Coeur
PART ONE
She sat alone; a cigarette perched between her index and middle fingers. She tapped it lazily on the side of the ashtray before taking a drag and letting the fumes enter her body. Her eyes were on a book in front of her (just like old times) and she was devouring the words at a rapid rate. Her right hand, however, was with pen on a piece of paper with about three or four lines written on it, and many scratches and scribbles, the page not looking at all how her usual self would want it: immaculate, neat and perfect. The pen was hovering a few millimeters above the tainted surface, poised, ready to explode into inky words.
She was oblivious to the horns beeping loudly, and the bustling streets of Paris. The cafe in which she sat she was also unaware of. She was so immersed in her reading and sparse writing that it took the waiter, a young, French gentleman, a few attempts to get her to pay attention to him.
"Mademoiselle, excuse me?" The waiter said with a rich French accent. She paid him no mind. He said, a bit louder, "Mademoiselle, more coffee?" She was still completely unaware of the man behind her. He then tapped her shoulder lightly, with a rather sharp, "Mademoiselle!
"Pardon?" She exclaimed. She looked up at him and smiled. "I'm terribly sorry, Jacques. I was just so enjoying this last poem." She pointed to something by e.e. cummings.
"Very nice, Mademoiselle." Jacques said disinterestedly. He never had had a taste for poetry. He asked again, "Another coffee?
She nodded, "Merci beaucoup." Her French accent was flawless. When the waiter had disappeared, she looked back down at the page and read the poem over again.
i carry your heart with me(i carry it in
my heart)i am never without it(anywhere
i go you go,my dear;and whatever is done
by only me is your doing,my darling)
i fear
not fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want
no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)
and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you
here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows
higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart
i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)
She read it twice more, and with a smile, out of her pen poured a few more sentences. Her eyes twinkled with achievement the way they used to when she had solved a problem.
x-x-x
He initially spotted her on his first day in Paris. He was just out of the war, a bit scuffed up as he had been neutral and both sides had been angry with him. He had a scar on his left cheek, marring his perfect and almost sickly pale skin. His face was slightly pointed, but more defined then it used to be. His jaw was firm and his cheekbones were strong. His eyes held secrets of a past too troubled to speak of.
The man was to be the Ambassador to the Ministry of Magic in France. Fresh faced, although scarred, at age twenty-one, he was eager to begin his exploration of a city he'd only seen from windows. He was walking down the busy street of Champs ElysŽes, when there she was. At first, he didn't recognize her. The girl intrigued him however, so he continued to watch her. She had on all black, although the weather was rather warm. She had a black beret, true to French spirit, which covered her face and some of her hair. She sat reading at that cafŽ for hours. The young to be Ambassador just liked to watch her.
It wasn't until she removed her beret that he knew who it was. She had the same mousy brown hair, bushy still. Her eyes were large and brown. Her figure was curvy, and almost plump. She was tall and her lips were very pink. She would have looked angelic if it weren't for her angry black clothing. That day, he finally had the courage to confront
her.
"My, my, if it isn't Hermione Granger." The man said, his tone cheerful. He watched her with dancing eyes as she realized who he was. Hermione looked him up and down, before her rosy lips broke into a condescending, albeit teasing smirk.
"My, my, if it isn't Draco Malfoy." She answered, somewhat mocking him. He moved to give her a hug, and she stepped back. Draco realized her obvious discomfort and put his hands in his pockets.
"How have you been?
It was a question that was easy enough to answer, she supposed. It wasn't as if he was going to bite (although it had been said he liked to do that behind closed doors). She looked back at her life after the war. It had gone by so fast, and with little interruption. She took his arm and led him back to the cafe. Jacques, seeing his most regular customer enter again, shooed away two people heading for Hermione's favorite table. Hermione smiled at Jacques and then motioned for Draco to follow her as she walked to the table.
"Well", she began when they were seated and Jacques had their orders, "After the war, I sort of lost touch with Harry. He was really emotionally damaged and what with Ron's death. . . I don't know, but I couldn't cope with him. He got married to Ginny shortly afterward and I did attend their wedding, but I suppose it never was the same. I haven't seen him in two years." She laughed lightly and looked at Draco, who was eyeing her with curious fascination.
"Continue", he said. Jacques came with the coffees. Hermione took hers a sipped, her eyes closed.
"I moved to Paris about a year ago. I'm attending Merblanche University now. I'm doing quite well, I suppose. I realize I have quite a love of poetry and literature. Not just textbooks." Draco smiled.
"And you?
Draco looked at her, "I don't know. I didn't have anywhere to go after the war, did I? I mean, both sides rejected me. I lay low for two years and then went to the Ministry to apply for a job that let me go anywhere other than London. I was going to America, but they switched me at the last minute.
"What is the job?
"Ambassador." Draco replied simply. Hermione looked impressed. She took another sip of her drink and shivered.
Draco looked at her again, seeing slight sadness in her eyes, "Do you miss Wea- Ron?
Hermione shrugged, "Of course, but I don't see Harry or communicate with him, so I suppose he's as good as dead and I'm not really bent up about it. I suppose it's just knowing that I could see him again if I wanted that keeps me from breaking down.
"Anyone special in your life?" Draco asked lightly, a sparkle in his gray eyes.
"No. I'm all alone. Aren't I pathetic?" Hermione said, somewhat cynically. "You?
"Mm, same. No one I used to know would talk to me. Haven't really gotten around to settling down yet.
"Merlin knows you've got time." Hermione interjected.
Draco chuckled, "Yes, I suppose I have." He drained his cup and was about to ask Jacques for another when Hermione stopped him.
"Don't bother. I have to leave now anyway, unless of course you want to sit here by yourself.
"No, no. Well, it was nice seeing you, Hermione." Draco stood and stuck out his hand.
"Yes, you too, Draco." She shook his hand.
As he was walking away, she ran to him and whispered, "You know, you get so alone sometimes, it begins to all make sense.
He looked at her quizzically. Draco nodded shortly, but didn't know how to answer that. She smiled wistfully, hopefully, and walked away.
x-x-x
Hermione walked hurriedly along a small street, looking furiously around for the small bookstore she'd seen the day before. It held the last remaining copy of L'Amour Entre Les Poetes (translating to Love Amongst Poets) in Paris. She looked at every shop sign hoping to see the one she was looking for. Her long, curly brown hair billowed behind her as she ran; hand on head to keep her black beret on. She had to get there as fast as possible. This shop closed in ten minutes.
At last, she saw it, stuffed in between a typical Parisian cafe and a little toy store. She went in, smoothing out her blouse and patting her hair. She walked purposefully to the counter and inquired as to where the book was located in the store. The small, blonde witch at the counter pointed to a shelf at the back of the store with a smile.
"J'aime la poesie aussi. C'est trop romantique, non?" The blonde said with a dreamy smile. Translated, the phrase means, "I love poetry too. It's so romantic, no?
"Ah oui." Hermione answered, halfway down the aisle already. She was not one for small talk. When she got to the back of the shop, she noticed a man standing with his back facing her. She sighed sadly, and she noted his flaming red hair. He was wearing a dragon hide jacket and matching boots, with loose, faded jeans. She continued watching him for a time, before shaking her head and turning to look through the poetry shelf.
While perusing the self loaded with interesting books on love poems, she heard a heavy book drop and after, a voice muttering, "Crap." That made her turn. He was English. After bending to retrieve the book, he turned to look at the cover and looked up as Hermione gasped.
"Charlie?" She inquired. She looked at his face and saw that he was unmistakably Charlie Weasley. "Oh my! It's so wonderful to see you. God." She walked over and put an arm on his shoulder.
He smiled the Weasley smile, toothy and eye twinkling, "Hermione! How nice to see you! God, it's been so long." He gave her a hug. ÔWhat are you doing in Paris?
She smiled. "I'm actually at Merblanche.
"Oh are you now? That's interesting. . . Wow, I haven't seen you since. . ." He trailed off, frowning.
"Ron's funeral. You couldn't make it to Ginny's wedding. You were hospitalized for dragon burns." She said, remembering every detail perfectly. She nervously tucked a strand of hair behind her ear as he nodded. She quickly changed the subject. "What are you doing in Paris?
"Just on a vacation, actually." He said distractedly. Hermione nodded, seeing that he was now in no mood to talk. "Listen, I've got to run. It was really nice seeing you." He looked down at the book in his hands. "You might enjoy this." He pressed the book to her chest, and with a swift kiss to her cheek, he left her standing there.
Hermione looked at the book, and then without another word, turned back to the poetry shelf. She finally found the book, much to her satisfaction. She paid for the two tomes, and walked out of the store, now in a considerably worse mood than she had been before her encounter with Charlie Weasley.
x-x-x
Draco walked leisurely down the road, taking his time after realizing he was twenty minutes early for the poetry reading he'd planned to go to that night. He'd found a club that many English-speaking people went to, and after enquiring inside; this was the first event available. He checked his ticket, which was more a slip of paper with ÔPoesie' written on it.
He put the piece of paper back in his pocket and looked at the stores surrounding him, seeing a small, closed book shop, stalked with books in every nook and cranny in the tiny window. He chuckled, remembering Diagon Alley's Flourish and Blotts with fondness. He saw an empty cafŽ beside it, which looked on the whole very unappealing and a tiny toy store on the other side. He walked towards it, glancing into the dusty window.
Hundreds of toys and knick-knacks hung from the walls. He saw a tiny spiral staircase leading to a loft, which held two glass cases. After peering into it for a good five minutes, now missing London very much, he walked back down the road to the tiny black theater in which the poetry reading was to be held.
Draco walked up to the man at the door and handed him the parchment. The man nodded and opened the door. Once inside, Draco found a table near to the stage (or floor space for lack of a better word) and sat down on the wooden chair. A pretty girl came up to him.
"Anglais, ou francais?" The girl asked, tray in one hand, and the other on her hip.
"Anglais." He replied.
She nodded, and in a heavy French accent, replied, "What would you like, monsieur?
"A gin and tonic please." She nodded and hurried off, stopping at a few other tables on the way. He sat back in his chair and looked around. A lot of people were there, many of them not the type he'd pen as poetry fans. He saw a man with red hair at the very back, looking very familiar, and a woman who so closely resembled Pansy Parkinson, he nearly got up to have a closer look. When finally deciding to get up to see if it really was her, he was surprised to see that the person he thought was the former Slytherin Princess was in fact a pug faced man in drag. He chuckled and went back to his seat. Just as he returned, he found the lights had dimmed and his gin and tonic waited for him patiently, with an open bar tab beside it.
His waitress walked up to the front of the room, and took off her apron. She smiled and said with great enthusiasm, "Welcome ladies and gentleman. Tonight we will be showcasing some of Paris's most acclaimed English Poets." The audience chuckled a bit at the irony. "Our first poet tonight is a performance artist by the name of Colin Creevy! Give him a hand, ladies and gents!" The audience clapped and Draco remembered suddenly a small boy with dirty blond hair and a thin face, who perpetually took pictures of everything Potter. He smiled.
Colin came on stage with black on, so all you could really see was his head. He began to hop wildly, looking like a floating head. Every once and a while, you would hear words like, "Death" or "Blood" or "Battle". Finally, he removed his gloves, and much to Draco's surprise, he pulled out a long stick and a pair of round glasses and began to thrust violently around with the stick, poking the air with such a fury, Draco began to think someone was really there. Then, Colin cackled, and yelled, "Green death!" The audience was silent and still, and Colin swiftly removed the glasses and then dramatically fainted.
All around people began to clap. Draco didn't know quite what to make of the performance, but he knew its foundation. He had just witnessed a reenactment of the Great War. With an odd appreciation, he clapped too, smirking slightly at Colin's clear adoration of Potter. Draco remembered the Final Battle well. It had certainly not gone quite like that, however, Draco admired the boy's optimism.
The next two performer's poems were not very interesting, nor as widely praised as Colin's. Draco had had to have another gin and tonic for each of the tediously long epic poems about nature, or something or other. The last poet of the night was announced by the same waitress, who was considerably more wacky the more drinks (and there had been many) she had. She said, in a loud but slurred voice, "Here is Hermione Granger!
Draco sat up straighter suddenly. He put down the drink he was trying to drain and waiting patiently for the girl to come out. When she did, he gasped slightly. She was wearing a small, lacy negligee with fishnets and her signature beret. He'd never seen anyone wear such a thing in a public performance.
She smiled at her audience. All the males were captivated by her unique beauty and the females patiently waiting for her poem to begin.
"I touch you delicately, painstakingly so (as you
ache and wait for me to touch you) and my heart is beating
(as is yours, my darling, with thunder pangs)
I seem to go too slowly for you, my dear (which makes you nervous,
for you fear that I shall leave after we're done)
With my hand on your chest (and your tongue on mine) I move with
rapidity, shocking, passionate (only to match yours, my baby)
Shivers cries feverish yells and never a dull moment (you're
happy we're not finished quite yet) and as I rest my head
upon your shoulder (sighing is only what you may do, my love)
Only what I may do.
She finished in a seductive whisper and the audience smiled with delight as she got a standing ovation. Draco wolf-whistled and watched at she looked in his direction, smirking softly at him and blowing a kiss. Bowing, Hermione walked off stage, shaking her hips more than she would have done had Draco not been there.
x-x-x
"I had no idea you were such a fabulous poet!" Draco gushed uncharacteristically. He looked at her with his gray, shining eyes and smiled. "I mean. . . It went beyond the words. It was the way you delivered it, the way you captivated your audience, and without being too racy, actually had an almost sexual experience on stage. It was unreal!
Hermione looked at him through a layer of thick brown curls and shook her head softly. It was so obvious he was smitten with her. He was smiling, and going on and on about her work. Not that she minded the praise, but as she sipped her now cold coffee, she saw Draco being something she'd always saw him being: fake.
She never had known the real Malfoy. He was cold, callous, ruthless, and a number of other unpleasant adjectives. But she'd always sensed something more behind his eyes, eyes that so shockingly, so closely, matched those of his father. She had hoped the change of sides in the War had sparked a true difference in him, but as she looked at him now, she couldn't help but wonder. Who is Draco Malfoy?
She nodded her head silently as he continued the feedback, comparing her to the previous poets and dishing out compliments whenever he could. "Draco!" She nearly yelled.
"What Hermione?" He smiled slightly, looking right at her, making Hermione shiver faintly.
"Stop it. Stop going on about it. You clearly know nothing about poetry, and while I do appreciate your comments, I can't help but think you're being irrepressibly fake." She looked at him with an unreadable look before stalking off.
Draco stood for a moment, not quite sure what to make of what she'd said. He then ran after her, grabbing her shoulder and spinning her round to face him. He looked into her eyes and this strange feeling overtook him. He leant down and softly touched him lips to hers, barely touching. Hermione's lids flew closed. The kiss had felt like a whisper, a hum. Something so insignificant, yet entirely important. A kiss so contradictory, her mind couldn't get around it. She silently pondered it, her eyes shut tight, licking her lips ever so slightly.
She then opened them and looked at him piercingly. The former Gryffindor opened her mouth, and for once couldn't think of a single word to say.
Draco did the closest thing possible to beaming for a cold Malfoy. His large, pianist hand found her small, dainty one and he held it with a firm grip. Hermione sighed and allowed her hand to be imprisoned in his. They walked for ten minutes in much needed silence before Hermione looked at him directly in the eye and inquired, "Are you happy?
Draco had noticed the eye contact with them had been ferocious. They'd averted their eyes when the other caught them watching, they drowned in confusion as they stared into each other's very differently colored orbs, and here Hermione was asking him an impossibly forward and frank question.
"Am I happy. . ." Draco repeated. He stared philosophically at nothing in particular and then said, "I can be. Not all the time. But I suppose that's how life is, isn't it? I mean, basically, if you survive it's alright then, isn't it?
Hermione looked at her feet and then said softly, but with conviction, "You must demand to live in a better world. Don't be content to merely survive.
And with those few powerful words, she spun of her heel, leaving Draco with his hands in his pocket. That's when the rain started to fall.
x-x-x
A/N References:
1. Untitled poem by e e cummings.
i carry your heart with me(i carry it in
my heart)i am never without it(anywhere
i go you go,my dear;and whatever is done
by only me is your doing,my darling)
i fear
not fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want
no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)
and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you
here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows
higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart
i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)
2. "You must demand to live in a better world. Don't be content to merely survive. This is from a foreign movie called Facing Windows. I found it particularly powerful and I just had to have Hermione say it.
As for information on this story; it should be about 3 or 4 longish chapters (i.e. about this length). It will probably all take place in Paris, with a few cameos by our favorite characters from Harry Potter. Hope you enjoy!