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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
- 5
- 6
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Chapter Six: A Summer Storm

Draco sat on the couch in the living room watching the storm raging outside. Lightning forked across the sky, hitting the ocean, and waves crashed on the shore.

The weather suited his mood. Draco wasn’t sure what had made him ask Granger to show him how to work the stupid telly. He really could care less about the damn thing and didn’t want to spend any more time with her than was strictly necessary. They were home alone for the night, so it wasn’t as if they had to maintain any pretense for their mothers’ sake. It would be easier, more sensible, to keep to his room for the night and avoid her altogether. However, this was something he couldn’t quite force himself to do. It irritated him to no end. Draco had always prided himself on his discipline and self-control and having that stripped away so easily because he wanted to spend time with Granger was unbearable.

He didn’t know what made him seek out her company. It was like some kind of sick compulsion. He didn’t like her and being around her made him think of all the things he generally tried to avoid thinking about. But, on the other hand, she was one of the few people who knew the truth. She might hate him for it, it might disgust her, but she knew and there was something to be said for that.

He also found himself incredibly aware of her presence in the house, even when she wasn’t in the same room. She seemed to seep under closed doors, around corners, through the walls themselves, teasing him with something he didn’t understand.

Draco musings were interrupted by a small cough in the entrance of the room that made his traitorous heart skip a beat.

He looked up to see Hermione looking shyly at him and moving to sit on the other side of the couch. She was wearing a pair of navy blue sweat pants and a white vest, her bare feet pattering on the wood floor. Her hair was pulled back in a lose plait, but it seemed to be struggling against her attempts to control it.

After a minute of silence, broken only by the cracks of distant thunder, she spoke first. “Okay Malfoy, I thought about what you said earlier on the train, about us being civil to each other for these three weeks, and if you can keep your rude comments and prejudices to yourself I don’t see any reason why we can’t manage it.”

“I don’t have prejudices,” he said quietly. “I can try to keep my comments to myself, but I can’t promise anything; sarcasm is a defining characteristic of my personality. Can you manage to lighten up a little?”

“I don’t need to lighten up,” Hermione said, indignantly.

“Of course not,” he scoffed.

“See! These are exactly the kind of comments you should keep to yourself! You asked me for a favor and you seemed sincere, but if you’re not even going to try, I won’t bother,” she said harshly, rising from her seat.

“Look, I’m sorry, okay? Please, just sit down. I don’t want to argue for three weeks. I don’t think I have the energy.”

She sat back down, silently looking at the ocean through the windows. She sighed. “I’m sorry too. I may have overreacted just now.”

“Miss ‘Know-It-All’ Granger just apologized to me. I think that’s the first sign of the apocalypse,” he smirked.

“Don’t push it,” she muttered, falling silent. After a moment she continued, avoiding his gaze. “I… I wanted to apologize for earlier… on the train. I shouldn’t – I shouldn’t have said the things that I said. I didn’t mean to… accuse you of anything.”

He stared at her in shock for a moment before regaining his composure. “I… thank you,” he began, tentatively. “But you don’t need to apologize. I was weak and selfish and made a lot of mistakes that everyone has paid for. You have every right to hate me for it.”

“A Malfoy admitting his faults? If my apologizing is the first sign of the apocalypse, than that must surely be the second,” she replied, meeting his gaze for the first time. She smiled, but it didn’t meet her eyes and he could tell that she was trying desperately to make her voice sound light and normal. “But I don’t hate you,” she finished in a whisper.

He cleared his throat. “Yes, well, now that that’s out of the way, could you show me how to use the television?”

“I mean it,” she said earnestly, ignoring him. “I don’t hate you.”

“Yes, well Gryffindor’s are known for being poor judges of character,” he drawled. He knew it would make her mad, but he couldn’t stand this conversation anymore and the sincerity in her eyes felt as if it was burning him.

She tsked, opening a drawer in one of the side tables and pulling out a black stick covered in buttons. “Why do you always have to be so sarcastic?”

“It’s in my nature. What’s that?”

“Prat,” she muttered. “This is a remote. Push the power button to turn it on. These buttons control the volume and you can change the channel with these,” she said pointing to various buttons on the remote.

“What are all those numbered buttons for and what does the television do?”

“Those let you change channels. Here, watch,” she said pushing the large, red power button.

To Draco’s amazement, the telly responded immediately. He watched in awe as small people ran across the screen kicking a ball. “I didn’t know muggles had things like this,” Draco muttered. “What’s going on?” he asked, tearing his eyes away from the screen and turning to Hermione.

“This is called football,” she said, her voice full of laughter. “It’s the muggle equivalent of Quidditch. Well, in popularity at least, the rules are quite different.”

“Are those people really in that box there?” Draco asked, looking as though he wanted to get up and tap on the screen to see if the players would respond.

“No, it’s a broadcast,” she replied, bursting into laughter.

“What’s so funny?” he asked indignantly.

“You,” she replied simply, a smile playing across her face. “You look like a six year-old in a candy store.”

“I do not. Besides, this isn’t really anything more special than a wizard photograph. I was just surprised that muggles had the capability for it.”

“Sure,’ she replied still smiling. She looked beautiful when she smiled, Draco thought. Her smile made her cheeks rosy and her eyes sparkle with stifled laughter.

He shifted in his seat, now uncomfortably aware that they would be spending the evening alone, uncomfortably aware that he had thought her beautiful more than once today.

“Do you want to keep watching this or do you – ” Hermione began to ask as the power flickered once and then went out.

“Lumos,” said Hermione and Draco at the same time, lighting their wands.

“I’ll get the torches. I know you have your wand, but the power will probably be out for a while and the torches give off more light,” she said rising from the couch and making her way into the kitchen.

A few minutes later she made her way back, using a narrow beam of light from what Draco assumed to be the torch to light her way.

“There weren’t any extra batteries,” she said handing one to Draco. “So, I suggest that we go and get ready for bed while we still have light. I don’t know how long these will last.”

Together the two of them made their way up the stairs, separating at the top in front of their rooms. Draco rummaged through the bureau to find his toothbrush and a bar of soap and walked down the darkened hallway into the bathroom. While he was bent over the sink, rinsing soap from his eyes, he heard a quiet knock at the door.

“I don’t mean to interrupt, but I found some candles and matches you can use if you want to read before bed or anything,” she said timidly, setting down on the counter a box of matches and two pink, rose scented candles.

“Thank you,” he said, stepping aside to dry his face so Hermione could get to the sink.

He watched her twisting her curls up into an elegantly sloppy bun on the top of her head and noticing that she was watching him watch her, he hastily turned away and smeared some toothpaste onto his toothbrush. However, as she lathered her face with soap, he took advantage of the suds obscuring her vision to look at her in the dim light that the torch gave off.

She had changed into a white night gown trimmed with pale blue ribbon. It was simple and she looked beautiful in it. As she bent over the sink it came down in the front, giving Draco a view of her ample curves in the mirror. He inhaled deeply and the smell of her soap tickled his senses ever so lightly.

She rinsed the remaining soap from her eyes and fumbled for a towel. Draco grabbed one off the rack, and handed it to her. Their fingertips brushed each other’s and Draco felt as though electricity had shot up his arm. He wondered if she had felt it too.

They left the bathroom together and walked down the hallway to their bedrooms in silence as lighting flashed and rain battered the little cottage.

“Goodnight Granger,” Draco said turning to her at the top of the stairs, outside their doors.

She smiled sweetly and turned to enter her room. Sighing Draco opened the door to his own.

“You too,” came Hermione’s reply from behind him. “Have a good night Malfoy,” she said as her door clicked shut.

Closing his own door behind him, a smiling Draco threw off his clothes and fell quickly asleep.

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

Draco was awoken abruptly by a crack of thunder so loud it shook the small house. The lightning lit up the room with a harsh light that left spots in Draco’s eyes as they adjusted. He rolled over trying to fall back to sleep, when the loud thunder once again shook the cottage. The lighting seemed to be hitting right outside on the beach it was so bright and loud.

Sighing, Draco pushed himself up off the bed. If he couldn’t sleep, he might as well watch the storm. Remembering that he wasn’t in his own house, he threw a white undershirt on over his bare chest and left the room to watch the storm from the window at the end of the hallway. However, that idea had already occurred to someone else.

At the end of the hallway, bathed in the glow from candles on the floor, Hermione sat, her bare feet curled up underneath her, watching the storm. He walked quietly down the hall and took a seat on the bench next to her.

“Couldn’t sleep?” Hermione asked him after a loud crack of thunder subsided.

“No,” he replied. “You either?”

“I always stay up to watch the storms,” she said, carelessly pushing aside a strand of hair that had fallen into her face.

“I used to be afraid of them when I was younger, but now I love them,” she continued.

“What changed your mind?” he asked.

“One year, my mum and dad had gone into town for dinner when a bad storm, like this one, blew in. It washed out the roads before they could get back and I had to stay here alone. I pretty much spent the whole night in a blind panic,” she said with a chuckle. “But after it was over, I realized I was fine and – I don’t know, I’ve always loved them ever since,” she answered, the same strand falling into her face again as she spoke.

“Thunder storms were always my favorite part of summer,” he said, leaning in to carefully tuck the hair behind her ear. He let his hand linger on her cheek, waiting for her to pull away. But she didn’t.

He raised his other hand to release her hair from the bun, running his fingers through the soft curls. He hesitated, unsure of whether to continue, waiting for her to leave as she had done on the train.

She didn’t leave, but she did pull back looking slightly unnerved. “So, er... How has your summer been so far?” she said quickly.

“I’ve had better,” he replied, careful to make his voice as even as possible. “You?”

“It’s been fine. Busy. It’s nice to get away for a little.”

“I heard Weasley’s brother got married to the champion from Beauxbatons.”

“Yes, Bill and Fleur. They were actually married a few days ago.”

“Bill, has he recovered since the... well since Greyback attacked him?” Draco asked, mentally slapping himself for bringing up that night.

She didn’t answer right away, instead looking at him as though searching for something. She worried her bottom lip with her teeth as she did this, making it red and swollen and causing a pleasant pang in the pit of Draco’s stomach.

Her scrutiny unnerved him, though he was careful not to let it show. He was used to presenting a mask to the world and Hermione’s gaze seemed capable of breaking down all the walls he so carefully built up, as if she was able to see through him in a way no one else had.

“Yes,” she finally replied. “He’s fine. Scarred, and with a new found fondness for raw steaks, but fine.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes, with only the thunder to break the stillness.

“No one blames you, you know.” She said it quietly, but there was a force behind the words all the same, as though she wanted to make sure he believed it. “I know... we know what V – Voldemort did, how he threatened you. You did what anybody else would have. I know you feel like it’s your fault, but it’s not. It’s no one’s fault. It just… happened and we’ll just have to deal with it.”

He didn’t know what to say. Her words jarred him, angered him, smashing their way painfully into his thoughts, trying to destroy every truth he had been sure of. He felt like shaking her until she saw sense. How could she possibly be so naïve? How could she not acknowledge his guilt? How could she look at him with anything but disgust?

“If you think like this, if you’re this forgiving, this stupid, you won’t survive this war, Granger,” he growled. “Don’t mistake who and what I am. I’m a murderer and Death Eater, sniveling and pathetic, truly my father’s son. What do you think would have happened if I had been ordered to kill you instead? I would have done it, make no mistake.”

“No, you wouldn’t have,” she croaked out. “You said it yourself, you couldn’t do it. You might be your father’s son, but you are not your father. People are a product of their environment Draco. You… if I had been brought up like you, entitled and prejudice, I don’t know who I would be. You’ve risen above what you’ve been taught to be and that takes strength of character most people don’t possess.”

She paused, taking his left hand in hers and turning it so that his forearm faced up. The Dark Mark stood out, vividly black against his pale skin and she gently caressed it with her thumb. The action made him ill. He wanted to pull away but couldn’t.

She continued. “You aren’t a Death Eater. This means nothing. Horrible things have happened to you and you’ve had to do horrible things, but that doesn’t make you a horrible person. If you were, you wouldn’t be feeling the way you’re feeling. You wouldn’t care and you do… I know you do. You’ve made mistakes; you’re human. Everyone does. Just… don’t let it destroy you. Don’t let him destroy you. None of this is your fault.”

He felt his eyes burning.

Thankfully, Hermione’s attention was once again turned to the storm raging outside. As he struggled to get his emotions under control she turned to him and whispered, “I just thought you should know,” before taking his hand and falling into a thoughtful silence.

Draco struggled to breathe, his brain frantically trying to make sense of what had just happened, what she had said. He wanted desperately to believe her, her offered absolution was enticing and intoxicating. Despite his best efforts, he felt some of the weight and darkness he had been carrying around for the last year leave him, cleansed by Hermione’s kindness and a summer storm.
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A Summer Holiday