Have a good Memorial Day everyone! :) Yes Fleur's rubbish English is done on purpose. Read with an accent please.
Shoutout to everyone who messaged me about the lube advertisement tumblr post I asked about.
Beauty
The first time Fleur called Hermione Granger beautiful; Hermione doesn't think Fleur even understands the word.
They're sitting in an empty Potions classroom at the cusp of sunset, the French girl throwing ingredients into the cauldron with ease. Hermione keeps glancing into her notes, comparing Fleur's actions to the instructions. Several times she has found herself speaking up or reaching for the decanter only to be swatted by Fleur's perfectly manicured hands.
"My potion," Fleur reminds as Hermione is just about to pipe up again, "I know how to brew."
Hermione tries to level her sigh but it comes out all breathy and frustrated.
"You came to me. For help, oui?" Fleur reminds, throwing several oregano leaves when the instructions only says one. "Let me help you."
"I did but—" A large bubble from the cauldron bursts, leaving a fine mist in the air, "It's not going to make my hair fall out?"
Fleur does what Hermione can only describe as a side eye but it's hard to pinpoint the girl's exact expressions when her face is unnaturally beautiful all the time. "If you did not believe in my skills, why did you come to me, hmm?"
Hermione's face reddens. Because out of anyone else in the three schools, Fleur was the only one who could possibly be adept enough to brew a high level hair straightening potion. She had heard the stories. Fleur Delacour isn't just a pretty face.
When Hermione remains silent, Fleur huffs and mumbles something about doing this all for a boy. It makes her ears red hot.
"It's not just for a boy!" Hermione's voice shoots three octaves higher than normal. "Its—"
"For Viktor Krum," Fleur finishes. Hermione nearly gags on her tongue while Fleur looks disturbingly uninterested at this fact.
"Like it matters to you," Hermione is trying to cover up her embarrassment and redirect the conversation, "why did you even agree to help me anyways?
This question draws a different look from Fleur's perfect face; her eyebrows shoot up and float momentarily on her forehead. She hadn't expected this question. Hermione feels a slight jolt of pride being able to surprise the older girl.
"It is how this…" Fleur struggles with her wording, biting her bottom lip for a moment, "process starts, oui?"
"Girls, turning into women. Wanting beauty, memorizing the invisibility spells for pimples, brew potions to get straighter hair?" Fleur shrugs, "What befounds me, what I do not understand, is why a beautiful girl like you would need Viktor Krum's approval."
Hermione feels a shiver move through her body. Her chest and stomach are pulling into two separate directions. No one has called her beautiful. It is a foreign word, something she'd never associate herself with. Viktor's called her pretty, but pats her hair fondly as if admiring the curls for their innocent girlishness.
"I'm not—" Hermione looks down at her lap, stares at her curly hair, knobby knees the black stockings can't hide, the lack of a chest stands out at her more than ever. "I am not…"
"Beautiful?" Fleur finishes her words again. The blonde picks up Hermione's hand and puts two small bottles of a warm potion into her palm. With her other hand Fleur picks up Hermione's chin so that she can no longer stare at her lap. "Two doses. Once in the morning and once more two hours before the Yule Ball will set your hair tamable."
Hermione blinks away the surprise. She expected Fleur to do something else but that thought was ridiculous and she immediately banished it from whence it came from.
"Thank you," she manages to croak as Fleur turns away. A simple wave of Fleur's hand hands sends the cauldron to the sink, emptying itself. Bottles of herbs and ingredients float themselves back into the cabinet.
"Au revoir, Hermione." Fleur politely picks up her baby blue tote bag and leaves the classroom without another look back.
The second time Fleur calls her beautiful, Hermione doesn't feel beautiful.
"You are," Fleur reminds her while she lays in near psychosis on that beach house. Fleur repeats this to her as she redresses Hermione's wounds. Fleur doesn't say beautiful as if it were a statement of admiration, she doesn't say it the way a man would tell his lover. She says it like a fact Hermione would read from a book. Fleur says it reassuringly as Hermione turns away from the mirror when Fleur baths her because Hermione cannot stand the sight of herself.
Skin, bones, hollowed eyes, the angry scar on her neck.
Fleur repeats this until she finally breaks one evening.
"My English fails me," Fleur grips the bandaging a little tighter, "I do not know the words to properly express myself. You are internally beautiful. Your heart and soul is strong. If you would let that show, people would know you are beautiful."
"Your English is almost perfect, Fleur." Hermione has to look away, "I don't feel very pretty right now though. Maybe one day."
"One day?" Fleur echoes.
"Do you think we have many days?" Hermione snorts, all bitter and sour.
"I hope."
They win the war. At a cost.
Hermione's hand is bathed in Fleur's blood when Harry finally arrives. She's screaming for Harry and his bloody wand. Ron has to pry her hand from Fleur's wound so that Harry can heal her.
Afterwards, Fleur and her share a make shift room at the east end of Hogwarts. Fleur doesn't feel very beautiful.
"You and I," Hermione notes, looking at the slur carved into her arm, "we're pretty beat up."
Hermione forces Fleur to sit so she can rebandage to the still bleeding laceration. That's the problem with curses. They can never really heal. Blonde hair falls in Fleur's face and Hermione brushes it behind small ears. The woman barely makes a whimper when Hermione dabs a numbing potion on her stomach.
"I'll patch you up," Hermione says, "like you did for me at Shell Cottage."
She's read the books. Veelas and their stigma against scars. Their bodies are gifts. To taint it or change it would be considered sacrilege.
"You're still beautiful." Hermione lets the words roll off her tongue. "Always have been."
Fleur lifts her face against the candlelight. "You don't mean that."
"I do." Hermione is sure of this. There isn't a stutter when she replies, "You are very beautiful."
It's ironic to think that the prettiest girl she knew would need to hear those words the most. But Hermione's realized that maybe Fleur needs to hear it more than anyone else. Perhaps she needs to hear it from a girl who can't be persuaded by her veela charm. Perhaps Fleur needs those words echoed to her so that she will feel as beautiful as she looks.
Tears roll down Fleur's cheeks.
This is the first time she's ever seen Fleur cry.
"I think it's damn stupid of you to be so upset over a scar." Hermione tenderly wraps the gauze around Fleur's midsection, preferring to do it by hand even when she knows magic is at her disposal. "You've got brains. Mad potion brewing skills. Wandless magic. Good cooking skills too."
"I am pretty sure Bill would even take you as his bride if he weren't queer." Hermione swallows, "You're so much more than a pretty face. Hasn't anyone ever told you that?"
Fleur finally looks at her for the first time and Hermione sees her mask that she wears everyday fall apart. The perfection, grace and beauty shatters into a million pieces, Fleurs' features contort into one of pain and complete humanity.
"No."
Fleur bursts into sobs.
Hermione holds her the same way Fleur did at Shell Cottage.
Hermione feels beautiful for the first time in her life the night before her Hogwarts graduation ceremony. She's in her dormitory when Fleur drops by, wearing a long skirt that swishes as she walks though the door. Pavarti and a younger Gryffindor excuse themselves and Fleur gives them a polite nod as they exit.
It's easier with Fleur now. She's more at ease with the other woman than she is with Harry. Between Harry and her is a brotherhood-like understanding and trust. Between Fleur and herself is something beyond an understanding; she feels warmth towards Fleur in a way that she's never felt with anyone else.
"Figured you might need this," Fleur hands her a neatly wrapped package while eyeing Hermione's graduation dress that is hanging from the top bunk.
The present shimmers and unwraps itself. Hermione lets out a small laugh.
"Thank you Fleur," she says, feeling the potion bottle's smoothed surface. "But I don't think I need it."
Fleur's face lights up. There is surprise and pride in her eyes.
"I like my curly hair. It's me." The words finally feel natural on her lips, "I'm beautiful."
Fleur nods, gripping the bed and bending down to meet Hermione's smile. Their lips meet and Hermione feels beauty to the core of her being. Hermione barely has her arms wrapped around Fleur's lithe waist, pulling her down towards the bed when McGonagall clears her throat with such distinction Hermione nearly collides with her headboard.
"Professor!"
"Miss Granger." McGonagall curtly nods at Fleur, "Do I need to remind you the school's code of conduct on the eve of your graduation?"
I'm working on Breakfast. Don't worry. Please let me know what you think. The review button is down yonder!