Ah, Paris was a delight. So many people, all with their secrets. Mademoiselle du Gere was hiding an old copy of the Torah under her floorboards, and Pierre kept his Jewish neighbors silver hidden in his own. But their crimes were small ones, not worth his time. Not when he could be walking along the streets, enjoying the weather and the parting crowds. It amused him to see everyone step out of his way, even if it was accompanied by a glare or bit of spittle tossed his way.

Landa smiled as a French woman gave him the evil eye over a loaf of bread. He watched her bustle off, skirts twitching over the dirty street. There was something about this day, the anticipation that filled the air with the gray clouds moving in over the city. It would rain soon, and here he was without an umbrella. As if to confirm his thought a few fat drops splashed to the ground, sending up little clouds of dust. The crowds began to move faster, flocking to the cafes, stores, or doorsteps to escape the rain.

Landa walked down a side street, sidling under the edge of a building just as the sky let loose. He watched the rain quickly clean the streets, rushing everything towards the curbs. After ten minutes, he was examining the windows by the door. This rain could last for hours, and the stop of this house wasn't exactly the most comfortable place to stay. He knocked a couple times on the door, smiling when it opened.

The woman who stood there was fairly tall, her brown eyes a sharp contrast to her blonde hair. Slavic features, he mused to himself. The dress she was wearing had obviously seen better days, and from what he could see of the house it had as well. She glanced at his uniform, then up to his eyes. "Yes?"

Her French was accented somewhat, but he couldn't tell which accent it was. "I was hoping to get out of the rain, would you mind?" He gestured as if walking into the house. She opened the door and stepped out of the way. He walked in, looking around. The furniture was older, stitched back together in places. The rugs weren't bad, but he could see ash in one by the fireplace. A few bookcases were placed against a wall, their shelves sagging slightly. The lady of the house was running a duster over them, glancing back at him occasionally with suspicious eyes.

All in all, fairly normal for the French these days.

"My thanks, Mademaoiselle ..." He trailed off, looking to her.

"Daphne Defarge." She replied, turning around from where she had been dusting.

"Hopefully you aren't planning any revolutions." He chided, smirking when he saw her eyes narrow.

"No."

"Ah, where are my manners?" He shook his head. "Colonel Hans Landa, of the SS." He extended his hand to her. She made to shake it, but he instead pulled it up to his lips. It was a plain hand, the fingers long and callused. No wedding band or rings. In fact, she wasn't even wearing a necklace.

"I figured." She took her hand back, gripping her duster. "Your uniform is rather distinctive."

"That it is." He smirked. "I hope you do not mind my staying. I was not expecting rain when I left this morning." He shrugged his shoulders.

"It's fine. Sit, you can wait." She gestured toward an overstuffed chair that had been patched. He settled himself down, thankful that the chair was more comfortable that the stoop. Landa watched as she finished her dusting, moving upstairs. After a moment, he followed.

What he saw surprised him.

The room she had entered was unlike the rest of the house. The wood floors were clean, shining slightly as they had just been polished. The bookcases in here were newer than the ones downstairs, stacked with folios and leather-bound books. An upright piano sat in the corner, free of dust and the ivory keys bright. A few shelves had been built into one of the walls, and each held a few instrument cases. A massive bass rested against the wall, a smaller cello beside it. Daphne was at a desk, checking something in the drawer.

He couldn't help but speak.

"Mein Gott, this is lovely." He said, walking to one of the bookcases.

If Daphne found it odd that he followed, she said nothing about it. "I teach music to children, or anyone really."

This woman was a conundrum. She obviously wasn't French, her accent alone betrayed that. Her foyer was dirty and threadbare, but this room was clean and new. She had no issues letting an SS officer into her house, and was almost dismissive of him. He wanted to find out more about her, figure out who exactly she was. So he smiled, examining one of the music folios. He replaced it, then turned to her. "How fortunate! I have been looking for a music teacher."

"Really?"

"I have time on my hands, and I would enjoy learning. The violin, perhaps?" He walked toward the instruments. "Would you be willing? I will pay of course."

Daphne shifted on her feet, watching as he reached for a case. "I have other students."

"Surely one more is not an issue."

"No, no. I was just trying to think of when you would be able to come. Tuesday and Thursday, perhaps? From five to six in the evening?"

"Two hours, mademoiselle? I was hoping for more."

"Then from five to seven?"

Landa smirked. "Perfect, although I often have dinner around that time." He watched her squirm slightly. "I could have my secretary purchase some groceries for you, and we might dine together those nights."

"Colonel, that isn't necessary."

He shook his head. "I will have them delivered in the afternoon. In addition to your usual rate for lessons." He could see her thinking, weighing her options. He allowed himself a moment of triumph as she breathed out and her shoulders fell.

"Very well."

Landa gestured to one of the chairs in the room. "May we begin now?"

Daphne glanced toward the window. "The rain has let up. Come for your lesson tomorrow and we can begin."

Daphne couldn't believe what she had gotten herself into. Sure he was handsome, and his French was better than hers! But still, SS. She watched as he walked back down her street, his boots clicking against the cobblestones. Well it wasn't as if you could have avoided it. He might have shot you if you didn't let him in.

Part of her brain argued back. But lessons? What if he figures it out?

Be glad he's paying for them at least! He could have forced you to teach him.

Daphne shook her head, bringing up her fingers to massage her temples. "We'll deal with him tomorrow. That's all."

AN: Welcome to my Inglourious Basterds, Landa/OC fanfic! *trumpet flourish*

This is my attempt to fix what I have found wrong with some of the other Landa fics on the site. Some are good, but some just turn Landa into a bit of a bitch. And dear God, the Mary Sues. Anyway, this is my attempt, I hope you enjoy.