Once the car was through security at the other end of the Euro Channel we hit the motor way again and it was silent. The car was smooth and low to the pavement, gliding like a hoverboard, and I fell into a deep sleep with my head against the window. Draco had made it clear that the car would make it in half the time of a regular vehicle but it would still be many hours. We weren't going through Paris for the sake of time; instead through Reims, Troyes, Dijon and Lyon. How he knew where he was going was a mystery that I didn't waste a question on. He hated questions and I knew from experience that his limit was about three before he grew angered and salty.
I awoke to the pattering of rain on the slanted windshield above me. I sat up bleary and confused; I was alone in the car. It was in a parking lot facing out towards a wide river. Pedestrians were drifting along the developed shoreline behind a seawall in front of the hood. I tried the door and it was locked. My fingers drifted over all of the endless buttons around me. I tried locating the keys, but he'd taken them with him. I growled in annoyance that he'd locked me into the car, smacking my hands flat against the side window. A man in a long brown jacket and matching brown baseball hat getting into the car next to me frowned. He paused with his door in his hands as the rain drifted over the point of the cap. I tugged at the door, not really acknowledging him.
He leaned towards the window, knocking on the glass with his knuckles and his voice was muffled through the framework of the vehicle between us, "Êtes-vous coincé?" I froze and looked up into his friendly query. He was maybe early twenties with a rich tan and bright green eyes. His eyebrows were knit together with concern.
"Tu peux ouvrir la porte?" I asked, hoping that the car door would open from the outside. His hand tugged at the door, and it didn't move. He shook his head, then tried again, and I screamed as a terrible alarm began to blare loudly from the Aventador. Lights were going off in blinding flashes and the ringing of the alarm had us both panicking.
"As-tu besoin de la police?" The man shouted over the car's honking, unsure of what to do with his hands in the air.
"Non! Je-je vais bien," I was saying now ripping at my handle. The man was suddenly pinned back against his own vehicle forcefully. Draco had his arm sideways against the man's chest uttering something harshly at him, before he released his grasp and the young man was in his front seat, fumbling with his keys. Once the other car had disappeared in reverse Draco opened my door and cancelled the alarm.
He rolled his eyes, "I can't leave you alone for ten minutes without you exacting that damsel in distress complex of yours." He unlocked an umbrella and stood back for me to get out and I gladly left the jail cell I'd been stuck in, hovering close to him under the umbrella.
"There's a restaurant at this museum," he pointed behind him at a large stone and glass complex that read Jardin du Musée des Confluences on an address sign, "We should go inside and eat something. We need to catch up on the Order anyways." He led me in with chivalry, holding his elbow out for me and the umbrella with his other hand.
Inside I excused myself to run to the bathroom, and when I emerged in front of the mirror I had to contain my laughter as several muggle women took in my lavish clothing with beady eyes, obviously not aware of the different styles typical to the high-class wizarding world. Compared to their casual wear mine was highly aristocratic and eccentric; a baby-blue bouffant dress with a bow on the back. I resembled a wild Cinderella with my long blond waves - all I needed was white gloves and I could walk into Disneyland and pose as an entertainer.
I found Draco at a table by a window. His arm was propped up so he could lean his pointy chin in his hand, staring out at the public park nearby. Muggles were milling around pathways and perfectly maintained oval patches of grass. He was slanted in the chair, legs crossed. I sat across from him on my hands, now dreading the conversation we had to inevitably have. His eyes slid over me, "Don't be nervous. It's unbecoming. So tell me, has your week with those rubes garnished anything useful yet?" His fingers toyed with a fork, flipping it over and over against the table cloth.
I took a deep breath and exhaled, staring into the white wine swirling in a glass before me, "Well...I am nervous, Draco. I 'ave overlooked so many disturbing things I 'ave seen but dere's one thing I cannot." I felt a sickening pit forming in my stomach and my heart burned in my chest. I couldn't look at him while I prepared to ask the question.
"Spit it out then," he said, sounding impatient.
I shut my eyes, "Did you strangle 'ermione Granger to death?" My voice was thin and high pitched. I squeezed my eyelids tighter, afraid of the confirmation.
He dropped the fork. I heard it hit the table cloth with a thud, "Who would tell you something like that?" I lifted my eyes knowing I looked sick. He was staring at me with a wide, suspicious gaze, still as a statue.
"Ron Weasley," I said bluntly, recalling Ron's tortured yelling at the dinner table my first night with the Order.
He smirked and his bright blue eyes flitted out the window away from me, "Weasley. No surprise." He tapped his hand on the table and then he leaned forward so fast I jumped, his voice dropped several tones, "Granger isn't dead. Although, I suppose I can sympathize with why they would think that."
I let out a huge breath, relief flowing through me, "Dey told me you strangled her-"
He cut me off, "You mentioned that already. Yes I did, so she would drop her wand before I disapparated her. To a Death Eater prison in Denmark." I could tell he was mad with me for not bringing it up earlier. He must've felt undignified by how much time I had waited. I'd pushed the idea out of my mind for days, not able to process the concept that he would do such a thing. Perhaps not even willing myself to process it.
"Why did you kill Neville, den?" I shot back in a whisper.
"If I try to save everyone I come across, do you really think you or I, or my parents, would still be breathing right now?" He fumed, also whispering, his eyes darkening. "Granger is an obvious liberation. She's special to Potter - I can argue my reasoning later if they find out she's been detained. My father doesn't even know I moved her there, so you need to keep this a fucking secret or so help me..." He trailed off, breathing jaggedly as a waiter came within dangerous proximity to the table. The warning in his eyes was unprecedented. I nodded solemnly, now feeling very ill from the need to confront him.
He sat back, softening slightly, "Now it's my turn. What have you learned about Potter? You need to give me something, anything."
I sipped at my wine and my eyes trailed the ceiling as I did so. I put the glass down and twisted a napkin around, thinking. I didn't have much, "'arry knows about de prison camps, but not yet where dey are, I imagine it's a top priority. Although, de Order believes Granger is dead. Oh, and 'arry 'as a special map dat shows locations of people by footsteps and names, but I didn' get a good look at et. I 'ave no idea what building it belongs to. 'e leaves during the day, all day, and I 'ave no idea to where."
Draco nodded slowly, his eyes transfixed as he evaluated the information, "Can you get him to take you with him next time he leaves?"
I shook my head, "'e always leaves wit' Ron and Ginny, who despise me. Dey don' trust me like dat' yet."
He sneered at me in vexation, "Excuse me for imagining that letting Potter kiss you would have at least cost him some level of vulnerability." I could see the still fresh ache in his eyes as he dropped them, his chest heaving slightly. I dropped mine too, feeling guilty.
His voice was quieter as he spoke again, "Despite what you overheard Lucius say, you are not at all required to whore yourself out. You shouldn't feel any pressure to use your body to win Potter over. In fact, do us both a favor and don't."
"I'm sorry, Draco," I weakly replied. He tapped his fingers again, still bearing sadness in his eyes as he looked away out the window.
As we ate lunch he asked me to describe where they were located and I found myself floundering, not at all sure of the actual location. I described the farm and the tulip radius, where the magical ward ended and how it worked. He listened intently and his mood had seemed to shift back up to where it had been before the conversation. Finally as we were getting back into the car I remembered a curiosity of mine, "Is Luna your cousin?" I sat next to him in the car as he shut the doors and started the engine.
His face twisted in amusement, "Luna Lovegood, the schizophrenic girl? She's with the Order?" He barked a laugh as he maneuvered the car back to the motor way, "She's my cousin, technically. A total freak though. I doubt she's all there." He tapped on his skull as he said the last sentence.
"She's schizophrenic? Are you sure?" I played with the photo of us from earlier, flipping it back and forth with my knees high in my chair. I imagined her sweet little voice and drunken smiles. She had seemed dreadfully insane but also oddly wistful. She'd only shown support for him while he was there before me throwing her under a bus.
He sighed, "I don't know, what does it matter. I haven't spoken to her in years. When my family took the dark mark the Lovegood's cut us off. Not a huge loss if you ask me." He shrugged.
The rest of the drive was uneventful and mainly quiet. I followed Draco's lead as he provided shorter and shorter responses to conversation until I gave up and left him alone. I'd asked to play with his watch at one point and he'd bluntly made me aware that I was never to touch it. Within a few more hours we were arriving in Antibes, and the car slowed down with the abrupt onset of the town and the amount of pedestrian traffic. I put my window down to take in the early afternoon sunshine glinting off of familiar landmarks.
The streets of the ancient Cap' de Antibes were characterized by randomized, winding roadways that were narrow and filled with pedestrians floating around lazily. The brick buildings were very old and tiny, many leaning on their foundations. Palm trees and other Mediterranean vegetation dominated every possible space. Vines in thick sheets clung to fences and mortar. I pushed my body out of the window and held onto the window frame with both hands gleefully. The sweet, hot wind of the ocean blew in my face, calling me home.
Draco eventually pulled me back inside by my dress, asking me for directions. He was now stone faced and his lips were pressed into a thin line. I could tell he was anxious about meeting my parents. The atmosphere in the car was tense as I pointed down road after road. He kept having to break haphazardly to barely miss reckless Parisians running in the alleyways and tourists not paying attention. One portly man in particular was quite day-drunk, stumbling in front of the supercar in awe. He had proceeded to smear his hands on the front window whilst begging for a ride. Draco had to sit there with his forehead to the steering wheel while the man peeled himself off of the windshield, slurring incoherent Italian words.
We finally stopped before massive gates with twisting, white metal ornamentation and a large D in the center. Draco let me out of the car door and I ran to the gate waving my wand. I spoke the password under my breath, Singulare Aude.
As the metal swung inwards with slow authority and a timeworn screeching, I ran down the pathway not bothering to get back into the car. My hair flew out behind me as I sped at breakneck speed towards Villa de la Desrosiers, looming in the distance like a marvelous white acropolis. I could see the palms on the rooftop pool, the many balconies with potted plants, and some of the Renaissance gardens in perfect geometrical parterres leading down to the seawall. The long laneway cleared to a roundabout porte co·chère with a fabulous central fountain. The stone statue in the center depicted a weeping girl with long wavy hair and massive birds wings for arms, arched at her sides.
I almost forgot to wait for Draco in all of my excitement. He parked the shiny green car and walked up to me, squinting at the fortress that was my home estate. Planted in ample green spaces all around the entrance were large, very well groomed green trees that ended in perfect pointy pyramids. The fountain next to us splattered with bright golden fish enjoying the warmth of the day. The sun was baking down on the Mediterranean coast in an unforgiving blare, and I could smell his cologne in the heat as he hugged me from behind, gripping his fingers through the fabric of my dress tightly.
"I can't believe I'm saying this, but you might be more wealthy than me," he mused, as his eyes trailed the stone pillars holding up the cantilever porte co·chère, "And here you were letting me spoil you all this time." He planted warm kisses on my cheek and I closed my eyes, smiling at the affection before realizing that there might be onlookers from one of the dozens of rooms above us.
I laced my fingers through his and guided him up the monstrous white stone stairs. The double doors at the top swung open before we'd reached the landing. The estate steward, who was a squib and had been with our family for generations, stepped out in a cyan-blue tunic with his jaw dropped. He was richly tanned, and his long gray hair was braided behind his back. His light gray eyes glued to my prancing figure.
"Bernier!" I exclaimed as I jumped into his arms for a hug, knocking him several steps back. He'd practically raised me and I had a very strong adoration for the elderly gentleman.
He was aghast, "Comment est-ce possible?" He held me out in front of him and touched my cheeks with both hands to analyze my face, "Tu as vieilli! Toutefois, vous êtes toujours belle."
I smiled sheepishly in his grasp, "En Anglais, Bernier." I gestured to Draco who was standing there with his hands now in his pockets, looking around the front of the estate in astonishment. He wasn't even bothering to try and decipher the French dialogue. "Mon mari est Anglais. But yes I am older et 'as been two years! Bernier you must meet my 'usband, Draco Malfoy."
Bernier turned to face Draco and bowed, one arm bent behind his back and one before, and Draco raised his eyebrows. He was so stunned by the unfamiliar custom, I half expected him to pat the steward's head like a dog.
Bernier grinned as he straightened, "La famille Desrosiers' 'ave a long-standing relation to Renaissance Royalty. You will accustom to our traditions, Monsieur Malfoy. Come in, dis way! You're mother will be most astounded by dis' occasion." He waited inside the door to shut it behind us.
Draco bent to whisper in my ear, "You have no house elves?"
I shook my head and gave him a judgmental look, "Not every wealthy family believes in slavery."
Bernier floated before us, choosing the right hand side on a set of curvilinear grand stairs that led to the second story. The central tiles of the stairs were a pale robins egg blue and the metal banisters a black and gold rose design. The walls and floor-to-ceiling drapes were all creamy white. A massive crystal chandelier from hundreds of years ago sat glinting in the center of the ceiling between the stairs. Potted plants filled every corner. The sheer polarity of our family homes was incredibly emphasized by the introduction and I could see it in the way Draco's eyes were drinking in the hyper-brightness of the décor.
I felt the urgency to run amuck and find my family on my own, but because Draco was there and Bernier clearly was in a formal mood, I was forced to walk slowly with them.
We walked through to the third floor and Bernier stopped at my fathers office door. Because it was the weekend he would be home, filing paperwork no doubt with his famous golden quill. My mother usually worked at a connected office designing fashion with the doors to the balcony wide open. She was incredibly fond of allowing the breeze from the ocean to flow in freely.
Bernier knocked on the door and the golden handle slowly morphed into a falcon's face. "Qui va là?" It asked in a slow, thundering tone. Who is there.
Bernier and I weren't phased by the intimidating door, having known it for lifetimes, "Adaleus, ta fille est arrivée." Bernier had a knowing grin on his face as the lock clicked open and the heavy white door swung inwards. I took Draco's sweaty hand as we walked in.
The personal office of the French Minister of Magical Affairs was ornate as one might expect. There was a huge fire blazing to the left in a hearth of pale grey bricks that reached the ceiling. Everything was heavy, lavish, and in blush colors including the drapery. The gold framed portraits on the walls snoozed peacefully. A massive black cherry desk sat at the back against a bulls eye window facing the ocean. Paintings of angels covered the arched ceilings. It was bright and airy yet authoritative.
My father sat at the desk with the golden quill in question stuck between his fingers, hovering off of the parchment he'd been marking. He was in a pale beige suit and his white hair was tucked into a pony tail behind his back. He had a chiseled, tanned face with the same glowing gold eyes as me, watching us enter. His white handle bar moustache was twisted in perfection to a perfect point on either side. His face remained still for a moment before he registered my appearance, drifting into the room before him with trepidation. He stood, and dropped the quill in awe, his mouth parted slightly.
"Ma fille," he said in a breathy voice, as I approached his desk with uncontrollable tears brimming in my eyes. I twisted my fingers as I struggled to speak.
"Père," I said shaking, "Je m'excuse." He walked around the desk regally with a straight spine and held my shoulders, staring into my eyes.
"Où étais-tu," he asked seriously, wondering where I had been for years. His eyes pierced into mine with a hint of betrayal.
My lip trembled as I struggled to answer, and when I couldn't muster any words I just wrapped my arms around him and he pulled me into a tight hug, rubbing my back. "Charlot!" He called my mother's name loudly.
The adjoined doorway to their workspaces opened as my mother drifted in with a long piece of lavender fabric in her hands, "Adaleus, à propos de?" She rested her eyes on our conjoined figures and gasped, dropping everything.
"Madeleine," she cried, reaching out to me, "Comment vas-tu ici." She was wearing a flowing pink gown with a golden belt, and her long strawberry waves echoed mine as they fell to her waist. She hugged me opposite my father and in that moment the war in Britain was a faint recollection, and I was in the center of love and serenity.
My mother withdrew and zeroed in on Draco, who was standing nearby with his face downwards and his hands in his pockets. "Qui es-tu?" She demanded to know who he was.
My entire family was now staring at the handsome stranger in the room. He swallowed and looked into my father's eyes, "Draco, Draco Malfoy, sir." He held out his hand sharply and my father took it, nodding in understanding.
"Ah, Malfoy...you are my daughter's chosen partner. I 'ave spoken wit' your parents," he stated in a gravelly voice, aged from years of cigars and brandy, "Your father told me der was an unfortunate accident. Dat' 'owever, was a long a time ago now." His confrontational gaze held Draco's magnetically. He was calm and factual, his energy fixating.
Draco looked hollow and I could tell he was doing his best not to allow fear and emotion to overcome him. "Yes, sir. Madeleine was in a comatose state...for quite a while. I apologize for the lack of communication, Britain is in a sensitive political state right now. As I'm sure you're aware. We did not want to compromise your family's safety by sending messages back and forth," Draco maintained a deep and confident voice as he thought on the spot, and I nodded to show my agreement.
Adaleus nodded slowly, "Dis makes sense." He startled everyone by snapping his fingers, "No more time to waste den, we shall celebrate tonight. Monsieur Malfoy, you will stay wit' me for de next 'our and introduce yourself. Bernier, send word about; my daughter 'as come 'ome." He squeezed my shoulder tightly with a powerful grin.