Next up! (Lemme just avoid doing my homework some more...)
Hermione awoke, her new surroundings becoming familiar, encircled in strong arms, she shuffled closer, burying her face in her companion's chest, eliciting a soft sleep-filled sigh from the blonde. A small smile spread across her face as she pulled the brunette closer into her.
She thought she would have felt embarrassed considering the previous night, but she just felt content, secure in her lover's bed. Butterflies erupted in her stomach, giddiness overtaking her, she couldn't fight the smile that broke out upon her features, the thought of Fleur as hers provoking a reaction she had not expected. Hers. It echoed in her mind, her nerves vibrating with each iteration. She rolled her eyes, shaking her head slightly, a silent chastisement at her behaving like a teenage girl who was just asked out by her crush.
If Fleur knew, was able to see this, she was sure she'd die of embarrassment. Though, she couldn't believe it as well, wondering how it was she ended up married to the ice queen, she'd remembered when they first met, during her Fourth year. Fleur had always given the other students a cold shoulder, probably because most of the boys (and a few girls) were practically drooling over her. They'd been told to welcome the other schools, to increase goodwill between the other countries, something Hermione had tried to do. But after being on the receiving end of one too many glares and scoffs of derision, she had given up on being friendly with the blonde.
There wasn't outright hostility between the two, no, but she certainly hadn't felt any compulsion to go out of her way to be friendly, or to help her. Rather, she'd taken to gossiping with Ginny, their childish nickname being used way to frequently, so much so that she'd remembered using it just before Bill's wedding. A snide comment, breathily whispered out when the ice queen had "ordered" her to do something, a request without an option, the blonde had continued on speaking, her thick accent annoying the younger witches in the room.
They had spent much of the night trying to figure out why Fleur would even have ended up with Bill, they came from different worlds. Sure the eldest Weasley didn't look all that bad, his roguish looks would probably draw in some women, not that he was her type, but Fleur- even Hermione could see that she was out of his league.
The blonde had at the very least, pretended not to notice as the impoverished family questioned her motives, welcoming her into their home but doing the least possible to actually make her feel at home. This Fleur was so unlike the one she was currently burrowed into.
The sleeping form beneath her stirred slightly, muscles tensing and relaxing, rippling beneath pale skin. Hermione pulled away, putting space between their bodies, averting her eyes as she attempted not to stare at the lithe body of the goddess before her.
A strained smirk appeared on cherry lips as the older woman continued to stretch, splaying her limbs, watching as the timid brunette tried to resist, her chocolate orbs wandering back, quick glances, soaking up the vision before her, freckled skin flushing slightly. A pink tongue darting out, whetting her lips unconsciously.
Fleur caught the small movement, her Veela preening under the attention of her mate, she left the bed, her motions exaggerated, hips swaying as she walked towards the closet, tossing long, messy locks over her shoulder, feeling eyes drift downwards, drinking her up.
Hermione didn't know what was happening, she couldn't take her eyes off of the beauty before her. She'd never felt so drawn to the other woman, this pull, a need to be closer. She came to her senses, remembering that this wasn't her world, that Fleur wasn't actually hers, guilt clenching around her heart, Rose.
Sadness dripped into her mind, it had only been a couple of days, but she missed her daughter terribly. The mood of the room shifting, from playful flirtation to somber seriousness, Fleur wrapped her wine red silk robe around her slender body, shivering slightly at the touch of the cool fabric. She hugged herself, trying to mask her discomfort.
She knew the woman before her was her wife, but she knew there were also slight differences between the two and it left her unsure of how to act, how to 'fix' the problem. Cautious, quiet words broke the silence, "Iz zere some way I can 'elp?" She made to approach the other woman, stopping short when she saw her shake her head, her lips moved slowly but no sound came out, "No."
Fleur relented, unable to push forward, her heart aching, she turned and left the room, leaving her mate alone. There were some things she would have to handle on her own, the two women did not have the same bond that she had shared with her Hermione, and that would have to be forged again with time and trust.
She would have no way of knowing what it was she was going through, what it was that she had been forced to leave behind, dumped in a strange world, a new life, and even a new partner. What reason did this Hermione have to trust her? Her own had been slow to open up, a rocky start to their friendship (if it could even be called that) filled with more arguments than peace.
Hermione had exited potions, having been reprimanded harshly by Snape, much to her chagrin, the Slytherins had rejoiced in her sorrow. Malfoy had been relentless this year, she supposed it was due to Harry once again finding some trouble, or rather trouble finding Harry as it always seemed to. The prince of the school had been (yet once more) dethroned by the boy-who-lived. Malfoy had always enjoyed being the center of attention, had always reveled in broadcasting the worst of others to the school.
This time had been no exception, and so she had, for lack of a better word (or any), fled the classroom as soon as she was dismissed, hastily shoving her books and parchment into her bag, only partially latching it as she pushed through the heavy wooden door. Her heart pounded in her chest as the cacophony surrounding her droned on, tears threatening to spill, she pushed on, head hung low, pursued by Malfoy and his pack of feral dogs. Their laughter ringing in her ears, muting the conversations she passed.
She hadn't even been wrong, Snape was just... Snape, the oversized bully he was, took points from her because she could answer all the questions he asked. School was about learning new things not being punished for knowing things, and if he didn't want the answer he shouldn't have asked she'd reasoned.
The brunette continued to push on, her wild mane of curly brown locks shielding her from the outside world, hiding her eyes, hiding her emotions, she trudged on through the crowd, up the staircase, fleeing like a coward her inner voice taunted, she walked until she was all walked out, passing through halls, stairways, passages, up and down, until she managed to find herself in a new area.
The din of the other students had fallen away, just the peace of the quiet castle was all that existed here, illuminated by a few slits of light, speckles of dust floating by, twinkling in and out of view. The walls were largely bare, just a sandy brown with a couple of tapestries hanging on them. Her footsteps echoed in the stillness, breaking her out of her reverie, she realized she was lost.
She passed back and forth, trying to remember how it was she got there, but alas, it was of no use, she'd been too trapped in her mind when she arrived, nothing looked familiar. She rounded a corner, another hallway, she passed down that following it to the end, a couple more turns, this looked like where she'd just come from now.
She turned back around, looking for another hallway, another path she could have taken. She saw nothing, the only other turn had led her to a dead end. Walking back, fear rising in her chest, tightening its grip, she wondered if she'd be lost here forever, remembering stories told to her in her first year by the upper classmen, trying to scare her. Stories of others who had been lost, finding mysterious parts of the castle that would appear and vanish at random, disappearing in the woods, or being killed by some of the strange creatures that made their home in the area. She'd scoffed at them and concluded it was all nonsense but now, they came flooding back, now that she was lost inside the place that had been her home for three years now.
She slid down to the floor, her back pressed up against the wall, her bag hitting the floor with a thud, her black sweater riding up, constricting her movements even more, sticking against the rough surface of the granite walls. Crossed arms rested on her knees, her head buried, she couldn't help but feel overwhelmed.
When she looked up, ready to compose herself and find her way out with a clear head, she spied a door across the hall. A door she was sure had not been there previously. Curious, she went to go investigate, it may have held her escape (or just been an empty classroom- that was much more likely after all), her hand gripped the cold, worn metal handle in her hand and she pushed it open, finding little resistance. Strange, she'd thought, expecting there to be a squeak or grinding or some pushback, if it wasn't used frequently, she'd believed it would have started to rust shut, or maybe that was just a muggle problem. She made a mental note to see if there was a spell to prevent that.
Knowledge could always distract her from her problems, even if it did cause most of her personal issues, it wasn't her 'problem', it was theirs. The room however, was not what she had expected.
A fire roared in the marble hearth, a rug littered with pillows of all different shapes surrounded it, the stone floor had given way to wood, polished smooth, a warm caramel color, the furniture looked worn but still plush and comfortable, an overstuffed couch sat on the other side of the cushions, facing the fire. A large open window with sheer white curtains displaying a bright green garden on the opposite wall drew Hermione's attention however. She wasn't aware of any gardens surrounding Hogwarts, drawing her closer, she felt the need to investigate. The bookshelves and mahogany desk went unnoticed as she gazed out the window, the magic surrounding it puzzling her.
She stood before it for some time, jumping when a voice spoke, "Beautiful isn't it?" Hermione clutched at her chest, willing her heart to return to a normal pace, breathing hard, her head came to rest upon the window.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you," came the apologetic sounding voice, one she didn't recognize, a thick accent coating the words, one of the Beauxbatons students.
Clicking of heels on wood signaled the approach of the student, speaking softly, "It is ze view of ze gardens at ma family's 'ome."
She stood next to Hermione now, a full head taller than her, her platinum blonde hair hung in a sheet down her back, a pale pink tint on her snowy white skin, azure eyes shining forward, out the window, drinking in the beauty around them.
"But how?" Hermione croaked out, her voice rough, harsher than she expected, a minute flinch couldn't be hidden as it hit her ears. She cleared her throat and tried again, "How is that possible?"
Already her rational mind was searching for answers. "I do not know, but I do not care, it is ze closest to 'ome I can be while I am 'ere. And sometimes, knowing how makes ze magic less magical," she added with a smirk, dismissing Hermione's question.
The brunette wasn't sure how to respond, she stood there staring out of the window, her mind trying to process it. She wanted to argue, but no argument burst forth. The figure next to her moved, backing away, her hair fanning out gracefully as she turned. She made her way back to the couch, lowering herself upon the plush surface, crossing a slender leg over the other, revealing smooth porcelain where her skirt had been. She quickly busied herself with the book she had been reading prior to her interruption.
A single pink tipped nail separated the pages of her book as she flipped the paper, a slight crinkle of the aged text could be heard. She was unconcerned with what Hermione did, unbothered that the young witch had yet to move from her spot, or to even make a sound.
The young Gryffindor turned her head to observe her companion, amber eyes drinking in the natural beauty of the Beauxbatons student, she had yet to learn her name, had yet to even see her face really, many of the students all looked similar, so many of them were blonde and pale-skinned.
She exuded confidence, grace, unnatural elegance and yet, Hermione felt drawn to her, felt oddly comfortable around this near stranger. She was relaxed, and... She mentally chastised herself, "Of course! She's Veela!" The thought suddenly hit her. Ron had already seemed confident there was at least one in the Beauxbatons delegation, she supposed there could be others too, it would make sense.
"Staring is rude you know," it was flat, she spoke with an even tone, sure in her words, she left no room for argument and she hadn't even looked up from her book, she turned another page and Hermione quickly averted her eyes, tucking a rogue brown curl behind her ear, a blush rising on hidden features.
A mumbled apology and an awkward pause between the two before the blonde sighed and put her book to the side. "If you are going to stay, you may as well come 'ave a seat and talk to me to cover up your staring like a normal person," irritation clipped at her words, biting at the edges.
Another mumbled apology and the brunette found herself rushing to the blonde, eager to have a seat near her, to be closer, sharing the space, breathing her air. That had to be her Veela characteristics at play, making her mind act all funny. An awkward silence enveloped them, the young Hermione unable to find her Gryffindor courage, the blonde seemed completely disinterested, annoyed by the fawning presence of the schoolgirl who stumbled upon her hideout.
"Well?" She asked, "Aren't you going to introduce yourself?"
The bushy haired girl blushed, fidgeting nervously, a poor attempt to hide her embarrassment over forgetting her manners. "Oh, um, I'm-" it died on her tongue, she wiped her hands dry on her robes before starting again, her hand quickly thrust between them, invading Fleur's space, she spoke formally, as though reciting a script instead, "My name is Hermione, Hermione Granger, it is a pleasure to meet you," her voice lilting into a question, hoping to learn the name of her company. Her hand still hanging in the air, only having received a glance from the ice queen of Beauxbatons.
Receiving no answer after a moment, her hand slowly dropped, rubbing her palms against her jeans hidden by the black of her robes, her face falling.
The blonde began to chuckle, "You are a funny one 'Ermione," she teased, "You do not need to be so formal wiz me, I am not a professor."
The timid Gryffindor shrank in on herself, her face obscured by wild curls, hanging low. The words stung, like a slap to the face, she didn't understand why they bothered her so much, she'd always been fine with being more mature than her classmates, but now, these words from someone whose name she didn't even know, they stung, burning themselves into her mind.
But the burn would be nothing compared to the fire that roared to life after that, "I am Fleur Delacour," came the accented voice, filling the room with its sweet melody, like music to her ears, soft fingers cupped her chin as tender kisses were placed upon her cheeks. She sat there stunned into silence, not knowing how much time passed, the blonde had left shortly after, a quick "Au Revoir," as she exited the room, leaving her book on the small table next to the couch.
Fleur watched from across the Great Hall as the intriguing girl from earlier entered the room, still seemingly in a daze, she wobbled her way over to her table, sitting down between a redheaded boy and a black-haired boy. The two chattered away, hardly noticing her appearance, she lurched forward as an oafish hand came down on her back, gripping her shoulder and shaking her slightly as he enthusiastically gestured with his other.
So uncouth, she thought, pulling her attention back to her group of friends. Her younger sister, Gabi, was watching her closely, had noticed her sister acting distant that evening, though she said nothing at the moment. It would soon be forgotten anyways, there were much more important matters to attend to.
The ceiling of the Great Hall was grey, clouded over, lightning illuminating the room, breaking the dreariness of the looming clouds. The stars were obscured tonight, darkness having fallen before dinner. The short days of Autumn had already arrived, browned leaves making their way slowly to the ground, crunching under boots, a chill permeated the air, settling in her bones, proving just how ill-prepared the French were for this drastic change of climate. Their uniforms were more fashionable than useful.
The Goblet was placed in the center of the room, all eyes upon it as a flash of lightning cast long shadows around the room. Dumbledore rose from his seat, silence falling over the room as he spread his arms, the pale fabric encrusted with jewels glinting in the dim light, "Before we retire to our common rooms, we must first announce the representatives of each school. It is an honor to be chosen by the Goblet, but that does not mean that those not selected do not posses the same skills and abilities as those who are. The Triward Tournament exists to foster bonds between the schools, not create division amongst them, do not lose sight of that."
Each of the headmasters made their way to the Goblet, standing just behind it, united in drawing the names. The blue flames turned orange, crackling and snapping as a singed piece of parchment was ejected from it. Dumbledore went first, grabbing it as it drifted to the ground, "Viktor Krum!" The Bulgarian seeker stood, his red uniform standing out amongst the sea of black around him. He took a small bow, barely bending at the waist as applause roared around him. He was unfazed by the attention, having grown used to it already during his time on the national team. A strong hand clapped the back of the boy next to him, another muscular student, with blonde hair and piercing blue eyes, his features were sharp, eyes cold, calculating. He roughly shook the proffered hand of Viktor, anger at not being selected palpable even from across the room.
Fleur shook her head slightly, "Nikolai," it was soft, Gabi sat next to her, a small pout on her lips, the two Veela sisters were disappointed that their cousin had not been selected, but they did not have long. The flames changed again, Karkaroff stepped forward, his hand outstretched as the next piece of parchment floated down, landing in his palm.
"Fleur Delacour!" He called out, an eruption of cheers broke out, deafening the blonde where she sat. She stood after a moment of shock, her sister had urged her to stand, tugging on her arm. She curtsied quickly before sitting back down at the table. She had long been used to the stares, to receiving everyone's attention, but that did not mean she enjoyed it. Her eyes caught sight of Madame Maxime, her face oddly contorted, trying to hide her pride at the selection of her favorite pupil. A slight nod, and her headmistress stepped forward, ready to call the Hogwarts champion.
Her mind would not allow her to focus, consumed by conflicting emotions. She looked towards the Gryffindor table, seeking out the funny brunette from earlier. Their eyes met, and she frowned seeing her roll her eyes and scoff as she looked away. Fleur was puzzled by her behavior, but didn't have long to muse as angry shouts broke out. She looked up to see what was going on. Dumbledore stood in front of the room, a charred paper in his hands, "Harry Potter," he repeated.
Fleur paused in the hallway, a hastily scrawled note in her hands. Her face betrayed no emotions as the crowd passed around her, winding their way through the corridors. She suddenly pitched forward, her back coming in contact with a solid object, or rather, a solid object colliding with her. She turned, ready to berate the fool who had run into her.
The words were already flowing free, running from her mouth, "Watch out-" she stopped suddenly, the bookworm that had run into her looked up, eyes wide, panic on her face. Hermione stood there, book still clutched in her hands, her mouth opened, but no words came out. Jaw flapping like a fish out of water, she turned and ran, leaving her book to lay forgotten on the stone floor.
Her reaction puzzled Fleur, who bent down to pick up the book. She examined the cover, "Siren's Song: An Examination of Magical Creatures and Why Humans are Drawn to Them" was embossed in gold lettering. Fleur raised a single eyebrow as the read the text, she flipped open the cover, running her finger down the page, her blue eyes scanned the table of contents. The hallway began to clear around her and she snapped the book shut, placing it hastily in her bag before making her way to the next class.
It was dinner time before long and the students were making their way to the Great Hall to once again. Fleur made her way to the Ravenclaw table, already quite full with the addition of the Beauxbatons students. A couple of her friends waved to her, drawing her attention. She smiled and made her way to sit with them. The plate on the table before her filling with food, she grabbed the goblet filled with pumpkin juice, taking a sip, she was approached by the brunette from earlier.
The girl was nervous, fidgeting with the hem of her robes as she walked. Fleur continued to converse with her friends, ignoring her presence until she could no longer. Hermione cleared her throat, "Excuse me," she interrupted, four pairs of eyes turning towards her, her fidgeting continued on.
"Could I have my book back please?"
Fleur smiled, a devilish glint, she leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand, elbow on the table, "You know, if you wanted to know about Veelas, you could have just asked." An unspoken challenge between them, their witnesses glancing back and forth.
"I would like my book back," the younger witch spoke, irritation in her voice.
"I don't know why, it is wildly inaccurate," her tone was disinterested, she had looked at the plate of food, taking her silverware in hand, she began to cut into the red meat before her.
"Fine, keep it then," Hermione turned and left, ending the exchange suddenly, stomping off towards the Gryffindor table.
The next time they would meet would be in the library. Only a couple days had passed, the blonde still had possession of Hermione's book. It was sitting on her bedside table now, she really should return it she mused. But as long as she had it, she had a reason to see her again. There was something about the girl that intrigued her, but she couldn't identify it, and she couldn't resist teasing the curly-haired teen.
Fleur however, was currently sitting at one of the back tables in the library, surrounded by a stack of books. Parchment splayed out on the table, held in place with a small jar of ink. She dipped her quill in the dark liquid, carefully draining off the excess so as not to leave drips on her essay.
The tip scratched at the tanned surface, her neat handwriting slowly covering the paper. Her concentration was interrupted with the soft thud of a body coming in contact with the wooden chair across from her. She briefly glanced up from her work, only a brief pause, before she returned to her essay.
Hermione sat across from her in silence, shuffling through her bag, she pulled out a textbook and her own quill. The crinkling of parchment being unrolled filled the void between them, neither spoke, content to just exist. The tense peace between them was broken soon when Viktor followed by a gaggle of giggling girls entered the room. Madam Pince shushing them angrily, threatening to kick them out if they wouldn't be silent, leading to Hermione letting out an annoyed sigh, rolling her eyes at the behavior of her classmates.
She couldn't help but smile, gazing up at the brunette. "You are annoyed by zem too?" The question was innocent, she didn't even expect an answer. She looked back down to her essay, rereading the last sentence she'd written, frowning slightly, it didn't sound right.
She scratched out the last sentence, rewriting it, before looking up, Hermione was looking at her strangely, her quill still poised in her hand. "What?" she questioned, breaking the other woman out of her trance.
She shook her head, "Nothing," before turning back to her parchment. A moment, and then she placed her quill back into her ink pot. "You still have my book."
It was a fact, she left no room for argument as she spoke, not that there was anything to argue. Fleur nodded, barely noticeable, a slight dip of her head, "I do."
"Can I have it back please?" Hermione didn't know why she added the formality, it wasn't really a request.
Fleur nodded, a small acquiescence, it wasn't hers to keep, "It is in ze carriage," a pause, she began to pack up her belongings, "If you want to come wiz me, we can retrieve it now."
The gargling of freshly brewed coffee could be heard from the kitchen. Fleur stood, her foot tapping impatiently, waiting for the steaming beverage to finish, her tumbler sat empty on the counter before her. The dark nectar slowly filled the carafe below it, the slow drip becoming a steady stream under her unwavering gaze.
"Come on, 'urry up," she whispered under her breath, she still wasn't fully adjusted to the long waits and slow pace of muggle life. She missed the days of being able to wave a wand and have a steaming cup in front of her. But there was one thing she would not do, and that was go to work without a cup of coffee.
It had been a few minutes since she had left Hermione upstairs, she would have to leave for work soon, and the other woman would be left home alone. Footsteps tapped on the floor behind her, she turned with a smile to see her mate, still in her pajamas, padding her way into the kitchen, the blue and black plaid fabric swaying around her legs with every step. Her arms crossed over her chest, she stifled a yawn before moving to search the cabinets, looking for a mug of her own.
"Zat one zere," Fleur said, pointing to the cabinet to the left of their sink.
Hermione mumbled a thanks as she pulled open the door. "Where are you going?" she asked, curious.
"Work," Fleur said simply, "I'll be back this evening," she poured herself a cup, stirring in cream and sugar before replacing the lid. She took it in hand, and placed a quick kiss on Hermione's cheek, not wanting to push too far with the other woman still needing to adjust. She wouldn't bring up the events of the previous night, knowing if Hermione wanted to discuss it, she would bring it up first.
It felt strange to her, troubling, like space was growing between them, a feeling of dread she couldn't shake. She told herself she was being ridiculous, smiling at her still sleepy mate, "How about we go out for dinner when I get home?"