Written for the Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition as Beater 1 for the Appleby Arrows.

Prompts:

(quote) "Is man merely a mistake of God's? Or God merely a mistake of man?" Friedrich Nietzsche

(word) freedom

Note: I feel like I have to point out that my main character is supposed to come off as snobbish and standoffish. And this is a bit different from what I usually write (actually everything is different) but I've never really written from a Muggles perspective... So we'll see...

Disclaimer: I do not own anything you recognize (or probably don't recognize).

Elora Pompinton could not catch a break.

No, really. She could never have 'break time' at work because of all the incompetents she was surrounded with. Honestly, you'd think that her colleagues would have a little more sense, they were chemists after all.

But this was the day. She could finally leave it all and have what she craved most: freedom.

...Well, for the weekend she could. Then it was back to work Monday morning.

Elora sighed, her shoulders sagging. She loved her work with all her heart, but it was rough being around men who thought they were more superior than her all the time. Women could be just as great as men! And she proved it, everyday.

'What a sexist age we live in,' she thought to herself. It hadn't even been thirty years since women were given the right to vote over across the pond in America. How pitiful was that.

Straightening herself (and mentally brushing the feminism on her mind away), Elora took hold of her suitcase, and got off the plane she had been on for hours. Back home in England she lived right in the center of London, so it was nice to be able to fly to the most romantic (and hopefully relaxing) city in the world: Paris.

'Hm,' she thought, 'The papers are right. It does smell a lot fresher over here. Curse our smog covered city.'

It wasn't long before Elora took a taxi to her hotel and was waiting to be checked in.

"Ahem," a voice said behind her.

Elora took note that it was a man's voice, and rolled her eyes, turning in anticipation that he would say something stupid to her. She hated men.

In case you couldn't tell.

"What," she grunted, looking at the dirty blonde greek god that stood behind her. Elora almost gasped, taken aback by how good-looking it was. But then she quickly furrowed her eyebrows, getting a good look at what he was wearing, which looked to be a collared top with a kilt over it, and a large bathroom robe over all that. His feet were what concerned her the most, considering he wasn't even wearing shoes!

"Did you notice the Wrackspurts flying around your head? I'd whack them away for you, but I'm afraid that'd just make them more upset."

"Er..."

"Oh!" he said, taking a hand out of the fluffy bathrobe, he held it out to her, "My apologies, Demetrius Lovegood."

Elora hesitated before grabbing his hand, to give it a little shake. She wasn't used to shaking hands, it wasn't a very common thing they did in England. But she could tell by his accent that he wasn't English, he actually seemed French.

"Parlez-vous français?" she asked, giving it a shot.

He smiled, "Oui, mademoiselle."

A bit mesmerize, since she didn't know many people who could speak French, Elora couldn't help but find herself start rambling on about what happened that day. Starting from when she woke up, literally, on the wrong side of the floor. Elora had been jerked awake after falling off of her bed (something she tended to do a lot. She really was an odd one) and then continuing on about the old woman she had sat next to on the plane, who had spent the entire ride reprimanding her for not being married yet.

Elora got so into what she was saying, she didn't even notice that she hadn't given him time to answer.

Demetrius held his hand over her mouth, which shut her up instantly. "Sh," he whispered and then looked around, "Otherwise you'll attract the Shargling Birds. And trust me, you don't want them bothering you."

He must have knocked some sense into her, because then she closed her mouth and turned around, still waiting for the receptionist to deal with what sounded like an Irish family, all arguing with each other. There had to be at least five children! Way too many, if you asked Elora.

She felt Demetrius tap her shoulder.

"Excuse me, mademoiselle, but I never got your name."

"That's because I don't feel inclined to tell you," Elora snapped. There was a reason she didn't have many friends, or people in general that actually liked her.

Elora Pompinton was as unfriendly as a woman got in the world. Or at least London.

"Well, that's not very kind. I thought Muggles were supposed to be kinder..." Demetrius whispered the last part more to himself. Elora had no idea what words he kept saying, but she was sure that they weren't English or French. Keeping herself from facing him, she tried to zone out, ignoring him until eventually he too gave up talking.

A half hour later, checked into the hotel and into her room, Elora flew to her bed. She was hoping to get away with an hour nap before heading to spend the evening roaming around Paris. Unfortunately, those dreams were shoved aside when she heard a knocking on her door.

"Ugh," she grumbled into her mattress, but got up anyway. "Oh. It's you," she said, seeing Demetrius there.

"I'm sorry, mademoiselle, but you left your suitcase in the lobby. I'm not really sure how you walked away, forgetting it, I mean it's the only thing you brought. Hm... Maybe that's another side effect of having Wrackspurts flying around?"

Too embarrassed at herself, she didn't pay any mind to whatever Demetrius was going on about. "Thank you," she said, grabbing and pulling it in. Elora paused at the door, thinking about saying something to Demetrius. Her mouth opened and closed three times before he took pity on her and said something.

"You never got around telling me your name," he said, completely disregarding the fact that she had practically told him to sod off earlier.

"Elora. Just Elora."

"Elora," he whispered, "That's a beautiful name you've got, Elora."

She felt her face warm and instantly knew her fair complexion was as red as a cherry. "Er, thank you," she said for the second time that night.

"Say, Elora," Demetrius started, "Do you have any plans this evening? I was hoping to go exploring the streets of Paris, but I'm quite in need of a companion."

Elora furrowed her brow, "Well-" she started, ready to reject him, but hesitated. Besides being very odd, she hadn't seen any qualities in him that usually made her ignore men. He showed that he was nice, even brought her suitcase up to her! A maid could have easily done that. Elora pursed her lips.

"Sure," she said.

"Great, let's go!" Demetrius grabbed at her hand, trying to grab her out of her room.

"W-wait, now?"

He gave her a strange look, "Of course! There's so much to see and very few time. Best get started now!"

"Er, well, let me just go get my purse and a jacket," Elora said, standing in the doorway. She gave Demetrius a look over, narrowing her eyes. "Are you really going to wear that?" she asked.

Demetrius looked down at himself, smoothing his kilt. "Why, what's wrong with this?"

Not finding the energy to explain, Elora just shook her head. "If you can find anything better to change into, then please do. I'll meet you in the lobby." And then she closed the door, getting what she needed for the night.

Twenty minutes later she was in the lobby looking at a better dressed Demetrius. He had opted for what was normally worn for men his age, and actually slicked his slightly longer than what men usually wore hair away from his face.

Impressed, Elora stood a little straighter, and had what was almost a smile on her face. "Now how did you manage to look so normal?" she teased.

He shrugged his shoulders, a twinkle in his eyes, "Magic."

It night was one of the best Elora had ever had. First they had went down to a French restaurant that was on the River Seine. After that they had actually gotten on the river itself, taking a boat around Paris. They practically ran through the bridges, stop to stare at the beautiful historical pieces, such as the Arc de Triomphe, and then found a nice grassy area to sit on by the Eiffel Tower. Elora had felt so free and happy, that a little weight felt as if it were lifted off her shoulders.

Demetrius laid back on his elbows, while Elora just laid completely on the ground, slightly giggling because of how great the day had been (and because she had more than her share of wine at dinner). "Thank God for you Demetrius," she said. Elora turned her head to look at him, one eye open. "It's honestly a miracle how you were able to convince me to come with you tonight," she looked up at the stars, both eyes now open. "I usually like to be alone, and not with some random man I just met."

"Is man merely a mistake of God's? Or God merely a mistake of man?" Demetrius blurted.

"Hm?" Elora asked, half listening. "God doesn't make mistakes," she yawned.

Demetrius shrugged, "Where I come from, God has a different definition."

Elora turned on her side, "And where do you come from?" she asked. "You're obviously French, yet you act as if this is the first time you've been to Paris. Why haven't you come before?"

"I went to a boarding school for a long time. Since then, I've been traveling around the world. I've seen pandas in Asia, the Aztec ruins in South America, ethnic groups in Africa, the Alps in Germany, the wild cities in America... but never Paris. Never had any interest in it, I suppose."

"I guess the lure of hopeless romantics is a bit off a turn off, yes?" Elora said.

"No," Demetrius shook his head, "Love is the most powerful thing out there. I never had any interest in Paris, because I never felt the pull to go there. Not until today. I was confused, until I met you. I think that's why I was drawn to Paris today."

Elora wasn't going to lie to herself, she was a bit freaked out. But deep down, she also felt the pull he was talking about. She didn't want to sound like one of the girls that just sat around reading romance novels and dreaming about their Prince Charming, but she did feel as if she and Demetrius were suppose to meet. Almost as if it were fate. (Little did she know it actually was fate for them to meet.)

"It's sad that I'm only here for another two days," Elora said, upset that her fairytale was going to end.

"We'll make the most of it," Demetrius promised.

They laid in silence for a while, until Elora opened her mouth.

"Demetrius," she started, "Have you ever been to London?" And she turned to him with an amused look in her eye and the biggest smile she had ever worn.