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A Summer Holiday	By : TwistOfLime Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Draco/Hermione Views: 12021 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

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Chapter Thirteen: The Fall of Pius Thicknesse

Days at the small cottage quickly fell into a pattern. Mornings were spent down the beach in the castle ruins where, away from prying eyes, Draco and Hermione were able to fully enjoy the pleasure of each other’s company. She had even convinced him to go swimming.

“Come on,” she begged as they stood together peering over the edge of the cliff into the ocean’s stormy blue waters.

“I’ll pass.”

“Can’t you swim?”

“Of course I can.”

“Why not then? Are you afraid of heights?” she challenged impishly.

“Nice try,” he said, kissing her on the nose, before walking away to settle down against the stone wall. “But that won’t work. I’m not twelve.”

“Fine,” she said with a dangerous smirk. Her eyes were glittering mischievously, which Draco had learned usually meant she was about to get her way. He watched as she slowly reached behind her, never taking her eyes off of his, and pulled the strings that kept her bathing suit, lavender today, in place. He did his best to hold her gaze as she let the fabric drop to the ground, but the tantalizing allure of her breasts was far too great. She paused a moment, watching him watch her, taunting him with her naked body, before turning and lowering her bottoms, presenting him with the creamy swell of her arse. “I’ll just go by myself,” she said, looking at him over her bare shoulder before disappearing over the edge.

He heard the splash as she hit the water and lasted maybe a minute before dragging himself over the edge. She was floating on the top of the water, eyes closed, arms outstretched, her completely ridiculous hair fanning out around her. Sighing he tore off his shirt and dropped his trousers and pants, kicking them off and away from the edge.

“I hate you,” he called down as a way of warning her he was about to jump.

“I know,” she replied, laughing as she swam to the other side of the fissure.

The drop really wasn’t that high, maybe five meters, but the water was much colder than he had expected, apparently taking no notice of the sun blazing overhead.

“Merlin it’s freezing,” he sputtered as he broke to the surface, much less gracefully than he had planned.

“You get used to it quick,” she said as she swam around him, her thighs grazing his lower back. He could feel the currents her movements were creating brush against him.

“Unlikely,” he scoffed. “I hope you know when I freeze to death, it’s entirely your fault.”

“Don’t be so dramatic,” she said with a playful splash before stretching out once more to lie on top of the water.

In that position, her breasts broke the surface of the water, distracting him, and when he ran a hand up her stomach to cup one he saw her smile before curling against him so he held her weightlessly in her arms.

“I’ve never done this before,” she said.

“Done what?” he asked, leaning in for a salty kiss.

“This,” she said gesturing to them. “I mean, I’ve never swam… naked before.” She was blushing slightly and he looked at her curiously. “I kind of like it,” she admitted embarrassedly.

“It has its moments,” he conceded, running a hand over her bottom.

“Prat,” she muttered fondly. She continued as he moved them over to the wall, searching for a rock to balance on. “That’s not what I mean. I… I don’t know. It feels good doesn’t it… the water against your skin? I guess I never really thought about it but I didn’t think it would feel so… well, how it feels.”

He smirked as he finally found a flat bit of rock. It was a little slippery, but wide enough that he could balance and he settled on it, leaning back against the rough rock wall, his shoulders above the water’s surface as he positioned Hermione so that she was straddling his lap.

She was really blushing now, the pink spreading from her forehead down her chest as she avoided his eyes. He wanted to laugh at her, at the fact that she could boldly, and nakedly, coerce him into swimming one moment and the next be embarrassed to admit that she enjoyed it. Instead he nuzzled her neck and nibbled at her ear. “And what does it feel like?” he whispered.

“I don’t know,” she said breathlessly.

“I think you do,” he teased. “I think it isn’t about how the water feels against your skin; your bathing suits are small enough that I’m sure they don’t detract much from the sensation. I think it’s about how you feel being naked when you think you shouldn’t be. Am I right? Does it excite you a little to know that as hidden as we are someone might still see you? I think you’re quite the exhibitionist. What would people say if they could see the princess of Gryffindor now?”

He could hear her breathing deepen, her blush changing from one of embarrassment to one of arousal. He loved that he could do this to her with just words, that he could arouse her without touching her.

Wrapping her arms around his neck, she tangled her hands in his hair and leaned down to kiss him. He worked on sucking all the salt from her lips so that it wouldn’t detract from the taste of her as his hands ghosted up her side, over her ribs, to cup her breasts, toying with their peaks that had pebbled with her arousal and the coolness of the water.

As they kissed, the small part of his brain that was still capable of thinking seemed like it might explode as it tried to comprehend the closeness of their naked bodies. In this position, her legs spread to straddle his, her sex brushed against his with each roll of her hips. Though her buoyancy in the water prevented her from getting any real friction from the motion and the cold water prevented his body from reacting properly, he’d never been more aware of her body than he was now. He had been with her naked plenty of times, but not like this. He couldn’t help thinking how easy it would be to slip inside her warmth and take her completely, in a way he hadn’t yet. She pushed down against him again and he groaned against her mouth at the intimacy of their closeness.

“You’re cold,” she whispered against his lips.

“No I’m not,” he protested, wrapping his arms around her to pull her closer.

He felt her smirk as she reached down between them to tease him gently. “If you’re not cold, then I must be doing something wrong.” He could only chuckle in response. “Come on,” she said sliding off of him and pulling him along behind her to a spot where the rocky wall sloped outward a little and formed a set of rough, uneven stairs. “We can climb up here.”

“Ladies first,” he said, holding her steady as she got her footing.

“Such a gentleman.”

“Of course. Though I admit in this case it has much less to with gallantry than it does with the appealing view you create climbing up ahead of me. Wiggle a bit would you?”

“You’ll pay for that,” she warned, beginning her climb. She did make him pay too, with her head between his legs, all heat and tongue until he was literally begging her for release.

As much time as they spent kissing during those lazy mornings they spent an equal amount of time arguing. They may have established a tentative truce doing whatever it was that they were doing, but Draco still found himself wanting to throttle her almost constantly. He was fairly certain that he had the same effect on her.

Kissing her was still the best way he had found to shut her up and it was often how he chose to end their arguments. She called it cheating, but he figured they would continue to fight until one of them dropped dead, both of them too stubborn to ever admit defeat, so really it was the only practical solution.

Unfortunately she had an equally powerful tool in her arsenal. She would stand in front of him, flushed with anger, arms crossed over her chest and wearing those deliciously indecent bathing suits. “This is pointless,” she would growl at him in frustration. “You’re too stupidly pigheaded to ever consider, even for a moment, that you might be wrong. I’m done.” When he opened his mouth to point out just how ridiculous it was for her to be criticizing anyone for being stubborn, the retort would die in his throat as her top dropped to the ground and she plopped down on her towel to bask in the sun, her glorious breasts on display. She knew exactly what she was doing, thoroughly ignoring him as he stood there gaping at her like he had never seen a woman before and fighting the urge to pounce. He usually didn’t last very long.

While mornings were spent alone in their hidden room, afternoons were spent in the company of their mothers, lounging around the house, sometimes going down to the Gregory’s for lunch, all while Draco tried to ignore the almost overwhelming urge to throw Hermione down on every available surface and kiss her until she was crying out his name. It frustrated him, being so close to her and not being able to touch her, to watch her, because he wanted to do both constantly. He liked best when she would fall asleep reading on the porch and he could watch her surreptitiously without anyone noticing.

One afternoon they drove into the village again, the excursion infinitely more pleasurable without Blaise’s company. They stopped at a small pub for lunch before catching a movie at the cinema. It was the first movie he had ever seen and he was frankly amazed, though he did his best not to let it show.

“What did you think?” she asked as they exited the old theater, twining her fingers in his.

“An amusing diversion,” he answered noncommittally.

“’An amusing diversion,’” she scoffed. “You’re so full of it. You just don’t want to admit you liked it because it’s muggle, too prejudiced to – ” Her mouth closed with a snap and he stopped abruptly beside her, jerking her arm where their hands were clasped together when she continued walking. “I didn’t mean that,” she gasped. “I’m sorry! I didn’t – ”

“Yes you did,” he said calmly, dropping her hand before stalking off in a random direction, unconsciously rubbing his left forearm as he walked and leaving her standing alone in the middle of the pavement. Why wouldn’t she mean it? It was how everyone saw him. If she could still say that about him, he had no hope for what other people thought. He supposed it didn’t even really matter whether it was true or not, the fact remained that he was a Death Eater, the truth it branded on his arm; nothing else really mattered.

“Draco!” she called after him, catching up quickly and forcing him to stop and face her as she gripped his elbow. “Please. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. You know I didn’t mean that.”

She looked utterly distraught and Draco took pity on her, wrapping her in his arms and holding her against him. “I know. I didn’t mean to overreact.”

“No,” she said, looking up at him with her chin against his chest. “I should never have said that.”

“Yes, well, even know-it-alls have the right to mistakes on occasion. Besides, I don’t suffer from same delusions as the rest of the world that you can do no wrong. I know not to expect too much from you,” he teased, kissing her forehead and trying to lighten the mood.

“Jerk,” she muttered.

“Haven’t you insulted me enough for one day?”

She glared at him once, before softening her gaze. “I really didn’t mean it,” she whispered, tightening her arms around his waist before releasing him and taking his hand in hers, leaning against him so that they touched from hip to shoulder.

“I know you didn’t,” he assured her, which he realized was the truth; she never would have let him near her if she truly believed that he was still the same person who had called her mudblood. “For the record I did enjoy it.”

“I knew you did,” she smirked.

“Yes I know,” he drawled, “Hence the feigned indifference. You’re insufferable enough when you think you’re right, but when you know so you’re downright intolerable. I wasn’t about to confirm that and have to suffer – ”

He stopped short when he felt her hand slip into the back pocket of his trousers and squeeze gently. “Be quiet Malfoy,” she admonished. “Let’s see if we can’t go the rest of the afternoon without arguing, shall we?”

Surprisingly they succeeded, which had to be some kind of record. Draco had never felt as… content as he did wandering aimlessly through the village’s narrow streets hand in hand with Hermione. It felt so wonderfullynormal. They weren’t hiding, weren’t worrying, just idly enjoying the pleasure of one another’s company, unrestrained and unhindered. The real world was farther away that afternoon than it had ever been and it was so easy to pretend that they were just like everyone else.

Unfortunately reality was just around the corner waiting to spring, to remind them that they were living a life they had no right to, to punish them for their moment of complacency.

Friday evening found Draco seated next to his mother as the four of them, joined by Mrs. Gregory, enjoyed dinner by candlelight. He was thankful that Mrs. Gregory was there, her steady wall of talk allowing him to mope in peace, sullenly pushing his food around his plate and dreading tomorrow when Mr. Granger would be arriving to join them on their holiday, his arrival sure to shatter the comfortable routine they had established.

He wanted the night to be over, for everyone to be in bed. He hadn’t snuck into Hermione’s room since the night of the dinner party, but figured tonight would be worth the risk since he didn’t know when they would get the chance again. Desperately willing everyone to wrap this up he was caught by surprise by the searing pain that burned his left arm. Gritting his teeth against the pain, he dropped his fork with a clatter, instinctively gripping his forearm.

“Draco!” He heard his mother gasp beside him, her face pale and horror stricken. Across the table, Hermione looked much the same, her face draining of color as she gaped at him.

“Is everything alright dear?” Mrs. Gregory asked, concerned and confused.

“I – yes of course,” he said rising from his seat, careful to make his voice even and calm as he placed a hand on his mother’s shoulder and squeezed it reassuringly. “You’ll have to excuse me. I’ve just remembered I have an appointment.”

“At this time of night?” Mrs. Gregory asked as the pain burned through his arm again.

“Yes. He’s a very busy man.”

“It’s an interview… for an externship next year,” Hermione said, helping him make his excuses, her voice cracking as she spoke. His eyes flicked to hers at the sound of her voice. He wanted to comfort her, wanted her to comfort him, wanted to hold her more than he had ever wanted anything in his life. He had no idea what was going on, he hadn’t been called since Dumbledore’s death.

“Excuse me,” he apologized, dropping Hermione gaze. “I really must go.” At the doorway he paused and turned to face the party, two of whom looked on in horror, the other two in utter confusion. Narcissa looked like she was about to collapse. “Perhaps you should go upstairs and rest mother, you’re not looking well.

As he strode into the living room he heard Hermione rise from her seat. “Come on Mrs. Malfoy, I’ll help you to your room.” Once out of sight of the porch, at the base of the stairs he turned on his heel and disapperated.

It took a moment for Draco to get his bearings and he was horrified to discover that he had reappeared at his own house. Quickly he made his way through the gates and up the drive, breaking out in a cold sweat as he fought the urge to stop and retch.

He was met at the door by his father. Draco hadn’t seen the man since his escape from Azkaban at the beginning of the summer, Lucius having fled abroad to both hide from the Ministry and gather support internationally for the Dark Lord. Draco hadn’t even known he was back in the country.

“Where have you been?” Lucius hissed as the two walked into the entryway.

By the light of the massive chandelier hanging overhead, Draco was able to get a good look at his father for the first time in months. His hair was just as long as it always was, but it was lank and unkempt, his pale skin yellow and waxy. It was his eyes though that drew Draco’s attention. They looked half-mad with fear. It scared Draco, more than anything else had, and he felt what little composure he had managed to maintain slipping.

“Mother wanted a holiday, thought a little ocean air would be good for her. You know how she can get. We didn’t think you’d be back so soon.”

Lucius glared at his son. “Yes well, here I am and as you may have noticed, we have guests. I expect you both to cut this holiday short. Do not forget your duty to the Dark Lord.”

Draco didn’t answer, his mouth going dry as they entered the drawing room and it took all of his energy to remember to breathe, let alone speak. The room was full of Death Eaters, unmasked and silent, sitting around a long table running down the center of the room. Voldemort sat at the table’s head, illuminated from behind by the fire as he surveyed his minions through red, slit-like eyes.

Worse though than a room full of Death Eaters or the inhuman image Voldemort presented as he sat there wearing his giant snake like some kind of perverted scarf was what was suspended above the table. Draco looked in horror and disgust at the battered figure of a woman, revolving slowly and reflecting in the table’s polished surface.

Silently Draco took a seat next to his father, sinking down in his chair and willing himself to be invisible while doing his best to ignore the figure floating above, to avoid thinking about her fate. The silence seemed to stretch on forever, and Draco could not think what they were waiting for, when suddenly the drawing room door opened to admit Snape and a tall, blond man.

“Yaxley. Snape. You are very nearly late,” Voldemort said, a grimace of a smile distorting his snake-like features. The two men bowed respectfully.

“Severus, here,” said Voldemort, indicating the seat on his immediate right. “Yaxley – beside Dolohov.” The room remained silent as the latecomers found their seats. Draco’s hands clenched under the table as Voldemort surveyed those around him. He felt sure that the Dark Lord knew where he had been, that any moment a snake-like tongue would flick out and taste his guilt in the air. Draco had come here to be murdered, though most likely not before he was taken back to the seaside cottage and forced to watch on helplessly as its inhabitants were tortured and slaughtered.

“Well Yaxley?” Voldemort called down the table, the firelight glinting strangely in his red eyes. “Will the Ministry have fallen by next Saturday?”

“My Lord, I have good news on that score. I have – with difficulty, and after great effort – succeeded in placing an Imperius Curse upon Pius Thicknesse.”

Draco stopped listening, a strange buzzing filling his ears as complete panic set in. Next Saturday? That was too soon, much too soon. All at once he realized how stupid he had been. Blaise had been stupid to suggest that he might sneak away for three weeks without consequences and Draco was stupid to have believed him. They couldn’t pretend that what was happening wasn’t happening. It was real; the Ministry was going to fall and then nothing would be safe. How had he allowed himself to put everyone in this kind of danger? Granger might not understand what they were risking, but he should have. He knew first-hand what the Dark Lord was capable of. He needed to leave, to warn her, to tell her to get Potter and run and hope to Merlin that whatever they were going to do they had a plan.

His attention was brought back to the reality at hand when a loud miserable wail sounded from the dungeons beneath his feet and Wormtail scurried from the room, presumably to quiet whatever victim the Dark Lord was holding.

“As I was saying,” continued Voldemort, looking at the tense faces of his followers, “I understand better now. I shall need, for instance, to borrow a wand from one of you before I go to kill Potter.”

A shudder ran around the table at his words and Voldemort smirked. “No volunteers? Let’s see… Lucius, I see no reason for you to have a wand anymore.”

“My Lord?” Lucius asked, his voice quivering, eyes wide in disbelief and horror. Beside him Draco could not believe what was happening; he may have hated the man, but he was still his father, to take away his wand…

“Your wand, Lucius. I require your wand,” Voldemort sneered as he rose from his throne-like chair and glided towards him down the table. Draco shrunk back in his seat as he approached, silently urging his father not to protest and releasing the breath he had been holding when Lucius offered his wand up with a shaking hand.

“I…”

“What is it?”

“Elm, my Lord,” whispered Lucius.

“And the core?”

“Dragon – dragon heartstring.”

“Good,” Voldemort murmured, stroking his new wand as he reseated himself at the head of the table, his snake once again draped over his shoulders.

“Do you recognize our guest, Severus?” asked Voldemort. Draco had almost forgotten the woman was there for a moment. He felt the bile rising in his throat as the woman regained consciousness.

“Severus! Help me!” she pleaded as she rotated to face him.

“Ah, yes,” said Snape as the prisoner turned slowly away again.

“And you, Draco?” asked Voldemort, stroking the snake’s snout with his wand-free hand. Draco shook his head jerkily, though he knew now who the woman was. “But you would not have taken her classes,” said Voldemort. “For those of you who do not know, we are joined here tonight by Charity Burbage who, until recently, taught at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardy.”

Draco couldn’t hear what Voldemort was saying, the panicked buzzing filling his ears again. All he could hear was Professor Burbage begging Snape for her life. “Severus… please… please.” He didn’t understand how the man could sit there so impassively.

Suddenly there was a flash of green light and the woman crashed on the table. At the sound most of the Death Eaters leapt back in their chairs, Draco actually falling a bit off his in his haste to put as much distance between himself and the body as possible. The green light seemed to burn into his retina, bringing with it a flood of horrible memories. He watched in horror as the massive snake slithered from the Dark Lord’s shoulders onto the table to begin devouring its meal.

Around him he was vaguely aware of the sound of chairs scrapping against stone as the Death Eaters rose from the table. It took a moment for him to realize what was happening and another for him to feel confident that his legs would hold him. Beside him Lucius looked like a shell of a man, like the Dark Lord was a dementor who had taken his soul, not a man who had taken his wand. Draco felt like he should do something, but he didn’t know what. Instead he stood and spoke to the top of his father’s head, “I – mother and I will be back before the week is out. If… if you need anything, send an owl.”

Lucius didn’t respond and Draco quickly made his escape, bursting through the front door and gulping the cool night air. To his left Snape materialized out of the darkness. “Walk with me,” he said brusquely, striding down the drive without waiting for Draco to follow.

When they reached the gates, Snape looked around carefully before continuing in a whisper. “I understand you’re staying with Granger.” It wasn’t a question.

“I…” He what? He was sorry? He was an idiot? He really needed to get back so he could crawl into bed with her and pretend this never happened?

“She needs to know Yaxley’s news. Make sure she gets the information to Potter. They need to be ready to leave at a moment’s notice. When the Ministry falls, it will be quick. I doubt there will be much warning.”

“Of course.”

Snape paused, looking like he wanted to say more, but he only nodded silently before passing through the gates and disapperating. Draco stared at the spot where he had disappeared until he heard the sounds of others making their way down the drive. Not wishing to be seen, he ran quickly through the gates, turning on his heel and disappearing into the night.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Author’s Note: The last part of this chapter contains parts of a scene in the original book. I have obviously edited it to fit with this story. To be consistent with the original, I have paraphrased J.K. Rowling’s version and used direct quotes. Quotes are in italics and come from Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, pages 2 to 12, the first American edition, published in 2007 by Scholastic. I am not claiming credit for anything you recognize.

Also, I know my timeline is screwy and that Voldemort is supposed to get Lucius’s wand before Harry is moved to the Burrow. Let’s assume for the purpose of this story that Harry’s wand does its magic when he encounters Voldemort in Godric’s Hollow. That way he can be all angsty not only because his wand broke, but also because Hermione doesn’t believe that it performed magic on its own. I know it doesn’t completely work because Voldemort’s already searching for the Elder Wand by then, but why wouldn’t he want an unbeatable wand over Lucius’s; it’s the best I can do. I did say this was AU.
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A Summer Holiday