Okay, no idea how or why I started this. Perhaps because I rewatched the first three seasons of Charmed and I am obsessed with Les Miserables. So somehow a story was born.
I hope it makes sense...

DISCLAIMER: I own nothing more than my ideas... Neither Charmed nor Les Miz was one of my ideas.

Chapter 1.

The streets of Paris were as busy as ever. Neither the rich, nor the poor took notice of the raven haired woman lying on the ground. Those who noticed her assumed that she was drunk or a prostitute. Or a drunk prostitute.

No one could be blamed for not caring. There were enough people lying on the streets daily. One more did not matter.

Jean Valjean patrolled the street every night, looking for people to lift out of their circumstances – searching for souls to save.

His heart skipped a beat upon noticing the still figure on the ground. He knelt next to her, frowning as he took in her unusual attire. She had to be a prostitute. No self respecting lady of France would show the amount of skin she did.

He sighed as he lifted her up in his arms. She had to have fainted due to hunger. He would have guessed that a client had gotten a little too rough with her, but the clear lack of bruises negated that theory. He could take her back home, give her a job in the factory.

He was sure that the other ladies would be glad to teach her what they knew.

Something he had thought to be dead stirred within him when she moved against his chest with a soft groan.

She was beautiful.

Her apparent vulnerability tugged at his heart. For some reason unbeknownst to him, he felt the urge to protect her. He was not sure against what. The law, perhaps.

"All will be well, Madamoiselle. As soon as we get you to a safe place."

Her soft sigh was troubled. Something seemed to be plaguing him. Her lips moved slightly, yet he could not make out words.

Luckily, his carriage was not far off. He lifted her into the carriage, careful not to wake her.

He laid her head down on his lap, stroking over her hair gently.

He found her to be more petite than most woman he had seen – especially when he compared her to the usual Ladies of the Night.

Bile rose in his throat as he considered the amount of damage the rough sailors of Paris could do to a body as frail as hers. No woman deserved that.

Prue Halliwell groaned as she felt the world rocking around her. Her eyelids fluttered and she frowned when she looked up into the kind eyes of a stranger.

"Who…"

Her mouth was dry and her voice came out hoarse and cracking. She coughed lightly and a pair of hands supported her in her attempt to sit up straight.

"Who are you?"

Valjean hesitated. For some reason, he had the urge to tell her the truth. He decided against it, however. He had an alias for a reason, he did not know anything about this woman. What would happen to his factory, the town he had become mayor of, if she turned him in?

"Monsier Madeleine, Madamoiselle. Who are you?"
Prue was unsure of where she was – of when she was. She frowned slightly.

"I am Prue… Prudence. Prudence Halliwell."

Valjean smiled softly at her. She did not look – or sound – like someone from around here.

"You're not from here, are you, Mademoiselle Halliwell?"

Prue could not help but smile at the unfamiliar way her surname sounded on his tongue.

"I…"

The realization hit her and tears shot into her eyes.

"I don't know where here is…"

Piper. Phoebe. She had no idea where her sisters were, whether they were still alive.

The last thing she remembered was casting a spell to go back in time, in order to prevent Shax from causing their exposure!

Valjean saw the tears and pity pulled at his heart.

"You're in Montreuil-sur-Mer, mademoiselle. I found you unconscious on the street."

"Was… was I alone?"

He nodded and she leaned forward, her entire body trembling with fear. Valjean rested his hand on her back gently.

"Madamoiselle…?"

His voice was hesitant. He had so many questions, but no way of asking them without offending her or invading her privacy.

Prue on the other hand, sat with her own dilemma. She had no idea what the date – even the era – was. Judging by the man's attire and a quick glance around, it seemed to be around the 1800's.

Prue's eyes met those of her rescuer.

"Thank you… for not leaving me in the street. I appreciate it."

Valjean smiled slightly.

"I could not leave you, Madamoiselle."

Prue impulsively folded her hand over his.

"I still… I can't thank you enough."

Valjean coughed slightly, his hand twitching under hers.

"I… I will wait to see whether you are well. Perhaps we could find you a job at my factory."

Prue nodded distractedly. She did not even know how long she was here for… If Piper and Phoebe were still in their own time, they'd figure out a way to bring her back soon.

Valjean read the distraction expression on her face as insecurity and he smiles.

"Do not dwell on it. I will make sure that you are well enough to work first, you seem to be traumatised. Then I am positive that the Ladies of my factory will help you as much as they can."

Prue smiled lightly.

"Thank you."

Valjean nodded and tightened his hand around hers.
"You're welcome, Madamoiselle."

Prue enjoyed a tour of the abandoned Beads Factory before following Valjean to his loft above the factory.

He led her to the room, looking at the bed uncomfortably.

"Of course… you will use the bed. I will make other arrangements."

Prue frowned, protesting at once.

The last thing she wanted to do, was make this modest man uncomfortable. However, she would not allow him to sleep on the floor – as was clearly his plan, judging by the fact that he took dusty blankets from a shelf.

"Monsieur Madeleine… I can not possibly let you sleep on the floor. Let me, I…"

Valjean shook his head quickly.

"There is no need, mademoiselle. I am perfectly comfortable here."

He smiled to himself as he arranged the blankets in front of the bed. It was not as though he had never slept in worse places!

"Well… thank you."

"You are very welcome. You need to stop thanking me, so much, mademoiselle."

She laughed at the teasing tone in his voice. Upon first glance, it seemed as though he could be nothing other than serious.

Valjean himself was surprised at his tone. He had never been one for teasing and laughter, not when he was a child and even less when he was released from prison.

He frowned pensively and Prue took a step toward him.

"Are… is… is something wrong?"

He looked up, impulsively reaching to sweep a strand of hair from her face.

"No. It is nothing, Madamoiselle. I was merely thinking."

"You know… you can call me Prue. Please."

"Prue… Well, in that case… call me Jean."

Her smile lit up her face.

Prue's heart fluttered when he smiled back at her.

She knew that there was a very big chance that she would be back in her own time, in the manor in San Francisco with her sisters.
Of course she was unbelievably excited and anxious about getting home. She was just extremely thankful for this man who was willing to immediately help a stranger – give her lodging and a job. She doubted that there were still men like that left in the time she lived in now.

Though his face showed lines of a troubled past, he was still attractive. After studying him for a long time, Prue figured that it was his eyes.

They were gentle.

Something in his eyes made her feel incredibly safe.