CHAPTER TWO - On s'y montre, on s'y cache / One Shows Oneself, One Hides There

If Hermione had expected Ron to be cross with her for having fallen out with his mother, she'd badly miscalculated. Not only was Ron full of admiration for her, because she'd stood up to the almighty mother-monster, he also fervently denied Molly's allegations concerning wedding bells.

'Of course I want to us to be together,' he said earnestly, although the look of serious concentration on his face might have owed to his teeth currently being stuck in a Lockjaw Liquorice (LOCKJAW LIQUORICE – IMPERIUS COULDN'T MAKE YOU SHUT IT!). 'But marriage seems like such an important step, and we're still so young. I think we ought to finish school first, and then enjoy life for a bit before taking such a momentous decision.'

These words of wisdom, although Hermione wholeheartedly agreed, didn't sound very much like Ron. She suspected that Bill might've had a word with his baby brother. Whoever had put these ideas into Ron's head, they were certainly the right thoughts, only at the wrong time. Hermione didn't want Ron to be reasonable and mature, because she wanted to have a row with him – since her return the day before from The Burrow she'd done some serious soul-searching and come to the conclusion that a) Ron and she being a couple was a big mistake, and consequently b) she wanted to go to Paris on her own. Suggesting that Ron accompany her had been a bad move, and if he'd only sided with his mum… But that obviously wasn't going to happen. Ron was sitting in her living room, bright and bushy-tailed and eager to join her.

'You don't have any luggage,' she pointed out in a last attempt to salvage her solo trip.

''course I do. I packed my bag ages ago!' He triumphantly fished a miniature travelling bag from his pocket. 'What are we waiting for? Activate the Portkey, why don't you?'

'But…' Hermione bit her lip. 'If your mum finds out – I really don't want you to get into serious trouble with her.'

For a moment she thought she'd won.

'Never mind,' Ron said, face brightening. 'She'll get over it.'

'But she'll be beside herself with worry!'

'I'll send an owl once we arrive.'

Visions of Molly Weasley bursting into their hotel room, wand drawn, arose in Hermione's mind. Then again, if played carefully, this might make an excellent pretext for not having sex. She briefly wondered how she could ever have thought seriously of having sex with Ron, but decided not to give the matter too much consideration. Maybe the trip to Paris was a blessing in disguise (a disguise so well chosen that the blessing was practically unrecognizable though), because there would be enough time for her to explain to him why a relationship wasn't a good idea. There were going to be just the two of them, so he would have to listen to her for once… Yes, maybe this was the solution to her problems.

--..--..--

'I would have expected the Ritz,' Lucius muttered. He turned once around himself and gave the bedroom a thorough look-over. Nose wrinkling, he stalked towards the bed and pinched the corner of a pillow between thumb and forefinger. 'The only thing lower than the thread count of this linen is Jeremy Baxter's IQ!'

'The Ritz,' Severus said, choosing to overlook Lucius's plaintive attitude, 'would've been far too conspicuous. Should rumours get out about our trip to France, where do you think people would search for you?'

'At Versailles, I hope.'

'Lucius, Versailles is a museum now. People don't live there anymore.'

Lucius's eyes went wide. 'You don't say! When did that happen?'

'Does the French Revolution ring a bell?'

'Since "revolution" usually means unwashed oiks hanging around on priceless period furniture, wondering whether to guzzle champagne out of the bottle or use cognac snifters, I daresay the subject isn't overly interesting.' He opened the window and looked out at the Arc de Triomphe. 'It's awfully hot. I shall have to alter the fabric of some of my Muggle attire.'

Already busy unpacking, Severus looked over his shoulder at his friend. 'Are you saying you specifically bought Muggle clothes?'

'Mmmh. I thought it was a good idea – clothes are so difficult to get right by transfiguring. It's the details, you know. We might not notice, but other people do, and that might lead to trouble. Oh, I almost forgot, I have something for you.' He performed a spell that opened his suitcase and made all his belongings sort themselves into the right cupboards and drawers, neatly pressed and folded.

'Show-off!' Severus muttered. A heavy object came flying towards him, and he deftly caught it. 'What's that?'

'Men's Vogue, the latest issue. So you have something to work with, when you transfigure your robes.'

Frowning, Severus leafed through the magazine. 'Those guys are all half my age! I couldn't wear that!'

'Don't be so difficult, Severus!' Lucius sat down on the bed next to him. 'Look at them! They're all tall, dark, moody and as thin as chopsticks, just like you. Maybe a little younger than you, but I daresay the skirt isn't de rigeur. And don't look at the preview for next summer, that's avant-garde, for heaven's sake! You ought to go by the adverts, especially Armani!'

'This is most disquieting, Lucius. How come you're suddenly so knowledgeable? Not as far as the French Revolution is concerned, but still…'

'It always pays to keep an open mind, old friend.' Lucius patted the other wizard's shoulder with a particularly supercilious smirk. 'And now, while you're busy creating your wardrobe, I think I'll try to locate the lovely Miss Granger. We've got wards to put in place.'

--..--..--

The lovely Miss Granger had arrived in Paris, boyfriend in tow, about an hour earlier than the two Slytherins. She'd chosen a small hotel only four underground stops away from the Hôtel de Ville – boutique hotel, the lady at the travel agent's had called it. A discreetly applied Confundus Charm disposed of the receptionist's wish to see their passports, and soon enough they'd taken possession of their room.

Ron eyed the separate beds with an expression very akin to disgust. 'They probably made a mistake with your reservation.'

'No, they didn't,' Hermione replied, avoiding his eyes. 'I just thought that, if your mother comes after us, maybe it would be better not to be found sleeping in the same bed.'

'Since we're in Paris, she'd expect us to have sex. Stands to reason, doesn't it?'

'That's the silliest thing I've ever heard. Do you think John Paul II has sex when he comes to Paris?'

'If he came with his girlfriend, he sure would. Who's John Paul, by the way?'

If this was how things were going to continue… Hermione counted to ten, clenched and unclenched her fists, then counted to hundred. It didn't have much of an effect. Fortunately, though, there was one topic always sure to draw Ron's mind away from whatever he was thinking about. 'It's seven already,' she said, 'and all the museums will probably be closing soon. Why don't I take you out to dinner? Fleur told me about this lovely restaurant – we'll have to Apparate though, and it's Muggle, so you better get changed.'

'But Muggles do wear jeans,' Ron whined, hugging his knees as if Hermione were trying to rip his trousers off him. Little did he know that she had no such plans.

'They do, but we aren't going for a quick lunch. This is dinner, Ron, and we're in Paris. You'll have to make a bit of an effort.'

Had she told him to clean his ears, he couldn't have been more offended. 'What's wrong with my clothes?'

'There's nothing intrinsically wrong with them. You'll have to trust me on this. I know how Muggles dress for dinner at a nice restaurant. You can wear jeans, no problem. I'll just have to make them look a bit cleaner and, erm, newer. The Weasley jumper will have to go, though. It's far too hot here, for one.' A few deft movements of her wand later, Ron was clad in jeans, a white polo shirt and a black jacket. 'There. That looks nice, doesn't it?'

'That's probably how Finch-Fletchley dresses for dinner with the old mater. Looks bloody posh, if you ask me.'

It cost her an almost superhuman effort to suppress the impulse to answer, 'Well, I don't.' Another flick of Hermione's wand changed a pair of dirty trainers into shiny black loafers and black silk socks. 'Now it does look a bit posh,' she said with a grin. 'But really very nice. You'll have to excuse me for five minutes, I have some dressing-up to do as well.' Already heading towards the bath, she tossed him the TV remote. 'Have fun.'

--..--..--

While the waiter was opening a bottle of Château d'Yquem, Lucius subjected the young couple on the other side of the restaurant to thorough observation and shook his head. 'I must say, it's completely beyond me how the Weasley boy could've had the taste to choose Chez Bernard. Or the hotel, come to think of it. It's very nice, if a bit on the small side.'

'We'd never have finished the protection spells in time for dinner, if it was a large hotel. But I suppose she chose both,' Severus said, nose twitching at the mingling aromas of well-matured Reblochon cheese and fifty-year-old wine.

'That's a possibility, if not a very traditional one.'

'She's Muggleborn, Lucius. They don't go for old-fashioned.'

The waiter left them to their wine and cheese platter, and for a while the two wizards ate in reverent silence. 'I guess,' Lucius observed, 'we'll have to look after the girl even if they don't go to gourmet restaurants every day. That's definitely a drawback.'

'I agree.' Severus inhaled deeply and took a sip of the liquid golden fruit in his glass. 'This is marvellous.' He drank again, then rededicated his attention to the selection of cheeses. 'On the other hand, Miss Granger is so very interested in culture – at least we'll be going sightseeing, even though we'll probably have to survive on junk food.'

'French junk food, though.'

'There's that, yes. I wonder…' Severus paused and toyed with the seam of his napkin.

'Whether we'll be able to seduce her away from carrot head? Of course we will.'

Grinning very much against his will – the last thing Lucius needed when in such a mood was encouragement – Severus said reprovingly, 'No, that was not what I was thinking.'

'Why not? After all, she's a very pretty girl, and clever too. One could actually talk to her after the sex. Hell, I guess she even talks during sex. Besides, being in our bed would guarantee her safety.'

'A very creative interpretation of the term bodyguard, but certainly not what Kingsley had in mind.'

'Probably not. And maybe' – Lucius shot his friend a speculative look – 'she wouldn't be much fun anyway.'

'Don't try to bait me, Lucius. Of course she'd be fun. She's a young girl, and young girls are, at least in my experience, lots of fun in bed. Given our altered looks, we might even stand a chance – surprise tactics are often quite successful.' He eyed Lucius's short hair. 'But I was alluding to something else: the Weasley boy will most certainly balk at the second museum, if not at the first. He's as likely as the girl to draw the attention of our former brethren, so what do we do if they go separate ways?'

'We can split up, if you like,' Lucius said magnanimously, 'so long as I get to watch the young lady.'

'A fine friend you are. No, I have no intention of following Weasley on his utterly predictable route. It'll be porn shops alternating with cheap food, and I don't really see myself lingering next to porn shops or stuffing my face with hamburgers. I'd say we take turns following them, if they separate.'

'Fine.' Lucius cast him a morose look. 'If you insist. But only if you promise that you'll explain the expenses bill to Kingsley. Because' – he grinned fiendishly – 'I will most certainly not linger outside those porn shops.'

--..--..--

On their second morning in Paris Hermione was absolutely and beyond any doubt sure that a) going to Paris with Ron had been her worst mistake since she'd developed that crush on Lockhart, and that b) she was going to kill him if he continued to behave like he had the previous thirty-six hours.

Their dinner on the first evening hadn't been what one would call a raving success, but the food had been divine, and they'd muddled through a few hours' conversation. Ron had had a lot to drink, and so there hadn't been any need for them to discuss sleeping arrangements upon returning to the hotel, because he'd fallen asleep right after entering their room.

The first day had been dedicated to visiting the Louvre – when Ron found out that it contained lots of pictures and statues of naked women, he'd followed her rather docilely. They'd been on their feet for many hours, interrupted only by a brief lunch and not much longer dinner, which meant that pleading a headache and tiredness at bedtime hadn't been much of a problem.

Painted naked ladies who didn't move or talk had, however, obviously lost their appeal, as had France in general and French food in particular.

'I want bacon,' Ron said sullenly, as the waiter put a basket of croissants on their table.

'You'll be able to survive a few days without bacon,' was Hermione's brittle reply.

'I don't want to survive, I want to enjoy my breakfast.'

'Then enjoy the croissants, they're very good.'

'They're just baked air. I want something solid.'

'Well, you can't have bacon, because this is France and they don't cater to English eating habits.'

'And I bet,' Ron grumbled, tearing a croissant in half with the expression of a pathologist examining a particularly unsavoury corpse, 'that it's going to be another museum today. How many bloody museums do they have in Paris? Just so I can prepare myself.'

'I don't want to see them all. Just the Musée d'Orsay, which we can do today, as it's cold and rainy, and the Musée Picasso. That's quite small, it won't take us more than two hours. Well, and maybe the Musée de Cluny.'

Ron, whose mind had wandered off on a tangential road as soon as Hermione started using French words, suddenly said, 'I wonder if they've got Quidditch shops here.'

The mere mention of the word Quidditch did amazing things to Hermione's blood pressure. She pretended to be chewing while she counted to hundred. 'I should think they don't – Quidditch isn't exactly popular over here. It's an English sport, like cricket. But,' she added, amazed at her own deviousness, 'why don't you have a look round while I'm at the Musée d'Orsay? I don't mind going on my own.'

'Too dangerous,' Ron said thickly through half a croissant he'd stuffed into his mouth. 'Don't you remember dad saying that many of You-Know-Who's sympathizers had left the country and gone to France?'

'You don't need to call him You-Know-Who anymore,' Hermione said in a tone of exaggerated patience. 'It's okay to call him Voldemort now, you know? Besides, somehow I don't think Death Eaters would fancy looking at Impressionist paintings.'

'They're not the only ones.' Ron flushed his bite down with a gulp of café au lait. 'Anyway, you're not going on your own. You'll be so busy looking at piccies, Malfoy could sneak up behind you and you wouldn't notice. No, no, I'm coming with you. Mum would have my head if anything happened to you.'

Such consideration for her wellbeing somehow failed to move Hermione's heart. 'Ron,' she hissed, putting down her cup and glaring, 'I'm more than able to take care of myself. Go look for Quidditch shops, it's not a problem.'

But the idea of staunch, if misguided, chivalry somehow seemed to have taken root in Ron's mind. It wasn't what one would call fecund soil, but certain lichens are known to grow on solid rock.

--..--..--

'Five galleons says he'll storm out before noon.' Lucius, who was obviously enjoying his Muggle outfit du jour of jeans, white shirt and a hideously expensive, dark grey cashmere jumper, held out his hand.

'Don't keep trying to flick your hair, Lucius. It's short now, and you look as if you've got a nervous tic. Five galleons says he'll stay with her till after lunch. Is this shirt supposed to be so tight?'

Lucius gave him an expert look-over. 'The word is close-fitting, not tight, Severus. You're just not used to it. It looks good. Your chromatic imagination leaves something to be desired though.'

Shrugging, Severus ran a hand down his leather-clad arm. 'I like black.'

'I know you like black, but it makes you rather recognizable.'

'For heaven's sake, Lucius, nobody would even dare to think it's me – short hair and jeans are more than enough disguise. Oh look, they're arguing again!'

'That's number seven, I think.' Lucius passed a hand through his new haircut. 'You know,' he said, 'wearing it short might even prove to be an advantage – you have no idea how difficult it is to maintain an erection when your hair gets caught between your partner and the sheets. Very painful.'

'That's mostly your fault, for always wanting to be on top.'

'It's a Malfoy thing. We just can't stand not being on top. Do you think we might move a bit closer? I'd love to eavesdrop – there's nothing like a good fight between an intelligent woman and a red-haired pillock.'

Severus cast a mild Confundus Charm, just strong enough to make them seem so much less interesting than the exhibits. 'All right, let's go.'

The two men had been standing maybe twenty yards away from the young couple who'd started – or rather Hermione had started – their tour at the topmost level. Slowly, Severus and Lucius inched from the corridor into room 30. Hermione, red-faced and visibly trying to control a homicidal impulse, had wandered a bit nearer towards the door. Severus was beginning to wonder if maybe they'd got their bet all wrong; maybe she'd be the one to leave. But no, she turned and waved to Ron to join her.

'Look,' Hermione said, 'isn't this beautiful? It's The Ball, by Dégas.' She was clearly making an effort to keep the peace, Severus thought, but her strained tone of voice gave her away. Though not to the Weasley boy, obviously.

'As far as I can see,' Ron muttered, 'these are all by Dagos. No, wait, this one's by Whistler, and that too!' He pointed at a painting on the opposite wall. 'Why on earth would anybody want to paint people polishing parquet floors? And what kind of name is Caillebotte?' The way he pronounced it, the artist's illustrious name rhymed with halibut. 'This is weird. And why aren't there any naked women?'

'You want naked women?' They didn't have to make an effort anymore; Hermione's voice was now clearly audible. 'All right, I'll show you naked women!'

Highly amused, Severus and Lucius strolled down to the ground floor after them, exchanging comments on the way about how Hermione was ruthlessly dragging her hapless boyfriend through the crowds.

'Very well,' she said, slightly out of breath, when they'd arrived in room 19. 'Here you go.'

Severus felt a brief pang of sympathy for Ron, when Lucius suddenly jerked him behind a fat German couple by his arm. 'What's the matter?' he hissed.

Any trace of light-hearted bonhomie gone from his face, Lucius indicated the corridor by a small movement of his head. 'Out there,' he whispered.

The Germanic heavyweights lurched further into the room, and the two wizards were careful to stay covered behind them. 'Is that Baxter?' Severus murmured.

'I think it is.' Lucius bent slightly to look past their human shields. 'Yes, definitely Baxter. You can't see it from where you're standing, but he's wearing a pink leotard under his coat. Not the most fortunate of disguises I'd say.'

'Do you think he spotted them?'

'The way he's glaring in their direction, I'd rather say he did.'

Severus shook his head. 'But… Baxter? The man can't find his own arse unless he has a map and three people to help him. What's he doing here anyway?'

'That,' Lucius replied tersely, 'is of comparatively little interest right now. You stay here to watch the kids, while I – oh, fuck!'

This last remark had been caused by Ron who, obviously highly unsatisfied by the single naked lady in Manet's "Déjeuner sur l'herbe", had just won Lucius five galleons. He was already halfway through the room and about to run straight into Jeremy Baxter. In spite of his proverbial dimness, the Death Eater only had to reach out and grab the boy, and once he'd Disapparated them both, finding them again wasn't going to be easy.

Fortunately for the two Slytherins, Baxter was even more dim-witted than they'd given him credit for. Instead of simply sticking out his right foot and thus tripping Ron, he let the boy walk past him and set out to follow him.

'I don't believe it,' Severus said, but Lucius was already gone. There was nothing he could do now, except stay close to the Granger girl and carefully survey the surroundings. Lucius was well able to defend himself, even if Baxter's presence – and hadn't it been just a little too conspicuous, Severus wondered – had merely been a ploy to separate them and lure Lucius into an ambush.

--..--..--

Hermione wasn't quite sure whether to laugh or cry.

She didn't like scenes, and she'd just made a very public scene – the subdued snickering from the surrounding crowd told her clearly that many of the visitors understood English. Having done things in a less than perfect way always made her feel a bit insecure and dissatisfied with herself.

On the plus side, Ron had stormed out, so she was now free to enjoy a few hours on her own. She would've liked to laugh out aloud with relief, if only… She sighed and decided that shedding a few tears wouldn't do any harm. Because there was a small but highly unpleasant voice that kept muttering things to her mind. Things like, Ron just left, and that's all right, because you just needed a handy pretext for breaking up with him. But Ron isn't so unlike all those other boys, so what if every relationship goes exactly the same way? One day at the museum, and whoosh, off they run as if pursued by Fiendfyre.

Hermione shuddered. Was it really going to be like that? Did boys really stay away from girls who… Her eyes strayed to the painting. Look at that stupid, stupid female, she thought. There she is, sitting naked on the grass with two fully clothed men, who don't even pretend to have any interest in her. She's nothing more than decoration. Is that really what boys want?

When a strong hand gripped her upper arm, she was so shocked that she couldn't even scream.

'Stay quiet, Miss Granger,' a voice whispered into her ear, 'and don't move.'

She knew that voice, only how did it come to be here in Paris? The last time she'd seen him was ten days ago at the Ministry; they'd had a rather civilized conversation in the corridor. 'Professor Snape?' she murmured.

'The very one. You seem to have attracted unwanted attention, Miss Granger. I don't think they've spotted you yet, and I'd rather things remained that way. So don't try to Disapparate or run. We wouldn't want to endanger all these Muggles, now would we?'

Feeling her breath catch in her throat, Hermione merely asked, 'Who?'

'McNair, whom you know, and Beasley, whom you don't know. He's as unpleasant as McNair. There was at least one more, but Lucius has gone after him and Mr. Weasley.'

Hermione's eyes went wide. 'Lucius?' she hissed frantically, 'You mean Lucius Malfoy?'

'Yes, and now shut up. They haven't spotted you yet, and I'm going to hide us, but you must neither talk nor move. Can you do that?'

She merely nodded, too frightened now to speak. What if something happened to Ron? Was Malfoy really to be trusted? And if Ron was hurt or, god forbid, killed, wasn't the blame partly hers?

Then, the chain of unpleasant thoughts was suddenly torn by a rush of colour and air, and Hermione was too busy being bewildered by the sensation of not-quite-shrinking and not-quite-Apparating to dwell on her now-probably-ex-boyfriend's fate.