Valentines In France

Valentines in France

Chapter One - Monday

It was spring, and Hermione Granger was holidaying in the south of France with her parents. It was midmorning and the lush, dark grass was damp beneath her feet as they rambled through the field in companionable silence. The sky was misty blue and the sun was nowhere to be seen, but as Hermione thought to herself, neither were the clouds. She pulled her red coat around her tightly and scrunched up her nose as a chill, brisk wind blew her dark hair flew across her face on it's journey through the field.

In front of her, Hermione's father stopped and looked back at her and her mother.

"Perhaps we should go back?" he called, shivering in his thin jacket. "It's getting cold, and it'll be lunchtime at the chalet soon." It had been years since the Grangers had been in France for the Easter holidays, and they had forgotten how cold it could become. They had been walking for two hours, aimlessly exploring the land and identifying the birds and trees. This was how Hermione liked it best. Simple family time with her parents, doing things they had been doing since she was an infant.

Mrs. Granger shook her head. "No, Paul, let's keep going. Isn't this the same field we walked through three years ago? Well then, if we make a left through that wood, there's the little village about half a mile off. I remember that little café..."

"Madam Polkiens Bon Manger? Yes, I miss it so much! It was so well furnished; and did you ever notice the excellent lighting?"

"Oh and it was so cosy! Those cute little doilies and the fresh flowers, do you remember?"

"And the food was just exquisite."

"And the help was so friendly! Do you remember it, Hermione dear? You ought to. Oh, and the smell of roses, Paul!"

Paul and Emily Granger had begun walking again as they reminisced about the café. Hermione smiled to herself as she strolled along behind them. Once they started, they wouldn't stop until they had described the building in it's fullest. They would then walk in happy silence until another subject was brought up. Her parents were so predictable, and she loved them for it.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

An hour later, the Grangers entered the village. Hermione's parents had managed to discuss the café in great depth for an impressive thirty-five minutes of that time, and had spent the rest of the journey walking along silently, just as their daughter had predicted.

It was a cute little muggle village, with cottages, lakes, and parks. The smooth grey roads were silent save for the few cars that seldom drove by. The joyous sound of children playing with skipping ropes and balls came from gardens and parks, and people rode by on bikes, ringing their bells at the women tending to their flowerbeds now that the winter frost had passed.

Hermione sighed contentedly. When she finished full time education, she wanted to live in a place just like this. It was so perfect. She looked around, taking in the sites, noting that it hadn't changed at all in the three years she'd been away from it. She smiled.

"Come on, Hermione, the café's this way I think," her mother called to her. Hermione jogged up the path behind her parents and followed them to the centre of the village to some shops. At the corner, there was a small white building with blue shutters over the windows and a blue sign, reading 'Madam Polkiens Bon Manger'.

They stood for a moment, surveying it from the outside, and then entered. A small golden bell jingled overhead as they pushed the door open.

"I'll go and find us a table. I hope our usual one's free, it would be so nice to sit there again," Paul said excitedly.

"I'll come with you. Hermione love, stay here and wait for us. If a member of staff comes along, ask them about our table," Emily smiled as she looked around. She took her husbands hand and they walked through to the café, leaving Hermione standing alone by the door.

She sighed and looked around, running her fingers gently over the walls. Still pink and white and frilly, as it had always been, with large bouquets of flowers on the shelves. They had been coming to this café for as long as they had been coming to France. All those years and it hadn't changed one bit. It was a comforting thought.

"I love it," Hermione murmured to herself.

Suddenly, something grabbed her around the waist. She yelped and leapt around. There was a handsome man of about twenty-three standing before her, grinning.

"You know," he said, "Talking to your self's one of the first signs of madness."

She pulled an exasperated face and raised an eyebrow at him.

"Hello, Michael," she sighed wearily.

Michael was a French boy who lived in the village. His family was poor and so he had been working at the café since he was eleven, whilst his parents took up any work they could find. He and Hermione had known each other most of their lives, but it hadn't been on the best terms. Michael, being a typical boy, teased Hermione and made her cry when she was a baby and toddler. When she became slightly older, she began to defend herself, and insulted him, thinking him a smelly, stupid, little boy. One day, he had filled the toes of her shoes with used tea bags. In retaliation, she had put his stuffed bear in the food processor and switched it on. They had been pranking each other ever since. Occasionally, their tricks had gone wrong and gotten some innocent bystander. As a result, the children had a reputation for being trouble in the village before either of them had reached the tender age of seven. When he was twelve, and she was nine, he had thrown her My Little Ponies in the fire. Unfortunately, the hair from one was trailing out onto the heath and the entire rug of the Grangers rented cottage had caught fire. Hermione was blamed for being careless, and being furious at Michael, she pushed his new bike into the lake. Michael fished it out in a rowboat a few hours later, covered in slime and pondweed. He hunted Hermione down and the two children had fought fiercely. Their parents came running out and separated them, Michael had bruised Hermione's arms badly and there was a chunk of her hair mysteriously found in his fist. But Hermione had done her fair share of damage too. She had given him a black eye, and had kicked his legs so much that his shins were bleeding. That was the last time the Grangers had stayed in the village; from then on they had stayed in a chalet two and a half miles away, although they always came back to visit their old friends, except for the previous three years, in which time Hermione had warned them against much travel - they were the years Voldemort had begun to send more spies than ever before around Europe. Last year however, was the final battle, and Harry had been victorious, despite having to spend four months in St Mungos. Although there were still Death Eaters around, Dumbledore had said it safe enough to leave England again, and the Grangers had hastened to France once more.

"So... how've you been?" Hermione asked, trying to think of something she could say to him. She was in actual fact shocked to see Michael. He had... changed. He used to be quite short for his age - he had always been the same height as her and she was three years younger than him. He had been thin and wiry with skinny shoulders and very short bristly hair. He was now... different. His hair for one thing; it had always been dark, but never so full... or perhaps she just wasn't used to seeing it so long. It flopped just over his eyes so he had to keep pushing it back. He had grown several inches in the past three years and was a head taller than her, and - under his waiter's uniform - it looked like he had become quite muscley. His shoulders were large and round, as though he worked out regularly. His hand went up and pushed his hair back as he considered her question. His eyes came down to meet hers. They were dark and sparkled with laughter, even though he was merely smiling at her. They were intense, and she was taken aback for a moment.

"I've been... good. You?"

"Good." There was an awkward silence, and then, "So, how did you know it was me? You didn't see my face, I had my back turned. Or perhaps you attack all of your customers like that?"

"Nope," he grinned, "Just the special ones." He laughed, and then admitted, "No, it was you hair. I could recognise that bush from a mile off. I think I might still have the sample I took when you were nine. Do you remember that?"

Maybe he hadn't changed that much. "Oh how I missed having these insults thrown at me," she sighed sarcastically. "And how could I forget? It was hilarious watching you fall in the lake when you tried to get your bike out!"

"Yeah, well, I loved that bike. That was going way too far, Mionie."

"It's Hermione! And too far?! You realise you set my house on fire?!"

He shrugged. "Just a part of it".

Hermione rolled her eyes and turned to look for her parents, muttering under her breath at him. Michael caught random phrases such as, "Immature... useless, such a child... won't grow up..." and laughed at her.

"Come on, let's go find your parents. Are they booking a table for Valentine's day?"

"Valentine's day?" Hermione groaned, "Oh I completely forgot about that. Yeah, probably, although we did just come for lunch. They're looking for our usual table I think."

Michael grinned again. "Then I guess I'd best not tell them I spilled a candle on it last week and they're still trying to scrub the wax and scorch marks off?"

"No, probably not," she smiled.

"Come on then," he said, walking to the door and stopping just before it. "Ladies first."

Hermione strode through, but before she was through to the café, Michael stuck out his foot, and she tripped over it, flying forwards several feet. She turned furiously, only to see him grin and bow to her before stepping away from the door and searching for the Grangers. Narrowing her eyes at him, Hermione turned with as much dignity as she could muster and went to search for her parents on the other side of the café. She found them stood in confusion in an empty space between several other tables where 'their' table usually was.

"I just don't understand it, Paul. It should be here. It should be here."

"We are in the right place, I know we are... maybe... no, no it should definitely be here."

Hermione strode up. "Hi, Mum, hi, Dad. Are we going to eat here then?"

Emily Granger turned to her daughter distractedly, "No, Hermione love, your father and I thought it would be nice to have our first meal back here on Valentine's Day. We're going to book our table, we just... we just want to see it first. Darling, do you remember if it was here? I could have sworn it was, but it's not and..."

"Mrs. Granger, looking lovely as always I see." Michael came striding up and grinned at the Grangers. He took Emily in a hug and then pulled away and kissed her hand. She giggled.

"Michael! Oh it's lovely to see you again. My, you certainly have grown, just look at you!" She surveyed him smilingly.

Mr. Granger grinned and held out his hand to Michael. "It's good to see you again, lad. Good to see you". Michael clapped his hand into Mr. Granger's and they shook heartily.

"You too, Mr. Granger. My mother will be thrilled to see you all back in the village, you must go and visit her sometime."

"Yes," Emily cried, "Yes, we certainly will. Is she well?"

"Yes, she's fine thank you. Were you trying to book a table for Valentine's Day? Delphine and me are the only staff working here at the moment; everyone else is busy in the kitchens and the storerooms. I would be happy to book you now; I don't suppose Delphine's come to help you? No, she's new and still learning the ropes." he smiled at Mrs. Granger charmingly.

"Oh would you, Michael, dear? Errrm... Paul and I were wondering... where's our table? You haven't gotten rid of it, surely?"

"Oh... err... no, I um... Last week I was serving the people on the table when a kid from table eight just behind me pushed his chair out. I fell into the candle and there was hot wax everywhere. They're just trying to scrape it off and repair the tablecloth."

"Oh dear. Honestly, Michael, you're not good when it comes to fire, are you?" Mr. Granger asked slyly. Michael blushed.

"No, I seem to have a bit of a reputation around open flames now. I don't suppose you're staying in the village?"

"Oh no, Paul and I thought it best to just... See how things were with Hermione and you before we try to rent another cottage. Some things never change you know," Emily said, looking around, slightly embarrassed.

"Wise decision," Michael grinned. Hermione rolled her eyes - it was going to be a long holiday.