On a sunny morning in mid-July, the towns of southern France were filled with the subtle, romantic scents of jasmine and lavender.
In the small hilltop town of Èze, nestled between Monaco and Nice, most tourists were still fast asleep. But early that morning, a leisurely figure appeared on the winding cobbled streets.
She was a girl of fourteen or fifteen, wearing a black baseball cap, her slender figure subtly outlined by a fitted white knitted top and black jeans.
A black strap for a DSLR camera hung round her neck, and she was adjusting its dials, taking a photograph of a lily of the valley glistening with morning dew by the roadside.
On either side stood towering, ancient medieval stone buildings, entirely blocking any view into the distance; only at the far end of the winding, narrow road ahead could one just make out the azure sky and the sea.
A moment later, she looked up and gazed with interest at the perspective of the road stretching before her.
As she stepped backwards, searching for the perfect angle, she was quite unaware of the flight of steps already behind her.
Then came the accident.
She lost her footing on the uneven stone path, her body tipping backwards uncontrollably, but an arm caught her just in time, saving her from tumbling down the steps.
Only the black baseball cap, knocked loose as she leant back, came to any harm; Hermione herself was held perfectly secure in someone's arms.
Her thick, brown hair spilled down over that arm, a few strands brushing against the face of its owner.
"Are you trying to break your neck, like some Muggle tourist?"
The platinum blonde boy frowned, the strands of her hair tickling his face. He looked down at the pale-faced girl... her eyes screwed tightly shut in fright, limp as a rag doll, one hand instinctively clutching the lapel of his grey silk shirt.
It felt like yesterday, repeating itself, he thought vaguely.
A faint, familiar, fresh scent enveloped her.
Hermione opened her eyes, a flash of surprise in her brown pupils. A hint of excitement crept into her voice. "Draco! What are you doing here?"
"That is exactly what I meant to ask you." Draco helped her steady herself, then picked up the rather familiar-looking hat from the ground and dusted it off.
Seeing that she was unharmed, the boy felt rather pleased with himself.
He chuckled mischievously and deliberately set the hat back on her head, upside down, provoking her mild indignation.
Hermione pouted, gave him a deliberately stern look, and tried to right the hat, but he caught her hand.
"It rather suits you like that," he said casually. "Just leave it as it is."
"I have my doubts," Hermione said stubbornly. Her face flushed slightly, but she did not adjust it again.
The boy, radiant as the sun, went on holding her hand, leading her towards the gentler stretch of cobbles ahead.
He said, "I do not think it is wise for you to go wandering about on such a steep path all alone."
"Oh, honestly, Draco, do not treat me like a child! I was simply too absorbed in taking photographs." The girl quickly pulled her hand back, complaining, half in jest.
She tried to keep some distance between them.
"Then I suggest you have someone with you, whenever you take photographs." Draco scoffed, watching Hermione's fingers already itching to reach for her camera again, feeling rather put out.
"Is that thing really so entertaining? A Muggle camera! The people in the pictures do not even move."
"Most of what I photograph is scenery. That would not move in any camera, not even a wizard's." Hermione held up her camera to show him.
Draco glanced briefly at the camera before gesturing for her to mind the path ahead.
They walked on through another winding, narrow alley.
Green grass, flowers, and vines hung from doors and windows, and, with the growing numbers of passers-by, this ancient town felt vivid and alive.
Hermione fell silent for a moment, then took a few more photographs.
Looking round at the rough stone walls, the wooden doors and windows, the vines everywhere, she murmured, "I can hardly believe the style here is so different, and it is only twenty minutes' drive from Nice."
"You know, this little town, built on its cliff, has a history stretching back some two and a half thousand years, all the way to the Middle Ages," Draco said with great interest. "And its name is rather interesting, too..."
"It comes from the Egyptian goddess Isis," Hermione replied.
How reassuring it is, talking to someone so well-read.
Draco gave her an appreciative look. "Yes, a name given by the ancient Phoenicians, meaning 'woman on a throne.' Did you notice the map at the entrance to Èze?"
"You mean the symbol in the bottom right corner, for Èze? A phoenix perched upon a bone, symbolising death and rebirth?" Hermione said, her eyes shining.
"Yes. I have always felt the town's symbolism has something in common with certain ideas in the wizarding world, and its name comes from Egypt, where ancient magic once flourished. I would guess there are wizards somewhere in this little town."
Draco quietly took note of the growing numbers of passers-by.
Hermione nodded in agreement.
"So, why are you here?" Draco turned to look at her.
It had been over a month since he had last seen her, and she seemed to have grown several inches taller. Her complexion, too, was much rosier and healthier than before. She must have been getting plenty of sunshine lately.
"A family holiday. We had originally planned to come to France last year, and then we met you in Bath... and, as you know, I ended up spending half the holiday learning Potions with Mr Slughorn instead." Hermione asked, with a curious look, "And you? Do wizards go on holiday, the way Muggles do?"
She looked up at him, a slight doubt nagging at her. Back in first year, they had been much the same height; now, the top of her head barely reached his eyebrows.
What had he been eating at home this holiday? Some sort of growth potion? However had he shot up like a willow switch pulled straight from its stem?
"Of course, wizards are entitled to holidays too, are they not?" Draco said casually.
Then he glanced about. "Where are Mr and Mrs Granger? Did they not come with you?"
"Oh, they enjoyed themselves rather too much in Nice yesterday, and seem to have caught a bit of a chill. They have let me wander round nearby on my own today; they need a day to rest." Hermione shrugged.
"It seems we are both on our own today, then." Draco smiled faintly. "Since we have run into one another... is there anywhere you would like to go? If you do not mind the company, I could join you."
"Of course," Hermione said, her eyes sparkling.
"Draco, you may not know of some of the famous figures in the Muggle world... I would very much like to see the Nietzsche Trail."
"'He who one day is to proclaim great things, must long carry silence within himself..." Draco tilted his head slightly to look at her, and a look of surprise rose in her eyes.
"...he who one day is to kindle the lightning, must long remain a cloud." The two of them looked at one another and smiled as they recited the second half together.
The quotation came from Nietzsche's Thus Spoke Zarathustra.
Draco was increasingly discovering how much overlap there was between the two of them, in what they liked to read.
Why had he never noticed this in his past life? The thought flashed through his mind... truly a great pity.
"Draco, you really do surprise me. I had no idea you read Muggle philosophy." Hermione finally turned off her camera and gave her full attention to walking alongside Draco.
"I have picked up a little of everything," Draco shrugged.
There were often many inseparable links between philosophy and magic.
The numerological methods used in Arithmancy, for instance, drew on the theories of Pythagoras, and there was no harm in learning rather more about such things; the library at Malfoy Manor held an entire shelf of such philosophical works.
So, beneath an increasingly scorching sun, they climbed the famous "Nietzsche Trail" all the way up to the high cliffs above the town.
From there, they could look out not only over the whole town, but across the azure sweep of the Mediterranean beyond.
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