Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling and Warner Bros. All fics posted at this community were written entirely for fun, not for profit, and no copyright infringement is intended.

Main Characters: Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger, Pansy Parkinson, Millicent Bulstrode, Theo Nott

Rating: M+ (contains Minor Character Death, an explicit scene of sexual content, as well as references to fascism in the 1940, implied violence)

Author Notes: This story was written for the Dramione Remix 2017, and it is based on the film Casablanca, namely the famous couple from it, Rick and Ilsa.

The film plays during the second World War, and Rick is an American owning a night joint, and Ilsa is his former lover who comes to him to ask for help in order to escape. To Rick's dismay, she is already married, but in the end, he decides to help them.

My story can be seen as a sort of sequel to the film, playing two years later, with Rick having landed in France, where he again opened a joint, and secretly helps the resistance.

Within the story, I consistently call it a "café", but it's meant to be more like a night club sort of place as it was in the film Casablanca.

Thanks:Many many heartfelt thank yous to my wonderful beta leoprior for combing through my work, your help is much appreciated!

In addition, just as many thanks to amyeco for providing feedback on my draft and for cheerleading—I love you, dear! Another big thank you to EvoraBlake for providing feedback, especially on the smut scene in this story, and for simply being supportive! And also many thanks to CJRed for support and feedback! You're an inspiration, girl!

And of course, thank you to everyone else who was patient enough to listen to my doubts and ramblings while I was trying to finish the story before the deadline... I love you all!

Chapter 1: I need your help

Draco,
I need your help.
My husband is dead and I'm no longer safe where I am.
You're the only one I still trust.
Remember the bike trip...
Hermione

Sitting at the worn-out table in his makeshift kitchen, Draco read those few lines over and over again, already knowing them by heart from the previous read-throughs. Next to him on the table stood a cup of steaming coffee that was entirely too bitter for his taste—he would have loved to add a piece of sugar to even out the bitterness, but they had run out of their sugar yesterday. No one had thought of replenishing the last piece before using it. And supplies were hard to get your hands on these days, in the midst of this on-going war. Even for him.

No one remembered how the wizarding world had been sucked into the war; it had been going on for so long that it would take a very good memory or a historian to dig up the truth, because these days, people all around were too occupied with survival to care too much about it. Himself included.

The letter had been unexpected, especially since he had thought that Hermione and her husband, that redhead he slightly despised, had fled into safety to coordinate the resistance from there. But then, what was safety nowadays, anyway? No place was safe anymore, not with the whole world involved in a war that could mean the end of humanity if the wrong side won.

At least he still had his café, aptly named Draco's, and it was still the thriving meeting place of the desperate seeking help as well as the occupying soldiers out for a drink. Just like in Casablanca, the café he now owned in Abbeville, a small provincial town not too far from the Atlantic coast, was meant to be a neutral zone between factions, a sanctuary from the war. As much as he disliked them, the fascists were just as much allowed to have a drink as the members of the resistance or the ordinary town people were. He hid his true allegiance to the resistance's cause so well that the occupying fascists never even suspected anything and even considered him neutral. Or if they did suspect something, they never had any actual proof.

Remember the bike trip... Draco brought the cup to his lips for a sip and groaned at the bitter taste. It wasn't the first such coffee he has had ever since they had run out of sugar, but he just couldn't get used to the taste. It was a strong reminder to check their coffee supply to avoid running out of it as well, as it was near impossible to find any real coffee these days—it was a luxury, but one he couldn't live without in the morning. Pushing the thoughts about coffee aside, he tried to remember where they went on their bike trip. He remembered colourful trees and her hair flowing wildly in the wind. Her untameable mane he had loved to bury his hands in. He remembered stolen, fervent kisses between trees, away from the street. And he remembered going from keeping each other warm in an abandoned building to the discarding of clothes. He remembered those days as some of his best—carefree, not yet touched by the war, and full of her laughter and little moans. He remembered where the building had been.

"You're up early, my dear."

With a soft smile, Draco looked up from the letter and towards the door where Pansy was standing, watching him with one of her sleepy, but amused smiles. "Had an urgent letter delivered. There's still some coffee in the pot."

Pansy brushed through her mess of black hair, trying to bring some minimal order into it while entering the kitchen in search for a cup. "Can't they deliver those urgent letters with all the others?" she said, filling her cup with coffee. "The bed was cold without you."

"I'm sorry. I couldn't sleep any longer."

"You barely slept at all."

He shrugged. She was right; he had come home late last night, since a party of rather high-ranking fascists had insisted on staying past the closing times, despite his insistence. And Pansy had insisted on a quick shag, claiming it would help her calm down and sleep after worrying about him. He knew she didn't really worry about him; their relationship was more pragmatic than loving. Two people sharing a bed in an attempt to feel less lonely in a world surrounded by war. A resistance group leader and a café owner.

"What's the letter about?" she asked, rummaging through their pantry cupboard. "Don't tell me we forgot to replenish the sugar!"

"We did."

"Ugh." With a disappointed sigh, she leaned against the counter opposite him, blowing over her coffee as if preparing for the onslaught of bitterness. "So, the letter?"

He lifted the piece of paper lying in front of him, his thumb caressing the hurriedly written lines. "Hermione."

Pansy lowered her cup in surprise. "What's with her? She dead?"

He shook his head. "Her husband is. She asks for help."

"Shit." She finally took her first sip of coffee, followed by her usual irritated growl. "You know that the death of her husband is bad news, right? He's one the main resistance leaders–"

"Was," he corrected her and then leaned back, gazing at her fully for the first time this morning. Pansy was a force to reckon with, an invaluable member of the resistance, and a leader of her own resistance group that consisted of both wizarding folk and Muggles. She had one of the highest bounties on her head, though their opponents still preferred to catch her alive. That was why she stayed in his place night after night—it had been placed under a Fidelius Charm as well as several other protective measures. No one could find her here if he didn't tell them where his place was.

She sighed rather dramatically, barely able not to roll her eyes. "Whatever." Another groan from her indicated she had had another sip. "Seriously, we need to find sugar, and if I have to sell my body to get it!"

"I'll see what I can do at the café... But I won't promise anything." With a sigh, he wordlessly Summoned a piece of paper and the fountain pen he had once found on a dead Muggle close to his café.

"What are you going to do about Hermione? I mean why doesn't she just Apparate out from wherever she is?"

"Pansy, please," he said with an irritated tone to his voice, putting the pen down on the table. "Why don't you Apparate wherever you want to go?"

"That fucking taboo," she said, sighing and brushing her hand through her still messed-up hair. "Traces you to your destination, like a big arrow above your head saying She's here!... I hate it."

Draco could only agree with her. The taboo on Apparition had complicated everything immensely, and even after more than a couple of years living with it, they still hadn't gotten used to it. A few times, they were caught in a trap without a way out—only by sheer luck and a quickly cast Disillusionment Charm did they not get caught while trying to deliver goods. Those were the moments he wished his old life back; he might have been living in a hidden world, but at least he had been free in his movements.

"She doesn't really say where she is, does she?" Pansy asked, looking at her cup as if another gulp was worth the bitter taste.

He was pulled from his short musing about the past, and he raised an eyebrow. "I know. That's the only important thing."

With that, he returned his attention to the letter he needed to write. If he wanted to get Hermione to safety, he needed to act now and contact the right people close to her hiding spot.

"You can't go off to save her," she retorted, the sneer in her voice clearly showing the irritation about the situation. "Not now. You know my group is counting on you getting the supplies we need for our next attack. Fuck Gamp and his bloody law..."

"Pansy, I know. I never said I would go." He shot her a glare in annoyance, taking up the pen to tap it on the table. "And I told you yesterday that the supplies will be delivered today or tomorrow, depending on the route the smugglers have to take. You better have everything ready they asked for in the bargain."

"You know I have," she replied in defiance, swaying her cup; a few drops escaped over the rim and dropped on the already stained floor. "I just want to make it clear that, right now, you can't afford running off to her and probably even take someone from my group with you. I need all of them for the attack–"

"I won't–"

"I mean she wrote you a few lines, and you're already... you know... acting like you're her knight in shining armour. She's a widow, and she is in mourning, don't forget that."

"Pansy, I said I won't," he repeated calmly, though tapping louder with the pen. "Just let me finish writing those letters."

She nodded, letting out a heavy sigh. "All right. Do what you have to do to save her. I'm going back to bed." She placed the cup on the counter, still more than half full. "Join me when you're finished. Maybe I'll be good enough to do that thing you like..."

He nodded absently, trying to figure out how to convey his message without giving away any details to the occupants who would surely scan his letters. Magical means were useless, as both sides had wizarding folk in their rank—if a Muggle couldn't open or read a letter, then a wizard or witch trained in Detection Spells would check it.

..

It was Friday evening, and the café was filled with customers looking either for a good time or for help to get away, discreetly so. Draco was keeping an eye on everything going on in his café from the balcony on the floor above where only the staff was permitted. The café had a similar layout as the one he had had in Casablanca, transforming the place according to his memory—the only thing that was missing was a piano. But since Sam had decided to stay in Casablanca, he had no use for a piano here.

To his satisfaction, both Yvette and Edith were as charming as ever serving the customers while Martin at the bar had a jealous eye on his amante, as he called her. French men were surely proud of being known as good lovers, but they also seemed rather jealous and possessive of their women—or maybe they were more upfront about it than Draco and his fellow English men. But then, Yvette's charm helped to inconspicuously raise the prices in the café as it had become even more difficult to get his hands on supplies—alcohol was especially difficult with the embargo and the controls everywhere. The fascists sometimes even just confiscated alcohol deliveries to get a free drink or two. Still musing about the complications of war times, he saw Yvette pointing her head to the café entrance with thinly pressed lips.

Lieutenant Gruber had arrived. And he looked official this time.

With a sigh, Draco moved downstairs to meet the lieutenant and his people while also trying to keep the peace in his café. He saw several guests making a move to the bathrooms, where an exit was hidden that only he and Yvette knew about. "What a pleasure to meet you tonight, Lieutenant. I still have a bottle of your favourite gin at the bar–"

"I'm not here for a drink, Mr Malfoy." Gruber held up a document that was plastered with several official looking stamps. "This is a search warrant for your café and all adjacent offices and quarters."

This wasn't the first time his café had been searched, as Lieutenant Gruber issued a search warrant each time the resistance carried out a plan to attack their quarters or a convoy carrying either supplies or prisoners of war. Yet, Gruber insisted to search his café repeatedly, even though he had never come up with anything that would incriminate Draco in the slightest. "Well, then. You know where to find everything. However, leave my customers alone–"

"Oh, I know you're serving fugitives, Mr Malfoy. I know you help them flee the continent, and one day, I will find proof of it."

Draco's lips turned into a brief condescending smile, mostly to keep himself from sneering at the lieutenant's words. "This is a place of respite for all parties involved. I want to keep it that way. So, leave my customers alone."

Gruber discreetly waved at his subordinates to start searching the café, then returned his focus to Draco. "I changed my mind, I'd like a gin now while my soldiers search your place," he said, nodding at the last customers passing them to leave through the front entrance.

"Martin, pull out the good gin for the gentleman here." Draco made an inviting move towards the bar where the French man was putting two glasses and a bottle of gin on the counter, his eyebrow raised sceptically.

"As always, only the best in your café," Gruber said smugly, reaching for his glass. "Now, what do you know about the attack on the convoy that was supposed to pass through the village yesterday? It was supposed to deliver new soldiers..."

"Well, you know, I hear many rumours about a lot of things," Draco replied evasively. "I own a café, after all."

"Which means you either know nothing about it, or you won't tell me voluntarily." Gruber took a first sip of his gin. "Only by sheer luck nobody got killed, but we are missing most of the weapons and supplies."

With a short grin, Draco noticed the two soldiers coming out of his office upstairs empty-handed. He would be stupid to store incriminating documents in there. "Well, now that you told me about it–"

"Mr Malfoy, cut it. You have been seen conversing with the resistance group leader, one Ms Parkinson, in here–"

"Which is normal, as this is my café, and she was a customer. I do have the habit of entertaining exceptionally well-looking women myself, and you have to admit, Ms Parkinson is one of those women."

"Yes." Gruber nodded, his eyes momentarily wandering off, probably imagining Pansy in front of him.

"Yet, you accuse me of collaborating with the resistance based on the coincidence of her having a drink here. This place is open to everyone, Lieutenant, even to you." Draco emptied his glass of gin in one go. Of course, Pansy had been here in plain sight, and of course, he had played the charming host to her while they were discussing her plans for the next few days. Yet, as he just said, this place was open to everyone.

"Lieutenant?" the soldiers came back, shaking their heads in frustration. "We found nothing. Not a single document or note, nothing. Not even our experts."

Throwing a glance at the two soldiers, Draco recognised one of them as a wizard, or as the fascists called them, an expert. "As I said–"

"Don't be so sure about it, Mr Malfoy," Gruber said, a disappointed tone to his voice, and got ready to leave. "One day we'll find something, and it will be my personal pleasure to arrest you."

"Until then, it will be my pleasure to host you," Draco replied with a satisfactory smile. He was hugely relieved to see Gruber leave his café again, even though now he could close down for the night, as no customers would come back.

"Boss?" Martin asked.

"Clean the bar, then go home, all of you. I'll close everything down." Draco placed his empty glass on the counter and turned around to climb the stairs to his office. It surely was going to be a complete mess, as always; the soldiers loved pulling everything out and turning the furniture upside-down, and it was up to him to bring it back into order—though, as a wizard, it only took him seconds to do so.

"You're home early."

Draco sighed when he entered his place and heard Pansy's voice. "Thanks to you."

Pansy got up to greet him, her eyebrow raised in question. "Why? I was stuck here all day–"

"Gruber searched my café because he still thinks I'm helping your group. But as usual, they found nothing."

"He's a bloodhound, be careful with him." She pulled him down for a welcome kiss. "I'm glad they've found nothing."

He placed his hands on the side of her face and gently tilted it upwards so that she ended up facing him. "I'm glad you didn't kill anyone with your job. I don't think Gruber would have been as nice."

She looked at him with surprisingly longing eyes, her hands stroking over his sides in a soothing manner. "You should get more books," she finally said in a quiet voice.

"They confiscated everything by now, you know that. Polyjuice Potion is easier to come by than a book not adhering to their ideology." He knew that the momentary confinement to his place always brought her mood down—she was an active person, always doing things, someone who couldn't stand being stuck in a place. Yet it was necessary for her safety to keep low for a few days, as the fascists were out for her head now. "I'm tired."

She smiled softly at his kiss on her forehead and then pulled him in for a full embrace. "Thanks."

..

A few days later, Pansy showed up in the café after he had just closed down, using the secret entrance. "Our usual hideout is being watched," she said in a breathless whisper. Her sigh indicated that she was relieved to be inside. "We need to hold our meeting here–"

"Here?" Draco asked. "You know what you're risking with that, right? If anyone sees any of you here, I'm dead."

"Don't be so dramatic, we just have some intel we need to discuss. It's just me and a couple of others that I trust." She pulled her coat off her shoulders, revealing a dark ensemble she found comfortable.

"Pansy–"

"Please, I owe you a favour if you let them in," she pleaded with a suggestive smile.

Draco rolled his eyes, but then nodded. Favours were almost a second currency these days, you just helped each other out to the best of your abilities. Though, he was sure that she meant it in a more explicit way, which he didn't exactly mind either because she knew how to please.

To avoid detection from outside, Pansy and a couple of other members of her group cast a set of Concealment Spells before sitting down at the table in the farthest back.

Draco served them all a drink on the house before he retreated to the upper floor from where he could watch them and listen in on the meeting without having to take part. He never wanted to take part, but he wanted to keep an eye on the things happening in his café.

"According to the note from the Amiens headquarters, we're doing a good job of keeping the fascist forces distracted," Pansy started. "We all have noticed that they have started to pull their forces together at the coast."

"They think that the Allied forces might land there."

"But no one knows if the Allies really have such plans, and if they do, where they would land!" The only other woman in the group leaned back, her arms crossed. Draco thought he recognised the face from somewhere, but couldn't make out the features in the sombre light of the main room.

Pansy briefly glared at her, but then broke into a soft smile. "The allies have plans. We have the instructions to collect information about the fascists' positions at the coast and to keep up with our sabotage acts as well as spreading misinformation."

Draco saw the same soft smile spread on the woman's face; she was probably even blushing slightly. He took a sip from his drink, leaning against the railing. If only Gruber knew what the group had planned—not that he would ever tell anyone about them. He despised the fascists just as much as the members of the resistance group. He'd rather kill himself than denounce them.

"Second point tonight," Pansy continued, the corners of her lips turning into another smile before she caught herself. "I heard rumours that the fascists caught a resistance group near Paris. I'm not sure about the numbers, but I think they shot quite a few on sight and arrested the rest. From what I've heard, only a couple of people could escape."

"How do you know?" one of the men in their circle asked curiously.

"Let's just say that I received information about it," Pansy replied evasively. "No need to endanger ourselves as well as our source."

End Note: This was chapter 1 of 6 in total. They will be posted once a week until the story is complete. I do hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it... :)
Do leave a review to let me know if you liked it, You would totally make my day...