The Time Imperative

The Time Imperative

Chapter One - Ventum France

On with it - enjoy, and review please. :)

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The Time Imperative

Chapter One: Ventum France

Draco Malfoy was daydreaming. Professor Binns's monotonous voice had lulled him nearly to sleep, and thankfully, the professor remained unaware that the blond Slytherin was drifting off. He was fairly sure that he'd seen Harry Potter drop his head onto his desk a while ago, and even the normally alert Hermione Granger was propping her head up on her arm. In fact, he was fairly sure that the majority of the Gryffindor-Slytherin joint History of Magic class was either daydreaming or sleeping.

Does Professor Binns realize his class is where narcolepsy originates? Draco mused, smiling cynically.

"Class," Professor Binns said, and Draco opened his eyes. "Dumbledore has suggested that a group project be assigned for the duration of the time between now and the end of the first term. This gives you 3 months to complete the project."

Draco noticed that Hermione was now sitting upright and gazing eagerly at the professor. He narrowed his eyes. What project? Professor Binns has never given a project before. He eyed Professor Binns suspiciously.

Professor Binns continued, "Each group will consist of three group members. The groups are as follows," he began to read off a parchment that he had retrieved off his desk.

Draco listened for his name to be read in conjunction with Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle, or perhaps even Pansy Parkinson or Blaise Zabini, but he had not been placed with them.

Professor Binns finally neared the end of the list. "Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger, and Harry Potter."

Draco leapt up, indignant, "I can't work with them, Professor!"

Professor Binns eyed him, "Why not, Mr....what's your name again?"

Draco glowered. "Draco Malfoy."

"Yes, Mr. Malfoy," he looked at his list again. "And you're with Miss Granger and Mr. Potter."

Draco glared. "I realize that."

"And you say you can't work with them?" Professor Binns frowned, making the deep wrinkles in his translucent skin even more prominent. "Why not?"

"Because...they're Gryffindors and I'm in Slytherin!" Draco searched for a response that would sound credible to the old professor.

"Yes. Meaning they're far too good for you." Ron Weasley muttered from his seat next to Harry. Draco turned and fixed the red-haired Gryffindor with a searing glare.

"Yes. And that is precisely why I put you three together. Now, sit down, Mr. Malfoy. I have to finish informing your classmates of their groups and explain the project."

Draco remained standing for a moment, but finally sat down. He glanced over at Hermione and Harry, and noticed that both looked as if they had just been caught in their own personal rainstorm complete with thunder and lightning. Draco crossed his arms and slid down lower in his seat as Professor Binns began to tell the class what project they were doing.

"You will be doing projects on several different subjects. See me after class to find out your assigned subject," Professor Binns began, his tone as colourless as he was. "You will have 3 months to complete your project. The project itself will consist of several items. First, you must complete a written section, and then you must present your findings to your classmates in an oral report," he continued, pacing from left to right and steepling his fingers. "You will be evaluated by the work you produce, and also the collective work of the group."

Hermione's hand shot into the air.

"Yes, Miss Granger?"

"Is it possible to get extra credit on this assignment?" Hermione asked, appearing excited.

"Only if warranted. That by itself will be difficult." Professor Binns answered, giving his eager student an appraising eye.

Draco started as a piece of parchment landed on his desk. He grasped it with long, slender fingers, opening the folded paper as carefully as he could.

His silvery eyes hardened as he read the note.

Malfoy - Library, after dinner tonight. Be there, or I will search you out and hex you until you are permanently brain-damaged.

Turning in his seat, he caught the emerald irises of his Gryffindor rival, and glared. Harry just stared back, the gaze challenging. Draco heaved a sigh and turned back around in his seat, resigning himself to the annoyance that the next three months would bring.

***

Hermione and Harry promptly marched up to Professor Binns's desk after class, where the professor sat, presenting students with their assigned subjects. Draco followed slowly, deliberately pausing after stuffing his quill and ink back into his black Boach schoolbag.

"Hurry up, Malfoy." Harry's voice hissed as he turned to look at his lingering classmate.

"You can wait, Potter." Draco answered disdainfully, raising a pale blond eyebrow at the ebony-haired teen and straightening out the sleeves of his school robe.

Harry tapped his foot impatiently as he waited for Draco to approach the desk. Hermione was leaning over and asking Professor Binns a question when Draco finally reached the desk.

"Any longer, and I'd have mistaken you for a snail," she shot at him without even turning to look.

Draco glared at her turned back, "Any longer, and you all would've died, much to my excitement."

"Shut up, Malfoy," Harry argued, his fingers grazing the wand in his pocket. "I want to find out what we're supposed to do."

"Yes, Goody-Two Shoes Gryffindor," Draco muttered under his breath, but listened for the assignment.

Professor Binns cleared his throat and looked down at the parchment with the assignments on his desk. He ran a wrinkled index finger down the list until he came upon their names, "You three will be doing 'the History of Magic in 18^th Century France', with emphasis on the period before the French Revolution."

"Now that that's finished," Draco said, running a hand through his pale blond hair. "I'm leaving." Before anyone could object, he strode out of the classroom, slamming the heavy wooden door behind him.

***

Draco ate his dinner slowly, taking bits and pieces of his Chicken Scandal, and every once in a while glancing over to the Gryffindor table to see whether Harry and Hermione had finished their dinners. He frowned as they stood up, ready to leave. Draco swore under his breath. He'd been hoping that their classmates would delay their progress, but, as Draco rationalized, it must've been because they were Gryffindors. Harry turned and shot Draco a pointed look as he left the hall. Draco watched as Harry left with Hermione trailing closely behind.

"Draco, is anything wrong? You've barely touched your dinner," Pansy's high, whining voice interrupted and Draco turned to look at her. She was entirely unpleasant - sallow skinned, with a positively horrible overbite and curly hair - except for her deep, forest green Craba robes.

"No. I'm just not hungry," Draco replied, giving Pansy a sickeningly sweet smile. His father, Lucius, had always instructed that it was prudent to remain familial with other Slytherin children.

"Oh," Pansy responded, giving Draco a sympathetic pat on the arm and a toothy smile as she turned back to her own dish. Her nose wrinkled as she prodded something on her plate. "It's positively horrible, the food," she sniffed disdainfully. Draco could see other Slytherins nodding in agreement. She turned to him once again. "Don't you agree?"

"Yes, it is," Draco replied as he stood up from the table. "I have to work on that history project now."

Pansy prevented him from leaving as she threw her arms around his waist. Draco fought the urge to wince and immediately wished for dry cleaners for his Tersace robes. "Oh, Draco, I'm so sorry you were put with Potty and that mudblood," she seemed close to tears.

Draco detached her arms from around his waist and gingerly patted her head. He made a mental note to wash his hands as soon as he left. Flashing her a saccharine sweet smile, he stalked from the table and out the doors before heading for the nearest loo.

***

Hermione returned from the library stacks, her arms laden with large volumes gifted with such bland titles as: Magic in the 18^th century and Magic in France. Harry jumped as she unceremoniously dumped the pile before him onto the table.

"I can't believe we're stuck with Malfoy," Harry shook his head, narrowing his eyes. "This must be Professor Binns's idea of a joke."

"I agree. But I want to get a good grade, it's important you know, so we just have to work together." Hermione replied as she sat down across from Harry, grabbing Magic in France.

Harry groaned, paging through his book and not quite paying attention as to what it described. "But he's MALFOY."

"And I'm sure he would want as good a grade as we do, so he'll just have to put up with us and vice versa." Hermione replied, glancing up from her book just as Draco strode through the large oak doors, his schoolbag slung over his right shoulder.

"Potter, Granger," Draco said as he slipped into a chair at the head of the table, dropping his schoolbag on the floor.

Hermione spoke before Harry could open his mouth. "Here - read this." She handed Draco Magic in the 18^th Century. Draco grasped the book she held in her hand and placed it before him.

"No instructions, Granger?" Draco questioned, his lips curling into a smirk.

"No," she replied shortly. "Just read it...and remember the information," she added hastily, sure that Draco would merely page through the book without absorbing a single consonant.

"That's an instruction." Draco replied bluntly, his lips pressed in a thin line.

"Fine. I don't care what you call it, just read the book." Hermione glanced at him before returning to her own book.

Only five minutes had passed before Draco spoke up again.

"This is a waste of time," Draco complained, idly flipping through several pages.

"Malfoy, you know that big hole in your face? Shut it." Harry snapped, looking up from his book that he'd been trying to bury himself in and ignore Draco.

"That's original, Potter," Draco replied snidely, glaring at the ebony-haired boy.

"Malfoy." Hermione ground out, teeth clenched. She refused to look up from her book. "I want a good grade. And if you haven't noticed, this is a GROUP grade - and you, unfortunately, are in our group. If you don't work, I'll just have to send an owl to your father about how much this affects your grade. I know he isn't satisfied with your current performance."

Draco didn't reply. He glared at her, but she refused to look at him. (Steely death-glares don't work on hair!) For the rest of the research session, their table was blissfully silent.

***

"Someone should've hexed him," Ron stated, gesturing wildly with his right hand. Hermione shrank away from his waving arm and shook her head as she walked with Ron and Harry to their Potions class - a double-class again with the Slytherins. Ron had been lucky to escape History of Magic with Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnigan as his group members - both were fellow Gryffindors.

"No, it's not right to provoke him," Hermione said, directing a pointed look at both Harry and Ron.

"But he was being an arsehole!" Ron protested vehemently, this time gesturing with his left and nearly hitting Harry in the face, who grabbed Ron's arm before it made contact. "Sorry Harry." Ron apologized and Harry released his arm.

"Herm, I'm sorry, but I'll have to agree with Ron - Malfoy was being an insufferable git ... as usual," Harry acknowledged, pushing his glasses back up on his nose with his right hand. "And he's a prefect, like you - he should know better." Harry added.

Hermione had to peer around Ron to see Harry - Ron was exceptionally tall, if still lanky. "Yes, but you two were bickering as if you were both seven years old. For god's sake, you're both sixteen! It's time to grow up!" she chastised. "And Harry, you could've been prefect if you hadn't turned it down - I still think you should've accepted."

Harry regarded her with a small smile, which made him appear more youthful. "Thanks, Herm. But you know my schedule's too busy to fit in prefect duties as well. Besides, it's not as if you didn't throw a few barbs of your own," he commented, raising an inquisitive eyebrow at Hermione.

Hermione grinned. "Well, it got him to shut up, didn't it?"

Harry didn't reply. They'd reached the Potions classroom.

***

Potions with the Gryffindors...again. Draco shook his head angrily. Harry, Ron, and Hermione had walked in a moment ago, and had taken their seats on the side of the classroom. Draco had already occupied his usual seat in the front, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle. He leaned his head back and extended his long legs in front of him into the aisle, crossed at the ankles. We still have five minutes anyway, he mused idly, closing his eyes and letting himself relax.

A grunt near his ear broke the tranquility that he had settled into, a finger poked his back insistently.

"Malfoy!" Blaise's voice hissed in his ear. Startled, Draco sat up abruptly in his chair, wincing as his knees throbbed from where they'd hit the desk. The other Slytherin boy sat back in his chair, silent now that he'd gotten Draco's attention.

"Mr. Malfoy. Thank you for joining the class." Professor Snape hissed, raising a dark eyebrow at his student. He of course, did not take any points from his house.

"Now, today we'll be exploring the Munimentum potion ... could someone tell me what it does?" Snape questioned the class, his narrowed eyes flitting around the room for a victim.

"Weasley," Snape commanded, glaring at the red-haired boy. "Enlighten us."

The snickers from the Slytherins could be heard in the palpable silence.

"I don't know, Professor." Ron's voice came out harsh, short.

"Pity. Ten points from Gryffindor. Perhaps your friend, Mr. Longbottom, can answer the question," Snape's voice lowered to a smooth command. Everyone in the class turned to look at Neville Longbottom, who was shaking in his robes.

"I..." Neville's voice cut off abruptly - he looked terrified as Snape leaned over and gave him a snide smile.

"No? Twenty points from Gryffindor."

Draco could hear the Gryffindors murmuring in discontent. Suddenly, Hermione spoke up. "It's a protection potion, Professor. It protects against any harm or injury done to the person who ingested the potion. However, it only lasts for a two-hour period."

Snape whirled upon the Gryffindor Prefect. "Correct... but for speaking out of turn, ten points from Gryffindor."

Hermione remained silent. Draco knew that she would know that it would be useless to argue with Professor Snape - unless you fancied losing more house points, which, at the moment was not a good idea, seeing that they'd already lost 50 points in five minutes. He turned back in his seat, fighting to hide his mirth. Within moments, Snape paired off the students, instructing them to create the potion carefully, or risk the consequences. Draco, unfortunately, was partnered with Hermione.

She made her way towards him, her face pinched. Draco couldn't help but notice that she still looked at least marginally decent this way. He nearly kicked himself in the head for that assessment. Granger? The Mudblood - decent? Draco was horrified at his thought.

"I can't believe I'm stuck with you," Hermione muttered, discontentedly dumping several packets of powdered dragon teeth on the table.

Draco took offence at this. "I'm less than happy about this arrangement as well, Granger."

Hermione sighed. "We might as well learn to work together properly, Malfoy. After all, we've still got that History project to do as well."

Draco was silent for a moment. "Fine", he said regally, peering into the cauldron in front of him.

They stayed subdued for the rest of the class, with only the occasional queries for a particular ingredient they needed. Draco settled with Hermione about the date of their next meeting for the History project - that night (Tuesday) after dinner. They, of course, created the potion correctly, and Snape awarded Draco ten points to Slytherin for making it right. Harry and Ron had been about to protest, of course, but Hermione had held them back - they'd lost enough points that day.

***

Hermione was surprised to see Draco in the library as she walked in. Harry had had Quidditch practice - he was captain and was obligated to show up - so he'd promised her he'd do extra research after dinner the next night.

"I didn't expect you to be here already," she commented, finding it difficult to hide her surprise.

"Yes, well, you don't know me well enough to expect anything," he replied, his finger tracing just underneath the line that he was reading in the book.

"You could try being more pleasant," Hermione snapped back, stung. She yanked out the chair beside him and sat down, her entire body radiating anger.

"Ah, but that was never one of Professor Binns' instructions," Draco drawled, not bothering to hide the hint of contempt in his voice. He glanced up at her for a moment before returning to his book.

She sighed but didn't reply. It was far better to ignore Draco and get work done than to sit and bicker. She pulled a book from the top of the pile he'd collected, then removed a roll of parchment, a quill and a bottle of ink from her bag.

Hermione was midway through the book when she heard Draco snap his book closed.

"This is honestly a waste of time," he stated, glaring at the pile of books. "Nothing interesting at all. My father's library contains much more interesting books than this."

She didn't want to admit it, but the books were rather dry and the prospect of far more fascinating books was appealing. "Could you get them, Malfoy?" she asked.

He turned to look at her, slightly surprised at her request. "Yes. Father can get them here within a day, possibly less."

"They're not about ... the Dark Arts, are they?"

Draco snorted. "Well, they contain everything, Granger, unlike these books here," he jerked his chin at the books on the table. He regarded her with startlingly stormy gray eyes, as if challenging her to comment about his family's supposed ties with the Dark Arts and Voldemort. She rose to his challenge.

"Well, I thought so," she paused for a moment. "After all, you're a Malfoy, and we're all aware what people have been saying about your family's ties to the Dark Arts, and that your library would be full of books about them."

"Making assumptions about my family, are you, Mudblood?" Draco sneered. "You're jumping to conclusions, Granger. I never said our WHOLE library had books that mentioned the Dark Arts."

Madame Pince's voice suddenly interrupted. "Mr. Malfoy, Miss Granger. I would never have expected to hear the two of you speaking quite so loudly in my library!" Draco and Hermione turned to face the librarian, who stood behind them with her hands on her hips. Hermione apologized at once. 'I'm sorry, Madame Pince - it won't happen again."

Madame Pince gave her a curt nod. "Good." She turned and walked away.

Hermione glanced around. Luckily, no one was in the library to notice them arguing. However, she began to think it was odd that they were the only persons left within the large room. She glanced at her watch and realized why - it was already half-past nine, and they had a prefect meeting.

Hermione began to stuff her belongings back into her bag, while Draco stared up at her, taken aback by her rush.

"Going to meet your scarred boyfriend, Granger?"

Hermione sighed. The snide undertones were back in Draco's smooth drawl. "No, Malfoy. In case you hadn't noticed, we're late for the prefect meeting."

Draco sat up, spine stiff. "You're serious?"

She nodded.

"Shit", he swore, grabbing his schoolbag and like Hermione, began haphazardly stuffing various items into his bag - quills, parchments, even a small paperweight.

She didn't know why, but she felt compelled to wait for Malfoy, who was almost finished with his packing. "Hurry up!" she snapped, beginning to walk away.

"Why are you waiting, Granger?" he asked, almost curiously.

Hermione replied with the first excuse that came to her mind. Truthfully, she had no idea why she was waiting. "Um...we're going to the same place anyway."

Draco gave her an almost imperceptible nod of thanks as he walked up to where she was waiting, and they took off for the prefects meeting lounge together.

***

Harry had stayed behind after the Quidditch practice to get a few more laps in; the sensual caress of the bitter night air upon his skin never failed to calm any irritations or questions he had. He always lost himself in flight - flying was more of an instinct, a second nature to him, rather than a skill that had to be learned and developed. Tonight, the purpose of those extra laps in the bitter Scotland air was to rid himself of one thought - 3 months spent working on a project with Draco Malfoy.

Though a part of him felt extraordinarily guilty that he'd left Hermione alone to work and placate Draco, he also felt immensely relieved that he'd managed to escape with a Draco-free research day the following day. They'd constantly striven to best each other in everything, whether it was on the Quidditch pitch or in Snape's dungeons.

Draco Malfoy had been a thorn in his side for six years and he wasn't about to forgive and forget for this project.

He wouldn't.

***

"Hermione!" Ron greeted her as she stepped through the portrait-hole into the Gryffindor common room. He sat, curled up before a roaring fire, playing exploding snap with Harry, who glanced up as she came in and gave her a heart-stopping grin.

She had to admit that the two of them had matured nicely - though Ron grew taller every second, it seemed, and Harry's hair was as untidy as ever. She gazed at the two boys sprawled out before her, smiled ruefully, made her way over to them, and flopped down on another chair beside Ron.

Ron looked at her sympathetically. "Was it horrible?" he asked, obviously referring to her research session with Draco.

"It was all right," she said, choosing her words carefully. "He did offer to share some books from his personal library."

"And you accepted?!" Ron exclaimed, bolting upright from his slouched position on the chair, his exploding snap cards flying out of his hand; several began exploding on their way to the ground.

"Well, a book's a book. Besides, since he'll be using them too, I doubt he'd want to choose anything that'd jeopardize us," Hermione stated, hoping to reassure herself as well as Ron and Harry. "Besides, we can always check for curses or hexes - we learned in third year, remember?"

Harry's green eyes looked worried as he looked up from his sprawled position on the plush burgundy and gold rug that covered the floor.

"I still wouldn't trust Malfoy," Ron grumbled, scrunching up his face in discontent. Hermione stifled laughter - his facial features looked entirely like those of Crookshanks, Hermione's half-kneazle, ginger-coloured cat.

Obviously Harry had the same thought. "You look like Crookshanks," he laughed, gazing over at the windowsill where Crookshanks lay fast asleep.

"Hey!" Ron exclaimed, only marginally offended. He picked up the remaining stack of Exploding Snap cards and proceeded to toss them over Harry, who was immediately caught in a rain of exploding cards.

Hermione burst out laughing, the project with Draco forgotten for the moment as she watched Harry shield himself from the explosions. Harry stood up, shaking the exploding cards off of him and brushing the last few off his shoulders. He was wearing a green jumper with a large H and a lion embroidered on it - a gift from Ron's mother, Molly Weasley, the previous Christmas.

"There. That's what you get for insulting my good looks," Ron preened, obviously mocking Draco as he pretended to fluff his flame red hair, and then breaking out into laughter.

"What good looks?" Harry asked innocently.

"Oh, you..." Ron leapt at Harry, who darted out of the way with a Seeker's instincts and quick reflexes. Ron managed to catch himself on the arm of the chair Hermione was still occupying before he fell to the ground.

"You boys never grow up, do you?" Hermione asked, snickering behind her hand.

Harry and Ron looked at each other, and then back at Hermione with mirrored looks of horror.

"Grow up?" Ron echoed.

"Never." Harry grinned. He shot Ron a mischievous, secret smile, and before Hermione knew what was happening, her two best friends tackled her, nearly knocking the chair over, and tickling her until she couldn't breathe.

***

Draco finished writing, setting his quill down. He carefully folded the parchment and placed it in an envelope, then handed it to Prometheus, the Malfoy family Eagle Owl, and watched the owl fly off.

He'd written to his father to ask him to send several volumes of books from the library for the project, deliberately telling his father that he was working with Harry and Hermione.

Brushing a stray strand of his pale-blond hair from his eyes, he sat back in his chair and closed his eyes.

Father's reply should come tomorrow, he thought briefly, before his thoughts flickered to the research session that night. There were a couple of problems with the situation that night. One, Hermione had waited for him - and it had surprised him. No matter how much she hated him, she could still be polite, and that was something he hadn't expected. And two, he hadn't snapped at her that she was a mudblood and should go away. Cursing, Draco tried to wrench his thoughts away from his memories of their interaction and succeeded ...for the moment.

***

Draco opened his eyes the next morning, awakened by the loud, incessant hoot of an owl outside his window. He didn't have to worry about his fellow Slytherins being awakened by the sound of his mail arriving - as a prefect, he'd been granted his own room. He opened the window, and Prometheus flew in on strong, silent wings, clutching a fairly large-sized parcel. He hooted indignantly at Draco, who threw Prometheus an owl treat. The owl hooted once and took off, treat clutched securely in his beak.

Draco seized the parcel; spying a letter stuffed under the strings that tied the package together, he removed that first and ripped the envelope open. His father, Lucius, had written a letter of instructions. He scanned the message, which filled less than a half of the page but contained vital information. It explained that there was one book in the parcel, Popular Spells and Curses in 18^th Century France, that was not to be opened in his presence and should be given to Harry and Hermione as soon as possible. His father's letter ended, predictably, with several bolded words: Do Not Fail Me, Son. It was there almost every time he received a letter from his father - an obvious reminder of what awaited him in the future - Voldemort would never accept the shortcomings of a Death Eater. Draco placed the letter down on his quilt, and reached for a small, gilded pocketknife that he kept handy on the table beside his bed. Once in his hand, he flipped the blade out and sliced through the strings that kept the parcel together. He opened the box carefully, recognizing the first book as the one his father had described in his letter. He closed the flaps of the box, stood up, and began gathering his belongings for History of Magic, where he'd hand the box to Hermione.

***

Hermione was still sore from laughing hysterically the previous night; mostly from when Harry and Ron had tickled her.

"This is all your fault," she grumbled to Harry as the three of them walked to History of Magic together.

Harry grinned at her, not bothering to hide his enjoyment of her complaints.

"You're evil," she admonished Ron, who mockingly gasped a "who, me?"

She gave them her best McGonagall glare and harrumphed. They walked silently for a moment; suddenly Ron stopped and swore.

Hermione looked at him with alarm. "What?" she asked, concerned.

"I've forgotten the work I've done for the project in my room. Hold on, I'll be right back." Ron didn't wait for a reply as he took off back to Gryffindor Tower.

Hermione caught a glimpse of platinum blond hair from the corner of her eye and turned to face its owner.

"Yes?" she asked, casting a wary look at Draco.

Draco thrust a half-opened box at her. "Here, these are the books."

Harry stepped forward to keep Draco from leaving, watching him warily for any possible tricks he might do, though it was highly doubtful, as he was still clutching the parcel.

Hermione frowned as she caught the title of the top book through the flaps. She flipped the flaps open and grabbed the book. She scanned the cover photo of a witch and wizard being cursed into a jewel. "Malfoy, is this..."

She didn't notice Draco's eyes widening before she opened the cover. She felt something grabbing her, not unlike the feeling of travelling by portkey, and pulled her into the book. She couldn't see anything, merely pitch black, and that was the last she saw before she blacked out.

***

Draco groaned as he awoke, greeted by blurry vision, a splitting headache, and hard cobblestones digging into his body. He saw a black-haired lump stirring near him to his left and made out the blurry figure as Harry. He rubbed his eyes and squinted, his vision slowly clearing. He looked to his right and saw Hermione, who was already awake and was looking down at him with horror in her cinnamon eyes.

"Malfoy, you did this," she hissed, grabbing his robes - an easy reach considering she was merely inches away from him.

"Did what?" Draco asked, still disoriented.

"Look", she pointed, and Draco cursed.

They were definitely not in Hogwarts anymore. The street was filled with women wearing a myriad of coloured dresses, some more tattered than the rest; children selling wares; and horse-drawn carriages rumbling through the streets.

And then he heard someone speak.

"Je voudrais...trois pommes, s'il vous plait." Draco's eyes widened. He listened to the chatter of a band of children that ran through the streets, chasing one another, and the general noises of his surroundings. These people were speaking French. All of them. They were in France. They had to be.

Draco swallowed.

"Oh, bollocks."

-------- To Be Continued -------