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Mr. Malfoy's Holiday	By : Lomonaaeren Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 3236 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I am not making money from this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Mr. Malfoy's Holiday
- 1
Title: Mr. Malfoy’s Holiday
Disclaimer: J. K. Rowing and associates own these characters. I am writing this story for fun and not profit.
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Content Notes: Established relationship, fluff, past minor character death
Rating: R
Wordcount: 3200
Summary: Draco Malfoy takes his holidays on an exclusive magical beach. And this year, he’s invited Harry to come with him.
Author’s Notes: Another of my July Celebration fics, for facecat’s prompt: Harry & Draco are in the early stages of their relationship and Draco takes Harry to the beach for the first time upon learning that he has never been before and Draco is used to places like the French Riviera. This isn’t quite the French Riviera, but I hope it satisfies anyway.

Mr. Malfoy’s Holiday

            Harry nodded as he hugged Draco. “Well, owl me when you get there. You said they allow owls, didn’t you?” In truth, he didn’t know much about this mysterious, exclusive resort Draco was going to to enjoy the Christmas holidays, but he assumed Draco would have told him if they weren’t going to communicate.

            He started to step back, to allow Draco access to his office Floo, but Draco didn’t let him go, his arms lingering around Harry’s shoulders, even pressing him tighter. Harry cleared his throat a little nervously. It felt good, but he also thought something must be wrong. Draco had been talking about this holiday for weeks, and only more when he found out Harry had never seen the sea, as if he wanted to share the experience with Harry, too. Clearly he couldn’t wait to get away.

            “Come with me,” Draco said, his voice husky. “Guests are allowed.”

            “But—you said you wanted to go by yourself.” Lucius had died of what Draco said was a broken spirit almost seven months ago, and Narcissa had followed him of what Draco said was a broken heart. Harry couldn’t blame Draco at all for wanting to go to a place he had enjoyed with his parents and bask in the memories of his family.

            “I did want to. But I want you to come with me even more. I just didn’t know which of the two I would choose until now. The dread at leaving you behind…” Draco shook his head and stepped back so he was only holding onto Harry’s hand, but he was looking hard and directly into Harry’s eyes. “Come.”

            Harry exhaled slowly and nodded. His Christmas holidays were less busy than usual, anyway, since the Weasleys were abroad visiting Charlie in Romania and Ron and Hermione in Australia. They’d invited him to come with, but they were casual enough about it that Harry knew he could show up whenever he liked.

            Whereas Draco—well, he was an intense person, and he didn’t say things he didn’t mean. Harry knew he meant the invitation, and he also knew he would never receive another one if he backed out now.

            He smiled at the look that overtook Draco’s face, as brilliant and surprising as the aftermath of a firework. Draco didn’t show much emotion in public, at all, but Harry lived for the private moments like this with him.

            “Just let me get packed—”

            “You don’t need to. We can get whatever you need there.”

            Harry paused. In the little information Draco had given about the resort, Harry had had the impression that it wasn’t the sort of place that had shops. You were expected to arrive with your ridiculously expensive clothes and whatever else you needed. “Clothes and the like?” he asked, a little suspiciously.

            “Not the equivalent you’re used to.” For some reason, Draco was giving Harry the sort of mischievous smile Harry hadn’t seen since Hogwarts. “But if you’re all right with wearing, ah, unusual things and doing your grooming with something a little unusual…”

            Harry had to grin back. “You know I can’t resist an adventure.”

            Draco pulled him towards him and kissed Harry hard enough that he was still a little dazed when Draco dragged him into the Floo.

*

            “This is the way we get there.”

            Harry stared as a part of the Manor wall in the dining room opened. He had visited the Manor several times now since he and Draco had started dating, and he’d never had a clue this apparent secret passage existed.

            The wall section swung up like a hatch on a Muggle car, but then halfway up, the grey stone dissolved into mist. Harry looked down the corridor revealed, and saw another thick mist swirling and awaiting him. It wasn’t as grey as the stone it was replacing, though. It had pearly accents, and a few purple and dark blue curls.

            “I’ve never seen magic like this before.”

            “Ah.” Draco gave him a faint smile and arranged a small basket over his arm. It seemed to contain the essentials he felt they should take, although, frustratingly, he hadn’t let Harry actually look inside. He held out his other arm, and Harry accepted it. As they walked into the mist, Draco kept talking. “You haven’t been to the beach before, either.”

            “Draco.”

            “Very well. You wouldn’t have seen anything like this because it’s creature magic.”

            Harry blinked and said the first thing he could think of. “House-elves?”

            “No. Dragons. It was a dragon the first Malfoy ancestor to be invited here assisted. Julius Malfoy. Wait here a bit.”

            Harry obediently stood still as Draco unhooked his arm from Harry’s, took what looked like a peach from it, and advanced into the mist. Harry did wonder what Draco had meant, bringing that along. Harry didn’t need clothes, but Draco would need snacks?

            Then Harry heard the snap and champing of teeth, and had to still his shudder. Oh. Not snacks for Draco.

            “You have to feed them right on this step along the journey, or they get fussy,” Draco said, and came back, and resumed the walk, his hold on Harry’s arm, and the story all at once. “It’s a special place. Most of the time, the only wizards there are ones who assisted magical creatures in the past, or their direct descendants. There’s a lot more dryads, fairies, dragons, Sidhe, vampires…there are a lot of them.”

            Harry blinked again and again. Then he asked, “How did your ancestor help a dragon?”

            Draco smiled. “That’s a tale I’ll tell you more fully later. Mother used to tell it in a way that made it my favorite story.” For a moment, his voice dipped, but then he went on without any sign that he’d been talking about Narcissa. “But the outline is that Julius found a bunch of Muggles trapping a dragon with a net—this was back in the days when dragons still roamed free of the sanctuaries. He broke the nets and used several spells to reverse the damage to the dragon’s wings so it could fly away. Those spells could have killed him, they were so draining. The dragon picked up Julius and took him along, and granted him passage to Eden in thanks.”

            “Eden?”

            “What we call it.” Draco flicked a dismissive shoulder. “It’s not actually its name. But I think everyone I’ve seen there has a different name for it.”

            Harry nodded slowly. “I had…no idea that this existed.”

            “Unless you performed a huge service for a magical creature, you wouldn’t.”

            Harry nodded again. And he understood now why Draco had never spoken of it, either. They hadn’t become close until recently, during a case when an accused smuggler had tried to get out of the charges by lying about unicorn hair in Malfoy Manor, and it sounded like a private, sacred thing.

            “Almost there,” Draco said, and his voice changed abruptly. “When we come up to the gate, they’re going to want your blood, Harry. Make sure you offer it without a fuss, or they might still ban you from going to Eden.”

            Harry nodded shortly, hiding his amusement about how much that sounded like a sentence about Muggle religion. Now was not the time.

            The trail they were on—Harry could see it now as some of the mist cleared—shone soft and silvery, as if it was made of bright sand. It was also starting to curve and twist instead of staying straight the way it had since it left Malfoy Manor. Harry noticed that Draco was very careful to stay on the trail, and he did the same thing, bending and twisting every time the damn thing began to spiral.

            “This is the place.”

            The mist was entirely gone now. Harry looked up and saw a huge, looming stone gate in front of them. It looked as if it was made of piled rocks instead of built, but the iron bars right in the middle hadn’t been made by nature.

            Draco stepped forwards, his gait so confident that Harry smiled. Draco adopted a calm posture around most people, as if just waiting for them to sling accusations of him being a Death Eater. It was good to see him in a place where he could act like his real self.

            Draco laid his hand on a round silver boulder close to the left side of the gate and said in a voice neither loud nor soft, “Draco Malfoy, claiming passage by right of descent, and guest, Harry Potter.”

            For a second, Harry thought there wouldn’t be a response. Then a subtle ringing tremor passed up through the ground, and a voice that scraped and moaned responded, “Guest must put his hand on the rock.”

            Draco stepped back and nodded to Harry. Harry moved forwards, slotting his hand into place on the boulder Draco had just touched.

            It felt as if someone had grabbed hold of all the skin on his palm at once. Harry closed his eyes and held still, wincing. He’d suffered curses in the course of Auror duty that hurt worse than this, he reminded himself.

            It just seemed all a…bit extreme for the taking of blood.

            “Pass,” said the voice, and the boulder sank into the ground. Harry just had time to see that there was some of his blood clinging to the top before the landscape around them changed, abruptly and completely.

            The grey sky, or whatever was really above them with the disappearance of the mist, tattered and blew away like clouds. The stone gate wisped and tattered in the same way, and bright light flooded over them. Harry shook his head and blinked, looking around. They stood in the midst of golden sunshine and under a blue sky so gentle that Harry felt himself relax almost against his will.

            When he looked down, he saw a sea the color of aquamarines lapping against a curved beach of white sand. The sea curled and bore silver on the tips of the waves that reminded Harry of paintings and sculptures he’d seen, more than reality.

            Or maybe this is the reality that all those paintings and sculptures are trying to imitate, he thought, as Draco guided him gently down to the edge of the ocean, along the beach. The white sand rolled under his boots, as white and crunchy as sugar. Harry reached a hand down to the water when Draco motioned at him, then dipped his finger in the water and brought it to his mouth.

            “It’s sweet,” he said, and knew his voice had gone shrill with surprise.

            “What did I tell you?” Draco was bright-eyed and relaxed, tilting his head back as if he could feel the sunlight like a caress. “Eden.”

            Harry said, “Yes,” but he was watching Draco.

            At least, he was until the dragon flew overhead and the merfolk poked their heads out of the waves to see who had come to visit.

*

            Eden had a pattern, Harry came to understand quickly, and that pattern was one of the major reasons for the lack of shops.

            No one cared if they wore clothes here. The merfolk rising from the waves, the dryads standing combing their green hair in the shadows of trees, the dragons soaring overhead and dropping down to drag their wings in the tips of the waves, and the centaurs that cantered along the shore hunting what looked like glimmers of air to Harry were all naked. And they hadn’t seen any other wizards so far.

            Watching Draco stroll, unselfconsciously naked, out of the bedroom and stand on a balcony of white stone that only seemed to be there because some Malfoy ancestor had requested it made Harry relaxed, not aroused.

            He had never seen Draco so relaxed, either. He had a tranquil voice here, and he answered slowly, not because he was absent-minded but because he was busy letting thoughts slide through his head like water.

            The “villa” they were staying in, which Draco had mentioned but which Harry had thought of much more in terms of a typical resort villa, was a small, squared stone tower that might have been broken off Hogwarts. Draco had said vaguely that dwarves had built it for Julius Malfoy in return for another favor. Harry hadn’t cared to ask more than that.

            There was a huge oval bedroom with a bed big enough for a nesting dragon mother in it. Draco had looked amused when Harry remarked on the size and said, “That’s the idea.”

            Either way, no nesting dragon mother had joined them. They had all those silver-green sheets, woven, Harry had come to realize, of leaves, and braided with dryad hair, to cover them alone, and the bed was heated from beneath by what Draco said was a permanent spell imitating dragonfire.

            The rooms were open, with little furniture other than the bed and some soft mats on the floor and corners that Harry thought were also woven of dryad hair, or maybe seaweed. There was always a faint smell of the sea, salt even though the taste was sweet, and deep musk, and sun-warmed stone. Draco lay in the sunlight, or took walks along the beach constantly, and used a spell to brush his teeth.

            When they wanted to bathe, they simply leaped into the ocean. Harry learned to like the sharp taste in the back of his mouth when he swallowed the water, and it certainly cleaned them better than a shower.

            He could watch Draco floating in the water, too, on his back, with his arms sprawled out to either side of his body, and his breathing so slow that Harry sometimes ducked beneath him and came up beside him to make sure he was breathing. Draco sometimes opened one eye to look at him and smile reassuringly, and sometimes didn’t.

            There was sunlight every day, and rain every night. The first time it happened, Harry woke up with a gasp. He thought there were voices calling, and his hand found his wand lying on the small carved stump beside the bed that served for a table.

            Draco reached out and caressed his wrist. Looking at him, Harry realized that he hadn’t even opened his eyes.

            “Look out, if you want,” Draco murmured. “But that’s just the kind of thing that happens here, you know.”

            And he rolled over and buried his head in the pillow stuffed with thistledown and covered with spidersilk, sighing softly.

            Harry rose, sending one sideways glance at Draco to make sure he really wasn’t alarmed, and then walked over to the window. When he opened it, he could see the rain splashing over the balcony, into the water, and onto the steps they used to get up here, falling so straight and soft that he knew there wasn’t any wind.

            And everywhere it struck on the stones, or the sand, or anywhere except maybe the ocean, it sang in soft voices.

            Harry stood there, listening to the notes and trying to compare them to any instrument he knew. In the end, he had to give up. They were as free and constant as birdsong, and that was all he could really say. He retreated to the bed and curled up beside Draco, poking him until he sighed and looked at Harry.

            “Are those creatures that live in the rain? Or the rain itself? Or a spell?”

            “Everything,” Draco said, and rolled over so he could use Harry’s shoulder for a pillow instead of the actual pillow.

            Harry listened to the rain for a little while, and found his senses slipping away, soothed, now that he could make out the noise as song and not talking, by the constancy of it. And when he woke up in the morning, it was like passing from one soothing state to another.

            His sleep was deep, dreamless for the first time in years, and refreshing. How could it not be, when he would open his eyes to see Draco sitting in the window or on the bed every morning, bathing in the sunlight, turning to him with a slow smile that warmed his face from within?

*

            Harry opened his eyes after they’d been in Eden for perhaps a week. He had the feeling that Draco was watching him, but that wasn’t unusual, and he didn’t know why that sensation would have awakened him today. He pushed his fingers through his hair and sat up, turning so he could meet Draco’s eyes.

            Draco sat on the biggest woven mat on the floor. He had clothes on. For a moment, Harry’s heart sped up, wondering if this was the day they had to leave Eden, or if Draco had got some owl about urgent business he had to attend to.

            Then he remembered what Draco had told him about making sure he let everyone know he had no urgent business while he was here, and he relaxed enough to ask, “What’s going on?”

            Draco studied him in attentive silence for several minutes. Harry leaned back against the pillow and let Draco look his fill. Even though Harry had been naked since the day after they’d arrived and they’d had plenty of sex, he had the impression this was different.

            Draco took a deep breath. His hands were trembling. Harry got alarmed and started to sit up at once, but Draco shook his head.

            “It’s only because I was right,” Draco said, and came over to the bed and sat down, stripping his robe over his head with a single fluid motion. He was as naked as ever underneath it, and as Harry watched, Draco’s cock started filling with blood. “You respect the gift this place is, and you respect me. I thought I could trust you when I invited you here, trust you with the deepest parts of myself, but I was prepared to be wrong. And I was right.”

            Harry had to smile, and he went on smiling and not speaking because he didn’t need to say anything. Draco touched him then with urgent hands, and pushed him back, and Harry let himself be pushed back.

            He let himself watch, but not touch, as Draco prepared himself and moved so he could sit on Harry’s cock. He let himself make a few sounds, but not speak, because he didn’t know any words that wouldn’t spoil this.

            And as Draco bobbed up and down, and began to whisper things about his parents and the war in incoherent sentences, Harry knew the silence had been a wise choice.

            He lost track of when he came, of when Draco came. Stronger than the pleasure of the body was the pleasure of the soul, the look in Draco’s eyes as he reveled in being right.

            And afterwards, when they lay and Harry looked out into the unclouded sunshine, Draco warm and sleeping as deeply as Harry had all week, he felt…

            Well. He felt that both this place and Draco were gifts.

            And he fully intended to go on deserving them.

            The End.
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Mr. Malfoy's Holiday