Summary: Hermione has left the Wizarding World for Muggle France. After two years of living a life without magic, two former Slytherins appear at her doorstep offering their services to be her own personal bodyguards. The past resurfaces and Hermione is reminded of what she truly is.
A/U.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything.
IMPORTANT NOTE: Pardon my French, I'm using an online English-to-French translator since I can't speak a word of French. My translator has not messaged me back yet, so I just decided to go ahead and post this. I hope it won't be too much of a bother. =)
EMBERS
V
Christophe Gilles knew that money wasn't everything. With fame came riches and with riches came greed. But he refused to be pulled into the sinful tendencies that many men of his status enjoyed immensely. He wanted more out of life. He wanted love.
"Le bon soir. Peut je parle s'il vous plaît à Fiona Granger?" (Good evening. May I please speak to Fiona Granger?) Christophe said politely into his mobile phone.
"Un moment." (One moment.) He frowned when he heard the reply. The voice was distinctively male. The butler, perhaps? He thought hopefully. Surely, Fiona Granger did not have a boyfriend. She had said so herself when they had made their acquaintance at a charity ball last week. A lover, maybe? It was a possibility. Fiona Granger had a reputation for affinities like such. But that wasn't why Christophe wanted to ask her out on a date.
Fiona Granger was beautiful, intelligent, alluring, and she had captured Christophe's heart during their five-minute meeting. He found that he thirsted for more of her. She was simply enchanting.
"Bonjour? Peux-je demander qui appelle?" (Hello? May I ask who is calling?) Fiona's sweet voice asked from the other end of the line.
Christophe smiled. "Christophe Gilles. Nous avons rencontré à la balle la semaine dernière." (We met at the ball last week.)
There was a light chuckle on the other end. "Bien sûr! Que peut je fais pour vous Christophe?" (Of course! What can I do for you Christophe?)
"Je me demandais si vous aimeriez diner avec moi demain la nuit." (I was wondering whether you would like to have dinner with me tomorrow night.)
"J'ai une première demain. Et la nuit après que cela?" (I have a premiere tomorrow. What about the night after that?)
Christophe briefly wondered if she had a date to that premiere already and was only entertaining him as a sign of pity. After all, Christophe was not as handsome as he was during his younger years. Do not jump to conclusions! He berated himself.
"Semble merveilleux. Je vous verrai alors. Au revoir!" (Sounds wonderful. I'll see you then. Bye.)
Fiona echoed his words and terminated the call. Well that wasn't bad. He thought, already feeling happy at having accomplished such a feat. He was a bit lacking in the confidence department, which was why he almost always had to ask women out through the phone. He couldn't do it in person. Which is why you haven't been married. Ever. Most men his age had already gone through three to six wives. But to him, one would suffice.
"You have a date, eh?"
Christophe jumped at the sound of the voice. British. He noted. He didn't know anyone who was British. His palms began to sweat. He lived alone in his cliff-side mansion. It was eight in the evening. He had already made certain that all the doors were locked. He was a bit obsessive-compulsive when it came to security. He had the latest security system installed. Alarms would go off if someone tried to break in.
He must have been hearing things.
"Christophe."
The voice was nearer this time. Christophe drew in a shaky breath and slowly turned around. He gasped when he caught sight of the man standing five feet away from him. Jet-black hair, piercing blue eyes, and a charming smile that had graced the silver-screen all around the world.
"Adrien?"
But he was French! How on earth did he learn to speak such immaculate English? And with a British accent to boot! Christophe stared with disbelieving eyes. Something was very wrong here.
"We had such fun at the charity ball last week." Adrien said, taking another step towards him. "I've seen how enthralled you were by Fiona Granger. I'm so glad to know that you've finally had the balls to ask her out on a date."
"Are you an impostor?" Christophe asked uncertainly, his English coming out a bit rocky. He knew, however, that this could not be true, seeing as Adrien had actually been around at the charity ball. He had been introduced to Fiona at the same time Christophe had been as well.
"Vous plaisantez!" (You jest!) The young star said with a laugh, speaking in perfect French and sounding like the Adrien he knew. Christophe could not understand why he was feeling so nervous about a man half his age. The feeing that something terrible was about to happen just wouldn't disappear.
"Comment êtes-vous entré ici?" (What are you doing here?)
Adrien released a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. It sent chills running down Christophe's spine. "What do you want?" Christophe asked, his tone still pitifully French.
"You."
There was a flash of green light.
Then – there was nothing.
Draco had seen neither hide nor hair of Hermione since the incident over breakfast at the café. She had gone straight to work with Blaise at her heels. Draco opted to stay behind. He didn't want to deal with a woman whose sanity he was beginning to doubt.
It had only been three days and Draco was already starting to feel restless. Life as a Muggle had been interesting at first, with all the fascinating contrivances piquing his curiosity. But he missed London. He missed the Wizarding Community. He missed riding on a broomstick and eating Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans.
Three days of being stranded in Muggle kingdom and he already felt like this.
Hermione had been gone for a total of two years.
Draco shook his head at her audacity to do such a thing. It was a mortal sin. His head began to throb. Blast it. I forgot to bring the healing potions. He thought feeling the incessant urge to smack himself in the head. He whipped out his mobile phone and began to dial Blaise's number. He picked up after several rings. "Draco?"
"Blaise. You don't happen to have any healing draughts do you?"
Blaise's voice was laced with panic. "What happened?"
"Nothing. Just a headache."
"Blimey. I though you were hurt or something. Wait a second."
Draco waited.
"Hermione said there's some painkillers at the bottom drawer in your room. Orange bottle with the label 'Aspirin'. Just swallow one with water. We're on our way home, anyway."
Blaise said goodbye. Draco frowned. He wasn't too happy with taking any form of medication produced by Muggles. But the headache was progressing into a migraine and he couldn't stand it anymore. He wandered towards the dresser and searched for the bottom drawer for the bottle of pills. Unfortunately for him, the drawer was filled to the brim with useless artifacts.
"Merlin, doesn't this girl know how to clean?" He complained out loud, rummaging through it in a hurry. "Accio Aspirin!" He hissed pointing his wand at the drawer. The orange bottle zoomed into his waiting hand.
His attention, however, had been diverted by a plain black notebook lying at the bottom of the drawer. He picked it up and squinted at the neat handwriting at the cover. PROPERTY OF HERMIONE GRANGER. Before he could even open it to the first page, it flew out of his grasp.
"I seem to have forgotten to include the word 'private'." Hermione said wryly. She stood at the doorway, the black book in her left hand, her wand on the right.
Draco was somehow appeased by it. "You've still got it." He observed with a smirk.
"I'm not the brightest witch at Hogwarts for nothing." She said haughtily.
Draco bit back a scathing remark, deciding that it would be better to leave Hermione be – for the meantime. She'll tell him sooner or later. Secrets were never meant to be kept for yourself. They would just eat you alive. For now, Draco was satisfied with the step she had made. At least it was in the right direction.
"Bulls eye." Draco conceded, popping an Aspirin into his mouth after significantly eying it with a hint of suspicion beforehand.
"I take it your not going to apologize for being a complete bastard earlier today." Hermione noted dryly. She pocketed her wand and took a seat on the bed. Draco stood in front of her, arms crossed in front of his chest.
"No." Draco said with a raised eyebrow. "I'll admit I'm a total bastard. But I'm not going to apologize. Keeping it to yourself won't do you any good." He said staring her straight in the eye.
"Maybe your right." Hermione said, her chin raised in defiance. "But I won't be telling you anything." She stood and began to leave the room. But not before tossing him the black notebook he had discovered accidentally at the bottom drawer.
TBC
A/N: Review?