The Way it Grows
Springfall
((AN: Thank you all and as promised, here is part ten :) Hope you enjoy! The smut!chapter is still available for those of you who would like it; just leave your email in your review. This has been an incredibly hard chapter to write; I feel like I am totally changing the direction of this story. Sorry for how long it's taken. I am planning another smut!chapter- possibly triosmut. You will have to let me know what you think of this part and if you think triosmut will work; I've always been partial to it. And don't worry. Draco/Harry won't be changing any time soon :) enjoy!))
Part X
These Lonely Dreams
"I can't believe I'm doing this."
It was true- he couldn't. It was bad enough he would be wasting his winter break on some bloody island. It was bad enough that he had been sick over Harry for the last week. It was bad enough, he thought, that the school was under attack. He almost thought, 'again', and with scorn- but he stopped himself. It was bad enough without sarcasm making it worse.
And now, he had to go to an island- with Malfoy. "I really can't believe I'm doing this," he told her again, insistent, as though if he said it enough someone would throw up their hands and release him from his duty.
"Stop whining, Ron," Hermione's voice was sharp and busy, as she folded her last shorts and zipped up the duffle they had been instructed to share. Bring as little as you can, Snape had told her- and she had, she thought. Ron's clothes were crumpled and rolled into balls, stuffed in without regard to what they were. She had gone back and quietly put in more things he needed- shorts and a toothbrush and a pair of socks, though in all honesty she didn't know what good socks would do them in the South Pacific. Practical, she guessed. Always practical. "We have to go."
She hoisted the heavy cloth bag onto her shoulder and staggered down the steep, narrow staircase to the Common Room, Ron sulking along behind her. Their feet were loud on the narrow stairway. They were the only two in the tower- the other Gryffindors had been relocated for safety. At the portrait, they stopped, and Hermione put the bag down heavily. Without a word, Ron pulled it up by the fraying strap, slung it across thin shoulders, and ducked his rusty head to get through the narrow threshold. Without a word, both of them turned to look back at the empty portrait. Hermione had a sudden, gripping fear she would never see it again, and she was dizzy, as if standing on a high ledge, looking over a precipice, knowing that you had to jump.
They clattered silently to the Grand Hall, where Snape was waiting, unceremoniously wearing a dark blue tunic and looking impatient. It gave Hermione a turn, if she was honest with herself; he looked younger in the bright hall. His shoes were badly scuffed under the hem of his black trousers, and when she realized how she was scrutinizing him, she flushed darkly and looked to Ron, who looked back at her with more trepidation than she had ever seen on his face.
"You are ready, I presume?" Snape's voice was hollow and he sounded tired, tired. Hermione had never really thought of him as a person- he was so callous and so cruel in his words. But seeing him like this, his face open and sallow and exhausted, his hair hanging messily in greasy, lank strands around his long face- she felt a pull towards him, and her opinion nearly softened until she recalled herself- recalled him. Ron wore a look of disgust as he gazed, unwillingly, at Snape.
"Yes, Professor," he spat in a low, submissive growl, and Hermione didn't think Ron could hate him more if he tried. Snape turned away from Ron, obviously not in the mood for a clash of personalities. He addressed Hermione.
"Here you are." He held up a dirty, ripped-up blanket. "I thought something non-violent would be in order this time." He did not elaborate, and Hermione did not ask. Ron was staring at the lines on the stone floor, his blue eyes straining. She could see the sunlight making his dark eyelashes as red as his messy hair, and she started when Snape spoke again. "Miss Granger, I do not know how long you and Mr. Weasley will be on the island with Mr. Potter and Mr. Malfoy. I will be in contact every so often. If you would like me to bring you lot anything- do not hesitate to ask me."
She wondered, suddenly, why he was doing this for them.
"Thank you," was all she could say. He dragged a weary hand through his hair.
"If you're ready," he held out the blanket to the two in front of him, his pale fingers curled in its folds. Hermione reached out for it, taking hold of the dirty, rough fabric, and Ron hoisted the bag up over his shoulder and extended his fingers towards it as well. A shout made him turn, Hermione with him. Snape's black eyes flicked towards the sound.
Ginny hurried towards them, clutching her long robes up around her to keep from tripping. She nearly knocked Ron over, and he staggered back, dropping the bag from his shoulder and hugging her hard to him, his chin on her bright, wild hair. A protesting squawk sounded somewhere from between them, and she drew back, offering up her hands. Pigwidgeon squirmed there, displeased at being restrained, and she let him go. He settled on Ron's arm, hooting quietly. He had calmed remarkably over the summer.
"If you take Pig, maybe- maybe you could write to me," Ginny looked frail, suddenly, and Hermione got the distinct impression that the witty, bold, sarcastic Ginny she knew was not so strong without her brothers- and this was the last of her brothers, Hermione realized. Ginny had always had Ron- and now, he was leaving, and only Merlin knew for how long. Hermione was quiet, letting Ron have the moment to nearly crush Ginny in his lean arms, kissing the tangled red hair, letting her go. "'Bye, then. Say- say hello to Harry for me."
"Gin," Ron muttered, and Ginny turned from him, smiled small at Hermione, and retreated as quickly as she had come, her arms limp by her sides, robes tangled up about her ankles as she turned a corner and was lost from sight. Ron scrubbed his eyes and turned back, picking up the bag again, grabbing Pig, and took a fierce hold on the blanket. Hermione was jerked forward and then they were spinning, all three, with a frantic shriek from Pigwidgeon.
His feet hit the ground, hard, and he staggered and dropped the blanket, grabbing Hermione's arm to keep her from falling. Snape folded his arms with a graceful sneer in Ron's direction, and set the blanket down. "Keep it in case- in case you have to get back." He did not say what would merit that kind of emergency. Ron reckoned they would know when the time came. "I left Mr. Malfoy and Potter in their- in the shelter. I believe they will be down about here very shortly. I do not suggest wandering off- it is rather a big island."
"So we're here until?" Ron's voice was angry, demanding, and he frowned at himself, thinking he sounded childish and afraid. Snape replied calmly, although the sneer lingered on his forehead and around his eyes.
"Until it is safe for all four of you to return. Enjoy it while you're here. Not many people get a private tropical island to themselves." Snape was gone with a violent crack that made Ron flinch, and only a hazy patch of air remained. Ron turned to Hermione, skeptical.
"Now what?"
"Now we wait. Like Snape said- we may as well enjoy it. We're going to be here for a while." Hermione went to their bag and opened it, rummaging through the balls of Ron's clothes until she found her swimsuit. She toed off her worn trainers and socks, putting the suit on top of them to keep the sand out, and turned her back on Ron. He was about to ask her what she was doing, when she pulled her shirt off, her arms rising up in a smooth arc over her curly hair, crossing and uncrossing as she bent to drop the shirt to the sand.
"W- Hermione- I'm-" his face was as red as the bright flowers blooming on nearby shrubs, and she turned her brown face over her shoulder to look at him. She did not laugh aloud, but her face held a secret, contented look.
"It's not like you've never seen someone take their shirt off," she told him smartly, and his face grew a deeper crimson. She returned to undressing, pleased with herself, but behind Ron's eyelids were muffled nights and slick limbs and a dark head whispering with a wet mouth against his ear. By the time Ron realized himself, Hermione had undone her jeans and let them fall, pulled her bathing suit up over her underclothes, and managed to wiggle out of them without exposing herself. He blinked and his eyes focused, and there she was before him, in a deep jade-green swimsuit, with high-cut legs and a scoop neck. It struck Ron he had never seen her in a swimsuit before. His face reddened again at how very- well, feminine she was, with her soft arms and small hips, the gentle curves her thighs followed, and her round breasts; he looked away, embarrassed and ashamed to look at her like that. He noticed that she had a large mole on her back, just below and between her shoulder blades. Her long curls hung heavy and she pulled her hair up, knotting it on top of her head, and looked up at him. "Aren't you coming in?" She made her way towards the water, and he watched her muscles move.
"Y-yeah, why bloody not," and stripped off his pants and his sweater, suddenly hotter than he had ever felt in his life, and followed her into the bright ocean. It was pleasantly warm under the glaring sun. It shone off the small waves that broke around Hermione's waist, and on impulse he splashed her, getting her in the face with the salt water, and she squealed and threw water at him in defense, the sunlight catching in the spray, turning it to glass that fell towards. He felt very young and very unconcerned, and it contented him until he smiled despite himself, teeth bright from the garish sun. He pushed her under, and when she came up she was hugging him, hugging him tightly, and for once instead of trying to understand her, he hugged her back, hard, and felt her joints crack.
"I'm glad you came, Ron,"
"I'm glad, too. I'm glad."
"Harry." Draco shook the tan shoulder under his chin. "Harry- you've got to get up."
"'S too early," Harry pulled him down hard and Draco, unwillingly, pulled away.
"It's almost noon."
"Since when do you care what time it is? We're on a bloody island." Harry sat up, though, and tilted Draco's chin to kiss him softly. But Draco could only think of what Snape had said about Weasley and Granger, and Weasley put a bad taste in his mouth.
"I've got a surprise for you."
"A surprise?" Harry stretched, his muscles pulling taught on his bones, his dark stomach dry and outlining ribs. His brown hands groped beside him for his glasses and his shorts. Draco handed them to him, and he slithered into the sun-bleached clothing and pressed his dirty frames on behind his ears. Draco realized he hadn't been wearing them as much as usual. Suppose he doesn't need to read much out here, Draco thought, and noticed he had missed them.
"Something like that. Come on." And when Draco stood, Harry did; Draco thought wistfully and briefly it would have been nice if he did because he did not wish to leave Draco's sight. That was foolish. Most everything, though, that had happened here was foolish- so could it be true? Couldn't it? He knew that nothing good would be able to come of this. This island, it did something to them- it made them free. They wouldn't always be here. They wouldn't always love what they could never have.
But why can we never have what makes us happy?
"Draco," shook him from his reverie. "You look…em, kind of bad. Do you…are you okay? Still? With this?"
"With us?" Harry nodded assent. And for a moment, he was afraid- he was afraid of how this might end.
"I was sure last night. And I am." He knew the way Harry felt. "No one else has to know, Harry. It can- it can just be ours."
"D'you mean that?" Draco desperately wanted to take that back, but it was said. It was said, just like last night was done. He wanted this to be open-ended. He wanted-
He didn't know what he wanted, but yeah. He meant it. He said as much, and Harry smiled. And it made him feel a little better. Harry stopped and yanked him back by the waist, picking him up off the ground, and it struck Draco suddenly that Harry had always been bigger than him. "Thank you." Harry's nose and mouth were against Draco's neck, nuzzling his hair. "I meant what I said to you." He pulled back, his mouth crooked. "What kind of surprise?"
"What are you hoping for?"
"Would you hit me if I said 'sex'?" and Draco hit him, and they both laughed. Harry leaned down and kissed him briefly, but Draco pulled him in, and then it wasn't so brief and it wasn't so innocent and nothing more would have pleased either of them. But sex was not to be done, Draco reminded himself sourly, when one was supposed to be reuniting Harry with The Enemy. Or Weasley. Or both.
Draco finally tore himself away, and he led Harry to the beach. Harry's fingers remained laced in Draco's, and Draco thought with a grim smile that he would regret that. They finally cleared the tall, rough palm trees and Draco dropped Harry's hand, letting Harry stop flush beside him. He turned his shaded eyes to the two figures flailing around in the water, and his lip curled in disdain. Harry followed his gaze, confused.
"Surprise," Draco said, and cupped tan hands about his small mouth and shouted: "OI! Up here!"
Ron and Hermione turned and spotted the two figures at the top of the beach, one with shaggy white hair and raised hands, the other taller, shading his eyes, light glinting off the lenses of his glasses, brown and broad and bare-chested. Draco's skin was darker than they had recalled. They both struggled up out of the sea, and Draco stepped back as they thundered up to Harry, the girl reaching him first; as Hermione flung herself into Harry, knocking him back. She held onto him tightly and her bushy hair was soaking, Draco thought disdainfully about the likeness to a wet dog. She took his face between her palms and he felt rage, nothing but anger at her touching Harry, but he breathed and stepped back, stepped back.
"Oh, Harry, we've been so worried, we've missed you terribly- Merlin, you're so skinny, haven't you been eating? Oh, the whole school's torn up over Abby, no one knows what happened-" she was muffled as she hugged him again.
"Hermione, Hermione- calm down, it's alright, I'm right here. Here, hold on, let go a minute. What are you doing here- Ron."
And this time, Harry moved to Ron, and grabbed him hard, and crushed him to his chest. Ron's light face was against Harry's cheek, holding him tight, and it looked almost uncomfortable to Draco- but he knew better. The only one uncomfortable right now was Draco. He looked up at the sky and noticed it was getting dark. Rain. More rain. Wonderful. This day was wonderful.
Harry, finally, grudgingly, released Ron. "What- I don't understand," and this time, he looked at Draco, who held up his hands.
"I'm just the messenger. Professor Snape was here, early this morning. You were still- still sleeping," he finished weakly, and Harry turned from him without any sort of notice.
"There was another attack," Ron explained, while Hermione beamed at him, clucking under her breath about how he was clearly not eating enough. "Little blonde second-year. They were thinking- they think it's You-Know-Who. So they sent us to you. That's why Snape has kept you both here."
"I didn't know- I didn't know any of this," Harry sounded exasperated, turning back to Draco. "You knew, didn't you?"
Draco shrugged helplessly. "Are you surprised?" And suddenly Harry realized the way he had been talking, and his face softened, and Ron saw and glowered in Draco's direction.
"Yes. T- Thanks." But Draco's eyes were on Ron's angry face, and he turned, feeling naked suddenly, and he knew that Ron knew. It was as plain as day, and Ron knew. And when Harry turned back, Ron still bore that angry look, and Harry shifted, uncomfortable. It was clear to Draco, and he groaned inwardly. Now there would be the anger, along with the hate and the distrust and the suspicion, to bear from Weasley.
"It's going to storm again," he spoke up, and the two of them looked at him like he was something grotesque. Harry just looked sorry, and a little betrayed. "We should take your bags up to the house."
"You have a house?" Hermione asked Harry, suspiciously, surprised. Draco resigned himself to not being addressed directly anymore. "Yeah," Harry said. "It's…well, it's up a tree."
"A treehouse?" Ron looked suddenly animated. "Wicked! Do you have a trap door and a rope ladder and all that Swiss Family Robinson stuff?"
Harry and Hermione looked at him with raised eyebrows. "I was reading," he explained sheepishly. "Dean has it."
"Yes," Draco drawled, feeling like he at least should get his two cents' in. "We swing on vines, as well." A look from Hermione quelled him. That Mudblood- she looked at him like she knew him, like she had any idea what he had felt and said and what Harry had told him and the places on his body Harry had put his hands.
'That's right,' he sneered mentally to Hermione, who looked over at him. 'I fucked Wonder Boy, I slept with your beloved Boy Who Lived, and he told me he loved me and he meant it, did you know?'
And then he swallowed nervously, because suddenly Hermione knew too. But instead of hate in her eyes, there was worry. He was not sure which he disliked more, the anger or the concern. And Hermione picked up the bag, and said to Harry: "Show us the house. I don't want to get caught in the rain.
As she passed, her dark brown eyes looked fully at Draco, and she said aloud,
"I hope you know what you're doing, Harry."
Harry looked back at Draco, and he hoped he knew too. Draco did not meet his gaze, only followed behind them, dragging his feet, and suddenly, Harry was afraid for him. For them.
For himself.
