7. Fallen

There's something about Paris.

The way the Seine sparkles in the day and the Eiffel Tower glitters at night. Something in the aroma of its freshly brewed coffee, the wisps of steam curling into the cool morning air.

It's a city steep in magic, and Ginny has fallen under its spell.

Or so she tells her family and friends with one excuse after another as to why she can't make it home.

It isn't entirely a lie. She's fallen under the strongest magic there is; she's fallen in love.

The sweet, buttery fragrances of baked goods waft on the breeze as Ginny turns into the smaller side-street, leaving the bustling boulevards behind her. Another small shop on her right overflows with potted plants, their red, pink, and purple blooms crowding the outdoor shelves. Fat yellow wedges of cheese are brightly on display in the little deli across the way. The shopkeepers recognize her and wave hello.

The world grows ever quieter as she steps into the courtyard of the apartment complex before traveling up well-worn and creaking stairs to the highest floor. The door gets stuck like always, forcing her to push with her shoulder before it gives in and spills her into the narrow corridor beyond. She toes off her flats and sets the bag of groceries down on the tiny kitchen counter before padding with feather light steps towards the bedroom.

The soft creak of the door announces her entry, but he doesn't stir. The fact still sends a thrill through her. A year since, and it has yet to get old. She hopes she'll never take it for granted that he can be so at ease around her now, no longer jumping up at so much as a loud breath and slamming her into the wall with his wand digging into her chest before his mind can even recognize her face.

A smidge of pale skin and platinum blond hair are all she can see of him. Smiling, she pulls back the white comforter and slides into the delicious warmth generated by his body, her arm immediately curling around his naked torso.

His breathing changes in an instant, and he cracks open his eyes, the irises a smoky, sleepy grey. She grins back, and he greets her silently with a soft, lingering kiss to her forehead before pulling her close, burying his face against the crook of her neck. He inhales deeply, breathing her in and exhales with a contented sigh. She moves a hand up to stroke the silky hair at the nape of his neck.

"You're overdressed," he mumbles against her skin.

She sniggers and pulls back against his protest to slip off the cotton dress, chucking it to the side of the bed.

"Better?" she asks but he is already nuzzling along her bare shoulders and pressing open mouth kisses down her front.

His exhaustion from the night before lingers; she can feel it like an extra weight to his limbs and therefore knows this morning will be a quiet one despite his current ministrations, which is all for the best, really. Today is finally his day off, which if their track record holds, neither will be sleeping much tonight.

He kisses his way back up her neck and leaves a last one at the corner of her mouth before pulling her close and shutting his eyes again. His breathing slows and evens back out in a scant few minutes. Her heart aches in return, knowing she's the indirect reason for his exhaustion.

There's no doubt in her heart that he's fallen completely under the same spell that has bewitched her. Though he has yet to speak the affirming words back, all the proof anyone needs is right before their eyes. But who back in England will ever believe her if she tells them that Draco Malfoy is now a waiter by day and a bartender at night so that he could afford a little Parisian flat together with her? People had a hard time as it was believing that she gave up the rush and glamour of being England's most popular Quidditch player only to settle in Paris and work at a small-time art gallery. But what they didn't know that Draco spotted within minutes was the dark hole swallowing her up beneath her smiling, camera-ready veneer.

She continues to stroke his hair, gaze turned to the wide window beyond. A little robin lands on the black railing of their balcony and turns its beady, curious eyes on her before flying away into the cloudless sky.

All signs pointed to a beautiful day, one to be filled with their joint cooking—his savory chicken fricassee and her to-die-for raspberry crème brûlée—packed into a picnic basket with some bread and cheese and a bottle of cheap wine. He'll carry it in one hand with the other clasped in hers as they walk along the Seine before finding their spot on whatever green expanse strikes their fancy. They'll feed each other morsels of food and snog the afternoon away. Perhaps later, they'll browse an eclectic mix of shops, stealing frequent kisses in between before meeting friends for drinks. Regardless, they'll be determined to retire early to the space that had quickly become their favorite place on earth. Their night will be long and over all too soon.

She looks around them, at the cramped bedroom with just enough space to squeeze in a queen-size bed and a wardrobe. The fading green wallpaper is covered by her various artworks—a naked, sleeping Draco twined in the sheets done in charcoal, various scenes of Paris in watercolor, and a self-portrait in graphite and red acrylic paint that is Draco's favorite. He has pinned it to the wall space directly in front of his side of the bed.

He will never say something so cheesy as to explain that it's because he wants it to be among the first things he sees in the morning, especially on days when she's gone, but she knows it all the same. The same capacity for love that turned his parents against their Dark Lord, Draco, too, has in abundance, to a degree that continues to astonish her. It scares her at times, knowing a love so deep cannot be cut off without wounding and life-long scars, but it is a risk made worth it every moment she spends with him like on soft, cozy mornings such as this one.

So though he has yet to say the words, there's no uncertainty in her heart. She can say it enough for the both of them.

"I love you," she whispers into his ear.

Author Notes:

Something short and sweet for you, an extended drabble really, which came to me a while back while I was trying to write for a different challenge altogether. I hope it wasn't too cavity-inducing and that you'll forgive the indulgence in a romanticized view of Paris. This little fic fits in with the "place" prompt, so I thought I'd add it to this collection as well.

Naturally after I wrote this, my mind kept developing the backstory behind it as to how the pair ended up here. Would you be interested in reading a one-shot prequel to this? I would also love to hear your thoughts on this and the other one-shots if you care to share. Hope you enjoyed reading them.