August the Third
5pm
Paris, France
In a French bar

Paris so far had been amazing, everyone was friendly to him, he thinks, it was the first real stop on his Grand Tour. And so far it had been a nice city, the food was good, the scenery was good. But now he hit his problems. For a start he already felt homesick. Not a single person has called him an asshole, atleast he thinks so. He doesn't understand the language, and he wasn't likely to, he had several other places to go to still, he was going to tour Europe, or atleast the important parts. Those with good drinks, he still had Germany, Poland, Russia, Norway, all were said to have very good drinks. Then to tour China and Japan, see what they had to offer. Of course there was the side thing of learning how different countries and cultures did potions. But those were minor details.

Which brought him to France. So far the stuff he had was like having sex in a canoe. It was fucking close to water.Maybe he's just at the wron place, either way champagne and wine was next on his list. He looked at the woman serving drinks and nodded. "Jay voo dray is UN boot ell D red wine." He said, which gave him the response of an eyeroll as the woman walked off, he seemed chuffed with himself though. He's embracing the culture! That very morning he went into a Patisserie and ordered a sausage roll for breakfast.

He had been doing well for himself since arriving in Paris, he had gone out the previous night and hit it off with a girl. She was eyeing him up, he walked over and gave the opening line of. "I heard you French girls don't shave ya pits. That right or was my mate chatting bollocks?" He didn't understand why she walked off in such a frustrated manner. It was a simple enough question.

As the woman returned, handing down a glass of red wine and taking a galleon for it, which was a bit of a steep price if you asked him, all wine tasted the same after all. He spotted the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Now he had seen a few very good looking girls, although they never seemed happy when he told them they looked far better then the old women where he lived. Which was true, his grandmother and her friends were not good looking for their age.

Sipping at his wine he moved over to her. "Bomb jaw. Gem apple Lochlainn." He said confidentially, she laughed and it brightened his world. It was like ambrosia for his ears, he smiled back at her. "Ate tra?" He asked her. She leaned in and whispered into his ear. "I know English." In a voice that could soothe a Hungarian Horntail from a rage. "Now tell me, what is an Irishman doing in Pari?" She asked him gracefully.

"I'm going about Europe and Asia, to learn more about Potions. Just graduated from Hogwarts. Got an Outstanding in my Potions NEWT." He declared proudly to her, in an attempt to impress her, and it had seemed to work.

"An outstanding in your NEWT? And from Hogwarts? My my, you must be a very smart man." Now, Lochlainn wasn't one to stroke his own ego. He rubbed his ego hard until it was fit to burst. And she had hit it right.

"I don't mean to brag, but I made a Polyjuice Potion in my fifth year." A half truth, he had brewed one, but there was no way he was going to test it, as he was pretty sure one of his classmates had tampered with it heavily. So while he may of been correct, someone definitely did something to it, there is no way it is meant to smell like a festival toilet.

"Wow, and to think with such big hands you could do something so delicate?" She teased, putting a hand on his, her frame so small and delicate, soft and just perfect.

"I can do more then just make potions with them if you want me to show you." He said softly and leaned in, she slid up his body so that their lips touched. Both embracing the kiss. She pulled away and gripped his hand. "How about I take you to my place, and we can see what those hands can do."

Lochlainn merely nodded and stood up, she guided him out of the bar. And as much as he would like to say he got a girl that night. After leaving the door to the bar all he remembered next was waking up in a shady hotel bedroom, cheapest everything imaginable, with a lump on his head, with only his clothes, wand and passport. He never did find out her name.