A/N: Thanks for the reviews guys! And if you're gunna story alert me, please let me know why =( feedback means faster chapters yes ^_^
Disclaimer: Don't own it. In fact, I think it's safe to say that even by then end of this fic I won't own anything. So I hereby extend this disclaimer to the very last chapter.
Chapter 2
Hermione sighed. It was a dreary November morning, and she had skipped breakfast in favour of the library. Perhaps a wrong decision, as the girl had found very little on her topic of interest: Veelas. Or more specifically, methods of resisting their thrall. At this point it seemed as if Ron would spend the rest of the schooling year ogling the French beauty. The idea made Hermione frown and she began to read even more furiously than before.
Page after page she searched, but it seemed that veelas were as elusive in writing as they were in person. It just wasn't fair! That is, until Hermione's keen eyes picked up the word 'veela' on page 1336 of her current volume. Hermione grabbed for her quill in excitement as she read, skimming over the words, "appear as beautiful women... dance seductive to almost all (especially young) males... transform into harpies... balls of fire from their hands..." Hermione paused.
"What?" she whispered, re-reading the paragraph twice more. "Oh...my..." she mouthed, forgetting to be disappointed that the page said nothing about how to resist the veela's charms. Hermione's mind went into overdrive as she remembered what she had seen at the World Cup. She considered the consequences for being quarter-veela rather than full-blood, and the powers Fleur would theoretically possess.
"Hermy-own." Sounded a deep voice behind her and Hermione guiltily slammed her book shut, spinning to face the intruder. "I did not see you at break-fast."
"Oh ... no... I had some um... research to do before class."
"Vat is your research about?" Krum asked, attempting to examine the book's cover.
"Boggarts." Hermione lied. "I thought there was one in my wardrobe this morning, but now that I've read about them, it must have been nothing."
"May I take a seat beside you Hermy-own?"
"Um, sure. And it's Hermione. Her-mi-o-nee." She sounded out.
"Herm-own-ninny."
Hermione plastered a smile on her face. "Exactly." She stood up stiffly, walking over to the shelves to return her book. Krum followed barely a step behind her, so that when she turned around, she was met with a visage of his sculpted chest. She swallowed.
"Um, listen Krum."
"Viktor."
"Viktor. I have class now, so I'll see you later okay?"
"Tomorrow?"
The immobile smile returned. "We'll see." She awkwardly patted his chest, before hurrying off to class.
XXX
Classes dragged by slowly for the rest of the morning, and Hermione couldn't wait for lunch. She spent her time thinking about what she had read, about Ron, about Fleur and what she was capable of. If she danced would it amplify her thrall? Could she still transform into a harpy with quarter blood? Could she shoot fire balls from her hands? So many questions and Hermione didn't know how she could answer them without having to speak to the French girl. And then there was the issue of Ron – the boy seemed hopelessly affected by the thrall, without any hope of reversal. Perhaps she would need to ask Fleur after all... Hermione shook her head at the unappealing thought. Just because the Veela had been civil to her once, did not mean they were friends.
Slowly, Hermione became aware of a dull pain in her ribs. She turned indignantly to the offender. It was Harry, and he seemed to be trying to convey some kind of urgent, silent message.
"Miss Granger." The Slytherins began to snigger. "Dozing off are we? Perhaps you need a little motivation to go to bed earlier hmm? Five points from Gryffindor." Snape drawled. There was a groan from the Gryffindors in the room, and Hermione hung her head as the Slytherins sent jeers and taunts her way. Lunch couldn't come fast enough.
XXX
"So, want to tell us what was up in potions?" Harry waited until they were seated in front of their lunch before he raised the question.
"Yeah, you were practically sleeping with your eyes open." Ron contributed before taking a bite of chicken sandwich. "Bloody Slytherins." He mumbled.
"Listen," Hermione said quietly before leaning in and motioning that they do the same, "Fleur is quarter veela."
Harry nodded without surprise, as if he had known this already. Ron, on the other hand, blanched at this news.
"I knew it!" He whispered loudly, spraying chicken across the table.
Hermione winced as she brushed a piece out of her eyelashes. "Do you know what this means? Remember at the World Cup, when the Veela got mad? They grew wings and beaks and shot fire from their hands?"
Ron became paler, "Bloody hell." He whispered in wonder. "What a woman."
Hermione scowled.
This interaction did not escape Harry's notice, as he smiled knowingly and looked over to their topic of conversation. Strangely enough, she was looking right back. At Hermione anyway. Harry frowned thoughtfully, looking back and forth between Fleur, Hermione and Ron, until the Veela noticed him. She turned her nose up rudely and looked away.
"So, erm, Hermione. How's your spying going?" Harry asked
Hermione snapped around to face him, still upset over Ron's blatant admiration for Fleur. "It's not spying Harry. It's diplomatically uncovering the truth. And it's going fine. Thank you for asking." She sent a pointed glare at Ron, who just as pointedly ignored it.
"I reckon that Karkaroff's a shifty one. Wouldn't surprise me if he had some secrets."
"Actually," Hermione whispered, "He's a death eater." Harry and Ron stared at her in shock. "I saw the mark on his arm last night and er... confronted him about it. He started to say 'with the dark lord rising,' but he was cut off and ran away."
"You think he's still a follower of you-know-who?" Ron asked, shifting his eyes to Karkaroff's empty seat.
"Of course," Harry replied. "People don't just stop being death eaters! I wonder if Dumbledore knows."
"I think so; he said that everyone of importance already knows."
"I bet this is why Dumbledore asked you to spy on him!" Ron hypothesised.
"Obviously." Hermione drawled, as she recalled the night after Dumbledore's request.
Hermione 'hmph'd' for what seemed to be the thousandth time that hour. She was perched haughtily on the edge of a chair, arms folded , legs crossed and looking like thunder. Harry and Ron meanwhile, were relaxing calmly amongst a pile of cushions, a game of wizard's chess, and the warm glow of the common room fire.
Ron was just about to claim Harry's bishop, when Hermione 'hmph'd' again.
"Oh come on Hermione! It's not that bad! Honestly, you'll hardly have to do anything I bet. Shake a few hands, nod a few ways, it'll be fine!"
Hermione rolled her eyes. "I'm not fretting over the extra responsibilities Ronald. I'm angry that Dumbledore thinks they are necessary in the first place! I mean spying on the other schools? Really." She scoffed." And how am I supposed to get close enough to them to do that anyway?"
Ron stared at her blankly, and Hermione threw her hands up in exasperation. "This whole tournament is meant to bring our schools together. It's supposed to be about cultural integration and acceptance! SPYING on them goes against the fundamental values of this competition! If – "
"Hermione." Harry had noticed the redness of the girl's cheeks, and decided to cut in before she either suffocated or exploded. "Dumbledore always has a good reason. For everything. I'm sure he has good reason for asking you to do this as well."
Hermione sighed, defeated. "I suppose it could be fun..."
"Yeah, 'n you can introduce us to some pretty French girls while you're at it." Ron said with a grin, elbowing Harry. "Though with the way he's been caught up staring at Cho lately..."
There was a small crash as Harry's Queen was obliterated.
"Check mate." Ron grinned.
