Looking back, the first time he realized she would never change was when he ran into her on a beach in Normandy.

The weather was foul and he didn't expect anyone else on the storm-rattled coast. The night sky, darker than normal because of the clouds and very few stars showing through, stretched above. Temperatures forced both of them to cover all but slits for their eyes. Watching the cloaked figure warily, he chose to ignore the storm-chaser and continue collecting the glowing shells washed up by the swells. That is, until he realized the other was leaning over and collecting them as well. The chance they knew them as more than a few pretty creatures was slim to none and he took great offense to how many more they had collected than him.

Even with great stretches of sand in either direction there were only so many to gather up each storm, so inevitably the two met in the middle.

"Great day for hunting, yes?"

The French babbled beneath a tightly wrapped headscarf made him narrow his eyes. He couldn't make out any feature of the person beneath except that they were shorter and had brown eyes that were far too cheerful.

"Indeed," he replied, also in French. He hefted his bag over his other shoulder, the strap digging into the scars along his neckline. "May I ask what you plan to do with those?"

When his gloved hand gestured to her weighted leather satchel the woman, at least he assumed it was a woman, looked down as if she didn't know what he was on about. A tilt to her head followed and the unease in his stomach increased. Too many small scratches were hitting his memory with this figure. "I'm returning them to the sea, it's awful how witches and wizards treat these poor things. They aren't even useful potions ingredients or anything."

And it clicked. The bleeding heart Gryffindor Princess. Could he ever be rid of ruddy Gryffindors in his life?

"And you?" Hermione said, pointing to his bag as well, her finger a bit more accusatory.

He didn't think she caught on to who he was yet. So he instead said nothing and turned towards the sea with a pointed march. The crunch of the sand, dry grass, and rocks behind him as he walked towards the angry waves made him roll his eyes.


prompt from: itisariddle