Muggles Call It Fate
On the other side of the vast dining hall, a certain Muggleborn witch was having a hard time educating a redheaded Pure-blooded wizard, about the cultural and social difference and similarities between neighbouring countries of Europe. The problem was started with a simple, "What's that!" by Ron, whom upon seeing the plates of food that did not normally grace the table of Hogwarts' Great Hall. One question led into another, eventually Hermione was made to explain more than what Ron could understand. Using the foreign dishes that were present on the table as an example, she indicated that food was cross-culturally universal yet distinct to their respective cultures. In fact, how they were prepared to how they were shared in social occasions present crucial information about the culture itself. Yet to her dismay and despite her efforts, the second youngest of the Weasley's had yet again failed to listen attentively, thus failed to extrapolate the streams of information coming from Hermione.
Instead, his jaw hung on to the rest of his skull like a suspension bridge and no sounds came out. His eyes blinked in rhyme with her words but when Hermione looked into his eyes for confirmation signs of brain activity, it was as dull as staring into an empty void of utter nothingness. So Hermione thought of a practical approach, 'learning by experience'.
"Why don't you just give them a try?" Hermione hinted at the foreign dishes.
"Working on it," Ron replied with a mouthful of potato, his forks and knives working together in actively removing another piece of chicken leg from the plate.
"I meant something foreign, like the Bouillabaisse," said Hermione.
"The what?" Ron looked up from his plate, his face utterly clueless.
"Never mind," replied Hermione sulking, the dish she had spent the past good twenty minutes explaining, but it appears that nothing had gone into Ron's brain. She sighed in frustration, and almost pity. But surprisingly she doesn't feel the pity for Ron, no. Ron was completely happy and content being who he is, and although he acknowledges that he might not be as smart as Hermione or as famous as Harry, yet surprisingly he does seem to be the happiest of the three.
There was a small nudge at her side which made Hermione snap out of her trance. She turned and stared right into the concerned eyes of Ginny.
"You okay?" Ginny asked after sensing that her friend was not in the best of moods.
"Of course, why wouldn't I be? The food was delicious, and I'm fine," Hermione smiled at Ginny who was less than half convinced, looked at her with the 'don't mind my stupid brother look'.
Hermione smiled, which to Ginny meant more than any word confrontation Hermione would have defended herself with. Hermione had been different this year, Ginny noted. Ever since this summer, the incident at the Quidditch World Cup, and the beginning of the school year, Hermione had been different, in a way withdrawing ever more into her own world, isolating herself in between the pages of her books. But when Ginny diligently question her about it, she would always assure Ginny that she was fine, and Ginny would pretend to nod off and believe her. Lately, this ongoing change in Hermione had festered to the point where Hermione would rarely been seen and sometimes miss dinner by hiding in the library. And now after some careful thinking, and despite the considerable amount of people with them in the great hall right now, she decided that she really needed to confront Hermione about her behaviour – it was more than unbearable to see her friend sink into isolation. It was now or never.
Ginny eyed Hermione again before whispering. "'Mione what exactly is going on?"
"What do you mean?"
"You've been different," Ginny blatantly pointed out her behaviours. "Ever since Quidditch World Cup…"
Hermione knew exactly where Ginny was getting at, down and ascending the spiralling stairs of Hermione's ribcage into her heart. The question was like a piercing hex put on her mercilessly. The recent avoidance of her friends and just the general avoidance of everything had everything to do with the recent panic about regrouping of Death Eaters, or at least that's what Hermione convinced herself to believe. Saving Harry and the world is her mission, and her reason, and for that it seems. She would give her everything.
But when it comes down to it, as she realised the avoidance has always been there with her. When she was still a child she would drown out the world with fairy-tales and books of another place another time, somewhere different. She would be travelling from one world to the other through the medium of books and stories. As long as she had a book, she had a vessel for travelling, perhaps it was because she was searching or her own story, perhaps it was nothing more. Even if the neighbours' kids were around to play games, she felt indifferent. As she gradually grew up and eventually entered Hogwarts, she walked alone along the pavements of the corridor, ate lunch alone for the first few months before meeting coincidentally with Ron and Harry, but she didn't mind. Hermione had her wisdom and knowledge of things way beyond her age. It gained her recognition, but contrary to the envious assumptions by her peers of her being a know-it-all, overachiever. Back then, she wouldn't have cared-less. It was the benefits of minimum social interaction in addition with the curiosity for the certain. As she remembered and concluded over the years there was definitely a reason why she operated well on the academic level correlating to her personality, if not direct cause and effect.
Grades, academic excellence, were the product of a habit, which in turn compensated for whatever was lost in the process. Overtime that compensation became a booster, a value system that is precisely connected to the real world. That was why her worst fear as portrayed by the Boggart, was the failure of all subjects – if she failed at the only thing she was good at. What more is there to Hermione Granger?
Saving the world-
It was also a simple, technical and cold reason that paradoxically settled her mind more than it bothered it. It was a reason, logical enough that made her refuse to acknowledge that deep within her beating heart, something critical was being refused. And with every in take of breath Hermione know that something is missing. And that something is not neatly stacked on the shelves of a library somewhere, or stored in a jar in the potion closet. Nor can it be found by endless working and researching, there was just no certainty. And by indulging herself in work, she is not constantly reminded of the void in her heart, or other complexities within the world. Complexities without absolute answers, like the depth of the human heart, or abstraction of feelings, to simply put it, those things; the uncertainties scared her.
"It's probably nothing, I… it's just I've been too tired from the late night readings-
Guilt started to rush in; there were no words to sooth the feeling inside her heart. She knew that Ginny was just worried about her but there was no possible way to answer Ginny's question truthfully without exposing the side of herself that no one but her knows. Hermione did consider telling Ginny about her, but she was sure the quick tempered redhead would either be offended or be convinced that there was something incurably wrong with her, either way the friendship would be disturbed.
She shielded her face with her fingers, and her thumbs rubbing her temples, trying to rid herself of a major headache. "It's nothing really, I'm just tired." Hermione managed to choke out again, this time raising her voice above a whisper.
And after a brief second of confirmation, she decided that Ginny had let the topic go, temporarily at least. She silently thanked Merlin- her headache receded. She lifted her head up and the Gryffindor table was red, yellow, and cheery as usual. Just the way it should be.
Out of nowhere, Hermione felt a light pressure being applied on her, almost like a usual tap on the shoulder, but whom ever wished to grab her attention was careful with their touch, for the tap was feather light, and everything but insensitive. But almost immediately, as if seeing something extraordinary miracle had happened right on her shoulder. The whole Gryffindor table's loud chatters hushed into below a whisper. Like a group of pack oriented animals looking out for predatory danger, they watched Hermione with caution.
"What?" Hermione asked eyeing everyone around her, she was sure it couldn't be her that caused the amazement. But the Gryffindor table gave no reply. She looked at Ron who was facing her; his eyes stared directly at her direction but not at her.
Sneakily from behind came the soft sound of someone clearing their throat, followed quickly by a voice too distinct to not be remembered. Hermione felt a steady increase of body heat as the person inched closer to where she was sitting. Her mind automatically went into defensive mode and came up with countless possibilities on why she was here, yet none of her assumptions sounded very logical in her brain. If she was retaliating – like she promised she will, she would've done it long before, there were plenty of time to do so between this morning and the feast. But then again, what if her previous assumption was right and she really smiled back at Hermione. Could it possibly be that the French witch was bipolar and forgotten to take her medications?
"Pardon Moi," Fleur delivered politely to those of the Gryffindor table. "Don't mind me," she added, hinting that they should just resume to their conversation as if she was not there at all. But the Gryffindors just stared at her, though in two very different manners. The male population gazed at her with deep longing, ready to give a hand or heart to Fleur if she asked, while the female population eyed her with suspicion and envy. All Fleur could think was the irony of the situation, she found herself sympathizing with the girls – if she had a choice she wouldn't want to be here either. She was forced to attempt this by Madam Maxime's good will, to go behind enemy lines and trick any information she could out of Hermione about the tournament, but given if she had the choice she would happily run the other direction than to be this close to the girl who desperately needed beautification charms. It wasn't because that Fleur disliked Hermione, despite the minor resentment Fleur still held from this morning, the brunette was insensitive enough to not to give her a sincere apology, but that could all be resolved by some sort of light hearted revenge that Fleur could sought out after. But this, 'mission' assigned by her headmistress evoked a feeling of bad omen that stirred. No matter how she justified it, it just didn't seem right. But standing there inches away from Hermione, she could feel Madam Maxime's eyes on her, there was no turning back. Fleur pushed that thought away and wasted no time to continue.
"Mademoiselle Granger may I speak with you?" Fleur inputted casually, but one could hear from her voice full of pride and confidence, it was a polite statement of request and not a suggestion.
Upon announcing her intentions verbally, the Gryffindor table boys, Ron and Harry included, gasped, and their eyes planted on Hermione in disbelief. All of them wondering what Fleur could possibly want with her. While the Gryffindor girls, Ginny included studied the two carefully, their eyes travelled from Fleur to Hermione and back from Hermione to Fleur. As if trying to find any sort of a faint connection that was possibly between them. When the Gryffindor girls failed to detect anything out of the ordinary, they simply turned their attention back to themselves and their mindless chatters. However, Ginny watched on, prying the situation in hopes of finding something between her best friend and this foreign girl.
Hermione almost choked upon hearing Fleur's stated intentions, and almost choked again upon hearing Ron's pathetic attempt in the art of conversation.
"Um, I could talk ya, and show you around…" Ron mumbled then trailed off.
But Fleur only giggled, "Merci Monsieur for your offer, but I only need to speak with 'Ermione."
She wants to talk…only to me?
Oh could my day get better? First interrogated by Ginny, now I have to deal with this bipolar snob.
"What is there to talk about?" Hermione replied icily, not even bothering with turning to look at Fleur. It was one thing that there was obviously nothing to talk about with the French witch, another that Hermione's headache was back in full force, but this time it feels it worsened by tenfold. She could feel the veins on her forehead drumming against her skull.
For the second time that day, the Delacour's ego and pride was blatantly insulted. Enraged, Fleur considered storming off somewhere and curse Hermione to oblivion, but she was a woman on a mission, determined to win. And the British's witch's hostile attitude was helping Fleur to feel less guilty about what she was actually doing.
Consider this as revenge.
Fleur narrowed her eyes and tried again. This time she lowered herself to Hermione's seated level, her face inches away from Hermione's making the conversation only audible to them.
"'Ermione, I know there 'as been some miscommunication between you and me, but I was 'oping if I could talk to you," Fleur whispered softly into Hermione's ear, "in private."
Hermione's body stiffened as her personal comfort zone was invaded by Fleur.
Merlins, is there NO end to this?
Hermione thought her headache was bad. But headache plus someone who just won't leave you alone is just lethal - Hermione decided there was probably no end to this Fleur annoyance if she did not put an end to it.
Finally, she turned to face Fleur. "Alright, let's hear what you have to say."
A secretive smirk appeared on the French witch's face as she waited for Hermione.
Ginny's hand grasped onto Hermione's wrist tightly.
"I won't be long," Hermione told Ginny.
"It's not that," said Ginny sternly. "Be careful," She said to Hermione seriously. "I don't trust that girl."
Hermione wanted to say that she didn't either, for she still hasn't figured out what Fleur wanted. But since the other girl was standing there, just a few feet away any statement of the sort was diminished into a reassuring smile to Ginny before getting up and following Fleur out of the Great Hall.
"Nothing I can't handle," Hermione breathed out lightly.
…
The entire walk from the castle to outside corridor was done in silence, which rather confused Hermione. The other girl said she had wanted to 'talk', and by talking she had expected some sort of word exchange, in English, or in this case. Hermione would speak in English, and Fleur would respond in some sort of fragmented English laced with a heavy French accent.
Yet there was not a single sound, or as Hermione observed a single sign of the French girl stopping somewhere any time soon. But Hermione didn't mind, the cool autumn wind was acting as a temporary remedy for her throbbing headache. She had felt immediately better after stepping out of the overheated Great Hall, and into the deserted night. Under the moonlight the heatless autumn wind blew, and Fleur's hair shimmered in the moonlight like silver silk strands. Somehow they allured Hermione to keep her mouth shut and keep trailing behind the girl.
Before she knew it, they had left the castle grounds all together and was situated somewhere near the forest. Fleur sure had redefined the word of 'privacy' by choosing an extremely secluded corner in the middle of nowhere.
But as her mind cleared and the situation became apparent, that she, Hermione Granger, was standing but a few feet from Fleur Delacour, not mentioning alone, made her want to turn back right now or at least stop walking. This time, at night, in the middle of nowhere was beginning to feel like a very bad idea. She rethought the whole situation again, Fleur had clearly said she had something to say to her but so far the trip had been silent, so she assumed the conversation would include some secretive exchange that was only appropriate to the both of them. Possibly regarding to what happened this afternoon.
Hermione stopped all together, "I think this is far enough from the castle, if you got something to say then shoot, I'm not walking all the way to France," she stated.
Fleur couldn't help but smirk at her remark. She knew Hermione was being sarcastic but she couldn't help being amused. "Who said I'm taking you to France," she thought.
"Alright zen, I guess no one would be 'ere," Fleur paused. "I brought you here to tell you…"
Hermione tried to focus her attention on what Fleur was saying but it was either Fleur's English was so bad that she couldn't understand any word that came out of her mouth or there was something wrong with her head. She picked up something about "truce" and "agreed?" but up to that point Hermione's head began to spin. Her vision was hazy and it seemed Fleur had successfully divided herself into two then doubled herself into four. The world in her eyes contorted into swirls. She closed her eyes, but it didn't help. Her head hurts and she had a feeling she was going to faint any second.
"'Ermione what do you think?"
"Damn it," Hermione groaned holding her head.
"Where you even listening?" Fleur was loosing her temper. She had it, this girl was impossible. This mission was impossible. She was sure she could win the tri-Wizard tournament without this girl's help. Madam Maxime should've had more confidences in her abilities. "Fine, you silly girl, zis will be ze last time I'll ever talk to you." Fleur turned to leave, but behind her there was a loud thud.
"What iz that silly girl up to now?" Fleur thought outloud. She turned and in the dimmed moonlight, Hermione was nowhere to be found. "Mon Dieu! Where did she go?"
Without another thought, Fleur rushed over to where Hermione was standing just a second ago and found the girl lying on the ground unconscious.
"'Ermione don't try to scare me, I don't buy it." She stared at the girl on the ground. The truth was Fleur was getting a little freaked out by this, the fact that Hermione was on the ground and her face pale as the moonlight.
"'Ermione," Fleur called out again.
But after a few second of calling out Hermione's name, the other girl failed to respond Fleur grew scared and suspected that there was actually something wrong. Without wasting another second on the clock, Fleur rushed to her side. She planted two fingers on the girl's neck and felt for a pulse. But as soon as she touched Hermione, she noted that the girl was burning up from what it seemed to be a very high fever.
"Oh shit," exclaimed Fleur. They were at least a good half an hour away from the castle, half an hour that's way too long. And she couldn't leave Hermione in the middle of nowhere while she ran back to get help. And getting help was out of the question, the Gryffindors already thought she was suspicious. If she brought back an unconscious Hermione they would probably point the finger at her for poisoning, hexing, or trying to kill the poor girl. What to do…
Fleur eyed her surroundings. Suddenly out of the corner of her eyes spotted a giant hut.
OF COURSE!
Hagrid's hut. How could she be so stupid? The Beauxbatons carriage was parked within ten minutes of Hagrid's hut. And the simple explanation for even walking this way was it was the only way she knew how to get in and out of the castle.
She turned to the unconscious Hermione on the grass, and placed her awkwardly on her own shoulders, and thought about attempting to piggyback Hermione like she had done with Gabrielle a dozen of times, however, those where under the conditions that Gabrielle was conscious.
Obviously not going to work here, only another way to approach this, Fleur only hoped that her arms were strong enough. Sure she had trained for the Tri-Wizard tournament but that was more of physical endurance and not weight training. Either way, without another hesitant thought, Fleur slid one arm under Hermione to support her upper body helping her into a sitting position, while the other arm started to lift her legs.
Un, deux, trois…
Hermione was lifted from the ground and into the arms of Fleur. Fleur looked down at Hermione, "'ang in there!"
Through the dead of night only the owls cooed occasionally, the dim moonlight lit the way for the part quarter-veela. By the time she got to the carriage and said the password, her arms were in the breaking point from strain of carrying Hermione. Ignoring the pain, Fleur rushed Hermione through the halls of the carriage and straight into her room and placed the unconsciously girl carefully on her bed. The white sheets rippled as Hermione was placed on the mattress. Fleur placed a hand on her forehead, the fever was still there.
"Damn it," She swore. She looked at Hermione, her blue eyes filled with pain and worry, she was clueless to what made Hermione sick, and was even more clueless to how to treat it.
"Noo, 'Ermione don't diee!" Fleur panicked. "Just wake up and I promise I won't strike revenge on you or ever hurt you and I forgive you for accidentally cutting off a piece of my hair, just don't die on me." Fleur pleaded in French, not even caring if the girl could understand or not. It was rather a verbal reimbursement for herself to stop panicking and start thinking.
Then it hit her, she could contact her personal physician in France and have him Apparate here in no time. She reached for her wand and opened up a communication portal to Monsieur Faucet – the doctor.
Within seconds several knocks could be heard coming from the front entrance of the carriage - a well dressed man in his late fifties was speedily called in.
"I'm so sorry to call you out this late but ma ami she's very sick."
"No need to apologize Mademoiselle Delacour, I'm a doctor – saving lives is my duty."
Fleur showed him to where Hermione was laying. The Doctor immediately got to work, leaving a fretted Fleur in a corner of the room watching.
"Did she drink or eat something out of the ordinary?"
"No, not that I can remember," She replied worried that the Doctor might not find out what's wrong with her.
"Okay that rules out of food poisoning. How about exposure to the cold,"
"Not that I know of…" Fleur's mind jogged memories of scenes where Hermione and her were fighting. "But…um…I think she might have," feeling guilty now for stealing the girl's scarf.
After some careful and detailed examination, with a reassuring smile the Doctor gave the diagnosis.
"It appears that she caught a nasty case of what Muggles would call a common Cold. Yes, it would appear so, but the case is worsened due to sleep debt and imbalanced diet, plus sudden exposure to cold, which made the immune system weak and the little nasty bug an easy chance to attack." The doctor continued to explain to Fleur, "I already administered some medication she should be better the next morning. And I shall be taking off." With that he disappeared with a pop, leaving Fleur alone with Hermione.
Fleur grabbed a chair and sat down beside Hermione, the younger girl was resting soundly. Fleur checked her temperature again, the fever receded, and her face had returned to a natural shade of pink. Fleur rested her chin on the edge of her bed, eyes still watching Hermione.
This was going to be a long night.
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AN: I think I'm kind of obsessed with House haha…gotta have a HP-verse medical emergency, wizards/witches do get sick too you know!