A LITTLE THING CALLED LOVE
Chapter 2
"Get. Up."
Ron groaned from under his three bedsheets. "I don't wanna, Draco."
"Get up, Weasley, or I swear to Merlin I'm gonna levitate you onto the streets in your bloody boxers, and then all of magical London will be able to view your beautiful yellow underwear.
"It's Spongebob," his small voice replied, a bit indignantly.
"It could be whatchamacallit for all I care. You've been moping about for almost two weeks now, and that's excessive, especially for you. I mean, you're Ronald Weasley, for God's sake. You should be on your feet, looking for The One and all that crap you believe in. So get up, and get on with hunting for true love or whatever. I mean, you've jumped off the proverbial cliff already- displayed to the world how much your girlfriends mean to you, and how much you love them, and how much you wanna marry them and produce beautifully hideous red babies with them- and you're free falling. Better you get your sorry ass up and prepare to crash."
Ron lifted the sheets to glare at Draco. "That was, by far, the worst motivational speech i have EVER received in all these years of existence. It even beats the one George gave me while he taught me the contraceptive spell when I was dating Lavender," he shuddered.
"Now that you're awake," Draco said, ignoring him, "take a shower and pack your bags. We're going somewhere."
"This is a stupid idea," Ron hissed, as he put the invisibility cloak over him and Draco. "And you're bloody lucky Harry accidentally left this cloak with me last week."
"Shush," Draco whispered. "I say it's a good thing his wards recognise us."
"He'll probably be sleeping, right?"
"Well, it is a Sunday, so yes. But there's no way a workaholic like him will go down without a fight. I'm telling you, this is the ONLY way."
They trudged up Harry's stairs as quietly as they could, and paused before his closed bedroom door.
"Let's go through the plan once more," Draco whispered.
"Honestly? " Ron raised a brow. "How the hell did you survive the ruddy war? Plans never actually work out. And we've discussed it a million times already. I'm just afraid he'll accidentally fire some nasty hex at us."
Draco rolled him eyes, and pointed his wand at the door, a non-verbal spell unlocking it.
They ran to Harry's bed, and before the man could even get up, they had him bound and gagged and up against the headboard, thrashing wildly.
As soon as he realised it was them, he stopped flailing about for only a second, before resuming again.
Draco and Ron, in the meanwhile, were raiding his closet, and dumping summer clothes into his rucksack.
"Trunks?"
"I've got a pair!"
"Where are his ruddy- Oh! Found 'em. Nice sneakers mate. Where'd you get these from? Some muggle shop?"
And all Harry could do was pray they didn't accidentally set his house on fire, because he'd gotten accustomed to bearing with their idiotic phases over the past few years.
Draco sped ahead on the highway, his swanky new Cadillac bright and shiny, with one vocally excited, and another silently fuming passenger in it.
"This was really unnecessary," Harry finally bit out, a hint of a smile playing at his mouth as the wind wantonly kissed his cheeks.
"Quite the contrary, rather," Draco chirped out playfully. "You'd never have agreed otherwise. What with it being a workday tomorrow. Too bad your assistant witch told me you were way overdue for a holiday. Besides, Ron needs it, mate. He needs to be surrounded by sexy, French, topless girls."
"For the billionth time, we are NOT going to a naturist beach!"
"Quite the contrary, rather," Draco repeated, winking at Ron. "Welcome to Cap d'Agde my friends!"
They checked into their hotel rooms after the valet guy had taken away Draco's rented car, much to his dismay (he'd wanted to shrink it and take it into his room), and had headed down with plans of unwinding at the beach.
"Oh, bloody hell," Ron whispered.
"What?" Harry said, head snapping up.
"It's Pansy, Draco."
And that was all it took to send Draco hiding behind the huge potted plant in the lobby.
"Weasley, Potter," she noted, sauntering up to them. "I'd seen Draco with you just now! Where is he?"
And they said nothing, but moved apart and pointed behind the plant, trying very hard not to laugh, but failing when they saw the look Draco shot them as she launched herself into his arms.
About an hour later, leaving a very disgruntled Pansy behind, they set out again, to explore the little town and the beaches it was famous for.
"I don't know how she found me," Draco shuddered, lying down on his deck chair, pale skin glistening with the tremendous amount of sunblock he'd applied.
"I think it's just a coincidence," Harry smirked. "Besides, it serves you right, Draco, for being such an arrogant, bossy prat."
"Oh, shut it, you arse. I've heard enough from you already. If you hate it so much here, then get your sorry self back to London, for all I care."
Harry sighed. He had to admit, this was a very welcome break from his hectic schedule of seeing patients everyday. After the war, he'd decided that Auror training wasn't for him. He'd spent his entire childhood fighting a war - he didn't want to hunt down criminals all through his life. So, after giving his NEWTS and going through a very thorough training procedure, he'd finally become a Healer.
"At least girls run after you," Ron said, gloomily. "It's the opposite in my case."
Just then, a shadown was cast upon them, as an incredibly beautiful woman leaned above Ron and whispered something in his ear, shashaying off gleefully after he frantically nodded his head.
"I'm gonna go rub sunscreen all over her," Rom mumbled out hurriedly, as he rushed after her, leaving behind his amused friends, who reclined into their chairs, a comfortable silence settling in.
"I really think you should tell her," Harry spoke after a while, eyes closed behind his glasses.
"Tell who?" Draco drawled.
"Pansy, you idiot. You've literally been leading her on your whole life. She doesn't want to be the one person you seek out when there's nobody else. I'm sure she deserves a guy who can really appreciate her, not some moronic idiot who wouldn't know a girl worth holding on to if she slapped him in the face."
"Remember when Granger slapped me in the face?" Draco chuckled. "I was do damn angry I could've strangled her. Thankfully, I scampered away like the coward I was."
Harry softened. "Is this all about Hermione? Why you never bother trying for any girl? Why you abhor even the prospect of a serious relationship?"
Draco guffawed. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves, shall we? I've always been this way. And self-destructive as it may be, it's the only way I know."
"Maybe it's not too late for you to learn."
Draco shrugged. "Whatever. But you're right. I really do need to have a talk with Pansy."
The next afternoon found Harry walking down Agde's streets with a map in his hands, a deep line formed down the middle from where it'd been folded too often.
He stopped and looked up, a look of satisfaction gracing his features as he caught sight of the building he'd come to see.
Agde had very few tourist attractions that weren't synonymous with the beach, but when he'd heard of this 18th Century church which boasted of fantastic architecture, he'd jumped at the chance, leaving his friends behind, sunbathing at the beach.
He found a nice spot by the side, from where he had an ample view of the structure, with it's ancient pillars and magnificent build, and its quaint, peaking roofs.
He set up his canvas on the easel Draco had remembered to throw in with his luggage, for which he was thankful, because if there was anything Harry carried with him wherever he went, it was his painting supplies.
He'd taken up the hobby soon after the war, when the need to express himself through any medium had torn him apart, especially after he'd discovered that he had a very poor way with words. He liked to think that he had honed his skill over these ten years, because even before, he'd never been bad with the artistic stuff.
As he settled in and admired the outline he'd made, he saw a woman leave the church, her dark hair strikingly familiar. She made her way halfway down the steps leading to the church's entrance, before plopping down on the cracked cement, with her head in her hands.
It's Pansy, he thought, before sighing and walking over to where she now sat, sobbing into her hands.
"Pansy," he said, and his voice came out real croaky and rough. He cleared his throat and said her name again, this time, louder.
"What?" she said, looking up at him miserably, with her bloodshot eyes above her kohl-stained cheeks, causing him to stagger back, dumbfounded. "What?" she said again.
"I would like to paint you," he whispered, bending forward to unclasp the clip her hair was held in, letting it fall across her face in curtains. "Just like this."
"I mean, why would he do that?" she asked for the millionth time, as she consciously moved to wipe at the now dry dark tear stains on her cheeks, but stopping herself when she caught the look Harry gave her. They had come back to his hotel room, where she now sat splayed on the ground, her head against the large floor length windows that overlooked the private beach.
His hand moved over the canvas naturally, like a leaf on water, flowing over the thick material skilfully. It had taken a bit of persuasion to get her to agree to be his model, and he'd had to bribe her with his willingness to lend a listening ear.
"He always was pretty mean to me...only came to me when he had no one else to fall back on, but I just assumed that one day he'd realise how much he loved me, you know?"
"Why can't he love me?" she asked after a second, her pleading eyes fixed on Harry.
He sighed. "Draco is...incapable of commitment, Pansy, you know that. You almost grew up with him, for Merlin's sake. And part of all this is because you always let him use you whenever he wished to."
"Don't get me wrong," he added hastily, when she started opening her mouth to argue. "This is his fault too. He really shouldn't be treating you, or anyone, for that matter, like that. But maybe if you'd put your foot down, you'd have been saved a great deal of trouble and heartbreak.
"Anyway," he continued, wanting to distract her from thinking about his friend, "don't beat yourself up about it. You're young, beautiful, smart - you can get any man you want. Besides," he said, adding one final stroke to his painting, "I'm done with this. Come see."
He reached up and brushed off the hair that now clung to his forehead in lumps, staining it with blue paint in the process.
She stood beside him and sucked in a breath when she saw it. He had to admit, he was pretty proud of it himself. He'd pulled it off in record time, and it wasn't half bad.
"It's beautiful," she breathed out.
He shrugged and said, "It's nothing."
"You think I'm beautiful?" she asked next, turning to face him, uncertainty clouding her features.
He stared back and replied, "Yes." Because in her pathos and desperation, she seemed oddy removed from the pureblood persona she adopted whenever speaking to anyone, and she was more compassionate, more human, more capable of feeling.
"God yes," he said again, when she didn't reply, and he was suddenly conscious about how very close they were standing.
"You've got a bit of..." she moved even closer, inhabiting his personal space, and reached up to tug at the flakes of paint that stuck to his hair.
She didn't move back. Neither did he.
His hand trailed upwards, caressing the air before her, and touched her lower lip, before dragging his thumb over it, causing her to suck in her breath.
Their heads were far too close, and they breathed in what the other breathed out, swaying in that moment with silence surrounding them, save the erratic thumping of their hearts that now seemed amplified.
Then, she kissed him.
He was on fire and ice in one go, and slow as the initial contact was, he was fast to respond. Suddenly, she was in his arms, and he held her by the waist. Suddenly, her dress was off, and he was studying her. Suddenly, he carried her to his bed, and he was over her. Suddenly, they were making love, and his face was buried in the crook of her neck. Suddenly, she was crying out, and her hair was grasped in his hands. And, suddenly, they had reached completion.
She lay on her back with him beside her, lying on his side and tracing patterns on her bare stomach.
Her head was turned away from him and she was staring at the reddish sea the sky had become, the sun fastly setting below the horizon. A tear slid down her cheek, which she wiped at, before abruptly getting off the bed and slipping into her dress, leaving him and his hand behind, now still on the rumpled sheets.
"Keep it," she said softly as she moved out of his room fluidly.
It took him a while to realise that she meant the painting, and that her lips were still covered in his paint.
To be continued...
A/n - Thoughts?