Here's an AU oneshot. Something.. fun? So, another 4th Year rewrite. I wanted to play with the soulmate trope, but most of them have Fleur knowing that Hermione is her mate. This time, well, Hermione will know and not Fleur. I'm reasoning that if wizards were so slow to adopt indoor plumbing, that they may not have timers yet, that the muggleborns are at this point the only ones who have them so... yeah, enjoy some awkward Hermione/Fleur moments.
Hermione scratched at her wrist, absentmindedly flipping the page in her book. She readjusted in the hard wooden chair she currently occupied in her corner of the library, cursing silently at how uncomfortable the unforgiving surface was. Her elbow dug into the table, bones grinding against each other, creaking out their protests as she flipped the page again. Her cheek came to rest upon the palm of her hand as her eyes scrolled over the print below.
Another page turn, another scratch. A low growl erupting from her throat as her hand hit the papers in frustration, her back falling to rest upon the chair, she slouched down in it, frustration roiling off her, she looked at the numbers emblazoned on her alabaster skin. She was down to the final hours now, their change irritated her, sending vibrations through her bones as they changed, alerting her of her impending meeting. She'd meet her soulmate tonight, she scoffed at the notion.
Her idyllic parents had ensured she received her timer shortly after her birth, ever the romantics, they'd wanted their sweet baby girl to find her soulmate. And though, at the time, the technology was new, it seemed to have promising results, they'd jumped at the chance. Of course, not all the muggle children had them, just.. most of them, she settled on. They came at different times, she'd been one of the first to receive one, but she remembered, being in primary school, seeing other students arriving, bandages on their wrist, keeping it covered up until it healed. She recalled looking on with fascination as others removed the wraps, boys and girls alike fawning over the new timers, digits appearing, changing as every second passed. Reading out the numbers, trying to figure out when it was that they may meet their soulmate.
Another derisive scoff, how could this device know from the time she was born when she would meet 'the one'? How could this device possibly even know what she would be interested in, let alone who? She'd spent some summers at home going to the library, searching, determined to understand how this contraption worked, what science existed behind the mechanism, especially as her number got smaller and smaller, her drive to learn increased. But she found no answers, it was all some sort of magical tomfoolery as far as she was concerned, the properties they spoke of were more nonsense than what she had heard fall from Trelawney's mouth last year- and that was saying something. A soft chuckle fell from her lips as she made that connection.
She rubbed at the decreasing numbers on her wrist, offering them a quick glance, or rather more of a glare as they continued to annoy her. Just under four hours left. Sometime during dinner she supposed. Her mind drifted, thinking, trying to piece it together, she hadn't heard any rumors of new students, and the school year had started, so there generally weren't any newcomers, no mid-year transfers. She stopped her thoughts, readjusting in her chair again, there was no point in dwelling, she wouldn't know them anyways- if she did her timer would have already hit zero.
As it was though, she would discover her one soon enough, and she would find out the truth to this timer nonsense. Her brown eyes, alight with the passion of learning, attention focusing solely on the old tome in front of her, scanning the pages of runes laid out before her. And not once did they find themselves drawn to the numbers counting down on her arm. Nope, not at all. She did not know that that timer had dropped below three hours now, nor did she know that she had spent almost fifty minutes trying to guess who her soulmate was (or the improbability behind them actually being a soulmate- she'd sooner trust amortentia, at least magic was, well, magic).
Hermione rubbed at her eyes, beginning to burn as the characters on the page started to blur, rearranging themselves before her, swirling into scribbles and pictures, nonsense and gibberish. She stifled a yawn before noticing the stillness of the quiet space around her. It was always quiet, Madam Pince made sure of that, the library was her safe haven, but there was still always an awareness of movement, of life around her. And this time, there was none. The sun was setting, glinting off the dusty glass windows, casting long shadows in that time where the lanterns had flickered to life but were not quite necessary, not yet pushing back the darkness to the corners. Light reflected off the polished surfaces of the dreary library, vacant and unoccupied at the hour, something unusual to the brunette. She felt alone, and this awareness tugged at her mind, urging her to leave.
She flipped the book shut with a thunk, a puff of air escaping from between the pages, sending her notes, scribbled upon loose parchment skittering across the desk. She grasped at the tanned sheets, scrambling to recollect them and hastily place them in bag, an unceremonious shove, crumbling corners, sandwiched between books, a quill caught in their midst. She made a mental note to reorganize her bag later. Her chair scraped across the stone floor of the castle, she cringed, awaiting a chastising from the librarian, but none came. Hermione's brow furrowed in confusion, worry surfacing again as the ugly beast it was, she grabbed the book and dropped it unceremoniously on the circulation desk to be returned, her feet breaking into a run as she exited her sanctuary.
She hastily made her way down to the Great Hall, hoping that she would find someone else there, who could tell her what was going on. Classes had been cancelled for the afternoon, for some sort of special announcement that would be made. She'd made use of the time with some studying, but in that moment, she felt as though her reclusive behavior was about to get her in trouble. She must have missed something, some announcement or new information, they must have forgotten to tell her or been unable to locate her. Maybe they'd assumed the students would gossip and share it that way, but not counted on her not seeing anyone.
A quick readjustment to the bag that had begun to slide off her shoulder and she took off down the stairs, her heavy satchel thumping on her legs with every step, the leather strap cutting through her robes, digging into her skin, straining her neck. Her fingers wrapped around the strap, hoping to provide some relief as she continued on, her other hand sliding down the smoothed stone banister, guiding her every step. She moved on autopilot, her eyes searching for any other students, the soles of her shoes reverberating off the hard surfaces, thundering as they echoed in the empty hall. Portraits of the long dead grumbled down at her, a few shouting above the rest, their temporary peace being disturbed by the single student. She offered her apologies, insincere and more out of trained politeness than actual remorse for her actions, "Sorry, sorry, sorry," it became a chant, the words losing their meaning as she made her way down the multiple flights to the entry hall.
A few other stragglers joined her just outside the Great Hall, they'd exited the impressive room, muttering between them, their robes lined with gold, a badger upon their chests. "They must be outside still." One of them spoke, he shrugged as he let go of the heavy door and falling back into the small group.
Hermione ducked, tucking a loose curl behind her ear, and falling in behind them, hoping to blend in momentarily. She readjusted her bag again, pulling it close to her body as she continued on her search. She wondered what was going on outside though, it was late, and the weather was turning cold, besides, quidditch had been cancelled for the season. She couldn't come up with a reason for anyone to be outside right now, but she wished, if that's where she was going to have to be, that she'd brought her cloak. It was too far to run back up to Gryffindor Tower though.
At that point, Professor McGonagal entered the hall from outside, her black robes billowing about her. "I suggest you all get outside now, the delegations will be arriving soon and it is imperative we are all present to welcome them," she spoke with authority, looking down her long nose at the group, her spectacles perched upon its tip. Her fingers lacing as her hands joined in front of her, she made no motion to move her spot, instead looking intently at the group, causing them to duck down as they hastily made their escape out the door she had just entered through.
Hermione fell in with the rest of the Gryffindors, taking up a place between Harry and Ron. "About time you got here!" Ron whisper shouted at her, turning to look at her from her left.
"Shhhh," she whispered back, hushing him as she returned to focus on the scene before them. The student body had taken up residence on the long steps into the castle, having self-divided amongst their houses. She didn't want to draw any more attention to her late arrival.
Harry leaned into her right, speaking in hushed tones from the corner of his mouth, a poor attempt at discretion, "We were just worried about you is all."
She smiled at him and reached out, taking his hand and offering a slight squeeze before releasing it, "I'm alright, just lost track of time studying."
He nodded, "It's soon isn't it?" he asked, his eyes darting down to her wrist indicating what he was asking about. They'd never really discussed the matter, but he'd seen it before, had tried to help explain it to Ron when he'd questioned why she had numbers back in their First Year. He'd never pushed, not like some of the pure bloods that had been entirely too curious about that bit of muggle technology. But he'd grown up hearing of those that had received their timers. Though, he'd not been so lucky, or maybe that was wrong, maybe he was the lucky one to have not received one. He wasn't going to be pushed towards a relationship just because of what someone else thought.
She offered him a smile, forced and insincere, it didn't reach her eyes, couldn't break through the sadness she felt there, a tiny nod, just a quick downward movement. She was unprepared for what happened next. Harry pulled her in tight, breaking from the formation, wrapping his arms around her tightly, constricting her movements. He whispered in her ear, "Good luck, Hermione." And then, it was over, as though it had never happened. He could sense how torn she was over what may happen.
He would be positive for her, the light in a time of darkness, he always found a way to think of the good rather than the bad, and he gave her an easy smile, so at odds with his previous actions, a light-hearted tone, "Maybe your one is in one of these delegations we're waiting on?" he offered.
Their moment was broken by a boy yelling "Look at that!" as he pointed towards the sky, drawing everyone's attention towards the moon, its light broken by a shape, growing in size but still unidentifiable to most. It traveled in an uneven path, up and down, whatever it was, wasn't mechanical at least, and it was large, very, very large, and getting large with every moment.
"Settle down now, everybody," Dumbledore commanded, turning to face the student body, a twinkle in his eyes, "The Beauxbatons delegation will be here soon enough, but until then, please, try to remain calm," his arms were outstretched as he used his hands to hush the houses that had erupted into hushed chatter, trying to identify the unknown object. He turned back around as the carriage, for it was actually a carriage, pulled by six giant white, winged horses, came crashing back to earth, its oversized wooden wheels creaking on impact as the ornate box bounced wildly. The horses broke into a gallop before slowing to a stop, their wings fluttering and adjusting as their feathers folded up, back in on themselves. Snorting and whinnying could be heard along hard breathing as the horses began to calm down, their hooves stamping the ground, their hair glimmering in the moonlight, abraxans, Hermione identified.
They were majestic, regal in a way that books could not describe, leaving her in awe. The door was flung open, crashing loudly against the side of the carriage as a gigantic woman stepped out, she wore a powder blue uniform, hugging her curves tightly as though it was a size or two too small. She smiled widely and made her way to Dumbledore, greeting him in a booming voice as a dozen or so students followed behind her, huddled together and shivering in the cool night air, they moved as one, hastily making their escape inside to the castle.
Hermione suppressed a chuckle and rolled her eyes, "Did they not know they were headed to Scotland?" Her companions laughed quietly before focusing on the lake, a giant ship was now emerging from it, breaking its inky surface. Two lone figures stood proudly at the bow. She thought the others must be below deck still, and her mind began to wonder, one would surely be the headmaster, but the other, who was he?
The Beauxbatons headmistress had ended her greetings and the crowd parted around her as she followed her students inside, ducking ever so slightly through the doorway.
"And there must be the Durmstrang delegation," Dumbledore spoke once again, as the ship came to settle at the edge of the lake. The figures at the bow jumping down, looking elegant as they landed at the edge of the water. A wooden plank emerged from the side as the others below decks exited the ship, single file. Their crimson uniforms looking crisp against the night sky, their black boots sounding in unison as they moved as a single unit, a show of their discipline.
Hermione looked away from the display as her wrist began to itch again. Her timer alerting her that the last hour was now underway. A gentle heat radiating from the digits as they continued to count. She watched the numbers, 59:58, 57, 56, 55. A gentle tugging at her sleeve pulled her out of her mind again, "Let's go inside," Harry spoke calmly, she nodded and turned to join the masses now swarming the doors. She hadn't even noticed Durmstrang pass them to go inside, or Dumbledore's declaration that the feast would begin once everyone was in the Great Hall. He didn't let go of her sleeve, pulling her along gently, guiding her to their table, knowing she wouldn't be able to focus on anything until it happened.
Ron watched the pair suspiciously, feeling as though something was happening, a secret shared between them, he just didn't know what, or if it was something he should know.
The feast had begun, Dumbledore had given a speech of some sort, she'd find out the details later. The other schools had entered, though she didn't notice, her attention still focused solely on the annoyance that was on her wrist, that warm feeling had turned into a burning, it was so hot, she'd thought it would blister soon if this continued. She rubbed at it distractedly, covering the digits with her fingers. Her hand felt cold, it was nice, soothing. She kept it covered, kept the count from reaching her eyes as she reached for her fork.
Harry had dumped healthy servings of whatever was close by on her plate. He was such a good friend, she knew she'd be lost without him, especially today. She speared something on her plate, some vegetables of some sort, she'd figure out what they were seasoned with soon enough. The carrot rolled away and she stabbed at it again with a huff, still keeping her wrist covered.
It was unceremoniously deposited in her mouth in a single bite. A mental chiding of how much like Ron she was acting followed. She should have some self-respect and eat like a normal human. She spared a glance his way, seeing his cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk as he reached for his goblet of pumpkin juice. How unpleasant. He looked up, his face turning purple as he forced it all down, trying not to choke. Hermione followed his line of sight, turning slightly in her seat as a voice spoke up behind her, "Excusez-moi, but are you wanting ze bouillabaisse?"
Her eyes glided up a decidedly female form, slender, curvy, and very much mature. She carried herself with an air of confidence, matching the silky, sultry tone she spoke with, haughty indifference, a girl- no woman, used to getting what she wanted. Blonde hair was pulled back into a ponytail, partially concealed beneath a powder blue hat, her features were delicate, thin, pale lips under high cheekbones, a slim nose centered upon her face, but her eyes, those blue- no, blue was too plain, too common, cerulean eyes, deep pools, electric, enchanting, those held the mysteries of the universe.
And the moment they locked, Hermione felt her world shift, or rather, she felt her arm burning so intensely she released her hold, the vibrating had gone from a sporadic annoyance to a constantly warning, buzzing in her mind, behind her cheeks. She looked down quickly, seeing the numbers flashing- 00:00:00, before they faded away and it all stopped.
Her mind became a flurry of curses, no, no there was no way in hell that was her one, there had to be a mistake, or maybe unfortunate timing. Ha, timing, this was a joke, this was the universe's idea of a joke, that's it. There was no way she'd ever look at her like that. And! And! It had said her soulmate was a woman!
She looked away, having forgotten the question asked in a moment of panic. Harry, however, ever the savior, came to her rescue, "Yeah, have it," he answered, passing the bowl between them, the blonde reaching out to take it from him, offering a small smile in thanks before she departed.
"She's a Veela!" came the hushed whisper from Ron, once he finally returned to his normal, albeit very red, state, closing his mouth from where it had fallen open, his food having been long forgotten as his eyes trailed after the retreating figure.
Hermione was correcting him before she'd realized, without a thought or any information to contradict his claim. She reached for her fork, and took up her knife in her free hand, now that she was no longer using it to cool her wrist. Harry took a look at her, watching her behavior before his eyes drifted to her wrist, now free of numbers, before he returned to his meal. It wasn't his place to ask, but he decided the foreign students were worth a little more of his attention. He wondered which one of them it was.
The so-called 'brightest witch of her age' shuffled up to her rooms in a haze after dinner, her mind unable to wrap around the fact that if her timer was to be believed, then her soulmate (the word itself now developing a foreign taste in her mouth) was a woman. She hadn't even known she was gay! And now here she was being pushed towards this woman, and though she was undeniable attractive (Hermione was positive even if somebody was blind, they would still be able to see that she was beautiful, and Hermione was not blind).
This was a new development, and one she couldn't quite process, not after the events of the day had left her mind so scattered, jumbled and jumping through different thoughts. Their meal had been to 'kick off' the start of the Triwizard Tournament, something that had, until this point, only existed as a thing in books. Albeit, this thing had led to the deaths of many students, and had been stopped 200 years ago because it was too dangerous.
And that was something else that had given her pause. If her soulmate (she still didn't know so much as her name), were here as part of the delegation, then that meant she was intending to participate. And that was not a comfortable thought. Oh there were so many of those, too many for the young witch to handle in one day, her mind worrying that her one may be killed before they even have a chance to meet- to actually meet that is. To have a conversation consisting of more than a request for a dish, a glance, a moment of awkwardness before it all ended.
She chewed her bottom lip, nervously, plucking the peeling, dried skin away as she stared up at the scarlet canopy of her bed. She'd pulled the curtains shut when she arrived, tossing herself upon the plush surface unceremoniously. The weight of her school robes providing minimal comforts, she hadn't done so much as loosen her tie yet though she knew the hour was already gone past midnight.
Tomorrow would be a long day, filled with so much for her to mentally unpack from today still (today, yesterday). She would worry about her sexuality later, for all she knew her one wasn't even gay (wouldn't that be her luck- to have a straight mate- she let out a soft chuckle at how that sounded).
She finally fell asleep, drifting off dreaming of sapphire eyes that could see into her soul.
Hermione tugged absentmindedly on the tie around her neck, loosening the knot slightly. It felt too tight, too constrictive today, just like her robes that now weighed too heavily upon her shoulders. She readjusted her bag on her shoulders, ironically the heavy satchel going largely unnoticed, as she walked to her next class, Charms. She'd just left Potions and was angrily muttering to herself as she stomped up the stairs, Snape had been even more of an outright git today, having noticed her thoughts were elsewhere and had for once actually taken pleasure in calling on her at every chance he got.
Harry and Ron followed silently behind them, sharing looks between themselves having both noticed her 'absence'. Though neither could pinpoint what was going on. Ron didn't quite know what happened yesterday, the meaning of those numbers she'd always had hitting zero before they vanished, he'd been told sure, but that was years ago, it was mostly just another bit of muggle weirdness to him. And Harry, he knew, he understood, but he didn't quite know who it was or why that was causing his friend issues. He'd ask her about it later, probably she just didn't think she'd like whoever it had picked for her. She was more than outspoken in her disbelief of this supposed science.
He looked up in time to see his friend stop, mid step, her foot still held rigidly in the air, a few inches above the ground. She was frozen there, like a statue, he'd stopped short, almost running into her back. "Hermione, what's wrong?" He asked, moving to reach out towards her before he stopped himself. She hadn't acknowledged that he'd said anything at all. His eyes traced her line of sight, trying to figure out what had bothered his friend so much.
There across the corridor, through the sea of black was a patch of powder blue. A group of Beauxbatons girls walked the hallway, led by the same girl from last night. She glided through the hallway, each movement made gracefully, her hair flowed out from behind her, trailing along, down her shoulders, a sheet of blonde that rippled as she moved. She glanced back at the others, a look tossed so casually over her shoulder as she continued forward. She called out to the others as the crowded hall parted for her, giving her plenty of room to walk.
Hermione's eyes never left her form until she was out of sight, and then she continued on, her foot finally finding the ground beneath it, as though nothing had ever happened. And Harry hid his smirk as best he could, knowing now just who it was that had Hermione so distracted. He shook his head as she led them to class.
The next time they would meet would be just after Charms that same day. She exited the classroom, this time having finished up an addition to her notes and packing up slightly after the boys, alone. One of the last actually. It was her last class of the day and she had planned to go to the library after that, but fate had seemed to (once again) conspire against her.
She exited the room, her eyes cast down at the floor, watched the stones pass as she walked, not expecting anyone else to be in the nearly vacant corridor. Everyone always vacated the academic parts of the school as soon as the last class finished, eager to escape outside while the weather was still as nice as could be expected for that time of year, not yet willing to be cooped up inside the old structure until the spring thaw came.
And that was how her body collided, rather ungracefully, with another. She squeaked out a hasty apology, rushed and barely intelligible as she reached out to steady the other person. Her eyes had caught a flash of blue, but it hadn't yet registered to the brunette that the shade of blue was not that of the Ravenclaw robes but the powder blue of the French uniform.
The young witch did however, realize what she was doing when she finally looked up, checking to see that they were okay, and seeing sapphire orbs looking back at her, wide from shock- at least, that's what she assumed- and felt her body immediately flush. Her embarrassment could not be contained in her cheeks alone, as her visible skin turned a shade of bright red as though she had just run a marathon in record time, she had managed to run into her one, had managed to nearly bowl her over simply because she had not bothered to look where she was going.
She froze. Unsure of what to do next, afraid of making the wrong move. Her hands still upon the body of her supposed soulmate. She froze. Or maybe the world froze- the other girl, no- woman, wasn't moving either. But, that may have been for a different reason. Her eyes shifted, the shock being replaced with anger, her brow furrowing as she looked down at the placement of hands upon her.
A slap broke Hermione from her frozen state, bringing her crashing back to reality. It was then that she realized where she had grabbed the blonde to attempt to steady her. And the accidental touch may have been okay, but her prolonged grip, that was where the blonde drew the line. One hand was low around her waist, she supposed that would have been acceptable if not a little intimate, but her other, well, she supposed she was way too close the the other's chest and that slap was deserved.
She pulled her hands away quickly, feeling as though they had been burned, her skin making her previous color look like a soft peach- she would now possibly put a tomato to shame if she were in competition with one. A trail of expletives and apologies spewed forth from her mouth, alternating as she cursed herself and attempted to convey to the other woman how much she really did NOT mean for that to happen, hiding her offending hands as though they could no longer take advantage of the other if they could not be seen.
Luck must have been on her side though as the blonde merely rolled her eyes and let out a huff. She turned to leave before turning back, whetting her lips as she hesitated for a moment. "I suppose, you could make it up to me if you 'elp me find my way out of zis infernal maze," she spoke with a thick accent, irritation in her voice, her head shook slightly as she spoke.
Hermione smiled, quick to accept, she would do anything to rectify the situation between them. She still didn't think she was gay, or that the blonde was for that matter, but she hoped they could at least be friends. That is, if there was anything to her timer.
"Where do you want to go?" she asked, unsure if the foreigners had additional classes they needed to take or if they too were free for the day.
"Back to ze carriage," she replied, "I need to collect ma soeur before we 'ead to dinner."
Hermione nodded, "Right, well, follow me then," she crossed paths with the blonde, headed in her original direction. Nervously, she readjusted the satchel on her shoulder, lifting the strap above her head so it crossed her body now. It was more uncomfortable to her this way, putting too much pressure across her chest, constricting her too tightly, she kept her thumb hooked under the strap, her fingers curled loosely around it, holding it slightly out.
She wouldn't trust a free hand around the blonde for a moment, still feeling embarrassed over earlier. Her other was tucked into her pocket. It wasn't until Hermione reached the top of the stairs that she paused, momentarily looking back to see that she still had her companion.
The brunette flashed a quick smile before stepping off the landing, her pocketed hand reaching for the railing now out of habit. She'd taken a fall down the stairs when she was younger, and blamed it not on her clumsiness but on not holding the railing. It had hurt her enough that she now held on at all costs, even if it was nothing more than a light touch, she could feel her anxiety ease with the slightest contact, the smallest bit of steadying provided.
But now, it made her self-conscious, the blonde resuming her usual glide, not relying on anything, able to conquer the steps on her own. The silence that had fallen between them only amplified that feeling, it was too quiet, she was being a bad host, a bad, well, whatever she was, could be.
She needed to break the silence between them, needed to fill that void and set her mind at ease. She licked her lips, a nervous habit that she did before she was unsure of what she would say, using it as a pause to quickly gather her thoughts.
Though, she could have used that millisecond better, she spoke saying the first thing that came to mind- a repeat of her First year, rambling off facts from Hogwarts- A History. She cringed internally, wishing her parents had insisted she acquire some sort of social skills rather than allowing her to always retreat to her books. "There are 142 staircases inside the castle, but only 4 of them will move on you. Those are the ones you'll need to worry about as they can deposit you in other ares, sometimes more dangerous areas- the third floor corridor especially, other times it's just very inconvenient. Speaking of inconveniences, stay away from the first floor girl's bathroom, the one with the out of order sign, it's haunted. And, maybe stay away from Peeves if you can. Peeves the Poltergeist, as the name suggests he enjoys causing problems, and if you don't want to be caught up in his mess, or blamed for them, its best to steer clear."
Hermione paused for a moment, taking a breath as they reached the next landing. Her companion used that as a moment to interrupt.
"I do not zink I could remember all of zis, not zat I do not appreciate ze information," she spoke, her words gentle.
Hermione nodded, pink tinting her cheeks, "That, um, that staircase," she pointed across the room, "is one that moves, every fifteen minutes, like clockwork. And this one," her head dipped slightly to indicate the one they stood on currently, "has a trick step, third from the bottom. If you step on it, you'll sink into it. It'll eventually let you go, but only when you're late for class. It's like the stairs know." She whispered the last bit conspiratorially, leaning closer to the blonde as though the steps had the ability to listen in.
The blonde nodded, "I feel like I should 'ave a guide 'ere, I am bound to forget somezing, and being trapped sounds razer embarrassing."
Her Gryffindor bravery got in the way, her mouth responding before she realized, before she knew what she was saying, offering to guide the blonde until she learned the castle. The offer was out there, she couldn't rescind it now, it hung between them, heavy.
She responded, accepting the offer, and the brunette inhaled, not realizing she had been holding her breath, but discovering a need for oxygen. A shared glance before their eyes were quickly averted (Hermione knew why she did that, but didn't know why the blonde had done so. And then she mentally smacked herself.)
"I'm sorry, but I've just realized, I don't know your name, and I haven't introduced myself either," she stopped in her tracks, offering a hand out to the blonde, "Hermione Granger, Fourth Year."
"Fleur Delacour," she responded, placing a well-manicured hand lightly in the offered one. A quick downward motion and their hands disconnected.
Hermione turned back, "Well, we are at the Entry hall, I trust you can find the carriage from here?" Merlin, don't sound so eager to get rid of her, her mind scolded and she winced slightly.
Fleur had been her shadow for the past week, or maybe she was Fleur's. She would lead the blonde from class to class, sometimes with a pack of other Beauxbaton students, other times it was just the two of them. And only occasionally were they also joined by her boys.
They had been there the first day, not knowing what it was that Hermione was going to be doing, but Ron had purpled upon seeing the French witch, his tongue tied, he'd tripped over words and made a fool of himself and had done his best to stay away (he'd insisted it would only be until he could keep from embarrassing himself over her, he'd also insisted he needed to impress her) and Harry was determined to be the best wingman he could be, by keeping Ron away.
The pair talked when it was just the two of them, but when others were around, Fleur just followed her, content to fall back into her pack, she'd speak in French and Hermione couldn't help but feel excluded from the group. She wasn't Fleur's choice, not really, and that thought stung, though she refused to show it. Her mind criticized her though, speaking out determinedly, she wasn't good enough, wasn't attractive enough, or a good conversationalist, she'd never be interesting to the blonde.
Her thoughts persisted, fermenting in her mind as they played on repeat. Her mood falling each day as she worked to keep her feelings hidden. It wasn't that she was attracted to the blonde, no, it had nothing to do with that and more to do with how she was ignored by the group (that she didn't want to actually be included in) that she had ended up leading every day. She worked to convince herself that anyone would feel that way. It was reasonable.
And while that may be true, it didn't change the fact that she was lying to herself about her curiosity when it came to the foreigner. She had seen glimpses of different sides of the blonde, but she didn't know her well enough to know what side was her truth. Or, she supposed all of them were to an extent, but one was the real Fleur, hidden below these facades she showed to the world.
She glanced back at the group that she was currently leading to Transfiguration, Fleur reaching out to place her hand lightly on the forearm of another student, a brunette, she was shorter than Fleur, and while she would still be considered attractive, her mouth was turned up in a permanent sneer, as though life itself disgusted her.
Fleur said something, Hermione didn't know what, to accompany the gesture and the group broke out into laughter. She spoke animatedly with her friends, losing some of the reservation she held when alone, some of the distance she had maintained with Hermione. She was relaxed, free to act like any other teenager (not that she was really that much different).
The young Gryffindor couldn't help but smile, feeling a lightness in her chest at watching the exchange, a desperate longing to be part of it welling up. But that was when it happened.
A boy marched his way up to the group, determination clear across his face, the hall falling silent as the other students meandering by stopped to watch what would happen. He had his wand clenched in his hand, his arm held stiffly at his side.
"Fleur!" He called out, pulling her from her group of friends. She stopped mid-sentence, turning her head to face him, a single raised eyebrow as she looked down her nose at him.
"May I 'elp you?" came her response, irritation seeping through at the edges.
His fingers adjusted around the wood of his wand, clenching it at his side, his posture adjusting slightly. Hermione pulled her wand, shouting as she did so, a flash of light emitting from her wand. She didn't even look to see what had happened as she moved towards the blonde, grabbing her arm and pulling her along without a word.
She'd tried to struggle, to resist at first, her mind still in shock at what happened. She'd never seen the boy before in her life, she had done nothing to deserve whatever it was he was going to do. She stumbled as she was pulled along, her feet unsure of where to take her, she'd looked back at her friends, still stunned at what had transpired, looking between themselves.
And then it was dark, the sound of a clunk as a heavy metal bolt was slid into place, the small room, or closet rather, had no windows, no lanterns. There was some shuffling and a quiet "Lumos" could be heard before a soft glow was cast upon the room.
It was then that the blonde was able to take in her surroundings, they were in what appeared to be a supply closet, though it was not used frequently or well maintained for that matter. There were only a couple of buckets and an old crusty mop in the corner.
"Are you okay?" her hand moved with a mind of its own, reaching out, finding the girl's bicep and resting there.
The moment of weakness passed and the ice queen returned. The blonde nodded, crossing her arms across her chest, "Zis is not ze first time somezing 'as 'appened." Her words came out as a pout, angry and spoken by someone who was mad at the world. Her eyes did not meet the brunette's. Hermione dropped her hand and moved to open the door, sliding the lock back
Fleur released the breath she had been holding, the shock wearing off her after a moment, now that the danger was gone. She looked at the brunette in front of her, her skin golden and curls honeyed from the yellow light between them. "Zank you," she whispered wearily, falling into the other woman, her arms wrapping around her waist.
Hermione was caught off-guard, unsure how to respond, freezing at the show of affection when she had jumped into action without thought only a moment prior. She brought a hand up to Fleur's back, patting it awkwardly, her wand now hanging limply at her side. Thank Merlin the room was mostly dark she thought, feeling the heat rising to her cheeks.
Fleur began to consume her thoughts, her dreams, images of the enchanting witch ghosting across her mind's eye. Touches setting her skin on fire, heat coursing to her center. She'd awaken in a sweat, her hand snaking further south as she laid in bed, the curtains pulled close, willing her dream to continue, playing out like a movie only she could see.
The woman was a seductress and she wasn't even trying. As time passed she had begun to accept that Ron was right, she had to be at least part Veela. There was no other way, Hermione wasn't gay, she wasn't attracted to other women (or, more accurately, she wasn't attracted to anyone else, she had more important issues, like school, and saving Harry).
But this one, she may as well have taken up a second residence inside her head. The blonde smiled at her, her sapphire eyes dark, pupils blown wide with lust. Her fingers flitted over pale skin, exploring, teasing. Soft lips following their path, warm breath condensing on cool skin as quiet murmurs of affection filled the air.
Hermione clenched the sheets in her fist, wanting more, needing this to be more than a dream, a fantasy that set her ablaze, putting her on edge and then slowly tipping her over, she bit down on her lip, stifling a moan. The last thing she needed was to wake one of the others as her body trembled uncontrollably.
It had all started after that hug, that little bit of affection offered her way and now, she needed more. Okay, maybe she was gay after all.
The castle was abuzz with nervous anticipation, the champions would be chosen soon. The chatter during dinner had been nothing but guesses as to who would be chosen, lists of who had entered, banter about who had the best qualities. All of the foreign students had entered, probably having earned their places in the delegation, but for Hogwarts? Hermione didn't think she'd seen that many enter.
In fact, she'd seen more students try and find a way around the age line than she'd seen actually make it over the line. She had figured Viktor would be one of the champions. And she hoped that Fleur wouldn't, not that she wouldn't want to see her compete but, she was concerned for her safety, that's all, it wasn't selfish to be worried about another. No, it was purely worry for her acquaintance.
She forked a potato chunk on her plate, the metal tines clanking upon the ceramic plate as it went through. Her motions were quick, forceful, a result of the increasing stress she felt as every moment passed. It tasted dry, like chalk, sticking in her mouth, clumping and unwilling to be swallowed. Hermione reached for her goblet, the thick juice inside would hardly help but she needed to taste something other than dirt.
When the sweet liquid caused her to gag however she gave up on eating dinner, too anxious to eat. Her fork clattered to her plate as she dropped it. Harry shot her a questioning glance, but it was Ron who spoke up first, "You gonna eat that 'Mione?" He pointed his knife at the remnants of her chicken.
She shook her head no and pushed her plate towards him. He eagerly stabbed the piece of meat and shifted it to his plate in one quick motion. Harry placed a comforting hand on her thigh, "Everything will be okay, she wouldn't be chosen if she couldn't handle it," he spoke softly, a secret shared between the two.
Hermione jumped, looking at him with her eyes wide, panicked. She hadn't told him who her one was, had she been that obvious?
Fleur had of course been chosen that night, but even more surprisingly was Harry also being chosen as a 'fourth champion'. He and Ron weren't speaking now, and Hermione was tired of having to pick sides, didn't she have enough to worry about already?
She taken to spending most of her time in the library, attempting to study, or to find a way to help Harry. He was her best friend, though they hadn't spoken further about how her soulmate was his competition, or even any sort of confirmation that he was right.
She tucked a stray curl behind her ear as she leaned over the text before her, her fingers skimming over the words, lightly tracing over the lines as she mouthed the words to herself, speaking under her breath. At least she could think about something other than the blonde now, her focus was on protecting her friend.
Hermione looked up, offering a quick smile as her thoughts were broken by the sound of Harry dropping unceremoniously into the seat next to her, his bag hitting the stone floor. The shuffling of robes and books continued for a moment as he began to pull out his homework.
"Can you believe Snape?" he whispered, "Assigning two rolls for tomorrow, he's gone mental."
"Think he just wants you to be unprepared for the task, wouldn't surprise me any to be quite honest," she responded, flipping the page. The first task was coming up soon, only a couple weeks away now and there wasn't much information about what it could be. She'd first started with investigating what types of tasks had been used in the past, but her fears began to get the better of her. The muggleborn couldn't believe that anyone who wasn't absolutely insane would allow children to participate in such unnecessary danger.
(Or maybe she could, they had thought it perfectly acceptable to continue classes as a giant, deadly snake roamed the plumbing, killing students as they used the toilet. Or when there was an escaped madman on the loose. And there was also the giant dog guarding the Philosopher's stone, or the werewolf they hired to teach them. Okay, maybe a deadly tournament for children wasn't that strange after all she'd concluded.)
His quill scratched upon the parchment as he began to write his essay out, not bothering to ask Hermione if he could just copy it like he usually did. Hermione watched him warily, he seemed tired, worn down without the support of Ron, or of most anyone. It was all beginning to take its toll on him and she wondered how to best support him. He'd had to handle so much in his young life, it was all so unfair.
"But if it kills me, then he won't have his favorite student to bully," Harry responded sarcastically, rolling his eyes as he moved to scratch out the last word.
"I don't think he wants you dead, but humiliated is probable." She flipped the book shut, placing it to the side and reaching for another.
Her hand froze, resting at the spine of the book, the worn leather against her fingers as another figure came around the bookshelf, having found her hiding place, what little sanctuary she'd discovered away from Krum and his groupies. The girls that followed him constantly fawning and giggling, disturbing everyone without a care in the world. She'd had to retreat, searching out new areas away from them, and it appeared this one had just been found.
The only open chair was the one located across from her, and that would be where the blonde would soon be, assuming she didn't turn around and leave. But as she continued to get closer, the chances of that dwindled until they disappeared entirely.
She held a book in one arm, balanced against her chest, a nervous look in her eyes. Fleur paused behind the chair, her free hand coming to rest upon its back, "Do you mind?"
"No, no, go ahead," the brunette hastily replied, moving to rearrange her books and papers, clearing some room for the other student.
"It is so 'ard to find an area to study wiz Krum and 'is lackeys," she lamented, placing the book on the table and taking a seat.
Hermione couldn't help but agree with the observation. They fell back into a comfortable silence, the three studying in the small peace offered by this cove, tucked away in the back of the library.
Some time had passed before Harry sat back with an exasperated sigh, "I'm done, I'll just fill the rest in with something, how do you think Snape feels about Christmas songs?" he asked, looking at Hermione with a wide grin, folding his hands behind his head.
She smiled before hitting him playfully in the stomach causing him to jolt forward, an offended look crossing his face, "I think Snape will enjoy taking points for that, how much do you have so far?"
"Like a roll, I think?" He held up a coiled strip, covered in oversized lettering and ink smudges, scribbles and slanted writing. It pained Hermione to look at it, definitely not some of his better work. He shrugged at her, "I was thinking if I rewrote it, I could put stuff in the middle and make the start and end look good, you don't suppose he actually reads all of it, do you?"
Hermione shot him a glare, "For you, I expect he makes an exception. Every time."
He sighed and hunched forward over the table, "You're probably right. I need a break anyways," he gathered his stuff and began to put it away, "I'll see you at dinner?"
"Yeah, course." She watched as the raven-haired boy walked away, leaving her alone, in a quiet corner with her one. She dried her palms on her robes, her hands sweaty from the thought alone. She was a mess, and not even a hot one.
Hermione reached for her quill, and dipped it in her inkwell, pausing for a moment with the tip hovering just above the fresh sheet of parchment before her. Nimble fingers adjusted themselves along the feather before contact was made, her thoughts gathered. A light scratching could be heard as she began to create her own Potions essay. She'd put it off for last, preferring to complete her other homework as Snape would always be sure to find a way to give her a low grade. She'd spend time crafting the essays for her other classes, the ones that she would earn the grade she actually deserved.
She stopped for a moment, tucking her hair behind her ear out of habit and glancing up feeling eyes upon her. Crystal orbs quickly averted themselves, back to the book before them, a rose tint to her cheeks appearing at having been caught. Like a game of cat and mouse, the cycle repeated itself a few times, sometimes the order reversed, with Fleur catching Hermione watching her.
But when that happened, the older woman would offer her a knowing smirk forcing the younger to flush before retreating to her papers once again. Fleur would swear the movement would have been accompanied by something similar to a yelp if it wasn't for the fact they were in the library.
Fleur became a constant, joining them for their study time in the library after class. Hermione discovered the blonde was actually quite studious with a passion for learning that could rival her own. She was not the air headed girl she portrayed and maintained in the company of her friends. And that did things to the brunette she couldn't yet name, but she had started to accept that she was attracted to her, and that maybe, she could begrudgingly admit that there was something to that blasted device. Though she also wondered if it was only because the thing had given her the idea that she had begun to think of the other in such a way. Would it have happened without that push?
No that, was something she very much doubted. But she did enjoy her time, silently studying with the other woman. Harry was often the first to leave however, sneaking off to leave the pair alone, claiming he was tired, or couldn't focus or would finish it later, she knew though, that he missed his quidditch practice and was sneaking out to the pitch, his broom in hand. He and Ron still hadn't made up, but Ginny had been more than happy to join him, spending the afternoon playing as his opponent.
Ginny had come back to the dorms one evening gushing about spending time with him, her crush still present though she was dating some other boy, Hermione couldn't remember who, they never stuck around long anyways. The youngest redhead had gotten over his selection while Ron wasn't yet ready to let it go, shooting dark glances across the room at them whenever they were nearby. Hermione would just roll her eyes when she caught his actions.
They would welcome him back whenever he decided to get over himself. Or rather, if he decided to. But, in the meantime, Fleur was good company. She did not focus on the tournament, or on their status as champions, rather choosing to talk on other matters. While she was not familiar with the UK teams, she was actually a rather avid fan of quidditch and had spent time talking to Harry about various matches that had occurred. And despite Hermione's disinterest in the sport, she found that she wanted to learn about it, if for no other reason than to converse with the blonde.
They shared a passion for Charms and Transfiguration, excelled at Potions and found Divination to be tiring. And the differences between their schools were beyond intriguing to both students, some classes were the same and some subjects were very, very different.
Take, for example, Care of Magical Creatures. At Hogwarts, it was taught with the British mindset, being that the creatures couldn't care for themselves, that they were lower beasts and only managed to survive due to some great benevolence on the part of the wizarding community. In France though, the creatures were studied with regard, a respect given to them that they had managed to survive and would continue to do so without need of assistance from humans. The creatures studied were different sorts as well, with discussion among the students as many on the continent had some sort of creature blood.
That conversation had left quite an impression on the young witch, Harry had not been present by that point, having left for a friendly game with Ginny. Fleur had looked at Hermione, her eyes serious as she spoke lowly, "You know, it is not such a bad zing to 'ave some creature blood flowing zrough your veins," a conspiratorial smirk upon her face and a raised eyebrow as she gauged the reaction of the other woman.
It sounded, flirty? Hermione wasn't sure, she gulped nervously, nodding.
Fleur continued, "Myself, I am one quarter Veela," she spoke with pride, her eyes flashing dangerously as though she expected a challenge, or maybe repulsion, preemptively feeling the need to defend herself.
"I thought so," Hermione responded without thought, catching her companion off guard.
"Did you?"
"Yeah, I mean, I doubted it at first, when Ron said you were that first night. But, the more I was around you, I started to see it. That he was right. It was the only thing that made sense." She rambled on nervously, looking everywhere but the enchantress before her, feeling that she was dangerously close to some sort of declaration of love, or a confession of her thoughts, her desire for the other woman.
"Oh? And 'ow did you see it?" she asked playfully, leaning over the table, closing the distance between them.
"Well, first the only thing I really had to go off of was your looks. Obviously you're gorgeous, but that doesn't have to mean anything. Though when I looked around, all the boys were drawn to you, practically laying at your feet. And then, when I was near you, it feels warm, comforting, like there's a gentle heat radiating off you. So I figured, it had to be at least somewhat true. It doesn't seem the same as the World Cup though, but that was the first time I'd seen a Veela in person so that wasn't much to rely on." She finished, having moved closer to Fleur as she spoke, interested in showing off her research collecting skills.
The elder witch smiled, having adjusted her position as Hermione spoke, her elbow propped upon the table, chin resting on her palm, her fingers curled slightly, a dangerous glint in her eyes as she listened to what the younger said. "You feel drawn to me do you?" she questioned, waiting for Hermione's response, a slight nod (she now felt worried seeing Fleur looking practically predatory). "Tell me, 'Ermione," she drew out the name, rolling the 'r', "Are you 'omosexual?"
Hermione blanched, her pale skin practically transparent as her eyes went wide, she pulled back shuffling her papers and rearranging the positions of her items, "N-no, of course not! What would give you that idea?" she forced out hastily.
Her movements were stopped by a light touch, lithe fingers curling their way around her wrist, stilling her motions, "I am not bozered by zat, I only ask because one must be interested in ze fairer sex in order to feel my zrall."
Hermione looked down at the contact they shared, her cheeks reddening, "I-I'm not sure," she spoke quietly, feeling ashamed that she could know so much about the world and so little about herself. She felt a gentle squeeze and the contact broke, Fleur pulling back before their conversation quickly returned to safer subjects.
It was the first Hogsmeade visit of the year, and the first task was coming up quickly. They still hadn't figured out any reliable information, or created a plan to get Harry through it, but the duo needed a break from the monotony of school. He still hadn't made up with Ron, so it was just the two of them. They'd escaped out of the castle as soon as they were able, following behind a group of students to the town.
They laughed and joked, needing to take their minds off of the troubles of school, though they joked of incidents that occurred within its walls. It felt good to have her friend back, to see a side of him that wasn't the nervous wreck he'd been the past week. The task was in three days and it felt as though the days were getting shorter and shorter. The temperature was certainly falling, forcing them to spend more and more time inside the drafty structure.
Harry pulled her inside Honeydukes needing to grab some sweets. He'd always turned to candy as a comfort food/study aid for as long as she'd known him and there was no way she could deny him the opportunity to restock his stash of licorice wands and chocolate frogs. He eyed the display of assorted candies, licking his lips as he grabbed everything within reach, hastily shoving it in his bag after he made his purchase.
And in return, he followed her dutifully inside Scrivenshaft's as she picked up some more parchment and another couple of quills, she'd always had a soft spot for the writing implements, and a good notebook. In fact, it was the one thing she would spoil herself with, everything else she had always kept as minimalistic and utilitarian as possible. Her eyes were drawn to an ornate black feather, tipped in blue, it sparkled in the sunlight, a platinum edged tip danced along a piece of parchment as it showed off how fine the lettering was. However, the price was too high for her to afford, but that didn't stop her from making a silent vow, she would buy it one day.
Their last stop for the day was the Three Broomsticks for butterbeers. She and Harry had taken up a table at the back corner and were engaged in easy conversation. Hermione sipped the drink in front of her, the warm froth of the liquid tickling her nose as it formed a mustache upon her upper lip. The pair couldn't help but laugh as they both sported matching foam strips, enjoying one of the last bits of their childhood they could cling to.
The small bell above the door rang out and Hermione cast a quick glance over to see who it was that had entered out of curiosity. Though she nearly gagged on her drink as she saw it was Fleur who had entered. Harry turned to look back at her, a plan already forming in his mind. The blonde had sauntered up to the bar alone for a change, ordering a drink of her own.
"Right," Harry spoke, downing his butterbeer in one go before wiping his mouth, "Forgot I have an essay I need to finish, I'm gonna head back to the castle, I'll see you later yeah?" He was already making his escape, not bothering to wait for a reply, his bounty clenched safely in his hands. She nodded to his retreating form, her eyes already straying to the shapely form of her one.
She leaned against her elbows at the bar, waiting for the large glass to arrive in front of her. The froth sloshing over the edges as the mug magically slid its way down to her. Fleur clasped it with one hand, reaching out to wrap the other around the sticky glass as another patron sidled up to the bar, taking the empty spot next to her. He stood too close, leaning into her space, a creepy smile playing upon his lips. His eyes showed his intent, she tried to back away but he only moved closer, reaching an arm out, placing an oversized palm at her hip.
Hermione jumped to her rescue once again, approaching the pair, her fingers wrapping around her wand, still hidden in her pocket. The wood was cool against her skin, hard and sturdy as she clenched it, her nails biting into her palm. The Gryffindor placed herself between the two, removing his hand roughly. "Can't you see she's not interested?" Anger colored her voice as she shot him the darkest glare she possibly could.
Fleur smiled brightly at her, an arm wrapping around her savior's waist, "Zere you are my love, I was beginning to worry," she spoke, pulling the brunette to her and kissing her cheek gently. Hermione responded awkwardly, placing her own arm around Fleur, "Sorry I'm late, shall we get a table?" That was all it took before she was guiding the French woman towards the area she had just left.
Hermione snuck into the champions tent. The first task was due to start in a moment. Each of the champions had taken up a corner, reserved and closed off, they were nervous, their mannerisms speaking louder than any words ever could. Harry had his hands shoved in the pockets of his jeans, his brow scrunched up in concentration as he paced back and forth, muttering to himself, a quiet sort of pep talk. Fleur sat in a chair, her legs crossed, wearing a blue track suit instead of the short skirt and silk blouse that she usually donned. Her hair was pulled back into a high ponytail and she examined her nails closely, feigning disinterest in her surroundings.
She'd come to learn that the blonde would take up her ice queen persona when she was feeling uncomfortable and it was no surprise given the situation she would soon find herself in that she was very uncomfortable. She wanted to go to Fleur first, really she did, but Harry was her friend, her best friend, and she needed to be there for him now. They didn't have long anyways.
Hermione was ushered from the tent by a tournament official, he'd pushed her hastily through the flap, the tartan fabric hitting her ungracefully in the face. She'd started to turn back to tell him off but found the entry had already been pulled shut and she was alone.
The crowd was roaring in the distance, cheering and celebrating, ready to enjoy the spectacle. She leveled a glare in their general direction, it was easy for them, they didn't stand to lose two very important people. And she felt slightly envious, although she wouldn't have traded them for her feelings. They were too important to her for that.
And then it was over and she found herself rushing to the first aid tent, Ginny hot on her heels. She burst through the tent, throwing the makeshift door to the side, coming in like a storm, her eyes wild, nervous worry plain across her features as she wrung her hands looking about.
She was worried about Harry of course, the boy had nearly destroyed the arena being chased by the dragon, and there was quite a bit of damage done to the castle as well as it had escaped the handlers, very nearly breaking its chains.
But he'd survived much worse, Fleur however, she didn't know what Fleur could handle, and she'd been caught on fire. It had taken all she could muster to not flee from her seat upon seeing that, screaming out in fear, her hands had shot to her mouth and she fought back tears.
Ginny had pulled her back down, attempting to comfort the brunette, though she didn't know the extent to which it was needed.
Hermione had cast a glance in Harry's direction, a quick once over to see that he was still alive, setting her mind at ease was enough. Ginny could handle it from here, she'd check on him later, first she needed to see Fleur.
The blonde was in the corner, sitting on a white cot, a privacy screen folded up nearby, ready to be rolled out if something more dire was found. Her jacket had been removed and she was wearing a white t-shirt and those powder blue track pants. Her fingers curled around the edge of the cot as she focused intently on the ground, her legs swinging. Madame Pomfrey stood in front of her, mixing various potions together to create some unknown concoction, muttering angrily to herself as the blonde stayed silent.
Her skin was flushed, from embarrassment, heat, exertion or all three, she couldn't tell, but the wave of relief that passed over Hermione in that moment told her she didn't really care which it was. She smiled to herself as she darted towards the French champion, not caring if she was in the mediwitch's way.
Fleur looked up, their eyes meeting and she smiled softly back before feeling a sting of pain in her shoulder as the brunette smacked her arm, "What were you thinking?! Getting yourself hurt like that! You could have died! And then where would that have left me?!" she yelled, her emotions overpowering her.
And then she did something she'd never (well, only, actually) dreamed of. Her hands went to Fleur's cheeks, fingers curling along the edge of her jaw, the younger witch invaded her space, leaning forward, she did not hesitate, did not have time to think on the consequences of her actions. She had hoped, for time, that their first kiss would be something romantic, like something out of a movie, that the stars would align and the world would shift. But that dream had been smashed, broken down into a fine powder and left to scatter in the wind as she'd seen the burst of flames from the sleeping beast rush towards Fleur.
It was angry, forceful and bruising, their lips connecting violently, demanding. And then it was wet, needy and urgent. Tears streaming down her cheeks as she struggled, losing control of her emotions, spilling forth, sobs wracking her body as she continued to take from the stunned witch before her.
Fleur did not pull away, she'd instead frozen at first, disbelieving what was happening, but then her mind engaged and she too reached out to pull the other woman closer, willing to give everything she needed, all she could want. Her hands tangling in brown curls, she whispered sweet nothings between them, trying to calm her, to ease her worries, she offered all the comfort she could, not caring that they weren't alone. The world ceased to exist beyond the two women, too caught in each other to see the audience they had amassed.
The Yule Ball had just been announced. It was in two weeks time. On Christmas Day. Harry and Ron had made up after the first task, leaving Hermione and Fleur alone more often than not. Though Hermione didn't mind. She quite enjoyed the time she was able to spend with her girlfriend, the word itself able to make her smile, feeling giddy at the thought of Fleur Delacour being interested in her.
Hermione had never felt so much like a girl, it was embarrassing, but she couldn't be happier that it was Fleur who was able to bring about such feelings within her. She had a permanent grin plastered to her face, her cheeks beginning to hurt from her constant good mood. And while they had established they were dating, they had decided to keep things just between them. There were rumors, hushed whispers amongst the students, furthered only by their almost constant companionship.
The Beauxbatons student was still being escorted to class by the young Gryffindor, stealing shared glances, secret kisses, gentle touches as they could, their bodies naturally drifting closer, seeking each other out. They were no longer joined back a pack of girls, instead spending their time in the company of each other whenever they could.
Fleur slumped down into the hard chair next to Hermione, her shoulders slumped and mood low. Her fingers toyed with the hem of her shirt, her eyes dark. "Ze champions 'ave to 'ave a date to ze ball." Her tone was flat as she spoke, she didn't bother to look up at Hermione.
Hermione could feel the smile fading off her face, she nodded solemnly. "I do not want to go wiz anyone else," Fleur continued on, the problem going unspoken between them. It wasn't allowed, rather it was expected that their date would be a member of the opposite sex, a display of what was "right" and "proper". Hermione reached out, her hand coming to rest upon Fleur's, stopping her nervous fidgeting.
"We can find a solution, there's still time, my love," she spoke in hushed tones, hoping to convey a confidence that she wasn't sure she felt.
Their solution, it turned out, was for Hermione to go with Viktor. It had only been a couple of days since their last conversation, Fleur had been preoccupied with finding a solution. But her worries had been for naught, Viktor had approached her, offering an olive branch and asking a favor.
They set aside their differences as competitors, having viewed the other with suspicion. But he had recalled their shared kisses in the first aid tent, and had thought his solution may have interested the pair, assuming they were still involved.
He'd spoken in hushed tones and they had successfully concocted a plan. And now he was accompanying the blonde to their hidden section of the library. The blonde sported a wide grin while Viktor shifted nervously, his eyes darting back and forth, nervous with worry. His shoulders square, he carried himself well, trying to look tall, imposing. His hands were fidgety, Hermione noticed, her eyes drifting towards them, watching until he shoved them in his pockets.
She looked at Fleur curiously, wary of the sudden change in her demeanor. Fleur took her hand, holding it loosely, relaxed and carefree, her sapphire eyes bright, barely concealed eagerness held within.
"'Ermione," she smiled at her girlfriend, "Viktor and I have found a solution to our issue." She started, the brunette nodded, eyes still wary as she waited to hear what the plan entailed, fear welling up inside her chest as she worried that she may not like it.
"'e would like to be your escort to ze Yule Ball, and I will accompany a Mr. Davies as my date as ze two of zem find zemselves in a similar predicament to ours," the two looked to the burly quidditch player and he nodded in confirmation.
"That vay," he spoke up, "ve can all be at the same table, even if ve cannot be vit who ve vant." His Slavic accent was still thick as the words were unfamiliar. His dark eyes piercing as though they could look right through her, he was... intense.
Hermione was surprised by his words to say the least, she had not expected him to be involved with another boy, not with his fame and all of the girls throwing themselves at his feet. She knew that had nothing to do with sexuality, but it certainly wasn't the norm.
She nodded, accepting their proposal. "Alright, it's better than nothing I suppose." Relief filled their faces, though she was sure there was no way her own smile could rival that of Fleur's. Viktor's shoulders fell slightly as he relaxed in their company.
Viktor had begun to seek Hermione out in the library, enjoying studying with her and Fleur, the three having a secret camaraderie. They could be themselves, without fear of retaliation, of rejection. And he could avoid his groupies, their incessant chatter and fawning over him annoying to no ends.
He had always been the quiet studious type and found that he and Hermione had actually had quite a bit in common, to the point where he could see that if they both had been otherwise inclined, they may have ended up together. But as it was, they could be very good friends, silently supporting each other.
His own boyfriend had yet to join the group though, in fact, he preferred to stay away most of the time, and Hermione had barely seen any interaction between the two boys, leading her to wonder how it was that they had even gotten together.
At least Fleur and she had been seen together about the castle, they studied together, and while no one in the castle would believe it (aside from the rumors), it at least could have happened, but with no interaction between the other two, she couldn't imagine.
Hermione had come to enjoy the quiet calm Viktor exuded, a reprieve from the intensity she felt around her. She loved Fleur's company, but her emotions always ran high, though they were positive, it could be overwhelming after a while. And Harry, she couldn't help but worry about his safety. He'd survived the first task, but the shrieking coming from the egg he'd reclaimed had left them all at a loss.
Neither of the champions brought up the tournament, opting to not discuss it, they had more important things to worry about.
But Viktor existed in a constant state of quiet calm. His dark eyes always observing, drinking up his surroundings, taking in the spoken and unspoken. He was rather intuitive, very unlike the brutish persona he exuded, reminding her of how cavemen are portrayed. He spoke few words, but the words he did speak were accurate, needling their way to the center of the problem.
Hermione had spent hours readying herself for the ball. It was that night and she had wanted to arrive early, but not too early, her nerves were getting the best of her. She couldn't help but worry that some part of her plan would fail, that she would be laughed at, or embarrassed in front of the whole school, that she would be caught out and ridiculed for trying to pull one over on the administration.
She worried her bottom lip, incessantly picking at the skin, peeling it back, causing her lip to bleed momentarily, which only caused more stress. She mentally chastised herself for doing something like that just before the dance. The young witch had never cared this much about her appearance but she wanted to ensure that Fleur only had eyes for her that night, that even though they couldn't be together, she wanted them to be the best looking couple there, to not disappoint her girlfriend. She still couldn't believe that she was worthy of the blonde's affections, she could have anyone she wanted and somehow had ended up with the curly haired brunette who was minimally competent in social interactions.
That fact alone still amazed her, still made her positively giddy. She fought back the urge to squeal at that thought, something that was entirely unfamiliar. Hermione checked herself in the mirror one last time before setting off to meet her date in the Entrance Hall. Her dress was a powder blue, a shade similar to the silk Beauxbatons uniform. The only way she had to show that she really belonged to Fleur. It was subtle, nothing more than a nod that she hoped the other witch would pick up on.
The Gryffindor made her way down the stairs, her hand gliding along the cool stone railing as she went, her long dress trailing behind her. It was oddly formal, her nerves rising with each step taken. Her breath caught as she locked eyes with the blonde, herself in a deep purple dress, Hermione's favorite color. They had had the same idea then. Fleur had turned and spied her on the stairs, her movements halting as cerulean orbs darkened to a royal blue, drinking up all they could. Her breathing slowed and her cheeks colored slightly as she was filled with want.
And Hermione melted, feeling as though she wanted nothing more to fall into the arms of her lover. Krum stood at the bottom of the stairs, his arm out, ready to escort her like a gentleman. The scene played out in her mind as though it could be another time, another place, reminiscent of being walked down the aisle, and her heart began to pound. It was much too soon to be having thoughts like that. They hadn't even been together for two months yet, though her timer had seemed to think they were perfect for each other, she still hadn't determined it to be more than pseudo-science.
The champions lined up next to their dates, ready to make their entrance. They still hadn't had the chance to talk, casting glances at each other as they made their way inside, kicking off the start of the ball. It was a good thing that she had formed a friendship with Viktor or else the night would have been long. Though she felt bad for Fleur. The French woman had to endure an awkward dinner, and several tense dances with Roger Davies who really could have made more of an effort to seem interested.
As the night wore on, the crowd began to thin, and Hermione took that chance to excuse herself from Viktor. He agreed, a knowing smirk played upon his chiseled features, "Good luck," he whispered, or rather spoke, into her ear, the music loud and reverberating off the walls.
He left her to go get some punch, ready to seek out Roger as he knew his date would soon be disappearing as well.
Fleur turned, pulling away from Davies slightly upon feeling a tap upon her shoulder, "May I cut in?"
She smiled, nodding eagerly as she broke apart from Davies, releasing him to go take a seat and rest. Fleur took Hermione into her arms, a genuine smile upon her face for the first time since first seeing Hermione at the start of the night. "I was 'oping to 'ave a dance wiz you," she confided as she twirled the brunette, not caring that their dance didn't fit the music that was playing. This was how she'd really wanted to spend the night.
The pair broke away from the crowd after a couple of dances, retreating out to the gardens, now sparkling under the moonlight as a delicate frost had fallen over the grounds.
They walked through the maze of hedges, hands interlocked, fingers twined together, their shoulders bumping slightly as they walked along, laughing and joking, enjoying being together as they sought out a private area.
There was a bench up ahead, overlooking an ice fountain, a sculpture of a centaur shooting its bow atop it. Fleur eagerly pulled Hermione towards the bench, taking a seat upon it. "I think we're alone now," she whispered, leaning in close to actual date.
Hermione closed the distance, her hand coming up to cup Fleur's cheek, their lips touching lightly, tentatively at first, though the heat quickly increased between them, their bodies moving closer, needing to feel more of the other. Touches quickly shifting from exploratory to demanding, forgetting themselves in the moment as their fingers roamed freely, their kisses becoming more and more frantic by the second.
And then it stopped, Fleur pulling away, whispering to Hermione, needing to calm herself. Her pupils dilated, eyes dark, filled with want, "I don't want to rush you."
Hermione felt her heart melting, she leaned back in, whispering "You aren't," as she closed the distance between them again.
They retreated to the privacy of Fleur's room in the Beauxbatons carriage.
It was January, the day of the Second task, another outdoors event. The stands had been set up around the Black Lake, and Hermione would have been terrified, that is if she had been aware of it at all.
She'd been called to the Headmaster's office the night before, along with Ron. They'd shared questioning glances, Ron shrugging his shoulders and muttering, "What've we done this time?" as though it was a regular occurrence. For him it may have been, but Hermione had managed to avoid that particular part of the castle somewhat successfully.
"I was wondering what it was you did." She replied, her voice dark, unhappy at being pulled away from Fleur and somehow being implicated in some sort of idiotic scheme. She hadn't even spent that much time with them, though she did regret that. Harry had sought her out in the library, but even still, they hadn't just hung out and talked much of late, she had been too preoccupied with Fleur. He seemed to understand that though, Fleur was her one and at the end of the school year, she would be gone, but he would still be around, assuming he survived the tournament, that is.
"I haven't done anything," Ron responded indignantly, huffing at her accusation, pointing his finger at her. Their exchange stopped there however, interrupted by McGonagal clearing her throat. She stood at the base of the rotating staircase, hands crossed in front of her, looking intimidating as always.
"Neither of you are in any sort of trouble," she spoke and gestured at the staircase, "Up you go."
That was the last she remembered.
Now all she knew was that she was cold, everything around her was so very cold. And there was a pressure, not much, but similar to a weighted blanket, and she couldn't open her eyes, couldn't wake up. She wanted to move, but she was restricted. And there were noises around her, distorted, unclear, she couldn't make out the voices, what words they spoke, it was unfamiliar. But that wasn't as bad as the pounding in her ears.
Then she felt something grabbing her, tugging at her, pulling at her wrists, she wanted to help, but she couldn't, her muscles wouldn't work, and she still couldn't open her eyes. Now she was moving, it felt like she was going up, flying, or maybe being pulled along, drug on a string and she couldn't fight, but she wasn't sure she wanted to fight it.
And then she could breathe. Her eyes open and she sputtered, finally taking in air, feeling it burn her lungs. She looked around. She was in the lake and Viktor was holding onto her, had pulled her to the surface, now towards the shore. She was so very cold, her limbs still refused to work. She looked around for Fleur, wondering where she was, but she couldn't control her mouth, couldn't make it ask, the words sticking in her throat.
Hermione was hoisted up onto the shore, a couple professors grabbing at her, Madame Pomfrey wrapping a towel around her shoulders, casting a drying spell as she worked hurriedly, cursing the fools for allowing this in the tournament. They hadn't volunteered for this, not like the champions, they had no say.
A cannon went off over the crowd, startling Hermione. She looked out over the lake seeing blonde and before she knew it she was crawling back towards the lake, pulling her girlfriend up, into her arms. But who, or what, was she supposed to rescue? She had been alone when she surfaced, her body scratched, blood pouring from her cuts. Her body shuddered and she clung to Hermione.
"I failed," she cried, her voice cracking, "I couldn't save her," Hermione pulled her closer, wrapping her arms around the woman even tighter. She tried to calm her.
Cedric came next, but Hermione didn't care, she still needed to comfort Fleur. Her Fleur who was still so weak in her arms, reduced to nothing. She had gathered it was her sister that the blonde should have saved, but none of them knew what would happen to her and so Hermione just held her, let her cry and silently vowed to be there for her no matter what happened, she would support her no matter how hard it may get.
Harry arrived last, pulling up Ron and then he disappeared again, below the surface, he returned back into the depths of the lake. The crowd fell silent as officials began to pull Ron from the icy water. Everyone watched for some sign of the youngest champion, wondering what could have happened to him. Surely, he hadn't died, it hadn't looked like that, not from the edge of the lake at least.
The cannon rang out, signaling time was up, but nobody could take their eyes off the flat surface, still waiting to see what would happen, if Harry would reappear.
A minute passed.
Then two.
Three.
Finally, two more heads broke through, gasping for breath. Harry had rescued Gabrielle and was pulling her towards the edge. The water was rough, choppy, something was fighting him as he kicked his way from the center. He pushed at something just below the surface. And then the other champions took off, pushing off from the shore, their warmed towels abandoned as they returned to the water to help.
February came, Valentine's day. Fleur had greeted Hermione that morning at breakfast in the Great Hall and then had run off.
Hermione hadn't seen her all day and had been joined by the boys on her walks to class. And now the day was almost over. She walked to her last class of the day. Care of Magical Creatures, it was outside by Hagrid's hut. The path was muddy, filled with holes, footprints of passing students. The grass next to it was worn down, trampled on and pulled loose from its roots. Patches of snow littered the ground, some spots still bright white while others were browned with dirt as it melted.
Her shoes squelched in the thick mud as she walked, sticking behind, trying to pull free of her feet. She carried her textbook under her arm, leaving her leather satchel back in her room, unwilling to take the risk of dirtying her precious textbooks. Her heavy black cloak was around her shoulders, the temperature was warm enough to melt snow but still freezing, able to turn skin blue with prolonged exposure.
Ron bent down next to her as they walk, dipping a large hand into a melting pile next to them as they walked. He quickly grabbed onto the back of Hermione's robes and released it down the back of her shirt, earning himself a shriek and a couple of hard swats. He defended himself, raising his arms and laughing loudly, bellowing really, as he stepped back trying to increase the distance between the two of them.
The brunette glared at him, muttering dark words, "I'll get you back, Ron Weasley," she threatened.
"Lookin' forward to it, mate," he challenged, a smirk plain across his features.
Hermione looked over to Harry, "Does he think he can take me?" she gestured over her shoulder, pointing her thumb at the redhead.
He shrugged at her, "One way to find out, though."
She grinned at him, "Just you wait." A plan was already forming in her mind, having forgotten about Fleur momentarily.
After class, the trio were gathering up their belongings, ready to walk back to the castle when Hermione caught sight of a flash of blonde hair.
"I, uh- I'll see you guys later," she called over her shoulder as she grabbed her book and took off to follow after the blonde. But it turned out she didn't need to hurry, Fleur was outside the class area leaning back against a tree, pretending to be focused on her nails.
"Fleur," she released in a breathy whisper, drawing the attention of the Veela, a glowing smile appearing across her face, her icy eyes suddenly warming.
"M'amour," she pushed off from the tree, making her way to Hermione, "I 'ave missed you," her hands sought out contact with the younger witch, pulling her into an embrace, a soft kiss placed upon her lips which Hermione was eager to return.
"Where have you been all day?"
"Zat is a surprise," she smiled, her eyes quickly looking away, "Come to ze carriage wiz me?" she asked shyly, unable to meet Hermione's gaze.
Hermione felt herself nodding in response though it felt as though she was in a haze, that this was all a dream. She'd never been with anyone anymore and her pulse quickened, nerves coming alight, setting her body on fire as she worried that she might not be good enough, or that she wasn't ready. They'd only been together a couple of months, was it too soon? Her mind raced a mile a minute as fear bubbled up in her chest.
Fleur took her hand, slowing their pace, "Relax, ma cherie, it is nozing so major," she spoke softly, with a gentle smile, she squeezed the brunette's hand, hoping to offer some comfort.
They entered the carriage, Fleur leading her towards her room, the pair receiving questioning glances from some of the other students wandering about. But none bothered to question their champion, at least not yet. Hermione felt slightly grateful for that, but had also wished that one of them would ask so she didn't feel so in the dark.
And then, they were in the blonde's room. Fleur took Hermione's text and set it on her desk, a simple brown structure in front of the window, cluttered with open books and rolls of parchment. A four-poster bed, much like the ones Hogwart's students had, sat against the wall, sporting clean white sheets with a baby blue canopy. There was a book case against the wall opposite the desk, but otherwise the room was pretty bare.
At least, aside from the table in the middle of the room, set for two, candles lit in the middle.
"I 'ad wanted to 'ave a private meal wiz you, but it turns out we cannot leave ze grounds, so I 'ad to make due," the blonde explained, leading Hermione towards the table.
Time flew by, too quickly for Hermione's liking. She and Fleur were still together, everything between them was fine, but the Third Task was upon them and she couldn't help but worry for the blonde's safety.
When she wasn't worrying about her safety, she was worrying about how things would happen after the year ended. Or rather, after the task as the visiting schools would return the following day. These were things she'd never imagined she would have to wonder about when the year began. Her eyes still drifted to her timer though, or the spot where it had been, recalling the moment that it had pointed out Fleur. The moment she began to wonder if maybe something was there. She still didn't believe it though, but she was thankful for it at least putting the idea in her mind.
Fleur was due to enter the maze any moment, she stood nervously at the outside of the hedges, her wand in hand. She jumped up and down, shaking out her nerves, and the cannon rang out, releasing her to enter the maze.
Hermione couldn't see what was happening inside and that was when her panic began to increases, her worries all culminating as flashes of light reflected out from the shrubs. Professors paced back and forth outside, waiting to see red sparks shoot up signaling someone needed aid.
She bit her lips, tearing off the skin as she waited, stopping when she felt blood, or rather switching to her finger tips, her teeth cutting through her nails. Ginny sat next to her, clenching onto Hermione's free arm. Her fingers were white as she'd forced the blood out of them. They both whispered to each other how everything would be fine, that Harry and Fleur would be safe, but their words fell upon deaf ears. Neither one quite believing what they were hearing or saying.
And then, just like that, it was over. Fleur was standing outside the maze next to Viktor, neither Harry nor Cedric could be found. The stands fell silent, knowing one of the two would be the victor. The pair looked at each other, confusion upon their faces.
It felt like time froze. Hermione knew Fleur was safe, but what of Harry? Ginny gripped her tighter, her fingers starting to become painful as they dug deeper, leaving crescents on the older woman's arm through her robes.
The rest felt like it passed in a blur, Harry appearing, everyone being pushed back, running through the crowds to find the hospital wing. The real nightmare had just begun and the young Gryffindor clung to Fleur, needing to feel safe, needing her comfort.
She refused to leave her that night, falling asleep curled up next to her on that too small cot.
The schools left too early the next morning. It was right after breakfast. Hermione had been there to wave them off, sharing wet kisses with Fleur, the blonde had said she'd be back soon enough, that it wasn't over so don't forget about her. She'd write until she could return.
And then her next words shocked Hermione, stunned her into total silence, "I love you," she whispered before entering the carriage, ushered by Madame Maxime before Hermione could respond.
Three years of chaos followed, three years of pain and misery as Hermione had to handle so many things she never should have had to.
Fleur had returned that summer just as she'd promised, taking up a position at Gringott's. She returned to Hogwarts, or rather Hogsmeade every time Hermione was able to visit and they wrote each other frequently. The war took its toll on them, stressing them, putting immense pressure upon their relationship, especially after she'd joined the horcrux hunt.
And then she was there, back in her life, seeing her every day as Hermione was rescued from Malfoy Manor. Fleur tended to her wounds, easing the pain, holding her as she slept, as she cried out when her nightmares became too much. They could make it through this. Fleur would be there for her in her darkest moments, she proved that, staying to fight instead of returning home, staying to comfort the broken woman in her arms instead of turning her back.
Hermione would do anything for the amazing woman she was completely in love with.
And then it happened. The words were out before she could control herself, before she realized it. She'd only begun to make sense of just how much she loved the woman that was currently holding her.
There was no fanfare, just a simple question, "When this is all over, will you marry me?"
She wasn't even an adult yet. Close, but not quite. It was a few months until she would be 18 yet, but she didn't even think she could handle losing Fleur.
Fleur agreed, their kisses becoming rushed, frantic, filled with need as their relationship took the next step. They needed to be closer, to enjoy each other as fully as they could for who knew when it would all end, when it could all come crashing down.
Their wedding was held the following summer, filled with all their family and friends. A tent, out in the Weasley's garden. It was simple, but the couple couldn't be happier. They were surrounded with the survivors, their friends, their schoolmates. And it felt as though a weight had been lifted, the first happy moment after the war had ended.
It was only afterwards that Hermione spoke, pulling Fleur to the side.
"I have something to tell you," she said seriously.
"What is it, m'amour?" Fleur questioned, sapphire eyes searching chocolate, looking for any sign of regret, of a mistake made, a lapse in judgement. She reached out slowly, taking her new wife's hand in her own.
"So, muggles, they have this thing called a timer," she paused, whetting her lips, Fleur only nodded, unsure of what this had to do with anything, "and I got one, being muggleborn. It shows numbers, on your wrist, that count down to when you meet your soulmate- your one as they call it."
Fleur nodded slowly, not quite understanding, but preparing to be told that Hermione had met her "one", the term still unfamiliar, and that it wasn't her. The concept wasn't unfamiliar, the Veela themselves had mates, it seemed the same premise, but as she wasn't purely Veela, she could not recognize her mate without assistance from the clan.
Though, one thing had stood out to her, "But, you do not 'ave zese numbers?" she asked, her brows furrowed.
"They disappeared a while ago, the moment I first saw you actually." She couldn't fight her grin as she revealed that last part.
Maybe there was something to these things anyways, she couldn't help but think as the blonde pulled her into another kiss, slow and languid, filled with love.
Ok. So, maybe this got away from me slightly? I definitely didn't mean to hit nearly 17k words. So, uh, yeah, enjoy :) (and if you need something else to read, maybe check out some of my other works- promise there's an update for Come Back (to me) coming soon!