Thank you again, kind reviewers, it means much to me. Keep them coming! Big thanks to the awesome Arwen Wolfe for editing this chapter! Well, let's get back to our two favorite tormented witches!

The library was quiet when Hermione scampered through the rows of dozens of bookshelves.
The last few weeks had been eventful, to say the least. She hadn't been able to sleep well until three days after the first task, haunted by the barbaric pictures of dragons hunting teenagers with powerful wizards by standing and applauding. But one good thing had sprung from all this - after the task Ron and Harry finally settled their silly fight and she had hugged them, overcome with joy.
She blushed a little at what had happened afterwards. She remembered it very clearly...

Over Harry's shoulder she caught a glimpse of silver and looked up. There, half hidden by a white curtain, lay Fleur Delacour. The French witch seemed to be sleeping, her body covered by bandages. Her dragon seemed to have burned her pretty badly, but when Hermione noticed the amount of exposed skin she hurriedly turned her gaze away. Though soon she found it wandering back to the sleeping girl. How beautiful she was, when she wasn't scowling at her.
She seemed softer and younger, and for the umpteenth time Hermione wondered what she had done to deserve her harsh, strange treatment. She had observed the witch closely these last few days and found that her behavior, however snooty in general, was much more amiable to the three or five of her French companions that seemed to be her friends; especially to the youngest girl in the Beauxbatons group, who shared Fleur's silvery hair... Hermione wondered if they were related. Her conclusion was that one had to deserve recognition from Delacour. Hermione loathed people who thought only some special few were worth human treatment, but at least now she knew the Veela - Harry had confirmed her heritage after the calibration of wands - was capable of it. It had made her jump when Fleur's eyes snapped open. They seemed dazed and for while they just watched her before they widened and she pulled the covers over body, almost timidly. Then Madame Pomfrey and the little girl with silver hair had stood before her and the curtain was closed.

Yes, the Veela had given her a good deal to think about...

Lately, however, Hermione was on the run from Viktor Krum, the third champion that seemed to give her a lot of headaches recently.
Whenever she was alone he seemed to appear, though he never talked to her. Just watched, and watched, and watched.
Hurriedly, Hermione turned a corner, when she made out the shape of his head once again.
"If you are looking to 'ide, zis is a good place."
Hermione spun around and saw Fleur Delacour in the window booth behind her.
It was the first time Hermione had seen her since the first task in the tent, her body bandaged and eyes closed in pain. Today she looked beautiful as ever in black jeans and a simple beige cotton shirt, but something was off about her.
The French witch looked up at her with a deep look of tiredness contorting her face, her eyes softer than usual.
Hermione paused.
"This is a window. Whoever would hide here?"
Fleur pointed to a group of giggling girls nearby, who had moving posters and photos of Krum with them.
"'e never goes near zem, if 'e can 'elp it."
The choice was a difficult one: a quiet stalker or an arrogant snob - however Fleur's strange fatigue made her the safer one for the moment and so Hermione lowered herself down to the booth, careful not to touch the other girl.
"Thank you", she murmured.
Fleur looked at her for a moment and opened her mouth, only to close it and lower her eyes to the book in her lap.
Hermione studied her subtly, trying to find what it was about the girl that struck her differently today .
"Your hair," the comment unintentionally slipped out of her mouth.
"Pardon?"
Hermione blushed a little. "Your hair. It's the first time I've seen you wearing it down."
Fleur stared at her incredulously. Then something unexplainable happened: she smiled.
It was a rare, beautiful smile that lit up the angelic features of the part Veela, and, against her will, made Hermione herself smile back a little.
"In Beauxbatons it is considered impudent to wear one's 'air down as a student. Don't your teachers, ah... reprimand you?"
Hermione heard herself chuckle. "My teachers? That would hardly be fair. Have you looked at Professor Binn's or Professor Dumbledore's hair?"
Fleur just tilted her head. Hermione wished she had laughed at her joke. "Does it not bozer you when you are writing?"
Hermione's stomach made a little turn. God, what was happening to her?
"No, it doesn't. I prefer my hair down", she whispered to herself.
When she looked back up Fleur had her fingers pressed onto her eyes.
"Are you alright?"
With a deep sigh Fleur let her her hand sink again, and almost as if not there, it ghosted down and came to rest on Hermione's leg. The Veela watched her as she gently ran it up to the Gryffindor's calf, resting it there eventually.
Fleur's expression was pained. "Non, ma belle. Zere is nozing wrong wiz me", she sighed.

The angelic girl in front of her stared at the hand on her calf, as if it was a spider.
This is a good thing, Fleur told herself. The contact with soft flesh beneath her fingertips was maddening, whatever strange dolls threads the Veela in her played, pulling tighter, demanding she increased the touch. Fleur stroked the brunette's leg ever so slightly and beneath the thin material of her tights she could see a little birthmark on Hermione's skin.
A loud fit of giggles emerged from the girls on the other side and it made them both jump a little.
A bunch of boys had joined them, however their attention was solely fixed onto Fleur, as she was all too aware of.
Hermione shook her head and leaned forward, her sparkling eyes full of curiosity.
"Doesn't this bother you? Always having a trail of admirers behind you, no matter what you wear or what you do?"
Fleur's heart sank at what these words implied. She let her head sink to the window and averted her eyes to the Scottish hills outside.
"You 'ave beautiful grounds 'ere", she whispered absently, her hand memorizing the feel of the other girl's leg. Lately, it had become increasingly harder to ignore the feelings this girl arose in her.
On the sleepless first night Fleur had arrived here she had come to a conclusion; she would deal with the unwanted object of her unnatural desire the same way she dealt with her little sister's harp. Fleur had never wanted the harp itself. The reason for her desire lay in the fact that her mother had given the instrument freely to Gabrielle once she had asked for it, whereas she, as a little girl, had had to beg for her piano. Proud of their heritage, Fleur's mother never ceased to be unsettled at Fleur's skepticism for the subject. However, her stories of romantic destined love that lasted forever fell on fertile ground with her little sister. Fleur still remembered the childish sting of jealousy she had felt as a girl when Gabrielle received the harp, and it had ever since then been a symbol of their mother's preference of Gabrielle. But she loved to hear her sisterplay, and so she locked away the silly longing, as she did with so many penalties caused by her cursed nature.
Hermione wouldn't be an exception. She told herself.

In the beginning it had been fairly easy, for Hermione displayed several obvious faults: lack of taste (she seemed to harbor secret feelings for this Weasley boy), snootiness, impatience and -
"You haven't answered my question."
...now the burden seemed to get heavier every day.
With all of her willpower Fleur forced herself to look at the younger girl in front of her.
Hermione's posture was a strange one - a natural kind of pride and yet an awkward and shy demeanor, as if she didn't have the slightest clue of how caring and smart she was.
What an appalling case of insecurity! Her intelligence should not allow it.
She looked straight into her eyes.
Chocolate. The wooden ceiling of her favorite cafe in Lyon. The smell of sweet chestnuts on an autumn afternoon.
"You are familiar wiz my nature, zen", she stated.
Hermione hesitated before she averted her gaze.
"I'm sorry. It wasn't my place to ask."
"Oui, it wasn't."
There was a short pause with both trying hard not to look at each other.
"It is tiring", Fleur offered after a while. "Who would want somezing like zis?"
Hermione scoffed. "Don't act like you're not aware of how many people would die for this."
"Well... you yourself seem to 'ave a suitor following you. 'ow do you find it?"
"I haven't - oh. You mean Viktor."
"Viktor," Fleur repeated, as neutrally as possible.
Both girls stretched their necks to get a glimpse of the Bulgarian, who quickly hid in the shadows of a nearby book shelf.
"I don't know what he wants from me. Maybe he knows I'm helping Harry on the second task and hopes to get clues. How are you dealing with this, by the way?"
She seemed desperate to change the subject.
Fleur gave a callous laugh.
"'e is going to ask you to the Yule ball, sotte. Do you not realize zis?!"
Suddenly her voice had turned louder and Fleur was shocked to hear her jealousy in her own voice.
Hermione looked surprised at her outburst.
She opened and closed her mouth and crossed her arms over her chest.
"What is your problem with me?! From the first moment I met you, you have been nothing but unfriendly to me and yet you seem to be all over me all the time! And now you help me get away from a stalking boy just to snap at me again!"
The giggling of the admirers died down. Everyone looked at them.
Fleur bent over so Hermione could hear her lowered voice. It did not escape her how beautiful the other witch looked with flushed cheeks.
"I'll 'ave you know I am not all over you!" she hissed.
"Yes, you are!"
This exact moment was chosen by Gabrielle to turn the corner, in her hand a colorful children's book. The excitement in her eyes died somewhat when she saw the two heated witches in front of her. Fleur wondered what she had done wrong in a past life to deserve this.
Gabrielle's clear eyes scrolled from one to the other.
"Fleur, est-ce la fille que t'énerve tant?"
Fleur took a deep breath to calm down a little.
"Gabrielle, s'il vous plaît donnez-moi un instant."
But her loving sister looked dangerously at Hermione.
"Qu'est-ce qu'elle a fait à vous?" What she had done to her? Where even to begin to explain?
In that moment Hermione whirled around furiously, her hair whipping into Fleur's face.
"Je n'ai rien fait à elle!" Hermione shouted at Gabrielle.
It was like a bucket of ice water poured over Fleur's head.
Several students surrounding them gasped.
"Vous parlez français?" Gabrielle asked, abashed.
Hermione's features softened a bit looking at the child before her. It was Gabrielle, after all.
"Je ne parle pas très bien."
Fleur threw her hands up. "Zis keeps getting better and better."
The brunette threw her a long thoughtful glance. Fleur felt as though she was being x-rayed.
"You like Harry don't you?" Hermione finally asked in a whisper.
Fleur's eyes widened.
"Excusez-moi?"
Hermione nodded her head, like she was assured.
"You seem jealous of me. And this seems likely. I don't know if it's him, or Viktor or just the fact that some boys don't happen to like you, but whatever it is that you find so revolting about me, I suggest you keep away from me. If that stands in your conquest's way, I'm deeply sorry."
Only now Fleur noticed her hand was buried in the other girls calf. For a moment it seemed as if her nails had lengthened a bit and she hastily removed it. In silent horror she looked at her slightly sharpened fingertips.
"So zis is your conclusion?" Her words, now in English again, sounded bitter to her own ears.
Hermione looked taken aback. She shrugged. "If you don't offer an explanation this is all I have."
"Zen I guess I 'ave nothing further to say."
Fleur tried hard to swallow the lump that had formed in her throat and when she felt Gabrielle's small hand on her own she clutched it tightly. Try as she might, Fleur couldn't read the kaleidoscope of emotions flickering over Hermione's face.
The Veela's screams inside her almost overpowered her senses by now. Through a blur she saw how Hermione smiled weakly at Gabrielle. "Is this your sister?" she asked, her voice hoarse but impossibly soft.
Her muscles weak, Fleur put an arm around Gabrielle and pulled her closer.
"Oui. Gabrielle, il s'agit 'ermione. 'ermione, I present to you... ma petite soeur, Gabrielle."
Hermione nodded a few times. Gabrielle just watched her with attentive eyes.
"Well. You two look very much alike."
Hermione swept a hand over her brow and collected her bag, which looked to be filled by far too many books for such a slender back.
"I think it's better I leave you two alone now", she said without looking at either of them. She stood up and immediately Fleur missed her warmth on the booth.
"I'll see you at the ball, Fleur." The French witch watched the mane of brown, how it vanished in the direction of Viktor Krum until it disappeared. Slowly her fingernails grew back to their normal length and the screams in her head ebbed down a little. Fleur released a painful breath.