Hermione's plan to smuggle herself and Draco out of Hogwarts went without a hitch.
"You could have told me it would be dirty down here," Draco complained as they made their way through the passage.
"It's an underground tunnel. It didn't think that needed to be stipulated."
He huffed a bit over this, but made no further complaint. The underpass seemed to go on for ages, growing narrower in some places and damp in others. In one spot, Hermione's foot made a great sploosh when it came into contact with a large puddle. Though Draco grumbled under his breath again, she marched onward, ignoring both him and the growing wetness in her socks.
At last, their path began upward as it followed an incline until Hermione's wandlight fell on the wood of the trapdoor above her head. Conspiratorially, she whispered, "We're here."
"Let's Apparate to the Shrieking Shack from here," he suggested without hesitation. "It'll be deserted at this hour and we can clean ourselves up a bit before meeting Kassem at the Three Broomsticks."
Hermione nodded, though Draco could not see in the dimness. "I'll meet you out front."
With a double crack they both Disapparated, only to reappear several feet away from one another in the looming shadow of the old house. Draco had been correct: there was not a soul in sight. They tidied themselves up as best they could, and for the first time that evening, Hermione was grateful Lisa had insisted on doing up all the Ravenclaw girls' hair for the Quidditch match.
She had originally gone along with the toilette because it made for a great alibi to pretend she was going to the game. A mysterious illness had befallen her just beforehand however, and at least as far as the other girls knew, she would probably need to spend the night in the Hospital Wing. Her straightened curls were now tamed and twisted into a Dutch crown braid that wound like a garland around her head; the updo made it significantly easier to brush off the dirt that had fallen from the ceiling of the underground passage.
"Hermione," Draco said suddenly as they walked toward their destination, "whatever you do, don't mention to Kassem the reason you need the Veritaserum."
Nosy by nature, she almost questioned him – but stopped herself before the words left her tongue. By now, she had spent enough time around Slytherins to understand some of their reasons for secrecy. It was like a poker game… and keeping one's hand hidden, was preferable.
Kassem was tall enough to rival even Ron, and his feet gripped the earth heavily, as if they were in the act of being cast in bronze for the making of his own statue. The wizard's eyes were dark tigers, prowling to strike at threats. His mouth however, was twisted into a smile that could not be mistaken for anything other than genuine. Hermione suspected he was likely in his early to mid-twenties.
"Malfoy, you reprobate," he chortled with a curiously mixed accent. He stuck out a well-manicured hand to shake Draco's. "How the hell are you?"
He certainly seems friendly, Hermione thought cautiously.
"Well enough," Draco answered, taking the offered handshake. "May I introduce Hermione, my wife?"
Her brain stopped.
Did he just…?
He had.
What?
Interest visibly piqued as his gaze shifted toward her, Kassem made a half-bow toward her and took her hand, kissing it. "Enchanté, madame."
Draco waved him away from her, a smirk spreading widely across his face. "Our marriage remains a secret to the public at large, Charafeddine. I've only told you because I know how you are with women."
With an authentic, booming laugh, he admitted, "Fair enough!"
"Shall we go inside?" Hermione suggested, her eyes on the Three Broomsticks nearby.
"Ah," Kassem lamented, his glittering eyes taking her in, inch by inch. "After all the trouble of smuggling both of yourselves out of the school? A shining jewel like yourself deserves to be put on display to the whole of Paris…"
Unable to help herself, Hermione blushed a deep crimson. She was spared answering when Draco replied for her. "We aren't dressed for going out, as you see."
But his friend only waved this away. "Don't tell me you snuck out purely for business? C'est scandaleux!"
"We can't possibly go to France tonight, you loon," Draco insisted good-naturedly.
"But of course you can! A bit of fun for you both after the war you've been through, here in Great Britain… I have a portkey to take us back to my maison and a fireplace there that will allow international travel for you both in the morning."
Draco hesitated, but she noticed that his eyes had slowly travelled over to her, as if to gauge her reaction to the scheme.
Meanwhile, Kassem pushed a bit harder, "It's been too long since we corresponded for anything other than business, my friend."
Sliding a bit closer to Hermione, Draco queried in a low voice, "What do you think?"
The old version of her rose up into the forefront of her mind and chastised, How can you even think of going? You've already broken at least twenty school rules tonight!
We're already out, her rebellious side pointed out, and being outside of school, it isn't as if I can continue breaking even more rules...
To Draco, she whispered, "Is it safe?"
Kassem roared with laughter, though she had not intended for him to hear the small question at all. "My dear madame, you will be safe enough - though I will not guarantee your absolute safety - and for that reason alone, I promise you will enjoy yourself immensely."
She looked to Draco, who raised his eyebrows, while a mischievous grin tugged at the corner of his mouth.
Gaze flicking back to Kassem, Hermione conceded, "Perhaps just for a bit…"
"Excellent," the American purred. "The promised vial of truth serum is there, in any case."
"You sly dog!" Draco appraised. "You never take 'no' for an answer, do you?"
Kassem chortled at his own cunning, and though Draco seemed more appreciative of his friend's cheek than annoyed, Hermione sniffed disdainfully. Whilst Kassem busied himself with pulling a pocket-watch from his robes and activating the Portkey, Hermione privately suspected that if Draco's friend had attended Hogwarts, he would have been a member of Slytherin House.
Here goes nothing, she thought with trepidation - as well as a small thrum of excitement - as she took hold of the Portkey. The familiar sensation of being pulled forward by a hook around her navel hurtled her through time and space to… Merling only knew where...
Three pairs of feet landed on the soft, plush carpet of an exquisitely decorated room wide enough to have fit the entirety of the Ravenclaw common room. It was decorated in a highly avant-garde fashion, with a low ceiling and a collection of furniture resembling architecture like what Hermione might have expected to find in a modern art museum. It was such a difference from Hogwarts and Hogsmeade, that it came as a shock upon first glance.
"Where are we?" she wondered aloud, somewhat disoriented.
"Welcome to Paris, madame," Kassem answered. "More specifically, we are at my maison along the River Seine... and before all our wits become too addled, and I forget..." he strode to a nearby cabinet and pulled out a small vial of clear liquid, "here is your Veritaserum."
She accepted the small ampoule of potion and tucked it safely into the pocket of her robes. Absentmindedly, she gazed out a large window that looked out onto the Seine. I must be dreaming...
"Have you purchased this place for yourself?" Draco queried, admiring the flat. Hermione thought he looked out-of-place amid all the modern architecture.
"A gift from my father."
"Kassem?" a breathy voice called from the entryway.
"Ahhh… Élodie, Christelle… mes belles demoiselles…"
Indeed there were two women waiting for him and though Hermione looked up in curiosity, she hastily looked away again when she discovered both women were wearing what appeared only to be scant negligée.
"We are all going out, my loves," Kassem told both the women. "Christelle, aide Hermione à s'habiller. Hermione: Christelle will find you something to wear. You seem about be around the same size."
As the shorter of the two women - a thin blonde - floated her way over, Hermione was seized by a feeling of inferiority at the French woman's flawlessness. All the same, the witch gazed at her without apparent judgment and took her by the hand, bidding only, "Suis moi…"
As she was led away, she cast a backward glance at Draco, hoping to convey her dismay. He only smirked unhelpfully back at her. Clearly this was only a cause of great amusement to him. She inwardly harrumphed, chiding herself for not knowing any better than to suppose he might have been useful in delaying the inevitable.
Christelle, it was immediately apparent, did not speak much English, and as Hermione spoke barely any French, the two women were reduced to communicating mostly in gestures. The witch's boudoir was plentifully bestrewn with black and pink silks, from the curtains, to the bedspread, to the clothing tossed over much of the floor area. She was very clearly at least a semi-permanent guest of Kassem's.
The French witch sat Hermione down in an elegantly carved wooden chair (upholstered in pink silk, of course), and reached for her braid to undo all of Lisa's hard work from a few hours prior. Hermione's hair tumbled down, both shining from being straightened and wavy from the braiding.
"C'est classique!" Christelle exclaimed admiringly, running her well-manicured fingers through Hermione's locks to untangle one or two inevitable snarls.
The real snag came when Christelle attempted to find an outfit Hermione deemed suitable for wearing in public. The first obstacle was that most of the witch's outfits consisted of little more than a few scraps of fabric sewn together in a few strategic places to keep her lady bits under wraps. The second impediment was Hermione's unwillingness to showcase the scars she shared with Draco, particularly those disfiguring her forearms. As if this did not make for enough difficulties, many of Christelle's outfits were pink, which was spectacularly awful against Hermione's skin tone.
A pile of rejected dresses grew taller on the black-and-pink silken bedspread. After twenty-something outfits having been refused for one reason or another, Christelle's patience was finally gone.
She elicited a snort of anger and thrust the fourth outfit Hermione had spurned back into her hands. Without waiting for permission, Christelle reached for the hem of her uniform cardigan and pulled it over her head. Hermione screeched – more in surprise than anything else – and made to cover herself despite the white blouse and chemise that were still doing a more-than-ample job. Christelle slapped her hands away, already working on the buttons that went down the front of the white shirt.
"I can do that!" Hermione flared.
The other woman only laughed, a musical sort of sound. Once Hermione was reduced to her thin chemise and box-pleat skirt, Christelle tutted and pulled the skirt down.
"Well you're certainly not interested in modesty, are you?" Hermione snapped in annoyance.
Christelle must have at least caught the tone of her voice, because she began shaking the ball of fabric that constituted the borrowed dress at her once more and imploring her to just, "Put eet on, maintenant."
Hermione snatched the scrap from the woman's hands and held it up to herself once more. As she was now clothed only in her underwear and a thin tank, she quickly stripped the rest of the way out of the chemise and slid the smooth fabric of the dress over her head to make herself decent once again (though even in a state of deshabille, she was still at least as covered as Christelle). The Frenchwoman then thrust a pair of shoes at Hermione to match the dress, re-sizing them for her with her wand.
"Parfait," she purred, then marched Hermione over to a tall, gilded looking glass. "Maintenant, regardes le miroir..."
It was certainly not something Hermione would ever have purchased for herself, but it was one of the few things Christelle had waved her face that did not expose large expanses of her breasts. In fact, the garment was a halter-style dress with three-quarter-length lace sleeves, black, and almost completely backless. It came to just about mid-thigh; Hermione found herself tugging at the hem of it, finally reaching for her wand to lengthen it. Sensing her intent, Christelle stopped her hand and silently shook her magnificent blonde head.
"Zis ees Paris," she justified in her thick accent, as though this were all the explanation needed. Perhaps it was.
Herself wearing a blush-colored dress with a plunging neckline that had to be held in place on her breasts with magic, Christelle was also soon ready.
When the witches emerged, Draco, Kassem, and Élodie were already in the foyer. Kassem was tempting Draco with some wine he claimed had been made at one of his Californian vineyards. Élodie, who apparently spoke about as much English as Christelle, was already holding her own glass of wine and smiling emptily. At their approach, her smile broadened and she held out her arms to Christelle, welcoming the other woman to her side. She was dressed comparatively conservatively in a berry-colored sheath dress.
Kassem appeared to have also found something suitable for Draco to change into. Despite the difference in the two wizards' builds, Draco had thrown on a somehow-perfectly tailored blazer over a sky-blue shirt and camel-colored pants. Hermione started a bit at the sight of him, as she had never seen him in anything remotely similar to jeans – and yet, here the wizard was, pulling them off as if he did it every day!
"Ladies, you are stunning tonight - très belle," Kassem told them, appreciatively eyeing all three of them.
I see what Draco means about him, Hermione silently thought. She smiled politely back, crossing to Draco's side. Interestingly, Draco nearly seemed relieved by her action, while Kassem looked only amused.
Their host paused them a bit longer by pushing a glass of the Californian wine on Hermione, who accepted it somewhat reluctantly, but did not wish to be considered rude… it was delicious… besides, Draco was already nearly finished with his…
"You look stunning," he murmured to her as she sipped at her glass.
Hermione did not have time to respond, as Kassem was taking Christelle's arm on his left and Élodie's on his right, and exclaiming, "On y va!"
The streets were lined with trees planted every few meters, and the road was clearly well-maintained. It was chilly out, and though Hermione was grateful they had cast warming charms on themselves, the January air was crisp enough that her bare legs were still glad of it when they finally were sheltered from the elements.
The bar Kassem led them to had the distinct aura of a speakeasy, hidden away from the public. It was also very clearly a wizarding establishment, as not only wizards and witches were patrons, but also it seemed, were goblins. A group of them sat in a hazy corner, smoking pipes that emitted different colorful smokes.
No one, it seemed, needed to be told who Kassem was – though Hermione still was not entirely sure, herself. They sat and were served immediately, despite the crowd at the bar… and though she had most certainly not ordered anything for herself, a drink was promptly placed in front of her before she had even finished looking around the place.
She took a polite sip when she realized the others had done the same, mentally grumbling about the perils of peer pressure. The drink was fruity, but not too sweet, and did not taste of alcohol in the slightest, so she quickly perked up.
Their small party was soon assailed by another group of mainly wizards, who began chatting and laughing in French. Hermione smiled emptily at them, feeling rather like Christelle and Élodie looked - though both women were holding their own in this conversation just fine. She grumpily sipped at her drink again.
Leaning in toward her, Draco warned, "You'll want to be careful with that drink."
"What? Why?"
"If I know Kassem, there is quite a lot of alcohol in it although it won't taste of it."
Glancing down at the drink, she was horrified to discover she had already drank half of it. For Agrippa's sake… She was really beginning to become quite annoyed with Kassem.
I wonder what Harry and Ron would say if they learned I had snuck out of school to go drinking in Paris… Her scowl wavered in amusement.
They did not stay long at the bar. Once Kassem finished his socializing with the French wizards, he downed his drink and was itching to move on. Glad to leave the bar - and her beverage - behind, Hermione was ready to follow.
As they headed for the door, she whispered to Draco, "Aren't we going to pay?"
He chuckled, but only until he realized she was serious. "Of course not. They will bill him later."
He said it so confidently that Hermione left the idea alone without any further probing.
They ended up in another bar, though this one was much rowdier than the first. Kassem swept them over to a pool table that miraculously became free just as they entered, despite the press of people inside. Yet again, a barista was almost instantly serving them drinks, in spite of the throng.
Kassem challenged Draco to a game of wizard's pool; a crowd of onlookers, admirers, and brown-nosers quickly formed to watch. Ignoring these intruders, Hermione looked on with interest, and discovered that wizard's pool was remarkably similar to its Muggle counterpart, but for the fact that a spell from one's wand was used instead of a pool stick, and there was the possibility that one of the balls might suddenly erupt into flames, sending the whole game into chaos. Balls also occasionally flew up back out of their nets of their own volition, which made keeping score an interesting feat.
Though Draco beat Kassem by a hair's breadth, their host did not seem put out in the slightest. They finished their drinks and left for another location.
It was like that the entire evening. Hermione began to wonder exactly how many wizarding nightlife establishments there were in Paris, when Kassem put them on their guard by announcing that their next location would take them briefly into a Muggle sector.
As they turned onto Rue de Montmorency, a spark of recognition flashed into Hermione's mind. She probed Draco, "Isn't this road the one where Nicholas Flamel originally practiced his alchemy?"
Seemingly impervious to whispers, Kassem answered instead. "You are correct, madame. The famous alchemist set up a bookshop in what is now the oldest stone house in Paris. The main part of it is now a restaurant for Muggles, I'm afraid – but the building holds a few secrets yet. In fact, that is where we are headed."
It was an ordinary side-street, narrow enough so that only one car might fit down it. There were a few Muggles in street clothes standing out front the restaurant and smoking cigarettes.
"We will have to wait for them to go inside," Kassem murmured to Draco. Draco brushed aside some of the platinum hair that had fallen into his face and strode confidently up to the Muggle men to bum a smoke.
Hermione scowled as she watched him puff at the cigarette but said nothing, keeping her distance from the smoke and wrinkling her nose. Kassem, Christelle, and Élodie looked merely amused at his interaction with the Muggles.
"What an effect you have had on my friend," Kassem mentioned to her quietly.
Feeling somewhat cold toward the man for the moment, she only replied, "I can't imagine what you mean."
"I recognized your name when Malfoy introduced you. You are the famous Muggle-born heroine that fought alongside Harry Potter last spring?"
"Harry is my best friend," she answered with rather more vim than was necessary. Her heart immediately blossomed with pride for Harry, as it always did whenever someone mentioned his greatest feat. "I was happy to help him in any way I could to bring down that monster."
"One does wonder what can so highly recommend a witch to the only heir of such a vast and wealthy estate as the Malfoys have," Kassem mused, considering her like a thoroughbred at a racetrack. "Especially – forgive me – considering your blood."
Hermione fixed him with a cold stare. Did I really sneak out of Hogwarts so I could be further prejudiced against?
Possibly sensing her line of thought, he amended, "I don't speak to my own views - it's no secret that the Malfoys have always valued blood purity. To them, I imagine it is something of a morganatic marriage."
"It is meant to be a secret," she reminded him plainly.
"Another puzzle I cannot wrap my head around. For what wizard, in being wed to yourself, could bear to keep you a secret?"
The moment the compliment sunk in, she could feel herself coloring red. She was grateful when Draco returned from his smoke, though she could not help but look up at him reproachfully.
"I couldn't help it," he whined when he caught her expression. "I always smoke when I drink."
I could use a drink myself, just dealing with this Kassem character...
Soon, the Muggles disappeared back into the restaurant, and the street outside Auberge Nicholas Flamel was deserted but for them. As if on cue, Élodie casually leaned against one of the wrought iron lanterns that decorated the outside of the restaurant. A chunk of the stone building seemed to melt away from the outside, revealing an inauspicious entryway.
Hurrying in alongside Draco, Hermione's eyes widened when they came into the foyer of what looked like a pre-Renaissance tavern. Though both the other witches went on ahead to take a place nearby the bar where many other fashionable-looking folk were already assembled, Hermione hung back, tugging on the hem of her borrowed dress and wishing again that it was longer.
"Everything alright?" Draco queried, stopping beside her.
"I just feel so out-of-place," she self-consciously whispered back.
"The trick is to exude the confidence that you belong somewhere; others will pick up on it and you will feel a part of a place in no time at all."
She thought back to her botched attempt to break into Gringotts disguised as Bellatrix Lestrange; she had not felt particularly confident then, either. "I see."
"And," he added, taking her hand to lead her over toward the others, "you look beautiful."
"The dress is Christelle's. It's rather… short."
"No one is looking at the dress, but rather at the magnificent witch wearing it… and you've chosen black, the perfect option."
She snorted, "I know how much you Slytherins like black."
"Black is the color of celebration, the color of nights that never end," he told her wisely as they approached the bar. "Have a drink. I will not let you make a fool of yourself."
Somehow, he had sensed the secret fear that she was not even aware of herself. Trusting him and hoping it was the correct decision, she accepted a drink passed to her by Christelle and even took a sip. She was soon comfortable enough to be on speaking terms with Kassem again.
A little while later, their host gave his name at the bar and the five of them were admitted through a curtain of beads and gauzy material that led down a winding set of stairs. They ended up in a dimly lit, underground chamber with lanterns and candles floating throughout. A large chandelier made of extravagant metalwork hung from the ceiling in the middle, giving off a reddish light. The room was filled with smoke and exotic scents.
More curious than apprehensive now that alcohol had loosened her inhibitions somewhat, Hermione tried to look everywhere at once. There were a few other inhabitants circled around tables, some sitting on pillows or carpets on the floor, others lounging on low stools or couches. One group was laughing intimately amongst one another, seemingly in their own private bubble as they drank tea or wine, snacked on cheeses or pastries, and smoked shisha. Light music was softly blanketing the hum of whispers.
"Have you ever enjoyed a hookah before, Hermione?" Kassem queried as he claimed one of the small round tables for their group. He looked quite at home on one of the carpets on the floor; their hostess began heating up the narghile in the center of the table for them, packing it with a fruity-smelling substance that did not seem altogether unpleasant.
Draco looked as if he were about to burst out laughing at the suggestion. Aloud, he only advised his friend, "Don't push her."
"Actually, I'd like to try it."
She did, to Draco's obvious astonishment. Accepting the hose, she tried to copy what she had seen Christelle, Kassem, Élodie, and Draco do only moments ago. She coughed heartily the first time and had to receive instruction on how to continue indulging, though her head was already lightened by the activity. To her own surprise, Hermione found she enjoyed the lightweight feeling that coursed through her body, though she did not care much for the taste.
They were soon relaxed, sipping at wine and snacking on jellies and cheese. How long the five of them stayed there, Hermione did not know, but it seemed an age later that her brain eventually floated back down into her body. Christelle was nestled up against her side, nearly comatose.
"Where are we going next?" she wanted to know, sitting up and breaking the lull that had fallen over them.
Draco's cheeks were flushed with carefree excitement as he, too, sat up on his cushion. His face alight, he echoed, "Yes, where next?"
Kassem emitted his booming laugh, causing Christelle to sit up straight. The blonde woman did not quite look as if she had all her faculties together any longer; Hermione had to help her to stand.
"Merci," she whispered with a dazzling smile.
"To La Maison du Hasard," Kassem announced. "They've got some of the highest-risk betting tables in Europe."
His friend frowned, "Never heard of them."
"You wouldn't have. The doors haven't even been open for eight months."
A smile cracked onto Draco's face, slowly at first, "Why do I get the impression you've got some money to win back?"
Kassem roared with laughter and he slung an arm around Élodie, who was tipsily sipping at the last of her drink.
When she stood, Hermione wondered if she had not made a mistake in suggesting they move on so quickly, as her head was still light from her combined indulgences. One moment she was taking Draco's arm to keep herself from stumbling and marveling at how he could keep himself upright, the next they were outside and walking… somewhere. Soon enough, they were back into a wizarding part of town and descending into an underground cavern-like place, like what she had heard of the famed catacombs of Paris.
Moments later, the five of them were inside a clean, but somewhat rough-looking establishment and somehow or other, another drink had appeared in Hermione's hand. It occurred to her as she tried to make sense of the blurred vision that was the betting table Kassem was currently challenging, that she might be a little drunk. She had never been drunk before.
"Charafeddine, fancy seeing you around here again… so soon," murmured a low voice behind them.
It took a moment for Hermione to realize that someone was addressing Kassem by his surname. She turned to see who the speaker was - and came face-to-face with Gregory Goyle. If she was startled to see him there, it was nothing to his reaction on next spotting Draco.
"M-Malfoy?" he stuttered, all his initial confident bravado vanishing in an instant.
"Goyle," he acknowledged quietly, sticking out a hand.
A cold greeting, considering how close they used to be, Hermione observed lucidly.
Goyle took the offered hand and shook it slowly, "It's good to see you."
He seemed to mean it, too. Draco queried, "What are you doing here?"
"I own this place," he explained with a gesture to the rest of the hall. "I opened it after the war ended. Needed to get out of England…"
Draco's gray-blue eyes flashed with something scarily close to understanding. "Have a drink with us?"
"Gladly," Goyle agreed.
He was looking well: less portly than he had during his Hogwarts days, more fit, though his prominent brow continued to give him an unfortunate likeness to a neanderthal. As Goyle motioned to a nearby server to bring drinks to their party, he caught sight of Hermione on Draco's arm for the first time, and visibly started.
Missing nothing, Draco amended, "Ah, yes… Goyle, you remember Hermione Granger?"
It was a tense moment. For a second, Hermione was racing against death on a broomstick over a sea of Fiendfyre… straining for the broom to go just a bit faster toward the exit of the Room of Requirement… finally tumbling down into the safety of the stone of the Hogwarts hallway beyond… Harry, Ron, Draco, and Goyle were all tumbling to safety along with her…
But again, she was back in La Maison du Hasard, surrounded by loud voices, laughter, some smoke, the smell of alcohol, the sound of large sums of money being wagered by boisterous strangers… and Gregory Goyle was staring at her, blinking stupidly in the same simple way he always had whenever a teacher had asked him a question in class.
She glanced up at Draco and became suddenly very aware of her arm looped around his. Disentangling herself, she reached a hand out toward Goyle and neutrally intoned, "Pleasure."
Unable to mask his surprise, Goyle hesitated before taking it and giving it a small shake, letting go rather quickly. He again looked up at Draco with questions slowly filling his beady eyes.
Their drinks arrived at the same moment Kassem won a hefty bet at the nearby table. Sensing the two former friends had some need for a moment of privacy, Hermione excused herself in favor of watching the American make another weighty bet on a majority cut of a deck of cards. She was soon glad she had given them space, as Draco and Goyle were quickly deep in a low conversation; she supposed they had a lot to catch up on.
Élodie was giving Christelle a shoulder massage, while Kassem was persuading the other bettor who had lost all his money to have just one more go. Hermione sipped her drink, trying to remain unnoticed.
"You must be English," a man murmured in her ear familiarly, "one sees it immediately."
Hermione turned to face the man in question and was met with a face she did not recognize. "Do I know you?"
"Of course not. But I would certainly like to get to know you a little better…"
She wrinkled her nose at the man's breath, "No thanks."
"Ah, don't be that way, sweetheart."
But before she could put the stranger in his place, Draco was at her side and pointedly repeating, "She said 'no thanks'."
The man took a step back, "Easy, blondie. I didn't realize she was spoken for…"
"Well, now you do," Draco growled menacingly, even as he snaked an arm around her waist, "and you can leave."
Without another word, the man and his horrid breath were gone. Hermione sighed, "Thank Merlin. I thought I was going to have to hex him. Where did Goyle go?"
"He had some business," Draco grit out, his eyes still following the offending stranger, who was already well across the room.
"Ah, malchance!" Kassem groaned. His luck had run out, and his opponent was grinning from ear to ear while sweeping Kassem's entire stack of galleons toward himself.
"You're an idiot, you know?" Draco nettled his friend. "Betting your entire sum on a cut of the cards..."
"Lady luck, it appears, was not on my side," he sighed. "Where next?"
"Where next?" Draco echoed incredulously, his arm still wrapped protectively around Hermione's waist. She was leaning into him gratefully, feeling exhausted. "It's after three in the morning, you animal."
"So it is," Kassem remarked with polite surprise as he glanced at his pocket-watch.
Hermione was astounded. Three… in the morning?
Despite this, the quintet next found themselves out front of Kassem's house on a private section of beach at the Paris-Plage, an artificially created beach on the Seine. Somehow – Hermione supposed they must have used magic – they had made a bonfire. There was a half-empty glass of champagne in her hand, though she did not remember taking it.
A glass (or two?) later, her sentient thoughts began to become somewhat blurry and disjointed...
Hermione's champagne was gone and Christelle was showing her how to use her wand as a sparkler. The language barrier now unimportant after so much imbibing, the girls chased one another across the sand, occasionally stumbling until they fell into a pile, laughing and giggling as if they had known one another their whole lives.
Soon, Hermione's shoes were gone and she was accepting a gold-plated bottle of prosecco that was being passed around between the five of them.
Afterward, she began teaching Christelle how to make bubbles with magic… the young women were blowing on the tips of their wands and watching the soft, iridescent spheres float gently into the sky, meandering away until they were out of sight…
Kassem was passing out cigars. Unable to recall why she abhorred them so, Hermione actually tried it when Draco offered her a puff of his… his hands were soft, but at the same time like electricity as they touched her, teaching her to pull the smoke from the cigar into her mouth, but not to inhale it...
…Somehow, Élodie had become topless and Kassem was pouring the remainder of the prosecco onto her breasts, greedily lapping it off…
That was one of the last things Hermione remembered for sure before things became true fragments. Time was behaving surreally, as if it were being conducted in a series of movie clips.
…She was with Draco and they were running haphazardly across the small stretch of beach toward Kassem's house when she stumbled and fell, laughing heartily as Draco attempted to pull her back up and nearly tumbling over himself…
…They were both breathless as they climbed the stairs up to… somewhere. Hermione was not entirely sure where, but she could not stop giggling and the world was spinning…
…She had backed Draco against a wall and was kissing him sloppily… his lips only broke away from hers to press open-mouthed kisses along her neck and shoulders as he fumbled with the ties behind her neck for the top of her dress…
…She was naked from the waist up, the top half of her dress having fallen forward, and her breasts were free, nipples pebbling in their sudden exposure before she cried out as Draco took one into his mouth…
…The next moment she was on her back on a soft bed with her borrowed dress pushed up to her waist. She was basically naked now and Draco's platinum head was buried between her thighs as she cried out in pleasure…
…There was the experience of a spectacular orgasm, borne of complete lack of inhibition. Hermione swore she saw fireworks on the insides of her eyelids while a full-body high seemed to deflate her within her own skin. When she opened her eyes, the bedroom was mainly dark but for the moon and the lights of the city shining through the window. Draco was reclining on the sheets next to her, naked except for his underwear… he gazed at her through half-lidded eyes, smoldering with desire…
…She was licking down his stomach and could feel his abdominals tightening with anticipation…
…Faced with his erection, she found she was eager for him. Her mouth was ready and willing to be full with his manhood and she was soon bobbing up and down on him. She sucked, licked, and swallowed around his ready length…
…One hand was twisted into her hair and another was clenched into a fist around the bedsheets. His eyes were squeezed shut as he grew harder. With a roar, he pulled himself from her mouth and released onto her chest and neck in great, creamy spurts that left threads of heat on her skin...
...He was kissing her deeply once more, as though determined to take everything from her, even though they had both already found their completion…
They must have fallen asleep in that way, because her awareness ebbed away entirely after that and she knew nothing more...
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Hermione awoke the next morning with a fuzziness in the front of her brain that she could not shake away. Light was filtering in from a window somewhere, and when she sat up, she realized she was essentially naked but for the bed-sheet twisted about her legs and torso, and last night's dress pooled around her waist.
Head aching, she forced both her eyes open and was beset with the image of a completely naked Draco Malfoy, sprawled across the majority of the bed. Despite that all the lean beauty of youth was on his side, the fact that he was arse-up, with his hair tousled beyond recognition, and his cheek pressed against the mattress so that his mouth was hanging open, did not make for a very graceful picture.
"Ungh," eked out of her mouth as she clutched her head. Her eyes were very sensitive to the light and there was a terrible taste in her mouth like she had licked one of the turnstiles in King's Cross Station. She decided, "Coffee."
She could not find her clothes, so she accio'd them with her wand, which took two tries. Her uniform shirt and skirt were crumpled from the spending the night on Christelle's bedroom floor, but there was not much helping that now; she pressed them as best she could and dressed, leaving off the sweater emblazoned with the Hogwarts crest that went over her blouse. The small vial of Veritaserum they had originally come for was still safely tucked into her robes pocket.
Though she was able to find her way into the kitchen without much trouble, she stopped short at the door and stifled an exclamation. Kassem, Christelle, and Élodie were all sprawled naked on the kitchen floor in a tangled heap. It would have looked as if they had been simultaneously knocked out by some rogue if not for the fact that all three were covered all over in whipped cream, chocolate, and fruit.
"Better rethink that," she murmured to herself, backing quickly out of the kitchen.
After a moment's reflection, she vaguely recalled a small coffee shop they had passed the previous night, which was barely a block away. Resolved, she double-checked that she had her wand before leaving to fetch a coffee for both herself and Draco.
Lost in thought and inwardly blushing as she pieced together all she had got up to the previous evening, she nearly walked by the little café. Once inside, she was relieved when the girl behind the counter spoke enough English for her to place an order – but she was immediately embarrassed when she realized she had taken no money to pay.
"Allow me." Before she knew it, a middle-aged gentleman with a curious accent was passing some wizarding money across the counter and the barista was handing over two coffees.
"Thank you," she stammered. "That was very generous!"
"C'est rien," the man waved her words away. "You are - if I am not mistaken - the heroine of Britain, yes? Miss Hermione Granger?"
He had butchered her first name, but as the man had also paid for her coffees, Hermione did not feel it was polite to correct him, "Yes… yes, I am. Do I know you?"
"Ah, non. But I pay attention to the news across the world. Perhaps… I wonder… do you have a moment to sit?"
Though she really had just wanted to get back to Kassem's house, she also did not want to be rude. The man seemed harmless enough, in any case. He gestured to a table and she sat, gratefully clutching her hot cup of coffee.
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Author's Note: Thank you to Louna from the Strictly Dramione Facebook page, for helping me out with the French in this chapter, so I don't look like a fool! Also to ForHeavensSake, who pointed out that the Honeydukes passage is maybe not the best access for Hermione to have chosen to get into Hogsmeade. As it isn't really an important plot point, I've left it, but I appreciate it when someone points out some cracked thing I've written. It happens - and gentle concrit is honestly treasure. Lastly, to you - if you've been one of the many who have graciously supported my inane ramblings. Thank you.
I did not use a beta on this chapter, so any mistakes are my own.
