House: Hufflepuff
Class: Herbology
Type: Drabble
Prompt: [character] Hermione Granger
WC: 988
TW: None
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It was the muffled laughter that first alerted Hermione to his presence as the sound caused her skin to prickle, her shoulders hunching to dry and hide away from the mocking attention of her youth.
She stared, resolute at the blurred text of the book, focusing on the words and tried to will herself back into the familiar world of defensive spells, but she couldn't. The article from earlier, complete with an illuminated snap of her own face — pale with terror as the crimson flush on her cheeks vanished, eyes wide and dark — kept turning round and round in her mind like a song that had dug its claws into her brain and she was unable to shake it free.
The library had been her final place of refuge, seeking comfort amidst the towering stacks of books and the scent of decaying ink. She couldn't bear to stay any longer in the Gryffindor Common Room, feeling the weight of judgemental eyes press down on her. The dormitory was exactly the same as she watched every slight twitch of the drawn curtain and heard every echoed footstep reverberate through her chest, sending her nerves cranking up higher until she could barely breathe from the panic.
But she couldn't hide from them even here.
The words blurred behind a film of unshed tears as she lowered her head further, hoping that he would stay away. As much as it broke her heart to consider it, it was best for everyone.
The cold voice was a surprise, a single accented snap of "Go away," before the library settled back into an eerie quiet, every other occupant holding their breath to try and hear what would be said.
Hermione raised her head slowly, peeking over the tattered red leather as Fleur Delacour made her way through the shelves, the slow click of her heel sounding like an order. Viktor followed her, almost seeming hobbled with none of his natural grace that came when he was flying.
"'Ow are you 'olding up?" Fleur asked, her voice rising and falling as she spoke, slipping into the seat opposite Hermione. Her feet nudged against hers for a moment, a brief brush that set her skin on fire, sending her heart twisting in her chest.
"You don't have to check on me just because you feel sorry for me."
"Not sorry." Viktor stepped forwards, pausing to drag his hand against the shelf nearest to him. Pressure hummed against Hermione's ears, and her eyes squeezed shut for an instant before she opened them again, glancing around.
An odd haze hung over the small gap they had slipped through. Hermione watched as one of the girls stepped towards it, an almost predatory look in her eyes before confusion replaced it, seeping through it like water through a shirt, discolouring it until she had stopped, brow furrowed.
"It is—" Viktor chewed his tongue as he thought, his jaw clicking as he turned to Fleur and spoke a word, accent thickening even more.
Fleur pursed her lips, her nose crinkling up to reveal a bloom of pale freckles across the curve of her cheeks. "I don't know the English for eet either."
She turned to Hermione with a shrug. Every action was eerily graceful, and Hermione couldn't stop herself from glancing over at Viktor, convinced she would catch him staring at Fleur.
Meeting his dark gaze was a shock, an almost conspiratorial smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he sat down. He stretched across the table, careful to avoid Hermione's precarious piles of books, and took her hand. Her fingers twitched, startled at the shocking temperature difference between her own frigid digits and the warm, rough callouses on his palm, but she didn't pull away.
"I will say eet first," Fleur said, drawing Hermjone's attention back to her. The older girl reminded her of a warrior from a painting, her hair loose and curling around her face like a halo. "I still care for you, regardless of what zat woman says. I'm not about to be bullied and brought to 'eel like an errant dog."
Hermione didn't dare move, some deep instinct in the base of her spine freezing her in place, but her eyes wandered over to Viktor. He nodded once in agreement, a scowl twisting over his face, heavy brows drawn together. If Fleur was a warrior, heaven-sent and bathed in golden sunlight, then Viktor was an emperor, perched on his throne and waiting until the right moment to strike.
But then what did that make her?
"I just—" Hermione broke off with a grimace, her voice high and tight.
"Is a lot," Viktor murmured, smoothing his thumb over her knuckles. "We're used to it, but new for you, yes?"
"I wasn't expecting it," Hermione admitted, feeling heat burn through her cheeks and settle on the back of her neck. It was infantile to think she could date an international Quidditch star and a minor celebrity and not draw the eye of the world onto herself, but it had been warm and sweet, golden like honey drawing them closer together.
"It's okay." Fleur stretched across to take Hermione's other hand. Where Viktor's hand was rough, Fleur's was smooth and faintly scented like a peach. "We are 'ere to 'elp. Zat woman won't know what 'it 'er."
Viktor muttered something that resembled an agreement, before it turned into a gentle lilt of a question. Hermione only knew a few words, but she had picked up enough over their time together.
"I still want to continue this," she said, squeezing their hands tight. "I care for you both still."
"Bon." Fleur grinned. "Zen, a walk? Eet is a beautiful day, and we want to show you off."
Viktor nodded, and Hermione let them steer her towards the door, her bag thrown over Viktor's shoulder, and her arm looped through Fleur's with her head held high.