Only Time

To Lily - for helping with beta, and Marie – our French consultant.

* * * * *

Who can say where the road goes,
Where the day flows
- Only time.
And who can say if your love grows,
As your heart chose
- Only time...

* * * * *

Enya, ‘Only Time’.

* * * * *

Hotel ‘Le Grand Magicien’, Wizard Quarter, Paris.

Christmas morning, 2005

* * * * *

Ron smiled as he stood in front of the bathroom mirror, casting his shaving charm. He was thinking about this Christmas and how it had turned out to be much more than he’d ever expected. During the past two days, he had made peace with his friends after spending months alone and miserable, had a wonderful Christmas dinner with Harry, Hermione, and their local friends -- and met a beautiful girl, who seemed to be very interested in him. His smile broadened at the thought of Sandrinne; he could vividly remember the smell of her hair, the taste of her lips, the feel of her arms around him. She had practically invited him to stay the night, but he graciously declined, offering to spend Christmas day together instead.

“That was very smooth of you!” he winked at his reflection and started to hum the first verses of ‘Smooth Operator.’

“Oh, cut it out!” His mirror snorted. ‘Smoothness had nothing to do with it! You thought you might actually be able to feel something for this girl. That’s why you said no.”

“I guess so…” Ron nodded thoughtfully. “Yeah… you’re probably right.”

“Of course I’m right.” The mirror shot back. “Now get busy with that shaving charm, so I won’t have to look at your stubbly face! And for Merlin’s sake, put some decent clothes on!”

“All right, all right, I’m getting there!  Keep your head on.” Ron rolled his eyes. Spiteful mirrors… exactly what he needed when he was nervous about his date with Sandrinne.

He finished shaving and checked his watch; there was still enough of time to drop by the closest boulangerie for some fresh croissants before he headed to the Metro station to meet her.

“Happy Christmas!” he said to the mirror as he stepped out of the bathroom to get dressed -- as far away as possible from its probing eyes.

* * * * *

Hotel ‘Les Rives De Notre Dame,’

Latin Quarter, Paris.

* * * * *

A lone ray of sun peered through the blinds, welcoming Hermione back to consciousness. She stretched her body, instinctively reaching for Harry’s sleeping form; she ached to feel his skin under her fingers again, but stopped her hand in mid motion, opting not to disturb his peaceful slumber. After all, neither of them had gotten much sleep since they arrived in Paris two days ago.

Her thoughts drifted to Ron and his possible newfound romance. She and Harry had agreed that this could be the beginning of a nice relationship - the kind they knew Ron had desperately been longing for. But Hermione also had an indistinct feeling that there was something about Sandrinne -- something that was sending out a slightly unsettling vibe. She pondered the possible sources of that vibe for a few moments, and then decided to dismiss the notion, regarding it as the product of her protective instincts. ‘More like, over-protective instincts!’ she silently scolded herself. Ron was a grown man; no matter how her woman’s intuition felt about his new love interest, she shouldn’t be thinking about protecting him all the time.

All thoughts of Ron and Sandrinne instantly vanished from Hermione’s mind the moment she felt Harry’s hand slip underneath the comforter and stroke the skin just above her navel in slow, side-to-side motions. She smiled to herself. This was one of Harry’s most lovable habits - he would lightly stroke her stomach whenever he woke up and felt …  in the mood.

Delighted that he was awake, she gave in to the urge she had resisted just moments before, and her hand practically darted up to his cheek.

“Merry Christmas…” Harry turned his face into her palm, his lips tickling her skin.

“You rang?” She batted her eyelashes and dragged her nails across his arm, which was still stroking her stomach.

Harry didn’t answer. He swiftly withdrew his hand and rolled on top of her, propping himself on his elbows and caging her face between them. His fingers stroked her hair and he mumbled something unintelligible as he touched his lips to hers in a series of soft, feather-light kisses. He lifted his head after every kiss, the expression on his face a combination of pure ecstasy and intense concentration, as if he was engraving the memory of the kisses into his mind. 

Hermione wrapped her arms around him and stroked his back, trying to satisfy her need to feel more. She gasped as he pressed the full length of his body closer against her, the wonderful sensation of being blanketed under his soft, warm skin making her lightheaded.

He stopped kissing her for a moment, his gaze locking with hers.

‘Make love to me, Harry…’ Her eyes silently pleaded.

No further encouragement was necessary as tenderness was promptly replaced by passion. His mouth hungrily claimed hers, and the outer world, appealing as it may be, simply ceased to exist.

* * * * *

Ron stood at the Metro station, his mind filled with bothersome thoughts. After the magic of last night, his expectations were high; he feared that perhaps they were a little too high. What if she had woken up this morning and changed her mind? He worried about a million other things that could go wrong between them.

‘Calm down, Weasley!’ He ordered himself, shaking his head in disbelief.

“Bonjour!” A cheerful voice called out from behind, and a small, gloved hand grabbed his arm and turned him around.

“Sandrinne!” He smiled, not sure how he should greet her. A handshake seemed too formal for two people who shared a couple of passionate kisses the night before, but she wasn’t exactly his girlfriend, either. He decided to play it safe and go for the usual Parisian cheek kisses, but apparently Sandrinne had no doubt as to the way they should greet each other; she stood on her toes and pressed her lips to his.

‘Hmmm, I’d say this is a proper greeting’, he thought as they deepened the kiss, bodies inching closer and arms snaking around each other.

“I want you to know,” Sandrinne said when they pulled away for air, “that I don’t usually grab a guy I met less than 24 hours ago and kiss him like this, in the centre of a Metro station…” 

“Well then, I guess I just have that kind of influence on you.” Ron grinned, licking the residue of her vanilla flavoured lip-gloss from his lips.

A strange expression clouded her face for a moment – as though she was frightened by how strongly he had affected her. He shot her a puzzled look, but before he could say anything, the smile returned to her face. She grabbed his hand and pulled him towards the platform.

They boarded the Metro line that was heading in the direction of ‘La Defense’. Ron knew it was the city’s most recently built area, complete with American-style skyscrapers and modern architectural monuments.

“I have many things planned for us today,” she said when they were seated inside the train.

“Oh yeah?” He asked apprehensively, “like what?” Knowing her family’s athletic background, he feared she planned some kind of grueling physical activity, one that would probably be considered fun and relaxing by her standards.

Sandrinne smacked his arm. “Don’t look so scared! You won’t have to do anything… how do you say… sternus?” she looked at him questioningly.

“Strenuous,” he corrected, releasing a sigh of relief.

“Yes, strenuous,” she repeated. “ Nothing like that. We start with ‘La Defense’, then the usual tour of the Champs Elysées area and Le Tour Eiffel. No climbing to the top -- I promise. And then, I want to take you somewhere … special.” She smiled.

“I think I can live with that,” he smiled back and stroked her face with his fingers.

Out of the corner of his eye, Ron noticed a strange man staring at him intently. He suddenly remembered that this man was standing behind him in line at the boulangerie; he had the same look in his narrowed eyes as he had earlier - a chilling, piercing gaze, which shifted back and forth from Ron to Sandrinne.

She didn’t seem to be aware of anything, and Ron didn’t want to alarm her or have her think he was paranoid, so he decided to ignore the stranger. The man was probably just one of those weirdoes anyway.

* * * * *

Hermione relaxed under the hot shower, the strong spray gently massaging her muscles. She winced a little as the water flowed over her irritated skin -- courtesy of Harry’s morning stubble making up-close-and-personal contact.

Harry … sometimes she wondered what it was that she had done, in this lifetime or in a past one, to deserve the love of such a wonderful man.

Just as she started getting absorbed in thoughts of exactly how wonderful he was, she heard him say something from behind the closed door, but couldn’t make out his words.

“I can’t hear you!” she shouted, not quite willing to step out of the warm water; if he had something important to say, he would come in and tell her.

“I said,” Harry’s head suddenly appeared next to her, “that I am going downstairs to drop off our dry-cleaning.” His eyes travelled up and down her body and a grin spread across his face. “Unless you need me to stay here and help you scrub your ba--” 

He nearly lost his balance as Hermione slipped a soapy hand behind his neck and pulled him down, her lips muffling the rest of his words.

She released him a moment later, casually turning her attention back to the bottle of shampoo. “Be sure to take my blue dress,” she said sweetly, enjoying the stunned look on his face.

Shaking his head and smiling to himself, Harry stepped back into the room and gathered their dry-cleaning items. Once he was alone in the elevator, he dug into his pocket and pulled out the note with the phone number; he stared at it for a moment, biting his lip thoughtfully.

* * * * *

“Allo?” A sleepy, impatient voice answered the phone, reminding Harry that he was calling people at home on Christmas morning.

“Er… bonjour. Sorry to bother you, Madame -- I am calling for Monsieur Philippe Ladoux.”

"Qui est à l'appareil?" The woman was not going to make things easy for him.

“Anglais?” he managed. “Do you speak English?” Harry was twitching nervously, wondering if this had been a good idea after all. He didn’t have too much time to make this call; in a few minutes, Hermione would probably wonder what’s keeping him.

“Who it is?”

“My name is Harry Potter. I was given this number by Monsieur Serge Villars; he said that Philippe may be able to--”

“Ah, Serge! Bien sur!” Her tone changed immediately. “ Wait, I get my husband for you.”

In the background, she was saying something he couldn’t understand, but he picked up Serge’s name in the sentence. Harry breathed a sigh of relief, thankful that his friend’s name had turned out to be the magic word. Within a minute, he was finally speaking to Philippe.

“Bonjour and Merry Christmas! Harry, right? What can I help you with?” Philippe was apparently in a much better mood than his wife was that morning.

“Yes – Harry. Harry Potter. I was wondering if you could do me a favour tonight, please. I want to come to where you work and—“

“Desolé. Sorry, I am not working tonight. My next shift is tomorrow, and I will be glad to help you then.”

Harry’s spirits sank; tomorrow night they were due back in London -- they both had to work the next day. He quickly ran over his options: he could either find another place to carry out his plan, or talk Hermione into staying in Paris a little longer and Apparate home late tomorrow night, instead of earlier in the day as planned. His confidence returned once he realized that this was still possible. It could actually be better this way: the grand finale to their Christmas holiday.

“Tomorrow will be perfect,” he said to Philippe. “I appreciate your help.”

“Any friend of Serge is a friend of mine -- I am happy to help. So, what do you need me to do for you, Monsieur Potter?”

* * * * *

“Did you like La Defense?” Sandrinne tried to call Ron’s attention back.

“Mm-hmm” he answered absently.

They were walking towards the Eiffel Tower, and Ron’s eyes were glued to the famous monument. When they reached the gardens at the foot of the tower, he was so taken with the view that Sandrinne feared he would strain his neck.

“Come on,” she dragged him to one of the benches. “If you must look at it all the time, better do it from here.” She sat down and patted the spot beside her. Ron complied obediently, but didn’t quite get the point.

“Okay, so we are sitting down; it only makes me have to lift my head higher.”

“Mon Dieu…” she rolled her eyes, gesturing at the length of the bench.

“Oh…” Ron finally got it. He lay back, his knees bent and his feet flat on the bench; since Sandrinne was sitting at the other end, his head landed in her lap. Ron smiled happily, enjoying the sight of the Eiffel, looming even higher now that he was looking at it from a reclining position.

After a few moments, he was no longer interested in the tower. Sandrinne was looking closely at him, a sly smile on her face; one of her hands was stroking his hair and the other settled on his chest, her fingers moving as if to request the company of his. Ron immediately brought his own hand up and laced his fingers with hers. He noticed, with a fine amount of satisfaction, that her breathing was becoming a bit irregular.

“I definitely like the way it looks from here,” he stated.

“The way what looks?”

“The Eiffel Tower,” he answered flatly, not moving his gaze from her face.

“Ah oui, the Eiffel tower; I think it looks nice too.” She stared down at their clasped hands, now draped across his stomach. His lips were right there, so soft and inviting … there was no reason to resist; she dipped her head down, settling her mouth firmly on his.

Ron relaxed into the kiss, allowing her to take the lead. Soon enough, she was kissing him with undisguised hunger; she released their entwined fingers, slipping her hand underneath his sweater and stroking his chest.

‘She’s seducing me…’ he realized. For some reason, the thought caused him to break their kiss. 

“Sandrinne, wait…” he panted. She looked at him with a confused expression.

“Why?” she whispered in his ear, her hot breath causing the hairs on the back of his neck to stand up.

“Because, I want to talk to you about … things. About you, us …” he couldn’t believe that a beautiful girl was holding him in her arms, eager to carry out a cozy snog session – and he needed to talk. But he really did; he realized they didn’t know much about each other, and he wanted to know more about her.

“All right,” she pretended to pout. “What did you want to talk about?”

“What do you know about me, Sandrinne?”

 “I know you are a warm, caring person; you are fun to be with and you tell stupid jokes when you drink...” She grabbed his hand again and continued. “I know you taste like honey and spices, and now I have also learned that you are quite smooth-chested …” She smiled. “ Your turn!”

“Okay,” Ron cleared his throat and blushed. “I admit there’s definitely some attraction here; but besides the incredible way you look, taste and feel, and how wonderfully well you fit in my arms, I can say that I only know your name, your age, the fact that you’ve been to India and you make a great tourist guide. That’s about it.”

“You can ask me if you want to know other things.”

“I’d be happier if you told me,” he said frankly.

“My life story?” she laughed, “you’ll be snoring after two minutes, but sinceyou asked for it,I have a totally uninteresting job with the Department of Culture at the Paris municipal office. I help organize official events like Bastille Day celebrations, special parades and visits of Mayors from our twin cities around the world. I like to watch American TV shows, I eat only healthy food, and my last boyfriend was an inconsiderate idiot.” She stopped talking and grinned at him. “Boring enough already?”

“I would never find it boring to hear about you. So where did you go to school? Oh, silly me, of course, you went to Beauxbatons… what was it like there? I always wanted to know if it was like Hogwarts …”

Sandrinne looked at him strangely. “Beauxba — oh, merde… you think I am …” she stroked his face again, her voice becoming almost apologetic. “ Ron, I … I am not a witch. I thought you knew that. I know about magic because as you know, my sister is happily married to a wizard. But I am just … just me,” she smiled, shrugging her shoulders.

Ron was quite shocked at the revelation. “So your sister Monique …”

“Is not a witch either,” she finished.

He remembered that she never said anything about herself and her sister being witches or Muggles; come to think of it, he just assumed she was a witch.

“Does it bother you?” she asked quietly.

“No,” he smiled reassuringly, “it doesn’t bother me. I have never dated a Muggle girl before, but I kind of like this one here …” he ran his finger down her cheek. “Besides, look at your sister and Serge - a perfect example of Muggle-wizard relationship …”

Sandrinne’s lips were on his before he could finish the sentence; this time, he allowed himself to enjoy their kiss freely. He realized he was being too harsh about their developing relationship. They would get to know each other better – all in due time. He decided to just go along with it, see where it took them.

“We should get going,” she said some time later; her back was starting to hurt from bending over him. “I still have to show you Champs Elysées, among other things. Now that you have gotten the Eiffel tower out of the way, you can be less of a nag and enjoy everything else." 

Ron lifted his head from her lap and sat up straight, kissing her lips again. “So you think I’m being a nag, eh?” he said as he got off the bench and extended his hand.

“Maybe, a little bit,” she laughed and took his hand. “Just about this tower …”

They started to make their way towards the 8^th quarter and Champs ElyséesAvenue when Ron suddenly froze. At the other end of the street they were about to cross stood the stranger from the Metro; he looked startled, as if he wasn’t expecting to be seen. When his eyes met Ron’s, he quickly turned around and disappeared around the corner.

“What is it?” Sandrinne questioned.

“Nothing. I thought I saw someone I knew, but it wasn’t him.”

Ron didn’t know what to make of this man who seemed to be following them around. It could be just a coincidence, although he’d seen him three times in one morning. He turned his attention back to Sandrinne, determined to make the most of their day together; thoughts of sinister looking characters lurking around corners were pushed to the back of his mind.

Across the street, the man looked on as the two walked away. “I should be more careful,” he thought to himself.  

* * * * *

Harry and Hermione were having breakfast on the grass in the ‘Luxembourg’ gardens; despite the cold temperature, it was a lovely day outside, so they took a picnic basket from the hotel’s concierge and filled it with fresh baguettes, vegetables and cheeses.

“Do you mind if we went to Versailles Palace today instead of tomorrow?” Harry asked, attempting to sound casual.

“Why?” She shot him a questioning glance from behind a crispy piece of French bread.

“Because today is Christmas, and the palace will not be so crowded;this way we can enjoy it more. Tomorrow we’ll stay in the city and see the places we planned to see today.” He hoped she wouldn’t notice his desperation and figure out he was up to something.

“You’re right,” she said, causing Harry to almost show his surprise and betray his cool exterior. “We can have Versailles to ourselves.”

“Nothing but the best for my queen …” he bowed his head in a feigned royal gesture, and Hermione burst out laughing. “Versailles it is, then. I can’t wait to see what kind of shack this King Louis character lived in,” he joked, dipping his finger into the small box of goat cheese. “Mmm, Hermione, you have to taste this …”

“All right,” she said coolly, grabbing his wrist and taking his finger into her mouth. “Not bad,” she licked her lips. “Although I think I didn’t get a good enough taste.”

“Oh, you didn’t? That can be rectified.” He dipped his fingersin the cheese again, his eyes never leaving hers as he slowly brought them to her lips.

“It’s really good, Harry,” she said when he removed his fingers. “You know, you should have some more.”

Before Harry could reply, she leaned in and kissed him; he groaned and pulled her close, giving in to the wonderful feeling that always washed over him every time their lips met.

He was less worried now; things would go as planned – he just knew it. Philippe would do his part and everything would be just perfect.

End of part 1