Disclaimer: All things Harry Potter related belongs to J.K. Rowling

Author's Notes: I know I had previously announced that this story would be called "Last Dance in Paris" but I did change the title (you'll know why later). I'm pretty sure that I said that Hermione and Draco were in their sixth year in the last story if I mentioned their age at all; for the sake of this story, that's what their age will be (i.e. they would be going to Hogwarts for their seventh year after the summer) And, about the club's name that's coming up, I couldn't think of anything else to call it and I've always thought that name was cute…I hope you guys enjoy this one as much as Vincit Omnia Amor!

~*Writing on the Shower Wall*~

Hermione turned fitfully in her bed as she dreamed. In her mind, she was standing before her screaming mother.

"You're a disgrace, a whore!" Hermione flinched at the word. She had never heard her mother even say the Lord's name in vain nevertheless call her own daughter that.

"But I love him Mom," Hermione cried back, but she new it was no use. Her mother raised her hand and Hermione knew instinctively to shy away but she found herself rooted to the ground.

"No MOM!" Then Hermione's mother morphed into the leering form of Lucius.

"Dance with me," he hissed as he took Hermione's trembling hands in his own cold, marble-like hands. Hermione felt the ground loosen its grip on her feet as she was swept along with Draco's father. She felt rather than saw Lucius reach down into his belt and withdraw a glimmering dagger, silver hilt with a black stone at the end. The blade was mother-of-pearl lined with steel. He pressed it against Hermione's sweaty back.

"What have you done to the Malfoy name?" he whispered, demandingly. He didn't wait for her to answer but plunged the dagger deep into her back…

Hermione woke up, screaming, her hands in her face like the girl in the Tarot deck. She felt her body burning up and she leapt out of the bed and out onto the Juliet balcony. Draco was there in a minute, his arms wrapped soothingly around her.

"Hermione?" he inquired, softly. His breath tickled her ear. "What were you dreaming about?" Hermione sighed and stared at the dark sky, trying to distinguish constellations from other teasing, sparkling stars.

"Nothing," she finally said. She felt Draco frown into her curly hair, damp slightly with sweat.

"No," he said slowly. He breathed cool onto her neck.

"It was…a nightmare," said Hermione. "But just that, nothing more. A dream." She sank down onto the marble floor, shuddering at the touch of it that was not unlike Lucius' hands in her dream. Draco sighed in defeat as he sat on the ground next to her and pulled her into his arms. Hermione finally relaxed and leaned her head against his chest.

"What's to become of us, Draco?" asked Hermione. It was something they both wondered but never wanted to voice.

"Don't worry, we'll go back to Hogwarts. I'm protected there," said Draco.

"But after that," said Hermione. This was a question that she had asked herself long before the dilemma that she and Draco were in now. Hermione constantly wondered whether she would return to the muggle world that she had grown up in or stay in the wizard world that she had grown to love. Draco shrugged slightly.

"We don't have to worry about that yet," he said, in a closed sort of voice. Hermione scowled. How could Draco be so laid back about everything? Then again, if he wasn't and they were both obsessive compulsive about…well…everything then the world would probably stop in its orbit.

"You know what's our problem, Hermione?" asked Draco.

"Yeah," she said. "A lot of things." He chuckled.

"That's not what I meant. I meant that we don't do anything." Hermione looked reproachfully at Draco, not quite grasping what he meant but also not wanting to acknowledge what she thought he meant.

"We're not having any fun," he said.

"Draco Malfoy," started Hermione.

"We should go out," he said, cutting her off. Hermione's stern expression was replaced with one of growing interest.

"You mean like…" They both looked over the railing on the balcony down the street. At the very end of the street was, quite conveniently, snuggled a small, intimate bar. Music was heard faintly, pumping in the inside and lights buzzed around the entrance. White Christmas lights were hanging around the black windows, reflecting softly. In buzzing letters, it read: "The Moulin Rouge." Hermione grinned, her nightmare being pushed to the back of her head.

"Sounds…good," she said. It didn't sound good. It sounded better. Much, much better.

~*~

Hermione was in the shower, contemplating about how well things worked out, almost too well. With Draco's money, they were able to buy a sweet, little apartment on a quiet street. With Hermione's beautiful French, she bought vegetables and grains from the old ladies on the beautiful cobbled streets. She had been nicknamed "le petit fee*," the tiny fairy. They adored her and worshipped Draco. They had become instant favorites in the small, quiet town nestled away in a part of Paris.

The old ladies even amused themselves by telling each other stories of how the beautiful couple came to be. They settled upon the story that Draco, ablaze in glory and godlikeness, had saved fragile Hermione from her cruel father. He had whisked her away and they fled to Paris, the city of love, and here they stayed, cloaked in mystery and romance.

Hermione slipped her soapy fingers over her body slowly, her mind also thinking slowly as well. Finally she got out of the shower and rubbed a circle in the steamed mirror. When her towel-clad reflection stared back at her, she saw another in the mirror.

"Shit, Draco! You almost gave me a heart attack," said Hermione, heart racing. He grinned.

"How long do you think you're gonna take?" he asked.

"How long does perfection take Draco?" asked Hermione, grinning. She ushered him out of the room. Draco amused himself with a bottle of beer and that muggle invention, what do they call it? Oh yeah, a television. Hermione, dried her hair and rubbed some of her hair smoothing solution to make her curls shine and hang in smooth ringlets. She changed into a silk black camisole and a suede black skirt, both articles of clothing borrowed from the girl who lived downstairs. She, like everyone else in the town, was enchanted by Hermione and the rumors.

Hermione silently thanked Amelie' as she felt the silky smoothness of the camisole fall onto her skin. She played with the flirty lace trim for a bit then pulled on her four-inch heel ankle boots. Hermione looked at herself in the mirror. Before she left the room, she added a diamond studs to her ears and a matching bracelet. She glided on dark red lipstick and smacked her lips. She grinned. It was about time she and Draco had some fun.

~*~

Draco almost fell over when he saw Hermione walk through the threshold and into view. She was part Roman goddess, sent directly from Mount Olympus, and part sex kitten bombshell. He stood up, stunned, not knowing that he looked pretty stunning too. His pale golden hair gleamed and his eyes weren't the cold ice blue of his father but warm and inviting. He unwittingly dressed to match Hermione in a black silk shirt and black linen pants. On his feet were black combat boots. Badass meets money.

"You're really there right? I'm not imagining you?" asked Draco. Hermione laughed slightly and put her arms around his neck. Draco loved the feel of her warm arms looped around him. She kissed him softly on his nose.

"Does that prove it?" she asked softly. Draco grinned and kissed her. It was so light that Hermione had trouble believing that it really happened.

"Ready?" he asked.

"Always been."

~*~

For it being such a small town, there were quite many people packed in the Moulin Rouge. Hermione's stomach churned with excitement as she and Draco were let in effortlessly into the small, intimate room. Back in the muggle world she always had to get fake i.d.'s to get into a club even half as good as this one.

The Moulin Rouge was plush and rich. One side of the room, the ground was made of a mattress and velvet and satin pillows were strewn about where people would lounge. On the other side was a bar with hot bartenders with those sexy French accents. In the center was a dance floor where couples and singles alike were sidling up to one another, moving to the beat that pumped so loud it felt as if the walls were shaking.

Draco and Hermione sat down at the bar and a bartender was there in an instant.

"What can I get for zi mademoiselle?" he asked, flirtatiously. If she had not been in the middle of France, Hermione would have sworn that this was a fake, silly accent. But, the truth was, she was in the middle of France and a hot bartender was hitting on her. While this amused her, it was obvious that it did not amuse Draco at all. He draped his arm around Hermione's shoulders and ordered drinks for the two of them. Hermione grinned.

"I didn't know you were so possessive," she said, still smiling. Draco grunted.

"Didn't know I'd ever have to be."

"Is that implying something?" asked Hermione, pretending to be offended. She smacked Draco playfully as the bartender slid their drinks towards them. As he did so, he tried to make a "meaningful" eye contact with Hermione but she deliberately looked away and kissed Draco.

"You are such a tease, you're breaking that guy's heart," said Draco, grinning as he fed Hermione a maraschino cherry. Hermione nibbled at the end of it.

"Maybe," she said thoughtfully. "Does that bother you? Should I be clambering over the counter to get to him?" Draco laughed. He started to slap some money down onto the counter but the bartender stopped him.

"It es on zi house," he explained. "It es not often we get such beeyooteeful girls in the lovely Moulin Rouge." After a second of thought, he added, "And such handsome men." Draco grinned.

"I like him," he said. Hermione snorted, sipping her gin and tonic carefully, making sure not to overdo herself.

"You only like people who compliment you," she said. Draco only looked away with a "caught" look on his face. Hermione jiggled her feet to the beat of the music. Finally, she couldn't stand it anymore.

"Let's dance," she said.

"I thought you'd never ask," said Draco. He offered his arm and Hermione accepted it as they walked onto the dance floor.

~*~

Hermione couldn't quite put her finger on it but dancing in the Moulin Rouge was different from dancing in other muggle clubs. She couldn't understand it because the Moulin Rouge was also muggle but there was a little extra something that seemed to make it sparkle.

Hermione felt the rhythm, the beat, deep inside herself, starting at her stomach and moving downwards to move her legs and upwards to explode little lights in her head. She created a spell, the kind that doesn't need incantations or wands. She made magic on that dance floor, her and Draco together. Draco was neither too shy or leering. He stared straight into her eyes the whole time they were dancing. Blue eyes met brown ones and they were both filled with a strange light as they danced together.

The music seemed to be moving towards a climax and pulled Hermione and Draco along with it. Hermione stomped her feet, moved her hips, and raised her lithe arms over her head and twirled in a way that made her glitter and made other people stare. Draco was like a god turned loose onto a world full of pleasure as he danced with abandon. He was wild and feral and at the same time gentle with Hermione.

As the music climaxed, they went wild and stars seemed to burst above their heads. There was a swirling in their minds, a roaring in their ears. It seemed to last forever, the relentless pounding on their bodies as they refused to yield.

Finally, the music slowed and started to ebb away like waves on a quiet shore. The spell was broken and the music released its two biggest worshippers.

"You never told me you could dance," said Draco, his hair sticking to his slightly damp face. The moisture on his face caught the light making him give off an ethereal glow. Hermione still marveled at his beauty, wondering how he had chosen her over any other girl in the whole world.

"I've danced before, at the winter balls at Hogwarts, remember?" Hermione was out of breath and the dance lights illuminated her hair creating a halo around her head. What a pair they made; they were god and goddess of beauty, love, and light, all sculpted marble with no coldness. They were better than marble. They were living, breathing flesh. People eyed them, enviously and wondrously. What made two angels from heaven land in their precious Moulin Rouge? Their need to party perhaps?

Then Draco realized something that made him slightly uncomfortable. The on the dance floor, at the lounge, the bartender, were all staring at Hermione with a kind of hunger. Then, he realized something even more unnerving; some of the men were staring at him as well as all the women in the club.

"Why don't we take a breather?" suggested Draco. He took Hermione's hand and led her out of the Moulin Rouge, leaving a breathless crowd behind them. They thought they had witnessed a miracle. And in a way, they did.

~*~

"That was something wild," said Hermione, fanning herself. Summers in Paris were warm but the breeze was cool. But not nearly cool enough for Hermione. Her body felt like it was burning up once more but it wasn't like when she had woken from her nightmare. It was different; this heat was comforting and it drove her.

"I love it, I love you," said Draco. He gathered her up in his arms and was about to lean down and kiss her when an owl swooped down. It wasn't a large barn owl from Hogwarts nor was it the tiny Pigwideon or the majestic snowy white Hedwig, the owls that Hermione was most familiar with.

This owl was as black as the night. It was the first black owl Hermione had ever seen.

"Aren't you a beauty," she said, as she coaxed it onto her arm. It didn't bury its beak into her curls like Hedwig did; instead, it regarded her was serene, cool eyes.

"It's got a letter," remarked Draco. Hermione stroked the bird's silky smooth feathers as Draco gently untied the letter from the owl's leg. He grinned upon reading it.

"I think we're going to have a visitor very soon," he said. Hermione looked at him curiously.

"Very soon indeed," said a new voice.

~*~

*I'm not sure if this is right, I'm using an online English-French dictionary (ducks in case tomatoes are being hurled her way) I am so sorry for any incorrect French terms or accents or ANYTHING. The only French names I know are the ones I've seen in the media (ducks once more) so they are cliched, I know. Forgive me, please, I'm just enchanted by the city that has the reputation of being the central for love.

For everyone out there who actually KNOWS French, feel free to correct me on anything. I'd be mortified to know that I have wrong terms on this story (which I probably do).

Thanks for reading, please R&R on your way out!