Before the three knew it, the time was fifteen minutes to eight. However,
Hermione was still window-shopping.
"Maybe you should get going," suggested Ginny.
"Yeah, you're probably right," sighed Hermione. "Well, I'll tell you what
happens!"
Hermione walked off, still gazing it at the windows. Until, she passed by
the window of a shoe store.
"Oh, my God!" she exclaimed aloud. "A sale on trainers! Fifty percent off!
I'll just make a quick stop, then go see Draco..."
Back at the harbour, Draco was pacing on the ship, Dangerous Love. He checked his watch, and looked for Hermione. "Where is she?" he questioned himself, leaning over the edge, and checking his watch for the hundredth time. He looked round at what he had done for her. There was a table, with rose petals sprinkled on the white cloth. A violin player was waiting on the upper deck to play a beautiful, French melody. And a sparkling, diamond ring was in a blue velvet box. Draco was going to ask Hermione to marry him.
Hermione was checking some shoes out in the store, when the mall announcement went off. "The mall is now closing," the speaker said. "It is now five after eight. Please finish your shopping, and..." But Hermione never found out what she should do, for she ran out of the store, not aware of the shoes still on her feet. The alarms went off, and two security men dragged her back to the store. "No, you don't understand!" Hermione shouted, struggling with them. "My boyfriend – he's making a special dinner for me...please, I must go!" "Oh, and I suppose you want those shoes for your night out?" questioned the guard. "No, really! I didn't realise I was wearing them! Here!" She tossed the shoes at them, then quickly scrambled into her own. "Shit, shit, shit...I can't believe I'm missing my own dinner."
Draco was getting more and more impatient as the minutes passed. As each second went by, it felt as though a dagger were being driven deeper and deeper into Draco's heart. "How could she do this to me?" he wondered out loud, not caring if the violinist was listening to his problems. "She will come, monsier," said the man with the violin. "Zis woman of which you speak. Paris is filled with love and she will be drawn to you. I promise."
"Taxi!" Hermione called, waving her arm frantically. "Taxi!" She noticed a man about to get into a yellow cab, and ran up to him. He was clearly baffled by the troubled girl. "Sir," she panted. "Sir, I will give you...ten francs, if you let me have this cab." "Quoi?" questioned the man. "Oh, dammit. Um...je suis...dix francs...je voix le taxi..." The man smiled, for he seemed to understand Hermione's problem and her jumbled speech. She thanked him, as he stepped aside, and she got into the cab. "Please," she said. "Take me to the harbour. As fast as you can. Please."
"Well, French man," Draco said, smiling forcefully at the violinist. "You're wrong. Hermione hasn't come. And she will not. It's clear she does not love me." Draco looked at his watch one last time, and it now blinked 9:04. Full of rage, he hailed a taxicab. It sped away, in the direction of the Sheridan, just as Hermione's pulled in. She ran out in fearful hope, looking round for any signs of her boyfriend. With no luck, she collapsed on the dock. "'e 'as left," said a voice. Hermione looked up, tear-stained, and asked, "What?" "Zee man you cry for. 'e 'as given up, and left for 'is 'otel." "Oh, it's all my fault," she cried. "It's all my fault!" "Well...yes it is. You better go find 'im." Hermione ran off, tears streaming down her face.
Not bothering to attempt to get a taxi, Hermione ran back to the hotel. She boarded the lift, among the many happy tourists, then sprinted down the hall to her room. She opened the door, and found Draco, half-dressed, on his bed. "Draco, I – " Hermione stammered. "Draco, darling," came a voice from the bathroom. "Wherever is your – oh. Je m'excuse." "Je m'excuse, is right," said Hermione, hands on hips. "Draco, how could you!?" "How could you!?" retaliated Draco. "You left me standing there, like a fool. And I was ready to marry you, too. I'm such an idiot." He threw the velvet box at her, then stood up. "Come on, Chantal. Let's go."
Back at the harbour, Draco was pacing on the ship, Dangerous Love. He checked his watch, and looked for Hermione. "Where is she?" he questioned himself, leaning over the edge, and checking his watch for the hundredth time. He looked round at what he had done for her. There was a table, with rose petals sprinkled on the white cloth. A violin player was waiting on the upper deck to play a beautiful, French melody. And a sparkling, diamond ring was in a blue velvet box. Draco was going to ask Hermione to marry him.
Hermione was checking some shoes out in the store, when the mall announcement went off. "The mall is now closing," the speaker said. "It is now five after eight. Please finish your shopping, and..." But Hermione never found out what she should do, for she ran out of the store, not aware of the shoes still on her feet. The alarms went off, and two security men dragged her back to the store. "No, you don't understand!" Hermione shouted, struggling with them. "My boyfriend – he's making a special dinner for me...please, I must go!" "Oh, and I suppose you want those shoes for your night out?" questioned the guard. "No, really! I didn't realise I was wearing them! Here!" She tossed the shoes at them, then quickly scrambled into her own. "Shit, shit, shit...I can't believe I'm missing my own dinner."
Draco was getting more and more impatient as the minutes passed. As each second went by, it felt as though a dagger were being driven deeper and deeper into Draco's heart. "How could she do this to me?" he wondered out loud, not caring if the violinist was listening to his problems. "She will come, monsier," said the man with the violin. "Zis woman of which you speak. Paris is filled with love and she will be drawn to you. I promise."
"Taxi!" Hermione called, waving her arm frantically. "Taxi!" She noticed a man about to get into a yellow cab, and ran up to him. He was clearly baffled by the troubled girl. "Sir," she panted. "Sir, I will give you...ten francs, if you let me have this cab." "Quoi?" questioned the man. "Oh, dammit. Um...je suis...dix francs...je voix le taxi..." The man smiled, for he seemed to understand Hermione's problem and her jumbled speech. She thanked him, as he stepped aside, and she got into the cab. "Please," she said. "Take me to the harbour. As fast as you can. Please."
"Well, French man," Draco said, smiling forcefully at the violinist. "You're wrong. Hermione hasn't come. And she will not. It's clear she does not love me." Draco looked at his watch one last time, and it now blinked 9:04. Full of rage, he hailed a taxicab. It sped away, in the direction of the Sheridan, just as Hermione's pulled in. She ran out in fearful hope, looking round for any signs of her boyfriend. With no luck, she collapsed on the dock. "'e 'as left," said a voice. Hermione looked up, tear-stained, and asked, "What?" "Zee man you cry for. 'e 'as given up, and left for 'is 'otel." "Oh, it's all my fault," she cried. "It's all my fault!" "Well...yes it is. You better go find 'im." Hermione ran off, tears streaming down her face.
Not bothering to attempt to get a taxi, Hermione ran back to the hotel. She boarded the lift, among the many happy tourists, then sprinted down the hall to her room. She opened the door, and found Draco, half-dressed, on his bed. "Draco, I – " Hermione stammered. "Draco, darling," came a voice from the bathroom. "Wherever is your – oh. Je m'excuse." "Je m'excuse, is right," said Hermione, hands on hips. "Draco, how could you!?" "How could you!?" retaliated Draco. "You left me standing there, like a fool. And I was ready to marry you, too. I'm such an idiot." He threw the velvet box at her, then stood up. "Come on, Chantal. Let's go."