A big thank you to all my readers! I know a few of you have been saying that you haven't seen Casablanca in a really long time. It is an awesome movie and I recommend it any day. No questions asked. Hope you enjoy chapter five!

Draco stared back at her, not wanting to believe she was real. Yet, there she was, looking up at him.

"Well!" Draco heard Blaise say behind him. He saw Blaise approaching the table with none other than Harry Potter. "Miss Granger, you expressed an interest in seeing Draco, and here he is."

"Hello, Hermione," interrupted Draco.

"Hello, Draco," she responded sharply.

Draco looked up at the men. "Hello, Potter," he said. "Long time, no see."

Harry nodded. "Have a drink with us?" asked Harry.

"Oh no," said Blaise. "Draco never drinks with—"

"Yes," said Draco. "I think I will."

"A tradition broken!" exclaimed Blaise. "Waiter!"

Harry smiled, trying to lighten the seemingly tense mood. "There's a lot about Draco Malfoy here in Casablanca."

"And a lot about Harry Potter everywhere else," Draco retorted.

"It's been a long time," said Hermione, smiling at him. "Let's see, when was it..."

"It was at the Café Bella, September of 2008. I remember that day like it was yesterday. The Death Eaters wore black. You wore red."

"Yes," she smiled. "I put that dress away. I'll wear it again when the Death Eaters leave Paris."

"Well," said Harry. "It is getting late and we need our sleep, Hermione. Plus, we need to be in Flint's office at eight tomorrow morning."

"Why?" said Hermione, her brow furrowing.

"It is the request of Monsieur Zambini, and we are under his authority."

"Yes," said Blaise. "We should leave. After all, we do have a curfew here in Casablanca. It wouldn't do for the Head Auror to be out drinking and have to fine himself."

The waiter came up to the table. "You bill," he said.

"I'll handle it," said Draco, taking it from the waiter.

"Another tradition broken!" said Blaise. "This has been a very interesting evening."

Draco sat at the bar in the darkened, empty café, a brandy glass in his hand. He took a long drink of brandy and put the glass back on the bar. Ginny came up behind him and touched him on the shoulder.

"What?" he said gruffly.

"You going to bed soon?"

"No."

"You going to bed tonight?"

"No."

"Are you ever going to bed?"

"No," he said angrily. He sighed and lit a cigarette, only to grind it out a second later. "Go on home, Ginny."

"No, I don't think I should. C'mon, there's nothing for you here."

"She's coming back. I know she's coming back."

Ginny sighed. "I'm staying right here, Draco." She sat down and began playing some slow, jazzy tune.

"If it's December 2010 in Casablanca, what time is it in New York?" said Draco, taking a sip of brandy.

"I don't know," she said. "My watch stopped."

"I bet they're asleep in New York. I bet they're asleep all over America."

He banged his glass back on the bar, only to refill it once again. He put the glass and bottle back down and buried his face in his hands.

"Of all the gin joints in all the towns of all the world," he said, "she walks into mine." He slammed his fist on the bar, and then looked at the piano. "What's that you're playing Ginny?"

"Oh, this?" she said. "Just a little something of my own."

"Well, stop it," he said. "You know what I want to hear."

"No, I don't."

"If she can take it, so can I! Play it, Ginny." Ginny exhaled and began playing what was once his and Hermione's song...

You must remember this,
A kiss is just a kiss,
A sigh is just a sigh.
The fundamental things apply,
As time goes by.

Draco closed his eyes as the memories of Paris overwhelmed him:

He stood in a new jazz club that had opened on one of the side streets of Louis's Alley. He was twenty three and without a care in the world. The blue lighting gave a mystic effect against the young wizard's, who was singing, white robes. The Arc de Triomphe was visible through the window that was behind him and the band.

La lune trop bleme pose un diademe sur tes cheveux roux.
La lune trop rousse de gloire eclabousse ton jupon plein d'trous.
La lune trop pale caresse l'opale de tes yeux blases.
Princesse de la rue soit la bienvenue dans mon coeur brise.

He looked around the room and saw a girl sitting by the bar, a martini glass held carelessly in her fingers. She was quite pretty, and looked to be about his age, if not slightly younger. Her brownish locks fell in waves around her face, while her face was turned down in sadness. He walked over to her. "Bonjour," he said. "Soin à danse?"

Les escaliers de la butte sont durs aux misereux.
Les ailes du moulin protegent les amoureux.
Petite mandigotte je sens ta menotte qui cherche ma main.
Je sens ta poitrine et ta taille fine. J'oublie mon chagrin.
Je sens sur tes levres une odeur de fievre de gosse mal nourri.
Et sous ta caresse je sens une ivresse qui m'aneantit.

She looked up and her eyes widened at him. He stopped for a moment. Her face was so shockingly familiar, the brown eyes and hair, the oval face, the little nose... But he kept to his mission and asked his question again. "You don't recognize me, do you?" she said, with the spice of a British accent.

"I do admit that you look familiar," he said. "But I can't think of exactly where I know you from."

"You hated me," she said.

"I can't think of anyone in my life I have ever actually hated except for my father. You don't look like my father."

"You ridiculed me and my friends. You did it all the time."

Suddenly the memories came to him- her face on that of a younger girl's. She was laughing with her two best friends. Her eyes screwed up in anger as she threw a punch. Her nose was wrinkling while doing a difficult Arithmancy problem. Her eager hand shot into the air at every opportunity.

"Hermione?" he said.

"Malfoy," she accused.

"I can see why you're being cold."

She nodded.

"Willing to start over? My request still stands."

She thought for a minute, and then said, "Yes." She took his hand as he led her out to the dance floor.

Les escaliers de la butte sont durs aux misereux.
Les ailes du moulin protegent les amoureux.
Et voila qu'elle trotte la lune qui flotte, la princesse aussi.
Mes reves epanouis.
Les escaliers de la butte sont durs aux misereux.
Les ailes du moulin protegent les amoureux

Hermione smiled at him over a picnic lunch near the Seine River. Quietly she whispered to him, "I love you."

Hermione was arranging some flowers as the cork of the champagne bottle fired at the ceiling. She turned around and smiled at him as he poured the shimmering drink into the glasses. She sat beside him as he put his arm around her and gave her her glass.

"Who are you really and who were you before?" he asked. "What did you do and how did you think?"

"I thought we said no questions," she said, looking over the rim of her glass.

"Yes, that's right." He clinked his glass against hers. "Here's looking at you kid."

Hermione tossed a coin in the air and caught it. "A franc for your thoughts," she said.

He smiled. "In America, they only bring in a penny, but I guess that's all they're worth."

She sat next to him and smiled back. "I'm willing to be overcharged. Tell me."

He looked at her. "It's just, why me? Why am I the one you come home to?"

"You mean, why is there no other man in my life?" He nodded. "That's easy. There was. He's dead."

"I'm sorry I asked."

She smiled at him. "Well, there is only one answer that can take care of all our questions." With these words, she leaned over and kissed him, his arms wrapping around her.

The last few notes of "As Time Goes By" filled the Café Bella, as he filled three champagne glasses.

"Well, drink up everyone," he said. "Henri has three more bottles of this stuff he wants us to drink. He says he'll water the garden with it before he'll let the Death Eaters have it."

"This sure takes the sting out of being invaded, doesn't it, Draco?" said Ginny, accepting her glass. Her red hair shimmered down her back, which would be dyed black in the future in Oran.

"It sure does," he said. Then he raised his glass at Hermione. "Here's looking at you, kid."

She smiled weakly and continued to stare at her glass. "Draco, are you going to leave Paris? When they find out your record—"

"Yes, tomorrow. I left a note in my flat; they'll know where to find me. Say why don't you come with me?" She gave a small nod. "Why don't we get married in Marseilles?" She gave a small laugh and looked down, a tear trailing down her cheek. "Hey, kid, what's wrong?"

"Oh, nothing," she said. "I'm just being silly. After all, I guess I'm sort of engaged. I just love you so much, and I hate this war so much." She let the tears flow freely down her face. "Kiss me, Draco. Kiss me as if it were the last time."

He stood outside the Floo Network (all citizen fires had been shut off) in the rain, waiting for her. He searched the crowd and saw Ginny pushing her way to him.

"Draco, the apartment was empty, but the neighbor did give me this note," said Ginny, handing him a letter. He took it from her and ripped open the envelope.

Draco,
I'm sorry. I cannot come with you or ever see you again. Please don't ask why, but know that I love you. Go my darling, and God bless you.
Hermione.

He stared at the letter; the rain began smearing the ink. The line began to move, but he took no notice. Ginny took his arm and started pulling him gently. He followed her taking no notice of where he was going, neither thinking nor caring.

Okay, I know that the French for the lyrics is correct, but as for Draco asking Hermione to dance, it may not. So please forgive me if it's wrong! Ack!

Dragonfires