A/N: Hey folks, been a bit. How you all doing? Anyway, I humbly present my first and only attempt at a romantic comedy. Those who doubted me, you know who you are. By the end your doubts would be well justified.

Now, this is a Muggle AU. Meaning no magiiic. I won't divulge further details because I don't want to spoil which one of your favorite characters you would come across as you read this jumbling mess of a tale.

Anyway, I hope you find some semblance of enjoyment, whether it be at me or with me, only you can decide.

This doesn't even needs to be said but for the sake of avoiding a court summons, Harry Potter and the wizarding world belong to J.K. Rowling and other rightful owners. Seriously folks, I'm not making a penny off this. Though I would love to, but that's neither here or there am I right.

So, as always, without further ado...

A Trilogy of Meetings

Chapter 1

On a remarkably cold night in early January a lone young man was swiftly crossing Pont Neuf, the oldest standing bridge in the city of Paris that cut across the river Seine.

The bridge was cast in a golden haze by the rows of lamps lined on top of the stone balustrades on either side of the venerable structure.

With his chin tucked inwards and gaze focused on the pavement a few yards ahead of him, the young man who was sporting knee length sport shorts and a matching black tank top, identical to the colour of his hair and contrasting deeply with his flushed pale face, continued along at a steady pace.

Coming off the bridge he veered left and with ten long strides crossed the road to the other side, never once lifting his gaze off the ground.

He picked up steam as the song blasting in his ears reached its crescendo, the high staccato drumbeat accompanied with the animalistic roar of the lead vocalist sent a dose of adrenaline through his veins, his knees now reaching the waistband of his shorts with every step.

Thus, being the prime reason why, along with the fact that it was past midnight and besides a few loiterers and tipsy revelers here and there the streets were void of movement and sound, the young man trotted on with single minded focus and was completely oblivious to his surroundings, and more importantly, unaware of the incident that was about to transpire in precisely fifteen seconds and tilt his life on its axis.

His eyes widened the moment he noticed the shadow on the footpath but by then it was so late that he couldn't even raise his arms to brace himself.

The dreaded collision was akin to a train pummeling into a car stuck on the tracks.

The headphones went flying in the air, his unplugged ears bearing the full brunt of the high-pitched shriek that filled him with dread before everything went silent.

"Fuck." The curse was no more than a whisper and was easily drowned by the scraping of his shoes as he skidded to a halt.

Whirling around, his eyes fell on the unmoving figure of a woman lying on her side a few yards away.

His heart threatening to hammer out of his chest, the raven-haired man was crouched down next to her in the next moment.

Her thick, curly brown hair obscured her face, and he hastily scooped it aside before tilting her face towards the sky.

A sharp exhale escaped his parted lips and muted his panting momentarily.

"Beautiful." He whispered, as his eyes roved over her face and took in the most exquisite features he had ever come across in his twenty-one years of existence. Thick brown lashes and eyebrows sat upon a glistening pale face, a cute button nose with a slight upward curve at the end complimented her aristocratic bone structure and a jawline so sharp he feared a mere touch would slice his finger open. His eyes caught the single line of perspiration trailing the curve of her nose before it gathered in the dip of her cupid's bow, and it took all his restraint not to lean down and lick it off.

Shaking himself out of the depravity his mind had wandered off to, his ragged breathing returned with vengeance as the gravity of the situation clutched his heart in a vice-like grip.

"Miss," he gave a gentle nudge to her shoulder, and when that failed to stir even a single strand of her hair, applied more pressure. "Mademoiselle!" He called out frantically.

She refused to return to the land of the living, even though most of the population on this side of the continent were floating in dreamland.

Suddenly, his breathing halted, and his skin paled even further.

Bending low till his ear was hovering just millimeters above her mouth, he breathed in a huge sigh of relief; little puffs of air seeping through her closed lips kissed the stubble on his cheek. However, his elated expression was soon replaced by a look of pure disgust as an awful stench of alcohol permeated his senses.

He pulled away sharply before turning his head to the side, bile rising in the back of his throat. Thankfully, the burning sensation died before the point of no return as he breathed in fresh air in quick succession.

"Jesus, darlin'. What had you been up to." He murmured, staring back at the dragon breathing angel.

He lifted his gaze and swept it in a round. Aside from three inebriated men stumbling in the opposite direction some fifty yards away, there was not a soul in sight.

"Great."

He tried once more to shake the sleeping beauty back into wakefulness, but it didn't matter how aggressive he got, she remained oblivious to his struggle and frustration.

"Brilliant. Think. Think, you idiot – her phone!"

The electronic device was resting next to her splayed hand. Luckily, it hadn't suffered any damage from the fall, outwardly anyways.

"Fantastic." He sighed dejectedly; the little hope that had risen inside him deflated like a balloon as he stared down at the lock screen.

He tucked her phone in his empty trousers pocket before fishing out his blackberry – vintage, with a crack in the middle but still operates like a charm – and after a few button presses, placed the device next to his ear.

"Pick up, pick up."

The ringing went on for what seemed to be an eternity and just when he was in the act of pulling his hand down, a whiny, groggy, annoyed, childlike voice sounded on the other end.

"'llooo"

"Pont Neuf, get there now. Turn left and you'll see me across the road."

"Sleeeep." The stretched-out syllable ended with a loud snore.

"Code red, Ron." He hissed. "Code-fucking-red. Get here right fucking now."

The snoring came to an abrupt halt and then there was a three second pause, the short silence broken by frenzied movement and the squeaking of mattress springs.

"I'm on my – ohh fuck!"

The panicked curse was cut short by a dull thump, and despite the gravity of the situation a grin broke out on his face. Only three more times.

"Ron?..." He tried to keep the laughter out of his voice and thought he had done quite well at producing a modicum of concern towards his friend.

A pained groan drifted through the line before Ron wheezed out, "Fuck off," and ended the call.

Guess not.

Chuckling as he put his phone back in his pocket, he directed his attention down at the curly haired brunette and let out a long sigh.

"You'll be alright." He muttered a few seconds later. "Now then," he clapped his hands before bending down and pulling the lifeless form into a standing position.

He lifted her off the ground with his arms around her waist and walked over to the brick wall. After some frustration he finally had her leaning against the wall and was in the motion of brushing his sweaty hair off the forehead when he saw her sway to her right through his fingers, and with his heart leaping into his mouth, he jumped forward and caught her before she, most likely, would've stayed asleep.

That would've been some way to depart to this life, he mused, as he put an arm around her shoulder and mirrored her position.

A scoff bubbled out of his mouth as he imagined what a picture the pair of them made and the reaction it would've elicited if anyone with a clear mind was walking by them.

His nose scrunched up as for the second time her foul breath enveloped his senses. "My word," He let out a low whistle before he gently tilted her face in the other direction. "I hope you know the herculean effort I'm putting in for your sake, darlin'. I could've just left you here, you know." His gaze spanned from left to right at the buildings on the other side of the bridge.

"I'm Harry, by the way." He reached down with his left hand and grasped hers, squeezing lightly and giving it a solid shake. "Damn, you're freezing." He shifted on the spot and craned his neck, and for the first time since laying eyes on her, took in her attire.

She wore a black dress, sleeveless, that ended just above her knees, with black high heels completing the outfit.

"Jesus, no wonder you've turned into an ice pack." Chewing the corner of his bottom lip, he appraised her once more from head to toe. "Umm…...maybe if I do this…..."

He removed his arm from her shoulder and with half a step moved to stand fully before her, taking hold of her hands he pulled them up to her chest, tucked her elbows inwards and locked them by winding his arms around her waist before pressing himself against her.

"Yeah, this should help." He muttered, before adding under his breath. "I know that you would kill me if you were to regain consciousness now but if I were you, I'd rather not wake up sick. But seriously darlin', I'm starting to wonder if you're empty in the head. Dressing like that in this weather. You're practically naked."

A few minutes later he was cursing his own choice of not wearing a hoodie as another powerful gust of wind blew by them. "I swear if I miss tomorrow's training because I'm curled under fifty blankets, I'm blaming you."

His breathing got heavier, blood vessels constricting due to the cold. To keep the flow of blood moving through his veins, he tried bouncing on the balls of his feet, but with 130 pounds of dead weight literally draped over him, he barely managed two bounces before he lost his balance and if it had not been for his quick feet, there was a very real chance that in the span of ten minutes he would have achieved the remarkable by unwittingly knocking out two people, him being one of them.

"C'mon, R-Ron." He stuttered, teeth clanking together. He looked over his shoulder in the hopes that he would see his friend accelerating towards him, only to turn his head back around dejectedly and dropped his chin on the brunette's shoulder.

He passed the time by trying and hopelessly failing to catch a dot zigzagging all over the squared screen of his phone with a snake – only game on any platform he could attempt to play without having an aneurysm – and every few seconds would flick his gaze up to the little numbers on the top right corner of the screen indicating the time.

It wasn't for another seven minutes when the distinct sound of a 1969 Vespa 150 Sprint reached his ears that he turned around and saw the fiery red hair of his best friend shining brightly under the lamplights as he crossed the bridge – his lanky profile dwarfing the vintage blue scooter never once failed to put a smile on his face – and noticed his equally fiery expression once he pulled to a stop on the edge of the footpath.

Turning the engine off, Ron swivelled on his left foot and swung his right leg over the back seat as he turned around to face him, momentarily forgetting that it wasn't a Harley Davidson he had careened through the streets at 100 mph to get here but a second hand antique motor that steams up if the needle reaches 30 mph they had bought for 100 Euros from an elderly lady, but Harry wasn't going to mention that now.

Ron, in Harry's opinion, not only had a heart of gold but was also the gentlest soul, loyal to the bone and always with a smile on his face, except for when he was woken up in the middle of the night, for a sleep deprived Ron can put the fear of god in any soul, living or dead – not that Harry believed in any of that stuff.

Nothing will budge him to get up when he was in his 'happy place, as he so often referred to it.

Except for code red.

He stopped in his long stride the moment he noticed the bag of flesh and bones in Harry's arms, and quick as a flash his narrowed slits with fire burning in them turned wide with horror as the colour drained from his face. His mouth opened wide enough to fit a golf ball inside, but no sound escaped him – however, Ron's performance of a fish out of water was rather on point, Harry thought as he filed the information for future – and Harry knew that if he delayed his speech any longer then he would be dealing with not one but two bodies, and despite never one to shy away from a challenge to test his strength, carrying a five foot seven woman with plush, soft skin who also happened to be the most beautiful creature he had ever laid eyes on –horrible breath not withstanding – three flights of stairs was one thing, carrying a six foot seven giant with not a single flexible bone in his body was another matter altogether.

"She ain't dead." He broke the silence just as Ron was on the verge of hyperventilating. "I'll explain on the way. Now help me get her on the scooter and let's get out of here before real trouble strikes." He grunted, carrying her to the two-wheeler.

He lowered her feet to the ground once he was standing next to the motor and looked over his shoulder to find Ron still rooted to the spot, murmuring assurances to himself and tapping his chest over his heart.

"It's okay. Everything's okay. You won't be spending the rest of my life in a French prison."

Rolling his eyes, Harry barked, "Ron!"

The red head turned to him with a scowl.

"I never thought it was possible, but you've topped Positano." He spat, pointing a finger at Harry as he strode over to him.

"Are you fuckin', serious? This is not even in the same bracket as Positano."

"I know." Ron huffed, as he grabbed her left thigh and put her arm over his shoulder as they hefted her over the back seat. "Positano was child's play compared to this."

"C'mon – "

"We didn't commit a fucking crime, Harry." Ron lifted his head from under her armpit and shot him a glare.

"I mean, technically we kind of – "

"No! That subject is clo – holy fuck what's that smell!" He exclaimed as a wave of revulsion spread across his face.

"Oh yeah, she stinks by the way, forgot to mention."

Ten minutes later a windswept Harry with ruddy cheeks and a runny nose was pulling dragon breath – the name he'd decided on for the unconscious brunette until she gained consciousness and introduced herself by hugging him like there was no tomorrow – off the scooter as Ron was struggling to put the kickstand down, his entire frame trembling with anxiety as he kept glancing around the underground parking lot for late night lurkers.

Harry picked up the cargo bridal style for more agility and almost sprinted his way to the door leading into the building, Ron whispering obscenities behind him to slow down.

"Harry! Stop!" Ron hissed, the door banging loudly behind him as Harry stormed past the out of service elevator and started climbing the stairs, dragon breath's head thudding against his chest with each step. "Harry!"

Ron barely avoided hitting his head against Harry's elbow as he stopped abruptly.

"What?" Harry barked, panting heavily.

"Are you fucking crazy!" Ron whisper yelled. "You can't carry her all the way up by yourself. Especially not like a maniac."

"Oh yeah." With a challenging lift of his brow, Harry scoffed, "Watch me," before he, as Ron so eloquently put it, recommenced bounding up the stairs like a maniac.

Thirty seconds later he was doing his own unique rendition of a tap dance on the platform of the first floor – knees bent at an awkward angle and his back curved forward due to the dead weight in his arms – a wide smile blooming on his slightly dampened face. Too easy, he thought smugly as his eyes raked over the next flight of steps. However, his enthusiasm suffered a major dip as it took him nearly two minutes to reach the second floor, the smile from couple minutes ago had morphed into a grimace somewhere along the halfway mark. A soft thud sounded in the small space as he leant heavily on his back against the wall after climbing the final step, stifling the groan trying to push past his gritting teeth as a steady ache thrummed over his lower back, not to mention his quads felt as if they had swelled twice in size. But what really made his blood boil and made the vein in his neck protrude was Ron's constant groaning and sighs once he caught up with him. Harry whipped his head when another exaggerated sigh reached his ears, spittle flying past his lips as he glowered at his friend.

"What!

"I won't say I told you so – "

"Oh, we both know that's horseshit."

"– because right now taunting you is the least of my concern." Ron snapped. "We've been extremely lucky so far and based on our history it isn't going to last much longer so let's not push it. So, for once swallow your pride and be mature." He moved in front of Harry, reaching for dragon breath's legs. "C'mon now, I'll grab her legs and you – "

With quick feet and excellent balance, Harry dipped his weight to his right leg, Ron following his movement and once the redhead was too far gone in his momentum, Harry crouched low and shifted his entire weight in the opposite direction, slipping under Ron's flailing arm.

"Harry!"

With renewed energy and a fresh dose of adrenaline pumping in his veins, Harry took the stairs two at a time, the image of Ron's face once he reached the landing of the third-floor flashing behind his eyes, adding more fuel to the fire.

"AAH!"

A searing pain, one that he was well acquainted with, emanating from his left thigh enveloped him whole. His leg gave way and his knee collapsed onto the wooden surface.

Somehow, he managed to not drop the cargo, veins pulsing in his bulging arms as they strained from keeping dragon's breath head not hit the step above him.

Ron was by his side in an instant.

"Please tell me it's just a cramp and you've not just teared your quad?" he asked, pulling dragon's breath into his arms, and cradling her to his body like a baby.

Harry nodded, whimpering in pain.

"You dumb cunt. Wait here, and for gods' sake don't move."

Ron's footfalls echoed off the walls as Harry manoeuvred himself to a more comfortable position so he could stretch his legs out.

Thick beads of sweat rolled down the sharp planes of his face as painful grunts filled the silence.

After what felt like an eternity the sound of loud thumping once again assaulted his ears, but this time it was welcomed.

"Is it gone?"

Harry opened his tightly clenched eyes and shot him a nasty glare. "Does it fucking look like it's gone!"

"Calm down." Ron huffed, as he hoisted Harry up by the shoulders.

"Watch it!"

Once stable, Harry stood on his cramped leg and pressed down firmly. A few seconds later he exhaled a breathy sigh as the pain retreated from his body.

"I can't believe you just left me here." Harry accused him as he began climbing, one step at a time, extremely tentatively.

"Well, what was I supposed to do?"

"Oh, I don't know," Harry threw his arms up in the air before continuing. "How about helping your best mate and not leaving him to suffer."

"Oh, quit moping." grumbled Ron. "Your stubborn arse would've still been blabbering about carrying her if I hadn't done so myself. You should be thanking your lucky stars that your tramping hasn't woken the entire building." A brief pause as they ascended the sharp curve. "Hear that? Even now when we are walking at a snail's pace it sounds it's so loud. This place is fucking ancient. I bet they haven't renovated once in a century."

Harry huffed but didn't retaliate.

Few minutes later Harry was leaning on one hand against the wall and shaking his aching leg as Ron opened the door to their flat.

"Where did you put her anyway?" asked Harry once they stepped inside.

The tenement had two rooms, a small kitchen, a shared bathroom adjacent to the toilet.

"In your room."

"What!" he screeched.

"Stop shouting!" hissed Ron, turning around glaring down at him. "Where else was I supposed to put her? She is here because of you so there is no way I'm letting her sleep in my bed."

"How about the fuckin sofa, Ron?" The sarcasm dripped off his tongue like melted ice cream as he pointed to the worn-out sofa sitting at an odd angle facing a small hearth. "Did that not cross your thick-fucking-head!"

Ron took a step forward and lifted a finger, the muscles in his jaw working overtime, nostrils flaring. Half a step from Harry and suddenly there was no gap, both men shooting daggers into each other, the tension sizzling while it lasted, which was no more than five seconds as Ron let out a sigh, his hand dropping back to his side.

"I'm going to bed."

"Yeah, that's right." Harry scoffed. "You better lock yourself up or you'll never wake up."

Ron stopped at the threshold of his bedroom and turned around, peering at Harry in bewilderment. "What?"

A brief period of silence before, "It sounded cool in my head." said Harry as his shoulders dropped like a bag of potatoes.

Shaking his head, Ron closed the door behind him, his voice muffled as he yelled out, "You owe me big time."

Craning his neck in the direction of the sofa, Harry let out a low whining sound before slouching towards it.

He awoke to a power-to-wake-the-dead-from-the-grave screech.

Bolting upright, he whipped his face in the direction of the scream just as Ron came barrelling out of his room.

"Bloody hell!" he exclaimed. "What the fuck is that!"

Before Harry could even make sense of his surroundings the door to his bedroom banged open and out came dragon breath, eyes wide as saucers, face ashen white with hair even wilder than last night, his cricket bat grasped tightly in her hands.

Harry jumped from the couch and stumbled next to Ron in three strides, both men taking a defensive stance.

"If your boneheadedness last night didn't wake anyone her scream definitely did." Ron grumbled from the side of his mouth. "I swear if this is my last day as a free man Harry…..." He trailed off, taking a step forward.

"Mademoiselle, s'il te plaît, range le couteau."

"Get back!" shrieked the frightened brunette in a perfect posh accent. Oh, she was frightened alright; her eyes were an open casket into her soul, and before he found himself falling into their endless cavern, Harry blinked and moved forward.

"It's alright." Harry approached her, smiling broadly. "We're English as well. Now why don't you – "

"I said get back!" her back hit the wall as she took another step back, waving the bat in slashing motions.

"Harry!" hissed Ron, but Harry waved him off without looking back.

"Darlin' that is not a toy." His eyes dropped to his most prized possession before flicking back to meet hers, amusement curling one side of his mouth in a perfect arch – girls used to line up in high school to be the reason behind that arch. "Why don't you put it away before you hurt yourself, hmm? I'll even give you some tips if you're up for it." His lone chuckle stood out as dwindling fire in a snowstorm, but Harry was oblivious to it, so much so that he failed to notice the narrowing of her eyes, the scrunching of her forehead, the knitting of her eyebrows, and in about three seconds Harry was about to learn why one should never let their guard down in front of a cornered tiger.

His shoulders were still shaking from mirth when his breath left him in a powerful whoosh, his eyes stretched comically wide as they trailed down in slow motion from her face to his stomach that was being squished mercilessly by the toe of the bat.

He dropped down to his knees once she pulled away the piece of willow, shoulders continuing to shake in the form of wheezing coughs, the mirth from scant seconds earlier converted into agony.

With nothing more than a death glare thrown at Ron, whose back was now plastered against his bedroom door, left hand panickily trying to rotate the handle, she ran towards the main door, frenziedly played with the lock for half a minute – head turned over her shoulder and eyes switching back and forth between the frightened and the whimpering man the entire time – before the unmistakable click of the lock being open cut through Harry's pained gasps and she snatched the door open, dropped the bat carelessly at the threshold and vanished, her frantic steps echoing in the hallway through the open door.

Ron skidded next to Harry, who was now lying in a fetal position, one hand clutching at his stomach while the other was pointing in the direction of the open door.

"What?" Ron's voice broke three time pronouncing the one syllable word.

"My bat." Harry wheezed.

"Forget the fucking bat for once! Are you alright?"

"Smashing." Ron's flared nostrils revealed that he didn't appreciate sarcasm, even when the person behind it was trying to keep tears of shame at bay.

Suddenly both men's eyes went wide with the return of hurried footsteps and a moment later dragon's breath was standing at the doorway, cheeks flushed pink from the strenuous exertion of climbing the stairs.

Picking up the bat from where she had dropped it, she took a couple of steps inside the apartment. "My phone." She panted. "Give me my phone or I swear I'll scream my lungs out." She growled.

"We don't have it. I swear." added Ron as she opened her mouth.

"It's in my pocket."

Both their attention was drawn towards Harry as he got into a sitting position, trying very hard not to grimace and show any semblance of pain.

He pulled it out of his trousers pocket and held it out. "I took it to call someone to come pick you up but couldn't because of the passcode."

She guarded him suspiciously as a frown appeared on her face. "So you could demand ransom. Nice try." She scoffed.

Ron and Harry looked at each other in disbelief before turning back to her. "Miss," Harry got up with a grunt.

She immediately thrust the bat forward, swallowing when he continued to approach her. "Stay ba – "

"Shut up and listen to me!"

Shock and fear took over her features, rendering her petrified.

"I went out for a midnight run last night. I've been doing it for as long as I can remember. But last night marked the first time where I ran into someone. I was in my zone and wasn't paying attention to my surroundings, but you see my habit is based on experience as I hardly ever encounter people except for a drunk here or there as I stay away from those areas. But it is not often, and even then, I have never smashed into someone, but like I said, last night marked a first. I'll own up to it though and admit that habit or not I was at fault, but you've got to take some of the blame too darling." He pulled the bat gently from her grasp, though he wondered if she even noticed as she hadn't so much as blinked since he began relaying the events that brought them together. "You were completely smashed. Trust me once the adrenaline runs out of your system the headache you're going to get will make you swear never to touch booze again. So, we both weren't paying attention and collided. It was a nasty hit, I'm not gonna lie. You were out right away. I'll admit I was scared shitless. I thought you were dead for a moment. But luckily for both of us that was not the case. As I said earlier, I picked up your phone to call someone to pick you up, but then that didn't work so I called my mate." Ron waved awkwardly as Harry continued. "We brought you here because frankly taking you to the hospital seemed unnecessary and thought you would appreciate that. No one likes waking up hungover in a hospital bed. Trust me." He added under his breath. "I carried your heavy arse up three flights of stairs – "

Ron cleared his throat.

"– nearly three flights of stairs. I got a fucking cramp because of you, and I haven't even brought up that you smelled like you were born in the gutter, and not just any gutter, but the alpha of all gutters – the gutter from hell. We put you in my room because my friend there is a gracious host, me not so much. I wanted you to sleep on the couch. And there is it." He finished telling the tale and spread his arms out, breathing heavily. "The story of how you woke up in two strangers' apartment. Now," he handed the stunned and white-faced brunette her phone and pointed at the door behind her. "Kindly fuck off."

Turning on his heel he headed towards his bedroom, closed the door behind him, leaned his bat against the edge of the bed before unceremoniously dropping onto the mattress, face first, and within seconds was dead to the world.

Hermione graced a warm smile towards the elderly man as he held the door open for her, murmuring a soft, "thanks," as she stepped inside, and immediately felt a tingling shiver run across the length of her spine as the warmth of the bar washed over her freezing skin.

Sweeping her gaze from left to right for an empty but secluded spot, she found one at the far-right corner and weaved her way through the hordes of moving bodies to get to it.

Putting her purse onto the small, high round table, she perched herself up onto the seat and took another gander of her surroundings.

Most of the crowd comprised of sports fans – rowdy, rambunctious males from young teens to those with one foot in the grave – not surprising since the establishment, first and foremost, was a sports bar.

Hermione raised a hand and held it there for nearly two minutes until finally, she managed to garner a passing waiter's attention.

He was a young man, probably her age, with curly blonde hair and approached her with a notepad and a pen in his hands a charming smile on his face.

"Deux bières s'il vous plait."

A wry smile tugged at his lips as he penned down her order before catching her eyes once more. "Anything else?" He asked in a heavy French accent, making Hermione blush as she shook her head, dropping her gaze to the table in embarrassment as he walked away.

And here she was under the illusion that she could hold an entire conversation in French. That's it, from now on she was going to converse in French with Fleur…. well, at least for an hour, anyway.

"''Ermione!"

Her eyebrows inclined in surprise as she looked up and spotted the blonde hurrying towards her, wow, that ought to be one hell of a coincidence.

The two exchanged a quick embrace before sitting down, Fleur taking the chair across from her.

"'Ow long 'ave you been waiting?" asked the French girl in an accent even thicker than the waiter.

"Just a few minutes. I ordered beers."

"Nice." Fleur placed her elbows on the edge of the table and rested her chin over her clasped hands. "So, you like the palaze?"

"Place." chuckled Hermione, before shrugging her shoulder. "Not my cup of tea. Never been much for bars."

A sly smirk spread across the blonde's face as she leaned forward. "Really?"

Hermione rolled her eyes, already knowing where she was headed with this. "Fleur, please, not that again. It's been two weeks, and you know the reason behind it."

"Fine, fine." Fleur relented, patting Hermione's forearm. "I'm zorry."

"It's okay."

"Ooh, I can't wait for za match!" Fleur squealed, rubbing her hands excitedly. "Nothing better than watching a game in a bar with other fanz. The…. how do you zay it – oh yez, vibe, the vibe is zo…umm – zo great!"

Hermione felt a surge of affection rise in heart towards the blonde. Though she didn't – couldn't – relate to her childlike enthusiasm towards the sport of football, it was nevertheless infectious.

"You just wait, by the end of the game you will become a PSG ultra."

"Can't wait." sighed Hermione, internally scoffing that it would be a miracle If by ten minutes into the game she wasn't pleading with Fleur to leave.

As expected, Hermione was on the verge of tears by the end of the first quarter and was deep in formulating a lie that would get her out of here without hurting Fleur's feelings, that was until the camera cut from the wide angle of the pitch to a man sitting in the dugout. A man she would never forget for the rest of her life. A face she could never forget. Not because he was the most handsome man she'd ever seen…. though – never mind, that's beside the point, but because she despised him with every fibre in her being. His words that morning had sent her sobbing back to the apartment she shared with Fleur and her little sister, Gabrielle. She cried through the entire cab ride, so viciously that at one point the cab driver pulled over and asked her if he should take her to the hospital instead, because of her condition. Condition! Never in her life had she been so embarrassed, so humiliated. Oh, what she wouldn't give to get back at him, to make him feel just as humiliated, to make him feel like the lowest scum on the planet, because that's exactly what his words evoked in her.

It wasn't until she felt someone shake her shoulder that she snapped out of her rage filled daze. Fleur was standing beside her, staring down at her in equal parts concern and confusion.

"You alright?"

Hermione blinked a few times before nodding. She looked back at the giant screen and was shocked to see that it was halftime break. Had she really been contemplating of ways to humiliate someone to the point where they don't ever want to leave the four walls of their room? Apparently yes.

"Fleur?" she adopted what she hoped to be a casual, indifferent tone. "When is the next game?"

A beaming smile blossomed over Fleur's face as she squealed happily. "I knew it! You're…. uh – hooked! Yes, you're hooked."

Hermione gave light shrug of her shoulder, not denying it.

"Ooh! The next game iz on Zaturday. Also, it'z a home game. Would you like to go?"

"You know what?" Hermione lifted her gaze back to the screen as the camera once again cut to an extreme closeup of the man she vowed would rue the day he made Hermione Granger cry. "I very much would."

A/N: So folks, did you fall of your bed with laughter. You sure did, didn't you. It's okay, no need to hold in your feelings, shower me with all the praise you can muster.

*Sigh*

You know the drill. Let me know your thoughts and I will catch you on the flip side.