Hi everyone! Sorry for the late post, I've had a busy week! But I think I may make Friday's my new update day anyways. Thank you all for the kind feedback on last chapter. So, here it is, the chapter we've been waiting for, the first encounter! Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. All rights go to JKR.

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Ch. 4: The Meeting

I had spent most of the evening outside, as I usually did when Blaise dragged me to things like this. This was the third club he had brought me to this week, but he swore this one was different. We had to go! He had practically begged me, and I had given in, of course, knowing that even if I said no, he would still have somehow found a way for us to end up there.

Apparently, this one was so "different" because it was the opening night of this club that was supposed to be the next big thing in Wizarding Paris. They were all the same to me though, and I hated this one just as much as all the others. These places were always too loud, played awful music, and had far, far too many people for my taste. Ever since the War, when I would enter places that were this crowded, my palms became sweaty and it became hard to breath. Thus, I found a routine of going straight to the bar, buying a drink or two and then parking myself outside with them as soon as possible.

Blaise knew I hated these places, but he loved them – all of the women, the alcohol, the attention he got for having an influential family, he ate it right up. I probably would have resented the fact that he kept bringing me to clubs even knowing that I despised them, but, to be fair, during the days I often dragged him around to do more "boring" things, as he put it, like going to museums and such, and he put up with that even though he hated it. So, we both kept our mouths shut, and then we made it a point to do things we both enjoyed every now and again, like going to the beach or an expensive dinner. We even had gone to a quidditch match the other day.

I took a sip of my firewhiskey, glancing around at my surroundings. Unlike me, most people didn't camp out on the balcony all night, choosing instead to use it as a brief reprise from the stifling heat inside. I had tried to use a cooling charm the first time we came to a place like this, but I learned quickly that it wasn't nearly strong enough to make a dent in the heavy, humid air.

People had been coming and going all night, mostly couples, stumbling out in their drunken states. They would lean on each other, laughing and kissing, and I would in turn quickly look away from their intimate moment, very studiously shoving down the ache in my chest.

I had been in France about two weeks now, and, admittedly, it had been a much-needed break. It was like a breath of fresh air, being away from the Manor, and finally being able to walk around without people immediately knowing my past sins. I wasn't immediately met with glares and fearful retreats when I stepped outside my door, and that alone lifted a small weight from my shoulders. Blaise was a help as well, keeping me busy, and it was refreshing to be constantly surrounded by his cheerful nature.

But it was far from all good-times and smiles.

I often found my thoughts drifting to my mother, wondering if she was okay, worrying that she wasn't, worrying that my father was hurting her. I wrote her probably every other day, often sending out a second letter before she could even respond to the first. She assured me she was fine, but of course I still worried.

And then there were the nightmares. They had been a constant since the War and being away from the Manor did nothing to abate them. I had to place a silencing charm on my room every night to keep from waking Blaise. The first night, when my screams had woken him from a dead sleep down the hall, I had been mortified; I was bloody nineteen and I still woke up screaming and even – to my horror – crying on occasion. Blaise hadn't asked about it, simply made sure I was okay and let it go, knowing that I would want to ignore it, but I saw the look in his eyes. Fear. Concern. It caused guilt to settle low in my stomach, and I vowed that, to Blaise's knowledge, that would be the last nightmare I had. Of course, I still had them every night, but at least now they were private events.

So, no, I was nowhere near "healed" or "happy" or "my-old-self" or any other stupid adjectives that my mother and Blaise seemed to believe were the purpose of this trip. However, in terms of getting the hell away from my father and the Manor, I would call this trip a major success so far.

I took another slow drag of my firewhiskey, wondering how much longer Blaise was planning to stay. I had some stores I wanted to browse the next morning, and I would have preferred getting back to the house before four in the morning. This place seemed to have a lot of beautiful women, which was how Blaise occupied himself. Typically, the more women that were available to him, the longer he wanted to stay. Considering that, it probably would be a later –

"Malfoy?!"

I spun on my heel, nearly dropping my glass in my shock at seeing who the first person was to recognize me since I came to France. "Granger?!" My nose scrunched and my lips tipped down at the corners, more out of confusion than the disgust I had felt toward the girl every other time I saw her.

She took a few steps toward me, stepping further into the dim light so I could see her more clearly. My eyes widened and I felt my back straighten in further surprise as I actually looked at her. The first thing that I noticed was that her hair was a lot more tamed than it had been at Hogwarts, and now that I could finally see past it to her face, I was surprised to find that she was attractive, in a natural, delicate way. Quickly brushing past that thought, I continued to examine her. She was showing far more skin than I had ever seen her show, wearing a fitted, short skirt to reveal the curves of her legs. On top, she was wearing a shirt that dipped down in the front, with only thin strips for sleeves, baring her arms that were currently crossed in front of her as she frowned at me.

"What on earth are you doing here?" she asked, frowning. I expected her tone to hold contempt, disgust, resentment, even fear, but surprisingly enough it merely showed her curiosity.

Regaining my composure after the initial shock of seeing her, I leaned casually against the railing behind me, lifting an eyebrow at her. "Could ask the same of you."

I saw a flash of that same irritation she often showed me during our days at Hogwarts flash across her face for a moment. It was gone just as quickly though, and she simply shrugged. "Just a little vacation for the summer."

"Same for me," I responded without thinking. The fact that I was even engaging with Granger was clearly a sign of my boredom from being alone out here all evening.

"Are you here alone?" she asked. I nearly laughed at how evident it was in her features that she was struggling with her curiosity and her desire to have nothing to do with me. Apparently, her curiosity was winning.

"No," I answered simply. "Are you?"

"No."

Neither of us spoke for several moments, yet she wasn't making any moves to leave. Eventually, my curiosity got the best of me. "How did you get your name on the list? It's supposed to be very exclusive."

She instantly bristled, straightening her shoulders and setting her face in a glare. "And, what? Because I'm just some mudblood there is no way I could get my name on such an exclusive list?"

I flinched at the way she carelessly tossed that word around. Not that she knew it, but I had lost my taste for the term after the events of the War. I cleared my throat. "No," I said slowly. "I was only asking because you have to know someone important in France to get your name on the list. I'm only here because Blaise's family has influence here."

She shifted her weight between her feet. It was hard to tell in the extremely dim lighting, but a light blush seemed to be coloring her cheeks.

"Oh."

"Oh, indeed," I said, enjoying her clear discomfort at being wrong.

She wrapped her arms a little tighter around herself but met my eyes with a strong gaze, already recovered from her embarrassment. "Well, for your information, my friend Charlotte was able to get us on the list."

I nodded, as that made more sense than Granger having significant influence in France – surely her war-heroine status didn't afford her the same celebrity here as it did back home.

Sensing the lull in the conversation, I turned back around, leaning my elbows against the railing. I expected her to leave, go back inside, but she continued to surprise me, coming to stand beside me a moment later, resting her elbows against the railing. I turned toward her with a raised brow.

She didn't turn to look at me, but she must have seen me regarding her from the corner of her eye. She worried her bottom lip between her teeth for a few moments before she spoke. "I don't really want to go back inside yet," she said quietly. "Do you mind if I…" she trailed off.

I shrugged, turning back toward the view before me. "It's a free world, Granger. Do what you like."

We sat in silence for a few more minutes, and eventually my thoughts began to drift again. Granger, however, was apparently not one for silence. "Why are you out here, anyway?" she asked.

"Bloody hell, woman, what is this? An inquisition?" I mumbled. I could feel her bristling beside me, could sense her ready to snap back at me, so I continued quickly before she had the chance. "This atmosphere isn't quite to my taste," I said dryly.

She snapped her mouth shut, as it had been open, ready to return the attitude I had given her. To my continued surprise, she snorted. "Yeah, I can understand that."

I smirked. "The night club scene isn't for goody-two-shoes Granger? Shocking."

She rolled her eyes. "It's just a bit crowded for me," she explained, even though I hadn't asked. "And hot."

I hummed in agreement, again expecting that to be the end of our discussion. Again, I was wrong.

"How can you stand it in there in long sleeves?" she asked, and I immediately stiffened. "I mean, I'm wearing this –" she gestured to herself "– and I'm dying. I can't imagine how you could wear long sleeves."

"Why do you think I'm out here," I grit out, praying she would drop it. Without realizing it, I had begun tugging on my left sleeve, making sure it fully covered my arm.

"Still, I'm sure you would be much more comfortable in there if you rolled your sleeves to your elbows at least," she said, not dropping it despite my silent pleading. "Plenty of guys roll their sleeves like that, it's really -"

"Granger!" I snapped. "Will you drop it? I wear long sleeves, and I will not roll them up. End of story."

I saw her eyes, widened in surprise, drift to my right hand, which was still tugging my left sleeve as far down my wrist as it would go. When her eyes met mine again, they contained emotions I never thought I would see her look at me with – pity and perhaps a bit of guilt. It made me feel sick.

I jerked my head forward, scowling, trying desperately to ignore the embarrassment swirling in my stomach. "We aren't all so open about showing our scars," I spat.

I could tell she was still staring at me, but I refused to look at her, fearing I would see her pity again. From the corner of my eye, I saw her slowly raising her left arm toward me, the inside of her forearm facing upward. I knew what was on that arm – I still saw it some nights – and I knew that if I looked at it, the feeling that I was going to empty the contents of my stomach would only worsen. I turned my head as far from her as I could and screwed my eyes shut.

"Malfoy," she said, softly this time.

"What," I snapped, still not looking at her.

"Will you just look," she huffed, impatient with my little game.

I took a deep breath, refusing to appear weak in front of Granger of all people, and finally turned to look at her scarred arm. Except the scar wasn't there. I snapped my gaze up to meet hers. "How did you get rid of it? I know what blade she used, and it was charmed to leave a scar even magic couldn't erase. How did you do it?" I pressed. Excitement was beginning to bubble in me; if she could get rid of hers, then maybe, just maybe…

She shook her head. "I didn't." Confused, I look down again, and, now that I was looking closer, I could see bits of flesh that were raised and uneven. "It's just covered in makeup, and a little bit of magic. It's the best I can do."

"Oh." I turned to face forward again, all traces of the hope that I would be rid of this wretched mark gone.

She cleared her throat, letting her arm fall back to her side. "So, you see, I'm not really that 'open' about showing my scars either."

"So much for Gryffindor courage," I mumbled.

Surprising me for what felt like the millionth time that night, she laughed. "Guess I've run out."

When I responded, it was my turn to surprise myself. "I don't think that's possible," I said quietly, then I glanced at my empty glass. It must have been the firewhiskey talking.

She didn't say anything to that, and I refused to look at her to see her expression.

We sat in silence for several more minutes before she pushed away from the railing. "Well, I should be getting back inside." I nodded, still facing forward. She paused, clearly uncomfortable. "Malfoy, it was…" she trailed off. What was she going to say, "it was a pleasure"? Hardly. She backed away a few steps. "Good night, Malfoy."

I still didn't look at her, giving her a curt wave over my shoulder. I stayed rooted to my spot for several minutes after that, gaze fixed resolutely forward in defiance of the odd desire to check to see if she had really left.

I wanted another drink, but the idea of venturing back inside, especially now that I knew she was in there, kept me where I was. I supposed I would have to spend the rest of my evening sobering up while I waited for Blaise. Maybe that was for the best; I must have been more heavily influenced by the alcohol than I thought for me to have a civil conversation with Granger.

I thought back to the arm she had shown me, how she covered her scars in embarrassment. Of course, I thought bitterly, she had nothing to be ashamed of; her scars were a hero's scars, while mine were a villain's. Despite this, knowing that the Queen of Gryffindor herself was afraid to let people see her scars made me feel just a little less cowardly for my perpetual long-sleeves. Not that I would ever tell anyone that.

Blaise found me soon enough after that, stumbling a bit from all the alcohol he surely consumed. "Draco!" he cried, speaking far too loudly. "You missed a great night!"

I let him lean on me a bit as I steered us back toward the street. "Take it you had a good night?"

He threw his head back with a satisfied groan. "Oh, it was the best. The women here, I am telling you, they're incredible! Beautiful, fun, hot. It was great."

I patted him on the shoulder, chuckling at his drunken rambling. "Glad you had a good night, mate."

"Anything exciting happen to you?" he asked.

We were back out on the street, and I prepared to apparate us back to his house. Just before I did, I caught a glimpse of a curly haired brunette in a green top a little way down the street, also supporting a drunken friend. "No," I said. "Absolutely nothing."

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Woo hoo! We have contact, ladies and gents. Hope it wasn't too OOC. Also, I don't know if Bellatrix's blade was really charmed to scar but for the purpose of this scene lets just say it was. So, like I said, I think I may switch to updating on Fridays, because that just seems like a better day overall.

Please drop a review to let me know your thoughts! I love all feedback, and I love hearing suggestions too.

Thanks for reading!