Damn the Man

Disclaimer: I own no characters, places, except those made up.

Draco knew that Hermione had been looking for him. But he didn't care. The next day though, the beach seemed unappealing. Both Mr. and Mrs. Potter were chilly to the day. And he didn't feel like tanning . . . he had tanned enough.

Sitting down, sipping finest wine, in the finest crystal, he stared around. At midday, he could hear the sounds of sleepy women coming down the stairs. Kevyn, who had been looking outside, looked around.

Four very sleepy looking women came downstairs.

Kevyn looked at Laura, her slender willowy frame looking like it would blow away at a puff of wind. Following her appeared Ryan, her black hair tumbling down, her brilliant blue eyes verging towards indigo in need of sleep.

"M-o-o-rning, everyone."

"Actually, Ryan, it's afternoon."

"Oh."

Tanisha came next, her twist done hair flying all over the place, brown eyes also sleepy, her dark chocolate skin very dark against the white outfit she was wearing. Lastly came Hermione, her chestnut curls flying. Her large outfit was concealing. Why did women insist . . .?

"Good morning, everyone . . . .no wait, afternoon."

Everyone was lazier today. Somehow, the days were now running into days of sun drenched glory and nights of laughter. They hadn't been there for so long though—not even a week. The hot sultry days were spent at the beach, being lazy, and they hadn't forgotten the real reason why they came there. Pictures. Pictures of hot lazy days, of the lazing couples of Samuel and Latoya, Ginny and Harry and lately Kevyn and Laura.

Splashing in the water. Ryan took crazy pictures at the slumber party. They were crazy pictures, one of Tanisha doing a handstand, Hermione laughing, Laura turning furiously red. Then they had one of Draco lying full length on the sand, still tickling Hermione's feet. There was one of him drinking champagne to their health, wearing a great watch. That wasn't the only jewelry picture. Hermione had bedecked herself and the others and they pretended to be queens.

They had all changed into their swimsuits.

And then . . .

Laura suddenly felt a hand, on her shoulder and turned to see Kevyn. With a nervous glance she stole a glance at the others, and allowed herself to be led, slight frame in its baby blue swimsuit overshadowed by his stockiness. So gently, he caught her hand and the two of them disappeared, slipped away.

Tanisha mock sighed. "Seems that we, Mike and M.J. are the only sensible spinsters." Then they all laughed.

Ryan, meanwhile had disappeared. Not worrying they knew that she had gone to spy on Laura and Kevyn, knowing that she liked romance shots. She was the official or unofficial photographer. One day she had taken a picture of Ginny taking a flower from Harry, blushing delicately.

It was laughter when she came back.

"Where have you been?"

"Well . . . I'm sure Laura would like to tell us . . ."

With a laugh they ran to the water and dove in. Ginny was already there and screamed as they dove in and attacked her. Nearby, the usually dignified twins, Mike and M.J. swam over and joined the fight with a scream as they all attacked Ginny. Out of nowhere appeared Kevyn and Laura, also attacking Ginny, who was trying to swim away from all this madness.

Then Harry came in and rescued his wife, and they turned the attack onto Laura, squealing with joy.

It was a wonderful picture, but there was no one to see it . . . or was there?

Back at the house Draco was listening to the sounds of the others splashing themselves with water and being ducked and such things. He had the house to himself, and was happy about that. Left in quietude he knew that he would not be targeted by annoying jackasses who would attack him for stupidly simple reasons. He didn't really care, but it was growing increasingly annoying.

He resisted the urge to torment Mrs. Potter with the Bat Bogey Hex. Revenge was sweet. But subtle revenge was sweeter. He would probably be fired for that . . . and he really didn't feel like dueling with Potty.

He sighed. Solitude was all well and good, but right now it was annoying. He heard a sound at the door. Hermione.

With a soft laugh he got up. Yes, revenge was sweet.

&&&&&&&&&&&&

Hermione suddenly spotted Draco, just before he spotted her. Or so she thought.

"Malfoy?"

"Granger?"

"What are you doing here?"

"I just came back from the beach."

"Oh.'

"There's a meeting in the back garden at around sunset . . . spooky ghost stories, fine wine . . ."

He chuckled softly. "Interesting . . . ."

Hermione suddenly felt chilled. "Listen, I'm sorry for the way Harry was yesterday with you—he's really overprotective."

He said nothing.

"Just wanted to say that . . . Draco."

She left. Presumably back towards the beach.

"Thanks . . . .Hermione," he whispered.

Hermione, still, like the others, dressed in a swimsuit. So she had to change. And started on the path into the villa. Alone. Then out of the shadows melted a man . . . .

"Draco?"

"Good evening. Again."

"Were you planning to scare me?"

"No."

"Good," she said decidedly. "I would have hexed you."

"I know."

They had reached the porch. Large, wooden and beautiful.

"So, are you half as dangerous as Harry makes out?" she asked him. Then she mentally kicked herself.

His chuckle so soft, she could barely hear it, he answered. "No."

Suddenly her back was to the nearby pole, and one of his hands was holding both of hers, the other propping him on the said pole.

"Worse."

She struggled. She was trying to get free, not to accept that he had her backed into a pole.

He laughed at her, soft, rather like the one that he had made earlier. However, instead of chilling her, a slow, warm feeling traced all up her skin. Her discipline. Her cool, strong mask she'd worn for two years. Where was it? Great, she thought. Control vanished.

Actually, how could it not? He was very much male. Tall, strong, and with a warm, but dark and dangerous scent that was exquisitely his. And he was so warm. She stared up at him, struggling more, trying not to think about him. 'Bloody bastard, Malfoy!' she screamed mentally. It showed in her eyes. And though the laugh wasn't verbal, she could see it lurking behind the dark eyes. Dark? She thought that they were silver. Bloody bastard!

She struggled more.

"Don't fight, Hermione," he drawled, especially on the last word. Control, she forced. Control.

She regained some. "You have me backed up to a pole, and you tell me not to struggle?" she hissed.

"Well, Hermione, I know you like it."

Was she that obvious? She shut her eyes. Maybe if couldn't see him . . . oh damn the man. She could feel him. Feel practically every move he made, every breath he took. And it was reducing her body to quivers. Loose, quivering pulses. No. It couldn't be. Strong. Good grief, she was acting exactly like a teenager with a hormone imbalance.

She blinked open her eyes.

Big mistake.

His eyes glittered near hers, verging towards dark, stormy grey with flashes of blue. And he was too close. Barely two inches from her face, his other hand propping him up and effectively stopping her from trying to go anywhere. Every feature, including the slight bend in his nose, and his hair swinging round his face, framing it.

"Let me go."

"One thing first. It'll be a fair bargain."

Then he kissed her.

He kissed her, tenderly, just lightly enough to make her tremble. Just sweetly enough to make her want to cry from how soft, how gentle he was. It was tender, soft, slow. Then it changed. The pace changed. He wasn't teasing her, he wanted to taste her. He caught her, held her. She was vaguely aware of him letting go of her hands as he ruthlessly exploited and tasted her. And she responded. She met him back with the same kind of desperation. Her hands slid through his hair, pulling him closer.

He pulled back, still close to her, even as she let out a half strangled whimper as he pulled back. Suddenly she became very much aware of her position.

She was backed up on a pole, with Draco Malfoy half covering her, her arms around his neck, one of his supporting her back.

And she didn't give a hoot who passed by.

He stared down at her, and she could feel him panting. His eyes were darker. And suddenly he smiled, a slow, laughing smile, that had her sending back one of her annoying elfish smiles back at him.

"See, Hermione," he whispered her name. "I told you liked it."

"It was a fair bargain."

"That too."

They heard voices. Slowly, unwillingly, he pulled them both stable, and let go of Hermione, who, out of habit, pulled all of her hair back into a ponytail, even as he somehow did the same.

"So, in the back garden, this evening, Miss Granger?"

She knew, by instinct, that Ginny and Harry had just walked into the garden. "But of course," she said, in a cool, clipped tone. "Ghost stories, fine wine,"

He interrupted her neatly. "Then I shall be there."

She pulled herself upstairs, then, plopped onto her bed.

Her lips were burning. As she changed, she prayed that no one would come in there. Because she knew that the fact that she was as nervous as hell was written right across her face. She also knew that she looked guilty.

And she felt that way, a little. Ron was her first love. But she never thought of him. But she remembered Hogwarts. Ron was gone. He wasn't coming back. And it was no use feeling guilty. The only thing was, Ron, nor anyone else, had teased her like that. Had made her laugh and not care about a thing in the world. And she had a very strange feeling

That this whole guilt

Was due

To

The Weather. Never again would she even think of sending her employees, including herself in this crazy state, anywhere overseas. It just wasn't good for her. She firmly convinced herself of that. This whole atmosphere was conducive to this kind of nonsense. She was slowly regaining control. Each carefully constructed barrier was gradually returning. For two years, she'd managed to keep herself void of feeling, to forget normal things and pleasures. Except coffee. And the second Draco Malfoy walked through her door, that hard won, cold, impersonal control had vanished. Splintered for the first time in years.

And today, it went clean out the window.

Damn the man.

Thank God they were leaving the day after tomorrow for Paris. This beach was just too susceptible to this nonsense.

&&&&&

Sorry, I'm so sorry for not updating. But you see, my computer nearly crashed. I'm very sorry, anyway, this is the second update for this story in less than um. Twenty four or so hours. And guess what? There's a third, following this. Rapid Fire.