ii.
The Great Hall was alive this day, teeming with activity and dense with the sea of bodies that covered the floor. The majority of populace of which, were made up of 7th year Hogwarts students. All jockeying for positions at the most prime locales of situated booths. The Ministry of Magic-, of course, sponsored most booths, since it was the one institution that was responsible for the employment of the whole of the Wizarding world. At one particular booth- the illusion that stemmed from it was, sufficed to say awe-inspiring. It was tucked at the far eastern corner of the Great Hall.
Plume of whirling dust devils sprung up before the booth, as sloth moving Camels traversed- (the beasts dotted the rolling sand dunes that APPEARED to cover the spans of the floor-space allowed) edged in view and then vanished within the blink of an eye. The air was infinitely warmer here, the light, excruciatingly brighter- perhaps to emulate the Sun's natural beating rays. A few palm fronds, timed at every 10 minutes or so, bloomed at different areas of the exhibit; but nothing could compare to the magnificence of the harem like tent that was centered between two towering sand dunes.
It was a striped tent, colored in a deep burgundy and silver, swayed as if being rocked by the very same 'invisible' wind that kicked up the devils that circled near proximity. Propped at the apex of the tent was a singular triangle-shaped flag, emblazoned with the French symbol for the 'flower'. Hanging right above the flapping doorway was a wooden plank that seemed blank, but as the light played upon its surface would be inlaid with golden lettering that read: "The Mystical Unknown, R&P, Co.".
For its exuberance, there were not too many that flocked to this corner of the Hall. Not that the young prefect that stood before it minded. It gave her time to mull over her options. Hermoine had already and expectantly turned in her resume to multiple vendors. All, ranging from the Aurors position to Charmer Extraordinaire. Threading her fingers through her wavy hair, the young muggle witch lobbed a wary glance over her shoulder, spot-checking if you will, for her rather obsessed laden beau- Ron Weasley. She just needed time to breathe on her own. The Griffyndor prefect had been ever thankful for Ginny's intervention. Giving her enough leeway to take her leave as the lot began to quibble amongst themselves. Before leaving, possessively Ron had hooked his fingers through the loops of the skirt's waist-band, holding her to him as if she were some kind of leashed pet. That aggravated the young woman.. But as always, she had been reluctant to point that out to the ever hormone induced Weasley. Primarily.. she hated the confrontations, and the guilt that usually stemmed from them.
Seeing that Ron hadn't found her just yet.. Hermoine turned her gaze upon the immaculate set up. Like the other booths, it was utter eye-candy. More than anything, it was for the simple fact that the The Mystical Unknown, R & P, Co.- had NOTHING to do with the Ministry of Magic (saying so on the enchanted plank). Another prospective company going against the monopolizing juxtapose of the Ministry. This idea of going against the norm, ignited a flurry of anxiousness within the straight and narrow Hermoine Granger. Minute as it may seem to others, it's a step to her wont of being independent and out from the shadows of her two compatriots. With a tendered glance to the plethora of employment offers and resumes clutched within her hands, Hermoine took a tentative step forth, away from the normalcy of Wizardom and her Muggle upbringing. Another step, heading towards the unknown- Literally and figuratively.
"I would 'ave never guessed you be movin' from thet spot.."
It was a feminine purring lilt- coming from behind her. It was distinctly European. The sound of which tingled over Hermoine's ears- very welcoming but, laced with sarcasm. She inclined her head before taking a glance over her shoulder towards the source of the contralto tones. Her cocoa eyes were met with deep cerulean storms gazing back to her in jest. They were haunting, but.. playful at the same time. The closer Hermoine dared to look, the further she fell into the pool of blue and further under their spell. Those eyes burrowed into the very center of her, threatening to reveal every little secret that the young prefect held in her being. That is.. if she had any to divulge. It wasn't till a soft tendril of Silver-Fawn had cascaded to the fore, in effect obscuring those eyes, did Hermoine shake herself back to the now. The prefect knew that face, even if the majority of the woman's features were hidden behind the barka she sported. The eyes, and especially the mannerisms of this person sparked a bit of recognition within Hermoine.
The woman beneath the swath of draping wear eased her infinitely taller frame past the young prefect. She walked with a feline like grace, even with being swaddled in the Lawarence of Arabia like garb. No doubt to fit the motif of the booth's set up. Hermoine's nostrils flared a smidgeon, picking up on the distinct Lilac smell of the other woman's perfume. Subtle. As the garbed woman pivoted upon her heel to regard Hermoine.. the young prefect stiffened. Her head began inclining subconsciously, to meet the Mysterious One's appraising once-over. Hermoine's breath caught at the pit of her throat, causing her to swallow- making her appear more nervous than she was. By the look of the woman's silver laden eyes, the young Gryffindor new she was smirking.. She apparently thrilled at making the younger woman twitch. Ire rose in Hermoine's form. A tender blush crept over the girl's cheeks, running across the bridge of her nose.
"Well? Are you going to stand there all bloody day and gaffaw? Not a way to recruit, is it." Hermoine's voice cracked tersely.
No response was given. The silence that strung between the pair was unbearable… to Hermoine. The Cloaked figure though.. took it in stride. With nary a glance given, she turned about, leaving Hermoine befuddled, and irked. She dovetailed the woman when they entered the tent. The loose-lipped flaps of the tent swallowed the Barka clad figure, but were hastily brushed aside by a very flustered young prefect seeking entrance. Once the girl entered the dimmed inner sanctum, she was met with a wafting smell of Sandalwood among the whispering tendrils of incense induced smoke. Hermoine's eyes adjusted in accordance, noting all the worldly possessions that the tent held. It was as if.. she were thrown to another place and time. At one section of the tent, there hugged vases from the Orient, to Egyptian Talismans, and from the British Isles- runes. This was a trove of wealth in knowledge.. As Hermione's eyes continuously scanned the room.. they were finally drawn upon the Cloaked figure before her. The woman had her back to her.
"..But thet was."
"Excuse me?"
"Dat is 'ow.."
Looking baffled, Hermione's mind raced to decipher what this heavily accented woman was trying to convey. With a tousle of her head the girl eeked out her response.
"You're referring to my earlier comment, then.. The query of how you recruit." She asked
The woman once more.. didn't answer. Irritated by the whole display, she crossed her arms over her chest, making her angst known. She grunted. And the woman in turn allowed her shoulder to quake. Indicative of a laugh. The woman tugged at the Barka covering her face, letting the healthy spill of her Silver hued hair to cascade to the small of her back
"Think it's funny, do you..? I've mind to let you know this is not PROFESSIONALISM you're proffering me.. And—"
Hermione's words never finished, the threat never voiced as the woman then tugged at the Barka covering her features. In effect letting a healthy spill of her silver mane cascade to the small of her back. In this instant, it finally clicked in the Gryffindor's mind as to the identity of this cloaked figure.
"I should have known."
"You should 'ave. But you were seeming preoccupied, no?" Fleur responded softly, then pressed on, "By what..?"
"Why are you here, Fleur." Hermione brushed off the query, not willing to tell the haughty half-breed of being held captive by her eyes. The thought of which sent a plethora of shudders down her spine.. Confusing shudders. On the one hand, knowing that it was the eyes of a WOMAN that held her attention.. didn't sit with her, but losing herself in them.. was an entirely a complexity in itself. Something that Hermione had no temperament to deal with. At least, not now.
"D'eternal question, oui? Why are ve all 'ere, placed on dis eart' for reasons beyon' our scope.."
"no I meant-"
"I know what you meant, chere."
Taking her time, Fleur DeLacour then shrugged the cloak that rested about her shoulders, off. Like water rolling of the back of a duck, the garb pooled about her feet. Hermione canted her head to one side, taking the opportunity to afford a quick once-over of the woman before her. Fleur had tanned immensely allowing the silver strands of her hair to stand out more prominently than naught; but it complimented the French-maiden. Every minute movement was not only elegant but assured. Of course the only time she recalled seeing Fleur, was at the Tri-Wizarding tournament and the Yule Ball so many years hence. She had always, to Hermoine (and those piteously enraged hormone induced males), seemed to be the WORDLY woman. Hermoine's fleeting view of Fleur then, is as it stood now.. irritable. How can someone be so bloody perfect? Even her snipes are well timed.
Slowly, as if in cinematic fashion, the silver topped woman, pivoted upon her planted heel, and faced the young girl before her. Mimicking Hermione's stance, Fleur eased her arms over the full of her chest, breathing evenly as she leveled her gaze upon the girl. Girl.. she is not that anymore, sang Fleur's inner mind.
'Not yet a woman, but beyond the grasps of youth, and still holding certain disdain for you, Fleur. But then again.. most everyone, does.'
During her time with William Weasley, Fleur had allowed her cool exterior to warm. Perhaps too much, letting herself go vunrable. And for that mistake, Bill repaid her with a lover's stake through the heart. Though she may yearn to shed that tough exterior.. it was plain to see, by the look of Hermione Granger's eyes, Fleur was and forever will be the Ice-Queen. With her jaw tensing at the thought, the Silver tressed half-breed decided, with finality- she'll give what the audience wants and expects.
Leaning forth, with both delicate hands planted upon the rough finish of the table that had separated the two, Fleur took on a more ominous presence; wisps of her hair trailed from her bronzed shoulders to the fore; her eyes lit with a dangerous fire- something which caused the prefect's brows to knit together, then ease. Fleur knew, with that little display, Hermoine had tried to steel herself, readying for somekind of confrontation. It only served to heighten a sense of challenge within Fleur. She had forgotten how much she LOVED making people quiver. The French woman's lips curled gently before forming a slew of words,
"I tink d'more apropos question, Ms Granzher is what are YOU doin' 'ere. I's plain t'see, I'm 'ere to 'ffer employmen'." A pause, "Sit."
She was unsure of herself- Hermione's glance shifted from the seat just in reach and tucked at the desk before her, to Fleur, who was expectantly waiting. The ire still burned in her. How dare this woman order her, and how dare she look upon her like she is less than she. She was smug. Angrily, Hermione grabbed the back rest of the wooden chair, yanking it towards her. Her mind chided her, reminding that a show of emotion at this caliber would only serve to empower Fleur DeLacour. She shook with an inner fury, her eyes not once leaving Fleur's neutral face.
"Treat me with respect I deserve, or you will see nothing but the soles of my shoes as I take my leave."
A disarming smile crested over Fleur's lips.
"..But you won't. Oddervise.. you'd've been gone by now, oui? Sometin', dough, keeps you 'ere.. An' I wan' t'know what." A breath was taken, before Fleur motioned with a slight cant toward the seat, "Sit.." Hermione arched her brow, daringly at Fleur. "…please." Added Fleur cautiously.
Hermione wasn't aware of how long the still-quiet was drawn. Nor, how long she was staring at Fleur. But.. those crystalline eyes, threatened to take her again tearing her gaze from those stormy orbs, the muggle-born girl settled into the roughshod chair. Fleur was right. By all accounts.. she would have left, with no qualms, were it not for her Pride being at stake. She's never backed from a challenge. To turn her back on this.. and to return to the 'outside', would be liken to.. Harry letting Voldemort have his way.
This was her obstacle. She be damned if she would be intimidated now.
"Thank you.." murmured Hermione, albeit guardedly.
An impasse had been reached between the two women. Fleur couldn't afford to let Hermoine, leave. She had been one of very few who had shown an intrest in her little entrepenurial adventure, and in order to bring this to fruition and stop the wayward taunts of her former co-workers at the Ministry (not to mention, showing Bill, she was more than just a body), she needed to play her cards right. Once Hermione took the offerance, Fleur eased into her own seat, threading her fingers through her silken tresses before having her fingers join the other set, lacing them together.
"..Why?" prompted Fleur.
"Because this looked promising. Dare I say.. exciting. Isn't it? What, with all these trinkets brandished here.."
"More dan, sometimes, oui. Is more dan jus' bein' a- how you say..a desk zhockey. Is far from bein' normal. Far call from de Ministry."
"I'm not looking for that, Ms. Delacour. I.. don't want to be stymied. I.. I'm tired of being normal."
Hermione's hands were getting damp, why she was divulging this to someone she barely knew, plus maybe disliked a bit, was beyond her. But it was as if all these feelings had bubbled to the surface, and just needed to be let loose, and Fleur was the only person in near proximity to let loose on- Ron wouldn't've understood, and Harry… always had more important things on his mind. She sat on the edge of her chair, and placed forth the bevy of offers and resumes she had procured from the fair outside.
"..This.. this and this.. all require to be holed up, seated at a bloody desk, preening through paperwork, 16 inches deep. To be analyzed, picked apart- I can't DO that for the rest of my life, now can I? But I'm expected to. Everyone says so.. everyone KNOWS I'll be the next Hogwarts Headmaster, or at least head of the bullocking Ministry.
Throughout Hermione's schpiel, Fleur heard a tinge of panic and desperation in the youth's voice. If anything, pity was felt. But pity, wasn't shown. The elder woman, propped her arm upon the arm-rest of her chair, before cradling the butt of her chin on her palm. She arched her brow and carefully replied, "..An' you are 'oping dis would be your, refuge.. Someplace to escape to..?" As much as she needed warm bodies in this burgeoning company, she won't pull in those that are unwitting, and half-hearted.
"Well.." answered Hermione
"Ms Granzher.. dis is a business, small one- Not a refugee camp.." interjected Fleur
"No! No.. I am genuinely interested; I want to prove to myself that I'm more than what people see.", pleaded Hermione.
Fleur rubbed the bridge of her nose as she crafted her next statement to the young prefect, "Do you e'en know what dis is about? Dis is my own blood, sweat an' tears. I'm betting you n'er 'eard about dis company, till today, oui?"
The girl fidgeted in her seat, while hands folded one over the other, "to be truthful.." she began softly, "no. BUT.." Hermione shifted her gaze about the room, with her voice rising a tad as she gestured about, "All these things..these Ankhs for example, lead me to believe that you do more than just collect them, right? These aren't real…They're replicas. Ankhs are known to have immense mystical properties- Enchanted one would even say." Glancing back to Fleur, she once more met the woman's gaze. No condescending undertones, or demeaning stares- only a slight bob of the white-hot head for the girl to continue.
Easing from the confines of the chair, Hermoine became emboldened as she swept across the spance of the room, pointing out the trinket in question. She was in her element, someone actually willing to listen to what she had to say. "The Ankh is a symbol of vitality, as well as longevity of life.. Only blessed for the Pharaoh- A gift of the gods, I suppose.." her eyes traversed upon the replica, her fingers began to trail over it's surface, "no mortal would be deemed worthy enough to even harbour this. Save for mystical.. magical creatures…" She looked back to Fleur, "Like you. I, being what I am.. cannot hold this. So.. from that.. I assume what this company does, is search these things out…And.."
"..And, recover as vell as protec'." Fleur by this time, had maneuvered herself to stand behind Hermione. Her voice, low, almost.. ethereal. "Where d'Ministry wishes to USE objects such as dese for.. God knows vat- I try to return dem to deir rightful owners, or.. land. But.."
"Some.. do not agree with it, do they? Isn't that what Ron's brother did as well..?" Unconsciously, Hermione's eyes went half lidded. But she felt the tendered warmth from behind her. Fleur was close. Perhaps closer than she realized… Or it was the heat fo the room, beginning to get to her. It was an odd sensation. It must be the blasted Veela power being exhuded.. The girl snapped from her reverie as soon as Fleur responded. Albeit, in a curt manner. A manner which made Hermione look over her shoulder curiously.
"Bill. Oui."
"..That's right, you and he.."
Fleur lowered her icy hued gaze onto Hermione. Her lips thinned, "…were co-workers. Oui. We 'ad a difference of opinions." Hermione nodded quickly, obviously.. she had struck a chord she hadn't meant to. "you like 'istory, Ms. Granzher?" Fleur's voice was barely a whisper, the young prefect had to strain to hear the words she mewed out. Hermione shut her eyes, lowering her head, the breathy sound of Fleur's voice was a sort of blanket to her senses.. absently.. she felt her body sway; the heady smells of the room were getting to her, but more prominent than naught, was the lilac scent of Fleur's perfume. Hermione wrapped her arms about herself, hugging her cloak about her- till she felt a hand come to rest upon the small of her back.
Her eyes shot open. She darted her gaze again to regard Fleur. Their eyes locked. The French woman, pursed her lips, " I don' tink you 'eard anything I said..Per'aps you need to sit, cherie..You are beginning to look piqued." Fleur offered a gentle rub of the prefect's back; moving from the close proximity. As Fleur left, Hermione bit her lower lip, she needed to keep Fleur interested. It was vital. It was an ache. And she didn't understand why.
"..I love it." Came the prefect's quick reprieve.
"Pardon..?" Fleur, in the middle of jotting a few notes down on a piece of parchment, paused, "I'm about to send for nurse.. You're not looking well Ms. Granzher. I'll not 'ave you faint in my tent..."
"No really.. just a little flushed.. more than likely from the incense…" she chuckeled weakly, "You asked about History… I love it, Ms. Delacour, I eat.. and breathe it- I can be so bloody useful here. I.. would like this opportunity to work alongside you. Hermione's jaw tensed as she contemplated using the following words, but before she realized what she had mused out.. it was too late to take it back..
"If …if you'll have me.."
Thanks for the comment(s)… of course a whole lot of this is just a work in progress..