Alas, I've decided to update! Sorry to keep everyone waiting for sooooo long… I was a bit worried about people stumbling across my carefully hidden files on the computer, but now I have my very own laptop. Expect more from me now, errbodah.

Same old, same old. I don't own Harry Potter, nor any of his friends, nor do I intend to publish a lexicon detailing every intricacy of the plot...

Enjoy, and review.

Did I tell you all that you're wonderful for waiting? 'Cause you are.

WARNING: little plot ensues here.

Before Hermione could even lean into whatever it was that was going on, Fleur had disentangled herself, stood up, and skillfully tossed the scarf into the trash.

"And zat is the last I want to 'ear about it," she smirked. The younger witch stared from the trash, back to her roommate, back to the trash again. She had spent hours knitting that scarf. It was supposed to go to a needy house elf. And there it sat, atop coffee grinds and wrappers from imported crepe mix that Miss High Maintenance insisted on having. Hermione moaned audibly, exasperated.

"But not the last time I will be 'earing zat," Before she had finished the sentence, the brunette witch was halfway out the door, pulling on a pair of mittens and forcing herself to not think about whatever it was back there, whatever the French con had been planning, whatever it was she had been doing with her tongue…

No. I am not thinking about this. Think about… Gamp's Law of Elemental Transfiguration! The first exception to this law is… what the hell?

"Fleur. Sunglasses. Really?" Hermione tried to pay no attention to her, but it was futile.

"To protect me from snow blindness, of course," she replied, not missing a beat.

"It's…. almost eight o'clock. The fact that it has not snowed in three weeks is also not helping your cause." Hermione rolled her eyes as they turned the corner towards the store. The neon lights winked, as if they knew something she didn't.

"Ohhhh you Brits and your wit. You are all just soooo funny." Fleur tossed her hair, and, once again, the younger witch could barely stand. She couldn't find words, letters tumbled around in her mouth and danced around her tongue; she searched for a witty retort, something that would stick it to Fleur, and stick it to her good…

"Well, you French and your damn… attractiveness-" the blonde looked at her, eyebrow raised. "I just mean, you know… oh God. I'm rambling like Ron." She cringed, and looked down at her feet, walking determinedly faster. She tried to pay no attention to the woman laughing behind her.

"You are walking like an ape." Fleur took long strides to catch up with Hermione, keeping her arms by her side to make her point. "It's not very…attractive." She looked at the younger girl, as if daring her.

"Did you bring the grocery list?" Hermione snapped, taken aback by her own tone. The taller of the two nodded, satisfied, at the moment, with the aggravation she'd caused. As they came to the automatic doors, she could've sworn Fleur winked, but there was no way to tell, with those ridiculously large sunglasses.

How did those even become popular in the first place? They make people look like insects. Tall, lean, gorgeous insects, with... ugh, where is she with that grocery list? The cart rattled down the aisle, the fluorescent lights humming as Hermione scanned the yogurt selection. She had finally narrowed it down to three different variations of passionfruit when she heard a massive racket coming from the cart. Fleur was unloading an armful of ice cream toppings.

"Why, praytell, do we need six cans of whipped cream?" she hissed. Her jaw dropped as she saw what was meant to be a children's police costume set, complete with handcuffs. Fleur chuckled to herself merrily, sliding her sunglasses down her nose.

"What was that look for? Are you having some kind of party? You're having a party and you didn't invite me? I'm your roommate, for God's sake, I should—" Hermione gulped as the older witch's eyes flashed dangerously. She moved in closer, and Hermione could feel herself, leaning, leaning towards the woman who caused her nothing but frustration and aggravation and want. A lot of want.

"Oui, there is a party. You are the only one invited," she whispered throatily, toying the collar on the other girl's coat. Her face moved in closer, her lips were next to Hermione's ear.

An older muggle man cleared his throat. Hermione jumped and pulled away at the sound, caught completely off-guard, and embarrassed. "If you two'll excuse me for just a moment… I need to get to the milk." He was, it seemed, trying very hard to hide something.

"Of course, monsieur. 'Ermione, let the nice man through. 'e needs to keep 'is bones nice and 'ealthy," she smirked as he shuffled off awkwardly, embarrassed. Hermione noticed he was waddling, like a duck, and snorted to herself. She looked back to her blonde companion.

"Now, where is this party, Fleur?" The nightlife around town was one of the few things Hermione hadn't researched before they'd moved in.

"In my pants."

I'm not really sure if this started off as a crack fic, but it's certainly heading that way. I really enjoy making Fleur ridiculously off-the-wall sarcastic, even if it does seem a bit OOC.

I really should write something with substance one of these days.

Hmmm. To continue, or not to continue… maybe you should all drop a line and let me know?