40 | ﴾ Thunder ﴿

                                    

                                          
After enjoying a perfect night with Draco, returning to the farm was going to be brutal on all fronts. He'd held me in his arms all night and answered each of my questions with trust and fervor. A highly unusual responsiveness came easily from him for once. 
                          
In my drunken state I'd pushed him to tell me where the prisoner camps were in Denmark without clarifying why. He shockingly hadn't prodded me to explain myself, simply told me of the abandoned military island with a rotting base, dotted by decrepit and time worn buildings. 
                          
Inside they were using the cells from world war two. Each one was magically bound by independent wards, to play host to a variety of Order prisoners - including teachers and adults - that were supposed to have been eliminated instead of captured. He disclosed that he was getting help guarding it from the other Slytherin boys by bribing them with copious sums of money for their time and effort to retain the captives. 
                          
In the morning, I had reluctantly opened my eyes to him staring down at me, shirtless, watching me sleeping. He was clicking at the watch and flitting his cerulean eyes between the glass interface and me, clearly waiting for me to come to consciousness.
                          
He let me wake slowly and curl up tightly against him for some time while he sorted files on the technology before him. Laying my head on his chest and being held in his arms could easily have been described as intoxicating, listening to the digital chirps of him working on it right in front of me. I never wanted to leave him again, I could've slept in that bed against his warmth for the end of time.
                          
At the base of The Lanesborough in the early afternoon we finally parted ways on the bustling streetscape of London. The sun shone atypically hot and direct for that region of the world and that time of year. 
                          
It was extremely hard for either of us to let go. Something about that moment felt like it would be the last day with such peace and calm. As I walked away from him I kept glancing back with sad eyes, only to met with his as well. Then I rounded a corner, found an alley that was out of sight, and disapparated to the farm before I would lose my resolve and chase after him. 
                          
The cottage sat in the golden rays of the sun, lazy, lopsided and quiet. The Order members would be regrouping and reorganizing for another grueling week ahead. I made sure to reappear directly in Hermione's old bedroom, where the blockade at the doorway was luckily still in place. They were likely giving me a lot of space due to recent events, perhaps assuming I was still recovering. Harry and Ron probably didn't want to see me at all regardless of what I might be doing hiding in my bedroom past noon. 
                          
I changed out of the clothing that was soiled from partying all night with Draco in London and into a fresh pink dress. I took leaps down the stairs, pushing off of the banister hyperactively and straight into George Weasley who looked quite displeased at having his tea knocked clean out of his hands in the ensuing collision. The metal cup rolled down the stairs towards the main level with a horrible clanking, splattering liquid against the treads and walls. We both watched it until it reached the kitchen area, rolling out of view. 
                          
He turned to look at me with bewildered amusement where I was standing with my hands over my mouth, "What's put so much pep in your step love?" 
                          
"I am so sorry," I apologized, "Do you know where 'arry is?"
                          
He shrugged, "Saw him heading out to check on your harvest a little while back." His blue eyes transfixed on me and I felt horribly awkward as I shimmied by him in the thin stairwell, pausing to wave my wand at the base to clean up the mess. 
                          
Out in the fields I had to squint in the blinding sunlight. Harry was indeed pacing between the crops, assessing their excellent progress as though he had any idea what he was looking at. His green eyes lifted to my form as I approached nervously.