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.

Draco Malfoy waded away from Granger, farther into the water. He was seething inwardly. Why did Hermione Granger, or all people, have to show up during his summer vacation and ruin everything? He saw enough of the girl at school; he was completely unwilling to put up with her when he wasn't at school.

Draco heard splashing behind him and turned to see Granger making her way toward the shore. Good, he thought. At least she had the brains to get out of his vicinity before he ended up cursing her halfway to the moon. Or, he forced himself to add truthfully, before she ended up cursing him halfway to Pluto. He scowled, remembering previous fights he had gotten into with Granger and her friends, Potter and Weasley.

As the years progressed, harmless bickering had given way to blows and spells. Draco still remembered being slapped by Granger in third year. He also remembered one fateful train ride in which Draco and his cronies had ended up cursed and unconscious outside Potter's compartment. And, of course, the incident in which Professor Moody had turned Draco into a ferret because Potter and his friends had initiated a fight.

It was times like those that Draco was grateful for his two looming cronies, Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle. Crabbe and Goyle were so large that most people, upon seeing them, were quite unwilling to mess with them. However, Crabbe and Goyle weren't much good for anything else; they were far too dumb to hold and intellectually stimulating conversation, which was what Draco craved in a friendship. In fact, there were very few students in Draco's school dormitory, Slytherin, who preferred brains over brawn. Slytherins, although smart, were mostly fond of picking on weaklings and generally making trouble.

The only person at Hogwarts, Draco mused, who was his age and on his intellectual level, was Hermione Granger. Granger was, after all, the only student in Draco's year whose grade point average was better than his. There was no doubt that she was smarter than he was. Her parents must have been a bookworm and a sponge, Draco thought in a sudden moment of illogicality, smirking. She read everything she could get her hands on and absorbed knowledge at an alarming rate.

Draco launched himself into the water and swam a few strokes before emerging again. He pushed his wet hair out of his face and turned to look at Granger. She had apparently decided that, while she didn't want to tangle with Draco, she wasn't going to give up her early-morning swim. She had spread her towel out again several hundred feet farther down the beach, and was making her way into the water again.

He studied her, watching the way she moved. She had a certain grace about her, even while fighting against the water in her attempt to go farther out from shore. In the distance, she cut a striking figure. Her soft, creamy skin contrasted with her rich blue swimming suit, and the newly risen sun shone gold on her curly hair.

Draco watched as she struggled – in her graceful manner – past a buoy. Her face, which Draco couldn't see clearly because of the distance, turned toward him. He saw her stumble, and try to find her footing, and then she disappeared under the water.

Draco shook his head, smirking. Why was Granger so fond of making a fool of herself?

Granger broke the surface for a few seconds, her arms moving like a pinwheel, before submerging again. Draco frowned. Couldn't she swim? He would have thought that Granger was wise enough not to go into the water if she couldn't swim. Especially if that water was the Mediterranean Sea...

A cold fear was starting to set in. Hermione Granger was drowning on a beach in France, and Draco Malfoy was the only person nearby.

He had to get to her.

Immediately, Draco started wading through the water. He couldn't explain why he was so desperate to help Granger. She was only a Mudblood, after all, and if she drowned here, the wizarding world – or at least, the only part of it that really mattered – wouldn't be any worse without her. Besides, if Hermione Granger were no more, Draco would have a straight shot at the highest grade in his year.

But if Granger died, it would be practically an act of murder on Draco's part. And Draco, although he would never admit it, had never actually killed anyone, and hoped fervently that he would never have to.

Draco struggled onward. Granger's head hadn't come up for a while. By now Draco was very frustrated; the water was dragging at his legs, making his progress slow. He leaned forward and pushed off into the water. Swimming was much quicker; Draco still had almost a hundred feet to go before he reached Granger.

Opening his eyes in the murky water, Draco could see a disturbance in the water ahead. Well, he thought, at least Granger was putting up a fight. He came up for air, then swam on.

Granger's struggles were dying down. Draco swam faster. As he approached her semiconscious, slowly sinking body, he suddenly understood what had made her disappear so quickly underwater.

There was a treacherous drop-off at the bottom of the seafloor in this area of the beach. It was nearly a ninety-degree angle. Draco replayed the scene in his head. Granger had been wading through the water. She had turned to look at him, stumbled, and lost her balance. In the attempt to regain her footing, she had gone over the edge of the drop-off.

Draco was close now, only a few feet away. He broke the surface again and took in a gulp of air, then dived. Granger's body was suspended in the water about ten feet down. Draco crabbed her around the waist with one arm and swam upwards. Granger weighed him down, but he managed to reach the top of the drop-off and sank down on his knees on the seafloor. His lungs were burning. He staggered to his feet and carried Granger out of the water.

Draco's heart was pounding with fear as he laid Granger out on the sand. He was trying hard not to panic – Malfoys Did Not Panic – but at the same time a cool voice in the back of his mind was calmly reminding him of what to do.

Luckily for him, his mother Narcissa was just paranoid enough to insist that Draco take a lifeguarding class along with all the other expensive, private swimming classes she had paid for. In that class, Draco had been taught the steps for performing CPR, for the rare occasion when he might need to save someone's life.

Apparently, that rare occasion was now.

Draco bent over Granger, tilting her forehead back and lifting her chin to open her airway. He leaned closer to see if she was breathing, but he was unable to tell. He was growling mentally at his lifeguarding instructor, who was unwilling to let his students practice on live people and who, being a Squib, was unable to charm mannequins to breathe and have a pulse.

Well, Draco thought, better safe than sorry. He pinched Granger's nose shut, gathered up his courage, and placed his mouth over hers. He breathed once, waited several seconds, breathed again, and checked to see if she was breathing. She wasn't; he placed two fingers against her throat gently and found a pulse. He sighed in relief. At least she was still alive.

Draco leaned in again to deliver rescue breathing.

^ * ^ * ^ * ^

The darkness was beginning to fade away. There was feeling again, returning little by little, and sight and sound. There was a golden light filtering in through her eyelids, and the sound of waves crashed in her ears.

Hermione felt pressure on her nose, and air in her lungs, once, then twice. There was a pause, and something rested gently on her throat.

Where was she? She could feel something hard underneath her. What had happened? That she remembered: falling through the water, coming up for air once, but the water was closing in around her, filling her mouth and nose. After that there had been only darkness.

She was on the beach still, she decided. The hard, gritty stuff beneath her could only be sand.

As the rest of her senses returned, Hermione felt the pressure on her nose again. This time, with the pressure, she felt something touching her lips, and air forced itself into her lungs. The something on her lips disappeared, then came back, and the air was forced into her mouth again. What was happening? Her mind slowly put the facts together. She had almost drowned; someone had saved her life. In Hermione's semiconscious mind held onto only one thought: whoever it was, she had to thank them.

Slowly, carefully, Hermione forced her eyes open. The sun was right in her face, blinding her. But no, it wasn't the sun; it was light shining off platinum blond hair.

Platinum blond hair? Where had she recently seen...

Hermione's eyes snapped open as the truth struck her.

Draco Malfoy had his lips plastered to her face.

For several seconds, Hermione was too shocked to do anything. Then she let out a squeal of disgust and raised her leaden arms to push him away. He scrambled away from her as she sat up, coughing. When she started hacking up water, Malfoy hesitated, then reached out and pounded her on the back several times.

Her lungs finally free of water, Hermione sat and stared at Malfoy, taking in great gasping breaths of air. She was at a complete loss of words.

Malfoy spoke first. "I expect I'll have to sterilize my mouth now," he said, his arrogant, unfriendly attitude back again. Hermione's hands curled into fists.

"You didn't have to save my life," she snapped back without thinking.

"No," Malfoy replied pointedly. "I didn't."

Hermione swallowed. She was silent for a few moments. Finally she said sourly, "I suppose it would sound overly dramatic to say I owe you my life."

"Yes," Malfoy said wickedly, "but it would be quite accurate."

Hermione could feel her face burning in anger. She pushed herself unsteadily to her feet and stood a moment, swaying. Once she had her balance, she turned and started walking away from Malfoy.

"Hey, Granger! Is that all?" he called from behind her.

She whipped around again. "What were you expecting? That I'd fall on my knees in your exalted presence and praise the great Draco Malfoy for saving my unworthy life? Did you think I'd offer myself to be your humble slave for life because you're the cruel, arrogant, selfish spawn of hell?" Hermione glared at him.

"Watch your mouth, Mudblood," he growled at her.

She stood for a moment, feeling the air knocked out of her by the strength of his insult. "Watch yours, Malfoy," she snapped finally, and stormed away, blinking tears out of her eyes.

How could he? How dare he? Granted, he had saved her life, but to rub it in her face when her near-death experience was traumatizing enough? It was downright satanic.

But that was Draco Malfoy for you.