AN/: The inspiration to this has quickly become one of my favourite poems. Partly because the use of 'Paris' as a synonym for 'love' is simply brilliant. Partly because the love is so obviously there, but too scary to admit. I don't know, it just kind of screamed Dramione to me as I read it. I am very excited about this particular one-shot, must say. I had an absolute blast writing it. If you don't quite grasp it; the italics in each passage are Draco's thoughts.

Tell me what you think, and shoot me a suggestion/idea/prompt.

Disclaimer: All the characters belong to JK Rowling. Also, In Paris With You belongs to the brilliant James Fenton and I take no credit for it.


viii. In Paris With You.

.

Don't talk to me of love. I've had an earful,
And I get tearful when I've downed a drink or two.
I'm one of your talking wounded.
I'm a hostage. I'm maroonded.
But I'm in Paris with you.

.

"Truly a beaut, this one."

Draco rolled his eyes at his best friend's attempt to woo the flock of women surrounding them. The particularly girly group beside them broke into a string of annoying giggles and swoons.

"Wouldn't hurt her to crack a smile now, would it?" Malfoy remarked, running pale fingers through his snowy hair before leaning forward on the semi-circular railing around the glass cage. He tapped the glass with his knuckle, despite the cold looks from the guards posted around The Louvre. "Come on, Lis. I bet I could make you—"

"Monsieur, I'm going to have to ask you to step away from the—"

"Christ, Drake. Quit faffing about, you're embarrassing me—"

"Never one to respect boundaries, hmm, Malfoy?"

He knew that voice anywhere.

Cautiously, Draco turned towards the sound. Hermione Granger stared back at him, arms crossed over her chest, her full, cupid-bow lips pulled up in a smirk that made his blood run south.

Resting his elbows on the railing, he eyed her beyond the cluster of tourists. It wasn't difficult, she was the only one he saw either way.

Grey eyes slid down her body, taking in the lose honey curls spilling over her shoulders and framing her heart-shaped face; travelling downwards to the top and skirt ensemble she made look like bloody lingerie, and those milky long legs that he envisioned wrapped around his waist—

Damn.

Curious brown eyes bore into his, long eyelashes brushing rosy cheeks every time she blinked.

Hot damn.

"You realise this staring contest is going to go from hot to awkward very soon?" Blaise muttered under his breath, discreetly breaking his mate out of his reverie.

Straightening suddenly, pausing to clear his throat, Draco composed himself. His wandering thoughts were anything but appropriate, and it was starting to become evident.

"You followed me to Paris, Granger?" He smirked slowly, watching the way heat painted her cheeks, with mirth. "I didn't realise going off the grid affected you so."

After the War, both of them had returned to Hogwarts for their final year. A barely-there friendship had formed, consisting of civil behaviour and occasional sarcastic banter some would label as 'flirting'. The undeniable attraction was there, as was the sexual tension that came with their clashing personalities. But she was with Weasley, and he'd been with most, so it hadn't progressed the way either would have liked.

But then was different. Now was different.

"The loss was too much for me to bear."

That sharp tongue kept him awake nights on end. Even after moving out of London a few weeks after graduation, when she'd hugged him goodbye, longer than deemed friendly in fact. What he wouldn't do to feel those soft dips and curves of her form against his once again, even after four years—

Shit. She was going to be the death of him.

"Hermione!" Came a distant voice, breaking the trance their locked eyes had put the two in. Before he could react, Granger was turning away towards her caller, her unruly curls flying behind her as she spun away from him.

"See you around, Malfoy." He heard her call out, before disappearing before his eyes.

No. Not again.

Remembering the reason why he was at the world renown museum in the first place, he hastily faced Blaise. "Could you—the client—?"

"Taken care of." His Italian friend grinned, tipping his head towards where she had stood moments ago. "Better hurry, mate."

With a smirk, he broke into a run, pushing past the confused and annoyed faces of strangers. Climbing quickly up the spiral staircase, he ascended to the entrance where he stopped and searched with all his might.

"Malfoy?" The disbelief in her voice sounded over the mutters of tourists. He whipped around to find her next to the Weasley girl, by one of the triangular fountains. Her eyes were wide, lips parted in barely concealed surprise. He approached her before she got the chance to leave him again.

"Merlin, Malfoy. Did you run all the way up—"

Oh, fuck it all.

Knuckles tilting up her chin, he leaned down and kissed her.

And the rest, was history.

.

Yes I'm angry at the way I've been bamboozled.
And resentful at the mess I've been through.
I admit I'm on the rebound,
And I don't care where are we bound.
I'm in Paris with you.

.

Draco was walking her home from their fifth date. They'd taken a trip to a very secluded, very quaint bookshop-cafe that Hermione positively loved. He'd discovered it on one of his mindless trips around the streets of Paris.

Laughing and joking and talking about nothing and everything, they walked and walked and walked. At times, they'd tiptoe across the edge of the pavement, arms stretched to balance themselves, until someone tripped first.

The streets were bare, the constant golden hue of the lampposts lighting their way to nowhere. Her apartment was a few minutes in the opposite direction, but neither cared as they revelled in each other's company.

The wind picked up force as they wandered aimlessly through Paris, and soon, Hermione's hands were rubbing at her bare arms. As if second nature, he shrugged off his blazer and held it out for her arms to slip through. She gave him an appreciative smile once she was dwarfed in his garment, and his heart did all sorts of acrobats in his chest as he buttoned her up snugly.

A loud boom resonated through the sky, the first signs of a storm.

She only got the chance to tilt her head towards the clouds, before rain poured from the heavens.

Malfoy laughed at her elation, tugging her hand as they started to run.

Hermione stopped momentarily, slipping her shoes off and carrying them in a hand as she sped up and jogged with him.

They reached a cafe canopy, finding refuge under it as it downed in sheets.

Catching his breath, Draco pulled her close, running his fingers through her damp tendrils. She leaned up on her bare toes to kiss him, distracting him successfully before pulling away and taking off to the middle of the road, where she lifted her arms up towards the skies and spun on the spot.

Torn between pulling her back before she caught something and risking the loss of the utterly beautiful sight of her dancing in the rain, he stayed in shelter. His mind had made the decision for him, as he watched with awe as she kicked at puddles and twirled her skirt in the air.

She stopped suddenly, cupped her hands around her mouth and called out to him.

"Draco, dance with me!"

Scoffing, he shook his head. "You're insane."

"You're not insane enough!"

"Oh real mature, Hermione." He rolled his eyes, leaning against a wall as she continued playing in the cold. He watched her for a moment, warmth spreading through his chest."Get back here before you catch something."

"Can I catch you?"

He ended up giving into her in the end, how could he not, after that? Clutching at her hips as she wrapped long arms around his neck, they swayed to the musicless night, the rain pattering around them.

She had him hooked.

.

Do you mind if we do not go to the Louvre,
If we say sod off to sodding Notre Dame,
If we skip the Champs Elysées,
And remain here in this sleazy,

.

"What're we doing today?"

Hermione's words were muffled against the crook of his neck. Draco was a little busy, playing with her slender fingers as they lay naked under the blankets strewn across the floor, legs intertwined. The warmth blazing in the fireplace they sat by was comforting in the harsh winter blizzard outside.

"Nothing."

She laughed a little before pulling herself up, holding the comforting wool to her bare chest as she did so. Plucking up a long stick she'd found in the gardens of the Malfoy Chateau, she pushed a marshmallow onto the pointiest side. Hermione leaned back into her boyfriend's naked torso as she roasted the food on the fire for a few seconds.

Blowing gently on the now-brown marshmallow, she raised her eyebrows. "Nothing?"

He kissed the spot below her ear. "Mhm."

Her breath hitched, and she tried to speak. "We're in Paris."

"You don't say." His lips travelled to a particularly sensitive expanse of skin where her neck met her shoulder.

"The home of the Eiffel Tower; Notre Dame, the blasted Champs—" His tongue trailed heat across her collarbone. "—heavens, you're distracting."

"You talk too much, chérie." His wandering hands brushed her thigh, knowing just how much his use of French turned her on.

She smiled, taking a bite of the roasted marshmallow. The way she ran her tongue over her lips in delight of the taste didn't stop his imagination running wild. He swooped down to taste her, and she gasped against his tender mouth.

"If you want." He murmured against her moist lips. "You can cook for me."

Hermione smirked, pulling back and winding her fingers through his platinum hair. "You know, I might just cook for me and make you starve."

"Merde, keep talking dirty to me, and you're not going anywhere."

"Oh yeah?" It was her turn to tease. She quickly darted out of his embrace, clothed in the blanket and the shadows of the flames dancing on her skin.

He sat up straighter, reaching out to snag the fabric away. "Get back here, Granger."

"Come and get me."

And get her, he did.

.

Old hotel room
Doing this and that
To what and whom
Learning who you are,
Learning what I am.

.

Coming home to his girlfriend of three months was what kept Draco going during work.

The curve of her lips, the warmth of her embrace, the tinkling of her laughter was all he could think about all day.

So when he walked through the door to not see her sitting across the sofa reading, or watching the weird magic box thing; his deflation was understandable.

"Baby, I'm home."

No answer. No Hermione running up to him and pushing her fingers through his hair as she kissed him senseless.

"Love, where are you?" He called out, loosening his tie and shrugging off his jacket to drape over the back of the sofa.

"In the bedroom, Draco." Her voice finally came through, like music to his ears. She'd practically moved in last month, and he wouldn't have wanted it any other way.

He climbed the stairs two steps at a time, reaching the master bedroom before his sanity snapped due to being away from her for too long.

When he walked in, however, he didn't find her. The noises of rattling objects coming from the en suite bathroom made him feel a little better, however. Kicking the main door shut behind him, he talked to her through the door to the bathroom.

He slipped off his loafers. "When I get home, I want to see my girlfriend. It's a little hard to do when she's hiding from me."

There was no reply.

Standing by the dresser, he unbuttoned his shirt, leaving him in a pair of dress pants. "You know, this could be classified as torture, making me wait like—"

The door creaked open behind him, and he turned, not expecting to see what he did.

His jaw slackened, dropping open once he caught the sight of her.

She wore a black fedora.

Only a black fedora.

Holy shit.

"I bought a hat." She smirked at him, straightening the hat on her mass of curls. Her voice was low, only to be used under the sheets. She sauntered over to the bed, sitting at the edge of it and crossing her legs, wiggling her toes. "Do you like it?"

His mouth was dry.

"Sweet Merlin, Hermione." He growled, slowly walking to her position on the mattress, until she pulled him close and wrapped milky legs around his waist. "Do I like it?"

Her reply was an innocent, intoxicating smile. "Well, do you?"

"I bloody adore it."

She smirked triumphantly as he gathered her in his arms, before pressing her down onto their bed. "Good."

He was vaguely listening, too busy lavishing her neck with attention. "Good?"

"Because we have dinner with my parents tomorrow night."

Draco froze.

"My evil witch."

.

Don't talk to me of love. Let's talk of Paris,
The little bit of Paris in our view.
There's that crack across the ceiling.
And the hotel walls are peeling
And I'm in Paris with you.

.

"You have to be fucking kidding me!"

Hermione clenched her jaw, crossing her arms. "Don't raise your voice at me, Draco."

"You should've thought about that before you went out with him!"

"I didn't go out with him!"

"So what the bloody hell do you call that?"

"Catching up with a friend."

"You think he came all the way to France for a drink and a chat?" He was jealous, that was all, but his Malfoy temper made the situation much worse.

"You may not see the best in people, but I do, Draco."

"Are you sure it's not just unsated feelings you have for the wanker that's blinding your judgement?!"

"I have no feelings for Ron! You know that."

"Do I?" The words were spilling out before he could stop them. And damn did he want to stop them. "I think you might've just proved me wrong."

She looked like he'd slapped her. Stumbling back, Hermione blinked back tears.

I'm sorry, I'm so sorry my love.

"If you really think that, if you really believe I'm not completely devoted to you and only you..." She choked. He clenched his jaw so he wouldn't cave in to her emotions."What is the point of us?"

Don't. Don't say that.

"Maybe you should leave."

What? No, what am I doing? Stop, stop!

When she released a breath she hadn't realised she was holding, it came out shaky and wavering. "Maybe I should."

Dear Lord no. Please don't leave. Never leave me.

He couldn't bring himself to say anything, even as she turned around and ran away from him.

Don't you understand that I love you?

.

Don't talk to me of love. Let's talk of Paris.
I'm in Paris with the slightest thing you do.
I'm in Paris with your eyes, your mouth,
I'm in Paris with...all points south.
Am I embarrassing you?

.

The second the door clicked shut, Draco's anger melted away.

He'd just let the person he cared about most walk out the door. His world was crumbling around him.

With a sudden sprint, he darted through the door, towards the slowly disappearing shadow already too far.

It was raining.

"Hermione!"

Feet hitting the ground hard and fast, he ignored the pain shooting up his legs at the force. Stepping into already-full puddles, he got the whole of himself soaked before even reaching her.

"Hermione, please!"

He caught up to her, his heart in his throat, and wrapped strong arms around her before she could escape.

She struggled against him, slapping his chest repeatedly. The sound of water splashing and rain pitter-pattering around them was dull against the hard beats of his heart.

"I hate you!"

He pressed his nose into her hair, pulling her closer and tighter as she continued to hit him.

"You let me leave, you bastard!"

His fingers traced languid, soothing patterns on her back. "I know, I know. I'm so sorry, love."

"Do I even mean anything to you?" She yelled into his chest, smacking and punching and slapping his torso.

"You are everything to me, Hermione. " He whispered, holding his tears at bay.

She cried softly into his neck.

"I'm sorry, fuck I'm so sorry. I didn't mean any of it—I was angry, just so stupidly angry." He kept saying, his own tears blending with droplets of rain.

"I don't feel anything for—"

"—Oh, love, I know." Draco tightened his hold on her when she wrapped arms around his shoulders. He was such a fucking idiot.

Something in his mind clicked, and he knew he wouldn't avoid this any longer. Pulling away slightly, he tilted her face up to see his.

She looked so fucking beautiful as the rain soaked her to the bone.

"Hermione." He croaked, brushing damp curls off her forehead. "I'm so desperately in love with you, nothing makes sense anymore but us." He carried on, before she could speak or argue or interrupt. His Malfoy pride be damned. "Please. Please don't take away everything I have."

"Draco—"

"I love you, I love you, and I'm not afraid to let everyone know just how infinitely much."

"Draco—" She kissed him, then whispered against his cool lips. "Say it again."

"Say what?" He smirked slowly, his voice low and teasing.

"You know what."

"No, I don't think I do."

She started hitting him again.

"Alright, jeez, woman!" Draco laughed, grappling at her hands and lacing their fingers together. "I'm in love with you, Hermione Granger."

"Je t'aime aussi."

.

I'm in Paris with you.

.


Translations:

'monsieur'
mister/sir.
'chérie' — darling/honey.
'merde' — shit/damn.
'Je t'aime aussi' I love you too.

'In Paris With You' — Poem by James Fenton.