/Ayyyyyy another chapter done so it seems, this is kinda a slowburn which is something I didn't establish at the beginning, or at least I think it is? I have no real structure for this as it doesn't really affect the plot either way so it might not be who knows!
A/N: Wish I did, but I don't own this/
Those eyes. Those damn eyes; they stared into her soul, made her feel vulnerable, weak, exposed. But she couldn't look away. Surely enough, the French witch plastered her face with a smug smile as Hermione joined the group of idiots staring at her and drooling over her like a piece of meat. Her logical side of the brain kicked in, and she scowled and purposely turned the other way, angry at herself for staring so blatantly and at the girl for being so smug about it. She knew she shouldn't be so quick to judge - after all, it's what caused her pitiful excuse for a social life, even now, surrounded by people in a completely separate world, one she could call her own, but something inside her switched when she saw that girl and she didn't like it. Hermione tried to rationalise her dislike and excuse it due to the fact they seemed so deadset on complaining about everything and anything they laid their eyes upon, or maybe it was the sheer jealousy that most the school liked these girls within seconds of seeing them and none of them liked her after 4 years of knowing her.
Either way, that moment onwards, Hermione had made her mind up about the French women. She would not associate with them, not climb up to their high and mighty horses and stroke their ego with her attention - she had more important things to worry about, like her grades and ever refreshing realizations of how advanced she was in comparison to her classmates on the material they were studying.
This train of thought reminded her of one of her previous inquiries that she was hoping to make to the Headmaster. She desperately needed something to keep her preoccupied and Hogwarts curriculum at the level she was studying simply wasn't hard enough nor on her level of intellect. She desperately wanted to improve her knowledge but the few hours a day she got in between lessons and after weren't helping all too much, and soon she knew that time would be reduced down further due to the amount of homework that was already being piled on so far into the term. So she scanned around looking for any sign of Dumbledore to see if he was free and available for a private conversation about her studies, but to no avail, as it appeared he had already escaped the nipping cold air that blew around them on the grounds.
Sighing gently, she followed the mass crowd into the hall as they all prepared for the introduction ceremony made by the two other schools, and, more importantly, the feast that was being held in their honour.
She took her usual seat at Gryffindor table, squashed in the middle of Harry and Ron, and waited rather impatiently for food to appear. Grumbling, she paid little attention to Dumbledore's speech and was startled to feel and hear the banging that came along with the since forgotten introduction ceremony that the Bulgarian school was performing. She watched with rapt attention, trying to soak in as much knowledge as possible about their culture, location, and school all from their outfits, how they held themselves and their performance ceremony. It seemed to Hermione that they were based somewhere cold with a military-like culture where strength and dominance were of high importance, as well as discipline and self-restraint. One boy with a shaven head and brown eyes seemed to stare at her a fair bit throughout the ceremony as they stomped their way up the aisle, and Ron elbowed her in excitement. "Viktor Krum is staring at us!" He whispered, elated that his favourite Quidditch player appeared to be taking notice of him.
Finally, those girls in their blue uniform huddled at the door. They chatted together with looks of disdain upon their faces as they looked about the hall. Hermione rolled her eyes, could they get anymore snobby? She thought. The one with the blue eyes and blonde hair stepped to the front, making eye contact with her again; Hermione's eyes narrowed and she made sure not to lose it like she did last time. The girl broke eye contact, turning to whisper something to her classmates, before gracefully stepping forwards.
They seemed to be doing a dance, but the elegant way at which they did it made it appear as though they were floating on a cloud, with blue butterflies coming out of their robes and flying around. Some of the butterflies, namely the one from the mysterious girl's robes swarmed towards Hermione, landing on and about her and fluttering above her head as she glared at the girl for doing this on purpose. Said girl smirked at Hermione and as her group danced away, she winked and left Hermione with a faint blush, hammering heart and simmering anger. How dare she look at me? She thought, her rage growing slowly. Her heart continued to hammer, and Hermione feared that the people around her could hear it - it was undeniably loud and relentless.
She sat brooding on the bench even as the song finished and Ron motioned for Viktor and the rest of Dumstrang to sit with Gryffindor, and even when he moaned when they sat with Slytherin and Malfoy smiled smugly at him as Krum sat right next to him. This continued throughout the entire evening and only got worse when the mysterious girl came over to the table and turned all the boys in a 10-foot radius into a laughing stock. "Are you done weef ze bouillabaisse? " She asked, fluttering her eyelashes her thick French accent entranced all that could hear. Ron turned purple and Hermione hmph'd aggressively sinking further into her seat. Harry coughed slightly and turned slightly red, but otherwise showed no other signs of being affected by her."Yeah, you can have it." He said, passing her the bowl.
"Ou' are finished weef eet?" She asked politely, hanging over Hermione slightly. She smelled of vanilla and parchment and an expensive flowery perfume that Hermione couldn't identify. Ron choked: "Yeah-yeah... It was brilliant." His words came out as stutters and mumbles as he turned a nasty shade of purple and green, and the girl smiled sweetly before walking away with it, and both boys let out a sigh. "They don't make them like that in Hogwarts," Ron said, before proceeding to shovel food into his mouth like a pig. Hermione rather agreed although she argued for different reasons. At least here at Hogwarts we know manners, she thought snidely to herself. Although she couldn't fault how polite she was, she could feel the girl's stare on her back and it infuriated her to unknown ends.
The meal ended, and Dumbledore had announced that the schools will be staying in the places they arrived, which left a feeling of relief and confusion within Hermione as she entered the common room. She looked out the window to see the girls from Beaubaxtons giggling and shivering as they walked across the grounds in the dwindling sunlight, and saw the way the dying embers of light reflected of the sheet of platinum hair that strode ahead.
Scowling, Hermione headed up to bed, tossing and turning all night long, a thick, heavy, French accent echoing in her head all night.