AN: Bad news everyone, this story isn't writing itself like my other one was. Don't worry; I'm going to try even harder to write it for you.


Chapter Two

Draco arrived in Paris by portkey and landed in the lobby of a classy wizarding hotel. Just before he left London, Blaise had owled him a set of instructions he would need to follow if this pursuit was going to be fortuitous. Once he gained his bearings he pulled the small sheet of paper out of his rucksack and read it carefully, then stalked over to the front desk.

The receptionist was a medium sized, middle aged woman with her dark brown hair pulled up in a professional bun. She was plump and dull looking and a little weary. The bags under her eyes made it seem as though she'd been dealing with imbeciles all day. "Welcome to the Hotel Cheval à Paris. How may I help you, sir?"

Her tone wasn't very welcoming but Draco excused her for it. He would never know how hard it was to tell people the same information all day and she seemed to be downright exhausted. The last thing she needed was another rude customer. "Yes, I need a room. Something high off the ground if you don't mind, last name Malfoy."

She checked her books, licking her index finger and using it to turn the old pages. Every now and then a wizard from old money would come through and request one of their most expensive suites. He hadn't said that's what he wanted exactly but she knew that's what he meant. "The penthouse in available and there are a few large suites on the ninth floor that would be to your liking. Which would you prefer?" she said in a lazy drawl.

"I'll take a suite for two weeks." He wasn't sure just how long he would be here but he knew it would be a month if not longer. If it came down to it he would rent a house close to the gallery for a shorter commute. "Put it on my tab, will you?"

"Of course, sir, and what an excellent choice. Will you need any help with your bags?" He shook his head so she handed him his key and a mint. "Your room number is nine hundred and nineteen. Thank you for choosing the Hotel Cheval à Paris. Please enjoy your stay, Mr. Malfoy."

Draco cringed and thanked her then took the elevator to his room. He didn't like the sound of his surname when people put it next to a "Mr." It reminded him of his cold and heartless father who never seemed to have time for him. It was annoying but he would have to get used to it since he'll be hearing it for the rest of his life.

The room was exquisite and charming. When he opened the door he loosened the straps on his bag and admired the front room. It was set up like a living room with two couches sitting diagonal adjacent from each other and facing a small fire place. It was nice but he had business to attend to so he resolved to get right down to it. He traveled through the archway into the bedroom and set his things on the bed. He pulled a black hygienic bag out of the rucksack then rushed into the bathroom. It was going to seriously injure his pride, doing what he was about to do, but it was a necessary precaution. His surname was known all over Wizarding Europe and his hair color was even more recognized. The first thing he'd been asked to do on that list Blaise gave him was to "change his godforsaken hair color." Draco chuckled, zipped open the black bag, and got to work with a few vanity potions.


Hermione Granger had been living with her godfather and his son, Stefan, ever since she was six years old. Sixteen years ago the lives of her mother and father were taken in a tragic accident, and she was sent to live in Paris under her godfather's care. What the accident was, Hermione did not know and at this point in her life she didn't want to find out. It was all ancient history as far as she was concerned. Although when she was younger she would have given anything to know what the circumstance was that claimed their lives, now she was grateful to have Stefan and Papa Louis in her life instead of having a more nuclear family.

She found out she was a witch shortly after her parents' deaths when she shattered several flower vases with her mind. They were gifted to her by friends and neighbors of the Grangers but that didn't matter. Their flowers weren't going to bring her parents back to life.

The first one hadn't been intentional at all. It was merely the result of her concentrated anger on an ugly vase that held even uglier flowers. While Papa Louis was cleaning it up for her she looked at the shattered remains of colored glass on the floor and realized she felt much better about no one telling her anything. She took a look at the next vase and blew that one to pieces as well. Papa Louis noticed her behavior and took her to the side, then informed her that she was indeed a witch, that he was a wizard, and that Stefan was one as well. It was such a shocking revelation that Hermione had quickly forgotten her sadness and anger, and instead became fascinated by witchcraft and wizardry.

Now Hermione was twenty two years old, Stefan was twenty four, and Papa Louis was dead at sixty two. She and Stefan had just come home from the cemetery where they and many other went to grieve and mourn the end of his life. It was the saddest Hermione had ever felt in her entire lifetime. He had been more than just a father figure to her. He was like her role model, her very own dad, despite their lack of blood relation, and now he was gone. The worst part was that they had no idea what killed him yet.

They were seated in the den of their house and looking around at all of Papa Louis's hanging portraits, trying to investigate the conditions of his death. To Hermione, it was quite obvious he had been murdered. Stefan however, disagreed immensely. The French Minister for Magic told them that much when he delivered the news at their doorstep only two days ago.

"Just give it up," Stefan insisted after handing her a glass of water and taking a sip of his own. "No one murdered him. It was just time for him to go, obviously."

Hermione took the water at scoffed at his ignorance. There was no way that it was his time to go at only sixty two years old. "Time for him to go? According to whom exactly? Papa did not drop dead of his own. I refuse to believe it."

Stefan rolled his eyes. "You are being ridiculous. If you doubt me then you doubt the ministry. That's treason, sister dear," he teased. "What makes you think there is a case to solve? He was old and so he died. I will miss him dearly but I am also very hungry. So if you would not mind preparing dinner?"

Hermione shot out of her seat and slammed her now empty water glass down on the coffee table. She put her hands on her hips and glared at this person who was supposed to be her brother. "I certainly do mind preparing dinner! This is very important to me and it should be important to you as well. If he wasn't murdered then there has to be a reason, a specific reason, why he isn't with us right now! He was not that old that he should just die of natural causes. There are plenty of people, muggles included, that are outliving him right this second!"

"Hermione, please calm down. I know that this is hard for you but I do not believe that his life was taken from us by another person. I think you are overreacting." Stefan put his hands on her shoulders and gazed deeply into her eyes in an effort to soothe her.

She lowered her voice and fell into his arms. "I think you are under reacting." This was completely unfair. Every person she knew to be a parent to her was taken away from her by death. She was starting to think she was a bad omen.

"Perhaps I am, Hermione, but people deal with grief in their own ways. You shrieking like a banshee is your way of dealing with it, and me being calm and thinking about my loss on my own is my way. I wish he didn't have to die. I will miss him everyday. But really Hermione…" his stomach rumbled loudly between them. "We were at the cemetery for hours and we had to skip breakfast this morning because of the incoming well-wishers. So if you would please feel like making something for dinner?" His stomach growled again and he could feel the ends of her mouth rise at its comical effect.

She stepped back and wiped the single tear falling down her cheek. "Okay, okay, I'll make dinner for you. But one day you're going to have to learn how to make your own food. I won't always be here to take care of you, you know."

Stefan grinned and ruffled the top of her head. He towered over her with so much ease that he really did feel like the older brother, especially when he got to calm her down like he just had. "If you say so, ma sœur."


AN:See profile for chapter schedule and news on upcoming stories.