"How did you get her to agree to stay behind?"  Draco asked.  His fingers twitched to check their bag of supplies again, as if he could ensure success just by itemizing things again.   Portkey.  Money.  Idiocy.   Potter had arrived at his flat before he'd even finished his morning croissant, portkey in hand, asking if he were ready to go.  He wasn't, but he'd gone anyway and now here they were in this annoyingly cute French town.   Trust Jean to live on the Cote d'Azure.  The sun twinkled.  The water shone.  Tourists stirred out of their hotels and walked the streets looking for provencal linens to take home.