We'll Always Have Paris

When they stepped off the train, Professor McGonagall spotted a tall, handsome wizard with shiny black hair and a chiseled, but kind face. "Professor Lemieux," she smiled sweetly. "It is such a pleasure to see you again. It has been much too long."

They embraced like old friends, and then she introduced him to her students. "Miss Granger, Mr. Malfoy, this is Professor Stefan Lemieux. He is the Charms teacher at Beauxbatons Academy, and he is an excellent instructor." Professor Lemieux smiled, apparently flattered. "You are both very fortunate to be studying with him, even if it is only for two months. I have been trying to persuade him for years to spend some time teaching at Hogwarts, but he always politely declines."

His voice was deep but soft, as he returned her gracious compliments, "You are too kind, Menairva. I am just so pleased that the program has been resurrected, so that we can teach at the same school once again." He shook hands with Hermione and Draco, and then smiled, "Did you students know that Professor McGoneegall used to teach here at Beauxbatons when she first graduated from Hogwarts?" Hermione and Draco were both stunned by this news. It was hard for either of them to picture Minerva McGonagall in any classroom other than her Transfiguration room at Hogwarts, and a young teacher at that!

On their way to the school, Professor Lemieux told Hermione and Draco all about Professor McGonagall's early teaching years at Beauxbatons. It seemed that she and their new Charms teacher were very old, very dear friends. The two laughed and reminisced while the coach took them to the school.

Hermione was very pleased to meet such a friendly and charming professor from her new school. It was very easy to understand him as he spoke, because he had just a trace of a French accent. He pronounced all of their names slightly different, but she thought that was actually quite endearing ... Menairva, 'ermionee, Drahco. She had always considered French accents to be quite romantic.

Their magical coach climbed its way up a mountain. When it reached the top, Professor Lemieux murmured a few words, and they came to a halt. The sight in the valley below them was truly magical. Beauxbatons Academy was an impressive, dazzling castle. It was hard to hide their awe when Draco and Hermione first stepped foot onto the grounds. With its lush, green grounds and many turrets, Beauxbatons looked like a picture plucked right from a fairy tale book. It even had a moat surrounding the castle with a creaky drawbridge to add to the overall effect.

He explained to them that their rooms were in the VIP wing of the castle, which were usually reserved for French ministry officials and important guests. They each had their own room, but all of their doors led out into a large sitting area with couches, chairs, and desks for studying. He motioned for them to follow him through the rest of the VIP wing, so he could give them a brief tour, but Hermione's eyes were drawn immediately to the two large French doors off to the side of the sitting room. Professor Lemieux had talked at length about the magnificent garden growing off their terrace, and Hermione was too excited to wait. She walked over, turned the large brass handles, and pushed the large doors out. The most wonderful surprise awaited her. Perched on top of one of the wrought iron railings hooting happily was a large, snowy owl with a note attached to her leg. "Hedwig!" Hermione exclaimed. "Are you a sight for sore eyes!" After such a long and tense train ride, Hermione was thrilled to see something that reminded her of friends back at Hogwarts. This was just like Harry, who, better than anyone, knew what it was like to be separated from friends and forced to live in close proximity to foes. She raced excitedly over to Hedwig to give the owl a friendly scratch behind her wings and remove the delivered letter.

Draco had followed her out to the terrace and rolled his eyes when he spied Harry's owl waiting for Hermione. "Jeez, Granger," he drawled. "You've only been gone for a few hours. How are Potter and Weasley going to manage two whole months?" He motioned toward the letter in her hands, "I'll bet there's even a few wet spots on the parchment from where your baby smoochie-poo's tears fell as he penned some sappy love poem telling you how much he can't bear be without you." Hermione was too busy reading the parchment to pay attention to the fact that Draco had stepped up behind her.

Dear Hermione,

I hope the train trip was OK. Ron and I have a bet on how long it took before you started reading a book. Ron guessed 5 minutes. I bet that you and Draco had some sort of row first and McGonagall broke it up by transfiguring Malfoy into a leech. That last bit probably didn't happen, but I can always dream, can't I? The loser has to eat a whole tray of Hagrid's treacle fudge. Anyway, I thought you might like to see a friendly face when you arrived at Beauxbatons. Send Hedwig back with an answer when you get a chance.

Harry

She smiled as she reread his letter, laughing at she pictured Ron eating all that fudge by himself. All of a sudden she could feel Draco standing behind her, his chest pressing against her back as his head moved to look over her left shoulder. His warm breath tickled her ear. Before he could reach around and snatch the letter away from Hermione, she clutched the parchment to her chest and spun away from him. "What do you think you're doing, Malfoy?" she yelled. "This letter is private. How dare you try ..."

"Relax, Granger, relax." He sighed, sounding bored as he collapsed into a comfortable chaise lounge on the terrace and placed his hands behind his head. "Don't get your knickers in a twist. I really don't care what your little boyfriend has to say. If I did read it, I'd probably get sick from its disgustingly sweet goodness. The meal on the train wasn't that good the first time around. I really don't want to see it again."

"Stop saying that."

"What? I really would throw up if I were unfortunate enough to read Potter's inept attempts at poetry."

"No. Stop calling Harry my boyfriend. We're not like that," explained Hermione, and then she paused. "We never have been." Feeling as if she had revealed too much information, Hermione looked away quickly as she neatly tucked the letter back into its envelope.

But Draco would not let it lie. "Awwww, poor little mudblood Granger can't get the great and powerful Harry Potter to notice her." With a trace of disdain he added, "What a pity."

The cold truth was that Draco was right. Last year she had started thinking Harry could be "the one." And why not? It was logical they would be a good match, and Hermione was nothing if not logical. He respected her, valued her judgment, and treated her as an equal, but Hermione wanted more. She wanted to feel that feeling. The one where just the sound of someone's voice made your heart race so fast you got dizzy. The one where all the bad things that happen in a day were wiped clean from your mind the minute you saw that certain smile. It made sense that Harry should be the one who made her feel all these things. They had been best friends for over 5 years. He knew her quirks and she knew his. They had seen each other at their best and worst, and they both admired each other immensely.

She knew it would never happen between them though, because all the times Hermione had watched Harry in fifth year, he had been watching Cho Chang. Hermione knew why Harry would be more interested in Cho, who was pretty and popular and had all the qualities teenage wizards were after. She had hoped that the summer break would weaken her crush on him, but the minute she saw him on the train, Hermione felt her heart speed up. That was one of the reasons she was so excited about coming to France. She wanted a distraction. Something, or someone, to keep her mind off of Harry.

The feel of Draco's icy stare on her face shook Hermione from her reverie. "You don't know what you're talking about, Malfoy. We're just friends. That's it. End of story."

"Just friends, eh? I saw that lingering little hug you gave Potter in the entrance hall at Hogwarts. Friends don't hug like that."

"How would you know, you stupid git? You don't even have any friends, never mind a friend who would actually want to come into close personal contact with you!" She was yelling now. Draco always seemed to know when to push the right buttons.

The doors to the terrace swung open and Professor Lemieux entered followed closely by Professor McGonagall, who looked horrified. They had been left alone for no more than five minutes and were already staring daggers at each other. Agitation rolling off her in waves, she turned to Professor Lemieux. "Thank you very much, Professor, for showing us to our living quarters. They are positively exquisite. But if you wouldn't mind, I would like a few moments alone with my students before we get ready for this evening's welcome feast."

Professor Lemieux nodded politely. He again welcomed Professor McGonagall and her students and expressed his wishes for a wonderful and educational experience for them as well as the Beauxbatons students. He walked back through the doors, closing the doors gently behind him.

Professor McGonagall shut the doors behind him, took a deep breath, and turned to face Draco and Hermione. She motioned for them to sit and then paced before them, almost as if she were gearing up to lead troops into battle. "Tonight is a very important evening," she began. "The tone and manner you set tonight will carry through the next two months." To make sure her words did not fall on deaf ears, she pointedly made eye contact with each of them before continuing, "As a result, there will be no more displays of open hostility, no pouting, no eye rolling, and plenty of smiles during the course of the evening. Is that clear?"

Draco and Hermione tentatively looked at each other, and then nodded. "Good," Professor McGonagall said. "Then go to your rooms and get freshened up. We will meet in our common room in precisely 45 minutes to head down to the feast, and you'd better have those smiles ready. I don't care if you spend the next 45 minutes practicing them in the mirror."

Draco slowly drew himself from his chair to head to his room, but Hermione hung back to write a quick letter of thanks to Harry to send off with Hedwig. She told him all about the train ride, minus the whole "staring" incident, and that he won the bet. She told him to take a picture of Ron eating the fudge, so that she could see the expression on his face. She told him to say "Hi" to Ron and all the other Gryffindors for her and asked him to write back soon. As she watched Hedwig fly away, part of Hermione wished she was flying back too.

***************

It was no secret that Hermione loved to answer in class. She studied hard and knew how to respond. She could prepare herself. In class, she was surrounded by all her fellow Gryffindors, and the amount of eyes staring at her was a relatively small number. The Beauxbatons welcome feast would be different. Hermione never felt comfortable standing in front of crowds of strangers, and the pressure of the situation exacerbated her fears that evening. Most of the people at Beauxbatons had never seen a Hogwarts student before, so, whether she liked it or not, Hermione was the personification of the "Hogwarts Girl". Their future opinions of all girls from her school would be based on her representation. The minute she walked into that room, they would all be thinking the same things: Is she smart? Is she conceited? Is she wearing nice robes? Is she pretty? The whole of Beauxbatons Academy would be watching her, craning their necks to get a glance at the Hogwarts students. All that attention. All those people. All those staring eyes, waiting for her to fall flat on her face and make a fool of herself.

Standing outside the dinner hall, Hermione nervously fidgeted with her new burgundy dress robes, trying to smooth out all the nonexistent creases in an attempt to keep her mind busy. Before the doors opened, she stole a quick glance at Draco and felt more at ease. He nervously ran his long fingers through his soft blonde hair, trying to make sure it wasn't sticking out anywhere. He took a deep breath and slowly exhaled it out his mouth. She smiled to herself, Well, I guess he's part human after all.

The evening proceeded pleasantly enough. Hermione and Draco had to sit next to each other, and the night passed surprisingly without incident. "Although they didn't exchange any small talk, a few of their new teachers were seated with them and kept the conversation flowing. They did, however, manage small pleasantries: Please pass the salt, please pass the bread basket, and the like. A small but unexpected surprise occurred as they were preparing their after-dinner tea. As Hermione and Draco reached for the sugar at the same time, his hand brushed up against hers. His hand lingered for the briefest of moments, drawn to her soft warmth. Then he jerked his hand away and stuck it under the table. Hermione spooned some sugar into her tea and then placed the sugar in front of Draco, who, still caught up in their inadvertent and all too brief touch, thanked her. Hermione turned her eyes away from her teacup to look at him. "You're welcome," she replied, feeling, for the first time since Draco entered Professor McGonagall's office that she just might be able to bear the next two months.

After tea, Madame Maxime introduced Hermione and Draco to some of the Beauxbatons students. There were several girls who were friendly and spoke very animatedly with Hermione and Draco. But mostly just Draco. Hermione thought she had a good grasp of the French language, since she had spent several summers in France and had even bought some of those muggle "Learn to Speak French Like a Native" tapes the minute she'd found out she'd been accepted for the exchange program. In spite of her preparation, however, Hermione found she was having difficulty following the rapid pace of the girls' conversation. Draco, on the other hand, appeared perfectly at ease speaking with the French girls, especially Isabel. She was tall, had sandy-blond hair, legs a mile long, and curves in all the right places. Hermione couldn't stop the jealous thought, Hmph. She obviously has a few body enhancing spells up her sleeve. Draco reveled in all the attention, and he spoke with ease to Isabel about how amazing the academy was and how much he looked forward to seeing her in class. At least that was what Hermione gathered from the bits and pieces of the conversation she was able to understand. Between all the hair flipping and batting of eyelashes, Hermione felt a bit queasy. Then she felt a gentle hand on her arm.

"E'scuz me," he smiled. "'Ow are you liking Beauxbatons, Miz Granger?" Thankful to be rescued from Draco's unabashed flirting, she turned to greet the owner of the soothing voice and saw the most beautiful sight standing before her. He was tall and thin like Harry, but not quite so lanky. His hair was dark brown with a slight cowlick in the back. His smile showed off a perfect set of pearly white teeth, which would make her dentist parents proud. Her eyes moved upwards, and behind a pair of wire rimmed glasses, she spied a vibrant pair of ocean-blue eyes. He looked at her questioningly. "Miz Granger, are you all right?"

Realizing she was standing there with her mouth hanging open, Hermione collected herself, blushing slightly, and replied, "Yes, I'm fine. Thank you." She held out her hand to him and said, "But please, call me Hermione."

He took her hand in his and shook it with a confident, yet tender, grip. As his face broke into another breathtaking smile, Hermione felt her toes actually tingle. "It is a pleazure to meet you, Hermione. I am Phillippe Hasley. I 'ope it is all right zat I am speaking English with you. I am planning on visiting your country when I leave Beauxbatons, so I would like to improve my speaking.

Hermione smiled brightly back at him and could feel her stomach start to somersault. The French accent just added to his allure. Feeling a sense of relief, she responded, "Oh no, that's fine. Your English is excellent already. Have you been studying long?" Hermione and Phillippe then began the most best conversation Hermione had had since leaving Hogwarts. Phillippe was a wonderful and attentive listener, who made Hermione feel at ease in this environment. He was positively charming. Pretty soon it felt like the rest of the room melted away and only she and Phillippe were left.

The sound of Hermione's laughter dragged Draco's attentions abruptly from Isabel. He turned at the sound and a look of horror flashed across his face. The dark, unkempt hair, the glasses, the way Hermione leaned in close to hear him. It just couldn't be. "Who the bloody hell is that prat?" The words flew from his mouth before he could stop them.

Isabel followed his gaze, and she replied in perfect English, "Oh, that is Phillippe. He will be playing for the French National Team after he graduates. He is the best Chaser Beauxbatons has had in over 50 years. He is quite a charmer." She smirked knowingly, "He seems to have taken a liking to your school friend." Then with a look of apprehension, she pouted, "That girl is not your girlfriend, is she?"

With a look of horror, he exclaimed a bit too emphatically, "Granger? My girlfriend? Bite your tongue." He forced his attentions back to his new friend. "Isabel, your English is superb. Where did you learn to speak it so well?" He was so busy watching Hermione and the Harry proxy, that he never even heard Isabel's reply.

********************

To all outside observers, Draco appeared to be adjusting perfectly to the new people, culture, and school; but deep down he was not. And Hermione was not making the situation any easier for him. It was only Monday but every morning she was flooded with all different kinds of owls: tawny, gray, brown, and even this little mouse with wings she seemed to be calling "Pig" for some bizarre reason. And of course there was Harry's snowy owl, which seemed to be taking up permanent residence there just to perturb Draco even further. Every day since their arrival, Hermione received something from her friends back at Hogwarts, and Draco had received a total of zero. Zilch. Nada. Not even from his parents. He had watched the look in Hermione's eyes change from triumph to pity as, every day the mail owls swooped in, and every day Draco was the only one to leave their table empty- handed. A Mudblood pitying a Malfoy. It was absurd. But Draco could not hide his bitterness that morning when Hedwig appeared yet again carrying a note from Harry and Co. "Granger, can you ask your fan club to ease up on all the owls? They keep dropping their feathers into my breakfast and that deranged one that looks like a little fluff ball keeps trying to peck at my head. What could all these people possibly have to tell you that's so important?"

Hermione could sense his frustration, so she let his comments roll off her without making any cutting remarks back. His already less-than-charming mood had gotten worse after he had met Phillippe. For reasons Hermione could not fathom, Draco had taken an instant disliking to him. When Madame Maxime had introduced the two young men at the feast, Draco had just stared at Phillippe with the scowl Hermione thought he usually reserved for Harry and Ron. Hermione had waited anxiously for their initial meeting to be over; because Draco always brought out the worst in her and she was very taken with Phillippe. He reminded her so much of Harry, except Phillippe had more poise, more confidence. He actually sort of reminded Hermione of Draco in that way. Remembering Draco's face that evening and knowing that he still did not receive any owls, Hermione felt it best to not agitate him.

Not bothering to hide the sour expression on his face, Draco pushed his scrambled eggs aimlessly around his plate. At that moment Draco was thinking of Phillippe as well, but for very different reasons. Of all the bloody luck, he complained silently. I finally get free from Potter only to meet his double a few hours later. And this one's even tall to boot. I'll bet he's a wanker just like Potter. There was just something about this new guy that Draco did not like. It went beyond his resemblance to Harry. He caught a glimpse of Hermione as she stared at Phillippe across the dining hall. He huffed and tossed his fork on his barely touched breakfast. "I've lost my appetite," he announced.

Professor watched her students curiously. She had made several attempts at engaging Hermione and Draco in conversation with her the whole weekend, but to no avail. It was now Monday morning, and they were about to start their first day of classes at Beauxbatons. True to their word, Draco and Hermione had stopped the open displays of hostility, but these long silences were just as bad. She had hoped the social atmosphere and excitement of the welcome feast would make them relax a bit, but they did not. So she tried a new tack. "Have either of you given any thought about what historic places you would like to visit on our field trips?" But instead of conversation, the professor was greeted with perplexed faces. "What? Stop staring at me like hinkypunks just landed on my head. I saw you reading a book on French magical history, Hermione. You must have some suggestions to get you both started on your presentation."

Hermione's face went stark white, and she practically jumped out of her seat. Draco seemed just as surprised. "What field trips, Professor?" Hermione asked nervously, glancing at Draco. "And I don't know anything about any presentation." This was awful. Unpreparedness was one of Hermione's greatest fears.

"Honestly, you'd think this comes as a big shock to you both," replied Professor McGonagall incredulously. "How many times did I review the itinerary with you? But then again I guess it is difficult to concentrate on the details of things when your minds are too busy plotting the demise of each other." Looking stern and exasperated, she clarified, "All right. One more time then.

"This exchange program was halted shortly after You-Know-Who began getting stronger all those years ago. The French ministry was concerned about the integrity of Hogwarts, since the school not only did not identify Tom Riddle's predilection for the Dark Arts, but Hogwarts made him Head Boy to boot. The Beauxbatons Academy Board felt any connections to Hogwarts could put their own country and wizards at risk. So the exchange program was stopped.

"When the Triwizard Tournament ended in such unfortunate circumstances, both the French and British ministries vowed not to repeat past mistakes. Encouraged by both Madame Maxime and Dumbledore, the student exchange program between our two schools was reborn, but on a trial basis only. This is its first year. The program is being evaluated for its merit and effectiveness for forming strong alliances between our two communities. This is where you come in.

"In six weeks, there will be a meeting between the heads of both ministries in Paris. The exchange students from both schools are expected to make presentations on their experiences. We will take field trips to important locations in the French magical community to expose you to some of the culture outside of the school. These field trips will be educational as well as recreational. The exchange students at Hogwarts will be taking in some of England's sights as well. The information you provide will be used to evaluate whether the program should be continued, if it should extend beyond 8 weeks, if more students should be involved, etc. Does none of this ring a bell for either of you? Not even you, Miss Granger?" Both students shook their heads, dumbfounded. They both knew she had been droning on and on about the "itineraries" repeatedly, but her speeches were always right after one of Draco and Hermione's fights. It was just easier to tune her out when she did that.

Draco found his voice first, "So you're saying we each have to make speeches to some ministry officials about how we like Beauxbatons?"

"Well, not exactly." Professor McGonagall shifted uncomfortably in her chair. "The two of you will actually work together to give just one presentation." Now all of the color was completely gone from Hermione's face. They were starting to get curious stares from the surrounding tables. Professor McGonagall tried to alleviate their mounting tensions and, with a forced smile, spoke softly, "Before either of you fly off the handle, remember that you are representatives of Hogwarts during a very critical juncture. It is more logical for each school to just give one presentation instead of having four individual ones. The ministers also thought it would be a positive way to maintain school pride by having the students work on a joint project." Her voice sped up a bit and she spoke more to herself than to them, "Obviously they had no idea who they would be dealing with, but, nonetheless, you will do this project together, and you will present a united front at the conference. Is that clear?"

Hermione's head finally stopped spinning. "These field trips ... " she began. Professor McGonagall seemed stunned by her overly calm demeanor, so Hermione repeated herself, "These field trips you were talking about. It's not just going to be us right? Some of the Beauxbatons students can come with us, right?" She looked quickly over at Phillippe's table once more.

Draco rolled his eyes, "Good Lord, Granger is that all you can think about? Does Frenchie over there know about your all your little love letters from Potter?" Trying to not draw attention he said in an urgent whisper, "Don't you realize what's going on? We have to work together. On a project .You and me. Alone. Without killing each other." He looked haughtily at Professor McGonagall, "Is serious maiming still on the table?"

Drawing herself together, Hermione spat back, "I understand perfectly well what we must do. I was just thinking it might be nice to have a decent human being to talk to instead of just the self-indulged, stuck-on-himself-for-no-good-reason wretch that is Draco Malfoy." And then she smiled sweetly as Draco flushed with fury.

"Thank heavens," cried Professor McGonagall as the bells chimed signaling the end of breakfast and the beginning of classes. As Hermione and Draco grumpily bent down to gather up their books and school things, their professor knew that this discussion was far from over.

*******

By the end of her first day of class, Hermione had a felling she was in way over her head. By the end of the week, she knew it. At first she figured it was just jitters, but she was now almost through her first week, and matters had not improved. The only class she felt comfortable in was Transfiguration, because Professor McGonagall was teaching it, and Hermione could understand what was being said. All of her other classes were taught in French, and during her first class (Charms), the harsh reality of taking advanced wizarding classes in a language not her own hit her like a bludger. Knowing she could understand written French better than spoken French kept a faint glimmer of hope alive that she could learn everything she needed to know from books. But deep down she knew her books would not be enough; listening and speaking were integral parts of the program. Phillippe would help her if she asked him, but her pride kept her from doing it. She wanted to impress Phillippe, not create doubts about her. Plus the future of the exchange program was not guaranteed. She did not want it jeopardized just because she exaggerated about her fluency in French on her application. Draco, on the other hand, seemed perfectly at ease in his new surroundings. While Hermione concentrated hard just to make out what the teachers were saying, scribbling notes frantically as best she could, Draco seemed his usual cool, aloof self, letting nothing ruffle his feathers. As she watched him in History of Magic, answering questions with ease and comfort, a random thought flickered in Hermione's head that she should ask him for help. I must be desperate, she thought as she shook her head, trying to knock the idea away.

Draco watched her every night, poring over her books like it was finals week instead of the start of term. He knew Hermione was the best student in their class, everyone did. But he had no idea how much she studied. Professor McGonagall had "suggested" mandatory study times for them in their common room every evening, when they would not be interrupted or disturbed. Every night Hermione stayed in the common room longer, her nose always buried in the same big book. Secretly, Draco felt it was one of his teacher's foolhardy attempts to get him and Hermione to work together. The first couple of nights he was rather impressed at Hermione's diligence. She was tireless in her thirst for knowledge, or so it seemed. He watched her twirl her hair mindlessly around her fingers, piling it on top of her head and then letting it fall about her shoulders, her lips curling in frustration. He was concentrating so hard on watching her that he never paid attention to the big book, whose pages she kept flipping back and forth, until early Thursday evening.

He was lounging on one of the couches staring off into space. He had finished his homework already, but he was not ready to retire to his bedroom just yet. Hermione took a deep breath and exhaled heavily. She looked frustrated. She walked uneasily towards Draco. "Um, Malfoy," she began hesitantly. "Have you finished your history assignment yet?" The sound of her voice made him start. It was the first time she had opened her mouth to speak to him all evening.

He looked up at her lazily. "You mean the one that's not due until next Friday? I haven't even started it yet." Then he got the same surprised expression she had seen on Harry and Ron so many times, "Don't tell me that is what you've been slaving over these last few nights. An assignment that's not due for over a week. In case nobody's ever told you, Granger, you take this studying stuff way too seriously."

Hermione was confused, "Did you say NEXT Friday? Are you sure Professor Langer didn't say THIS Friday?"

"I'm positive. I wrote it in my notes. We didn't even cover the material yet to write the paper. How could we finish an assignment we haven't even studied?" He looked at her quizzically.

"Would you, um, mind if I took a quick look through your notes?" she asked haltingly, and then quickly added, "just to make sure I'm not missing anything important."

With mock indignation Draco gasped, "But isn't that cheating? What would all your little Gryffindors say if they knew the great and powerful Hermione Granger copied homework from a sneaky Slytherin?" He quickly slipped into his familiar drawl, "They'd probably stop speaking to you for a week, because they wouldn't dare converse with someone associated with a Slytherin. Hmmm. But then again, maybe all these owls would stop zooming in and out at all hours of the day. OK, Granger, you've convinced me. Where's my bag?"

Hermione had already turned her back and was stomping back toward her table. She was visibly upset and was beginning to shake from her anxiety. "Forget it, Malfoy. Just forget it, all right. I don't need your stupid notes anyway. They're probably covered with drawings of that Isabel girl, and nobody here but you is interested in your gross fantasies." She plopped herself down in her chair, unable to hide her fear that she was going to fail herself, her friends, her school ... everyone.

Draco was taken aback. He had never seen Hermione so unguarded before, so vulnerable. A strange new emotion swept over him. It wasn't guilt or pity. He remembered reading about it once. Was it compassion? She was looking more distraught than he had ever seen her, and it just didn't seem right to twist any knives. He walked over to her chair and and silently handed his notes to her. She looked up into his cool gray eyes, sniffled a little, and hoarsely whispered, "Thank you." Her shoulders relaxed a bit and she settled back into her chair, her large glistening eyes moving over the pieces of parchment. She tensed slightly. "These notes are in French."

"Yeah, I know," he answered. "It's just easier for me to take them in French if that's what the teachers are speaking. Why? Don't you think it's a lot of extra work to listen in French, write in English, then have to translate it all back again for our assignments? I know you like homework, Granger, but even that's pushing it a bit." As he made his way back to his chair, he spotted the big book he had spotted Hermione leafing through. It was an English-French dictionary, and then it all made sense to him. He whirled around unable to stop the taunting, "You can't understand French, can you? That's why you never answer in class, and that's why you need my notes. Aren't you supposed to be smart or something?"

She jumped up and grabbed the dictionary from him, "I CAN understand French. This is here just in case I need it." She set it down nonchalantly. "In fact, I've barely touched it." She looked away dejectedly, "The teachers just speak so fast, it's hard for me to understand what they're saying all the time."

Draco sat down in the seat across from Hermione. "So, basically you're saying you lied when you checked the little "fluent" box on your application." With mock astonishment, Draco raised his hand to his mouth, "I think the world just might turn upside down, because the goody goody Gryffindor fibbed. What would your dear Harry think about such fabrications?" He cocked an eyebrow and surveyed her with interest. "Deceit and treachery are usually Slytherin traits. I dare say, what else have you been lying about, Granger? What other skeletons are in that pristine-looking closet of yours?"

"I didn't actually lie," explained an upset Hermione. "I just sort of overestimated my knowledge of French, that's all."

"Ahhh, rationalizations. Yet another fine Slytherin attribute. Are you sure the sorting hat put you in the right house?"

But then Hermione turned the tables on Draco. "I happen to know I am not the only one here having some problems. Professor McGonagall speaks English in all of her classes, and you still can't transfigure worth a damn." Her amber eyes peered at him with wide-eyed innocence. "That is unless you intended for your history book to hop out of the room like the bunny rabbit it used to be before you supposedly 'transfigured' it." This wiped the smirk right off his face, for Hermione was dead on. Feeling stronger about her current position, she scanned through his notes, "And what's this little doodle here on your Arithmancy notes? It appears that instead of copying down the new formulas, you opted to just write 'What the hell is this loon talking about?' over and over, in English I might add, on all of your sheets of parchment. I guess you realized that in any language, you still stink at Arithmancy. Hmm, it appears that even moving to a different country couldn't help your already shaky grade."

"So what? All that means is McGonagall's dislike for me travels beyond England's boundaries and that numbers and formulas aren't my cup of tea," he said matter of factly. "At least I didn't LIE about my Transfiguration and Arithmancy knowledge to get here."

"Will you stop fixating on that! That's not even the point." She took a brief pause to collect her thoughts. "Look, Malfoy, neither of us wants to jeopardize this program, right?" He nodded slowly. "Well then, we each seem to possess something the other wants."

He grinned slyly and leaned over the table towards her, "Gee, Granger, and I thought blondes weren't your type."

But Hermione ignored him and leaned back in her chair so she could look him straight in the eye. "I need help with French and you need help with Transfiguration and Arithmancy. As long as we're at Beauxbatons, we'll each help each other out, discreetly of course, and nobody has to know about any of our ..."

"Trickeries? Deceits? Falsehoods? Nasty indescretions?" he offered smugly.

"Actually I was thinking of 'shortcomings' but 'nasty' really captures your essence," she grinned.

Draco settled himself back in his chair. "Why don't you just get Frenchie Phil to help you out? I'm sure he'd be more than willing to tutor on the finer points of the international language of love." He made kissy faces at her and started making smooching noises to try and tease her, but she wouldn't take the bait.

"I don't want him to help me with this. If word gets out, they might try to send me home, and that could put any future exchanges between our two schools at risk." Knowing that Malfoy would love to see her sent back to Hogwarts in shame, she pulled an ace from her sleeve before Malfoy could dream about it, "But you won't turn me in, because I heard Professor McGonagall telling Professor Lemieux that the situation could be worse. The alternate for the program is Pansy Parkinson and considering your history together, I doubt that you want to be confined here with her for two whole months." Pansy and Draco had dated their fifth year and it had ended badly. She had not taken their break up well and had vowed to win him back at any costs. He would turn around and she'd be there right by on his elbow. From the moment he walked into the Slytherin common room until the minute he went to bed, she was there. Waiting for him. Watching him. It was maddening. As a precaution, he'd even put a Confundus charm on her owl, so it would never find him if she tried to send him letters at Beauxbatons. The owl would end up just circling around France for a few days. As Draco's head spun with visions of Pansy everywhere, he realized that Hermione was still speaking, "...None of your friends to run interference for you. No other Slytherins to distract her from her one and only mission in life: To get you back as her boyfriend. Although I have no idea why. She must be in need of some serious mental health charms."

"Point taken. But tell me this: will you tell Potter and Weasley about this or can I be the one to spill the beans?"

"No, I am not telling them and neither will you." She spelled it out for him, "If you tell anyone about your tutoring me in French, then that would mean you would also be admitting you asked for help in two very important subjects. And from a muggle-born witch at that!" She closed her eyes and said in a higher voice than normal, "Oh, I can picture it now, 'Yes, Mr. Malfoy, I did indeed tutor your pure-blooded son in Transfiguration. I agree, Mr. Malfoy, I was surprised myself, since, being muggle-born and all, I hadn't even heard of Transfiguration before Hogwarts and Draco was surrounded by it his entire life. And yet somehow I am better at it than he is. It's funny, isn't it?'" She crossed her legs and folded her arms across her chest, her voice back to normal. "So what's it going to be, Malfoy? The choice is all yours, but I think you'll agree that my way is definitely more prudent for both of us."

He contemplated it for a moment, "Not much of a choice, is it?" He pictured his father's disappointed and shamed expression. "But this is better than the alternatives." He stuck his hand across the table. Feeling like she just made a deal with devil, Hermione hesitated, but then she reached across and took his hand in hers. "Did it just get colder in her?" he asked honestly.

She considered it, but hadn't noticed any change. "No. Why?"

His eyes twinkled, "Because I think hell just froze over."

A smile escaped Hermione's lips as she slowly pulled her hand away to gather up all the notes so they could get to work. But first, the question she had been dying to ask: "Malfoy, just where did you learn to speak such excellent French?"

He shrugged his shoulders, "One of my nannies when I was little was from France. She taught me until I came to Hogwarts. Once I started school, I asked Father if she could come back in the summers to give me additional help."

Hermione laughed. "Well, who would have thought Draco Malfoy would do extra studying all on his own in the summer? I never would have guessed that."

His voice oozing with sarcasm, he cried, "What? I crave knowledge, Granger. Learning fills my soul. It is my only reason for existence." Then a lascivious smile spread across his face, "Plus, you've never seen Brigitte. She had the biggest set of ..."

"All right, all right. I don't need to hear all the tawdry details of your prepubescent existence. Let's just get started, OK?" Hermione pulled out a new piece of parchment and her quill, ready to study. She smiled softly, the tension having lifted a bit, and Draco laughed slightly, feeling more at ease as well.

And so began a fragile détente between two fierce enemies. Born not of goodwill and desire for peace, but of pride and need.