This story was written for LiJuno in The DG Forum Fic Exchange - Summer 2017. Big thank you to Rowan for beta-reading!

The breeze felt nice. Ginny leaned back on her chair, letting the sun soak into her skin. No doubt she would gain many new freckles on her bare arms and shoulders. Whatever. The sun felt good, and being outside was better than being stuck in the hotel. Promenade des Anglais had lived up to its reputation: exotic palm trees, an expanse of blue water, and while the pebble beach wasn't ideal, the place was lively and picturesque. She couldn't complain, though she had to admit she was already getting a bit restless. Sticking in one place had never been easy for her.

Ginny shut the notebook on her lap and closed her eyes, trying to make herself relax. The salty scent of the sea tickled her senses, intermingled with the delicious smells coming from the restaurants and cafés that lined the promenade. Mmm, coffee and food. Her stomach grumbled. On second thought, maybe she should get something to eat.

She opened one eye to glance at her watch and saw it was well past noon. No wonder she was hungry. Still, Ginny felt some hesitance. Just a little, of course. It wasn't like she was a coward; it was just, uh, she was beginning to realise that maybe she should have listened to Hermione and taken her French studies more seriously. Nice was a lovely place: good climate, good places to eat, and enough tourists came to the area to make it doable to survive without knowing much of the language. Still, communicating with people was not easy. She had been winging things for the most part—lots of caveman French and hand gestures. Fact was, studying had never been her forte. She was all about the excitement and enjoyment.

"Why can't you just settle down? Why do you always have to make things so difficult?"

Ginny's brow creased. Her mother's words had been bugging her more often of late. There had been many disagreements between the two since things with Harry had fallen apart; that tension had only got worse as "Wild Weasley", as Witch Weekly liked to call the younger redhead, started appearing more and more in the magazines. All the photographs of her flings and drunken escapades probably hadn't helped. Still, it wasn't like Ginny intended to go around upsetting people, least of all her mother. She just hadn't found her spark: the thing, person, place—whatever it might be—to give her a reason to anchor the ship that was her life. So she didn't; it was as simple as that. Besides, the thought of settling down with some vanilla guy just to keep the peace made a part of her shrivel up and die. She'd rather eat a whole box of earwax flavoured Bertie Bott's Beans.

Her stomach grumbled again. Speaking of eating, she needed food. Ginny gathered her belongings and wandered down the promenade. There were plenty of cafés and restaurants to tempt her fancy, but she ended up going with Chez Vero. The vibe was more casual and it had those stereotypical French chequered tablecloths; that tickled her.

Ginny greeted the workers with a friendly "bonjour" and took her seat at one of the tables. She flicked through the menu, but of course it wasn't like she could understand all the French. Never mind, she'd just fall back on the old "what's your special?" trick. Now to try not to butcher it too much.

"Um," she began a bit awkwardly. "Quelle est la … uh … spéci—spécialité du jour?"

The waiter smiled and pointed out to her the day's special. Ginny wanted to pat herself on the back; her pronunciation had probably sucked, but she had been understood. Success! She got the special and a coffee to drink. Soon, she was enjoying her food and gazing out the window at the people passing by. The lunch rush had already passed, so the café wasn't overly busy. Only a few of the other tables were occupied. So when a tall man with white-blond hair walked through the doors and greeted the workers, she couldn't help but find her eyes drawn to him.

Her first thought was that he seemed kind of familiar. Then she got a proper look at his face and her jaw dropped. That had to be Draco Malfoy. Bloody hell, she'd hardly recognised him. He was wearing casual Muggle clothes and his hair was longer and had been pulled back into a ponytail, though some parts had come loose. His face wasn't so pointed now either; he'd grown into his angular features, losing that pinched, bratty look from his teens, but he was still all sharpness and high cheekbones. She couldn't decide if she found him attractive or not. She'd always preferred the roguish sporty type or the cute-guy-next-door look; Malfoy had a harsh beauty. He had the face of someone who should be posing on the cover of a high fashion magazine or striding down a catwalk, not standing in a cosy Muggle café in Nice.

Actually, why the hell was he in a Muggle café? She knew why she had chosen to travel Muggle, but Malfoy was the last person she had expected to see in Chez Vero. Maybe it wasn't him. Maybe it was just a look-alike guy. It wouldn't be so farfetched, right? Heck, the last time she'd seen Malfoy had been at Hogwarts—just before his hearing. That had been five or so years ago.

The guy's gaze caught hers. His eyes widened and he stared at her for a moment before busying himself with the menu. She pursed her lips. Now she was curious. A stranger wouldn't react like that to seeing her, would he? But then if she was wrong …

Ginny resisted the urge to approach him. What was she supposed to say? Hi, are you that bigoted twat I used to know at school? You know, the one who was a Death Eater and whose family only switched sides at the end of the war to save their own skins? Wow, golly gee, fancy seeing you in Nice.

…

Yeah. She'd skip on that conversation.

Still, Ginny couldn't help but find her gaze flickering to the blond. Their eyes met more than a few times; apparently, he was having just as much trouble not staring. It gave her an odd thrill, like playing a game only the two of them knew about. She had to admit to feeling a bit disappointed when she finished her coffee and was able to pay for her meal. This man had presented so many questions—ones her natural curiosity wanted answered. Too bad she couldn't think of a good excuse to talk to him.

Ginny walked his way as she headed for the door. Maybe it was because she was too busy staring at the guy instead of watching where she walked; maybe it was the old lady's fault for letting her parasol stick out so much from under the nearby table. Either way, Ginny's foot snagged and she lost her balance. Her stomach plummeted. There was a loud screech as a chair was forced back. A hand grabbed her elbow and tugged, steadying her back to her feet even as she bumped into a man's chest. Her breath caught in her throat—mostly out of relief because she'd been spared falling flat on her face, but also from finding herself inches from the object of her curiosity.

"Thanks," she murmured.

He released her elbow and stepped back, merely nodding as if to say it was no problem. Now that they were this close, she could see that his eyes were indeed grey just like Malfoy's had been. There was also a tiny smear of blue on his cheek. Paint? A glance at his fingers revealed more speckles—especially around his nails. An artist? That only stirred her curiosity more. This man looked so much like Malfoy, yet nothing she had seen of him so far seemed to add up with her image of the bigoted arse from her school days. Well, except for his reflexes.

"You're pretty quick," she observed.

He shrugged. "Just happened to be close."

She blinked. He had a British accent; sounded like he was from South West England as well. Her gaze dropped to his left forearm where she knew the scarred remnant of a Dark Mark would be tattooed—at least if he was Malfoy. The long sleeve of his shirt covered the area. That was frustrating; all she wanted was some proof. The man noticed where she was looking and rubbed his hand over the spot in an involuntary gesture, as if he wanted to reassure himself the fabric was there. Her brow furrowed.

"Anyway," he muttered, turning away from her. "Watch where you're going next time."

"Hey, wait—"

He threw her a cool stare over his shoulder as if to tell her to back off. She pursed her lips. Now that look was all Malfoy.

"Don't we know each other?" she asked.

His eyebrow rose a fraction. It was the kind of look that could have been scornful or surprised that she was even asking. Eventually, he turned his back on her once more.

"Don't know what you're talking about," he said flatly. "I've got nothing to do with you."

Ginny let out a breath. He walked to his table and sat down, not sparing her another glance. She resisted the impulse to march over and keep questioning him—to confirm once and for all if he was the person she thought. His dismissal had been blunt; even she couldn't justify pushing the issue. She'd just look pathetic if she tried.

Frowning, she hoisted the strap of her bag more comfortably on her shoulder and exited the café. It was hard not to look back at him. In fact, her thoughts kept drifting to the blond long afterwards. He intrigued her—or at least the possibility that he might be Draco Malfoy intrigued her. It was like being gifted with a puzzle that she itched to put together. All the contradictions, all the similarities. Was it him? Was it just a random Muggle who looked like him? The questions buzzed in her mind, but they also frustrated her. She had never given a damn about Draco Malfoy. There was no reason for her to be so caught up on this guy now.

But his behaviour had piqued her.

But just the thought of him was like lights flickering in bursts of colour in her mind, demanding her attention in a way she couldn't ignore.

Was he? Wasn't he? She wanted to know.

Ginny made a frustrated sound and kept walking, forcing herself to think about her plans for the day. She had come to France for a holiday, not stress about some harsh-faced blond who may or may not be the same twat from her school days. It wasn't like she wanted anything from him except to satisfy her own curiosity. The guy had been a bit of a prat anyway.

In the end, she chose to go to the Musée d'Art Moderne et d'Art Contemporain. It was supposed to be a popular attraction, and so far the scenery of Nice had done nothing to give her much inspiration. Maybe looking at modern art would do the trick. Laurie, her Muggle-born friend, had certainly sung its praises when she had recommended Nice as a holiday spot. Ginny chose not to dwell on the fact that she had only considered the option now because Mr Mystery Blond had appeared to be an artist of some sort.

She made her way through the exhibitions and had to admit that she wasn't sure if modern art was her thing. Some of it was interesting, but some of it was just weird and didn't seem to make much sense. The paintings that only featured a few dots or lines were hardly impressive, and the sculpture of a giant baby head had just creeped her out. Still, at least these people had found their passion. That was something she could appreciate: the drive that had pushed these artists to keep creating, keep expressing, keep doing anything to get their name out there and cement their career. In truth, it made her a little jealous. She couldn't even figure out what she wanted.

A sigh escaped her lips. She sat down on one of the benches and brought out the notebook and no-ink quill from her bag. Laurie had told her she should try writing—even if it was just to document her experiences. Laurie said it would help her gather her thoughts. Ginny had been pretty half-hearted about the whole thing so far—writing journal-ish type entries reminded her of bad memories—but then maybe that was the point. Ginny often liked to ignore the unpleasant things in her life.

"Excusez-moi."

She raised her face to see a man with curly brown hair smiling down at her. He looked older than her, but he was also kind of cute—all boyish charm and warm brown eyes. Not bad. Then he said something else in French and she didn't understand a word of it. Damn.

"Uh." She cleared her throat. "Je ne comprends pas. Je parle … uh, I don't really speak French."

He laughed. "British?"

"Yeah."

"Lucky I speak some English then." He gestured to the space next to her on the bench. "May I?"

Ginny moved her bag so he could sit down. They exchanged names—his was Amaury—and chatted about what had brought her to Nice. He was a charming guy, albeit a little difficult to understand sometimes thanks to his thick accent and the moments when he broke into French. Still, the company was nice. A deity out there must have heard her prayer to ease her restlessness. When he offered to show her around the city, she didn't even have to think about it. He was easy on the eyes and having a French speaker would be helpful.

They left the art museum together and got on Amaury's scooter. She had to confess she'd never ridden one of the vehicles before, so Amaury explained a bit about what to expect and then handed her a dorky looking helmet. She turned her nose up at the helmet but put it on as requested; Muggles probably wouldn't understand that scooters weren't much of a threat for a witch. Still, what she didn't mind was sitting snugly behind him on the bike or wrapping her arms around his middle. He smelt nice. Really nice.

Keep it together, Ginny, she scolded.

Although it was a half-hearted scold at best. She'd known from the moment he'd offered to show her around where this would lead.

They weaved their way through the streets on the scooter, cutting traffic and ducking down narrow roads that cars would have never been able to navigate. Amaury pointed out interesting buildings and other sites; he especially liked drawing her attention to the street art on display. Ginny had to admit it was fun, even if she didn't always share his taste in art or understand everything he said. He was chatty and flirty, and he made her laugh. Sure, a part of her knew she had just latched onto another distraction—and one that definitely would not last—but so what? Maybe a distraction was what she needed right now. To laugh, to flirt, to indulge in a foreplay of words and innocent touches that she knew would only be a prelude to what would happen later between the bedsheets.

As the French said: mangez bien, riez souvent, aimez beaucoup.

Eat well, laugh often, love abundantly.

Life was to be enjoyed. She had come to Nice to have a break and figure things out, but one little fling wouldn't hurt. At the very least, it would stop her from thinking about that prat of a blond from the café. She'd rather have her thoughts filled with Amaury and his warm brown eyes than some tosser who might be Draco Malfoy—even if the guy had stopped her from falling flat on her face.

"Hey," Amaury called over his shoulder. "You mind if we make a quick stop?"

Ginny said it was fine with her. Amaury thanked her and headed down a few alleys until they came to a small area that was covered in street art. He parked the scooter and got off, gesturing for her to follow. She frowned but joined him. A few people were milling about. Someone was playing a guitar. She had no idea why Amaury had wanted to come here.

"Found you!" Amaury exclaimed.

She blinked and followed the direction of his gaze. Her body tensed when she noticed the same blond from Chez Vero crouching in front of one of the art displays: a rather dark piece featuring Muggle war machines and human-like forms all lined up as if at a firing range. His cool grey eyes appraised her for a moment before shifting to Amaury. He picked up his bag and got to his feet.

"Are you stalking me now?" the blond demanded.

Amaury grinned. "It's your fault for being so predictable. I knew you'd be here." The corners of his mouth drooped. "Besides, you didn't turn up for the meeting."

"I told you I wouldn't."

"But—"

The blond swung his bag over his shoulder. "Look, I don't want to go public." He turned his back on them. "Just leave me alone already."

"Wait, wait, wait, wait." Amaury grabbed the man's arm before he could leave. "Draco, you know—"

"Draco?" Ginny repeated. She stared at the blond with slightly accusing eyes. "So it is you! Why'd you lie to me?"

He sighed in a way that grated on her ears. "It's called giving a hint, Weasley. Maybe you should take it."

She raised her eyebrow. "Still a stuck up bastard, huh?"

"Still a nosy bint."

Amaury blinked at the two of them. "You two know each other?"

"Sure," Ginny said before Malfoy could say otherwise. "We went to school together, though he was a year ahead of me."

Amaury suddenly gripped her shoulders. "Then, Ginny, please persuade him to let us be his patron!"

Now it was her turn to blink. "Um, what?"

"This guy is a genius! He could be the next Ernest Pignon-Ernest, but instead he says that art is just a hobby and he doesn't want to share his work." Amaury pressed his hand to his head and muttered something in French that sounded rather dramatic. Perhaps he was bemoaning his would-be protégé's stubbornness.

Ginny edged back from the Frenchman. "Uh, I think you have the wrong idea. Malfoy and I aren't friends. We never were."

"But—"

Malfoy rolled his eyes at the both of them. "I'm leaving."

"Wait, wait, wait." Amaury once more latched onto the blond's arm. "Let's not be hasty, alright? This is a once in a lifetime opportunity, Draco. We're willing to give you a chance to exhibit your art and get your career going. Do you know how many artists would kill to be in your position?"

"Then ask one of them," Malfoy said bluntly. "I don't need or want your offer."

"Why?"

Both men blinked at Ginny. Perhaps they had not expected the interruption.

"Excuse me?" Malfoy said, raising his eyebrow.

"Why don't you want to share your art?" she elaborated. "Seems kind of weird to put in all that effort and then not do anything with it."

His jaw tightened. "That's none of your business."

"I'm just saying. Amaury seems to think you're pretty good." She shrugged. "Don't you think it's a waste to turn him down?"

"Yes, yes, exactly!" Amaury nodded in approval at her. "It would be a complete waste of talent!"

Malfoy ignored the Frenchman. "What's it to you?" he asked Ginny. "Why should you care what I do?"

"I don't," she admitted. "I just get the feeling that maybe you really do like art."

She couldn't imagine him walking around with paint stains on his fingers or examining Muggle street art if that wasn't the case. Not the ever-immaculate, Muggle-hating Malfoy.

"I just don't understand why you'd turn down this opportunity," she continued. "I mean, if this is your passion then don't you want to make a career out of it?"

The look he gave her could have turned a Basilisk to stone. Ginny didn't understand what his deal was with her. Was he just a moody bastard all the time? Was there something she was missing?

"What are you even doing here?" Malfoy demanded, apparently deciding that turning the conversation on her was preferable to defending himself.

"Amaury invited me," she said, raising her chin. "Got a problem with that?"

"Yeah, actually." Malfoy turned on the other man. "It's bad enough you stalked me here, but why'd you bring her?"

"Elle est bonne," Amaury said with a shrug.

Ginny wasn't sure what that meant, but it made Malfoy roll his eyes and mutter something that sounded suspiciously like "horny bastard" under his breath. She decided not to ask for enlightenment. Besides, Amaury was far more interested in wooing Malfoy to become his protégé.

"Isn't there anything I can do to make you reconsider?" Amaury asked. "Anything at all?"

Malfoy met his gaze coolly. "Yeah. Piss off."

The blond turned and left on the words, if not rather stompily. Amaury didn't try to stop him this time. Ginny could only stare at Malfoy's retreating figure. A Slytherin turning down favours and behaving with zero attempt at subtlety? That wasn't like him at all.

"What's his problem?" she muttered.

Amaury pinched the bridge of his nose. "I wish I knew. He's always been difficult, but never like this. Maybe I was too pushy." A sigh escaped his lips and he again muttered something in French.

She looked at the older man curiously. "Is he really that good?"

"See for yourself."

He reached into his pocket and brought out a Muggle device she recognised as a mobile phone. He flicked through the menu until he brought up a picture that had clearly been taken without Malfoy's awareness: a bit of Malfoy's hair, profile and shoulder were in the frame, and his hand was covering a part of the canvas, brush still in hand. But she could see the image he had been creating: an abstract depiction of a person in grey tones, with hints of green splintering through. The colour of the death curse. It was like a scream captured in picture; it was an echo of the war—of what he experienced in the war. Looking at it made her feel trapped and lost and hopeless. Something hollow formed in her stomach.

"It's amazing, right?" Amaury said. "So intense, so much feeling. The weight of it just hits you."

Ginny swallowed against the sudden dryness in her mouth. "Maybe he feels it's too personal to share."

Even she felt a bit uncomfortable looking at it, like she'd caught a glimpse into his soul and wasn't sure what to do with the knowledge now. She'd always thought the Malfoys had just been out to save their own skins once they'd realised it would be more beneficial to support Harry. Maybe that was even true, but Draco Malfoy's art suggested that wasn't the full story.

"Art is an expression," Amaury responded simply. "That's what makes it interesting: all the pieces that the artist puts of him or herself into the image—we want to figure it out. We ask ourselves what it means, why the artist chose those colours, that lighting, this perspective." He gestured at the image. "Draco's voice is unique. He shouldn't silence it."

She shrugged. "Can't help you there. He seemed pretty set on not going public."

"That's what worries me. He's so stubborn."

Ginny said nothing. It wasn't like she knew how he could persuade Malfoy. Just meeting the blond again had made her see she didn't know him half as well as she'd thought; all she had were assumptions and judgements made from what she'd glimpsed of him at Hogwarts. Didn't change the fact he was still a stuck up bastard.

"Well," Amaury said, flashing a smile. "I'll figure something out. I refuse to let someone so talented slip through my fingers."

"You're really determined, huh?"

"Art can be as captivating as love. When it speaks to you, you can't help but pursue it."

Ginny bit back a smile of her own. "Good luck with that."

He was going to need it if he wanted to win Malfoy over. Amaury grimaced, perhaps realising the same thing. They headed back to his scooter and he asked her if she wanted to join him for dinner. She was happy enough to accept—even with the detour so he could talk to Malfoy, both were aware of what they were hoping to get from each other. Besides, she had to admit she was a little curious to know how Amaury had got involved with the blond. Maybe she could learn more about why Malfoy was in Nice; it wasn't like Malfoy had been forthcoming with her.

Well, at least it would be a distraction.

LiJuno's Prompt (#1)

Basic premise: Draco and Ginny surprisingly meet in France, where they discover unexpected aspects of the other or basically find out just how little they actually know about each other (or themselves?).

Must haves: While romance may spark, I'm looking more for a believable finding of mutual respect/care; they should be in their early twenties.

No-no's: Draco/Pansy; Ginny/Harry may have happened, but is not current.

Rating range: Any.

Bonus points: A coastal scene, some French skills.