightly higher in pitch than Dobby's — which sometimes tested Draco's patience on particularly brooding-induced headachey days — and who had an appropriately matching smaller stature. "How can Nory be of assistance this evening?"

"Nory, would you please fetch me some texts from the Manor library and bring them back here by tomorrow? I've written down as many specific titles as I could think of on this list, as well as some more details on what I'm looking for in case you can find anything else. And please, bring any of the oldest texts you come across — anything around, during, and leading up to the first century A.D."

"Of course, sir! Master Malfoy is to be doing important studying, Nory understands! Nory will go right away!" The little elf took the piece of parchment from Draco's outstretched hand and tucked it into his tea towel-fashioned tunic, then squeaked, "Good night, sir!" and Disapparated.

After a longer period of time than usual, due to the flurry of excited thoughts about a particular witch and a particularly stressful task, Draco fell into a fitful sleep.

*****

The next morning, after breakfast, Draco assumed position under a sunshade at a large, wrought iron table upon Chateau Malfoy's uppermost terrace, the materials that Nory had brought him from the Manor splayed out all across its surface.

He set to work straight away — he only had about eleven hours to discover an extraordinary magical phenomenon, as well as how to trigger it, before he had to prepare for the flight and make his way back down to the beach.