A/N: This is the first of what will probably be many side-stories to my Questor trilogy (Dramatis Personae, Equicium and Non Sequitur). There's two timelines that will be incorporated in Similitude—June 1998 and August to December 1997. It's not vital to read DP before reading this, though, so don't worry if you haven't. Don't expect any updates for a while on this one, however.

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter and friends. The nice Scottish lady, Bloomsbury, Scholastic and WB do. Oh, and I lovingly dedicate this prologue to Lila Elensar. Best of luck on your mid-term, doll.

SIMILITUDE

By Diocletian

June 1, 1998:

The sun shone brightly down onto the city of Paris, the warmth it provided tempered only slightly by the pleasant breeze that was blowing. The reflection of the sun's rays bounced cheerfully off of the surface of the Seine, nearly blinding those who looked directly at it. The seemingly perfect river surface was broken by ripples made by the current and the breeze, which skittered fleetingly across the water, into the fresh green leaves of the sparse trees and through the loose strands of bright red hair of a young man walking near the shore.

Ron Weasley swiped a hand carelessly across his eyes and pushed the stray hairs behind his ears, wondering yet again if cutting the near-shoulder length tangle would be worth the trouble. Most of the time it behaved, being long enough to be held back in a short, neat ponytail at the back of his neck, but on windy days bits of it liked to escape. He wondered idly how his mother would react to seeing him like this, resembling Bill more and more each day, and what kind of disapproving look she would have on her face, but pushed the thought away.

He loved Molly dearly, but he had run off to France in the first-place because he had grown unable to face anybody he loved. It was his own fault, of course, and it was only his own guilt that had driven him to it, because he didn't blame them for anything. But some days he could barely look at himself in the mirror, much less face anyone else.

Besides, they all knew where he was. They knew he was healthy and safe and that they would be able to get a hold of him if something urgent happened. Occasionally they would send owls just to let him know they were thinking about him, but by now his family knew better than to expect him to write back.

Well, there were always the twins. Fred and George had been a pair of blessings in disguise. They understood the feeling of guilty responsibility that Ron felt towards Percy and about what happened to Charlie. More than anyone else did anyway.

And they seemed to understand his need to get away, how unbearable it had become to stay at Hogwarts. And so it had been the twins who finally showed him a way out. He had spent the summer the previous year working for them in their joke shop and he had gotten pretty good at it, so on his 18th birthday, they had offered him a management position at the newest expansion of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. The fact that the new location was in France had done absolutely nothing to faze him and he had responded by asking when he could start.

His mother and Hermione were torn between trying to be sympathetic and wanting to be furious at him. "You're throwing away your future!" they had each told him when he told them he was quitting school. He didn't usually reply to this, would just look away or walk into another room. They didn't seem to get how terrible he had felt, how terrible he was still feeling over the Christmas incident. He couldn't concentrate at school anyway. Everyone said that they didn't blame him for anything, that he couldn't have known, but it did nothing to change the fact that it had happened because of him.

Well, him and bloody fucking Percy.

Ron pushed another strand of hair out of his eyes and squinted in the bright sunlight as he examined his surroundings. There was the rose bush, there was the rubbish bin and... ah, there were the cracked crates leaning against wood wall. He walked over to them, tapped the top crate with his wand, then tapped the bottom crate, and then whispered, "Papricio," under his breath.

The wall suddenly split down the middle with a small flare of pink light. It opened up onto a quaint-looking town square. Well, a town pentagon really, five-sided as it was. Ron stepped forward out of the narrow gateway and into the crowd of French witches and wizards who were going about their everyday business.

Cinq Jambes was France's magical center of activity and commerce. It was, more or less, an equivalent to England's Diagon Alley...only straighter. It didn't have the crazy curves and corners that Diagon Alley had. It was just a space, with benches and snack stands and a fountain, in the middle of five intercepting roads—straight roads—which were lined with assorted shops that were there to fulfill any and all of your magical needs. The glass in the shop windows was cleaner than home, and many of the products sitting behind them were different. But it had the same vibe to it, that warm, friendly, welcoming feeling you got as soon as you stepped across the gateway.

Ron grabbed a small bag of apples off of a nearby snack cart and handed the woman selling them a few knuts, glimpsing her smile at him for a second before continuing on his way. He went down the second street on the left hand side from the place where he had entered Cinq Jambes. He passed the Quidditch supplies shop, where a large, brilliant, autographed poster containing the seven grinning, pink-clad team members of the Quiberon Quafflepunchers was propped up in the window, and the Apothecary, from which a suspicious-smelling blue cloud of mist was expelled as he went by, before stopping outside "Farces pour Sorciers Facétieux".

Leaning against the door reading a book, obviously waiting for Ron to arrive, was a good-looking blonde woman. She appeared to be about the same age as he, but in reality she was five years his senior. When he stopped outside the joke shop, she looked up from her book and smiled brightly. It was a smile that Ron could distantly appreciate as very attractive, but he had never held any interest of that variety for the young woman in front of him.

"Bonjour, Monsiour Weasley," she greeted.

He smiled blandly and pulled an old bronze key out of his pocket. "Bonjour Étoile," he replied. "Comment ça va?"

As though she could sense her boss's somber mood, Étoile's smile faded slightly, but it didn't disappear completely. "Ça va bien." Ron got the door open and walked in, and Étoile followed him in, flipping the sign in the door window from "ferme" to "ouvert".

A/N: If you're reading it, please review. You don't even have to say anything, just type in a happy face to let me know you're out there. Thanks!

Oh, and just for sexyassron and hydraspit, here's the English subtitles. Sorry for not adding them before, but it never occurred to me to write them. Cultural influence of living somewhere where everybody understands at least a bit of French. Sorry about that. :P

Papricio – No idea. It's not French, it's just some magic word I made up. I'm thinking it might be Italian for something, though.

Cinq Jambes – I'm sorry to say that this actually translates to "Five Legs". Lame, I know.

"Farces pour Sorciers Facétieux" – According to the limited number of websites I checked as a reference, this is the name of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes in the French book translations.

Bonjour, Monsiour Weasley – Hello, Mr. Weasley. For anyone who cares, the less formal "hey" actually translates closer to "Salut."

Bonjour Étoile. Comment ça va? – Hello Étoile. How's it going ?

Ça va bien – It's good.

Ferme/Ouvert – Closed/Open

Hope this helped, y'all. :)