"Corrèze is located in the Nouvelle-Aquitaine region and borders with Occitania and Auvergne-Rhône-Alpes. It is one of the original 83 departments created during the French Revolution, which included part of the former province of Limousin (the Bas-Limousin). Following the Second World War, this location in Sarran housed a hospital and then subsequently after its purchase in 1969, was remodeled into a home for the Chirac family. It's called the Château de Bity.

Draco listened closely as Hermione shared Muggle historical facts about the current home of their soon-to-be host.

"It was also a hiding place for the French Resistance during the Second World War."

Draco nodded thoughtfully, his eyes fixating on the rearview mirror where Pierre was smirking at him.

"I've never been to this part of France." He admitted softly, glancing away from Hermione's father to watch the scenery pass by from the back seat of the automobile they were driving in.

It was a sleek little number, made in Germany and was called a Mercedes. Draco couldn't help but wonder just how many different kinds of Muggle cars were out there in the world.

By the constant flow of traffic in both directions on their route, he figured it was probably quite a fair few.

Hermione couldn't help but take in Draco's expression as he continued to stare out the side window. His brow was furrowed, lips pursed, eyes fixated, and hands in his lap that would clench whenever a coupe or other type of automobile would pass by. She couldn't help but smile inwardly at how hard Draco was trying to get over his obvious discomfort of having to spend time in the Muggle world and for a moment, Hermione felt her heart softening with a feeling akin to actual tenderness. Of all the things to surprise her about Draco Malfoy, the most notable was how he took in everything around him. It was so different from the brash bully he'd been as a young boy of eleven. The truth was the Draco of sixteen had flipped the switch into a completely different person. Logically, Hermione knew it had more to do with him taking the Dark Mark, but she suspected there was probably a more secretive side to Draco Malfoy, than the act he'd played in school.

It caused her to wonder just how deep the hidden depths to Draco's personality extended.

As if sensing her gaze, Draco turned his head. Their eyes met, and his lips lifted into that damnable smirk, but without its usual bite.

"You're staring."

She shrugged, completely unrepentant. "Just musing."

"About?"

"Things." She replied back playfully, purposefully not answering the question. Draco rolled his eyes and sat back, folding his arms over his chest. "How much longer until we arrive?"

"About fifteen minutes."

He nodded, averting his gaze back out the window. His eyes widened when a large lorry shot by his window, going quite fast in the opposite direction.

"What was that?"

Hermione giggled, and she could see her father's lips lifting into an amused smile.

"It's a lorry or truck, as they're sometimes called. They're used to transport goods across the country."

"What kind of goods?"

"Anything really." Hermione admitted, "Muggles don't have the ability to transport things instantly, so they use lorries, trains, ships and aeroplanes to move items over short and longer distances."

"Ships?"

"Oh yes! Cargo container ships, which transport goods all over the world. There's also ships built solely for luxury traveling, and they can hold thousands of people aboard."

Draco's expression turned horrified. "Why in Salazar's name would anyone want to be stuck with thousands of people aboard a boat?"

Hermione threw back her head and laughed, while Pierre just chuckled along.

Draco however, was not amused!

His eyes were a stormy grayish color, and the glare he was sending her way caused Hermione to shake her head almost fondly.

"I'm sorry, Draco—it's just, Muggles are quite inventive when it comes to how they spend their vacation time. I think it's because they don't have the ability to travel large distances like we do, they've had to learn to adapt leisure travel more inventively. Cruise ships have a wide variety of activities to choose from: Casinos, dance clubs, and dinner shows; and the ships move from port to port. It allows people to travel to various destinations without having to incessantly pack and repack items. Muggles also have different kinds of trains, and a few are quite luxurious. Aeroplanes can fly across the oceans in a relatively short amount of time."

Draco was taken aback. "Fly? How?"

Hermione grimaced. "Uhm, the mechanics are a bit complicated, but the technology is quite ingenious."

Cocking his head, Draco's lips shifted into his patented smirk. "You really don't like flying, do you?"

Pierre barked out a full belly laugh, while Hermione groaned helplessly. "What?!" She bit out, "So what if I detest flying!"

"You know what I don't get, Hermione?" Draco piped up with a grin, that was every bit in keeping with his Hogwarts house affiliation.

"I'm sure there's many things I don't get, but I'm sure it won't stop you."

Draco didn't even pause to comment on her sarcasm, he just continued on as if she hadn't even spoken. "You apparate with ease, correct?" She nodded. "And I'm sure splinching has to be just as terrifying as falling off a broom, yet you don't seem to have a problem with it. I'm assuming you've used a portkey, yes?" Again she nodded, seeing her father smirking out of the corner of her eye. "And no issues with that either?"

"Correct."

"Then what's the deal with getting on a broom?"

Hermione went to open her mouth to give her usual and customary disparaging of the unreliability of flying twigs, when something stopped her. Then her gaze narrowed at her betrothed, almost angrily. But Draco just sat there in the back seat of her father's sedan, looking infinitely pleased with himself.

He'd managed to outwit her with logic.

And she was loathe to admit, she was probably more aroused than angry.

Turning around in a huff, she not only completely missed Pierre winking to Draco in the review mirror's reflection, but the blonde's smug smirk coming out to play.

"I'm actually finding this conversation quite interesting," Pierre interjected, "and Draco does make a valid argument, Angel."

"Whatever!" Hermione groused out petulantly, "I still don't like to fly."

"Maybe it's because you've never been one to give up control." Draco challenged and Pierre nodded, but Hermione scoffed.

"That's rich, coming from you, ferret."

"Oh, ho! Resorting to name calling!" Draco chuckled deeply, "Seems as if I've hit a nerve."

"Hermione doesn't like to lose arguments," Pierre offered, "she's very much her mother in that regard."

Hermione glanced over at her father, and could see his usual wistful expression when speaking about her mum.

"You just let her win all the arguments, Papa."

"True, but it didn't negate the fact your mother was supremely clever."

"Must run in the family." Draco intoned with a measure of fondness.

Hermione turned back to him, and he winked.

"You're incorrigible."

"Possibly. But admit it, you like that I am. Potter gives into you too easily. Probably why he's still alive."

"Here, here!" Pierre cheered heartily, while Hermione rolled her eyes. But she didn't correct Draco, and his expression was downright gleeful.

Which brought her up short, as she'd never seen Draco Malfoy so open and free.

"You both do know, this isn't pick on Hermione day, right?"

Both men chuckled and Hermione was thankfully spared from further witty repartee because her father finally pulled into the driveway leading to President Chirac's estate.

Draco glanced out the window, and Pierre could see the young wizard taking in the surroundings.

Sarran was a charming hamlet, centrally located within the country. Pierre however, had spent very little time in the region in recent years, preferring doing business in Paris. Working within the confines of the Muggle government, placed unfortunate limitations on him, plus there was the added insult of having to deal with those he'd rather not. Today though, would be an interesting mix of characters, and Pierre was fairly certain Jean-Baptiste would be in attendance.

Now there was someone Pierre would've had (and still would, if he was being honest) absolutely no compunction allowing Tom Riddle to wipe the prick from the earth. It also served as an unwelcome reminder in that he was long overdue in visiting his grandmother, a fact she'd made known nary just a few days earlier.

Glancing at his only child, Pierre was loathe to admit he'd willfully kept the truth of their lineage from Hermione. She'd assumed from what little information shared by both himself and Angelique, that Pierre's grandparents were all deceased. The grimoires of the Rosier and Grindelwald families were currently, still held in trust by Vinda Rosier. It had also been at her behest that Hermione be sent to Hogwarts. The old witch had used her dubious influence with Dumbledore to ensure Hermione's acceptance to the school and after everything, it left Pierre wondering how much his grandmother knew just how Dumbledore would end up manipulating things to his liking. For the only time in Pierre's life, he felt as if he'd been manipulated, and it was by his own family! But after Angelique's death, he'd not exactly been in his right mind, and Vinda had used that weakness against him.

As loathe as he was to make the concession, he knew there wasn't much of a choice in the matter.

Sooner or later he'd have to tell Hermione the truth, and he wasn't looking forward to that conversation. Nor the inevitable fall out.

Stopping the car, Pierre watched with an amused look when the valet came over and opened Hermione's door. The expression of the young Muggle denoted recognition, but was also quite appreciative.

Which Draco immediately noticed after Pierre opened his door and the young Malfoy stood and glared, his eyebrow lifting in warning. He then confidently sauntered around the car to offer Hermione his hand.

"Thank you, Draco."

"Of course, love."

Hermione smiled sweetly at the affection, while Pierre had to turn his face, lest his amused expression give him away.

Thankfully he was spared such base indignation when their host and hostess walked through their front door, with matching warm smiles of welcome.

Draco watched on with interest as reintroductions were made with Pierre leading the charge, and he was very careful to appear respectful and deferential, regardless of status. Learning as he had from Hermione these past couple months, that the most notable similarity between the Muggle and Wizarding elite were the polite smiles and restrained courtesy. President Chirac and his wife seemed to be genuinely good people, at least Draco assumed so, given Hermione's genuine warmth towards the older couple. Speaking french came easily enough for him too, so once they'd made the jaunt through the old estate and out towards the back gardens, Draco was introduced to at least fifteen people, all of whom were formally addressed in the native tongue.

His mother would be proud of his ability to charm, his father however, was still having a difficult time processing that his heir was mingling in the Muggle world. Lately though, Lucius wasn't commenting on much of anything. Draco would often find his father brooding in his study, or in rare instances, he'd be speaking in hushed tones to Grandfather Abraxas' portrait. He'd considered inserting himself a couple days ago, but was summarily supplanted out of the study with magic.

Not the first time, but concerning nonetheless.

And knowing his father as he did, Draco figured that whatever the issue was, nothing good would come of it.

Thankfully his mother seemed blissfully unaware of anything untoward going on.

Feeling a slight clenching of a hand around his forearm, Draco glanced down to find worried amber eyes staring up at him with concern and a hint of exasperation.

It was a look only Granger could pull off.

"Where are you?"

"Right here, love."

"Hmm, no you're not. But that's alright. It's a bit overwhelming, isn't it?"

He smirked with amusement. "Granger, I've spent my entire life in the company of dilettante's, sycophants and parvenu's, and do you know what I've learned in all that time?"

"What?" She queried lowly, her expression clearly intrigued.

"That oftentimes most people you come across are capricious at best, and downright unreliable at worst."

"Does that have more to do with being raised in a Slytherin household?"

"No," he chuckled, "but as much as I teased your Gryffindor sensibilities in school, we both know you have some interesting Slytherin qualities. You would've had to cultivate those traits growing up as you did, and then hiding parts of yourself throughout Hogwarts."

Hermione rolled her eyes, but Draco could tell she wasn't offended by his remarks. Not really.

"Fine! I'm not exactly a true Gryffindor at heart, but I've always surmised and I do believe I've stated as such, that everyone has the propensities of all four houses. Sometimes I've wondered what might've happened had we been resorted after fifth year."

Draco hummed out an affirmative, as he'd often considered the same question.

"Truth is, those sorted into Slytherin would've been right hacked off being resorted."

"I suppose you're right. I think most people from the other houses would tend to feel likewise."

He lifted Hermione's hand to place a soft kiss on her knuckles and enjoyed her sweet blush. Then a deep voice cleared behind them both.

Hermione's back was to the intruder, and Draco couldn't help but notice her eyes rolling in the way she was prone to do when irritated, so he wasn't surprised when his attention lifted to the unattractive scowl of the muggle he was unfortunately, now familiar with.

Addressing his witch in perfect french, Draco drawled out evenly, "It would seem we've been caught canoodling, love."

Hermione hummed and glanced over her shoulder smiling brightly, even though it was completely fake. "Jean-Baptiste! I had no idea we'd have the fortune of being graced with your presence today."

The man was not alone, and Draco mused inwardly that the woman firmly ensconced on the prats arm was definitely not the same one from the ballet. This woman was shorter, darker and looked an awful lot like the youngest Shafiq daughter, who'd been sorted into Slytherin and graduated from Hogwarts at the end of his second year.

The woman in question was eyeing Draco with intense scrutiny, while Jean-Baptiste had an expression of pinched disdain.

However, the man's french was impeccable.

"Hermione, I see you've brought your friend again. I'm sorry, I've forgotten your name."

Draco smirked, clearly not believing such tripe, but Hermione didn't miss a beat, she just sidled into his side more firmly and purred out, "Draco Malfoy, and yes, I do believe you'll be seeing much more of my intended."

The beaming smile coming from his witch had Draco returning the happy look with a quirked lifted grin of his own. However, the clearly disgusted scowl from the Muggle was far more interesting.

"I didn't realize" Jean-Baptiste almost too casually, lifting his left hand and waving it between Draco and Hermione, "this was to be a permanent association."

"It is." Draco offered with his signature smirk, "Pierre has given his blessing, and we are officially courting."

"How utterly charming."

From the tone of voice of the offensive man, Draco was fairly certain the words were more in keeping with sarcasm than actual sincerity.

"He is." Hermione offered with a saucy wink to her paramour, and Draco lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it again, ever the proper gentleman. Silver-gray eyes then turned to the other man and inquired with the upmost politeness, "I don't believe we've been properly introduced to your companion."

Jean-Baptiste glowered, but did the honors accordingly.

"This lovely lady is Alima Hilmi, and she's the international design director for Balmain."

Hermione squeezed Draco's arm, silently letting him know she'd handle this.

"How lovely!" Hermione offered sincerely, "I've always been a huge fan of Oscar de la Renta. What an honor it must be to work so closely with such a legend."

Alima's expression softened in either pleasure or relief, Draco couldn't tell which, but the woman's tone of voice seemed polite enough when she replied, "It is. We're in the thick of it right now, of course. Will you be attending fashion week this upcoming season?"

Hermione nodded effortlessly, "I suppose I must make an appearance. I've been so busy with my studies these last two years, my wardrobe could do with a bit of an upgrade."

Draco chuckled, "Perhaps you might take Mother with you, love. She adores fashion and if her last excursion to Paris was any indication, Father had to convert one of the guest suites into a new boudoir for all her purchases."

Hermione laughed and Alima smiled, while Jean-Baptiste had that sour look on his face.

"I can just imagine." Hermione giggled sweetly. "But of course, I'll endeavor to include Narcissa in my plans. I'm sure between the both of us we can try to place a minuscule dent in your Father's bank accounts."

"Good luck with that." Draco snarked fondly, "Mother's been trying for years, but Father has quite the nose for opportunity."

"I think that's probably an understatement, dear." Hermione mocked playfully, earning a lifted eyebrow from her wizard.

"Would we have ever been formally introduced to your parents, Mr. Malfoy?" Jean-Baptiste asked his question with the same haughty disdain Draco used to employ at school. For a moment it took him aback, and then made him inwardly grown at what a pompous arse he'd been at Hogwarts.

Live and learn.

"No, my parents are quite reclusive. They only socialize with a very select group of individuals, as my Father tends to keep his inner circle exclusive. He's rather loathe to interact with those he deems unworthy, and my Mother's just as particular."

Hermione had to keep herself from grimacing at that very accurate description of Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy's social habits. Having only known the very worst of Draco's parents, she was surprised at his honesty, as well as making it at least cursorily known one shouldn't be expecting any interaction with the Malfoy family anytime soon.

"Do they live here in France?" Jean-Baptiste inquired lowly, "I don't remember if you'd mentioned it?"

"No, we have a family estate in Britain. It was given to the Malfoy family by William the Conqueror, and there we've remained for nearly ten centuries. My Mother's family has an old estate here in France, which we use from time to time."

"Ah, so both sides of your family have French roots."

"Yes. Studying languages was required by my tutors growing up, at least until boarding school arrived."

"And that is where you two met?"

"Yes," Hermione interjected calmly, "Draco and I were quite the academic rivals for years. Always in competition for top marks."

"And yet, here you are?" Jean-Baptiste mused with a sneer, "How charming."

"What can I say?" Draco drawled back, but his inflection was nearly indulgent, "I've always been a pushover for a smart, strong and beautiful woman. Lucky for me, Hermione embodies those characteristics to perfection. I'm quite a fortunate man."

Alina sighed softly, almost wistfully, while Jean just narrowed his gaze suspiciously.

"We should mingle, love." Draco offered as an aside to his witch, "I do believe there were a few more people you wished to introduce me to?"

"Of course." Hermione took the lifeline and then nodded politely to the other two people. "It was lovely to meet you, Alina. Jean-Baptiste, do enjoy the rest of your afternoon."

Draco escorted Hermione away, and when they were out of earshot, he conveyed with all the sarcasm he could muster, "What a plonker. Is he always such a tool?"

"Yes, at least in my limited experience."

"At least his flavor of the month today, seemed to be a bit more…"

"Alive?" Hermione interjected, not altogether unkindly.

"I was going to use another term, but I suppose that one works too. At least she seems to have a brain to go with her looks."

"You thought she was pretty?"

Draco shrugged. "Not my type, actually. Objectively, yes. I'm sure Blaise would be quite smitten. His mother is more of an exotic beauty, but it's negated due to her being…"

"A black widow?"

Draco chuckled, his gray eyes alight with amusement. "Ah, so Elora Zabini's reputation made it as far as Gryffindor House?"

"I think everyone knew, to be honest. It wasn't as if it was some big secret."

"No, I suppose not."

"How is Blaise? I've noticed you haven't mentioned any of your Slytherin friends much. Well, except for…"

"Astoria. Yes, I haven't." The two of them walked over to a concealed part of the garden, and Draco effortlessly guided Hermione onto a stone bench, and he took the spot next to her. "After the war, things have been muddled. I haven't spoken with too many of those from my house." Draco thought about his last conversation with Daphne, and grimaced slightly. "I think we've all felt uncertain how to proceed getting on with our lives. For some of us, it's much harder for obviously reasons."

"Do they know?"

"About us?" Hermione nodded, and Draco returned the gesture. "I'm sure word has managed to make the rounds through society. Frankly, I care little for people's opinions. Maybe I should've learned to care more, but I can't change that about my personality, Hermione. Fundamentally, I've learned it's safer keeping to myself. I didn't always subscribe to that ideal."

"No, you were quite the prat in school."

Draco smirked, but didn't deny the assertion. It was true enough.

"After the summer between fifth and sixth year, and what happened, it was easier to distance myself. I didn't want my friends to be tainted by association, and I didn't know who I could trust. As it turned out, there were only a handful of people who truly cared about me, and not my surname."

"Astoria being the most notable, yes?"

"Mmmhmm, and I adored her for it. She was the first person who saw me, the real me. I tried to push her away that summer for her own good, and was relieved when her parents decided to send both she and Daphne here to finish their schooling. I didn't want that for her. But she's stubborn, and unfailingly kind and good."

Hermione's expression was sympathetic, as she listened to Draco finally opening up to her.

"She's your best friend, isn't she?"

Draco looked startled for a second, but eventually he nodded.

"She is. Probably not in the way you and Potter are, but she's been the person I've trusted more than any other, except for my Mum. I've never had to worry about her betraying my confidence, nor judging my poor decisions. Truth is, Hermione—had it not been for our situation being what it is, I would've married Astoria. More do to the fact that I'm very slow to trust and not easy to show emotion. It might've taken me years to work up the courage to declare myself, but that's where it was headed. Now I've come to discover that her life might be forfeit and there's a part of me that feels I owe it to her to help."

"And there's the other part of you that loves her, and wants to see her happy, yes?"

Draco's expression softened, and Hermione could see the truth in his eyes.

"I'm sorry, for what it's worth." She offered at last. "I know what it's like to see the one person who means more to you than anything, suffer and sacrifice themselves. That day, in the courtyard…"

Her voice cracked, and Draco gripped her hand tenderly, causing Hermione to smile weakly.

"Of all the things I suffered to get Harry to that moment, I'd felt a failure. I kept chanting inside my head, he's not dead, and literally willed every part of myself into that hope. But for a single, solitary minute, right before he fell out of Hagrid's arms, I gave into that hopeless despair. So what I'm saying is, I know how you must be feeling. And for what it's worth, I'll do everything in my power to help you save Astoria her fate, should it come down to it. I'm hoping it won't…"

Draco shook his head. "It will."

Hermione eyes widened in horror. "How?"

Draco sighed, and tried to avert his gaze, but Granger wasn't having it as she cupped his cheek and literally forced him to make eye contact with her. "How?" She asked again, only this time it held an edge to it he couldn't define.

"I spoke with Daphne."

"Astoria's sister who was in our year?"

"Yes." Draco swallowed uncomfortably, as Hermione was now eyeing him with an almost brutal intensity.

"Draco, what did you tell her?"

He sighed, wondering just how upset Hermione was going to be with him.

"I didn't mention your research specifically, but I might've inferred I might be able to help Astoria."

Draco watched Hermione's eyes darken, and her lips pursed in a clear sign of displeasure, but to her credit, she didn't lash out at him. Probably had more to do with where they were, then anything else.

There were a few minutes of heavy silence that passed with the two of them taking the measure of each other. Hermione on some level, was furious with Draco, but she also knew enough of his character to know he didn't care easily. It wasn't natural for him to trust. So whatever his feelings for Astoria Greengrass, they were very real.

Then there was the tinge of jealousy which seeped through her gut. She was smart enough to note, that this feeling was of a much deeper nature than her righteous anger. There was also some hurt mixed into it. That emotion was the most familiar one.

It was the one she felt every time Malfoy had called her a mudblood. Every time he'd sneered at her, made some thoughtless and cruel remark about her hair, teeth or intellect.

Hermione desperately swallowed down that same gut-check reaction. Blinking rapidly, she quickly averted her gaze and was slightly surprised when Draco cupped her cheek to gently turn her face back to his.

She could see the stark regret in his eyes, even if there was no other emotion visible on his aristocratic face.

"You're angry." He whispered pained.

"I don't think this is the place or time to discuss this."

He nodded solemnly, but stood and readjusted his outer Muggle robes, before extending his hand to Hermione. She took it after a brief hesitation, and nothing more was said about the subject for the rest of the afternoon.

Happy smiles, light chatter and perfect manners were the recommendation for the day. Neither one realizing that their intimate conversation had been overheard.