Y'all amaze me! You touch my heart with your sweet support, and I am forever grateful! For this chapter and the next, I'm posting before my beta has read through, and will update later. This is an experiment, and I'd love your input. Doing things this way means that I can update quicker, but there might be grammar/punctuation mistakes that I haven't caught. Please let me know what you think! As always, Happy Reading!
-Hannah
Hermione felt suspiciously calm, thankful for the warm sun and the waves that were crashing upon the rocky shore beneath them. Even though the war had ended years ago, she had never been able to shake the feeling that she was being hunted. Although the Death Eaters had been replaced by relatively harmless paparazzi jockeying to get a photograph of her; it was unnerving to be followed constantly. Her social life was immensely complicated, new friends often didn't like the attention, or they seemed to like it more than they did her. Dating was impossible, any time she was seen out with a member of the opposite sex the papers foretold the ringing of wedding bells in the near future.
By her count, she had been engaged 16 times, pregnant 10, and secretly married 6, if the newspapers were to be any indication. She knew that most of the people who actually knew her paid no attention to the scandalous headlines, but it was difficult to ignore them altogether. She had overheard plenty of debates concerning her character in line at the supermarket as women flipped through the pages of magazines that made unsavory speculations about her personal life.
If only they knew how wrong those ridiculous magazines were, they'd fucking collapse, she thought bitterly. Her "relationship" with Ron had ended as soon as Fred had been covered with dirt. There wasn't anything passionate to sustain any sort of romantic partnership, and the thought of being married with a herd of red-headed children filled her with dread. She had maintained a rather loose relationship with Viktor, spending nights together at their convenience, but eventually he found a kind German girl to settle down with. Everyone seemed too cookie-cutter and perfect. Everyone seemed to be back to normal, as if the War had never happened, or at least they pretended to feel that way.
Maybe Draco was right about us, maybe he's still broken too, she thought as she looked out over the sea.
"What are you doing, Granger?" he asked, coming to a stop next to where she had abruptly paused.
"Admiring the view, I suppose."
"It is something, isn't it? Seems remarkable that places like this still exist, that we haven't managed to entirely fuck them up."
"Do you think we've fucked ourselves up, Draco?"
"No. Of course not, Granger. The ones who fucked us up were the people like my father and my aunt."
"But are we really much better?" she asked, turning to face him, "We watched each other die and yet all we've done is build a few statues and light some candles. We haven't done a damn thing to actually move past any of it. Remembrance is all fine and good, but eventually people aren't going to remember what it was actually like, being there. Too many of us know what it's like to use the Unforgivables, but none of us will talk about it."
She didn't wait for him to respond, instead she continued down the rocky path in silence. She wasn't sure that he was still following her until he reached out and stopped her.
"I'm here, Granger. I know what it's like. I lived through hell just like you did. I haven't forgotten. If you want to talk, if you need to talk, I'll be here." He said, looking into her eyes with such great intensity Hermione felt herself growing hot.
"Cheers. It looks like we're getting close then" she replied, pointing at the cluster of wind worn stone buildings at the bottom of the hill.
"Right you are, Miss Granger. Welcome to St Paul de Vence proper. It's a charming little town of people who are always tripping over themselves to say 'bonjour'."
"Sounds sweet. I've always though Provence was rather special. It's a nice break from all the rain in London."
"Well then, I suppose we should get on. I'm terrified to imagine the terror you'd be if they run out of grapes."
"Fucking prat."
For some inexplicable reason, Draco was nervous as he led Hermione to the bustling market at the center of town. She was so goddamn intense, it scared the hell out of him. He wished that she would let her guard down and actually talk to him because otherwise, there was no hope of him ever figuring her out. As they walked through the narrow cobbled streets, he studied her, trying in vain to be inconspicuous.
"What in the hell are you staring at, Malfoy?"
"I'm not staring, Granger."
"Let me rephrase then; what in the hell are you looking at?"
"If it vexes you so, I'm looking at you, Hermione."
"And why in the fuck would you be doing that?"
"There's two reasons, really. The first, you fascinate me. You're so closed off to the world and then, out of nowhere, you drop some philosophical bomb on me. I'm sprinting to keep up with you and you haven't even broken a sweat. Second, you're beautiful. It would be a shame not to admire you."
"Is that what you tell every girl you bring home with you?" she deadpanned, not missing a beat.
"Why in the hell do you insist on being so infuriating, Granger?"
"That was a valid question, Malfoy. I honestly wonder if this is a habit of yours. I don't see how that's infuriating of me."
"Let me assure you, Hermione, this is not a regular occurence. You're actually the first woman I've ever brought here. It's not the question itself though, it's the way that you don't even acknowledge that I've complimented you, as if I've said something that is completely obvious."
"Well why shouldn't my beauty be completely obvious? Why should anyone be surprised that they're beautiful? It's just a part of being human, we're all innately beautiful. Let's not pretend though, Malfoy, that you would react any differently."
"Touché, Granger. Tou-fucking-ché."
They were quiet as they entered the town square, where vendors and farmers had set up dozens of tables and stalls to sell all sorts of local foods.
"Let's do a lap first, to decide what we should actually get." Hermione decided, starting her way down the first aisle.
Draco followed, watching Hermione as she studied each booth, smiling at each of the vendors as she passed. She moved like fine silk, effortless and fluid, and people seemed to unconsciously watch her as she made her way through the crowd. He suddenly felt protective of her, as if he wanted everyone to know that she was here with him.
"What do you think?" He asked, as he took her left hand in his right.
"About what? Your hand?" she asked, looking pointedly at their hands.
"Sure. Or the market, witch."
"I like it." she replied, not elaborating but not removing her hand from his either.
They strolled along, occasionally stopping to admire various bits of produce and fresh fish. Eventually, Hermione seemed to have abandoned her plan, and decided that the assorted fresh fruit offered at one of the stalls looked too good to pass up. She slowly made her way down the length of the table, carefully examining each piece before handing it to the merchant who gently placed it into a large paper bag. When she had finished, the man simply handed her the bag before nodding at Draco. With a gracious smile, Draco took the bag from Hermione and led her further through the market.
"What the hell, Malfoy? Why didn't you pay that man?"
"Relax, Granger. He'll send a bill to the house. We've been coming here for years, everyone knows me. We pay double the market prices, and we don't have to worry about carrying money with us."
"Is there literally anything in your life that isn't better because you're rich?"
"Well, people hate me even more now because I'm rich and the Ministry didn't seize the entirety of the Malfoy fortune, but I suppose that could be the introvert's dream." he joked.
"Fuck."
"What? It's true. It's always been that way though, probably since the beginning of the line."
"Now I feel like a bitch for asking, though. I sound like such a fucking brat."
"Hermione. I've been rich for my entire life. I've been a Malfoy for my entire life. If you think this is the first time anyone has ever criticized me for having things easy, you're terribly mistaken. The best part about being rich though, is realizing that it doesn't really matter what people think of you. Sure it fucking sucks that people think my family is a little scummy, rightfully so I might add, but that doesn't keep them from letting us do things. Money opens doors like nothing else, Granger."
"I need bread. And a drink. Let's hurry this along so that we can make both of those things happen."
"As you wish."
Hermione was surprised at how natural it felt to meander through the market. She had been surprised when he held her hand, but as the crowd grew thick she had decided that it was rather pragmatic, if not a little pleasant. By the time they had shopped to her satisfaction, she was hot and hungry, and her feet were pleasantly sore.
"What do you say to stopping for lunch, Granger? I think we've missed our opportunity for breakfast at this point."
"Lead the way, Malfoy."
Draco obliged, leading her to down a tangle of streets to a charming little café with a cluster of tables around the door.
He gently helped push in her chair as they sat at an empty table, clearly demonstrating his well-mannered upbringing. Hermione read the menu as Draco ordered a bottle of wine for them to share.
"A bit presumptuous, isn't it? It's barely noon and you're ordering alcohol."
"When in Rome, Granger. It's an aperitif, after all."
"Uh huh, Malfoy. What's good here?"
"It's all good, really. I am partial to the bouillabaisse, though."
"You know what, Malfoy. Surprise me. I'm not picky, and I'm sure you know better than I do."
"Well in that case, we'll have one of everything." He grinned, making Hermione's heart do a rather impertinent flip.
"You are ridiculous, Draco Malfoy." she replied, unable to hide the smile that had begun to spread across her face.
