a/n; god, sorry for the wait. i'm terrible at this.

before i began writing this chapter, i considered re-doing the first two chapters, but i decided that getting more chapters up is more important, so once i'm completely DONE the story, i will tweak it and edit it until it is as close to perfect as i can get :D

books 3-7 will be split into multiple parts. this long chapter is just part of Hermione's summer vacation in France. :D

sorry that my french isn't that great :)

enjoy! :)

Chapter Three; The City of Love

My third year at Hogwarts was hectic, distressing, dangerous, busy, and totally and completely insane.

But I loved every minute of it.

My parents stuck to their word, and packed up our suitcases - we were going to France. France. It sounded so exciting, adventurous, romantic.

When we arrived, my parents decided it might be smarter to stay at a quiet inn, because the three-star hotel that would be our usual choice, I had plenty of people I had to stay in contact with - and owls flying around a hotel didn't sound too appealing.

So we picked a nice country inn, near a large forest, where owls weren't yet unheard of. It was really quite cute, with it's plaid couches and rickety sidetables piled with comfortable clutter.

"So, Hermione. Where do you want to go first?" Dad asked from the passenger seat in Mum's station wagon.

That was a good question. Where did I want to go first? After at least two minutes of deep concentration as I weighed the pros and cons of the different expeditions, I finally decided what I wanted to see more than anything.

"The Eiffel Tower!" I squealed, and my parents chuckled.

"You heard the girl, Mary."

"I'm heading there right now, sweetheart."

I was bouncing in my seat the whole way there, and I ignored my parents' laughter with what was left of my dignity.

Which all went out the window when the tower was in sight.

"MUM! DAD! IT'S THE EIFFEL TOWER!" I shrieked, plastering myself against the window with awe at the structure. It was even more beautiful than I'd ever imagined - dreams of romantic getaways above it, hovering on a broomstick, and I wasn't afraid to fall because a black-haired man was holding me tightly -

Well. You get the picture.

"Can we go up? Please, please, please?" I begged my mum, wanting more than anything to see Paris from a birds-eye view. Mum turned to look at my dad, with a slight smile on her face. She probably knew we were eventually getting up that tower, whether they liked it or not.

"Well, Hugo? Should we?" She asked, trying to sound exasperated but failing in the excitement of the amazing city called Paris. My dad was already out of the car and buying tickets. Laughing, my mum and I followed him.

Waiting in line and in the elevator (my father absolutely refused to take the stairs) was difficult, and I held my breath until finally - finally - we arrived at the top of the most incredible structures in the world, and I rushed out of the elevator and out into the sunshine before anyone else had a chance to move.

I was astounded - flabbergasted - amazed, at the sight before me. It was completely breathtaking. I can't even begin to describe it.

Trust me when I say that you will never know what I mean by the word breathtaking unless you travel to Paris on a bright and warm day, take the elevators in anticipation, and just gaze out over the horizon. When you do that, you'll understand what I say here.

While my parents and the other tourists wandered off to see the city from different angles, I stayed, frozen, where I was, and never wanted to leave.

"M'excuser, jolie fille?" A deep voice asked from behind me. Now, I didn't know much French, but I was almost positive they had just said Excuse me, pretty girl. Turning around, I was met with the sight of a gorgeous French boy, dazzling me with a perfect smile.

I forced myself not to drool, or swoon, or do anything stupid. I racked my brains for the little French I had studied before we left home to find an apropriate answer. Which was especially difficult, because he kept looking at me with smoldering brown eyes.

When it wouldn't come to me, I quickly and stealthily cast a language charm on myself that I had learned in case of emergencies here. I felt guilty for a long time about using magic when I wasn't supposed to, but I also knew I wouldn't get caught. Paris was full of overage wizards on holiday.

"Est-ce qu'oui, comment je peux vous aider?" Yes, how may I help you?

"Je me demandais pourquoi une belle fille serait seule." I was wondering why a beautiful girl would be alone.

I almost did swoon right there. He thought I was beautiful? This extremely good-looking French boy thought I was beautiful. I blushed, and smiled shyly.

"Vous pensez que je suis beau?" You think that I am beautiful?

He smiled, and moved closer to me. He smelled like cinnamon. My brain was having trouble processing anything but that.

"Oui. Vos yeux de caramel sont renversants." Yes. Your caramel eyes are astounding.

"Merci. Je jamais n'ai été complimenté tellement considérablement." Thank you. I've never been complimented so greatly.

His brow furrowed slightly, as if he were confused, and I wondered if I had messed up the translation.

"Vous n'avez pas? Mais c'est absurde! Vous êtes l'une des filles les plus belles que j'ai eu le plaisir de la réunion! Quel est votre nom, ange?"

At the time, all I could think was - I could not have heard that right.

I could have sworn he just said: You haven't? But that's absurd! You are one of the most beautiful girls I've had the pleasure of meeting! What's your name, angel?

Which could not be right, I thought. But I decided to humor him, anyway.

"Mon nom est Hermione Granger. J'habite à Londres. Quel est votre nom?" My name is Hermione Granger. I live in London. What's your name?

"Ah, Hermione. Un beau nom pour une belle fille. Mon nom est Noel Larmont. C'est un grand plaisir de vous rencontrer." Ah, Hermione. A beautiful name for a beautiful girl. My name is Noel Larmont. It's a great pleasure to meet you.

My face must have been the color of a tomato, and it got even redder as he bent and gently kissed my hand. Ooh, the butterflies in my stomach. But that just made Noel smile at me even more.

"C'est très mignon, Hermione. Vous êtes la couleur d'une rose." That is very sweet, Hermione. You are the color of a rose.

I'm a rose. Not a tomato. A rose. A shy grin spread across my face, and he smiled back, more confidently.

"Ah, mais toi être beaucoup plus belle qu'une rose, Hermione." Ah, but you are much more beautiful than a rose, Hermione.

I felt so happy, so flattered, that this perfect teenage boy who could probably get any girl in all of Paris, was bothering with me. Was complimenting me on my appearance. That was a new experience. So I went along with it, and flirted back. Hey, those flirting skills were put to good use later on in life!

"Vous êtes très beau aussi bien, Noel." You are very handsome as well, Noel.

"Merci beaucoup. C'est une éloge élevée de toi. Je suis désolé si je suis fouineur, est-ce que mais je dois te demander - y a-t-il des hommes dans votre vie?" Thank you very much. That is a high praise, coming from you. I'm sorry if I'm being nosy, but I must ask you - are there men in your life?

Hmm, hard question. Of course there were men in my life. Harry and Ron were my life. But I wasn't quite sure he meant male friends, so I improvised.

"Non, je suis très seul, réellement." No, I am very lonely, really.

He grinned like a wolf, and that was about the time my parents came around. That was pretty awkward. I motioned that Noel should leave, and he did. Now, I never did see that boy again, but his importance isn't why I included this snippet in this story.

The reason this encounter is in here is because Noel made me feel special, pretty, more than just bushy hair and brains. He gave me confidence in myself, and that was extremely important to me. So thank you, Noel, wherever you are.

a/n; so yeah. the next chapter (the rest of the vacation and getting to diagon alley) SHOULD be up quicker than this one was :D