Don't Forget Paris

1.Somebody must say "Merry Christmas" in a foreign language.
2. Dobby must knit/have knitted someone socks.
3. Someone must kiss someone else for the first time under mistletoe - and we're not talking a peck on the cheek
4. Someone must bake something.
5. Someone has to give a quill as a gift.
6. There must be a snowball fight.
7. Someone must say the line "You're looking quite nice this evening. Either that, or someone spiked the egg nog."

* * * * *

Hotel "Les Rives De Notre Dame,"

Latin Quarter, Paris.

December 23^rd, 2005

* * * * *

"Voila Monsieur, Mademoiselle."

The porter opened the door of suite 1013, unloaded their suitcases from his cart and stood before them, hands behind his back, grinning widely.

Not quite getting the less-than-subtle hint, Harry simply smiled back at him. Hermione tried to keep her laugher in at the sight of the two of them, standing there smiling at each other.

"Why ish he shtill here?" Harry kept his smile intact as he spoke through clenched teeth.

Hermione resisted the urge to let Harry sweat it out with the persistent porter, her desire to freshen up, unpack and take Paris by storm overtaking the pleasure in watching Harry’s display of cluelessness. She quickly dug inside her purse and handed the porter three 10- franc coins.

The relief on his face apparent, he pocketed the coins, mumbled a quick ‘Merci’ and left the room.

 

Harry smacked his forehead with his palm.

"Oh…so that’s what he was waiting for."

"Yes, honey. It’s called a tip. It has been customary in the Muggle world for many, many years."

"Hmm…let’s see if I got this right: If I smile long enough will you give me money too?"

"Only if it makes you move that sweet looking butt of yours and start unpacking."

Harry turned and wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her to him in one swift motion. "You know I’m willing to unpack your bags anytime," he said against her neck, kissing it gently. Hermione’s body immediately responded to his touch; it always did. She slid her arms around his neck, her fingers tangling in the silky strands of his hair, as he brought his lips up to meet hers. They kissed leisurely, their lips moving against each other by their own accord.

While the idea of some ‘unpacking’ with Harry was very appealing, Hermione had other plans for their first day in Paris. There will be time, plenty of time, for everything else later.

She reluctantly broke the kiss and disentangled herself from Harry’s arms, ignoring his pouting- puppy-dog face.

"Come on, Romeo. We have some shopping to do for tomorrow. Besides, there’s loads of stuff out there I want us to see."

" I thought you bought gifts in London," Harry said, the dread of going Christmas-shopping with a girl, albeit his girl, seeping from his voice.

" Harry, this is Paris " Hermione said, rolling her eyes. He was being such a…. guy. But then again, she wouldn’t have him any other way.

"Trust me, you’ll have fun shopping with me here. Now give me 15 minutes to get organized and we’ll be on our way."

* * * * *

They had been invited to spend Christmas with Serge Villars and his wife, Monique.

Serge was a veteran sports journalist, now working freelance for several wizard newspapers. A few years back, when Harry first started covering Quidditch for the Daily Prophet, he had befriended Serge, who was in charge of Muggle sports events coverage. The older man was supportive and helpful, often offering useful advice that helped Harry through his rough first year as a young journalist.

His wife, Monique, was only 2 years older than Harry and Hermione. She worked for a computer company in Paris, while enthusiastically pursuing her hobby-turned-obsession: long distance running. Serge met her when he was covering the London Marathon 3 years ago.

The couple and their 18-month-old daughter had only recently moved to their new apartment in the trendy ‘Marais’ quarter.

When Serge called Harry a few weeks ago, inviting them to spend the holiday in Paris, he and Hermione leaped upon the chance to finally visit the most romantic city in the world.

Even though it meant they won’t be spending Christmas with the Weasley clan for the first time in years.

And then, of course, there was Ron.

* * * * *

Harry had to admit he wasn’t having that bad of a time at all. Hermione guided them through the streets of the Latin Quarter with such confidence, it was hard to believe she had never been there before. ‘Well, that’s my Hermione’ he thought to himself, as they strolled hand in hand along distinguished- looking Boulevard St. Michel.

"This is The Sorbonne University" Hermione said respectfully, pointing at the famous institute. Turning her attention back to the ‘Magical guide to Magical Paris’ in her hand, she continued. "It says here that Parisians nicknamed St. Michel Boulevard ‘Boul-Mich’. The area is famous for its charming little hotels, café’s and bookstores. It is also considered a cool ‘hangout’ place for youngsters and students."

"Well, it is charming," Harry said. "Although it seems a bit deserted now, with the students away on Christmas break."

"Yes, but it’s kind of nice to have it almost to ourselves," she said, reaching up to lightly stroke his cheek. Harry smiled and tightened his grip on her hand. Hermione steered them towards a large student bookstore that looked more like someone’s yard sale.

"I thought we were shopping for presents," Harry said, confused.

"Of course we are, silly," she gave him one of her ‘how come you don’t know exactly what I’m thinking’ looks and entered the store.

Harry grabbed a book from one of the many cardboard boxes scattered around the store’s sidewalk- front area. He tried in vain to read the book’s back cover, his brow crinkled in concentration. A few minutes later, Hermione emerged from the store, a small package in her hands. Smiling at the sight of Harry, she wondered what it was that had him so intrigued.

"Anything interesting in there, Monsieur?"

Harry frowned. "Not really. Did you notice everything here is in French?"

She burst out laughing and smacked his arm. "You’re incorrigible!"

"And you’re beautiful."

"Flattery will get you nowhere, Potter. We still have lots of ground to cover."

Harry was about to say something about flattery and where it usually got him, but decided against it.

"Ok then. Take me shopping!" he said, slipping his hand in hers.

* * * * *

Ron stared out the window of the speeding ‘Eurostar’ train, lost in thought. He was thankful for his decision to take the Muggle train. Riding in one always seemed to relax him.

He messed up. Bigtime. How could he have been so stupid?

‘Well, old chap,’ he thought to himself ‘you’ll just have to fix that fine mess you created.’

Ron sighed sadly as his mind drifted back to the events of that wretched night.

* * * * *

3 months earlier

He stood at the door of Harry and Hermione’s apartment, breathing heavily from running all the way over.

"Hermione! Harry! Open up!" he shouted, ignoring some curious neighbors who emerged from nearby apartments.

Hermione opened the door, a worried expression on her face. " Ron! You almost gave me a heart attack… What’s the matter?"

He silently walked into the living room.

"What’s the matter, Ron?" She repeated, placing her hand on his shoulder. He shook it off.

A few moments passed in tense silence. Ron paced back and forth, constantly running his hand through his hair.

"She’s…she’s… gone." He finally said.

"Who’s gone? Did someone die? You’re scaring me, Ron!"

"She’s gone, Hermione. We’re not living together anymore. Elle’s not my fiancé, my girlfriend or my anything anymore. She left me!"

 

He came home that evening to find her sitting in the darkened living room. When she looked up at him, he just knew.

"I can’t marry you, Ron."

The suitcases in the living room told him she couldn’t live with him anymore, either.

"We can talk about it… If you need to take a break …" He was grasping at straws and he knew it.

Elle stared at the floor. "I’m sorry"

"Why?" he asked,hurt and disbelief creeping through his body, settling deep in his heart. "Why? We really had something! You love me, remember?!"

The moment those words came out, he regretted saying them; for her ensuing silence roared in his ears louder than any spoken answer could have.

 

"She left me." His voice was a cracked whisper.

Hermione closed her eyes and leaned her forehead against her fingers for a moment, obviously trying to collect herself. She got to her feet and approached him.

"Oh, Ron. I’m so sorry…" She reached for him, but he rejected her touch again. "What happened? Why did she leave?"

"She doesn’t love me anymore." Each word was a sharp knife, mercilessly stabbing his heart. "She all but said it aloud."

Hermione was at a loss for words. "But what …why…how could that be??"

"She also said something about a new job, in the US. She’s leaving right away."

A strange expression settled across Hermione’s face at the mention of Elle’s job. That’s when it dawned on him.

"You knew, didn’t you?"

She gave him a puzzled look. "Knew what?"

"You work with her. You had to know she was going to leave!"

How couldn’t he have thought of it before? Hermione and Elle weren’t the closest of friends, but they were co-workers; they also saw a lot of each other in the evenings, when the four of them went out together. She had to have known. Ron had never felt more hurt and betrayed in his life. He was overcome with a need to punish Hermione, hurt her, so she’d feel a fraction of what he was feeling.

"…God, Ron! You really believe I knew she was going to leave and didn’t say anything? After 14 years of friendship, this is what you think of me?" Tears were spilling from her eyes and rolling down her cheeks, but Ron didn’t care.

"So you did know about the job offer?" He spat.

Hermione hesitated. "I…yes…sort of. There were rumors at work. But they were just rumors, Ron! She didn’t talk about taking the job and she certainly didn’t say anything about breaking off the engagement or leaving you!"

"And Hermione Granger, the smartest witch to ever graduate from Hogwarts, couldn’t figure it out for herself? You just didn’t care enough to give it any thought, because it doesn’t involve you and your precious Harry!"

"What’s Harry got to do with any of this? And how can you possibly blame me for her decision to leave you? Ron, you’re not making any sense!"

He ignored her.

"You couldn’t care less if someone else’s life is shattered, as long as you have a warm body in your bed!!"

The sound of rattling keys and the front door opening interrupted Ron’s ongoing verbal assault. Harry was holding a beautifully wrapped box of chocolates and wearing a big smile, both of which made Ron feel he was going to be sick.

Harry’s smile faded when took in the scene in front of him. "What’s going on?" he asked, walking over to Hermione and tilting her face up in concern.

"Ask your girlfriend," Ron said, heading for the door. At this point, he couldn’t stand seeing Harry fuss over a crying Hermione, or any other form of Hermione for that matter.

"Ron, wait!"

"No, Harry. Let him go." Hermione said, grabbing Harry’s wrist.

Ron turned to look at her one last time before he stormed out, slamming the door behind him.

* * * * *

After that night, Ron disconnected from Harry and Hermione, grieving for the loss of Elle and what he believed to be the treachery of his friend. He asked his mother not to disclose his whereabouts in case someone asked about him, but as far as he knew, no one had.

‘Is it any wonder?’ He thought, cringing at the memory of the things he said to Hermione.

A crackling voice shook him from his reverie. "Ladies and Gentlemen, we will be arriving at Gare Du Nord, Paris, in 5 minutes. Thank you for traveling with Eurostar and have a nice day."

‘I’m going to make things right’ He said to himself as he got up to gather his belongings.

He just hoped it wasn’t too late.

* * * * *

Hermione and Harry spent the remainder of the day on Ile Saint-Louie, enjoying the unique atmosphere of the Island. Its small shops weren’t as crowded as those in the city’s main tourist areas, so Christmas shopping was, in fact, as much fun as Hermione promised it would be. There was even a wizard shop, carefully hidden behind the famous ‘Bertillon’ ice cream factory.

They were strolling along the bank of the Seine River, heading back to their hotel, when Hermione suddenly tugged at his hand. She led them down a narrow set of stone stairs that ended at river-level. Harry looked around in amazement; they were standing right underneath ‘Pont Neuf’- one of the most beautiful bridges in Paris. The silvery river glistened at their feet.

Hermione was about to say something, but Harry gently placed two fingers against her lips. "I know what you want, my love," He whispered, wrapping his arms around her. She snuggled into his embrace, sighing in content.

Surrounded by this perfect setting, they held each other close and watched the sun set over the city, painting the sky a magnificent crimson and gold.

When it was over and they were enfolded by darkness, Harry leaned in and kissed her softly. He intended to keep the kiss sweet and gentle, a promise of what was in store for later. Hermione had something else in mind.

She parted his lips with her tongue, eager to delve into his sweetness. Harry could deny her nothing. He opened his mouth, a low growl escaping his throat as her tongue danced sensually along his. She pushed him against the curved underside of the bridge, pinning him to the wall with one leg between his thighs. Her body pressed harder against him and their kisses became wild and fierce, the carnal hunger no longer controllable. Hands and lips were everywhere, roaming around bodies, caressing heated flesh. Harry drew a sharp breath as she undid his belt and slid her hand inside his trousers, stroking his already sensitized skin.

He could barely resist the urge to lift her up, reverse their positions and take her; right now, right here, against the cold wall of the bridge. His self-restraint was hanging by a fine thread. They had to cool things down, before it completely snapped.

"Hermione…." He finally found his voice.

"Mmm…I’m busy, Harry." she was placing warm kisses in her favorite spot, just above his collarbone.

"Honey, we can’t do this here… someone can…" she cut him off with another kiss.

"Sorry…I just… couldn’t resist," she said, breathing heavily, when she finally finished devouring him.

Harry laughed. " I don’t really mind you finding me irresistible, but I thought your romantic fantasy was to be held by your beloved under a bridge in Paris; not to get yourself - and your beloved - arrested for improper behavior in a public place..."

"You remembered! Harry…I’m impressed. We had the ‘fantasy talk’ more than 7 years ago. We weren’t even together then."

"No, we weren’t, but it was the first really intimate talk we had. Of course I remembered it - I wanted to be the one who fulfilled those fantasies."

"I always wanted you to be the one," she whispered.

"I love you," he said, kissing her temple.

"I know, Harry. I love you too. So much."

Even after 4 years together, they still marveled at the sensation of hearing and saying the words. He turned her in his arms and Hermione leaned back against him, resting her head on his shoulder. A few minutes passed before Harry broke the silence.

"You’re thinking about him too, aren’t you"?

"Yes," Hermione admitted. "I am. I wonder where he is and how he’s holding up; if his soul is healed and if he is thinking of us."

"He was so cruel to you" Harry said, remembering too well how hurt and angry Hermione had been, how he held her all night trying to soothe away her pain; and how he wanted to find Ron so he could punch him in the nose.

"I need to talk to him, Harry. When we return home, I will find him."

"You’re amazing," he said. "Ron doesn’t realize how lucky he is to have you as a friend."

"He also has you as a friend. And he needs you."

Harry sighed. " Let’s not talk about this now, okay? I believe we were talking about your fantasies…"

"My fantasies, eh? All right, how about this one: food!"

* * * * *

It was close to midnight when they finally made it back to the hotel. They were pleasantly lightheaded from downing a bottle of Merlot over dinner, their minds occupied with respective wicked plans for the rest of the night.

Hermione noticed him the moment they walked into the lobby. Several empty wine glasses on the table indicated he had been sitting there for quite a while. He turned around to face them, just as she was shaking Harry’s arm to get his attention.

"Ron…" he said, too stunned to say anymore.

Hermione simply stared at him.

Ron opened his mouth to say something, but before he could get any words out, Hermione closed the distance between them and threw her arms around his neck, hugging him tightly. He closed his eyes in silent gratitude.

"I’m sorry… I’m so sorry, Hermione ….I‘ll never find the words to say how much…" his voice was choked.

She stepped back, wiping her own tears with her fingers. "I will forgive you, eventually. But we do need to talk, Ron. A simple ‘I’m sorry’ isn’t enough."

"I know. There’s so much I want to say to both of you…. I was jealous of your strong and beautiful relationship; all I had was a trail of broken relationships and one horribly shattered heart. I blamed you, Hermione, the person who set me up with Elle in the first place, because I couldn’t deal with the fact that she just didn’t love me anymore."

"I did feel a little guilty because I was the one who set you two up," Hermione admitted. "I felt indirectly responsible for your misery."

"No, Hermione! You should never…"

She raised a hand in front of her to cut him off. "We will talk some more, Ron. But not right now. I am in Paris and tomorrow is Christmas Eve. I want us to spend a wonderful day touring the city, have the best Christmas dinner at Serge’s, get stuffed and drunk and goof around. I want us all to…"

It was Ron’s turn to cut off her words. "Us all? You want me to spend Christmas with you guys?" He had envisioned this scene in his mind so many times, rehearsing what he’d say to them, imagining their reaction. He never anticipated this. He breathed a sigh of great relief, realizing that despite his horrid behavior, his friends missed him as much as he missed them.

"Yes, Ron," she said "The three of us. I know we have issues to resolve, but at this moment, I just want my friend back."

Ron smiled. He hadn’t smiled in a long time, and it felt wonderful. "I’d like that, Hermione. I’d like that a lot."

 

"How did you know where find us?" Harry asked, finally joining the conversation.

"Sirius." Ron said.

He turned to Harry and placed a hand on his arm. "I know that when I hurt the woman you love – I hurt you. I need to apologize to you just as much."

"We will settle this some other time," Harry said. "You heard the lady - we put this away for now and enjoy the holiday together."

Hermione stifled a yawn. "You two can stay here and enjoy some male re-bonding if you like. I’m exhausted."

 

"I can use some sleep too." Ron said quickly, aware of the way the two were eying each other. ‘Harry, Hermione and a hotel room in Paris…’ He smiled as he thought to himself. ‘ Better let them do the re-bonding.’

"Where are you staying?" Hermione asked, collecting the shopping bags that were scattered all around them.

"At ‘Le Grand Magicien.’ It’s in the wizard quarter."

"I always wanted to see the Parisian version of Diagon Alley," she said. " Why don’t we meet you there and spend the day together?"

"That would be great." Ron smiled gratefully. "Good night, then. And thank you. Thank you both for being so wonderful."

He turned around and made his way outside, feeling happy for the first time in months.

* * * * *

Hermione leaned against the mirrored wall of the elevator, suddenly aware of Harry’s piercing gaze. The beautiful green eyes she loved so much were fixed on her face, sparkling in awe and admiration.

"I have never been more proud of anyone in my life," he said quietly. "You are an incredible person, Hermione Granger."

"You think?" She asked, tilting her head. She looked so innocent, unaware of how truly extraordinary she was. It made Harry’s heart swell, threatening to overflow with emotion.

"Oh, you have no idea what I’m thinking," he said, leaning closer and gently biting her earlobe. She shivered in anticipation.

"I’m thinking…of you… and I…doing…unspeakable things…" He punctuated the words with soft kisses, sending flashes of desire through Hermione’s body, right to her very core.

They were interrupted by the soft ‘ding’ of the elevator’s opening doors.

"Hold that thought…" Hermione said, pulling him towards their suite and fumbling for her key card 

"I’ll do more than that," he said, standing close behind her, his breath hot in her ear. "I’ll turn it to actions…"

* * * * *

"Hermione, can we please stop for a minute?" Ron asked, puffing loudly and placing his hands on his knees

"That’s not such a bad idea," Harry said, noting the top of the mountain was still pretty far away.

"Stop whining, you two! We’re almost there. I thought we agreed that climbing by foot will be fun."

Ron pointed at the dozens of stairs in front them. "That was before we knew there were a zillion stairs to climb!"

"Seriously Hermione," Harry turned to her, his own breath heavy and rapid. " Who recommended we walk up the Montmartre instead of taking that comfy looking train-car they have down there?"

"Monique." her answer was barely audible.

"Monique?" he stared at her unbelievingly, "Serge’s Monique? The one who runs 10 miles a day and probably sprints up and down this mountain just for fun?" Harry tried to sound reproachful, but couldn’t keep the amusement out of his voice.

"She said it’s a beautiful route," Hermione turned away in embarrassment.

Ron burst out laughing. "Oh, Hermione…you took climbing advice from a Marathon runner? This is just too good…" He sat on the stairs, clutching his stomach.

"Did she recommend anything else? Perhaps a quick 5 miler around the Tuilerie Gardens?"

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him, trying to think of something clever to say; when she saw that Harry wasn’t able to hold back his laughter either, she gave up and joined them. They sat there for a while, catching their breath and enjoying the scenery, as well as each other’s company. It’s been a while since they shared some friendly bantering and a good laugh.

* * * * *

When they finally reached the top of the mountain, they were rewarded with the beautiful site of ‘Le Sacré Coeur’ - The Basilica of the Sacred Heart.

Ron was running around enthusiastically, searching for picture-taking spots; he was eager to try out his new Muggle camera. "I’m going to check out the other side," he said, disappearing behind the big dome.

Harry and Hermione walked to the front of the large balcony at the foot of the church.

"Wow! I’d say this was worth the climb." Harry said, looking down at the breathtaking sight of Paris from a bird’s eye view.

Hermione slid her arms around his waist. "I could say I told you so, but I won’t."

"It’s beautiful, love. Although…" He leaned closer so he could whisper in her ear, "Although, I still prefer the view from underneath the bridge."

"That’s because you were looking down my shirt, Harry."

He wiggled his eyebrows mischievously. "Exactly!"

Hermione chuckled. "I guess my mum was right – men will always be boys…" she said, ruffling his hair.

As if to prove her point, Ron showed up, his face flushed with excitement. "You’ve got to come see this! This guy over there is making all sorts of neat things with twisted balloons!"

* * * * *

They had a light lunch at a small café overlooking the colorful ‘Place De Tertre’. Hermione had her portrait done by one of the painters that populated the square, only to discover that he was one of those artists who drew cartoon-style portraits. The result did look a lot like her, and she reluctantly admitted it was a rather funny caricature. Harry and Ron had a field day with this vision of loveliness, threatening to send the portrait to Hogwarts to replace her picture on the honorary students’ wall. Hermione had to mention the words ‘sleep on the couch’ to get Harry to drop the subject.

When it was time to leave, they rode the funicular down the mountain and walked to the nearest Metro station. Hermione handed Ron a note with Serge and Monique’s address. " 7 o’clock. And please don’t be late!"

"I won’t be late – I promise. Are you sure it’s okay for me to join?"

"For the third time, Ron, it’s perfectly okay!" Harry said. "It’s not a big family gathering - we are the only guests aside from Monique’s sister. Both her and Serge’s parents are on vacation in southern Israel, soaking up some sun on the coast of the Red sea."

Ron was still unconvinced. "And the sister? Does she have a family?"

"No," Hermione said impatiently. "She’s our age. Just came back from India; Monique said she’s learning to speak Hindi and she’s very much into far-eastern cultures - Yoga, meditation…" she was babbling on purpose, trying to get the notion of being a burden off Ron’s mind. It worked.

"All right, all right. I won’t be a pain about this anymore. See you at 7." he turned around and headed for his platform.

"You just took his word when he said he won’t be late?" Harry asked her as they seated themselves in the Metro carriage. " You know Ron’s always late."

"I told him to be there at 7, didn’t I?"

"Yes," Harry said, not catching on. "So?"

"So, if you recall, Serge asked us to be there at 7:30."

"How very devious of you!" He laughed and threw his arm around her shoulder. "Devious - yet very appropriate…"

* * * * *

Three hours later, Harry and Hermione rushed along the streets of the Marais quarter, hands full with Christmas presents, searching for Serge and Monique’s apartment.

"Wouldn’t it be embarrassing if we were the ones to arrive late?" Harry said, looking closely at the map in his hand.

"Well, I guess we would have gotten here a bit earlier, if it weren’t for that …delay…at the hotel," she replied playfully. "If you hadn’t insisted on showing me how beautiful you think this dress is by peeling it off of me."

Harry licked his lips. "I wanted to …er…check the washing instructions."

"Not that I mind," Hermione smiled. "We still have 10 minutes before we’re officially late."

"Ah! There it is. Number 21." Harry said with obvious relief. "They just couldn’t make addresses any harder to find in this city!"

"Makes me wonder how long it’ll take Ron to find it." Hermione said as they made their way to the 3^rd floor.

* * * * *

Serge greeted them at the door, a glass of red wine in his hand and a big smile on his face. "Bienvenue! Welcome, mes amis!" he hugged Harry and kissed Hermione’s cheeks 3 times – the traditional Parisian way.

"Weren’t you supposed to come with Ron?" Serge looked behind them, expecting to see another person there.

"He’ll be arriving shortly," Harry said. ‘Or not…’ he added to himself.

They took off their coats and placed the presents under the small, beautifully decorated Christmas tree. A fire crackled merrily in the brick fireplace, casting shadows that danced across the spacious living room. The large table was set with sparkling crystal chinaware, illuminated by vanilla scented candles scattered around the dining area.

"It’s lovely, Serge." Hermione said, taking in the tasteful art-nouveau design of the apartment.

"Don’t look at me…" he smiled, offering them a glass of wine. " It is all Monique’s doing. She always had a secret ambition to become an interior designer."

"Speaking of Monique," Harry said, "Where is she?"

 

"Right here mon cheri!" came a cheerful voice. Monique emerged from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a small towel. "It is so nice to finally see you two!" She hugged both of them warmly, not forgetting the 3 cheek kisses. "I had to watch the sweet-potato pie," she said apologetically. "The last time I made it, I left it in the oven too long and it got burned."

 

"It smells divine, Cherie." Serge said, kissing her forehead. "Come, my friends," he led them to the comfortable-looking sofas in the living room. "Let us sit and have some wine while we wait for the others."

 

"This sister of mine was never known for her punctuality," Monique said, settling on the couch. "For Sandrinne, a set time is merely a recommended option."

 

"Sounds like someone we know," Harry commented, taking a sip from his wine.

 

"I am happy you have settled your differences with Ron," Serge was suddenly serious. "I know how important this friendship is – to all of you."

 

"He made the first and most important move by coming to Paris." Hermione replied. "We just took it from there; I guess we all missed spending time together. We didn’t…"

 

"Papa!" They all turned their heads as a beautiful baby girl dashed into the living room. "Papa!" she cried happily, climbing up father’s legs.

 

"I’d say someone has awoken from a rather long nap!" Serge laughed and picked her up, kissing his daughter’s chestnut hair. "Harry, Hermione - You remember Amelie, right?"

 

Hermione reached out to stroke the child’s cheek. "Of course we do. She got so big! The last time we saw you guys in London, she wasn’t even walking."

 

"Walking? With her genes?" Serge exclaimed, pointing at his wife. "In Monique’s family, babies do not start walking – they go straight to running!" Monique punched him playfully, and they all laughed.

 

Harry suddenly noticed that the baby’s feet were clad in very familiar-looking socks; the horribly mismatched colors left little doubt as to their origin. He patted her foot lightly. "Nice socks, Amelie…"

 

"Oh, these!" Monique laughed. "We got them last week – special delivery. The note said something like ‘Dobby make these for Harry Potter friends with cute baby.’ Amelie loves them so much, she does not agree to take them off!"

 

Amelie extended her arms towards Hermione, who delightfully took the baby in her arms. "T’ es belle!" she said, her little hand stroking Hermione’s face.

 

Harry had very limited knowledge of the French language, let alone French baby talk, but he knew enough to understand what Amelie said.

He couldn’t agree more - Hermione was beautiful. His heart warmed at the sight of the little girl in her lap; it was like a glimpse into the future – their future. They were only 25 and not yet married, but there was no doubt in his mind that Hermione would be a wonderful mother to their children.

 

Amelie shifted her attention to Harry’s face; she crawled from Hermione’s lap to his, so she could reach for his glasses. It was Hermione’s turn to smile to herself as Harry held the energetic baby and tried to divert her attention back to the toy seal in her hand, so she wouldn’t remove his glasses. He was saved by the sound of the doorbell. Amelie forgot about Harry’s glasses and jumped off of him to join her father on his way to the door. Serge picked her up and said something in rapid French; Hermione guessed it had to do with reaching for objects on their guests’ faces.

* * * * *

Serge walked back into the living room followed by a dark haired young woman - obviously Monique’s sister Sandrinne, and…Ron.

 

"Had trouble finding the place, Weasley?" Harry teased him.

 

"Yes, as a matter of fact! I was down there for 20 minutes looking for some kind of indication to the address on the houses. Luckily, the first person I asked for help, turned out to be Sandrinne."

 

Ron walked over to Monique and shook her hand tightly. "Merry Christmas, and thank you for inviting me" he said, handing her the bottle of wine he brought with him. Monique kissed his cheeks. "You are very welcome, Ron." She said warmly, proceeding to embrace her sister and introduce her to Harry and Hermione. Sandrinne carried out the 3 kisses ritual with both of them, and with Ron – now that they were formally introduced.

 

"Alors! We are all here!" Serge said, clasping his hands together in delight. "Please – take a seat." He pointed to the dining room table. When they were all seated comfortably, including Amelie in her booster chair, Serge held up his wine glass and indicated that everyone do the same.

 

"My dearest friends and family," he started. "Christmas is a time for great joy and happiness, which is exactly what I feel sitting here with all of you. I wish every one of us a very happy Christmas and a successful, fulfilling, blissful New Year. Now, my wife’s delicious food is waiting, so let us enjoy a wonderful dinner! Merry Christmas everyone!"

 

"Merry Christmas!" they all repeated, exchanging kisses and toasts.

 

"Shub Naya Baras." Sandrinne said, smiling lightly at Ron.

 

"Stop showing off your Hindi, dear." Monique scolded her humorously. "’Merry Christmas’ is about 90% of what she knows," she whispered to Ron as she got up and headed for the kitchen.

* * * * *

Dinner was indeed wonderful. Monique’s healthy vegetarian cooking drew endless praises, and they could not get enough of her home made sweet-potato pie. Loyal to French tradition, their hosts accompanied the meal with plenty of red wine; several brands of liquors were served with dessert.

 

Harry threw himself on the sofa, his head buzzing from one too many glasses of French wine. Hermione sat on the soft carpet beneath him, leaning back between his legs. The others seated themselves in various spots in the cozy living room and Amelie was running around, trying to find someone who would play catch with her.

 

"I’m not eating another meal again in my life!" Ron murmured, resting his head against the back of the sofa and closing his eyes. "Hermione, are you as stuffed and drunk as you wanted to be?" he asked, remembering her words from last night’s conversation.

 

"Oh, I’m definitely stuffed," She patted her stomach, then looked up at Harry. "And it seems Harry is drunk enough for both of us."

 

" I’m ‘ot ‘runk," Harry muttered sleepily, his hand stroking Hermione’s hair. "Just a li’le tired."

 

"Would anyone like to see the new project I have just finished?" Serge asked, referring to the programming lessons he had been taking for the past few months. "I assure you, it is lots of fun." He added as he got up and extended his hand to Sandrinne. "Come on, Ron, Harry, Hermione…"

 

"I think I’ll stay here for a bit and talk to Monique, if you don’t mind," Hermione said; she wanted to ask Monique something in private. "I will join you in a few minutes – with or without Mr. ‘I’m-not-drunk’ here."

 

Ron got up and joined Serge and Sandrinne as they walked to the study; Amelie followed them, squealing happily. They took seats in front of the computer and Sandrinne lifted the excited Amelie so she could sit with her. Serge activated his program and handed them control sticks. "It’s a game!" Ron said eagerly. If there was a muggle device he adored - it was a computerized game.

 

"Yes, it is. But remember," Serge cautioned, " Don’t expect too much – I am very much a beginner."

 

The screen came to life and two faceless, funny looking characters took their positions across eachother, behind small trenches in the snow. "You have to hit the other player with as many snowballs as possible," Serge explained. "After you have thrown 30 balls, you must get out of your trench to collect some more snow. That’s it, really. Ready to go?"

 

Ron and Sandrinne nodded, and the game began.

 

With every snowball that hit its target, the character twisted its face and uttered the word ‘splat!’. The song ‘Hit me with your best shot, fire away!’ by Pat Benatar was playing in the background. There was no real objective or ending to this game - all one had to do was score hits - but Ron was enjoying himself immensely; Sandrinne giggled every time her player was hit, setting off a set of imitation giggles by Amelie. Soon they were very much into the virtual fight, ducking shots and swearing revenge when a particularly vicious hit was made. Serge stood behind them, smiling in satisfaction.

 

"And I thought that every time you were cooped up in this room for hours, you were slaving to make a deadline!" Monique said accusingly as she entered the room; Hermione stood next to her, looking a bit shocked herself.

 

"Cherie, look!" Serge said excitedly, ignoring her allegation. "People are actually playing the game I made!"

 

"Hermione!" Ron was grateful to see her. "You have to help me here. I am getting my arse kicked by these two lovely ladies!" he gestured at Sandrinne and little Amelie, who assumed the role of cheerleader for Sandrinne’s player.

 

Hermione rolled her eyes, but decided to try and help Ron out. "All right." She said. "I’ll see what I can do. Scoot over." She sat next to him on his chair and took the stick from his hand. After a few seconds of getting used to the controls, Hermione was totally immersed in the fight as well.

 

Monique shook her head in feigned despair. "You have created a monster, Serge! I can already see how Amelie will not agree to do anything but this ‘splat!’ thing for a long time." She sighed. " I’ll be in the kitchen, making coffee."

 

Serge followed her out of the study, figuring they didn’t need him there anymore. He wanted to make sure his wife was indeed joking about being upset with him; and he needed to talk to Harry, who was snoozing on the living room sofa, when the others were out of earshot.

* * * * *

After a short conversation with Monique in the kitchen, Serge walked into the living room and sat next to Harry, shaking him gently.

 

"‘Ermione?" he mumbled.

 

"No, it’s me."

 

Harry opened one sleepy eye. "Good thing you made your presence noted, Serge. It would have been very embarrassing for us, if I had continued to think you were Hermione."

 

"Sorry about that." Serge lowered his voice. "But I had to ask you about…you know …what we talked about before you came to Paris. Did you…do it yet?"

 

Harry was suddenly very awake. His eyes nervously scanned the room, making sure nobody could hear them.

 

"Not yet. I wanted to do it like you suggested – where you suggested – and we didn’t have time to go there last night. Then Ron showed up, and I am very glad he did, but it makes it harder for me to take her there alone."

 

"Don’t use Ron as an excuse, Harry. You have two more nights in Paris - find the right time! All it takes is one phone call to arrange everything. Just do it already!"

"I’m a bit scared…" Harry admitted, lowering his gaze.

"It wouldn’t be normal if you weren’t scared," Serge placed a fatherly hand on Harry’s shoulder. " But I’m sure you have dealt with issues in your young life that were far more frightening than this. You can do this, Harry. Have faith in yourself; and in her."

They had to end their hushed conversation when Monique came into the living room, carrying a tray of steaming coffee mugs. The others soon showed up, talking about their fight in excited voices.

Hermione was glad to see that Harry was awake; she sat on the arm of the sofa and stroked his face. "Are you feeling all right?" she asked, threading her fingers through his hair.

"I’m fine. Just felt a bit heavy after dinner." He pulled her onto his lap and planted a quick kiss on her lips.

"So, did you use all the snow?" Serge asked Ron, who was sitting on the couch with Sandrinne, making funny faces at Amelie.

"We, er, finished the game…" he answered awkwardly. None of them had the heart to tell Serge that the program had eventually crashed.

"Have some coffee everyone." Monique said, saving them from further inquiry into the snowball game.

Ron took Serge’s advice and added lots of liquor to his cup, but Harry and Hermione had had enough alcohol for one evening and settled for plain coffee. Monique took out a tray of perfectly roasted chestnuts from the fireplace; She placed the tray on the coffee table and they all helped themselves to the warm, delicious nuts.

Everyone drank and chatted lightly, taking pleasure in the cozy atmosphere of the evening. Hermione settled more comfortably against Harry, resting her head on his shoulder and happily counting her blessings.

* * * * *

"How about we open some presents?" Serge asked some time later. "One present each?"

 

Without waiting for an answer, he walked over to the tree to retrieve some of the presents, then handed everyone a gift to unwrap. "You go first, Cherie." He said to his wife as he filled his and Ron’s cups with more Drambuie liquor.

 

Monique curiously looked at her gift, which was a white, unmarked envelope. "All right, let’s see if there’s cash in here," she joked, slitting the envelope open with her fingernail. Inside was a receipt for a gift subscription to 12 issues of ‘L’interieur’ - France’s leading interior decorating magazine, and two tickets to the special New Year’s Eve concert at the Paris opera house.

 

"Oh, darling, thank you!" she smiled happily and kissed her husband.

 

"Open yours now, Serge." Hermione said, anxious to see his reaction to the gift they spent half a day searching for.

 

Serge tore the wrapping, excited as a young boy. His eyes widened when he opened the box and pulled out a long, delicate, black and gold quill.

 

"Oh! It’s…it’s beautiful." He said.

 

Hermione could have sworn he was stifling a chuckle.

 

"Harry, why don’t you open yours now?" Serge said, his eyes twinkling.

 

Hermione suddenly realized why Serge was so amused. She smiled to herself and waited to see if she was right.

 

She was.

 

Harry opened his gift from Serge and Monique to find…the same long, delicate, black and gold quill.

 

They all burst in fits of laughter, holding on to eachother for support.

 

"This is mind-boggling!" Monique exclaimed, wiping tears from her eyes. "…Of all the items in the wizard store on Ile Saint-Louie!"

* * * * *

After their laughter had died down and they unwrapped some more presents, Hermione reached into her handbag and pulled out a small package.

She cleared her throat. "Ron," she said, "I got you a little something; it’s not a real Christmas gift, because, well, we didn’t expect to be spending the holiday together. Let’s just say it’s a gift. I thought you would find it very useful." She handed Ron the wrapped gift, which Harry recognized as the one she bought yesterday morning, at the bookstore near their hotel.

Harry smiled in realization. Hermione had thought of Ron and bought him a gift, when she didn’t know she’d be seeing him before they returned to London. Once again, he marveled at the way she always had her friends on her mind, even when they behaved selfishly and hurt her. He was overcome by the enormity of the love he was feeling for her. ‘Serge was right,’ he thought to himself as his fingers slowly caressed the back of her neck. ‘I must have faith in us, and just go ahead with the plan. And I will. Tomorrow night.’

Satisfied that he had made a decision, Harry turned his attention back to his surroundings.

Ron was holding Hermione’s gift – a thin red book that did not seem like any kind of bestseller. "Oh, wow!" he said excitedly. "This is the best French grammar book in the world! I’ll be the only one in my class to have one of these…"

"You got him a grammar book?" Harry interrupted, more than a little surprised. Then he remembered – Ron had been taking French lessons.

"It’s not just a grammar book, Harry," Ron explained. "It’s called ‘L’art De Conjuguer’ and it’s a helpful tool for those of us who wish to educate ourselves in the complicated ways of this wonderful language." He said, looking importantly at everyone in the room.

Harry noticed that Ron was a bit drunk. In the past, whenever Ron got drunk, he became extremely funny and amusing, so Harry didn’t really mind if his friend had yet another shot of Drambuie. Apparently, the others didn’t mind either; they were enjoying Ron’s assorted ramblings.

"Seriously, though, I love your language. And thanks for the gift Hermione!" Ron blew her a kiss and continued to check out his book.

* * * * *

Some time later, after making them all shed tears of laughter over his drunken jokes, Ron had finally dozed off.

Amelie was asleep as well, curled up in her father’s arms.

"Ah, so she does sleep!" Harry joked. "I was wondering about that."

"From time to time," Serge smiled. "But not as much as we’d like her to." He ducked a flying chestnut his wife had thrown his way.

"Monique," he said as he got to his feet, cradling his sleeping daughter, why don’t you take Harry and Hermione on an official tour of the apartment? I will put la petite to bed and make a quick phone call to say Merry Christmas to our vacationing parents."

"Wonderful idea!" Monique said, knowing Hermione would love to see the apartment, and Harry would definitelylove to see the balcony.

"Go ahead," Sandrinne said, smiling at them. "The view from the balcony is to die for! I will tidy up in the meantime."

Hermione glanced at the snoozing Ron, suspecting that Sandrinne wanted to do more than just tidy up; she noticed that Monique’s young sister seemed quite fascinated with him all evening.

‘Could be interesting…’ she thought as she rose from Harry’s lap and held out her hand to help him up 

* * * * *

Sandrinne stood over Ron, clearing her throat loudly. He didn’t budge 

"Ron!" she almost yelled.

He slowly opened his eyes. "Oh, it’s you…" he eyed her from head to toe, smiling impishly. " Hmmm, you’re looking quite nice this evening. Either that, or someone spiked the egg nog," he mumbled, slurring the words a bit.

Sandrinne chuckled. "Coming from you, I’ll take it as a compliment. Now have some water – it’ll help clear your head."

He sat up and took the glass of water from her hand, downing it in one gulp.

"Sorry to wake you," she said, smiling sweetly. "But I need some help in the kitchen; preferably from a long-armed person."

He stared at her curiously, his mind still enveloped in a slight haze. "Are you sure you want this long-armed person to help you?"

"I don’t see any other person here, long-armed or not. Think you can follow me to the kitchen?"

"I’ll try." Ron said, sliding off the couch and wobbling a little as he tried to stand up.

He managed to walk to the kitchen with some help from a courteous Sandrinne. Once there, he headed straight for the faucet and splashed some water on his face; it made him feel better almost immediately.

"So, what do you need help with?" he asked, running his hands through his disheveled hair.

 

"I took these plates out of the dishwasher and I need to put them in the cupboard up there, but I can’t reach it."

In his semi-alert state, it didn’t occur to Ron to ask her why she couldn’t have simply stood on a chair or a stool. "No problem," he said, taking the plates. "Long arms, do your thing!"

They quickly put away the clean dishes in the cupboards, chatting and poking fun at eachother. He was enjoying her company, against the better judgment of the defense mechanism he had built around his heart ever since…

He really didn’t want to think about it right now.

"Thanks, Ron." She said a few minutes later, when they finished with the dishes.

"My pleasure! Anything else I can do for you?" he smiled, wondering where the words came from; he also wondered what caused his hand to stray away from his body and settle on her face, lightly stroking her skin. His eyes locked with hers as the air between them changed, becoming charged and intense. He traced the outline of her lips with his finger and she inched closer to him, wanting more.

Sandrinne indulged herself with his touch for a few moments, and then abruptly turned her head, causing him to pull his hand away.

"We should go back," she said quietly, stepping away from him and walking out of the kitchen.

Ron stood there for a moment, muttering angrily, then followed her into the living room.

* * * * *

She was crouched down under the Christmas tree, collecting torn gift-wraps. Ron walked over and joined her.

"Do you need some help here too?" he asked coldly, playing with some fallen tinsel.

"No, it’s okay."

"Why did you turn away?" He decided to use the direct approach. "I was under the impression that you…kind of liked me."

She couldn’t push him away a second time. "I do like you," she placed her hand on his. "…And I’m afraid." She stood up and turned away from him.

Ron got to his feet and stood in front of her. "I know what you’re afraid of; I’m afraid of it too," he said softly. "You have no idea how much I’ve been hurt before. But I will not let that fear get the better of me. Will you?"

He realized he was holding his breath, waiting for her to say something.

She lifted her face and looked into his eyes. "What scared me the most," her voice quivered, "was the way I felt when you touched me." Her hand was slowly reaching for him. He wrapped his arms around her and leaned closer, eager to feel her lips on his.

She placed her hand on the side of his face, not pushing him away but not pulling him for a kiss either.

"What’s the matter?" he asked.

 

She leaned her head against his chest. "I feel it’s not appropriate to do this here…" her voice was muffled against his sweater.

" Sandrinne," he took pleasure in saying her beautiful name, I know you’re Monique’s little sister, but you are a grown woman."

"The others can come back any moment." She was very unconvincing; and she was pressing closer against him.

Ron was overjoyed; he realized that she was just as excited and aroused as he was. She wanted him just as much. This was going to be a monumental moment for him - this was going to be the first kiss of the rest of his life.

So maybe she was right.

"I want to kiss you," he whispered, "so much. But you’re right - we shouldn’t. Not like this, not here."

"No." she said, nudging his chin up with her head. "I was wrong. It is very appropriate."

He followed her eyes and saw what she was looking at – a small piece of mistletoe, hanging right above their heads.

"Okay, so you were right." He said, licking his lips.

"You mean - wrong."

"I mean r --"

"You talk too much, you know that?" she grabbed his sweater and pulled him down, crushing her lips against his.

* * * * *

"…It’s not that I disapprove of expanding one’s horizons," Monique was saying to Harry and Hermione as they made their way down from the upper floor, "I just wish she would focus her attention on more important things – like improving her English."

They stopped short as they entered the living room and took in the sight of Ron and Sandrinne, pressed tightly against eachother, engaged in a wildly passionate kiss.

"Well, Harry laughed, seems like she has no communication problems with him!"

The two noticed they were not alone and broke the kiss, reluctantly stepping away from eachother.

"Sandrinne!" Monique smiled wickedly, "I see you have been…entertaining Ron while we were touring the house…"

 

Sandrinne was robbed of the ability to speak; she merely pointed at the mistletoe.

 

"More coffee anyone?" Monique asked, still amused. She decided not to grill her sister for kissing a guy under the mistletoe, although what they saw was far beyond a compulsory, traditional holiday kiss. She will talk to Sandrinne tomorrow.

 

"I think we should be heading back to the hotel." Hermione said. "It’s getting late and I’m sure you and Serge need some rest."

 

"Where is Serge?" Harry looked around. "I was sure he’d be back here by now."

 

"Probably still on the phone with his parents," Monique said. "You don’t know his father – when he starts to tell you something…"

 

Sandrinne took advantage of the shift in everyone’s attention and sneaked to the kitchen, taking Ron’s hand and pulling him with her; she figured they wouldn’t be missed for the next few minutes.

 

"Ah, I see you are talking about my father!" Serge said, emerging from his study, just as Monique finished explaining how his father liked to take the scenic route every time he had something to say. "My parents - and Monique’s - wish you all a Merry Christmas. Besides that, I now know what the weather had been like in Israel for the past 4 days, what they all had for breakfast, lunch and dinner on every one of those days, and I think I also know the name of the nice waiter from that Chinese place in the city, where the manager speaks perfect French…"

Monique laughed. "Sounds like a typical, short conversation with your father." She turned to Hermione. "Are you sure you guys don’t want to stay?"

"Thanks, Monique," she said. "But we should really get going."

Harry nodded in agreement, letting out a small yawn. "Sorry…" he said, embarrassed.

"We…er…didn’t get much sleep last night…" Hermione said apologetically, hoping nobody noticed she was blushing.

Apparently, Serge did. "I will call a taxi for you," he said, winking at Hermione before going back into his study.

* * * * *

Ron released her lips and rested his forehead against hers.

"This is nice…" Sandrinne said quietly.

"Yeah…I’d say it is."

"I can’t believe we just met a few hours ago, and here I am now, ready to ask you to stay with me in the guest room tonight."

"You know I wouldn’t do that, Sandrinne." Ron’s face became serious. "I don’t want a one night stand. Not with you."

"I know…" She hugged him tighter. "You’re a good man, Ron Weasley."

He smiled. "Would you like to show me around the city tomorrow?"

"I’d love to!" She was relieved that he wasn’t put off by her improper slip-up.

"Good." He said, kissing her nose. "I’ll meet you at the Bastille Metro station in the morning; and don’t even think of taking me up the Montmartre! Now let’s go back before they notice we’re gone."

* * * * *

"So…" Harry said after they had thanked their hosts and said their goodbyes.

"So?" Ron repeated innocently.

"So, will you…see her again?"

"Yes," Ron said. "Tomorrow. And when there will be something to tell – I will tell you. Now, if you guys don’t mind, I’ll be heading to my hotel."

"Are you sure you don’t want a ride?" Hermione asked. "The taxi should be here any minute."

"Yes, I’m sure," Ron said. " It’s not far from here and the air outside is great; I’ll walk. Good night and Merry Christmas!" he hugged her, punched Harry’s shoulder lightly and disappeared around the corner.

Hermione sighed happily, thinking about the wonderful Christmas Eve they had spent with their dear friends. She turned around to find Harry staring at her again.

"What?" she asked, trying to read his eyes.

"I didn’t get the chance to personally wish you a Merry Christmas."

"Oh…" she smiled. " Merry Christmas, Harry."

He moved closer and cupped her face in his hands. "Merry Christmas, my Hermione," he whispered, covering her mouth with his. She wrapped her arms around him and melted into his kiss.

They released eachother a few moments later, when a set of headlights signaled the arrival of their taxi.

* * * * *

"You know," Hermione said, looking out the window as the taxi crossed the river en route to the left bank, "It would be great if things worked out with Ron and Monique’s sister. She’s a nice girl, she seemed to like him, and god knows he deserves some happiness."

"They seemed to hit it off," Harry agreed. "He certainly deserves to be happy; he’s been through a lot."

"We all have, Harry. I’d say that for a bunch of 25 year olds, we have been through quite a lot together - encounters with the dark forces, life-threatening injuries and illnesses, trips to more exotic places than I can count, terrible heartbreaks and unbelievable joys…" she ran her finger down his cheek, emphasizing the last part of her statement.

"And don’t forget - Paris!" he smiled, nudging her shoulder.

"No…I will definitely not forget Paris…" She slid closer and snuggled against him, happier than she had ever been.

 

FIN