Disclaimer: All things HP belong to JKR and not me. I'm just borrowing her world for some nonprofit fun (and smut.) ;-)
Author's Note: Written for the harmony_summer ficathon on Livejournal and originally posted there. Part 1 of 4.
For tome_raider and my very dear Amethyst_J.
A Summer Fling
Part 1: On bikinis and scars
"I think this is the best idea you've ever had, mate," Ron enthused as he shaded his eyes with one hand and looked around with a wide grin.
Harry had to smile and nodded, as he too looked around.
They were at a beach in the South of France, a mostly Muggle resort. Harry had dipped into his Gringotts account in order to reserve a small house not far from the shore for them to share and refused to allow either Ron or Hermione to make any protests about his paying for their entire trip. He had wanted to travel, to leave England on his first vacation, now that Voldemort was defeated and he finally felt he could live without looking over his shoulder every other minute.
They had all three spent a week sequestered in one of St. Mungo's private wards, recovering from the final battle and the exhaustion that had set in after the long year they had had of hunting down the horcruxes and destroying them. After they had been released, they had been called on to attend the large mass funeral held to honor the memory of all those who had died in the past few years of the Second Voldemort War, from Dumbledore onwards. So many familiar names-Hestia Jones, Elphias Doge, Sturgis Podmore, Kingsley Shacklebolt, Emmeline Vance, Snape, Hagrid, Justin Finch-Fletchley, Anthony Goldstein, Charlie Weasley and others whom they had not known… The ceremony had been held at Hogwarts, in the same location by the lake where Dumbledore's funeral had been held, fittingly, and Fawkes had provided a fitting accompaniment with his phoenix song as he soared over the subdued crowd before alighting on Harry's shoulder when Harry had stood up for his brief speech.
Afterwards, they had all been incredibly drained, had retreated to Grimmauld Place where they steadfastly avoided all the bothersome owls from the Daily Prophet and Witch Weekly (who had basically posted one reporter to stake out Grimmauld Place and keep a watch on whoever went in or out, since Harry himself refused to comment).
But he had needed to get away, out of England entirely. It had taken him a week to stop starting for his wand at the slightest noise, taken him longer than a week to stop having nightmares reliving the horrors of the final battle every night.
He had finally told Ron and Hermione that he wanted to just get away, go on his first real vacation, he'd added with a slight, sort of serious, smile.
And it had been Ron who asked, a little hesitantly, "Can we come with you? Or is this something you want to do alone?"
He had smiled, wanting to laugh for what felt like the first time in months. "I was planning on you both coming with me. A vacation alone doesn't sound like any fun."
And so, a month later, here they were, on vacation, ostensibly to celebrate Harry's 18th birthday (as they had told everyone else) but more to celebrate the war being over and their being alive.
Already, even after less than one full day, Harry felt lighter, somehow, freer, happier. Now, finally, for the first time in his life, he planned to just enjoy himself with his best friends in the world-and, from the looks of it, they had come to the perfect place for it.
"Harry, mate, I think we should make this a tradition from now on. Every year for your birthday, we should come down here," Ron suggested.
Hermione laughed indulgently, exchanging an amused glance with Harry. "You mean, so you can ogle all the girls in their bathing costumes?"
Ron shrugged a little, a sheepish smile on his face, but then he was quickly distracted as one very shapely girl in a red and particularly skimpy bathing costume jogged past them. "Cor…" Ron breathed. "They don't make girls like that in England."
Harry smiled at Ron's tone of awe, throwing a passing glance at the girl that had prompted Ron's admiring statement before he glanced fleetingly at Hermione, who looked, he thought, refreshingly pretty in her cover-up-- as he helped her set up their beach chairs and the umbrella which she had insisted they buy. "They make them okay in England too," he said a little absently.
Hermione just shook her head a little at Ron with an indulgent smile. "Come on, let's go for a swim."
"Okay!" Ron agreed enthusiastically, shrugging out of his t-shirt and dropping it carelessly onto one of the beach chairs.
Harry suppressed a laugh at Ron's transparent eagerness and then glanced at Hermione for her reaction.
And he died.
His heart stopped, his lungs forgot how to function, his brain simply ceased to work-and he just stared.
And stared and stared. As every thought he had ever had-and a few he hadn't yet managed to think-drained out of his head and flopped onto the ground by his feet-where he was relatively sure his jaw also was.
Hermione had shrugged out of her cover-up, folding it semi-neatly and leaving it hanging on the back of one of the chairs. Leaving her standing there in- in- something.
Holy Merlin, what was she wearing?
He supposed it was a bathing costume-yes, of course, it was called a bikini, he thought, struggling to form a coherent thought with all his brain cells suddenly struck dumb, or so it seemed. It wasn't that skimpy as bikinis went-thank Merlin for that. If it had been a skimpy bikini, he had no doubt he would be dead at this moment, a victim of his own throat closing up and choking him. As it was, he wasn't sure how exactly he stayed on his feet and could only stare at what he could swear was the miles and miles of smooth, pale skin revealed by the bikini.
There was miles of bare skin, really there was! He could see- he could see everything- every inch of her body!
And holy God, but what a body… he couldn't help the thought that ran through his mind as he stared. He'd never thought Hermione was ugly, even thought that she was really quite pretty… But he had never even dreamed that Hermione would look like- like this!
Hermione was-she was-sexy. There was no other word for it. Pretty didn't work; beautiful fit but it wasn't enough; attractive was too tame; alluring, better but not quite.
She was just- sexy. The sexiest girl he had ever seen.
The deep purple color of her bikini set off the paleness of her skin, making it look incredibly smooth, creamy-making him want to do nothing so much as touch her to discover whether her skin could possibly look as soft and smooth as it looked. Her breasts-Harry felt himself color hotly even as he thought the word, having never allowed himself to even think of Hermione's breasts before-weren't particularly large, would probably have been considered relatively small-but they were perfect, he thought, with helpless admiration. She had a nice figure, slim but still curvy. Her legs seemed to go on forever-good God, had Hermione always had such nice legs? And if she had, how had he never noticed them before?
He stilled, his fascinated, half-lustful daze momentarily broken at the sight of the faint scar, vaguely shaped like a flame, stretching across her slightly rounded stomach. It was, he realized, a memento from the battle in the Department of Mysteries their 5th year, from that mystery curse which Dolohov had hit her with. He hadn't realized that she still bore a scar from that battle and for a moment, he remembered with shocking clarity, those minutes of absolute panic when he had thought she might be dead.
And yet, here she was, alive and well and looking like the living embodiment of every sane man's fantasy, with just that one scar to give evidence of her courage and her loyalty.
From some corner of his mind, he remembered something he had read somewhere, that a scar was proof of a wound that had not healed perfectly, a proof of past pain-but it was also proof of survival.
She had survived.
He felt a surge of pure emotion at the thought, part gratitude, part affection, part relief and other vague feelings he couldn't put a name to. She had survived; she was still here with him.
As he stared, though, her hand moved in an almost instinctive gesture to cover the scar and he looked up to meet her eyes, feeling embarrassed at having been caught staring at her bare skin.
She gave him a slight, self-conscious smile, a little blush coloring her cheeks. "I thought the scar would have faded enough now for me to wear something like this."
"I- I didn't know you had a scar," he rasped out, his voice slightly gruff from embarrassment and the tingle of- of lust which he couldn't help but feel at the sight of her.
Good God, he was lusting after Hermione. After Hermione, of all people! Now what was he supposed to do?
She colored. "I- I don't like to think of it and I try to forget it's there."
Of their own volition, his eyes flicked down to where Hermione's hand was still blocking the scar from his view. "You don't have to hide it," he finally said, relieved he could sound so normal. "It doesn't look bad."
She smiled then. "It doesn't?" Her hand dropped hesitantly down to her side.
He managed a smile. "Hey, it's hardly fair for you to be so self-conscious about that when I'm the one with a bloody lightning bolt on my forehead for the entire world to see."
She laughed a little. "You have a point there."
"Seriously, you look- you look-" Gorgeous. Amazing. Sexy. "Nice," he finished lamely and wondered if he was imagining the flicker of disappointment in her eyes at the lackluster compliment.
But he couldn't tell her that he thought she looked like the sexiest thing he had ever seen or that she looked like the embodiment of every erotic fantasy he had ever had or that just looking at her made him want to explore every inch of her bared skin with his hands and his mouth… He stopped his thoughts abruptly, feeling a familiar (and absolutely inappropriate) stirring in his groin as heat jolted through his body at the direction of his thoughts. He forced his gaze away from her and tried to focus instead on any one of the many other girls in their bathing costumes and bikinis, many of them much skimpier than Hermione's, on the beach in front of them-only to find to his shock and dismay that there was no girl who could hold his attention and attract him like Hermione could and did. One girl was too skinny (she looked like a Holocaust victim); one girl was too, well, too well-endowed (she looked top-heavy); another was too plump (and she was wearing a bikini?!); another was too- too blond; another reminded him too much of Ginny with her red hair and thin figure… And so it went.
Oh God. Since when had Hermione become the one girl who really attracted him?
He was thankfully distracted at this point by the sound of Ron's voice.
"Oy, Harry, you coming or did your feet get stuck to the sand?"
He started. "Oh- uh- yeah, I'm coming. Sorry, got distracted."
Ron smirked and waggled his eyebrows teasingly. "I'll just bet you were distracted."
Harry cursed the blush he couldn't help at Ron's words, even though he knew that Ron was referring to the other girls on the beach and not to Hermione, little guessing that Hermione was the one distracting him.
He hurriedly stripped off his t-shirt, taking off his glasses and putting them on top of his discarded shirt on the beach chair, until he was just in his swim trunks as well, and set off to where Ron was waiting, keeping his gaze firmly fixed anywhere but at Hermione at his side.
Ron grinned teasingly at Hermione as she neared, eyeing her. "Well, would you look at that; little Miss Prefect is wearing a bikini and she doesn't look half-bad."
Hermione rolled her eyes a little at Ron. "Oh, sod off," she said but her tone was indulgent and there was a slight smile playing on her lips that belied her words.
"You know you love me," Ron declared smugly, winking at Harry as he did so.
Hermione snorted. "You just keep on believing that, then, if your delusions make you happy."
"Well, come on, then, you two! The ocean awaits!" And with those words, Ron set off at a loping jog across the sand, leaving Harry and Hermione to exchange half-rueful smiles and run after him.
Ron splashed into the water first, letting out an odd sound, halfway between a cry and a laugh at the chill of the water compared to the warmth of the sun and then turned to playfully splash Harry and Hermione as they came up.
"Ron, you prat!" Hermione gave a little shriek as Ron managed to splash water on her, wetting her from the shoulders down.
"That's it, Weasley, you're going down," Harry threatened with mock anger while Ron pretended to cower.
"Oh, no, I've got the powerful Harry Potter, Defeater of Dark Lords, after me," Ron pretended to cringe with a gesture of melodramatic fear. "Save me, Hermione."
"No, I don't think I will," Hermione grinned, laughing as she sent a wave of water splashing over Ron, leaving him spluttering.
With that, the battle was joined, as all three of them set out splashing each other and, in general, behaving like the children which they hadn't been for more than a year now.
And amid all the laughter and teasing, Harry could almost forget about the way Hermione looked in her bikini-and the way he had reacted to the way she looked.
Almost.
To be continued…