Written for week three of the GE Malfoy Manor Fic War.

Prompt word: CHARMS

I do not own Harry Potter or any of its characters; J. K. Rowling does. In addition, I do not make any profit from this fanfiction.

Huge thank you to my beta lwalters5 for editing this story on such short notice. Also many thanks to my friend Glorioux, who is always ready to help and support.

Warning: This little one below, though mostly epilogue complied, doesn't follow its chronology.

Holiday Affair or The Irresistible Charm of Youth

Whenever I'm alone with you

You make me feel like I am young again

Whenever I'm alone with you

You make me feel like I am fun again*

"Honestly, mum, you're only forty-two. It's nothing for a witch, and you know that. Yes, you're divorced. So what? It's not the end of the world. You're still Hermione Granger, with a husband or without one, you're still yourself." Rose stopped to catch her breath. "You're intelligent and attractive. You can still find someone."

"I have someone, Rose. I have you, and Hugo, and I have my work, and my friends," Hermione protested softly.

"There's more to life than work, mum, and all your friends are married. They can't help you. It's been a year since dad and you divorced, and look at him! He's already remarried."

Hermione cringed involuntarily at the reminder.

"Anyway," Rose continued, "you have to move on, mum. You can begin slowly, you know: make little changes, take little chances. For instance ... I don't know, change your hair, or go on a holiday."

Rose's eyes were burning with enthusiasm. Hermione met her daughter's gaze, and nodded. "When did you become so wise? I'm not sure that I was so insightful at twenty-one," she said pensively.

Rose giggled and waved her hand dismissively. "Ah, come on, of course you were. You were brilliant. Uncle Harry's been telling me that for years." The young witch finished her cup of tea in one go and got up from her chair. "Sorry, mum, I have to run. Love you." She kissed Hermione's cheek and headed to the Floo.

"I love you too, darling," Hermione called after her daughter as the girl disappeared in a green flame.

Sitting in her small but comfortable kitchen, Hermione unhurriedly sipped her tea from her favourite cup with cornflowers on it. Her eyes slid over the familiar, flowery curtains, which fluttered slightly in the draught from an open window. Outside, the summer was still in full swing, sunny and cheerful. It had been her favourite season, but now she caught herself thinking that autumn would have matched her mood much better.

Frankly, she agreed with Rose's fiery speech. She was in a rut, and she didn't like it. The divorce had been a heavy blow, and the year that had followed it had been a hard one. With Ron out of her life for good and the children all grown up, it was painful to endure the silence and emptiness of what had been once a crowded, noisy, happy house. And flatly depressing to return to its empty rooms every evening. Even though she had managed to increase her working hours until they felt like eternities, it didn't help. As Rose had said, there was more to life than work.

"Rose is right," Hermione said to herself. "It's time to move on."

The witch put her teacup on the table and stood up.

"New haircut and holidays," she muttered. "All right. I can do that."

Two weeks later

Hermione sat on the sunlit terrace of her hotel, surrounded by lush greenery and exotic flowers. The gentle August sun caressed her skin, and a soft sea breeze tousled her stylish new haircut. Birds chirped their happy songs, and waiters glided soundlessly over the tiled, terracotta floor, dextrously serving breakfast. Everything around her breathed the distinctive ease and tranquillity of a luxurious Mediterranean resort.

She had only been there two days, and she already missed London badly. Somehow, she felt untouched by that enveloping serenity. She had quickly discovered that nothing made her feel quite as miserable as eating alone. Her holiday was being steadily poisoned by an all-encompassing loneliness.

Melancholically poking at her fruit salad with a fork, Hermione wondered how she could survive three weeks in this so-called paradise. In theory, she knew what needed to be done: she had to find acquaintances. It had never been a problem before. She had always been very outgoing. Now, though, she simply couldn't find the will to speak to anyone.

"Agh," the witch groaned, feeling annoyed with herself. "I need more tea," she decided, and reached for the white china teapot, but missed the handle, probably because of her discontented state of mind, and accidentally pushed it off the table. As soon as it struck the floor, she heard an unmistakably British cry of "Bloody hell!"

Embarrassed and already red-faced, Hermione glanced at the floor to assess the damage. Luckily, the teapot, instead of breaking into a million pieces, had only lost its handle. It had managed, however, to spill its contents on a pair of white canvas men's summer shoes, the owner of which had happened to be near her table when disaster struck. Reluctantly looking up from his shoes, which were now mostly brown, to his grey linen trousers, and then to his white shirt, Hermione began to mutter an apology. Then she saw his face, and broke off in mid-sentence, staring at him in astonishment. He looked exactly like the Draco Malfoy of twenty years ago. Unable to contain herself, she exclaimed, "Malfoy?"

The blond wizard bobbed his head politely and said, with a courteous smile, "Scorpius Malfoy. And you are Hermione Granger, if I am not mistaken."

All Hermione could say was, "Yes", before they were interrupted by a waiter, who was trying to clean up the mess.

Inclining his head towards her slightly, Scorpius Malfoy said, "We shall certainly meet again," and sauntered away from the terrace, leaving a bemused Hermione in the company of the waiter and the broken teapot.

She saw the blond wizard twice again that day, first at lunch and then at dinner. Each time, he smiled and waved at her, which obliged her to smile and wave back at him. In the next two days, she learned how absurdly small the resort was, since she managed to bump into him at meals, by the pool, on the beach, in the town's one small coffee shop – everywhere.

Occasionally, when he insisted, she allowed him to buy her a drink, and so they had a few little talks, in the course of which they agreed to call each other by their first names. Hermione learned that Scorpius would be staying in the same hotel for the rest of the summer. She also could not help noticing that he was outrageously good-looking. Watching him closely, she concluded that, while he had inherited Draco's tall frame, his face had more character than his father's, with a somewhat harder, squarer jawline. His nose, too, bore a strong resemblance to his grandfather's. The best elements of both Malfoys, she decided.

She enjoyed their brief encounters, but didn't give them any serious thought. It was only when the blond wizard invited her to join him for dinner that she came to the conclusion that all those meetings probably weren't accidental.

"Will you dine with me, Hermione?" asked Scorpius, with his habitual smile, extending an arm to her, his voice confident and his grey eyes shining expectantly with barely concealed desire.

Hermione meant to say No. She knew everything, every but and every if. She was a big girl, after all. The boy was twenty years her junior, and she saw in his eyes exactly where he was heading with all those seductive speeches. And yet, he had such an air of lightness, such a youthful ease of being, the likes of which she had lost long ago and wanted to regain so badly, that she simply couldn't resist his charms. He looked so completely free of problems, worries, and doubts, so unaware of life's nasty little secrets and menacing fiascos, that she was drawn to him like a moth to a flame. Perhaps, she needed Scorpius Malfoy even more than he needed her. So, after recovering from the initial shock, she said, "Yes, why not," and smiled bravely.

That night, they dined and talked and laughed, and she basked in the way Scorpius devoured her with his gaze, and savoured the sensuality of his light touches. He didn't take many liberties in the crowded dining-room, but the sensation of his finger-tips on her knuckles and his caressing thumb on the back of her hand, was enough to bring her blood to the boiling point. It had been so long since she had felt that way: simultaneously aroused, eager, and nervous.

When, at last, they finished their dinner and went for a walk around the hotel, Hermione was ready to burst, and so was Scorpius, if his pushing her into the first dark alcove they found was anything to go by. They stared at each other, in that narrow space, for a long moment. Then, without a word, he slowly traced the contours of her lips with his thumb. Hermione gasped, and, in a heartbeat, he was kissing her, claiming her lips with his imperious mouth without giving her a chance to waver.

Oh, God! flashed through Hermione's mind. She had forgotten how exciting it could be, that first kiss with someone new. The kiss rapidly developed into a passionate exploration, and Hermione all but lost herself when he pressed his young, fevered body into her. His hands acquainted themselves with her every curve and cavity, leaving her burning, burning for him. Trapped as she was between him and the wall, intoxicated by his manly aroma, the only thought in her mind was more! She wanted to feel more of his fire, more of his desire for her, more of everything. He bewitched her with his charms, causing her to utterly lose control. In return, he gave her what she craved for with a vigour she had forgotten or had perhaps never known.

Feeling him between her thighs, she suddenly remembered that they were outside. "No, not here, I can't do it here," she breathed.

"Yes, yes, here. You can and you will," he answered, and when she tried, rather incoherently, to protest, he shushed her, whispering, "Shh, shh, there is no one here. Relax."

Later, as soon as she managed to gather her wits, she Apparated them to her suite, right on to her bed. There, Scorpius quickly removed his clothes and hers, and, for a while, he just watched her as she reclined, wholly nude, on the white silk bed sheets. "You are stunning," he eventually said. "I always knew you would be stunning."

"What do you mean, you always knew?" exclaimed a slightly dazed Hermione. She couldn't help laughing: the confession seemed funny, somehow.

In one fluid movement, Scorpius covered her body with his and whispered, "I've been watching you for years on Platform Nine and Three-Quarters" And he assaulted her with renewed enthusiasm, preventing her from thinking about this revelation. "I want you to grow your curls back," he growled into her ear. "I love your curls."

Three weeks later

Enfolded in Scorpius' muscular limbs, listening to the rhythm of his breathing and gently stroking his back, Hermione watched the magnificent Mediterranean sunrise and thought about their whirlwind romance. They had spent most of their time together in bed, which was natural enough, given Scorpius' youth and stamina. But, of course, they had done other fascinating and pleasurable things besides sex – sunbathing, skinny dipping, dancing. Alas, the three weeks had flown by, and this was the last day of Hermione's holiday. It was time to end their little affair, as she called it. Stubbornly, the witch didn't allow herself to think about it as anything more than just a fling.

Yet, in spite of her efforts, she couldn't stop thinking about it, about them, about the wizard who was now peacefully sleeping in her arms. Could she have misjudged his intentions? Was this more for him than just a fling? She was afraid that it might be so, yet she secretly hoped that it would be. She simply couldn't admit as much to herself.

Hermione drew a sigh. She was forty-two years old, and her lover was the same age as her daughter. It would never work, she said to herself for the hundredth time. Keeping this thought in mind and suppressing all the treacherous others, the witch carefully disentangled herself from the sleeping wizard and began to gather her belongings for the journey back to London.

By the time Scorpius opened his eyes, she was packed and ready to go.

"Are you leaving?" he asked calmly.

Hermione perched herself on the corner of the bed, and, trying to smile but not succeeding, said, "Yes."

Watching her intently, he spoke again. "Shall we see each other in London?"

Unable to hold back a shuddering sigh, Hermione shook her head.

"I see," said the wizard, and his jawline hardened.

"Goodbye," muttered Hermione. Fighting hot tears, she stood up, took her suitcase, and walked to the door. In her distraught state, she didn't see that Scorpius, naked as he was, had leapt from the bed and was going after her. Catching up with her by the threshold, he said, "Wait! You forgot something." Then, deftly turning her around, he pinned her to the door and kissed her. The kiss wasn't gentle. It felt like ... like he was branding her.

Hermione felt that if she stayed in his arms even a moment longer, she wouldn't be able to leave; so, confused and troubled, she hurriedly left the room as soon as Scorpius released her.

As the door closed behind the witch, Scorpius shook his head and chuckled. "Only Hermione Granger can be so thick and so brilliant at the same time. See you in London, gorgeous."

Fin

*The Cure/Adele/Lovesong

Please review, my darlings.

If you are interested in reading my week three story – Put a Sock in It! (Hermione/Draco) – it's posted at Malfoy Manor:

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