Ch. 10 A Move Backwards.

It had been on Tuesday when Hermione had asked Fleur out on a date on Saturday. Fleur was not sure what she was expecting to happen between Tuesday and Saturday, but somehow she imagined something different. Something more. Something that involved more of her and Hermione together perhaps. In the same room outside of class would have been nice for a start.

As the week progressed, however, she rarely saw Hermione outside of class. In class Hermione's eyes would follow Fleur and blush when their eyes would meet. The brunette would give every sign of being interested. But after class? In between classes? That was the problem. (Backwards.)

Hermione's classmates flocked around Fleur with a deeper commitment and with more sheer determination than ever before, still confused over why she had chosen Hermione over them. And Hermione? She was once again perfecting the art of the quick escape. Except now she had Lavender and Parvati tightly in tow.

In fact ever since Tuesday, whenever Fleur saw Hermione she was never without the Gryffindor couple at her side. And they were always speaking in urgent and thoughtful whispers and looking around with watchful, paranoid eyes. Whenever Fleur approached, they would stop talking immediately. Lavender and Parvati would look uncomfortable; Hermione would become incredibly shy and blush. The Gryffindor girls would barely be able to get an intelligible word out and when they did, it was awkward. The whole situation was infuriating.

On Thursday afternoon, by chance, Fleur came across Lavender and Parvati in the library without Hermione. She tried to ask them why Hermione was avoiding her, but they merely insisted in determined whispers that they simply were not going to tell her any details of her upcoming date. Exasperated, Fleur tried to explain that that was not what she was asking, but it was impossible. They would only repeat that they would not betray Hermione's confidences and tell her anything. Fleur soon gave up.

Life in England was not the easiest for Fleur. And life at Hogwarts was even harder. And in the end, it was not the rain, the food or the many things she had on her long list of things that made England inferior to France. No. What was really difficult for Fleur was the loneliness. At least, when working at Gringotts she still had Philippe, obnoxious as he could be at times. (Not that they were speaking to each other at the moment…).

But at Hogwarts?

She had no one. Not in the sense that she could talk to anyone about her situation with Hermione. Sure, she and Pomfrey joked and teased each other, but their relationship was proscribed within the doctor patient boundaries. She simply could not feel entirely comfortable about opening her heart to the person in charge of her health. And while she and Minerva were becoming friendly on some level, Minerva was… well, Minerva McGonagall. She was a woman that commanded respect, not confessions of a young heart. Fleur was barely able to call her by her first name. And Dumbledore? Dumbledore was Dumbledore. In her loneliness she owled home. Afraid of worrying her parents and Gabrielle, however, she was conscious to restrain the amount of owls she sent every week and censored what she wrote.

And maybe this was normal, avoiding the person before your date. Fleur did not know and did not have anyone to ask. And it was embarrassing to ask. People simply assumed that since she was part veela and French that she was automatically an expert in love. She wished they didn't assume such nonsense. It made things so much harder for her. All Fleur wanted to know was why Hermione seemed to be avoiding her all of a sudden and would never leave Lavender and Parvati's sides. Was a moment alone too much to ask? Again, she did not know. (She hoped not. It was not like they were about to get married. It was only a date.)

Only a date.

As the week progressed, she became increasingly anxious about the date. Anxiety did not sit well with her. Her condition, which had been relatively stable and actually starting to improve ever so slightly, took a slight downturn much to Pomfrey's displeasure. Backwards. Fleur tried to reassure her that this was natural, but she herself did not know. She clung to hope so tightly she was afraid it would slip from between her fingertips.

On Thursday night, a few hours after her frustrating experience with Lavender and Parvati, Fleur could not stand it any longer. She had been reviewing the same lesson plan over and over for the last hour and had made no change. In fact, she was barely been aware of what she was doing she was so caught up in her thoughts and anxieties over Hermione. She had to get out. She had to leave, to move. To do something to distract her.

So that is how she found herself at the Three Broomsticks. Unlike during the day when she normally went, the was relatively empty and occupied by an older, calmer group instead of the youthful, bustling crowd she was used to. In the slower setting, Fleur was able, for the first time, to really get a good look at the famous Madam Rosmerta.

Rosmerta's curly, brown hair was similar to Hermione's (Hermione's was darker). Fleur wondered absently if Hermione's hair would look as nice in a bun as Rosmerta's. It probably would, but for some reason she did not think that hairstyle would fit Hermione. A ponytail, yes. But somehow a bun was not quite fitting. Though the girl could most definitely pull it off. When Rosmerta came by to refill Fleur's glass, Fleur, a little tipsy, could barely help but to speak.

"You are beautiful." And then Fleur looked down at her glass, her voice quieter as she added, "But not nearly so much as my Hermione."

"Your Hermione?" Rosmerta raised an eyebrow, apparently not finding offense in Fleur's comment.

"Mine." And then Fleur shook her head and scoffed at herself. "I should not say such things. She is not mine. If anything, I am hers." Quiet for a moment, she watched herself trace the edge of her wine glass with the tip of her index finger. "Although I do not think she wants me. After all, she has avoided me for days now." She took a long drink and then muttered, "After she asked me out." When Fleur looked up at Rosmerta, she discovered the woman was now leaning on the bar, listening attentively. "She asked me!"

"Well that doesn't seem very fair of her," Rosmerta carefully studied Fleur as she whisked away a stray hair that had wandered across her face.

Before Fleur could respond a large man with fat, red fingers sat down next to her and offered to buy her a drink.

"I am touched but I am afraid I already have a drink and will not be in need of another."

The man continued to stare, and Fleur was sure that if she looked at him directly there might actually be drool. Her veela charms had hit him to a near catatonic state. Lovely. Fleur groaned inwardly.

"You're pretty. I'd like to take you for a spin."

He did not just say that. He did. And he looked like he was about to say something else. Fleur cringed inwardly, waiting, trying her best to ignore him.

"Thomas, you're drunk and bothering my customer," Rosmerta crossed her arms glaring at Thomas.

"Ah, Rosmerta, ain't I your customer?" he whined. "And you two are just so pretty. Can't I just watch? I won't say nothing, promise."

"Not if you ever want to be served here again, Thomas. It's time to go home to your kids." He groaned and pouted, like a small child sent to bed. "Thomas, it's time. Good night."

"Fine," he stood up and plodded off. "G'night Rosmerta and her pretty little friend."

Fleur showed no sign of hearing anything as she took another sip of wine.

"You get that a lot." It was a casual observation.

Fleur shrugged absently, "I am part veela. There are things that simply cannot be helped." She was suddenly missing the generally shy, less rude style of the teenage boys at Hogwarts.

"In my bar, it can be helped." Rosmerta looked at her seriously, her eyes silently promising.

Fleur smiled, relieved at the promise, relieved that Rosmerta was immune (but then, men were often more susceptible…).

Rosmerta did not lose a beat. Or a conversation thread. "Is Hermione the girl that ran after you a few Saturdays ago?"

Fleur swished her wine around in her glass. (Why was the wine always better in France?) "Oui."

"You're a bold one, Ms. Delacour."

"Boldness, I am afraid, is not something that is involved in this affair," Fleur sighed as she brought the wine glass to her lips. In fact, her parents continued to tell her that she was being rather too shy at times.

Rosmerta leaned across the bar, having caught onto some truth that lingered on Fleur as she looked on with soft, understanding eyes. "You really love her don't you?"

Fleur stared longingly into her glass for a moment before taking another sip, whispering, "you could not understand," more to her wine than Rosmerta.

"People are often amazed by my powers of comprehension. Why not explain it to me?" She cocked an eyebrow, refusing to be insulted by the Frenchwoman. "Is this a veela thing?"

"That is an adequate manner of explaining it, I suppose, yes," she responded slowly, continuing to stare into her wine and wishing it tasted more like the wine from her grandfather's vineyards. For someone reason she was scared to look at Rosmerta. (For some reason, she was opening up to a near complete stranger.) Her words were quiet, bare whispers uttered only loud enough for Rosmerta to hear (and she had to strain).

"I love her because I love her. It has nothing to do with me being part veela. But it is because I am veela that I love her as I do. But she cannot know this… not truly because I am sure it will frighten her." By the end, her voice had turned hoarse. She was showing too much. Fleur stopped talking and emptied her glass, placing gently back onto the bar.

In response, Rosmerta merely snorted. Fleur jerked her head up, surprised. How could someone as beautiful as Rosmerta make such a crass noise? But when she looked up, Rosmerta was grinning widely. "You're full of angst, aren't you?"

"What?" Fleur blinked, confused and stunned.

"She'll never love me, woe, suffering, doom," the other woman chuckled as she wiped her hands on her skirt. She continued to speak as she began to search through her stock in front of her for another bottle of wine for Fleur. Through Fleur could barely see the woman, Rosmerta's voice floated up from behind the bar. "How do you know she'll get so damn frightened if you don't tell the girl anything? Let me tell you, she didn't seem a lick scared when she chased after you a few weeks ago."

Fleur opened her mouth to protest, to explain, but Rosmerta stood up and shook her head at Fleur. "That girl has faced He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, Fleur, Deatheaters, and other various forms of Dark Magic and things that would make most hair curl." To call Rosmerta's look a sardonic one would be not far from the truth. "And you think your skinny, blonde, blue eyed, beautiful self is going to scare her off with love?" She shook her skirt free of dust as she continued to speak. "I understand that love is the scariest thing in the world, but you have got to explain this one to me."

"I do not understand how she could not be scared. When I fell in love with her three years ago, I fell ill at the same time. The only cure is to bond with her magically for life. It is something that is scary to me and I grew up knowing that this would happen." She sighed, watching Rosmerta pour her another glass of wine. She should protest. She didn't need another glass. Her system could not handle it well at the moment, not in her condition. "I cannot understand how she would not be scared when she asks me out on a date and then ignores me from that moment on."

"Nerves for one not fear Fleur." Rosmerta shook her head. "She just asked her fit professor out on a date. If I was her, I'd be nervous and shy as hell."

Fleur continued to swish the wine in her glass, trying anything to improve its taste before bringing it up to her lips again. "How am I supposed to know these things?"

"You tell me. What have your friends been telling you?" But the look on Fleur's face answered Rosmerta's question. "You have no one here, do you?"

"I am new here and unfortunately being part veela can add some difficulty to forming friendships, as one can imagine." She shrugged helplessly. "People here assume that because I am French, because I am veela…. But I am as clueless as the next, if not more. To be with anyone besides Hermione… it is unheard of, unspeakable, unimaginable." The thing with Bill was shameful in that aspect, and something she could never tell her parents. "I am going into this inexperienced and alone." She took a long sip of her wine.

"Oh, love…" Rosmerta reached out and touched Fleur's hand. Her eyes were compassionate and caring. "It should not have to be like that."

Fleur arched an eyebrow up in the most playful gesture she could manage. "Are you hitting on me, Madame Rosmerta?"

Rosmerta feigned shock, placing a hand dramatically on her chest and another hand artfully on her forehead. "Oh, heaven forbid. I already know it would be pointless. I could never compare to your Hermione."

Fleur smiled weakly, sadly.

"Cheer up, eh? I am sure she is just nervous and will come around. Trust me, I know a few things about love. Take it from an expert."

In the morning, Fleur woke up slightly hung over. Groggy and groaning, she made her way to her first class, a double period with the seventh years. Hermione blushed more in class than usual. After class, however, Hermione lingered, speaking in rushed whispers with Lavender and Parvati as Fleur's fan club swarmed around her. In the corner of her eye, Fleur watched as Lavender and Parvati left with the last of their classmates, sending Hermione looks to make her stay. Fleur, for the purpose of her pride, pretended not to notice those looks.

"Hi," Hermione smiled shyly after the door had closed.

"Bonjour." Fleur smiled quietly, warily back. Hermione had too much power over her. It made her uncomfortable.

"How are you?"

"My night was a little unforgiving in the morning, if I am to be honest," Fleur answered as she ran her fingers through her hair and leaned up against her desk. "And on that vein…" She trailed off as she pulled her satchel to her side and rummaged through it until she dug out a small vial. The small swig she took was in a manner more appropriate to sipping wine than taking a potion. It was a motion, an action she was well practiced in. But as soon as the taste hit her tongue, her face contorted momentarily. She shook her head as if to shake off the taste. Fleur didn't know how it was possible that this tasted worst than Pomfrey's potion.

Hermione tipped her head to the side, confused, but too shy to ask.

"A potion from Madam Rosmerta," Fleur offered in a way of explanation. She had woken up that morning with an owl outside her window bearing a few small vials labeled 'just in case' and instructions on how to take what when. An accompanying note expressed that Rosmerta was there for her if she ever needed to talk again. Fleur was both embarrassed by spilling her soul the night before and incredibly touched by the woman's tact and offered friendship.

"Should you be taking a potion outside of Pomfrey's supervision?" Hermione looked concerned, if not slightly alarmed. Why was Rosmerta giving Fleur potions?

"This potion is… unrelated, as one would say, hm?" She sighed, not really sure how much she actually wanted to tell Hermione. "Embarrassing as it is, this is hangover cure."

"Fleur!"

Fleur raised her hand up in the air, as if to silence Hermione.

"It is not what you think. I only had a few glasses and I am not as one would say a 'lightweight.' But due to my condition, I am more sensitive to the more insufferable after affects of alcohol. It is nothing really. I went out last night because I was feeling a bit lonely. I had one glass of wine too many while talking with Madame Rosmerta. " Fleur found herself almost feeling mad. Why did she have to explain herself? She had done nothing wrong. It was Hermione who avoided her and hurt her. But here was Hermione looking at her with this mixture of shock and judgment. The Gryffindor had nerve. "Nothing of consequence occurred. It is just an unfortunate headache."

"Rosmerta?" And then there was that look of jealousy across Hermione's face. And a scowl. "Did you bond over how everyone falls for both of you?"

"In a way we did, yes." Fleur crossed her arms, frustrated beyond belief. She knew she should have said something else but Hermione was being absolutely insufferable.

"I bet she understands you so well and you guys are perfectly beautiful together."

While Fleur could not miss the pain and insecurity overwhelming Hermione's voice, it was still too much. Fleur's breath caught, and she closed her eyes in pain. She wanted to scream. Why could Hermione not understand? When she opened her eyes again, her hands were gripping the edge of her desk until her knuckles turned white. She was fighting back the urge to cry, to scream.

"Hermione, that is quite unfair." She struggled to keep her tone even. "You have Monsieur Weasley, Ginny, Harry, Lavender and Parvati. You have all these friends to talk to. And who do I have here, Hermione? Who?" (Besides you.) "Minerva? Dumbledore? Pomfrey? I have no friends here, Hermione, none. Just owls to and from home." (And you.) "Do not begrudge me for having a friend. Especially," her body was nearly shaking as she spoke as she held in her pain and anger. To center herself, she repeated herself. "Especially after you have ignored me all week. You ask me out, promptly avoid me and then attack me for trying to find someone to talk to? You can be insufferable, Hermione. Rosmerta is a friend. She is nothing compared to you. I-…" She cut herself off. She could not say I love you, not like this. "You mean too much to me for that." She sighed warily. "What do you want me to do? Honestly Hermione. There is only so much loneliness I can stand." In the end, her voice seeped of quiet, restrained sadness.

Suddenly, the look on Hermione's face softened. Where there once was judgment and anger, now emerged compassion and hints of guilt.

"I'm being a prat again. I'm sorry." Hermione's voice was tender with apology. Crossing the space between them, she shyly, hesitantly tucked a hair behind Fleur's ear, tracing a line of desire across Fleur's temple. "How is the hangover? Is it better?"

"Oui," Fleur exhaled her relief, closing her eyes to the touch, wishing, praying for Hermione to lean in and kiss her.

"You're so beautiful," Hermione whispered softly.

And when Fleur opened her eyes, Hermione was looking at her in a way that sent shivers down her spine and made her stomach jump. Any words left lingering on Fleur's lips were swallowed by a soft, tender kiss. It ended quickly, but the softness behind it was more than enough in that moment.

"I have to run to class, but I'll see you tomorrow. And I'll try not to tease you about being hung over while teaching. See you around five thirty?" Hermione's words were underlined with a loving tenderness that was new to Fleur's ears. A new reason to hope. (Forward again?)

Fleur nodded, "Five thirty would be lovely. And please do not inform the other students."

Hermione cocked an eyebrow.

"About the hang over." Fleur clarified playfully. "It is dreadfully embarrassing."

And then the door opened and a wave of third years flooded into the classroom. Hermione stepped back and walked away. Like many times before, she turned around briefly before closing the door behind her.

"For that, I cannot guarantee or promise anything." Hermione winked, whispering a good bye before leaving the classroom.