When Hermione presented her rough plan to study in America at one of seemingly weekly gatherings of Weasley's a year after The War, she expected the confused stares and curious questions as to what she would actually be doing. What she didn't expect was an angelically beautiful blonde to offer to join her on this voyage across the Atlantic, much less ask to live together. It was thanks to Fleur that the two of them were able to live in a nicer apartment close to campus, where Hermione could easily get to class and Fleur could work quietly from their home and in the surrounding parks writing in several of the magical academic journals. However, for all that Fleur did to help Hermione become more comfortable with their newfound home, she did offer one potential complication: she was absolutely stunning.
And Hermione was far, far too queer not to notice.
Exploring her sexuality was just another thing that had been thrown by the wayside due to the War, one of the many experiences of growing up that she never had the opportunity to see. Now that she was free to finally think about what she wanted out of life? It was quickly becoming clear that living with Fleur Delacour was certainly an experience. Ron being unable to speak in front of Fleur during all of fourth year made so much more sense now, seeing as it happened to Hermione all the time. First it had been the casual touches while moving in, gentle caresses across her arms and shoulders as they moved in their things, which caused not a few broken plates. The photo that Fleur insisted on taking for her parents, of the two basically cuddling on the couch of their new apartment together? Almost lethal. Hermione had no idea how Fleur didn't notice that she was all but insensate, but she never commented on her dreadful responses.
From then on, Hermione did her best to hide her quickly growing attraction from her beautiful roommate, thinking that the last thing Fleur would want would be yet another person mooning after her with all the grace of a flobberworm. But it was much easier said than done, given how so tactile Fleur was. It only took one memorable occasion of Hermione reading on the sitting room couch to realize that such an act was an open invitation for Fleur to wrap her warm, soft body around Hermione beneath a cozy blanket, and to effectively end Hermione's capacity for intelligent thought.
Hermione managed to keep her distance by requesting that she be left alone each evening with the excuse of doing her classwork and studying, but that only worked so far. Fleur was like sunlight, ceaselessly brightening their shared space and surprising Hermione when she least expected it: their colorful mugs nestled together in the sink from their shared breakfast, the faint aroma of her lemon shampoo in their bathroom.
Though she could only manage an intelligent conversation when drowning herself in schoolwork, Hermione lived for the quiet moments between the two as a reprieve from a simple fact: for once in her life, school and reading weren't the safe harbors that she could seek refuge in. For all that Hermione could still find some pleasure in going to class, Nine AM Calculus I was still Divination with Trelawney all over again, without any of the gossip and the suffocating incense. At least the morbid predictions of Harry's early death brought some excitement to the class, unlike the dull drone of her Calculus professor. Arithmancy at Hogwarts had undoubtedly spoiled the subject for her, the transition from spellcrafting and magical analysis to derivatives boring her to tears.
Frankly, Fleur was the only thing keeping her from both tearing her hair out and resorting to her tried and true tactic of spending most of her nights stressing over her classes. Even if she could barely get a word out most of the time, Fleur had a way of making everything just a bit more tolerable. And if hiding her attraction was what it took for things to remain the same, Hermione thought that she could suffer worse things than being trapped alongside one Fleur Delacour.
"How does this keep happening!" Hermione groaned from their kitchen table, throwing her head into her arms. "Dear lord, I hate derivatives!"
Hermione Granger was frustrated. It was supposed to be easy. Everyone, from the TA of the class to some of her less-pretentious classmates said it was as simple as dropping an exponent. And yet, it didn't. Make. Any. Sense. After acing her OWLs, handling the unpleasant task of splitting apart hormonal teenagers for a year as a prefect, and then handling the slightly more unpleasant task of defeating a fascist Dark Lord; Hermione thought she would be well-prepared for whatever a simple muggle university degree could throw at her.
But Math. Hermione. Hated. Math.
"Are you doing alright, ma belle?" Fleur called from the sitting room, far from where Hermione had been sequestered away for much of the afternoon. "Do you anything, a cup of coffee perhaps?"
"No Fleur! I'm doing fine, just annoyed!" Hermione called out with an air of alarm.
"Are you sure? I can always come and try to help!"
"I promise Fleur, I'll just take a quick break and try again in a minute!" Trying to prove her point Hermione quickly got up from her chair, making a point to scrape along the kitchen floor, and began loudly pacing. While the pacing did serve to slightly help the anxious energy running through her, it did nothing to stop her from ruminating over the frustrating math problems and muttering to herself. "I've tried all the other methods… what could be the answer…. It couldn't be that… oh come on, I can't believe I didn't see it! That damn L'Hôpital!*
Naturally, that's when everything took a turn for the worst.
Not paying attention to her surroundings, Hermione accidentally hooked her foot around one of the wooden kitchen chairs surrounding the table. With a resounding crash, she tumbled nearly headfirst into the detritus-strewn kitchen table, just barely managing to prevent herself from slamming face-first into her calculus textbook. Nevertheless, she tumbled onto the floor, landing heavily on one arm. Dazed from nearly suffering an unconventional death-by-textbook, Hermione didn't notice the sudden sound of footsteps rushing towards the door to the sitting room. From her spot on the floor, Hermione certainly did notice when the door flung open, and a concerned Fleur rushed in, her allure drifting through Hermione's mind like an enveloping storm.
Hermione never stood a chance.
Her eyes, typically the color of an endless sea, soothing and calm, were narrowed tightly in concern. In the haze that was quickly overtaking her, Hermione wanted to reach out and press light kisses to those crinkles of worry and to quickly remove whatever was causing the concern present in this beautiful being before her. With Fleur's rapid approach, Hermione felt her words leave her, caught in the wind much like Fleur's hair, strands like moonlight, shimmering in a wave as she advanced through the room. Fleur calling out her name distantly registered in the back of her mind, but far important was the hand pressed to her cheek and the smell of lemon currently washing over her. Fleur's soft blue sweater fell across Hermione's arms like a comforting blanket, throwing Hermione's mind into the memory of them cuddling on the couch. Even Fleur's gentle shaking did nothing to remove the cloud of love and adoration floating over Hermione's mind as she lay on the kitchen floor. But with a sudden lurch, Hermione felt her stomach twist as the familiar claustrophobic sensation of apparition tore Hermione largely out of her reverie.
The smell of a hospital was immediately recognizable, forcing Hermione to look around in confusion as to why Fleur had brought them both here. A confusion that quickly became far less important as Fleur bodily picked Hermione up by the thighs, and tucked her face into a soft neck and a curtain of silk-like hair. Fleur's conversation with an unseen person at a desk and a winding series of corridors was ignored in favor of wrapping her arms around strong shoulders, and debating whether Fleur's soft skin or silky hair was a better target for nuzzling. Much too soon, Hermione was pulled from that soft sweater and placed on a much less comfortable bed, an unfamiliar witch in green robes standing next to floor. The confused and disgruntled frown on Hermione's face must've done nothing to reassure either witch, as Fleur's look of concern only tightened and the witch in green pulled out her wand. After several spells washed over her, the witch merely gave a concerned look at Hermione and posed a question:
"Are you feeling alright dear? Your partner says you gave her quite a fright"
A feeling of embarrassment washing through her, Hermione managed to gather the mental capacity to respond "We-we aren't together!"
A faint look of amusement crossing her face, the witch (in healers' robes, Hermione now recognized) simply waved her wand a few more times and gave Fleur a dry look. "Miss, would you mind leaving the room for a moment? I believe I know what problem your -friend- is currently having." With a murmured acceptance from Fleur, the blonde witch quickly entered the hallway and closed the door behind her. With Fleur's sudden exit, Hermione felt both a rush of logic and of utter mortification enter her mind.
Her lips lifting into a smirk at the corners, the healer simply inquired "So, friends?"