A/N: Hello, all. You may be wondering what planet without internet access I may have moved to recently. Well, these past few months have been semi-insane. In no particular order; we put my dog of ten years down (RIP Buddy), had to deal with various holidays and birthdays (and my family had a fondness of popping out kids in January), had to deal with some massive snowstorms, the requisite on-and-off winter sickness of my little one and the cabin fever when she's healthy, and accidents of both my and my husband's vehicles. His was able to be fixed, mine was totalled. No one was injured in either accident, thank goodness, but I had to go car shopping. If you've never been car shopping, especially used-car shopping, you can simulate the experience by running top-speed on a treadmill placed between two concert speakers cranked all the way up while staring straight into the sun. And throw in an ice-cream headache for good measure. I eventually found one I loved, and I bought it, but I hate the pressure they put on you. Every car is about to sell in the next five minutes, you have to make the decision NOW! Ugh.

Right before the you-know-what hit the fan I signed up for an exchange on LJ, and all the writing I was able to do was for this fic. So, this fic was written for bananaeskimo. It is complete, six chapters long, I'll be posting a new chapter every few days. I'm pinch-hitting for the same exchange, but that's a one-shot and I'm mostly done with it. After I'm done with that I'm returning to my regularly scheduled fics, I promise.

Here's the legal stuff- I do not own Twilight nor Harry Potter. I am not making a profit from this.

Also, I apologize if I messed up the few French phrases in this chapter. I took Latin in school because I needed to prove I was a geek or something.

Enjoy!

Somewhere in the distance the bells chimed ten. He was walking through a small park surrounded by even smaller cafes and museums, wearing long sleeves and a jacket despite the fact that it was mid-summer. He had no where he needed to be in particular, he had gone to the museums, to the shops, to the theater, to anywhere he may want to go if he had a plan in mind when he had first come into Paris. But Paris was like London before, and New York before that, and Toronto before that... he could trace the list back more decades than he should have lived. Paris was a place he should have never been able to afford to go see, and if he had wanted to go it should have involved weeks at sea, not a few hours on a flight. But life enjoys throwing people curve balls, just to see how they react, and here he was, traveling and alone.

He was walking with nowhere in particular to go when he first felt her. It was a surprise at first, he hadn't even realized there was someone there. Normally he felt them long before that point. And he would have stopped for these feelings long ago. Such a delicious mix of emotions, it was impossible for him not to stop and seek out their source.

She was twenty feet away from him, sitting on a bench overlooking the Seine river and the lights of Notre Dame beyond. The emotions ebbed and flowed like the tide, always there, but each one taking their turn to come to the forefront before allowing another to take over. Love, hurt, anger, fear, determination... What he wouldn't give for his brother's ability right now. To know what thoughts are bringing about this tempting array of emotion.

His feet brought him to her, drawing him as close to the feelings as he could get without reaching out to touch her. She was young, mid to late teens by her looks, but her emotions were much more mature than her appearance. They betrayed that there was much more to the young girl sitting before him than even his brilliant eyes could see. He inhaled, her intoxicating aroma surrounding him, but, much to his surprise, not tempting him in the least.

"Excusez-moi, mademoiselle," he said, motioning to the open seat next to her. "Est ce siège prises?"

She turned to look at him, and there was a quick flash of fright as she did, but it wasn't unexpected. Most woman who were sitting alone would be frightened by strange man approaching them. The feeling passed quickly as she studied his eyes.

"Non, ce n'est pas," she replied, budging over to give him a little extra room next to her. He sat down, eyes never leaving her. Her eyes roamed his body over twice before returning to the river. After a few long minutes where neither of their eyes averted from their targets she whispered, "Hermione."

"What was that?" he asked, forgetting to use French. "Er.. Excusez..."

"It's my name," she returned in English, noticing his sudden language shift, as she turned and looked into his eyes. "My name is Hermione Granger. I thought you might want to know if you're going to keep staring at me like that."

"Sorry, ma'am," he muttered. "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

"It's okay. I just thought you might want to talk. I'm sitting between two open benches, so there must be a reason you sat next to me."

"Talk," he repeated with a nod and a small smile, surprised by her powers of observation. "Yes, ma'am, I'd like to talk."

"Next time perhaps you should just ask," she said, turning to him. "It's a little off-putting to women when you sit down and stare at them like they're something to eat."

A quick jolt of panic passed through him, as he was worried she knew, but he dismissed it quickly. How could she know?

"How about your name? It might be a good place to start a conversation."

"Jasper Whitlock, ma'am."

"Nice to meet you, Jasper Whitlock," she said, extending her hand. As their palms met he felt a wave of calm pass over him, which slipped away just as quickly as she drew her hand away from his. If she was bothered by the cold of his skin, her face didn't betray it.

"Pleasure to meet you, too, Hermione," he smiled as his lips formed the last word.

"Where are you from, Mr. Whitlock?" she asked, placing one hand on her purse, the other laid casually across her lap.

"Call me Jasper, and I'm originally from Texas," he replied.

"Ah, a cowboy," she smiled.

"Not all of us are cowboys, darlin'," he smirked.

"Pity. Women seem to be attracted to cowboys. Something about the freedom and the open spaces."

"Freedom and open spaces are something craved by all, I'd think."

"It's just a lucky few who actually get it," she replied in a whisper.

"Where are you from?" he asked, feeling uncomfortable with the wave of sadness that she had just radiated. Seeing her sad got him upset, and it was probably best for him not to get too emotional.

"My parents live in London, but I go to a private school in the northern part of the UK."

"What school?"

"Just a little one. Nothing special. What brings you to Paris?"

"I guess I was craving freedom and open spaces," he chuckled.

"Texas not big enough for you?"

"I don't live in Texas right now. My..." he pause, searching for a convincing lie that wouldn't give his true age or status away. "My parents died, and my sister and I were taken in by an uncle. We kind of hop all over the northern part of the United States."

"And I don't take it you are much a fan of that lifestyle?"

"Who would be?" he scoffed. "Constantly changing schools, never feeling like you can develop much, if any, relationships that are worth a damn. The only people I feel I can interact with are my uncle, his wife, my sister Alice, and the kids my uncle adopted. And frankly our whole family structure is a little on the messed up side."

"How so?" she asked, sounding genuinely curious.

He studied her for a second, wondering how this young girl was causing him to spill some of his deepest feelings and secrets, but he couldn't stop himself as he opened his mouth and said, "My siblings have all... paired off, if you will."

"Like romantically?"

"Exactly. My sister hooked up with the one who had been with my uncle the longest, Edward, and the two others, Rosalie and Emmett, hooked up shortly after they met."

"That does sound a little on the intriguing side," she nodded, and he could tell she was suppressing a smile.

"I just feel like an outsider. I didn't meet Alice for a while, she's more my half-sister. We met once our dad died, and decided together to go to Carlisle's, our uncle's. But it just doesn't feel right. Like I don't have a real connection to any of them. Hence why I'm traveling. I figured the more distance between us, the more able I am to put together my thoughts on, well, everything."

"Distance is good," she nodded.

"What brings you to Paris?"

"Oh, I'm here with my parents on summer holiday. They went to the theater tonight. They got me a ticket, but I just didn't feel like going."

"The play didn't interest you?"

"That's not it. I just needed some alone time." She paused to shoot him a small smile. "I guess you would understand that."

"What are you runnin' from?"

"It is a very long and complicated story. The short of it is that there's a fight in my future. For my rights and my freedom. My friends and I are in more than a spot of trouble, and either I stand with them, fight, and possibly die, or run, go into hiding, and still possibly die."

His mouth hung open at the complete calm with which she said these words. Death was a very real possibility in her near future, and yet she had accepted the risk. "How old are you?" he managed.

"Sixteen. I'll be seventeen in September."

"You're so young. Who could possibly want to kill you?"

A soft sigh escaped her lips. Without his super-sensitive hearing he may not have heard it. Her eyes returned to the gently flowing water before she breathed, "There are plenty of people out there who would kill for no other reason than they find pleasure from taking life. Is it so difficult to believe that even a young girl might have slighted someone to the point where they would want to take her life?"

No words came to him, because he knew better than anyone. He could feel the anger that flowed through people in even the smallest of confrontations, felt men lose control when they were cut off in traffic, felt a surge of near-homicidal anger flow through a woman upon finding a cheating lover. Of course it was in the realm of possibility that someone would want to kill the girl he couldn't tear his eyes off of. And the feelings flowing through him were new- nothing like what he felt with Maria. He felt the need to protect her, to go wherever these people who wanted to kill her were and destroy them before they could harm a hair on Hermione's head. There were very few things a girl her age could have done that would deserve a death sentence, and her feelings were more that of a soldier preparing themselves for battle. He scanned her up and down, as if this would provide a clue as to what she could have done, and was surprised to notice several almost-healed scars crossing her arms.

"Car accident," she said when she noticed him looking, crossing her arms as best to hide them. He studied her face, and didn't see any hint of the truth in her explanation.

"It's getting late," she muttered, closing her purse and making to stand. "If I'm not back at the hotel by the time my parents get back from the theater they're going to wring my neck."

"Would you care for an escort back?" he sprung up.

"No, I'll be fine. It's not that far. It was nice to meet you, Jasper," she threw him a final smile before turning to walk away.

"Wait!" he grabbed her arm, and she spun back quickly, another shot of fear surging through her. "Please. I don't want this to be the last time I speak to you. A phone number, an e-mail address, anything I can use to talk to you again, Hermione."

She studied him, her face skeptical. "I don't have an e-mail. We aren't allowed to use computers or phones at my school."

"Is it a prison or is it a convent?"

She chuckled. "Neither. Just old-fashioned. But, I guess..." she considered him for a moment more before pulling out a scrap of paper and a pen from her purse and scribbling something on it. "This is a place where my parents can get mail. They'll forward any letters addressed to me."

Another wave of calm passed over him as he took the piece of paper from her hand. He held his hand out for the pen, tore off an unused bit of the paper, and scribbled Carlisle's address on it. "I figured it's only fair to give you mine since you gave me yours," he handed the paper and pen to her, and she shoved both back into her purse.

"It really was a pleasure, Mr. Whitlock," she said, extending her hand.

"I look forward to hearing from you in the future, Miss Granger," he smiled, pulling her hand upwards to give her fingers a quick caress with his lips.

A blush crept across her cheeks as she gently bit her bottom lip, and in that second he couldn't help but think of how incredibly beautiful she looked in that very moment. "Good night, Jasper," she whispered before pulling her hand back to herself and walking away.

"Good night, Hermione," he answered, too late for her to hear. He watched her as she walked away, heading towards the edge of the park, finally disappearing down a flight of stairs towards a subway. After making sure the coast was clear he followed her scent, but it disappeared halfway down the stairs. He searched the platform, but found no trace of her or her scent. For a fleeting moment he wondered if he had imagined the whole thing, if he was so desperate for some kind of connection that his brain had tricked him to thinking there was some kind of wonderful girl he had been able to talk to. Under the pretense of scratching his nose he lifted his hand to his nose, and could smell her delicate scent left behind on his marble skin. He waited for a crowd of people from a recent arriving train to pass before he rushed back to his hotel to start writing his first letter to her.