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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.

Chapter List
- 13
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Chapter Fourteen: A Night on the Beach

Draco stumbled a bit as he reappeared in the cottage’s front drive and he took a moment to compose himself before making his way to the door, the gravel crunching beneath his feet with each step. He paused and took a deep breath with his hand on the doorknob before opening it; there was no turning back now.

His mother was waiting for him, sitting at the bottom of the stairs in her dressing gown, twirling her wand between her fingers. She looked hysterical, her eyes just as mad as his father’s had been.

“Draco!” she gasped as he closed the door behind him, jumping up and pulling him to her. “I thought… I thought…”

“I’m fine,” he said, holding her against him as she collapsed sobbing against his chest. Over the top of her head he saw Hermione rise slowly from the couch in the living room, a blanket clutched around her, her cheeks stained with the tracks of dried tears. “Shhhh, Mum, you’ll wake everyone up.”

“You’re right. I’m sorry,” she said as she pulled herself together, clutching his arms, the grip of her thin fingers surprisingly strong. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?” she demanded, her eyes frantically searching him as though she expected to find a mortal wound.

“I’m fine,” he repeated, taking her by the elbow and gently steering her up the stairs.

“What happened?” she asked as they reached the top.

“I… nothing really. Father’s back.”

“What!?” she gasped as he pushed the door to her bedroom open. “Since when? Does he know – ”

“No,” he interrupted, seating her gently on the bed and closing the door behind them, leaning against the wall across from her. “No, he doesn’t know where we are. I just told him we’re on holiday. He’s a bit… distracted at the moment. I don’t think he really cares where we’ve been.”

“What did he want, the Dark Lord? Why call you now?”

“Please Mum,” he begged. “We’ll talk in the morning. It’s nothing that can’t wait until then. We’re both tired and stressed. Let’s just get some rest.”

She looked like she wanted to protest, but only nodded her head, rising from the bed. He allowed her to hug him, bending at the waist so she could stroke his head like she had when he was a child. “I love you Draco,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “I’m so sorry. I’m sorry I can’t protect you. I’m sorry I – ”

“It’s okay,” he murmured, interrupting her and leading her back over to the bed, making sure she got in it this time and leaning down to kiss her forehead as he pulled the blankets up around her. “I love you too Mum. We’re both fine, that’s all that matters. We’ll talk in the morning.”

Silently he closed the door behind him, slowly making his way down the hallway. He probably should have just told his mother what had happened, but he didn’t have the energy to do it twice and Hermione was waiting downstairs. The thought made him want to be sick.

He found her standing in the same spot he had left her, staring at him from beside the couch. The room seemed to have lost all its air and Draco struggled to draw breath; the walls shrinking inwards, trapping him, crushing him. His lungs felt like they were going to burst and he kept walking past her, out to the porch, down the stairs to the beach, drawing the cool night air into his lungs as he went and waiting for her to follow.

“Draco?” he heard her ask tentatively from behind him as he stood staring out over the ocean. “Are you alright? What happened?”

He took a deep breath and turned towards her slowly with every intention to pass along Snape’s warning, but the words wouldn’t come. “Professor Burbage is dead,” he said instead. His voice sounded lifeless, disturbing even to his own ears, and was so quiet that he wasn’t even sure she could hear it over the sound of the crashing surf.

“Oh Draco!” she gasped rushing towards him.

He flinched away from her touch and the hurt on her face was worse than anything else he had seen that night, but he knew what he had to do. “I can’t… we can’t do this anymore Granger. I’ve been indescribably foolish. I knew the danger I was placing you in, knew what he was capable of and I just... I – I’m so sorry. I should never have allowed this to happen, any of it. We should never have come here. I won’t let you die because of me.”

The words were wrenched from his lips, his voice so ragged and miserable that he wouldn’t have recognized it as his own. Hermione had let the blanket drop to the ground and she stared at him with tears running down her cheeks. The silence was oppressive and he couldn’t stand to look at her so he turned to face the ocean again instead.

“Because of you?” she began, her voice cracking pitifully as she broke the silence. “You think he’ll kill me just because of you – because of us? I’m a muggleborn. That’s more than enough, but I’m also Harry Potter’s best friend. Him wanting me dead has nothing to do with what happened here. Don’t you dare apologize. Don’t you dare take responsibility for my mistakes.”

Her voice was strong and angry and Draco turned to look at her blankly. He had no idea what she was talking about.

“I’m sorry, so, so sorry. I shouldn’t have… I’m the one who’s placed you in danger. When you were called – oh God – he’s the world’s greatest legilimens! It would be so easy for him to find out. What do you think he would do if he knew? Do you think he’d pat you on the back for bedding the mudblood whore and send you on your way? You’re a pureblood Draco, as safe as anyone can be and I – I took that from you.”

She dropped to her knees in the sand at the end of her speech, crying silently, her shoulders shaking with the force of her sobs and he didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know what had happened. A small unbiased part of him realized that there was some truth to what she had said, that she was putting him in just as much danger as he was putting her in. Still, he could never live with himself if something happened to her because of him. She was right when she said that she was already in danger; they would kill her if they ever found her, but if they caught her and knew what had happened between them… Draco couldn’t bear to think about how they would torture her, the sick punishment they would put her through for daring to associate with a pureblood. He thought of how Voldemort had threatened his mother with Dolohov, how he would be helpless to stop it from happening if it was Hermione and the pain of it wrenched through his body.

He kneeled down opposite her, careful not to touch her, knowing that if he did he wouldn’t have the strength to stop. “The head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement is under the Dark Lord’s control. They expect the Ministry to fall by next Saturday.”

“That’s in a week,” she croaked, her eyes wide and frightened.

“Yes. Tell Potter,” he said, rising to his feet.

Before he could stand her hand shot out to grab his and he froze instantly, staring at where she touched him, skin against skin. Every cell in his body seemed to vibrate at the contact. The rest of him ached for her touch, for the comfort she provided. He wanted to hold her, to pull her close so badly that it almost made him sick, the heavy weight of his need settling in his chest, making it hard to breathe. He wanted to crawl beneath her skin and live there and even that wouldn’t be enough.

“Please don’t push me away,” she whimpered and his eyes flicked to hers. “If – if you honestly don’t want anything to do with me anymore then I’ll leave you alone, but don’t do it just because of them. Don’t do it because you think you’re protecting me from something. We can’t change what we’ve done. If they find out, they find out, but stopping now isn’t going to change anything.”

“We’ve been unbelievably stupid,” he said, turning her hand over in his to run his thumb against her palm.

“I know… selfish too,” she mumbled before continuing with more strength, that spark back in her eyes. “But it’s too late now. Please, Draco.”

It was the please that did it, or maybe his name on her lips. She sounded so helpless, so desperate and something in him broke. He collapsed, clutching her to him as he wept; his hold so tight that he was sure she’d have ten little bruises later where his fingers gripped her flesh. If he was hurting her she didn’t say anything, simply letting him hold her, stroking the back of his neck with a hand and murmuring nonsense words of comfort as she cried with him.

Eventually their tears dried up and he lay against her shivering as she continued to soothe him with her hands and voice. When he felt like he finally had control, he pulled away long enough to spread the blanket out behind them, wrapping them in it as they lay down beside one another.

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asked tentatively.

“No,” he said hoarsely.

He didn’t want to talk about it. He’d told her all she needed to hear. She didn’t need to about the prisoner being held in the dungeons of his own home. She didn’t need to know what had happened to his father, he wasn’t even sure how he felt about it anyway. She didn’t need to know how Professor Burbage had been murdered, how she had obviously been played with before the Dark Lord finished her. She didn’t need to know the relief he had felt when she had died not recognizing him, how happy he was that Snape was there to save him from her notice, sacrificing himself once again to make sure Draco didn’t get his hands too dirty. He didn’t know what he would have done if she had been begging him for her life instead. He was disgusted with himself, sickened by his relief, his cowardice.

He was starting to lose it again, and as if she sensed it she tilted her head up to kiss him gently, soothing his frayed nerves and troubled thoughts. When she pulled away he buried his face in the halo of curls on the top of her head, inhaling her scent deeply.

“What will you do now?” she asked.

“Go home. My father’s back… and we have a house guest.”

“Hmm?”

“Just like the Order, the Death Eaters need a headquarters too,” he said by way of explanation. “My father has graciously offered up our home, though I don’t think it’ll do him much good.”

“You don’t mean he’ll be staying with you!?” she gasped, tears filling her eyes. “V – Voldemort? Your father can’t seriously allow that. You – you can’t stay there. You can’t go home. He’ll find out! Oh God, I’m so sor – ”

“Shhh,” he said, cutting her off, drying the tears that had escaped with kisses. “Firstly, I doubt my father allowed anything… if he did, he’s certainly regretting that decision right now. The Dark Lord doesn’t wait for permission, he takes what he wants and you allow it or you and everyone you love dies. Secondly, I highly doubt anyone will find out about us. The Dark Lord may be a great legilimens, but he generally doesn’t pay me much attention and even if he did I highly doubt he would ever think to look for this.”

“It’s not safe,” she protested.

“Nowhere is safe.”

“No, I suppose it isn’t,” she sighed, wrapping her arms around his waist and holding tightly. “I don’t want you to leave,” she whispered.

“I don’t want to leave,” he replied. “I won’t though, not yet. I need to know you’re safe. I know you can’t tell me what you’re doing or where you’re going, but I need to know that you’re ready.” He hesitated before continuing; reluctant to bring it up, but knowing she needed to hear it. “Your parents Hermione… they’ll come for them, looking for you, for any information they might have about Potter’s whereabouts. They’ll use them to manipulate you.”

“I know,” she said. “I have a plan. My father gets here tomorrow and then I’ll have to go see Harry and Ron, tell them what’s happened. I just… I want to spend a few days with them, like a normal family. I don’t know if I’ll ever see them again. I mean it’s only Friday – rather, it’s probably Saturday morning by now – I don’t think a few days are really going to make that much of a difference.”

He wanted to tell her that ignoring the real world, that pretending everything was normal, was what had got them into this mess in the first place, but he didn’t have the heart to. Besides, selfish though the thought might be her delay also gave him a small, precious bit of time left to spend with her. So instead he pulled her close, stroking her hair and letting exhaustion overtake him as he was lulled to sleep by the sound of the ocean and Hermione’s warmth against his chest.

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

Draco awoke a few hours later to the grey light of dawn, Hermione’s back curled against his chest, the arm he had thrown over her to keep her close having found its way under her shirt to cup her breast as they slept. Propped up on one elbow, he watched her for a bit, drinking in the sight of her, trying to ignore the feeling that somewhere a giant clock was counting down the seconds until he would have to leave her.

Releasing her breast, he trailed his hand downward, lightly stroking her stomach to wake her gently. She only sighed softly at his touch, shifting closer, her bottom brushing against him.

“Hermione,” he whispered, nibbling on her ear.

“Stop,” she whined as she smacked his face away, turning over and nuzzling against his chest before settling again.

He chuckled; she clearly was not a morning person. Still, he couldn’t leave her out here, so gently he scooped her into his arms and held her against his chest, throwing the blanket over his shoulder.

She didn’t seem to notice he was carrying her right away. “Draco,” she grumbled groggily once she realized what was happening. “What are you doing?”

“Taking you to bed. You didn’t seem inclined to get there yourself,” he drawled, dropping the sandy blanket off on the porch before going inside. “I suggest you stop wiggling.”

“’Inclined to get there myself,’” she muttered, wrapping her arms around his neck and brushing kisses against his jaw. “Well I’m inclined now. You can put me down if you want.”

He didn’t want to, and he certainly wasn’t going to if she didn’t demand he do so, though he probably wouldn’t even if she did. “I don’t. Go back to sleep,” he whispered.

For once she actually did what she was told, closing her eyes and resting her head on his shoulder. He set her gently on the bed, tucking the blankets around her and brushing her hair from her face before making his way down the hallway to the bathroom.

Turning on the shower, he stripped himself as the room filled with steam, desperate to get the clothes off his body, wishing he could burn them and with them the memories of last night. The water was scalding, reddening his skin which he made worse with merciless scrubbing, trying to remove the stench of death that had sunk deep into his pores. He shivered at the thought, his stomach heaving as he remembered the sound of the snake as it slithered up the table toward Professor Burbage’s crumpled form. He wondered if it was finished yet, if the creature now lay satiated, sleeping as it digested, its stomach bulging in the shape of a woman.

Draco tripped over the shower’s edge in his mad dash to the toilet, bashing his knee painfully on the tiled floor, the curtain tangled around his legs, torn from the rod. Water spilled onto the bathroom floor as he retched until nothing was left. He pulled himself up on shaking legs and fished his wand from the pocket of his trousers, cleaning up the mess before quickly rinsing the remaining soap from his body. Hastily and haphazardly gathering up his clothes, he wrapped a towel around his waist without bothering to dry off before he escaped, trailing wet foot prints behind him. He had thought a shower would make him feel better, wash away the night, make him feel more human, but the room, stark white and tiled had only felt like a tomb.

Hermione’s door was open as he made his way to his room. She sat cross-legged on her bed sorting books and she started when she noticed him standing there, her knee bumping a small, beaded bag that fell to the floor with resounding thud quite disproportionate to its size. “I didn’t mean to startle you,” he said as he stood there with a towel slung low on his hips, clothes clutched to his chest, dripping on her floor.

“Not at all. Feel better?”

Draco only shrugged in response. He knew she only asked to give him an opening to talk about what had happened last night without seeming pushy because he knew he certainly didn’t look better at the moment.

Next door he could hear the sounds of Mrs. Granger waking. “I should go get dressed,” he mumbled, keen to escape the scrutiny of Hermione’s gaze while at the same time afraid to leave the protection her presence offered against the blackness threatening to overtake him again.

He was shivering by the time he closed his door behind him, covered in goose pimples, though he wasn’t sure if it was caused by the cool morning air against his damp skin or by something else, and he dried quickly, pulling on his warmest layers and curling into a ball in the center of his bed. He could hear the rest of the house waking up, listening to the sounds as he stared unseeingly at the wall, concentrating on his breathing. In. Out. In. Out. Slowly, evenly, bracing himself against the day and subduing the horror of last night before he felt ready to go downstairs.

Shortly after breakfast, Hermione and her mother left to pick Mr. Granger up at the station and Draco sat with his mother on the porch giving her an abbreviated account of what had happened last night.

“Saturday?” she asked in disbelief, her face pale as she stared out over the ocean’s choppy waves.

“It depends on how quickly they act. Pius Thicknesse is only one man, but yes, Saturday,” he confirmed. “I told Hermione. I believe she’s going to warn Potter later today.”

“Of course,” Narcissa mumbled indistinctly.

“I don’t know what you want to do now, but I think we should stay a while longer. I know Hermione has a plan for her parent’s safety. I don’t know what it is, nor do I really want to, but I don’t think the Order has any part in it. I think we should stay and make sure that everything goes according to plan… It seems the least we can do. Besides, it’s not as if we have something pleasant waiting for us at home,” Draco said, careful to make his voice sound as though this was merely a suggestion.

To his surprise his mother smiled, the corners of her lips turning up in a knowing smirk. “You call her Hermione now, you know.”

Damn. “I – you were the one who asked me to be civil,” he grumbled.

“I did. I think we should stay too – for a bit anyway. Like you said, it seems the least we can do. And I can tell you’d like to thank Hermione for all her… hospitality, shall we say,” she said, hesitating before teasing, “I told you you would enjoy yourself.”

“You’re a thoroughly irritating woman,” Draco pointed out as his mother settled more comfortably into her chair, knowing it was futile at this point to deny anything and taking comfort in the fact that even she couldn’t know all that had actually happened between them.

“I just know my son,” she quipped, not bothering to open her eyes.

“I’m going for walk… unless you have anything else you’d like to say.”

“Have fun,” she said, waving her hand vaguely as he stormed down the stairs and onto the beach, anxious to put some distance between him and his mother before she made any other unwanted observations.

He headed down the beach in the opposite direction of the ruins. He had spent almost every morning since his arrival there, but it felt wrong to go without Hermione. The castle seemed cold and dark, a gloomy mass against the overcast sky without her warming presence. Instead he headed for the Gregory’s. He knew Hermione loved them like family, he had grown rather fond of them himself over the past week, and he was going to do what he could to ensure their safety. There was no telling how far Voldemort’s power would extend before this was over and though he couldn’t guarantee absolute protection, a few protective enchantments weren’t going to hurt.

It took him a while to get there – it seemed stupid not to give the other houses he was passing along the beach the same protection – and Mr. Gregory was sitting on the porch reading a newspaper when he approached.

“Hello!” he called, folding his paper and setting it on the table in front of him.

“Good morning sir,” replied Draco as he leaned against the railing at the base of the stairs, his wand hidden at his side as he silently cast the protective enchantments.

“Come and join me will you?” Mr. Gregory asked, pushing out the chair opposite him with a kick. “Frances ran off to the playhouse early this morning – opening week and all. Normally I like the peace and quiet, but it’s been dull. So, where’s Hermione this morning? I hardly ever see you two apart.”

“Her and her mother went to pick Mr. Granger up at the station,” Draco answered, not quite sure what to make of his observation.

Mr. Gregory leaned back in his chair, regarding Draco thoughtfully over the spectacles perched at the end of his nose. “She cares about you a lot you know. I can tell.”

“Sir?” Draco asked, wondering how the hell he was having this conversation again today. First his mother, now Mr. Gregory… Apparently they had been nowhere near as discrete as they thought they’d been.

“Call me Martin, would you? I’m not the prime minister.”

“Of course,” Draco mumbled.

“Relax,” Mr. Gregory chuckled, “I’m not about to question you about your intentions. I just wanted to let you know that it’s not something she does lightly, care about people that is, but when she does she’s loyal. Don’t abuse it. And be careful with her, she’s not as strong as she pretends to be.”

“I – we’re just friends.”

“I’m not an idiot boy, and I saw you two in town last week. Don’t worry, I haven’t told Frances. She’d be planning your wedding if she knew and I can tell you two are trying to keep things quiet.”

“It’s… complicated.”

“Yeah, well love always is, isn’t it?” said Mr. Gregory with a small smile. “I’m sure she doesn’t make things any easier. She’s stubborn as a mule, got a bit of a temper too, but you seem like you can handle it.”

“Believe me I’m familiar with her temper… She slapped me once when we were fourteen,” Draco admitted, smirking at the memory. “I thoroughly deserved it,” he tacked on as an afterthought.

At this Mr. Gregory burst out laughing, removing his spectacles to wipe his eyes. “I’m sure you did. Most fourteen year old boys could use a good slap. Whatever you did, you seem a decent enough fellow now, as long as you appreciate what you’ve got and treat her right. Hermione’s a good girl.”

“I know,” Draco said softly. “She’s far too good for me.”

“I’m not too sure about that, but that’s just the way it works. We always think the ones we love are too good for us,” Mr. Gregory said sagely.

Draco left shortly after that, making his excuses, his heart pounding wildly in his chest. We always think the ones we love are too good for us. He couldn’t possibly love Hermione. The thought was ridiculous. A week ago he most definitely hated her and people didn’t fall in love in a week. They were just friends, like he had said. Really, she was his only friend, aside from Blaise, so it made sense that she would be important to him. He could admit that. And he wanted her – that was undeniable. But that wasn’t love, he wasn’t in love. He didn’t even know what that meant. No, Draco Malfoy was not in love with Hermione Granger.
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A Summer Holiday