Disclaimer: This may come as a bit of a shock to you, but I do not own Harry Potter in any way, shape, or form. I am just a bored individual who thinks he's good at writing and wants to generate some serotonin for himself and his readers in these strange times.
Chapter 32
Two Weeks Later
A pair of teenagers sat across from each other in a library in Cannes, France. One of them, at the other's recommendation, was reading a novel called The Scarlet Pimpernel, a fictional tale about an aristocrat who helped to save would-be victims of the Reign of Terror. The other was poring over a gargantuan tome about the French Revolution with rapt curiosity. They had been sitting in content silence for over an hour when the latter suddenly spoke.
"Hey, Harry?"
"Mmm?" The boy in question reluctantly turned his eyes away from the adventures of Sir Percy Blakeney. "Yes?" He asked as he locked eyes with one Hermione Granger.
"How do you like the book?" She asked shyly.
"I love it." He said automatically, holding it up to show that he had made substantial progress in the short amount of time since he'd grabbed it off the shelf. "I suppose it's got something to do with a charismatic hero saving the day. I don't know, I just feel like I can relate to the guy." He said with a wink, and Hermione smirked.
"I'm glad." She said sincerely.
"Are you enjoying your book?" Harry asked with a snort. "Seriously, have you ever actually not enjoyed a book?"
"Oh, loads." Hermione answered. "Have you ever heard of a wizard named Gilderoy Lockhart?"
"Touché." Harry grinned. "Hey, who do you reckon will be teaching Defense this year anyway?"
"Honestly, I'd rather another You-Know-Who surrogate than anyone like Lockhart." Hermione huffed. "At least I can count on you to vanquish them, right?"
"And I can always count on you to expose another fraud." Harry retaliated with a proud smile.
"Touché." Hermione returned the smile. "You do know you've got something on your cheek, right?"
"I do?" Harry asked, perplexedly brushing his face off. "Where?"
Hermione suddenly leaned across the table and pecked him on the cheek. "There." She pulled back with a cheeky smile before returning to her book like it was nothing.
"You're unbelievable, you know that?" Harry shook his head, mostly in disbelief, but didn't bother hiding his amused smile. He heard Hermione giggle softly to herself before he directed his eyes back to his novel. "I'll get you back for that." He smirked, which only made her laugh again.
The next day, Harry, Hermione, and the Grangers were seated in a booth in a quiet little bistro, having just wrapped up a delicious dinner. Harry was sitting next to Hermione, engrossed in a conversation with Mr. Granger about the upcoming Quidditch season, but constantly nudging his best friend's knee with his own.
"So not only do you have to fly around the entire pitch looking for a ball the size of a walnut, but you also have to constantly keep track of the score?" The dentist asked with great interest.
"Exactly, the standings are determined by how many total points a team has accumulated. For example, if Gryffindor were in second place to Hufflepuff by say, two-hundred points, I would want to wait until my teammates had scored fifty or more points before trying to catch the Snitch." He explained. "Ideally."
"Good lord, so you've got to be athletic and use your brain?"
"That's why Malfoy's so rubbish at Quidditch." Harry bumped Hermione's leg, eliciting a round of cheerful laughter from her. He turned back to the Grangers to explain. "Sorry, Malfoy is this total prat – "
"Oh, we've heard about that Draco fellow." Mrs. Granger said, nodding her head towards her daughter. "We've also heard you've been quite protective of Hermione whenever he starts acting out."
Harry blushed, casting an inquisitive look at Hermione. "I might have mentioned that…" She mumbled bashfully, earning some snickers from her parents.
"Well, I've got to use the loo. Watch the table, will you Jean?" Mr. Granger slid out of the booth and to his feet.
"I actually have to go too. Don't wander off, you two!" Mrs. Granger wagged a finger at them before joining her husband in a quest to find the lavatories. The moment they were out of sight, Harry turned and planted a kiss on Hermione's cheek.
"Harry!" She gasped, brushing her fingers over the spot where his lips had brushed.
"Told you I'd get you back." He smirked.
"If my parents saw – "
"Your mother has called me a handsome young man on multiple occasions and your father seems to like me even more than you do." He grinned mischievously, earning him a shove from Hermione.
"You don't think that all will fly out the window if they see you kiss me?"
"I'm sneaky." Harry shrugged. "I think if anyone should be worried about getting caught it's the girl who couldn't keep her lips off me way back in first year."
"That was one time!" Hermione huffed, her cheeks tinging pink. "I'm sure you were just too scared to do the same, anyway."
"This says otherwise." Harry smirked, extracting from his pocket the sword of Gryffindor quill that Hermione had given him for his birthday a couple weeks prior. "Something about bravery, right?"
"You carry that around with you?" She clapped her hands over her chest, beaming with pride.
"Well, yeah." He smiled sheepishly.
"Shall we?" Mr. Granger returned to the table, followed by his wife. "Those tickets for the art museum are for eight AM sharp, we all need our beauty sleep."
"No amount of sleep is going to fix this hair, Mr. Granger." Harry grinned, running a hand through his infamously messy locks as he scooted off the leather bench. The dentists chuckled merrily as the two teenagers clambered to their feet and followed them out of the restaurant back to their hotel.
"I'll get you back for that." Hermione whispered in his ear as they reached the bustling street outside. Harry rolled his eyes, cracking another smile as they marched along, hand in hand.
Harry still found himself rubbing the sleep out of his eyes the next morning even as they entered the Musée de la Castre nearly an hour after he'd woken up.
"This castle was built in in fifteenth century!" Hermione squealed with excitement as she and Harry stood alone in a small room dotted with paintings. "Think about it, this very tower pre-dates almost every building you've ever even laid eyes on!"
"Except Hogwarts." Harry mumbled groggily. He was finding it exceptionally difficult to keep his eyes open.
"Right, well, obviously. But think about it! Montezuma was running the Aztec Empire while this was being built! Isabella of Spain probably had her wedding to Ferdinand during this tower's construction! Joan of Arc was leading armies with unrivaled tenacity while this building was being erected!" Hermione was positively bursting with excitement, running her hand over the sandstone walls as if begging it to reveal its secrets.
"That's cool." Harry tried hard to focus on the painting in front of him. He blinked a few times to make out some sort of meadow, filled with white flowers. It looked like the perfect place to take a nap.
"This castle was built before some of the most influential individuals in history!" Hermione continued, her excitement unaffected by her best friend's drowsiness. "Before the likes of Shakespeare, and da Vinci. Men like Galileo and Magellan! Women like Queen Elizabeth and Anne Boleyn weren't even born yet when this was built!" She turned to Harry, her face lit up with excitement. "Isn't it all just fascinating?" She asked, practically jumping up and down. "This building could rival Hogwarts in its history!"
"I agree." Harry said half-heartedly. He was now looking at another painting, this one featuring a man lying on his stomach with his eyes closed. Harry's insides boiled with jealousy until he saw several knives sticking out of the man's back. He winced, and turned back to Hermione, who was still rambling.
"That painting depicts the death of Julius Caesar, which is actually a rather captivating tale, albeit horribly gruesome. Caesar was the leader of Rome at the time and although he was brilliant on the battlefield and in the Senate chamber, he was growing increasingly disliked by several other politicians. So, one day one of his closest allies, named Brutus, helped to lead an assassination attempt on him and – " She stopped suddenly, turning to meet Harry's bleary eyes. "Are you even listening to me?"
"Oh, erm, yeah." Harry managed, trying to nod as if he was totally enthralled instead of utterly exhausted. "Caesar salad here got stabbed by his friend Brutal – "
"Brutus! And it's just Caesar, not Caesar salad!" Hermione stamped her foot. Harry was grateful the room was empty so he didn't have to get admonished by his best friend in front of an audience. "How tired are you?"
"Very." Harry replied instantly. "Sleep is for the weak, and I am very, very weak right now." He yawned dejectedly. Hermione scoffed at him, scrunching her eyebrows together.
"I bet I can help." She suddenly dropped her stern expression, replacing it with a cheerful one. Before Harry could ask what she meant, she hopped up to her tiptoes and kissed him gently on the tip of his nose, giggling as his glasses were knocked a tad askew.
Harry felt a surge of energy rush through his veins, as if he'd been submerged in liquid adrenaline, and grinned.
"Better?" She asked, stepping back and crossing her arms expectantly.
"Loads." He answered, fixing his glasses. "So, Brutus ended up betraying Caesar? Seems like a lot of knives for one stabber."
His smile widened as Hermione launched into a rapid-fire explanation of the Ides of March and the legendary demise of Julius Caesar, gushing as she recounted the iconic last words "Et tu, Brute?" from the Shakespeare play chronicling the life of the Roman general. He was now able to absorb the nonstop fountain of information spewing from Hermione's lips as she blathered about nearly every piece of art that they saw, and when they joined up with her parents in the next room she continued to do so, much to the dentists' delight.
"She's something else, isn't she?" Mr. Granger whispered to Harry as the bushy-haired witch animatedly explained the backstory to a sculpture of Napoleon.
"Yeah, she is…" Harry grinned, shaking his head in amusement as his best friend continued her tour. "Brilliant." He whispered to himself every few minutes as they progressed throughout the museum.
The next day, the four of them were roaming through a small plaza, admiring the joyful atmosphere as they claimed a picnic table.
"Do you two want to grab some lemonade?" Mrs. Granger pointed to a stand that had been organized by a few jolly children, easily a few years Harry's junior.
"Sure!" Hermione beamed, grabbing Harry by the hand and yanking him to his feet. She led him over to the stand and happily conversed with the three kids in French for a few minutes. Harry stood awkwardly as Hermione rattled off immaculate French before she suddenly bristled, blushing furiously.
"What?" Harry squeezed her hand. "Did one of these kids insult you?"
"No!" She laughed, squeezing his hand back. "They want to know if we're married."
Harry raised his eyebrows in surprise before turning back to the three pre-teens, who were giggling like mad. Harry darted his eyes between the kids and Hermione before throwing the lemonade entrepreneurs a wink, which sent them into a frenzy of cheers and laughter. At that, they insisted on giving the pair four cups of lemonade for free.
"Non – " Hermione tried to say, but the children practically shoved them away. "Merci." She blushed, handing Harry two of the drinks.
"Merci!" Harry called out over his shoulder as they began their walk back to the picnic table. "I think we should see if they cater weddings."
"Stop it!" Hermione nudged him with his elbow, blushing like mad. Harry felt his own face heat up but couldn't wipe the pleased smile off of his face as they rejoined the Grangers at the table, happily sipping their drinks and enjoying their surroundings.
"Did you ever finish The Scarlet Pimpernel?" Hermione asked Harry as the four of them finished up their breakfast the next day. Harry nodded eagerly, then presumed to put on his best French accent.
"They seek him here, they seek him there. Those Frenchies seek him, everywhere. Is he in Heaven, or is he in Hell? That damned elusive…Pimpernel." He finished with a flourish, earning golf claps from a very amused Mr. and Mrs. Granger.
"Well done, well done." Hermione conceded. "But the Scarlet Pimpernel was actually English…you knew that, right?"
"I…yeah. Totally. The French accent was just practice." Harry managed, darting his eyes to his menu. "So, how about this weather?" He added awkwardly, prompting the others to burst out laughing.
"Oh, look at that sweet dog over there!" Mrs. Granger mused, pointing to a dog lying just a few feet away from their outdoor table. Harry turned and saw a black, shaggy-looking dog lying contentedly in the sun. At the dentist's noticing him, he perked up, looking excitedly at the four of them. Harry swore the dog was smiling at him and couldn't help but smile back, reaching into the bread basket and tossing him a piece of baguette.
The dog eagerly caught it out of the air, chomping away almost instantly. The four of them chuckled as the canine swallowed it eagerly, but Harry's laughter faltered when the dog suddenly winked.
"You saw that, right?" He nudged Hermione, who was also watching the dog with a smile on her face.
"Yeah, with reflexes like that he might be taking Wood's spot as Keeper." She smirked.
"I meant…never mind." Harry cast another glance at the much happier looking hound, who returned to stretching out on the sidewalk and sunbathing.
"We're off to pay the bill." Mr. Granger folded his napkin onto the wrought-iron table and stood up, his wife following suit. "Don't you go and adopt that dog." He winked at Harry, who chuckled innocently as the pair of adults slipped inside of the café towards the counter.
Harry grinned to himself once they were out of sight and promptly gave Hermione a gentle kiss on the forehead.
"What was that for?" She asked, her cheeks flushing. "Not that I'm complaining, of course."
"It's been too long." Harry shrugged, nonchalantly drinking the last of his orange juice. "And I like doing that."
The following night, they all found themselves on a terrace garden attached to a now-defunct church on a hill atop the city. The view took Harry's breath away as the darkening sky enveloped all of Cannes, prompting the entire city to flick on flashlights, spotlights, strobe lights, street lights, all of the lights on at once.
"It's beautiful." Mrs. Granger hummed to herself, moving towards the east banister to get a better view of the ocean. Harry, Hermione, and Mr. Granger remained at the southern side of the balcony before the latter drifted towards his wife.
"I think that's our hotel right there." Hermione pointed towards a cluster of buildings straight ahead of them.
"Where?" Harry craned his neck, trying to distinguish the rather opulent hotel the Ministry had selected for them out of the indistinguishable mess of lights.
"Here." Hermione reached down and grabbed his wrist, extending his arm out and pointing it towards where she had been pointing. "Look down your arm." She encouraged. "Do you see it?"
Harry was sure that if he looked where he was pointing he would have seen the Lunar Hotel, owned by Europa Sinistra, sister of Hogwarts's own Astronomy professor Aurora Sinistra.
Harry Potter wasn't looking where he was pointing, though. His eyes were locked onto the face of his best friend, and it put the view of Cannes in front of him to shame. She was still gazing at the city with fascination, and Harry watched with delight as her profile lit up with excitement as she spotted a few stars twinkling above them.
"I suppose it's not the same as Hogwarts, but it's certainly something." She sighed contentedly. "Aren't they pretty?" She turned to Harry and pointed to the celestials above them.
"Yes, you are." He smiled, and Hermione blushed before half-heartedly swatting his arm.
"You're sweet." She whispered before sliding her hand into his. "If my parents weren't standing over there I think I'd kiss you senseless for that."
"I guess I'll have to collect an IOU someday." He felt his face heat up and turned his eyes towards the city in front of them, smiling to himself. "Assuming you still tolerate me by the time – "
He was cut off as he felt a hand cup his chin and turn his face towards Hermione's. Before he could sputter out some incoherent exclamation of shock she leaned in and gently kissed him.
Even though he shut his eyelids, Harry still saw a thousand glimmering lights twinkle in front of his eyes as Hermione's lips lingered on his. His heart began racing so fast and beating so hard he was certain she would hear, but she said nothing of it as she pulled away, beaming at him. She hurriedly glanced over his shoulder and saw her parents were too absorbed in the view in front of them to have noticed before turning back to Harry, a blissful smile on her lips.
"You have no idea how long I've wanted to do that." She whispered.
"Me too." Harry returned the smile.
"I mean," she kept her voice low, shooting glances towards her still oblivious parents, "I sort of imagined kissing you under the stars for the first time on the Astronomy Tower, but I suppose France is still a nice place to do it." She averted her eyes slightly, and Harry squeezed her hand.
"I can settle for France." He widened his smile as Hermione met his gaze once again. They stared in a tranquil silence for a moment before turning back to the city in front of them, still holding hands.
Harry fell asleep that night in his hotel room with a dazed smile on his face, wondering what he'd done to deserve what he'd just experienced.
The next day, Harry found himself standing in front of a row of stores that looked like it cost a hundred pounds just to look at them.
"Remind me why we're here again?" He asked Mr. Granger, who looked equally out of his element in front of the boutiques.
"We care too much about Jean and Hermione to tell them how much we don't want to be here." He sighed, glancing longingly at a quaint-looking pub at the end of the block. "I suppose we could make ourselves busy in one of these stores. Anything catching your eye?" He asked, turning to a now transfixed Harry.
"There." The boy wizard grinned, and before the dentist could even question him he was marching into Harry Winston Jewelers. He practically threw the doors open, marching straight to the counter with what he knew was a stupid-looking smile.
"May I help you?" A woman asked, unable to hide her amusement at the poise of a thirteen year old boy to march in like he owned the place. She clearly assumed his gall was that of an Englishman, or even worse, an American*.
"This may sound like a stupid question," Harry began, chuckling to himself, "but do you guys have a map of England?"
"A map of England?" The woman behind the counter tried and failed to subdue her laughter. "As a matter of fact we do, but may I ask why?"
"Of course you can!" Harry could barely contain his excitement. "I need that map so I can figure out what I would like engraved on the back of that." He pointed to a spot in the jewelry case to his left. The woman glanced to where he indicated and her eyebrows practically leapt off her forehead in surprise.
"That will not come cheap, especially with an engraving."
"It'll be worth it." Harry surprised himself with the resolve his tone was laced with, and it seemed to do the trick. The woman gave him a quick smile before extracting a rolled-up map of the United Kingdom from a shelf behind her. Harry thanked her profusely before turning to Mr. Granger, who had just wandered, still uncertain as to what Harry wanted with this store.
"Would you mind holding this out for me?" He asked the dentist, whose confusion only multiplied as the map was thrust into his hands. Shrugging, he held it out for the teenager to scrutinize, allowing Harry to drag his finger along vertically and then horizontally. "Got it!" Harry suddenly cried out in triumph before turning back to the woman, who was now enthralled to see what Harry's endgame was. He read off what he wanted engraved and she beamed at him before happily taking the map back and returning it to the shelf.
"It will be a few hours." The woman reminded a now ecstatic Harry.
"Oh, our companions will still be shopping in a few hours." Mr. Granger rolled his eyes. "We'll be back at four o'clock, will that work?"
The woman nodded, and the dentist happily shepherded Harry to the exit. "So, are you going to tell me what that was all about?" He asked as he guided them towards the last store they had seen Hermione and Mrs. Granger enter.
"No." Harry smiled smugly, rubbing his hands together in excitement. "No, I don't think I will."
Mr. Granger just sighed, shaking his head in amusement at the boy's antics. "Whatever it is, I'm sure she'll love it."
Harry felt his heart swell with pride on top of excitement, and continued grinning from ear to ear as the two of them met up with Hermione and her mother, whose arms were laden with bags with all kinds of unfamiliar names like Dolce Gabbana and Dior.
"Have you two not gotten anything yet?" Mrs. Granger pursed her lips.
"I just thought we would swing by to let you know that Harry and I were about to head into De Fursac just down the street." Mr. Granger grinned at his wife, then at Harry.
"What's that?" Harry and Hermione asked in unison.
"It's a menswear store." The dentist clapped Harry on the shoulder. "I'm buying you your first suit, kid."
"I'd get yourself a scarlet tie, if I were you." Mrs. Granger winked.
"Mum!"
"What? What's wrong with a little Gryffindor pride?" The dentist asked innocently before throwing Harry another smile.
"We'll keep an eye out. Come on, Harry, let's let them get back to wreaking havoc." Mr. Granger led Harry to the exit.
Harry's smile somehow grew even wider, and it stayed like that for the rest of the day, even as he tried on a plethora of suits and picked up his purchase from the jeweler.
The next day, Harry and his travel companions had a tour booked for the Palais de Festivales – the sight of the annual Cannes film festival.
"It really is too bad we missed it…" Hermione sighed as they entered the grand auditorium. "I would have loved to see some of the films they put on – oh this is lovely!" She gasped at the magnificence that surrounded them as they entered the Palais. Harry had to agree, the venue was stunning. Their tour guide happily led them through a variety of different theaters and viewing areas used for the festival.
"Here we have a signed poster from a man who has made many appearances here in Cannes, perhaps you England residents are familiar with Kenneth Branagh!" The young tour guide pointed happily to a framed poster on the walls of one of the smaller theaters.
Harry took one look at the man and cringed, feeling a wave of nausea crash over him. Something about the way he smiled, and the aura he gave off just reminded him of something wholly unpleasant. He glanced at Hermione, who looked equally displeased.
"What's wrong, dear?" Mrs. Granger asked. "I thought you would love him, Hermione, he's directed so many Shakespeare productions."
"I don't know, Mum, but something about him just rubs me the wrong way." Hermione threw another look of disdain at the poster before turning away. Harry slipped his hand into hers and gave a comforting squeeze.
"I know how you feel." He whispered as they continued with their tour, opting to engross themselves in the history of the Cannes Film Festival instead of wondering why they momentarily felt so repulsed.
The rest of the day featured no sudden bouts of repugnance, and nor did the next. The four of them had just wrapped up lunch and decided to wander the streets as a group, interested to see what they would come across. Harry in particular was very interested when they came across a market bursting with people as well as all kinds of food.
"Shall we take the night off from eating out?" Mrs. Granger raised an eyebrow, a sly smile on her face. "I wonder if our two aspiring chefs would be interested in showing us what they're capable of."
"I'd very much like to see that." Mr. Granger grinned. "The suite has a full kitchen, after all."
"Along with four bedrooms and a dozen other rooms. It's basically a house, Dad." Hermione rolled her eyes.
"I don't appreciate my own daughter rolling her eyes at me." Mr. Granger huffed sarcastically before winking at Harry. "If we let the two of you buy yourselves some ingredients, do you suppose you could scrounge up a home-cooked meal?"
"I'd love that." Harry grinned, already enticed by the idea of trying his hand at French food.
"Me too." Hermione beamed. "Let's go, Harry." She turned to him before grabbing his hand and yanking him towards the nearest food stall.
"Honestly, Harry, I'm a little worried that we don't have a recipe to go off of here." Hermione huffed as they stood in the kitchen of their hotel suite several hours later.
"Hermione, I've got this. A bit of moral support here and there would be appreciated, though." Harry grumbled as he lifted the lid off of a pot, examining the contents. "How are the cherry tomatoes coming?"
"All done!" She happily scraped two pints of halved cherry tomatoes off the cutting board and into a bowl. "What's next?"
"We need to add half of those tomatoes and let it cook for about ten minutes." Harry said automatically, pursing his lips as he adjusted the temperature of the stove.
"It does smell delicious…but then again so do candles, and they taste horrible." She said with a wink before depositing half of the cherry tomatoes into the pot and letting Harry cover it.
"It's this kind of encouragement and support that has helped me defeat Voldemort twice." Harry sighed, unable to hide his smile.
"So, what's next?" Hermione absent-mindedly adjusted the string around her apron. Harry just shrugged.
"We wait ten minutes. Then we add the zucchini, eggplant, and the rest of the tomatoes." He said plainly, still looking at the pot on the stove with great interest.
"Ten minutes, you said?" She asked, leaning against a cabinet with an impish-looking smile.
"Hmm?" Harry finally took his eyes off of his ongoing culinary project to glance at Hermione. "Why are you smiling like that?"
"I have an idea."
"Oh?"
"My parents are on the balcony right now." She hopped up onto the countertop, crossing her ankles.
"Oh…" Harry exhaled, feeling his face heat up.
"Oh indeed." Hermione maintained her sly smile, but Harry could hear her breath quicken.
'Gryffindor courage.' His inner voice piped up. 'Your bravery inspires her. Come on, mate, you got this.'
"I got this." He whispered to himself, a small smile materializing on his face.
"What did you say?" Hermione giggled.
"I said," Harry met her eyes and grinned, "I think I have an IOU to collect."
Harry had cooked for the Dursleys for years, and their incessant mockery and tormenting had made him feel rather frustrated while cooking on several occasions. But Harry Potter was certain he had never felt more annoyed in a kitchen than he did when a timer went off ten minutes later, and he had to step away from a very pleased, albeit flustered, Hermione Granger, his lips tingling.
Twenty minutes after that, Harry and Hermione triumphantly set down four plates of Ratatouille in on the dining room table, much to the delight of Mr. and Mrs. Granger. Harry was certain he had never smiled so wide in his life.
"Color me impressed!" The former smiled, popping a piece of zucchini into his mouth. "Oh, my goodness, Harry, how did you teach my daughter to make something this good?"
"Harry really did most of it, I just did some busywork." Hermione blushed, sliding into her seat.
"That's not true." Harry smirked. "I couldn't have done it without her."
"Did you guys do some taste testing?" Mrs. Granger asked.
"What?" Hermione dropped her fork onto her plate.
"Taste testing. It's a very important step in the cooking process. Although I'm sure Harry has done a good job of teaching you that, sweetheart. Or did you teach him?" She cast an unreadable glance at Hermione.
Harry's breath caught in his throat, sending a piece of cherry tomato dangerously close to his windpipe. Hurriedly sipping some water so could keel over from embarrassment instead of choking to death, he turned to Mrs. Granger, but Hermione beat him to it.
"Of course we did some taste-testing." The brown-eyed witch insisted. "Honestly, what did you expect us to do while we were cooking in there?"
"Oh, I suppose you're right." Mrs. Granger smiled as she looked down at her plate. "I'm very much looking forward to the results." She darted her eyes towards Harry and her smile widened before she took her first bite of the dish.
"I h-hope you like it?" Harry offered weakly, still not entirely sure of what was going on around him. Mr. Granger looked similarly confused.
"It's delightful." She gave Harry a warm smile, and he felt his nervousness subside, even if he wasn't entirely sure what he was nervous about. The rest of the dinner proceeded pleasantly enough, and Harry and Hermione happily returned to the kitchen to wash the dishes and clean up.
"So…" Harry trailed off nervously as he and Hermione tag teamed the plates. "What exactly happened earlier with your mum? At the table?"
"I haven't the faintest." Hermione shrugged, flashing him a quick smile before redirecting her attention to scrubbing. That didn't do much to absolve Harry's confusion but he shrugged it off. "I had fun tonight." She added.
"Oh, I did too." Harry grinned sheepishly. "Believe me, I did too."
The next day was their last full day in France, which had everyone feeling a tad on the sadder side. Mr. and Mrs. Granger decided to brighten the mood by informing Harry and Hermione that they had booked a table for one of the swankier restaurants in the city – La Palme d'Or.
"Seems to me, Harry, like you're about to find an excuse to wear that new suit of yours." Mr. Granger winked. Harry's eyes widened and he felt himself grinning in anticipation. The morning featured a pleasant breakfast at a café they had visited a few times – the one with the friendly dog.
"I'll miss this guy." Harry nodded his head towards the shaggy black dog a few feet to their right, who was happily licking his paws as he lounged on the warm sidewalk. He swore he heard the dog let out a soft whimper, but any trace of sadness quickly vanished when Harry and Hermione each tossed the canine a piece of bread.
After breakfast, the four of them opted to save themselves for dinner since it was an earlier reservation and they didn't quite know what to expect portion-wise. So, they found themselves window-shopping the many boutiques and shops that lined the streets of Cannes.
"You know, you never really showed me what you got when you and your mum went shopping." Harry told Hermione as they gazed at a few mannequins in a small clothing store's display window. "I mean, I know you got those shoes." Harry pointed down to the sandals Hermione was wearing, which she'd gotten from a store Harry couldn't even attempt to pronounce. "But nothing else."
"I suppose you'll see part of it tonight." She smiled to herself, darting her eyes to the ground. "Will I be seeing that suit you bought?" Harry raised his eyebrows and broke into a surprised smirk.
"I suppose." He retorted, and they both blushed slightly before resuming their walk with the Grangers.
Sure enough, four hours later, Harry was pacing his bedroom, dressed to the nines in a black suit. He paused in front of his mirror every few seconds, mindlessly adjusting the collar of his white dress shirt or straightening his scarlet silk tie.
A pair of knocks at the door had Harry turning his head to see Mr. Granger walking in. "Thought I'd give you a once over before we head out. Can't have you embarrassing me after all." He winked.
"Do I look that bad?" Harry asked, straightening his tie again.
"I meant you were the one making me look bad." The dentist smiled, and Harry felt a wave of relief as he let out a small laugh. "You should fluff up your pocket square, though. There you go. Looking good, kid." He grinned as Harry adjusted accordingly. "Let's go. They'll be ready soon enough, I suppose." He shepherded Harry out to the foyer of their hotel suite.
Harry found himself leaning against the wall, absent-mindedly adjusting the strap on his watch and checking the time every five seconds.
"We won't be late, Harry, don't worry. I'd rather they show up in pajamas on time than in dining gowns five minutes tardy." Mr. Granger gave a reassuring smile. Harry nodded, returning the smile.
A few minutes later, Mrs. Granger emerged in a rather elegant black dress that went well with her husband's suit and black tie.
"You look very nice, Mrs. Granger." Harry offered, and she gave a warm smile.
"Harry, dear, just because I'm dressed like a princess doesn't mean you can't call me Jean."
"Right. Sorry, Your Majesty." He offered, earning some boisterous laughter from the dentists.
Then, Hermione entered the foyer, and Harry realized why Mrs. Granger had recommended the scarlet tie. Her dress looked like the gorgeous shade of red that comes out only when the sun is setting on a clear day, stopping just below her knees. He managed to pry his eyes away from her gown to see her hair was now wavy instead of its traditional bushy self. Her skin, now tanner after weeks in the French sun, was more radiant than any solar object he could think of. The boy wizard suddenly found it a tad difficult to breathe.
Mr. Granger nudged a dumbstruck Harry with his elbow, and that seemed to connect his brain to his mouth. "You look amazing." He said quietly.
"Likewise." She smiled shyly.
"Alright, well we could all stand here and flatter one another all evening, but I have a dinner to get to. You're all welcome to join me." Mr. Granger grinned, wrenching the door open and marching out, and the others followed suit.
As ecstatic as Harry was to return to England, and subsequently Hogwarts, Harry knew he was going to miss quite a few things about France. And Hermione's red dress was steadily climbing the list.
A/N: *I'm American, let me make some self-deprecating America jokes.
Anyway, I hope you all enjoyed this chapter because I absolutely loved writing it. I mean, it was like injecting serotonin into my veins, especially the entire second-to-last night bit. Hopefully you all enjoyed the references to The Office ("You have no idea how long I've wanted to do that." "Me too.") and to Avengers: Endgame ("No. No, I don't think I will.") I was particularly proud of those. Oh yeah, and I threw in a lyric to Kanye West's "All of The Lights" because I felt like it. Oh yeah, and the whole Kenneth Branagh thing was because he played Lockhart in CoS, in case that wasn't clear. Just felt like doing it after I read that Branagh was present for the 1993 Cannes Film Festival.
To the many of you who left such kind, nice, and encouraging reviews, I love you all! To the many of you whom have followed/favorited this story, I love you all too! You guys are all so great! Seriously, you guys rock. If nobody's told you yet today, you rock. Please feel free to review, or follow, or favorite this story if you're enjoying it, it truly does mean the world to me. Plus, look at what I just wrote. It'll mean I love you, and what beats having a random fanfic author telling you that they love you? Anyway, thank you all, and stay safe!