Draco quickly threw a croissant he had grabbed from the downstairs hotel breakfast to Granger's supine form. It bounced off of her face and onto the pillow beside her. Draco supposed he should have waited until after she sat up again to throw it to her.
Finding his supposition correct, Draco watched as Granger sputtered in irritation while sitting up, slightly crushed croissant in hand. She raised her hand as if to throw it, but then looked at the buttery pastry and seemed to think better of it.
"Breakfast, Granger!" Draco said as cheerily as he could. He figured he succeeded when he met Granger's confused and alarmed gaze. Judging by the sun's forceful rays through the window, Draco guessed it was about half-past nine. "I took it from the hotel breakfast bar. They have all sorts of goodies. Shall we?"
Granger perked up at the thought of breakfast. "Do they have coffee? I always feel it's wrong to drink tea in Paris."
"Only one way to find out," Draco replied, shuttling the exuberant witch with him and out the door.
The two made their way down the narrow staircase and into the ground floor's dining area. Draco watched as Granger brushed some hair that had fallen from of her plait out of her eyes before grabbing a plate and piling it with food. Draco merely grabbed a few pain au chocolats, some jellies, and a few more pieces of bread. Then he took a handful of madeleines, just to be sure. Filling a mug with coffee, he sat at a table furthest from the wide windows, his back to the wall, facing a mirrored wall in front of him.
Granger made her way after him, her plate filled with eggs, sausage, toast, and one pain au chocolat. Her coffee was precariously balanced in her other hand.
"That's all you're eating?" she asked Draco, brows furrowed in what seemed to be a mix of concern and mild disgust. " That's all sugar! There's no way it will last you through the morning."
"Let a man have his pleasures," Draco retorted. "If I'm to die soon, I might as well enjoy what I can of life."
Granger ignored his depressing comment, focusing instead on his food choices. "Gracious, your diet really is rubbish. First Poptarts, now the fancy French equivalent. No wonder you look emaciated," Granger tutted. "You're malnourished."
"And here I thought I was thin because of the starvation," Draco said simply, Granger's expression turning into one of pity. Before she could start humanizing him, Draco quickly added, "Perhaps you should try to take a page out of my book, Granger. You'll be ready for swimsuit season in no time."
Granger harrumphed with a sneer. "It's fall, Malfoy. No one is wearing swimsuits. And besides," she continued, sitting up straighter. "I am perfectly lovely just as I am." Granger raised her chin, confident in her statement.
Despite himself, Draco could feel himself smiling. "Right you are, Granger."
Clearly trying to ignore his strangely peppy demeaner, Granger bit into a piece of toast and proceeded to start asking him questions. The heathen.
"What are we doing first? With whom did you meet? Will I meet them? Again, how do you do all that wandless magic? Also, who attacked you? And where did you get that black eye—I mean the one that was fading before the one from yesterday." Granger took a deep breath, her oxygen spent after spouting off all those questions in rapid fire. Her toast then flew to her throat, causing her to start hacking.
Draco quickly stood up to get to her side of the table, his hand gently smacking Granger's back. "I suppose this is another reason they tell us not to speak with our mouths full. Very well, since you almost died—" Granger sent him a watery glare "—I'll answer two of your questions. The others will simply have to wait."
Finally swallowing her poor, masticated toast, Granger nodded, veritably bouncing with anticipation.
"Next on the docket is a visit to Notre Dame to speak with Père Moreau and conduct some experiments. As for meeting my mystery friend, perhaps."
"That was not a real answer, Malfoy. I demand you address another one of my questions."
Sighing, Draco returned to his seat. "Would you believe me if I told you that first black eye and accompanying cut was due to a rogue grocery display?"
The single raised eyebrow on Granger's face begged to differ.
"Well, I must say I am humbled and honored that you don't believe me, but I must disappoint you and assure you that that is what happened. It was a whole display of brand new Poptarts. They built it like a castle, and like a fool I took a box that turned out to be load-bearing. Everything tumbled on top of me, and I was so embarrassed I got up and ran away. That's why we had strawberry instead of s'mores—whatever that is." Draco felt his face redden. "It just looked so enticing…" He decided that was enough speaking for now.
Granger's laugh came out as a bark, her face turning redder and redder as she continued to wheeze in amusement.
"Well, at least your mouth isn't full anymore. Can't imagine what would have happened if you'd have laughed with a mouth full of sausage and eggs," Malfoy bit out.
Impossibly, Granger started laughing harder.
::
Hermione looked at the sullen and stiff look on Malfoy's red, embarrassed face and actually guffawed. She clapped a hand over her mouth, and used the other to dab at the tears that had escaped her eyes. Malfoy awkwardly shifted.
"Granger, are you all right? The croissant I thew at you earlier didn't give you a concussion, did it?"
"You made me cry, Malfoy," Hermione said. Malfoy widened his eyes as if to say yes, obviously. Before she seemed too crazy, Hermione continued. "From laughter. You made me laugh so hard I cried. Haven't you ever laughed that hard before?" She paused long enough to see his face. "Never mind, that isn't important. It's just, you've made me cry before—more times than I'd like to admit—but this is the first time that you made me cry like the boys make me. Through laughter."
"So, I should insult you? Should I make you cry by being my normal, terrible self to restore the balance of our relationship?" Malfoy offered.
"No, you nutter. Don't ruin this, this, well, friendship we have developing between us." Hermione used her hands to gesture though the space between them.
"Granger, the only thing developing between us is a grudging acceptance supplemented by the thin haze of mutual goals—and mutually assured destruction should said goals go unachieved." Malfoy drawled, a look of consternation unsuccessfully hidden in his eyes.
Enjoying how uncomfortable her blonde companion looked, Hermione continued. "Admit it, Draco," Malfoy immediately froze in abject terror at her use of his first name. "We are becoming friends, meaning that if we survive this adventure of ours, I will be in your life forever." Hermione sang the last word, trilling in an effort to sound operatic.
"Mon dieu," Malfoy shuddered. "Why have you forsaken me?"
"I don't know, Malfoy. An eternity with a lovely, bright witch could be a gift from God, not leave to crucifixion." Hermione grinned for effect, swallowed the last of her coffee, then stood. "Time to go?"
Malfoy nodded, politely standing as she rose from her seat. Ever the gentleman, he followed her to the door before lithely stepping out from behind her and opening said door for her. Nodding in thanks, Hermione let them walk in companionable silence for all of ten seconds before launching into another round of questions.
"So what experiments are we doing, Malfoy? And on what? Also, how do you know a Catholic priest? And what do you know of Christianity? I didn't think wizards worshipped the muggle God."
"Granger, has anyone ever taught you to ask one question at a time? It's a bit difficult to answer five questions at once. I do only have one tongue."
"Odd, I figured it would be forked, at the very least."
Surprising her, Malfoy chuckled. "I concede, Granger. To your first question, we are going to experiment on the power of the muggle mind's magic. As to your second question, allow me to answer with another. What does Notre Dame have that we don't in England?"
"Catholic relics?" Hermione quickly returned.
"Yes, and?"
Hermione's eyes widened in knowing. "Holy water!"
"Very good, Ms. Granger. Ten points to Gryffindor." Malfoy mockingly replied, a dim smile gracing his face.
Hermione snorted a bit, surprised at Malfoy's newly grown sense of humor. "And the other two questions?"
"The Malfoys are an ancient and noble line, Granger. This is not, as they say in America, our first time around the block. Long ago, before the wizarding world cut itself off from the muggles and decided that muggles were inferior, it was very useful to have the Catholic church in your pocket. This was prior to the Reformation, of course, though the Malfoys have a line in France. I learned about Catholic teachings and customs as a matter of course. It's good to keep your options open, even if muggle religiosity has decreased.
"I will admit that if there is indeed a higher power than that of ourselves, I have been fervently praying to him or her. I, perhaps foolishly, wish to make it out of here alive. Even if I don't deserve to.
"Père Moreau, on the other hand, is an old friend of my mother's. He was the first person I wrote when I finally got out of the Manor."
Hermione wanted to ask why that was, but held back as Malfoy's time in the Manor's dungeons were clearly a prickly subject. She did not, after all, wish to disturb the tenuous truce that had been wordlessly enacted between them.
Mulling over the friendship between Mrs. Malfoy and a French priest, while doggedly ignoring the fact that Malfoys commonly learned how to exploit devout muggles and guiltily glossing over Malfoy's sad admission of guilt, Hermione let Malfoy lead her through the turnstile of a muggle metro station, usher her into a train, and, finally, sit next to her.
"I've found that the less magic you use, the less likely it is that one of your own will find you," Malfoy said to her in explanation. He's learning preventative measures and adapting.
Hermione nodded, going through her own notes on Malfoy's notes on the magic of the muggle brain in her head. Before she knew it, the metro train had made it to Île de la Cité. Hermione and Malfoy rose synchronously, making their way up from the underground.
The sight of the Cathedral had Hermione sighing in awe. The grey stone seemed to glow in the sunlight, and the area in front of it was absolutely vibrating with tourists. It was a feat of architecture, of Gothic arches and buttresses, gargoyles and other stone sculptures. This was the stuff of her dreams, and the first thing she had imagined Hogwarts would look like when she got her life-changing letter.
Jolting back into her present, Hermione noticed Malfoy was walking just ahead of her. She jogged to catch up with him, and together, they made their way to the line for entry.
Before too long, a darkly-clad man walked up to them. Hermione flinched at his arrival, but relaxed at the tell-tale collar jutting out from his buttoned jacket.
"Père Moreau," Malfoy said, his face the closest to a grin she had ever seen it.
"Draco, mon fils," Père Moreau pulled the lanky blond into a tight hug. "I am so happy you are safe." Hermione could hear the relieved tears in his voice.
"And Miss Granger," Père Moreau said, turning to her, his eyes a bit watery. "Thank you for being here, for helping Draco even if he did not at first deserve it."
"If it means helping my friends and saving our lives, I will always do it," Hermione replied easily.
Père Moreau's dark eyes twinkled as he chuckled. "You are as selflessly determined as Draco described you in his letters. I thought perhaps he was exaggerating, but it is clear you are deserving of respect."
Hermione quickly turned to Malfoy. "You wrote about me? When?"
"About three months ago, when I'd first made it out," Malfoy replied sheepishly.
"Before we met again?" Hermione asked, her cheeks flushing. "You said I was selflessly determined?"
"Or perhaps stubbornly delusional," Malfoy said, pink entering his own cheeks.
"Do not listen to him, Miss Granger," Père Moreau cut in. "He does not know how to be sincere."
Malfoy grimaced as Hermione laughed. The two followed Moreau into the cathedral, Hermione gasping in awe at the cavernous ceilings and beautiful stained glass windows. She didn't care if she'd been here with her parents before—she would never not be amazed by the sight of Notre Dame.
"Come," Père Monteau said, breaking Hermione out of her reverie as he led them toward a door. "Let us go to the Crypt. No one shall bother us there, as it is not open to the public."
"The Archaeological Crypt is closed?"
"Non, mademoiselle, the crypt of the cathedral is not open to the public. Come."
Moreau, Hermione, and Malfoy at the rear walked down a set of narrow steps into a tomb. It was cooler, with statues of the departed over smooth, marble coffins. The ceilings were low, the light feeble. In the empty space between tombs, a makeshift lab had been erected. Malfoy made a beeline for the scientific equipment, while Hermione stayed behind to ask Père Moreau a few questions.
"How do you know the Malfoys?" Hermione all but blurted out.
Laughing lightly, Moreau ran his hand atop his dark hair. "I am actually a very distant cousin in the Black family. My grandmother married a man who did not fit into the family's ideals and so was blasted off the family tree. To be honest, I'm not sure how Narcissa found out about me, but she was kind. She never asked me questions about why I chose this life for myself."
"What exactly do you do? Other than preach, of course," Hermione hastily added.
"I heal muggles. Magically."
"What."
Moreau laughed in earnest. "The devout ones that come to Notre Dame as a sort of pilgrimage. They believe in miracles, and what is magic if not a miracle? Not to worry, they don't know it is magic—they simply believe it is God's work. And as I am a technically a servant of God, they aren't exactly wrong."
"But don't you think it's disingenuous? To trick people into thinking they've been healed by a miracle?" Hermione asked, eyes wide and brows furrowed.
"Perhaps a bit. However, I'd rather they get to believe their miracle. Besides, the healing is not whole. I can relieve pain for a few days, but I cannot cure cancer. They're here to take what they can get—the desperate ones, that is—and I'm here to give it to them. It's what the wizards of the church do, or did before the church became corrupted by money." Moreau looked deep in thought.
"Are there many church wizards left?" Hermione asked, pulling him back into the present.
"Sadly, no. After the whole idea of blood supremacy took hold, less and less wizards wanted to help muggles. The wizarding world became so closed off, and now most wizards don't know about muggle religion. Us church-dwelling wizards really just stay in big churches that get a lot of visitors. The Vatican actually has about a dozen in its employ—the most of any church."
"Is the Pope…?" Hermione raised one eyebrow.
"Oh no," Moreau replied, "though I do see him as a genuine miracle-maker at times. He certainly is charismatic."
"Why did you become a church wizard?" Hermione added to her growing questions.
Moreau smiled a bit ruefully. "Penance," he replied and left it at that.
"Granger, are you done chatting or do we have to wait for the war to be over?" Malfoy called from his work table. In front of him was a chalice of gold, a badger delicately wrought between two heavy golden handles.
Hermione gasped, walking towards it. "Is that Helga Hufflepuff's Chalice?"
"It is indeed," Malfoy casually replied.
"Why do you have it?" Hermione continued, her hand slowly reaching toward the gold, temptation calling to her.
Draco quickly slapped her hand away from the glittering cup. "I stole it from Aunt Bella's vault at Gringotts. It's a Horcrux, and we need to figure out a way to destroy it. Hence why we are here, in Notre Dame de Paris."
"You've just been carrying around a Horcrux?" Hermione squeaked, jumping back in surprise.
"And you haven't?" Malfoy threw back. "Okay, I have been carrying it around, and it has been terrible, but I take comfort in the fact that I am already broken, so how much can damage can carting around a piece of You Know Who's soul do to me at this point?
"But, because I am a realist, I made sure to put it in a box in a box in my extended bag—not much chance of contact there.
"Granger, are you actually worrying about me?" Malfoy asked, noting her facial expression.
She was, naturally, but did he have to look so smug?
"Any sane person would! I'm sorry you aren't used to being around people with souls, but the people I run around with are kind and worry when someone has a piece of the darkest wizard ever's soul on their person!"
"Calm down, Granger! We'll be rid of it soon enough, and then you can go back to your general disdain for me. No need to worry once the danger is dissipated!" Malfoy quickly nodded towards Moreau, his eyes still locked with Hermione's. "Père Moreau, do you have it?" Malfoy looked hopefully at Moreau, who produced a small flask from the pocket of his coat.
"The holy water here was blessed a few months ago. It was the oldest I could find. Here." Moreau gingerly passed the flask of water to Malfoy, who took a deep breath before uncorking it.
Malfoy then proceeded to pour the holy water into the chalice. Hermione, Malfoy, and Moreau collectively held their breath.
There was a shimmer of movement with the chalice, as if the Horcrux inside of it had shuddered. Then, there was nothing else.
"Merde," Malfoy visibly deflated.
A/N: Hello all, a bit of an early update since the site had some glitches with updating stories. I re-uploaded chapter 6 yesterday, and since that felt a bit misleading, I figured I'd post this one as well!
Stay tuned, Harry and Ron appear again next chapter.