Dear god, ya'll. It just hit me what a long fanfic this is going to be. It's going to be long! Holy shit, what have I started? I'm already planning a freaking sequel in my head! What have I done? This is never going to be over! Omggg.

Although I can't lie, I am really enjoying writing this.

Okay so I've never heard the word "grimoire" used in JK's books, but I'm using it anyway. I figured it'd be cool. I don't know. Like maybe a very ancient, specific kind of spell book for certain kinds of magic-that's a grimoire. I don't know. Maybe my obsession with Supernatural is bleeding through. I have a major Harry Potter/Supernatural obsession problem. So I hope referring to a grimoire doesn't bug anyone. I realize it might not be exactly canon, but I'm going with it anyway. It's fanfiction after all!

Okay. Here we go:

Hermione's weekend seemed to pass in the blink of an eye.

They were very busy at the book shop due to a newly released novel—one they all but sold out of by the time Monday morning rolled around. Hermione fell into her work with a smile on her face—as she normally did—and looked forward to her evenings, which she spent on the phone with Draco. She read a total of four books between Saturday and Tuesday, which was a relatively low number for her. When she woke up on Tuesday morning, she grinned at the knowledge that Draco would be back in town later that day.

She still hadn't written Harry.

She'd made several attempts. She spent the first half of her Saturday evening trying to find the words to put down on paper, but in the end, she became so overwhelmed that she abandoned the project altogether.

Harry,

I was informed last week that you are searching for me and that I am presumed dead. I'm not dead. I am very much alive, and I'm living in Claremont, Fr

She paused before scratching that out.

-in France. I'm so sorry I haven't written. I have no excuse. I have been a terrible and negligent friend, and I hope you can forgive me. Please forgive me.

I am very happy here. I work in a bookshop, and I live a simple and quiet, magic-free life. I am even seeing someone now, actually.

She scratched out the last line-twice.

I want you to know that I never intended to run away from you, or from anyone. I came here for the purpose of taking a holiday, and I just snapped under all the pressure of my life. I just never came back. I still don't want to come back, I like my life here. I'm so sorry, Harry. I don't want you to worry about me. I'm quite safe. I had no idea that anyone thought I was dead until

Scratching out yet another line, she tried again.

I didn't know you would be so worried

I had no idea I was presumed dead

I heard that you and Ginny got married.

She scratched all those out, too.

If I had known that you and the Weasleys thought I was dead, I would never have

Another scratch.

I wouldn't have stayed away like I did.

If you want to write me, you can send me a letter by Muggle post

No, that was terrible. She crossed it out.

You can visit me. My address is

With a frustrated sigh, she crossed out the last bit.

Just write me and we can figure this out.

I'm sure you're angry, and rightly so. I've been a terrible

Another angry scratch. She started the line again.

Please let me know if there is anything I can do to fix this, although I understand if you are too angry. I hope you are well, and I hope you and Ginny are happy. Please inform the Weasleys that I'm alive and

And what? Scratch.

I don't quite know how to go about this, I feel very uncomfortable-

Yes, that much was obvious. Scratch.

I am very sorry. I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me. You are like a brother to me, I love you. Please don't hate me.

By the time she completed her fifth draft to Harry, she was nearing absolute panic, unable to form intelligible thoughts on paper any longer and second-guessing herself at every turn. So she crumpled up the letter, made a cup of tea, and sat down with a book. Draco called her not long after that, and he took her mind off the subject completely. As she crawled into bed later that night, she decided she would finish writing Harry tomorrow.

The next day she decided the same thing.

And on Monday, she told herself she would do it on Tuesday.

Tuesday came, and all she could think about was that she would see Draco.

As she returned to her apartment on her lunch break Tuesday afternoon, she stared guiltily at the crumpled letters on her desk.

It was incredibly ironic that she, Hermione Granger—who had faced a mountain troll before she was twelve, who had survived being petrified, came face to face with a werewolf third year, fought against some of Britain's most evil witches, wizards, and death eaters, had been tortured for hours, lived on the run for a year, broken into the most heavily guarded bank in England, and even been in direct battle during the war—brave, sensible, courageous, brilliant Hermione Granger—somehow couldn't manage to sit down and write a letter to her best friend.

She set down her sandwich, her appetite disappearing at the thought. She took a sip of tea and it turned sour in her mouth.

Maybe she wasn't brave anymore. Maybe she wasn't as smart as people said. If her fourteen year old self could see her now, she would be disgusted. For someone who fought for justice and always tried to do what is right—whether it be fighting evil forces or pushing for the better treatment of house elves—Hermione Granger certainly wasn't doing much right at the moment.

Writing Harry was the right thing to do. Going back to Britain and rejoining her friends was probably the right thing to do.

And yet, here she was, in her little flat in France, living a fake life—not doing anything she probably should be doing.

And the truth was that her life was fake. Marion and Florence were the closest to family or friends that she had here, and they didn't even know who she really was! They had no idea what kind of a life she had lived—they didn't even know her name.

Recognizing that the familiar feeling of anxious depression was beginning to set in, she decided to start moving. She put away her lunch and was immediately out the door, on her way back to work.

She had just walked in the door when she was shaken from her concentrated state by a collision with someone's body that knocked her down.

"Oof!" she grunted as she fell backwards onto her rear.

"Granger, I do believe you just fell for me," came a familiar drawl.

Hermione looked up from where she now sat on the floor and smiled at the blonde man that stood before her.

She gave an embarrassed laugh. "Nice play on words," she retorted.

With a chuckle and a shake of his head, Draco reached down and helped her up off the floor. "You alright? That was quite the tumble just then."

Her cheeks warmed. "Yeah, I'm fine," she assured him, looking around in embarrassment.

His eyes glinted with amusement as they wandered over her frame. "No injuries?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Just my pride."

He grinned before leaning down and kissing her on the cheek.

"When did you get back?" she asked, rubbing her sore arse.

"Just now, actually."

Her face lit up with a knowing smile. "And this was the first place you stopped? Wow, you like books even more than I previously figured."

"Something like that," he said through his grin.

"Uh…yeah, I'm still here," came a voice behind Draco.

Hermione leaned over to see Florence standing behind him, arms crossed, wearing a knowing grin on her face.

"Oh, hello, Florence," she greeted.

"I was just telling Draco you'd gone home on your lunch break," she said good-naturedly. "But now that you're here, I think I'll just leave you guys to it." With a shake of her head, she turned and walked away, muttering to herself.

Hermione frowned. "Did I just hear her mumbling something about love birds?" she asked, turning back to Draco.

Draco shrugged. "I was just about to swing by your flat. Do you still have some time before you need to go back on the clock?"

Hermione looked over to the large clock that sat on the easternmost wall. "I have about twenty five minutes left."

"Perfect," he said as he took her by the hand. "Come on."

Hermione was swept around 180 degrees as he pulled her back towards the door. "Where are we going?"

He held the door open for her and she stepped outside. "To my car. I found something this weekend I want to show you."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "What is it?"

"A book," he answered as he led her to his car.

"A book," she repeated. "What…what kind of book?"

He unlocked his car and opened the passenger door for her. "Get in and I'll show you."

Intrigued, she obliged and slid into the seat. He closed the door behind her and walked around to the driver's side before joining her. He reached behind him in the backseat and retrieved a very small but thick, old tome. The front cover was worn black satin, and carved on the front were two diamonds, one within the other. A daffodil sat within the inner diamond, surrounded by various carvings and sigils. Along the outer edges of the larger diamond, there were four symbols—a skull, a sythe, an hourglass, and fire.

"Is that a grimoire?" she asked, her eyes going wide. He nodded, looking very proud of himself.

She took it from his hands and placed it gingerly on her lap, opening the cover with great care. The title was written in large, spiral writing across the front page. La Poule Noire, it read. Her heart jumped with excitement.

"Draco, this is ancient! Do you know what this is? This is La Poule Noir! The Black Pullet! This is a very well sought after book—very famous. Even the Muggles have a record of this book. They think it was written by a French officer in Napoleon's army who was rumored to be a necromancer. This is a very, very rare tome," she marveled, studying the book in amazement. "You know, the enchantments in here originally came Egypt. They say it was a scroll rescued from Ptolemy's Library—the Library of Alexandria! I've read about this book before. I never thought I'd actually see it!" She was practically squeaking with excitement.

He laughed. "Well if I had known it'd make you this happy, I would have gotten it a week ago. I'll bring you an old, rare book every day if you're going to react like this each time."

"Where did you get this?" she asked.

"Wizarding Paris."

She frowned at him. "Why were you in Wizarding Paris?"

"Looking for this. First, I have a bit of a confession to make."

She watched him apprehensively. "Okay…"

"Since finding out who you really are, it's been kind of…uncomfortable to see you with… like… err…this," he finished awkwardly.

"Looking like a stranger, you mean."

He nodded. "Yeah. I'm just having a bit of a struggle reconciling you with…you. I mean to say…" He rubbed his hand along his jaw nervously. "Well, it feels odd to see you and kiss you and all that when you don't look like yourself."

Hermione's cheeks began to redden and she couldn't help but smile shyly.

"You said you tweaked a spell for your appearance," he continued. "You're very proficient with spells and charms. You know this, I know this. That being said, my mother had this necklace once that she'd had charmed with some kind of old revealing spell. It was a long time ago, but she got it from someone in my father's family—the Malfoys are originally from France, you know—and she said that she—"

"You want me to charm an object that will allow you to see through my spell," Hermione guessed.

Draco's mouth snapped shut and he looked rather surprised. "…Yes," he confirmed.

Hermione immediately began looking through the pages of the book. "The spell is in here?" she asked. "What object are you wanting me to charm?"

His posture relaxed slightly. "Sweet Circe, you're sexy when you do that."

She looked up at him in surprise. "What?"

"You're so… You're just brilliant, is all. It's sexy."

Hermione stared at him, her spelled hazel eyes wide and her creamy cheeks going full on red. "I…err…" she gave a breathy laugh and tucked her hair nervously behind her ear. Nobody had ever paid her that sort of compliment before. Ron and Harry had always complained and teased her for her bookish habits and resolute dedication to her studies. She had never felt ashamed or embarrassed by her intellect or her love for learning—it was part of who she was, and she was proud of it. But no one had ever told her it was an attractive quality. It had never crossed her mind that a man might find it…sexy. She didn't quite know how to respond.

Draco shook his head, watching her with marveling eyes. "Anyway, it should be in there. That's the book my mother mentioned was used."

Hermione blinked out of her stupor, returning her focus on the book in her lap. "Okay, let's see what we have here." She turned the pages almost reverently. "There's some dark magic in here," she said. "This is…where exactly did you get this?"

"France is far more liberal about their magic texts than Britain. I got it in one of the oldest magical book shops in the country. I'd been inquiring about this book all weekend. I finally located it early this afternoon, and I picked it up on my way to the airport."

Hermione stared at him. "You obtained this in the matter of one weekend?"

He shrugged. "It's amazing what you can get done when you have a bit of money to throw around."

She blinked repeatedly. "Okay. Well, wow."

She shook her head and turned back to the pages before her. Draco sat in silence as she studied its pages for a few minutes, watching her eyes rapidly moving over the words and diagrams.

About ten minutes passed by before she exclaimed that she'd found it. "Alright. This is…like nothing I've ever seen before. The list of ingredients is extensive. Eugh."

"What?"

She scrunched up her face in disgust. "It requires goat's blood. That's…repulsive."

"Blood? But that's blood magic, then," Draco said, his face darkening.

Hermione made an indecisive sound. "Not exactly. It's not a dark spell. All the ingredients are… I mean, it isn't dark magic. It's animal blood, not human blood, and it doesn't require an excessive amount. It's just a very ancient, old-fashioned kind of magic."

"Can you do it?"

She scoffed. "Of course I can."

Malfoy's mouth turned up into a grin. "I think I might be rubbing off on you, Granger."

She rolled her eyes. "Shut up," she said affectionately. "If I make you a list of some things, can you get them for me?"

He nodded. "Sure."

She sighed. "It's been a long time since I've done any kind of magic like this."

"Well…you don't have to, if you don't want to. I just thought that…"

She shook her head adamantly. "No, no—it'll be nice. I miss magic sometimes."

"Me too."

She gave him a sympathetic look. "How much longer until they unbind your magic, by the way? I never asked."

"Nineteen months down, five months to go," he grumbled.

"You've only got five months left?"

He nodded.

"Then what?" she asked.

"Then I get my magic back, I think." He pushed his hair back.

"No, I mean, then what are you going to do?"

"Do? Well I'm going to do magic. I'm going to do as much magic as I can," he said with a laugh.

"No…" She looked up at the ceiling of the car, suddenly feeling very anxious. "Are you going to go back to England?"

Draco frowned and looked at her intently. "Why?"

She blinked, her cheeks going hot. "Why? Because I…" Because I'd like us to live in the same place so I can see you as often as possible, she thought. And if you go back to England, and I'm here… "I...I'm just…curious," she lied.

He studied her intently for a moment before shaking his head. "I have absolutely no plans to go back to England—other than for my final appearance in front of the Wizengamot, where they will hopefully unbind my magic."

She looked away rather quickly, her shoulders relaxing at his answer. She turned back to the book in her lap and nodded. "Good. I mean—" she looked back up at him in embarrassment. "I mean, you know…good for you. I um…"

The corner of Draco's lips lifted into a smirk. "You mean, you'd miss me if I left."

Hermione blinked rapidly, her mouth opening and closing a few times as she struggled for some kind of response. "I…I just…"

He chuckled. "Shut up and kiss me," he told her.

A laugh bubbled out of her mouth at the fact that he was using her own line against her.

Then she did.

I know the fact that Hermione is dragging her feet to contact Harry is a bit of a stretch, but don't worry. It will all pan out soon. Everything they're doing serves a purpose, and I'm confident it will all come together at the end perfectly. It won't be long now, I promise. I know you guys are dying for the ending! And when Harry comes along...you'll see. We're talking EXPLOSIONS!