The Golden Days
Summary: While relaxing on the beach, Harry enjoys the last few days of the summer holidays with his best friend. H/Hr, fluffy romance, one-shot, set in 1994-1995.
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or any of its characters.
Author's Note: Alright then, this is the result of a little drabble I did in my free time. Hope you guys enjoy. On with the story!
~ooOOooOOOooOOoo~
Harry sighed sadly, looking up into the cerulean blue sky above him.
The golden days — literally, in this case, as the summer holidays of 1994 had not featured a single hint of rain — were going to end within about a week's time.
He was going to miss the atmosphere of utter relaxation and lethargy; of doing absolutely nothing for hours on end.
For the vast majority of the Summer Holidays, Harry and his best friend had lain on the butter-yellow expanse of incredibly fine-grained sand, nursing ice-cold glasses of various juices while savouring the bright sunlight as much as they could.
And then the events of the previous school year drifted into Harry's mind, diminishing his blissful state somewhat.
But he didn't let the unpleasant memory completely ruin his mood, however.
The raven-haired teen partly attributed his incredibly calm composure to the tranquil nature of the beach, located in the southernmost regions of Dorset.
But most of the credit — in his mind, at least — went to a certain, bushy-haired brunette; one who was currently approaching his lounging form with a fresh pair of drinks in her hands.
Harry felt his mouth go slightly dry as his vibrant green eyes fell upon her advancing form.
Her previously bushy hair had been somewhat tamed; now falling in wavy, elegant tresses around her head and some strands framing her freckled face artfully.
His eyes trailed downwards, taking in the periwinkle-blue-and-white, one-piece bathing suit — one that, by Muggle standards, was quite conservative indeed.
However, as both teenagers spent the majority of their time within a drafty old castle in the far northern reaches of bitterly cold Scotland, dressed in ridiculously long and flowing black robes, to Harry at least her attire looked near scandalous.
Now, that wasn't to say that he didn't enjoy the view.
Far from it.
The swimming costume also hugged her curves quite nicely, highlighting skin tanned golden from long exposure to the sun and legs so long that Harry couldn't comprehend how she had kept them hidden within the lengthy, dress-like clothing that students of Hogwarts were required to wear.
Harry also failed to understand how he had not noticed that Hermione was a very pretty girl, and that he was unbelievably lucky that some other person — he disregarded the Krum incident of last year. That did not count. — had not attempted to win the heart of the Gryffindor bookworm.
And with that statement in mind, the dark-haired teenager decided that he would shoot a shot of his own, figuratively speaking.
Hermione smiled uncertainly as she saw him looking at her, offering one of the cold glasses to her best friend when she reached his relaxed body.
"I got you your favourite, Harry — the mango and orange juice split, with hints of lemon mixed in," she said, handing over the drink in question and sinking down onto the beach mat next to him.
Harry smiled at her gratefully, unknowingly causing a flurry of sensations to erupt in the general region of Hermione's stomach.
"Thank you, Hermione. Just what I needed," he replied, raising the glass and taking a sip. His eyes closed in exaggerated contentment. "It's perfect — just like you."
Immediately after that statement, Harry felt like smashing himself upside the head, cringing internally at such a corny line.
However, the teenager was stopped from the deformation of his cranium at the sight of redness flushing pleasantly over her face, down her neck and even to the upper parts of her chest.
"Oh, stop it," she mumbled, unsuccessfully hiding her wide smile in her orange juice drink.
There was a comfortable silence; both parties happy to let it rest.
"It's so peaceful here," Hermione quietly commented, her eyes trailing over the tranquil visage in question. "I've never been more relaxed in my entire life."
A sound of assent rumbled from Harry's chest.
"I can think of other activities that are equally as relaxing," he mumbled in reply, his words failing to register in his brain.
At Hermione's almost scandalised stare and slightly parted mouth, he hastened to correct himself.
"What? Personally, I think that flying and playing Quidditch are perfectly good methods of stress relief," he protested, raising his palms as if to physically ward off any incoming, verbal attacks. "For you, I suspect, perhaps perusing ridiculously thick volumes for a 'bit of light reading' would suffice."
When his best friend did not reply, Harry spoke again, a spark of mischief in his eyes.
"Wait, what did you think I was talking about, Hermione?" he asked, faux confusion lining his voice. That pretty flush of before promptly returned, the brown-haired girl attempting to stammer out a reply.
"Harry! N-no, I—I didn't mean se—uhm, that is to say…"
At her increasingly desperate attempts to cleanse herself of any improper implications, Harry waggled his eyebrows suggestively.
A merry giggle of amusement ripped itself unbidden out of Hermione's throat; the young Gryffindor reluctantly giving up her endeavours as a lost cause.
She lightly slapped his bare shoulder. "You're a prat, by the way. You know what I was trying to say, Harry."
Harry sat up, placing his drink down on the green mat, which was riddled with small recesses of sand. "Do I, though? Hermione, I think you'll have to explain yourself a bit clearer."
He relished the look — more of a glare, really — that she sent his way.
"Well, when I was younger, my mother used to run her hands through my hair when I was stressed or upset," she said after a few seconds of expectant silence.
Harry, a bold if not daring idea forming in his mind, shuffled slightly closer to his best friend.
"It felt really nice," the girl continued, now looking out at the clear blue waves of the English Channel. "She always managed to calm me down with that method."
"Like this?" Harry enquired, performing the action in question. Hermione quietly drew in a breath but nevertheless leaned into his touch, relishing it.
"Mmm," she nearly moaned, a sound that rocketed right into the raven-haired teenager's brain, resulting in him being slightly delirious and nearly stopping his motions. "Yeah, just like that. Perfect, Harry."
All of a sudden, Harry was keenly aware of their close proximity — her left hand, resting lightly upon his right knee, flexing subtly with each downstroke of his own hand.
Her shoulder, bumping against his chest with each inhalation; the male teen consequently getting quite a nice look at his best friend's front.
When Hermione opened her eyes to glance at him gratefully, Harry could see the minor differentiations in shade within her chocolate-brown-and-hazel orbs.
His eyes unconsciously and briefly falling to her full lips, Harry gathered up what courage that Gryffindors were stereotypically known to exhibit.
"I think I know something that would feel rather pleasant," he whispered. In some corner of his mind, he noticed that Hermione's breathing rate had slightly increased with his closeness.
"What would that be, Harry?" she sighed back, her breath ghosting against his face.
"It would be this."
Taking her reaction as positive encouragement, Harry leaned forward and sealed the distance between their lips.
In the proceeding minutes — which quickly turned into hours, and, unsurprisingly, into days — the two teenagers experienced a state of absolute bliss and contentment, more than either had felt in the entirety of their summer holiday.
After that first, initial move on his part, Harry had again summoned his daring and asked Hermione if, possibly, that they could be more than best friends. She had gleefully accepted, diving at her male companion and bodily tackling him into the golden expanse of sand.
And as Harry felt his face get smothered both by long tresses of brown hair and Hermione's lips — the girl now straddling his lying-down form and eagerly attacking his mouth with her own — he thought that, no matter what events occurred in the near future, he would always remember and savour the golden days of the 1994 summer holidays.
Finite.
~ooOOooOOOooOOoo~
Author's Note:
25/08/2020: Hehe. Right. As I said before, this was the result of a little drabble that I wrote in my free time. I hoped you all enjoyed the read; please feel free to leave a review if you did. Ta-ta for now.
Cheers,
Avaxius