Nine Slytherins. One month in Paris. No rules, no responsibilities. Just one last summer together before everything changes. π«π·
Published
The summer sun had barely settled over the English countryside when nine familiar names found themselves written together on an unusually extravagant set of travel arrangements.
Paris. An entire month in France, courtesy of nine families who had collectively decided that their children deserved one final summer of freedom before returning to Hogwarts for their seventh and final year.
Their destination was an enormous magical estate tucked away within one of Paris's most beautiful neighbourhoods. Behind its grand iron gates stood a magnificent property of pale stone, climbing roses and elaborate balconies, its windows catching the golden afternoon light.
The group arrived in a flurry of trunks, travelling cloaks and barely contained excitement. The iron gates swung open of their own accord, revealing a sweeping gravel drive lined with perfectly trimmed hedges. The estate rose before them like something from a storybook β all pale stone, ornate ironwork and roses the colour of fresh cream.
Inside, nine individually prepared bedrooms awaited their occupants. Fresh flowers adorned the entrance hall, the dining table had been arranged with delicate porcelain, and the kitchen was already preparing an elaborate welcome dinner. A house-elf in a crisp linen uniform appeared with a bow, directing trunks toward the correct rooms with a snap of its long fingers.
stepping through the front doors, eyes sweeping the entrance hall with open approval Well. This will do nicely.
following her inside, his smirk firmly in place It had better. If I'm spending a month away from the Manor, I expect a certain standard.
grinning as he drops his trunk with a thud You'd complain if we'd rented Buckingham Palace, Malfoy.
coolly I have standards. It's not my fault yours are so terribly low.
drifting past them both, already examining the grand staircase with quiet interest The ceilings are original. Victorian, I think.
raising an eyebrow And here I thought you'd be more concerned with the wine cellar.
without looking back I'll find it later.
The entrance hall opened into a vast sitting room, all high ceilings and tall windows that let in the golden afternoon light. Beyond that, a dining room already set for dinner, and a terrace that overlooked the gardens. The house smelled of fresh linen, roses and something warm and sweet from the kitchen.
already at the window, peering out at the garden There's a fountain. And a hedge maze.
joining her sister, arms folded Of course there is.
leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, dark eyes roaming the room So. Who's claiming the best bedroom first?
immediately I am.
grinning Pansy. We haven't even seen the rooms yet.
tossing her dark hair And yet, I've already claimed the best one. It's called efficiency.