Chapter 10
Draco dropped the extra knuts into the bag attached to the owls leg, offering it a treat before it flew off again. He had always openly mocked those that paid extra for a copy of the Prophet when abroad. But considering he had been the newspaper's main feature for the past few days, it was easy to accredit the cost to self interest.
"Another one for the scrap book then?" Theo grinned from the dining table. It seemed the interest in the Malfoy-Granger Romantic Whirlwind extended to Draco's own (temporary) living space.
"I suppose." Draco drawled with all the pretension he could muster. "It's a rather fetching angle, though I'm rather upset I'm so poorly featured."
The front page that morning hosted an image that any sensible editor would have sized down, but thankfully wizarding England had no abundance of such. The photo splashed across the page barely left room for the creatively deficient headline. Though it did rather speak for itself, Draco thought. He tossed it on the coffee table, and strolled out of the room. He should have just enough time to shower before the howler came in.
Theo accio'd the paper, then barked out a laugh. There in the stark contrast of black and white was Granger's hair and a pair of unbelievably long legs separated only by what could graciously be called a dress. The thing barely skimmed her arguably incredible arse, which was being groped roughly by the body Granger had pushed up against the side of a building last night upon leaving the club. As photo-Granger shifted, the body in question pulled it's head up from her neck and offered the photographer smirk that almost had Nott questioning his own preferences.
xxxxx
Three days ago, when they had finally checked in to the excessively lavish penthouse suite at Le Meurice, Granger had cornered him. Unfortunately not at all in the exciting, lust filled manner much of the wizarding world had come to expect.
"What in the name of Rowena's Rosebud happened last night?" She hissed as he shut the door to their gilded bedroom. If the Malfoy line hadn't already bred out the ability, he might have blushed at her language. Fortunately they had, and he was able to hold the course.
"Language Love," He scolded her. "No future Mrs. Malfoy should besmirch our good name by cursing like a common cauldron scrubber."
"Malfoy!" She hissed. "This isn't funny! Somehow one night has turned into a fucking world tour?!"
"Darling, despite what the French think, Paris is hardly the entire world. If you'd like a tour, perhaps Italy next. Then maybe the Seychelles. They have some lovely beaches and this time of year-"
He ducked just in time for the shoe she had chucked to go flying over head.
"If you keep that up Pet, they're going to think you like it rough." This time Granger blushed, he noted with some satisfaction. "What happened was, we fooled your mates. We went out on the town and charmed everyone. We did it so well, we managed to inadvertently fool my friends as well."
There was the first lie of the day, what a late start. Usually he had managed three before breakfast, although normally it was only lying to himself. He paused in his unpacking to frown at himself. Granger took the pause for something more akin to regret over lying to his friends and interjected his thoughts chirping about coming clean or staging a fight. That wasn't going to do.
"Yes we could, but Theo will be rather put out when I cash in on the wager regarding Gryffindors not being true to their word." It was thin. Anyone with a shred of shrewdness would have seen through it, so of course he didn't expect Granger to. And of course she did.
"What did I promise." She looked as though her very morality had sentenced her to a lifetime of dissatisfaction. Really, it was only a week. Draco smirked at that thought, something Granger again misread. She began to fidget, and he had to bite back a laugh at her transparency.
"You, in an epic moment of true stalwartness, volunteered to be my date. To my ex fiance's wedding." He tried to mention it casually, but felt his tongue tripping over the end of the statement. Draco focused on charming the nonexistent wrinkles out of his packed shirts, and peripherally watched her eyes narrow.
"Which is when?"
"This week." He charmed the shirts on to hangers.
"When this week, Malfoy."
"Official wedding related events start Thursday." Pants now floated to hangers.
"It's Sunday."
"Unofficial events start today." His shoes were being lined up in the closet space with a precision he had never before executed. In fact, Draco couldn't remember the last time he had actually unpacked his own bag. This was elf work, he was anxious enough to do an elf's work. Merlin's saggy left-
"Do you have a book?"
"What?" Draco was blindsided. He had been about to execute a power move that included his casual undressing, something that in the past had proven all too rewarding with witches, when Hermione had finally responded.
"Do you have a book? I need… I need to read. I need to reset my brain." The flush was back. And he still had his shirt on. How strange.
Without a real thought to it, Draco reached in his bag and pulled out the Tolkien. Her eyes caught it, then him with almost palpable accusation.
"I left the gold on the counter." All he could do was shrug. All she did was nod, then took the book and headed for the nearest balcony.
Baffled he had followed her until she exited through the living area, then stood there watching as she had settled herself. He was completely confused, and so he did the only thing he knew how to in times of chaos. Draco fell back on his breeding and called for a house elf, informing it to bring Ms. Granger a cool drink, and to reinforce the sun protection charms around her. After doing so he had thrown himself into the nearest chair, only then noticing his audience.
After seeing that little scene, Theo had a rather hard time believing Draco's insistence that this was all just an arrangement.
xxxxx
Hermione worked her way through Tolkien's Mordor with a weight on her chest not unlike the fabled ring. In a literary sort of way, she worked through deep cognitive caverns, avoided her cerebral beasts and battled the poison lurking inside her own mind.
"All we have to decide is what to do with the time given to us."
It was at that line that she shut the book firmly, resting it on her outstretched legs. She reached for the lavender lemonade an elf had left behind some hours ago, and sipped it slowly. Tracing patterns in the condensation, she went over her plan again.
Slytherins, as you probably know, are infamous for their plotting. But it would be a great disservice to oneself to discredit or disregard Hermione Granger's ability to scheme. Indeed to underestimate her abilities was very much like underestimating a smattering of rain, choosing to see it as only condensation as opposed to the beginnings of a perfect storm.
Hermione had, at one point, thought she was just some drizzle. One part of the majesty that was a hurricane. But during the war she had come to realize that was inaccurate.
She was not the fist that broke Malfoy's nose. She was the one who threw the punch. She was not the jar that held Rita Skeeter. She was the one who put her in the jar. She was not the girl who rode a dragon. She was the girl who stole the dragon.
She was not the rain. But in fact, the tempest itself.
When the war ended, she had tried to put herself back in the know-it-all-swot box, best friend to Potter, girlfriend to Weasley. Dependable at best, irritating as usual. As a result, while the wizarding world had been saved, she had found herself rather damned. In fact she had allowed it.
The words from Molly Weasley's letter that morning, the one tied in with a copy of the Prophet, came ringing back to her.
"You can't fix the hole in your heart with the one between your legs, dear."
Hermione grabbed the book and stood up, finally seeing beyond the balcony for the first time since they had arrived. All of Paris was spread out before her, and for the first time that Hermione could ever remember, she felt free.
And she'd be damned if she'd let any small minded woman put her back in that box.