Chapter 31

Disclaimer: Not mine. I just borrowed them for a while. I promise to put them back when I'm done. Oh, nope, no money either...just for fun.

I want to give a great big thank you hug to Arabellabloodgood, Proulxes and to DuchessOfArcadia for combing through this and helping me clean up my many mistakes. And a huge thank you to MagicalPresence for helping me understand the Muggle school system in the UK as well as for some 'site' information. I really appreciate it more than you can possibly know.

Thank you, Jay, for the beautiful banner. I absolutely love it!

Mrs. and Mr. Weasley, Tonks, Mad-Eye, and Lupin had seen Harry off the train and then had had words with Harry's aunt and uncle, warning them to not mistreat him, much to Hermione's delight. She hoped his horrible aunt and uncle would heed the warning, and Harry would have a decent summer. Hermione made a mental note to send Harry snacks at least once a week just in case. The way he was growing, he'd need the extra calories. Hermione hugged Harry, saying, "Write to me. That way I can send stuff back with Hedwig." Adding, as she let go, "I mean it, Harry, tell me, anything, even if just to complain about Dudley."

"Er, right, okay," he said, but she hoped he would. He was still rather sullen and withdrawn around her.

Hermione walked away from Harry, and her parents hugged her the moment she approached them. "Oh, it's so good to see you, darling," Jean Granger said, holding her tightly.

"It's wonderful to see you, too," she said, wondering why her parents had a pile of luggage with them on a trolley. "Are we going somewhere?" she asked as her father set Crookshanks' carrier on the trolley holding her trunk. Hermione had expected to leave the station for London Charing Cross to take the train to Bexleyheath Station and then home as they'd done every summer before, but obviously her parents had other plans.

"Your Mum has been planning this trip all year," her father said proudly.

"But where are we going? What about my trunk?" Hermione asked, confused.

"Can you make it smaller?" her mother whispered. "We're going to France! I've found the most adorable beach house to rent for the next three weeks! Shopping, great food, I know you like the beach, sweetie. I've packed you a bag. Oh, and I checked; since Crooks is already in a carrier, we can take him as he is."

"Let me guess, St Jean de Luz?" she asked her mum as her father led them to the London Paddington line to take the express service to Heathrow airport.

Her mum smiled. "Of course."

Hermione tried making her trunk about the size of a carry-on as discretely as possible. St Jean de Luz was a large, working port and resort, famous for its gorgeous architecture of seventeenth and eighteenth century houses and it's fine, sandy, protected beach. The charming port town was loaded with shops and some of the best seafood restaurants on the Cote Basque, as well as many terraces from which to see and enjoy the regular musical events in the square. Everything was within walking distance. It was her mum's favorite place to spend a summer vacation.

They flew Air France from Heathrow Airport to Biarritz Parma Airport and then made the twenty-minute drive from Biarritz to St Jean de Luz in a taxi.

As soon as they got to the beach house, Hermione let Crookshanks out of his carrier and started to pull out what Muggle clothes she had with her. Most of them were winter clothes, so they wouldn't do at all, and the ones her mum had packed were all from last year, so many of them were a bit too tight, especially in the bosom, which meant that her mum would want to go shopping. Hermione almost groaned at the thought. However, she did her best to select something appropriate to wear for dinner. She changed her clothes, thankful that the house-elves had pressed her blouse and jeans before setting them in her trunk back at school. She would try to find something, some shells perhaps, or a few small bangles, for the house-elves that cleaned her dorm room and did her laundry.

She pulled out her journal and turned to look out the window. She had to admit, she loved the view of the sandy bay from her room, and the quality of the light, especially at sunset, was breath taking. She finished her entry, set her book down on her bed, petted Crookshanks, and headed down for dinner.

The next morning after breakfast, Jean announced that she was taking Hermione shopping. "Do leave some money in the bank, dear; you don't want to spend it all in one day," her father called out as they headed for the door.

Hermione and her mum walked to the town. Her mum's enthusiasm for anything French, such as the two tiny French bikinis her mum bought her and the French fashions, nearly made the exhausting endeavor of purchasing a 'suitable' summer wardrobe bearable, although not all the outfits they purchased were strictly for the warm sunny weather of the southern French coast, since a good deal of the clothes could be worn comfortably back in England, too.

Her father joined them for lunch, choosing a lovely café where they could hear street musicians playing in the background. However, the topic of discussion George and Jean wanted to have centered on the letters they'd received from Hogwarts, the fight at the Ministry Hermione and her friends had been in, the You-Know-Who person who was apparently back and of great concern in the wizarding world, and Hermione's involvement with Harry.

"All I'm saying, darling, is that you frequently get hurt at this school, and the letters, although they say you're fine, healed... concern your mother and I," her father said. "It seems every year we get notices...it's disturbing."

"And this You-Know-Who that no one will say the name of," Jean said, her expression one of true parental concern, "reminds us of the London gangsters called the Kray Twins."

"How do you know about him?" Hermione asked, wondering to what extent her parents knew.

"He's the most evil wizard in hundreds and hundreds of years, according to your Ministry official who came by our house to apply some magical protections," her father replied. "He was quite informative."

"They what?" Hermione asked in shocked disbelief.

"He wasn't the only one; an old man, your Headmaster Dumbledore, I think...long, grey beard, wearing rather outlandish robes and pointy hat...he came to cast spells on the house a week before your school let out, and your Professor Snape, the one you've written to us about, he was at the house to check on the wards..." Jean said, then turned to look at her husband, "wasn't it, George? Wards?"

"That's what he said, Jean," her father replied. "Although, from what we've been told, this You-Know-Who or He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named sounds a lot like a Joseph Stalin."

"Anyway, we have plenty of time to talk about this," her mother said as the waiter arrived with the bill.

However, as they left the café, Hermione excused herself from any further shopping in order to take a walk on the beach, mulling over her discussion with her parents. Apparently this family vacation was a ploy, not only to get her out of England, but so her parents could talk to her about the goings on in her life, which was precisely why she hadn't told her parents anything. Hermione wasn't sure she wanted any more discussions about it either.

The second day wasn't any better than the previous day. By her fourth day of vacation, her parents tried another tactic to get her to open up about the events they'd read about in the Daily Prophet. Hermione was shocked that they had even received the paper, let alone every day since the fiasco at the Department of Mysteries! That was over a weeks' worth!

The next day her father had mapped out some sightseeing along the Quai de L'Infante, Rue Mazarin, and Rue Gambetta to see several of the famous residences built in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, including the Church of St. John the Baptist, Alexandrenia home, the Three Canons House, the Maison Lohobiague of Louis XIV known as the Place Louis XIV, and the "Maison de l'Infante", a popular tourist attraction and museum. Thankfully the sightseeing distracted her father most of the day since he loved the local history: the Basque corsaires, the royal marriage of Louis XIV to Maria-Teresa, the Infanta of Spain in 1660, and the evacuation of the Polish army, diplomats and officials of the Polish Ministry of Foreign Affairs in 1940 after the German invasion of France.

The sixth day, Hermione slipped out of the house early so she could spend some quiet time on the beach. Her parents insisted on going into town to have lunch in another café, but she avoided any more shopping by suggesting that they rent bikes and go riding along the beach. Talking was difficult when lined up on bikes and avoiding pedestrians.

Later that afternoon, Hermione wanted to take a swim before dinner. She put on one of her new swimsuits, grabbed a towel and headed out for the beach. "Mum, Dad, I'm going for a swim," she called out as she headed for the door.

"All right, dear, but be back in an hour," her father called out from the lounge as she passed.

As she strode across the sand for the ocean, Hermione let the warmth of the sun and the sounds of laughter erase her concerns. The water chilled her at first, but she quickly got used to it. Not too far away, a group of kids on surfboards were waiting for the next wave. Hermione swam pass them, just pass the point where the waves broke, lazily swimming on the swells. When the next large swell came, she let it pull her toward the shore, as well as the next smaller one, and then rode the next wave all the way in until she could stand up. However, the next wave plowed into her, making her tumble and roll with it, until the force of the water lessened. Hermione pushed herself up, but the receding flow of the water drew her back away from shore slightly, as another wave crashed into her, making her fumble.

"Need a hand?" a boy asked.

Hermione looked up to see a rather handsome boy, about her age, or a few years older perhaps, holding his hand out for her. "Okay, thanks," she replied, grasping his hand before the next wave plowed into her. Apparently, it would take her a while to get used to being in the surf again.

"Tide is coming in," he said with an adorable crooked smile as he pulled her to her feet and grasped her arm to steady her. He had a definite French accent, although his English was really quite good.

She looked up at him, momentarily taken aback by his good looks. His teeth were straight and white, and his brown hair was hanging in his face a bit, still dripping wet, slightly obscuring his incredible turquoise blue eyes.

Another wave pushed her into his chiseled torso, and he laughed. "Let's get you out of the water," he said with a smirk.

Hermione shook her head slightly, mostly to shake her hair out of her face. "I don't usually fall so much," she said in way of apology as she allowed him to lead her out of the water.

He looked down at her, one side of his mouth pulled back in a grin. "You're really petite to be out when the water is so rough."

Hermione smiled as she tucked a few strands of her hair that had come loose from her braid behind her ear. "I didn't know the water would be so rough today."

"Normally it's not, but there is a storm out over the ocean. They say it should sweep past us, but it's making the water great for... surfing," he said, and she definitely noticed that his gaze swept down her body to her chest and back to her face as he spoke, and she bowed her head for a moment to hide her blush.

"I'm Pierre Baudelaire."

"I'm Hermione," she replied, smiling. "Hermione Granger." She bent down to retrieve her towel and wrapped it around her hips, amused that he almost looked disappointed. "Do you live here or are you vacationing?"

"We have a house here," he said, walking effortlessly through the sand with her. He pointed toward the shoreline houses in the distance. "It's over there." He dropped his arm. "So what do you do when you're not drowning in the surf?"

Hermione chucked softly. "Oh, you know, attend school, map the stars, lead a dueling club, read books, ride horses, drown in the surf," she said flippantly, watching his face flicker from amusement to curiosity at her choices. "The usual girly stuff. You?"

"Polo matches, sailing, cycling, swimming, surfing, riding horses, reading books, rescuing damsels in distress...the usual guy stuff."

They talked as they strolled through the sand and along the boardwalk. Hermione really liked him. He was easy to talk to, seemed intelligent, and was well versed in the history of St Jean de Luz and the Lapurdi of the Basque Country. "This is where we're staying," she said, realizing they'd walked back to her house. "Maybe I'll see you around, Pierre?"

He smiled. "Yeah, I'd like that, Hermione."

She turned to go, glancing over her shoulder as she walked onto her patio, and grinned when she saw that he was still standing there, watching her.

"Now, he seems like a nice boy," her mum said as Hermione headed for the stairs. Hermione nodded as her mum added, "Your father and I thought we'd walk to town tonight for dinner. That will give us more time to catch up."

Hermione sighed. Tonight would be another discussion about her activities in the wizarding world, and she was not looking forward to it.

The seventh day, her mum asked Hermione about the young man who'd walked her home. Hermione shrugged. She'd seen him in passing a few times, and he'd waved at her, smiling, but that was all. Truth was, Hermione had felt elated that he'd waved at her. He was incredibly handsome and had the most charming smile.

"So, why not go out with a nice boy like him?" Jean asked when they saw Pierre with a man with long blond hair and a dark tan leaving a bistro that afternoon.

"Mum, I only talked to him once," she said in exasperation. "Besides, he's a local. I'm sure he isn't interested in me."

"All I'm saying is that there are nice regular guys," her mum stated, holding her hand up to shade her eyes as she scanned the street. "You know, what do you call us normal people? Muggles?"

Hermione refrained from sighing out loud by exhaling very slowly.

"It would be better, don't you think, having a normal life," her mother said casually. "Let's get a coffee."

"My life is normal," Hermione said and immediately regretted giving her mum such an opening for that discussion again.

Jean dropped her hand and turned to face her daughter. "Ever since you've gone off to that school, your life has been anything but normal."

Here we go again, Hermione grumbled to herself.

Eighth day, her parents friends, Dr. Monroe Hoffer and his wife, Denise, joined them for a few days. To Hermione their arrival felt like a reprieve, even if she had to play nice to the Hoffer's spoiled, seven-year-old twin daughters, Ellen and Louise, under the watchful eye of her mum and Mrs. Hoffer.

However, the day after the Hoffers left, Hermione's mum insisted that they have another girls' day out shopping, much to Hermione's chagrin. After three exhaustive hours of trying on clothes, her mum insisted they break for lunch. Hermione shrunk their bags so that they would fit into her mum's tote. At the restaurant, Jean ordered, "Brochettes de poissons marinés et grilles," for herself and "Le Saumon Froid Poché et Concombres," for Hermione in perfectly spoken French.

Shortly after the food arrived, her mum was back at it again. "You've only missed five years of normal schooling. Your primary school marks were exceptional. That leaves only five years of comprehensive school to figure out. What I think is that we'll have to say you've been to an international school or that you've been home-schooled."

"Mum, what are you on about?" Hermione asked, not believing what she was hearing.

But her mum wasn't actually listening to her. "Your father is still quite friendly with the principle of Bexleyheath School. Of course, Mrs. Ferkle is qualified to give you the exams through the Girls Comprehensive School in Bexleyheath if we tell her that you were in a school abroad. You will still need the qualifications to get into university though, but I think we can manage that. Your classes are odd, but with a bit of creativity, I think we can assure them that you have the qualifications. Your Languages and Literature class is an English course, Potions is basically Chemistry, and Runes...well that is a language course, of some sorts, right? Plus you've learned quite a bit of Latin, from what I can tell. And History of Magic is History, we'll just not mention the magic part. Herbology is basically Biology or Botany, and you had that Care of Creatures didn't you, so that can count as a Biology class as well, don't you think? And Arithmancy is maths... Alchemy is science... It's a stretch, I know."

Hermione shook her head. "They will never accept that..."

"It's being creative, darling," her mum said, waving her hand dismissively. "Maybe if you use a bit of magical persuasion on the forms...?"

"Mum!" Hermione gasped, not believing what she was hearing.

"Currently, to get into university you can apply through a website that deals with all the applications for every university. Since you're sixteen, you could go the route of a further education college like Baxley College, and then you could possibly apply to Oxford after a year," her mum rattled on.

"Mum!" Hermione exclaimed. Suddenly her cold poached salmon with cucumbers wasn't all that appealing. "I can't just leave Hogwarts and go to a Muggle school now!" Hermione was beginning to get angry. She couldn't believe her mum was suggesting such a thing. "I don't want to leave the magical world..."

"Yes you can; all we need to do is fill in the qualifications and your marks. Now, what I could have done is to have the forms filled out so that you could take exams separately... The problem with this is that you'll need references, too. I don't suppose any of your teachers will do that for you, would they?"

Hermione shook her head. "I dunno, but that's not the point..."

"Perhaps a well-placed Confundus or two will suffice!!"

"MUM!" Hermione said, raising her voice to get her mother to stop talking. Jean looked at her daughter as if she'd just had a magical outburst. "I don't want to leave Hogwarts!"

"But, darling..."

"No buts. I'm finishing at Hogwarts and that's final."

"But it's dangerous, and the papers say that this dark wizard is back, and that you fought him and his Death Eater followers in their Ministry of Magic..."

"My Ministry of Magic. My life...my choice, remember?" Hermione said, dumping her napkin on her unfinished poached salmon.

"Hermione, wait," Jean said, scrambling to leave the appropriate francs on the table.

"No, Mum," Hermione said with a shake of her head and leaned closer with her fists on the tale so she could lower her voice a bit. "You'll have to respect my decision. I'm not going to follow the dream you had for me...this is mine. I want this." Hermione stood up. "I'll see you later."

"Hermione Jean Granger! Don't you turn your back on me!"

But she walked away, fuming at her mother's impertinence, knowing that she'd only face the same argument when she returned to the house. But for now, she needed to really think things through. Her mum had caught her entirely off guard, and she needed to really think things out so she'd be ready to have this discussion again, to be prepared with well thought-out arguments and points to make her parents see her side of this.

Hermione saw Pierre ahead of her, leaning on a short wall and staring out at the beach. His head turned as he watched a family walk by, so she waved at him. He smiled and waved back.

"What are you doing out here?" she asked as she approached him.

He laughed. "I live here, remember?"

"Oh," she said, feeling silly. Right, it's not like he's been waiting for me or anything. He's just out enjoying the beach.

"You? Shopping or just out for a walk?" he asked.

"Lunch with my mum," she replied, not really wanting to talk about their argument with anyone yet, least of all him.

"So, asking you to join me for lunch would be out of the question," he said with an adorable crooked smile.

She thought about the barely-eaten poached salmon and cucumbers. "I could possibly have a light bite," she replied, and he cocked his head at her, his smile morphing into a questioning smirk.

"You're still hungry...you just ate," he said, confused.

Hermione looked away at the beach. "Mum and I...we sort of...had a misunderstanding," she stammered, hoping he'd not ask for details.

"Oh," he said and smiled. "Then maybe you'll come have poissons grillés with me. I've fresh fish I was going to cook. Do you want to come?"

Hermione smiled back. "Sure, that sounds great."

Pierre pushed off the wall. "This way," he said with a jerk of his head, and she walked with him along the beachfront. He stopped right in front of a gorgeous, beachside house. "Some of my friends will be coming over soon. I hope that's all right."

"No, that's fine," she said with a smile, pleased that he didn't mind introducing her to his friends. "Where did you learn English so well? Have you been to school in England?"

"No, I attended a boarding school in France, however, I speak several languages, Spanish, some Italian, and German, although my German is not so good," he said, opening the door for her. "My family travels to England quite a bit... for business, so I've had practice."

"Where are your parents now?" she asked, curiosity getting the better of her.

"Ma Mère is in Paris, shopping, and mon Père is away on business at the moment," he said and grinned at her. "Not afraid to be alone with me, are you, ma petite chérie?"

She was about to say no when a curly-haired French boy in need of a good shave entered the room, saying, "Ah, so es dis ze girl you speaks of?" He brushed his sandy-colored curls out of his face, but they simply flopped back into place.

"This is the girl I rescued from the sea. Hermione, this is Philippe LeFèvres," Pierre said, giving his friend a warning glare. "Where's Ciarán?" he asked, and Hermione was surprised to hear the Gaelic name.

"'E 'as some zings to pick up, but 'e says 'e'll be by soon. What's for lunch...let me guess, freesh poisons... fish," Philippe said and walked into the kitchen. He returned with three cold beers.

"Er, no thanks," Hermione said, refusing the beer. "I don't drink, much."

"Would you prefers a glass of wine, per'aps, 'Ermione?" Philippe asked, indicating the kitchen with his hand. "We 'ave a nice rosé. Englesh girls like de rosé wines, no? I can make you an aperitif, or we have a very good la bière et le cidre?"

"I'll try the cider then," Hermione suggested. She wasn't about to start drinking. Knowing her, she'd have no tolerance and didn't want to get tipsy.

"Philippe, is Lucien coming?" Pierre asked, opening his beer and tossing the bottle lid into a gorgeous glass bowl on the glass coffee table. He sat on one of the stools at the counter that divided the spacious front room from the kitchen while Philippe went to get her a glass of cider.

"'E es coming," Philippe said.

Considering he had suggested he was going to be cooking, she didn't see any evidence of food preparation. "Do you need a hand preparing the fish?" she asked. Back in the kitchen, Philippe was shuffling around, making plenty of clinking noises.

"We have to wait for Ciarán," Pierre said between sips of his beer. "He has the fish."

Hermione turned, looking around the room. There was a sculpture of a nude female torso standing across the room, and the art on the walls looked like they were originals, modern, but exquisite. There was a huge charcoal and beige rug on the slate floor under a white padded sofa and armchairs with black wood accents and turquoise and pale sunset-colored throws. The tables and coffee table were black frames with glass tops. The matching glass table against one wall had two beautiful seashells and a large crystal sculpture of dolphins. The place screamed money.

Philippe walked over to hand Hermione her glass of cider. She took a sip of her cider, scrunching her nose at the odd taste, cinnamon and mint... but there was a sharp tang with a strong peppery aftertaste.

"Sorry, ez eet not to your liking?" Philippe asked, indicating her glass.

"No, it's fine," Hermione said and faked taking another sip so she could smell the cider in the glass, but she couldn't detect anything, since the cinnamon and mint were so strong. Only a subtle smell very similar to... celery... maybe?

Both boys watched her, sipping on their beers, and she felt like she was on display. She took another tiny sip of her cider, trying to vanquish some of the drink with a nonverbal spell. She pretended to swallow as she held the liquid in her mouth, and noted the strange taste on her tongue again. This time she recognized the sharp aftertaste of scurvy-grass and the peppery taste of sneezwort. The ingredients of a Befuddlement Draught? Couldn't be...? How could...

"Is anyone here?" a distinctly gruff Scottish brogue called out from the back of the house, startling Hermione.

"In the front room," Pierre called out as Philippe sat on the arm of one of the armchairs.

As soon as the owner of the voice entered the room, Hermione almost dropped her glass of cider, staring at the guy who had to be Ciarán. He had spiky, dark hair, deep-set, hooded eyes, heavily built frame with large, hairy forearms and hair poking out from where his shirt opened in a V indicating a hairy chest, just like...he looked just like Gareth Montague, Captain of the Slytherin Quidditch team and one of Umbridge's Inquisitorial Squad... They even had similar gruff voices. "Montague...?"

"She knows you," Philippe said with a smirk. "Zis should make zings eazier, no?"

Hermione backed away from Montague, and Philippe stood up, setting down his beer on one of the tables.

"Ah, don't be shy, girl. After all I went through to get you here?" Ciarán said, moving toward her.

"What...?" she asked, her gaze flicking between Pierre and Ciarán and back as she started realize just how much trouble she was in.

"Getting your mum to plan this trip," Ciarán said with a one-sided smirk. "My uncle paid your parents a visit, implanted the suggestion, told them how dangerous it is for you in England..."

She couldn't believe what he was saying; it seemed impossible. "The Ministry official who came by our house to apply magical protections? That was your uncle?"

"Catches on quick, doesn't she?" Philippe said, drawing a wand.

"You're a wizard?" she gasped at the French boy as Ciarán drew his as well. She turned to look at Pierre and was stunned to see him holding one as well. "You too?"

"Brightest witch of her age, or so I'm told," Pierre said. "Only she's far to trusting."

"Nah, I told you she'd go for your looks," Ciarán said, holding his wand casually in his fingers. "Gareth said she don't have boyfriends at school...only books." He turned to look at Hermione, and she felt trapped. "All we had to do was make sure your parents got the Prophet, especially the ones mentioning you and your friends' names, and a copy of the The Quibbler with Potter's interview."

"My parents don't get the wizarding papers," Hermione started to protest, and then realized that he'd said he'd sent them. "They would have told me."

"Zought you said she es bright?" Philippe said mockingly. "Or don't zey teach a litdle spell, Refreno infantis?"

"So now, ma petite chérie, will you come quietly, or do we have to subdue you?" Pierre asked, rising from his stool.

Hermione was frightened. She looked around and swallowed nervously. She didn't have her wand and there were three of them. Philippe was between Hermione and the door, Ciarán was blocking the entry to the back of the house, and Pierre had his back to the kitchen. "Why are you doing this?" she asked Pierre, watching the other two with her peripheral vision, acutely and fearfully aware of her situation.

"It's not for the money, I assure you," he said, raising his wand up higher. "C'mon, you're outnumbered, and we're armed."

He was right. Hermione was so frightened she felt her magic surge within her and forced herself to think.

"Argh, enough of this, just subdue the girl," Ciarán snarled, taking aim.

She lunged the second he fired, thankfully an Impediment Jinx, but Pierre fired a Stunner at her. Only because of the times that Hermione had spent dodging Severus' spells did she manage avoiding being hit.

"Slippery litdle minx," Philippe said, taking aim as Hermione managed to Summon a pillow, and the spell collided with it, rather than hit her.

"So, she can do wandless magic," Pierre said, although for some reason he actually sounded pleased.

Yes, she thought. I can. At least one of the projects she'd tried on her own had worked. She'd been reading about wandless magic ever since she'd learned it was possible. In fact, quite a bit of her extracurricular reading was on the subject, and she'd practiced doing it for years, but only managed simple spells.

Ciarán fired again, and Hermione lunged for the space between the coffee table and the sofa. Another spell rebounded off the glass, and she cried out as she scrambled for the wall as another spell struck the sofa and a third whizzed by her head. One spell hit the glass bowl and rebounded, catching Philippe's hand. She heard him cry out in pain. "Merde," he snarled.

They are toying with me, she thought angrily. Drawing on her innate energy, she made one of the chairs move to shield her. Pierre levitated the chair, and she dodged behind the sofa. Philippe chose at that moment to try and grab her. A charge, like that of electricity, ran through her body, startling Philippe, and she managed to bend and turn as Pierre fired a Stunner. It hit Philippe instead, disarming him. One down.

"What did you give her, Liquid Luck?" Ciarán snarled as he fired a Stunner at her, hitting the nude torso sculpture as Pierre moved to her left, releasing Philippe from his Stunner.

She'd been reading about magical bursts of magic, like the Defensive charge, and even practiced it at school, only with random results. I need to panic, to let it happen naturally, she thought. She could feel the slight rise in her temperature, an increase in her breathing...common symptoms of the Befuddlement Draught.

"Confusing Concoction," Philippe said as Pierre moved to his right, hoping for a better aim. "She drank half the glass."

"Apparently, she didn't drink much of it," Ciarán snarled. He was edging closer to her.

Hermione felt her pulse quicken, another symptom of the Draught, but it only increased her anxiety. She used it to her advantage, allowing her raw magic to surge through her as her adrenaline levels increased as she felt like she had as a child when cornered. Thank God for the fight or flight reflex. She attempted a nonverbal Confundus Charm at Philippe, but wasn't sure if it worked since he was still moving toward her.

Pierre levitated the sofa, and Hermione rose with it, keeping her body as protected as possible. 'Focus! Listen to my steps; hear me,' she remembered Severus saying. 'Use your other senses...' She knew that accidental wandless magic could be particularly volatile, and the raw magical energy surging through her was not abating. She concentrated on it, using her rising anxiety to make it increase and directed it at Ciarán and Pierre. Both guys stumbled back as if body slammed, their spells firing off at odd angles, hitting the walls.

Ciarán recovered first, fired a shot, apparently aiming for under the sofa, but it rebounded off the floor and hit the glass behind her. Unfortunately, the glass didn't break, but it did crack, like a rock on a windshield, and the sofa fell back onto the floor.

Damn. As Philippe reached for her again, Hermione threw out her hands as she stood up, shouting, "NO!" allowing all her pent up magic to release, sending Philippe LeFèvres crashing into the glass window, spreading the cracks throughout the glass, and Ciarán Montague flying into the wall behind him with the pulse of her Defensive Charge.

Pierre stumbled back. "Putain, I heard you were capable," he said and then took a fighting stance, firing at her again.

However, she turned, and his stunner hit the fractured glass in the window, shattering it; so she ran for the outside, jumping through the broken glass onto the porch. She could feel a Stunner hit her shoulder, but she ignored her arm as it fell limply at her side.

"Call Lucien Laurent," Pierre snarled as he jumped over the sofa to chase after her.

~ T. B. .C. ~

Author's Notes:

The information and historical sites of St Jean de Luz mentioned in this chapter were either found on Wikipedia or on: http://www.touradour.com/towns/stjeandeluz/stjgen.asp

My Latin comes from the English to Latin translator/dictionary from the University of Norte Dame. And mistakes in my choice of words are mine; I simply pick the one that is closest to what I want to use. The link is: http://www.archives.nd.edu/cgi-bin/lookdown.pl

refreno: which means: to rein back, hold in, restrain, curb

infantis: which means: speechless, unable to speak