Fleur Delacour hated England and all that it entails. She would even resent me for writing this story in English, same as she resents her Mother for teaching it to her so well, that sometimes, she spoke it without noticing. But, alas, I am not fluent in French, and so I shall tell this story the best way I know how, truly sorry in advance.

I'm writing this words on this parchment with only her in mind. There is still so much fight left, there is still so much for me to do. When morning comes we are to leave.

I'm currently sitting in the big brown leather chair she loves so much. I dragged it here, next to her bed. She looks so young when she's sleeping, no worries are evident on her face. I don't know how I am going to leave her. Some part of me is glad though. The thought of her opening her eyes, looking at me and not recognizing me. The thought of her dark blue eyes looking at me with anything but warmth. I can't even imagine.

Fleur, mon chéri, you fought well, you saved me yet again (and to think I asked you not to make a knack of it the first time). They say you won't remember me, or anything for that matter. They say I shouldn't be here for that, that Apolline will take care of everything and that she will fix you.

She told me to leave a photograph of us (Kind of lucky that you won't remember how much you hate this photo. Never understood why though, you look stunning here). She told me it's a long process and that I should be focusing on saving the world.

You're my world, and I would always save you.

With the last hours I have until dawn I'll write it all, from the first time I ever truly laid eyes on you, and then no matter what will happen, you'll know. You'll know.

I can't write it as if I am talking to you, I can barely write as it is. My heart ache for you to hold me, or at least for you to squeeze my hand back. I'm starting to get emotional. Let me just begin.

I first saw Fleur Delacour when I was in my fourth year at Hogwarts. Disliked her from the first moment I've ever seen her. She was the appeal to all the boys, and the envy to all the girls, and she seemed to like it (now I can tell for certainty that you indeed do). That, with her being a little bit mean to Harry after he was chosen as the fourth champion, was enough to justify my feelings. The first time we spoke had defiantly changed some things:

Hermione was in the library. She was still feeling upset from having to listen to both Ron and Harry complain about each other, and she was sick of passing notes between them like she was a bloody owl. She was looking for her favorite book Hogwarts: A history , which she hoped would give her some much needed peace. The bushy haired girl walked slowly through the aisles, trying to avoid Ron's eyes, breathing the familiar smell and grazing her fingers gently upon the books as she passed. Upon reaching the desired isle, she directed her eyes towards the book's resting place, but instead of beaches of knowledge and the promise of relaxation, she was met with an empty space.

Angry, she stomped to where Madam Pince were and with a much harsher tone then she anticipated she asked, "excuse me, where exactly is Hogwarts: A history?"

"Dear, haven't you read it a thousand times?" The librarian tried to reason with her.

"Did someone checked it out?" Hermione ignored her, feeling like she couldn't catch a break at all.

"No." She simply said, no further explanation given. After receiving Hermione's famous glare, the woman seemed much more inclined to continue. "If it's not there, it must mean someone is reading it at the library." She said sternly, and then she added, "and I would ask for you to not disturb who-"

But Hermione didn't seem to want to hear the rest, for she backed away from the librarian and began to exam the covers of the books people were reading. Cedric Diggory sat by himself at a table near the window, reading some book about the dark arts, Luna lovegood seemed fully submerged in The Monster Book of Monsters and no other table revealed someone reading her book. She walked further into the library, next to the restricted area was a small hideout place, where Hermione loved sitting and reading away from watchful eyes.

Indeed, someone was there. Fleur Delacour, the girl Hermione hadn't dedicated another thought towards other than dislike, was sitting there, looking quite entailed with the book she was reading. The French girl was wearing black jeans and an over-sized blue jumper. She had her hair up in a messy bun, and Hermione had to admit that when Fleur didn't know she was being watched, she looked somewhat human; her back not completely straight, but instead hunched a bit, to look at the book resting on her knees. Her expression didn't seem distant or superior, but rather interested and focused, and Hermione thought for a second that she wouldn't mind seeing her more like that.

A little hesitant, her anger mostly gone after she saw Ron being yelled at by Madam Pince earlier for bringing chocolate into the library, she walked towards the blonde sitting on the floor and asked quietly "Is this Hogwarts: A history perhaps?". Fleur lifted her gaze from the book and looked at Hermione as if trying to concentrate at what she just asked. Her stern look, Hermione assumed would shortly return to mask her face, was nowhere to be seen, and instead a look of soft confusion appeared in his place. The young Gryffindor knew all too well the feeling of being yanked out of a book, smiled a little and pointed towards the book, repeating her question. Realizing, she simply nodded at the brunette. "Okay, well, are you planning on keep reading it?"

"Amm. Zust ztarted actually." She lifted the heavy book to show Hermione how many more pages she had left. "Trying to learn about 'our school." She added, straighten up a little.

"Oh." Said Hermione quietly, and when Fleur gave her a questioning look, she remembered she was somewhat in a middle of a conversation. "Most people who go here seem fine with just being around and learning on the go. I don't know of anyone but me who've read the book." She wasn't sure why was she still talking to her.

"So 'ou've read it?" A smirk forming on the Beauxbatons girl's face. Hermione simply nodded, feeling the familiar blush forming on her cheeks. "And 'ou're looking for it to read again?"

"For the fourth time actually." The younger girl answered honestly, feeling like there was no reason to not own up to who she was exactly. Fleur smile grew bigger with Hermione's confession.

"Superb. Tell me zomething. Which house was Voldemort in?" She asked, noticing the way Hermione shivered when she mentioned his name.

"Hmm, Slytherin"

"I can zee zhat. Victor muzt be feeling at home." She added the last part quietly more to herself.

For the first time since Hermione came to the school, she was feeling like she didn't really know all the students. Given, a few dozen people from both Beauxbatons and Durmstrang had arrived at Hogwarts for the Triwizard tournament just a few weeks ago, but the problem was that for lack of proper sorting, there was not telling of the newcomers dominant feature. The only thing she knew for sure was that the Durmstrang boys preferred sitting at the Slytherin table, and that the Beauxbatons sat with the Ravenclaw.

Hermione wondered what bad blood could possibly be between the two, for they only been her for three weeks. And as blunt as ever, Hermione asked exactly that. Fleur laughed, a genuine, reaching dark blue eyes kind of laugh. She took a second to take Hermione's form in, her eyes running up and down the younger girl's body, taking everything in, as if she just discovered this long lost treasure. "I don't zhink I zhould say." She answered, still smiling.

Hermione, seeing that the other girl still looked fine with the intrusion finally felt comfortable enough to sit down, and she lowered her body to lean on the wall facing the other girl, their legs lightly touching. Quickly, Hermione drew her legs into herself with such force that she banged her knee into her chin and made a grunting noise. She tried to mask it as her plan all along by placing her head on top of her knees gently, not wanting to hurt her bruised chin further, and opened her mouth to ask her next burning question when she detected the look of concern on Fleur's face. The brunette gave her the best reassuring smile she had managed, considering the fact she couldn't understand why the other girl looked this agitated regarding to her stupid injury. To keep herself from feeling embarrassed she eagerly asked "Why shouldn't you say?" As if the conversation hadn't been interrupted.

Another laugh. Hermione thought she wouldn't mind hearing that again also. From the three minutes encounter, she knew she wanted more of Human laughing Fleur. "He likes 'ou".

"What?"

"Looks at 'ou alwayz, here all zha time." She said as if it was the most natural thing in the world (Which it is, for her at least).

"You see him looking at me?" The younger girl found herself deeply more interested with Fleur noticing her, than with Victor Krum. She thought to herself that she only noticed because of the older girl's dislike towards him, and also that if she herself doesn't like Fleur, and Fleur doesn't like Victor, by that math Victor and her should be best buddies at least. Lastly, she pondered why is she sitting here talking about this instead of the book she came to collect, but even with all those logical scrambled thoughts in her head, she didn't seem to move a muscle, waiting for Fleur to answer.

"What iz 'our name?"

This certainly wasn't an answer. She was about to state just that to the girl, but when she opened her mouth, her speech was long forgotten, and her name shot out instead "H-Hermione Granger."

"'ermione Granger." Fleur said the name in a smoother voice as if seeing how it feels against her tongue, making its subject blush a bit more. "I zee you whenever you're near." She added quietly, her dark blue eyes looking directly into Hermione's, honest evident in them.

Hermione wasn't sure if that was the answer she had been hoping for, but it was defiantly an answer.

After that we fell madly in love. No, I am only joking. We weren't even close to that.

She simply left the library, leaving the book behind her. No words passed between us in the corridors, no smiles exchanged in the great hall over bacon and eggs, nothing like that. The only thing that changed was that I began to see her whenever she was near.

-End of chapter one-

Not sure if I should continue this.

Would you like me to write chapter two?

Tell me what do you think.

Thanks for reading:)