Hermione tried to make her 'bump in' to Rita 'care-free'. Her heart thumped as she merged into a crowd of shoppers, then did a double take to the obvious form of Rita Skeeter. The thudding was louder than the street around her as blood coursed through her brain and her hands itched towards her wand. As panic set in it grew hard to believe she had gone three days now without the safety magic promised. Rita was a glow in a cherry red robe cut to rather elaborate fifties proportions, the buttons gold,and her gloves, far from necessary in the heat of the street crackling with the tension of the summer storm above. Rita looked up, scanning the crowd as Hermione crossed through the melee and cried out as though in polite recognition of another traveller far from home.
"Rita, how are you?"
"Oh Hermione, what brings you to Paris?"
Hermione tried to muster enough blood to her face in order to blush and perhaps looking the part of the destranged witch had doomed her face to blanch white, the skin beneath her skins few brown freckles pale as death. She took breath and even as she let the words out of her mouth, her eyes drew in the smirk of skeeter.
"Oh just a bit of shopping. I don't have much in the way of magical robes. Being a muggle-born. I thought I'd see what Magical france had to offer. It is the most romantic city in the world, you know."
Hermione eyes drew in Skeeter's smirk but Hermione remained resilient and ignored the thumping of her heart. It was time to lay her first move of the night. The chess analogy served to infuriate her even more as she thought of the thin line she must now being to tread.
Secrecy and lies, my brother learnt at an early age, and he learnt them well.
She remembered Aberforth words of contempt for Dumbledore.
Hermione could do secrecy and lies.
"Actually Rita, I need to just dash into that post office there, I'm meeting a friend at the Enchantress salon. Perhaps you want to come? What's all the latest news? How's the Prophet?"
Hermione turned as though blithely away into the throng of shoppers now lining the wide cobblestone avenue, but any who peered at the witch with the severe hair and, ahh, interesting, robes noticed the savage smirk the played about her face.
Hermione drew Rita to the door, and then joined the busy afternoon rush and immediately the witches and wizards now pressing in about her prevented Rita from joining in her wait. It was hard, as she waved the witch off to wait by the door, not to outrightly grin.
Hermione moved with the que and if she eyed the wizard two spots ahead with a look of alarm, it was only as he cradled a box that smelled suspiciously like rotten burboters.
It seemed natural, that just when she needed as much time as possible, her heart continued to hammer out each beat of it until in a blur she was hopelessly at the front of the que, loudly and slowly speaking english. She tried to ignore the looks she was getting and, with Rita present, made sure to put on a show.
The owl that the clerk assured her would be able to locate a travelling wizard en-route through the magical districts of Paris, was a dark grey and unusually slender thing, located in the largest of the three brass averies that filled out the back of the office. She spotted immediately the wings dappled with the long pure black feathers the patient french wizard had described in a heavy accent. It's eyes were an uncannily keen amber and if Hermione's breath hitched as she came within the bird's wingspan, it was only the thought that somehow, the bird knew she was pretending. Play acting at being a witch, just as she had all those years ago. The owls had always terrified her mother and now Hermione cringed and her hair sparked as she eyed off the winged messenger.
It unfurled it's wing, bearing its breast and claw to her, and as she moved closer to tie her message to Dennis, the parchment the size of a business card, folded and rolled, defied her stiff fingers and caused the owl to hoot in shrill impatience.
"Sorry."
Hermione paused and felt Rita's presence just over her shoulder. Was it odd, to be polite to owls? She could never tell at Hogwarts during the busy rush of post and she had picked up the habit more or less unconsciously. Now, she was more conscious than ever as she followed the sale clerks advice and described Dennis to the dark slim owl, stating clearly, if in a low voice, exactly where he would go, once he arrived in the magical avenue. Rita's presence over her shoulder was palpable.
Feeling every bit as mad as she was going for, she whispered a sincere thank you to the owl and it blinked once at her, before flying through the glass roof's open windows, it's wings ribbons of black stark against the deep blue of the obviously magica sky. Gone, apparently, was the storm she had left behind, left curling around the muggle city. If for a moment she stopped and stared at the open sky through the bars of window panes, it was to appreciate with a bitter irony the illusion of promise that magic offered, and she soon felt the pricking of terror thrum through her throat once more.
She swept past Rita with only a nod, and felt the witch follow her through the crowded post office and into the magical boulevarde. Hermione almost cringed, as she walked ahead and knew that Rita must be scanning the street to identify the mystery wizard with eager anticipation. She almost looked back to confirm it, but she had no more time to waste, and instead she traced a path through the crowds towards what could only be The Enchantress Salon.
DdddddddddD
On the banks of the large monumental fountain, beneath the Eiffel Tower, a hoard of muggle tourists, cloaked in the shade of the marble towers, lined the many grand staircases and balustrades. some with their arms held aloft, eyes glued to cameras, and others with posed smiles plastered across their faces,all managed to miss the sudden appearance of a youth clinging to a camera around his neck, and a stick clutched in his fist.
They took their photos and posed their poses and if some glimpsed something strange about that youth over there, it was only to secure their bags and wallets, and avoid any eye-contact remembering the hallowed advice about those damn parisian gypsies.
Dennis got to the bottom of the stairs, still looking over his shoulder for Aurors, before he finally ducked behind the nearby metro stand, against the traffic, and cast a finite incantartum with a sense of relief.
His stride was casual, and still out of the corners of his eyes he expected to see Aurors arriving, but the coast was clear. Standing amidst a large tour group, Dennis put his eye to the camera's lense, and looked back to approximately where he'd arrived.
There by that couple.
Dennis broke into a grin, before moving smoothly through the crowd, just another muggle with a camera, eyes still darting to the couple up the stairs, or rather the space around them.
Dennis past them, then on the mouth of the stairs, began to line up the shot. Crouching down, Dennis waited, his mind trickling through to match his slowing breath as he thought of his last shot. Emmanuel, Harry Potter, a French auror and Luna Lovegood, still in frame.
Dennis waited and tried not to grin too moronically.
Coolest thing Collin. I got to see the Eiffel Tower.
Dennis waited, and tried not to take his eyes off the spot, even as he pulled his phone from his pocket. The plastic square erupted into a cacophony of light and electronic greeting and soon Dennis' eyes darted between Hermione's messages of text and instructions, and the directions not to return to the street that no doubt MLE officers or Aurors would now be swarming. Hermione was alone and the pull of her texts reached him even as he watched the couple now embracing beneath the Eiffel Tower. Dennis felt a pang and remembered Hermione''s soft lips and curves and the cries he had wrung from her, even as he stood alone, waiting for Magical law enforcement officers to arrive, tracking him down.
Dennis squared the shot, and while the space around the couple was empty as he clicked down, the flash captured the snap of three figures apparating beneath the Eiffel Tower, wand's raised and eyes scanning their surroundings.
Dennis calmly draped his camera around his neck once more, before bringing his phone to his ear, and walking from the stairs to the busy street, before descending into the metro.
As the tiled corridors swallowed him up, the dial tone in his ear rang out.
He had to get to Grooms Brides and if that meant working of off outdated instructions, then that's still what he would do.
SssssssssssS
Severus was pacing the floor with a scowl on his face when Narcissa entered the library. It was with a jerky movement that he stopped and turned to face her, and her shock was still clear before she bared her arms in a non threatening manner.
"Sit, Severus. I didn't mean to disturb you, is all well?"
Narcissa's entreaties and calming demeanor was well practiced he supposed, learned from the bedside of a death eater. In a wave Severus felt at once foolish and embittered. He was too old for this.
"Apologies. You're not disturbing me."
"I wondered if you wanted to come into town with me? I'm visiting the Enchantress Salon"
"You wondered? Surely not. Why I could possibly want accompany you to a beauty parlour is beyond me."
"Severus, polite as ever, despite your recent travel outings. I thought perhaps you would enjoy a social trip into town."
Severus merely raised a cynical brow, and Narcissa broke into an amused silence.
"Why?"
Narcissa's smile confirmed his initial thought. This could not be good.
"Well, Your dining companion, Hermione Granger may pop by. I took the liberty of inviting her."
Severus felt his occlumency shields shut down even as his mind raced.
"I was not aware you and Miss Granger were on such a convivial acquaintance. When did she contact you?"
Narcissa's amused look faded for a moment, and she eyed Severus, apparently choosing her words with caution.
"Now don't be angry, Severus. My meddling should be expected and to apparate from within the manor clearly shows you've lost some of your touch. Mellowed even. I had Scrap here tail you."
With a rather dramatic click of her fingers a slight elf, an aged fur blanket wrapped around his torso and dwarfing the already tiny figure further.
The nerve of the woman.
Severus stared at the elf, and the wary but proud face seemed to await his reaction.
"And what did you report to your Mistress, scrap."
"Sir went into an orange muggle shop before he came down to breakfast.
"He took two books in an envelope."
The elf recounted without an ounce of contrition in his voice and Severus had to admit himself amused. He
"What else have you done for your Mistress today, Scrap?"
The elf only eyed him steadily before looking to Narcissa.
The nerve of the woman. To be looking at him, with bloody bemusement.
"Scrap was good enough to deliver a missive of my own to Miss Granger."
Severus eyed the house elf as he nodded and bowed, before apparating away without a sound. Narcissa's bemusement with him was infuriating enough without the loud sigh she emmited before rising from the library's dusty sete'.
"Go on then, rage away. But let it be known I did invite you to accompany me." She turned and had made it as far as the door before Severus did something that scared her tremendously. He smiled at her.
"What makes you think Miss Granger will be accepting your invitation?"
Narcissa looked at him and radiated a sense of injured disbelief. The affronted lady of the manor once more.
"Severus, as I said, my meddling should be expected. Hermione Granger will only agree to meet with me, if she trusts in you. She no doubt received the missives together."
Narcissa let the fly away comment linger with a cringe as Severus pushed himself from the worn leather chair and resumed his pacing of the room.
"Tell me Narcissa, when was it that I gave you the right to meddle in my affairs?I don't seem to remember."
Narcissa looked up at him and for a moment the injured expression seemed strong and furious, before the emptiness of the cramped library broke in around her, and she just looked old and tired.
"You've always seemed younger than me Severus, for all your worldly experience."
Severus raised an eyebrow and tried to restrain his fury behind a distanced rationality.
"What do you want with Hermione Granger?"
Narcissa looked at the man, pale and rake thin, his hair oily and lank despite its new styling. She looked at the man she had watch implode. The man denied his noble death and left to rot, alone and forgotten. As far as she was concerned, she had earned the right to meddle when Severus had saved Draco's life. She had earned the right to meddle when she refused to let the obstinate man starve himself to death. When she had launched his mail order business and watched him instead drink away his peace in self hatred.
"I told you Severus, it's a social visit."
HhhhhhhhhH
Hermione approached the elaborate Salon and felt Rita eye her with a wary curiosity.
"Just to clarify, were on the record now Rita"
"Entirely?"
Hermione could only nod as Rita led the way into the glittering interior of the ridiculously gaudy excuse for a hairdressers. As Hermione finally walked into the enchantress salon, her confident stride masked the placement of her hands within her pockets, one brushing the reassuring spark of her wand, and the other the cool touch of the deluminator. She could only hope Dennis was on his way.
0000000000000
