Title: Summer Haze
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Harry Potter is not mine.
Author Notes/Beta Credits: Thank you, Irene, as always. So much love for you. And to Chelsea for the title because, yes, I do hate coming up with them. Post-HBP, Pre-DH. And holy crap, I can't believe I wrote this a year ago--it almost pains me to see what my writing style was like then. Ew.
Summary: Hermione's first trip to Paris isn't what she'd thought it be. [Old fic for last year's dmhgficexchange over at LiveJournal, "Hot Summer Nights." Nominated for best kiss, score.
&
Hermione had never been to Paris before now.
And quite honestly, she wasn't sure if she ever wanted to return.
The sweltering heat was quite a surprise to its inhabitants, who were used to much cooler temperatures, even during July. But Alas, Hermione decided that if she must deal with the constant humidity and blistering sun in order to find the next Horcrux, then so be it.
Coming out of an old, small shop, almost identical to the endless number of stores dotted along the old Parisian street, Hermione readjusted the strap of her bag on her shoulder, once again feeling her skin burn under the sun's rays and her eyes sting from the light. As she walked back to her dingy motel to check up on Harry's progress (or there lack of), snippets of French conversation punctuated her thoughts. She wasn't familiar with the language at all, other than when she heard Fleur and the rest of the Delacours at the Burrow, and it was rather distracting, instead of just blending into an indistinct noise in the background.
It was a constant reminder of Bill's wedding, which is why she was in muggle Paris in the first place. The wedding had gone on perfectly much to everyone's definite surprise, that is, until they had gotten news that an impromptu mass attack had been launched on Dublin, where Molly and Arthur's good friend was currently staying.
Their friend hadn't managed to escape in time and was severely injured and blinded, only to die alone in a crowded hospital, hours later. Hermione learned that his family had died during the attack as well.
To top off a wonderful wedding, Kingsley Shacklebolt arrived later, bearing the news that information on the next Horcrux had reached the Order. Freak accidents and strange objects, different than any of the other attacks as of late, were suddenly being found in the muggle part of France. He reminded them that it was possible that it might have nothing to do with Horcruxes at all, just some Death Eaters that wanted to frighten some unsuspecting muggles, but it was the best place for them to look. It didn't take long for Harry to decide to go.
As soon as the wedding was over, and despite the serious threat of attacks occurring everywhere and the tightly-knitted security that seemed to be getting worse by the second, the Weasleys (though Molly was indeed worried) felt the dire need to go pay their respects to the family friend, whatever the risk. Ron however, was adamant about staying with Harry and Hermione and going to Paris with them to help search.
"No, Ron," Harry said gently, placing a hand on his friend's shoulder. "Go to your friend's funeral. We'll be fine in Paris," Harry nodded reassuringly. "You'll be back in a few days anyway."
"But what if something happens?" Ron asked, frustrated. "What if you guys need me?"
"Ron," Hermione said softly, though resolutely. "We'll be fine. Like Harry said, you'll be back before the end of the week." Ron looked away and nodded slowly.
She was rather worried about the Weasleys now, as she walked down the busy street, absentmindedly playing with the strap of her bag (and trying not to pay attention how uncomfortable her wand was when it was jabbing her side) and trying to ignore the constant sound of French ringing in her ears. It was really much harder to get around anymore – apparating was even risky because of the many hexes and spells cast to cause spontaneous splinching. She bit her cheek, glancing around at the buildings surrounding her. Paris really is a beautiful place, Hermione thought. If I just take away the fact that the sun could probably burn me to death.
She wondered if the wizarding world side of Paris was too much different and that if she ever had the chance, would she go visit that as well? She'd like to think that she'd survive the war because, really, she can't possibly think about what would happen if she didn't… what would happen if something ever happened to Harry or Ron or to any of her friends. But the fact of the matter was that, sadly, at some point she would have to face the extreme possibility. No matter what she wanted.
The buildings she passed seemed to shrink in size as she went along, which was a sure sign to her that she was nearing the motel that she and Harry had checked into the previous night. It was dark and damp and surely infested with rodents of some kind, but Hermione would rather not think about that.
In fact, there were a lot of things that Hermione just wished she wouldn't think about. The inevitable, oncoming war. The constant endangerment of her friends. And the fact that not a single person seems to have heard any information about Malfoy and Snape's whereabouts, much to Harry's ultimate displeasure. It was as if the two had just vanished.
And Hermione kind of wished that they'd stay that way.
She wiped away the sweat from her brow, still marveling and cursing at how it could still be so hot so close to sunset. She wished that she hadn't finished her bottle of water an hour or so before because she certainly needed it now. Ignoring a Frenchwoman in one higher floors of the buildings to her right, who was obviously unhappy with her husband, evidenced by the fast, shrieking tone of her voice, Hermione decided that she'd better hurry and get back to the hotel to meet Harry and figure out where to look next.
Pushing a strand of hair from her face, Hermione turned a corner and made her way down the street. Random signs and notices in French made Hermione's eyes start to hurt and as pretty as she thought the words were, she had never missed the English language as much as she did then. Her eyes lingered on the sign of a particular café, though she had no idea what the word meant. She glanced down into the shop to see what it was like.
And there was Draco Malfoy, sitting alone at a table outside the café, sipping tea and reading the muggle paper like the idea of him doing so wasn't abnormal in the slightest bit at all.
Feeling her breath hitch in her throat, Hermione willed herself to keep walking, turning her head to her side as she came closer to the café, though still staring at the long lost Slytherin. What do I do?
Quite honestly, running over and strangling him with his own newspaper sounded awfully appealing, but she was positive that it might not be the best tactic to use at the moment. Forcing herself to walk past him, Hermione desperately tried to think of the best way to handle the situation.
Obviously, confusion flooded her thoughts, followed by intense curiosity. Taking deep, calming breaths, Hermione reached the end of the street and turned around. She wasn't entirely sure what she was going to do yet, but she had to be careful. It' might've been only Malfoy, but ,considering what he had just done over the course of the last year, he was dangerous.
Swallowing hard and suddenly taking comfort in the fact that her wand was still poking into her ribs from inside her bag, she continued up the street as casually as she could with her heart racing and her blood pounding painfully in her ears. She held onto the strap of her bag to keep them from shaking.
But when she returned to the café, he was gone.
She glanced around, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible. Could he have seen her and fled? Where had he gone? It was getting late and soon it would be dark, Hermione knew.
Hermione returned to the motel, glancing over her shoulder suspiciously almost every step of the way.
&
"We need to find him." Harry growled out, pacing back and forth in front of the shoddy bed, which was ripped and stained with something Hermione didn't even want to guess. "Damn," he ran a hand through his hair, showing the first real sign of frustration in a long time. Squeezing his eyes shut, Harry rubbed his temples, muttering something to himself. Hermione watched from the other side of the room.
"Of all places," Hermione said quietly, biting the inside of her cheek. It was intriguing really, if not disgustingly disturbing, to see someone like Draco in muggle Paris during the middle of a raging war after fleeing with Dumbledore's murderer. Well. Intriguing was one way of putting it.
"I can't believe he got away," Harry held his hands behind his neck and looking up at the ceiling. He let himself fall backwards onto the bed, still staring pointedly at the cracked paint above him as if it was its fault that Draco was in town. Hermione frowned and moved from her chair to a spot on the bed by his head. "but he can't have gone far," he said as Hermione started sinking into the comforter with a look of slight disgust written across her face.
"Not in such a little amount of time without being able to apparate," Hermione commented, releasing a small sigh.
"We need to go find him," Harry suddenly sat up and moved towards the door. "Right now."
"What?" Hermione shot up just as quickly and followed him. "We can't leave right now!"
"Why not?" Harry rounded on her, his eyes full of rage. "Draco's right out there on the streets! And Snape is bound to be with him!" Harry made a motion for the door, shouting at Hermione behind him. "Like I'm just going to sit here while he's out there doing – we don't even know what he's doing here, Hermione!"
"But we can't just go out onto the streets of a city we barely even know when it's pitch black out searching for someone who's obviously dangerous!" Hermione vaguely realized her throat was starting to hurt – was she shouting as well?
"I'm not going to just sit around and wait for him to hurt someone!" he turned back around to face her. "Or until he finds where we are. Did you think of that?" He stepped closer. "He could've followed you back to the motel."
"Of course I thought of that!" Hermione said shortly, ignoring the curls that fell into her face. "But he's not dumb enough to follow either of us directly," her voice grew quiet and Harry had to look away again. "If he's already in Paris for either of us then chances are he already knows where we are." Silence. Harry looked at her.
"Just keep your eyes open." He said plainly, his expression blank, yet tired. "No matter why he's here, our paths are bound to cross."
&
Our paths are bound to cross.
The words kept ringing in her ears.
But she didn't see him the next day.
&
But there he was on her third day in Paris, standing at the back of a bookshop and casually flipping through the pages of some old book. Hermione stopped in front of the glass, unable to stop her jaw from dropping slightly as she peered in. After a moment she realized just what she was doing and quickly went inside, thanking whatever lucky force the universe had conjured up that hadn't let him see her.
She quietly moved to the back of the store, keeping at least two shelves between them and watched him for a moment, trying to see what he was looking at. Biting her bottom lip, she decided to get a closer look. Careful not to get too close, Hermione hid behind the wood and grabbed a book off the shelf, pretending to be deeply enraptured in her reading material and glancing at him out of the corner of her eye.
Hermione tried to think of something to say. She'd been so focused on actually getting this far that she didn't actually know what she'd been planning on doing next. Great job, Hermione, she thought angrily. Way to use that brilliant brain of yours.
"Staring is generally considered rude, you know," he flipped a page in his book, not bothering to spare her a glance. Hermione almost jumped a little at the unexpected sound of his voice. She'd forgotten what an icy edge it held sometimes. She also found that whatever she might have been planning to say a few moments before evaporated on the stretch of air before her. "not that I'm not used to it, obviously, but still. You might give people ideas." He looked up.
"What are you doing here, Malfoy?" she demanded, finding that her vocal chords once again decided to cooperate.
"I should ask you the same thing." Draco placed his book back on the shelf and picked up another. He flipped through the old and yellowed pages nonchalantly, ignoring the few strands of hair that fell into his eyes.
"I should think that it'd be fairly obvious," she said testily, glaring at each page that was turned. Why am I even talking to him – I have every right to just have him arrested at this very moment! And yet, she continued. "Out in the middle of muggle Paris? Somehow these people don't exactly come across as your kind of crowd."
"Sometimes I like to remind myself of just what exactly I'm above, for your information," Draco commented, unfazed by Hermione's glares. He traded the book in his hand for another, indifferently glancing at the cover before opening it. "I guess it was just lucky that you found me, rather than I having to go find you myself." Flip. "That just saves me from one more thing on my to-do list."
"How considerate of me," Hermione retorted dryly. "Then again, you could've just gone to a swamp to feed your superiority complex – wait, never mind. There's not much in a place like that that's below you."
"Don't tell me Granger grew a sense of humor now," he said quirking an eyebrow. "And a positively dreadful one at that." He returned his book to the shelf and didn't bother picking up another one. Draco shook his head slightly. "What's the world coming to?"
"You never answered my question."
"I can't recall you asking anything," Draco placed his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket, undoubtedly something that cost more than all the shops on this street combined, and leaned his shoulder against the bookcase. "Refresh my memory."
"There isn't enough time for these childish games, Malfoy," Hermione said angrily, her voice quieting instinctively. "What are you doing here?"
"I'd forgotten how demanding you Gryffindors can be," Draco said wistfully, mocking a sigh and staring at the ceiling pensively. "'Give me glory', 'piss off', 'go fuck yourself, Malfoy', and 'stop being an evil git'." He looked back at Hermione. "Timeless classics, really. Your house's originality never ceased to amaze me."
"If you've done anything, Malfoy," Hermione said quietly, venom dripping from every syllable. Whatever empathy she felt towards him died long, long ago. "You're going straight to the Dementors." That's a promise.
A tense moment of silence. Instead of seeing any resemblance of a flicker of fear pass through his eyes, Hermione suddenly felt a little afraid herself. Nonetheless, she held his gaze.
"Predictable too," Draco said quietly, his voice taking on more of an edge. "Sometimes I think I almost miss it." He studied her for a moment, making Hermione feel distinctly uncomfortable. Finally, after an eternity, Draco stepped away from the bookshelf and began to walk away.
Hermione opened her mouth to call after him, to demand that he come back and give her answers, but nothing came out. Instead, for some reason that she wasn't entirely sure of, she watched him walk away.
She didn't tell Harry that she'd seen him that night.
&
Ron returned the next day, looking tired and weary yet glad to see his friends again and determined to make up for the few days that he'd missed of Horcrux searching. Apparently, traveling to Paris had been even more of a challenge than it had been to get to Dublin a few days ago. It seemed that security was getting tighter everywhere by the day.
Harry didn't wait long to inform Ron of Hermione's encounter with Draco at the café, though Hermione still had not said anything about the pawnshop. It seemed as if Harry had yet to come up with any more theories as to why he was in muggle Paris in the first place.
Ron was livid when he found out, of course, and was all set to damn the Horcruxes long enough to search all of Paris for the notorious ferret. But as she had been with Harry, Hermione employed the voice of reason and reminded him that he could be anywhere in all of Paris, maybe even somewhere outside the city. Or France.
"No," Ron said, convinced. "The security's too tight. It's too hard to move around anymore without being noticed." He turned to Harry, who was staring hard at the floor, thinking. "He's not going anywhere for awhile." Ron looked back to Hermione and said, simply, "Malfoy's trapped."
But as she searched the streets again that night, she didn't see him.
&
The day of her departure came and she had yet to find him. Sill unsure of Draco's motives for having been in Paris in the first place, Hermione entered the train station that would take her, Harry, and Ron to Scotland to investigate the next clue. She bit her cheek gently, wondering where he was at that very moment.
"I'll be right back, Hermione," Ron said looking at the clock. It was almost time to go. "Tell Harry that I had to go do something quick when he gets back, okay?" Hermione nodded, not really listening to him. Ron shrugged and rolled his eyes before taking off in the opposite direction.
She wondered where Snape had gone to and why he wasn't practically hovering over him – maybe something had happened to Snape... or maybe Draco left him? It all made her head hurt. She rubbed her forehead with the heel of her hand and closed her eyes, barely noticing that someone was taking their luggage and putting it in the cargo hold. With a tired sigh she slowly opened her eyes.
And there he was.
Unmoving, Hermione held his gaze. He sat on one of the benches placed throughout the station, not fifty meters away, hands in his leather jacket and looking as calm as ever.
Something told her to just get on the train. To turn away and walk to her compartment and just wait, wait because Harry and Ron would be back soon and the train would leave. Just get on the train, Hermione. She continued to stare. Do it.
And oddly enough, her feet carried her away from the train. He watched her come to him with an indescribable gaze; she never once broke eye contact. As she neared him, her mind kept repeating, go back, go back, just go back, but it never obeyed. It was too late anyway because she was already there.
Only two meters away, she stopped and waited for something. She wasn't entirely sure what that was, but anything would've been fine. Slowly, without a word, Draco stood from the bench and slipped behind a large brick pillar so he was out of sight of her train.
Just go back.
But she didn't.
Silently, Hermione followed him behind the set of bricks and out of her friends' view whenever they returned.
"It's not very smart for a young woman to wander off by herself when there's so much danger in the world today," Draco said icily, though it didn't meet his eyes. "Never know what could happen."
"Why, Malfoy," Hermione almost hissed, sardonically, "I never knew you were so concerned." His eyes narrowed, but he said nothing. They stood in silence for a moment. "Tell me why you're here," Hermione said simply.
"You were always quite the nosy one, weren't you?" Draco asked, his face a mocking expression of someone reminiscing about the past. "Then again Boy Wonder and his faithful, incompetent Sidekick might not be alive today if it wasn't for your prying from time to time, I suppose."
"What happened, Malfoy?" Hermione asked. There was no threat attached, no anger, no hatred. Just plain, utter curiosity.
"But one of these days it's going to be the death of you."
Her train's warning whistle blew.
"And you know, Granger," Draco whispered, stepping closer. Hermione could hear the whistle continue off in the distance, but it was being drowned out by the overwhelming sound of her rapid heartbeat. "It might be sooner than you think."
He reached for and before she could comprehend anything, he was on her, lips crashing into hers, and she could still hear the whistle screeching, but somehow it really didn't matter. She placed her own hands behind his head and gave into the kiss, relishing in the coolness of his hands and heat of his breath on her face.
But the whistle was coming to an end and she knew she had to go – she had to make it back to the train in time and she had to find Harry and Ron and – before she knew it she was running back to the train and Draco was somewhere behind her, but she didn't look back.
She reached the train as it started to move, with Harry sticking his head out the window and asking her where she'd been over the sound of the engine starting and the wheels moving down the track.
When she turned around finally to look back at the pillar, Draco wasn't in sight.
&
It was months until she had even really heard Draco's name again, long after the war when the mess that was the world was being cleaned up again. She thought about him often, wondering where he could've gone and what could've happened to him and whose side he had finished on, if there was even any side for him at all.
She sat at the table of the apartment that she was sharing with Harry and Ron for the time being, absentmindedly stirring her tea with a spoon and staring at a speck of dirt on the window. It just seemed like there wasn't much to do at the moment, considering she'd graduated spectacularly with Harry and Ron and had managed to find a well-paying job, highly-respected job at St. Mungo's as a Healer. Hermione never liked her days off because they gave her too much time to just sit and think.
Harry noticed this as he leaned against the doorframe, holding his own cup of coffee and idly scratching his head.
"How are you feeling?" he asked, taking the chair next to her and reaching a section of the massive pile of newspapers on the table. "Eh, I hate how Ron never felt the need to throw any of these away."
"He wanted to look through the obituaries," Hermione said quietly with a small frown. "Wanted to… you know. Make sure that he didn't miss anyone." Harry nodded solemnly. "And I'm bored, by the way." Hermione laughed a little because, really, when was she ever bored?
"I'm surprised you're not reading or something," Harry said, raising his eyebrows. "Seems like the typical escape from ennui for you." Hermione smiled sadly.
"My head almost hurts too much to read right now." She looked at him with an amused smile. "Sacrilege, I know."
"You got that right," Harry said, opening up his section. "That's one sentence I never imagined coming from your mouth." Hermione shrugged, with a tired look on her face.
"I guess there are a lot of things that we never imagined could happen." She said quietly. Harry looked at her with a serious look on his face. He opened his mouth to say something, whether words of comfort or to agree, but he quickly closed it. He glanced down at the newspaper in front of him and his mouth opened again. His eyes widened slightly. "What is it?" Hermione asked, slightly confused.
"Hermione," his said quietly, turning to her. He opened his mouth to say something again, but paused, licked his lips as if his mouth had gone dry and gently pushed the section of the paper to her. "Look at the page."
Curious, Hermione set aside her cup of tea and pulled the paper to her, looking for what Harry wanted her to see. Her eyes didn't catch it right away, but when they did, she couldn't hold in the small gasp that escaped from her lips. There in the obituary section of the Daily Prophet, among the list of at least a hundred more names, was a small section with the title: Draco Malfoy.
"What does it say?" Harry asked, grabbing a hold of his drink again. Hermione looked up at him, almost having forgotten just where she was, and mumbled something about letting her read.
"…it doesn't say much. It just says that he was found back at Malfoy Manor… poisoned." Hermione bit her cheek. "They think it might have been suicidal." She said quietly, letting her eyes close for a moment, still trying to grasp what she had just learned. She wasn't sure if she believed it all, let alone how she felt about it. Harry pulled the paper back over to himself and read it over again.
"I guess he might really be gone then," Harry said indifferently. Hermione almost shivered as she saw the nearly icy look in his eyes.
"I wonder why he did it. Or what side he was on when he… passed." Hermione whispered, taking another sip of tea. It felt cold in her throat.
"It doesn't matter," Harry said, impassively. "It wouldn't make any difference." Hermione nodded after a moment, but she thought, it would to me. With a weary sigh, Harry stood from the table and walked into the other room, placing his hand on Hermione's shoulder for a brief moment before he passed. "Try not to worry about the past too much, Hermione." He said quietly. "It's not going to do anyone any good." He smiled sadly at her. "Especially yourself."
"I know." Hermione whispered, offering him a small smile that she knew didn't reach her eyes. Harry nodded and walked on. Hermione bit her lip, looking at the paper for a moment before sliding it back over in front of her. She reread it over and over again, desperately trying to find any other information – anything else that would show her that it was a mistake – something that would tell her that Draco was still out there somewhere, alive. She found nothing.
Leaning back in her chair and running her hands through her hair, feeling extremely frustrated, she skimmed the rest of the paper, glancing up at the top.
Slowly moving back towards the paper, she gingerly picked it up, feeling her mouth run dry and her eyes widen. She didn't think she was breathing. There at the top on the left hand corner showed the date: June 22.
She sat back, taking a deep breath, and stared at the speck on the window.
Draco died two days before she arrived in Paris.