In order to exist, man must rebel, but rebellion must respect the limits that it discovers in itself - limits where minds meet, and in meeting, begin to exist. - Albert Camus
It was bright and sunny in Paris. It was also noisy, the voices of thousands speaking purposefully, the chirps of the bird, the engine of the vehicles. The smell of the aroma of French cuisine from the restaurants that occupied the side walk. It was a perfect day. At least for Hermione Granger, who was happy to be home.
To be fair, she was home three weeks ago, but for those three weeks, every morning, her happiness was renewed when she woke up in her small room, walls lined with gold pastel wallpaper and the warm red green carpet under her feet. It was much different that the light blue walls, and cold stone floor back at Beauxbatons.
She finished her summer assignments in the first week that she returned home, which left her ample time to read books and explore the city that she called home since she was born.
As she walked down Rue Navier, as she always did every morning around nine, she looked over the waterfront and enjoyed the water calm beneath the bridge. I wonder how it would feel if I just jumped in.
Hermione found herself having one of her weirdest thoughts. She dismissed it and continued her walk down the street. She entered a broad door that had the sign "Gulliver's Bookstore and Café." She went straight to the book section, to pick out books that she would love to read today and then went to her usually seat in the corner of the café, near the window looking over the waterfront. Only today, there was a boy sitting in her seat. He had his head leaned over a book, which he wrote frantically in. Hermione decided to approach him. She could have sat somewhere else but she figured that maybe she could kindly as the boy to give up the seat that she made her own weeks ago.
" Excuse, would you mind- " Hermione started in French, but was interrupted, when the boy spoke without lifting his head to look at her, "Yes, I would mind."
Hermione was taken aback by his rudeness, and change the tone of her voice and her language. "You're sitting in my seat. Move, please."
The boy gave an audible sigh and stop writing to look up at her. Hermione could now see his dark green eyes, behind his round specs.
"I don't recall seeing a name written on the seat." He responded in English. From his accent, she could tell that he was British. Hermione figured that was why he was so rude. Rude foreigners.
"I sit here every day." She justified.
"So?" He rebutted as if he did not understand her line of argument.
"Look, there is no reason to be difficult-" Hermione tried to plead.
"I'm not being difficult. You're the aggressor, here."
"Well, if you gave me back my bloody seat then!" Hermione shouted, but the realization that most of the other customers' eyes were on her, cause her to stop mid-sentence.
She muttered rude words to herself before turning and returning to the book sections. She was upset and did not like reading when she was upset. It did something to the tone of whatever she was reading.
She decides to take the day to do something else and exited the book store.
But the next day, the boy sat in her seat. Hermione didn't even bother to approach him and instead found another seat to sit in. She was however still annoyed that the boy just showed up and decided to now sit in the seat every day. A week pasted and it was a recurring event every day that Hermione went to the café bookstore.
But then the day came, that she looked over the seat in the corner and found it empty. She rushed towards it and sat, sighing in comfort and relief. She took the first book from her sizable stack of books and began to engross herself in the story.
Some time after, someone sank in the chair across from her. She looked from her book to see the boy, not looking at her but instead preparing to write in the black book of his.
Hermione cleared her throat and asked, "What are you doing?"
"What you should have done on the first day." He replied coolly.
At first, Hermione was confused but eventually understood what he meant. She could have sat across from him the first day that she saw him at the table.
"I don't like company while I am reading." She explained.
"That makes the two of us." He replied, still not looking up to her. "I'm glad we have a mutual agreement."
Hermione scoffed but returned to her reading. She tried to forget that he was sitting across from her, but the sound of his pen strokes as he wrote made it difficult. She peered over her book and looked down to the book with blank pages that he filling. He hand laid across one of the corners, seemingly holding the page down. She saw the ring on his hand. The ring that she often saw on many of her school mates. It was a status ring. A ring that embedded the family crest of a pureblood family.
Was he a wizard? She questioned.
She tried to get a closer look at the ring without making it obvious that she had bourn an interest in him. She sat up in her chair and slide to the edge. She tried to stretch her next slightly to see the crest in the ring, but could not.
As she tried to stretch more, her plan failed, and the boy looked up, looking at her suspiciously. Hermione quickly settled into her seat.
The boy closed his book and Hermione notice that his hand rested on his notebook. She took another look and prepared to ask.
"That's a nice ring."
"Hmph." was the only response he gave.
Maybe asking him is not the best idea.
Hermione turned her attention to his face, trying to recognize any resemblance to anyone. He had unruly hair and handsome features, but it wasn't until he ran his hand through his hair that Hermione realized. He had a scar on his forehead and then it clicked.
"Wait," She said leaning forward. "You're Harry Potter, aren't you?"
Every consecutive day, she would go to the café bookstore as she always does, but in addition, she would sit at the table, silently hoping that he would show up. And he mostly did.
She did most if not all the talking. She soon found out that the Boy who Lived wasn't the most socially warm person in the world, but he tolerated her, and deep down Hermione came to accept that maybe he even enjoyed her attention and interest in him.
She often asked him about basic things that did not encroach much one his personal life, like which books he was reading, how it was, if he liked Paris, but he would always answer, in short, frank sentences. Hermione became used to it.
"Are you on summer holiday?" She asked him one day, although she though it was a stupid question and only asked it because she didn't want to ask about what she really wanted to know bluntly.
"Just ask." He responded, in his usual tone.
"Why did you get expelled?" She asked quickly. It was no secret. It made headlines in the wizarding world when the Boy who lived got expelled from Hogwarts.
"Didn't you read the headlines?" He questioned. " I apparently killed someone." As if it was the most mundane answer in the world.
"I don't believe everything I read." She rebutted, and something changed slightly in Harry's countenance. He was impressed by her and Harry Potter wasn't easily impressed.
"If you killed someone, why didn't they put in Azkaban? That's where they usually but murderers." Hermione continued.
"Not enough evidence."
"Well, did you do it?" Hermione pressed. "Did you actually kill someone?"
Harry couldn't answer that question, and Hermione didn't know if that was a good sign or not. She assumed the latter but didn't want to push it.
It was raining in Paris. The dark clouds overshadowed the city making it hard to believe that it would ever be sunny and bright again. The sun was going down on Harry's last day in Paris. He was going back to Britain. The weather in addition to this realization made Hermione mood not great. She still had a week before school started and was not fond of the idea of sitting alone at their table for a whole week, knowing that he won't show up.
She didn't know how he considered her after all the time they spent together, but Hermione surely considered him as a friend, although she didn't really have anybody to really share the excited fact that she was friends with the Boy who Lived, well except for her parents who could not really understand why being friends with someone like Harry Potter was a big deal.
It was raining heavily and the café bookstore was closing. It would take Hermione about fifteen minutes to walk back to her house, and despite arguing to wait it out, Harry's request to wait at his hostel surprised her but did not prevent her from accepting.
The hostel was small and shabby. It had creaking wood panels, but Hermione could not help but notice that it had a wonder view of the waterfront.
She sat on a couch in the room, while Harry sat on the bed.
"Do you ever think that you'll ever go back to school?" Hermione asked, trying to kill the silence between them.
Harry shrugged. "Maybe."
"If you could, would you go back?" Hermione pressed. He had to miss the magical world, she thought. She sure missed it during the summers. She loved magic, she just didn't like all the prejudice she faced as a Muggle-born.
Harry shrugged again.
Hermione got up, the floor creaking beneath her, and walked over the small picture frames on the wall. She just wanted something to do. She stood observing the images probably for more time than she should. For so long that Harry came to stand beside her.
"What do you think it means?" She asked.
Although she didn't turn to look, she could imagine Harry shrugging like he often does. "It's a paddle in the water."
Hermione almost rolled her eyes. "I can see that, but why only show the paddle and not the boat."
Harry sighed. "Are you always this philosophical?"
Hermione scoffed and began to turn to give her rebuttal but was startled by how close Harry was standing.
He didn't give her any time to recover from her shock, as he leaned down to put a short kiss on her lips, before pulling back, sharply.
Hermione recovered from the sudden nature of the kiss, faster than she expected and surprised Harry by stepping forward and placing a longer kiss on his lips. She lifted her arms to latch around his neck, and she could feel the presence of his arms around her waist.
Hermione didn't know how long the kiss lasted, but when it did, she realized that it stopped raining, although it was still dark and cloudy outside. It was night now and she knew she had to get home.
"I have to go." She whispered, arms still laced around his neck.
"Stay." He protested. "For the night."
Hermione laughed. She didn't know if his words had any connotation, but even if it didn't she couldn't. Her parents would be concerned, and although she liked him a lot, she wasn't naïve to think that anything that happens further tonight would be more than a summer fling. She didn't want to be that type of girl.
"I can't." Hermione apologized. "It's late. I should really go home."
Harry was disappointed, but pulled away and accepted her decision.
"I'll miss you." She said what she knew will be true. "Would you mind if I write you?"
She swore she saw a small smile on his face. "No, I would actually like that." He admitted.
Hermione stayed for a few more minutes, giving Harry her last kiss, before going out in the wet, dark night. It was dark and raining in Paris.
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