so, i'm gonna throw this out there, i'm an american, from the midwest, this is important to note because: it really skews my idea of a "long trip". i'd really noticed this in europe, when i did my study abroad in high school in south germany, the locals would complain that something was really far, a whopping half hour away. when i'd drive to school in the states, it was at least a half hour, depending on traffic i drive an hour to get to work every day, so a "long trip" for me is around 8 hours or more away, paris from k-town is maybe 5 hours, so to me, thats a reasonable weekend trip. this is going to be important coming up.

The week had drug by, life returning to normal as she fell back into routine. Wake up at zero dark thirty (04:30), get dressed, go to PT, shower, change into uniform, go to breakfast, arrive at the unit at 08:30, pretend to work, walk around with a folder of empty papers, take lunch at 11:30, hide from Top until 16:00.

When she wasn't shamming, she'd be texting Fleur. Their exchanges had moved on from friendly chats to more serious conversations, though Hermione still hadn't admitted to Fleur what it was she really did for a living.

In the evenings, she had started spending her free time attempting to learn French. She wanted to be able to speak with Fleur in her launguage, and what if her family didn't speak English? How would she talk to them? Or would they use that to speak badly about her in front of her?

She hadn't told the blonde what she was doing, it really didn't help that languages didn't come easily to her, and she was in Germany, so shouldn't that language be her priority? Hermione may have been slightly embarrassed about how taken she was by the blonde. Hannah had sensed her embarrassment and teased her relentlessly about it.

But today, today was Friday, and it was nearing 16:00 now. Hermione sat behind her 1960s looking wood laminate and chrome desk, scratching away at an olive green hardback notebook, army issued, plain cover. Black pen in hand, a light scribble across the thick white pages, she was copying over a list of which vehicles would be going out into the field with them the next week and any issues they may have.

A noise sounded down the hall, footsteps, the sounds of many pairs of boots clicking on cement floor, without thinking she got up, leaving everything as it was, grabbed her PC and took off running towards the sound.

An early formation, seemed like they may get out on time for once, she smiled to herself as she donned her PC and fell into her section, standing at attention.

A moment, and then "At EASE!" came the booming voice of Moody. He stood front and center, commanding the entire room with an authority that came with many years of service. His PC was wrinkled, in no way pristine like the majority of privates who had barely experienced any time on duty. Wrinkles that came after years of being thrown, crumpled up, soaked in the rain and wrung out, laying in the dirt, sopping up sweat and blood. It had seen things that many young soldiers could only dream of seeing, having existed longer than them, witnessing more pain and tragedy than they could imagine.

Moody began to pace, back and forth in front of the platoons, his booming voice carrying, filling the large garage they used, searching for signs of weakness within the group, eyes searching like a shark. He was a large brick of a man, stocky and well muscled, a product of the old Army. His grey hair was close cropped, shaven on the sides and barely existent on top, his face was scarred, a chip missing from his nose from an IED in Afghanistan. Scars on his arms and legs could be seen during PT, the accident had been bad, he was the only to survive. His blackened heart carried on with a vengeance, he'd earned the nickname "Mad Eye" afterwards. His eyes constantly moving, scanning for any sign of threat.

But he was fiercely protective, he trained and insisted on the best, pushing the lower enlisted to constantly train harder, be better so they would hopefully not have to experience the same things as him.

Hermione was only half listening, it was the same speech as it was every Friday. She was on autopilot, snapping back to attention before they were released for the weekend, her thoughts of what to do with the free time she had, plans of going to the bar that night, and tasks to do on Monday swam through her mind. Once dismissed, she pulled off her PC before going to lock up her cage, everything could stay exactly as it was, she was the only one with a key.

She met up with Hannah at the door.

"Hey battle," the blonde greeted cheerily, opening the door.

Hermione pulled on her PC before stepping out into the late afternoon sunlight, "Hey, got any plans for the weekend?"

"Nope, was thinking I might catch up on some reading."

"Fun, fun, Zabini and Lovegood were going to the bar again, a local pub this time, wanna join?"

"Yeah, might as well, maybe I could meet someone as interesting as your girl," Hannah teased, elbowing Hermione, who had been practically unable to put her phone down all week, constantly sporting a stupid smile.

"Shut up!" Hermione couldn't help but say a bit too loudly as she pushed Hannah back with a little more force than had been used on her.

"Make me," the blonde stuck out her tongue, only to scream out in surprise as a body collided with hers and she soon made impact with the grass. The brunette had tackled her and was quickly trying to cover the blonde's mouth with her hand. Hoots and hollers from across the street met their ears as they sheepishly turned to see a group of men watching them and cheering at their antics.

Hermione scrambled to get off Hannah and regain a semblance of decency, holding out a hand to Hannah, helping her up before the two began laughing, they'd landed next to a small sign reading "Keep off the Grass".

"Alright, spill," Hannah said, a sudden seriousness in her voice.

"What?" Hermione feigned innocence.

"The girl, duh."

"There isn't much to say."

"Well, when are you gonna see her again?"

"Fuck if I know, she doesn't even know why I'm here yet."

"Shit... you think it'll bother her though?"

"I... don't know," Hermione bit her lower lip, a distant look overcoming her face, "She uh, she seems to value life so far. I don't know if she'd be okay with it."

"Well, it's not like you're infantry, you aren't directly responsible for killing anyone, and it's not like you've been deployed either."

"Yeah..." the brunette trailed off, an uncomfortable silence forming between the two of them, Hermione once again lost in thought as they walked back to the barracks.

Later that evening, the group of young soldiers was sat gathered around a small wooden table. It was in the back corner of the local pub, just off post, the entire place was filled with servicemen and women, all drinking and laughing and having a good time. Zabini, Lovegood, Hermione and Hannah were grouped around, each with a pint of beer in hand. There were a couple others that Hermione didn't know that had joined their group, she wished she could remember their names, but by her third pint, her brain was a bit sloshed and she would be lucky to remember what they were talking about. One was an unfortunately pale blonde boy whose longer hair by army standards was slicked back, he seemed a bit pretentious and off putting, and had insisted upon a "higher quality" beer, not one of the local swills as he put it. Hermione had to choke back a laugh when he'd said that since really, all beer tasted similar and it was all better than the stuff she'd grown up with.

He'd brought up his father multiple times already, supposedly he had some rank and was probably using it to protect the boy who looked like he'd never seen a day of work in his life. The brown haired boy next to him looked rather awkward Hermione thought, he certainly didn't seem the type for the military. She had her suspicions that he'd been bullied growing up and this was how he was going to prove himself. But aside from seeming out of place in the group, Hermione thought he wasn't really so bad, they could probably be friends, if only she could remember his name. He'd tried to buy her a drink originally, which she'd gotten a laugh at and suggested he pick someone else if he wanted to get laid.

He'd turned bright red at the suggestion, nodding sheepishly and turning his attentions to Lovegood who was lost in conversation with him now, some conspiracy theory that she was positive was fact.

Hermione's phone buzzed in her pocket and she pulled it out, widening her eyes at the screen in an attempt to focus as the device insisted on moving on its own. It took a couple of attempts, but she finally managed to unlock it to read the full text.

'Are you free tonight?'

Puzzled, Hermione texted back, 'Getting drinks with some coworkers, why?' (Or at least that was what she intended to say, it may not have looked so neat in reality).

'I missed you. And maybe I happen to be in town.'

Without thinking, or rather thinking with the wrong brain, she texted the name of the bar she was at to the Frenchwoman.

Hermione was on her fourth pint when the bar went silent. The mug was still raised to her mouth when she noticed that everyone seemed focused on the door. She lowered the glass as she turned to see what had stolen everyone's attention. A grin spread across her face as she yelled "Fleur!"

The blonde Frenchwoman turned to look at her, smiling as she did so. Hermione practically fell out of her seat as she stumbled to get up, staggering slightly as her feet tripped over themselves in her drunken haste. Fleur held a delicate hand up to cover her laugh at the uncoordinated antics of her American friend (or were they more?).

She was soon enveloped in a tight hug by the slightly smaller statured brunette, her wild curls now straightened and hanging at her shoulders. Fleur struggled to breathe, trying to pry herself from the bear hug, "'Mione, I cannot breathe," she wheezed out, causing the other woman to suddenly let go of her, a blush spreading across delicate features. She barely heard a mumbled 'sorry' before being pulled to a table of onlookers.

Slowly, the pub returned to normal, though it was obvious that the eyes of the men there were drawn to the foreign blonde. Hermione returned to her seat, and noticing that there weren't any available chairs, didn't hesitate to stake her claim on the newcomer, pulling Fleur onto her lap and wrapping her arms loosely around the blonde's waist.

"Holy shit, Granger," Zabini started, "Is this who you've been talkin' to all week?"

"Yeah," realizing herself (or remembering her manners), "Guys, this is Fleur, Fleur this is Zabini, Lovegood, Hannah, uhhh" she had pointed at each person as she said their names, pausing when she got to the last two whose names she couldn't remember.

"Draco," the blonde boy offered, holding his hand out to Fleur as though he wanted to shake her hand, though when she gave him her hand, he instead leaned forward kissing it lightly, "Pleased to meet you," he said giving what he thought would be a charming smile but was really more like a sneer. She quickly pulled back her hand, wiping it on her pants unashamed to hide the offense at his actions, to which the group laughed.

"Better luck next time!" Zabini laughed at Malfoy, who suddenly decided to feign disinterest in the blonde.

The other boy spoke softly, "I'm Neville, it's nice to meet you." He smiled tentatively before going back to his conversation with Lovegood.