Disclaimer: I could not own any of the characters in this story because they are the fabulous creations of the wonderful J.K. Rowling. I am not going to try to pull myself off as that kind of a genius. Also, there's some lyrics from a song in here by Juliana Theory. Go guy their CD and support a good band.
She inhaled deeply, closing her eyes. i God, I love France /i , she thought.
A young woman of twenty years walked over to a counter, and smiled politely to the woman behind it. She met the clerk's dark brown eyes with her sparkling, shockingly light blue ones. She tossed her head of sleek, blond hair over her shoulder and greeted the woman in front of her.
"Bonjour! Reservation for Capulet, Lucia?" she said, still smiling, her eyes shifting to her watch and back to the woman's eyes. The clerk smiled and tapped a piece of parchment with her wand. A look of condign came over her face.
"I'm afraid that we have no reservation for a Lucia Capulet on record. But I can see if we have any vacant rooms available," the witch said, tapping the piece of parchment again. The young woman named Lucia leaned on the counter, checking her watch again. She pulled a small, tan and white leather-covered notebook out and flipped through it. She placed a delicate index finger on a small card that read " i Chateau de Sagitare /i " with a small Centaur on it. Above the dark-complected witch was an elegant tapestry that read "Chateau Sagitare" with the same Centaur on it. Yes, she was at the right place. She checked her watch. It was made of several revolving stars and planets, yet she concluded it was the right time.
"Today is December twenty-third, right?" she asked the witch in front of her, who replied with a small, distracted nod. The girl heaved a sigh.
"Miss Capulet? We seem to have no vacant rooms and the current time," the clerk said, not looking up from a piece of parchment that had many changing words upon it.
"Then what do I do?" the fair witch demanded. How dare they lose her reservation!
"I apologise, Miss, but we have no rooms. Please step aside so the wizards who have reservations can get through!"
The fair witch scoffed, picked up her bags, and stormed out of the castle-like hotel. She had made the reservation well in advance! She had been planning to spend Christmas in Paris for the longest time. She set down her bags on a snow-covered bench, and pulled a map out of her tan and white book. She tapped it with her wand, and a few, small squares lit up. She consulted the map for quite some time, then made up her mind.
She put away the map and began walking. The snow had began falling lightly, and against the rich, night sky, Paris looked gorgeous. Although her day hadn't gone according to plan, she was having a wonderful time. Just hearing the language and seeing the sights made her euphorically happy. So happy, she didn't realize exactly where she was walking until she walked right into someone.
"Oh, je suis desole! Es-tu indemne? Je ne regardais-" she began babbling in French, until whoever she ran into cut her off.
"Err, je ne parle pas francais?"
For the first time, the girl looked up at the person she ran into. She gasped. He was, as her friend would say, gorgeous. He had curly, brown hair, rich brown eyes, strong features, broad shoulders, and was fairly tall. She had to look up to meet his eyes, which when she did, her breath was caught in her chest. He flashed her a gorgeous, warm smile. She gave him a small smile back.
"Do you know where Chez Marine is?" she managed to ask him.
"You're British?" he said, looking appalled. He smiled again. "British girls usually aren't so pretty," he added, winking.
The girl found herself smiling giddily. Catching herself, she shook her head, coming back to herself. "Chez Marine?" she repeated.
"Oh, yeah, sorry. It's down Rue de Vollet. That's where I'm staying, actually. Would you like me to walk you there?" He offered. She obliged, and he took her bags. "So, spending Christmas in Paris?" He asked, trying to start a conversation.
"Yes. I feel guilty about not being with my family or friends, but for once, I thought I would just have Christmas on my own," she said, glancing at him every so often.
"I know exactly what you mean. My family's Christmases are always so formal and stuffy. I wanted to be free and spontaneous this year," he said. He began to turn down a street, and seeing that she didn't follow, he grabbed her hand and pulled her towards him. Quickly, he dropped her hand, and she looked up at him with those captivating, blue eyes. He felt his chest constrict.
"So, here we are. Chez Marine," he said, looking up at an elegant iron fence which hung a sign reading, "Chez Marine." He pushed the gate open, and held it for the girl. She blushed, and walked to the door. He rushed foreword and opened the door for her, causing her to turn a deeper shade of pink. She looked around the quaint cottage and found that the room they were standing in was painted a rich shade of red with many gold garlands suspended above them. As she looked closer, she found tiny fairies hiding in the garlands, giving them a majestic glow. She just loved Christmas in the magic world.
"Good evening, Mister Peterson! Who is this lovely young lady?" A jovial-looking old wizard said from behind a counter. The girl smiled.
"Lucia Capulet. Do you have any rooms that I could stay in until Boxing day?"
"Well, there is Mister Peterson's room, here-"
"Etienne!" the young man beside her said, his face turning red in patches. The girl remarked to herself at how it suited him. She laughed at the old man's comment.
"We do have a room available, as a matter of fact. A lovely one facing the inner Arrondisments. Would you like it?" the old man asked. The girl nodded, and signed a slip of parchment he conjured for her.
"Wonderful! Welcome to Chez Marine. I am Etienne, your handsome Hotel manager. Now, if we'll just get going this way-" the old man stopped as he strained to lift her heavy bags. The young man laughed, and with a wave of his wand, the bags were in midair. The old man laughed. "Yes, yes. Come this way," he lead them up a spiral set of stairs. They walked down a long hall, and the old man unlocked a door with a golden "Thirty Seven" etched upon it. He threw the door open, and the girl caught her breath.
The room had a beautiful view of Paris, the Seine, and all of the lights. There was a small fireplace with a roaring fire inside, a set of comfy armchairs and love seats around it, and a large bed with a canopy of white gauzy material with glowing fairies floating around it. Etienne set the bags down inside the room, and handed her a golden room key. "Oh, and one last thing," he said to himself, waving his wand and conjuring a Christmas tree. It was lush and had golden candles and ornaments on it. On top of the tree hovered a shimmering star.
"It's perfect," she said, breathily. Etienne smiled at his handiwork. "Yes, each room adjusts to however it's occupant wishes. As does the Christmas tree. Well, if you need anything at all, ask. Send down Marlou for breakfast," he said, leaving the young woman and man. She smiled, wondering what Marlou was. She walked over to the Christmas Tree, and approached the star, reaching up to touch it.
The way the light from the star reflected against her golden hair and made her skin glow made the color come back to his cheeks. She remembered that he was standing in her doorway, and looked over to him. He smiled at her. "Well, I should get going," he said, quietly.
"No! I mean, I need a tour guide around town," she said, blushing. He nodded, and offered her his arm. She gathered a few things in a small handbag, and linked her arm with his. They smiled at each other, and the girl spoke, again. "You never told me your name," she said.
"Sam," he said, hesitating. He flashed her a smile that she did not detect the look of nervousness in.
"So, where are you taking me?" She asked. He smiled, and said it was a surprise. When she turned away, he took a good look at her. She couldn't have been more than twenty, and had the most hypnotizing light blue eyes. Her long, golden locks draped over her dainty shoulders, which complimented her petite frame. She had a dusting of snow over her which looked odd with her well-kept appearance. He chuckled.
"What?" she asked, looking offended.
"Nothing," he replied, with a half-smile that complimented his face. His dark, curly hair fell loosely over his head and into his light brown eyes. She noticed his shoulders, and how broad and muscular they seemed under his jacket. She felt safe with him. Something about him made her feel at home.
"We're here," he said, smiling. She gasped, putting a hand over her mouth.
"Skating! I love skating!" She squealed. He laughed, and she flushed. Why did she say it like that? She sounded like she was five years old. She shook it off, pointed her wand discreetly at her shoes, muttered a spell quietly, and her shoes turned to skates. She did the same to his shoes, and they stepped onto the frozen river. She wobbled dangerously, and he caught her easily before she hit the ice. She looked up into his eyes, and realized they were close enough to kiss. His breath smelled like cinnamon and chocolate.
She regained her posture, and began gliding easily over the ice. He laughed at how good she was at skating after her not-so-graceful fall. He began skating after her, just as easily as she was. She gave him an approving look.
"Don't tell me you're a figure skater," she said, sounding worried.
"Nah, I just like to skate. Why?" he inquired.
"Oh, no reason," she said, innocently. She smiled to herself at her sudden pang of fear. When she had figure skated as a child, most of the male figure skaters were gay.
"Where you?" he asked. She nodded. He smiled. "Show me something," he said, playfully.
"Oh, lord, that was a long time ago. Don't make me," she pleaded. He laughed.
"Okay, for tonight. But before you leave Paris, you owe me a skating trick," he said, grinning. She obliged. They skated for a while, talking of miscellaneous things. A little while down the river, she spotted a poor guitarist who was playing a beautiful, light song, and gasped.
"Oh! I love this song!" She said. She began skating around, singing every few words. "Please don't forget my name, and take me with you when you leave-" She stopped, feeling stupid. "It's just a muggle song, you probably don't know it-"
"I've got a lot to lose," he finished the song for her, smiling. She broke out in a grin. He had a very nice voice. Suddenly, she slipped, and fell right into his arms.
"You seem to do that a lot," he said, the color coming in patches to his cheeks. She blushed. Seeing this, he leaned into her.
"Ah! A photograph for zee lovely young lovers?" a voice rang out into the night. The man pulled away from the girl and she stood up.
"Oh no, we're not-" they said, simultaneously, and laughed nervously. She looked over at him, and then over to the photographer on the side of the river. "Sure," she said, looking over at him.
The photographer beamed and began bustling around, adjusting his camera on the tripod. She looked over at the young man and smiled, and he smiled back.
"Wonderful!" the photographer said. The two looked over at the photographer, not realizing the photo had been taken. The photographer gathered his things, and she skated over to him, taking a card in his hands. ""Zis ees zee address of my shop. Zee pictures weel be ready by tomorrow," he said, smiling. She pocketed the card.
She skated back over to him, and yawned. "Tired?" he said. She shook her head.
"Never," she said, playfully. He laughed, and took her hand.
"I think it's time we got you back to your room," he said, dragging her behind a tree, and apparating. They arrived outside of her room, skate-less. "Well, this is my room. Right across from yours," he said, smiling. She smiled back, and leaned into him, their lips meeting in a kiss.
"Goodnight, Sam Peterson," she said, disappearing into room thirty seven.
"Goodnight, Lucia Capulet," he said, walking into room thirty eight.
She changed into pajamas, putting away the outfit she wore that day. She stood in front of her mirror and looked herself over. "I don't look so bad as a blonde," she said, tapped her wand on the top of her head, and changed back to herself. "I hate going incognito," she said to herself. Yet since her world was in a war, she couldn't go around a large town looking like herself. She collapsed into her bed. It was perfect- squashy and warm. She let the canopy drape around her, the lights floating around. She buried herself in the covers. "Thank god Chateau Sagitare lost my reservation," she said aloud, thinking of his smile, and fell asleep.
The next morning, she woke up, and stepped out of her bed. The floor was warm and felt nice on her bare feet. Wanting to ask Etienne what Marlou was, she opened her door, and looked at the golden thirty eight.
Suddenly, the door swung open. Expecting to see her handsome Sam, she was horribly surprised. As soon as she saw his sleek blond hair and gray blue eyes, she felt sick.
He was eager to see her, yet when he opened the door, his stomach tied itself in knots. Instead of his beautiful girl with the blonde hair and blue eyes, out came a girl with long, brown curls and honey brown eyes. How did he not recognize her? All she did was change her hair and eye color, like he had. How did he fall so quickly for his enemy?
"Draco?" she said, disgustedly.
"Hermione?"
A/N: Hope you like it! Please read and rate! Oh, and the song that Hermione and Draco- I mean, Lucy and Sam were singing is called "Constellation" by Juliana Theory. Go buy their CD.