Obliviate

Chapter Eleven | The First Day

Paris left a big imprint on Hermione.

Each street, every building. Even the clouds, and the smell of the fresh air was beautiful. She couldn't describe the euphoria she felt being able to see her dreams herself, instead of shutting her eyes to do so.

Rue Des Thermopyles.

Draco had told Hermione before they apparated away from the Ministry of Magical Affairs that they were staying on a street that sounded like something out of a fairytale.

He wasn't lying.

Perching on the end of  her mattress, Hermione looked out of the window down onto the quaint street. Ivy enveloped nearly all the different buildings, colourful wooden shutters brought them to life - it gave them some personality.

Gorgeous hanging pots lightly swung in the wind, while vibrant flower boxes were attached to the underneath of the windows. The street truly had an indescribable aura to it.

Perfect, really.

Bicycles perched against the pure white structure of the other homes, painted in bold colours. Most of them had a small basket attached to the front. Hermione imagined herself going to the shop on her own bicycle.

She imagined herself to speak fluent French - or to be wearing a beret hat walking down the beautiful streets of Paris, dressed in an outfit so expensive it would pay her rent months in advance.

Hermione pictured herself to work in a book store - on the corner of a busy street. She could spread her love and knowledge of the books she loved so dearly to others. The whole world would be her oyster.

Draco had shown Hermione to a small room within the house - a double bed made of antique mahogany, painted in a pure white colour. The ornate, florid and beautiful structure accentuated the room in which Hermione would be staying in.

Next to the bed, sat a small, yet simple nightstand. A small candlestick sat carefully on top of a hand crafted wooden stand, the wood effortlessly engulfed around the candle. A singular rose added a splash of colour to the neutral colour scheme within the room.

At the base of the bed, was a beautiful ottoman. Hermione had inspected it upon her arrival, which she'd gathered to be handcrafted too. The shape of roses had been carved into the centre of the wood, and on top sat a simple, white padded cushion.

There was room for her to place her belongings inside - yet Hermione hadn't brought any clothes for their trip. She didn't really think that far ahead.

And finally - in the far corner of her room, a stunning armchair faced the bed. Next to the chair, a small end table sat perfectly. The off-white leather had probably been discoloured from the sun as it was patchy in areas. Antique. It was the brightest corner of the room, after all.

The perfect corner to read a book.

Hermione twiddled with her fingers, her eyes switching between the view and her hands. Small pieces of skin had broken around her cuticles due to the cold temperatures in the dungeons back at Hogwarts.

She picked at the skin unknowingly, her eyes taking in the street below her.

Draco's room was opposite Hermione's. From her bed, she could see into his room through the gap in his door. Straight to his own bed.

She turned her head, looking over her shoulder into Draco's room. He was neatly folding a plain, black suit and gently placing them into the ottoman he had at the end of his bed.

Hermione watched him curiously - the way the light caught his skin perfectly, the way he stood. He was nothing of the boy all those years ago and yet, neither was Hermione.