A/N: Aya made me want to write this ship, so here you have it. And the title if from "Delovely" by Cole Porter. Enjoy!
Title: if you want to go walking, dear
Summary: Draco bumps into the most unlikely of people in the streets of Paris and takes her to Montmartre.
Characters: Draco M. (and a mystery character!)
Genre: Romance
WC: 2,467
Betas: Aya Diefair, VanillaAshes
If Draco had to describe Paris in one word, it would probably be 'overrated'. All of the major tourist attractions were nice, at best. Nice views, nice paintings, nice people. Well, not necessarily. The French weren't the nicest people in the world. But then again, neither was he, so he fit in well, he supposed.
But Paris wasn't necessarily 'romantic', or any of that 'City of Love' nonsense. It was like any other crowded capital city, truth be told, with its dirty grey pavements and dirty grey skies.
Okay, maybe he was being a tad negative, though he'd been trying to work on that: seeing things in a better way, though it was hard to do. And it wasn't always grey skies. As a matter of fact, it was rather lovely out, today. Far, far too warm and sunny for your usual March day, actually, and there were quite a number of French people and tourists milling around, enjoying the unusual weather.
He too was outside, wasting time, blending into the background after a life of always trying to be in the spotlight. After all, it wasn't that unusual for him to simply be walking around on a Friday afternoon; classes finished early for him, and he had plenty of free time.
He was wandering aimlessly through the smaller streets of Paris, avoiding the noisy, crowded boulevards that were just one street away. Glancing at the dirty pavement, he noticed that yet another dog-owner had forgotten to clean up their dog's… gift. He grimaced, disgusted by the uncleanliness of others.
Distracted by the pavement, he was barely paying attention to the street in front of him. He didn't notice anything until suddenly, someone appeared from behind the street corner and barrelled right into him.
Gasping in surprise, he fell backwards and landed on the ground. The other person gave a small shout, too. He quickly got up, hoping he hadn't landed on any dog feces.
"Oh, Merlin's underpants! I'm so sorry!" the person who was still on the pavement exclaimed. "Oh, wait! No! Shoot, how do you say it? Je suis excusée? Or was it, Désolez-moi?"
Draco gave the woman a hand to help her up, still extremely frustrated, but now somewhat amused by her desperate attempt at French. Just by the swear and the accent, he immediately knew she could only be a British witch.
"For your information, it's either je suis désolé, or excusez-moi," he told her, his tone surprisingly soft. For some reason, it was difficult to be angry at this woman's bursting energy.
She smiled at him brightly, something which truly lit up her face. "Oh, thank you! My French is truly atrocious."
"Don't worry about it."
The woman in front of him looked his age, or a year or two less. She had dark hair tied into what seemed to be the world's messiest up-do, small features, and startling blue eyes. Something about those eyes seemed to ring a bell in the back on his mind, as if he'd already met her.
"Don't I know you?" he asked, genuinely curious.
"We've met," she assured him, but didn't add anything as to who she was.
But he could read in her eyes she knew exactly just who he was. After all, everyone knew who he was. Though he had indeed gone to Paris for his studies—the French Alchemy professors were the best in the world there—the real reason had been that he wanted to escape from a place where everyone knew him, from a past that he wished wasn't his.
This omission of their respective identities left him with contradictory feelings. On-the-one-hand, he was more than glad that the name he had yet to come to terms with hadn't been mentioned yet. But on-the-other-hand, he was rather embarrassed that he couldn't remember who she was.
"Well… what are you doing in Paris?" he asked, trying to hide the fact he couldn't remember her.
"Currently? Avoiding my sister."
Draco snorted. The frankness in her voice was quite surprising. "Avoiding her?"
"Yes. She wanted to drag me wedding-dress shopping with her, but I'd rather do something less boring while I'm in Paris," she explained. "I'm rather afraid she'll appear round the corner at any moment."
"Well, you are rather near one of the most crowded—if not the most crowded—boulevard in Paris. The risks are rather high," he pointed out, glancing at the milling people just at the end of the street.
"I know." She sighed. "But I barely know the city enough to leave the most touristic places. I just want to go somewhere lovely where I can avoid my sister in peace for an afternoon."
"Somewhere lovely?" he echoed, his curiosity piqued.
"Yes. Not those tacky 'nice' romantic destinations my sister and her fiancé keep insisting we visit."
The corner of Draco's mouth lifted.
"This is what you call lovely?" she demanded as they finally stopped walking. He'd dragged her over half of Paris, which wasn't exactly the kindest thing ever, that was true, but at least they were sure her sister would never find her.
"No. This is nice, but we're not there yet. Come on," he told her.
They quickly made their way up the many steps that led to the Sacré-Coeur basilica at the top of the Montmartre hill. There were tourists everywhere, climbing up the steps, sitting on them, taking pictures, probably dazzled by the nice view of Paris.
There was pigeon poop everywhere, not that the ignorant tourists seemed to mind, as well as those street vendors, trying to foist their tacky little Eiffel Towers on you. He paused to wait for her at the top of the stairs.
"Where are we going?" she asked.
"This is the Sacré-Coeur basilica," he told her.
"I can see that, thank you." Her tone was expectant, but not exasperated, quite like an eager child, as if she was bursting to know just exactly what was going to happen next.
"Here's where most tourists will stop, go back down, and take the metro home," he told her.
"But we're going further?"
"Of course."
They paused for a moment to cool down from the climb. It was so hot today. He was carrying his coat, as well as her cardigan—he'd offered, she'd raised an eyebrow but accepted. At the sight of the pale skin of her arms, he started wondering about things like sun cream, which had never preoccupied him before. It was all rather strange.
"Monsieur, vous voulez une photo? You want picture?" one of the grimy street vendors asked, breaking him out of his thoughts. "Nice et romantic," he continued in his broken English.
The woman shot an amused glance at Draco at the word 'nice'. He rolled his eyes back at her, a small smile creeping onto his face. It had been a long time since he'd smiled that simply. "Non, merci," he dismissed him.
As the man walked away to pester another bunch of people who looked a lot more tourist-like than the pair of them, they both burst out laughing.
"Come on, let's go before they start forcing half-baked peanuts on us," she told him.
"You don't even know where we're going!" Draco protested.
"Then lead me there, already!" she demanded.
Draco obeyed, and impulsively grabbed for her hand. He stilled himself before he could take it. He couldn't do it, not yet. But for some absurd reason, she linked her arm through his, ignoring his pathetic attempt for her hand.
Draco was more than surprised. Most people changed pavements when they saw him. And yet, this woman was letting herself be dragged across Paris with him. Better: she was the one who was clutching his arm.
Either she didn't actually know who he was, or she desperately wanted to avoid her sister. It seemed very, very unlikely to him that she actually wanted to spend a day with him. And yet, while this thought made him feel incredibly nervous, he was also strangely confident around her.
"So, this is lovely?" she asked.
Draco looked back at her and smirked. "You're really impatient, aren't you?"
"Oh, I'm more than aware. I really don't know why my sister thought it would be a good idea to take me wedding dress shopping!"
They were only behind the basilica for the moment, but already there were considerably less people around. But it still was simply nice and had nothing special to it. As a matter of fact, it was probably less than nice. Who wanted to see the back of a basilica?
As they walked down another street, she leaned in closer to him. "I've told you what I'm doing in Paris. What about you?"
"Same as you, avoiding people," Draco confided.
"People? That's awfully vague," she commented.
"Basically everyone," he said. "Authority, friends, parents…"
She frowned, and immediately he regretted the more morose turn the conversation had taken. The frown was such a sad thing on her; he decided that she should always be smiling. He was so distracted by her expression that he almost missed the turn right.
"You know, I think you could go back. They miss you," she said softly.
It was strange how well this mysterious woman knew him, or rather, how easily she had him open up.
"I know…" Mother's letters were so pleading, so heart-breaking, that sometimes he was tempted to get the first Portkey, heck he would even take the first plane back home. But no. "But I can't."
She smiled sadly at him, and they stopped for a moment for her to tie her shoelace back up in the shade. They were winding through the small streets of Montmartre, going up and down, up and down. There was now barely a tourist in sight, just a few locals here and there, possibly with a baguette—but definitely no garlic necklaces and striped shirts.
"We're almost there," he said, changing the subject.
"Ooh! I can't wait to see what it is!" she exclaimed, the child-like excitement back in her eyes.
He smiled and led them through a tiny little passage—the type you can only find in those old cities that weren't built in straight lines, like those horrible American ones—and couldn't help the feeling of joy that filled him when he heard her gasp.
Through the tiny little passage was a small court, with a café, a bakery and a clothes shop he had never really paid attention to. There were flowers everywhere, and even a small fountain in the middle. A few people, locals, were sitting at the tables of the café, but apart from that, it was completely deserted. Parisian bliss at its finest.
"Wow, that is lovely," the woman breathed out next to him.
"You like it?" he asked. He knew she did, but he just wanted her to look up at him again in amazement.
"I love it! How did you find this place?"
"I stumbled upon it while walking around," he explained.
They walked over to the café and sat down. Draco had a coffee and the woman a grenadine. She'd ordered it because he'd told her it tasted 'like liquid sweets', and for some reason, she seemed to adore sweets beyond all things.
"Sweets, they always help you make friends," she sang with a little melody that was just adorable. "And it does taste like liquid sweets."
"That's because it's basically just sugar," he countered, much more cynical than her.
"Shush!" she chided and then whispered, as if it was a great secret: "I believe there's a little bit of magic in every piece of melted sugar."
Draco laughed. The sun was going down in the sky, and the sunlight was slowly disappearing from the little court. But it wasn't getting any colder, as a soft summer-like breeze wafted around, carrying sweet scents of the bakery.
"So, how are you liking Paris?" he asked her.
"It's quite nice," she said with a small smile. "But it's much lovelier when I'm with you."
He nodded. "Montmartre is one of the loveliest places in Paris, especially if you've got the right person with you." Draco could barely believe the words coming out of his mouth—their sappiness quite unlike how he usually was—but they were so true they just flowed out naturally. He hadn't had such a wonderful time for a long while. He thought he was used to being alone by now, and yet spending a day with someone who just wanted to be with you was truly amazing.
He moved the hand that was on their table a little bit forward, and so did she. And quite inconspicuously, their hands met in the middle. It was a rather lovely feeling, truth be told.
Suddenly, a more than familiar person stepped out of the clothes boutique in front of the café. The person's stare was so intense that Draco and the woman jumped apart from one another, as if having been caught doing something wrong, which was simply ridiculous.
"Oh, Merlin," she whispered next to him. "My sister. She's here."
That's when Draco realised that the clothes shop was actually a wedding gown boutique, and the person who had just stepped out of it was Daphne Greengrass, the blonde-haired blue-eyed Ice Queen from Slytherin, who had been one of Pansy's best friends.
He suddenly knew who the woman next to him was. Astoria Greengrass, of course. She had the exact same eyes, and yet was so different in her way of being he hadn't made the link between the two.
"I guess that means I've failed at helping you avoid her."
"Oh well, it happens," she told him with a sigh.
Daphne was now marching towards them, quite ruining the peace of the little court. She was glaring at the two of them. No wonder. Draco wasn't too surprised she wasn't happy about the fact her sister had spent the afternoon with the most hated person in England.
"I think I need to go…"
"Asto—"
"Shush!" she cut him off. "Don't say my name yet, it'll spoil things."
He raised a curious eyebrow, but she smiled.
"I'm staying at the Hôtel de la Place, if you want to find me tomorrow."
"Tomorrow?"
"I was hoping you'd show me the other lovely places in Paris."
"I—"
"Goodbye!" She waved and ran to her sister who began to scold her. Daphne made a motion towards him, but Astoria seemed to dissuade her from doing so. Instead, she brought her sister back in front of the shop window, trying to interest her in the wedding dresses she had not been able to see.
Draco smiled and shook his head. It had been one of the strangest, and yet loveliest afternoons he had spent. But one thing was certain, he'd never be able to go back to Montmartre again without thinking about Astoria Greengrass.
THC – Round 6 – Slytherin
Class: Potions
Category: Standard
Prompt: [Location] Montmartre, Paris
WC: 2,467
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry (Challenges and Assignments)
House: Ravenclaw
Defence Against the Dark Arts: Task #1: Unforgivable curses: Write about avoiding something or someone.
