Theo, Draco and Hermione went to the beach on the first warm day in May. The walk was pleasant along a bridle path through blooming peach trees. The cottage's little cove was deserted, kept out of sight by limestone outcrops and a few subtle wards. Andromeda was happy enough to rub elbows with her Muggle neighbours but didn't want the yachting set invading her beach.
Hermione produced towels and a pop-up shade out of her beaded bag. She cast sunscreen charms on the three of them then handed Theo a plastic tube. He inspected it, twisting the cap off to give the unguent contained within a sniff. He made a face like Crookshanks being served tofu.
"Sunscreen." Hermione grinned. "Spread it all over yourselves." Theo and Draco looked askance at her. "Go on. It's a Muggle summer ritual. Like slapping mosquitoes and whinging about the humidity." Theo squirted some of the viscous white liquid into his hand then raised an eyebrow. "Yes, I know what it looks like." She scooped a finger into the cream and spread it on her arm. "I like using both because the charm fades if you're getting wind burned. It doesn't really cover well."
The wizards might have objected except Hermione shed her t-shirt and shorts to reveal herself in a black bikini. Applying sunscreen to each other was a face-saving diversion. Witches of their previous social circle did not bare themselves to such a degree. Fleur Delacour's Tournament swimsuit had been very daring, and she had the excuse of being French. Beauxbatons had a reputation for modishness.
Hermione tied up her hair with three elastics and a sticking charm as once her curls got wet there was no reasoning with them. No bathing cap yet made could contain her hair so she was going to settle for keeping it out of her face. At least seawater was more forgiving than the chlorine of the lidos where she had taken swimming lessons as a child.
"Mind doing my back?" Hermione asked generally, in a hurry to get into the water. The task fell to Theo as he had the tube in his hand. He spread the goo liberally with the witch swiping some to spread on her limbs. She took herself off when he hesitated, assuming he was done. The blond and the brunet marvelled as she ran across the sand and dove into the water.
"Everything is working fine." Theo shifted on his towel. The baggy shorts were not nearly baggy enough.
Draco's slightly strangled affirmative grunt made him consider other solutions than thinking pure thoughts. "The water will be cool."
"Not enough." Draco groaned. Granger's pert arse was going to torment him. Bloody Muggles and their shamelessness.
"If we go in now, while she's distracted, she might not notice." He did not want to feel any more awkward than he did already. Theo had no intention of obtruding upon the witch as no one liked being ogled like a piece of meat.
They went surreptitiously into the sea, which despite Draco's pessimism did the trick nicely. Granger was swimming laps with such precision of distance they assumed she had a proximity charm on them to avoid triggering the Trace. She had given them as long a leash as she could. Neither tested it. Thus far they had avoided the attention of the authorities, which suited them very well indeed.
Theo stuck to the shallows, aware he was painfully out of condition. He did take advantage of the support of the water to flex and stretch, feeling less like a puppet with its strings cut. His back didn't ache so much when floating. Granger had mentioned yoga classes, which were available in town. Thus far he had not taken an interest but feeling now how much his hips and shoulders didn't protest as he moved, Theo could see the point of her suggestion. He wanted to rid his bones of the cold of Azkaban.
With a Seeker's daring, Draco swam out beyond the breaking waves and tried to mimic the witch. He'd been a good swimmer once. The Malfoys had a villa in Greece and he'd spent gloriously idle summers splashing about. Did they still own the property? The thought of some Ministry yob slobbing about in the crisp white house, scratching the terrazzo floors or chopping down the olive grove made him irrationally angry. He misjudged a stroke, took a mouthful of water then spluttering started to sink. He thrashed trying to keep above the surface but a wave hit him and he panicked as he went under.
Hermione didn't hear him but the ring on her finger burned suddenly. She stopped swimming, pulling her wand from her hair as she trod water. She could see Theo's head turning left and right to scan the bay then he surged forward to rush through the waves. Draco was out of sight but within the ninety-five yards she had set on her own proximity charm.
"Accio Draco!" Hermione shouted and a pale form swept through the water, smacking into her flailing. An elbow connected with her chin. She kept her grip on her wand but couldn't get a good grasp on him as he struggled. "Ambulare Super Aquas!" The witch cast a spell she'd seen George Weasley use to prank some Muggles. Her gesture was clumsy so Draco ended on his bum on the surface of the water instead of beatifically standing atop the waves.
She towed him back to shore and helped by Theo hauled him onto the sand. Draco coughed and choked, shaking with his attempts to quell his own response. He felt himself be pulled into a kneeling position so someone could support him as he gasped. Someone else cast something then held a hand palm cupped near his mouth. Warm, fresh air wafted against his lips. He heaved in deep breaths and finally convinced his lungs he wasn't dying.
"Which spell did you use?" Theo inquired, rubbing Draco's back as he wheezed.
"Spiritus Vitae. It's very handy. Oxygen for breathing difficulties and the gas is hot enough to help treat hypothermia by warming the core." Hermione maintained the charm until the blond nodded, signalling he was recovered. She shook out her hand. "I've made a hobby of learning every first aid spell I can. I didn't know enough when Harry, Ron and I were on the run. Ron Splinched himself. All we had was Dittany." Taking a deep breath in sympathy with Draco, the witch put her wand away. "How are you feeling?"
"Can't even drown right." Draco muttered, literally and metaphorically on his knees.
"Good." Theo said heavily. He met the blond's glare with equanimity. "I don't want you dead."
"For Hell's sake." Hermione lost her patience with the Slytherin sangfroid and hugged Draco. "Come here and hug him too." She ordered the brunet imperiously. Theo complied, putting an arm around them both unsure whether to praise or curse.
Draco rested his forehead on her shoulder, too shocked to really enjoy the view. When the water had closed over his head he had thought he was back in Azkaban, airless, voiceless, weak and in agony. He had struggled but the soul-deep apathy had dragged at him, pulling him into the abyss. That it was less than ten feet down to the sand where he had been swimming didn't matter; in his mind he had been sinking to hadal depths.
"I'm sorry." Draco murmured to Granger's skin, his lips close enough to taste the salt. "So sorry."
"You are being a bit maudlin now, yes." She confirmed as though he was talking about himself. He tried to protest but was stilled by her hand on his back, her fingers finding Theo's and rubbing a slow circuit. "Take it as read that I accept your apology, that neither you nor I would be here if I still held a grudge and like Theo I don't want you dead."
"And do you like Theo?" The blond inquired with unexpected cunning.
"I think I will, once he's had a chance to put himself back together." Hermione felt Theo's hand twitch against hers and met his eyes. "Enough demands have been made on you. Believe me, I know what that's like." Her mouth twisted into a wry smile that he wanted to kiss. "So, no promises. But whatever else this experience gives us, I hope we can be friends."
Both Theo and Draco wanted that so much they couldn't speak. Hermione coaxed the blond back into the water up to his waist while the brunet supported him and they shook off the pathos of the moment with a splash fight. The playful exchange turned into a chase up and down the beach throwing seaweed at each other until they collapsed laughing on the towels.
Windblown and sandy, they strolled back to the cottage. The wizards had a nap after showering while Hermione sat in the garden working the knots out of her hair. She turned when someone rattled the back gate, it was difficult to knock on wrought iron, and called out a greeting in French with a Breton accent.
The old man was a wizard. He wasn't wearing robes or sporting any particularly eldritch accoutrements but no one other than a wizard would have a beard down to his knees carefully braided into Celtic knots. Hermione returned the greeting and went to the gate. She didn't open it immediately, a hesitation the old man did not seem to notice.
"I catch you from the sea, mamzelle." He smiled, pleased to see a girl who looked like she had been swimming not lying lacquered on the sand to be ogled. "I would not impose but I come from the Ministére." Seeing her concern, he hastily introduced himself. "I am Gilles Bombard-Kemener, no one but a fool with an abacus. My grandson Bertrand is a clerk. It is he who asked me to be his messenger."
"I've read your book on second phase derivatives in forecasting Arithmancy, Monsieur. Challenging stuff." Hermione extended her hand, which he bowed over with a soft chuckle.
"You and perhaps nine others, you are kind." Gilles had published at the insistence of his daughter, who worked in the Ministry Archives and lamented often about the melange of notes bequeathed to the state. At her behest, his life's work had been properly edited and submitted to the Acamedie Francaise des Sorciers. "My grandson is mezv 'vel ur person, so I come in his stead."
"I'm sorry. I don't understand your phrase." She had been managing fairly well following M. Bombard-Kemener's rolled 'r' and his lilt, which reminded her of Scots English, but his vernacular expression eluded her completely.
"Pardon, mamzelle. I mean he is drunk as a vicar." The old wizard spoke slowly. "His good friend has just become a father so the office is wetting the baby's head." He chuckled again. Petit Bertrand had no stomach for liquor. "I know Pergignan well enough to Apparate. My poor happy grandson would have sent himself to Andorra."
Over the shoulder of the jeune fille, Gilles saw a young man come out of the cottage then hastily retreat inside. Despite his age, his eyes were good enough to see the black smudge on the boy's left arm. Bien sur. Why else would English Aurors want to come to a little Roussillon village?
"So it is no trouble." He continued airily, making his decision. Gilles handed over one of the letters his grandson had given him to deliver. This one was a scroll edged with silver and sealed with pale blue wax. "An invitation from Beauxbatons. Madame la Directrice heard of your coming to France but not where. She did not wish to merely send an owl."
Hermione thanked the old wizard. He bowed again, refused an offer of tea and Disapparated. Out of habit she waved her wand over the invitation checking for nasty surprises. There were none. Olympe Maxime's bold handwriting in glittering azure conveyed respects, mild reproach for not announcing she was in the country, and a wish for Hermione Jean Granger, O.M. (First Class) to give a speech at the Beauxbatons graduation ceremony. Gabrielle Delacour would be among those receiving their diplomas, and the Delacour family were proud supporters of Mademoiselle Granger's work at the Department of Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures.
Draco heard Granger's groan through the kitchen door and opened it hastily. She walked past him, still reading a fancy scroll then made another noise of dismay. He glanced to the deserted back gate before shutting the door. Not a French Auror, then. His fear ebbed a little. He didn't want their refuge assailed.
"Why does everyone think I enjoy public speaking?" Hermione asked Draco and the scroll as she rolled the latter. Instead of replying verbally, the wizard sat at the table and raised his hand, enthusiastically waving it in the air as though he really, really wanted to give the answer. "Very funny. I thought you were having a nap."
"Theo's snoring." Draco shrugged. Her expression told him she knew he wasn't telling her the whole truth but he didn't want to talk about the darkness behind his eyes hungering to trap him. Sleep had eluded him.
"I'm surprised you can hear him through the wall." She observed, debating with herself how much she should explain to Madam Maxime about her resignation from the Ministry or her current living arrangements. Either subject was awkward. Perhaps a simple refusal with polite regrets citing some previous engagement. Maybe if she hinted a demanding hush-hush project? Possibly not, as the Headmistress had many contacts she could quiz and being not informed of such an undertaking might ruffle the French Ministry's feathers. Brazening it out with a blunt 'non' was too crass. Damn.
"Same bed." He told her, wondering if she would be shocked. Granger merely nodded and continued to stare at the scroll. "Care to join us?"
"There isn't room." Hermione had been paying attention. She looked up to smile at him. "You are feeling a bit better then?"
"I don't know." Draco shrugged again. "Nothing seems to stay in my head."
"That's a fairly common symptom. I had it. Padma as well. Others too, I expect, but they didn't assume they could return to their studies immediately. I took more notes in my Seventh Year than I did for all the other Years combined. If I didn't write it down, I forgot it." She made a face. The frustration had made it worse. She'd felt as dumb as Goyle and as ineffectual as mist. "Only advice I can give is to try to take it in your stride. Which is spectacularly unhelpful, I know."
"How long did it take you? To get better?" He eyed her, not seeing the schoolgirl in her at all. She was someone he knew but it was as though he had forgotten what bossy, swotty Granger looked like. Hermione was different. Hermione he liked.
"Years." The witch grimaced, batting the scroll onto the floor where Crookshanks promptly sat on it. "I'd just got up to speed with school when suddenly it was over. Then it was the Ministry and trying to get other people to care." Hermione shook her head. "The feeling of alienation hasn't gone away. I sympathise with the goblins. Putting up with wizarding nonsense for centuries would make me want to sharpen an axe too."
"At least you can go back to the Muggles." Draco tugged at the manacle on his wrist. There was an abraded ring of red skin beneath it, an effect of his leashed magic rather than friction.
"People say that but it's not true." If the Malfoy she'd known at Hogwarts had said that to her, she would've taken it as an insult. Hermione knew Draco didn't mean it that way now. "I'm a witch. Born of Muggles or born of magical folk, I'm a witch. I can pretend to be a Muggle but I'm really not. No more than you and Theo are with those shackles on you."
Draco thought about what she had said all through the afternoon and into the evening. Hermione Apparated to Chur for a late meeting with Ulrik that had Theo muttering about hobnobbing or it might have been hob nobbling. She brought back a chocolate cake as dark as sin and as rich as Croesus. The household devoured it watching the Aristocats on DVD in the attic after dinner. Draco, Theo and Hermione stayed up to watch Toy Story and fell asleep together halfway through.