Chapter 9: Nos nouvelles vies (Our New Lives)
Bright sunlight flooded inside, bathing the bedroom in soft silvers and shiny streams of light. Hermione roused from her sleep, surrounded by silky sheets and supported by a light mattress. It was one of her most peaceful sleeping sessions. She focused on the singing of the birds, the silence of the house, the hand holding her right under the sheets—
'Ow! Fuck!'
Hermione jumped up screaming. She looked at her bloodied forearm. It had leaked through the layers of bandages, her clothes, and stained her sheets. It ached in pulses.
'What—'
It was at this point she noticed the presence holding her hand under the sheets. Draco sat up as well, hand still grabbing hers. His bloodshot eyes widened at the blood and he pulled her out of the bed.
As she was being pulled, Hermione screamed, 'Left, Bathroom!' He pulled her through to the shower, clothes still on. 'Hot water!'
Draco nodded and turned on the shower. Both of them were now soaking wet under the near-blistering water. He took off her bandages and let it drain. He raised it up closer to the shower. Hermione's heart hammered in her and every muscle within her was screaming and begging for her to run, to escape. In the shadowy nook and cranny were her curls; in the torrent of water were her laughs; and in the sandalwood and citrus were rotten teeth.
Slowly but surely however, the wound stopped bleeding. Both of them calmed down as Draco turned off the shower and inspected the scar. Once it had closed again, they slid down the porcelain walls and landed on their rears. They sat, breaths panting and chests rising, next to each other. They were in the corner; Hermione's legs were above his as they huddled there. Hermione watched the steam moving away like a ghost marking themselves on the ceiling, ready to haunt again. Hermione turned her attention to the blonde boy beside her, whose hand was caressing and tracing the lines of her slur-scar.
'Does this… Does this happen often?' He whispered.
'Once a week, usually. Sometimes more. Sometimes less.'
'I'm sorry.' A tear fell from his blank and disassociated eyes.
'Draco—'
He held his hand up without even looking. 'I know what you're going to say. I've already apologised and apologies are not enough; you've made that perfectly clear, but that does not extinguish the anguish in my heart.' He brought up his left arm and placed it on her leg. 'This, this Mark, this is shame. It's a sign I fucked up, it's a sign I've bollocksed it all up. This is mine, but yours? What did you do to merit such a curse other than trying to survive? It's because of me Hogwarts was compromised. It's because of me you've had to go into hiding, it's because of me you were—'
She held his other hand. 'Draco, it's not your fault.'
He jerked his hand away. 'How is it not my fault, Hermione? How? Tell me. This, this bloody word; you knew that because of me! You said it yourself, didn't you? I knew what it was, I knew what it meant, I knew the history of the word, and still it spat out of my mouth like it was nothing. Your scar—your cursed scar—is caused by me. You can't deny the immutable fact that this is my fault.'
She replayed everything that came before. The bed; his hand on hers. The library; his lips on hers. The nightmare; his hands on hers.
'... How did you know how to calm me down?' He looked up, trails of red staining his porcelain skin. 'Last night when I had my nightmare.'
He sniffed and leaned his head on the wall. Tears ran down his face. 'What, erm, what do you know of Theodore Nott?'
'Not much except that he was studious. We met sometimes at night in the library, but he was always aloof. Cold.'
'Do you know why he's cold?' She shook his head; he continued. 'Nott Manor was close to ours in Wiltshire, so they came over often. His father, Theodore Nott Sr., was a bastard. On most days he'd reek of whiskey. On some days, he'd have red knuckles and you could see the shimmer of glamour charms on Theo and his mother.' Hermione swallowed her saliva. 'One day, Nott Sr. decided that he had had enough and strangled her. In front of Theo. He was nine years old.'
She gasped. 'Jesus. How did no one—' Her lips quivered. 'He buried it, didn't he?'
He nodded. 'Hmm. Through his connections, he was able to bribe off some of the Aurors and have the thing written off as an accident. We all knew what had happened; we just didn't say anything. Anyway, Theo started spending a lot of time at the Manor with me. Theo… He'd often wake up in the middle of the night screaming. It was always the same dream: him begging his father to stop. From that point on, I was always there for him. I'd help him wake up and snap him out of his nightmares. I consider him a brother.'
Hermione said nothing. She only reached over and pulled his head to her. He laid on her chest. His hair was so soft, more akin to fur than hair. His warm breath cooled her chest. They remained in that embrace for what felt like hours, neither wanting to let go of the other.
He murmured, 'You don't deserve someone like me. Someone as awful as me. Someone as—'
'Shh, shut up with the self-deprecation.' She felt him smirk on her damp shirt. 'I don't deserve you, yes, but you have me nonetheless. For better or for worse, we only have each other so let's make the best of this.'
He chuckled. 'Thank you, Hermione.'
It sounded so sweet coming from his lips. Hermione.He slowly let go and stood up. He sauntered over to the sink and grabbed a towel and a roll of bandage. He returned to the wall and sat down next to her. He took some soap and cleaned the wound. As the soap penetrated the wound, Hermione winced and Draco caressed her arm to calm her down. It tingled, the way his fingers glided over her skin. He washed and patted it dry before slowly wrapping the cream bandage around the wound. After everything was set, he brought the bandage to his face and kissed it. It was ever so gentle, the way his fingers held her arm and the pursing of his lips on the bandage.
He glanced at Hermione. 'All better?'
She nodded. 'Thank you.' As he was looking at it, Hermione asked, 'Draco, this morning, why were you sleeping next to me?'
'Because when I tried to leave, you wouldn't let me.'
He stood up and pulled Hermione with him. As they were walking out, she asked, 'Where has this side of Draco Malfoy been in all these years?'
He stopped mid-stride. His lips twitched. 'Buried under years of duties and expectations.'
They walked together, side by side, to her room. Just as they stood in front of the door, Hermione felt the tug of Draco unclasping his hand to walk away to his room. A gust of wind blew in the silence, ripping off the warmth of the shower and of his hand in hers. Hermione entered her room and collapsed on the door. Something her father had said was that, 'all that goes around comes back around'. Hermione never understood that. Hermione probably would never understand that. But then the enigma of Draco Malfoy arrived and shattered it. He had been the one to hurt her; now he was the one to calm her. He had been the one to tell her of the word Mudblood; now he was the one to help her Mudblood scar.
The next two days passed by uneventfully with Draco and Hermione too focused on studying to talk about themselves. Hermione herself was unsure about Draco and her relationship with him. Sure, he was attractive and rather intelligent, but he had been her bully and tormentor. They snuck glances and held hands in the library but those were just it; nothing more, nothing less unlike their kiss. It wasn't even addressed at all.
The first of September arrived quickly. Because the trains were not running, they travelled by Portkey to Beauxbatons proper from de Bouclier. They took the pin in hand and they soon arrived in the middle of the Pyrenees mountain range. The sight that greeted them was immensely gorgeous.
Beauxbatons, unlike Hogwarts, was not one large castle but rather a collection of castles. In the centre was the largest castle of them all, decked with towers that pierced the heavenly skies and walls of stone that allowed its occupants to be warmed from the cold Pyrenees winter and cooled during the warm Pyrenees summer. Three more castles surrounded it with the northern castle being the closest to the lake. As Draco and Hermione walked along the concrete bridge to the central castle, gusts of wind blew brown leaves at them though it was only the start of September. A blurry figure in the distance slowly materialised clearer and clearer as they approached the large oak doors; it was de Bouclier himself. His long grey coat hid the purple accents of his shirt and the patterns of his vest. When they were maybe 30 metres away, he walked to them.
He greeted them and then said, 'Bonjour, Mademoiselle de Bonnegrâce et Monsieur Malfoy, I hope your journey has been uneventful.'
He accompanied them as they walked in tandem to the oak doors. As they neared, a great sound roared through the castle when the doors opened. Inside was a large atrium with what seemed like dozens of different doors each with their own flags. Some had a golden lion on red, some had a blue spear on white, some had a green book on silver, etcetera. Tables and long benches filled the entire area; probably places to eat and study. Glass covered the central It was at least thrice as large as the Hogwarts Great Hall.
'Welcome to the Beauxbatons Academy of Magic's Central Court, la cour centrale. This is the central hub in which all Beauxbatons students congregate for recreation, relaxation, lunch and dinner, etcetera etcetera. To your left is the castle for the first to third years; to your right is the castle for the fourth to sixth years; and the castle in which you will reside for the next two years, the castle for the seventh and eighth years, are just ahead.'
Hermione asked, 'How many students are enrolled here? It's colossal.'
de Bouclier laughed. 'Currently, we are enrolling 16,200 students from every Wizarding Western European government: France, Italy, Germany and Austria, Switzerland, Spain, Portugal, and the Benelux Confederation.'
Draco asked, 'What about our accommodations? Does Beauxbatons still sort dormitories by country?'
'We do, but that won't apply to you. Seventh and eighth years are sorted according to their chosen courses so you'll be with your fellow coursemates.'
They followed de Bouclier down a series of long stone corridors, all lit with bright lights thanks to the windows, and up a few flights of stairs until they arrived at a large mahogany door embossed with the banner of Beauxbatons. de Bouclier knocked and a familiar yet mysterious voice answered. He opened the door and a large oval room stood in front of them. It was adorned in various flags from the flags they saw in the Inner Courtyard, and many national and subnational flags. Hermione, at first, thought it was tacky but considering the power Beauxbatons had in cultivating millions of sorcerers and sorceresses from the early Middle Ages, it seemed appropriate. Of course, behind the large desk sat an equally large woman who Draco and Hermione once saw a few years ago.
She stood and gave them both a hug in one swoop. Hermione grunted as the woman pressed her arms into her and she swore she heard Draco's ribs almost cracking. 'Well, hello there Mister Draco Malfoy and Miss Hermione Granger—oh, it's Hermioné de Bonnegrâce now, isn't it?'
Draco and Hermione chuckled. Hermione said, 'Hello, Madame Maxime, yes it is. Of course, I wouldn't mind being addressed as Hermione Granger but I would rather not advertise that in public. I'd rather remain anonymous for the time being.'
Madame Maxime waved her off. 'Considering how much of an uproar your presence had caused in the Ministry Patrons' Gala two weeks ago, anonymity might not be a luxury to be enjoyed, Miss Granger. Regardless, we will accommodate your wishes to the best of our abilities. Now, are you two ready to sit your tests?'
Both of them nodded and Madame Maxime clapped her hands. She then escorted Draco and Hermione to separate rooms. When Hermione sat down, a stack of paper showed up along with a pen. It was one of those things that intrigued her; why did England insist on using quills when the French had already been using fountain pens? Regardless, she took the pen, filled it, and started working.
The Placement Test itself was a three-parter: the first was multiple choice, the second was essays, and the third was a personality test. The first two parts covered nine subjects: eight core (Astronomy, Alchemy, Charms, Defence Against the Dark Arts, Herbology, History of Magic, Potions, Transfiguration) plus two of Arithmancy, Care for Magical Creatures, Divination, Non-Magical History (Muggle Studies), or Ancient Languages (Ancient Runes) subjects.
For the third and final part, however, it was dangerously different. They were open-ended questions about life, morality, beliefs, what-if situations, etcetera. As Hermione penned paragraphs for each question, her mind questioned whether or not she should be doing this; not that she should continue her education, but that she should be doing this in Hogwarts and not Beauxbatons. Wasn't it treasonous almost, to run away and live life anonymously from a wartorn country, no, her own wartorn country? These questions seemed to pop up out of nowhere as if the paper and pen themselves were inducing them.
By the end of it, they emerged out of their rooms emotionally exhausted. None of them said a word, just one look at each other and recognise the same understanding. They said their goodbyes to Madame Maxime and walked out to the cool autumn air. de Bouclier, the good pseudo-parent he was, then escorted them to Montmartre for uniforms. They wafted through the crowd like water pouring through gaps. It was a familiar route; turn left, down the Boulevard du Comte-Balthasar, take the left to Rue des Demoiselles, and arrive at a row of fashion and clothing stores. Draco trailed behind her as they followed de Bouclier. The memories of her dragging him to the shops over a month ago flashed in her mind.
Draco and Hermione walked hand-in-hand to the largest one of them all, la Maison Capenoir, the go-to place for official uniforms; in their case, school uniforms. They entered the brick-and-mortar place and the dresser walked out, a Madame Boutonnier. She measured both of them and told them their uniforms would be ready the day after tomorrow which would be Thursday the 3rd of September. Afterwards, they were escorted by de Bouclier back to the Château de la Fierté where they soon collapsed.
/ / / / /
Thursday came, and they received their letters of admission. As expected from their preparation work, they both entered their desired courses; Hermione had the Cours des Guérisseurs and Draco had the Cours des Alchimistes. Her eyes peeled when she saw her subject list: Advanced Alchemy I, Advanced Potions I, Healing Defence Against the Dark Arts I, Healing Charms I, Human Anatomy and Physiology, Magical Healing I, and Magical Pathology.
Seven subjects for two years. It was more like the university courses she'd read instead of lessons for adolescents. Just how advanced was Beauxbatons, or rather, just how regressive was Hogwarts?
'Do we have any classes in common?' Draco asked.
She looked over at his schedule; his was even worse. Nine subjects, five of them being alchemy-related.
'We have Potions together on Wednesday, and Alchemy on Friday.' He nodded and she continued to mull over their schedules. 'You know… This is what they do in non-magical universities; they specialise in different courses and disciplines.'
'Really? So non-magicals take another year of education in different subjects? Why is that better than apprenticeships?'
'Not another year; four years.' At Draco's look of abject horror, she continued. 'Hogwarts and Beauxbatons, in the non-magical world, are more like secondary schools where they teach general stuff for kids aged 11 to 18. After secondary school you can have tertiary school or university where you can take specific studies for four or more years. A lot of jobs like doctors—non-magical healers—require a licence and that requires four years of university education. It's better than apprenticeships because it's standardised and professional.'
'Right, but not every university would have the same competence and not every professor is going to be the same so how is it standardised?'
'They have a curriculum.'
'We have one too.'
Hermione snorted. 'Yeah, eight core subjects plus two electives. Arithmancy isn't even a thing until our third year whereas children are taught multiplication and algebra aged 10 or 11. Hogwarts is so different from Beauxbatons.'
He nodded. 'Yeah, at least they divide the years. You have several professors per subject from first to third years, then you get another set of professors for fourth to sixth years, do your O. , then specialise in your seventh and eighth years.' Hermione nodded as well. As the mist of silence descended on the room, Draco spoke up saying, 'Wait, what's algebra?'
Hermione smiled and tried to explain—to the best of her abilities—from the books she read over the summers, algebra and other non-magical studies. They ate, drank, laughed, grimaced, and much more as they traded stories and experiences. A while after the sun slept and the moon woke up in its place, Draco escorted Hermione to her room. She quickly hopped on the bed and covered herself under the sheets. Draco then said his goodbyes and turned away.
Hermione didn't know what came over her. Maybe it was the feeling of solitude, anxiety, or something else. She only knew what she did. She grabbed his hand. She said, 'Don't leave. Stay.'
Something cloudy passed over his eyes. She expected him to leave. He didn't. He nodded and sat next to her. She scooted to the middle of the bed as he sat on the edge. His hand held hers lightly; enough to be there but not enough to commit. His thumb started caressing the back of her hand.
'Draco, why did you think I was adorable?'
His cheeks flushed hot and he turned away. 'You are, it's a fact.'
She burrowed her head further into the sheets. 'Tell me what's adorable.'
She could not see him but she could hear the smirk in his voice. 'Everything. The way your nose scrunches when you're confused, the freckles that dot your face and cheeks, the dimples when you smile, the way your eyes widen just for a second before squinting when you find something exciting, the squeals you make when you connect something… They're all adorable.'
Draco continued after that but Hermione already slipped into her nocturnal slumber. She experienced a little déja vu when she woke up to shimmering sunlight soaking into her room as the birds sang their songs with Draco's arm around her waist. Thankfully, her scar didn't bleed like last time. She placed her hand on Draco's arm and caressed it. The Dark Mark's raised scar was like a tumour on unblemished skin; it was foreign and dangerous. They woke up normally and made breakfast before returning to the Maison Capenoir and getting their uniforms.
Hermione wore what Fleur and the other Beauxbatons girls had worn during the Triwizard Tournament, though her cape reached her knees for warmth, the material was heavier, and there were a lot of golden filigrees sewn on. She had shoulder straps on which were blue colour bands. For Draco, however, his uniform was rather different. Double-breasted light blue overcoat above a blue blouse with black-banded shoulder straps, a long golden braided rope looping around his right shoulder with the ends pinned to his front, and a blue beret. To Hermione, the two uniforms evoked two sides of the same coin: power and strength, and elegance and beauty.
They returned home and immediately prepared themselves for Beauxbatons by… doing nothing. They weren't loitering around the library—also known as Draco and Hermione's home within a home—but around their bathrooms. Baths with scented candles, going to cafes and restaurants, strolls; anything and everything to take their minds off of going to Beauxbatons in two days. During the ten days of their cramming period, Hermione had contacted her estate's manager as well as the chateau's caretaker that she'd be leaving for school which the French Ministry of Magic was willing to cover. Everything was set.
/ / / / /
It was Sunday, the 6th of September 1998. They sat in their light blue uniforms bound on a train that would take them to their home for the next two years. It was explained to them on the way that the blue on Hermione's uniform represented Healer Students and the black on Draco's represented Alchemist Students. At least everything was clear. They watched the semi-urban towns turn to unperturbed and pure nature with plenty of foliage, mountains breaking through the celestial heavens, and cool wind blowing through the compartment. They remembered the looks people gave them—well, mostly just Draco—waiting for the train and the passing glances as people walked to find empty compartments. They sat opposite each other; Hermione leaned against her seat and Draco was sitting straight, a true gentleman's sitting posture.
'I understand it now.'
His words broke Hermione's focus on the mountains. 'Hmm?'
He sighed. 'The feeling of being watched, being demeaned and dishonoured with just one glance.'
'Are you afraid?'
His cool eyes met hers. For a second, the edges turned cloudy. 'Yes.'
She stood, prompting his eyebrows to furrow in confusion. She then sat next to him and gripped his hand; it was cold and clammy. Almost on cue, he sighed and leaned back against the seats. The train slowly stopped and they disembarked, carrying their suitcases and luggage. As they marched the familiar concrete bridge to the Central Court, Hermione could feel the malicious and suspicious glances thrown at them; well, Draco was the subject, but her involvement by his side also made some glance at her as well. As official transfer students, they were greeted by the Headmistress herself. She quietly pointed them to their tables. She sat by one of the largest tables there, the Healers' Table. Draco, on the other hand, sat opposite her table, the Alchemists' Table.
Madame Maxime then went up and delivered a speech. Many topics were raised but there was one underlying message: collaboration. Hermione looked around her table and others; these sorcerers and sorceresses were of different nationalities, cultures, foods, governments, etc., but Beauxbatons accommodated them nonetheless. For a community that numbered a little over 150,000, working together over petty issues was far more important than anything else. Of course, her eyes were glued to the blonde boy three tables away. With this distance, it was like looking at him in Hogwarts. He caught her eye and smiled; she lowered her head. Once the speech ended and food appeared on the tables, the empty hall burst into a cacophonous mixture of conversation, laughs, chewing noises, walking, and so much more. Though the tables were set for each course, people were moving to other tables to talk to their friends.
'Excuse-moi, toi, t'es la baronne, non, la baronne de Baigneaux? (Excuse me, you're the Baroness of Baigneaux, aren't you?)' A female voice asked to her right.
Hermione turned to her right to see a girl whose blonde braids extended beyond her seat. Her smile looked so innocent but her eyes so fierce. Hermione replied, 'Oui, c'est moi.'
In a blink of an eye, almost a quarter of the table—all of whom were talking to their friends and such—turned to Hermione. Several voices immediately surrounded her. There were so many and at such volume they all faded into one deafening noise. Hermione closed her eyes and took a breath when—
'Ne la dérangez pas, s'il vous plaît. C'est une nouvelle étudiante. J'suis sûre qu'elle devrait se reposer comme nous. (Don't bother her, please, she's a new student. I'm sure she needs to rest like us).'
Hermione looked up to see a brown-haired girl with a birthmark just under her right ear. Her eyes were bright green like Harry's. The voices stopped. Everyone went back to idle conversation as they picked up their luggages and went to the rear castle. As Hermione was about to go, the brown-haired girl stopped her.
Hermione smiled. 'Merci de le dire (Thanks for that).' The girl nodded and Hermione peeled away from her green eyes before noticing the golden badge on her chest. 'T'es une préfète? (Are you a Prefect?)'
'Oui, j'suis une préfète des guérisseurs-étudiants de septième année. (Yes, I'm a prefect for the Seventh Year Healer Students).'
The Prefect flashed a wide and flashy grin. Hermione extended a hand. 'Salut, je m'appelle Hermioné Hélène-Jeanne de Bonnegrâce. C'est un plaisir de faire ta connaissance (Hello, I am Hermioné Hélène-Jeanne de Bonnegrâce. It's a pleasure to be acquainted).'
The Prefect responded to Hermione's open palm by narrowing her eyes at her palm. 'Ouais, la baronne née-moldue (Yes, the Muggleborn Baroness).' Hermione tensed up. 'Salut, je m'appelle Catherine Célestine de Chartres (Hello, I'm Catherine Célestine de Chartres). Et mon père est—'
'François César-Auguste de Chartres, le sieur du Chauffours', Hermione completed. They let go at the same time and locked their eyes to one another.
Once the truth was revealed, her mind leapt to the library again. Her past self was hunched over a table, eyes studying the black-on-white text over and over again under the grace of a candlelight. François de Chartres and his wife Aurélie had a daughter, Catherine; the same Catherine who was standing in front of her now, the same Catherine who was clearing her voice.
Hermione perked up to see Catherine picking up her luggage. The hall was nearly empty save for some who were still in the heat of conversation. With a nod from Catherine, she walked with her to the Healers' Common Room. After a minute of walking, they arrived at the Far Castle—or le donjon mouillé (the wet keep) as the seventh and eighth years called it—and stood in the large atrium. As it was designed to house 4,000 students, it was almost as massive as Hogwarts. While they were walking, Hermione saw several students out and about; some were talking, some studying, some just standing. Both of them turned a corner and descended a long set of stairs.
Catherine said, 'Certains de mes amis, ils ont beaucoup parlé de toi. Il semble que tu les aies impressionnés. (A few of my friends have talked a lot about you. It seems that you've made an impression on them).'
Hermione asked, 'Seraient-ils impressionnés aussi, les autres étudiants? (Would the other students here be impressed as well?)'
Catherine laughed. 'J'imagine que ce serait le cas. Les sorciers nobles, ils avaient renoncé à leurs droits et leurs titres, donc quand quelqu'un avec des titres vient, ils ressentent un sentiment de curiosité. (I would imagine so. The wizarding nobles had renounced their rights and titles, so when another noble comes along, they become curious).'
'Et toi? T'as un sentiment de curiosité? (And you? Are you curious too?)'
Catherine stopped mid-step and turned to her. She said, 'Un peu, mais je pense que je te considérerais comme une ennemie. (A little but I think I would consider you as an enemy instead.)'
Hermione stepped forwards, meeting her gaze head on. 'Pourquoi? Parce que je suis née-moldue? (Why? Because I'm a Muggleborn?)'
Catherine laughed and continued walking. 'Sois pas stupide, Hermioné, je voulais dire d'une manière académique. Je les ai vus, tes résultats du BUSE. Optimal dans toutes les matières sauf une: la défense contre les forces du Mal, dans laquelle t'as obtenu un Effort Exceptionnel. Avec ces résultats, tu serais ma rivale académique. (Don't be stupid, Hermione, I meant academically speaking. I've seen your OWL scores; Outstanding in all subjects except one: Defence Against the Dark Arts, in which you obtained an Exceeds Expectations. With these scores, you would be my rival.)'
Hermione replied, 'Ah, je pensais que tu voulais dire une rivale dans tous les cas. (Ah, I thought you meant a rival in all cases.)'
'Ceci c'est une école, un lieu neutre. Y a pas d'hommes politiques, de sieurs, de dames… (This is a school, neutral grounds. There are no politicians, no lords, no ladies here…)'
They turned right and stopped in front of a large door. Embossed on it was a green shield with a white rod circled by a snake. Muffled noises leaked out from the gaps. Catherine put her hand on the door, pushing on it slightly. The muffled noises erupted into lively conversations and chats.
Catherine turned to her. 'Ceci c'est la salle commune des guérisseurs et guérisseuses. Ta chambre sera à droite, ton nom aurait été écrit sur l'une d'entre elles. (This is the Healers' Common Room. Your room will be to the right; your name would have been written on one of them.)'
Hermione nodded as the door opened fully. 'Merci, Catherine.'
Catherine flashed her widest grin before replying, 'Your welcome, Hermione', in her French lilt.
Hermione froze on the spot. 'Did she know who I am? What does she know?'
Hermione replayed these questions as Catherine departed her side to chat up with her clique. She kept replaying them as she went up the steps to the female seventh years healers' dormitories, oblivious to the stares and whispers from the common room. This year, the class of 1991, had 1,967 students from every corner of Western Europe. Out of those 1,967 students, 272 chose the Healers' Course—well, 273 with Hermione—and 151 were female. Each room housed 8 students, and considering Hermione's incredibly-late entry, she would be in the last one. And, she was right.
Chambre 19: Agnès Lellouche, Carina von Dierne, Delphine Maurangière, Hanna Maria von Jugern, Hermioné de Bonnegrâce, Luisa Cereceda Hernández, Primavera Spineda.
She opened the door to see no one but one girl. It was the girl whose blonde braids extended to her rear, the one who had first asked her baroness status. She looked up and her mouth dropped. She quickly stood up and walked over to Hermione.
'Ah, t'es venue. Tout d'abord, je suis désolée pour plus tôt, au banquet. (Ah, you came. First of all, sorry for earlier, at the banquet.)' She extended her open palm. 'Je m'appelle Delphine Élise Maurangière, l'une de tes colocataires. C'est un plaisir de te rencontrer. (I'm Delphine Élise Maurangière, one of your roommates. Pleased to meet you.)'
Hermione laughed as she shook Delphine's hand. 'Hermioné Hélène-Jeanne de Bonnegrâce. Enchanté. (Hermioné Hélène-Jeanne de Bonnegrâce. It's a pleasure to meet you too).'
Just after Hermione said that, the other girls flooded into the room. Thankfully, the room only housed five other students so she wasn't as pressured. They asked a tonne of questions about her. It was almost like being the polar opposite of Hogwarts where no one sought her out. However, she noticed that most of the questions were specifically about her baroness status. How much land did she own, how much was she worth, what were her feudal duties, etcetera. Hermione wondered if this was what it was like being Draco Malfoy, to have people be interested in what you were and not who you were.
As the night aged and laughter abounded, her mind wandered to Hogwarts. In the noise, she was reminded of all the times Lavender and Parvati gossiped. Lavender… What Hermione wouldn't give to hear her annoying laugh or her 'Won-Won' cries again. If she could go back in time to her first year, she would tell her past-self to befriend them and never let them go. Then, as the noises died and the nightly winds filled the air, her mind wandered to Ginny, Luna, Harry, Ron. What were they doing now? What had they been doing? What were they going to do? Sometimes she wondered if she had swung too far into the opposite direction.
Hermione woke up to her roommates all clamouring as they surrounded her table. Delphine was by the door, her long hair tousled and having slits for eyes. Everyone sighed a breath of relief as Hermione sat up. Delphine walked over to her.
Hermione asked, 'Qu'est-ce qui s'est passé? (What happened?)'
Delphine said, 'T'as eu un cauchemar. Ça avait l'air sérieux. (You had a nightmare. It sounded serious.)'
Hermione discretely checked her arm. No bleeding. 'J'suis désolée, tout le monde. Retournez-vous coucher, s'il vous plaît. (Sorry, everyone. Please go to sleep again.)'
The six groggily returned to their soft beds as Hermione shut the curtains around hers. She casted Muffliato and went back to sleep herself. She woke up early that morning; 05:00, over an hour before anyone would wake up. She strode into the shower and turned on the hot water, letting the warmth coat over her as she sat on the cool tiles. After a long shower, she walked back to her room and tiptoed to her bed. She checked the schedule as she dried herself off.
Monday: Human Anatomy and Physiology (Room 1102, 08:00-10:00), Magical Healing I (Room 2107, 10.30-12:00), Healing Defence Against the Dark Arts I (Room 2001, 14:00-16:00).
She noted the classes and walked out to the empty Common Room. The other students weren't kidding when they said it was the Wet Keep; it was the only castle that had much of its structure placed underwater. Draco must feel at home, she thought. Gone were the red warmth of Gryffindor Tower, replaced by water-refracted light ricocheting off of the stones and coating the room in soft cold blues. Patterns formed on the walls as bubbles and the movements of the lake refracted and diffused light differently. The morning arrived rather quickly alongside Catherine who continued to speak with her in French as if what she talked the night before was a figment of Hermione's imagination. Hermione attended her classes well. Managed by the rubric, she sighed in relief. Beauxbatons had become her home.
/ / / / /
As days turned to weeks, Draco and Hermione slowly acclimated to Beauxbatons, each finding their own cliques. Despite that, they still sat together in one of the nooks and crannies of the Far Castle dungeons and talked. Oftentimes, Draco would come with bags under his eyes as if he hadn't slept for days. The cold walls of the dungeons did not remind either of them of cold corpses and broken bones, and it was a solace for them. In an ironic twist, Beauxbatons was the polar opposite of Hogwarts; Draco had only four or five friends outside of Hermione while Hermione had dozens outside of Draco. Sometimes, she would catch whispers of Draco in the halls. Worrying whispers.
It was mid October 1998. The ten-day long All Saints Holiday would be starting in a few days, a little reprieve before it was midterm preparation time. Draco and Hermione were cooped up in one of their alcoves on the second floor after their studies. The sun was high in the sky and in an hour, it would be time for lunch. They sat facing each other, knees barely touching as their eyes peered over the gap to the lake below.
Hermione looked at him. He was a little worse for wear; his eye bags were like cliffs from which you could jump. 'Draco… I heard something today. What happened?'
When he realised what she had asked, he slowly leaned forwards. He then placed his hand on hers. Normally, she would flinch at his cool hand. This time, she held on tight. The slippery smoothness of his palms raced her heart. The corners of his lips twitched.
'Nothing happened, Hermione.'
'It didn't sound like nothing. Did you do something?'
'No, it's just—' He turned his head to the window again. 'There was this sixth-year girl. Her mother's one of the Honoured 157 and her father's an English Muggleborn.' Hermione's heart tangled. 'Her father had a younger brother who stayed in Britain. He made a career in the Ministry, met a lovely English witch, and had two children. She was close with her cousins, loved them like brothers. Then… Voldemort happened.' His voice lowered until they were mere murmurs. 'She blamed me since I'm a Death Eater which is… true. Called me names. Though she was restrained after trying to curse me, I could tell by their eyes that many in the hall felt the same, wanted to do the same.'
She gripped his hand tighter. 'That's not right', she whispered. She didn't know whether she whispered it because it seemed right or because a part of her still hated him.
'It's fair, isn't it?' He wrenched his hand out of hers. 'I have the bloody Mark on my arm, the definitive sign of being a Death Eater. It doesn't matter how much atoning I can do because what's done is done. I can't bring back her uncle. I can't bring back her aunt. I can't bring back her cousins.'
She grabbed his blue collar and pulled him as she stood. She pushed him to the wall. Her words came in a whisper. 'But you can live for them. Make amends for their sake. Be kind for them. Live the life they would've wanted from you.'
He lowered his head. 'The way you see the good in everyone… I don't deserve you, you know that?' He chuckled. 'How do you do that, it confuses me.'
She grabbed his hand and whisper-yelled, 'For Christ's sake, Draco. You don't have to go through this alone just as I don't have to do this alone. Let's just go through this together. I know you feel really bad but—'
Her protest was silenced by the taste of citrus on his lips. Once his lips tasted the invitation, his soul opened itself and Hermione obliged. Draco's body pushed Hermione's against the wall so hard she felt the stones move ever so slightly. She threw her arms around his neck and held him tight. Whatever cold air that had enveloped them was gone, replaced by the heat of their bodies. Their hearts beat in unison as their arms explored every part of their opposite's bodies. Hermione felt like a bird gliding through the wind.
Draco released first, his lips not wanting to sever the connection with hers. He murmured, 'I may not be deserving of you but I am willing to go with you. I will… I will try to make amends, for your sake, their sake, and mine.'
Before Hermione could respond, a massive wave of noise reverberated through the stones, stopping their embrace. Their locked eyes reluctantly broke away as they peered to the lakeside beyond them. A crowd of caps and berets were moving like ants as they seemed to move from end to end. As they glued their eyes to the crowd, a flash of long blonde hair caught her eye. Fair skin. Tall body. Elegant pose. Everything snapped into place as a name wafted in her mind: Gabrielle Delacour. She had started her Veela maturation. Before she could do anything about it, the bell rang and both of them went to the Great Hall for lunch.
As they entered, the vast majority of boys and a few of the girls' eyes turned to the girl at the other end of the room. Hermione noticed the lust in their eyes as Gabrielle walked to her table. Even as lunch was occurring, she kept glancing at the third-year Gabrielle; it was easy considering the sight of a maturing Veela made her stand out. Even the men in the seventh and eighth years were near-drooling in her presence despite them being of legal age.
Hermione wondered how dehumanising it was, to be lusted and preyed upon by thousands of men for something you did not control? For something inherent in your blood? Hermione wanted to help her for Fleur's sake, but what could she do? What could she say? Was her presence even needed? After lunch ended, she decided to seek advice. Said advice came the next day when she came up to the Owlery. She unfurled the letter and started reading.
Dear Hermione,
It pleases me to hear that Beauxbatons has been kind to the both of you. I pray you and Draco find success in your studies. I am well, thank you for asking. I also thank you for telling me of Draco's well-being as he does not write often. Please tell him to do so or his life will be forfeit by Christmas.
In any case, I write to you to offer my thoughts on the conundrum you've described. I do not claim to know what young Gabrielle is feeling, but if what I felt reading your letter is a fraction of what she's feeling at the moment, I'm sure your advice will be welcomed. However, from my personal experiences, I've found that what people seek when in distress is not advice, but presence. A steady anchor with which to chain oneself to the Earth, a friend to whom to tell a story, a figure ready to protect. Be there for her; your presence is enough.
If I may advise you, I suggest you contact her sister, Fleur. I know this advice may trouble you, but it is for the best. First, she herself is a quarter-Veela and would know the intricacies and details of the maturation having lived it herself. Second, she is her older sister. She deserves to know that her younger sister has someone she can trust in school. If it were Draco, I would be extremely happy if someone I trust could watch over him. You do not have to follow my advice but I strongly advise you to do so.
With love,
Narcissa Vinda Malfoy.
Hermione folded the letter carefully and sat down as she ruminated its contents. Narcissa was right, telling Fleur would be the priority. Presumably she had been told of it by the faculty but Hermione knew Narcissa meant personally. As she strolled down the steps of the massive owlery, faint cries were coming from somewhere to her left. It was so distinctive, this cry, as if it were Ginny or Luna calling out to her. Her legs moved without conscious thought to the noise. Left, right, up, down, left; she reached a door that was ajar. The sobs were heartwrenching. Peeking inside, a glimpse of golden locks trailed down a blue coat, barely touching the floor. She knew who it was, the subject of her letter and the events of yesterday.
She pushed open the door which alerted the young girl. Her reddened eyes peered at Hermione as she walked closer. Hermione put her hands up and said, 'Calme-toi, j'suis pas ici pour te déranger. Tu me connais, Gabrielle? (Calm down, I'm not here to bother you. Do you recognise me, Gabrielle?)'
'N-Non, j-je vous connais pas… (N-No, I-I don't recognise you…)'
Hermione walked even closer, arms still up, crouching to Gabrielle's sitting body. 'Vraiment? Te souviens-tu du mariage de ta sœur Fleur avec Bill Weasley? (Really? Do you remember your sister's wedding with Bill Weasley?)' At this, Gabrielle's breaths lightened. She began scanning Hermione's face. 'Oui, j'étais là. Te souviens-tu de moi maintenant? (Yes, I was there. Now do you remember me?)'
Gabrielle gasped. 'You're Hermione Granger!' She said in a French accent.
Hermione laughed. 'Ten points to Gabrielle Delacour.' She walked closer until they were centimetres apart. 'May I sit next to you?'
Gabrielle nodded and Hermione sat next to her, shoulders touching. It was at that time Hermione noticed that the room had no roof, allowing the sky to flood the walls with sunlight. Glass was placed over so neither rain nor snow could fall inside. It was a beautiful afternoon that day with clear skies and even clearer minds.
'I saw what happened yesterday. How are you?'
She wiped a tear. 'Not well. Je les ai écoutées, des histoires de Fleur sur ses expériences. Pourtant, c'est difficile de l'éprouver. Beaucoup de mes amis, ils m'ont accusé d'avoir fait du favoritisme à cause de la maturation. (I've heard the stories from Fleur. Still, it's hard living it. Many of my friends have accused me of having favouritism because of the maturation.)'
Hermione threw her arm around Gabrielle and pulled tight as she wept on her chest. 'Tout ira bien, Gabrielle, je te le promets. Puis-je écrire à Fleur que (Everything's going to be okay, I promise you that, Gabrielle. I imagine the school's explained it all to your sister and parents?)'
Gabrielle shook her head; Hermione frowned. 'Mes parents, ils le savent, mais pas Fleur. Je lui ai demandé de pas l'expliquer à Fleur. Elle s'inquiète souvent pour moi et je veux pas la déranger. (My parents know but not Fleur. I asked them not to tell her. She worries about me a lot and I don't want to bother her.)'
'Gabrielle, elle est ta sœur. Elle mérite de le savoir. (Gabrielle, she's your sister. She deserves to know.)'
Gabrielle pulled away and wiped her tears. She then nodded her head. 'Okay, you can tell her.'
'Merci de me laisser lui écrire, Gabrielle. (Thank you for letting me write to her, Gabrielle.'
The two talked for a little bit before both of them had to leave for their studies. Hermione did find Gabrielle's efforts to endure the maturation a bit noble; her reasoning was that since Fleur did it without help she could do it too. After dinner, everyone returned to their dormitories. She wanted to ask Draco about his opinion but his tufts of platinum blonde were gone.
In her dorm room, amongst the sleeping students, she pulled out a piece of paper and a pen. She opened her inkwell, dipped the fountain pen in it, and pressed the top to draw ink. She wiped the nib and put it on paper. After an hour of writing and thinking, she finally had her letter. She folded it, made sure it was secure, and went to bed. The last thing on her mind was that she hoped she did the right thing.
/ / / / /
Two months later, 19th of December 1998
The Winter Christmas holidays had arrived, one of only two holidays that allowed the students to go back home. A merging of Christmas and Winter, this one lasted one month. Gabrielle was sitting in the next compartment with her friends. Hermione could hear her roaring laughs, a far cry from when Hermione found her near the owlery. Hermione had given her a two-way parchment, an evolution of the Protean-Charmed Galleons in her D.A. times. They had written each other things whenever Gabrielle wanted to vent. Hermione was an only child; she didn't know how it was having siblings. Having lived with the Weasleys for most of her magical upbringing, she knew what it was like and hoped she could do to Gabrielle as everyone did to Ginny.
They sat on opposite sides, eyes stuck on the rapidly-moving silver snow on the route back to civilisation. Draco was in his pondering posture; one knee up, arm on knee, chin on closed fist. The cold air of the Pyrenees had long expelled the warmth of the train and her clothes did not abate the feeling. He looked rather warm. Hermione would rather jump to his side, curl like Crookshanks on his lap, and—
'Did you read the paper this morning?' He asked.
She snapped out of her fantasy. 'Yeah, Nice. Three dead and five injured. That's four attacks after the Gala. Still no information about who's doing it then.'
He glanced at her and nodded. 'My friends say that these attacks reminded them of Grindelwald and his Hallows.'
'Yeah, Catherine said the same. I've heard her father is ramping up things in the Bureau of International Cooperation.' Hermione looked down at the envelope she was holding. She tapped it against her hand several times. 'What do you think they'll say?'
Hermione had received a reply a few days before their Winter Christmas break from Fleur's husband Bill Weasley. Both of them were thankful and wanted to give their regards in person. She signed her letter using her initials, H.H.J.d.B, so they didn't know who she was.
Draco shrugged. 'A thank you as promised? Besides, Bill and Fleur were on your side, right? There's nothing to be worried about.'
Hermione glared at him. 'Remember your promise. Make amends.'
'Of course. I meant what I said that day', he said through gritted teeth.
The train then entered the Île-de-France, signified by a horn. Draco and Hermione nodded to each other as he locked the door and closed the flaps before taking off their clothes. After folding their blue uniforms into their suitcases, they were in their regular clothes again. Both of them were wearing hooded jackets because none could be bothered to wear anything else. The train slowly braked as it entered la Gare du Nord. Hermione looked out of the windows to see five more trains entering the station to service the 1,500 or so French pupils that lived around the Parisian region.
Draco and Hermione stepped off of the train with Gabrielle. All three carefully flowed between the gaps in the crowd when a middle-aged couple walked over to them. They were extremely recognisable with their 'leafy' clothes and haughty look in their gaze; Gaston and Apolline Delacour, parents of Fleur and Gabrielle Delacour. Gabrielle sprinted over to them, arms wide as her tall stature embraced both of them. Draco and Hermione smiled as they took in the sight of the happy family. Of course, reality decided to slap them back.
'Toi, Malfoy.' From the corner of her eyes, she saw Bill and Fleur cornering him. Both looked thinner than before, and their eyes had large bags under them. 'What are you doing here? With my sister of all people?'
Bill added, 'Seems like the Prophet's right on the money. It must be exhilarating for you, to be living like a prince while we're suffering at home.' He took one step closer.
Hermione had had enough and rushed in between Draco, and Bill and Fleur. 'Bill, Fleur,' their eyes narrowed and their lips pursed, 'let's just calm down.'
Bill said, 'I'm sorry, who the bloody—'
Fleur gasped, cutting him off. 'Hermione?'
Bill glanced at his wife with an open mouth before his eyes widened and he took a step back. Before either could respond, however, Draco held his palm out to them. 'Maybe we should go someplace else for your sister?'
'Ne faites pas semblant de s'intéresser à elle, espèce (Don't pretend to care for her, you)—'
Bill grabbed her shoulder and whispered, 'Darling, look around you.' Fleur, whose face had reddened, looked around. There were whispers all around as everyone in the station turned to or glanced at Gabrielle. Although she was hiding behind her mother, their attention was still to her. It was as if their gazes were as sharp as knives, piercing through Apolline. Fleur calmed down somewhat and rushed to her family while Bill kept his distance, eyeing both Draco and Hermione. Draco and Hermione followed the family as they pushed against the whispers and leers to Gabrielle.
As they were walking, Draco said, 'At least you didn't get killed.'
Hermione bit her cheeks to suppress the smile in her face. 'Not the time for jokes, Draco.'
At long last, they finally got out of the Gare du Nord. The cold Parisian air greeted them, and Hermione revelled in them as they walked to a nearby restaurant. They occupied two booths; the first for Gabrielle and her family, and the second for Draco, Hermione, and Bill. As they sat down, Bill kept his eyes on Draco and his right arm kept hovering above his pocket. In the far booth, she could see Fleur almost choking her sister from how hard she hugged her.
In this booth however… Silence. The only thing that moved were their eyes. Each glancing between the other two in mixed emotions. Bill was suspicious of Draco, and delighted/confused of Hermione; Hermione was assuring of Draco, and careful of Bill; and Draco just wanted to exorcise himself.
Draco said, 'Shall we—'
'We. Wait. For Fleur.' Bill replied.
Silence again. Compared to the Delacours' booth which was full of life and animated by joy, theirs was so thick with silent tension. The only thing one could hear was the muscles of their eyeballs moving. Even their voices were hushed and whispered as they ordered their beverages. They were still eyeing each other when Fleur reluctantly let go of Gabrielle and walked over to their booth.
Fleur asked, 'Is everything going well?'
He gave a little smile and tucked his hair behind his ear; scars covered much of his left side. He murmured, 'Yeah, everything's going well.' His attention turned to Hermione opposite him, and his soft tone turned to a growl. 'Why is he here?'
Draco's breath quickened. Sweat ran down the side of his face. Hermione grabbed his hand under the table. His knuckles were white as if they were the hands of a corpse. He glanced at Hermione who nodded to him. His breaths deepened and he let out a breath.
'Erm, I don't know how to express this so I'll just say it. I'm sorry. I am really sorry.' Though their faces were stone-cold, the slight widening of their eyes and twitch of their lips told the truth.
Bill and Fleur stayed silent, their eyes fixed on Draco. Bill spoke first, his growls becoming whispered, 'I lost my brother, Malfoy. Do you know what that felt like? How it felt to see an empty chair that will never be filled again? To see your father, mother, and siblings agonise themselves over it? And you think a mere apology could fill that void?'
Draco's throat bobbed. Hermione tightened her hold. He took a deep breath. 'I know apologies are not enough. One word from me won't ever bring back your brother Fred—' Bill and Hermione took a deep breath, '—and I don't expect you to forgive me. However, I want to make amends and an apology is the beginning. I know the wounds me or my family or the Death Eaters have caused you, and I want to try anything and everything I can do to help you heal.'
He let go of Hermione's hand and wiped the tears flowing from his eyes. Hermione could see just how clenched his jaw was, how difficult it was for him to break everything he ever had. He was taught to never apologise, never admit wrongdoing. It was easy to do it to Hermione with whom he had spent a lot of time; not so much two virtual strangers.
Bill crossed his arms. 'Is that all, Malfoy?'
Draco nodded. 'It is. I know my presence is the last thing you wanted and I know I am unwelcome. It's only fair. If it's alright, I would rather go home than cause you any more discomfort.'
Bill nodded. 'I think that's fair.' Draco nodded to Bill, Fleur, and then Hermione. He dropped several Francs on the table for the coffee, stood up and donned his jacket. Just before he left, Bill called out to him. 'Thank you for your apology. We have to take it in. Goodbye.'
Draco nodded. 'Goodbye.'
When the door closed and Draco walked out to the cold air of Paris, Hermione released the breath imprisoned in her lungs. She lowered her head and let her grown-out bangs just cover her eyes slightly. She looked up when Bill called out to her. Fleur was still silent though her eyes twinkled in the light.
'It's good to see you, Hermione, though I admit I'm surprised. I didn't even recognise you with your new look. I take it you're the mysterious H.H.J.d.B then?'
Hermione nodded and tucked her bangs behind her ear. 'Pleased to meet you. It stands for Hermioné Hélène-Jeanne de Bonnegrâce, my legal name. de Bonnegrâce is my mother's family, she was French. I changed it because I wanted some anonymity.'
Fleur chuckled, the first noise she made in over five minutes. 'No wonder you wrote your initials; we would've known if you had written your full name. It is funny, though, that someone of your intelligence kept your unique first name instead of throwing it away.'
Hermione chuckled. 'It is my name after all; I couldn't bear to hear another. Plus, it's a name my mother personally chose so it's a way to honour her.'
Fleur nodded and whispered something in Bill's ear. Bill sipped his coffee and let out a hot breath. He glanced from coffee to Hermione before taking a deep breath. Fleur turned away, content to hear instead of respond.
He asked, '... Can I be blunt?'
Hermione's hands held each other and she sat straight. 'Yes.'
He crossed his arms. 'Draco Malfoy? Really? What do you see in him? Actually, how did this thing start anyway?'
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She opened them again and let her mouth speak for her heart. She told them everything, starting from arriving in France. She told them about her family and her heritage—to which Fleur gasped. She told them about meeting Narcissa, her apology, and everything afterwards. She kept it brief and lacking in detail. Their eyes were fixed on her, listening to everything she said with intent. Afterwards, they stayed silent, trying to take it all in. The hustle and bustle of the restaurant overwhelmed the air.
Bill broke the silence first. 'Harry and Ron did say you acted weird during Malfoy's trial. Now I know. If what you said is the truth, let me ask you this: Do you trust Draco and Narcissa?'
'Yes.' Without hesitation.
Bill nodded. 'Then I'll trust them. I have to say I still find it hard to believe, but if you could make Draco Malfoy apologise, you could do anything.'
She chuckled. 'Thank you.' She turned back to her coffee before saying something she had buried for months. 'I'm sorry about what happened in the Burrow. I know I shouldn't have left like that but I really felt betrayed. How are they, Harry and Ron? Did I make a mistake not contacting them all these months? How about you two and George? I hope you three made up, at least.'
Bill and Fleur shared a look. Bill said, 'Hermione, the two of us have not come to the Burrow for some time. That day you came and the argument broke out, that was the last day we came.' At Hermione's look of horror, he continued. 'We were already fading away by the time you arrived. I'm trying to keep the Curse Breakers at Gringotts together after Voldemort's massacre of the goblins and Fleur's been taking double shifts at St. Mungo's. What happened that day was just the final straw. The last thing we know was that they're going to be looking for you, Harry, Ron and Ginny.'
She scoffed. 'Are they looking for me because they want to apologise or because they want to convince me to have him back?' Draco's cynicism bled through and it showed.
Fleur shook her head. 'We do not know but Harry just wants an explanation. He approached us all after the trial, saying that he regretted staying silent. You may contact him but I'm not too sure about Ginevra and Ronald. Given the choice between his girlfriend and friend over you…'
'Do you think I did a good thing by not contacting them?'
She nodded. 'I do think so, yes. What he and Molly did to you, Hermione, it was manipulative. They should've known better and listened to you more.'
'Thank you, Fleur. You too, Bill.'
The three of them talked for a little bit more but it was getting late and they were all tired so they said their goodbyes. Bill and Fleur went with the Delacours to their home in Fontainebleau while Hermione apparated back to Bordeaux. Rain pelted her way home from the Apparition Point as she was driven through rows of houses and trees before arriving at the Château de la Fierté. The house was empty, the caretaker having long departed the premises. He had turned the heating on so at least the house was warm. She gathered all of her luggage and levitated them to the second floor. As she was passing through, she noticed an envelope in the owlery. She read the cover.
Monsieur le Châtelain de Mérignac, Jacques-Louis Eugène Pelissier, has invited you, Mademoiselle la Baronne de Baigneaux, Hermioné Hélène-Jeanne de Bonnegrâce, to his Christmas Eve celebrations on the 24th of December 1998 in the Grand Château du Mercure. We await your presence! (RSVP inside)
Hermione said out loud, 'Putain.'
She cracked the blue seal and read the full invitation inside. Christmas Eve celebrations would start in five days! She needed help. She refolded the letter and marched her way to the fireplace. Fortunately, Wreath House's connection was still open so she went through. The wards allowed her entry and in the blink of an eye she was in the marble floors of Wreath House.
She walked to the main hall while rubbing her forehead. She was so over her head she didn't hear the noises coming from beyond the double doors. She pushed said doors and the noises tripled in volume.
'Draco! We need to—'
Instead of two sets of eyes looking back at her, there were six. Three men and three women. One of them was Draco, whose pair of silver eyes were screaming at her to get out. It was then she looked at the owner of the other five. Flashes of dungeons and Hogwarts popped into her head, and it was then she realised who they were: Theodore Nott, Blaise Zabini, Daphne Greengrass, Emma Vane, and Tracey Davis. Draco's Slytherin friends. Hermione's hand slowly fell from her head. They were in a stand-off. The Italian stood up.
'What the fuck?'