Thanks for keeping up with this! Now, I do believe that you'll enjoy this one, and I'm already enjoying my thoughts for the next chapter. But be sure to tell me if there's something specific you want to see! I'm not the greatest at coming up with chapters to fill in the spots between the big events I have planned, so I'm open to anything.
Most people prefer the smell of petrichor or mint, or even bacon and chocolate, but for Hermione, books that were redolent of paper and ink were superior to all the other scents that she had come to know. The Hogwarts library, filled with thousands of old books, was just about the only place that Hermione could appreciate the aroma of an old book. She could tell what time period the book had been from just from the scent – an almond-like odor typically meant it was over a thousand years old from the ground wood that was used to make paper, though an oily or woody smell meant it was more recent.
At this particular moment, Hermione was in no rush to choose a book. She simply desired to leisurely stroll between the massive shelves and flip through any book that caught her interest. She had already skimmed through the table of contents of four books, two of which were about wandlore, one about locking charms, and another on how to learn wandless and silent casting, which she tucked under one arm to check out later. Harry may find it handy for the next task.
Hermione turned at the end of the aisle and ventured into a particularly dusty row of shelves. Not one to allow dust to deter her, the young witch stepped inside and pulled out her wand with a murmured "Lumos!" to shed some light on the weathered titles. She leaned in to read the title of a book with a blue cover that had a brown stain on it that looked suspiciously like blood. Or maybe chocolate? The silver lettering was peeling in some places but Hermione could still make out Lucan Lysander's Guide to Magical Humanoids through the murk. Intrigued, Hermione tucked her still lit wand behind her ear and pulled it from the shelf. The cover had more brown spatters on it, though Hermione couldn't tell if it was actually old blood, or some sort of chocolate. Shrugging, she flipped it open to the table of contents and read through the list.
"Page 1, introduction… page 9, goblins…elves…" Hermione murmured aloud as she skimmed further down the page. She saw a section about centaurs as well as a chapter on giants, dementors, and even one on vampires, but at the very bottom was a section on Veela, page 385. Remembering the Veela from the Quidditch World Cup, Hermione snapped the book closed and walked over to a table hidden in a corner. "Let's see just what Veela are…"
Hermione flicked through the rotting tome until she came to page 385. On the page was a drawing of an avian-like woman with dark blue feathers that were so dark they were almost black. These feathers went from her neck all the way down to her thighs, which then turned into scales that were a shocking bright blue hue – a dramatic contrast to the dark blue of her torso. Her wings were scaly, and had the same bright blue color with light green speckled throughout. Her face was drawn into a frown, or as much of a frown as she could muster with a long, black, pointed beak instead of a mouth. Wickedly curved claws replaced her fingers and toes, and they looked sharp enough to gut someone in one swipe. The only human resemblance she had was flowing blonde hair down to her waist; the almond shaped eyes of a human – though they were black as tar – and a womanly humanoid figure, curves and all, though everything was covered with feathers or scales.
Hermione turned the page and read:
The Veela are a race of semi-human, semi-magical humanoids that are reminiscent of the Vila in muggle Slavic folklore, and form tribes deep in forests and marshes. Very little is known about their biology, though one thing is certain: they appear to be young, beautiful humans. Their looks and ritualistic dances are magically seductive to all human beings that find the female form attractive.
Veela have control over an ancient and powerful magic that does not require a wand. They typically assume the form of a beautiful young woman, but when provoked, change into a creature more along the lines of a Harpy. Their faces turn into cruel-beaked bird heads while long scaly wings burst from their shoulders and feathers and scales cover the remainder of their body.
Hermione leaned back in her seat and rubbed her eyes with a sigh. So far, these Veela sounded like temperamental and vicious creatures. She decided to keep reading.
Throughout my time studying these elusive humanoids, I have discovered that there are no full-blooded male Veela. To reproduce, two Veela perform a magical ritual that mixes their genes and impregnates one of them. The child then develops and is born much like a human child, though it will always be a full-blooded female Veela.
The Veela are not limited to just members of their tribe to reproduce – some venture out and find their mate, whether it be a wizard or a witch or a muggle. When a Veela has a male mate, they reproduce just like humans and if it is a female mate, they perform the ritual. Both of these relationships may produce either a male or female half-Veela.
I have observed that these half-Veela have the same traits as their full-blooded mother. Half-Veela possess the same ancient magic, have blonde hair, can transform into Harpy-like creatures, and their beauty is magically amplified. The half-Veela temperament is typically calmer, more rational, and slower to anger. Quarter-Veela have the same abilities as their predecessors and are much calmer than their full-blooded grandmother, but equally as dangerous when angered.
Hermione slowly closed the book as she mulled over all this new information. The magically amplified beauty would definitely explain Fleur's effect on people. But everything else? Hermione hadn't seen anything else other than the silky blonde hair that would lead her to believe that Fleur was part-Veela. But there was still something about her that wasn't completely human...
"I'll just go ask her," Hermione said with a shrug as she stood. "What harm could it do?"
Hermione shoved the humanoid book and wandless casting book into her bag and slung it over her shoulder. She marched determinedly out of the library but quickly realized that she had no clue where Fleur was. She decided to first check the astronomy tower since it was the closest place and seemed like somewhere that Fleur would hang out. However, the trek up the winding staircase only rewarded Hermione with a side stitch and a chill from a sudden gust of early December air.
On her way down from the tower, Hermione suddenly remembered the necklace that Fleur had given her. She lifted a hand to it and noticed that it was stone cold, a sure sign that Fleur was nowhere near this end of the castle. Hermione took off down the corridor and descended a staircase to the third floor. She continued down to the second floor when she realized that the necklace had grown warmer. This wild goose chase lasted for fifteen minutes before the necklace finally led her to a portrait of a bowl of fruit – the doorway to the kitchen. Hermione tickled the pear in the portrait. The pear squirmed and giggled before transforming into a green doorknob. She twisted the doorknob and stepped inside the kitchen.
The kitchen was a gigantic, high-ceilinged room with five tables identical to the ones in the Great Hall above them, and these tables were also positioned in the exact same position. Heaps of pots and pans were piled on shelves, countertops and stoves, and a large brick fireplace was at the other end of the hall from the door.
Fleur was seated at a small square table that was meant for the house elves with an elf wearing three baseball hats stacked on one another, mismatched socks of varying lengths, a muggle child's swimming trunks, and a bright green, child's dinosaur shirt. The fashion disaster of an elf looked up at the sound of the door swinging open and beamed once he saw who it was.
"Miss Grangey!" Dobby exclaimed happily. "Dobby is so excited to see Miss Grangey again! How is Dobby's Harry Potter? Harry Potter is safe, yes?"
Dobby launched himself at Hermione and happily hugged her knees. Hermione bent down to properly hug him. "It's good to see you too, Dobby. Harry is well and safe, and I'm sure he misses you."
Dobby's pointed ears perked up. "Miss Grangey really thinks that Harry Potter misses Dobby?"
"Of course, Dobby," Hermione said.
"Dobby will go talk to Harry Potter right now. Will Miss Grangey talk to Miss Del-coo while Dobby is gone?" he requested, his large, glassy green eyes shining with hope.
Hermione smiled. "Of course, Dobby."
Dobby squeaked in excitement and Disapparated with a loud crack, leaving Fleur and Hermione alone. Hermione took Dobby's seat at the table with a bit of difficulty much to Fleur's amusement – the chair barely made it past her knees, after all.
"Bonsoir, ma chérie," Fleur said. She scooted a glass of pumpkin juice closer to Hermione along with a licorice wand. "What brings you to ze kitchen?"
"You." Fleur raised an eyebrow as the corner of her mouth quirked up. "I was in the library when I encountered a book, and I'd like to ask a couple questions about it."
"Of course," Fleur replied. She leaned back in the tiny chair, her legs kicked off to one side. Hermione's mouth went dry at the sight of Fleur's long legs. She tugged at her collar a bit and averted her eyes. Fleur cleared her throat with a smirk.
"Right, um," Hermione searched through her bag for the book, using the time to compose herself. She pulled it out and slid it across the table. Fleur lightly traced the title with a thoughtful expression. "I found this book, and there's a section on Veela." She watched Fleur closely for any sort of reaction, of which there was none. "What I read has led me to believe that you are part-Veela. Is this true?"
"Oui," Fleur replied simply.
"Wait, really?" Hermione asked, a bit bewildered that it was that easy to get an answer out of her. She thought she would have to press a bit harder for an answer.
"Maman ees a half-Veela," Fleur said. "Gabrielle and I are quarter-Veela. While I am sure zat ze book provided you wiz basic information, I am certain zat zere was no mention of ze true nature of ze Veela, correct?" Hermione nodded. "Eef you would like, I 'ave a book on Veela een my quarters on ze carriage, or I could give you a basic rundown right now."
"I'd like to talk about it right now if you wouldn't mind," said Hermione.
"Of course, ma chérie." Fleur took a quick sip of pumpkin juice before she began. "Veela are very loving creatures. Zey cherish family and love, and may only experience true love from zeir mate. Full-blooded Veela may only 'ave relationships stronger zan friendship wiz zeir mate, while part-Veela may have relationships with whomever they please – but zey will only feel truly complete wiz zeir mate."
Fleur flipped open the book to the page about Veela and quickly skimmed through the first few paragraphs. "I see zat zis man spoke of ze ritual. Zough he neglected to mention zat Veela, no matter eef zey are full-blood or part-Veela, may only reproduce wiz zeir mate. Zis ritual ees very intimate and magically draining, and requires unquestionable trust."
"Do you know what the ritual consists of?"
"Non. Ze couple would 'ave to ask ze mère couvée – ze leader of ze clan, or een my case, my grand-mère – and zen she would eenstruct zem on ze ritual."
Hermione remembered the drawing on the previous page. "Can you transform into that other form? The one that looks like a Harpy?"
Fleur turned back to look at the drawing. "Oui. My face does not 'ave such a cruel looking beak, but my features do sharpen much like a bird's."
"How many times have you shifted?"
"Six, maybe. No more zan zat."
Hermione leaned back, allowing all this new information to sink in. Fleur didn't appear to be worried whatsoever that Hermione knew that she was part-Veela.
"Why answer all my questions?" Hermione asked. "Why not lie about your heritage?"
"You were bound to find out eventually, 'Ermione," Fleur replied simply. She seemed unperturbed. "I do not share my 'eritage wizzout reason, but I will not deny eet. Eet ees only a secret to zose zat have not asked."
"I always knew there was something different about you," Hermione said, remembering all the stares the Delacour family attracted back in France and how Fleur and Gabrielle seemed to float rather than walk.
Fleur lightly tossed her head back and laughed. Hermione's stomach jumped at the sound of it and she couldn't stop the dreamy smile that curved her lips. She was already hopeless when it came to this girl and they weren't even dating yet. 'Soon,' thought Hermione.
"Well, ma chérie, ees zat all of your questions?" Fleur asked, a tender look in her eyes.
"Yes, I do believe so," Hermione stated. She stuffed the book back into her bag and stood. Fleur held up a hand for Hermione to help her out of the tiny chair.
"Allow me to walk you back, 'Ermione," said Fleur as she got her long legs back under her.
Hermione offered no argument, so the two set out with a dozen licorice wands for the trip to the seventh floor. Fleur held open the portrait for Hermione to step through first, tipping her head with a grin as the brunette passed.
The two girls walked in silence for a bit, their main focus being on consuming the licorice wands, but also on each other. Hermione kept shooting glances out of the corner of her eye at Fleur as she chewed. Even with her restricted vision and the dim light from the torches she could see just how pretty the French witch was.
The torchlight flickered prettily across Fleur's features, allowing Hermione to spot a light dusting of freckles across her prominent cheekbones and a mole smaller than the nail on her pinky finger near her ear. And her lips looked so kissable and – 'Stop it, Hermione, you're such a hopeless gay,' she thought to herself.
As Hermione was silently berating herself, Fleur startled her back into reality by casually slipping her hand into Hermione's slightly ink-stained hand. When Hermione turned her head to look up at Fleur, the taller girl merely smiled back and loosely intertwined their fingers.
"I 'ope you do not mind zis," Fleur said softly as she lightly squeezed her hand.
"N-no, not at all." Hermione stammered with a blush.
Unfortunately for the two girls, they arrived at the entrance to the Gryffindor Common Room far earlier than either of them had hoped. The Fat Lady was sitting in the left corner of her portrait, staring glumly at an empty champagne flute as she absentmindedly picked at the sleeves of her dress. Her cheeks were flushed, hinting that she had had a little too much to drink.
"Well," Hermione said, idly running a thumb over Fleur's knuckles, "this is my stop."
"Bonne nuit, ma chérie," Fleur murmured.
"Goodnight, Fleur," replied Hermione. "Fais de beaux rêves."
Fleur smiled at the French phrase, her blue eyes reminding Hermione of the first time they met. Fleur leaned in and left a soft kiss just on the tip of Hermione's nose.
"You missed," Hermione said, the words tumbling out of her mouth before she could stop them.
"Que?" Fleur appeared thoroughly confused – she had meant to kiss her nose, after all.
Hermione grinned cheekily. "You missed my lips. But don't worry about it – you'll have another chance later."
Fleur exploded with a laugh, earning herself a sharp glare and a groan from the Fat Lady. "And when might my next chance be, ma chérie?"
"Next weekend is a scheduled Hogsmeade visit," Hermione answered. "You want to go together?"
"I would like zat," Fleur said. "Eet ees a date."
"It's a date."