Author's note: This is the second installation of the former third chapter, giving you a roundup of the "Place de Nostradamus" situation and a surprise meeting with a certain pretty witch. It's also the last part of the story I had more or less pre- written on my drive, meaning that you should expect the first chapter of the second part ("Holidays from justice") in about two weeks. Btw. - The plot is pre-planned to the end. Enjoy this chapter and if you like it, please give me a review. I don't moderate there, so you can comment anonymously and even flame away if you want to. I would prefer to get constructive criticism though.
Part 1
Justly deserved holidays
Chapter 4
All the books in front of her were written in French and most of them looked like they were very old. Using the power of her "Amulettes de Babylon" she deciphered strange titles like "666 ways to use frogs" and "Divination with stuffed goose".
Five minutes elapsed and she was on the brink of giving up and writing off her funny feeling to frazzled nerves, when she hit gold. "Magical auto-défense pour jeunes sorcières" or "Magical self-defense for young witches" was a thin, rather tattered booklet published in 1943. The cover picture showed a beautiful young women firing a glowing red curse in the direction of a shadowy figure threatening her with a knife. "A practical defense book! I would've loved to have this in the last two years." she thought exaltedly. Hermione began to leaf through the book, stopping here and there to admire the magically animated drawings, which showed battle stances and wand movements in detail. Neither her first year textbook "The dark forces: A guide to self protection" nor any of Professor Lockhart's self-aggrandizing fiction had entailed such wonderful descriptions. Considering the rather disastrous Defense against the dark arts teachers of her first two years, it would be wise to be prepared for another one of their "quality". She needed this book!
Straightening up, Hermione turned to her parents and produced her best version of puppy dog eyes. "Look what I found- a very promising defense book." she enthused. Her dad took it from her hands and gave it a rather disgusted once over. "Considering it's probably older than me and second hand it should be cheap." he judged finally. Charles pulled two galleons out and handed them over to his daughter. "Ask the owner of the shop how much he wants for it, but don't pay more than this. We'll wait outside." She gave him a short hug, whispered "Thanks dad!" and darted away to secure her haul.
The door bell rang when Hermione entered the badly illuminated shop and she stopped right behind the threshold to orient herself. When her eyes had finally adjusted to the gloomy interior, she made her way over to the cash desk, navigating carefully through a labyrinth of mostly unidentifiable odds and ends. "I wonder if the owner of this shop ever heard of "the consumer is king?" she thought with irritation. When she reached the cash register, she looked around, searching for the proprietor. Finding no one, she cleared her throat loudly to announce herself. After a minute or more, the slight whispering of cloth marked the arrival of a shadowy figure behind the counter. "Bonjour ma pettite belle" a raspy feminine voice greeted her. Hermione took a step closer to get a clear look at the shop owner. "She must be at least as old as headmaster Dumbledore" she realized. "And frankly, he looks much healthier than this crone." Very long and thin gray hair fell to the women's scrawny shoulders, and her toothless mouth smiled in a rather unaesthetic way.
"What can I do for you, little miss?" the beldam asked wheezingly, while she leaned over the counter and granted Hermione with a whiff of her garlic breath. The young witch fought not to grimace at the smell, and presented the self- defense text rather hastily. "I would like to buy this book." she explained. The proprietor squinted at the title, then took the booklet into the gnarled
fingers of her right hand and held it directly in front of her eyes. "Her sight must be really bad after she worked who knows how long in this rat- shop." Hermione mused, while the old women stood still like a statue, mustering the textbook. Just when she began to wonder if she should interrupt the strange shrews staring with a reminder of her continued presence, the owner began to mutter to herself in a hushed tone. "Yes, yes, I remember this one well, caused a good ruckus in its day, oh yes it did."
Hermione felt a sudden peak of bibliophile curiosity." Did you say there was a controversy about this specific book Madame?" she inquired politely. The old women twitched at the sound of her voice and looked around as if she was woken from a rather confusing dream, but then her face cleared and her eyes focused on Hermione. "Indeed, little one." she whispered hoarsely. "The public anger about this pamphlet was broad enough to make it into the headlines of "Le Voyant". Many good people were furious that the ministry would dare to impinge on their traditional rights like this."
The vendor paused to take a deep and rattling breath, while the vagueness of her words worked like a dose of gasoline on the fire of Hermione's inquisitiveness. "And it was rather shocking, I tell you." the woman continued in her shaky voice. "It wasn't enough to take the fathers right to decide what their virginal daughters were allowed to learn..." She made a face as if the monstrosity of it all shocked her to this day. "... they went so far to put a ward on the book so that mutinous little girls could hide it from their sires in their own homes!"
The last words were spoken in such an indignant tone that Hermione could only deduce that the crone in front of her had never been a suffragette, even in her younger years. But much more interesting than the old hags reactionary stance on gender equality was the fact that some kind of powerful spell had been worked on the frail little shell of "Magical auto-défense pour jeunes sorcières". If she was lucky, some traces of the old magic remained and she could try to detect them when she was back at Hogwarts! A historic magical puzzle hidden in such an unassuming booklet- the magical world never stopped to amaze her. Hermione was so immersed in her own musings that she nearly missed the shopkeepers next words.
"Maybe the scandal would have blown over eventually -it was a time of war after all- but then someone in the ministries educational bureau leaked the identity of the authoress." The proprietor shook her head in obviously fond reminiscence. "Even the rumors about the torture cellars of Nurmengard failed to swell the ranks of the Resistance like that crumb of news." The skin on Hermione's brow curled in bewilderment. Was her "Amulettes de Babylon" malfunctioning, or had she actually missed some important point in the old woman's narrative? Why would the name of an obscure female author become a political rallying point? Before she could convey her confusion, the shop owner continued, a grimace of intense distaste on her haggard features. "After all, who in his right mind would want their daughter to learn magic from a source as tainted and evil as the modern Lilith, the vile and accursed concubine of the beast, someone so perverted as to be the lover of Gellert Grindelwald?"
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Who would have guessed that a mattress you had thought of as heavenly soft just yesterday could feel as uncomfortable as a Fakirs board only 24 hours later? Or maybe it was the guilty conscience that kept Hermione Granger awake deep into the night, throwing herself around under her bedspread and being very ill at ease with herself. "Actually buying that book after what I learned about it was one of the most stupid things I ever did!" she kept berating herself. "What if some of the spells in there are dark magic and I start learning them without even knowing?" Despite those intense worries, a tiny part in the backside of her head kept insisting that she had made the right choice.
After all, something indefinable had pulled her to the small booklet like a moth to fire, surely there was a reason for that? A secret to find out? And even if Grindelwald's mistress had written the contents- did that mean that everything inside its pages, including the wonderful animated spell diagrams and the fighting techniques adapted for girls and women, were forbidden knowledge? She remembered with a shame induced twist in her tummy how she had pocketed her newest possession even before she left the shop, afraid that some random passer by would recognize it and take her to task in front of her parents. Even Harry and Ron, rule breakers extraordinaire would be shocked if they should ever come to know that their uptight female friend had just bought a book that would be considered a lesser dark artifact in Britain.
Even worse than the issue of the book was the Fontaine induced "vision" she had suffered through this morning. When she was confronted with her worried parents after the overwhelming experience, Hermione had procrastinated any further reflection on the events significance with the seemingly rational reasoning that it would be bad to disturb Charles and Miriam's piece of mind any more than necessary. Being unusually absent-minded while they visited the one place she had gone on about for the last weeks would've been rather counterproductive in that regard.
But when they had finally left the Place de Nostradamus in the early hours of the evening, after circling its whole circumference, she had found that she wasn't at all eager to remember what happened and to speculate about its meaning. From that point on she mostly tried not to think too much about the whole thing. Quite contrary, she felt as if she would surely go mad before long if she let her mind try to dissect what happened. "Light" and "Darkness" fighting, a "claw of retribution", "shattering the world"... these unspecific words went way over her head and frightened her much more than any tangible threat ever could . It all didn't bear thinking about, at least while she was here in France, separated from the Hogwarts library and it's doubtlessly huge pool of books concerning the interpretation of prophecies.
It would've been nice to escape her problems into sleep and she tried to count sheep for a while, but it didn't help the least to distract her from her internal struggle. She finally decided to take a short trip to the top of the hotel building, where a sun terrace with canvas chairs was open to guests at all times, giving them access to fresh air. She threw over a bathrobe and left her bedroom, taking up the lounge key from the living room table and tiptoeing to the main door, keeping very quite so she wouldn't wake her parents. The corridors of the Ritz were deserted at this late hour, but that was just as well- any so called "responsible adult" would send her back to bed with some choice words. She reached the lift, called the cabin up to her and waited impatiently until a soft "ding" announced its quickly she pushed the uppermost button and leaned back against the cars walls. She closed her eyes wearily and waited for the chime that would sound when the doors opened again.
It finally came and she was pleasantly surprised by how refreshing the air felt that reached her before she even left the cabin. She walked over to the terrace and sat down on one of the sunloungers with the intention to rest for a moment, but she hadn't even gotten her legs up when she heard the sound of footsteps coming from behind the lift housing. Instinctively she tried to grab for her wand, but couldn't find it in her bathrobe sleeve.
With a rush of adrenaline that felt like a bucket of ice water had been spilled over her head she realized that she had left it in her bedroom, not thinking that anything in this high security luxury hotel could pose a danger to her. But who could be up here at this hour of the night? Some wired out cocaine user or pot smoker? A pair of illicit lovers? She couldn't be sure, so she acted according to the time honored "better save than sorry" principle and got back up to her feet, warily observing the area where the intruder could show up any moment.
The steps became louder and seconds later someone totally unexpected walked into the area lit up by the internal lighting of the lift- Hermione swallowed convulsively when she recognized Fleur Delacour, the lovely French girl who had never been far from her thoughts since she had first seen her on the day of their arrival. Like on that evening in the hotel lobby, Fleur was surrounded by an aura of unearthly beauty, causing Hermione to feel butterflies begin to swarm in her stomach. The fetching blonde witch did a double take as she spotted Hermione and her smooth brow furrowed in deep puzzlement. They stared at each other, neither sure how to react to this strange encounter in the wee hours of the night.
When nearly a minute had passed, with both young witches examining each other without saying a word, Hermione felt she had to break the awkward silence. Here was the gorgeous person she had dreamed about at least two times, a girl so attractive that just meeting her had caused a radical change in her own self image- she would never forgive herself if she didn't grasp this opportunity with both hands! Gathering her Gryffindor courage, Hermione touched the Amulettes de Babylon hanging around her neck for reassurance, remembering just in time that there was no need to stammer out whatever she was going to say in her rudimentary French.
"Good evening -or should I say morning- Miss Delacour." Hermione opened the conversation with a friendly note. "It's nice to meet you again, hopefully under better circumstances than last time." She paused for a short moment and tilted her head slightly as if she was trying to remember something. "I may be mistaken, but I think I was never properly introduced to you." She bowed slightly, causing some strands of her bushy hair to fall in front of her eyes. When she straightened up again, she brushed them away with a practiced swipe. "Hermione Granger, at your service."
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Fleur was surprised when the British girl opened her mouth and greeted her in perfect French, as if she had never committed the social faux pas of asking the very conservative and proud Madame Delacour if she could speak with her in a foreign language while they were in the heart of Paris, the center of French culture. "It seems as if she has found out about the family of linguistic charms then." Beauxbattons' top student mused. But regardless of her mothers ridiculous notions about antique protocol, she still wasn't sure if she wanted to talk to the younger girl at all. She'd come up here to the terrace every morning since their arrival to get a few minutes of alone time, a precious reprieve from the stifling atmosphere that surrounded her parents most of the time. She didn't appreciate Granger disturbing her rare moment of tranquility, but ultimately accepted that it couldn't be helped now.
"It won't kill me to be at least civil with her, after all she is a guest of my country- and I can show her that not all members of the French magical community are stuck up reactionaries." She fought with her weaker self for a moment, then she produced a rather insincere smile. "I hope it will be a good morning, Miss Granger, according to my astronomy teacher the first signs of dawn should be observable in less than 40 minutes." Her secret hopes that a reference to the topic of astronomy -generally seen as one of the most boring magical subjects at her school- would disincline the younger witch from further chit-chat were demolished quickly when the other girls face lit up as if Christmas and Easter had fallen on one day.
"Oh, astronomy is fantastic!" she gushed happily. "I have a solar calendar at home to keep track of the subtle change in properties that varying day and night lengths produce in magical plants. It's fascinating how just one hour of sunlight more or less can make or break the potency of some potions or influence how long a transfigured flower can persist before it reverses into its initial inanimate shape again." She started to pace in front of Fleur, gesticulating vivaciously and seemingly forgetting where she was at the moment."And this next school year I'll start with divination, another field of magic where astronomical knowledge is crucially important." While the Granger girl talked on and on about the usefulness of star gazing Fleur felt something steer inside her. Sure, astronomy was a topic as dry as dust and could bore you to tears, but the enthusiasm Hermione emanated was so heartfelt and contagious that she could feel her own spirits rise in reaction.
A spontaneous grin formed on her lips and she held up a hand to stop the other girl in her rant, which had by now reached speculations about the juncture between astronomy and obscure druidic rituals. "Hold on there Hermione, my note taking isn't up to your lecturing speed." she said teasingly. The British student gave her a startled look that changed quickly to one of alarming self loathing. "Hey, there is no reason to beat yourself up just because you are passionate about something." Fleur tried to soothe her in a soft tone. "I would like to discuss the ideas you just mentioned sometime, but don't you think it would be sensible if we got to know each other better before we dive into such subjects?"
She went over to the bushy haired girl and laid a supportive hand on her shoulder while she locked her blue eyes with Hermione's brown ones, trying to convey the message that she wasn't going to hold the girls obvious bookishness against her. She nodded towards the sunloungers a few feet away. "Why don't we sit down for a moment and you can tell me about yourself and your school?" She began to move to the canvas chairs, pulling a halting Hermione with her. "I've been to London several times, but was never allowed to visit Hogwarts, so I'm quite curious about the way a great warlock like Albus Dumbledore, renowned vanquisher of Grindelwald, runs a school full of children."
They had reached the deck chairs and she directed Hermione to sit down on one, taking the next in the row for herself. Observing her quietly for a moment, Fleur saw a heavily wrinkled forehead and downcast eyes. Obviously the other youth was still berating herself for what she perceived as her lack of peoples skills. That wouldn't do- Fleur decided that Hermione could use a boost for her self confidence. "Hermione..." she aspirated the name and let it roll from her tongue melodiously. When the British student looked up at her with large eyes and rising eyebrows, she gave her a wide and honest grin. "That's a very nice name, and rather unusual even in wizarding circles. Am I correct that it is derived from the Greek god Hermes?"
Hermione nodded and smiled tentatively, proofing to Fleur that the ice between them had finally been broken."My parents thought they were very clever when they choose that name and I like it myself." the British witch explained. "But primary school taught me quickly that to stand out of the masses of Mary-Janes and Elizabeths wasn't that great- being special makes you a target." Fleur nodded understandingly. "I've had the same experience, believe me when I tell you that having Veela blood in my veins is an encumbrance most of the time." When she saw the other girl frown in incomprehension, Fleur remembered the way her mother had taunted Hermione about her ignorance concerning Veelas. She wasn't keen to give an explanation, but after her off hand remark about her heritage it seemed to be unavoidable.
"Ah well, I don't want to go into the details right now, but the short version is that my grandmother was a Veela, a member of a magical race which has the gift to entrance men with their beauty until they can't do much more than pant and slobber. The whole thing is disgusting if you ask me, but I've inherited it and I haven't the same control over it a full Veela has. It's a rare occasion that I can talk with a man or boy without him making advances." Fleur stared into the distance and waited for Hermione to display some sign of the jealously she had come to anticipate after years of suffering through green-eyed hissy fits in Beauxbattons. But a moment later she learned that her past experiences had led her to misjudge the British girl rather badly.
"That's awful!" Hermione exclaimed, true compassion shining in her eyes. "My two best friends are boys, it would destroy our friendship in no time if one of my ancestors had left me with such an "ability". I'd think of it as a curse rather than a gift." She paused and looked at Fleur, apparently unsure if her last comment had crossed some line, but the French girl just nodded silently. "I thought your impact on all those hapless muggles was caused by some charm you used deliberately to bait them. I'm really sorry that I made such a nasty assumption about you." Hermione apologized, conferring her sincerity through her solemn mien and tone.
To say that Fleur was amazed by Hermione's reaction would have been an understatement, because the few friends she had in school had taken much longer than this young girl to come to terms with her nature as part-Veela. "You didn't know, so there is no reason to get agitated on my behalf. To tell the truth, I was rather impressed by your attempt to remind my mother of the Statute of Secrecy." Hermione smiled ruefully when she was reminded of the scene she made, but soon an inquisitive expression replaced the remorse. "So, why did you come to the Ritz if you knew what would happen to the muggles?"
Fleur sighed loudly and threw her arms in the air in a show of frustration. "You have seen my mother, she is very conservative and conscious of her status as a member of the glorious and mighty Delacoure line." She chuckled and shook her head self-deprecatingly. "When we arrived at the Place de Nostradamus and found that the royal suite in the Tour de l'Or -the best wizarding hotel in France- was taken by the Malfoys, of all people, my mother insisted on finding another location befitting the Delacours. Of course nothing else was good enough. That's why she talked my father into obtaining a special permit for our residence here in the Ritz, despite our Veela nature. I'm sure the obliviation office isn't very pleased with my dad just now."
Hermione had jerked her head up when Fleur mentioned the Malfoys, and sure enough, her next question confirmed her interest in them. "Did you say the Malfoys, as in Lucius, Draco and Narcissa Malfoy?" Fleur nodded in confirmation. "I don't know how much you have heard about their family history, but there is a longstanding feud between our lines, going back to the days before the Revolution."
She paused, unsure how much of the whole bloody mess would interest the other girl, but Hermione looked eager, as if her thirst for new knowledge was unquenchable. "The Malfoy line always supported the royal House of Bourbon, even after the Statutes were implemented in 1692, but the Delacours withdrew their endorsement in the reign of Lois XIV. They understood that absolute rule by one corrupt man would destroy the nation sooner or later."
"Since then, both families have feuded with each other and it all culminated in the revolution. The Malfoys fled the country for England when Lois the XVI was overthrown and they have never forgiven the Delacours for what they perceive as my families leading role in exiling them. That's why we couldn't possibly reside in a lesser suite than they in the same hotel, it would be a dreadful loss of face in my parents eyes." Hermione had listened attentively, but now she held up her hand to stop Fleur's flow of words. "What I don't understand is why your family would want a hotel suite at all- I assume you live somewhere in France, so why not just floo or portkey home?"
Chuckling, Fleur shook her head once again, this time in sardonic amusement, making the golden stresses of her hair fly through the air. "Such a question shows that you are a muggleborn- you think about this whole problem in practical terms of travel times and convenience, but for the old families, it's all about representing their own wealth and power." She smiled at the confusion showing on Hermione's features and tried to explain. "If you can't afford to stay in the Tour de l'Or for a week you don't amount to much in the eyes of high society.
And this time of the year, shortly before the Beauxbattons term starts again, is traditionally reserved for parading your wealth and your soon to be marriageable children around for everyone to see. Maybe you'll want to ask me now how residing in the muggle "Ritz" could achieve that- the answer is that no one outside some muggleborn like you has ever heard about it, but that doesn't count with my mother. Tradition is a value in and of itself is one of her most cherished mottoes."
Fleur fell silent and a comfortable calm stretched between them, each girl following her own thoughts about what had transpired in their conversation. The French witch was eventually distracted from her less than charitable musing about her mothers expensive and pointless eccentricities when Hermione made a small sound of surprised delight. "Look, your teacher was right, here comes the sun." the British girl whispered intensely and pointed to the eastern sky, where small smudges of crimson light became visible at the edge of the horizon. It was a mesmerizing sight, beautiful and mysterious in its promise of a new day, but it reminded Fleur that her time was limited. After taking a look at the heavy golden pocket watch she carried in remembrance of her granny, Fleur knew she should head back to her families suite very soon if she wanted her little elopement to stay unnoticed.
She sighed in displeasure, attracting Hermione's attention away from the natural spectacle playing itself out in front of their eyes. "What's the matter Miss Delacour..." she paused for a second, an embarrassed expression flitting about her features "– or may I call you Fleur?" The young women gave her a reassuring nod. "After burdening you with all my familial and personal problems I would expect you to use my given name, Hermione." she said gently. "But talking of said problems, I fear I have to leave now before my notoriously early rising mother discovers me gone and calls the auror division with a hysteric report of my kidnapping." She stood up from the canvas chair and stretched her lithe body without noticing the sudden rush of red on Hermione's cheeks. She turned around and let her eyes settle on her chance acquaintance. "I'm rather disappointed that we didn't have time for some stories about Dumbledore and Hogwarts, but if you are agreeable, we could write each other when the school year commences."
Hermione beamed up at her as if she had just won the lottery. "Of course Fleur, that would be so great!" she enthused happily. "I always wished I had a pen pall, this will be so much fun!" Fleur took another nervous look at her watch. "I really have to go now, just send an owl to "Miss Fleur Delacour, Beauxbatons Academy of Magic" and I'll receive it." She walked over to Hermione, who had stood up from her chair by now, and surprised herself when she gave the shorter girl a quick hug. "Stay save and have a good time here in Paris!" she whispered fiercely, than she turned around and hurried to the lift, where she found that the cabin had stayed up and was waiting for her. She pushed the right button and took a last look outside, waving goodbye to Hermione, then the heavy doors closed and cut of her view of the other girl.
Fleur couldn't have known it on this fateful summer morning, but the next time they met, the British witch would be an outlaw on the run.