Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor do I claim any rights to it, et cetera, et cetera. You all know the deal by now. ;)
Chapter 1: Le Français
She didn't know where she was going, or what she was doing. In the past forty five seconds, Hermione had shut off her brain and did what her instincts had told her what was best. Run.
She listened.
Lost in a sea of faces, Hermione quickly stopped and caught herself.
"What am I doing?" she said to herself aloud, causing a few in the crowd closest to look at her askance. She realized how odd she must look, standing right in the middle of the alley, so she quickly made her way to Flourish and Blotts.
"Maybe I'll find some solace there…" she thought to herself, casting a quick glance over her shoulder to see if she'd been followed. She made her way quickly but surreptiously inside, and went into a back section on the History of Magic that she knew was rarely frequented. (Which also had a favourite armchair of hers.)
"What were you thinking!" she berated herself vehemently, considering the scene she'd just made. Which, in these times, was a dangerous thing to do.
It had all begun with a letter she'd received from Harry. It had only been three days since she'd gotten home, and she was expecting correspondence from him. She and Ron had both been speculating as to how Harry wanted to go about things. Dumbledore's death had stopped the three from properly discussing anything as they all went through the grieving process.
Harry had been particularly withdrawn. He'd refused to see any of them, and had left Hogwarts abruptly. According to Professor McGonagall, he'd simply taken leave of her and gone.
Hermione had tried rationalizing, but she couldn't suppress the hurt that she felt over his disconnection and lack of communication.
"Then again….look at what I did to us last year…" Hermione knew she'd strained their friendship, and had wanted so badly to right things. But everything was still so askew, and the world so upside down, there didn't seem to be any time to break through it all and fix things.
She was relieved at the arrival of his letter, but quickly disappointed at its contents.
Gringotts. 12 noon. Monday. Ask for Fingaar. Please destroy this.
-Harry
She had hoped for something more, but needless to say, she was intrigued. Harry was very to the point and direct about it, so she knew it must be urgent. She told her parents she had to go into London on Monday, and then proceeded to make provision for Monday.
Hermione had known Harry long enough to know when something was going on.
Traveling by Floo, Hermione decided to come to the Alley to stock up on a few potions materials before heading over to the bank. As she was looking through a few books that the Apothecary had on hand, she heard the tinkling of a bell that signaled the door. She continued bent over, browsing through the books in stock. Curiosity got the best of her though, and she cast a glance to who'd just come in.
He wasn't familiar to her at all. He seemed to be about a year older than her, with dark black hair, deep blue eyes, an impassive face and a confident gait; she knew he wasn't to be trifled with.
Almost as if he sensed her glance, he quickly locked eyes with her and she suddenly felt guilty that she'd been almost appraising him. "Shame on…" But that thought was cut short as he gave her a very genuine smile, one that went right to his eyes and seemed to defy his severe appearance. She was even more mortified when he made a beeline for her, ignoring his original purpose for entering the shop.
Hermione quickly straightened up, and although embarrassed that she'd been caught staring, couldn't help but give a true smile back. He did seem nice….
"CONSTANT VIGILANCE!" she heard Moody bark in her mind, and almost winced, realizing how taken in she could have just been. She quickly stopped her ruminating though, as he finally reached her.
"Hello, my name is Jean" he said with a thick French accent.
"So that's why I didn't know you…" she thought to herself with an internal smile, and quickly proffered her hand.
"I'm Hermione. Where are you from?" she inquired pleasantly, quite fascinated with him.
"Je viens de…Oh. I'm sorry, I—"
"C'est bien. Si tu veux, nous pouvons parler le français." She reassured him, telling him she wouldn't mind speaking French with him. One thing Hermione didn't tell anyone was that she spoke French at home with her mother. It was something she'd come to realize in the past year or so, but realized she hadn't shared it because there hadn't been a reason too.
Jean was beyond pleased that she spoke French, but continued on saying "No, no. I must learn the English, and I think that it is important practice speaking."
"I understand." Hermione replied in French before reverting back to English. "So, where are you from again?"
"My parents and I come from Normandy, but the war…" he trailed off. It wasn't lost on Hermione, however. She knew how violently Voldemort had been ravaging Northern France. Things were getting worse and worse, especially now that Voldemort was bringing terror to the continent.
Suddenly a clock chimed, and Hermione nearly jumped out of her skin. It was chiming 12. She would be late.
"I'm so sorry, I have to go! Send me an owl and maybe we can talk more!" she rattled off in hasty French, and forgetting the book she'd thought about purchasing, nearly ran to the door.
She spared a glance back to Jean, and was met with his smile again. Which even in her haste couldn't help but make her smile back.
"Bon chance" he said, wishing her luck.
"I'll certainly need it" she thought, making her way as fast as she could to Gringotts.
A/N—I'm sorry this opening chapter is so short. Not to mention a bit ambiguous. Let me know what you think of things. I love stories strictly from Hermione's perspective, so I thought I'd do one. Please review! It's big encouragement for me to keep writing and to get the next chapter out sooner!