Author: Ladyfun

Title: Tommelise Granger

Pairing: Hermione and a cast of characters. Endgame: Fleurmione!

Rating: Generally K+

Disclaimers: All of this (Ladyfun gesturing big wide circles over the computer with her hand) belongs to J.K. Rowling. I own nothing, and this is all for non-profit fun. And I sure as heck don't own Quiddich, nor Hans Christen Anderson. And I'm sorry but WTF? Thumbelina? Obscure, party of one, your table is ready. Over by the year 503 AD.

SUMMARY: For the Quiddich League Fanfiction competition/Round 12, yee haw. Hermione navigates a myriad of potential suitors and obsticles before she can overcome herself, her world, and her perceived limitations, in order to get to "her one." Endgame: Fleurmione. Based on the fairy tale, Thumbelina.

A/N #1: Written for Round 12 /Season 2 of the Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition.

A/N #2: OPTIONAL PROMPTS: 1. (word) underhanded 2. (word) Bleeding

Random technicality: I can't post new fanfics, it would appear, so I am posting it in another spot in one of the old stories. Sorry if there's confusion.

Title: Tommelise Granger
Round 12 / Fairytale Dabbling
Position: Beater 2- Prompt: Thumbelina
Team: Wigtown Wanderers

"What's this?" Tommelise uttered, a mysterious large package arriving wrapped in the finest golden paper arriving to her stoop by owl. "Who sent this?" she asked the owl, but it was too late. He had already departed. She regarded it closely. It was a rather ornate bouquet of white lilies, with a French coat of arms embossed in the ribbon. The card inside was embroidered, and out fell a parchment. The parchment, written with elegant looping script, read a most curious note:

Mon Avenir Princesse,
Do not Despair, Mon tresor! The time is coming when we can be together; know that my heart swells, each day we are apart, for you; I am bleeding, sanguine….until that fateful day we can be reunited. Please wait for me.
XO
Your Flower.

Tommelise thought no more about it, after a few days, as is the way of most 14-going-on-15 year olds are want to do; only adults really overanalyze, and would have thought it strange.

As it was, she had bigger things on her mind than a strange admirer. She had to prepare for another year-her fourth-at that wonderful school, filled with some really nasty individuals. It was bad enough that that insane pureblood fanatic's ideas were starting to gain favor again, it was worse still that some of the old prejudices were showing their heads and trickling down to the children of these fanatics.

No creature was safe, really, and certainly not the tiniest of fairies, such as herself.

Drastic times call for drastic measures. She decided to stop using the first name, Tommelise, of her fairy ancestors. She decided instead to use the name of her muggle grandmother, Hermione, when the school year resumed. She swallowed, hard, wondering if that would make it better, or worse. She had owled her mentor, Professor McGonagall, who soundly agreed with her decision, a little too enthusiastically. Hermione realized that it would not sit well with the pureblood families that the number one student in Hogwarts was a creature; somehow, being discriminated against as a mudblood was slightly better.

A least mudbloods were classified as humans…for now.

Suddenly, the idyllic summer was over, and it was with a certain amount of dread that Hermione, nee Tomnliese, set off for her 4th school year, new books and crisp parchment in hand. Her father was stoic, as becoming a dentist, but her mother was the one with fairy blood and couldn't hide her emotions as well. Her mother kissed her goodbye with a sad look on her face, and Hermione tried to shake it off.

"What, Mom?"

"Nothing, Tommelise. It's just that…you shouldn't be ashamed of who you are."

"I'm not ashamed, Mother." Hermione said, frustrated.

"Someday you will be grateful for your fairy lineage, Tommelise, I promise."

"I'm proud now, Mom! There's a difference between being safe and being proud. Pride is a luxury we can afford in less vulnerable times, mother."

The fairy shook her head. "No, Tommelise, in unsafe times, pride may be the only thing we have."

Wrestling with her guilt, she huffed, and headed off to platform 9 ¾ , hoping to make the train with the lead balloon that had settled into her heart. That, plus the feeling of foreboding approaching the school year left her in quite a melancholy mood, indeed.

XOXOXO

At the platform, she was met by Harry and the Weasleys, as per their standard operating procedure in their many years together.

She felt a sharp pinch in her side.

"Ow! Merlin's Beard, Molly…did you just pinch me?"

"I did." She hissed. "Listen, Hermione, these are uncertain times..." her eyes darted back and forth, between the platform and the various eyes on them. "I've lived through wars, Hermione! One thing I know is this: people don't always come back the same."

"No, I suppose they don't, Molly."

"For these reasons, I think that its necessary to... how shall we phrase this? Lock in a few details, as it were." Molly's eyes were looking a tad wild, when Hermione scrutinized them closely. Her behavior was odd, indeed. She shuffled around, foot to foot.

Hermione looked at her, concerned. "Well, um...what sort of details?"

"Grandbabies, Hermione, of course! Grandbabies!"

Hermione felt a tightening in the pit of her stomach. "Grandbabies...I see. And what does that have to do with me, exactly, Molly?"

Molly Weasley looked conspiratorial. "Well, if we wait for little Toadie to do this, we'll be waiting a long time, now won't we?" She was, of course, referring to her youngest son, Ronald Weasley, affectionately known as "Toad" to his family.

Hermione sighed. "Molly, we've been through this! I adore Ron, I really do..." Hermione said, firmly. "...But, I adore him as a brother and nothing more."

"Hermione, you're not getting any younger!"

"Molly," the Hogwarts student began, incredulously. "I'm not even of age, yet!"

They stood there, locked in heated exchange, when someone recognized her distress and decided to save her. Her dearest Friend in the whole school, perhaps the whole world, recognized her discomfort, and swooped in like a bird to rescue her.

"Hermione! Come now! We're going to be last and not get any good seats! Hurry up!" He smiled an apologetic grin to Molly. "Sorry, Mrs. Weasley, we have to go!"

God Love Harry Potter, sometimes….

XOXOXOXOXO

The train ride had been uneventful, the Golden Trio filling each other in on all their summer fun. Toadie Weasley seemed annoyed that some secret admirer had sent Hermione flowers; to which she promptly ignored. They filled up on chocolate frogs and speculated what the Triwizarding Tournament would bring to their year. Both Harry and Ron grumbled for a solid ten minutes about the loss of the Quiddich field; and Hermione filled them in on the detailed reading she had done about the history of the two competing schools, Beauxbatons Acadmey of Magic and The Drumstrung Institute.

"Many dark wizards have graduated from Drumstrung," Hermione mused. "I expect some seriously underhanded behavior from them."

Once they arrived to their school, it was wonderful to be within the Gryffindor fold once again; however, she would be lying if she said she missed her schoolmates from Slytheryn one little bitty bit. Worst among them was the dreadful Pansy Parkinson; that girl just seemed to have it out for her, constantly!

Everywhere she turned, Pansy would somehow just...be there, already. She would loudly make commentary about whatever Hermione was wearing, her teeth, her face, her hair...there was nothing that escaped her commentary, it seemed. Hermione would simply ignore the rude girl and walk past, but it got to her friends. Six days into the school year, Ginny Weasley finally snapped.

"Hey!" Ginny yelled at the malevolent Slytherin girl, leaned up against the post with her two lackeys. "Tweedle Beetle Parkinson! You spend so much friggin' time noticing every single detail about Hermione...why is that?"

"Because she's an offense to witches everywhere, charity case! What's it to you?"

But Ginny was the epitome of a Gryffindor, and despite Hermione's blush next to her and admonishment to hush, Ginny bowed up to the older Slytherin. "Oh really? That's why you've memorized her schedule, Parkinson? Why you stare at her in the Great Hall? Be a little more obvious, why don't 'cha, Tweedle Beetle?"

The dark haired witch clenched her jaw. "What are you implying?"

"I'm not implying anything!" Ginny laughed. "I'm stating the obvious, Parkinson! You have a crush on Hermione Granger! Any idiot can see it...daft."

Hermione put a warning hand on Ginny's arm, as to indicate to Ginny she was out of line. She nervously looked up at Pansy, who had the oddest angry look she had ever seen on one face. The bobbed Slytherin finally managed to string together a cataleptic sentence.

"Wha-what? You've gone nutters, Weasley! Like I would ever have a crush on a girl...much less an ugly, buck toothed, know-it-all, crazy haired mudblood like Granger!" She huffed. "Get real!"

Hermione felt the stinging of tears come to her eyes as Harry gently pulled away both Ginny and Hermione. "C'mon, let's go. We're going to be late for Charms." He urged.

Once out of earshot of the laughing Slytherins, Harry said gently, "You know all that horseshit was just that, right, Hermione? Horseshit!"

"It still hurts, Harry." Hermione said, quietly.

"Well, I think that there was clearly someone this summer who didn't think that you were ugly, right? Your rose bush -"

"Flower." Corrected Hermione.

"Flower. Right. Well, Prince Flower...or whomever, thinks you are something special, no matter what piggish Parkinson has to say."

"You're right." She said, smiling to herself. "You're right, Harry."

"I know! So, enough of the woah is me, defeatist attitude. Let's go to class, now, shall we?"

XOXOXOXOXO

The introduction of the schools was quite a sight.

The Dumstrung participants were everything a champions would be pictured as…virle, strong, and fearless. This was embodied best by the handsome Champion selected, Mr. Viktor Krum. Oddly enough, despite the fact the school did not admit muggleborn students, the Champion himself seemed to have taken quite a liking to the Hogwarts muggle known as Hermione Granger.

Mr. Igor Karkaroff, best known by his code name "the Field Mouse," from his days as a death eater—which he had since renounced, was curiously in favor of this paring.

"Zat girl," The former Field Mouse replied, "studies like nobodies busy-ness!" He proclaimed to all who would listen. "Eizer she is having an affair wiz ze librarian, or she iz truly ze smartest witch of 'er generazion." He surmised.

On one such occasion, Minerva replied dryly, "I would suggest the latter, Mr. Karkaroff." She said, without an ounce of mirth in her voice. "She is our star pupil."

Karkaroff was not shy about his hope that he could set the two up, and her studious habits would rub off on his Champion. You see, Krum was a valiant sort, a good guy, really; but he tended to go balls-to-the-wall "all out" without regards to the danger around him. While this tactic was great for Quiddich, it was not so great for the Triwizard tournament. This tourney, unlike Quiddich, often rewarded mental prowess as much as the gifts of the physique for the physical demands of the game.

It was actually Karkaroff who introduced the two, on a mandatory study hall on a Saturday. Hermione was polite enough, and his Champion appeared smitten. Unbeknownst to Hermione, the whole thing was a set up. Mr Quiddich wanted to squire Hermione to the Yule Ball, and he had coerced his headmaster, the Field Mouse, to arrange some type of an introduction.

He was used to women throwing themselves at him; he rarely had to engage in the pursuit, himself. He was at a loss for what to do.

XOXOXOXOX

It was the afternoon of the second task, and the four treasures had been recovered, albeit a tad waterlogged. Ron, Cho, Gabrielle, and Hermione were all towering off in the tent area, comparing notes and talking furiously.

From the corner of her eye, she noted the arrival of the three in green and silver. Malfoy, Parkinson, and Zabenini.
"Great." She muttered, to herself.

She didn't have to worry long, before Ron dumped a cup of icy pumpkin juice, ice cubes and all, over Pansy's head for their unwelcome intrusion.

"Look, your kind isn't wanted, around here!"

"Awfully uppity, Weasley, for someone as poor as a churchmouse!" Draco sneered.

Ron was pointing at Pansy. "Ye Gods, you've just come to upset Hermione, and that's frankly, just bollocks! Why don't you git?" Ron muttered.

Pansy pushed him in the shoulder. "Why don't YOU git?" She said, warningly.

"You git!" He pushed back. "She doesn't want you, Parkinson!"

Another retaliatory shove. "She doesn't want you either, Toadie Weasel!" Pansy shouted.

And the shoving match continued, each a bit harder than the one prior; Hermione blushed, and tried to duck out of the tent, unnoticed. It was there she crashed into her. Literally, crashed into her.

"Ooof!" Hermione exhaled, slightly pained in her left side. "I'm sorry, I didn't see where I was goin-" She stopped in mid sentence. The fourth year student had crashed, headfirst, into the Beauxbaton's champion, in her haste to escape the bickering inside the tent.

"Bonjour! Going somevere, belle?" The French goddess said, clearly amused.

"Hoping to, yes."

"And zat place is…?" She arched one eyebrow.

"Someplace without... arguing lunatics!" She groused, after a moment to collect her thoughts. She then looked up, suddenly embarrassed. "Not that you're a lunatic, I mean."

But a rather understanding look adorned the face of the gorgeous French Veela. With an amused smirk, she added, "And are you ze cause of all zat bluster inside, mademoiselle?"

Hermione just groaned. "Well, Yes…no? I don't know?" Hermione grinned, sheepishly. She furrowed her brow as she confided in Fleur, "Frankly, I think they like to aruge just to hear themselves speak, sometimes!" She huffed.

"Zere iz a famous saying in my home country, zat "He who establishes his argument by noise and command shows that his reason is weak." Yet, I find myself intrigued, and wanting to know more, belle! I should like to meet ze object of adoration of such... passion, zen! " Said the woman in blue.

Hermione blushed, oddly intrigued by this clearly intelligent young lady.

"If I may, je m'appelle Fleur Delacour, from Beauxbaton Acadmey."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "As if everyone didn't already know who you are, Ms. Delacour!"

"Fleur, please."

"Okay…Fleur."

"Okay...'ermione." She said, rolling her tongue around, deliciously, savoring her name. As she did, Fleur cocked her eyebrow, playfully. "Does zis mean I will have to start dueling ze otzzers, now, to get your favor?"

Hermione groaned.

It was at that exact moment that one of Fleur's friends yelled for her, poking her head into the tent. "Fleur, maintenant! Madame Maxime est sur le pied de guerre ! Allons, si vous savez ce qui est bon pour vous!"

Fleur couldn't seem to pull her eyes away from the younger witch. "Well," she sighed. "I guess this is where I take my leave, Mademoiselle Granger."

"Yes…" Hermione's voice trailed off, relishing the way in which Fleur enunciated her name. It was so lyrical. "It was lovely to meet you Fleur!"

Fleur landed a dainty kiss on the side of Hermione's cheek. "Au revoir, beautiful lady." Fleur exhaled, and then she was gone. Hermione was at a loss as to why the air suddenly felt so dry and vacant.

XOXOXOXOXO

Toadie Weasley actually waited until the literal day before the Yule Ball to ask Hermione to be his date. Even Harry had to blush, ashamed, for his friend. "Give it up mate." He whispered.

"Why? It's not like Hermione has a date yet!" He reasoned.

"How do you know?" Ginny said, annoyed with her brother.

"Because!" Ron reasoned, as he shoveled another heaping spoon of mashed potatoes into his mouth just as fast as his arm could hoist it, "It's not like these arrogant assholes 'round here are lining up to squire a defective fairy who also happens to be a muggle born witch, as well!"

Harry and Ginny looked at each other incredulously.

Hermione looked up from her voluminous text she had snuck into the Great Hall. "Erm, folks...I am sitting, right here, you know."

"Yeah, but you're reading, 'Mione." Ron said. "Its not like you look or listen to the world around ya, when you're reading."

"I wonder why? After all, this is such a pleasant conversation, and all; disparaging my heritage."

Ron had the courtesy to look at least slightly embarrassed. "C'mon, you know I'm not sayin g that! I'm merely saying what those around us are thinking."

"Oh." Hermione said, curtly. "I see. Well then, I will leave you to continue tot cull the opinion of army a blod souls of this town." She gathered her things, and started to exit the breakfast table.

"So, 'Mione? How bout it?" Ron asked.

Hermione gave him a look as though he was the three headed dog, incarnate. "Ronald Weasley! That's unacceptable asking a lady a day before the social event! And secondly, for your information, I do actually have a date!"

"Really?" He said, sounding somewhat skeptical. "Who is it, then?"

"Viktor Crum." She said with a slight smile, heading out the hall and towards the library.

XOXOXOXOXOXOX

Viktor was indeed her date that evening, and she was absolutely resplendent. She drew the appreciative eye of even the most discerning guest, but it was the smoldering blue eyes of the Champion from France that caught her attention, most of the night.

Strangely, Fleur seemed to keep her distance, and it hurt Hermione's feelings, inexplicably. She caught Fleur, once, at the punch bowl; but the French Veela took great pains to scurry away.

"Wait, Fleur!" Begged Hermione.

And Fleur turned, with great effort, and gazed at Hermione with the most pained expression she had ever seen. Fleur exhaled, whispering, "Non, 'ermione. Not yet. You're too young, and I 'ave too little control...I'm sorry. Je suis desolee, ma belle."

And then she was gone into the crowd and the dimmed lights, absent from Hermione's sight the remainder of the evening. Hermione didn't have much time to reflect on the odd separation, as Viktor was literally on her, non stop.

Hermione had no real formal objection; after all, he was handsome, fearless, very kind to her, and clearly smitten. She allowed herself to be swept up into the whole moniker of "going steady," and there were certainly benefits to having a long distance boyfriend who was very, very busy. If she were to be honest with herself, however, she found herself on some nights wondering what it would feel like to have smooth, elegantly sculpted lips that would form a slight pout descend upon hers, instead of the rough ones of the Slavic young man who was her boyfriend.

But she would push those thoughts away, and try to be a good partner to Viktor, regardless of how little her heart really was interested in that objective.

XOXXOXOXOXOXOX

It was on her fateful trip to Shell Cottage, where the Golden Trio sought safe harbor, that she would once again be reunited with her ...what? Her mentor? No, Hermione sighed, not her mentor. Her childhood crush.

Fleur Delacour, soon to be Weasley, it was rumored.

The former Triwizard Champion had become even more beautiful, if that was at all possible. Molly had complained, often, about how stand-offish the blonde was at their family affairs. It was easy to judge someone so effortlessly gorgeous, Hermione guessed. Plus, the nature of her Veela heritage made it impossible for males to look away, and females to despise and be jealous in kind, as well.

Yet the muggle-born Fairy was neither; perhaps it was because she had been tortured within an inch of her life, and it took all her strength to simply recover, without the luxury of objectifying the world around her.

But Fleur tirelessly nursed her back to health, without a single complaint.

She refused to leave the English witch's side, and worked around the clock to heal the broken body and spirit. Miracleously, she did just that. And if she were telling the truth, Hermione would have acknowledged she fibbed a little, just to have a few more stolen hours of time with Fleur. Time that just the two of them would talk about anything and everything.

Hermione even confessed to Fleur her ancestry, and the jibes that she was a "defective fairy."

"Why on Eartz would you zay somezing so 'orrid, Belle?" Fleur reprimanded. "Calling yourself defective..."

"Because it's true, Fleur, that's why!" Hermione said, passionately. "I'm no kind of fairy...I've never even sprouted wings, much lest flown! Flight is the staple of my people, Fleur!"

Fleur tutted. "Ze time has not been right for you yet, my pretty one." She said, cupping Hermione's face, gently. "It will come...I'm sure of it."

Leaning into her touch, she suddenly felt better.

XOXOXOXOXOX

All good things must end, Hermione thought to herself, miserably.

It was time to resume their hunt for the horcruxes, and they had a job to do. Oddly, however, she felt a draw to the older witch, the lady of the home. Her throat seemed paralyzed when she saw the simple white flower she had in her hand. As she walked over to Hermione, she rolled the stem between her fingers, a sad smile adorning her face.

As she weaved the flower into Hermione's hair, she whispered, "it was rumored that the first Veela brought down this flower down from the sky, and placed it into King Clovis' helmet, before war."

Hermione's throat tightened.

"And so ze legend of ze Fleur-de-lis was born! Ze white lily is said to confer protection, and..." she paused.

"And what, Fleur?"

Fleur cleared her throat. "Protection...and love."

Hermione wrapped her arms around the neck of the woman who had saved her, in so many ways. As she looked adoringly into Fleur's eyes, she murmured, "Well then, I guess that describes you perfectly, my Flower of the Court."

Fleur's eyes were a mess, and Hermione watched them darken.

"I've seen these flowers, before..." Hermione realized.

"Oui? Have you? Zey come from our family estate. Zes are rumored to be ze very same patch from which King Clovis cultivated the single flower he was given, until it became acres and acres of lilies!" Fleur laughed.

Looking down at the serious girl in her arms, Fleur immediately stopped laughing. It was only a matter of time before their eyes darkened again. Fleur leaned down, and allowed her lips to graze those of the younger woman's. Electricity shot through both of them; Hermione involuntary shuddered. Then Fleur's lips were there, just so right there...never had anything felt like it made her feel in that very moment.

And after their kiss, she felt a ripping sensation on her back, as the bud of the base of her winds began to form, through her skin.

"What the-?"

"And zere you 'ave it, folks." Grinned Fleur, while touching her forehead to that of the younger witch. "A real live Fae transformation!"

Hermione didn't speculate about it, on wonder what her "fiancé" was doing; she would have to remedy the "Viktor Krum situation" soon. One couldn't really marry someone, when they were in love with someone else. She didn't care about anything other than the sixty seven inches of gorgeous blond woman before her, dazzling her mind and soul.

Tomnliese Granger reflected, briefly. She had her wings, her one true love, and the prospect of the future after the defeat of the Dark Lord. And really what did it matter...anything else? She realized, at the end of the day, regardless of what the future held...here was her happy ending.

Hermione's Happily Ever After.

THE END