Disclaimer: If I was half as good a writer as JKR I might not be suffering through a grad degree.

This was becoming ridiculous. Ever since the incident last night involving a tear-filled hug and an imaginative solo episode, Draco Malfoy was suffering. Not from the heat, although the Parisian sun seemed to reflect Hermione Granger's sunny attitude. Unfortunately for him. He'd had to reapply a sun shielding charm three times to protect his fair skin. She didn't seem to have that problem.

Her pink tongue scooped around the strawberry ice again. He bit back a moan and quickened his pace to put her behind him. There was only so many provocative visuals he could handle before his small problem became a large one — again.

"Draco! Wait up, please. What would your mother say at your lack of manners? Leaving your companion to become lost among the tourists? Don't be rude." Hermione panted a bit as she practically skipped to keep in step with the long-legged blond. The July heat was turning her strawberry ice into a strawberry stream. She licked at the melted mess spilling over her fingers.

Draco groaned loud enough for Hermione to hear. She glanced over at him and raised a brow. "I'm sorry. Now I'm being rude. I seem to have forgotten a napkin." She switched the cone to her other hand and raised the sticky mess for his perusal. "Do you happen to have a spare handkerchief?"

He did. But it was a wonderful Egyptian linen with his initials embroidered on the hem. He really would not take pleasure in seeing it crumpled up and stained with strawberry ice. He sniffed a little in disdain. She hadn't even gotten the good stuff.

"Please, Draco. I know you've got a spare. You always carry an extra." She smiled widely and stuck her sticky hand close to his hair. "Give it to me or I'll cover you in strawberry goo!" She laughed and waved her hand closer to him.

He covered a real shiver of disgust with a theatric cringe, "How dare you threaten my perfect coif. After I moved us into the Prince de Galles I expect nothing but groveling from you for the next two days." He grinned a little wider than usual to make his tease obvious, before fishing out his spare and handing it over with a sigh.

"Thank you so much! After two hours of my brain working over time to understand Mrs. Martin's Polish-accented French, I needed a little ice to cool down!" Hermione and Draco were strolling along the Seine away from the Eiffel Tower. They had just had a charming lunch interview with an adorable old Polish woman who had been the baby sister of a member of the French resistance during World War II. The woman may have been in her upper 80's, but her memory was sharp as a tack and her stories gave Hermione an entire notebook of inspiration for her novel.

"To be honest, I thought I would be your translator. I didn't realize you spoke French so naturally." Draco had been shocked and pleased when Hermione had begun the interview in French. His first thought had been to the reality of her conversing with his father's parents, he'd never had a girlfriend they could naturally talk with before. Translation charms never quite had the same effect. That thought had been — of course — followed by an exasperated fuck all. Why in the name of Merlin's pants would he be considering introducing Hermione to his grandparents? They were sometimes-friends at best and business associates at worst.

"It was the same surprise for me. I knew the Malfoy's were of French descent, but I didn't realize how recently the move to Britain had been." Hermione tossed her melted cone into a nearby waste bin and scrubbed at her hands with Draco's handkerchief.

"My father was born here. I would have been as well, but my mother insisted on having her baby at the Black estate. Tradition, I suppose." Draco shrugged and shifted to walk below the striped awning of a tourist stall as they walked by.

"Oh. My. Merlin. This is what we need. Right here. This mug." Hermione had stopped a few steps behind him and was standing just inside the racks of aprons and hats clutching the ugliest coffee mug he'd ever had the misfortune to lay his eyes upon.

Surely this was a joke. "It's," he paused looking for a word that couldn't be taken badly by the excited girl; he couldn't tell if she was joking or not. "It's splendid. How much?" He dug into his pocket, bypassed his shrunken sack of galleons, and pulled out a black leather wallet. Unlike his pension for frugality with House funds, he was well-known for spending his own galleons quite 'willy-nilly' — or so his mother often commented.

Hermione was beaming inside. She picked up the mug on a lark; it really was the ugliest drinking apparatus she'd ever laid her eyes on. The fact that he was oblivious to her teasing manner made it all the more fun. Maybe she'd get them both one.

"It's 30 euros." She bit back a smirk.

"30?!" Draco physically felt ill at spending 30 euros for such a repulsive mug. It was large for a mug — big enough to wrap two hands around — the off-white color was stamped with 'PARIS' and miniature Eiffel Towers in a haphazard manner. The Towers looked a little wrong like they were missing a defining feature, but he couldn't put his finger on the exact mistake. He handed his whole wallet over to Hermione and kept his face impassive. "Go. I'll wait out here while you purchase it."

She came out a moment later swinging a cheerful yellow bag from one hand and tossing him the wallet with her other. Good thing he had mad seeking skills because her aim was about three feet to the left of his knees.

"I think we've had a nice long break. Are you ready to head over to the War Archives? I think we'll find a plethora of information just begging to be unearthed!" She did a little skip and hooked her arm through his elbow. "Maybe a few hours digging there, and then we can move over to the Parisian Ministry's Muggle Relations Office. I have been in contact with Melodie Roberts and she has agreed to meet with us this week and let us look through some old records."

"Lead on. I'm as excited as you are about spending the rest of this marvelous afternoon surrounded by dusty books and inundated with war facts." He wasn't joking. If he didn't get out of the sun soon his nose would be pink. Experience told him that wasn't a great look.

Hermione shot him a glance to see if he was teasing her. He looked sincere enough, so she tugged his arm closer and picked up the pace. "It's only a few blocks more. Right between the Louvre and the Marais."

He tried to focus on the annoying sun instead of her slightly damp grip on his arm. It really was hot, he couldn't blame her for being a little sweaty. But the idea of a sweaty Hermione Granger was sending his brain into a hormone-driven fantasy involving creative positions and strawberry ice — the good kind this time. He let himself get lost in a particularly interesting idea before Hermione's sudden halt forcibly dragged him out of his daydream.

Oh. The light was red. How could she be so unaffected? He was a little annoyed that he was beginning to crave her so much. Why couldn't she feel the same? Or maybe she did? Maybe he just needed to buck up. Could he steal some of her Gryffindor courage in order to make a move?

He snorted. That was a ridiculous thought.

"We're here Draco. And just in time too. Your nose is an awful shade of pink." Hermione reached up and put a finger to his nose gently before laughing.

"Oh for fuck's sake."

A/N: Here's the next chapter full of fluff. I promise there IS smutty goodness in this story! It's coming right up in the next chapter. Please, as always, leave a review and let me know what you think! xoxo Court