CHAPTER FOUR - Tout s'y fait, vaste grand comme il est / Anything Goes There, Vast and Grand As It Is
Getting an idea of the size of Paris might have been helpful. Maybe it would also have been a fortuitous decision not to land smack in the centre of the city – Ron still didn't know which city it was, only that it definitely wasn't Paris – but in some secluded spot with, well, fewer policemen. He would probably have been able to determine where he was. And being arrested would have been less likely. Ron wasn't quite sure whether he'd actually been arrested – the six policemen, who'd shaken their heads at the single word he'd hitherto uttered, i.e. 'Paris?', had formed a circle around him and were listening with obvious interest and barely concealed glee to his attempts at mastering their language.
'Bong newt,' he said tentatively.
The policemen grinned and sketched mock-salutes.
Fortunately the phrasebook was still in his hand. 'Sher Swiss Ungleese,' Ron said. This was easier than he'd expected.
One of the policemen snorted. 'Ah, les Anglais… Ils ont vraiment le don des langues.'*
'Moi, je crois qu'il est Suisse,'** his colleague said.
Things were going swimmingly. Ron felt rather proud of himself. 'Moi' – he pointed at himself and then pantomimed "I'm looking for" in the internationally acknowledged manner, by bending forward and shading his eyes with his hand – 'shurn fill.'
'Il pense qu'il est une jeune fille?' ***
The policemen tittered.
'Moi' – Ron felt he was really getting into this – 'alley a Paris. Maintenance. Shurn fill grand problem.'
Eyebrows were raised. 'Vous voulez aller à Paris? A pied? Il a des problèmes, celui-la.'****
Although he was supposed to remain incognito, Ron felt obliged to point out that he possessed a means of transport. You never knew, these friendly guys might feel obliged to give him a lift otherwise. 'Moi, alley Paris' – where was the entry for 'fly' when you really needed it? Ah, there! – 'Volley!' He pointed at the dark night sky – Muggles did have airplanes after all, so this wouldn't make them suspicious.
'Voyons, assez,' the most senior-looking policeman said. 'On peut pas le laisser ici. Allez, jeune homme,' he adressed Ron, 'dans la voiture, et vite. Et demain vous nous raconterez ce que vous avez avalé et où vous l'avez acheté. Allons, allons, nous on n'a pas le temps pour vos bêtises!'*****
So he was going to get his lift after all. Ron shrugged and handed his broom to one of the policemen who strapped it to the roof rack.
When he saw his reflection in the police car's window, he began to understand why the policemen were treating him as a harmless idiot rather than a dangerous dweller of the underworld. The combined effect of salty, humid air and a headwind had turned him into something like a streamlined leprechaun.
*Ah, the English… They really do have a knack for foreign languages.'
**'I think he's Swiss'
*** 'He thinks he's a girl?'
****'You mean to go to Paris? On foot? That guy's really got a problem!'
*****'Right, that's enough. We can't leave him here. Off you go, young man, into the car, and make that quick. Tomorrow you're going to tell us what you've taken and where you bought it. Get cracking, we don't have time for your shenanigans!'
--..--.--
Severus awoke to gentle snoring. He was feeling strangely relaxed and sanguine, a rare occurrence indeed. Severus wasn't a morning person.
Sleep kept clinging to his brain, and in this half-wakeful state memories came back of soft moans and even softer skin, and of a hand doing highly pleasant things to his cock. Severus snuggled closer to the woman in his arms and sighed. 'That was good,' he muttered.
'Really?' came the breathless reply. 'I mean it was good for me too, but since I'm a bit of a novice I wasn't quite sure…'
During his years of spying, Severus had trained himself to notice even the slightest inconsistencies, the most minuscule signs of things not being as they should. As inconsistencies went, this was a rather big one – he was lying on grassy ground, and the female voice set off a mental alarm that roared STUDENT ALERT! STUDENT ALERT! He sat up so abruptly that his much-abused joints didn't even have time to creak. He shouldn't have looked down, though, because his fly was undone, and there were telltale stains on the fabric of his trousers. Had he really… Well, he obviously had and, what was worse, the girl didn't seem to mind at all.
Severus cleared his throat. 'How far exactly did we, erm, go?'
'The technical term' – Hermione felt embarrassment wash over her and closed her eyes – 'I suppose the technical term would be foreplay. Maybe advanced foreplay. But…' She reopened her eyes and looked at him. 'I enjoyed it. A lot.'
'That's… Well, I guess it's good news. I wish I knew what time it is.'
'Half past six,' she said promptly.
Severus frowned down at her. 'How would you know?'
Sitting up, Hermione pointed at the security camera in the far corner. 'There's a luminous display, very small, but I can just make it out.'
She had to have the eyesight of an eagle. Probably, although this was not the best of moments to remember it, her superior eyesight owed to the fact that she was twenty years younger than he. Twenty years, and he had… His fly, however, hadn't unbuttoned itself, and he was sure he hadn't had a hand in it. Bad pun, but that was the, erm, naked truth. He really ought to work on his metaphors. 'So we've got at least two hours until the museum opens,' he said as nonchalantly as possible.
The grin she gave him could only be called lascivious. 'Three and a half, to be exact. And what, I wonder, are we going to do with so much time on our hands?'
'Well,' Severus said stiffly, 'I thought we might have a bath, not together of course, erm, because that would be, erm…'
'Pleasant?'
'Yes, probably, but also highly unsuitable.'
Hermione shrugged. 'I don't think so – there's nobody here to see us, and it seems that we both enjoyed our, well, foreplay.'
'I meant morally unsuitable.'
This argument was met with a wide-eyed stare. 'Are you married?'
'No, of course I'm not married. I was alluding to the age difference, and to the fact that you used to be my student.'
'That doesn't sound very convincing.'
'Probably,' Severus muttered, 'because it wasn't meant to be.'
That was the end of that discussion, and a minute later Severus found himself naked in the surprisingly tepid water, watching Hermione undress.
Hermione, who was trying to do a seductive striptease, which wasn't easy since she was wearing a much-too-large jacket and a minimalist loincloth, frowned at him when he started laughing. 'What's so funny?'
'Look at you,' Severus gasped, 'just look at you! Manet, that moron, he didn't paint you any nipples!'
--..--..--
Unlike Ron, Lucius enjoyed croissants just as much as he enjoyed bacon and eggs. He enjoyed any kind of breakfast, so long as it came with good, strong coffee.
He'd woken up rather early and ordered breakfast, and was now enjoying his still-warm croissant slathered in butter from Normandy and a cup of hot, black coffee. He'd also ordered some newspapers and was satisfied to see that they reported no gruesome, inexplicable deaths. So Severus and the girl were almost certainly safe, and he merely had to locate them.
The problem, however, was that McNair and Beasley were probably thinking along the same lines. If they had followed the girl to the museum, which was likely given Baxter's presence there, and if they'd lost her trace there, they wouldn't have stood a chance to do much about it, not with so many people around, unless they wanted to attract attention, which was surely the last thing they wanted. If they had therefore failed to find her elsewhere, they were highly likely to turn up at the museum as soon as it opened. If you knew how to do it, you could detect the traces of spells up to forty-eight hours after they'd been performed, but the sooner you started the better your chances were actually to find out which spell had been used. After twenty-four hours, there usually were enough residues to confirm that magic had been used, but they were insufficient to allow a more exact determination. Therefore he had to act quickly and without being seen, and so did the other two.
Lucius had a suspicion, though, as to the kind of spell Severus might have employed, provided he'd done so at the museum. If he'd had to hide himself and the girl right then and there, chances were he'd transported them into one of the paintings. And since they had developed the spell themselves, the probability of McNair and Beasley recognizing it was practically zero.
When he'd finished his morning ablutions – he'd grown rather fond of his short hair by now, and it was so much easier to dry – Lucius had decided that taking the bull by the horns was probably best. A simple Disillusionment Charm would be enough for the few seconds he was going to spend in room 19, and if Severus and the girl weren't in one of those paintings, well, he'd have to think of a disguise that would enable him to perform a more thorough search. If, on the other hand, they were there, he'd simply join them.
He only hoped there'd be naked ladies.
--..--..--
Seamus Finnegan, who was a halfblood and knew the ways of the Muggle world, had often told horrendous stories about the essential uselessness and wickedness of policemen. British policemen, to be sure, but according to Seamus, they were the same everywhere. They beat the crap out of innocent people who just happened to stand near a group of raving hooligans, they constantly pestered drivers who'd exceeded the speed limit by a mere five miles an hour, and in the meantime houses were burgled, children abducted and shopping centres blown up, and the police didn't do a thing about it.
Either Seamus was wrong, or the French police were indeed very different from their English colleagues, Ron mused. The specimens he'd encountered the other night had taken him to the police station and locked him in a cell, but they'd given him a bottle of water when he'd asked for it and an extra blanket when he complained that he was cold. They'd made a few jokes at his expense, but that was hardly a violation of his rights.
In the morning they'd made him pee into a bucket and said something about a test; then a tired-looking guy sporting three days' worth of beard, who was obviously a doctor, had drawn some blood, and in the end they'd just let him go. They'd even looked a bit guilty, not to mention surprised. And they'd given back his broom, so everything was all right.
The clock on the church tower told him that it was half past seven. Ron decided that he'd walk towards the outskirts of the town – it really didn't seem that big, and he still couldn't understand how he'd mistaken it for Paris – eat his sandwiches and look for signposts showing the way to Paris. Once near the capital, he'd Apparate to the hotel. Maybe Hermione wasn't in any danger after all and had returned to the hotel. Poor Hermione, she was probably desperate by now, what with him gone without a trace…
There'd be tears and reconciliation sex, which, according to certain magazines, was the best kind of sex, and then he might even indulge her and accompany her to one of those dratted museums. Considering that there would've been sex before, the naked ladies weren't a priority anymore.
--..--..--
'Severus,' Hermione whispered. She was becoming quite good at talking out of the corner of her mouth.
'Yes?'
'I'd like to ask you a question.'
The sex had been awkward – they'd been in the river, he'd come too early and Hermione had nearly drowned – but not bad. Given her enthusiasm, he had high hopes for any repetitions that might lie ahead of them. So he was in a rather mellow mood despite the lack of coffee and food. 'I suppose you can.'
'That's good. Because I'm a bit at a loss here. You're not in your own body, but you're definitely in there. But since we entered this painting, I haven't heard one harsh word, and that's very unlike you.'
For a few minutes, only the river's soft gurgling broke the silence.
Hermione cleared her throat. 'Are you, uh, going to say something?'
'I'm still waiting for the question you meant to ask.'
'Well, that was it, more or less.'
'You stated a fact.'
'I did, but I expected you to comment on it.'
'Ah. So no questions forthcoming at any point in time?'
'I think,' Hermione said while trying not to shake with suppressed laughter, 'that you just implicitly answered my unspoken question. The sarcasm's still there, but it seems to have lost its nasty edge. Correct?' Severus merely grunted. 'All right, and now I'm going to ask you a real question: your body, I mean your real body, how's it different from this one?'
Maintaining the bland expression of the young man in the picture was rather difficult, Severus felt, especially when faced with questions of an intimate nature. Fortunately there still weren't any visitors yet. 'Why do you want to know?'
Hermione moved her right thumb a fraction upwards. Nobody was going to notice, she was sure, and now that her mouth was partly covered, speaking was so much easier. 'Well, I thought if we're going to continue, uh, this, it would be nice to know.'
Wishing that he'd occupied the body of the man on the other side, because the guy was visible to the spectator only in half-profile (and because he'd be able to sneak a peek at Hermione's deliciously naked nether regions), Severus replied, 'You mean, continue this once we're out?'
'Of course. Or do you have any objections?'
'Not as such, no.'
'Well, then tell me.'
Severus sighed. 'All right. For one, I don't have a beard, obviously. I'm not as hairy as this guy-'
'Oh, good. And I imagine you're a bit less flabby round the waist, right?'
'Correct. There isn't much fat on me, and the last of it was eaten off by the metabolism-enhancing potions they gave me at St. Mungo's. I suppose you could call me bony.'
'Boney? Like Napoleon?' the man opposite asked conversationally. 'Hello, Severus. Miss Granger, pleased to meet you. Good Lord, you aren't wearing any knickers, this must be my lucky day.'
--..--..--
At least the hotel staff spoke English, which was a relief. They hadn't seen Hermione, though, and she wasn't in their room either. The confidence Ron had felt during his broom-ride to Paris was quickly evaporating, and when he saw that Hermione's clothes and toiletries hadn't been touched since they'd left the morning before, he began to feel genuinely afraid.
After a brief shower, he sat down on the bed and tried to remember what exactly Malfoy had told his mother the day before. They were on a mission, he'd said – and who on earth were the others? – and watching over Hermione had been part of it. Dragging Ron back to The Burrow had been a mere secondary issue. And hadn't he mentioned that Shacklebolt had sent them, whoever 'they' were?
His mother hadn't questioned the Minister's involvement, which seemed a bit strange in hindsight. Mentioning Shacklebolt of all people would've been sheer madness, unless of course… Ron buried his face in his hands. Unless Malfoy had told the truth. And if Malfoy had told the truth, Ron was in trouble up to his eyeballs. Ron shuddered. If Malfoy and his mysterious companions had indeed been sent to Paris by Kingsley Shacklebolt, then Hermione had probably been in real danger. And if the enemy had seen Ron together with Hermione, then Ron was probably in real danger, too. Maybe the rumours were true, and there were lots of Death Eaters roaming France…
Ron glanced at his watch. It was now a few minutes past nine. In England it was a few minutes past eight. His mother never came to wake him up before ten, so if he managed to Apparate from here straight into his bed and didn't splinch himself, he might just pretend to have been there all night, and nobody would be the wiser. Especially not his mum. And especially not Kingsley Shacklebolt. And Malfoy. And most especially those rogue Death Eaters…
Already scanning the room for his belongings, he realized two important things: Firstly, that he'd better leave everything behind, because otherwise his mother might get suspicious, and secondly that there was the sound of heavy but hurried footsteps coming from the corridor.
Ron grabbed his wand and concentrated on his cosy attic bedroom. He caught a last glimpse of the door opening to admit McNair and a second man, and he heard a string of swearwords, but before they could grab him he was already home.
In a manner of speaking.
--..--..--
Room 19 was still devoid of visitors, which was lucky, because Severus completely lost control. 'What the fuck are you doing here, Lucius?' he yelled. 'You're supposed to get us out of here, not join us! Do you realize that we're stuck here?'
Hermione, rather oblivious to his frantic gesturing, because she was trying to arrange herself in a way that wouldn't allow Lucius Malfoy to unashamedly stare at her pudenda, was only half-listening. Besides she was quite sure – and rightly so – that Lucius wouldn't have entered the picture unless he knew how to get out again.
'Don't be such a drama queen,' Lucius drawled. 'Of course we aren't stuck here. I've improved the spell, as I'm sure you'll be glad to hear, so that I can enter and exit paintings all on my own. And I have my wand.'
Visibly deflating, Severus folded his limbs back into the pose they were supposed to assume. 'I, erm, see. Well, that's… that's all right then. Have you seen Beasley and McNair?'
'Oh yes,' Lucius said. 'They arrived half an hour ago, looking supremely pissed-off. Right now they're just outside this room in the corridor, poised like predators and ready to pounce. They bribed the guard to let them in a bit early, and I'd already disillusioned myself, so I simply followed. '
'You're making that sound remarkably funny,' Hermione observed.
'That's because it is rather funny. They'll be waiting for hours and hours-'
'While we'll be sitting here until our buttocks fall off,' Severus interrupted him snidely. 'It's not comfortable, I assure you.'
'Well, it will be. Are there any visitors in sight?' Both Severus and Hermione responded in the negative. 'Excellent.' Lucius got up and stretched. 'So I'll just' – he picked up a stray leaf and transfigured it into an exact, two-dimensional replica of the young woman – 'conjure some placeholders and off we go.' Another leaf obediently morphed into a clone of the man whose body Severus was inhabiting.
Vastly impressed by Lucius's skills, Hermione did her best not to let it show. 'We ate the bread roll,' she merely said, 'and most of the fruit.'
'Piece of cake,' Lucius said. Ten seconds later, the painting looked exactly as it ought to, only a bit crowded with seven people in it.
'I suggest we take the boat,' Severus said, pointing at the background.
Lucius shook his head in disapproval. 'Nonsense. We move from painting to painting, but on foot, until we arrive in room 13, which is on the same floor, just on the opposite side of the building. There is a portrait of a young woman, who happened to be my great-aunt. From there, we simply enter her portrait in the dining room of Malfoy Manor, et voilà, we step out and into safety.' He offered his arm to Hermione.
Unable to resist the urge to ask questions, she didn't take his arm but merely stared up at him. 'Move from painting to painting? So why' – she turned to Severus – 'didn't we just leave that way? There's lots of still lives in here, we could've eaten our fill! And the river didn't taste too nice either, we could've had clean water!'
'You need a wand to do that, unless you're a magical painting,' Severus said. He sounded as if his patience wasn't going to last much longer.
So it was probably better to pepper Malfoy with questions. He was still fresh and also a bit of a show-off. 'Isn't that a bit risky? There'll be lots of people looking at the pictures, and if they see us there-'
'Nonsense,' Lucius interrupted her. 'People see what they expect to see. Besides, much as it pains me to say so, most tourists visit museums only to look at certain key oeuvres, such as this and a few others. Only very few can be bothered to look closely at paintings they consider less important.'
Feeling a bit guilty, because she'd visited the Louvre mainly to see the Mona Lisa, Hermione nodded. 'That's probably right. What about my clothes though? And my wand?'
'When you step out of Aunt Marguerite's portrait, you'll be exactly as you were when you entered this painting.'
'And what happens then?'
The two men exchanged a glance of grim complicity. 'Then,' Severus said, 'we'll go back to Paris and catch those two bastards.'
'Really?' Hermione beamed. 'I'm coming with you.'
'We'll see,' was Lucius's diplomatic reply. 'Right now I daresay we ought to leave the premises as quickly as possible.'
