Hermione rolled her eyes as she saw Ron turn purple, heads snap around and mouths hang open. Fleur Delacour was gliding through the Great Hall, her long silver-blonde hair swishing behind her.
Hermione smirked as she watched Fleur coldly stare down suitors and reject them with a harsh wave of her hand.
Hermione watched that proud haughty face, ravishing in its beauty, turn away from the throngs of people that followed her around the hallways. Ignoring their attempts at conversation, mocking them for following the thrall that drew them to her.
Hermione watched smugly because later that night, there was a familiar tug at her wrist to lead her to an empty classroom. Those same proud, arrogant lips trembled and whimpered at Hermione's neck. That same mane of shimmering silver-blonde hair brushed against Hermione's stomach as Fleur dropped to her knees to bring her mouth to Hermione, to kiss and lick fervently.
Hermione felt a certain cockiness as Fleur begged her, and undressed for her. And as Hermione fucked her, she knew who really had the upper hand.