When In France

Flashbacks are in italics.

"What about this one?" Hermione asked, holding up a brochure.

"Is it open to Muggles too?" Oliver asked.

Hermione peered at it. "Yep."

"Nope," Ginny vetoed it straight away.

Harry sighed. "You guys. We've been going at this for three hours. Just pick one already!"

"This is important, Harry! We've been planning to go on holiday together for so long, and Oliver finally managed to take leave. We've got to find the perfect place to stay!" Ginny said, looking through a thick travel booklet titled Holiday in Provence.

Harry picked up a glossy brochure from the pile on the coffee table and flicked through it. A picture of a sun-soaked vineyard caught his eye, and began to read the information.

"Hey, this one sounds pretty good. Château de Marchand. Wizard-run, five-star boarding house in Provence, France, with adjoining vineyard and swimming pool, home-cooked authentic French cuisine, twenty minutes walk from magical town of Sainte-Gilles," Harry read out.

"Wow. Almost too good to be true," Ginny commented, holding out her hand for the brochure.

Harry passed it to her and leaned back into the couch, his mind lingering on the pictures from the brochure- the gorgeous, sprawling château, the sunlight dancing off the trees, the cloudless blue skies.

"I think this is it!" Hermione exclaimed, glancing up from the brochure which Oliver was now reading over her shoulder.

"So, does everyone agree?" Ginny asked.

They all nodded, and Hermione smiled.

"Great! I'll go owl the owner right now!"

Harry entered his small, dark apartment, sighing wearily after a long day of work at the Auror office. His partner was home sick, and he'd had to finish off all the paperwork from their latest case. He flopped down onto the couch and noticed a blinking green light on his Muggle answering machine. Harry reached out and stabbed at the button, and Hermione's excited voice filled the apartment.

"Hey Harry! Good news! I just got a reply from the owner of the château and he has four vacancies for ten days! We can leave the day after tomorrow, is that okay with you? Call me!"

Harry reached for his phone and punched in the number to Hermione and Oliver's apartment.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Mione, I got your message."

"Oh, yes, isn't that good news? So is the date okay?"

"Yeah, it's perfect."

"Yay! Okay, I've arranged everything. The Portkey leaves from my apartment at 11am the day after tomorrow. It'll take us right to the doorstep of the château. Sorry, I've got to go; Oliver wants to know where I put his Puddlemere United socks. I'll see you!"

"Kay. Bye."

Harry forced himself off the couch and into his bedroom, where he pulled off his work robes. Too tired to take a shower, he rummaged around in his closet, looking for pyjamas. He reached deep into a drawer and found something caught in the back of it. He tugged hard at it and a found a worn, grey T-shirt he hadn't seen for years.

Harry lifted the shirt up to his face, breathing in the scent that was already long gone, memories flooding back...

1998, Grimmauld Place

Harry walked down the hallway, pausing to flick his wand at Mrs Black's screaming portrait before entering the kitchen. Draco was sitting at the table, frowning in concentration as he studied some parchment. He was wearing one of Harry's Muggle T-shirts, thrown on in haste this morning when they were shaken awake by Ron, saying something about Kingsley in the kitchen.

"We need your help, Draco. You have inside information on the Death Eaters, and we need to know how to get into Malfoy Manor. You won't need to be away for long, no more than a week, at Order headquarters," Kingsley had said.

Draco had looked at Harry, fear mirrored in both their eyes. They had refused to be apart, afraid that if they had to say goodbye, it would be the last time they ever saw each other.

Draco eventually, reluctantly, agreed.

Now, Harry leaned against the kitchen doorframe, watching his boyfriend, unsure of how to break the news to him.

He moved over to stand behind Draco, massaging his thin shoulders beneath the soft grey material.

"Draco, we need to talk."

Harry sat down in one of the chairs.

"We're moving. We've stayed in Grimmauld Place far too long, and there are more Death Eaters outside every day. Hermione's already arranged everything. She's remembered this old house in Wales, near where she used to holiday when she was younger. It'll be a perfect hiding place." Harry said.

Draco sighed. "When are we leaving?"

Harry's face fell. "Not we, Draco."