Chapter 38

Hermione felt like she didn't know what was going on. Why were they here? What was this place? The people here seemed to know Draco. And why the fuck would Draco let these people believe they were on their honeymoon? Because it would bother her. Why would she care? It wasn't as if she had a reputation to protect. It just seemed illogical. Everything about this seemed illogical, including this place.

"When did you come here before?" she asked. Draco had lied down on the bed and sighed with his eyes closed.

"A few times when I was young."

Was this where he came while he was on summer vacations. "With your parents?"

"With my mother."

For a moment, she tried to imagine the sour, sulky teenage Draco here, but it didn't fit with the picture she had of him. And why did he want to come here now?

"Can I go downstairs?"

"If you wish."

It was a little thrilling leaving the room without him. Not that she didn't have leeway to roam a little normally. He didn't keep track of her incessantly. The proximity charm did that for him.

The innkeeper smiled at her when she got downstairs and she walked to the salon, which had doors to the beautiful vistas facing the sea. The water sparkled and the sunshine was like a soothing balm on her face. It had been a while since she'd felt sun on her face like this.

There were tables and chairs, and sun loungers. A pool that was cut into the bedrock of the cliff. The sea was beyond, the deep blue of the Mediterranean. It had been years since she'd seen it. The last time had been with her parents. They'd have appreciated a place like this, although she suspected they wouldn't have been welcome. The people here were obviously from the wizarding community, and by the looks of them, they were continental rather than British.

Was this where Narcissa Malfoy escaped British Wizarding society? And she'd taken her son with her. Actually, this made her think better of the woman. Having lived in her house for a while, Hermione still didn't know the woman in the least. Not that she'd particularly tried.

A stairway led down over to the right and Hermione veered toward it. There was a secluded beach down there. It could only be seen if one stood at the edge of the cliff. The sand was yellow and there wasn't anyone down there. She started walking down, but before she got to the actual sand, the tingle of the proximity charm started on her skin. One more step and that tingle would turn to pain.

It immediately brought her thoughts back to Draco, who was probably still lying on the bed. He had a habit of sleeping at odd times, almost as if exhaustion just overcame him. It was rare that he slept through the night. It was in the middle of the night that their most intimate sex happened, in the quiet darkness in the hours no one else was awake. He was different then, softer, somehow.

She stayed in that sensation for a while, the tingling. In a way she hated it, because it was an extension of him. Did he feel it too? That was something she'd never asked. Then the tingling stopped and she knew he was on the move. That was dangerous for her, because he could move away, and she'd been in agony. To avoid this, she moved back up to the cliff, but halfway up, he appeared at the stop of the stairway, looking angelic in the sun. She stopped, leaning on the old wooden handrail as he took steps down towards her.

"The water's warm," he said as he passed her. He wasn't wearing black now, instead gray linen. She'd never seen him like this.

The water wasn't blue in the bay, but green against the yellow sand. Clear so the rocks on the seabed were visible as if under glass.

The sand gave under her feet, but it wasn't the finest sand she'd ever experienced. There was a coarseness to it.

"What do you think?" he said and turned around when she reached the edge of the gentle waves.

"It's beautiful. I struggle to imagine you in this kind of environment."

"I explored every cave along this shoreline," he said and looked around. "I was feral. It's the freest I've ever been."

"Is that why we're here now?"

"I thought you'd like it."

"I do." What the hell was going on? Not for a moment did she believe they were here because she'd appreciate it. This was something about him, like every else.

He walked into the water and it soaked up his pants as he stood knee deep with his hands in his pockets. "You travelled," he said. She hadn't been aware he'd known that.

"Yes."

"Where did you go?"

She shrugged even as he didn't see it. "Turkey, Green, Spain, here. Not here exactly, my parents were particularly taken with Portofino."

"Muggle places."

"Being as they were muggles," she said. Statements like that used to really rile her up, but it didn't anymore. Probably because she'd utterly given up on fitting in in wizarding society. She'd even resigned herself to living the rest of her life as a muggle. Had even looked forward to it—except Draco Malfoy objected.

Taking his shirt off, he threw it back onto the sand and waded deeper. His paleness didn't look natural in this environment. As he swam, she sat down on the beach.

"Are you coming in?" he asked, his head emerging out of the water.

She kind of wanted to. That old feeling of swimming in warm water that was connected to happy times. Part of her didn't want him connected to those feelings, but she was also longing for it. "I'm not dressed for it."

"Neither am I. You're welcome to swim naked. I promise I won't be shocked."

"And if people come?"

"I never took you for a prude?"

"Really? What about me suggested I wouldn't be?" Her temper was rising; she didn't like these questions. Or rather, she didn't like being challenged. For a moment, she indulged in a vision of herself drowning him.

If she didn't swim now, she might not get a chance to. And whatever her life was now, opportunities like this might not come often—if ever again.

Unbuttoning her dress, she moved it over her head and off her, leaving her in her underwear. The water was warm as she walked in, the tiniest shiver of cold before she adjusted to how warm it really was. It felt good, and when she'd waded up to her thighs, she dove in, submerging into a different world, one of silence. No, it wasn't silent. There were bubbles and she even heard the sand shifting, like the lightest chiming of tiny bells.

She swam as far as she could, further out into the bay, and for a moment, she felt a part of the sea life. Taking a breath, she sank down onto the sea floor and sat there, watching fish swim by, the sun glistening above her. Like this, for a short while, she could be something other than herself.

Maybe she was the one who should drown. Then she could stay here. No, she refused to give in, to take that route, even though she felt the temptation. Everything was so easy down here, and so complicated up there. But it meant he won, they all won.

Her lungs were burning, but she didn't mind. Obviously, it would get worse, but she had plenty of time. But then he was there, a bubble of air around his head, swimming to sit opposite her. The bubble distorted his face somewhat.

Either she had to swim up to the surface, or take his air. Leaning in, she pressed her face to the bubble until it gave way. The pain in her lungs subsided as she drew breath. But now she was also there with him. All she heard was their breaths, close enough to kiss, but not.

"You'll take the very air I breathe," he said. Was that an accusation?

"Are you accusing me of taking from you?" That was rich, being that he was the one holding her here. The one refusing to let her leave. He'd taken her freedom, her choices.

"It's just an expression."

Quickly, she pulled back, out of the bubble that reformed around him, but he grabbed her wrist as she began to swim away. She didn't sit her at the bottom of the sea to be with him, yet he came, and again he held her back. What did he want from her?

Wringing her wrist, she urged him to release her, but he refused, so she just stilled. She was angry, and prepared to drown if he didn't release her. But he brought her closer, taking her by the head and bringing her back to him until the bubble gave again. And there he was again, his face right to hers. "What do you want from me?" she asked.

"Everything."

Did he even know what he was saying? Was this just another level of his insanity? What did that even mean? What else could he possibly want? Her despair? Was that what he was missing? Was she not lamenting her fate enough? Was she not broken enough? Because she felt broken. Her pride might make her hold things together, but it was getting harder.

But she couldn't give in. "Careful, Draco. Someone might accuse you of being romantic."

She'd said it to pierce him, to reflect back on him something he didn't want. The grip on her wrist softened and she twisted out of it and withdrew from the bubble. When she reached the surface, he stayed down there, which wasn't hard as he could breathe perfectly fine. She left him there as she swam to shore.