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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 Nine: A Really Bad Idea

Draco stood for a moment composing himself as he stared at the spot where his best friend had just stood. He could have stood there for days, analyzing what the hell was happening to him and listing the infinite reasons why letting it happen was most definitely A Really Bad Idea, but he was tired, exhausted really, and couldn’t find it in him to care at the moment.

Blaise was right. He hated when Blaise was right. His self-satisfied smugness on such occasions had been known to last for months and in this case Draco was most likely to die before he let it go.

Draco entered the house slowly, the screen door banging shut behind him. Hermione stood at the base of the stairs waiting for him and he held her gaze as he braced himself for the explosion he knew was coming. She looked like a Valkyrie braced for battle. Anger pulsed beneath her skin, staining her cheeks and chest, frizzing her hair and darkening her eyes until they looked more black than brown. He couldn’t help but admire her; even her rage was perfect.

“What is wrong with you!?” she shrieked, not giving him a chance to answer. “How dare you? How dare you! Where exactly do you think you get the right to treat people like this? I have never been more insulted in my life, which is saying something coming from a know-it-all mudblood whose best friend is Harry Potter. I – ”

“I know. I’m sorry,” he interrupted quietly, taking a step forward.

“You’re sorry? Sorry! You – you arrogant prick! I thought you wanted to be civil, you asked for that – not me. I understand that you hate me, but – ”

“I don’t hate you,” he interrupted again, taking another step forward so that she had to tilt her head to look into his eyes.

He knew his calm, even responses were enraging her further, knew how infuriating it was when the person you wanted to scream and rage at refused to be drawn in. The thought gave him a perverse kind of pleasure. She may have caused him to lose any willpower and self-restraint he once possessed, but he still had this. He delighted in infuriating her further, though undoubtedly it was insane to do so, because he wanted her – needed her – to feel some small fraction of the anger and frustration coursing through his own veins.

Clearly it was working. She was apoplectic with rage, nearly incoherent with fury and she gapped at him, opening and closing her mouth like a fish before she was able to continue.

“Like hell you don’t!” she shouted. “Although, if your behavior towards Blaise is any indication, you treat even your friends like shit. Perhaps I just expected too much.”

“Language Granger,” he drawled. “Don’t worry about Blaise, he’s known me far too long to take anything that happened today seriously. In fact, I’m quite sure he enjoyed himself.”

“What is that supposed to mean? He’s just so used to you being a complete arse that he finds it amusing? Because I assure you, I don’t,” she spat, white sparks shooting from the tip of her wand as she tightened her grip on it.

“If you’re not going to hex me, would you mind putting that away?” he asked, wrapping his fingers around her wrist and lowering her arm as she scowled at him.

“I won’t deny that I’m usually not the most… pleasant of people. I’m condescending and sarcastic – an arrogant prick as you so succinctly put it – but my behavior today has been unusually poor, even for me.”

“Unusually poor?” she scoffed. “And why is that?”

Draco inhaled deeply before answering. ”Jealousy, at least where a woman is concerned, isn’t something I’ve ever had to deal with before. Apparently I don’t handle it very well.”

“W – what?” she sputtered

“Jealousy Granger,” he repeated. “Given your reaction to Weasley’s relationship with Lavender Brown this past year, I’m assuming you’re familiar with the concept.”

She stared at him in shock and he could practically see her brain working frantically behind her eyes as it tried to make sense of what he had said. He stayed silent, waiting and watching.

They were so close that he could feel her hot breath on his face, a flowery smell from her hair tickling his senses. She was still flushed with anger and he admired the curve of her breasts as they strained against the fabric of her top with each erratic breath.

He could tell the moment everything clicked into place, seeing wave of comprehension that mixed with the shock and fury behind her eyes. When she took a steadying breath and opened her mouth to speak, Draco silenced her the best way he knew how.

His lips crashed to hers, one hand on the curve of her hips, pinning her between him and the wall, and the other tangling in her hair, holding her in place. He heard her wand clatter to the floor.

“What are you doing?” she gasped, pushing him off with one hand even as the other gripped his shirt tightly and pulled him closer.

“I don’t know,” he breathed before delving in again, desperate to feel her lips on his, pushing his thigh between her legs and pulling her hips flush against him. She gasped at the contact, pulling him closer, her hands clutching his shirt. He took advantage of her parted lips, sliding his tongue in to deepen the kiss and he felt her arch off the wall into him, a hand snaking up his chest to tangle in his hair.

Her reaction to his kisses shocked him. He had mostly expected her to slap him and storm off in outrage, but even the small part of him that had dared to hope hadn’t expected this. There was nothing gentle or tender about it and he would never have expected it of her. It was rough and hard, bruising even, as if they were each fighting to make sure the other didn’t get the upper hand.

Desperate for air, he released her mouth, biting and kissing his way across her jaw and down her neck, marking her as his.

“Why?” she moaned breathlessly.

“I don’t know,” he repeated, groaning when her hips began to rock against him.

His actions were almost violent. His hands gripped her hips in a way that was sure to leave bruises and he bit his way across her flesh, not with playful nibbles, but with actual bites that he soothed with his tongue before moving on.

He couldn’t help it. He wanted to punish her, hurt her for making him feel this way. Draco was always in control. Always. His life depended on it. Somehow she had broken him. The prissy, uptight, princess of Gryffindor, had slithered her way past his defenses in a move worthy of a Syltherin and set him so badly off balance he wasn’t sure who he was anymore. He wanted to run, to leave, find someplace where he would never have to see her again, to hear her name spoken. If only he could stop kissing her long enough to accomplish that.

One hand found its way under her shirt, and he squeezed her breast hard groaning at the weight and fullness of it in his hand. When he began teasing her nipples through the thin cotton of her bra, rolling the rigid peaks between his fingers, he felt her nails rake down his back and she yanked the hair at the back of his neck, forcing him to look at her.

This time she captured his lips with her own, biting hard on his bottom lip and Draco was sure he tasted blood. He growled in response, thrusting hard against her hip and tearing the strap of her vest top from her shoulder to expose her breast. She let out a strangled cry at the contact of skin on skin and the sound sent a stab of pleasure to his stomach.

As their tongues tangled together, fighting for control, her hips sped up and she moved against him with a wanton abandon. He trailed the hand not occupied with her breast down the flat expanse of her stomach and began unbuttoning the top of her jeans. Just as he was about to slip his hand beneath the band of her knickers, he was interrupted by a sound from the living room as the sliding glass door that led to the porch opened.

Instantly their motions stilled and they parted from each other as if burned. Remembering with jolt that they were not alone and realizing that any second someone was going to round the corner to the kitchen and find them, he took in her swollen lips and tangled hair, her exposed breast and unbuttoned jeans. Her wide, panicked eyes told him he didn’t look any better. He could feel the flush of arousal burning his skin and struggled to control his breathing.

Without a word they turned and fled up the stairs as quickly and quietly as possible, parting at the top as she escaped into her room and he dashed down the hall to the bathroom.

“Dinner’s in fifteen minutes!” he heard Mrs. Granger call up the stairs.

“Okay!” came Hermione’s muffled reply.

Draco collapsed against the door as it closed behind him. He felt shaky, his legs unable to support him, though he wasn’t sure if the cause was panic or arousal. Slowly he made his way to the sink, bracing himself against the counter. Fucking Blaise, he thought as he splashed cool water on his face. Damn him for putting such unbelievably stupid ideas in his head. He made everything seem so simple. What do you really want, he had asked, as if it was a simple question to answer, as if knowing the answer would actually change anything.

The cool water felt good on his heated skin, but it was doing nothing to alleviate what was currently straining against the confines of his trousers. Reaching down he freed his erection, hissing as his hands wrapped around its length. He was so hard it was almost painful. Closing his eyes, remembering the feel of her under his hands and the sight of her flushed and exposed to him, he stroked quickly and came within minutes.

As he tucked himself back in a cleaned up a bit he wondered vaguely if Hermione was in her bedroom now wanking to thoughts of him. Scolding himself for the pang the thought had sent through his body, he splashed cold water on his face once more and straightened his clothes before heading downstairs.

“Can I help with anything?” he asked Mrs. Granger as he entered the kitchen, running a hand through his hair.

“Can you bring this out to your mother?” she asked, handing him a large salad and four bowls.

“Sure.”

He walked out onto the porch to find his mother setting the table.

“So,” she asked, a knowing smirk in her voice. “Did you have a good day with Blaise today?”

It was times like these that he hated his mother for being so damn perceptive. Thankfully, he was spared having to answer by the appearance of Hermione and Mrs. Granger with the rest of their meal.

The four ate dinner as darkness fell, illuminated by candles that Narcissa had conjured with a flick of her wand. Draco had expected it to be nothing short of torture, but the presence of their mothers acted as a surprisingly successful buffer. Draco and Hermione managed to interact relatively normally, though they were almost painfully formal and polite.

Draco mostly let the conversation wash over him, providing vague responses when appropriate and doing his best to avoid the scrutiny of Hermione’s gaze. He knew she was trying to get his attention, knew that eventually they were going to have to address what had happened. He just wasn’t ready for it so he did what anyone would have done in the situation. He ran.

Draco excused himself as soon as possible without being impolite, yawning dramatically for good measure and bidding everyone a good night. However, instead of heading to his bedroom he marched straight out the front door and down the drive, turning at the same spot Blaise had earlier and disapparating into the night.

He reappeared at the end of a long, dirt drive surrounded by woods, the air somewhat stifling after the ocean breeze, and walked through the front gates as though they didn’t exist. He had known the Zabini’s for almost as long as he’d been alive and their wards accepted him as one of their own. Draco didn’t bother knocking at the front door either. He knew Blaise to be the only one home and, given the lateness of the hour, Draco doubted he would be listening for visitors.

The Zabini family was a fairly well respected, pureblood family. However as outsiders, Mr. and Mrs. Zabini having moved to England just before Blaise was born, they had managed thus far to stay outside the Dark Lord’s consideration. They were wealthy enough, powerful enough, pure enough to be above reproach but they were foreigners and as such were spared the fate of the more established pureblood families.

Furthermore, the family had done its best to avoid the politics of blood purity. They had emigrated from Italy where the wizarding community was much less concerned with blood prejudices. The prejudices were there of course, as they were in any wizarding society, but the memory of Grindelwald’s reign of terror, much stronger in the rest of Europe than in the United Kingdom, kept these prejudices firmly in check.

The whole family was much like Blaise, apathetic and adaptable, waiting to see how the conflict unfolded. In the meantime they spent as much time out of the country as they legitimately could. Mr. and Mrs. Zabini, with their young, twin daughters in tow, had opted to spend the summer at their Umbrian villa. Blaise had chosen to stay behind mostly for Draco, though neither would ever admit it.

Closing the door behind him, Draco could make out the sounds of a crackling fire and muffled voices coming from the direction of the library. Pocketing his wand, he strode off in the direction of the noise.

As Draco rounded the corner he was greeted with the sight of a slender, leggy witch in a state of considerable déshabillé, her blonde head bobbing between Blaise’s thighs. Blaise, sprawled stark naked on the couch, eyed Draco with considerable annoyance.

“Draco, nice of you to drop by,” he said dryly.

At the sound of Blaise’s greeting, the woman between his legs pulled away with a squeal, blushing furiously at the sight of Draco in the doorway. Taking pity on her, Blaise grabbed a throw from the back of the couch and draped her with it, not at all concerned with his own nudity.

“You remember meeting Susan at Florean’s, don’t you?”

“Of course,” he replied, inclining his head. “It’s a pleasure to see you again. You’re looking… well,” he added, unable to resist and smirking as she flushed a deeper crimson.

“I – you too,” she stammered.

“I wondered if I could speak with you a moment, Blaise.”

“I’m rather in the middle of something. You might have noticed?” Blaise drawled. “I thought we had finished our… conversation.”

“There’s been a development,” Draco replied, fighting the urge to hex the arrogant, knowing look off his face. Merlin he hated when Blaise was right.

“Of course there has,” he groused to no one in particular, looking extremely put out as he rose from the couch and threw on a robe.

He leant down and grasped Susan by the chin, running his thumb along her plump bottom lip. “I’m sorry about this love. It won’t take long and I promise to make it up to you,” he said with a wicked grin, placing a kiss on her forehead. She nodded in response, clutching the blanket tighter around her as she moved onto the couch.

Draco and Blaise moved to a sitting room across the hall, Blaise settling comfortably into an armchair and watching Draco over steepled fingers as he closed the door and began pacing the room.

After a minute of silence, Blaise cleared his throat. “I was under the impression you wanted to speak with me.”

“I’d like to spend the rest of the summer here,” Draco blurted out.

Blaise regarded him carefully. “I see no reason why I should be punished for the next three weeks because you’re an idiot. If you really wanted to leave Granger’s why wouldn’t you just go home?”

Draco could think of nothing to say to this so he remained silent, though he stopped his pacing and collapsed into the chair across from Blaise.

“Perhaps,” Blaise continued. “It’s because you don’t really want to leave Granger’s.”

“What I want is irrelevant,” Draco spat.

“Why did you come here Draco?” Blaise asked, for once his voice free of its customary mocking amusement.

“I don’t know,” Draco replied, detesting the slight whine to his voice, detesting how many times he had said that today.

“I do. You came here because you’re desperate to continue whatever it is you and Granger have started but are determined to come up with every excuse to can as to why you shouldn’t. You came here because you knew that I would tell you what you want to hear, that you’re being an idiot and that none of those excuses matter – which they don’t, by the way.”

“They’re not just excuses,” he protested. “You can’t just brush them aside. You can’t ignore who we are, what’s happening. It – ”

“Yes, you can,” Blaise interrupted, carefully pronouncing each word and rising from his seat. “I’m not going to sit here and argue with you all night, in case you hadn’t noticed I have much more pleasurable plans. You’re over-analyzing, calculating every possible consequence from every possible angle. It’s very Slytherin of you. If you want my opinion, which I know you do or you wouldn’t have come here, you’re thinking too much about it, too much about the future. But be honest with yourself because you don’t know if either of you even has a future. I don’t mean to be blunt, but this is war and both of you are at the heart of it. It’s three weeks Draco, enjoy what you can. I’ll leave you to see yourself out.”

Draco stayed a while longer, fortifying himself with a glass of oak-matured mead provided by a house elf before apparating back to the cottage.

The house was quiet when he returned, everyone clearly in bed. He climbed the stairs to his room slowly, utterly exhausted and so distracted that he didn’t notice the light spilling from under his door into the darkened hall. It wasn’t until he entered his room that Draco was pulled from his thoughts by the sight of Hermione, sitting curled against his headboard, parchment in hand.
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A Summer Holiday