"To love and be loved is to feel the sun from both sides." -David Viscott
We Happy Few
Sun from Both Sides
He breathed in deeply, memorizing this moment- the sound, smell and sight of everything. He loved the first day of sunshine after a spell of rain. The sunshine broke through the clouds, and when he closed his eyes, vivid hues of purple and blue danced across his eyelids.
An image of Granger in her perfect little yellow dress flashed through his mind, and he smiled. She had looked so adorable with that apple stuffed in her mouth, afraid to talk. Oh if only he were an apple. Or really, if he were wishing for things, he wished he were that yellow dress, fit snugly against the curves of her body, feeling the warmth radiating off her skin, and rising and falling with her every breath.
"Malfoy."
His vision was interrupted by a forceful slap on the back, quickly followed by the appearance of one Ron Weasley by his side. He shook his head to clear his mind. What had gotten in to him lately? She was just Granger.
"You're looking rather pink, Malfoy," Harry Potter replied, stepping up to stand beside Ron.
"It's because his alien skin can't handle the sunlight," Ron laughed.
Draco laughed along and nodded, but was pretty certain that the sun had nothing to do with his coloring.
The boys spent the next hour or so playing Quidditch at the Manor, which ended up being a game of keep away from the Weasel, one of Draco's favorites.
Every time Ron failed to steal the ball, his face would become a little redder. By the end of the game it was looking as though the Weasel might pop. When Draco voiced this observation, Harry laughed and began to sing some song about a mulberry bush. Draco called him an arse and the game continued. Not three minutes later, Ron was huffing heavily and murmuring expletives under his breath, so Harry, being the nicer of the two of them, suggested that they end the game and get some refreshments.
Draco yielded, but not before mocking, " I swear, the way we take it easy on you, Weasley, it's like playing with a girl. I take that back, the Weaslette is a girl. Maybe we should invite her to play next time. I'm sure Potter wouldn't mind."
Ron only laughed sarcastically and replied, "I may play like a girl, but at least I haven't been confused for one."
"Hey!" Draco yelled. "That was a long time ago. And it's not my fault that the Malfoys (rule 51) must maintain long, silky, exquisite hair."
Draco ran his fingers through his hair once due to force of habit.
"Keep stroking your hair in that manner, and Ron might just ask you on a date," Harry cut in.
Ron and Draco stopped, looked at each other, immediately turned the opposite direction, and produced almost identical faces of disgust.
Harry continued, "Now be a good little housewife, Malfoy, and grab the men of the house some drinks."
Ron laughed and threw his arm around Harry's shoulders, as though a great victory had been won.
Draco looked back and forth between them and laughed.
"Men of the house? Always knew you were a bunch of poofs. Weasel, are you planning on taking Potter's last name or will you hyphenate?"
"I'll hyphenate your face!" Ron called.
Draco just laughed and walked away.
"'Hyphenate your face'?" Harry asked, "That's really all you could come up with?"
Ron blushed. "Yeah, well. I'm still tired from the game."
Draco reappeared moments later, drinkless.
"Oi, where are the drinks?"
A loud crack sounded and a house elf appeared carrying a tray with three chilled butterbeers.
"Minty took care of it," Draco answered.
"So, Weasley." Draco took a swig of butterbeer. "Ready to be another year closer to wrinkles, gray hair, and loss of bladder control?"
"Sure." Ron shrugged noncommittally.
"What kind of celebrations do we have planned then, Ronnikins?"
"Nothing really. Probably just have everyone over to the Burrow."
Draco refrained from sneering in response to mention of their home. They might be friends, but that place still gave him the shudders.
"Well, that won't do. Why don't we have a party here?" Draco asked.
"Here?" Ron questioned.
"Yes, here. At the Manor. We'll even make it a pool party. I'm sure you never had one of those as a child."
Ron glanced at Harry, as though clearing it with him first. Harry smiled and nodded. Ron turned back to Draco, a huge grin spread across his face.
"We may just become friends yet, Malfoy."
Draco looked thoughtful for a moment and then shook his head. "Doubt it."
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
Hermione was making no breakthroughs at work. She'd contacted almost everyone involved in the project to see how the lockets were working. Everyone had had completely normal results. Well, almost everyone. Ron and Harry were out playing Quidditch when she Flooed. And there was one person whom she hadn't yet summoned the courage to contact.
Here's a hint. His name starts with an "D" and ends with "ick," I mean, "raco."
Hermione smiled at her own little joke, but then a guilty feeling settled in her stomach and she closed her eyes. Why did she even care? She hadn't cared in the past. She was proceeding to bang her head against her desk when the crackling of a fire was heard behind her, and her two best friends stepped out of the fire and into her flat.
"It's barely five o' clock, and you're already resorting to death by self-imposed bludgeoning?" Harry asked. "Bad day at work?" Ron ventured.
Hermione nodded, which only caused her to smack her forehead against the table again.
She cursed under her breath, and rubbing her head, turned to face the two men.
"Have you two been playing Quidditch all this time?"
Ron's face reddened at the thought of their earlier game of keep-away, but a look from Harry calmed him… a little.
"We played for a while, then just hung out with Malfoy."
At the mention of his name, almost as if by habit, she felt the strong urge to bang her head against the desk once more. Ron looked at her questioningly, so she refrained, but it took a great deal of effort.
There was a moment of awkward silence, and even Ron noted the effect that any mention of Malfoy had on Hermione.
Harry spoke first. "So what was it that you wanted to talk to us about?"
Hermione released a heavy breath, thankful for the sway in conversation.
"I wanted to see how everything was coming along with the lockets."
"Fine, I suppose," Harry countered. "Nothing out of the ordinary, works just fine, great actually."
Hermione nodded, but Harry's good news did not have the desired effect. If anything, she became more crestfallen.
She turned next to Ron, who was looking oddly peaked. "Ron, what about you?"
Ron thought of his locket and the memory that he had unwillingly shared with Malfoy, and was unable to look her in the eye.
"Ron?"
"F-Fine," he mumbled.
"Ronald!" she commanded.
He looked up then, with a anxious look in his eyes. "It's… er… good. Really good."
"What are you not telling me?" she questioned.
He proceeded to mumble dejectedly under his breath. She caught a few words here and there.
"Don't want… private… stupid Malfoy."
"Malfoy? What about Malfoy?" Hermione perked up, her previous gloomy exterior gone.
"I just… he… we…" he stuttered.
"Are Malfoy's memories normal, Ron?" she asked slowly, almost like speaking to a small child.
Ron considered outing Malfoy for a moment, but then he looked at Hermione, and a vision of a lion devouring its red-headed prey flashed before his eyes.
"I really don't know. You'd have to ask him."
Hermione's frown returned and she fisted her hands in her hair.
"Listen, Hermione, We've got to get going," Harry said. "But we wanted to let you know that Ron's birthday is now going to be at Malfoy Manor."
Hermione growled in frustration. "Of course it is."
"It's a pool party!" he yelled. When the frown on Hermione's face deepened, he added, amused, "You know…with water?"
Hermione sighed and Harry was pretty sure he heard her whisper, "Kill me."
Ron was oblivious to her apparent torture, his mind wandering to the upcoming festivities.
"Anyway," Harry continued, dragging Ron towards the fireplace, "we'll see you then, okay?"
"Whatever," she mumbled.
The two of them disappeared in a flash of green, taking her last bit of composure with them.
She let out a small shriek, fell onto the sofa, and buried her head into a pillow.
"Why?" she thought, "Why can't Ron be hydrophobic?"
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
Ron's birthday dawned with copious amounts of sunshine and temperatures that left everyone sweating and slightly red in the face.
Hermione was once again lying on the sofa, her head buried in a pillow.
"Why?" she thought again. "Why couldn't Ron have been born in winter when it's too cold to swim?"
She was dreading everything about this day. She was dreading seeing Draco. And she was definitely dreading seeing Draco while dressed in a swim suit. She found that she wasn't, however, dreading seeing him dressed in swimming attire. In fact, she dreaded that she didn't dread seeing him half-naked.
Draco, who was currently dictating assignments to house-elves, was experiencing quite the opposite feeling. Those giant mutant butterflies had returned and had taken up residence in his chest. They left him shaken and slightly overwhelmed, but these were good giant mutant butterflies. Because they were giant mutant butterflies that proclaimed the arrival of a swim-clad Hermione Granger within the hour.
He was already dressed in swim trunks with a white sleeveless shirt. He found himself glancing at his watch every other minute and had to force himself to calm down. "Malfoys must always be patient," as dictated by the Malfoy Canon in rule number 22.
Soon, a gaggle of redheads had arrived, and he was pulled into a fiercely appreciative hug by Mrs. Weasley.
"You're so kind to host the party here. Ron's just been beside himself with excitement the past few days. " Molly smiled.
"It was really nothing, Molly," Draco replied, "I'm glad to do it."
Molly was just about to hug him for the fourth time when the twins appeared between them.
"Now, now, Mum," Fred began. "If you hug Draco any more , the little birthday boy might get jealous." He ushered her away.
Fred and George grinned and turned towards Draco, "You're welcome, mate." The thank-you was understood. "She might have been at that for another hour if we hadn't sent her on her way."
Draco laughed and clapped a hand on each of their shoulders.
At that moment, Ron and Harry burst into laughter and did a sort of jig together that looked altogether ridiculous.
Draco cleared his throat. "There's a little too much happiness going on here, if you know what I mean. What do you two say to a couple of drinks?"
The twins gave simultaneous nods and within minutes they were nursing a few lemonades with a little something extra added. The alcohol loosened that tight feeling in his chest and did wonders for his nerves.
"Hermione!" Ron yelled, but Draco hadn't needed it to be aware of her arrival. Something in him could feel her, like one can feel the sun. Her presence was preceded by warmth and light that did strange things to the dark places of his heart.
Draco resisted the urge to spin around as quick as he could. He struggled to remain cool and aloof.
"Hermione, where's your suit?" Draco heard Potter question.
"I've decided against swimming today," she replied in a business-like manner that no one would dare question.
Draco felt his excitement plummet. His rather selfish hopes for the day were dashed. He took another sip of his drink, steeling himself, then turned. At the sight of her, his eyes widened, and the giant mutant butterflies seemed to all fly towards her at once, causing him to stumble forward slightly.
She was wearing the yellow dress.
He watched her as she walked, the fabric flowing out gracefully around her thighs, toned and trimmed by strenuous activity during the war. Her eyes wandered around the group, nodding at those whose eyes she met. Her eyes passed over him, gave a curt nod, but did not acknowledge him beyond that, nor did she look at him for more than a moment.
She was still angry that he walked out on her. And her anger was doubled by the way he had got under her skin at the Burrow. She refused to be affected by him. So she'd started defensive strategy number one: avoidance.
He puffed his chest out indignantly, and determined that by the end of the evening she wouldn't be able to take her eyes off him. If Draco lacked one thing when it came to the ladies, it was the ability to discern the difference between love and war. He was like a little boy on the playground, determined to be noticed by a girl, even if it meant pulling her pigtails to catch her attention.
He started out just hovering near her, striking up conversations with whoever happened to be close to her, but he received no response. He exhausted every humorous anecdote he knew and was getting close to setting a world record for the number of witty comments made within one hour. But still, nothing.
He decided then to raise the stakes a bit.
"Weasley!" he yelled. Several red-heads turned towards him and she did also, though she observed him with a disinterested stare.
He shot her a quick look then whipped off his shirt, revealing a smooth, toned chest.
"This is a pool party, people. Ron, as it is your birthday, you get the first jump."
Ron, too, removed his shirt, and, with something resembling a battle cry, dove into the pool. Draco was next, his body arching in a graceful dive.
Hermione had to close her eyes to keep from staring as the muscles of his torso rippled with movement. She was reminded of the elegant flight of a dove as his body moved seamlessly. But she wouldn't give him the satisfaction of knowing that he got to her.
When Draco emerged from the water, his flaxen hair stuck to forehead, she was absorbed in conversation with Mrs. Weasley. Draco's eyes narrowed and his determination doubled.
Draco next tried to woo her through the primal art of battle, or in this case, racing.
He challenged Weasley first, whose long awkward limbs produced movements that were no match for his sleek and obviously well-practiced strokes. He'd won by nearly half the length of the pool.
The twins were next, but they barely made it one lap before their focus shifted from winning the race to attempting to drown Draco. All in good fun, of course.
Potter declined his challenge, saying, "I've been lucky in my previous skirmishes with Slytherins. I dare not tempt fate more than I already have."
Draco laughed. "Glad to see you finally admit it was all luck."
It seemed that Draco's new tactic was far from successful. He had a feeling that Hermione wasn't one to be wooed by masculine displays of strength and pride. And he would be right. His swimming victories did absolutely nothing for her. It was the way his body moved as though it were one with the water that had her weak in the knees. Watching the water cling to him made her yearn to do the same.
When no more challengers volunteered, Harry went on to teach everyone a Muggle game, which basically consisted of a team of two boys, one on the other's shoulders, trying to topple another duo into the pool.
Hermione watched for a while, laughing so hard that she was nearly reduced to tears every time Draco crashed clumsily into the water.
The hours passed by quickly and soon Ron had opened all his presents and was busy devouring a large piece of Quidditch-themed cake that the Malfoy house elves had made especially for him.
For the first time that evening Draco found himself in the same group of people as Hermione, consisting of her, Potter, Longbottom, and himself. She was laughing openly, recalling one of his more magnificent "chicken" crashes, and Draco reveled in the sound of her laughing, clear and tinkling. As always though, he managed to ruin it with a snarky jab towards Potter and her laughter stopped suddenly only to be replaced by a glare. She opened her mouth to reply when Longbottom turned around quickly and bumped into her, causing her to lose her balance. Draco watched as she seemed to float backwards, her yellow dress fanning out around her like the rays of the sun. She was glorious, her body supported gently by the air, floating briefly like a feather in the wind.
He heard the crash and the water of the pool swallowed her greedily. His heart refused to beat in the few moments it took her to resurface. She came up sputtering, her curly hair sticking to her face and neck.
He heard Neville muttering apologies next to him, but registered nothing as he charged towards the edge of the pool. He extended his hand to her, the space between them crackling. She looked up at him then and she was laughing.
He loved it when she laughed.
She placed her hand in his and the rest of the world ceased to be. It didn't matter that she was the daughter of a Muggle and he, the son of a Death Eater. It meant nothing that they'd despised each other for years. The people surrounding them were mere pieces of the scenery. There was only here and now, the two of them hand in hand-- just like it had all begun.
She gave a lopsided grin and squeezed his hand momentarily. It felt as though she were squeezing his heart. He smiled back and saw her smirk. It was one of those moments when he saw himself in her, then he felt a forceful tug, and in the next moment, he was tipping towards her. He sucked in a deep breath, not just because of his imminent watery collision, but because her hand still remained firmly connected to his own. He slipped below the surface of the water, his open eyes stinging briefly. But the pain was worth seeing the yellow dress stuck to her curves, the skirt floating whimsically around her, baring more than a hint of her long legs.
He squeezed her hand once and then tugged her underneath the water with him. He could tell she'd been highly amused by her stunt, because the laughter was still evident on her face. And he pulled her close to him. Her hair was spread wide under the water, covering them like a canopy.
He looked at her and she at him. Neither made a move. Neither gave thought to the people outside their watery haven. They were simply frozen in a moment that should have stretched on for days. Draco leaned towards her slowly and touched her wild hair with his free hand. He thought he saw her leaning forward, too, but then she blinked and the irrepressible need to breathe raced through him.
He seized her free hand and pulled her up. The two broke the water simultaneously, and with it, the pull between them was broken and their hands were separated, cool water filling the space where heated flesh had been.
It was then that Draco noticed the laughter and cheering that surrounded every edge of the pool. He smiled and his own laughter soon followed. He nodded his head in the direction of the pool steps and Hermione followed. He emerged from the pool first, quickly grabbing two towels and offering one to Hermione. He had loved seeing the yellow dress soaked and stuck to her figure, but that didn't mean anyone else needed to see it.
She took the towel gratefully and Draco saw a hint of a blush on her cheeks.
Several people patted her on the back and stopped to tease Draco, but after a few moments the excitement had settled and everyone had returned to their previous involvements.
The air between them seemed light with enjoyment, but at the same time heavy with something that Draco wanted to term lust, but something told him that that wasn't quite the right word.
It was then that he saw her shiver and realized that the sun had long since set, leaving a chilly breeze in the air.
"Let's go inside and get you dry before you get ill," he offered softly.
She nodded in reply.
He led her through the patio doors and towards the stairs. He placed his hand on her shoulder to guide her up the stairs and noticed that the towel he'd given her was already soaked through.
"Granger, that towel is drenched."
"I-I know." She shivered.
Draco gaped. "Then take it off!"
Hermione blushed vividly and shook her head fiercely.
"Granger, I won't be blamed for you catching pneumonia. The Golden Boys would kill me."
Still she shook her head.
"Granger," he said warningly, prepared the take the towel off her forcefully.
"Okay, okay," she conceded, "But you can't look."
Draco raised an eyebrow in response, but made no comment. He dutifully turned his back on her and then flourished a hand as if to say, 'well, get on with it then.'
He heard the wet slap as the towel hit the floor and she breathed a sigh of relief.
He turned slightly to say something over his shoulder when her hand pushed his head back in the opposite direction.
"No looking," she replied simply.
"Merlin, Granger, I get it. I was just going to say follow me upstairs."
She huffed indignantly, but followed him up the stairs nonetheless. He stopped at a large wooden door and pulled the brass doorknob. Her breath caught in her throat as she realized he'd brought her to his room. His bedroom, of all places!
She was glad that he was not looking, or he might have seen her embarrassment.
He pointed towards the en-suite and said, "I'll find you something dry to wear. You can just leave your dress in there. I'll have a house-elf take care of it for you."
"Nonsense, Malfoy," she replied. "I just need a wand, a simple drying charm will do."
"Nonsense, Granger," he mimicked. "A drying charm would ruin such a dress, and I for one intend to see you wear it again."
Hermione swallowed the lump in her throat and mumbled a few things under her breath before closing herself in the loo.
Draco rummaged through his closet looking for something that wouldn't swallow her. He came across one of his favorite shirts, comfortable and slightly worn, and recognition dawned. There was a knowing glint in his eye as he picked up his shirt, and a pair of boxers. The pieces started to fall into place as he recognized bits of the evening from the scene he'd seen in his Lock-er-necklace.
And he knew what was coming next. His heart was beating wildly in his chest as he knocked on the door.
"I found some clothes for you."
The door opened and a hand appeared through the crack. He placed the clothing in her hand, allowing his fingers to softly brush hers. She retracted the arm into the bathroom quickly.
He sat down in a chair, a smirk on his face, waiting for the moment from his vision.
And he waited.
And waited.
And waited.
"Jesus, Granger!" he called, "You writing a new adaptation of Hogwarts: A History in there?"
He heard a growl of frustration and with his curiosity piqued, carefully opened the door to the bathroom and stepped in side.
"Malfoy!" she cried fearfully.
"Relax, I'm not looking," he said, his eyes closed. "What's taking you so long?"
She paused for a moment before answering, as though ashamed to admit her difficulty.
"It's these stupid buttons. They're on the wrong side!"
"That's because it's a men's shirt, Granger," he replied, shooting a momentary glance at her through the bathroom mirror.
"I know that! And I was finally starting to get the hang of it when I realized I'd buttoned the whole thing wrong!"
He chanced another look at her through the mirror, and saw her fiddling with the buttons. Unfortunately, the shirt was pulled tightly closed, affording him no chance of seeing a bit of what was hidden behind the fabric of his shirt.
In a moment, he found himself behind her, his eyes closed, but dangerously close.
"May I help?" he whispered into her ear.
Without her permission, he reached around her and caught the bottom of the shirt in his hands. He felt her sharp intake of breath.
"I won't even look," he replied as his hands did up the very bottom button.
She didn't reply, but he felt her nod shakily, as he moved up to the next button.
He slowly did button after button, with only their breathing, growing steadily heavier, filling the space of the room. As he reached the buttons around her lower ribcage, he opened his eyes and saw her staring at him through the mirror, her eyes dark.
The shirt started to curve outward as he neared her breasts, and he pulled her closer to him. Her breath hitched, and he felt her press back against him.
He finished the button directly below the curve of her breasts and then closed his eyes. He took a deep breath and then opened them again. Their eyes connected in the mirror and he felt as though his body might incinerate from the heat between them.
"I'm looking," he whispered.
"I know."
His eyes swept her entire form once and then he slowly moved towards the next button.
Their eyes remained locked as he carefully slipped the button inside its corresponding hole.
He probably should have done up one more button, but then he noticed her locket, in the form of a book, resting against her sternum, and decided to leave it visible.
With all the strength he had, he managed to step away from her. He looked at her and was immediately confronted with the exact image from his vision.
"Perfect," he whispered, and then took a step closer, this time facing her.
"What?" she asked, amazed that she still had the ability to create speech.
"You." He gently touched the collar of the shirt, allowing his finger to brush her neck for the barest of seconds. "In my shirt." Her eyes fluttered closed.
And then he kissed her.
And it was all warmth and light-- like feeling the sun from both sides.
A/N: Don't hate me for ending it there! Just hold on a bit longer. There's only one chapter left! And a huge thanks goes out to my beta Eilonwy, who has done marvelous things with this fic!