Alternative title to this update: Still Not Dead. You have no idea how touching it is to continue to receive notifications from people still reading this fic, your continued support is why I want to finish this fic. This update is actually the result of my thesis trying to leave me brain dead, and I needed something fun to try and recapture the focus I need in order to write my final chapter and start editing the hell out of it so I can submit it in October. But enough about me, this is the final chapter for the Yule Ball (thank God), and we'll be moving on to the chapter containing the first scene I even thought of for this fic, deciphering the clue in the golden egg; please enjoy the fruits of my labour.
The night had barely started and already Fleur felt her mood deteriorating at an astounding rate.
And it was all Hermione's fault.
With her stunning dress, and beautiful hair, and gorgeous smile, on the arm of Viktor Krum and her little sister! While she, she, a quarter-Veela, was stuck with a drooling, distracted, dullard who could barely raise his spoon to his mouth without dribbling it down his front.
Fleur knows she shouldn't be angry, but all she can hear over the general clamour of excited conversation and cutlery scrapping against porcelain is Hermione's laugh, and it. Is. Driving. Her. Insane. Because, damnit, it should be her drawing that delighted laugh out of Hermione over, and over again, not some international Quidditch player, not that boy, and most certainly not her little sister.
Trying to engage Rory in conversation is pointless, as nothing, nothing, seems to draw him out of his lust addled state. Not comments about the lacklustre Hogwarts decorations ("we 'ave choirs of wood-nymphs, 'oo serenade us as we eat. We 'ave none of zis ugly armour in zee 'alls"), or the menace that is Peeves ("eef a poltergeist ever entaired into Beauxbatons, 'e would be expelled like zat", slamming her hand on the table for emphasis), if anything his attempts to multitask only made the dire situation that is his robes worse, sloshing the contents of his bowl into his lap as he slammed his hand on its edge imitating her own movement (sure, it's nothing a quick scourgify can't fix, but she feels herself burn with embarrassment that this is the highest quality date she could procure).
Fleur has never been so humiliated in her life (she desperately wishes that Gabrielle's behaviour is something of an anomaly, but alas, no, she has been subjected to such antics at every dinner party her mother has ever thrown, and consequently is somewhat used to the sight of her covered in food, cheeks filled to capacity).
Her one source of comfort is that Harry's date seemed to be having as good a time as she was if the desperate attempts to get him to turn away from Hermione was anything to go by. As it stands, only Cedric and his date seem to be untouched by the chaos of the table, somehow managing to cultivate a romantic mood, one filled with shy smiles and quite conversation. Fleur would find it sweet if they weren't sitting right next to her, leaving her only other alternative for conversation a soup stained boy.
And that was just the start of the evening.
Once the music starts, she finds herself wishing for the nth time that she had asked Hermione to the Ball sooner. While Rudolf is a passable dancer (more than passable really, given that he didn't step on her foot once even though he couldn't quite get his eyes to focus properly, or his hands to stay on her waist), having to keep an eye on Hermione, and Viktor, and her little sister, the whole time prevented her from enjoying it even a little, as Gabrielle seemed quite determined to crash into her.
Randal was a little disorientated when she finally swung out of his arms at the conclusion of the first song fleeing the dancefloor altogether. She almost didn't expect him to follow after her, but after a few moments gaping at his now empty embrace, Richard managed to gather enough wits to totter in her direction. As she turned towards the table holding refreshments, she felt her bad mood worsen at the sight of Hermione holding Gabby in a loose embrace, Krum nowhere in sight, the pair clearly enjoying themselves.
Settling her shaking hands on the table, the sick feeling roiling in her stomach warning her that she needed to leave now; she was losing control in a way she hadn't since she first hit puberty. Pushing past Ruddy, who was hovering far closer than she had realised, his eyes bright and cheeks heavily flushed, Fleur fled the Great Hall, a trail of dazed and disorientated students left in her wake.
Disappearing into the hedge maze, she practiced the breathing exercises her Maman had taught her in an attempt to master her more … primitive side. The cold helped, the mist from every heavy exhale lingering long enough that she could draw shapes in it, the warm wood of her wand providing a soothing, pulsing heat in her palm.
As the jealousy, the … hunger, finally settled, Fleur could feel the anger clawing at the back of her throat once more, because she was human, and this, this, should not be happening, should not be possible. Yes, she was still young, but she was reaching the end of her growth period, strong emotions should not be enough to cause such a loss of control, not with the years she had spent being as human as possible.
Because Hermione was just a girl, that's all she could be; such a reaction, with her blood as diluted as it is, was beyond everything her Maman, her Grand-mère, had warned her could happen, what was possible. So, no, she was just angry, angry that the girl she … liked was having a wonderful time with someone else, angry that her date couldn't even look at her properly, like a person who he could engage intellectually with, not just another pretty face, angry that he wouldn't leave her alone!
She had assumed, wrongly obviously, that she had lost him in the hedges, but there he was, breathing heavily as he rounded the corner into her little nook, settling beside her on the stone seat. Normally, Fleur was much more civil at dealing with the unwanted attention of potential suitors, but the fragile calm she had managed to manufacture in the cold that was just on the wrong side of bracing prompted her to snap out her wand the second his hand landed on her thigh.
"Éloigne-toi de moi, bête!"
He seemed surprised by the vehemence of her reaction, eyes focusing blearily on the wand pointed at his face. In his current state it probably wouldn't be difficult to lose him again, but her nerves were frayed enough that a confundus charm slipped out regardless, causing the delirious boy to slump over on the bench, leaving her free to flee, only to duck back behind the hedge as Madame Maxime came stalking past, heading back towards the castle.
Alone at last.
It only took twenty minutes for Fleur to deeply regret remaining in the cold rather than retreating to her room or at least conjuring a coat for warmth, but the cool night air was soothing in its own way, the angry flush in her cheeks vanishing to a soft pink from the chill. And while the decorations may not be to the same standard as Beauxbatons, the ambience of the scattered lights and the silence that accompanied the falling snow provided its own kind of simple beauty.
Taking a seat on the edge of a frozen fountain, Fleur turned her face into the drifting flakes. Homesickness has been something of a constant companion these past months, a desire just to go home, just for a day, to Pére with his sure embrace, Maman and her knowing smile; but at moments like this the feeling seemed to fade, at least a little.
Wrapped up in her day-dream, she almost didn't notice the tearstained figure sink to the ground, pressing into one of the pillars lining the small courtyard. Her mood had settled enough that only a sense of distress filled her at the sight, the hard anger from earlier soothed by the cold, yet she still hesitated to approach the crying girl.
In spite of her reservations, Fleur found herself moving forward, chilled fingers brushing softly against the back of Hermione's arm.
"'ermione?" Her tone was soft, but Hermione still startled at her presence, hurriedly wiping at her eyes as she moves into a standing position.
"Hello, Fleur," a fragile smile tugging at her lips.
"Are you well?" The ridiculousness of her inquiry strikes her instantly as the sniffling girl before her is obviously not alright, but the flat expression on Hermione's face is somewhat ruined by the slight twitch of her lips.
The light amusement in her gaze does little to alleviate the flush she feels running up her neck, but she can't bring herself to break eye contact; it's the first time all evening that she has had the opportunity to drink in Hermione's appearance unhindered, and the effect is breathtaking. The sleek knot of her hair had loosened, stray wisps fluttering against her cheeks, and even with the tear tracks marring her face, she was still the most beautiful person Fleur had ever seen.
It's not until a soft blush begins the colour Hermione's cheeks that Fleur realised that she has just been staring at the other girl. That Hermione had been staring right back escaped her, but she felt a flutter in her chest of something that whispered hope. Brushing gentle fingers across her cheeks, Fleur attempted to smooth away the worst of the smudges, causing the blush colouring Hermione's face to deepen, a slight smile softening the sorrowful lines of her face.
"Dance weez moi," the sudden request startles them both, but emboldened by the shy smile on Hermione's face, Fleur offered up her hand, waiting patiently for Hermione to take it. "Eet would be a shame to end ze night on such a sad note, non?"
A beat passed Hermione's gaze locked on her hand.
"Pour moi s'il vous plaît?"
With one last hesitant look over her shoulder, Hermione finally took Fleur's hand, allowing herself to be led towards the small courtyard. The music from the Great Hall carrying out to their little abode, just loud enough to sway to the beat.
With one hand on Hermione's waist, the other clasped against her shoulder, tracing soothing patterns across the back with her thumb, Fleur drew Hermione into her, a soft embrace that could be explained away by the fact that neither of them was properly dressed for the weather. Hermione settled her cheek against her shoulder, wrapped up entirely in Fleur, seemingly content with the position. Fleur lead them in slow circles, completely lost in the feeling of being so close to Hermione, satisfied with this one stolen moment despite the disappointment that had filled her night up to this point.
The sound of enthusiastic applause from the Great Hall jerked them both back to reality, the night officially ended as the band finished their final song, the remaining students flooding the Entrance Hall as they head towards their dormitories, exhausted from the night of revelry. Suddenly conscious of her hand rubbing small circles on Hermione's lower back, Fleur waited for her to pull away, the pair having ceased their slow dancing with the conclusion of the music. A soft exhale of breath across her shoulder suggested that maybe Hermione was as reluctant to end the evening as she was, but she allowed the slow separation, fingertips dragging across the satin material of Hermione's dress until the last possible second.
Noticing the slight shiver wracking Hermione's frame, Fleur offered up her arm once more, bowing slightly as she did, "May I escort you to your chambers, mademoiselle?"
Hermione giggled softly even as she took the proffered arm, pressing close once more, "Given that you sleep there too, I'm surprised you even asked."
Fleur shrugged lightly in response, "Ah, but eet eez zee zought zat counts, non?"
Fleur allowed Hermione to set the pace on the walk back to Gryffindor Tower, silence settling over them as they passed the last of the couples wrapped in fervent embraces. Surprisingly, it is Hermione who broke the silence first moments after pretending not to notice a particularly heated pair hidden behind one of those atrocious suits of armour.
"I've been wondering…" She trailed off, brow furrowed in that way it does when faced with a particularly complex problem.
"Hmm?"
Hermione visibly hesitated under Fleur's curious gaze, turning her attention to her feet as she avoided eye contact with the older girl. Fleur held her peace, allowing Hermione the chance to order her thoughts.
"Why are you still using the Gryffindor dormitories?"
Fleur jerked to a stop at the unexpected question, Hermione's hand almost slipping free as she continued walking for a few more steps. Before she could reply though, Hermione rushed to clarify her rather abrupt question.
"I just mean, well, the Beauxbatons carriage is all repaired, and as you're a Champion, and Harry is a Champion, and I've never seen you be particularly friendly with any of the Gryffindors, you only talk to Gabby actually, so I was just … curious about … why," she trailed off, clearly embarrassed by her outburst, fingers digging in lightly at Fleur's elbow as she hurried to erase the rather accusatory nature of the question.
Stumped for a moment, Fleur repositioned Hermione's hand before continuing their slow walk to the Gryffindor Tower, "Eet eez zee ambiance, I zink."
At Hermione's puzzled glance, Fleur tried to find the words to explain besides because it is your House, because you are there, "Zee ozzer Gryffindors, zey do not see me as zeir Champion, zere eez no pressure, or at least, zere eez less pressure," she added with a wry smile.
"The Beauxbatons students pressure you?"
Fleur laughed at the confused expression on Hermione's face, shaking her head in amusement, "Ah chéri, zis competition, as much as eet eez about coopération internationale eet eez also a matter of school pride. Ze shame would be unbearable eef I did not at least place second."
"Oh," Hermione seemed embarrassed by her questioning, and they continued towards the Gryffindor common room in silence.
Hermione gave the password to a very drunk Fat Lady, having to rap rather sharply on the portrait frame to wake her from her drunken slumber, leaving the rather disgruntled figure in their wake as Fleur helped Hermione through the entrance.
As they reached the door to the fourth year dormitory Hermione hesitated, seemingly as reluctant to part ways as Fleur. They stood there silently, Hermione with one hand pressed against the firm wood behind her. It was Hermione who broke the silence again, that Gryffindor courage shining through, "Thank you for escorting me to my room," a shy smile pulling at the corner of her mouth.
Fleur smiled fully in response, pressing a soft kiss to the back of Hermione's hand, "C'était un honneur."
"Good night, Fleur," reluctantly pulling her hand free from Fleur's loose grip.
"Bonne nuit, 'Ermione."
She watched Hermione start to open her dorm door before turning to move further up the stairs to her own quarters.
"Are we friends?"
Fleur had barely taken a step before she swung back to face Hermione, watching the way her left hand griped the fabric of her dress, chewing nervously on her bottom lip as Fleur just stared at her.
"Oui, 'Ermione, we are friends." The resplendent beam she received in reply helped to alleviate the sinking feeling in her stomach that she refused to call rejection.
Nodding in satisfaction, Hermione finally opened the door to her dormitory, "Good night."
Fleur kept the small smile on her face until the door was shut fully once more. Pressing a firm hand against her eyes, she swore quietly under her breath in annoyance.
She had just friend-zoned herself.