Holiday

Holiday by Charlotte Sterling

Chapter One

***

Draco dormiens nunquam titillandus.

***

I should really get up soon and do something with the day, Harry thought. He lay on his stomach, half asleep in the sun. His head was turned to the side, chin touching shoulder. One arm made a nearly comfortable pillow for his cheek while the other hung off the edge of the warm, plastic pool chair, swaying at the elbow. The sun made colors bloom and bleed behind his eyelids. The towel he had stretched out on smelled like chlorine and fabric softener. His hair was nearly dry now. Several plastic cups were strewn about the unofficial headquarters he had set up.

Headquarters consisted of the towel he lay on, another still folded, a pair of red flip-flops, the room key (Harry had been faintly impressed at the ingenuity of the little plastic card and reminded himself to bring one back for Mr. Weasley), his glasses, and a Chudley Cannons t-shirt draped over the back of the chair. Earlier, a girl wearing short khaki shorts and a pink top had asked him what a Chudley Cannon was. Midway through their conversation, it occurred to Harry she may have been flirting with him. Not accustomed to conversing with girls other than Hermione and especially not girls wearing anything less than matronly black robes, he had nearly launched into a heartfelt explanation of Quidditch. Barely catching himself in time, he told her it was a band.

"I love your accent. Are you British?"

"I'm from England... Er, so do you live here? In Dallas, I mean, not here..."

"Born and raised," she said, smiling. "So, are you in school?"

"Yeah. Yes. Back home. You?"

"I just finished college. I'm working here until I can find a job that, uh, doesn't suck."

"Oh, Good luck with that." So she must be twenty-one or twenty-two. Harry felt faintly disappointed. A devious little part of his mind had already begun making plans for a wild summer fling. He was on holiday after all. When she finds out I'm only 17...

"Well, uh...?" She paused and raised an eyebrow.

"Oh! Harry. Harry Potter." He held out his hand. This was it. He mentally cringed, knowing from experience what usually followed. The glance up to his forehead. A widening of the eyes. Something brilliant like, 'Good Lord! Are you really?" He braced himself for the inevitable.

She grasped his hand, giving it a little squeeze. "Well, Harry Potter. I'm Mary. It's been a pleasure meeting you. I've got to run, but I hope to... see you around." She finished her sentence with a wink.

"Likewise."

Harry was amazed to have said something halfway smooth to a girl, without embarrassing himself. Not only that, but no one on this entire continent knows who I am. Nice city, Dallas, Harry mused.

***

Harry and the Dursleys were in Texas. Uncle Vernon was opening an American branch of Grunnings. Aunt Petunia had suggested they make a holiday of it. The Dursley's had tried their best to leave Harry with Aunt Marge or Mrs. Figg, but had no luck. Aunt Marge had staunchly refused. Mrs. Figg had politely declined all four of the Dursleys increasingly desperate offers. Harry had suggested he stay at the Weasleys, only to remember they were on holiday themselves. The only other possibility was the Grangers, and Harry didn't feel he knew Hermione's family well enough to intrude upon them for three weeks. Grudgingly, and not without considerable grumbling, the Dursleys had instructed their travel agent to arrange for Harry to come along.

Every morning, Uncle Vernon would hurry off to some meeting or conference; Dudley and Aunt Petunia would sleep in. Around noon he would return, business conducted for the day. Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia and Dudley would then go have their adventures, usually chosen by Dudley. Every evening they came back with shopping bags full of souvenirs, smiling and laughing about the day's activities. So far they had been to Six Flags, three malls, two zoos, one museum (Petunia's idea, they had left after ten minutes), two sporting events, a stand-up comedy club, and nine tacky theme restaurants. Not that Harry was counting.

He was not particularly bothered by not being included in their festivities, but wished he had thought to plan ahead better. Because the Dursleys were convinced that if left was alone in the hotel room while they were out, he would either sell all of their possessions and leave, burn the room down or break something, they instructed him to stay in the hotel lobby when they were out. "And no funny business!" Uncle Vernon had said menacingly. Consulting the room service menu for prices, they gave him five dollars a day for lunch. Harry soon learned the only item one could buy with five dollars was a grilled cheese sandwich and a pickle. He was hungry again an hour later.

Inspired by two painfully boring days of sitting in the lobby, watching guests check in and out while receiving dirty glares from the hotel staff and eating tiny sandwiches, Harry had several epiphanies. He caught up to Uncle Vernon as he was leaving the next morning.

"Uncle Vernon, Dudley wanted me to wake up early and let you know that there would be some charges on your bill... something about food he's ordered."

"And why couldn't he tell me himself?" Uncle Vernon asked suspiciously.

"Uncle Vernon, it's only 9:30. He's on holiday."

"That's my son! He knows how to delegate! Not afraid to give orders. Takes what he wants..." He turned and walked away, chuckling mirthfully to himself. So did Harry.

***

"I'll have a cheeseburger, no onions, chips - er - I mean fries, a strawberry milkshake, a large Coke, some banana pudding and... some apple pie, two slices, with ice cream on top. And can you charge it to room 713, please?"

The waitress gave him an appraising glance over her notepad. "How do you want your burger cooked?"

Harry grinned. "Well done."

***

In nothing less than a moment of brilliance, Harry had figured out he could order drinks and charge them to the room, also. Uncle Vernon wouldn't know just by looking at a bill who had actually ordered the items. Uncle Vernon also wouldn't question Dudley's actions or spending, even if he were to order a bucket of deep fried dryer lint topped with caviar. Armed with this fact, Harry had immediately proceeded to order the most interesting sounding items on the drinks list, cackling slightly all the while because his uncle was paying for it. He was on holiday, after all.

It also occurred to Harry that the Durselys wouldn't know whether he spent his days in the lobby or on the moon. Reveling in this new found independence, Harry spent his third day of vacation lounging by the pool, sipping brightly colored tropical drinks. His lips and teeth were blue from the last one he'd ordered. To confirm this fact, Harry stuck out his tongue and stared down at it, cross eyed. Okay, that's enough work for today, don't want to wear yourself out. The sun was warm on his face and arms, the breeze cool, running across his back and legs. He closed his eyes again and dozed lightly, dreamlessly, in the sun.

Harry woke briefly when someone opened the creaking metal gate to the pool. Harry smiled into his towel, and wondered if it might be the girl he had met earlier. Trying to play it cool, not wanting to appear over-anxious to talk to her again, he feigned sleep. He heard her move a chair around, then the soft sound of a towel being placed on it. Harry could hear her quiet footsteps as she padded over to the pool and then a splash as she dove in. Mary. Harry and Mary. Ha! Too bad she's not scary or hairy... Harry slept some more.

***

"Sir... Sir..."

Harry felt the slightest of nudges on his arm. He opened his eyes slowly and looked up to see one of the waiters from the bar peering down at him. He got up quickly and sat back properly in the lounge chair. Shit. Uncle Vernon must have found out and refused to pay for my stuff. They'll want me to pay. I've got ten dollars..."

The waiter smiled. "Sorry to wake you. They're about to close the kitchen for the afternoon. Did you want anything else?"

Harry nearly laughed aloud with relief. "Actually, yeah, but not from the kitchens. Could I get another of those blue things? With the cherries?"

He smiled even more. "I'll get that right out."

"Thanks."

The waiter gathered Harry's old cups and headed back toward the hotel. Harry took a moment to close his eyes. He felt a little dizzy, like he'd just made a vertical loop on his broom. After a moment he opened his eyes and looked around the pool area. At first he thought he was alone, that whoever had been swimming earlier had left. Then he spotted someone lying at the far end of the pool. Lying on their stomach in the sun just like he had been earlier. I think I could go talk to her now without looking completely desperate.

The waiter came back from the bar with a tall colorful drink in one hand and a bottle of water in the other. "Let me know if you need anything else."

"Thanks," Harry said, handing the man one of his five dollar bills for a tip and feeling terribly mature.

Harry sipped his drink then took a big swig of water. He tried to flatten out his hair after pulling on his t-shirt, but knew any elaborate attempts to tame it would only make it worse. He considered putting on his glasses but quashed the idea after deciding that his messy hair, pale body and knobby knees would give her sufficient amusement. Harry picked his drink back up and headed over to the girl on the other end of the pool.

Halfway there he regretted not bringing his glasses. He couldn't tell if it was Mary. She was wearing a pink shirt though. Mary had been wearing pink.

With three-quarters of the distance closed, Harry had come to three conclusions. One: it was not Mary. Two: it was not even a girl. These were just speculations, really, based on conclusion number three: the person laying there was not wearing a shirt at all. They were just incredibly sunburned.

As he closed the last steps between them he wondered if he should turn around and go back. It seemed like such a waste to go all this way just to turn around. The guy in the chair looked like he was asleep. After some deliberation, Harry decided to at least wake him politely and let him know he was getting quite a sunburn.

When Harry finally got close enough for everything to come into proper focus he had one final revelation. He wasn't even that surprised. Much stranger things have happened. He decided to act now and sort out the details later, because really, you only get a few opportunities like this in a lifetime.

Harry crouched down quickly and slapped the hot, red shoulder in front of him, being sure to incorporate an Indian Burn style twist into the release for maximum effect. As the body connected to the shoulder jumped from equal parts surprise and pain, Harry spoke. "You really ought to be more careful. Even ferrets can get sunburns."

After landing back on the chair, its inhabitant quickly pushed himself up to a sitting position. One hand flew to the offended spot. His swim trunks were black with dark green dragons.

Sitting in the chair, rubbing his shoulder, glaring at Harry, looking simultaneously shocked, annoyed, and murderous, was Draco Malfoy.

***