Chapter 6: Avant la tempête (Before the Storm)

'Eight hundred people.'

Hermione blinked as Narcissa answered her. She was sitting there, in denim trousers, a white t-shirt, and a fresh new bob cut. She was certainly embracing non-magical culture.

Hermione said, 'I know it's a big event, but I didn't expect that many people. Where is the Château du Duc d'Aquitaine anyway? Toulouse?'

'Tours.'

Hermione's jaw dropped. 'Tours? Tours isn't even remotely in Aquitaine!'

Narcissa chuckled. 'It isn't. It was constructed by a Dauphin—whose name escapes me—who was a non-magical-born wizard.'

Hermione nodded in confusion. She looked around, searching for grey eyes and green shirt. 'What's Draco getting anyway?'

'Some books for your reading; information about France's Two Hundred and Forty Most Sacred and Honoured Families.'

Hermione put down her cup and rolled her eyes. 'Gee, more homework, as if I don't have enough already.'

Narcissa's grin grew mischievous. 'That reminds me, Hermione, when are you meeting your advisors?'

Hermione let her head back, her plait hanging behind the chair. She wished the weight of it snapped her neck. 'Tuesday, the 4th of August. Thank God they speak English, otherwise I'm going to have difficulty understanding liabilities, assets, investments, profits, etcetera.'

A knock on the window broke her suffering. She opened the window and an owl swooped in. As she grabbed the envelope it was carrying, door knocks reverberated through the entire house. She heard Narcissa mutter, 'I'll get that', before she walked away to open the door.

The letter was from Auror Captain Eugène Guy-Hubert Beaufort, the man who had trained with her on a few occasions when she arrived in France. He apologised numerous times for not coming over last Thursday as he was busy with work and such. He asked if he could come over on Saturday morning, 25th of July. As she grabbed a paper and pen, the door opened and the noise of conversation grew louder. She started writing back, telling Auror Beaufort that he was welcome to come, when the door opened and the conversation doubled in volume.

His feet shuffled before he said, 'Morning, Granger. Isn't it too early to be replying to fan mail?'

She rolled her eyes. 'Har har, hilarious, you should be a comedian. Oh yeah, do you want to come over on Saturday morning? Auror Beaufort offered to train—'

She looked up and saw Draco Malfoy—or rather, the new Draco Malfoy. Before, he may have used non-magical clothes like they were usual garments, but this time, he had tailored them. The Draco Malfoy that stood over her years ago would never wear those brown slacks, earth green jumper, and ashen blazer. However, what struck her most was his head. His hair, once a curtain hiding his emotions, had been shorn so short it was barely brushed to the side. His face, once bare, was adorned with thin-rimmed oval glasses. It softened his sharp features. He seemed more like a professor than an exiled millionaire.

He raised an eyebrow. 'Granger? Are you alright?'

'Huh?' She realised she had been staring at him. She shook her head and said, 'Yeah, I'm fine. I was asking if you wanted to spar with me and Auror Beaufort on Saturday, the day after tomorrow.'

He nodded. 'When?'

'Morning, probably 8 AM.'

He nodded. He turned away but then did a double take. He leaned in and narrowed his eyes. The smell of his citrus cologne caressed Hermione's mind. 'What's wrong with you? You seem rather… off.'

A voice called out, 'That's because she's stressed about meeting her financial advisors.'

Hermione's bliss at Draco Malfoy soon turned to dread. She groaned, 'Narcissa, no, please. I'm so tired.'

She chuckled. 'You have an estate which you must maintain.'

Draco with his darting eyes asked, 'Huh? Wait, you're meeting your financial advisors? How rich are you to warrant that?'

She looked up at the ceiling, focusing on the small bronze chandelier above her. 'Not that rich. My estate is worth over 240 million Francs? Translated to Galleons, that's 820 thousand or so galleons.'

He whistled. 'That's a lot.'

'Oh come on, Mister Rich Boy, even after the debts, indemnities, fines, taxes, and all that, you're still worth over 8 million Galleons.'

Draco shrugged. He turned back and placed the books in front of her. When he did, the citrus intensified, overwhelming everything else in the room. She could see the stubble-like hair on his sides and nape. All she wanted to do was just reach her hand out and touch—

'These are the books, there are three of them. First book's about the Most Sacred and Honoured Twenty Seven, second book's the Sacred Fifty Six,and third book's the Honoured One Hundred and Fifty Seven. Those should be the entirety of French pure-blood families.'

She snapped out of it. 'T-Thanks.'

Draco narrowed his eyes at her before walking away and shaking his head, muttering, 'The hell is wrong with that woman…'

She finished her letter and the owl flew away with the reply. Narcissa and Draco quickly said their goodbyes afterwards, leaving Hermione alone. She grabbed the three tomes and marched up the steps to the library. The sun quickly fell to its daily slumber and the night dominated the skies. Hermione could not finish the book. She stopped, taking a look at the rows of tomes and books. As a child, she would often stay here and read various books on medicine, military discipline, etcetera. It was what started her journey into reading, and made her who she was. However, that feeling was gone, replaced by an undercurrent of fatigue. Reading seemed so difficult when all she wanted to do was curse. She slept quickly under a starless sky and a dreamless night.

Saturday quickly arrived. She took a shower, braided her hair, and walked down. Hermione was preparing some drinks when the doorbell shrieked around the house. She stopped mid-pour and sauntered over to the door. Since Hermione lived away from civilisation, she wondered who could be knocking at 8 o'clock in the morning. She yawned as she opened, her breath arresting in her mouth.

A man in a silver suit stood before her, his brown hair tousled by the bed from which he recently vacated. Were it not for the fact Hermione knew him, he would be like another person. He said, 'Bonjour, Mademoiselle de Bonnegrâce.'

'Bonjour, Auror Beaufort. Je vous ai attendu depuis la semaine dernière (I've been waiting for you since last week).'

He laughed nervously, 'Unfortunately, work calls, but I did apologise, did I not?'

She nodded and moved her body to let him pass. A flash of silver raced through her mind. 'Malfoy should be coming over in a few minutes so if you could wait, I have—'

The fiery roar of the chimney screamed from a few rooms down. Draco walked out with a brown jumper worn over a white shirt, and brown trousers. Earthy colours suited him well.

He said, 'Auror Beaufort. On s'affrontera? (Auror Beaufort. Shall we fight?)'

Auror Beaufort chuckled. 'Of course. You might enjoy how France teaches her sorcerers and sorceresses.'

Draco smirked. 'Oh, I will. Please, lead the way.'

Hermione stood between the two men and held her hand up. 'Please, it's only eight in the morning, and you two have just arrived. I've prepared tea and coffee, would you please breathe a little first?'

Draco huffed. 'Alright, Granger. You're the host, we'll have some drinks.'

Auror Beaufort nodded. As Draco led Auror Beaufort to the tea room, Hermione finished pouring the drinks into kettles and prepared the assortments on a tray. She then carried the tray and placed it down on the table. Some toast, a jar of jam, two kettles of tea and coffee. Draco took coffee with two sugars and a splash of milk; Auror Beaufort just took coffee with milk. Hermione just had tea.

As they sipped their beverages, Auror Beaufort asked, 'So, Mademoiselle, how is Emmanuelle? Has she changed her days-off to Friday? That makes more sense to her; get a three-day break instead of a Thursday break, work on Friday, then weekend off.'

Hermione shrugged as she spread some jam on her toast. 'I don't know, I've been telling her that but she's reluctant. She did say she'll consider it but that's about it.'

Draco asked, 'You know Emmanuelle, Auror Beaufort?'

'Of course, I met her when the Mademoiselle was setting up here. I was about to say that I was an Auror setting up wards before Hermione whispered that she's a non-Magique so I said I was an electrician instead.' He shrugged. 'An electrician is—'

'I know! An electrician deals with electricity so home electricity, power lines, power surges, AC/DC circuitry, and all that.' Both Auror Beaufort and Hermione's jaws were halfway to the centre of the Earth. 'There was a book titled Tout sur les non-Magiques et la culture non-magique and it explains a lot about this.'

A twinge started in Hermione's heart. Auror Beaufort said, 'You're really dedicated to this, Monsieur Malfoy. I commend you.'

Draco merely shrugged. 'I'm going to be here for five years at least and I might even stay here afterwards or at least split my time between here and England so learning French attitudes about Mug—er, non-magicals—is logical. Adapt or die.'

Okay, maybe him trying isn't completely selfless but it's something, Hermione thought. The three of them continued their small talks. Hermione learned two things there: 1) Draco was a patron of the Bureau of Aurors, and 2) Aurors needed a lot of money. Regardless, their cups were quickly finished and all three stepped into the garage. Draco took off his jumper and rolled his forearms, the Dark Mark conspicuously hidden.

Auror Beaufort cupped his hands and said, 'You two spar first then I'll comment afterwards.'

Draco and Hermione nodded. They stood in front of each other, posed in their stances. Hermione had the French stance with the body turned and non-dominant hand behind her like a fencer about to lunge while Draco had the English stance with the body front and square with his wand hand behind like a boxer. The two circled each other like vultures. Draco cast first, blue racing from his wand as Hermione cast a narrow shield. Draco cast a flurry of spells, coating the room in a vibrant display of blues, reds, greys, and yellows. With each spell Hermione just shielded herself, replying only with a few spells which Draco sidestepped. He lunged after her and she moved back.

With his long legs and taller stature, he was able to corner her until it was all about the footwork. It became a game of give-and-take as Hermione retreated where Draco advanced, and Draco retreated where Hermione advanced. The two continued their dance of leading and following before the two were face-to-face, wands pointed at their opponents. It was like déja vu with Hermione's wand on Draco's chest and Draco's wand at Hermione's head. They lowered their wands and walked away, allowing Auror Beaufort to enter.

He grinned as he walked between them. He said, 'You know, from an outsider's perspective, it looked as if you were dancing a tango instead of sparring.'

They both looked away, each of their eyes increasingly attracted to the grey walls of the garage. Auror Beaufort snapped his fingers and their eyes turned to him.

Auror Beaufort turned to Hermione and said, 'You are too defensive. The French stance is inherently defensive by canting the body. This means that you have a thinner and smaller frame. You can dodge spells simply by walking away. You don't have to cast Protego as much.'

Hermione stammered, 'B-But how will I defend myself? I can't always sidestep spells!'

'Rely on your instincts, you have them, I saw it. Listen to your gut.'

Hermione nodded begrudgingly. He then turned to Draco. 'Now, you. If I may, who taught you to combat like that? Be truthful.'

Draco's throat bobbed. 'Erm… Augustus Rookwood, Antonin Dolohov, Torsten Travers, and Bellatrix Lestrange.'

Hermione shuddered. Four Death Eaters. Auror Beaufort, with his back to her, continued speaking to Draco. 'Oui, les Mangemorts; Death Eaters. Violence is key to being one, yes? It's apparent in your style; it is too offensive. You fight like a reckless gladiator.'

He sneered. 'But isn't violence the key to combat? If I stay on the offensive and I press the initiative, it'll be like before; my enemy will be on the defensive and I can win.'

He tutted and wagged his finger. 'What if your opponent is more talented than you? It's clear that Mademoiselle de Bonnegrâce knows far more spells than you. The moment she has the initiative, you are doomed.'

He turned to both of them and said, 'Let's try it again. Assume your stances.' Draco stood square and Hermione turned her body. 'Before we start…' Auror Beaufort sauntered over to Draco and whispered in his ear. Hermione didn't know what was being whispered, but by the way a large smirk was starting to emerge on Draco's lips, she knew it was something bad.

Draco nodded and Auror Beaufort sauntered to her. He whispered, 'Look at his legs.' Hermione's eyes snapped to his brown boots. 'His left foot points to the target while his right rears to where he'll dodge. Follow the tip of the left and the heel of the right. If they're both pointed to you, he's about to duck. Maintain the initiative. Don't rush. Good luck.'

Auror Beaufort then backed away. Draco and Hermione looked at each other and assumed their stances once more. This time, Hermione took the initiative with a quick Penetrating Curse, Pertundo. Draco's heel pointed to the left. She moved a little to the left and casted Confringo. Hermione was sure it would connect, but instead, he merely leaned to the right. She rushed him, all the while casting Stupefy, Confringo, Expelliarmus in quick succession. Malfoy was caught; his thin shield breaking as Expelliarmus hit it. She lunged again, cornering him. She was so close she could see his wand shaking from the top of her eyes. His shields were nothing to Hermione's spells, breaking every time. She lunged again. She was so close. She could see the whites of his eyes. Her wrist turned, ready to cast, when… he ducked. In a moment of surprise, she could only feel her legs failing her. She fell to the floor. She blinked. Draco was standing over her, wand pointed.

He smirked. 'I win.' He then lowered his wand and pulled her to stand.

Auror Beaufort came over with a smile, clapping on the way. 'C'est tellement magnifique! Truly amazing work, Monsieur Malfoy. I was right, wasn't I?'

Draco giggled. Giggled. 'You were, you were. Her wrist turns inwards when she casts.'

Auror Beaufort's smile disappeared. 'However, you were too late. She had cornered you. You followed my advice, yes, but it was by sheer luck you exploited the opening there. Had you done it earlier, you could've won. I know you saw several opportunities but didn't exploit them. Believe in yourself, man!' Draco slumped before Auror Beaufort patted his back. 'Still, a win is a win.'

Hermione breathlessly asked, 'How… How did I lose?'

'What did I tell you, Mademoiselle?'

'You told me to look at his legs, his feet and his knees. You also told me—'

'To maintain the initiative and do not rush. If you rush, if you allow your emotions to govern you, you will lose focus, and I know you lost focus.'

Hermione nodded. 'I'm sorry.'

Auror Beaufort shook his head. 'Don't be sorry, mistakes are essential to the learning process. If we never make mistakes we'll never be where we are, will we?'

Both Hermione and Draco nodded. He motioned for them to spar again. Of course, before it started, he walked over to Draco and whispered her tells to him. A lop-sided smile appeared on Draco's face before his eyes connected to Hermione's. A shudder went through her.

Auror Beaufort then walked to Hermione and started whispering. 'Look at his left arm.' Her eyes locked on the hovering arm in front of his body. 'It always stays in front of his chest. If it moves up, he's about to cast an offensive spell; if it moves down, he's about to cast a shield. When it's up, you'll have an opportunity to strike his abdomen. Good luck.'

Auror Beaufort then walked away and commenced the third spar. Draco and Hermione circled around each other again, each waiting for the other to make a move. Hermione kept her eyes open, glancing from his left arm to his feet and back again in rapid succession. Then, she saw it; Draco's left arm rising. His left foot pointed to her. She moved to the right, allowing the ray of red to scream past her. She cast Stupefy straight at him. Hermione saw his right foot. Left. She moved her wand ever-so-slightly to the left and saw her chance: his left arm rising. She moved down and cast Confringo. The orange light hit Draco right in the abdomen, and he was thrown back. His wand clattered on the ground.

She sauntered over to him. She smirked. 'My turn.'

Auror Beaufort went up to them and patted them both. 'C'était incroyable. You should rest.'

Draco and Hermione looked at each other before they went to the far wall and collapsed. Draco and Hermione sat leaning on the wall, their breaths panting as their muscles cried out in agony. The continual sparring had drained both of them. Their teacher, meanwhile, was sitting cross-legged on the floor.

'That was perfect, Mademoiselle. Truly a master at timing.'

Draco groaned and pushed his head back. 'You were wrong, by the way. Her shoulders didn't shrug when she cast a spell.'

Hermione furrowed her brows, wondering if she really did that. Her thoughts were disturbed when Auror Beaufort said, 'No, I was not. Surely you would've noticed her chin burrowing down her shoulder when she cast the second spell.'

'Christ—' Draco slapped his forehead. 'I saw her head move but I thought that wasn't it.'

They laughed a little before silence descended on them again. After a while, Hermione asked, 'So, what have you learned from our three spars?'

Auror Beaufort laughed. 'Plenty. From whom shall we start?'

Draco raised his hand. 'I'm very curious.'

Auror Beaufort chuckled. 'Yes, you are, Monsieur. Your offensive skills are remarkable, I do have to say. You took the initiative and you commanded your wand masterfully. Your spells are cast in good sequences and your dodging skills are great.' Draco smirked his widest. 'However, when you are on the defensive that's when you suffer. There were so many opportunities where you could have exploited your opponent's recklessness to your advantage but you were too concerned about your well-being to rebut. It took you until the end to subdue your opponent.'

Draco's smirk was long gone. 'Alright, I will concede on that, but why is me being concerned for my well-being a negative? Isn't that the purpose of being on the defensive, being concerned for my own health?'

'No, no, you are too concerned, not that concern in and of itself is a negative. You need to be more daring, and keep looking for opportunities to exploit. You only exploited opportunities when you had the initiative. What about when you lost it? Work on your shield charm and stay vigilant. Believe in yourself for once and take the chance.'

Draco sneered, 'Is that all?'

Auror Beaufort replied, 'Yes.'

He turned to Hermione. 'Now, about you, Mademoiselle. Yours is almost the opposite of Monsieur Malfoy's faults. Your defensive work is phenomenal. You can cast a strong shield and recover relatively quickly. The number of spells you cast is just ginormous and I hope you'll add more to that list. However, your offensive work needs some fixing. You always fire the same sequence of three spells; Stupefy, Confringo, and Expelliarmus. Sometimes you'll cast the Stinging Hex Aduro or the Piercing Hex Pertundo but the sequence stays the same. After several minutes of combat, your mind seems to change. You stopped looking at your target and just randomly cast spells to the point where your opponent exploited your opening.'

Hermione rolled her eyes. 'Stupefy, Confringo, and Expelliarmus are standard in Hogwarts duelling. It's in the study books.'

Auror Beaufort chuckled. 'Mademoiselle, you won't have time to read a book in the middle of combat.' Hermione huffed and Draco snickered. 'In battle, you have to trust your gut. The sequence might not be up to the "Hogwarts standard" but you'll survive. Believe in yourself. Otherwise, you should try restraining yourself. Be a little bit more caring for your life. Not everything can be solved by sheer bravery.'

Hermione whispered, 'Malfoy excels at offence, I excel at defence; Malfoy sucks at defence, I suck at offence. You tell him to be more daring. You tell me to be a bit more selfish.'

The irony of it struck Draco who roared with laughter so loud it echoed several times in the room. Hermione Granger, the Gryffindor Muggleborn, was told to become more Slytherin-like while Draco Malfoy, the Slytherin Prince, was told to become more Gryffindor-like.

Auror Beaufort, whose face was mired in confusion, had to be explained the irony. Eventually, he too roared with laughter, bringing Hermione to laughter too. After the laughs stopped and the echoes dimmed, silence rested in the room once more. Draco and Hermione noticed Auror Beaufort. He was eyeing them both and his lips would part and close without a sound. They sat there, still in silence.

Draco asked, 'Something on your mind, Auror Beaufort?'

He pursed his lips. 'Yes, plenty of somethings, in fact, Monsieur Malfoy. However, given your natural animosity and Mademoiselle de Bonnegrâce's tendency of not discussing the British War, I'd rather not ask.' He put his hands up. 'I am only 38 and an Auror Capitaine. I still wish to retire as the Auror Général or at least an Auror Commandant.'

He stood and wiped his clothes with his hands. He checked the watch on his wrist and Hermione did too: It was 10:57. They were there for nearly three hours. Auror Beaufort asked, 'Well, that was exciting. However, noon approaches and I don't want to tire you two in the beginning. Shall we call it a day or do you want to train until late afternoon?'

Hermione looked at Draco who shook his head. Hermione replied, 'No, Auror Beaufort, I think we can call it a day. If we are to have this on a weekly basis, could you come by perhaps next Saturday?'

'That would be acceptable. Saturday afternoon perhaps?'

Draco and Hermione nodded. Hermione said, 'That's good. Thank you so much for agreeing to do this.'

Auror Beaufort chuckled, saying, 'If any of my Auror recruits have even a quarter of either of your skills, France will lead the world by God. It is of no consequence to me, I will try my best. I am obligated to inform Général Graf von Greiffen and Monsieur le Chef du Bureau Rosier about this arrangement but I'm sure, given Monsieur Malfoy's patronage, it will be accepted.' Hermione escorted Auror Beaufort to the door while Draco stayed back. 'Until then, au revoir, Mademoiselle de Bonnegrâce.'

'Au revoir, Auror Beaufort.'

Auror Beaufort walked out and Hermione closed the door on him. Just after he disapparated, heavy rain poured over the earth. After those sparring sessions, the rain provided good ambiance to relieve the tautness of her shoulders. She opened the patio door and breathed in the petrichor air. It washed all over her, calming her tired body. The rain filled her mind so she would not think. She started to undo her plait but the tie was stuck in her curls.

She muttered, 'Bloody hair. Wish I could cut you off!'

'So why don't you?'

She jumped away and turned so fast her neck cracked. Draco was sitting there, eyes focused on the rain. She was so engrossed she did not see him. She rushed to him, stomping her feet along the way, hoping to scare him off. He didn't budge, just kept to the rain.

'Jesus Christ! Bloody hell you scared me! I thought you'd already gone back.'

'Rain soothes me. So, why don't you? Cut it off? You clearly hate it.'

Hermione opened her mouth to retort but found nothing. She sat down on the bench next to him. She took a deep breath. 'I can't. It's who I am. Bushy-haired swot, as you've so often said.'

'You can't?' He looked at her. 'Are you always so rigid?'

'No, it's just an impulsive desire. I'm never impulsive. If I were to do it, I feel like people wouldn't recognise me.'

He scoffed, 'People? Christ, you're Hermione bloody Granger! Fuck society, fuck people, why should you care about what other people think of you? Are you so Gryffindor you decide to care for others before yourself?'

Hermione rolled her eyes. 'Sod off, Malfoy.' She stood up and turned to leave when Draco grabbed her hand.

'I'm sorry, I… I don't know what came over me. Please, sit.'

She wrenched his cold hand away and sat again, arms crossed.

'I was just thinking about what Beaufort said in there. He said, "Be confident in yourself!" Well, how can I be confident in myself when I don't even bloody know who I am?' A tear shed from his eyes. 'Father taught me that being a Malfoy meant power. Power being a member of the Sacred Twenty-Eight. Power from having a prestigious name. Yet, when the time came, I was powerless. I couldn't stop you cornering me. I couldn't stop Voldemort from violating my soul. I couldn't stop Crabbe from getting killed. I couldn't stop Burbage getting killed. I couldn't stop you from…'

Like that morning, she took his hand in hers. As she drew small circles on the back of his hand, his shoulders slowly sagged.

'There was nothing you could have done, Draco. If you intervened, she would've killed you.'

'I could have done something. I could've cast numbing charms, I could've entered your mind and soothed you, I could've done fucking anything but I didn't and I am so… so fucking sorry for that. I have to say that, otherwise the guilt…'

Her voice croaked, 'Why don't you just occlude?'

He shook his head. 'Occlumency is addictive, in a way. It takes a lot of your mental strength and I can only hold on for 30 minutes at best. It can take me hours to recover. When it shatters, everything rushes back like a torrent and all you want is something, anything, to return to that heavenly bliss.'

Hermione wrapped her arms around herself. She whispered, 'Why… Why do you like the rain?'

She saw his brows furrow. That was a silly question, if he likes the rain, he likes the rain! I can't ask why someone—

'It drowns the screams.'

The two stared at the sea of green pelted by rain. The cold was welcoming. They were personal before but this felt personal. Hermione wondered whether to keep talking or wallow in the melancholy together.

Hermione wrapped her arms around herself. 'I've not answered your question, the one about why I ran away.' From the corner of her eyes, Draco turned slightly to her. 'I loved Ron. I really did, but…' She sighed. 'We talked about our relationship and it turned into a long conversation about him in Auror training, me wanting to go back to Hogwarts, res— er, family, and such.'

Draco chuckled lightly. 'That's very Hermione Granger-esque to return to school after a war.'

She rolled her eyes. 'Whatever. I wanted my life secured first, you know? I wanted to finish my education, I wanted to have a career, I wanted to move up in the world. Ron… disagreed. Ron thinks that I should be like his mother. Don't get me wrong, Mrs. Weasley is an amazing and wonderful woman, but I'm not her; I can't be her. I can't put my life on the backburner because I have to care for my children; I don't even know if I even want children. Everything was a mess at the time so we put the conversation on hold while we just enjoyed life while we could. Went on dates, kissed, slept together, etcetera. Unfortunately, he mistook that as me being ready to move to the next step.'

'The proposal?'

Hermione didn't hear him, the rain having already tuned everything out. 'I remembered Ron and Molly's faces on that Saturday when I declined. The pain on their faces... Every Sunday, the entire Weasley family would have dinner together. Everyone would be there. I'm sure they were planning on showing it the next day.'

He nodded. 'What happened afterwards?'

'I said no. W-We fought. We screamed at each other. Threw plates. I stormed off, got drunk in a non-magical pub. When I tried to come back the next day, they all took his side. Even Harry. The only ones that didn't were Bill, Fleur, and George. It was just… awful.'

Hermione lowered her head on her hands and sobbed. Everything that she suppressed about that day, it all came out. The fatigue from sparring, the rain, everything was in a perfect maelstrom to destroy her resolve. So, she broke down. She cried so hard she didn't register the arm wrapped around her. It wasn't until something cold hit her, and the aroma of sandalwood and citrus intensified that she opened her eyes.

Draco's hand was cupping her face, his thumb wiping the tears escaping the pool in her eyes. She looked at his eyes. Throughout her life, she always saw hatred and passion of hatred in those irises. She only saw it change two or three times. This was the fourth. His eyes exuded empathy, a feeling that he—and only he—understood what she felt like.

He whispered, 'You did the right thing, Hermione.'

Her name. It sounded so sweet on his foul tongue. 'B-But I hurt him.'

He frowned slightly. 'But he hurt you first. He did not respect your decisions. Listen, without you, Weaselbee and Scarhead would've been dead a long time ago. You're bloody brilliant though your attitude could need fixing.'

She rolled her eyes and smiled a little. She whispered, 'What should I do? It's like I'm being pulled in two different directions.'

'Do what you want, really want. Forget society. Forget the people you know. Forget everyone. What do you want? Be impulsive for once.' He stood up and tidied his clothes. 'It's near noon, and I think mother will be back soon, so I have to go. See you tomorrow.'

When Draco left, all that remained was their conversation. She didn't even move until several minutes later. As she walked back, she glanced at herself in the mirror. There was only one thing she wanted to do. She apparated to the centre of Bordeaux. Seas of nylon umbrellas greeted her and she opened her own umbrella, melding into the crowd. She meandered between the crowd until she noticed her destination. Thankfully, it was near empty, so she could do this without second thoughts.

She sat down on the chair, her own face staring back at her. The stylist came over carrying a book of hairstyles.

She asked, 'On va faire quoi aujourd'hui? (What are we doing today?)'

Hermione pointed at a picture. 'Ceci, ce photo. La coupe pixie (Here, this one, the pixie cut).'

The stylist took a breath. 'Vous êtes sûr, Mademoiselle? Ce sera une coupe très courte. (Are you sure? It'll be a really short style.)'

Hermione shrugged. 'Je m'en fiche. Je la veux (I don't care. I want it).'

The stylist nodded and got to work. Hermione stared at the face in the mirror throughout the ordeal. It was her, but also not her. She recognised the light freckles and the brown eyes but did not find herself within them. Her focus was temporarily broken when the stylist handed her her severed plait. It wasn't that long, maybe a little over half her forearm, but it carried so many memories. She closed her eyes, just for a moment, and when she opened them, it was done.

A new face stared at her. Her hair was the subject of ridicule, especially by bullies like Draco Malfoy, but it was also her shield. It wasn't her personally that was being mocked but her appearance. She couldn't control it. She shed that all away. She had got rid of her shield. What remained of her mane was styled in short layers, so short they were barely wavy. Her head was weightless.

She stood, paid, and went home with her plait in hand. When she apparated to her empty home, she headed straight to her bathroom and took a shower. Afterwards, she grabbed an empty box and placed her plait there. Throughout the day, she kept glancing at the mirror and reaching up her head. Sometimes she would lean down, expecting a missing weight. Before she plopped down her bed, she took one last look at herself. Her resolve strengthened. Hermione Jean Granger was dead; Hermioné Hélène-Jeanne de Bonnegrâce took her place.

/ / / / /

Chandelier. Dark eyes. Dark hair. Rotten teeth. Screams. Pain. Blonde. Silver.

A voice flowed into her. Everything was numb. 'It'll all be alright. I promise.'

Hermione woke up with a gasp. Her heart was hammering in her. She looked around to see the sun peeking under the fields, showering the house in light blues. She lowered her head, sagging too low from the lack of weight. She considered sleeping again but she knew Draco and Narcissa would come over later. She then stood up and took a shower. For the first time in forever, it wasn't a hassle to wash her hair, no aching arms or empty bottles laying everywhere.

Afterwards, she put on her comfiest shirt and shorts and sauntered down the hallways and rooms. When she entered the garage, however, she noticed a small lump in the far wall. She walked closer and saw something brown. She picked it up and flicked it clean. Sandalwood. Citrus. Parchment. It was Draco's jumper. She carefully folded it and placed it on the table.

She walked outside and basked in the morning light. It was sunny again. As she enjoyed the fields of Bordeaux, a noise disturbed her. An owl was flying overhead. It headed straight for her, dropped a letter, and flew away. Whoever it was, they didn't expect a reply. She grabbed the letter, opened it, and started reading.

Hermione didn't even notice her tears falling from her face. She only realised it by the blots forming on the parchment. She noted the place and time: Saturday, August 8th, 12:30, Queue de chatte noire, Boulevard du Comte-Balthasar, La Place Cachée. She closed the parchment and waited that day on bated breath. She closed her eyes and breathed slowly. Inhale; one, two, three, four, five. Exhale, one, two, three, four, five. Inhale; one, two, three, four, five. Exhale; one, two, three—

'You cut your hair.'

A statement, not a question.

'Why?'

That was a question.

She kept looking out into the fields of green. 'You told me to be more impulsive. This is that.'

'Did you feel any better?'

'No, not really. It feels new, though.'

'Do you feel like yourself?'

'I don't know.'

Footsteps crunched the ground behind her. Sandalwood dominated the air. She glanced at him; he was wearing the same trousers though now he had a green hoodie on. 'I thought about what you said, about not knowing who you are. I think I have the same thing.'

'In what way?'

She took a deep breath. 'I didn't know who I was. I would look in the mirror and see another face staring back at me. She was me but also not me. She looked so innocent and pure, it hurt so much. What has the war done to us? What has it done to me, to the point where I no longer recognised myself? I don't feel like Hermione Granger. Hermione Granger was studious, logical, calculated, determined, principled, straightforward. I am emotional, sometimes impulsive, ambitious, and I bend principles when it fits me.'

'Sounds like you've put Beaufort's words to heart. I've been trying to do the same as well.' He pointed to his clothes. 'These clothes, they're not what I would buy. These trousers, shirts, and jumpers, they're all so fitting. I've only worn loose things in life. There are also things I've done impulsively like this haircut. Just saw it during our trip and said, "Screw it" and asked.' He chuckled. 'Mother was in a bit of a mood when she saw me but I liked it.'

'Don't you feel like you're, I don't know, betraying your house?'

'No, never. What I did was daring, yes, but it was also self-preserving. I know how the French wizarding community has caught up with non-magical fashion and culture. On the one hand, wearing these clothes is unthinkable; on the other, I have to in order to survive in France. I'm sure you are the same. What you did was self-preserving but also daring.'

'Thank you, it's weird to not feel confident, to hear words of affirmation, from you of all people, too.'

'Of course, Granger.'

Granger. Her former surname. Hermione stopped Draco before he could walk away. She grabbed his arm tightly. 'Malfoy, can I ask you for a favour?'

'Depends on the favour.'

She rolled her eyes. 'Don't call me Granger. Call me Hermione. Please.' She looked up at him, his eyes betraying the calm exterior he put on.

He grinned. 'Of course, but only if you call me Draco.'

'Of course, Draco.'

They laughed a little before their lips stopped moving again.

'It fits you. It's cute.'

Hermione blushed.

'Thank you. You look cute too with those glasses. Very round and thin.'

He chuckled to himself. 'Yes, though I can't credit myself. Theo used to have glasses like this and I tried them on once. My eyes hurt but the Slytherin girls certainly liked them.' He pursed his lips. 'I miss them. Theo. Blaise. Daphne. Tracey.'

Hermione was taken aback and turned to him. 'What about Parkinson?'

His face darkened as he peered down. His feet shuffled the grass. 'Not Pansy. She's… She's not a friend, per se. It's complicated.'

Silence fell again. They looked out to the field together under the golden light and accompanied by the songs of birds.

He nodded to the house and said, 'Let's go back. Mother will come soon.'

She nodded and they walked back together, their legs in step. When they entered, Hermione noticed the lump of brown neatly folded on the couch. She walked over and handed it to him. 'You forgot this yesterday.'

Draco's face lit up. 'Ah, no wonder I didn't find it! Thank you, Gr- Hermione.'

'You're welcome, Draco.'

They smiled at each other and entered the tea room where Narcissa had sequestered herself. When Narcissa laid eyes on Hermione, she almost dropped her cup in shock.

She stood and said, 'Hermione! Your hair!'

Hermione chuckled, 'Thank you for that enthusiastic response, Narcissa. It's something I've been wanting to do for some time and I just did it.'

'Well, it does suit you very much, brings out your face. Shall we?'

They continued their day like nothing happened, talking about the French pure-blood politics and how to manoeuvre them. A few hours later, they went home. Her mind was still thinking of the letter. What was she doing in Paris? Would she recognise her? Her thoughts were still there when the meeting with her financial advisors came up. She was only 19 and inexperienced so she left it all to her advisors. She slowly understood why her parents became more and more absent after her fourth year; managing the estate was immensely difficult.

When she came back from the meeting and entered the house, Emmanuelle came up to her. 'Mademoiselle, avez-vous acheté une robe de bal en or? (Miss, did you order a golden ball gown?)'

Hermione nodded. 'Ouais, pourquoi? Est-elle arrivée? (Yeah, why? Has it come?)'

'Oui, Mademoiselle, je l'ai mise dans votre chambre (Yes, Miss, I put it in your bedroom).'

'Merci beaucoup, Emmanuelle.'

Emmanuelle nodded and walked off. Hermione slowly sauntered to her room. She gasped when she saw the finished dress. It was immaculately gorgeous. The bouffant style fit her perfectly, and the sleeves run long enough to cover half of her forearm. Gold was the colour with red roses stitched all along the front and the bouffant. She appeared more like Princess Belle from Beauty and the Beast. She took another glance at the mirror. For the first time in a long time, her face was her own. She wasn't a stranger anymore.

A few days elapsed and the time had arrived. She prepared herself and flooed to Montmartre before entering the Statue of Pythia. Unlike a week ago where she and Draco went right to Rue de Godefroy, she instead went left to the Boulevard du Comte-Balthasar. After a few minutes of wandering, she discovered the small eatery tucked away in the intersection of the boulevard and two other streets. She entered, her eyes scanning every single wizard there until she laid her eyes on the private seats in the back.

She walked over to the sorceress in dark green and pointed hat currently nursing her tea. She looked up, meeting Hermione's eyes, and smiled.

Hermione said, 'Good afternoon, Minerva.'

McGonagall replied, 'Good afternoon, Hermione. Please, sit.' Hermione sat and McGonagall continued. 'How are you, my dear? France has done things to you, it appears.'

Hermione rubbed her recently-shorn head. 'It has, yes.' A waiter dropped by and gave Hermione her coffee. 'I've heard Hogwarts is reopening next month and everyone has to repeat a year. I imagine it would be difficult for returning students.'

McGonagall nodded. 'St. Mungo's Augustus Gormlaith Ward has offered their services for students seeking mental assistance. Of course, you're welcome to return; many in your year have done so.'

'I'm not sure. I'm sorry, Minerva, but with how things are now, returning might not be the best. I don't want to stir the pot.'

McGonagall chuckled. 'Says the woman who made a sudden appearance for the trial of Draco Malfoy. The country was in a bit of a scandal, especially me. You visited Kingsley and Andromeda but not me. I am rather hurt.'

Hermione put her hands up. 'I'm really sorry for not visiting. Floo access to the office of the Headmistress has to be made through an official notice to the Department of Transportation, and I can't simply walk on school grounds without permission. Plus, I really wanted to get out as soon as possible.'

'I understand that. What I don't understand is your sudden relationship with Narcissa Malfoy.'

Hermione dropped her cup with a loud clink. 'How… How did you know?'

'Kingsley figured it out when you said that you had Harry's secret weapon; the love of a mother.' McGonagall reached out her hands and held Hermione's. 'Are you alright, Hermione?'

'I don't… I don't know. Sometimes I look at the mirror and see another face looking back at me. It's like there's a chasm between what I feel and who "Hermione Granger" is. You know, Draco once said—'

'Draco Malfoy? Is he with you?'

Hermione nodded. 'He's become somewhat of a close acquaintance.' At McGonagall's look of surprise, she continued. 'Anyway, Draco said that I should just let it be. In his own words, "Fuck society and fuck others, why should you care about what they think of you?" It made me realise that I don't want to be what society expects me to be, I want to be who I want to be. I want to do what I want to do. I can't be who I am if I have to constantly hide from reporters trying to twist my actions into whatever headline they want.'

'And do you feel like you are yourself now?'

A smile slowly spread Hermione's lips. 'More than ever.'

McGonagall smiled in turn. 'Then everything's as it is supposed to be.' She sipped her tea. 'Albus has always said that Draco Malfoy has some kind in him. I didn't believe him. Now, I might just believe it. My support group will be fascinated to hear that.'

Hermione narrowed her eyes. 'Your "support group"? What support group?'

McGonagall chuckled. 'Ah yes, we've made a support group, Kingsley, Andromeda, and I. We've named it the "Hermione's Antics" group. Rather fitting is it not?'

Hermione and McGonagall laughed before they made smalltalk and promptly walked out. As she walked back to the entrance of the Place Cachée, she considered McGonagall's words. Though Harry and Ron had stopped asking where she was, they might search again after Auror Training concludes in February. She found it was rather bizarre to think of her two best friends as a nuisance. How much had she changed? Whatever, what mattered was the Feast of the Assumption ball in a week.

Hermione Granger was gone, dead and buried. Hermioné Hélène-Jeanne de Bonnegrâce replaced her. Now, it was her time to shine.


Next chapter, Chapter 7: La fête de l'Assomption (The Feast of the Assumption), will be uploaded sometime between Wednesday December 7th to Sunday December 11th UTC+7 because I have finals.