Hermione spent the rest of the weekend in the library, slowly making her way through all the texts she could find about Ancient Runes. By Sunday night she had ruled out Egyptian and South American being the origins of the strange symbols on the Time Turner.
Each night she spent time reading her new textbooks. She was about two months behind the class, so she needed to know where they were in the curriculum so she could plan accordingly. At least that was the excuse she was telling herself.
In truth, she was afraid to sleep. Her dreams had become horrific nightmares, her subconscious forcing her to relive the terrors of War. Just another symptom of her post traumatic stress disorder, or PTSD… that's what the Muggles called it. She had read about it in one of her parents' medical digest magazines one summer. Her night terrors, anxiety, aversion to loud noises and crowds, flashbacks, moodiness and lashing out. It was all related and she knew that being at Hogwarts was a huge trigger but she had no choice.
When she had been on her own, she managed to brew a basic sleeping potion that allowed her to have short dreamless naps. It wasn't ideal but it got her through. That wasn't an option now, she couldn't exactly be brewing sleeping draughts in the common room for no reason. And Snape watched his classroom like a hawk.
Monday morning started with a three hour Potions block, an hour lecture followed by a two hour long practical. How wonderful, Hermione thought sarcastically. She half wondered if Dumbledore was just trying to make her miserable.
Snape was worse than usual, acting as if her presence was personally offensive to him. She was certain that if allowed he would have gladly deducted points from Gryffindor for each breath she took. She knew that Potions wasn't her strongest subject so Dumbledore had probably bullied his way to get her into the class. Snape made sure to point out each and every flaw and mistake as if to point out how out of place he thought she was among the older students.
To make matters worse, a certain Beauxbatons student was in the class, arriving in a whirlwind of blue just before class began. Fortunately, Hermione had made a point to arrive early and had found a table with Cedric and Angelina Johnson. They were equally surprised to see her suddenly at their table but accepted her.
Hermione did her best to focus on the class but she could still sense Fleur's presence in the back of her mind, heard her quiet muttering in rapid French to one of her French classmates. She felt more flustered than usual, and not because of the level of difficulty of the class or the presence of the witch she was trying to avoid. It was because of what happened at breakfast earlier that had put her in such a foul mood.
After her morning run, Hermione had made her way to the Great Hall for food, just as she would any other morning. When she got to her usual seat she found a plate with a dainty pastry sitting there on a blue ceramic plate. A French tart. Even though no one was around, she knew exactly who it was from. She could practically see Fleur's smug face. The French blonde was definitely retaliating, taunting her for calling her a French tart last Friday. Oh that cheeky, cocky, insufferable, arrogant little witch! Her blood boiled and she tossed the pastry aside, scooping out eggs and toast onto her plate instead. Ron made sure the French pastry didn't go to waste.
Her cheeks still burned at the memory and she took her frustration on a poor bubotuber root, slicing it rather roughly. Of course Snape deducted 5 points for her manhandling of the small purple stalk. Hermione grit her teeth when she heard a distinct giggle coming from the back of the classroom.
All things considered, she finished her potion with a few minutes to spare. While she waited for Snape to come grade her work, she put away her unused supplies and started scrubbing her cauldron clean, putting in a little elbow grease to help her work through some of her frustrations.
"You are ambitious indeed." Fleur's soft voice surprised Hermione but she kept scrubbing, ignoring the other woman.
"Zis Professor… 'e ees a real… 'ow do you say… 'ard butt?" Fleur continued, trying to start a conversation.
"Hard arse." Hermione corrected, not looking over at the blonde who was magicking away the mess in her own cauldron. "Can I help you with anything?"
"Non. I am simply cleaning, just as you. Even Champions must clean up zeir messes." Fleur hummed softly to herself,gently goading the brunette.
Hermione bit her tongue, not taking the bait. Of course Fleur wanted to rub it in. What a prideful, arrogant, haughty, piece of...
"Why ees eet zat you scrub with a clozz like zat? You do realize we 'ave ze magie, non?"
"My parents taught me the value of hard work. I guess I just like doing things the hard way. It makes me feel accomplished." Hermione shrugged.
"Clearly," Fleur clicked her tongue and sent her clean cauldron back to the shelf with the flick of her wand.
Hermione kept scrubbing but she realized the blonde hadn't moved away. "Did you need anything?"
"Non."
Hermione huffed "okay then. I hope you enjoy awkward moments of silence then as you watch."
"Maybe I do. Maybe I like watching you stubborn yourself to dezz."
Hermione stopped her scrubbing, hand frozen mid-swipe of her rag "oh… uh…" she stammered awkwardly.
"I am joking. You take zings far too serious," Fleur giggled, her voice playful and light. "Eet ees too easy to ruffle your feazzers."
"Well, you'd know all about that, wouldn't you?" Hermione resumed her scrubbing.
"What ees zat supposed to mean?"
"Well, you're part-Veela, aren't you?" Hermione mentioned nonchalantly. Even though she wasn't looking, she could feel Fleur stiffen.
"'Ow… 'Ow did you know zat? Zat ees razzer private and I 'ave not told anyone 'ere." Fleur's tone was suddenly dangerously cold.
"Call it a hunch. People talk." Hermione tried to cover her slip up. She wasn't supposed to know that Fleur was part-Veela. Not yet at least. She dared to look up, instantly regretting it. Fleur was glaring daggers at her, her nostrils flaring lightly as she seethed.
"Well, I must say I am disappointed. I zought you were smarter zan zat. I did not take you for one to subscribe to silly rumors. I would 'ave zought you of all people would know not to judge a book by eets appearance. Per'aps I zought wrong." Fleur twisted on her heel and stalked off without a second glance.
Hermione felt a little bad for offending Fleur. But she reasoned it was better this way. She couldn't afford to let herself get distracted. Too much depended on her. She had to figure out how to help Harry without giving away too much. She had to research the Time Turner and why she had been stuck in some sort of alternate universe. She was getting increasingly worried about Harry's dreams. They were slightly different this time around. Harry mentioned that there was another person with Voldemort and Barty Crouch, Jr. A mysterious woman's voice in the background. On top of this she had to keep up with her daily duties. Her new class load was sure to provide an insane amount of homework. She could easily do it, probably in her sleep, but it was still time consuming.
She didn't have time to let feelings for the Frenchwoman cloud her judgement. Wait. Feelings? No, definitely not. She turned back to her cauldron and started scrubbing with renewed vigor.
After class she hurried to the Great Hall for lunch, grateful to be out of the dungeons. She sat with her back strategically facing Ravenclaw table.
"Oi, what's got your knickers in a bunch?" Ginny grinned, jabbing Hermione in the shoulder. "Your hair is… particularly poofy today."
"Nothing, just a three hour Potions block." Hermione shrugged as she grabbed a sandwich with one hand. The other subconsciously moved to her bushy curls, trying to smooth them down.
"Blimey! That sounds horrid! Wait… it's Monday. You don't have Potions on Mondays." Ginny furrowed her brow as she scooped soup into her mouth.
"Errr, right. Yeah, Dumbledore gave me a new schedule. He wanted to challenge me to the advanced classes." Hermione had completely forgotten to mention her schedule change with her friends. She had been too busy in the library last weekend.
"Wow! Well, slap me silly and call me Morgana. Advanced classes? With the 7th years?"
"Yeah, it's a lot to take in but I'm sure I'll manage."
"I mean, I knew you were brilliant but wow, Hermione! Did you take your O.W.L.s early or something?"
"No, I'm frankly not sure why Dumbledore is putting such faith in me… I wouldn't want to disappoint him."
"Eh, you'll be fine." Ginny nodded, piling more food onto her plate "Besides, you are the brightest witch of your age. Hell, maybe generation!"
"You know I really hate that nickname."
"Yeah, but it's just so easy to tease you…" Ginny smiled and turned to greet Harry.
Hermione felt a pang of guilt, Ginny's words reminded her of what Fleur had said. Maybe she had been a little harsh. Admittedly, the blonde had done nothing wrong. If anything she was being surprisingly friendly. Not the cold and aloof student Hermione remembered from last time. She never thought she would ever utter the words 'Ron was right' but she couldn't deny she had been an outright arse. Shit, I really should apologize.
Fleur stomped towards the Great Hall after class. At least people seemed to have the sense and self-preservation instinct to jump out of her way when they heard her heels clicking furiously on the stone floor. The sea of students parted and pressed themselves against the stone walls, giving her a wide berth to pass. If she weren't so frustrated she would have noticed that for once no one seemed to be ogling at her with glazed eyes. Alas, her thoughts were firmly stuck on one person.
She was so frustrated that she slipped back into her former teenage mentality and felt no shame in having what equated to a temper tantrum. She just wanted to whine about how unfair everything was. She huffed and dropped into her seat at the Ravenclaw table, glowering at her empty plate as thoughts swirled around her head.
Why did her mate have to be so damn stubborn!? What had she done in a past life to deserve such treatment, such indifference? Had she kicked a baby unicorn or something?! From what her grandmother told her, Veela and their mates often experience an instant connection. Affection just blossoms from there as they grow together, becoming stronger over time as their bond develops. Clearly this was not the case for her, as her mate seemed to want to have nothing to do with her for whatever reason.
She had decided against writing to her grandmother about her situation, it might raise questions that she couldn't answer and hint at the fact that she was from the future. Besides, she had developed a theory as to why her Veela had suddenly identified Hermione as her mate. Because in her timeline, Hermione would be 19, so that's how her Veela thought of her. It made too much sense, there was no other way her Veela would identify a minor. So she would just wait until Hermione grew up. Three long years... worth it for the lifetime they might have together. Assuming she managed to save the world from future disaster.
She hadn't spoken much with the Golden Girl during her first time at Hogwarts, she had no reason to. She only started really talking to Hermione after the brunette's 5th year after the Battle at the Ministry and the next summer before Tonks and Remus's wedding. But they never got to explore a deeper friendship, that apparently would have turned into courting if time had allowed. Unfortunately, the Trio disappeared on some secret mission after the wedding was crashed by Death Eaters. Fleur hadn't seen her since that fateful night.
Ugh, she just wanted her mate to grow up already and become the bright young witch she remembered and had been working on a friendship with. Until then she would have loved nothing more than to ignore this immature version of Hermione who seemed to take pleasure in tormenting her. But she knew that wasn't possible. It was very hard for a Veela to deny their mate once that individual had been identified. Still, Hermione was making it rather difficult to be nice to her.
She had established that she would make no moves toward formal courtship until Hermione was of age, at least she could try to be friendly for the time being. But no, it seemed the infuriatingly stubborn brunette was not going to have any of that and shut down her attempts at friendship. Then again, maybe it was better this way. She really couldn't afford to let herself get distracted. She needed to focus on the Tournament and helping Harry. But her Veela wasn't letting her mind wander far from thoughts of Hermione, compelling her to try to get closer to her mate. Ugh, stupid bird brain!
She growled quietly and picked at a sandwich she hadn't realized she had grabbed. She was too annoyed to eat it.
«Wow, Fleur, I haven't seen you this frustrated since Jean-Claude pulled that prank with charming your shirts to...»
«Tcht! Evangeline! I thought we agreed never to speak of that incident!» Fleur growled at her fellow part-Veela, regarding the brunette beauty sitting next to her. She had forgotten how jealous of her friend's hair. While hers was smooth, straight, and silvery blonde, Evangeline DesJardins sported effortlessly perfect chestnut curls that provided just the right amount of volume. Her bright hazel eyes were a nice contrast.
The two had been roommates since their first year at Beauxbatons and they shared an almost sisterly bond, even after graduation. Fleur tried not to think of what the future held for the young woman. She remembered cradling her friend's body as she took her last pained breath. She hid her tears in a poorly acted sneeze and quickly recomposed herself.
Evangeline was one of the few people outside her immediate family that she had let past her walls. One of the few who looked past the cool facade of the esteemed heir of the Delacour Clan and saw Fleur for who she was. Fleur remembered her younger self wishing and hoping that they were mates. There had always been a strong connection and they had even tried dating for a while. But when it became clear they weren't destined to be together they cut their losses and decided they were better off as best friends.
«Sorry, I forgot. But seriously, you look downright miserable. I know how much it affects you, all these silly boys tripping over themselves for you. But it's not your fault they have such weak minds.»
«It isn't that.» Fleur sighed and picked up a new cucumber sandwich and served herself a bowl of chilled mint soup, deciding it was time she actually ate something rather than pick aggressively at the bread like she had been doing. «I just… it is a big adjustment, being here. And the tournament is stressful.»
«Well, ain't that the truth? This school is dreadful and we've only been here a few days! How will we ever survive the next 9 months!? Oh! Get this! Word has it that Yvette and Amelie are finally dating! Can you imagine? Those two have been pining uselessly over one another for yearrrrrs!»
Fleur had never been more grateful that her friend was such a gossip. She wasn't really listening to her friend, just offering small nods or one word responses, but it helped distract her from her issues. Particularly the bushy haired brunette that just walked in for lunch.
«So, how was your first class?» Fleur questioned once Eva ran out of juicy news.
«Fine. Did you know this school considers 'flying' to be a class worthy of 7th year curriculum!? Not that I'm complaining, I got to play around for two hours!»
«Lucky! I got stuck with three hours of Potions! It was dreadful! Watch out for that Professor, he is a real…» Fleur paused, trying to remember the phrase "Hard ass." She finished in English.
The two girls fell into light conversation, soon joined by Gabrielle who gave a dramatic retelling of all the adventures she had that morning. Apparently she had slipped out of the carriage, rather than attend her studies like she was supposed to. She had stumbled across the kitchen and met a rather excitable house elf who wore bright colored Muggle clothing. His name was Dobby and he gave her a chocolate biscuit.
Fleur reprimanded her sternly but lovingly, threatening to send her back to France if she refused to behave. Gabrielle pouted and protested but agreed to stick to her schedule in the afternoon.
Her conversation with the two was almost enough to distract her from her horrible morning. Almost.