Disclaimer: As always, copyright's belong to J.K. Rowling, etc, etc. Marigold, Pierre and Glin belong to me.

Author's note: Well, I've asked some people if they'd like to summarize this story (the current summary is a little shabby) If you'd like to submit a summary, please e-mail it to mlpmama@yahoo.com , or write it in your review of this chapter (hint, hint, wink, wink, nudge, nudge.) Additionally, if you'd like to appear in a cameo in this story, please e-mail me with a character name, physical description, and some background. Thanks,

~The Glitterpixie





Harry was in the den, almost asleep on the couch with a quilt pulled over his shoulders, when he heard the front door open. Crookshanks looked up from his favorite napping place, Harry's leather armchair. The cat stretched, yawned, then padded into the kitchen to greet Hermione. Harry thought about getting up for a moment before he surrendered to the warm comfort of the quilt.

It had rained that day, but quidditch practice had gone on anyway. They were professionals after all, and they had needed the practice. He'd been caught on the cheek by a stray bludger, and had been suffering from a pounding headache ever since. Because the bludger could have been easily avoided, he hadn't told anyone how badly it hurt, and the injury had gone untreated. By the time he'd reached home, he couldn't concentrate enough to heal it himself. He'd changed into dry clothing, and settled down on the couch to take a nap.

He'd almost fallen asleep again when a very fuzzy Hermione wobbled into view. "Harry? What happened to your face?" She said with concern in her voice.

"Stray bludger, headache," he murmured.

Hermione sighed in exasperation. "Oh honestly. What the hell are Thurgood and Harmon playing at? They're the beaters for Pete's sake! They're supposed to be handling the blasted things!"

Harry sat up very slowly. "Wasn't their fault. I was thinking about costumes."

"We'll just completely ignore that and pretend you've just said something very manly about thrashing people and swilling things."

"I didn't mean it all swishy. They were cool costumes. I could be Bond, and you could be a Bond girl..."

"Let me have a look at your eyes."

"At least think about being a Bond girl."

"Let me look."

Harry acquiesced, and Hermione looked at his pupils. They were slightly dilated as she had expected. "It's a mild concussion. Lay down and let me fix it."

"Promise you'll be a Bond girl," Harry demanded.

"I'm not sure if you're getting the concept of me healing you. You've evidently been hit much harder than I thought. You see, Potter, I'm doing you a favor," Hermione said condescendingly. "If you don't want me to heal you, that's fine. I won't."

"All right. I'll just lay here on the couch and take a nap."

"You can't take a nap, you have a head injury," Hermione said in disbelief.

"I guess I'll just have to chance it," Harry said as he yawned theatrically. "I'm sooo tired."

"Let me fix it."

"Bond girl."

"Fine. But I'm not going to be one of the ones with the creepy names." Hermione went to work, first by manually washing the injured side of Harry's face, then by magically soothing the bruise and the headache with a reparo charm modified to include a swelling-specific reducto charm. She finished the repair job by kissing his cheek lightly and smoothing his messy hair away from his face. "Still tired?"

"Mhmm."

"Tragic. You'd promised Ron you'd meet him for dinner, and you know how rarely he's in town."

"I'm sick," Harry whined. "I've been running myself ragged today."

"The only thing you're sick with is a near fatal case of the pathetics." Hermione said unsympathetically. "Now go put your dress robes, we're going to Chez Maurice."

"I hate French..."

"You're being terribly whiny about seeing someone who is more important to you than I am. And I only made the reservations there because I'm making a friendly overture towards Fleur, even though I think she's a hussy."

"Are you still on about that? It was over ten years ago. Things change. Plus, they needed to have someone at the bottom of the lake for Krum. Maybe it was process of elimination. Maybe they figured that Krum shouldn't have been all left out just because he didn't have any friends."

"Or so you maintain, Double-O-Justification," Hermione said. "I don't really mind all that much, as long as you promise not to have any wild affairs with Ron."

"Done and done." Harry sighed and stood. "Let's beg off early tonight. My muscle's are all cramped and I need a backrub and an early night."

"I can almost guarantee the backrub, but not the early night if you go get dressed right now and stop whining. And if you aren't all catty to Fleur."

"I think that's really more of a female reaction."

"Right. Well then, try to control me a little bit more."





The couple arrived at Chez Maurice to find Ron standing in the busy entryway. He was pressed against the wall by rest of the crowd, who were being told by the excessively snooty Maitre 'D that they needed to quiet down so that their patrons would not be disturbed. Hermione and Harry navigated their way through the crowd to Ron.

"Is Fleur in the bathroom, or has she had a tantrum or something?" Hermione said pleasantly as Harry elbowed her.

"Nah, I've broken up with her."

"Oh, that's too bad," Hermione said sympathetically.

"Not really. I've ditched her for good this time. She was beginning to bore me. So you can be catty about her now if you like."

"She wasn't good enough for you," Hermione said. "That was the only reason I was catty about her."

"Let's not waste time talking about her. I'm hungry. Go talk to the Maitre 'D. He wouldn't let me in earlier."

Hermione led the way through the masses of people this time. The Maitre 'D smiled when he saw her.

"Mademoiselle Granger! You are here for your seven-o-clock reservation? Bon. Luc! Ici! Mademoiselle Granger's party of four is ready to dine." A waiter appeared from thin air beside the Maitre 'D, and grabbed four velvet covered menus from behind the reservations podium.

"Actually, Louis, we've had a cancellation. It'll only be the three of us tonight."

"Luc, put the menus away, maintenant! Mademoiselle Granger, I do not understand," he looked at her in condescension. "This is Chez Maurice, the premiere French restaurant in England. When we make reservations at Chez Maurice for four, four of us show up, not three, or we do not eat at Chez Maurice, comprendez Mademoiselle?"

"Oui, Louis. I'll find us an appropriate fourth as soon as I can."

"Bon Mademoiselle. It is five to seven now. I suggest we find our fourth quickly before I must give our table to someone less deserving."

Hermione led the trio outside to the sidewalk.

"Let's just have Italian," Harry suggested.

"Forget it, Harry. Louis has a memory like a steel trap. We wouldn't want to be black-balled. We wouldn't be able to eat anywhere in the city."

"Isn't she being a little dramatic?" Ron asked Harry.

"I'd appreciate it if you addressed me when you were asking a question of me, Ronald."

At Ron's rolling of the eyes, Harry cut in to the argument. "I'd back off Ron. She knows 10 ways to kill you using only her pinkie toe."

"I think your being facetious. He's being facetious, isn't he, Herm?" When Hermione's reaction was less than favorable, he changed the conversation topic. "So, what singletons do you know?"

Hermione thought for a moment before her eyes lit up. She smiled wickedly. "Be back with our fourth in a moment boys."

She shimmered out of view, and Ron looked at Harry worriedly. "That wasn't by chance her 'I'm setting Ron up with a beautiful model' look, was it?"

"It was more her 'I'm going to get him' look. Sorry Ron." He clapped his friend on the back.

Minutes later, Hermione was back. "She'll be here in just a moment. She was dancing around the apartment and had to put some clothes on," Hermione said in explanation.

"Who, exactly?" Ron asked. "And why did she need to change clothes? Was she in her pajamas or something?"

"Glin," Hermione said matter-of-factly. "And no, she wasn't in her pajamas."

Glin appeared beside Hermione then, dressed rather tamely in sparkly purple robes cut low across her chest. "What are we talking about, and who wasn't in her pajama's?"

"Yours. Ron asked if you had to change out of your pajamas," Harry provided helpfully.

As Hermione led the group back inside, Glin linked her arm companionably with Ron's. "Actually, Hermione was wrong. I sleep in the nude, too."

Ron blinked and swallowed convulsively.

Glin gave a smile of pure, female satisfaction, before bouncing forward to stand next to Hermione. "Bonjour Louis!"

"Bonjour Mademoiselle Glin. Comment Cava?"

"Tres bien."

"Bon, Mademoiselle Glin." The Maitre 'D barked out a command. "Luc! Quatre pour Mademoiselle Granger! Maintenant!"

The waiter again appeared out of nowhere and Ron, Hermione, and Harry began following him to the table. Glin waited behind a moment to whisper confidently to the Maitre 'D. "I still have it, don't I Louis?"

"Bien sur, Mademoiselle. Bien sur."