FALLING INTO SIN
FD/HG
SUMMARY: Sometimes all you need is to just let it all go. "Is this our fate? Where do we go from here? It's hard to fall apart, but I'll take my chances and try to make it happen. I'll let you keep my heart..."
A/N: Damn I should be studying..
Don't worry I already have the drafts written down for the sixth chapter of Defying Gravity, but this one is just itching to get out of me. I hope you like this.
Read it. Praise it. Flame it. Burn it.
DISCLAIMER: I do not own anything because if I did, Fleur and Hermione will end up with a happily ever after. Lolz. ^_^
FIRST HALF: LEAP OF FAITH
One
"Don't be stupid Ron, I mean really, sometimes you could be so insensitive it makes me want to-ugh!" Hermione almost screamed out loud in frustration. They were in the middle of the courtyard, the sky a grayish tinge making the area bathed in shadow even though it was only in the middle of the afternoon. Thankfully it was a Sunday, so the courtyard was a little deserted except for the few students who were milling about and enjoying the last bit of sunshine before the downpour begins.
"What do you know about love anyway? You have the emotional tendency of a five-year-old when it comes to things such as this!" She said not caring whether she bruised the ego of the red-head, she had just about enough of Ron's accusations and temperaments, apparently he was still not over with the fact that Hermione went to the Yule Ball with Viktor Krum. This argument had started since the night after the ball and Hermione thought that it was finally over when she told him that she did not like Krum and that she only went with him out of friendship with the Quidditch star, well she thought wrong.
"Oh really?" Ron countered, his voice almost rising as well. "I may not know a lot about the emotional tendencies of five-year-olds, but I do know those kids knows a thing or two or more than they let on about these things!"
"Honestly! Can you really say that you have felt something even remotely like the one you had started talking about?" Hermione challenged, her hands on her hips an eyebrow raised.
"As a matter of fact, I have!"
"Well then, how many girls have you actually fallen in love with?"
Ron opened his mouth then closed it, then he did it again, it was like watching a red-headed freckly fish, Hermione thought. Finally, he relaxed his composure and just said nothing at all for the moment.
"Hmm, I thought so," Hermione scoffed, then stormed off past him in irritation, but not before Ron saying under his breath, which Hermione wishes she had never heard.
"Why 'Mione, how many of you are there?"
Hermione put her quill down and stretched her long slender fingers. She was half finished with the foot and a half long essay for Snape about the uses of gillyweeds, parts and magical properties which was due next week. Her concentration being constantly invaded with thoughts of the argument she and Ron had earlier that afternoon. She finally gave up, let out a deep sigh and let her thoughts wander.
She leaned back on her chair letting it stand on its two hind legs and looked up. From her perspective, she could see the grayish mast of the sky above from the window directly behind her. It was darker than the last time she had noticed it, but not yet quite enough to release the downpour it was inevitably holding in.
She let her chair fall back on its upright position with a soft thud. Hermione savored the unusual quietness of the library, no hushed whispers, no sound of scratching quills, no sound of turning a book's page, the one place in this big old castle which she truly feels comfortable, which she truly feels like herself. Since it was a Sunday, most of the students are either in their dormitories or the study lounge or somewhere about, but definitely not in her library.
She was in her favorite corner, a secluded small spot, almost concealed by the towering bookshelves. There are only three sets of small tables with two chairs each. She happened upon this corner while researching for an arithmancy homework back in her third year, and quickly found out that almost no students ventured here, except on occasion, and said students admits getting lost while searching for a book.
It was a nice place to be, especially when she really needed to clear her head or to sometimes just simply get away. She closed her eyes and softly swayed her head from side to side to release the tension on her neck, while at the same time finally giving up the notion on finishing her homework and think about what had happened earlier.
I can't think about that, she thought. I don't even know what that means and I don't want to know. But the thing is she already knows what it meant. She just doesn't want to admit it. What would Ginny say if Hermione told her, of course Ginny would say to go for it, to give her brother a chance, but the thing is as much as Hermione wants to she just couldn't. What would Harry say if Hermione told him, well not right now, she couldn't possibly burden him with a small problem of hers, not well since she dropped the bomb on him, about a certain someone whom she was fatally attracted to and of course Harry still has the third task to worry about. No, don't think about that, she chided herself.
Harry, she thought. I need to help Harry.
So, Hermione turned her thoughts to Harry's last task, wondering and thinking what kind of spells would help Harry in order to get him through that gigantic maze. She finally drifted her thoughts to Ron, wondering if helping him with his homework would avoid the uncomfortable silence they were sure to have after their conversation, if of course Ron does not avoid her first. If only Viktor did not ask her to the ball, if only she had said no, but it was too flattering to pass up (any girl would have swooned at her feet if an international Quidditch star would asked you to the ball,) maybe she could have avoided that conversation with Ron altogether. But then again, here she is, what can she do?
Viktor, he was the epitome of a gentleman during the ball except of course for the language barrier. At first, she was fully irritated with him, because he kept on invading her private corner. Taking the seat at the table directly across from hers, pretending to read or was he actually reading, she didn't know. Until finally she had had it and went on over to where he was sitting at and demanded why was he sitting there and that there are hundreds of tables where he could pretend to read. But Hermione was taken aback, when Krum said to her that he hates the girls who keeps on following him around and that he actually likes Ancient Runes and that he noticed that Hermione was taking up the subject even though it was advanced for her year. It was the start of their friendship, Runes and the mutual dislike of a noisy crowd, until two evenings before the Yule Ball, Krum asked Hermione if she would like to go to the dance with him.
The only time Hermione had a fluent conversation with Krum is if they were discussing about runes. But apart from that, the language barrier is simply just a problem. She had a hard time understanding him during the ball, but then again to make up for that, Krum was a good dancer. He could literally sweep her off her feet.
She closed her eyes and remembered the dance, she could still feel her body moving in time with the music. Hermione wasn't such a good dancer, but with a partner who is good at it, well let's just say she could get into the groove. She remembered, as she was twirling, at the corner of her eye, something caught her attention. Somebody dancing so gracefully, so graceful in fact that it looked like the person could be gliding, no, floating more likely. The silvery blonde hair that- No, stop that, she chided herself again. Think about something else. Hagrid and his blast-ended skrewts. Yes, that's a safer thought.
How in the world would she and Harry (yes, she conveniently forgot to include Ron) get Hagrid to get rid of those horrible blast-ended skrewts, if she ever survived another lesson? Hagrid and his unnatural affliction with monsters whom he sees as pets like a dog or a pony. Hermione, in her entire life would never forget how much trouble they got into with Norbert the Norwegian dragon, how Hagrid looked at that baby dragon as it hatched from its shell, the expression in his crinkly black—blue eyes, Wait, Hagrid's eyes aren't blue.
Blue eyes. Blue eyes that could turn icy or a deep shade of cerulean or even like the color of forget-me-nots, depending on the mood of the owner, Hermione supposed. Icy blue when it was staring like a predator would a prey, a shiver ran down Hermione's spine and her eyes suddenly flew open only to find herself staring at a pair of blue eyes, at this time as blue as the color of forget-me-nots and with a hint of quiet amusement beneath them.
Bloody hell, she cursed.
Hermione could feel her face, forming a scowl. She couldn't help it, it comes naturally like some sort of defense mechanism, especially when she is around this person. She knows fully well, how this person could undone her so in an instant if she lets her guard down, like that one time shortly after the second task. Quickly remembering her manner, as she is a student of the host school, she forced a smile to her face.
"Can I help you with something? The way back to the main area of the library, is through the second bookshelf from my right, straight up until you reach the Curious Magical Malady's Section, then turn left, straight again, then right when you reach the Famous Wizards of the Dark Ages Section, you'll see the main area from there."
Hermione then quickly turned her attention back to her unfinished essay, rewriting again the paragraph that she had already written so as to give the impression that she was busy and cannot be bothered with. When in actuality, she was carefully watching from the corner of her eye if the new comer would leave already. But much to her annoyance, the new comer drew up the chair across from her and place it adjacent to her right facing Hermione and then sitting down on it, much too gracefully in Hermione's opinion.
"Is zat 'ow you Eenglish, 'ow do say eet, entertain your guests?"
Hermione looked up, coffee brown eyes glaring at amused blue eyes.
"I 'ave 'eard zat ze Eenglish prided zemselves wiz zair etiquette and manners." There was a soft teasing note on the soft contra alto tones of the speaker.
"I beg your pardon?" Hermione automatically reiterated. Now, she really can't stop the scowl that was forming on her face. It feels like she was steeling herself for a verbal fight. Damn it! Why does this french enchantress keep triggering my defense mechanisms! She thought fiercely. Wait, did I just call her an enchantress? Stupid veela blood! I will not fall under that spell or thrall or whatever it is they call it!
Fleur chuckled softly. This irritated Hermione even more. How could it be possible that this French girl could look even more stunning than she was a minute ago with just a few play of facial expressions. There should be a law against them, Hermione thought savagely.
"Mademoiselle Granger, eef you 'ave only let me answer ze question, before giving me ze directions, you would 'ave known zat I am not lost."
It wasn't lost on Hermione that Fleur knew her name. She gritted her teeth, actually counted one to ten in her head so as to calm down her annoyance before speaking.
"Fine then, what can I help you with?" Hermione said with as much politeness as she could muster.
Fleur just stared at her, then began fiddling with Hermione's notes on gillyweeds. "Potions.." she muttered.
"Excuse me," Hermione said. "If there is nothing you want-"
"Zair is something zat I want," Fleur interrupted.
"Well then what is it?" Hermione said her patience just a tiny bit over the edge.
"I wanted to see you."
Hermione opened her mouth to say something then shut it again when she noticed the amusement was still on Fleur's face, like the French girl was actually taking delight in Hermione's discomfort.
"Are you on crack?" she finally asked. Yes, that is not the most elegant question that Hermione could have asked but that is the only one that came to mind.
Fleur then burst out laughing, her laugh like tiny wind chimes beautiful and vibrant but at the same time there was a certain gracefulness in it.
"Non," Fleur said after her laughter died down, but she was still chuckling.
Hermione had finally had it. If the French girl wouldn't leave then she would have to. It was worth giving up her private corner, her inner sanctum, than to stay and be mocked at.
"Look, I don't have time for this," she said while getting up and gathering the books, parchments, quills and ink bottle on the table not even bothering to stuff them all neatly in her bag, the way she always do so, while Fleur just watched on in amusement.
Turning her back on Fleur, Hermione was about to take a step when suddenly a streak of lightning flashed through the window and a loud clap of thunder soon followed. She froze. Books, bag, parchments, quills and ink bottles all fell down to the floor, ink splattering as Hermione covered her ears with both her hands, her eyes shut tight.
You knew there was a storm coming, you should have left an hour ago, Hermione thought frantically.
Her heart thudding painfully against her chest. Her body trembling all over. But before she could have opened her eyes, a sudden warmth enwrapped her whole being. She didn't know where it came from. Hermione was still afraid to open her eyes, fearing that a streak of lightning would flash again. All she knew at that moment that she felt safe.
"You're trembling," said a soft voice.
It was then that Hermione opened her eyes only to feel the soft fabric of a Beauxbaton's uniform against her cheek
"Eet is alright. Eet will not 'urt you."
Fleur was using her body to shield Hermione, but it was apparently not enough, for Hermione saw a streak of lightning flashed again and the loud clap of thunder soon followed. Automatic response had Hermione's eyes shut tight and hands pressed painfully to her ears.
"Shhh.." Fleur crooned.
A few more minutes passed to what seemed like an an eternity to Hermione, when finally the sounds of heavy rain could be heard and the booming of the thunder was drowned out. Her body finally relaxed and as soon as it did, she could feel the horror settling in with the realization that she was in Fleur's embrace.
Hermione pushed Fleur away, a little forcefully. "I'm sorry," she muttered not meeting Fleur in the eye.
But before the French veela girl could answer, Hermione was racing down the aisle leaving Fleur and her ink spattered books, bag and parchments in her wake.