A/N: Wow, this story got pretty decent reviews and a lot of Ron haters. I know you guys got turned off by the idea but he plays a great role in this story, I'm wishing you'll love this conflict thus making the fleurmione sweetness better and worthwhile. I'm taking this slowly, character build-up and all. Please be patient with me and drop lots of comments and tell me what you think. Okay? Alright then! Let's continue now~


If it was just a normal pelting of the rain on the window she can forgive it, but sadly as she looked at the wide shop's clear glass, her frown worsen, terribly. The morning usually started great—well, she wanted it to start great, wonderful and alive or whatever else you can call 'good' about it. She shook her head disapprovingly and turned her head back to her morning paper. It was supposed to be great not until her alarm decided to chime on a very early hour, thus making her sleep-in again and wake-up late only to rush her leisure morning to get to work on time. That she could get over; but what really made today awful was the lack of her usual morning coffee in her usual coffee shop two blocks down her town house. She can't believe that it affected her that much, sure it was just coffee, she can deal with that, heck, she can drink coffee at her office may it be latte or espresso of any flavor she desire, she could get it with one word and her secretary would go in a jiffy to retrieve the confection. But what really bothered her was the she feeling of being off, was it because she didn't get the coffee from Charles's or was it because she did not have a chance to watch a certain waitress? She wondered.

Tap.

Her head rose towards the sound, she scowled heavily as she looked at the man—who obviously didn't know the word quiet and respect— persistently knocking on the glass window beside her in a bakery one street from her office. The French shook her head disapprovingly and shooed away the man, who was obviously begging for food, sad as it was, and turned her gaze back at her morning paper—a cup of black coffee in hand. She sighed, "Mon dieu" she muttered as she heard another sickening tick at the shop's window and a loud shout of 'French Bread' from the buyers that crowded the shop that early morning. Her brows knitted immensely, maybe even twitched madly, and then she banged her paper down the table. That. Was. It. She stood up—begrudgingly, grabbed her morning paper, fished out her wallet, took two bills of crisp pound, left it there by her unfinished coffee and went out the door, quick as she could. The shop's door banged rather loudly but not too loud to startle the other costumers. She slipped out there as if she never even step foot inside and the day in that bakery continued on as any other day.

Her heels ticked rapidly and heavily on the pavement, she didn't know she was doing it until she released a heavy breath when she reached her car. She thought back to the place; the building, consisting of one expanse floor, stood at a corner of the busiest street in the area, its doors and frames were warm brown colors, white marble tiles laid in the usual normal and clean pattern on the floor and a quaint statue design of a dog carrying a basket of bread stood just by the entrance. It looked cozy from the outside and the bread's aroma that wafted outside the small chimney smelled wonderfully— she had to admit she actually liked the smell of freshly made croissants. So, no, it was not the place that irked her—maybe she would even love it because the croissants were spectacularly delicious like it was made from home. It was about the people who went about their business there. She, apparently, wasn't that keen about crowds. Okay, maybe she could forgive the crowd, she thought inwardly, despite harsh manners and all; she could just blame it to the continuous unpleasant happenings around the area. She rolled her eyes at the thought. She fished out her car keys and pressed the 'unlock' button and her car chimed a soft beep. She went in, dropping her bag and coat on the passenger side in the process until she drove away into the buzzing city streets of London.

Her mind never did wander off away from the morning happenings. She would've trusted her instincts that day and never left home. If the clock hadn't scrambled up in the first place and woke her too early for her liking, she might have erased the thought that all this will not happen. But no, she continued on with her day, grumbling. She wondered now, if she may even get her coffee at Charles, since she was on her break, but when her business phone rang the very classy tune and her boss's voice came up from the other line, she quickly decided against it and drove to her office. Upon arriving at her office, she was met—well rather bombarded— by three seemingly persuasive men, if you can even call them men, she thought; her lips suddenly thinned. Those men, elderly in one side, were bachelors who seemed to have taken a very enthusiastic liking to her. She was beautiful, apparently, everyone think so, but she could not believe or tell it to herself. She did not find herself amazingly drop-dead gorgeous, she was just, her. Plain me. Although, she was very classy and she liked dressing-up even on a normal day, but that was it. She even wondered how she managed to get attention that morning when she didn't even apply the usual amount of make-up in her face and only managed to put a decent eyeliner and eye shadow to hide her stressed eyes. She could only laugh it off, how men drool over her, waving the thought away from her occupied mind and wove through the unanswered dates with a slight chuckle and a polite but firm 'No'.

"'ello, Fleur." Fleur stopped at her tracks as the voice came into earshot. She turned to her right, apparently meeting a dashing young man with fiery red locks. He waved a brown folder and smiled. "You… seem a bit dreary?" Fleur only raised a brow. A cough reverberated from his chest as he looked away for a moment or so. The man sighed but looked up again with the same jolly face he presented her a while ago.

"It seems the boss wanted more from you today" the man continued as he walked towards the woman named Fleur. Fleur looked at him, perplexed by the statement he just spoke.

"What do you mean?" Her accent slightly heavy on her English, barely, she managed to not damage the pronunciation of the letter 'H' and 'W'. The man, only smiled and gave her shoulders a light pat, then the smile grew wider and turned into a grin.

"You actually sound a lot better than you first came here… Even your writing is superb" he said. He then presented the brown folder to her. Fleur looked at him, her brows raised and her eyes lingering at his gaze in hopes to find a clue on what is it. "I was just lightening up" Fleur grimaced and only made her companion laugh. Ignoring the failing hilarious antics, her slender fingers grasped the folder. She opened it and let her eyes skim at the contents. She looked up to her companion with a questioned look.

"They are only numbers," she flatly said.

He chuckled. Fleur could not get what was funny but decided not to comment about it. "The boss wanted you to take these shops under your wing Fleur" he gestured to the paper before her.

She skimmed the papers again, flipping elegantly at the pages. Her eyes stopped at a familiar word or rather name. She eyed her companion then sighed. "These…shops? I thought the boss already have them booked to another accountant?"

"Well yes, he did but the guy got sick, pretty bad" The man shrugged, his actions seemingly portraying a man who was on his death-bed. Fleur chuckled at the extremities of his acting and rolled her eyes, exasperated.

"That bad?" she emphasized. The red-head only chuckled, his shoulders shaking in delight before he shook his head sideways. "No, not really, but since everyone else is pretty busy and you're still on 'probationary'" he quoted "… period and haven't gotten that load of work yet… you got the job"

Fleur nodded understanding the responsibilities presented to her. "Thank you for this, William" William only raised a brow and Fleur bobbed her head and looked sideways noticing the amount of people in the room, she sighed then smiled "I meant boss" she looked up and winked and the man could only laugh heartily.

"You start with them on Monday" he smiled and went off to the other side of the office. Fleur on the other hand went the other direction and into the familiar door and desk that held her name. She sat on her chair, moved some pile of finished paper work and dropped the folder on top. She mused and bit her lip; she slowly opened the paper's confinements and read the first word or name. She smiled.


The clatter of plates resounded in the small coffee shop of Charles's. The aroma of the coffee and tea mixed heavenly as the costumers quietly munch on their personal meal. No one seemed bothered by the lack of one usual costumer and continued on their relaxing afternoon, well, except for one. The bell chimed and her head whipped faster than a bullet to see who just went in. She sighed heavily, dismayed by the old man who entered. She went back—though with a heavy mood—to her pastries. Her hands squeezed the creamer tightly almost ruining the pastry by the extensiveness of the confectionery sugar. Her friend only looked at her, her head shaking with utter disapproval. Ginny walked towards the counter, an empty tray at hand. She set down the metal object quietly and sat before her friend.

"You're awfully enthusiastic about that bread" said she.

The girl looked up to Ginny, her brown eyes obviously looking confused by the statement. Ginny only pointed to the bread before her and chuckled. Hermione looked down at the pooling brown syrup and quickly stopped her hand from pressing the bottle. She sighed and set down the bottle on its proper place and wiped her hands.

"I- Why didn't you tell me I was spilling it?"

"You were looking at it, why would I point it out?" Ginny shot back. Hermione only grumbled in return. Ginny released a slight heavy breath before leaning in closer to the counter. "What's up?"

Hermione only looked at her, perplexed by the notion. She shook her head and turned around, grabbing the ruined plate and setting it to the other side.

"You're ignoring me again~" her friend sang. The squeak of the chair resounded softly as her friend played around, swinging her legs like a child. Hermione closed her eyes, her lip thinned at the irksome sound. She willed her ears to block the noise, but it just continued, seemingly getting louder that what it was. Hermione shot an irritated look at her friend and the recipient only shrugged.

"I'm not ignoring you okay? I'm busy making the pastries for display" she motioned to the empty pastry trays.

It was Ginny's turn to raise a perplexed brow. "Really now?" she muttered.

"Yes" Hermione firmly stated. Ginny looked at the window, she watched the mass of people walk along the moist side streets just by their shop. Then her eyes wondered to the shop's clock. She watched the minute hand slowly ticking, and landing perfectly at the north. Her lips moved upwards. She knew why but her friend was not telling. She looked at Hermione again; apparently, the grin on her face did not go unnoticed by her frustrated companion.

Hermione wiped her hand on a white towel, before letting it fall on her hips. Her hands crossed as she leaned back on the other metal table stationed across the marble-wood counter Ginny was leaning on. She eyed Ginny, intensely "Why are you looking so smug?"

"She didn't come in today" the red-head simply stated.

Hermione was taken aback at the simple statement. She watched Ginny closely; her friend looked pretty sure about it. She had to admit that the girl did have a point, but, she—herself— did not know it was the real case that made her really off that hour. Hermione Granger wondered about when she started showing simple ministrations—that she did not even know she was doing— which lead to her friend drawing that conclusion.

"What if she didn't? People do have other business… you know."

Ginny smiled and grabbed the coffee pitcher beside her; she took a cup as well and poured one for herself. She smelled the coffee and sipped the contents, humming at the delightful flavor that danced in her tongue. She watched Hermione Granger, who in return watched her, seemingly waiting for what she might say next. Ginny sighed and let the cup down softly on the counter. A soft bell chime sounded and Hermione's head shot to that direction. Ginny smirked at the action. Hermione scowled at her—obviously very irked.

"You've been keeping tabs on the costumers who went in, just like that"

"I always do that"

"No, you don't…"Ginny paused then hummed a short 'hmm'. "Just today" then she added

Her scowl only deepened. Her eyes darted to the clock, she observed it for a minute or two before turning her attention back to her waiting friend "I'm going"

"Already?" Ginny's eyes widened as she glanced at the shop's clock which read twenty minutes before Hermione's supposed time out—which is two thirty. Hermione only nodded and placed her apron on the counter drawer beside the coffee machine. She grabbed her bag and went out the door. The door closed with a chime.

Hermione watched her feet as she walked along the grey pavements of her neighborhood's quiet streets. She released another heavy breath, which she did not know she held. She knew Ginny, was actually, for the first time—no, not really the first, but for a couple of times now—was right. She wanted to see that French woman who actually ordered her original coffee blend, every day. She was pretty happy when someone ordered them and truly came back for it. Sure, there were a lot of costumers who seemed to like her blends but this woman was in fact the first one who complimented her greatly about it. She wondered back to the time when she first served it to the French. She remembered the dim lights of the shop as she opened them and turned the sign from 'closed' to 'open'. She knew it was going to be the same as every other day, Professor Albus Dumbledore will come in and sit at the counter side and chat with her while he eat his meal, with the usual chocolate-truffles coffee—which she made the original recipe for. It was timed, when he went in, it was around seven in the morning, and she took note of it. She remembered preparing the meal and coffee when the door chimed at exactly seven in the morning, she was about to serve it to him because she knew he will be walking towards the counter and will be fixing his cuffs. She was surprised when she turned around that day. Her brown pools met cold icy blue ones.

"I'm sorry, I thought you were someone else" Hermione said as she withdrew the plate before the woman but completely forgot about her chocolate-truffle blend.

"It is alright" Hermione took note of the heavy French accent, but did not bother about it more. She watched the woman as she pressed her lips together, a thinking face—Hermione thought. She observed the woman who was looking at the cup before her; Hermione could only blush in embarrassment and started to grab hold of the forgotten drink. A hand shot towards the glass, covering her hands, stopping them from actually taking it away.

"If…it is alright, may I take this?" she said with a soft smile. "It smells wonderful and I was wondering what it is called?" she motioned to the cup.

Hermione's face flushed red, she looked down at her hand, feeling the hot steam of the coffee and the cold slender fingers a top it. It was rather weird, the feeling, but she inwardly admitted liking it "Um…" she started to stutter. She shook her head, telling herself to get over her musings and actually answer the question addressed to her. "It's Chocolate-Truffle Coffee"

The French nodded and looked at the coffee's list. Her brows met at the center, obviously confused by the pamphlet she was holding, her eyes glanced back and forth, seeming to locate the word. She raised a brow addressing the woman before her. Hermione read the expression and she felt there was going to be a question for her. Her heart started to beat madly, nervous perhaps? She gulped. She felt her hand get cold and sweat trickled on her neck. She decided to answer ahead.

"I-its… my original blend. It's not really on the menu, the owner hasn't… quite, really made it a regular, you know, since costumers usually like black blends without nuts or mallows" she nervously chuckled. The French nodded and released her hand. Hermione took it as a chance to retrieve it— the mug. "I… I'll give you one of the shop's best recipes? I'll just take thi-" The teenage shopkeeper—Hermione— watched as a hand raised before her, which made her to abruptly stop her actions.

"Non, it is not necessary, I… would like to try this, new flavor" her eyes motioned again towards the mug.

Hermione suddenly stopped when the words left the lady's mouth. She would like to try something new? She, this new face who happened to stumble into this certain coffee shop wanted to try her original blend? Wow, that's something you don't experience every day. She took the moment to study the woman. Questions echoed in her mind. What was she playing at? Why would she want a blend she didn't know what it consisted? Would I even allow her to take it? Hermione's thoughts ran wild. Hermione Granger was indeed nervous to be critiqued for its taste, let alone be blamed by the weird texture it offered; she could not let another person aside from Albus to taste it. Yes…only for the professor… but then again, someone asked for it. Her shopkeeper's instincts well rather code, would always favor the costumer, what they want and what they need. And in this case, someone—still pertaining to the French Lady before her—wanted the blend she was holding on.

Now, Hermione remembered something similar, when Albus asked her something different from the coffee from the shops menu, it actually baffled her, but eventually she agreed to make something special for the old man—because he is Albus and the professor is a very regular costumer. They had a pretty open-mind and fun relationship, Albus always urge her to try something new and this man was willing to be her test subject for the sweet mysterious confectionery blends. She liked it; she felt that her talent in mixing or making food was appreciated. This soon evolved into something; she and Albus made this thing very special, like having a granddad and granddaughter time. So, was she going to give this lady the pleasure of it –tasting a very nutty chocolate-coffee blend? An opportunity to make a fool out of herself? Or something that may even sour the mood of this very unusual costumer? Or would she let herself see how her efforts in month long coffee blending will play out?

She closed her eyes and inhaled.

Hermione, for the first time, took the risk. She set the cup down before the lady and also retrieved a Belgian Waffle topped with whipped cream and cherry on a tray. She, although hesitating, let down the plate and a silver fork. The woman patted her hands, lingering for a few moments. Hermione watched closely as the French gave her hand a small stroke that sent shivers to her spine. She wondered what it was. She wanted to know what it was because she was dumbfounded by the sensation of it. She wanted to ask about it by she decided against it and quickly withdrew her hands, startled by the crippling motion. She stopped for a few moments to study her new costumer only to catch a slight mischief and curiosity in the eyes of pooling blue.

The French smiled and uttered the most mind-wrecking tone, a tune so sweet that haunted her from that day on—that small 'thanks' in a language she never really did understand—made her heart flutter in delight on one misty morning. "Merci beaucoup"

The lingering words stated in French nestled in Hermione's memories though the echoes of it faded when she was startled by a loud honk. Hermione jumped back the side walk, gripping her heart in hopes of steadying its beat. She glared angrily at the black car, which looked really classy—Hermione thought before stomping her foot in a frustrated action. The car however did not move away and continued to block the way.

"What's his bloody problem?" she muttered. She tapped her foot angrily, waiting for the bastard to move from the thin pedestrian lane. Still there was no attempt to move. The teenager got impatient with waiting and begrudgingly moved to the rear end of the car to cross but before she even had the chance to actually walk far from the car, the window slid down.

"You're really are aloof at times, cherie" Hermione stopped, the French accent wafted into the cold afternoon breeze. She turned her head, slowly as if she was afraid of being delusional or crazy about hearing things. It did not fail her, though. A beaming smile was pasted on her pretty face, her blonde hair were barely contained by her brown driving sun glasses. She wore what she usually wore when Hermione knew the woman was working on the weekdays. She was there in the car before her, that French Lady who she always waited for and did not even dare to admit it—until now.

"Y-you?" she stuttered.

Her eyes twinkled in amusement and then chuckled, she shook her head playfully before answering a very obvious question "Yes, me" the silence crept in and both took in the situation at hand. Hermione felt numb, her feet did not move an inch, and she did not know what or how to react aside from her stuttering earlier.

"I'm terribly sorry, cherie, for the rude honk, but you were going to get yourself killed" her head moved to the direction of the traffic light and her hand pointed slightly towards it. By the motion, Hermione took this as a sign to look at the traffic post, and indeed the green was on for the cars. She gulped the saliva that was building in her mouth and suddenly felt her throat dry. "I… um. Thank you for the warning"

The lady bobbed her head acknowledging the apology. Hermione started to slowly move away, head bobbed low, obviously hiding the blushing conquering her cheeks due to complete and utter embarrassment from her lack of awareness. She felt stupid at the moment, she felt tiny at the gaze of the woman. She wasn't like this, a clumsy person, someone who often did mistakes. She was precise, she was orderly and she was the opposite of a person who lack awareness. She wasn't one of those dimwitted people who often take adventure at its spontaneity, she was Hermione, the daughter of very prestigious dentist who were very strict in their practice and way of life. She was the person who lived life the opposite of impulsiveness, she knew all the answers to every question school may offer but one thing she did know and did not want to admit that she did not have an answer to things she was experiencing now. Every since that misty morning she met her—she was not prepared for it.

"Where are you heading?" the voice sliced through the silenced air. Hermione stopped walking and turned around to acknowledge the question. She stared at her for a moment, coughed through her dry throat then fumbled the length of her knapsack's strap.

"I was going to head to the grocery down the street then head home" softly she said.

"Hmmm…" she hummed. "If you like, I would like accompany you… I'm headed there as well, you see" she said, Hermione just stared. The French laughed. "I won't kidnap you or anything if that's what you think. I'm perfectly harmless"

"Harmless, indeed. My parents did say that I should not talk to strangers. I don't even know your name" Hermione replied in a rather playful tone. The lady sheepishly smiled that turned into a light gleeful chuckle.

"I'm Fleur. Fleur Delacour" she held a pale slender hand out the open window. Hermione hesitated for a few moments before reaching out. She felt the familiar cold slim fingers that held her hand—unwillingly, she added— the day they actually first met. It was sensational and Hermione knew it was something she wanted to feel yet again. She felt for it, humming to herself, feeling very delighted meeting the same warmth again from her. Now she wondered if it was the same for her. Of course not, this is just friendly as it should be. She scolded herself for thinking about that and pushed the thought completely away.

Fleur had smiled at the touch, gazing at the claps hand intently before looking up with gleeful eyes meeting the warm brown ones of the shopkeeper.

"Hermione Granger" her tiny voice said. Fleur chuckled, her eyes twinkling at the same time but went unnoticed by the teenager. She sighed lightly, feeling content at the moment.

"I know"

Hermione blinked. "What?"

"What I meant was, I saw it in your tag… at the shop… when you are working, non?" there was a pause. Fleur pursed her lips, waiting for a reaction. When there was none, she continued. "Let us go?" Hermione blinked, her head suddenly turned to face Fleur's waiting expression.

"Oh right" Fleur was relieved from further interrogation. She motioned for Hermione to ride the other side. The girl slightly nods and walked to the said side and with a soft thud from the door, they drove off.