Disclaimer: All canon characters, plots and situations from the Harry Potter series belong to JK Rowling. I make no profit from this story.

Pairing: Draco M/Hermione G

A/N: The first tiny segment of this was originally a stand alone Drabble that I now plan to expand to a full fic. I really have no idea when this will update - as you may have noticed by now, I'm not very good at keeping up with things!

Holiday

"... Maybe it's a fall from grace.

I gotta find a new place.

- A holiday -

I'll set off on a new chase,

I need to see a new face …"

-Boys Like Girls

Chapter One

"I have to do this… please." she whispered, afraid that if she spoke any louder the room would shake, fall apart like an earthquake through the still air. "Can't you see? This is killing me, Ron."

Hermione watched as a parade of emotions marched across his features, though his silence was deafening. She wanted to yell - needed him to scream, break something, hit something. The suspense was enough to shatter her already broken heart, so she stood, ready to make her way to the bedroom where her packed belongings sat just outside the door.

His eyes followed her line of vision, landing on the innocent reminder that Yes, I'm serious, and I can't do this any longer.

When Hermione Granger learned that she was a witch at the mere age of eleven, she was ecstatic. Shocked, to say the least, but thrilled that for the first time in her life, the unexplainable seemed… normal. There was a world waiting for her, ready to make her theirs, and for all the pride she took in obtaining knowledge, she hadn't a clue that it existed. Her life was about to begin, and she was ready to accept her fate with open arms.

She hadn't expected the prejudice that she would face and continue to fight down throughout her growth as a witch. The community that she thought needed her, in fact, despised her very being.

She was different, she was wrong, and she was less.

The beginning of her experience at Hogwarts was much more anticlimactic than her heart had been set on, and more so filled with the dread that she had no friends, no allies, and was relatively clueless, despite the abundance of books she'd managed to get her hands on. That was, until her destiny was sealed thanks to one nasty troll.

That was what began the glorious friendship she would cherish for a lifetime with one Harry Potter and Ron Weasley. When she thought about her younger years, growing up in the wizarding world, they were the only two constants in her life. As the years passed and their friendships were tested, they grew stronger together, bonded further. They were inseparable - The Golden Trio.

And that's where the problem formed.

She had no idea who she was as an individual. She hadn't a clue what Hermione Granger really stood for - because it was never me, always us.

"I need time, Ron."

"Then take a bloody holiday," he roared, the air around them finally sparking to life as his voice boomed across the expanse of their small living room.

That's it, Ron. Let go.

"I need far more than that and you know it," she sighed, rubbing a hand across her tired eyes. They'd gone over this three times in the last hour before he'd given her the silent treatment. She wasn't sure how much longer she could last.

"Look, I'm sorry. So. Sorry." And she was, the tears gathered in her eyes very real.

She moved swiftly, waving her wand to shrink her bags and scooped all four up, holding the now small bundle in her arms before making her way towards the door that would bless her with the fresh air she needed.

"Hermione," his voice pleaded over her shoulder, the emotion so raw that she nearly dropped her luggage and turned back. But she wouldn't - not this time - and with her strength gathered, Hermione took the handle in her grasp, turned the knob and pulled the door open while pretending not to hear the quiver in his voice.

As she walked away from the building she'd called home for three years, Ron's voice rang on a loop in her head.

Then take a bloody holiday.

Hermione stopped, right in the center of the road as her eyes glazed over with the tears she'd refused to let fall.

Holidayholidayholidayholiday.

Decision made on a whim, she spun into darkness.

oOoOoOo

Draco placed his bag onto the table with a soft thud. He let his eyes travel across the room and frowned at the layer of dust that had settled on every visible surface. The once impressive home had not been inhabited in nearly five years. With the return of Voldemort bringing on a second wizarding war and the dreadful aftermath of one parent detained and the other barely recognizable, no one had set foot on the property in half a decade.

He made his way down the long hall, peeking into the various rooms as he inched towards the kitchen. His observation of the first floor confirmed the whole house was likely in the same condition as the drawing room.

After checking that the multitude of wards were back in place, he began the slow process of removing all the crud he could. Tasks such as this made him miss his wait staff very much.

Of course, the Malfoys lost the war, their standing, and everything they owned in the wake of the Ministry's new regime. Well… not everything. Most wizards weren't even aware that this mansion existed, let alone the muggles who inhabited and vacationed in Phuket Province right under its very nose.

The Malfoy's had a very strong muggle repellent surrounding the entire structure. That meant the colonial mansion - one of many that stood proud on the vast island - was all but invisible to the naked eye. He certainly didn't expect any wizards to come poking around and find him here.

Here, his last chance at refugee. Alone.

Though he and his mother had been pardoned on good word from not only Harry Potter, but the rest of the 'Golden Trio' as well, his father remained locked up in Azkaban, doomed to a life of misery in compensation for the mayhem he had helped create and support during the Dark Lord's reign.

Lucius Malfoy's fate sealed that of his mother's, and though he begged and pleaded, did everything in his capability to restore her to the woman of power she had once been, Draco knew she was a lost cause. It truly hurt him to admit that - but her eyes had gone vacant, her hair and skin dull - a shell of her former glory - glory that fell, he suspected, the same moment she thought smart to lie for the Boy Who Lived.

Draco should be grateful, he knew that. He was alive - as bleak as that life may be - but he, too, was a half-assed form of his prior self. He'd lost his family - his life. Most of all, he'd been robbed of his youth and innocence.

The worst part is, I did this to myself.

There were nights he stayed awake, tossing and turning from vivid nightmares so real he would wake in a panic to make sure he wasn't covered in blood. Often, he did, having clawed his left arm until the skin was a ragged mess, staining yet another sheet.

Other nights he sat, eyes raw and bloodshot from the amount of time he'd let pass with no sleep, bottle of whiskey in hand as he tried to drink the pain right from his mind.

It worked - for a little while.

Though it had been years since the war ended and most people were finally settled back into normal lives, the memories still left Draco breathless, drowning in a state of disbelief that this could be his life now.

After several hours of elbow grease and cleaning spells, most of the dust was gone. With all of the wall torches lit and the chandelier glowing bright, the home almost resembled the proud building he'd recall in his childhood dreams.

His home away from home was glorious, anyone would admit that - if only they could see it.

Satisfied with the work he'd done, Draco dug around inside the cabinets and found himself a crystal glass, filling it with a dusty old brandy he'd pulled from his father's liquor shelf in the study. It was his now, he supposed. The alcohol, that room - everything.

He pushed his way through the large double doors leading from the kitchen to a patio situated off the back of the home. With a swish of his wand, the floating lanterns and strings of tiny light fixtures came to life, gleaming against the darkening sky. The sun had begun to set, and he admired the scene before him.

The Malfoy mansion was surrounded with foliage, and through the trees and endless green was a palm fringed beach begging for a visit. He took a large gulp of the amber liquid, setting the glass down on a nearby bench before following the short, beaten path that would lead him to his destination. He kicked his shoes off at the edge of the grass and stepped onto white sand, the grains covering his feet with a tickling comfort as each step brought him closer to the tranquil waters.

Draco sunk down into the warmth of the sand, pulling his feet in to wrap long arms around his knees. As he gazed into the sea, he closed his eyes, letting the sound of the lapping waves lull him into a sense of peace.

This is exactly where I need to be.

oOoOoOo

Hermione rematerialized and was met with not solid ground, but the sinking feeling of feet against sand. Surprised by her slight miscalculation, she lost her balance, yelping as she tumbled down. She stayed there, tiny bags sprawled around her, and stared up at the sun quickly fading away.

Ron was right, in a way… she did need a holiday and it was long overdue. But she knew that it would take more than this to make things okay again. If he expected her to come home and run back to him, he was wrong.

She loved Ron, truly. But he wasn't right. For the longest time she thought he was "the one", but the further along their relationship progressed, she felt drowned in all the things that were so very wrong.

Pushing thoughts of her ginger ex away, she stood, taking in the beautiful beach surrounding her. She'd always loved the sand, felt at home with the waves, and though she'd never actually been here, she knew the countless photos and articles she'd devoured about the beautiful country would be enough to get her here in one piece. The last time she'd been on holiday was with her parents. They were gone now, lost to the war like so many others.

Not in the mood to spiral down the stairway of depression on a desolate beach in the almost dark, she tucked those memories away as well. She'd open that vault in time, but it wasn't for now. As she walked along the warm sand, she eyed her surroundings. The beach was lined in a thick mass of green, and she found herself drawn towards a small break in the treeline.

Hermione moved up the dirt path, soon very surprised to find a large mansion at the other end. Curiosity getting the best of her, she approached with caution, creeping quietly up a small set of stairs that lead to a large patio. Cupping her hands around her eyes, she leaned in towards the glass door in an attempt to peek inside. The room was dark, and unable to make out anything, she began her retreat lest she get caught trespassing.

Just as she nearly cleared the stairs, a shout rang out in the night air. Startled, Hermione missed the final step, twisting her ankle painfully and tumbling to the dirt. She groaned, her lesser half feeling the embarrassment while her sensible side seized with nervous tension, sure she'd been caught snooping about.

"Who's there?"

Hermione froze on the ground, momentarily paralyzed because she knew that voice. But it couldn't be...

"Granger?"

Draco Malfoy….

"What the bloody hell do you think you're doing?" he all but growled, pulling his wand and pointing it down at her still frozen form. "How did you get here?"

He'd come from the same direction she had, and she must have completely missed him on the beach. "I don't know. I'm sorry! I just saw the place… and I couldn't resist having a look. It's gorgeous…" she trailed off, eyeing the large house once more. "Yours?"

He watched her skeptically, still unsure of her presence. "And if I say yes, you won't go running to the ministry to have it stripped away, will you?" he spat.

"Of course not! Why on Earth would I ever… I'm not… I'm not here for that, if that's what you're thinking. I honestly had no idea you lived here. I didn't even know this place existed until I stumbled upon it."

"It's been in my family for a very long time. It's the one thing I have left that the Ministry didn't destroy. Excuse me for assuming the worst." It was his turn to look at the building longingly, his last piece of the Malfoy name.

"I'm sorry."

"What for, Granger? I know it's not your bloody fault. I don't need your pity." He threw her that famous Malfoy sneer, the one directed at her so many times before.

"I don't." At his raised brow, she clarified. "I don't pity you. What I mean is, nothing after the war is okay. It's not fair, any of it. And you aren't the only one who lost."

Draco laughed, the sound cruel in the still air. "As if you have. As if you have any idea what I've gone through." He shook his head, pushing past her and up the wooden stairs.

"I don't, you're right. But we're more similar than you think."

He froze, waiting for her to continue, curiosity beating his want to just go inside and pretend he'd never seen her. "We're both war orphans now."

Draco stiffened at the words, partly surprised and partly angry that she dare to bring his up. "My parents aren't dead," he hissed.

She spoke quietly, so soft he nearly missed the words. "Nor are mine, they just have no idea that I exist. Brightest witch of her age," she mocked. "Yet, I fucked up so completely that i'll never have them back. It wasn't even worth it." She finished in a whisper, her ears ringing.

He turned then to look at her and found her studying the ground, worrying her shirt in her palms. He wasn't sure what compelled him to do so, but he moved back down the steps, scooped up her fallen bags and gestured with his head towards the stairs. "Come on."

"You don't have to invite me in, Malfoy. I'll be fine. I'm on holiday, after all."

"And so I am. Let's go."

Hermione reluctantly followed him up the patio and in through the glass doors she'd tried and failed to examine. The mansion was even more gorgeous from the inside, though bare, she noted. It looked as if it hadn't been lived in in quite some time.

"There's not much here, but i've got booze," he held up a bottle of what looked to be firewhisky, and she smiled because why not.

oOoOoOo

Draco studied the witch sitting on the couch across from him. Three glasses in, and she'd loosened up in a way he'd never seen her before, going into full detail on how she arrived in Thailand, of all destinations.

He learned about the loss of her parents, their memories unable to be restored after she'd erased herself to protect them against the war. He learned that she wasn't happy with life, that she didn't know who she was.

He could relate to that.

Unfortunately, he also learned far more about the weasel than he ever needed to know.

"And it's like, really Ronald… I'm not asking much. Just shower before you get into my clean sheets because you literally smell like a garbage disposal. How could he ever think I'd put my mouth on him when his di—"

"NO. Nonononono. You will stop right there," Draco interrupted, covering his ears with his palms to drown out her words. "We are not going there."

She laughed, a full sound so unlike the tinkling giggles he was used to hearing from women. He was surprised to find himself smiling at the sound and quickly joining in with her.

She gasped, wiping tears from her eyes. "I'm so sorry! I got a bit carried away." Hermione drained the last of the liquid from her cup - brandy, it turned out - and sat the glass gently on the table between them. Letting her eyes fall shut, she slouched a bit as her head fell back against the couch cushion.

"It's weird, right?" he spoke low.

"What?" Hermione murmured. She cracked an eye open, watching him watching her.

"This." He waved an arm. "How you pretty much landed right at my door."

"Well, it's certainly not fate. I don't believe in that rubbish. Coincidence, sure…" She smiled at him, a sweet gleam that quickly turned into a feral grin, her eyes twinkling mischievously.

He raised a brow at her, confused by her sudden change of expression.

"Why, Draco Malfoy, are you happy to see me here?"

"You're delusional. And drunk."

She laughed again, that music to his ears, and he wondered - not for the first time that evening - if he made the right choice inviting her in. This was Hermione Granger, mudb— muggleborn, someone he hated for as long as he could remember. He always assumed the feeling was mutual, if her punching him in the face third year was any indication.

So why did this feel… normal?

As a comfortable silence fell between them, he realized that for the first time in a long time, the tension had completely left his shoulders. He felt the way his lips turned upward with ease, and for a few glorious moments, he hadn't a care in the world.

A/N: Oh, Mr. Malfoy… What have you gotten yourself into?