A/N- Hey guys, Nikki here.  Just letting you all know that this fic is co-written by my friend and me.  She's Momoko775- AKA Penniless Poetess (and if you haven't noticed, I'm nikkime- AKA Nikki Weasley).  She's the Moulin Rouge junky; I'm the Harry Potter (and Lord of the Rings, kind of) junky.  She's posting this on the Moulin Rouge section too.  I'm writing chapter one, then her, and you get the idea.  Enjoy!

Disclaimer- I don't own Harry Potter or any other characters.  I don't own Satine, Christian or any of THOSE characters.  I don't own Lord of the Rings or characters therein.  I don't own anything except for the plot!  It's Poetess you gotta watch out for… (haha)

The Fellowship of the Harry Rouge

Chapter One: 



"Harry! Get down here, it's time to go!" Hermione's impatient voice drifted up the stairs.

Harry rolled his eyes and grabbed his heavy trunk to lug down the stairs, wishing it were lighter and mumbling about how he wished he could use magic in the summer.

By the time he stepped of the last stair and into the Weasley's kitchen, Ron and Hermione were waiting for him, all ready to go. Hermione held in her hand the floo powder that they would need, as none of them had passed their apparation test yet.

"About time you showed up," Ron teased. "We thought you'd changed your mind about coming. We were just about to go France without you!"

"Haha, funny, Ron. I'm here now! Let's go then, shall we?" Harry reached for some floo powder and threw it into the fireplace. The flames immediately glowed bright green, and the three of them stepped in.

Harry and Hermione screamed, but Ron, at that moment sneezed because of the ashes. They all began to spin faster and faster, and then after a few minutes, they abruptly landed in a tiny fireplace.

"Hmm," Ron murmured, inspecting their quarters. "I'm so glad that sneezing didn't throw everything off; this is just where we should be!" His eyes darted toward a counter with a bowl of fruit and he skipped over toward it and grabbed an apple. The fruit dangling just moments from his teeth, he noticed he was not alone in the room.

The scowling Argentinean, with thick black hair and a moustache, rose from a crumbling chair and standing more than six feet tall.

"Vhat are you doing in Toulouse's studio?!" he yelled with a heavy accent.

Ron ran away from the man who was towering over him, and cowered behind Hermione.

"Well, we just…" Harry started.

"Geet out!" he roared. "Or else I'll call the…" He stopped in the middle of his sentence, his eyes crossing. He froze in motion and fell to the floor face first.

Harry and his friends held their breath as they watched in horror.

"Ron, look what you did!" Hermione screeched, her eyes wide. "You k-k-k-k-k- …"

"You killed him!" Harry yelled, finishing Hermione's sentence.

Ron's mouth hung open. "Me?!"

Hermione nodded. "Yes! You scared him to d-d-d-d-d-"

"Death!" Harry finished.

"You think HE was the one scared to death?!" Ron exclaimed. "Why would he be afraid of me? I was the one who was scared!"

"Yes, but you're not the one lying face down in the middle of the room!" Hermione yelled.

Ron gave Hermione an exasperated look. "Well... ok... maybe you're right... but now what do we do?" he asked her.

" 'We'? Excuse me, but I was not the one-"

Harry silenced her with his hand on her mouth. "He mentioned someone named 'Toulouse', right?" His friends nodded in agreement.

"What if he's bigger than that guy?" Ron wondered out loud. "And what if he's meaner and angrier? What if he wants to take vengeance out on anyone who dares to mess with his friend, be it some kids who are just out to spend their summer vacation in France while they're away from their magical high school in England and would beat us up on the spot and k-k-k-k-k-"

"Well I don't know about you, but I don't want to stick around to see this 'Toulouse."

And so they dash out of the large, cluttered studio and step out on the rain-drizzled pavement.

Hermione raised her hand. "What is that?"

A bright, red lit windmill stood in front of them, turning. Dance music blared and echoed from inside.

Harry squinted to see the words under the windmill. "Moulin… Rouge," he read. "Wait, isn't that…"

Ron's eyes grew wide and his limbs slumped. "The dirtiest night club in France," he breathed, drooling. "Women… the can-can… booze…" He jumped up with the enthusiasm of a newborn puppy. "Can we go? Please? Come on, guys, can we go?"

Hermione shook her head with a sigh. "Guys are so stupid," she muttered under her breath.

Ron glared at her, and then turned his attention back to Harry. "There are lots of people in there! Toulouse won't find us in there!"

"Well…" Harry started to say, but before he could say more Ron clicked his heals together and ran toward the windmill.