Chapter One

The bells of Norte Dame rang clear throughout the night. It was a strangely quiet night, only guards making their rounds now and then. The night was eerie but still beautiful in the streets of Paris. Heavy footfalls of the soldiers gave their positions away to the gypsies who used the night in their favour. A group of four gypsies were darting about the maze of streets this particular night, stealing food from the various bakeries and butchers.

It wasn't like they wanted to steal, they just had very little choice thanks to Judge Claude Frollo's persecution of any one who was different. The disgusted looks the gypsies would get from Parisians forced them to act. If they were lucky enough to gain some coins, there were very few people who were willing to sell to them, assuming they had stolen the money.

The four gypsies came to a stop, mere moments before a couple of guards passed by. Letting out a shaky breath, three of them turned towards the fourth, waiting for their orders. Clopin took a deep breath. They had stolen from this particular butcher so many times that the man had no idea why he was suddenly so nervous. Shaking his head firmly, he couldn't help but think of how the butcher had kicked a couple of gypsy kids earlier that day. Growling lowly at the thought, he gave the other three the signal.

Jumping on top of a roof, Clopin acted as the lookout. He had a strange feeling about that night, a feeling that he just couldn't shake. The three men he was with instantly broke into the butchers and took what they needed. Clopin had always been very strict about that, not what they want, just what they need. Flicking his gaze around the streets, the man kept his eye out for anything that could indicate that their task was about to be interrupted.

Watching carefully as his comrades left the shop to join him, Clopin front flipped off of the roof and landed before them. Exchanging nods, they took off towards their sanctuary; the Court of Miracles. Dashing through the maze of streets, Clopin almost wanted to laugh at how easy it was becoming to steal. However, his gut feeling had yet to leave him, so he held back. Eyeing the deserted roads, Clopin frowned before he turned to the others.

"Get back to the hide out. I'll follow in a bit, there's something I need to check."

His men exchanged confused looks but nodded, who were they to argue with their King? Clopin watched as they left. Sighing, he took his hat off and brushed his hair back before putting his hat back on. He loved his hat, it had been his father's once upon a time. He never went anywhere without it.

Shaking his head to clear the nostalgia, Clopin ducked and dived throughout the various paths, making sure to stay three steps ahead of the guards. Not that they noticed anything strange. Clopin snorted lightly, as if they were smart enough to notice anything strange about that night. Just as he was about to leave one alleyway he had hidden in, a glimpse of something caught his eye. Frowning, he slowly eased over to investigate.

It was a foot. A foot had caught Clopin's eye. Or what he assumed was a foot anyway. Not sure if he wanted to get involved in whatever had happened, he paused for only a moment before sighing. His curiosity always got the better of him. Stepping lightly, he looked down at what had captured his attention.

Turning the small corner, he was stumped by what he found. A young woman was lying on the ground, unconscious. At least, he hoped she was merely unconscious. Leaning over, he checked her pulse and let out a relieved sigh. It was there, not as strong as he had hoped for but there. Tilting his head in confusion, Clopin took in what the woman was wearing. Her clothing was strange to him. Strange, tight trousers gave him a view of some shapely legs whilst an equally strange tunic covered her torso. There was some kind of boots on her feet but they were cut off just below the ankle and were different to any pair of boots he had ever seen before.

Turning his attention to her face, Clopin blinked. She was beautiful. The light of the full moon shined on her face just right that he was stunned by her looks. She had wild, brown curls that, for some reason, he wanted to thread his hands in. She was quite pale though, perhaps she had been injured? Casting a quick glance, he couldn't see any injuries, before he looked back at her face.

She had a pair of plump, pale lips that Clopin figured would look a lot better once she was awake. Her nose was small and she had high cheekbones. He thought she was beautiful. A noise from behind him snapped his attention to it, to see what it was. Thankful that it was only a stray cat, Clopin made a decision that he hoped he wouldn't regret. Scooping up the young woman, he was stunned by how small and light she was but ignored it for now. A clatter by his feet drew his attention to the ground. There must have been something in the woman's hand. Bending down slightly, he picked up a long, wooden stick with vine markings etched into it. Clopin's eyes widened in fear. But not for himself, but for her if anyone were to find out.

The woman in his arms was a witch. An honest, genuine witch.

With his mind made up, Clopin carefully carried the woman towards the graveyard that hid the entrance to the Court of Miracles. The woman's wand in hand, he felt protective of her. Perhaps it was because he himself was a squib, his dear mother had been a witch, but he knew this woman needed help that she wasn't going to get from anyone other than gypsies. After all, the outcasts look after their own.

Wincing as the gate to the cemetery squeaked loud enough to echo through the grounds, Clopin hurried over to the correct tombstone and gently set the woman down so that she was leaning against it. Smiling softly at her, he brushed a strand of hair out of her face before he removed the large stone slab. Scooping her up once more, he made sure to slip in cautiously before setting her down long enough to replace the stone above them.

Picking her up, he couldn't help but notice again how light she was. Frowning, Clopin figured he had better get some food ready for when she woke up. Stepping into the sewage, he grimaced. No one ever got used to the foul water but since it gave them all cover, well, you don't look a gift horse in the mouth. He wondered what the others would think of this woman.

Clopin paused for a moment. There was no way he was going to out her as a witch, not even to his people. Paris is not a safe place for wizarding kind. Making a split decision, the tall man took a different route, one that would lead him directly behind his tent. He would keep the woman's presence a secret for now, but not for long.

Careful not to make any noise, the gypsy carried the woman through the catacombs with practiced ease. He had made a point of learning all the twists and turns when he was only thirteen years old. One never knew when it could save a life or two. It wasn't long after a sharp left turn that Clopin spotted a gate where the light was seeping through. They had arrived. Quietly easing the gate open, he ducked under the cloth of his tent and let out a relieved sigh when he found it empty.

Gently lying the woman down on his bed, he hesitated. He didn't know how to remove her clothing so that he could check for any wounds. Biting his lip, he looked at the small, silver tag on her tunic near her throat. Figuring it was worth a shot, he tried to move it. Luckily for him it did shift, it moved up and down. Encouraged by this, he removed the item of clothing to be greeted by an even tighter tunic with no sleeves. Puzzled, he shrugged it off, it was oddly cold for May so he couldn't fault her for wearing layers, even if they were strange.

He noticed the bandage on her arm immediately. Carefully removing it, he took a step back in horror at the sight. This poor girl was being discriminated in the wizarding world it seemed. He gently brushed his fingers over the derogatory word carved into her skin.

Mudblood.

He had heard that word before. His mother taught him all about the wizarding world before they realised that he was a squib. He remembered his mother telling him all about purebloods, half bloods and muggle borns. He knew mudblood was a disgusting slur for a muggle born. Looking up at the woman's face, Clopin couldn't help but really feel for her. She must have been through a lot, especially since he can now see how thin she was. Shaking his head, the gypsy gently cleaned her wound before wrapping it in a colourful piece of cloth he had lying around.

He wasn't sure if he wanted to continue to look for wounds but knew it would be best if he did. Taking a deep breath, he hoped he would be forgiven when he lifted the tunic up to just below her chest. Blushing lightly at the impressive set, he quickly shook his head and focused on his task. Only to gasp at the sight of the deep gash running across her torso. Gulping, Clopin mechanically cleaned what he could and wrapped it up as well before looking for any more injuries. He couldn't do anything about the slice on her neck, although he did growl loudly at the thought of someone trying to cut her throat.

Sighing heavily, Clopin knew he had done all he could since he couldn't find any more injuries. Casting the sleeping woman a quick glance, he ducked out of his tent in the hunt for some food. Many called out to him, waving back he tried to focus on his task. That was when he bumped into the three he had been with less than an hour before. They grinned at him before one stepped forward.

"Turns out we managed to get just a little over what we need, my King. We won't have to go back up for a little bit longer this time." Nodding slowly, Clopin patted him on the shoulder.

"Bien, c'est bien. What of the beer?" One of the other men stepped forward.

"We won't have to top that up for another week or so. Unless you plan to have another party, Clopin?" The question was a joke but Clopin pretended to think about it for a moment before laughing.

"Not any time soon, but who knows, mon amie?"

Laughing loudly, Clopin left them to whatever it was they were doing. He admittedly found himself distracted by the woman in his tent. Shaking his head, he gathered up some food and headed back to his tent. Seeing the woman was still asleep, he placed the food on the small table by his bed, in direct line of sight for her. Clopin was going to get her some water but considering the state it was in, decided against it. Pouring out a stein of ale, he placed it next to the food and plonked down on some cushions.

He was tempted to just wait for her to wake up and give her a playful scare but he had promised the kids earlier that day that he would have a new story for them when they came back the next day. Sighing, he grabbed his sewing and proceeded to make a new puppet. He ended up becoming so enthralled in what he was doing, he didn't notice the eyes opening or the groan that came from his bed.

Clopin was so focused on making his cat puppet that when the woman cleared her throat for his attention, he practically jumped out of his skin. Hand on his chest, he tried to calm his breathing before giving her a warm smile, the sight of her sitting up was good to see.

"You gave me a scare, mon cher.' Clopin then looked at her with concern sparkling in his eyes. 'How are you feeling?"

The woman stared at him in surprise as she took in everything around her. She even gave him a confused look when she looked at his clothing. All of a sudden, she began to panic. Patting her sides quickly, as though looking for something, Clopin could hear her breathing become erratic. Smacking his forehead with the palm of his hand, he realised what she was looking for.

"Come, mon cher. It's alright, I have it here."

Clopin pulled out her wand and handed it over to her. The woman all but snatched it from his hand and clutched it to her chest, sighing in relief. As her breathing calmed down, she blushed.

"I-I'm sorry." Her voice came out all croaked from the lack of use. Clopin pointed to the stein on the table.

"I'm afraid ale and beer is all we have. You really don't want to drink the water."

Clopin pulled a face, wanting desperately for the woman to laugh. Spotting a small smile on her lips before she drank was good enough for him, for now. How Clopin managed to remain silent as she drank, he didn't know. He was normally a chatterbox but this woman's presence had a calming effect on him. Frowning slightly, he was snapped from his thoughts as she spoke again.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to snatch this from you. C-can you tell me where I am?"

Clopin observed the woman as she refused to loosen her grip on her wand. He could see the spark of intellect behind her hazel orbs and knew that she was trying to assess the situation. He was surprised by the English accent though. Why would an English woman be so far from home? Clopin grinned at her.

"You're in Paris, mon cher. The city of love! What's brought you here, sorcière?"

The woman's eyes widened in fear and she made to move backwards on the bed, as though to get away from him. Smiling softly at her, Clopin moved forward towards the bed and knelt down in front of her, gently taking her hand in his.

"No one shall harm you here, chérie. You have the word of the Gypsy King. However, I do need to know some things."

The woman calmed down as she stared into his eyes, searching for something. Clopin assumed she found it since she slowly relaxed, although she did not remove her hand from his.

"What is it you want to know?" Clopin smiled charmingly.

"I would like your name first, chérie." The woman's lips twitched into a slight smile at the charismatic man.

"Hermione. My name is Hermione."

Clopin continued to smile although he had never heard a name like that. Perhaps it was an unused English name? Mentally shrugging, Clopin jumped up onto the bed and sat with his legs crossed as he looked at her, still not letting go of her hand. Hermione blushed quite prettily in his opinion.

"Beautiful. How is it you came to be unconscious in the streets of Paris, Hermione?"

Hermione brushed her hair out of her face with her spare hand as she blushed. Sighing, she shrugged her shoulders.

"I'm not sure, monsieur. All I really remember was running for my life with two of my friends and the next thing I know, I'm waking up here."

Clopin frowned for a minute. The way she spoke was different to the English people he had met before. Confused, he didn't understand the full implications of her presence until she asked a hesitant but simple question.

"What year is it, monsieur?"

Clopin blinked at her for a moment before fearful understanding flittered across his face. The strange clothes, the strange way she spoke, even the strange name. His mother once mentioned time travel but warned Clopin that it was not to be messed with. He also knew that one could only go back in time, not forward. Offering Hermione a small smile, he answered.

"It is May of 1481, mon cher."

Clopin carefully watched Hermione, worried that she may faint or hurt herself at the information. Her breathing did become uneven and she paled quite a bit but she gulped down her fear and looked him in the eye, showing the fire in her.

"I see. I must ask a favour then, monsieur.' Clopin raised his eyebrow and nodded for her to ask away. Hermione gulped again before she continued. 'Would you teach me how to fend for myself? I would like to look for a way back home but I fear I shall not find one."

Clopin sighed as he dragged a hand down his face. Looking her in the eye, he couldn't help but chuckle.

"Very well, mon cher. I shall teach you all I can. However, I believe it would be a good idea to put on some glamours and give you a new name. After all, 'He gave her a smirk. 'terrible things happen to wizards who mess with time."

Hermione sucked in a breath before she burst out laughing. It was a beautiful sound, but Clopin found himself drawn to her smile. It drew him in like a moth to a flame, he feared if he got too close, he would indeed end up burned. Laughing alongside her, Clopin tightened his grip on her hand as she relaxed.

"I've just realised, monsieur. You have not told me your name." Clopin grinned as he jumped from the bed and gave her an exaggerated bow, taking his hat off to do so.

"I am Clopin Trouillefou, King of the Gypsies. At your service, mademoiselle." Hermione giggled at the mad man. Shaking her head, she couldn't help but join in. Cautiously standing, she performed an unsteady curtsy, making Clopin move towards her just in case.

"I am Hermione Granger, in about five hundred years I'll be the brightest witch of my age."

Clopin stared at her, jaw dropped to the floor. He figured she had come back in time but didn't realise that it was from five hundred years into the future! He spotted Hermione blush embarrassedly as she sat back down. He quickly smiled at her.

"Well, Hermione. Like I said, I believe it would be a good idea to change your appearance and name. What shall we go for?' He was now talking to himself but saw that she was watching him with rapt fascination. 'I believe black hair would be a good start, perhaps tan your skin slightly. Hmm, not sure about the eyes."

Clopin watched as Hermione pointed her wand at herself. Turning her thick curls black and taming them somewhat before tanning her skin. Amazed, he blinked as she changed her eyes to a bright emerald green. She looked every bit of a gypsy. Grinning, Clopin nodded approvingly.

"Is this alright? I can change my accent too if that would be better?"

"Oui, mon cher. I believe that would be best." Digging in her pocket, Hermione pulled out a small, purple bag. Reaching inside, she pulled out a single golden hoop earring, waved her wand over it whilst muttering under her breath before putting it in.

"Okay, now what?"

Clopin blinked, Hermione's accent was gone. Chuckling, he urged Hermione to eat the food he had brought whilst he thought of various gypsy names. She looked the part, and sounded the part but she still needed a name.

"Hmmm, need to think of a name for you. What about Rhoda?"

Hermione blinked once before pulled a face of pure disgust. Laughing loudly, Clopin raised his hands in surrender.

"Okay, perhaps not. How about Naomie?"

"How about hell no?" Hermione retorted sarcastically as she tore up the bread Clopin had given her. He chuckled at her but slowly nodded. None of the names he thought of really suited her. Well, Hermione certainly did but he didn't think it would be a good idea to use her real name.

Sighing, Clopin swiped a piece of bread off of her and popped it into his mouth, unaffected by the dark glare Hermione was sending him. He gazed at her and wondered if he could come up with a name based on what she now looked like. Humming as he scrutinized her, Clopin made a mental note of the blush on her face. Looking at her eyes, he wondered what made her pick the colour green. Inspiration struck him on the head.

"That's it! What about Esmeralda?"