Remain Nameless

Chapter 34

"Granger, how much further is this bloody place? I thought you said you knew where to go!" Draco groused, trudging along in Hermione's wake. Hermione didn't answer, instead re-reading the small slip of paper in her hand.

"It should be just up here. My mum said to look for the little alley between the hat shop and... ah! Found it!" she crowed triumphantly. Despite the Cushioning Charm on her heels, Hermione had been close to whining right along with Draco at the amount of walking involved to find the speakeasy. Cobblestoned streets and women's shoes were not the best of bedfellows.

She also experienced an ever present soreness in her leg muscles, but from the far more pleasurable act of having been bent over several different types and heights of furniture in their suite.

Reaching the end of the alley, Hermione spotted a figure dressed in black leaning against the building, cigarette smoke billowing out of his mouth and dissipating into the summer night air. Draco took her hand at the sight of the man, and Hermione gave him a reassuring squeeze.

The man looked up at them in disinterest, waiting for either her or Draco to speak as they approached.

Hermione cleared her throat. "Charles de Gaulle?"

The man nodded and with a wink, stepped aside to pull open a door that had seemed to blend seamlessly into the walls around it. Pleased that she'd given the correct password for entry, Hermione excitedly tugged Draco behind her into the dark hallway.

Hermione's mother had recommended this elusive drinking club, having found it on the Grangers' honeymoon, and made sure to warn her that the password changed each month, usually to honor a different famous historical figure or time period. A quick request from Hermione to their concierge and he'd gotten the correct theme and password for her within the hour.

The dark hallway turned and they walked along another corridor lined with bespoke gas lamps. At the end of the hall, a velvet curtain awaited along with a young woman dressed in impeccable 1940s fashion.

"Bienvenue," she chirped and pulled aside the curtains once they reached the end.

They ducked inside and Hermione felt as if she'd used her Time Turner again. They'd entered an underground drinking joint straight out of World War 2 occupied France. Low café tables littered the dark club, the air hazy with the smoke of cigarettes from both years' past and tonight's guests. Costumed servers wound their way deftly between the little tables to deliver drinks to patrons; the waiters outfitted in soldiers' garb and the waitresses in nurses' uniforms. Although, the men's uniforms were much tighter and the women's skirts much shorter than was probably historically accurate, mused Hermione.

In the far corner, Hermione could hear a vocalist accompanying a live jazz band playing a soft tune. Between swaying couples on the crowded dance floor, she could make out the dark-haired singer crooning, her silver sequined cocktail dress glittering in the dim lighting, a mink stole around her shoulders.

Hermione's parents had spoken fondly of their own time in this little hidden Parisian gem. Apparently during their visit, the password had been "Marie Curie" and the servers sporting lab coats, drinks served in beakers and test tubes.

Tonight's cocktail menu listed mostly gin-based drinks, Hermione bravely ordering for her and Draco. He'd been silent so far, leaning back in the wooden chair and casting surreptitious glances around the room. She could tell by the slight furrow of his brow and tightness of his jaw that the unfamiliar surroundings made him a touch nervous.

Taking pity on him, and buoyed by the warmth of her gin, Hermione launched into a detailed re-telling of the state of Muggle global affairs during the 1930s and 40s, doing her best to explain all the little historical flourishes in the lounge.