I am actually quite surprised at the reception this fic received, so i thank you for your support and encouragement. Someone mentioned that they didn't get why Hermione and Gabrielle were so chummy, so i figured i might regale you with an annexed version of their meeting, but also to set the scene for future Fleur/Hermione interactions.

Enjoy!

"How did you do it?"

"Do what?"

"Meet her of course!"

Hermione frowned as she flicked her hair out of her face in annoyance, struggling to keep her balance on the moving trunk while retaining a firm grip on the golden egg, or 'The Banshee' as Ron so eloquently dubbed it.

"When I was on holidays in France, the summer before last," came her distracted response, griping the trunk tighter with her legs as they passed over a particularly rough patch of ground. Almost slipping from her perch, she let out a startled squeak, struggling to keep a hold of the egg, "Honestly Harry, can't you move a little smoother?"

"Yes, well," he grumbled out between gritted teeth, "it's hardly my fault that Ron is a lumbering giant, is it?"

Ron snorted in response, fixing his grip on the handle, pulling in a deep breath before retorting, "Well it's not my fault that you're a skinny, specky git, is it?"

At that Harry relinquished his hold of the trunk, sending it, and Hermione, tumbling to the ground with a loud thump. Hermione let out a shriek as she collided with the muddy turf, the egg sent flying out of her hands as she landed. Ron let his end of the trunk hit the ground, laughing at Hermione's stunned expression.

"What the bloody hell was that for?" Came her rather shrill cry, causing both boys to recoil, wincing slightly as they did so. Harry had the grace to look somewhat sheepish under his red-faced exhaustion, while Ron simply looked at her as if she was mad.

"Well, that's what you get for acting like the bloody queen. Honestly, do we look like pack horses to you?" Dusting off the seat of her pants, grimacing at the wetness she found there, she raised a single delicate eyebrow at the redhead's outburst, daring him to encourage a reply.

He flushed red in response, dropping her gaze, muttering an apology under his breath, "… 'sides, Harry dropped you first…"

Turning away from the pair, she took in their surroundings, deciding that they were far enough away from the castle to try this ludicrous experiment without drawing too much attention to their activities.

"Right, well, we should be fine here, open it up then," She ordered, wandering into the nearby bushes to locate the egg. She could have sworn it flew off in this direction when she landed rather unceremoniously on her backside. She reminded herself never to let the boys carry her anywhere in future, wincing as she felt the beginning of a bruise forming as she bent over to retrieve the egg, dusting off the mud, leaves and chunks of grass now sticking to its golden surface.

Walking back to the boys, she found them standing around the open trunk, tossing the Quaffle back and forth, waiting for her. The bludgers rattled dangerously in their restraints, and the snitch was safely tucked away in its little slot behind the school crest. At Ron's feet sat a beater's bat – the reason they had commandeered the Quidditch chest in the first place.

Staring rather apprehensively at the short bat, she let out a shaky breath, trying to think of some way to talk the boys out of this mad attempt to get the egg to reveal its secrets.

"Harry," She started, the boy swinging round to face her only to have the Quaffle collide with the back of his head. She winced as he cradled it in his hands, shooting a rather dirty look at Ron who only grinned apologetically in response, "You do realise that if we do this it may get stuck open and then we'll have to live with its screeching twenty-four seven?"

Still rubbing his head, Harry looked up at her, pushing his glasses back up his nose, shrugging as he did so, "It did cross my mind, but seriously, I think we're running out of ideas here…" he trailed off, looking apprehensively at the bat as well.

Ron, however, looked exceptionally miffed, "You're telling me that we just lugged this hunk of junk, with you on top of it, all the way from the Quidditch pitch, to somewhere in the forest to try out my idea, only to tell us now that you're getting cold feet?!" He threw his hands in the air to emphasise his disbelief, turning around grumbling as he did, "… and you won't even tell me how you know Fleur…"

Hermione sighed in exasperation, tucking the egg firmly under her arm so she could put both hands on her hips, eyebrow raised dangerously at the fuming ginger, "For the last time, Ronald, I don't know Fleur, I know Gabrielle!"

"Well, they're sisters. You gotta know at least something about her!" He retorted, just as vehemently.

"Well, I am so sorry to disappoint – if anything I got the impression that she didn't like me at all, probably thought I was just some random muggle sullying her sister…"

Harry looked up from twirling the Quaffle between his hands, head quirked curiously at her. All too late Hermione realised she had effectively put her foot in her mouth, and with the way Ron's eyes lit up at the mention of seeing the French Champion outside of Hogwarts, she knew that they wouldn't make any progress with the egg until she at least regaled them with some part of her holiday.

"Ok, fine," throwing her hands up in much the same fashion as Ron only moments earlier, egg forgotten, letting the infernal thing tumble to the ground. She re-closed the lid on the Quidditch trunk, pushing the bat away with her foot, and sat herself down.

"I was in France the summer before last, my parents thought it would be a good idea, they like to travel you see," she trailed off, remembering with a certain degree of fondness the multitude of vacations she had taken with her parents – just this summer, before the Quidditch World Cup, she had been in Germany, going on tours through the Black Forest, visiting Worms, even going to visit a monastery where they made sourdough using yeast from the sixteenth century!

"Anyways, I got lost, my French wasn't exactly up to par and the map I had was very confusing – all the street names looked and sounded virtually the same!" She added indignantly at the amused expressions on her friend's faces. Tossing her hair out of her face once more, she continued with a rather annexed version of events, "Well, I was wandering around aimlessly, and ended up walking right into Gabrielle." She smiled fondly at the memory, chuckling at how they had both tried to speak, but neither really understanding the other. It made for some very interesting conversations.

Realising she had just been sitting there silently for a moment or two, the boys waiting on her to elaborate, she just gave them a disbelieving stare, shaking her head as she once again reached for the egg that had rolled behind the trunk, studiously ignoring their silent pleading for more.

"That's it?" Ron burst out, thoroughly displeased, "What about Fleur? How did you meet her?"

Hermione sighed in response, musing quietly that she had been doing that an awful lot today. "Gabrielle and I got to talking, badly – she didn't speak much English, and I couldn't speak French to save my life – but really, she was bored, and learning another language seemed as good a way as any to spend her summer. She got me back to my hotel, gave me her address, we spent more time together, developing our language skills," she paused for breath, knowing that she was really skirting around what they really wanted to know, but really, what could she tell them? She never spoke to Fleur that summer, was never introduced to her, and didn't see the fascination that the others, Harry more reserved than Ron, held for the older girl.

"And?" Came Ron's rather rude interruption again, waving his hands for her to continue, brow furrowed at her continual avoidance of sharing the details of her and Fleur's fated meeting.

"I went to Gabrielle's summer home once," placing a heavy emphasis on the last word, staring pointedly at Ron as she did so, "Fleur was there," she held up a hand to forestall any interruption on his behalf, "I was waiting in the entrance hall for Gabrielle to come down, and Fleur was standing at the top of the stairs on the landing, glaring down at me." She shrugged at the memory, still unable to fathom what she had done to elicit the older girl's wrath.

"You never spoke to her?" Harry asked in that quiet voice of his, Quaffle forgotten in his hands, eyes fixed firmly on his best friend.

"Never."

Ron grumbled in disbelief but held his peace as Hermione moved from her seat atop the trunk, stooping to pick up the bat, before replacing the Quaffle with the egg in Harry's hands.

"Well if we're going to do this, we may as well get on with it." Taking her position, she gripped the bat fiercely, adjusting her stance, trying to remember everything her father had taught her about softball – she had been a rather decent batter as a child, 'A-league potential' her coach had said –, but she had been so caught up in her books, and then magic, that the sport had kind of been put on a back burner for her.

"Ready?" Harry asked, pulling back the arm that clutched the egg. Ron had retreated behind Hermione, ready to catch it should she miss.

And Hermione never missed.

At least, not when she was playing every weekend and had training three times a week.

And that had been nearly five years ago.