After a long stint of life events that left me MIA, I am back. I am starting this new fic as a creative writing project to help me stir up some creativity as I work to finish my other piece. I apologize to any readers that were expecting a new chapter for my other story and instead have come to find I'm starting this. Please know that I am trying to work through it. I have had some major writer's block and I needed the opportunity to free up my mind so that I can continue.

I am writing this to challenge myself as a writer in the hopes that something good will come of it. So please bare with me. I have no plans for this piece, unlike my other piece that has become so wildly complex in its storyline. Every chapter I write for this will simply be a metaphorical pen to the metaphorical paper. I know just as much as the reader does in regards to where this story is headed. I am open to ideas and plotlines if any suggestions should arise. But overall, we are going through this adventure together.

Also, I tend to get very wordy in my writing. I don't want this piece to be that way. So someone please stop me if a chapter gets too wordy and I start wondering off track.

Notes: This fic is written under the assumption that Hermione graduated from Hogwarts and Fleur never came to Hogwarts for the triwizard tournament. Fleur also never married Bill Weasley and was basically non-existant in the time Hermione attended Hogwarts. All other aspects of the stories remain true, only Fleur's role in the original story should be replaced by some other woman who Bill married and who tended to the trio at Shell cottage. Fleur is a complete stranger for the sake if this story. I apologize in advance for changing the original plot line so drastically. I was just trying not to write the same plotlines that keeps dominating the fanfics written for this pairing. I had to change some stuff up in order to accomplish that. Also, feel free to correct my French. Translations will be listed at the end of each chapter.

Disclaimer: It's not mine. I don't make any money doing it.

Chapter 1

The train roared on. Currently on its way to Paris. The ultimate destination, Versailles.

Hermione Granger was aboard this train on her way to a convention. She was in her last year of her residency at St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. Her attending healer had sent her on a trip to a convention being held in Versailles; thinking it would help her to network more with the mediwitch and mediwizard community as her residency was quickly coming to an end.

She very well could have apparated or flown on her broom or perhaps even travelled via floo powder; not to mention there was a portkey specifically enchanted for travel to and from the convention. However, she settled for a muggle train ride out of London. Most muggle-born witches and wizards would have only chosen to take the train over some other magical form of transportation for the sentimentality or to feel the familiarity of the connection they have with a part muggle life. This, however, was not the reason Hermione chose to take the train.

Hermione loved to read. A muggle train ride from London to Versailles took roughly 3 hours and 30 minutes. Which afforded Hermione 3 hours and 30 minutes of quality reading time. And it was for this simple reason she often chose the longer more arduous route when traveling to any set destination. Luckily, muggles were masters at making everything about their day-to-day lifestyles as difficult and chastening as possible-including their commutes. She would have been grateful to muggles, in that moment, had she not been so enraptured in a new book recommended highly by one of her fellow residents at St. Mungo's.

But that is not the only reason she opted to take the train. If Hermione Granger were completely honest, she would willingly admit to not being overall enthused about the convention she was headed to. It was one of the last things she needed in order to complete her residency in pursuance of her Healer certification. That was the only significance it really held. Just another boring, stuffy convention full of witches and wizards who believed that their methods were superior to their fellow colleagues'. Nothing she hadn't heard before. Nothing she hadn't studied before. Merely a requirement placed upon her by her attending healer-of whom probably sent her in his place because he himself did not want to attend.

And if she were being even more honest, healing wasn't necessarily the profession she had originally anticipated going in to when first making her way into the wizarding workforce. Her muggle parents were both in the medical field. And while magical medicine and muggle medicine are vastly different in comparison, they still had some expectation that their daughter also practice, one way or another, in the medical field. That's not to say they pushed her to be where she is today. In a way that was as natural as these things can be, their influence served more as a guide for Hermione to follow in their career-based footsteps. She was very much capable of making her own decision as soon as she came of age. That's also not to say that she wasn't satisfied with the career choice she made. She had spent a lot of time deciding what she wanted to do after her tenure at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. It was the hardest decision she'd ever had to make, as Hermione was very indecisive when it came to what it was she truly wanted to do. For the most part she knew that she wanted to do something that would have an impact. That would help people and leave a unique imprint on both the wizarding and muggle worlds respectively. She settled for the medical field after recognizing the weight of her parents expectations and desires for her future. That, and she had been running out of time to make her decision. It was the most logical choice.

So not only did the train give her 3 hours and 30 minutes of quality reading time, it also spared her 3 hours and 30 minutes of time spent at that boring, stuffy convention about things that didn't truly peak her utmost interest. For now, she didn't think too much into it. She just sat and enjoyed what little time she had to herself after having spent months running around a hospital and tending to every patient's needs.

The train came to a halt. Stopping in Paris between London and Versailles. She looked up momentarily if only to verify that she hadn't yet reached the terminus. Noticing that she hadn't missed her stop, she turned her nose back down to her book and continued reading; flipping through casually as she finished a page. Her brows were turned down in concentration.

The doors to the train opened, screeching in pain from their overuse and lack of care. Jostling footsteps echoed through the train car; the final signal that people were boarding and deboarding at a regular interval.

Unexpectedly, a hand slapped against the wall next to one of the doors on the farthest side of the train cart. The sound startled Hermione enough to procure her unwavering attention. The hand belonged to a young woman who was gasping for breath as if she had been running for miles, frantically calling out to everyone on the train, "Quelqu'un ici est-il un docteur? Est-ce que quelqu'un ici est médecin? n'importe qui?"

Hermione's first thought upon seeing the overwrought young French woman was that she was absolutely breathtakingly beautiful. The kind of person you see in a magazine or in a position of power that constantly commands attention in one form or another. Her blond hair hung loosely around her shoulders; feathery in its graceful prominence. Her crystal blue eyes piercing as they made contact with each and every passenger on the train as she continued asking in a panic that built every moment that passed without a response, "Quelqu'un ici est-il un docteur?"

The french woman came down the row asking this same question to each person. She received no response nor so much as the slightest acknowledgement to her pleas. When the blond woman finally got to Hermione, shock reverberated throughout the brunette's body at having been at the very direct receiving end of the authoritative glint hidden in those eyes. They invoked feelings in Hermione that she didn't think appropriate to feel for a complete stranger such as loyalty and compliance and an affection that was far too intense for someone she hadn't even officially met yet.

The young French woman asked the soon-to-be-mediwitch very pointedly, "Etes-vous un docteur?"

Hermione could only stare at the young woman rather dumbfoundedly. Her knowledge of French was limited to simple key phrases such as 'where is the bathroom' and 'I'm hungry.' With context clues, she could only guess that the young woman was saying something in regard to a Doctor. And the way in which she spoke indicated it was a question; and she expected an answer.

Hermione's head shook back and forth of its own accord. Her mouth hung open as if to say something but she became so overwhelmed with this newfound muteness, she found she was unable to produce any intelligible words. She maintained eye contact with the blonde and shrugged, unsure of how else to respond given the obvious language barrier. Noticing the brunette's confusion and what seemed to be her desire to want to help, the young woman tried once more, "Parlez-vous français?"

Hermione understood this question and responded, not at all confident in her answer or ability to speak the foreign language, "Un peu?"

"Do you speak anglais?" The French woman questioned, this time in English, stepping closer to the brunette as she spoke.

The brunette took a deep breath to calm her rapid firing nerves.

"Yes, I speak English," Hermione replied. Her shoulders dropped, releasing the tension held there. She was relieved that she no longer had to guess what the woman was saying, so that she might actually have any hope at helping her. Because Hermione had the strong urge to help this woman in any way she could and at any cost.

"Are you a docteure?" The woman questioned.

Hermione didn't hesitate to respond, "Yes."

This hadn't been entirely true. She was still in the process of getting her medical license. Not that the young woman before her would mind one way or another given her visibly outward display of exigency. Hermione conceded that this fact was neither here nor there and stood firmly by her previous, most impulsive response; even if it went against her better judgement.

"S'il vous plaît, you must come wiz me. I am in desperate need of your 'elp," the young blond said so suddenly it almost startled Hermione. And though it was still unnerved, the woman's French accent floated airily around the English girl's head making her feel equally as light as the words that were spoken so gracefully to her.

There was, though, a noticeable lack of inquiry in the French woman's tone. And it was amusing to Hermione that this young woman thought that, just by giving her a simple order, she would get what she wanted. It was even more amusing to Hermione that she found herself packing up her things and following the blond woman off the train so easily; no questions asked.

The blue-eyed beauty held tightly to the brunette's hand dragging her out into the darkened evening away from the train station. The hand holding Hermione's was hot and clammy. Which the English witch found odd because it was the middle of a colder-than-usual winter in northern France. A sure sign of her distress, Hermione thought to herself. Not to mention the French woman was wearing a short sundress and a jacket that hardly counted as a winter coat. She had to be freezing. The oddity of which successfully distracted the future healer longer than it truly should have.

"Where are we going?" The brunette questioned after she had finally had enough of being dragged-albeit willingly-through the streets of Paris. She was almost out of breath from how quickly they had been walking.

The young French woman did not respond. Hermione figured she would try again, "Where are we going?" She questioned a little more forcefully. Though she couldn't find it in herself to pull herself away physically from her captor. She could have if she had wanted to. The blue-eyed beauty was not gripping her hand that tightly. It was more a question of will she. The needed conviction for such a feet was lost on her.

Suddenly, the blond stopped abruptly and turned to face Hermione. Their faces were so close, the English witch could feel the warm puffs of air from the woman's rapid breathing lightly patting her cheek.

They were in a dark alleyway. There was no sign of muggle, wizard, or magical creature life. Hermione's heart began to beat faster. Panic started to well inside her at the thought of being dragged to a dark, scary alleyway alone with a person she did not know. The young woman pulled Hermione closer to her. Her arms wrapped delicately around the shorter girl's waist. Their bodies instantly came together and touched. As soon as the panic had settled, it was gone. Or at the very least it was calmed to a point where she did not feel likely to act upon it. She did not think too much of it. After all, her unbound curiosity was infamously known to guide her in the many adventures she'd experienced thus far in her life. It would not be a surprise for it to guide her in this new adventure of which she knew she was about to partake as well. She was not a weak person. She could handle herself if something didn't happen in a way that was agreeable to her.

"'Old onto me," the blond ordered softly. Each word lightly tickled at Hermione's cheek. "Do not let go," the blond continued.

Before Hermione could even so much as think her next thought, everything went black. In the next instant, they were standing in a hallway outside a bedroom in what appeared to be a grandiose apartment. The brunette's stomach flipped. She felt dizzy and as if she were about to lose herself all over the floor of their newest destination. Hermione shook her head and steadied herself. After the effects began to slowly wear off, she recognized what had just happened. There was only one explanation. They had apparated; disappeared from some alleyway in Paris and reappeared to Merlin only knows where. And it was the strange French woman that had cast the spell that brought them there.

Hermione's eyes grew wide. This was not a regular woman. This was a witch. A witch that she did not know in a world still full of war and hardships. A world with groups of witches, wizards, and creatures that were highly opposed to the outcome of those wars. And she herself was a renowned fighter—a leader—in those numerous wars against numerous terroristic groups in the wizarding world. She knew far better than to trust anyone. Hermione Granger would not die today. She would not die until she was good and ready to. She clutched tightly to her bag, ready to move for her wand if necessary. The blond noticed the English Witch's discomfort and suspicion at the revelation of her magical ability.

"You are a witch, non?" She questioned hushedly. One finely shaped eyebrow arched high on her forehead. She already knew the answer to the question. Hermione relaxed only slightly under the blond's strong gaze. She knew that if the blond had wanted her dead she would have killed her already, having had multiple opportunities to do so. This knowledge alone was enough to calm her fears but not enough to quell her salacious curiosity.

"Well, yes-I-I mean, I am... but I-I don't know how you would even know-" The French witch did not let her finish her ramblings. She was much too concerned with the task at hand.

"Come," she spoke. Pulling Hermione by the hand once more. And once more, the brunette easily followed without question.

The door to a room at the end of the hallway opened and they walked in. Just as soon as they had entered the room, the door snapped back shut behind them. Hermione looked back at it quizzically, not expecting it to do that. Forgetting, momentarily, that this kind of thing happened in a wizarding household all the time for a number of different reasons; this was most likely an enchantment or something to that effect.

"Gabrielle? C'est moi. Je suis là. J'ai amené quelqu'un pour t'aider," the french witch spoke softly to a lump of sheets that was practically lifeless on the bed.

After a few silent moments, when the blond realized that she wasn't going to get a response from the lump, she turned to Hermione. Worry was strewn across her pretty features.

"Can you 'elp 'er?" She asked. When Hermione didn't respond immediately, the blond continued, "Please, 'elp 'er."

Instantly, Hermione's medical instincts kicked in. She rushed to the bedside of the girl known as Gabrielle. She instinctively went through every medical procedure she knew: 1) checking the girl's pulse for a heartbeat, 2) checking the girl's head for a fever, 3) testing reflexes, 4) checking response times in the girl's eyes. When all of these completed procedures signified that the girl was still alive and that there was still hope for her recovery, Hermione turned to the blue-eyed beauty quickly.

"I can help her. But I need to know what happened," Hermione spoke hurriedly yet firmly, knowing that time was in short supply, "Every detail of what happened."

The French witch, understanding the direness of the situation, cupped a hand to Gabrielle's forehead, watching the sickly girl intently as she spoke to Hermione, "We were in a dual. A spell was misfired at Gabrielle and sent 'er flying into a metal shard. I removed zee shard and apparated 'ere. I tried to 'eal 'er myself but she 'as not gotten any better. Zen, when I noticed zat she was getting worse, zat is when I apparated to zee train station and found you." The French woman did very well remaining calm as she explained the story in the presence of a companion she badly wished to save.

Hermione, however, was not as calm. The adrenaline had kicked in and she knew she needed to act fast.

"How long has she been like this?" The brunette asked.

"I am..not sure. A few 'ours perhaps," the blond responded willing to give any information she could that might serve to help Gabrielle.

Hermione knew what she needed to do.

"I'm going to have to cut into your friend and perform surgery," she said very resolutely to the blond, determined to maintain eye contact as if doing so would transfer the gravity of the situation between them, "I suspect that when you removed the shard from her body, you may have done so in a way that punctured an internal organ and is now causing it to fail; and I don't have the proper potions or medical equipment with me to be able to take care of her in the way she needs. So I'm going to have to cut her open and heal her myself."

The French woman nodded in approval of Hermione's words, granting full sanction to whatever the English witch wished to happen as long as it would save Gabrielle. She had tried to save Garbielle and she had failed. She understood the direness of this situation and did not want to do anything to get in Hermione's way.

The English witch grabbed her wand from her bag and removed the covers from the sick girl's body almost in one smooth motion, as if this were an art of hers practiced once too many times over. It wasn't difficult to find the area that she needed to cut into. Blood soaked the sheets and the clothing that Gabrielle was wearing in the spot where the wound had been inflicted even if the wound itself was no longer there.

Hermione took a steadying breath. First, she cast a spell to cut through the girl's shirt. Then, she used a different spell to cut into where the wound had been inflicted on the girl's body. Gabrielle gasped in pain, the only visible sign that she was living and still responsive.

"Gabrielle!" The French witch called out to her companion. She held the sick girl's face gently in her hands as she turned to Hermione, "Please, is there anyzing you can do so zat she will not feel zee pain?"

"There is no time. I have to do this now or she might not make it," Hermione said firmly, so that the french witch would understand that Gabrielle's pain was secondary to her living.

The blond did not object any further. Against her better judgement, she trusted that Hermione would do everything within her power to help the girl. The brunette witch had that countenance about her that strongly indicated her will was good and her intentions fair. The blond knew she was useless in this aspect. She had nothing more to contribute and in some ways had further escalated Gabrielle's fragile condition. She continued to whisper French nothings into Gabrielle's ears; a last ditch effort to sooth her in her time of pain.

Hermione didn't waste anymore time. She plunged her hand into the open wound that she had created. She did her best to block out the sounds of French mutterings and the cries of pain that ensued. And instead she focused her magic on finding the damaged organ inside the girl. Her eyes were furrowed in concentration. An old familiar feeling danced around the back of her mind behind her closed eyes. She had previously compared the sensation to what she could only imagine echolocation felt like. Her magic being the waves that bounced off each surface in the girl's body lending her a new sense of sight she would not have been able to have otherwise. After a moment more of probing, she finally found the offending organ and gripped it in her hand. She then began to chant a healing spell she learned from watching madame pomphrey late in her fourth year at Hogwarts. After only seeing it performed a handful of times, she had remembered it and practiced it over and over until it became almost second nature to her. She had thought it would be useful to know back in those days when Harry, Ron, and herself were always having misadventures and coming home broken or wounded. She had wanted to prevent them from going to the old woman so often. Luckily it wasn't an incantation easily forgotten.

Once she felt the organ was fully healed, she immediately removed her hand from Gabrielle's body and magically sutured the wound back together. Then she went to her bag and dug around for one potion she knew she had. She had learned to craft something only relatively similar in theory during her residency and had been improving upon the formula. It was a potion that would restore the rate at which blood cells regenerated. This made blood coagulate faster so that there wouldn't be a need for a transfusion. The patient was able to regenerate their own blood at a faster rate than normal on their own. She had planned to show it off at the convention-her first true contribution to the medical world.

Once she found the potion in her bag, she brought it over to Gabrielle's frail, chapped lips.

"I need you to help me give her this potion," Hermione said to the French witch. The blond complied and gently attempted to open the girl's mouth.

The brunette slowly poured the potion down Gabrielle's throat, being careful not to drown her or make her any more uncomfortable than she already was. Hermione only gave her half of the potion, estimating that anymore than that could cause complications. She didn't want the girl's blood overproducing. It was better to give her less and monitor her recovery over time in small doses.

After the potion was given, they all fell into a very deep, comfortable silence. Gabrielle had fallen asleep due to overexertion of what little energy she had left. But she was still very much alive and stabilizing at a much better rate than in the state when Hermione had first found her. This was more than good for the time being as far as the brunette was concerned. She couldn't, however, speak on behalf of her blond counterpart. Who still seemed just as worried as when she captured Hermione on the train and brought her here. The French witch remained hunched over the recuperating girl. Nimble fingers idly played with the girl's hair. A slight frown seemed to be permanently plastered to the woman's lips as if she never intended to smile again. Not that Hermione had even seen her smile. At this point she had seen so much discontent in the blond's features she couldn't even picture what the woman's smile might even look like if she did. The brunette started to lift her hand as if she could offer the blond comfort through something as simple as a gentle hand to the shoulder. But quickly rethought the gesture and sat back in her chair, running a shaky, tired hand through her hair.

Both women patiently waited Gabrielle's recovery. Once again, the blond witch stared at the healing girl as she spoke to Hermione, not willing to take her eyes off Gabrielle for even a moment as if that aided the healing process, "Zank you."

There was not more that Hermione felt that she could say other than a quiet but sincere, "You're most welcome."

Translations:

1) Quelqu'un ici est-il un docteur? Est-ce que quelqu'un ici est médecin? n'importe qui? - Is anyone here a doctor? Is anyone here a doctor? Anybody.

2) Etes-vous un docteur? -Are you a doctor?

3) Parlez-vous français - Do you speak French?

4) Un peu - A little

5) C'est moi. Je suis isi. J'ai amené quelqu'un pour t'aider - It's me. I'm here. I've brought someone to help you.