Okay, okay, I know... What took me so long right/ I mean, gosh, it's been over a year since I've updated this story... I'm sorry. For all of you who've begged me to add more to this, I'm really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really sorry. I am. But you guys are the ones who helped me to make the time to add this chapter. I was reading the past chapters to myself yesterday, and I felt bad that I've kept some of you waiting for so long, so I'm hoping that I can add at least a bit more to it...

And yeah... as I've mentioned, it's been over a year since I've updated this particular story, so granted, my writing style may have changed a bit, and it might seem as though Hermione's a new person. To be fair, she's expected to be, as you'll find out why later on in the chapter, but please, take into consideration the time that's passed.

So, I guess that's it... I hope you guys like it. I thought it was rather cute, so hopefully you guys will too. Of course, your reviews are what keep me going, so tell me what you think.

The sunlight streaming gently through the wide, curtained windows of the fourth year girls' dormitory brings a smile to my face. Today is the day. Today, I will get to see my new girlfriend! Well, we haven't actually established that title yet, but I have a feeling that it's forthcoming. Hopefully, anyway. Haphazardly wrapping my tie around my neck and pulling my school bag off of the floor, slinging it over my shoulder in the same hurried manner, I rush out of the dorm and down the spiral staircase just as Parvati and Lavender peek bleary eyes from under their thick, crimson comforters.

I nearly loose my balance on the stairs in my haste, but my excitement won't allow me to slow down for something as meaningless as avoiding injury. Trailing a careless hand along the chilled, stone wall of the staircase leading to the common room to garner a slight balance, I all but skip past the few students awake at, as Ron would call it, the ungodly hour of seven in the morning. The quiet of the room, which had been peaceful and serene with the just waking sensations of day, warm and fluffy and all things comfortable, is disturbed greatly by my cheerful, 'Morning, Percy!', but surprisingly, it doesn't bother me. Neither does the look of unabashed incredulity that follows it, for that matter.

Believe it or not, there are things I don't like about myself. My hair, my eyes, my face, my body; all are shining examples. The only thing I take pride in is my intellectual prowess, and despite that, there are times when I fail so horribly at life that even being 'the smartest witch of my year' doesn't seem to make up for it. Such times are times like now, when my excitement brings out the side of myself that I try so desperately to keep tightly under lock and key: Hermione Granger, the biggest klutz in the universe.

I've been clumsy for as long as I can remember--as a toddler, as a child. It followed me for much of my early life; rarely was there a time that I don't remember being set up for failure. I was always thrown into horrible situations that seemed bent on doing nothing other than proving my clumsiness. However, upon starting my schooling at Hogwarts, I quickly realized that if I focused more on my studies and exerted a certain degree of restraint about my excitement, the terrible klutz within would, thankfully, go into hibernation.

But now, I suppose it has finally awoken.

Veelas; I used to wonder if they affected women. Books never mentioned the answer to the question, something dangerously akin to a burning plague of curiosity, I carried within me, and never was I brave enough to ask a teacher or friend. After all this waiting, I suppose I now know the answer. Surely, they must, for after spending only one night with Fleur, all of the restraint I had so carefully constructed is nowhere to be found.

I'm assuming this lack of control and sudden relapse into clumsiness is the reason I'm now sprawled on the chilled marble floor just below the Gryffindor portrait hole. My bag has fallen from its precarious perch on my shoulder, instead caught in the bend of my arm and tangled tightly around my wrist, while the tie I had neglected to fix properly has somehow managed to circle my neck and hook itself around my ear. It brushes against my cheek in a gentle tickle, wavering in and out of my peripheral vision as a slightly shifting, darkened wave of crimson and gold.

I also find myself nose to nose with none other than the beautiful Veela who has stolen my self-discipline. Cerulean eyes meet my own, regarding me with calm amusement, a hint of slowly fading shock lurking within their radiant azure depths. A small smile tugs gently at the corners of her pale pink lips.

Gosh, her lips look incredibly inviting--hey, wait a minute…. How in the world…? Let's see… if I'm sprawled on the floor… and my neck isn't painfully twisted into a position that would surely be impossible… and I'm still staring into Fleur's eyes…. Oh, boy….

I inhale sharply, suddenly aware of the few details I had failed to notice upon exiting the portrait hole. The first detail being that Fleur was standing just outside, and the second being that when I lost my balance and tumbled so very ungracefully into the hall, I landed right on top of my blonde object of infatuation. At least I know why I landed so softly.

The third detail to reach my clouded mind is the compromising position we're in. I find that straddling someone's thigh, especially that of my current, although sudden, crush, as accidental as it may be, causes my face to grow incredibly warm. Painfully swallowing the mass of nervous tension that has accumulated in my throat, I allow a soft, shaky exhale to pass through my lips. My heart thuds erratically against my ribcage as I become increasingly nervous of our close proximity.

Fleur plays idly with my nefariously misplaced tie, her smile growing wider. "Cute," she mutters, allowing it to slip from her fingers. It falls from my ear shortly thereafter, gravity's grip pulling it to dangle from my neck, and Fleur's cobalt gaze returns to my eyes. Absently brushing a disheveled lock of hair from my face, she chuckles lightly at my embarrassment. "Good morning, ma belle amie,"she whispers, and the way her voice slips so fluidly from English to French nearly makes me shudder. Or maybe the gentle hand that moves slowly to rest on my hip is responsible….

Logical reasoning states that I should return her greeting. I search frantically for words to use as a reply, but for all of my so called intellect and intelligence, my mind draws a blank. Her eyes are intensely mesmerizing at such a close distance. The sunlight that had so easily filtered through the curtains in the girls' dormitory now passes through the large, intricately designed window imbedded in the wall at the far end of the hallway. The early morning glow is absorbed by the warm sapphire depths before me. I'm so lost within her eyes that the only reply I can force out is a breathy, "Uh… Fleur…."

"Hermione, are you okay?"

I turn toward the concerned, apparently masculine voice, aware that it must be Percy by the strange effeminate current that flows within it. He lingers uncertainly inside the common room, one hand resting on the stone of the wall, the other placed lightly on the back of the Fat Lady's portrait. He must have seen me trip.

I take a moment to study the strange look he casts down at me, and realize what Fleur and I must look like. Sprawled together with her thigh between mine and her hand on my hip; it must be any boy's fantasy. Thankfully, Percy's gay, and all the hormone-driven straight boys are nowhere to be found. "Yeah--I… uh… I'm okay, Percy…. Thanks…." He nods slowly, strange look still in place. Heaving a confused sigh, he grips the edge of the portrait's canvas and pulls it shut, leaving Fleur and I alone once more.

I turn back to the blonde goddess beneath me, again struggling to find words.

"Perhaps we should get up, non?" she suggests, the tease in her voice apparent. Getting up doesn't sound too appealing. To get up would mean to lose the warmth of her hand at my hip. To get up would mean to lose the strangely comfortable and intensely nerve-wracking sensation of being close so to her. The reluctant nod I give in reply is slow, but regretfully spastic. It takes a moment for the trembling in my arms to lessen to a bearable quiver, so shaken am I that my muscles fail to cooperate at first.

Once on my feet, I offer Fleur my hand. To tell myself that I'm only being polite by helping her up would be a lie. True, I was the one who knocked her down, and it only makes sense that I should help her to her feet, but a large part of me knows that it's more than that; I just want to feel her hand on mine again. The blush that had so warmly colored my cheeks moments before hasn't disappeared, but it has lightened considerably, I hope. If anything, the heat is somewhat less severe.

"Merci."

I smile slightly at Fleur's utterance; the small phrases in which she slips into her natural tongue are terribly endearing. Of course her English is perfect, drawn in to a calm rhythmic flow by her accent, and she can speak fluently about nearly anything, should she choose to, but I find her sporadic regressions to French to be quite charming. Now that we aren't face to face and I'm not hyper aware of her body so close to mine, my mind is clear enough to allow an affectionate, if still a little embarrassed, smile to show.

I pause for a moment, but then decide to reply in kind. My summer in France had taught me quite a bit about the language, something I enjoyed learning, even if it was brief. This knowledge helps me understand Fleur's rare French utterances, and for that I'm glad. "De rien," I reply softly, hoping I chose the right wording. If I remember correctly, that phrase translates to something like, 'it was nothing,' or, 'no problem.' Hopefully, she'll take it as a, 'you're welcome.'

A surprised, pleased look blooms across her beautiful face, and for nearly the millionth time this morning, I'm left breathless. Her eyes fall to my bag, which is still caught around my wrist. I barely notice the lack of circulation caused by its weight. Her fingers are soft as they brush my wrist, working gently at removing the strap restricting my blood flow. "Parlez le français?" she asks, lifting the bag to her own shoulder.

Her nimble fingers travel to my tie and set to work at adjusting it correctly. Also in my earlier haste, I'd neglected to finish buttoning my top, and as she goes about fretting over my tie, the smooth skin of her knuckles brushes ever so slightly against my collarbone. A shallow exhale escapes me. Too flustered to think of a French reply, and surprised my current state is articulate enough to understand the question she asked, I settle for the easiest response I can come up with: "A little…."

She smiles at my reply, giving my tie a final tug before stepping respectfully out of my personal space. It's at this moment that I take the time to examine her wounds. They're still a cause for concern, darkened, red, nearly raw, but they look better than they did yesterday. The scar just above her collar is still visible, still saddening. The same inexplicable urge to cry from yesterday washes over me, but no tears are forthcoming. I still my hand just as I reach out to touch it, instead returning my eyes back to Fleur's patient gaze.

She holds out a gentle, alabaster hand. "Shall we?"

A mild groan from my stomach answers her question; apparently breakfast is a good idea right now. I close my eyes, trying, but failing miserably, to fight off the flush that rises in my cheeks. Fleur's adoring smile meets me when I open my eyes. Her hand still awaits mine, stilled in a patient anticipation. Flush fading slowly, I slip my hand into the familiar, calming warmth and feel a sense of belonging overcome me. It nearly makes me freeze, unexpected as it is, but Fleur's soft smile and gentle tugging gets the message across, and we start down the hall. Our gait is slow, unrushed. As we walk, hand in hand, on our way toward the Great Hall, I remember one of the adorable French utterances she had said earlier.

'Amie….'She called me her girlfriend.

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