Disclaimer: All the below belongs to Ms. JK Rowling! I don't own anything, but I do congratulate her on her new baby and on finishing her fifth book. The poem in this chapter is copyright Hyde. Author's Note: Wow! Yes, I've finished on time. I quite like this chapter, actually. BIG thanks to my beta-readers, Hyde and Hell's Hauntress, who helped me trim and polish this. Writing has its up and downs, and I've ever grateful for help.

And thanks to the reviews =D! Can't live without.

Chapter Twelve

"I went to le Chemin de Traverse today." she dumped the contents of her bag onto the table.

Draco fingered through the pile – the still-frozen Ashwinder eggs, powdered unicorn horn, Bubotuber pus, essence of Belladonna, piles of dried herbs, and loads more.

"And I've got the elixir," he said.

"You have? Where did you get it?"

"Torchensend. I know where it is, remember?" Draco took out a clear ampoule of flashing metallic-blue crumbs.

"Wow…" Hermione began, impressed. It was really it, the special ninety-fourth purely magical element, some of the only miniscule amounts on earth.

"Let's start then?"

Hermione nodded and picked up the diary.

"Start with cubing the ginseng," Hermione read from the translation. "Then we'll grind the anise and lavender, and smoke the dragon heartstrings and boil these in with the boomslang skins."

Quite seriously, they set to work.

The first steps were fairly easy, and they worked steadily. Chopping, grinding, smoking, boiling and preserving were standard procedure. Carefully layering the ingredients, they set the mixture.

Some hours later, Hermione's fingers stained yellow and smelling like bitter roots and dank dragon's flesh, the boomslang-based brew was on the fire. Very carefully, reading from the book, they sprinkled in the crumbs of the elixir. It bubbled at first, swirled, and turned somewhat blue.

Draco reached for the recipe with one long, white hand.

"That's the first part," he said. "This should boil for at least a night, until it is fully cerulean-silver. Then we have to recite these spells over the unicorn horn and catch the moon rainwater, assuming it rains. There are nine days' boiling time until the three-quarters moon and add the mercury solution."

"And then it leaves only the human blood."

"It's really all up to you," Draco said.

He got up, kissed her on the forehead and disappeared among the shelves.

Assuming it rains…all up to you.

All sarcasm aside, Draco was a good Potions partner, considering he had been an honor student in Accelerated Senior Potions. It was a pity they had hated each other in their sixth year; else they could've have had the chance to work together before.

"He seems nice," came a feminine voice.

Hermione tilted her head back to see Queen Nefertiti.

"Blasphemous," snorted Elizabeth I.

"A conscientious worker," praised Buddha.

Hermione smiled and stretched.

Soon Draco was back, and so the statues quieted their gossip and left them alone. He handed her a cloth, and they wiped their soiled hands.

Then, Hermione reached up and kissed him square on the lips. It was a daring move – she'd never just – kissed someone like that before. It tingled. "Let's stop working now. Let's do something else."

~

Draco was laying back on the futon, with Hermione perched at his side on a cushion, hugging her knees.

A fascination in her fingers, she found herself touching his mouth and teeth with her fingertips. He was – half-human, half something…else.

Their eyes met and she felt a sort of connection click on. Drawing her breath, she leaned forward and kissed him, gently from his cheekbone to his lips. It was a moment in a brilliant and slow-moving fantasy. For that moment – who knew how long time was really lapsing? - they were in their own alcove of time and space.

"Could do with some wand-dueling now, mm?" Draco whispered.

Hermione smiled mischievously. "I still have yours."

"Ah, but all I have to do is find it."

And then she started laughing giddily, because he started searching her robes with his fingers and it tickled.

~

"Let me get this straight, Harry," Ron said incredulously, again. "If You-Know-Who finds these books, he could change himself into a…vampire? And live forever?"

"Yes." Harry said.

"If you tell Dumbledore, he's going to want to destroy it."

"Yeah. That's why we don't tell him yet. In fact, don't tell anyone. If they ask, I haven't figured out how to open it."

"Alright, Harry," Ron said uneasily. "But I dunno about this."

"We have to do something. Like alter it so that if Voldemort tries to drink the potion, it'll turn him into a fruit bat or something."

"How the bloody hell are you going to do that?"

"I don't know yet!" Harry snapped. He rubbed his temples furiously. God, think! Come on, he was seventeen years old – and he had plenty of experience with Dark Magic. But he couldn't think these days. What was wrong with him? He had never felt so numb and leadless. 

Ron stopped. "Harry, look, sorry. All we need is a plan."

There was a pause.

"It's times like now I wish Hermione was still here," Ron said awkwardly.

"Yeah," Harry murmured. "It's been a while."

There was another pause.

"That's it, Ron." Harry said. "We've got to owl Hermione. We ought to let her know."

Ron nodded thoughtfully.

"You're right, Harry. She probably wants to come back, anyway."

~

"I don't see what's so great about Paris," she said to him.

Walking along the boardwalk of the Seine, the cold urban zephyr blew wisps of her hair around her face. To Draco, she was like a tiny diamond, sweet and pretty and brilliant and sparkling in whatever surroundings she was in – under the streetlight, she was a golden sunset over the glimmering river water. Among the parchment and books, she was a tiny guardian of wisdom, perhaps a daughter of Nostradamus himself. Under the moonlight, she was a cool blue alabaster nymph.

Sparks simply flew from her.

Think of what they could be together.

Draco knew he could surpass the power of his father Lucius. Being under the influence of some of the greatest wizards in Britain for his whole life didn't make him stupid.  It didn't take a teacher to tell him he could've become one of the most powerful wizards in the world someday.

And her, save for being stuck among her subordinate stooges. She had the amazing brilliance, ambition and beauty. If he made her a vampire – did what Ankar did to him – under his family name they could become just about anything they wanted in the magical world.   

"I used to love it. Didn't you? Now it's stupid. The people. The buildings…I don't like their architecture. The art, it's always the same…" she was saying.

"You know where I hate?"

She cocked an eyebrow. "Where?"

"Hogsmeade. I hate Hogsmeade."

"Hogsmeade? Why would you hate Hogsmeade? You used to –"

Draco put on a face that was a stunning imitation of Filch, the old caretaker. "It's that joke shop. Those blasted Dungbombs that kids throw at each other." 

Hermione realized he was joking and broke into a smile.

"The sweet shop and the way kids buy bags and bags of the candy. The pub and the kids drinking Butterbeer inside. It makes me vomit seeing those disgusting little brats."

She laughed. "Who do you think you are? Filch?"

"Well you know where I really hate? Rome."

"What could possibly be wrong with Rome?"

"The buildings are shabby. The women are good-looking, but never smile at you and everything they sell is overpriced. Everyone is rude, especially the Italian Minister for Magic. And the wizards working at the Vatican take away your wand and don't let you touch anything. And the gladiator fights at the Coliseum are poorly reenacted."

Hermione laughed again.

"Africa isn't the greatest place for magic, either. African wizards rarely ever use wands…"

Hermione listened, attentive.

"Nearly everything is done using potions. And it's damn hot. Try spending all day there watching some old shaman pound baobab bark. Try eating mashed cornmeal and dried antelope flank for a week in a straw hut."

"Where else have you been?" Hermione asked, excited.

"Well, the Yucatan was alright. Go hiking in the rainforest and you'll find all sorts of ancient temples filled with cursed treasure. The Aztec wizards were pretty smoky like that. And then Bulgaria, which is alright, too." He said, shrugging. "My father was friends with the Minister there."

"I've never been to any of those places." Hermione said, fascinated. "I don't get to go to the magical parts of cities…because you know, my parents are muggles…"

"Paris, really," he went on, "Is not a bad place. You don't see so many important centers together in one place. The whole place is built on poetry, and you can say what you want. And look around."

And then the water of the river sparkled even more, so much that it was like a multi-faceted liquid jewel. The golden angels carved into the bridge came out of their frozen state. The stars in the black sky winked. The lighted buildings were palaces. And everything was glinting to a clear sound of music – like violins trilling to a passionate tune.

"My god." Hermione gasped. "How did you do that?"

"Do what?"

"How did you do it? That illusion?"

"What illusion? That was the real world. This is an illusion."

The look on her face was now pure confusion and awe.    

"Well…then the real world's better," she said, finally.

"Have you ever been to see the Lido?" Draco asked her.

"No, I was only thirteen when I last came to Paris. The Lido is an adult show, isn't it?"

"Do you want to see it?"

~

With quick snaps of the Disguising Charm, Hermione and Draco were transformed into muggles – and not just any everyday on-the-street muggles, either. Draco's black robes turned into a suit jacket over a silver metallic dress shirt, and he had somehow conjured up a gold Rolex watch. Hermione's well-worn work robes became a long strapless pink gown and her hair placed itself into a sleek wrap on top of her head, and diamond jewelry adorned her wrists and neck.

Among the glasses of fizzing champagne, shimmering chandeliers, and loads of red velour, Hermione found themselves dancing before the show started.

A jazz band was playing some romantic music, and he held her hand in one of his own, and held her around the waist with his other. She leaned on his shoulder and they slow danced carelessly. They fit in perfectly.

"Don't forget," he said into her ear. "This is just an ordinary illusion, a dream you're living. These are nothing but muggles."

These are nothing but muggles.  

The Lido turned out to be the most fantastic show Hermione had ever watched. Illusion or not, it was stunning. Beautiful smiling dancers swept across the stages in a sea of glitter, feathers, smoke and lights, drowned in bold music. Theme after theme took over – Playboy bunnies in a furry pink suits, jazzy flappers with their beads and garters, ballerinas in tutus, space marauders in flashing flying saucers, Egyptian with their kohl-painted eyes, white-turbaned Arabians against midnight backdrops. The music was changing every few minutes, and Hermione found her eyes dashing around to see everything. The stage changed every few minutes to accommodate acrobats, figure skaters and puppeteers.

It was the original evening show. The glimmering "real world".

"That was absolutely great!" Hermione exclaimed happily, skipping in her pink sandals down Champs-Elysée later. "It was so romantic, so beautiful, so…."

"Glamourous?" Draco supplied.

"Yeah…" and she twirled around and fell into his arms.

Draco began humming the Love Theme from the show.

"Do you believe in love?" Hermione mused absently, snuggling in his embrace.

"Love?" he asked incredulously, kissing her cheek.

Hermione sighed and shut her eyes.

" 'Seven seconds into midnight, a creature laughed outside'…" she murmured.

" 'And inside, that fire burned to a new height'," Draco answered automatically.

" 'In accordance to love's demise, I have sewn shut my heart's eye'," Hermione went on, surprised.

" 'And though veracity says I life, misery declares I'm right'," he continued.

" 'And even with flawed sight, expectant feelings arise' –"

" 'Of what might fill the sky' – "

" 'Five seconds before sunrise.'"

They both looked at each other, a little amazed.

"You read Vanhadium?" Hermione asked, jaw dropping.

"Of course I've read Vanhadium. I've had to. He's the greatest wizard poet of the classical era," Draco answered. "Why?"

"No – it's just…" Hermione began. "No, well, um. Just, not that many people pay attention to magical literature. Um…never mind. It's a good poem."

Then she paused for a moment. "You haven't read Hogwarts, A History by any chance, have you?"

"No…"

"Nothing." Hermione shook her head and giggled.

Draco swept her by her waist and kissed her. Eagerly, she kissed him back, warm, tight kisses running all over their lips and cheeks. A jolt of fire was spread through her body with every brush of skin. Fingers in his blond hair again, and tongue flickering his fangs, they were back into it. And the air was shimmering and music was somehow ringing in her ears.

~

"The potion. Look. It's turned cerulean-silver, like it said."

Indeed, the mixture in the cauldron was now an unusual suspension of the two colors.

"It's nearly ready for the next step then."

Hermione nodded enthusiastically, and took Draco's hand. She kneeled down to take a closer look at the potion.

"Do you know what this means? The war could end if we make this all the way through!" she said. "It could be the key to winning this war."

"And you could return to England?"

 "I'm never returning to England." Hermione said immediately.

"You're staying in Paris forever? You're starting to like it?" Draco smirked.

"Well…it's not that," Hermione laughed. "But…there's no way I'm going back there."

Draco kneeled down next to her.

"Well, you know what else you could do? You could use it."

"Use the potion?"

And live forever? Do what she wanted to do, not what she was told to do. And be with Draco forever, see the whole world. Forget living in a constant cycle of research and pointless work. The stupid war wasn't her job. It was so irrelevant compared everything that she could do – should be doing.

Hermione hesitated for a moment, then hugged him hard.

~

It was dusk when Hermione woke up. And she didn't remember a thing about getting back to the Madeleine and falling asleep. And it wouldn't be long before Draco would come and they could finish work on the potion.

Hermione sighed happily. That was definitely something to look forward to.

She walked to her desk.

Funny. On it there were laid several envelopes. Owl post.

But she didn't usually get very many letters.

One was labeled from Harry, the other from Ron.

Hermione grabbed it.

But, no.

Instead she opened Harry's:

Dear Hermione,

She scanned over it. There were the standard greetings and how-are-you-s, and news that Harry had opened one of the Books, wanted her help, blah, blah, blah. Sure she'd try and send some help.

Then she picked up Ron's. 

But she didn't want to read it. No matter what was inside, seeing something that had to do with Ron was the last thing Hermione wanted to do. Especially after everything she had been through with Draco…oh gods, no. And what could Ron possible have to say anyway?

Unfortunately, curiosity got the better of her.

Dear Hermione,

Most of the information was the same as Harry's…except -

Haven't heard from you in a while. I'd really wish you'd come back to England. If you can, take Floo to number 7 Godric's Hollow tomorrow at four. Besides, it's bloody hell not the same without you. Seeing you soon, Ron.

Hermione threw the letter down.

All at once, "the illusion" came crashing back in the "real world".

A pressure filled Hermione like panic. What would they think? What if it was awkward?

But Ron's letter had hit a nerve somehow. It was very sweet – the words of a loving friend. It was making feel like…jelly inside.

Gods.

Ron.

Maybe she could just go and then leave again quickly and come back to Paris. A visit. She wasn't one of them anymore, so technically, it'd be a visit.

Draco.

Thinking of Draco made her feel braver. They were different, from unlike worlds – two nomads who had sailed to the same island paradise. They were equal parts; alike like soul mates (no that she believed in soul mates), they had a mutual understanding at times. It was a link.

And besides…he was mysterious, smart, fun, ravishingly handsome and…really sexy. She certainly liked him a lot more than Ron – if only they had been sorted into the same House –

But no, no, no. She had a responsibility with Ron. She had known him for seven years and –

"Hermione?"

"Draco?" She had forgotten he was coming.

"I have the mercury solution." He held up a vial.

Hermione blurted it out before she could stop herself.

"I have to go back."