(no subject)

[jadarene]

A Week in the Life
A Draco/Hermione fic

Disclaimer: All characters in the Harry Potter series are property of JK Rowling, Raincoast, Warner Brothers and various publishers. No infringement is intended and no money is being made.



Day 1
Jada Rene

“Oh, my God!” Hermione rolled over, coughing and spluttering as she attempted to spit out a mouthful of sand. The sun harassed her from overhead, its brightness taunting her when she opened her eyes. She quickly shut them again and groaned whole-heartedly. Her head was pounding, she had dirt in her mouth, and someone’s hand was creeping stealthily over her ass. Hermione’s eyes snapped open.

“Get your bloody hand off me!” she shouted at the innocent blond boy lying beside her in the sand.

Draco Malfoy sat up, moaning and holding his head. “Gods, Granger, what the hell are you yelling for? I’m right here!”

“Well, keep your hands to yourself!” she barked uncompromisingly.

He gave her a sneer. “Get over yourself. I didn’t know it was you. I just felt a warm body next to me.”

“I’ll bet.”

“Don’t give me any lip unless tongue follows.”

“We’re in the middle of nowhere and all you can do is bicker?” she asked haughtily.

“I wasn’t trying to bicker,” he pointed out. “If you’ll recall where my hand was you’ll realize I was trying to-”

“Yes, I’ve got a pretty good handle on what you were planning to do,” she said icily.

“I don’t think you do,” he said idly. He got to his feet, brushing white crystals of sand from his clothes. He looked around indifferently. “So where are we?”

“I haven’t the slightest notion,” she said, staring around the wide expanse of beach. She grimaced suddenly, remembering last night’s shipboard graduation party and said, “Oh no! The boat! How can the others not have noticed we fell overboard? Surely Professor McGonagall--”

“Excuse me,” Draco interrupted her with a sharp laugh. “Fell overboard? I did not fall overboard. You pushed me!”

“I did not push you!” she objected hotly. “I tripped on the hem of my dress and stumbled into you. You could have at least caught me, you prat!”

“And soil my perfect Malfoy skin with mudblood impurities?”

Hermione narrowed her eyes and reached into her dress for her wand. “So help me, I am going to eradicate that word from your vocabulary if it’s the last thing I do.”

Draco yawned boredly. “Are you through yet? I’m thirsty.”

“Brilliant, Malfoy,” she said. “And where on this deserted island do you suggest we get drinks?”

Draco made a face somewhere between pain and amusement and pointed a slender finger over her shoulder. Hermione turned and saw the source of his entertainment.

“Okay, so the island is not deserted,” she amended as they started off toward the massive resort hotel on the hill. “At least we’ll be able to contact Professor Dumbledore and tell him we’re okay. I do hope no one is worrying that we’ve drowned.”

Draco cast his eyes heavenward and said, “You haven’t the sense of a house elf, you know that? Here you are on a perfectly sensual tropical island with a man who is arguably the most handsome and eligible wizard in this hemisphere and all you can think is whether others are worrying? Let me assure you, Granger, no one has missed us yet. They’re all sleeping off the effects of last night’s party. They haven’t the slightest idea that you and I have gone off to have a little fun.”

“Don’t say it like that!” she protested. “It sounds so…so…”

“Hot?” he suggested, making his way up the hillside where the trees grew thick and green around them.

“No,” she said peevishly.

“Delicious?”

“No!”

“Orgasmic?”

“Sordid! And stop saying things like that!” she admonished him.

“Like what? Orgasmic?” he turned to look at her in mock shock. “Merlin, you must be ten kinds of prude. How on earth does Potter put up with you?”

He trudged onward again, past the branches that slapped at their arms and legs as they passed. Hermione struggled after him, demanding to know, “Just what is that supposed to mean?”

“You only know about fun from the dictionary,” he said complacently. “Watch your step.”

He pulled himself up over a brief outcropping and stretched his hand down to her.

“I thought you didn’t want to sully yourself with mudblood impurities,” she said sourly. Draco rolled his eyes and swore under his breath.

“Fine. Suffer!” He snatched his hand back and went on his way, leaving her to scramble up the embankment after him. She hauled herself up without his help. They continued on in relative silence, Draco cursing intermittently at the local vegetation. They hiked for another hour before they were able to crest the last hill. They found themselves facing an imposing structure of polished columns and generous breezeways.

“Yes!” Draco smiled. By now they were both thirsty, hungry, and somewhat disheveled. Draco started forward, but Hermione laid a hand on his arm. He looked down at her and smirked, “Oh, now you want an escort?”

“No, Draco, you insufferable git!” she whispered impatiently. “We don’t know where we are!”

“I know where I am. In front of a hotel with a lovely looking bar and outdoor patio restaurant.” He took another step forward only to have her haul him back into the bushes. “What now?”

“We don’t know if this is a wizarding hotel or a muggle hotel!” Hermione said urgently. “I don’t have any muggle money on me, do you?”

Draco looked thoroughly insulted. “The very idea. Of course I don’t have any muggle money on me!”

“All right, so what do you propose we do?” she said, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Still got our wands, haven’t we?” he said practically. “We’ll think of something.”

“Draco, no!” she fairly shrieked, but it was too late; he was strutting across the grounds toward the hotel lobby. Hermione muttered a quick cleaning spell and repaired the hem of her graduation gown before chasing after him. She ran her fingers through her hair, the humidity having made her wild hair curl up mercilessly.

Fortunately it was still early in the day and there were few people in the lobby. Hermione spotted Draco chatting with the hotel clerk and made a beeline for them. She got there just in time to hear Draco say brightly, “Obliviate!”

“No!” she said, putting her hand over his wand. It was too late of course and the attendant at the desk was smiling happily. Hermione looked at him just as he straightened up out of his stupor.

“What can I do for you folks?”

“Oh, we’ll need a couple of rooms,” Draco said. “And some food sent up. And could you hurry? I’m famished.”

“Of course, sir. If I could just get your credit card,” said the clerk whose nametag declared him to be Chad.

“What’s a credit card?” Draco asked pleasantly. He turned to Hermione and said, “You know, for a muggle he’s not so bad.”

“A…a what?” Chad said, looking bewildered.

“Draco!” Hermione hissed. “Not in front of the m-u-g-g-l-e!”

“I can spell, you know,” Chad pointed out helpfully.

“Of course you can,” Draco said soothingly. “Obliviate!”

“Draco!” Hermione snapped as poor Chad slumped forward some onto the counter. “Stop doing that!”

“Stop doing what?” Draco asked innocently. “This? Obliviate!”

“STOP!” she virtually shouted at him.

“Keep your voice down,” he told her irritably. “You’re attracting attention.”

“Accio,” Draco said languidly, pointing his wand at the keys behind the desk. They flew toward him and he snatched them out of the air just as Chad was coming around.

“Were those keys… floating?” Chad asked in paranoia.

“No, my good mug-- er… man. Obliviate!”

“DRACO!” Hermione bellowed. She lowered her voice when he looked at her and she said, “I’m going to break your wand over my knee if you don’t stop doing magic in front of the muggles! You’ll get us in all sorts of trouble!”

“Ooh, I can think of other things I’d rather have over your knee,” he said, raising a saucy eyebrow. “Or better yet, over my knee.”

Hermione’s cheeks warmed, but she held his gaze. He gave a quick chuckle and said to her, “Come on.”

He started off toward the staircase, leaving Chad muttering about Boxing Day and soft-boiled eggs. Hermione, realizing she couldn’t do anything about the memory charms anyway, and that she was monstrously hungry, jogged after her blond consort and trailed him up the stairs.

Draco opened the door to a suite of rooms. There was a large main room flanked on either side by bedrooms. Draco inhaled the heady scent of gardenias and smiled happily. “This is much better.”

Hermione followed him tentatively into the suite and closed the door after herself. She was very aware that they were committing unlawful entry, but she was in desperate need of a glass of water. And she couldn’t think straight.

“I’m going to have a bath,” Draco said, moving toward the bedroom to their left. “Be a dear and order up something to eat.”

Hermione would have taken the time to think up a scathing retort, except hunger was squashing all her conscious abilities. She stalked over to the telephone and looked up the extension for room service on the handy index card. Unable to stop herself, and quite frankly, planning to stick Draco with the bill for everything, Hermione ordered half of what was on the menu.

When their order came, Hermione began stuffing food into herself as though this was her last meal. She was downing a bottle of spring water when Draco reappeared wearing a bathrobe. He sat down across from her and plucked chunks of food off the various plates.

“Mm, that’s good,” he said with evident relief. “I don’t know when I’ve been so starved.”

Hermione said nothing, just kept on eating, though she couldn’t help but notice how handsome he was with his skin just pink from the bath, his blond hair still wet and pushed away from his startlingly stormy eyes. The way his beautiful fingers curled around that peach. That lucky, lucky peach… with the juice dribbling down his chin… dripping onto his torso…

“What?” Draco asked.

“Um, what?” Hermione said, tearing her gaze away from the gap in his robe.

“You’re staring,” he informed her, trading the peach for a slice of bacon and taking a large bite.

“I’m not,” she said indignantly. Her eyes strayed downward again, traveling the smooth expanse of his chest. Draco leaned back, moderately amused, and stretched his arms, widening the opening in his robe.

“Wah,” she said softly. Draco snickered and she abruptly forced her eyes away from his chest. Throwing down her crust of toast, Hermione stood up. She flounced off into the bedroom to the right and slammed the door. Damn him, anyway. He knew he was handsome. All right, so she was attracted to him. She’d have to be dead not to be. There was no reason to let him get to her. Everyone from school would be looking for them shortly and no doubt she would be out of here by dinnertime. She might as well enjoy a little time to herself in this lovely environment.

Hermione ran a tubful of hot water and pulled off her party clothes. The steaming bath eased her tense muscles and relaxed her significantly. She lay in the hot water and let her mind wander. Well, she tried to let it wander. Once given free rein, her brain flung itself toward Draco and rubbed up against him.

“Stupid, traitorous mind,” Hermione grumbled. She pooled some water in her hands and splashed her face with it. She used the hotel shampoo to wash her hair, hoping a good scrubbing would relax the curls somewhat. She went over every inch of herself, trying desperately not to think about the blond boy half-naked in the next room. She scoured herself extra hard as punishment for her curiosity over whether or not he had on anything under that robe. She was aglow by the time she had finished, and though she felt considerably better, Hermione couldn’t shake the restless feeling building in the pit of her stomach.

She donned the white bathrobe with the hotel crest and padded barefoot into the bedroom. She flung herself down on the bed and covered her head with a pillow.

“Don’t think about Draco,” she ordered herself. “Don’t think about Draco…”

She kept repeating that mantra, hoping she would start listening to herself. A whispering voice startled her.

“Hermione…”

Hermione rolled onto her side in confusion as the whispering came closer.

“Hermione…”

“Draco?”

When had it gotten so dark?

“Hermione…”

She could feel his breath on her cheek now, warming her. The bed sank and shifted as he climbed onto the mattress with her. He slid his hand inside her robe.

“Kiss me,” she said, thinking how odd the words sounded. She wished she could see better. It felt like an eternity that she waited for him to do something. Her whole body was tensed and waiting. It felt like torture. She wanted to scream at him, but found her throat too thick to make a sound. Was she suffocating?

There was a pillow over her face. She couldn’t breathe! Hermione thrashed wildly, flinging the pillow off and flailing her arms at her unseen assailant.

A sharp knocking came at the door.

“Granger! Are you all right in there?”

Hermione sat straight up in bed. The last rays of afternoon light still danced through the sheer curtains covering the window. She had fallen asleep.

“Granger?” came Draco’s tentative voice from the other side of the door. “Are you okay?”

“Oh…Yes! I’m fine; come in!” she called to him.

“I can’t,” he said from the other side of the door. “The door’s locked.”

“Oh,” she muttered something and reached for her wand. She unlocked the door and Draco turned the knob. She called out, “Couldn’t use an unlocking spell?”

“I didn’t want to be rude. I heard you thrashing about,” he said. “Is everything all right?”

“I was having a nightmare,” she told him.

“Your face is all red on one side,” he said thoughtfully. Hermione’s hand flew to her cheek. She must have fallen asleep with the pillow on her face. God, she felt like an idiot.

“I’m fine,” she said firmly, drawing the bathrobe up more closely around herself. Draco put his hands in the pockets of his robe and considered her a moment. Making a disgusted noise, Hermione got up out of bed, carefully cinching up the belt on her robe. She stalked into the living area, convinced that something about the air in her bedroom was stifling her. The balcony doors were open in the main room, the sheers rustling softly in the tropical breeze. Hermione took a breath of fresh air and immediately felt better.

“Good grief, what on earth happened to the television?!” she demanded, staring the dislodged, broken shell of a box.

“I sat on its baby and it started yelling at me,” Draco said, folding his arms over his chest crossly.

Hermione tried hard to suppress laughter as she asked him, “What?”

Draco brought her the remote control for the television. “This. I accidentally sat on it. The big box started yelling at me about hemorrhoids. I tried telling it I didn’t mean to. See? It’s perfectly fine! They’re stern little buggers.”

“You sat on the remote control,” Hermione said, the corners of her mouth twitching, “and the television came on.”

“It wouldn’t shut up! Even after I gave it back its baby and everything! Stupid muggle devices,” he muttered for a moment, then said, “So I hexed it.”

Well, that explained the blackened marks around the edges of the sagging television. Hermione sighed deeply. “Oh, Draco. You are so stupid.”

She shook her head in pity. Draco scowled foully at her and flung himself down on the couch. She sat down opposite him and looked out the window. The view of the water was amazing. She could have sat there for hours and watched the waves crashing on the sand.

“What’s that?” Draco asked, sitting up suddenly.

“What?” Hermione returned.

“That noise… that… music…” He got up and walked toward the balcony in extreme curiosity. Hermione followed casually. Draco leaned over the balcony railing, straining to hear the sounds issuing from the patio restaurant. She gazed at him from the doorway, wondering at the look of fascination flitting across his handsome face. “It’s… beautiful. Better than the Weird Sisters even. It’s almost…”

He paused, searching for the exact phrasing.

“Magical?” she suggested quietly. He turned to look at her, but did not answer. “Muggles have their own brand, I suppose. They have a kind of creativity that way.”

She gave him a half-smile and stood beside him in the dying light. The zephyr carried the scent of gardenia blossoms through her hair, lifting it from her shoulders and letting it cascade over her shoulder momentarily. Draco stared at her as though he’d never seen her before.

“Dance with me.” She was startled by the quiet command. The voice, the words, and his manner contained no malice, no hint of cruelty. Somehow she was in his arms, and they were moving. Soft motions carried them in their terry-cloth splendor in circular patterns around the balcony. The song lifted itself like an angel to heaven, kissing their ears as it passed. Hermione’s pulse quickened as she held Draco, felt his strong hands guiding her, his cheek resting lightly against her hair. He seemed to be breathing in the music; as though it were sustaining the moment for him, as though he had nearly caught a thought that threatened to elude him.

“Draco…” she spoke softly, feeling lost, feeling that she shouldn’t be doing this, but that she didn’t want to stop.

“Ssh…” he said, and bent his head.

His lips touched hers gingerly at first, seeking her approval. Hermione was utterly stunned. She didn’t know what to do. For a moment they both stood perfectly still, lips together, not moving. Then slowly, gradually, Draco made gentle motions with his mouth over hers. His hands dropped to her waist and Hermione opened her mouth to him. It was all the invitation he needed. His tongue swam into her mouth and tasted her. She returned the gesture, cupping his face in her hands and kissing him with all that she was. Every nerve tingled with electricity; Draco’s fingers left a trail of fire blazing up her spine into her hair. She felt alive. His hands danced along the slit in her robe and Hermione moaned, arching into his touch, so that Draco found himself in full contact with her breasts. He made a guttural noise of possession as his fingers swept lower, finding her naked flesh beneath the robe. The night felt heavy; Hermione’s ears were buzzing with the waves and the music, the fragrance of gardenias permeating the humid air, as her body cried out for more.

She whimpered in his mouth when he slid the bathrobe off her shoulders and let it drop unceremoniously to the terrace floor. His followed suit, the robe puddling at their feet as he stepped forward to claim her. His tongue swept along her neck, pausing to taste the bone behind her ear, and she shivered for him. Draco moved lower, licking his way down her body till his tongue found her soft folds. Hermione felt her knees shaking, sure she was going to collapse, or that any moment someone would see them, naked under the rising moon. Draco’s tongue pumped in and out of her slickness till she cried out. He caught her in his arms and when she kissed him, she tasted herself in his mouth. Willing herself not to tremble, she reached down and stroked his length to rigidity as he groaned, burying his face in her neck.

Without warning, he took her wrists in his hands and whirled her around, bending her over the balcony railing so that Hermione could see the walkway below. She felt him urging her legs apart, and a second later he impaled her. Hermione moaned as he gripped her hips and began thrusting firmly inside her. The wild, stray thought that if anyone looked up they would see her bare breasts streaked through her mind; it vanished with his next stroke. Hermione grasped the railing tightly as he slammed his cock into her pink tightness over and over again.

“So damn good,” he panted, pounding into her. “So damn wet…”

“God, yes,” she found herself moaning for him. “Please, Draco… harder. Yes, yes, yes!”

“Gods, Hermione, Fuck!” he exclaimed as orgasm hit him; he pulled out of her and shuddered come all over her backside. Hermione gasped for him, her mind still reeling from her own release. He wrapped his arm around her waist and hauled her backward, hugging her naked body against his. They lay down together, bare in the silver moonlight, panting, recovering, not thinking. It took Hermione a moment to understand that the object swooping toward them was an owl.

“Shit,” Draco pouted as the owl dropped a letter onto Hermione’s exposed stomach. He ripped it open and read it aloud.

“Dear Mr. Malfoy and Ms. Granger,

Please send your location by return owl that we may assist in your journey back to Hogwarts.

Yours sincerely,
Albus Dumbledore
Headmaster.”

A spare self-inking quill rolled out of the parchment and Draco made a disgusted noise and said something rather unkind about the interference of teachers. He whipped the quill between his fingers and wrote beneath the Headmaster’s letter.

“Dear Headmaster,

We’re fine. Thanks for asking.

Yours sincerely,
Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger.”

He looked at it for a moment and then rolled it up and tossed it back at the owl. The bird flew off into the night hooting softly.

“What did you write?” Hermione asked, vaguely wondering if she really cared all that much.

“I told him to bugger off,” Draco replied.

“Draco!” Hermione said in alarm.

“Calm down,” he said. “I’m only joking. I wrote that we were fine. Now come here, Hermione. Let’s go inside and see what sort of springs are in that lovely sofa, and what sorts of tunes we can get it to play.”

“In a minute, Draco,” she found herself saying, as though it were perfectly natural to be lying in his arms in the nude. “I want to remember this moment.”

So they sat together as the stars winked knowingly at them, letting the balmy tropic breeze kiss their skin as they savored the incredible bliss of being together.