Summary: What if Cosette wasn't the adopted daughter of Jean Valjean, but an orphaned Romani child he rescues one winter's night from the clutches of death. She blossoms through womanhood and becomes the mesmerising and enchanting Esmeralda, who's fiery and aloof nature manages to capture the hearts of all the men over Paris. She one day comes upon the Les Amis through a series of interesting events and finds her entangled witha group of rambunctious young men who want to change France for the better, even if it meant risking their lives. She's sure that her heart is her own and her own only,but when a certain sun god steps into the picture how will things change?

AN: Hello! Welcome to my first Les Mis fanfic, I've been writing this for a while and right now I already have 20k words down in Word for it, it's pretty fast-paced because there are some time skips and some relationships may seem rushed, but I do try to put them into perspective a lot of the time so we see character development between the characters. My character was inspired by Esmeralda from The Hunchback of Notre Dame, and I was really inspired by her character after rewatching the movie after a very long time since my childhood and I got the idea of what would happen if Esmeralda would be put into the Les Mis universe. Obviously one of Esmeralda's biggest factors in the hunchback of Notre Dame was the fact that she was a Romani woman and a gypsy, therefore making her an outcast, but in this fic her looks are very much the focus on her outcasted self because she looks so different to the people around her, but I still keep a lot of her elements the same such as her personality because that's the main reason I wanted to write this fic. I wanted to see how Enjolras would react when meeting such a kind-hearted yet strong-willed person like Esmeralda. Also I love him and wanted to give him a chance to love. I will be updating this weekly as I have a lot of spare time on my hands and it should be finished around 30k words. As much as I'd want to write a 100k fic I just don't think I have the capability of that without boring my readers.

I do write this fic as one whole document in Word so if some chapters seem to finish on a weird note or scene, please forgive me because I honestly don't want chapters to drag on too long.

One of my dear friends called Pyillami helps me write this, she gives me ideas for different arcs and plots and proofreads it with me, so tysm to her.

People were staring.

Again.

It wasn't per se a bad thing, no of course not, but it did give her the slight chill now and then. Her Mediterranean facial features and her deeply tanned skin stood out in a crowd of paleness and her deep black wavy curls was very much a contrast to the common bright blondes and chestnut brunettes. However, it was her eyes that seemed to stir the people the most. Her eyes were like a flash of emeralds within a raging stormy sea and once you had caught those eyes within your own it seemed like a spell of a siren had been cast for no one seemed to be able to look away. Wherever she went she seemed to cast a spell on the people that laid their eyes on her, whether it be while she was dancing or just simply walking down the street.

Many always assumed she was foreign, coming up to her in the streets and inquiring where she was from and to which she replied with a playful wink and said Paris. She had always been curious as to where she had gotten her strange looks from, as she knew for sure it wasn't from her father. Ah, her dear Papa. Just thinking of her Papa made her smile, how the kindness in his smile seemed to spread warmth into others. No matter how much wealth her Papa had he stayed humble and caring to others, it was a rare trait nowadays. He had always told her to have courage and to be kind, and that if she kept those traits life would always reward her. Her selfless Papa was her everything, he was all she had for family and she was all he had. Together they had each other. However, no matter how much he smiled, Esmeralda could see the hidden pain behind it. For her father was smart, but he wasn't smart enough to realise Esmeralda knew he was hiding his own scars, scars to his past. Secrets that he never diverged, that he never risked to let loose. It was as if he hid his past like his life was at cost. His eyes held the pains he had seen in his old life, Esmeralda had seen the way his eyes would glaze over as he was caught up in a distant memory multiple times. His life had been long, it was common for many people to have seen different pains and suffering in their life. Esmeralda usually let it slide, she knew her Papa wasn't comfortable talking about his past or about her mother. Where had her mother come from? Why did she look so different? Questions she longed to be answered seemed to remain unanswered, for the sake of her Father.

Her full long lashes battered seductively as the strength of a hot summer's day beat down in a busy street in Paris. In the sweltering heat of the summer, it was much better to wear simpler dresses with less layers, however Esmeralda glanced round herself and noticed how some women still chose to pursue much bulkier, frilly dresses in the heat. It seemed that they lived by the saying 'beauty is pain', or was it? No matter how much her Papa insisted on buying her more fancier and more expensive dresses, she found herself drawn to the much simpler designs that were found in the backs of the shop, away from the store window as if the makers were almost ashamed of their creation. Today she had picked out her own outfit, designed for the exact weather they were having. The loose purple skirt's hem danced around her ankles as she strolled through the busy street with Papa, it was a comfortable skirt – it let her legs breathe. She couldn't imagine how hot it must be for the unfortunate ladies that wore over 10 layers of skirt piled on top of each other.

She sighed at the group of bourgeois girls as they huddled in a circle and shared gossip. On the rare occasions she'd envy them, the way those groups of girls were such a tightly knit group, the way they could easily confide in each other's secrets. She wished for that kind of friendship. Though you shouldn't judge Esmeralda, she was willing to share any type of problem or feeling with her father, although sometimes it was just plain awkward. She was getting to the ripe age of 18 and he an old man, she realized long ago she could no longer confide in him of her secrets like she used to, she was a woman now after all. She couldn't possibly whisper and gossip about boys with her Papa, well not that she was going to anyways if she had friends, she would've at least liked the option to though.

Her white puffy blouse rustled in the light summer breeze that danced its way down the street. Her bare shoulders forming the smallest of Goosebumps against the naked cool air, as her blouse was indeed without shoulders. The blouse almost made her outfit scandalous, heaven forbid a man see her bare shoulders, however it was summer and furthermore the day was almost as hot as heaven's fire. There were workers out on the street without shirts on and housewives lounging on stools outside their shops with their skirts hiked up to their knees as they sat leisurely enjoying warm sun. Esmeralda was very satisfied with her outfit choice today, except for the bodice her father had bought for her. As pretty as the teal and golden striped bodice was, it merely restricted her breathing and painfully pinched at her waist, but since her father had specifically bought it for her she had relented and decided to wear it out today. She could've passed for a gypsy, she mused, but the mere presence of her Papa made people dismiss the thought of it.

Esmeralda was not shy of expressing her delight in dancing, the way her eyes lit up when she heard a nearby musician or a dance band on the side of the street only proved that. She would make a spectacle of herself as she danced in front of the playing musicians without a care in the world. It was like she was born without a single ounce of fear, she wasn't afraid of people staring and looking at her as she normally got stares by merely walking down the bloody street. She danced like a bird, with freedom. Though Papa feigned embarrassment, she knew he always enjoyed watching her dance, the way he'd let a small smile creep onto his face let her know.

Jean Valjean watched his daughter out of the corner of his eye as she casually strolled at his side, deep in her own thoughts. He thought about how truly amazing she was, how her intellect rivalled that of the nearby university's students, how she seemed to excel at anything once she put her mind to it and how she was able to captivate everyone around her within a single heartbeat. She was so amazingly talented, it was starting to grow scary. She was about to turn eighteen, the pinnacle point of womanhood and that meant marriage. Marriage had basically become a taboo word between the pair, both disliked talking about it so they merely didn't. Valjean wasn't prepared to leave the daughter he had raised singlehandedly to a man she and him barely knew for the rest of her life and frankly she believed she was 'too free-spirited' now to become tied down in a marriage. She once had said that "Marriage is merely a cage to keep a bird trapped within it", which was partly true. Though a day would come when Jean would simply be too old to look after her and he couldn't bare to leave her alone I this cruel world if death were to get its dark clutches onto him in the future. He was going to have to bring it up, he thought nervously, but how? He knew how strongly opinionated she was on this matter and he agreed with her. If she wished to have a marriage out of love and love only to be it, even it if meant waiting till her 30s for her to find the right man. However, he was getting old, very old, and however as much as he'd like to keep running from his past he knows sooner or later it will catch up to him, but what he's most afraid of is that it will catch up to his daughter as well. A burst of motion and shouting shook Valjean out of his deep thoughts, up ahead there was a bustling commotion around a stage as two young men stood a top of it. He quickly glanced down at his daughter and was not pleased with the look in her eye:

Curiosity.

Curiosity would kill the cat and Esmeralda along with it.

Before he could say a word to her she was off like lightening. Her long legs carrying her lithe body towards the large crowd that was merely 20 metres away. She was halted when a firm grip on her arm held her still before she could reach the crowd. Esmeralda turned to see her Papa with a stern look in his eye as he glared down at her.

"I thought we had discussed that you would warn me first before running off like that, Esmeralda." He had had this conversation many times with her before, but it never seemed to stick.

"Oh Papa, what's the fun in that?" she asked with a cheeky wink, before promptly walking off again.

Even after she had turned her back towards him she could hear the sigh of surrender Papa let out. She carefully paced along the outside of the crowd, away from the claustrophobic strum of people. Her eyes narrowed in on the gentlemen on the stand, the way they spoke loudly about the liberation of France, for the freedom of the poor. They talked about such controversial and touchy subjects, Esmeralda couldn't help but acknowledge their bravery. She watched their expressions during their speech, how their passion practically radiated off them, but one of them specifically stood out to her. His golden curls reflected the sun's beam off his head to form a golden halo as his fiery eyes watched his audience as they listened on him listing on and on about how a revolution would change their world. He reminded her of Phoebus, the immortal sun god that shone rays of sunlight onto the world. This is what that young man was doing, he was shining hope onto the lost citizens of Paris. By now she had taken a good look at his face: his light golden skin seemed to glisten in the sunlight (god of the sun indeed) and his eyes were a dazzling, piercing blue, almost as if they could look right into your soul, his jawline was strong, and his cheeks defined with the glow of the midday sun. Esmeralda had to admit… he was dashing. However, it wasn't just his looks that had captured her attention, it was the way she spoke to the civilians in front of him, like they were his own family. She saw the fire behind his eyes and the passion burning from the hearth that was his heart. It was intriguing.

Her thoughts were rudely interrupted as a barrelling force came knocking into her left side, leaving her winded and confused. Papa was at her side immediately, helping her regain her footing, but when she looked down to find that the source was in fact a young boy, no older than 9, she waved her Papa off – telling him she was fine. She immediately turned to the young lad that laid with his bottom on the ground as he dusted his hands off from the fall.

"Child are you alright?" she asked concernedly.

She reached down to grab the young boy's hands to haul him to his feet again and to brush off the remaining dust on his clothing. Her eyes caught onto the tricolour rosette that was pinned to the young boy's lapel, it was the same as the ones the gentlemen on the stage wore.

"I'm real' sorry mademoiselle, wasn't lookin' where I was goin'." The young boy said sheepishly.

"It's nothing to worry about," said Esmeralda with a grin.

The boy blushed slightly at her smile, it was adorable.

"Say, I know a way you can make it up to me." She said with a mischievous grin.

"You're not gonna make me do some weird work for you ar' ya?" the young boy said, watching her cautiously.

Esmeralda let out a laugh and replied, "Of course not, I was just going to ask you for your name."

"Oh, well then the name's Gavroche!" Gavroche said with a wide smile.

"Well, it's a pleasure to make your acquaintance Monsieur Gavroche," she said with a curtsy, "My name is Esmeralda."

For the first time in his life, Gavroche, was curtsied at by a bourgeois mademoiselle. Despite her strange sense of clothing, Gavroche could tell by one look she was wealthy. Although her clothes were simple he could tell the fabric was expensive, and the gold necklace she wore around her neck certainly didn't cost cheap change.

"Here Gavroche," Esmeralda reached into the basket she carried and took out a loaf of bread and offered it to the young boy, "Consider this my compensation to you, for getting in your way."

Gavroche looked up at the fair mademoiselle in amazement and gladly took the loaf of bread from her hands.

"Gavroche!" a voice shouted a couple of metres away.

Gavroche turned hesitantly to the direction Combeferre's voice had come from and just as he expected, he saw the looming figure of Combeferre coming to a stop in front of him.

"Gavroche, what have I told you about running off own your own like that?" Combeferre placed a hand on Gavroche's shoulder, acting as if he'd dash off again.

Valjean could feel a strong relation to the young man's feelings as he listened off on the side-lines.

"Well, I was thinkin' since you lot make me take messages around the whole of bloody Paris, I though' it'd be alright." Gavroche responded slyly back at him.

As Combeferre was about to pinch those chubby cheeks off Gavroche's face, he suddenly noticed the young mademoiselle in front of them, how her beautiful green eyes watched their interaction with interest. Gavroche, taking advantage of Combeferre's slight distraction, slipped quickly from Combeferre's grasp to hide behind Esmeralda cheekily.

"I'm so sorry mademoiselle, for some reason our dear Gavroche is misbehaving today." Combeferre glared down at Gavroche, as the young boy stuck his tongue out as he hid behind the beautiful mademoiselle's skirts.

"Oh, no need to worry, Gavroche's mischief has merely brightened up my boring day so far." She replied with a grin as her delicate hand ruffled Gavroche's long blonde locks.

Combeferre couldn't help but raise his eyebrow at Gavroche at her comment, it seemed the youngest of the Les Amis de l'ABC had more luck with women than the rest of them. The mademoiselle that stood in front of him was definitely a looker, she must've attracted looks wherever she went.

"My apologies, I don't believe I've introduced myself," he said with a kind smile, "My name is Lucien Combeferre, it's a pleasure to meet you Mademoiselle…?"

"Esmeralda." She said with a sloped grin.

The pounding of hooves against the ground startled the both of them out of their introduction, the officers had arrived. Esmeralda glanced back up to the stage to find that it was empty, and the two men that were previously up there were making their way through crowd, passing out flyers as they went. The brunette of the pair had suddenly made his way over to her through the crowd, his voice urging people to meet them again at the same place tomorrow. She noticed his gaze locked onto Combeferre's and he quickly made his way over to the man in front of her.

"My friend, I'm afraid we must move quickly as-"

It was at that moment Marius' gaze suddenly locked onto the young woman that stood in front of him and Combeferre. He was frozen, he couldn't move! It was as if a siren had cast a curse on him. His eyes remained locked on the young mademoiselle as he took her in. Her raven black hair shone under the sun's gaze and her beautiful golden tanned skin made her resemble a Greek goddess, but it was her eyes. The eyes that met his own looked like they held the entirety of the Emerald city in them. It was astonishing. He was broken out of his reverie, however, as an older and more sophisticated gentlemen approached the mademoiselle.

"Esmeralda we must go," whispered the old gentlemen, "I'm afraid it is going to get too dangerous for you here, very quickly."

Marius watched the mademoiselle, named Esmeralda, sigh and regretfully nod her head at the gentlemen's words.

"Just give me a few seconds, Papa." Her voice was like an angel, singing from heaven. "Monsieur's it has been the utmost pleasure of meeting you, I hope to see you again in the near future."

With a quick wink at Gavroche, she was gone.

She had winked at… Gavroche?

Marius had some questions for the young boy later today.

After Marius and Combeferre had hastily gotten away from the shouting officers they were soon joined by their esteemed leader Enjolras. They strolled happily through the streets, obviously pleased with the way the speech and the rally turned out.

"Say Combeferre, who was that mademoiselle back at the rally?" Marius asked, his eyes glistening to curiosity.

"Which one?" Combeferre heartily joked, he knew exactly which one Marius was talking about.

Enjolras listened in on the two's conversation as he quietly walked next to them. Surely Marius wasn't going to distract himself with a woman, right now? Of all times to do so, with the revolution so close they all could almost grasp it with their fingertips.

"Now don't joke Monsieur, you know very well which one I'm talking about." The mademoiselle's stunning green eyes were still fresh in his memory, like a lush green meadow was encased in those wide eyes.

"Her name is Mademoiselle Esmeralda," relented Combeferre. "I had met her merely minutes before you arrived, dear Gavroche nearly sent her tumbling over."

"She seems very…" Marius trailed off.

"Stunning? Beautiful? Exotic?" Combeferre listed, teasing Marius of his infatuation.

"I was going to say wealthy." Retorted Marius.

"Oh, well that too."

"Did she kick up a fuss about Gavroche?" asked Enjolras, hearing how the youngest member had seemingly crashed into a wealthy bourgeois mademoiselle was slightly unsettling to him. "Ask for compensation? Make him apologise on his knees?"

Combeferre swallowed at the biting remarks Enjolras made about the young mademoiselle.

"Uh, quite the opposite actually." Enjolras raised an eyebrow at this and gave an incredulous look at Combeferre. "The only thing she asked him was if he was alright and the compensation she requested from him was his bloody name! She even gave him a loaf of bread for lunch." Combeferre chortled.

"At least there are still some kind souls left in that class." Said Enjolras bitterly.

"Come on Enjolras, you cannot assume every young mademoiselle you meet is going to be one of those stuck up bourgeois girls."

"If I could help it I wouldn't meet them at all."

Marius and Combeferre laughed incredulously at Enjolras' remark. You could say that Enjolras was the moth and the revolution the flame. It seemed there was only enough room in his heart for dear Patria. His fiery heart was solely devoted to France, it seemed no woman or man, which Grantaire had once joked about which only lead to an empty wine bottle flying in his direction, had a place in his heart. Of course, his comrades were there, but mostly it was for Patria. Every single one of the Les Amis were willing to lay their life down for her, for the revolution.

"So where are you two men off to, now that the rallies for today have finished?"

"I have to stop back at my apartment before class," replied Marius.

"And I must head to class." Said Enjolras.

With that said the three men parted ways, promising to see each other at Café Musain later that night for the meeting of Les Amis de l'ABC. Enjolras loosened the suffocating tie around his neck and unbuttoned his top shirt button as the heat of the sun decidedly to finally set it. He noticed his carrier bag was half open as it flopped against his side as he power walked towards his university, so he hastily tried to buckle it as he walked through the busy square, but suddenly he was thrown off by an impactful force knocking into his side causing himself to tumble onto the ground, his papers and books spread on the cobble floor in front of him. He felt something soft pressing against his body and he hesitantly opened his blue eyes. He was stunned out of his mind to see a pair of luscious green eyes staring back into his. Her eyes were the glimmering colour of emerald, sparkling in the light of the summer's sun like fresh dew on grass. They were both strewn on the floor chest to chest, flushed against each other with the mademoiselle body between his legs, looking into each other's eyes. It was the mademoiselle that seemed to notice their compromising position first as her eyes fluttered and she let out a sound of distraught as she hastily backed away from his legs.

"Oh, mon Dieu! Monsieur are you alright?" The mademoiselle made a grab for his hand as he brushed off the street dirt from his coat and helped him on his feet. "My apologies, I wasn't looking where I was going. It seems I'm knocking everyone over today."

"No apologies needed, mademoiselle, I wasn't looking where I was going as well." Enjolras apologised in a monotone.

The mademoiselle glanced back down at the ground and her eyes widened.

"Oh, monsieur your papers!" She exclaimed as she knelt to the floor and hastily picked up the multiple sheets of paper he had written on the night before for today's class.

"Mademoiselle, you don't have to-" He didn't carry on with his plea as the young mademoiselle was already crouching in front of him, picking up the paper's quickly before the blew off in the summer's breeze.

Enjolras gave a frustrated sigh and knelt down on one knee as he picked up the papers with her, sorting through them and putting them in their correct order, thank god he had numbered them. He suddenly noticed how still the girl next to him sat and quickly glanced over at her. In her hand was the beginning page of tonight's speech that he was going to make at tonight's meeting, he watched her eyes – how they darted across the page as they read the lines he had written at 2am this morning when he had suddenly awoken from a dream, filled with inspiration. He quickly pulled the sheet out of her hands, despite the noise of irritation that came from her mouth. Stuffing all the sheets in his bag, he rose off the ground and took a long look at the mademoiselle on the ground before offering her his hand, which she hesitantly placed her own in his and as she rose off the ground this was when his eyes really took her in. Some of her raven black hair had fallen out the pony tail she tied it in, letting the locks frame her small delicate face. Her skin was deeply tanned and was starkly different against his own and he noticed the way it gave a healthy glow within the sunlight. Her lashes were so full and long they almost touched her cheeks as she looked down at her feet. Enjolras noticed her bare shoulders and quickly glanced away from them, her bold blouse was sure to be the centre of attention as she walked down the street. He made the mistake of diverting his gaze to her lips. Were her lips that rosy naturally?

"Once again, monsieur, I'm so sorry for earlier," her eyes gazed into his own, "It seems I have lost my head today."

"No- uh you're quite alright, mademoiselle, I wasn't paying attention to where I was going as well."

"Um- about that paper I was reading before-"

"Forget about it." Interrupted Enjolras harshly, he didn't need the mademoiselle to tattle on him to her, probably very wealthy and influential, father.

The mademoiselle was stunned for a few seconds but then let out a small giggle, to Enjolras' confusion.

"I was merely going to say that… I thought it was brilliant." She said with a small smile.

Now it was Enjolras' turn to be stunned. Those were the last words he had expected to fall from her mouth.

"Yes, well I saw your earlier rally as well, a few streets down and- well I couldn't help but feel inspired." She said with slightly rosy cheeks. "The pen is mightier than a sword after all."

Enjolras couldn't seem to tear his eyes away from her own eyes that were the glimmering colour of emerald, sparkling in the light of the summer's sun like fresh dew on grass, it was as if he was in a strange trance.

The mademoiselle began hesitantly this time, as if she was afraid at what she was about to say next.

"I noticed… how you mentioned a uh- a meeting in your paper…" surely she wasn't going to say the words he was thinking of next, "I was wondering if I… um would be able to… attend?" she finished finally.

There was a pause, before he replied.

"I'm afraid not, mademoiselle, it is not a place for a lady, like yourself, to attend." He said with a shake of his head. "If we are done here, then I'm afraid I must be off."

Before he could even turn and walk away from her, the young mademoiselle had grabbed one of his arms with both of her hands in a tight, firm grip. Her defiant eyes bore into his own wide ones as she spoke.

"'Not a place for a lady like myself'?" she asked incredulously. "You talk of equality between the rich and poor classes, yet you cannot even apply the same rules between a man and woman?"

"It's different-"

"Different? Pardon me for assuming, monsieur, but I thought your meeting was a gathering of people that shared the same beliefs and opinions with each other." Her brows knitted together as she argued her point to him, "Am I wrong in assuming that?"

"No, you're not mademoiselle, but-" Enjolras tried to argue against her again, but her voice cut through his like a knife, once more.

"Then I don't believe I see the difference you talk about." She finally let go of his arm and folded hers across her chest. "I am a person, a very passionate person, that shares the same beliefs, ideas and opinions as you do, Monsieur. The only difference I see between us, is that you, monsieur, are a man and I am a woman. However, since this meeting a is a gathering of people, I do not see the reason why I am not being granted access."

Enjolras had to hand it to her, the mademoiselle could argue. She was practically captivating while she debated against him, well he says debated, but it was more like he was getting his arse handed to himself. He thought about the consequences of him inviting her to the meeting later tonight, and multiple sprung to mind: he'd get teased and ridiculed for bringing a woman along when normally he was never near women and barely even looked at them, the whole room would be too gobsmacked at the beautiful mademoiselle that they wouldn't be able to focus throughout the whole evening, she'll actually be impactful and make intelligent points. Enjolras thought hard on that last one, would it be so bad to bring her along? She seemed like she could hold her own ground in a room full of outspoken, rambunctious young men. Why not? One part of his mind exclaimed, while another was shaking its head at him furiously; telling him not to do it. For once in his life, Enjolras decided to be impulsive.

"Okay, fine." Enjolras relented, "You can come."

Enjolras watched the happiness reach from her lips to her eyes as she grinned ecstatically at him. He could almost feel the tug of a smile at the corner of his own lips, though he hastily sucked in his cheeks to stop himself.

"Tonight 8 o'clock sharp at Café Musain on the Place Saint-Michel, just tell the woman behind the bar you're there to see me." Enjolras leaned closer to her, not realising how close their faces were as he whispered the details of the meeting.

"And what may your name be Monsieur?" she lifted her chin and tilted her head.

Their noses only a foot apart.

"Enjolras, Alexandre Enjolras." He finally introduced.

"Well, I can firmly say it has been a pleasure talking to you, Monsieur Enjolras." She looked him up and down, which he mimicked at her, causing her to raise one of her dark eyebrows and smirk, "My name is Esmeralda Fauchelevent."

The memory of Combeferre saying "Her name is Mademoiselle Esmeralda" flashed before his eyes and just as he was about to ask her, a loud manly voice shouted from across the square, causing them to both look.

"Esmeralda!" A wealthy looking old man slowly made his way towards them from the opposite end of the square, a large black top hat sitting on his head.

Enjolras looked down back towards Esmeralda as he heard her sigh slightly and looked back up into his eyes.

"I'm afraid I must go; my escort has seemingly found me once again." He watched the smirk slip off her face as she quickly jogged over to the elderly man, meeting him in the middle of the square.

Enjolras watched her go, the way she sashayed her way over to the old gentlemen with a look of disappointment marring his face, as she laughed at the expression and hooked her arm through the other mans. Wait wasn't he supposed to be somewhere? Class! He took out his pocket watch and glanced at the time. Had it been that long already? He was late! Stuffing the pocket watch back in the inside pocket of his coat, he sped out of the square and towards his university. Great, just another reason for his professor to loathe him for.