We'll Always Have Paris

The Portkey had taken them directly to their hotel suite and to a highly agitated Professor McGonagall. After a brief conversation with lots of hushed tones and startled gasps between their teachers and the Ministry wizard, the head of Gryffindor house turned to her students, and basically let them have it. In a way Draco was thankful for the distraction; he needed something to keep his mind off his feelings about what he had been doing just moments before with Hermione Granger in a dark corner of Paris. It was unfathomable that he had kissed her, and worse, that he had thoroughly enjoyed itRight now he was grateful for any activity, which would keep his mind off those feelings, and McGonagall's tirade was better than nothing.

Draco was impressed. She'd been at it for about 15 minutes and was showing no signs of fatigue. Professor McGonagall was actually quite good at this. He only knew one other person who raised admonishment to an art form, and that was his dear father. Draco had witnessed his father's verbal assaults on their house elves and servants on more than one occasion. The words had spilled from his mouth with eloquence, but were laced with a stinging tone leaving most of its recipients in a crumpled mass on the floor. Draco had even received a few of his father's virulent tongue lashings, but the worst was after he failed to catch the Snitch before had Potter during their third-year Quidditch match. He had not forgotten his father's harsh words easily after that "discussion."

Not even Professor Snape could parallel Lucius' flair for cutting rebukes and sharp-tongued reprimands. Snape seemed to prefer serving a quick and harsh scolding, followed closely with a menacing glare. Those were Snape's specialty. His infamous glare had sent more than one student to the hospital wing complaining of nausea, headaches and dizziness. But Professor McGonagall's style was completely different from his father's or Snape's, yet it remained effective. Hers was a controlled fury. She spoke quickly, but managed to enunciate her words. She held her own, making sure her tone was stern and commanding yet never reaching the shrill quality closely associated with angry female witches. She hadn't even seemed distracted by Hermione's nervous fidgeting.

Unlike Draco.

He was accustomed to scoldings of this sort, but apparently Hermione wasn't. She twisted in her chair, fiddled with her hands, and nervously crossed and uncrossed her legs. She and her Gryffindor buddies were usually rewarded with house points for breaking rules instead of punished. He just wished she'd be agitated in a more unobtrusive way. Every time her arm brushed against his or her foot bumped his foot, it took great concentration not to look at her. He knew one glance into her warm cinnamon eyes, and the memories of what happened behind the Concealment charm would inevitably wash over him in a flood, and he was not prepared to deal with any of that right now. So he decided to critique McGonagall's scolding techniques as a means of distraction; it was working fairly well for him, too.

Much to Hermione's chagrin.

How can he just sit there like nothing's happened, she wondered irritably. I kissed him. He kissed me. We kissed each other. And I liked it? Her head was spinning. She tried to listen to Professor McGonagall, but she could only catch a few random words and phrases: disappointed, attacking a Muggle, unauthorized use of your wand, breaking your curfew, parents, school pride. Her thoughts kept drifting to what could have happened if the French Ministry wizard ? who turned out to be Professor's Lemieux's brother-- had not turned up when he did. Would she have stopped kissing Draco? Could she have stopped herself even if she'd wanted to?

In her opinion, Draco hardly seemed fazed by what had happened. He sat straight in his chair, eyes fixed directly in front of him, listening intently to Professor McGonagall, like it was just another Transfiguration lesson. It took every ounce of self-control to not grab him by the arms and scream, "What the hell did we do?"

However, before she could, her very irate teacher zapped her back to more pressing concerns. "...so I have decided to not issue detentions to either of you, even though harsh punishments would be duly justified after your wild bout of reckless abandon through the streets of Paris. And well past the midnight curfew you both agreed to before you left for the evening, might I add. If I were to give you detentions, questions would be raised and all the good you did for the exchange program could be cancelled out, and I will not jeopardize the good relations between our two schools over this. Fortunately, Professor Lemieux's brother has agreed to keep this incident quiet from the French Ministry. He will not file any reports regarding Mr. Malfoy's use of magic in front of Muggles. Therefore there will be no punishment."

Hermione glanced quickly at Draco and saw his shoulders ease slightly with relief, but McGonagall was not finished. She got that glint in her eyes all teachers got just before they'd spring a hideous amount of homework or assign a 72-inch assignment over the Christmas holiday. "However," she announced, watching as Draco's shoulders tensed once more, "you have both graciously volunteered to assist the first, second and third-year students with their course work every night for the remainder of your two weeks here at Beauxbatons." Her students' eyes widened with disbelief. "Those students have some major exams coming in the next few weeks and Professor Lemiuex assures me they will be eager for any advice or assistance you can provide. Every night after dinner, you will report to the main study hall, where you will stay to tutor the students until an hour before curfew. You will then use that hour to complete your own homework."

Both students opened their mouths to object but McGonagall raised her hand swiftly to silence them. "Not a word from either of you. Consider yourselves lucky I did not go with my first choice of three months of detention with Mr. Filch. Now off to bed, before I change my mind." McGonagall was beside herself. When Mssr. Lemieux informed her that he had found her students kissing, she was genuinely stunned. Surely there must have been a mistake. That could not be. Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy would never willingly kiss one another. He had to be mistaken. Perhaps his vision was obscured by the concealment charm? But alas, no. Mssr. Lemieux had informed her he had vividly seen her students in a decidedly less than hostile embrace.

She knew she was probably overreacting. After all, it was not like Hermione and Draco were the first students caught kissing in a dark corner past curfew. But Hermione and Draco were not two ordinary students. Her reaction to them was more out of fear, not anger. How far had this "relationship" progressed? How could she have failed to see their companionable working relationship had moved to another level? They were living in volatile times. Voldemort was growing stronger and was gathering more supporters, including welcoming some of his old friends back into the fold. A romantic link between them could be a connection worth exploiting by less than honorable parties. Any entanglements could be dangerous for them both.

One look at McGonagall's harsh expression told Hermione there would be no chance of persuading her to give them a lesser punishment. Breaking curfew, getting into fights, and unauthorized usage of magic in front of and on Muggles did not conjure strong arguments for leniency. Professor McGonagall stepped out into the hall to discuss something with Professor Lemieux and his brother, leaving Hermione alone with Draco in the VIP sitting room. She was justifiably nervous and secretly wished she was still in front of her furious teacher. Anything would be better than the awkwardness she now felt.

After a quick glance, Draco rose and headed wordlessly to his room, but before his hand could turn the knob, Hermione spoke up. Her voice quavered with uncertainty, but she could not leave things like this. "Wait, Draco. Shouldn't we talk about what happened?" She wasn't sure if she wanted him to answer "Yes" or "No."

Draco froze, and then turned in her direction. He would not look directly at her. His gaze seemed fixed on a spot just beyond her shoulder. "Don't you think McGonagall's scolded us enough for one evening? I think her strongly worded arguments against using magic in front of Muggles were quite effective. I certainly don't plan on ever going near any Muggles again, let alone use magic to ward them off." In a clipped tone, he added, "Although I doubt beating someone to a bloody pulp was a good choice either, but that's just my opinion. Why hit someone with your fists when a hex is so much cleaner, so much more precise?" He ran his hand distractedly through his hair, "Do I have to listen to your gripes about tonight too?"

Hermione bit her lip nervously. "That's not what I was talking about." She averted her eyes from his face, realizing she was having the same problem looking directly at him. "I meant what happened after you put up the Concealment charm ... just before Professor Lemieux's brother Apparated in."

Draco shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other. He couldn't figure out what to do with his hands. He had a gift for masking his emotions, but now he felt nervous, which was a new sensation for him. He didn't quite know how to adjust his body. He usually had to deal with feigning innocence while pulling off some underhanded trick. But this girl was bringing out all sorts of strange emotions in him. Finally he managed to control his twitching fingers by pressing his nails into the palm if his hands. This seemed to help him focus and was finally able to reply. His tone was casual, which was far from how he really felt, "Oh that. It was no big deal."

"No big deal? Draco, we kissed. You and me. A Slytherin and a Gryffindor."

"I know what we did, but it was just because of adrenaline or something like that. Wasn't it? It didn't really mean anything."

"How can you say that? You kissed a Mudblood, and I kissed the son of a Death Eater."

Draco's agitation was growing. "Correction. The son of a former Death Eater. My father repaid his debt to society, and with millions of galleons, I might add." He ignored Hermione's guffaws at that and somehow found he was standing just a couple of feet from her. "Besides, you kissed me first."

Without thinking, Hermione stepped forward so they were practically standing toe to toe. "You kissed me back though, didn't you? And I didn't hear you protesting."

They were close enough he could almost lean across and feel her sweet mouth again. Her eyes were alight with a radiant fire. He felt an irrational urge to kiss her once more. He was getting caught up in the thrill of just being near her, so he took a step back. The distance helped clear his mind and gave him perspective. "Look, it was a mistake. One I am certain will never happen again."

The space seemed to free her as well. She took a step back, too, making the gap between them even greater. "That's something we agree on. It was in the heat of the moment. That's all. We should just forget it ever happened."

"Fine with me," Draco concurred. He wanted to move away, to go into his room and close the door and forget it ever happened. Just like he said he would. But his feet didn't seem to want to move. He couldn't help but notice that Hermione wasn't moving either.

Slowly he moved his gaze from the point on the wall just over her shoulder. Cautiously his eyes traveled across her face and settled on hers just as she picked her gaze up from staring at a blotch on the floor. For the briefest of moments, they were back behind the shield of the Concealment charm -- protected from the outside world ? where only they existed, nothing else. It was hypnotic.

With a slamming door, McGonagall broke the trance, "I thought I told you both to head straight to your rooms. Do not test me," she warned, "or I may decide year-long detentions are in order when we return to Hogwarts."

"Sorry, Professor," Hermione apologized. "We were just clearing a few things up, but we're almost through here."

"No," he said firmly now that the trance was broken. He seemed to have found some of his resolve. "We're already finished." His eyes showed no emotion. There was no trace of the boy she had laughed with all day and all night, his body showed no hint of the tenderness he used when he held her back in Paris. His entire manner was devoid of any feeling whatsoever.

She leveled her gaze with Draco's, hoping to elicit some type of noticeable response, but he turned his back to her and started for his room. "So that's the way it's going to be," she called to him, but he did not stop or even pause. She strode swiftly to her room and slammed the door behind her.

Draco closed his door soundlessly behind him, and leaned his back against it, banging his head dully against the thick wood. Behind the closed door, there was no one to see his crestfallen face or the confusion he had so cleverly hidden from her, "No, Hermione. It's the way it has to be."

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Draco got very little sleep that night. He paced his room for a long while, desperately hoping the feelings Hermione's kiss had stirred in him would fade into the morning with the moon. The entire day had been one of his greatest triumphs. His family name had gained back some of its rightful respectability. He could have restored his father's faith in him. That kiss scattered everything like the wind. But even kissing a Mudblood couldn't erase his overall exhilaration of that day. That was what made it so awful. Draco Malfoy had kissed a Mudblood, and (Merlin help him) he wanted nothing more than to do it again. "Where are you, Sun?" he quietly pleaded. "The closer you get to rising, the further I get from the memory of her." Tomorrow would just be like any other day. It had to be

Next door, Hermione's head and heart waged a similar battle against one another with about the same level of success. But rationalizing was one of her greatest strengths.

Honestly, what really happened? It wasn't that big a deal. It was just a kiss. One kiss. OK, two kisses, but that's it! And there wouldn't be anymore. She had NEWTS to prepare for, and she was going to be a Prefect when she got back to Hogwarts in two weeks. True, Draco would be one too, so she'd see him at every Prefects' meeting, but she couldn't think of that right now. She didn't need this kind of complication in her life. She didn't have the time for it. Not that it was really a major complication anyway. She'd kissed boys before, and the earth never spun off its axis. Nice boys. And none of those boys used to be her bitterest enemy or try to ruin her best friends' lives or connive to get her into trouble ... or make her entire body tingle with one smoldering look. She closed her eyes, and in an instant she could feel his strong arms wrapped tightly about her waist, his warm breath tickling her ear as he kissed her neck. Her eyes flew open, and she leaped from her bed, staring out into the starry night, looking for answers in the velvety sky. She had to forget it had ever happened. Nothing good could come of it. Her actions were purely a result of an intense adrenaline rush and nothing more. The kiss didn't mean anything. It was perfectly natural for it to happen, really. They had been spending lots of time together and when people are thrown together like that, things happen. But their presentation was over, and thanks to their "volunteer" work, they would barely be alone together anymore. In two weeks they would return to England, and everything would go back to normal. She would go back to her friends and he would go with his, and their kiss would probably fade so swiftly from her memory, she would have to wonder if it ever really happened at all. Yes, it wasn't that important after all.

Hermione was excellent at rationalizing, but not even she believed that.

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Professor McGonagall kept a watchful eye on Draco and Hermione the next morning as they collected their belongings, preparing to leave the Sorcerie Hotel and return to Beauxbatons. She saw nothing to suggest any passion-filled floodgates had been opened. On the contrary, her students seemed incapable of even looking at each other let alone do anything else. They both seemed a bit sluggish and had dark rings under their eyes, and the mood in the room was extremely tense and awkward. In fact they seemed intent on ignoring each other rather than trying to pick up where they'd left off. This set her mind at ease somewhat as she prayed last night's affectionate embrace was just rampant teenage hormones. They were only sixteen, and she understood it was perfectly natural to experiment a bit.

When it came time to leave, Draco stepped forward and took the floo powder from Professor McGonagall before Hermione had a chance. Without a backward glance, he threw the shimmery powder into the fireplace, and clearly called, "Beauxbatons Academy." He stepped into the fireplace and was quickly shuttled to the hearth in the VIP sitting room at the French academy. He felt a twinge of anxiety and a small amount of shock when he saw Isabel Dupris sitting prettily and waiting patiently for him in one of the big squishy chairs.

She was a vision in blue. Instead of dressing in her school robes that day, Isabel had opted for a set of cobalt blue satin robes, which matched her eye color perfectly. Her honey blond hair hung long and sleek down the front of her robes, but she tossed it expertly over her shoulder, managing to catch the early morning sunlight in every strand adding to its warmth.

As he stepped out, without a speck of dust on him this time, her eyes brightened and her perfectly plum-colored lips flashed him her most dazzling smile. She was genuinely happy to see him. She rose silkily from her chair with the grace of a gazelle and gave him a close hug. Her hands reached up to gently rub the back of his neck, and she turned her face slightly so she could place a soft kiss near his ear. "Oh, Draco," she happily exclaimed, "Welcome back. It was so dreadfully boring without you here."

The view of Draco wrapped in Isabel's warm embrace caused Hermione's steps to falter slightly, and she stumbled out of the fireplace just managing to catch her balance before falling face first into their designer shoes. "Pardon me," she mumbled in embarrassment. "I didn't mean to interrupt." Her voice bore no trace of resentment or venom, just utter mortification. Her face burned brighter than the sun at her humiliation at her less than graceful exit from the fireplace and over her unclear emotions at seeing Draco holding another girl so close to him. She had to ignore those feelings, too, and lock them away with all the other things about Draco she needed to forget. The list was getting too long already.

"Bon jour, Hermione," smiled Isabel, "You are not interrupting a thing. I just wanted to personally welcome you all back from Paris. You two seem to be the talk of the Ministry."

Hermione paled considerably and Draco cleared his throat nervously, sneaking a quick glance at her and wondering why Mssr. Lemieux did not keep the incident under wraps as he'd promised, "What are you talking about, Isabel? We didn't do anything."

Isabel slapped him lightly on his shoulder, and kept her hand on his arm, rubbing her hand softly along his, "Because of your talk yesterday, of course." Both Hogwarts students breathed audible sighs of relief, but Isabel did not seem to notice. "Everyone was raving about you, and how you worked so well together." Isabel looked between the two of them wondering why they did not seem happier about her news. "My father so wanted to meet you, Draco, but you had already left by the time he arrived for the Ministry dinner." She was certain she saw some guilty looks pass between Draco and the other girl.

"Professor McGonagall said we didn't have to stay for that," Hermione explained.

"Actually she forbid us to go," Draco clarified, his tone implying he had wanted desperately to stay there instead of leaving.

"I know. Father told me as such. He said when he inquired about your whereabouts, someone said Hermione had whisked you away quickly after your teacher allowed you to leave."

Hermione choked a bit on her pumpkin juice, "Whisking? Who said there was any whisking? Saturday was completely whisk-free," Hermione objected a little too emphatically.

Draco just wanted to change the subject, so he turned the focus back to Isabel, "What else did your father say, Isabel? I would have very much enjoyed meeting him after all the wonderful things you've told me about him."

Isabel put her hand on her hip, and got a questioning look on her face, "Well, Father also said there was a Mr. Weasley from the British Ministry who seemed quite concerned that Hermione did not stay for the dinner. Father was a little disturbed at first, until Professor McGonagall assured him you were both in excellent hands." Draco tugged at his collar as if the room suddenly got a tad warmer. "Do you know this Mr. Weasley, Draco? Do you know why he'd be concerned?"

Draco's eyes narrowed with scorn. He opened his mouth, no doubt to denounce the Weasleys and degrade their family name, but Hermione answered for him, "Mr. Weasley is the father of my good friend Ron. He can be a little ... overprotective of me."

Before Hermione could silence Draco with a warning look, he managed to mutter, "If he paid as much attention to his financial portfolio as he did to the wanderings of his son's friends, the Weasley's might be able to afford a decent house. Although with a gaggle of children like they have, it's no wonder they live like paupers."

"That's harsh, Draco," Isabel admonished, raising herself a bit in Hermione's eyes.

"Those Weasleys are ..." Draco started, but Hermione interrupted him.

"The Weasleys and the Malfoys are not very friendly with one another, Isabel," she explained. "Their dislike for each other is passed down from generation to generation like a priceless family heirloom. You're better off putting a lid on this discussion quickly before Draco or I overheats."

Professor McGonagall finally came through the fireplace, "Sorry for the delay, children, I forgot a book on my nightstand and had to retrieve it." She spotted Isabel, her hand still resting lightly on Draco while his still hung loosely about her waist, then spied Hermione 's watchful eyes on Draco and the pretty blonde. McGonagall straightened herself and her lips curved into as much of a smile as she could muster after her grueling night, "Hello, Miss Dupris. Thank you for your prompt visit to welcome us back to Beauxbatons."

"Thank you, Professor," she smiled. "I was hoping to convince Draco to accompany me to a special celebratory brunch I ordered for him for his excellent work with the Ministry yesterday." She leaned into her blond beau, pressing her body close to his, knowing her powers of persuasion were quite effective.

He pondered her invitation for a few moments, unable to curb the involuntary impulse to glance first at Hermione. Then his eyes settled on Isabel, lovely, charming, uncomplicated Isabel. She was exactly the kind of girl his father would want Draco to be with ? from a good wealthy family, beautiful, and possessed the kind of intelligence Lucius found useful in well-bred women. She knew when to speak and when to stay silent. A quality Draco was certain Hermione could never master, because she was opinionated, outspoken, and, as his father would say, too smart for her own good. Lucius would never accept Hermione Granger. Draco was only going to be here for two more weeks, and he reasoned he should enjoy himself. Brooding over his impulsive kiss with Hermione would only lead to a dead end, and there was no point in analyzing its implications any further. The less time he spent with Hermione in their remaining two weeks, the easier it would be once he got back to Hogwarts. In those few moments of thought, he firmly decided the best way to clear Hermione from his mind was to occupy it with something else, and Isabel was the best distraction a teenage wizard could ask for.

"Isabel," he said resolutely, gently squeezing her about the waist. "That's the best idea I've heard in weeks. I deserve a proper celebration for all the hours I put in for that thing."

Isabel looked mildly surprised, but was pleased nonetheless. "Oh, splendid!" she exclaimed. "We should get going then. The house elves have everything set up in one of the private dining rooms."

Without a look at anyone in the room, he took Isabel's hand and led her out the door, closing it softly behind him.

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Preoccupied with searching in her bag for the red-feathered quill Harry had given her for Christmas last year, Hermione trekked down the hallway, paying no attention to where she was going. She turned a corner and slammed right into something big and firm, causing her to fall hard on the floor. "Oompf," she cried as she collapsed with a thud, banging her head in the crease where the floor met the wall. Through the ringing in her ears, she heard a deep, smooth voice laced with concern.

"Are you 'urt, 'ermione? You came round ze corner so fast, I did not see you." Phillippe appeared truly stricken as he looked down at her sprawled on the floor, but he wasted no time in bending over to help Hermione to her feet. He placed his strong arms around her waist and before she knew it, he had lifted her to a standing position, like it took no effort at all. He actually heard the dull pound as her head hit the wall, and wanted to make sure she was all right. He reached up and placed his hands along the side of her face, his eyes searching hers for any symptoms of delirium or injury. She seemed slightly dizzy to him, so he held up three fingers in front of her face. "'ow many fingers am I holding up?" he said slowly.

Groggily and unsure Hermione answered, "Six?" She peeked through her eyelids, stifling a giggle, and was amazed at how swiftly the color drained from the young Frenchman's face.She thought she could use some light-hearted fun that day.

"Six! Oh no," Phillippe breathed.

His face seemed even paler. Hermione felt bad for teasing him, so she opened her eyes all the way, and he could see they were alert and laughing. Mostly at him. She lay one of her hands over his, which were still cupping her face, and laughed softly, "Phillippe, I'm OK. I was just joking. I'm sorry I didn't mean to scare you."

He sighed with relief and his eyes, which had glazed over with fear, regained much of their bright blue brilliance. She had forgotten how captivating his eyes were. Lately, she had been so enthralled by a pair of steely grey ones attached to a moody, insufferable prat, that she had ignored way the blue of Phillippe's eyes deepened or lightened depending on what he was wearing. But now as she stood before him, his full, soft lips curving upwards in a grateful smile, his sparkling eyes alight with relief that she was unharmed, and the smell of his subtle cologne as she stood so close to him, Hermione felt grounded, for the first time in days. She felt relaxed, and why shouldn't she? Hadn't Phillippe been sweet to her since that first dinner at Beauxbatons? Didn't he remind her of Harry with the way he looked and befriended her? She only had two weeks left at Beauxbatons, and she was not going to waste them sulking over Draco Malfoy.

Phillippe softly rubbed her cheek with his thumb and stared down at her, his eyes piercing her thoughts. "That was not a very nice trick to play, 'ermione. I thought you were hurt."

"Don't worry. I'll live," she assured him. "It's just a little bump on my head."

"Where were you rushing off to anyway? I had hoped to see you at dinner, because I knew you were arriving back this morning. But you didn't turn up all day." He dropped his hands by his side. "I thought perhaps you were avoiding me."

She felt guilty. Maybe a small part of her was avoiding him, but an even bigger part of her was avoiding any chance she might have to see Draco again . Now she just felt silly for it; she had no reason to be steering clear of Phillippe, who had been such a pleasant companion to her for the past six weeks. She smiled her most rueful smile. "Forgive me, Phillippe. Harry and Ron and all my friends sent me so many owls about my Paris trip. I had to owl them all back and tell them about it, or they would never have forgiven me." She bent down to pick up her bag, but again the highly skilled Seeker was too quick for her; he snatched it from her grasp, placing it gently on her shoulder for her. "Oh, thanks. I hadn't realized how much of the day had passed, because I had so much to tell." She got a faraway look on her face. But some things will forever be a secret, she thought silently. The touch of his fingers twining through hers brought her back to the hallway. "Anyway, time got away from me, and I had no idea it had gotten so late, until Professor McGonagall reminded me that our tutoring sessions for the first, second, and third years starts in 15 minutes."

"That's right," Phillippe said. "Professor Lemieux did tell me you and Draco had volunteered to tutor the students for your last two weeks."

Hermione winced when he said the Slytherin boy's name. She wanted Phillippe to keep her mind off Draco, but that wouldn't work if they talked about him.

"I was looking forward to spending two weeks with you where you did not have to rush off to do work with Draco or prepare for any assignments," Phillippe admitted to her. "Why did you volunteer for this?"

They walked down the hallway, hand-in-hand. It felt so simple, so easy to be with him. As long as she focused on him, it would be easy to forget the way Draco's hands clutched her tightly to his beating chest. The way she savored the taste of his mouth on hers. The way his ... Argh! Stop it, Granger! She scolded once again. "Professor McGonagall suggested it might be a nice way to repay your school for all the hospitality you've shown us these past six weeks. And I agree. I wouldn't know what to do with all my spare time. I need to keep busy."

"What about Draco? Why aren't you heading down to the library with him? I thought you two were becoming good friends." he asked with an uncertain tone.

"Draco and I will never be 'friends.' That's one of the constants in my life. Besides, I think he's spent the whole day with Isabel."

With an odd smile, Phillippe offered his arm to Hermione, which she graciously accepted. "Then it will be my pleasure to escort you to the library, Miss Granger."

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The last two weeks at Beauxbatons felt as long as the first six had been. Thanks to their rigorous schedule, just about every minute of the day was accounted for, and the days were jam-packed with studying, tutoring, classes, and assignments. Normally such constraints would have made the days seem like they were whizzing past, but instead they dragged for both Draco and Hermione, though neither of them discussed the subject ... or any subject for that matter. That's what made the days so drawn out and exhausting. Despite all their work, it seemed both students expended most of their energy engaged in other activities, namely not looking directly at each other.

The Friday night before their departure, Phillippe had cajoled Hermione into coming to watch his Quidditch practice. It was the end of October, and there was a chill in the air, so she wore her warm cloak and a wool hat. Of course she'd heard what a talented Seeker Phillippe was since she had first arrived at Beauxbatons, but she hadn't had the time before now to actually watch him fly. Plus she was not exactly a big fan of the sport to begin with. Although she'd never admit it to him, he wasn't what she'd expected. Truth be told, Harry was a much better flyer than Phillippe. While Phillippe relied on finely executed plays, and textbook strategies, Harry adopted a more freestyle approach to Quidditch, which suited his natural talent and instincts. She also couldn't fail to notice that Phillippe seemed intent on showing off doing loops and hurtling his broom toward the ground, but pulling back much sooner than he had to, all the while acting like he could teach her old friend Viktor Krum a thing or two about feinting.

Phillippe was certainly a competent flyer, but he just didn't have the heart to be a great flier. Not like Harry or Viktor ... or Draco. Not being a rah-rah Quidditch fan like Harry or Ron, Hermione usually only attended Gryffindor matches, and shied away from the other inter-house games. However, once during their fifth year, Ron and Harry had dragged her to a Slytherin-Ravenclaw match.

"Come on, Hermione," Harry pleaded, "Malfoy's got a new broom and we need to do some scouting to see how it's affected his play. Plus, you need to get out of that library once in a while." She'd never paid much attention to Malfoy's skills on the Quidditch pitch before then. She was always too concerned with wondering what kinds of dirty tricks he or his vile teammates might have in store for Harry. But now that she could pay attention without fearing that Harry would be in mortal peril every time one of the Slytherins whizzed past him, Hermione was aware of Malfoy's grace on his broom and his own natural flying ability.

"That's his fancy new broom doing all the work for him," Ron reasoned, but Hermione didn't think so. Draco actually seemed to be enjoying himself. He cheered his teammates when they scored, and performed a series of complicated moves to trick the other team's Beaters into accidentally zinging the Bludger at one of the Ravenclaw's Chasers. She got the sense Draco didn't need to "buy" his way onto the team. He flew with a natural grace. The only other times she had seen him fly was when he was facing off against Harry and the Gryffindors; those matches were always exceptionally tense for every player. Even Harry didn't seem like he enjoyed Quidditch that much during those matches. But as she watched Draco swipe the Snitch from under the nose of the Ravenclaw Seeker, Hermione saw genuine excitement flash across his face, making his entire face light up, making him look more jubilant than she thought was allowed in Slytherin House.

Looking back on that day from her fifth year, Hermione's lips curled upward involuntarily as she remembered that match; the bright spring sun had made Draco's hair gleam as his teammates carried him on their shoulders back to their locker room. In spite of herself she hadn't been able to help but notice how stunning he looked, and soon she was chewing on her bottom lip as the memory of him filled her thoughts.

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Draco couldn't wait to be flying again. He wanted to hear the wind whistle in his ears as his broom cut through the air, to feel the sharp cold numbing his fingers and toes, to see the ground below him whiz past swiftly transforming everything into one giant canvas of blended colors. It was invigorating, and flying always cleared his mind and refreshed his senses. And after the past two weeks, Draco was in serious need of a mental restoration.

He had thought if he just ignored Hermione and pushed their kiss out of his head, it would somehow disappear, like magic. But the opposite had happened. It wasn't that she hadn't stuck to their arrangement. Oh no, her actions were perfectly in line with his. She did not look at him directly, spoke to him only when absolutely necessary, and made sure she was never alone in a room with him. It was worse than if they'd shouted at each other from sunrise to sunset. The only way to clear his head and get him focused before heading back to Hogwarts in two days was to wipe everything clear with a good, long flying session. One of the Beauxbatons teams had scheduled a practice, but they should have cleared out by now, so Isabel and Draco headed for the pitch.

Unfortunately, they were not alone. She was there.

Hermione was sitting high up in the stands, staring into the open field. The action was occurring on the other side of the pitch, but Hermione had a curious smile and a wistful gleam in her eye. She was obviously deep in thought and remembering something pleasant.

Draco was about to suggest to Isabel that they head back to the castle and just forget about him flying, when the sight of Hermione sitting there caused an odd sensation in his stomach. These past two months had caused Draco to see Hermione in a completely different light than he'd ever thought possible. No matter how he tried to deny it, she was no longer the filthy Mudblood he taunted for five years. And seeing her sitting prettily in the stands like that, an unguarded expressionon her face, her cheeks rosy from the chilled air, and her thick curls flowing freely under her wool cap, all made Draco's head swirl with confusion over what had happened between them. She was alarmingly beautiful in her simplicity, not needing any dramatic make-up or eye-catching wardrobe to draw attention to herself. Hermione's beauty glowed from within, and he was not prepared to be seeing her, not when he was so wound up and needing some sort of tension relief. He had to look away from her. Just seeing her there made him ache in ways he desperately wanted to ignore.

He'd been so caught up in looking at Hermione, he'd failed to notice that Isabel was already starting up the steps toward the Gryffindor girl.

"Hello, Hermione," Isabel called out, breaking the other girl's reverie. "Phillippe finally convinced you to come watch him practice, I see."

"Hmm. Oh, yes," Hermione replied hastily, looking guiltily at Isabel like she'd been caught doing something she wasn't supposed to do. Isabel sat down, and Hermione could see Draco slowly ascending the stairs, looking like he'd rather be anyplace but there. Hermione blushed furiously as their eyes met, recalling what memories she had just been replaying in her head.

"Phillippe is an excellent flyer. No?" Isabel prompted.

"Yes, he flies beautifully," Hermione agreed, her voice not sounding entirely convinced.

Draco snorted softly, and looked quickly away. He knew Hermione well enough to know she was a terrible liar, all Gryffindors were, but that she was too polite to say what she really thought about Phillippe's flying "ability."

Just then, the Seeker in question flew over, a haughty, flashy grin spread wide on his face. "Good evening, ladies ... Draco. Enjoying the view? Hermione, you should tell your friend Harry to come to France over the summer, and I could give him some flying tips." Hermione effectively stifled her laugh while Draco tightened his grip around his broom handle. Phillippe pretended not to notice how irked Draco got at the mere mention of Harry's name, "I see you brought your broom, Draco. What do you say we put our past differences behind us, and you join in our team practice for a bit?" Phillippe teased Draco, "Who knows? Maybe I'll even let you catch the Snitch a few times."

His first instinct was to draw his wand, and hex the smirk off the Frenchman's face, but then Draco managed to exert some self-restraint. After all, in less than forty-eight hours, Draco would never have to lay eyes on the pompous French git again. So he let Phillippe's comment slide. Plus he'd watched Phillipe practice before, and Draco knew he could take him, any day of the week. With one hand tied behind his back. "All right, Hasley. You're on. Let's go get that Snitch." And the boys were off, leaving Isabel and Hermione alone to talk.

Isabel began, "Can you believe your eight weeks are up already? It seems like you and Draco just got here. So much has happened."

Hermione picked nervously at some lint on her cloak, "Oh, I don't know about that, Isabel. When I think back to the way things were when we first arrived here, I can hardly believe how different it all seems." She realized she sounded a little too wistful, and forced a smile. "But things will go back to the way they are supposed to be as soon as we get back to Hogwarts. I'm certain of that."

Thoughtfully Isabel asked, "Are you sure you want them to?"

"Of course I do. In a way, this has been a little eight-week vacation from my real life. But all vacations must end. We have to get back to reality sometime." She watched Draco as he flew around the pitch, his robes flying behind him in a blur. "The sooner we get back to England, the sooner we can move on."

Isabel's next question struck Hermione as out of the blue. "Did anything happen between you and Draco in Paris?"

Hermione gasped, feigning shock and stalling for time, but doing a poor job at it. "Of course not, Isabel," she coughed. "Draco and I just gave our presentation, went out for dinner afterwards, and came back to the hotel. Why do you ask?"

"You both just act differently around each other now. In the beginning you seemed ready to attack each other with little provocation, then you seemed to have some sort of truce, but ever since Paris, it's obvious you're both trying to ignore something which can't be ignored. When you're around each other now, you're both so busy trying to concentrate on anything else, that it just makes you more aware of the other's presence."

"That's ludicrous," Hermione denied. "We've absolutely nothing which needs to be ignored. We're exactly the same as we were eight weeks ago. Any 'relationship' we may have had was strictly professional. When our presentation ended, our acquaintance ceased as well."

Isabel rolled her eyes in disbelief. "Hermione, you know that's a lie. I can see the way you look at Draco ... and the way he looks at you. Something has most certainly changed. The question is, what are you going to do about it?"

The truth was, she hadn't been able to talk to anyone about her kiss with Draco, and it was making things even more muddled in her head. How many times had she wished for a girl friend to talk to about her mixed up feelings for her old foe. But it felt strange even broaching the subject so congenially with Isabel Dupris, whom Hermione had assumed would be much more catty as far as Draco Malfoy was concerned. "I'm a little confused about your questions, Isabel. If there were something going on between Draco and me, and I'm not saying there is in any way, but if there were, you're being very calm and relaxed about it all. Why would you be so nice to me if you thought something had happened between us? I got the impression you were hoping to continue your relationship with him after we left."

Isabel looked thoughtfully out at the pitch, and at the two Seekers who were flying about then she laughed softly. "That is a very valid question. One which I asked myself many times, but the truth is I like you, Hermione. I've never had many girl friends before. Most people just want to be around me because of who my father is or because I'm popular. But you're not like that, so I know you would never scheme to get what you want." She pulled back slightly as Phillippe zoomed past. "Plus, it's not like Draco and I were ever serious. We both come from similar families and backgrounds, and we just have a lot in common regarding our families. But a girl can tell when a boy is interested in her, and I'm afraid Draco's attentions have been elsewhere since he's been at Beauxbatons." Hermione opened her mouth to object, but Isabel silenced her with a wave of her hand. "Don't worry, Hermione. I'm not bitter. I'm only 16, and I'm not looking for a husband yet anyway. He was just a nice change from the kind of boys we have around here and a very entertaining companion."

Hermione found herself watching Phillippe try another feint, trying to impress her again. "There are some nice boys here, though. Phillippe has been wonderful to me since the night we met. He's nice and fun. Things with him have been so ... uncomplicated."

"Mmmm," Isabel murmured, nodding her head slowly, but her back stiffened noticeably. "Phillippe can be quite fun, I agree. I'm glad you've enjoyed his company." A comfortable silence passed between the two girls.

Hermione spoke next, "So you really never intended to have a whirlwind romance with Draco? I was certain you fancied the pants off him."

"No," Isabel explained. "In truth, Draco reminds me too much of my older brother. It took me a while to figure out why I felt like Draco and I had already met, but then, during a walk one evening, Draco scuffed his shoes on a jagged rock and he spent five minutes ranting about the house elves shoddy workmanship. Right then I knew ? he could be Michael's twin." She smiled her sweetest, most mischievous smile. "Besides, I have my sights set on a bigger fish."

"Who?"

With an innocent expression, she sweetly replied, "Why, Harry Potter, of course." Both girls laughed. "I expect a full and proper introduction to your famous best friend when I visit England next summer."

Hermione got a surprised look on her face. "Why are you coming to England?"

"To visit my mother's family. Didn't you know my mother is from England? She even went to Hogwarts. We try to go back to visit her family once a year. I believe you already met her uncle, Maximilian Jensen. Draco said he had spoken to him after your presentation."

Things finally made some sense to Hermione. Now she knew why Isabel's English was excellent.

Isabel got that grin girls often got when they were about to gossip about boys. "So is Harry Potter really as strong and handsome as they make him out to be in the papers? I bet he looks smashing in his scarlet Quidditch robes with that jet black hair of his."

Hermione could picture Harry shaking hands with the long-legged blonde bombshell, his ears and cheeks burning a bright crimson, his voice disappearing in a bout of boyish nerves. Hermione smiled at the image she conjured. "Oh, Isabel. When he meets you, poor Harry won't stand a chance."

^^^^^^^^^^^^

Her conversation with Isabel had left Hermione feeling more and more nervous about returning to England. Had things really changed between her and Draco? Could eight weeks really make that much of a difference between two sworn enemies? Would they be able to go back to being just Granger and Malfoy? Was that what she even wanted? These nagging questions plagued her all day Saturday, and she had difficulty getting ready for the Bon Voyage Ball because of them. She allowed herself to look at Draco only once or twice, but for the most part, she still avoided him as much as possible. Her mind was preoccupied, and she was so busy packing her things, she lost track of the hours, and had little time to get ready for the ball.

Phillippe was escorting her, and he would be at the VIP common room any minute to pick her up, so with one final check in the mirror, she stepped out into their sitting room. Draco was already waiting there with Isabel, who looked simply stunning in a low-cut, velvet, emerald green dress robes which showed off her curvaceous figure. Of course, Draco wore midnight black robes; Hermione had not expected anything different, but she noticed they were adorned with a silver clasp shaped like his family's crest.

They both turned when they heard her door open, but Isabel was the only one who spoke. "Hermione, dear, you look absolutely beautiful. Phillippe is a very lucky boy to be escorting you to the ball. I see you took my advice and went shopping at that little boutique in Paris I told you about."

The only thought Draco could form was, Well at least now I know what was in the mysterious box.Draco could recognize designer Valeri robes from a mile away. His mother had a closet full of them, but none of them ever looked as perfect on another witch as they looked on Hermione that night. She was simply the most radiant creature Draco had ever seen. The robes themselves were not the extravagant, revealing design Valeri was usually known for. They were a deep plum color, which suited her hair and skin coloring perfectly. It was trimmed with a very intricate design made of richly-colored silk threads which wound their way in a swirling pattern along the edges and bottom of her robes and around the tips of her sleeves. When the light hit the silk in the right way, the threads seemed to flow together like a rippling, golden river.

She'd only had time to do a simple spell on her hair Ginny had once shown her to give her soft springy curls, which would not lose their bounce halfway through the evening. She added a touch of plum color to her lips, but had no time for any other aesthetic enhancements she usually made before a formal event like this ball. Fortunately, her plum robes somehow brought out the color in her cheeks and made her eyes sparkle. Valeri was not a top-notch designer for nothing.

Her eyes sought his immediately the minute she entered the room. It was a reflex as it reminded her of the last time she had found Draco waiting in this room while she readied herself. It was just before they went to the Eiffel Tower, and his jaw had dropped the moment she had entered the room. Draco seemed to be sporting a similar expression tonight as well. His mouth opened slightly like he was going to actually speak to her, when a knock at the door announced Phillippe's arrival. Just as quickly as it had started, their moment ended without a word.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

The Bon Voyage Ball was very enjoyable. There was lots of great food and excellent music, with many people dancing. It was open to all years, and Hermione's dance card was soon filled with first through third-year students she had been tutoring for the past two weeks. They were so sweet. Phillippe had been a very gracious escort, letting other boys cut in to dance with his date. When Hermione asked him for the umpteenth time if he was certain he did not mind, he leaned close and whispered softly in her ear, "Let them have their dances, my dear, on the condition you will promise me one final stroll through the gardens before this magical night ends."

Hermione thought that was a very gracious request and smiled at him, noting for the first time that she would actually miss Phillippe. He had been so sweet to her since her arrival, paying her all sorts of attention and being a very good friend during those early weeks when she desperately missed her friends and Draco was being his usual insufferable self. She smiled, "I think that can be arranged, Mssr. Hasley." She stood on her toes to give him a soft kiss just below his ear. Then he left her to dance with her young admirers.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Isabel had insisted on dancing just about every song. She was a bottomless pit of energy, but Draco's heart just was not in it. She had insisted he dance with her, and a young wizard did not easily reject the Minister of Magic's daughter. So he danced a few songs with her, then excused himself so he could skip a few songs and somewhat stay true to his mantra that "Malfoys don't dance." He stood by the punch bowl, talking with some of the students, doing anything to avoid dancing. He noticed Isabel was scanning the room, looking for him, but because he had his back turned to the dance floor, he didn't see Hermione making her way over to get some refreshments.

Hermione was chatting with a second-year Beauxbatons girl she had tutored, not paying attention to where she was walking until she walked into the back of someone. A grouchy voice cried out, "Hey, watch it! These dress robes weren't ... " Draco stopped in mid-sentence when he saw Hermione was the cause of him spilling his drink all over himself.

"Excuse me," she apologized softly. She hadn't been in such close proximity to him since their kiss. She could smell his cologne, and his angry eyes had a piercing glint to them.

But as quickly as they flashed, the glint was gone, replaced by a stoic iron veil instead. "Oh. It's you," was all he said, but his stomach was flipping around wildly at her nearness. He knew he should step away, but his feet would not seem to move.

As if sensing their discomfort, Professor McGonagall hesitantly approached her students. "Miss Granger, Mr. Malfoy, I am sorry to put you both on the spot, but as this Bon Voyage party is in celebration of the exchange program and your contributions to it, I must oblige you both to indulge in one further joint activity."

Somewhere in the back of Hermione's mind, she knew she should have hid in the girls' bathroom for a while.

"I think it pertinent for the Hogwarts students to dance at least one dance together as a show of camaraderie and alliance." Her lips twitched nervously. "I understand that this may be somewhat distressing considering... recent events, but I'm afraid I must insist."

In a surprise move, Draco set his glass on the table and held his arm out to Hermione, "Very well then. Let's get it over with, shall we?" Hermione's stunned expression was worth it. He knew she had expected him to kick up a fuss, and he enjoyed keeping her off balance. He told himself this would be a good first step to fall into their old routines before heading back to Hogwarts.

But deep down in a place he'd never admit, he wanted to feel her in his arms one last time. To be close enough to smell her vanilla hair and lightly scented perfume. After tonight, he knew he would never have the opportunity to be so close to her unless she was breaking up a fight between him and one of her friends. Being an opportunist, he knew this dance was his last chance to hold Hermione Granger.

Hermione's head felt foggy as Draco led her to the center of the floor. The crowd clapped gently and cleared some room for them to move about. She saw him wave to the band to start playing once more, which finally made Hermione come back to the ground. Despite his past, fierce denials, Draco could dance! And she told him as much.

"Of course I can dance," he replied haughtily. I never said I couldn't. I just said I didn't." He led her about in a series of turns she scarcely managed without tripping and explained, "All Malfoys learn how to dance properly. It's expected that we know how, in light of formal occasions and banquets."

All Hermione could murmur was a soft, "I see," because she was too wrapped up in the sensations of his firm hand on her back and the ease with which he twirled her around. She had thought most of her past partners were good dancers for the most part, and that they managed well enough as long as she led. But dancing with Draco was an entirely new experience for her. Somehow he managed to keep both of his arms and his back firm and straight, while enveloping her in a gentle embrace. For the first time, she didn't have to concentrate on steps or leading the dance across the floor. Draco did that effortlessly, and she was surprised to find how normal and right it felt.

As they twirled about the floor, a wry smile crept across Draco's face. "What's so funny?" Hermione asked, glad for the distraction; she was trying not to think about the way her body felt pressed closely against his.

"I was just thinking how strange this would look if we were in the Great Hall at Hogwarts instead of here." He shifted his hands slightly on her back, pulling her a bit closer.

She smiled in reply, "Yes, I bet we would turn quite a few heads ... and there would be more than just a few dropped glasses for the house elves to clear away."

He smiled down at her, and she realized this would probably be the last time she would ever see Draco Malfoy's lips curl upwards at her in anything other than a sneer. It was a bittersweet moment, but she smiled back.

Pop! A flash of bright light and a light popping sound shook the two dance partners from their thoughts. "Pardon me," a Beauxbatons student wielding a big camera interrupted. "I hope you don't mind, but I am taking pictures for the yearbook, and you two make such a pretty picture as you dance together."

Draco flushed slightly, and pulled back from Hermione, "Well, that's my cue to leave." And he turned about and practically fled the dance floor, his midnight black dress robes flowing behind him.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

He quickly made his way to the door, and ducked out, trying to get some sort of respite from the hot ballroom.

Draco was just about to turn the corner to head down the hallway to the boys' lavatory, when what he heard Phillippe Hasley's voice and the cackles of his lackey friends resonating through the halls. A twinge in his stomach told Draco to stay still and silent for a few moments and not to reveal himself to the other boys yet. It was the same feeling he usually got when he was spying on Weasley or Potter or some of their other boring Gryffindor friends. Only this time it seemed more urgent, and more important, so he halted softly, peered around to see if anybody else was nearby, and leaned close to the corner wall. When he finally heard the boys' topic of conversation, a wave of pure fury kept him frozen to his spot.

Draco relished being right, and he had no qualms about rubbing people's noses in it, but this time, his victory was bitter. The first night they had met, Draco had known Phillippe Hasley was too good to be true. He had tried to tell Hermione there was something off about Phillippe but, being a stubborn Gryffindor, she paid Draco no mind. With his dark, cowlick-y hair, Quidditch talent, and ability to convince everyone he was just a sweet, charming guy, Draco knew immediately that Hermione had seen Phillippe as a temporary substitute for the great Harry Potter. But not even Harry would have been this manipulative.

With great detail and exaggerated gestures, Phillippe was telling his friends how he would finally reap the benefits of his greatest "scheme" that night. After weeks of plotting, conspiring, and meticulous planning, Phillippe would finally be indulging in the fruits of his labor, and the only fruit on the menu was none other than Hermione Granger.

Apparently, Phillippe and some of the boys had placed a wager on who would be the first one to tarnish the pure and pristine Hermione Granger: Phillippe or Draco. It had been a close race for a while, but for reasons unknown to the Frenchmen, Draco's chances of pulling it off dropped considerably after Hermione had returned from Paris. After that, Phillippe was a shoo-in and the coast was clear for Phillippe to make his move.

It appeared that Hermione would be a famous notch on the bedpost for many young French wizards. She was tops in her class and known to be the bookworm type, and snagging that type of girl had always presented a certain level of challenge not easily surmountable by most men. Plus, she was the girlfriend of the very famous, Destructor of Evil, all-around do-gooder, Harry Potter. It seemed Phillippe had never bought Hermione's "we're just friends" line, since everyone in the wizarding world knew they had been an item since their fourth year. It was in all the papers during the Tri-Wizard tournament, so it had to be true. And now Phillippe was under the impression he and Hermione would be making a quick adieu to everyone at the Bon Voyage ball so he could give Hermione a private and "proper" sendoff before returning to England ... and her superstar boyfriend. Phillippe basked in the glory of knowing that in a couple of hours, he would be the first to claim Hermione as his.

The initial shock wore off. Draco thought he was going to vomit. The Slytherin's pulse started to race and his fists curled themselves into tight balls, his knuckles turning stark white. Propelled by his rage, Draco hurled himself around the corner and lunged at Phillippe, attacking him with all his might. Four of Phillippe's friends tried urgently to pull the incensed blond off their friend, but it was no use. Draco no longer cared if physical fighting was crude and beastly. He just knew no spell or hex in the world could properly rip the French wanker's ears off and stuff them down his throat. Between his punches, Draco's deep growling voice could be heard, "How DARE you talk about Hermione that way, you filthy, sodding prick!"

The suave, charming façade wiped clean off Phillippe's face, he taunted, "You're just jealous you couldn't pull it off yourself. Face it, Malfoy, I won this round in our little game of 'Who's better than who?'"

Phillippe was bigger than Draco, but it made no difference. What Draco lacked in size he made up for in ferocity, and Phillippe didn't stand a chance as Draco's fist collided repeatedly with Phillippe's jaw, smashing his teeth and shattering his perfect smile.

Murmurs spread into the ballroom that a fight had broken out near the boys' room. Something told Hermione she needed to be there. A large crowd had quickly gathered around the brawling boys, and Hermione quickly found her way to the front. She gasped at the sight before her: her charming French beau, sprawled on the floor, being pummeled by her old enemy, who had denounced her less than two weeks ago for using physical violence when provoked. What in Merlin's name was Draco doing?

"Malfoy, get off him! Have you gone completely daft?" she screamed, jumping forth to pull the sweaty blond with the bloody knuckles off her badly beaten date.

At the sound of her voice, Draco stopped mid-punch and looked at her. Certainly she would finally see for herself what a daft prick this Hasley character was. Draco was breathing heavily and couldn't catch his breath, but he needed to tell her.

When Draco looked at Hermione, she was floored by the pure wrath which peered back at her from his icy grey eyes. She had never, in all her years of facing off against him and battling against his Slytherin friends, witnessed Draco Malfoy lose control with such furor. He'd never even glared at Harry or Ron with this amount of venom in his eyes.Phillippe lay in a bloodied heap on the floor, and Hermione went directly to him to tend to his bruises. She leaned over and whispered soft, soothing words to him. She and her friends had had too many run ins with Draco Malfoy to know that any fights were usually a direct result of something he'd either said or done. Hermione was certain this was no different, except for the fact that Crabbe and Goyle weren't here to do Draco's dirty work for him. She felt physically ill that she'd enjoyed any of the time she spent with a person who could attack someone as nice as Phillippe.

Draco felt like he could jump out of his skin. From somewhere, Isabel emerged from behind Draco. She approached him tentatively, placing a strong hand on his shoulder, causing him to jump at her touch. His eyes were filled with fire, but when he turned and saw her standing there, they softened immediately. She gave his arm a supportive squeeze and he turned back to Hermione, who was still tending to Phillippe. "Hermione, you didn't hear what this jerk was ..."

She silenced him with a deadly glare, "Don't talk to me, Malfoy," she spat hatefully. "After all your talk about fighting being brutish and too uncivilized for you to get your hands dirty, you prove yourself to be nothing less than the monster I always knew you were. I can't believe I actually thought you changed. A mistake I won't make ever again." Phillippe's friends were helping him to his feet. They could hear the teachers making their way over to the commotion. She turned to the other boys, "Get him to the hospital wing. The nurse will need to stop that bleeding. The teachers will be here to take care of Draco." She turned to glare at the fuming blond.

He was shocked, "Hermione, listen to me ..."

But all she answered was, "I mean it, Malfoy. Not a word from you."

Draco had no intention of sticking around for the teacher's to get involved. This was unbelievable. After everything Hasley had planned, he still came out smelling like a rose, while Draco became, once again, Evil Wizard #1. He was fed up. She should have known him better than to assume Draco would just attack someone else without good reason. How many times had she seen him sidestep fights with Potter and Weasley? She thought she had gotten to know him a little better in the past eight weeks. But I guess not, he mused. To hell with her then. And with a swish of his cloak, he was gone, his heels clicking down the stone hallway, the sounds echoing off the walls.

Professor McGonagall came along with some of the other teachers and cleared the hallway from the spectators, trying to regain some order. "What happened here?" she demanded. "Miss Granger, where are Mr. Malfoy and Mr. Hasley? Some students said they were fighting."

Hermione took a deep breath, "They were, Professor, but I don't know why. I heard yelling and them a scuffle, and when I finally made my way to the front," Hermione choked on her words, still unable to believe what she saw, "Malfoy was on top of Phillippe, punching him everywhere. It was awful, but that's just like Malfoy to attack someone without cause. I guess the only difference this time was he didn't have his muscle bound henchmen to do his dirty work for him, so Malfoy had to sully his own hands to get the job done."

Professor McGonagall looked pale and distraught. This was not a good way to be leaving Beauxbatons Academy in their mission of mutual cooperation.

A saddened Isabel stepped out of the crowd. "Professor," she said softly. McGonagall didn't hear her, so Isabel cleared her voice and spoke a little more forcefully, "Professor, I saw what happened, and Hermione's got it wrong. Phillippe was not the 'innocent bystander' Hermione assumes he is." Everyone turned to stare at the pretty blonde girl.

"How do you know that, Miss Dupris? Weren't you in the ballroom with the rest of us when this fight occurred?"

"Actually, no, I wasn't. I saw Draco step outside, and I came after him to make sure he was coming back. He had promised me another dance, and I wanted to make sure he was not trying to back out. I called to him, but he didn't hear me so I followed him down the hallway. I got here in time to hear the end of Phillippe's conversation with his friends and know what made Draco so angry." She took a deep breath, obviously unsettled by what she was about to say. She turned to Hermione, "Draco punched Phillippe because he was defending you, Hermione."

"That's ludicrous! Why would Draco have to defend me from Phillippe?"

Isabel pulled Hermione aside so that only Hermione could hear her. "Because Phillippe and his friends had a bet between them ... and you were the prize. Phillippe had his own private party planned for you tonight when you went for a walk with him."

Hermione shook her head vigorously, "No, I don't believe you. Malfoy told you to say that. Why are you lying to me? I thought you said we were friends."

"We are, Hermione. That's why I can't let Draco get blamed for something that Phillippe did."

"I just can't believe Phillippe would ever do something so low and vile. It sounds like a Slytherin trick, not something Phillippe would be capable of," Hermione cried desperately, her hands flailing about in disbelief. "I thought he was so nice. I thought he liked me. But now I'm supposed to believe he intended for me and him ... for him and me to ... to ... Well, I just can't believe he'd ever be capable of something so awful." This was outrageous.

Isabel grabbed Hermione's hands and clasped them by her side, gently but firmly, forcing Hermione to look directly into Isabel's face. "I know for a fact that Phillippe Hasley is capable of such things." Her grip loosed and she looked pointedly at the other girl, "I know from experience." Isabel looked quickly away, her confident, self-assured veneer disappearing for a few moments to reveal a sad, forlorn 16-year old witch.

Hermione's eyes widened with understanding, and a bit of anger. "Phillippe did this same thing to you too? Why didn't you let me know what he was like? You told me he was charming and sweet. You said I was a lucky girl."

"I never thought Phillippe would place any bets on you, HermioneYou were only going to be here for eight weeks, and you seemed so focused on your work, I never thought Phillippe would get remotely close enough for him to even think anything would actually happen between you. And you spent so much time with Draco when you were first here, it just didn't seem like he would try anything." She paused guiltily. "And in the beginning, when I still fancied Draco, I thought Phillippe would be a good way to keep you occupied and away from Draco. I am so deeply sorry, Hermione. I never thought Phillippe would try this with you."

A comprehension swept over Hermione's disgusted face, "But I've been spending so much time with him since our Paris trip; I became an easy mark for him and his cronies. If only I hadn't ..."

"No," Isabel interrupted. "You did nothing wrong. Phillippe was the 'stupid git' as I think you call them in England." Both of the girls laughed softly. "None of this is your fault, Hermione. And it's not Draco's either."

Hermione, her eyes glistening with tears, looked up, surprised, at Isabel. She squeezed the other's girl's hand. "I guess you're right. I think I have some apologies of my own to make."

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

She entered the VIP sitting room cautiously. She was fairly certain she was the last person Draco wanted to see right now, except maybe Phillippe, and she knew how difficult Draco could be when he was in his "defensive" mode. But he wasn't in the sitting room. She went to his room, but although the door was open, he was not there either. As she walked back into the large room, something on the terrace caught her eye. She heard a muffled shout and then the sound of something breaking. She went to the large French doors and peered through. She'd found him.

After Hermione had berated him, Draco had just wanted to get away ? from her, from Phillippe, from everyone. He knew they could never be friends. He knew he had been terrible to her in the past. But somehow, in spite of all that, he thought she had grown to trust him in some respects since they'd been in France, that she would at least trust him more than some idiot she had only met a few weeks ago. He was angry with Hermione.

But he was even angrier with himself.

Draco blamed himself for what Phillippe had almost tried with HermioneThe other boy had said it himself: "Draco's chances of pulling it off dropped considerably after Hermione had returned from Paris." If he hadn't been so freaked by their kiss in Paris and had not taken to ignoring Hermione at every turn, Phillippe's bet would have made no difference. If only he had caught onto Phillippe's true nature in the beginning, but he hadn't been quite able to place what was so off about him. He could have warned Hermione away from the French Seeker. Not like she would have listened to you anyway back then. She hated your guts ... and probably does again, he thought ruefully.

The thing which angered him the most was that he had reacted so vehemently to the thought of Hermione with another boy. He couldn't possibly be jealous. Or could he? Seeing Phillippe fawn all over Hermione always did give him an odd sensation. He would never imagine Hermione to go so far as to have sex with a boy she'd only known a few short weeks, but he didn't know Hermione that long either. Not really anyway. Was it possible that Hermione had in fact planned to have sex with Phillippe as a special going away gift? How could she ? with him?

Draco's blood burned white hot at the thought, and his anger was renewed with even more vigor. He was glad he had come outside instead of retreating to his room. It was a cold October night. The air was brisk, and he could see his breath as he huffed and puffed while he paced. The cold air enveloped him like an old friend as it reminded him of the Slytherin dungeons ? a place where he was respected, even feared, where he could tell everyone that manticores made excellent house pets and no one would question him, a place Hermione Granger could never enter. In his dungeons, he was safe from her, and just knowing he needed that safety net infuriated him.

"She's just a girl!" he shouted angrily, "Just a filthy, stinking Mudblood. She means nothing to me!" He picked up a small potted plant on one of the ledges and threw it angrily at the terrace wall, shattering it into a thousand pieces.

Hermione opened the door hesitantly. She wasn't sure how to proceed. Draco was usually unflappable in front of others, so she approached him as she would a real fire-breathing dragon and not just a boy named after one. "Draco," she spoke softly, her voice cracking with nerves. The air around her chilled her body to its core. It was so cold it hurt to take a deep breath.

He spun around quickly at the sound of his name, obviously surprised to have an audience for his outburst and just as obviously perturbed his audience was Hermione.

"Get out, Granger," he ordered. "You made your thoughts about me perfectly clear. I don't think a recap will be necessary." He had not expected to see her again, and especially not now when his feelings were raw and hurt. Hermione might have been a smart witch, but she sure had lousy timing.

She moved closer to him. "Draco, please, I wanted to apologize for ..."

But Draco cut her off mid-sentence, "I don't care about you or about anything you have to say. Why don't you just run back to your little boyfriend?" He sneered vindictively. "From the way he sniveled like a little girl, I assume he's in the hospital wing. I do hope I didn't ruin any big plans you two might have had for the evening." He laughed derisively, but Hermione thought she detected a bit of dejection and maybe even a trace of sadness.

That still didn't excuse him from his less than honorable insinuations. "How dare you. What makes you think anything Phillippe said was even remotely a possibility? It's obvious he was lying to his friends just to make himself sound more important in a vain attempt to impress them. I would never do anything like that with him, and he knew it, which is why he resorted to lying for some bloody bet. But then I guess it's hard for you to tell the difference between a lie and a truth since you walk such a fine line between the two every day."

"Me?" He was within touching distance of her now. "Wasn't I the one who told you from the beginning that he was too good to be true? Wasn't I the one who told you there was something strange about your pathetic excuse of a Potter replacement?"

Hermione was flabbergasted. "Harry? What does any of this have to do with Harry?"

Draco's mind was spinning in a hundred different directions and he knew he was making little sense about anything. "The only reason you were attracted to that silly sap is because he reminded you of the almighty Harry Potter. Jeez, Hermione, they even have the same blasted initials. Could you be a little more transparent?"

Now Hermione's head was running in circles. "What are you going on about, Harry and Phillipe's initials? That's just an insane argument, not to mention the fact that it's complete rubbish." A small laugh escaped her mouth at his absurdity.

"They're close enough. HP ... PH ... they're just mirror images of each other. Boy you sure know how to pick 'em, Hermione. One boy won't even give you a second look while the other just wanted to get into your prim little knickers."

SMACK! Hermione wasn't laughing now. He had gone too far. She hit him so hard across his cheek, he almost fell to his side. Her hand stung like hell, but it hurt far less than his words had, because there was a grain of truth to them. Hadn't she let Phillippe shower her with attention because he had reminded her of Harry? They looked so much alike. And with Harry, she felt safe. Hadn't she just assumed Phillippe would be the same too? She felt silly and stupid, and Draco stating the obvious was just salt in her wound.

He looked up at her beneath his silvery fringed wisps and could see the silent battle waging within her. He'd said cruel, harsh things to her before, so he knew how to evoke this type of response. In a perverse way, it was second nature to him. Except this time the hurt cut him just as deepDeep down he knew Phillippe was just talking big to his friends. And in truth, Hermione was innocent in this mess. Her only crime was trusting someone who didn't deserve her. She didn't need Draco standing in front of her screaming, "I told you so!" Because she already knew.

Neither of them spoke for a long moment. They could hear the leaves rustling in the trees from a cold blast of wind, but they were so charged from their heated argument, neither took notice of the biting chill.

"Did that make you feel good? To kick me when I'm down?" she asked through gritted teeth. "And to think I came here to apologize to you."

This was supposed to be an apology?" Draco asked disbelieving rubbing his aching jaw. "Do me a favor. Next time send flowers." His joke fell flat as neither of them were in a laughing moodHis gaze turned serious. "What do you want from me? An apology? A promise to stay at least 500 hundred feet from you at all times? What?"

She looked at him, unblinking. "I know what I want. It's you who can't figure out what you want."

"Is that so?"

"Yes. That's so." She looked up at the bright stars in the sky, looking for some guidance. She took a deep breath. "Ever since we kissed, it's like I don't even exist. Like I'm invisible. And sometimes I think that's worse than when we were always at each other's throats. For a few weeks here at Beauxbatons, we became ... well, not friends exactly, but we were on friendlier terms than I think either of us ever expected." She couldn't believe she was confessing all this to him, but she couldn't bear it anymore. A part of her knew whatever it was between them needed to be settled before they returned to Hogwarts tomorrow. They needed to clear the air before facing their friends once again. Her shoulders softened as she spoke. "It was only a short time, I know. Hardly any time at all when you think about it, but I don't think I can forget it all. I've tried and tried, but it just won't go away.

"I've seen sides of you I never thought could exist. Kindnesses and an intelligence you've always covered up with your arrogance. We actually had some fun together while we were here. So I guess what I want is to not have it all disappear like a failed spell once we get back to Hogwarts." His eyes blinked at her quizzically. "I completely misjudged Phillippe and was too blind or stubborn to see it. My 'friendship' with him was a complete hoax. I don't expect you and I to become friends or to hang out at the Three Broomsticks together on Hogsmeade weekends, but I guess I just need to know all of this was really real. That the Draco Malfoy who helped me with my French and who made up silly Herbology associations with flowers and Hogwarts students wasn't a figment of my imagination."

Hermione felt relieved to finally get everything off her chest. She had wanted to say that to Draco for so long, and it felt good to say the words out loud at last.

It seemed to have the opposite effect on Draco. Instead of being calmed by her sentiments, he grew restless. Even if he could admit he wanted the same things as she did ... or maybe even more .. it just wasn't possible. Not between a Malfoy and a Mudblood.

He had not reacted at all during her speech. Not even a flinch, and his lack of reaction was unsettling. "Well?" she asked.

"Well what?"

"Don't you have anything to say?"

"Not really."

"Fine." She replied tersely. "Have it your way." And she turned quickly to exit, determined that he would not see her shed one tear. But before she made it to the door, a frustrated voice called to her.

"It doesn't matter what I want." She stopped instantly and turned slowly to him. He moved deliberately to stand right in front of her. She could feel his warm breath cutting through the cold October night. "All that matters is what has to be. I thought you understood that. We all have parts to play and we can't rewrite the script in the middle of the show. What we want is irrelevant." His eyes and tone softened as he looked into her glistening eyes. "Things have to go back to the way we were, Hermione. Being here has mixed that up for us, I think. But once we get back to Hogwarts, once we're back to our real lives, this will all fade away like a dream."

The tear fell before she could stop it. Draco reached a gentle hand to her face to caress it away. With a shaky voice, she asked, "So then if none of this is real, if it's really just a dream, it won't matter what we do here tonight, our last night away from the real world?"

In a low, husky voice, he murmured, "That's right." Then he smiled wryly, "Five points to Gryffindor."

She started to laugh. He could see the change in her eyes as they shifted from melancholy to tear-free before a sound even escaped her mouth. It spurned something in him, a deep-seeded desire he could not deny, not when she was looking up at him with such a sweet look on her face. Not when he knew tonight was the last time he could ever be this close to her.

She could see his eyes lingering on her mouth, his mind warring with his heart to give in to what she wanted him to do as well. She knew Draco was right. Things could never be any different between them than they had always been. This was it for Draco and Hermione, and tomorrow they would have to go back to being Malfoy and Granger. His head descended so slowly to meet hers, she wondered if she could stand to wait much longer. Finally their lips met and with it came a surge of emotions neither of them had realized they had been bottling up inside them.

Draco snaked one of his hands gently behind Hermione's neck and pulled her face to his. His other arm wrapped around her waist and pulled her close to him. He could feel her soft moans in her chest, which sent shivers of excitement to every part of his body, making him warm with longing in spite of the cold autumn air. He surrendered himself to her right then and there; surrendered himself to the way she made him feel and the knowledge that no other night would ever compare to this one ... because he would never spend another like this with this girl.

Her head swirled with so many thoughts and ideas, but her mouth and hands knew perfectly well what to do. Her arms wrapped around him as she deepened their kiss, pressing her body so close to his, she could feel his heart pounding in his chest. As his hands played with the hairs on the back of her neck, a wave of thrilling chills shot down her spine, and she was certain her legs would no longer support her. Hermione never dreamed she would melt at the touch of someone she always thought was so cold.

Feeling dizzy himself from the sweet taste of Hermione's mouth and the shocks whipping through his body every time her hands squeezed him, Draco pulled back from their fervent kiss and breathed deeply to get some much needed air into his lungs. Hermione stood before him, breathless from their passionate embrace, hair tousled by his wandering hands, lips swollen from his feverish kisses, and her warm eyes asking for his touch. She had never looked so luminous. He moved forward so that she had to step backwards. He leaned her back against the door and placed his hands on either side of her. Staring into her eyes, he was amazed at how they seemed to dance in the moonlight. Leaning against the strong door made Draco feel steadier, and he could feel the strength returning to his legs. The impetuous feelings had washed away, and his thoughts were becoming clearer.

Hermione had lost all track of time; they stood there kissing on the terrace for what seemed like an eternity. Just when she felt their bodies could not be any closer, he would wrap his arms tighter around her and prove her wrong. When she would pull back to breathe in some air, Draco would use the opportunity to explore the intricacies and delicate spots of her neck, all the while whispering her name softly. The soft touch of his wispy golden hair combined with his warm breaths and fervent kisses made her heart pound faster than she ever thought possible. She was certain every person at Beauxbatons could hear it. She started getting that dizzy feeling again. As he moved his head down to attack her neck once more, his hair tickled her ear, and she laughed lightly.

Draco pulled away, worry and apprehension flitting across his bright silver eyes. "What?" he asked anxiously, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

Hermione calmed his fears at once. "Nothing. It's just your hair." She smiled gently as she laid a hand on his cheek. "It tickled my ear when you moved your head."

"Oh," he answered, leaning in to kiss her ear properly, "for a minute I thought ... "

"You thought I was going to say that we should think logically about this and just go back to the ball before we do something we regret?"

His kisses had moved down her neck, and he was pulling at the collar on her new dress robe to get better access. With a low murmur, he managed a soft, "Mm-hmm."

"But you're forgetting something very important, Draco. Tonight's just a dream, and there's nothing to regret in dreams."

His lips trailed back up her neck and he pulled back just far enough to give her a slight wink, making her smile. Then their lips met once more for another magical kiss.

TBC