Author's Note: This is a three-part gift for QueenOfTheQuill! Thank you for all your amazing reviews and responses!

Paris was magical in the winter, and no place more so than La Magie, the premier district for French wizards and witches.

Walking down the cobblestone streets with a heavy bag on one shoulder and his work apron under the under, Jean Beufort happily weaved his way through the growing crowds on his way to work. Many of his co-workers complained about the swarms of people that flocked to the bustling district during the holidays, but Jean liked it. He enjoyed seeing people happy and busy.

At last, Jean came to the café and coffee stand he'd been looking for. Hopping up the curb, Jean entered through the café and then crossed over through a small alcove, where he ducked into an exterior square that served drinks directly to the street. Dumping his bag on the table, Jean first picked up a cup to make himself a hot coffee. It was freezing out, and he rubbed his gloved hands together for warmth while his coffee brewed in the magical pot. He still had about fifteen minutes before his shift started, so he considered picking up one of his books while he waited. Then he spotted one of his younger co-workers, Amelie, sitting on the only bare table in their cramped space. She looked miserable.

"What's the matter?" he asked, picking up his coffee. Amelie looked up.

"Oh hey," she said. "I didn't realize you were working today." She wiped away some tears from the corner of her eye. "It's nothing, really," she muttered. "Just had some jerk customer this morning."

"Oh, Amelie, don't let customers get you upset," Jean said, giving her shoulder a squeeze. "Those sorts of people aren't worth your time."

Amelie groaned. "I know, but this guy keeps coming back! He's been here every day for the last two weeks, and every single time, he says the most horrible things to the baristas. Like yesterday, he told Julie she would be better off digging ditches than making coffee." Amelie leaned forward, hands gripping the table, "and then today he asked me if my parents were brother and sister, because he couldn't fathom any other reason why I would be so incompetent."

Jean raised both brows. "Wow, what an asshole."

"I know!" said Amelie. "He's a total – argh, you've got to be kidding me! He's here AGAIN! Merlin's beard, he was already here once today!" Together, she and Jean peeked out of the tiny window of their coffee hut. "There he is. That tall fellow right there." She shot Jean a dour look. "He's English."

"Well, that explains it," said Jean with a smirk. His eyes finally landed on the wizard Amelia had pointed to, and Jean bit his lip. Amelie looked over at him and huffed.

"Jean, don't you dare say that boy is cute."

Jean tried not to grin. "He's not cute. He's damn gorgeous." And so he was. The wizard in question was tall and slim with very dark skin, light hazel eyes and strikingly elegant features. On the street, he stood next to an equally beautiful witch, one who matched his skin tone and dashing good looks. They also shared a dangerous air about them, and even amongst the crowds, they certainly stood out.

"But," said Jean, straightening, "being good-looking is no excuse for being an ass." When the English pair approached, Jean picked up his apron. "Let me handle this one."

"Are you sure?" asked Amelie, even though she looked relieved. "You're not even on the clock yet."

"I've got it," Jean promised her with a smile. He waited at the window, and when the pair approached, looking haughty and imposing, Jean leaned on the window counter with an easy smile. "Can I help you?" he asked. He kept to French. Let the Englishman try his hand at it.

The wizard looked to Jean's face, and for just a moment, his eyes flickered as if he were inspecting him. Then he responded in stoic French, "A Grande non-fat sugar-free, two pumps Vanilla, four shots latte – hot. And a Venti soy three pump Cinnamon Dulce latte, no foam, extra whip, extra hot."

Jean listened to the order without moving. When the young wizard was finished, he narrowed his eyes on Jean. "Aren't you going to write that down?" he asked.

"No," said Jean cheerfully. Then he retreated from the window without another word. A few minutes later, he returned to the window with two steaming drinks and placed them on the counter. "Two Galleons, three sickles."

The Englishman shifted his eyes mistrustfully over Jean, taking the drinks and handing one over to the witch before he took a sip of his own. Jean watched. As expected, the wizard needed only one taste to know his order was perfect. He looked up at Jean and lifted his chin.

"Well," said the other wizard with reluctant approval, "would you look at that. Someone in this hovel can actually make a decent drink." He pulled out his gold and deposited it in the bucket. "You should train some of your lackluster co-workers. They could use a lesson or two."

Jean leaned on the counter again. "I don't think that's necessary," he told the wizard in English. "After all, they would probably do a lot better job with your order if your French weren't so terrible."

The Englishman's eyes widened and then he scowled. Smirking, Jean straightened from the window again. "Have a good day," he told the young wizard. Then he shut the window in his face while Amelie cheered and jumped up and down in her spot.

Laughing to himself, Jean finally clocked in and gave Amelie some relief. When it came time for his break some hours later, he picked up his heavy bag of books, dropped his apron on a hook near the door and then stepped out of the closet-sized coffee alcove to cross the street to the deli. There, he bought himself a sandwich and sat down at a table. After taking a few bites of his food, he pulled out a heavy textbook and began reading, occasionally making notes with a quill. About fifteen minutes into his break, he looked up and saw the haughty Englishman sitting nearby.

This time he was alone, and although it looked like he had been there for a while, he was now watching Jean as if he'd been waiting for him. Jean glanced around, still chewing on his sandwich, but there seemed to be no reason for the English wizard to be staring. He went back to his studying, lips quirked.

The Englishman looked very annoyed. Now that he had recovered from his shock, it seemed his plan was to eviscerate Jean with a stone-cold glare that was unwavering in its intensity. It was an impressive glare, Jean had to give him that. However, Jean was not easily disturbed, and he read on without looking up again.

After a while, Jean finished his meal and left without addressing the Englishman.

Two days later, Jean came into work and had only been there about ten minutes when the dark-skinned English wizard arrived again. He came up to the window alone, ordered his drink, and stood in straight-faced silence while Julie made it nervously. Jean watched from behind the window, where he could not be seen.

"Here you go, sir," said Julie, cautiously sliding the drink to the young wizard.

He accepted it, and without taking a drink to test it, he dropped three Galleons into the cup, even though the drink cost less than that. Then he left and crossed the street to the same deli as before, where he took a seat and said nothing to anyone.

Jean peeked out of the window and laughed. "Looks like someone learned to hold hi tongue," he mused, and Julie let out a breath of relief.

"Thank goodness. He was awful."

"Mm, looks like just another spoiled brat to me," noted Jean. After a few minutes of watching, Jean pulled back from the window. "Hey, I know it's early, but do you mind if I go ahead and take my break? I'm starving."

"Go ahead," said Julie, taking a seat since there were no customers. She flipped through a copy of Witch Weekly. Jean picked up his bag of books and a cup filled with coffee. After that, he left the coffee shop and went across the street, taking a seat at a table right next to the Englishman and his steely glare. Flipping open a book, Jean reclined comfortably in his seat and began reading about cardiovascular disease.

He could feel the Englishman looking over. At last, the other wizard said in dry English, "What does a barista need to know about cardiovascular disease for? Afraid one of your overpriced drinks might actually kill someone?"

Jean glanced up before looking back at his book, lips quirked. "I'm in Healers School." He turned a page. "And for your information, you're the one who buys those overpriced drinks. Just in case you forgot."

The Englishman bristled. "Only for lack of better option. I thought Paris was supposed to be renowned for its food and drink. So far, everything has been supremely subpar."

"Again," said Jean, marking something on a page, "that's probably your terrible language skills."

The other wizard scowled. "A Healer, you say? Well, I certainly hope your bedside manner is an improvement over your customer service skills. I would loathe to be one of your patients."

"With an attitude like yours," said Jean, "I'm surprised you're not someone's patient at this very moment, waiting for them to fix your broken jaw."

The Englishman's mouth tightened grimly. "Perhaps the reason I'm not is because anyone who knows me would never dare attempt such a foolish thing." He paused before adding, "And your country leaves much to be desired, by the way."

Jean let his quill fall against his book. "So then what are you doing here, if you find France so – " he rolled his eyes dramatically here, and the other wizard's annoyance visibly increased " – undesirable."

The other wizard paused, and Jean thought he might not answer. Then he said, "I'm visiting my sister. She lives here, unfortunately." This was interesting to Jean.

"Was she the witch who was with you a few days ago?"

"Yes."

"Ah," said Jean. "I figured she was your equally unfriendly girlfriend."

"Hardly," said the other wizard. Silence fell for a few moments, before he went on casually, "I suppose one of those simpleton baristas you work with is your girlfriend? Since you were so offended that I hurt their feelings?"

Jean waved his quill. "No, actually I only cared so much because they are humans who were doing you a service, not your personal punching bags." He looked back at his book. "And I don't date women."

It was hard to figure out the other wizard's facial expression. For a moment, the stoic wizard looked confused. Then it was gone, and his face was blank. After a few minutes, the Englishman stood abruptly and left, looking to Jean briefly and saying, "Enjoy your reading," before he departed into the crowd and vanished.

Jean watched him go, brows furrowed. Weird fellow, he thought, before returning to his studies.

From that day forward, the Englishman wizard came to the coffee shop at least once a day. He would order his complicated drinks, receive them without complaint, and then deposit his gold in the bowl with a little extra on top. Jean sometimes took his order, and other times he did not. When Jean did, however, he noticed that the young wizard always took his drink across the street and sat at the deli, just barely in view of Jean's window.

The third time this happened, Jean took his break as soon as the other wizard sat down, gathered his books and found a table next to the Englishman.

"Does the concept of a 'break' escape you?" asked the English wizard after a moment.

Jean looked over at him, shrugging one shoulder. "I have to work full-time to pay for my schooling," he explained. "If I can pass my exams next May, I'll move on to become an Apprentice Healer. Then I can actually start working in hospitals." The books made an ominous thud against the table. "Until then, I have to study whenever I get the chance."

Frowning at his textbook, Jean dropped back his head and groaned at the sky, which was gray and cloudy.

"Aw," said the English wizard. "What's the matter? Big bad book getting the better of you?"

"Shut up," said Jean crossly, noting the Englishman's dark amusement as he did so. "Everyone else I go to class with gets to study together in groups. I have to figure all this out on my own." He let a closed fist fall dully on the top of his textbook. "And my exams aren't just question and answer. They're hypothetical questions posed as real-life situations. It's hard to make those up on my own for the purposes of studying."

The Englishman seemed to think about this. Then, to Jean's surprise, he stood up and crossed over to Jean's table. "Well, as it so happens, conjuring violent hypothetical situations is within my skillset." He folded his hands in front of him on Jean's table. Merlin, he was even better looking up close, Jean noted with irritation.

"Why does that not surprise me?" asked Jean rhetorically.

The Englishman pulled over Jean's book and observed the marginal notes in the chapter. He only needed to scan it for around thirty seconds before he seemed to feel he was ready to test Jean. Jean, on the other hand, was quite skeptical, but he waited patiently for the other wizard to speak.

"So," said the other wizard, "let's say that some foolish vagabond owes my family a great deal of gold, but he refuses to pay, so I break both of his legs."

Jean raised a brow. "Are you – are you a mobster?"

The other wizard ignored his question. "And after I break his legs, I bring him to your doorstep. What is your first course of action?"

Jean settled back in his chair. "Well, that's easy. I use Brackium Emendo."

"Ah," said the other wizard, "but what if the poor bloke – in all his horrendous but well-deserved suffering – attempted to mend his broken bones himself, and as such, now has multiple oblique fractures?"

Jean hesitated. Despite himself, he smiled a little at the challenge. "Well, in that case, Brackium Emendo might do more harm than good. So I could use…" he thought about it. "A combination of Skelegro and a Splint Spell. So long as the bone hasn't pierced the skin, that is."

"In which case you would use…?"

Jean thought about it again. "Benito Potion, to protect against infection."

The other wizard glanced at the textbook. "The dosage of which is dictated by the patient's…?"

"Age," said Jean.

"But what if he can't tell you his age?" asked the Englishman. "After all, he is writhing in pain, perhaps even unconscious. You can't just cut him in half and count the rings on the inside. What do you do?"

Jean put his chin in his hands, thinking hard. After several seconds of silence, he said excitedly, "A Mendley's Potion mixed with a skin sample should tell me! Or, if I was pressed for time, I could err on the side of safety and go for an average adult dosage."

The Englishman closed the book with a smirk. "Well, well. Look at that. You saved that poor bastard's legs."

Jean smiled broadly. "That was helpful," he admitted. "Thank you."

Predictably, the other wizard dismissed his gratitude with an indifferent shrug. However, Jean spotted a hint of warmth in his hazel eyes. "You should probably return to your hapless co-workers," said the other wizard. "Lest they catch the building on fire without you there to corral them."

Rolling his eyes but keeping his smile, Jean took back his book. "Will you be here tomorrow?"

"Perhaps," was the other wizard's coy response.

Laughing, Jean picked up his things and returned to work.

Over the next week, the English wizard – who, for whatever reason, never revealed his name – came back each day and posed creative (and sometimes disturbing) medical situations to Jean, allowing him to puzzle through them and then make proposals.

Two days before Christmas, the other wizard finished his outlandish hypothetical situation (this fictional fellow had been buried alive and dropped in a lake) before pushing the book back at Jean and folding his hands in his lap.

"I won't be here tomorrow," he told Jean. "And I'm returning to England after that."

Jean found himself disappointed, much to his surprise. "Oh, well. Thank you for your help. I hope you enjoy your holiday with your family." He leaned back in his chair. "Are you returning to a job or…?"

"Not exactly," said the other wizard. Jean stared for a moment before he leaned forward on his elbows.

"Wait a minute," he said. "Are you still in school? How old are you?"

The other wizard hesitated. "Seventeen."

"Liar," said Jean, grinning. "I haven't seen you do a hint of magic since you got here. You're not of age."

The Englishman scowled. "Fine, I'll be seventeen in four months."

Jean laughed. "Well then," he said coyly, eyeing the handsome young wizard, "that is good to know." To Jean's surprise, the younger wizard flushed a little under his dark skin.

After a moment of silence, Jean reluctantly gathered his things. "Thank you again," he told him. "I should get back to work, though."

"Need to earn a lot of gold?" asked the other wizard.

Jean nodded. "Tuition for the Healer's school is two hundred Galleons a term, and I have to pay it at the start of the year." He smiled easily. "I'll make it, though. I always do."

Flashing his eyes over the dashing Englishman one last time, Jean nodded to him. "Enjoy your Christmas," he said lightly, and the Englishman's lips lifted at a hint of a real smile. Jean found the softened version of his severe features very difficult to look away from.

The very next day, Jean returned to work under a heavy snowfall. As he ducked into the coffee alcove where he worked, Amelie looked up at him with wide eyes. "Jean, you won't believe it," she said, holding out the bowl where their gold went during each shift. "Look at this!"

"What is it?" he asked, before peering in and making a startled noise. The bowl was full of Galleons. "What in the hell?" he said, fishing his fingers through it. That was when he spotted a note at the bottom, buried beneath the gold coins. He pulled it out.

For your tuition, read the note.

Jean stared in disbelief before he smiled, very much against his own will. "Damn it," he said, chuckling and shaking his head. He needed to return this! He couldn't accept that wizard's gold. Jean waited all day to see if the Englishman would return, but he didn't. True to his word, he was gone from the streets of La Magie.

Jean put the gold in a jar and kept it in his small apartment, but he had no intention of using it for tuition. He couldn't accept this. So what else was he going to do with it? However, he did find that he liked looking at it, so he placed the jar near his bed, and whenever he grew exhausted with work and school, he would look over at it and remember the strange Englishman who had left such an impression on him in such a short period of time.

Six Months Later

Thunder rolled across the sky, and rain poured in a seemingly never-ending torrent, causing the streets of La Magie to look more like a roiling river than a cobblestone path.

Despite this, Blaise Zabini strolled the streets quite casually, with a large black umbrella in one hand and a damp cloak slung over his shoulders. Turning to find the street he was looking for, Blaise walked until he came at last to a set of tall windows and a small square hut with a window. However, the window was closed, and it appeared the café was as well. Blaise observed this with a disappointed grimace.

That was when he looked through one of the café windows and spotted a small cluster of people inside, not customers, but workers, all gathered around a strikingly handsome Asian wizard who was smiling and hugging them all. The other co-workers were patting his arm and cheering for him, and the bashful wizard ducked his head against the praise. Then he shook the hand the elderly café owner and handed over his apron, which the old wizard accepted with a teary nod.

Blaise felt the tight muscles of his mouth relax into a close-lipped smile.

Just then, the Asian wizard looked over and spotted Blaise watching from the street, ankle-deep in rainwater and quite alone. The two met gazes, and Blaise's rare smile grew, even though he tried to quell it. A few of the others in the shop looked at Blaise as well, and some of them laughed at their friend's awe-struck expression.

Blaise thought the other wizard might simply wave or nod to him in acknowledgement. Instead, he finished saying good-bye to his co-workers, grabbed his cloak and wand, exited the café alone and jogged right up to Blaise so he could duck under the protection of Blaise's umbrella.

He was beaming, a truly joyous expression that made his dark eyes twinkle.

"Congratulations," said Blaise.

The other wizard's grin grew. "Thank you," he replied. Then he reached forward and tugged Blaise by the back of his neck until their lips met, capturing Blaise's robes in the same moment and holding him close. Blaise's eyes widened in surprise, but that quickly melted away under the kiss, and he stepped closer into the deepening kiss.

After a moment, the other wizard pulled away only an inch. "My name is Jean, by the way," he said, laughing.

Blaise rolled his eyes and tightened his fingers in the front of the French wizard's robes. "Blaise Zabini," he murmured, before yanking Jean back to him. Their lips crashed together again, heat pouring between them as the kiss grew deeper, more feverish.

The thunder rolled on, and the rain continued to pour around them, but they kissed on and on, paying the world around them no mind at all.