Strange Encounter
Jane was all by herself, yet she felt so familiar with her new environment. Paris was home to plenty of witches and wizards, this city was magical; literally and figuratively. Still, Jane hoped she would meet someone by the end of her long trip. Paris was the city of romance and magic for a reason.
Hermione already travelled to France before, with her parents when she was younger. Memories swirled in her mind as she laid her eyes on the first bakery she stumbled upon.
It had been a while since she had eaten French bread and pastries. The smell of freshly baked bread brought her back to the summer days she had spent looking for a place to eat tasty bread in London.
"Bonjour", she said to the cashier with her best accent, "Une baguette s'il-vous-plait."
"That will be ninety cents."
Hermione gave her the money, grinning. "Au revoir!"
She let out a big sigh of joy before taking a bite of the baguette. Why something so simple was so good?
"Hermione!"
She turned around, her smile growing wider.
"Fleur!"
The blonde was waiting for her near the exit of the station.
Fleur agreed to lend her family's old apartment to Hermione, who had been hard to convince. But Fleur said that if Hermione would not take it, someone else would and ruin her childhood home.
She did not need to pay the rent. Fleur told her that she already had done enough for the world; which led to an endless argument between the two women.
Finally, Ron persuaded her by saying she should accept the great things that came into her life, because she deserved it.
Hermione could not stop doubting herself. It might have to do with all the fame she suddenly got after the war; being heard was unusual for her.
She could finally speak about her ambitions, and the changes the wizarding world needed. The joy quickly faded off when the first interview with the Daily Prophet turned out to be an absolute disaster. They asked her a lot of questions, and she was glad, but once the article was published, only the moments she was talking about Harry were kept. That made Hermione furious.
The second time, Luna interviewed her for the Quibbler. Her questions were surprising, yet very interesting.
However, some wizards were not accepting towards her progressive political views.
She had to turn down a job offer from the Ministry, which was a huge shock for those around her. When the trio moved together to London, she started writing meaningless stories to distract her from the hatred she was receiving.
She spent three years keeping that hobby secret, until the first day Harry's new boyfriend 'moved in'.
-- Two years ago --
She usually woke up early to write: being awake while the world was still sleeping was perfect.
Until someone ruined her routine.
Hermione was baffled to find Draco fucking Malfoy in the drawing room reading her notebook at six in the morning.
First of all, she did not know who Harry's boyfriend was before. No wonder he would not talk about him!
Secondly, how did he find it?
Hermione started to threaten him with her wand.
"There is no need for that," he said carefully. "Harry and I truly love each other, and I understand it can be hard to accept but..."
Hermione's jaw clenched. "I'm not talking about that," she hissed. "Give. The. Notebook. Back."
Draco raised one of his eyebrows in confusion.
"This," he hesitated. "Is yours? You wrote it?" he asked, flipping through the pages with that annoying smirk.
Hermione sighed, irritated and snatched the notebook off his hands. "Never touch that again," she warned. "And now, I'm going to wake up Harry and ask for some explanations."
But before she could walk away from him, Malfoy said something she would never forget.
"You are talented Granger."
---
She did, in fact, not forget.
"Let's apparate, should we?" said Fleur, gently grabbing Hermione's hand.
White walls surrounded them, as well as an unpleasant odour. She winced, realising that the apparition point was in the public toilets.
"I know, disgusting," Fleur muttered.
"Why always the loo?" Hermione added just before they disappeared.
The flat was even more beautiful than Fleur had described it. The drawing room was rather dark, in a comfortable way; the charming furniture reminded her of the Gryffindor common room, warm and ancient.
On the chimney, was an opulent clock, the magic evaporating from it was strong; Hermione thought it was a time turner. Time turners were available in any shape, a small hourglass, like the one she used, or a big clock like this one, and that was inconvenient. The traveller could not take it with them, hence they had to go back to where the clock was, which was a major issue.
She would admire it from afar.
Next to it was a small cauldron full of floo powder. The floo network would be useful for going to wizarding places in France, but she could not see her friends in England with that, she could only contact them.
The kitchen was enchanted, and by what Fleur said, it was way more practical than muggle kitchens. With a wave of a wand, a meal would be ready in no time!
She was right, even if Hermione liked to cook, it required too much time.
"This place is wonderful!" Hermione exclaimed, back in the living room.
Fleur was beaming. "Do you now understand why I didn't want anyone else to live in this house?"
"Of course," replied Hermione. "Thank you again. I could have never made it without you."
Fleur huffed and waved her hand. "That's not true, you would have. Anyway," she quickly changed the subject and pointed one of her fingers at a large corridor, "The last door is your room, he's waiting for you in there."
Surprise crossed Hermione's face and she immediately rushed towards the door.
The bedroom was similar to the others. No time turner in this one, but a crystal ball. It seemed like this house wanted Hermione to overcome her traumas.
On the large bed was a big fluffy orange ball.
"Crookshanks!"
She jumped on the bed to hug the cat who purred. The mattress was so comfortable that Hermione was forcing herself to not fall asleep. Her body was slowly filling with fatigue, but she wanted to explore the city.
"Maybe I should go to see the Eiffel Tower..." she said to Crookshank who meowed, unbothered.
"No, it's overcrowded."
Hermione flinched, Fleur was a discreet woman.
"I'm leaving now," she said with a soft smile. "Tell me if you need anything."
Hermione sat down. "Already?"
Fleur nodded. "You need a rest."
"Yes, but I want to visit-"
"After your rest, you should visit Le Musée d'Orsay. I'm sure you will love it."
After taking a nap and trying out a delicious Japanese restaurant next street, she listened to Fleur's advice and went to the museum—next time she would definitely apparate instead of taking the metro.
Le Musée d'Orsay was by far the best museum Hermione had ever seen. And Merlin knew she had seen loads.
Some wizards and witches—mostly purebloods—underappreciated muggle arts. Theories were told that Vincent Van Gogh was a wizard, even if proven otherwise. The pureblood minds could not comprehend that muggles could also achieve great things.
Hermione stayed there the entire afternoon.
Every painting reminded her of the time she used to read art books at Hogwarts because she had nothing else to read. She used to think art books were useless and not educational, but that was simply not true. So much could be told with no words.
"Madame," said a voice next to her. "We'll be closing soon."
She finally gazed away from "Starry Night Over The Rhône." A true masterpiece.
As she was walking towards the exit, she wondered if her stories would be told through centuries and have as much impact.
Probably not, she thought. But was it worth living a life without dreams?
Once outside, she felt something wet falling on her forehead. She left England only to get under the rain so quickly... and without an umbrella!
Hermione had a plan for every apparition point in Paris, and luckily this city had a lot. She just had to be fast to avoid getting drenched.
While trying to protect her hair with her handbag, she tripped on a manhole.
But she did not fall; an arm was wrapped around her waist.
"Be careful madame," a captivating feminine voice said. It sounded familiar, and still, Hermione had no idea who this was. "Where are you going?"
Hermione steadied herself and turned her head to thank the woman.
"..."
There was silence. A silence so loud that even the splattering rain was inaudible.
Hermione was beyond shock. The words could not leave her mouth, her brain could not even process the situation.
"Granger?!"
Why was Pansy Parkison standing before her? Was that a ghost? Her pale sharp face could not make her believe otherwise. However, ghosts were not that sophisticated; no ghosts would wear tweed trousers and have a French bob cut.
"Why-" started Hermione.
Pansy dropped her black umbrella on the ground.
"You can keep it," she said before vanishing in thin air.
...
Well, at least now Hermione knew she had reached the apparition point.