DISCLAIMER: Most of the subject matter in this story is owned by J. K. Rowling. Chances are, if you recognize it, it's hers. I own only the setting (France), the plot, and the librarian in chapter four.
Hermione Granger gazed out of the kitchen window at the sight of the sea. She and her parents were vacationing in France, having rented a villa on the outskirts of a tiny village on the Mediterranean. There were five weeks left of the summer holiday before Hermione had to return for her seventh and final year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The Granger family, who had arrived the week before, had three weeks left to enjoy their vacation before returning to England.
Hermione stood in front of the kitchen window, sipping from a mug of hot chocolate as she watched the sun's first rays shining on the water. Occasionally she reached up to finger her hair, which she had had cut and styled only the day before. Her naturally bushy locks now hovered in defined curls around her shoulders.
After finally draining her mug, Hermione carefully rinsed it out and set it in the sink, taking care not to make too much noise. She glanced toward the stairs, but the sound of her parents' slumber never faltered.
Hermione stretched luxuriously then made her way toward the bathroom to take a shower. She paused in the doorway as a thought struck her, and instead of going inside, she turned around and went into her bedroom.
Walking over to the dresser, where all of her clothes were neatly arranged, Hermione sifted through the top drawer until she found her swimming suit. Quickly, she took her nightgown off and scrambled into the two-piece suit. She took her beach towel off its hook by the door and wrapped it around her waist as she descended the stairs once again.
Back in the kitchen, Hermione searched for a sheet of paper and a pen. Finding these, she wrote a quick note.
"Dear Mum, I've gone for a swim. I'll be back in a few hours. I love you. Hermione."
Taking the key to the villa off the dining room table, Hermione put the keychain around her neck. She set the note down where the key had been, and made her way out the door, locking it behind her.
Outside, the air was soft, and a mild breeze was blowing in from the sea. The sky was the pale blue of early morning, and the clouds were edged with pink and purple. Along the eastern horizon, the sky glowed orange and yellow. With her eyes squinted almost shut, Hermione cast a quick glance at the sliver of blinding sun that peeked over the top of the hill in front of her. Turning away again, she blinked the spots out of her vision and started down the road toward the sea.
It was perhaps a half-hour walk to the beach. The read to the shore passed about a half-mile from the village. The cluster of buildings looked picture-perfect from this distance, with the early-morning sunlight shining on the rooftops. Hermione admired the sight as she strolled along.
The beach, she discovered upon arrival, was deserted, which wasn't very surprising, since it was only about six o'clock in the morning. Hermione unwrapped her towel from around her waist and spread it on the sand, then waded into the water. It was cool, but not unpleasantly so, and Hermione waded in until the waves were lapping around her waist. She stared out at the seemingly endless sea.
She heard footsteps crossing the sand behind her, and turned to see a teenage boy around her age walking across the beach, pushing a bicycle by the handlebars. He stopped, not too far from where her towel was, and carefully set his bike on its side in the sand. He took the towel that hung from around his neck and draped it over the handlebars.
Hermione studied him. From where she stood, waist-deep in the water, she couldn't clearly see his face. All she could tell was that, because of his pale skin, he obviously wasn't from this part of France. She admired his hair, which was platinum blond and fell around his ears, as it was teased by the wind.
Hermione frowned, watching as the boy pulled his shirt over his head, revealing a muscular chest and arms. There was something about him that made him seem familiar and, somehow, not very French. This was puzzling.
Well, she thought, there was one way to find out.
"Bonjour!" she called.
^ * ^ * ^ * ^
Draco Malfoy doubted that anyone would miss him that morning. Draco's father, Lucius, would be out all day doing whatever business had made him drag his wife and son to Muggle France in the first place. Draco's mother, Narcissa, would most likely spend the entire morning in bed, and wouldn't begin to worry about her son until midafternoon, by which time she would be thoroughly primped and ready to start the day. And, of course, the servants that had accompanied the Malfoy family were wise enough not to stop Draco from leaving.
And so it was that Draco left the house that morning without any hindrance. It was a tiny house by Malfoy standards, which sat almost in the middle of a small town in southern France. From Draco's bedroom window, one could see the Mediterranean less than a mile away.
Closing the door quietly behind him, so as not to anger his parents by waking them early, Draco made his way to the back of the house, where his bicycle was chained. It was a gift from his mother, to amuse him in the absence of his Nimbus 2001 racing broom. Muggles, Lucius had explained, were more accustomed to traveling on the ground, and Draco could not afford to expose the wizarding world by being seen flying on a broomstick.
Draco had been practicing on his new bike for a week, or however long it was he'd been forced to travel in this stupid Muggle fashion. He had only recently learned to keep his balance while riding it.
Draco unchained his bike, mounted it, and took a moment to hang his beach towel around his neck before pedaling away.
Draco Malfoy was going for a swim. He had woken up at an insanely early hour of the morning, and had not been able to fall asleep again. If he wasn't going to be able to sleep anymore, he had reasoned, perhaps a swim would wake him up enough to start the day. And at this time of the morning, no on was likely to be at the beach, so Draco could have it all to himself.
When he got to the beach, Draco dismounted and started to walk his bike across the sand. With a slight feeling of disappointment, he realized that he wasn't the only one on the beach. One lonely towel was spread out on the sand. He looked toward the water and saw someone – a girl – standing about forty feet out.
Draco walked his bike further across the sand and carefully set it down on its side near the girl's towel. He took his own towel from around his neck and hung it over the bike's handlebars.
Aware that the girl was watching him, Draco stripped off his shirt and lay it over his towel. He was now wearing only his swimming trunks, which nicely displayed his muscular chest, arms, and legs, which he had gained through years of Quidditch training. That, Draco thought, ought to impress the girl, whoever she was.
"Bonjour!" came a soft alto voice from behind him. Draco turned to see the girl waving at him.
He studied her before replying. She had curly brown hair, which hung around her shoulders. She was wearing a rich blue bikini that accented her curves nicely. Draco blinked. He hadn't known that French Muggles could be so hot.
"Bonjour," he called back, and headed for the water.
^ * ^ * ^ * ^
"Bonjour," the blond boy called in response, and started toward her. He had a nice voice, Hermione thought. But it, too, seemed vaguely familiar, and she didn't know why. This was beginning to bug her.
"Ça va?" she asked, watching him come. ("How are you?")
"Ça va comme çi, comme ça," he replied. ("I'm okay.")
This blond boy was pretty hot, Hermione thought. "Comment t'appelles-tu?" she asked. ("What's your name?") And as soon as these words left her mouth, Hermione realized...
"Malfoy?!"
He stopped, less than twenty feet away. "Granger? What the hell are you doing here?"
She glared at him. "I could ask you the same thing."
Malfoy smirked at her. "You could, but I wouldn't feel obliged to enlighten you."
Hermione snorted angrily. "Then what makes you think I would?"
He shrugged. "Fine, you don't have to tell me anything. And now that I think about it, I'd prefer it that way. I have absolutely no interest in your pathetic Muggle life." He sneered at her and waded past into the deeper water. Hermione had to forcibly keep herself from kicking him as he went by. She held her fists clenched at her sides, to prevent anything she might regret later. She sent one final glare in his direction and headed for the beach.
A furious battle was being waged inside Hermione's head. Part of her was barely restraining itself from bashing Malfoy in the face; the other part was mercilessly reminding her of his sleek muscles and soft blond hair. The former part wanted to storm away and return to the villa, hopefully never to see Malfoy again; the latter part wanted to hang around and check out the eye candy.
It ended up as a tie. Hermione picked up her towel and made her way further down the beach. She didn't want to quarrel with Malfoy, but she also wasn't willing to let him have the beach all to himself. After all, she had been here first.
Hermione spread her towel out again, glancing back over her shoulder at the figure in the distance that was Malfoy. He was far enough away that she couldn't quite see him clearly. And that was a good thing, she told herself sternly.
Hermione waded back into the water, scolding herself mentally. She would soon be returning to Hogwarts, where she would most likely see more of Malfoy than any sane person could stand. She could wait until then.
Her thoughts wandered. Going back to Hogwarts meant seeing her friends Harry Potter and Ron Weasley again. Hermione thought of them with a bit of guilt; she hadn't written either of them much this summer. Harry was spending the summer at Ron's house, since his aunt, uncle, and cousin were visiting friends in Canada and had refused to allow Harry to accompany them.
Perhaps she ought to send them a letter tomorrow, Hermione mused. After all, it was Harry's birthday in a few days and she would be sending him his birthday present anyway. Hermione smiled with pride; she had really outdone herself this year in buying a gift for him. As well as buying a few extra gadgets for his Firebolt, Hermione had scored a copy of The Limited Edition Encyclopedia of Quidditch Tactics, which ought to please Harry no end, especially seeing as he had been voted the new Gryffindor team captain this year.
Hermione slogged past a buoy, which bobbed up and down with the waves. How strange, she thought. Why on earth did they need a buoy here? The water was barely above her waist. She turned to look back at the shore, which was a good distance away. She shook her head and continued to walk backwards.
She glanced down the beach toward Malfoy, her eyes easily picking him out from among the surf. His face was turned toward her; even from this distance she could tell he was watching her. She blushed, even though he wouldn't be able to see it, and stubbed her foot. She stumbled, trying to find her footing, and then there simply wasn't any sand under her feet anymore and she was falling through the water.
Hermione flailed her arms and legs in a desperate attempt to keep her head above the water. She wasn't going to drown, she told herself fiercely, she wasn't going to drown – and she was trying as hard as she could to stay afloat –
But there was one problem.
Hermione couldn't swim