La Vie en Rose

La Vie en Rose

Chapter 3: Rue Saint Vincent

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A woman was sitting alone in a corner of the living-room of her flat situated rue Saint Vincent, in Montmartre. Her head was resting on her bended knees, tears falling silently on her trousers. Thousands of images, of memories were flooding her head. She had not moved since she had apparated home the day before. Though lost in her thoughts, she could hear music coming from the outside, from the open window of her flat. A woman was singing in the street. Hermione knew that song. She had often thought it was the most beautiful one ever. A love song. The song of an eternal love, the song of a woman in love and telling everybody so.

Hermione opened her eyes and stared at the ceiling, listening to the music with tears in her eyes. She mouthed the words she could barely hear but knew were the lyrics of the song.

"Quand il me prend dans ses bras... Qu'il me parle tout bas... Je vois la Vie en Rose... Il me dit des mots d'amour, Des mots de tous les jours, Et ça m'fait quelque chose... Il est entré dans mon coeur, Une part de bonheur, Dont je connais la cause... C'est toi pour moi, Moi pour toi dans la vie, Tu me l'as dit, L'as juré pour la vie... Et dès que je t'aperçois, Alors je sens en moi mon cqui bat..."

Yes, that's what, that's how love should be... Love should mean happiness, complete devotion to the other... Wanting the best for the other... Love shouldn't mean grief, pain, hurt... Love shouldn't mean fleeing away when you see the one person you love, because you fear you might be hurt again. But then again, what else could I do?

She got up and went to look at the open window. The woman had red-hair that shone in the sun. For a moment, Hermione thought it was Ginny, Ron's sister, before realizing it was only Sophie, her only female friend in Paris. Sophie was working with Hermione. They were waitresses in a little café near the Place du Tertre, on la Butte de Montmartre. Sophie's hair wasn't really red. She liked to dye it and did it often. She had opted for that colour not long ago, and Hermione always hurt when she was looking at her. It was like seeing Ginny practically everyday. Like she was seeing a ghost everyday. The ghost of a life she had once lived.

She could not stand hearing this song her friend sang again and again. A waitress's pay isn't that good, and Sophie liked singing in the streets to earn a little more money.

Hermione sighed as she closed the window. She could still hear her friend singing in the distance. Sophie had a very beautiful voice, but why did she have to sing this song? Hermione could not help but think of Ronald Weasley whenever she heard la vie en rose. And since Sophie was singing it everyday at work, Hermione was becoming mad.

French were way too romantic or desperate in their songs and now that she spoke an almost fluent French, she could understand the lyrics. Only her charming little accent betrayed her.

Outside, Sophie began to sing L'Hymne à l'Amour.

No, not that song... Why does Sophie keep on singing Edith Piaf's songs?

She felt the tears forming in her eyes and tried to hold them back, in vain.

"Non, non! Il ne faut pas!"

She told herself not to cry, that crying wouldn't help her. She needed to think. Ron knew she was in France. But he did not know whether she was living in France or just visiting. However, he would probably guess she had been hiding in Paris and would try to see her again. He had wanted to talk to her. She had seen it. She had wanted to talk to him, too, to kiss him and to tell him that she still loved him, after five years of absence. But it would have been a very stupid thing to do. There was little chance Ron would be here on his own. Mrs. Weasley was probably there, too.

Hermione tutted at herself. If she had to be angry at someone, she should be angry at herself, and not blame other women. But the truth was, Hermione was really angry at herself. She had been for five years.

She shook her head and headed for the main door of her flat. She needed fresh air. Maybe going out for a walk would help her to think straight. She took her jacket and left.

Once outside, she realized Sophie was gone. She hadn't heard her leave. The sun was bright. The sky was blue.

A perfect day in a perfect world...

She left la rue St Vincent and entered la rue des saules. She was walking slowly, trying to enjoy the freshness of the air, and the feable heat of the sun. Trying to forget that Ronald Weasley was in Paris and that she could bump into him at any moment. Paris was a big city, but if Ron wanted to see her, which Hermione instinctively knew he did, he'd start looking for her in the arrondissement of Montmartre, when he had first seen her. She did not know what she would do if she saw him again. Would she run away like she had done the day before? Or would she stay and say hello? Would she ask how Mrs. Weasley was doing? Would she want to kill her if the answer was 'yes, she's fine, she'd like to see you again'? Or would she want once more to kill herself if the answer was 'yes, she's fine, but I told her what we did and she's very angry and never wants to see you again?'

Completely lost in her thoughts, Hermione found herself bumping into someone. For a moment, she feared it was Ron, but then she noticed it was a woman. She excused herself and walked to the place du Tertre. She saw one of the painter smile at her and she smiled back. She knew him. He had always been very nice to her , and had even asked her out a couple of times but she had always refused to go out with him, or with anybody.

Aymeric was a tall, dark-haired blue-eyed man Hermione had met on her first day as a waitress in the café de la Galette. He often came there. He was not really a friend like Sophie was. He was just someone Hermione knew and liked to see from time to time. He put his brush down on the shelf of his easel, wiped his hands on his jeans and held out his hand for her to shake. Which she did.

"Hey, Lily!"

Lily... She was Lily now. This was how everybody called her in Paris. When she had left England, she had started telling people her name was Emily. They had all soon nicknamed her Lily. Hermione was way too uncommon for her to wear. She had fled England, and didn't want anybody to find her again, not after what she had done.

Not that anyone would know, except Ron...

Had she continued to wear her real first name, whoever would have wanted to find her would have had no problem. Emily was more common, especially in France, even though they wrote it 'Emilie'. She had had her hair cut shoulder-length. It was now curly, not bushy any longer. And she had stopped wearing her robes and now wore skirts or trousers and blouses. No one could have guessed that she had once been a witch, that she used to go to an enchanted school where she had been taught how to transfigurate objects into other ones. No one could possibly knew Emily Smith had once wanted to become an Auror to fight the Evil. After the death of Voldemort, killed by Harry in seventh year, some Death Eaters had continued their dark activities, wanting to bring another Dark Lord to the power. No doubt Harry was now fighting them, too, like he had fought Voldemort.

"Earth to Lily?"

Hermione looked at Aymeric as if she had just seen him.

"I bet you were miles away from Montmartre, weren't you?" Aymeric asked her in French.

"Yes," she said in French, too. "I really am sorry, Aymeric."

"It's alright, ma belle. So, what brings you here, angel of the night?"

"I only live two streets away. And don't call me like that."

Aymeric smiled. Lily was so pretty when she was frowning.

"Why not... It's true you haunt the streets of Montmartre, once the moon is high in the sky... I'd like to know how you can walk out in the streets for hours after working all day long! I f I didn't know you, I'd think you were some kinf of vampire or of werewolf."

"It's magic. No, don't worry, I'm no vampire or werewolf. But I could tell you lots of things about them, though," she told him, smiling faintly.

« I didn't know you had some interest into the paranormal. »

Hermione could not help but smile. If only he knew... She then had a flashback. She was at Hogwarts, and Professor Lupin was teaching them how to fight the Dementors. It hurt her heart and she winced in pain. The memories really were physically painful to her. Aymeric saw she was now very pale. He put a hand on her forearm and asked, worried, "Lily? Lily? Lily, are you alright?"

Hermione took a deep breath and tried to steady herself. She tried and gave a reassuring look to Aymeric.

"It's alright. I'm alright. I just felt funny for a minute. But I'm okay."

"I think you should go home, Lily. I really think you should lie down a moment."

Hermione nodded, exhaling softly. Aymeric was right: she'd better go home and try to sleep. She was working the day after. Mrs. Dumoncel would not appreciate it if she didn't go to work.

Hermione looked up into Aymeric's worried eyes. They were blue and for a moment, they reminded her of Ron. She ran a hand through her curly hair and said in a shaky voice, "Yes, you're right, Aymeric. I should go home and rest a little."

"Do you want me to walk you home?"

"No, no. There are lots of tourists today. any of them 'll want to have their portrait done. I don't want you to loose money because of me. "

"Okay. But I'll see you tomorrow at the café de la Galette. Okay?"

"Okay."

She kissed him on the cheek and left, waving, goodbye.

He watched her leave, his heart full of love for this woman, a love he knew he could not confess for he was - and would always be - only a friend for Emily Smith. Someone had broken Lily's heart, and if Aymeric ever found out who it was, he would kill the man. Once she was out of his sight, he turned back to his easel, and taking his brush, he started to paint the portrait of a twenty-five years old woman with curly hair and a heart-breaking sadness in her big brown eyes.

On her way to her flat, Hermione Granger started to cry again. She would soon have to face Ronald Weasley again. She would soon have to face the reality. She would have to acknowledge the fact that she had left everything behind her, that she had left her friends, her family behind and had never even wrote to them to tell them she was alright. She did not know whether she would be strong enough or not. But she knew that the next time - if a next time was to be - she would see Ron, she would not run away. She would face him and tell him that she was sorry. That five years before she had made the biggest mistake of her life.

She opened the door of her flat and entered it. She threw herself on her bed and cried herself to sleep.

Little did she know that at the very same time, a man was shouting her name in a desperate plea from the top of the Eiffel Tower.