The Ultimatum ~ Draco Malfoy

Flashback 4

Late July, 1993

If this wasn't the warmest summer in years, Draco didn't know what to believe. Droplets of sweat were forming on his forehead every two seconds, slowly dripping down his face. He kept wiping his forehead with the back of his hand, pushing his hair out of his face to prevent it from sticking to his forehead—ultimately resulting in getting his hair oily. He had already showered twice that day, and it wasn't even past one one o'clock in the afternoon. Merlin, he hated the sticky feeling all over his skin. And the worst part was; his mother had invited June over for a "playdate", as if they weren't past that age already.

Draco had begged his mother to cancel, even thrown a little tantrum, and all for nothing. At precisely two a'clock on the dot, June Flooed in through one of the fireplaces.

"Hello Draco," the girl said, flashing him a smile as she shrugged lightly.

Draco raised his brows in bewilderment. Draco? She never called him that. He certainly didn't want her to.

"How are you?" she continued, seeing as he wasn't responding.

How was he? What kind of a question was that?

His eyes narrowed. She was acting strange; unusually forced and awkward. He didn't even recognise her.

He was expecting her typical repulsed looks and rudeness towards him. He would welcome it, in fact. But certainly not this.

"Fine," Draco anwered in a clipped voice, eyeing her suspiciously. He noticed blueberry-sized spots on the skin of her arm, yellowish green in colour, and found that they almost looked like fingerprints. Then her voice distracted him, and he quickly lost his trail of thought.

"That's nice," she said, brushing the skirt of her yellow dress with her palms.

He wondered if she, too, was sweating like a pig. His eyes shifted to her flounced summer dress, and then down to her fidgety hands.

So she was uncomfortable. Then what on earth was she pretending to be civil for?

He kept watching her, waiting for her facade to break. But then—then she brought up the sodding weather, and that was it for him. He was not going to small talk about the weather with her.

"Lovely weather today," she stated, gazing out the tall windows.

Draco didn't even try to suppress his snort.

"Lovely? You've got to be kidding me," he scowled, rolling his eyes.

Suddenly, June's composed expression seemed to falter. It urged him to keep going.

"It's blazing outside, too hot to fucking breathe, and you call that lovely? Are you completely mental?" he brawled, feeling himself getting riled up too. Over the fucking weather.

He could tell by the look in her eyes that she was so close to snapping. And then, out of nowhere, she slipped right back into her composure.

No. No, no, no... Come on, Hawthorne... I need you to fight me on this.

His head was screaming in frustration when he realised that she had fully regained her resolve, a wave of disappointment flooding through his body. He couldn't take it—whatever this was—anymore. It made him cringe so bad he wanted to cut his ears off and rip his eyeballs out simultaneously. He'd rather have them scream their lungs out at each other—anything but this.

He needed to find a way to get to her—make her snap—or else he'd go crazy before it was time for her to leave.

He spun on his heels and barged out the front doors, rounding a corner of the mansion as he heard light steps trailing behind him. He frowned as he picked up two brooms leaning against the manor wall, straddling his Nimbus 2001 and offering the other one to June.