From high in the aeroplane, Hermione was bent over Draco, viewing Paris. It
was like a miniature village – the houses all lined up in perfect little
rows, with their vehicles parked safely in the driveway.
"Oh, Draco, isn't this – ?"
"Hey, come on! I'm watching the movie. Can we talk later?"
"But you've seen it, like, a hundred times!"
"And I'd like to see it one more time before I die, thank you. Aw, you made
me miss the part with the thing..."
Hermione didn't bother to hide her disappointment this time. She sighed
loudly. She still hoped that the 'city of love' would have enough romance
and power to renew their relationship and heal the wounds of the past.
Hermione, asleep on Draco's shoulder, was awoken two hours later by the others. "Hey, sleepyhead," grinned Ginny, waving her camera. "Got your picture!" Hermione stuck out her tongue, though she it really didn't matter. She wanted memories from their trip, be them good or bad. The four exited the plane, and entered the French airport. "Bonjour, mademoiselles et monsiers," greeted the airline hostess. "Bienvenue à Paris." Draco looked helplessly at Hermione who said, "Salut et merci – nous sommes le aeroplane 435. Nous voulons nos baggages." "Ah, oui – votre baggages est ici." Then the hostess pointed down the hall, to the luggage claim. The others just stared at their friend in amazement, though Hermione didn't know why they were so surprised. "You knew I was teaching myself French, Ginny," she confirmed. "How I had been studying it after I had finished the homework from my classes." Ginny still looked baffled. Hermione shook her head and continued walking to the baggage claim. "But I guess I can't expect you to remember something so trivial as leaning another language." They ran to the claim, and quickly found their suitcases. While everyone else had one case, Hermione was holding two, plus a handbag, and a purse. "Someone travels light," snorted Draco. "You know I need these bags to hold all my books," Hermione shot back. "Books? Those aren't books. It's makeup, clothes, and money from your daddy." "Shut up!" Draco whipped out his wand. "Dissendium." Hermione's bags split open, revealing piles upon piles of pink outfits. Many travellers had gathered at the sight. "Oh, now look what you've done!" cried Hermione, getting together her articles. "You've spilt my cherry nailpolish all over my fuchsia top." "What's the matter?" questioned Draco. "They're both pink." Hermione was turning 'crimson' in the face. "No, they are not both pink! As you should know, red is a primary colour. Add some white, and you get a light shade of pink, add more red and it's cherry. But add some black, it's fuchsia. Whatever, you're probably too thick-headed to tell the difference, anyway." Hermione stormed off, soon followed by Ginny, then Neville, while Draco was left on his own. He noticed a pink barrette on the ground, with Hermione's name on it. Draco bent down to pick it up and muttered to himself, "Still looks pink to me."
Hermione and Ginny left in a cab for the Sheridan Hotel, where Draco had booked two rooms. Neville had waited for Draco, and the two of them hailed another taxi. They arrived at the hotel, got their room key, and headed for the lift. "Hermione's pretty pissed, then," concluded Neville. "Yeah," Draco agreed. "But she'll cool down after awhile...and a tub of Haagen-Dazs ice cream." "Why d'you do that?" "Do what?" "Put her down all the time...make fun of her. That's probably why she's in a tiff." "How come everyone thinks it's my fault she's a bitch!? I didn't make her that way!" "See, there you go again! If you just treated her properly and with respect, maybe you two wouldn't have so many rows all the time." "Don't tell me what to do, Longbottom. You don't know me!" When the doors to the lift opened, Draco stormed out, finding the room and going in. He collapsed on one of the beds and stared at the ceiling. Without even realising it, he fell asleep.
Hermione, asleep on Draco's shoulder, was awoken two hours later by the others. "Hey, sleepyhead," grinned Ginny, waving her camera. "Got your picture!" Hermione stuck out her tongue, though she it really didn't matter. She wanted memories from their trip, be them good or bad. The four exited the plane, and entered the French airport. "Bonjour, mademoiselles et monsiers," greeted the airline hostess. "Bienvenue à Paris." Draco looked helplessly at Hermione who said, "Salut et merci – nous sommes le aeroplane 435. Nous voulons nos baggages." "Ah, oui – votre baggages est ici." Then the hostess pointed down the hall, to the luggage claim. The others just stared at their friend in amazement, though Hermione didn't know why they were so surprised. "You knew I was teaching myself French, Ginny," she confirmed. "How I had been studying it after I had finished the homework from my classes." Ginny still looked baffled. Hermione shook her head and continued walking to the baggage claim. "But I guess I can't expect you to remember something so trivial as leaning another language." They ran to the claim, and quickly found their suitcases. While everyone else had one case, Hermione was holding two, plus a handbag, and a purse. "Someone travels light," snorted Draco. "You know I need these bags to hold all my books," Hermione shot back. "Books? Those aren't books. It's makeup, clothes, and money from your daddy." "Shut up!" Draco whipped out his wand. "Dissendium." Hermione's bags split open, revealing piles upon piles of pink outfits. Many travellers had gathered at the sight. "Oh, now look what you've done!" cried Hermione, getting together her articles. "You've spilt my cherry nailpolish all over my fuchsia top." "What's the matter?" questioned Draco. "They're both pink." Hermione was turning 'crimson' in the face. "No, they are not both pink! As you should know, red is a primary colour. Add some white, and you get a light shade of pink, add more red and it's cherry. But add some black, it's fuchsia. Whatever, you're probably too thick-headed to tell the difference, anyway." Hermione stormed off, soon followed by Ginny, then Neville, while Draco was left on his own. He noticed a pink barrette on the ground, with Hermione's name on it. Draco bent down to pick it up and muttered to himself, "Still looks pink to me."
Hermione and Ginny left in a cab for the Sheridan Hotel, where Draco had booked two rooms. Neville had waited for Draco, and the two of them hailed another taxi. They arrived at the hotel, got their room key, and headed for the lift. "Hermione's pretty pissed, then," concluded Neville. "Yeah," Draco agreed. "But she'll cool down after awhile...and a tub of Haagen-Dazs ice cream." "Why d'you do that?" "Do what?" "Put her down all the time...make fun of her. That's probably why she's in a tiff." "How come everyone thinks it's my fault she's a bitch!? I didn't make her that way!" "See, there you go again! If you just treated her properly and with respect, maybe you two wouldn't have so many rows all the time." "Don't tell me what to do, Longbottom. You don't know me!" When the doors to the lift opened, Draco stormed out, finding the room and going in. He collapsed on one of the beds and stared at the ceiling. Without even realising it, he fell asleep.