Author's Note: A quick summer drabble written for the Dramione Fanfiction Forum's drabble challenge.

The requirements: to use the words Beach, Blanket, and Bingo, as well as the phrase, "you call these bikini bottoms?", with a maximum word count of no more than 1000 words. I hope you enjoy xo

Disclaimer: I do not own any part of the Harry Potter franchise.


"We're going to the fucking beach."

Draco snorted, his eyes remaining on his book.

"Nah mate, you're going to the fucking beach. I'm doing absolutely no such thing."

"Malfoy." And Theo was giving him that look. Draco rolled his eyes. "Get your fucking shorts. You haven't let the house since – I don't know. The war ended months ago. I'm sick of your fucking moping."

"Some friend," Draco grumbled, turning the page.

"I am –" Theo paused for dramatics, "– the best friend you've got."

"Right, well," Draco said with a flicker of his brows. "Have fun at the beach."

Theo socked him in the arm. "Next one's in the jaw."

"How in the name of Merlin do you consider yourself the best friend I've got?" Draco asked, rubbing his shoulder. "Fucking abusive."

Theo's narrowed eyes and curled fist stared back at him.


Cursing foully under his breath, Draco adjusted his sunglasses. He could already feel his pale skin burning in the scalding heat.

"You know," Theo said, unfolding some sort of ridiculous looking canvas chair with a flourish, despite the difficulties he appeared to be having, "this will be good for you."

"You're blinding me," Draco said, shielding his eyes from the whiteness of Theo's exposed chest.

"Oh, would you settle. I brought you a blanket."

With a sharp exhale through his nose, Draco extracted the blanket from Theo's bag. He carefully laid it out, so as to provide himself the lowest chance of ending up with sand in his shorts. Draco hated sand in his shorts.

"Okay, look," Theo said, gesturing vaguely towards the concession stand. "They're playing bingo over there. We ought to join in. Meet some girls."

"Have fun," Draco said, pushing his sunglasses up as they slid down his sweaty nose. He released a long-suffering sigh.

"You're the worst fucking wingman ever," Theo said.

Draco held up dismissive hands, a gesture to say what can you do. "Suppose you should have brought Blaise instead, then."

"Blaise is in Italy, as you well know." Theo grinned as he relaxed in his seat, latching his hands at the back of his head.

Draco didn't respond, instead glared at the people bustling past all around him. There was far too much joviality going on here for the grey cloud he wanted to huddle beneath.

"I mean, really," he muttered, waving a hand, "you call these bikini bottoms?"

He received a glare from the girl wearing the shorts, if one could even call them as such. They hardly covered her arse cheeks. It was highly improper.

Theo turned to gape at him, his eyes wide, a subtle shake to his head. "Are you fucking serious."

Draco shrugged. "She looked like a slag."

"That doesn't mean you tell her!" Theo exclaimed, even as his eyes followed another pair of girls walking past. "Oh! Do you want a crushed ice?"

"A what?" Draco looked at Theo over his glasses.

"It's like, they crush ice and put flavour on it," Theo explained, with several rather inarticulate and irrelevant hand gestures.

"Fine," Draco muttered, hoping Theo would leave and give him a moment's peace. His delicate skin was already burning to a crisp. He dug around in the bag for the sun potion.

"Great, go get us some." Draco pressed his lips into a thin line as Theo handed him a Muggle note. "Honestly, you could be grateful for something to do today. It's a beautiful day out."

Draco scowled but rose to his feet. He'd had about enough of Theo's chipper attitude for one day, and they'd only just arrived.

He glared as he walked to the concession stand, half of a mind to Apparate himself home and continue his sulking in quiet, well-ventilated peace. Theo was wrong, anyway, he wasn't moping over the war, he was –

He stopped dead in his tracks, eyes wide. His eyes drifted from the denim shorts, up along a bare back, interrupted only by the strings of a bikini top, and landed on a head of brunette curls.

"Shite," he hissed to himself, under his breath. He turned on the spot, anxious to escape the sudden situation he found himself in.

He had taken two steps in the opposite direction when he heard a soft, "Draco?"

Draco pressed his eyes shut, his heart stuttering an uncomfortable sort of cadence as he turned back, plastering a look of mild surprise on his face.

"Hermione," he breathed. "What a shock."

"Were you going to walk away without saying hello?" she asked, that slight quirk to her head that he could never resist. His gaze flickered to her lips.

"Yes," he admitted with a shrug. He watched Granger's lips tug downwards into a frown. Quickly backtracking, he said, "You know, I didn't expect you'd want to see me. After…"

"After you stopped owling me?" she asked, and Draco didn't want to see the hurt in her eyes, but he met her soft gaze anyway.

He didn't know how to respond. "After the war."

After what his aunt had done to her. After Draco had failed to save her. After his friend had tried to throw an Avada her way, and he'd seen her across the battlefield.

Her voice dropped, and her teeth met the flesh of her lower lip. "After you did what you had to do to save your family."

Draco swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry.

The memories bounced around in his brain. The time she had come across him in sixth year, mid-breakdown, and had offered comfort rather than scorn. The way they had developed a friendship – and the way it had grown into something more.

The first time he had touched her, and she him.

Granger gestured to a table behind her. "Do you want to sit with me? We can catch up?"

Draco nodded, not trusting himself to speak. Theo could get his own fucking crushed ice.

Maybe coming to the beach hadn't been such a terrible idea after all.