"Granger, how much further is this bloody place? I thought you said you knew where to go!" Draco groused, trudging along in Hermione's wake. Hermione didn't answer, instead re-reading the small slip of paper in her hand.
"It should be just up here. My mum said to look for the little alley between the hat shop and… ah! Found it!" she crowed triumphantly. Despite the Cushioning Charm on her heels, Hermione had been close to whining right along with Draco at the amount of walking involved to find the speakeasy. Cobblestoned streets and women's shoes were not the best of bedfellows.
She also experienced an ever present soreness in her leg muscles, but from the far more pleasurable act of having been bent over several different types and heights of furniture in their suite.
Reaching the end of the alley, Hermione spotted a figure dressed in black leaning against the building, cigarette smoke billowing out of his mouth and dissipating into the summer night air. Draco took her hand at the sight of the man, and Hermione gave him a reassuring squeeze.
The man looked up at them in disinterest, waiting for either her or Draco to speak as they approached.
Hermione cleared her throat. "Charles de Gaulle?"
The man nodded and with a wink, stepped aside to pull open a door that had seemed to blend seamlessly into the walls around it. Pleased that she'd given the correct password for entry, Hermione excitedly tugged Draco behind her into the dark hallway.
Hermione's mother had recommended this elusive drinking club, having found it on the Grangers' honeymoon, and made sure to warn her that the password changed each month, usually to honor a different famous historical figure or time period. A quick request from Hermione to their concierge and he'd gotten the correct theme and password for her within the hour.
The dark hallway turned and they walked along another corridor lined with bespoke gas lamps. At the end of the hall, a velvet curtain awaited along with a young woman dressed in impeccable 1940s fashion.
"Bienvenue," she chirped and pulled aside the curtains once they reached the end.
They ducked inside and Hermione felt as if she'd used her Time Turner again. They'd entered an underground drinking joint straight out of World War 2 occupied France. Low café tables littered the dark club, the air hazy with the smoke of cigarettes from both years' past and tonight's guests. Costumed servers wound their way deftly between the little tables to deliver drinks to patrons; the waiters outfitted in soldiers' garb and the waitresses in nurses' uniforms. Although, the men's uniforms were much tighter and the women's skirts much shorter than was probably historically accurate, mused Hermione.
In the far corner, Hermione could hear a vocalist accompanying a live jazz band playing a soft tune. Between swaying couples on the crowded dance floor, she could make out the dark-haired singer crooning, her silver sequined cocktail dress glittering in the dim lighting, a mink stole around her shoulders.
Hermione's parents had spoken fondly of their own time in this little hidden Parisian gem. Apparently during their visit, the password had been "Marie Curie" and the servers sporting lab coats, drinks served in beakers and test tubes.
Tonight's cocktail menu listed mostly gin-based drinks, Hermione bravely ordering for her and Draco. He'd been silent so far, leaning back in the wooden chair and casting surreptitious glances around the room. She could tell by the slight furrow of his brow and tightness of his jaw that the unfamiliar surroundings made him a touch nervous.
Taking pity on him, and buoyed by the warmth of her gin, Hermione launched into a detailed re-telling of the state of Muggle global affairs during the 1930s and 40s, doing her best to explain all the little historical flourishes in the lounge.
Reminiscent of their mornings in the café, Draco listened with keen interest, interjecting with a hesitant question every so often ("Sorry, what's a submarine?") and seemed to have a liking for pricey Muggle gin. Just as she was in full flow about the Allied and Axis powers, her ears pricked up as a familiar tune permeated the air. "Oh it's La Vie en Rose! This is one of my favorites!" she gushed.
"Er… life in pink?" he asked, translating it literally.
"Yes, but it's more of a colloquial way of saying 'seeing life through rose-colored glasses,'" Hermione clarified. "She's singing about a love that fills her with such happiness that she cannot help but view the world around her as full of bright colors…" she trailed off as a blush crept up her face. "Anyway, it was a very popular song after the end of the Second World War."
Draco raised a challenging eyebrow. "I thought you said your French was merely passable?"
"I can only understand a line or two, really," she shrugged. "But it's a beautifully composed piece and there's such emotion to the words… even if I can't quite understand them all."
Draco stared at her pensively for a minute; one of those penetrating looks of his that made Hermione feel as if she'd exposed her every thought and feeling, and only to him. An examination that both terrified and thrilled her.
"Did you want to…" his gray eyes flicked across the room and then back to her, "dance?"
"Yes!" she said quickly. A little too quickly, judging by his smirk.
Prat.
They'd never danced together before, Hermione realized as they approached the dance floor. But before she could panic, he simply drew her close as they mimicked the other couples surrounding them and swayed lightly back and forth to the slow melody. His hand fell to her lower back as she braced an arm around his neck, their free hands clasped together and held aloft. Draco maintained a rigid yet still fluid posture, and Hermione knew in her bones that he would be an excellent waltzing partner. He'd probably received professional instruction from some renowned dance tutor during his childhood.
She made a mental note to ask him later, not wanting to ruin this moment with any quips about his posh upbringing. Leaning her head against his chest, she closed her eyes and let the song and the rhythm of his even breathing overwhelm her senses.
A rumbling against her ear emanated from his chest and lulled her from a blissful reverie, and she realized the vibration signified softly-spoken words. She pulled her head back to gaze up at Draco in wonder, but he stared at the far wall over her head, his brow slightly furrowed in concentration as he translated the lyrics for her.
"When he takes me in his arms… he speaks to me softly… I see life in pink."
Hermione could only look up at him mutely, not daring to speak or even breathe too loud lest she interrupt.
"He tells me words of love… these are every day words… and they do something to me."
His words certainly affected her. No matter the manner in which Draco spoke to her, it never failed to ignite a strong surge of something within her, be it lust, exasperation, awe, irritation, love.
"He has entered into my heart… a piece of happiness… of which I know the cause."
Her cause of happiness existed here, now, pressed tight to her body and setting all her nerve endings alight. She would float skyward but for Draco's tender embrace.
"It's only him for me… me for him, for life… He told this to me, swore to me, for life."
Hermione gulped nervously as these murmured lyrics reached her ears, sped through her veins, and exploded somewhere behind her ribs. His silver gaze switched to her now, unblinking.
"And there is the one I regard… and I feel in me… my heart which beats."
Her own heart hammered in her chest, threatening to burst straight through her ribcage, and possibly escape from her body entirely. They stopped swaying as the song ended, but their grip on one another did not loosen, nor their shared gaze drop. They didn't move even as polite applause erupted around them and a new song started up.
"Hermione… I…" Draco began but faltered, and though Hermione wished dearly for him to finish his sentence, she could see the panic rising behind the emotion in his eyes. He still didn't think he was ready.
She stayed silent, giving him time, willing him to believe in himself and in his feelings. Draco warred with himself a moment longer, then stepped out of her reach, leaving her cold. "Let's have another drink," he said flatly and led the way back to their table.
I love you, too.
Hermione decided a different sort of tactic might aid in achieving her end goal.
When they returned to their suite that night, Hermione at least still a tad buzzed from the gin, she left Draco in the bedroom where he sat heavily on the bed and began removing his shoes. He looked a little tense and tired, which made Hermione all the more determined.
She'd kept the bag containing her new lingerie tucked away inside a linen drawer, out of sight in the enormous bathroom. Steeling herself, she donned the outfit, mimicking the wand movements Dominique had demonstrated for getting the garter straps to cooperate and fasten on their own, securing her stockings. Merlin, but she loved magic.
She slipped on the kitten heels and took a few deep breaths as she regarded her reflection. She could do this. She'd faced darkness more terrifying than her lack of self-confidence: she'd faced wicked witches and monstrous men and come away scarred but whole. She practiced a brave smile and shrugged on the black silk robe she'd thrown onto her purchase pile last minute, because if she meant to perform this complicated routine of seduction then she certainly shouldn't half-arse it.
Hermione rattled off her list of accomplishments in her head as she exited the bathroom. You are a remarkable witch. You have an Order of Merlin, First Class. You are on track to be one of the youngest heads of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. You look bloody fantastic in this expensive green lingerie.
Draco still sat on the far edge of the bed, back to her, his head cradled in his hands. He'd only gotten as far as removing his jacket it seemed. Perfect.
She cleared her throat and took a stab at a lofty tone. "You never asked me, you know, where I disappeared to for over an hour the other day."
His response was an elegant lift of his shoulders, as he sat up straight and ran his hands down his face. He turned his head to the side, and she could see the half-smirk pasted there. "As much as I'm sure I would have loved being dragged around another dusty library or some sort of bespoke parchment shop, I have to say I—"
He broke off as her heels clicked closer and she came into view.
"That's new," he said blankly, scanning her from head to toe.
"Mmm, so it is," she said with more bravado than she felt. She approached him slowly and Draco leaned back to spread his legs so she could stand in between them. "Would you like to see what's underneath?"
"Very much so," he replied hoarsely, his eyes zeroing in on the sash tied at her waist. Hermione took one of his hands and placed it at the loose knot, encouraging him to do the honors.
All trace of his former tiredness gone, his deft fingers tugged the sash undone and Hermione shrugged her shoulders loose from the robe, letting it drop to the floor. His gray eyes darkened as they roved her frame, taking in the little silk bows adorning her shoulders all the way down to her stockings and dainty shoes.
"Turn around," he said huskily. Hermione revolved carefully on the spot, stopping when she faced the window.
"Bend over," he ordered and a shock of desire flooded her system. She immediately complied, spreading her legs apart as she did so, her willingness to be on display for him reaped the reward of a strangled groan. Suddenly, Draco's firm hands were on her hips as he sprang to his feet and pulled her upright.
"Fucking exquisite," he growled and turned her in his arms to claim her lips in a hungry kiss. Hermione felt as if she could fly, his approval of her fancy garment hard and evident against her abdomen.
"Green looks good on you Granger, who knew?" Draco teased and moved his lips to her neck, one of his fingers sliding underneath a strap to ease it off her shoulder. Hermione busied herself with removing his shirt and trailing her mouth along his revealed porcelain skin. She worked her way back up to his mouth, their tongues tangling in a frenzy of unadulterated want.
"Need you now, love," Draco panted into her mouth and she preened at the endearment. Shoving him lightly backwards so he sat on the edge of the bed, she motioned for him to remove the rest of his clothes. Gods, this preternaturally beautiful specimen of a man, all taut physique and pale hair glowing in the moonlight, might very well have her sending an urgent owl to Madame Bouvier inquiring about some sort of subscription service. The playful way he smiled as she straddled him warmed her all over, as if she'd personally gifted him something singular and he couldn't believe his luck.
Draco clearly wanted to hustle things along, if the way his hips jerked upwards served as any indication. "Would you like to remove the rest of my outfit? It can only be undone by hand," she murmured then darted her tongue out to trace the shell of his ear. His hands twitched on her waist. He wouldn't be able to rip the fabric off her, but that didn't mean she wouldn't welcome the attempt.
"Mmm… I think I'd like to see how you look riding me in it," he replied and snaked a hand down to shove her knickers to the side. Thinking quickly, Hermione jumped off him, turned around, then sat back on his waiting cock, holding her underwear to the side just as he had a moment ago.
Draco let out a hiss through his teeth as she began testing out a rhythm. Planting her heeled feet on the floor, she tilted forward slightly to shove her backside closer to him, sinking down deeper onto him. This new angle… this movement of up, down, then forward, backward… a clenching, a tensing inside her… this felt good. Really good.
Hermione gripped the tops of his legs, using them as leverage to move up and down on him at a rapid pace. The total, incredible control would most assuredly result in her spiraling into incoherence, and as his hands digging into her hips became a pleasurable type of pain, it tore loud moans from her throat.
"Thought I'd be spoiling you this trip…" Draco groaned. "Gods… look at you… all this… for me…"
Yes, all for you, only you. Let me spoil you and you can ruin me.
Incapable of actual words, and preferring to hear him speak anyway, Hermione focused on the euphoria wrought from sliding herself up and down, ignoring the burning in her leg muscles in favor of another type of incendiary sensation.
"Close, aren't you? Come for me love, that's a good girl…" he encouraged then pressed kisses to the exposed skin of her back. His voice and praise sent more shivers straight to her core, and her movements became frenetic as she rode out her orgasm, and she probably would have toppled over ungracefully but for the strong hold of his hands. Her body slackened as she came down from her high, and Draco gathered her close, his hands skimming every part of her he could reach.
Hermione stood shakily, then moved to the bed, tugging Draco with her as she laid on her back. He settled between the cradle of her thighs before removing her knickers and pushing his length into her to the hilt. He emitted a stuttered breath and Hermione threw her head back against the pillows as her eyes rolled back. She felt Draco hitch one of her legs up and when she summoned the will to open her eyes again, found him staring right back as he thrust at a languorous pace. Gone was the teasing, the quick and hurried movements of two people with a desperate need to satisfy their lust. A more delicate atmosphere of physical tenderness prevailed; a need to savor and appreciate what each had to offer. His touches along her body made her feel cherished, worshipped.
He looked down at her as they leisurely moved together as one, but his typical carefully guarded gaze seemed now an open book to her. She reached up to cup his face and pulled him in for a slow, deep kiss. I know, her kiss imbued with the words she wouldn't say aloud. I know everything you're feeling and it scares me too. I love you, too.
Draco pulled his lips away gently and his awed gaze moved down her to her breasts. His hips kept their steady and deliberate rhythm, and she knew he wanted her to climax at least once more before he lost control. When he closed his mouth around one of her satin-covered nipples, she cried out, arching her back and canting her own hips up, forcing him even deeper inside.
"Draco! I'm… Draco I'm coming!"
He kissed back up her neck and pulled up to lock eyes with her again, as the intensity of his reverent gaze sent her hurtling into the blissful abyss.
"Fuck… Hermione…" he grunted out and buried his face into the side of her neck. His movements picked up, the pumping becoming faster, harder, more erratic. His words mimicked his movements, tumbling out of him in a stream of confidence-inflating appreciation.
"So good… feels so good… I… Hermione… I…"
Come on, come on, come on, say it, say it, say it.
"…fucking gorgeous… don't deserve you… Hermione I… I'm coming, love…"
How easily his new term of endearment seemed to fall from his lips now. But of course she hadn't missed the way he'd stuttered over her name, the way he'd still held back from revealing all. She clutched at his back as his thrusts slowed to a stop. When he picked his head up, he sported the lazy grin that she'd grown to love.
"I think your sneaky little shopping excursion was a rousing success," he quipped. He rolled out of and off her, pulling her into his side as he came to rest on his back.
Her hand traced lazy patterns on his bare chest, a contented smile on her face as she felt the beginning of sleep take over. She almost jumped when his hand came up to still her tracing movements, not to beat her away in irritation, but to intertwine their fingers together, coming to a rest over his heart.
Hermione bit down on the inside of her cheek. Oh she was going to make Draco say those three little words before this trip was over if it killed her.
The trip sped by far too quickly for Hermione's liking. Their days were so full, packed to the brim with sightseeing in both the magical and Muggle world. Their nights were full of each other; tangled limbs in their silk sheets, furious shagging in the gigantic bathtub, groping and snogging heatedly out on the open air balcony, waking one another each morning with heads between thighs…
Needless to say, Hermione felt rather put out that it would all be over in but a few days. She'd never seen Draco so carefree before, almost as if he'd been transported back to his old, confident schoolboy self, just without the superiority complex and bigoted beliefs.
Little public displays of affection that she'd never dared hope for from him seemed so natural now. Just the other night he'd reached across the dinner table to hold her hand in full view of the restaurant. Hermione had almost dropped her forkful of coq au vin.
The forays into Muggle Paris amused her to no end. When Draco proclaimed Versailles to be a "decent-sized palace" she couldn't hold back her snort. Once a snob, always a snob.
The palace gardens as well as the Jardin des Tuileries suitably impressed him at least. But the Eiffel Tower left him nonplussed, even when Hermione kept stressing that it was constructed completely without the aid of magic.
The Louvre almost resulted in Draco breaking the Statute of Secrecy. She could tell he'd been itching the entire time to prod the paintings with his wand to see if the subjects would move, and he frowned at the statues of Winged Victory and Venus de Milo. "But why don't they just fix them?" he'd asked her, perplexed. "Come on, Granger, you've got to admit these Muggles are daft for putting out broken statues and calling it art… I mean, really, the bint is without arms!"
The portrait of Mona Lisa was the last straw. "Granger, I'm telling you, that woman winked at me! I swear on my magic, she bloody winked! That's no Muggle painting, of that I am certain!" She'd physically dragged him away from several bewildered tourists and out of the museum altogether.
She giggled into her morning tea at the memory. But just as quickly as her mood had lifted, she felt a sting of melancholy. What would happen when they returned to England, to their families, friends, and work lives? Would Ron still be furious and refusing to speak with her? Would Draco's mother keep trying to dissuade her only child from dating a Muggleborn?
Then there was the matter of all the work to be done for her new charity. With the inaugural gala in two months' time, Hermione would certainly have a lot on her plate. She'd already decided that one of her first acts as Executive Director would be to put together a Board of Directors. A charitable endeavor of this size and scope would need a significant amount of time and attention, and with her recent promotion at the Ministry, those things were in short supply for her.
When Draco emerged from the bedroom, looking positively mouthwatering with his tousled blond hair and shirtless torso, he frowned at Hermione scribbling madly on a piece of parchment.
"Tell me you aren't working right now," he said by way of greeting and poured himself a cup of tea. She shook her head and smiled. "Not technically! I've got a preliminary list of candidates I'd like to approach to serve as my Board of Directors for the fund. I've also outlined how the board should function and written a few bylaws for the fund's charter."
Draco chuckled into his tea and mumbled something that sounded like "little swot," which Hermione chose to ignore. He held his hand out expectantly and she handed over her list of names.
"Hmm," he surveyed it with a critical eye. "Demelza Robins… Kevin Entwhistle… Justin Finch-Fletchley… makes sense, to have notable Muggleborn Hogwarts alumni… Arthur Weasley?"
"Yes, I know this is a topic near and dear to his heart, plus he's planning to retire in a few years from the Ministry. He'll be dedicated and more importantly, out of Molly's hair," she explained with a grin.
"I suppose having a pureblood or two involved would give it a more well-rounded feel," Draco mused and read down the rest of her list.
"These names here," he frowned and jabbed a finger towards the bottom. "I don't know them. Peter and Annette Brown? Mitchell Creevey?"
"Oh, well they're Muggles. That's Lavender's parents and Colin and Dennis Creevey's dad. I thought it might be nice to extend an invitation to a few Muggle parents of magical students, especially parents that have already been through this experience. They would obviously have keen insight from the parental perspective for what others can expect," she reasoned. "Besides," she twisted her hands anxiously in her lap. "They lost their children in the… in the war and I thought… it might be nice to let them know that we haven't… that our world hasn't forgotten. That we appreciate the sacrifices of Lavender and Colin…" she trailed off and looked away.
Draco remained silent but for the sipping of his tea and Hermione fretted that she'd ruined the mood. They could run off to France all they like, but the past would always be this ugly, twisted shadow looming over them, reminding them of darker days and gruesome memories. Hermione kept her eyes on the skyline, wishing she'd kept her mouth shut. As it was wont to do, the war had snuck in and burst their idyllic relationship bubble. Draco cleared his throat quietly, and Hermione braced herself for the repercussions of shattering the beautiful peace.
"I think that's brilliant, Granger," he said softly. She whipped her head around and stared at him.
Take your time. Whenever you're ready, I love you, too.
A/N: Next chapter will be posted on 9/17. The response to this story is making a pretty tough time a bit more bearable, so seriously, thank you everyone. Say hi or drop an ask on tumblr if you like: heyjude19-writing.