—Fleur de Saison—
Author: Champion's are announced. Tension's run high. Hermione begins to question things, and Harry is upset with Ron. Fleur just wants to be close to her destined one, but expectations are damaging things for her and Hermione's developing relationship.
Hermione/Fleur. Sum — Life was hectic. Voldemort was lurking around the proverbial corner and the Triwizard Tournament was making everyone crazy. Hermione just wanted to get through the year alive; not fall in love with the beautiful Fleur Delacour, who she had thought she would never see again.
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#—We Are The Champions: Chapter 5
To say Fleur and Gabrielle's unexpected appearance at Hogwarts had been a surprise to Hermione would be a colossal understatement. It had been as though the oxygen had rushed abruptly from her lungs, leaving her light headed and confused to what exactly was going on. Then, just as suddenly; excitement and a sort of relief had washed over her—and she had then been abruptly embracing the older, French witch with everything she had—not very mindful of the younger Delacour still fixed to her waist.
Numerous eyes had been resolutely locked on the odd trio. Whispers behind hands, lingering glances and sneers, frowns and the odd perverted leer. Hermione's kept her faux-oblivious façade as she dragged the Delacour sisters down the aisle, ignoring the quizzical, bewildered glances she had been receiving from the Weasley's and Harry.
It had been a few weeks since she had last had contact with Fleur—having foolishly left her cellphone charger at the Weasley's, and lacking any other form of communication, it had been a mute point; also, there seemed to be no electrical plugs in Hogwarts whatsoever. Plus, the brunette had been hard pressed to find much time to herself, anyway.
What with the school year just beginning, coupled with Ron and Harry's shenanigans, and Mad-Eye Moody's rather controversial teaching methods and punishment (ferret Malfoy, sprung to mind—to Hermione's amusement). She had also been consumed with the S.P.E.W badges she had been creating and selling—unsuccessfully—along with the hats and gloves she had been attempting to knit for the house-elves. And, not to forget, there was the matter Harry's stinging scar, and Sirus wanting to come back that had been bothering her since Harry mentioned it.
Fleur, however, for some unknown reason, had been stubbornly plaguing her mind over that time. Hermione had even, on a few separate occasions, pondered throwing caution to the wind and writing to the other girl by owl—but the fact that she would somehow have to explain how she taught to owl to fly across the channel and all the way to France quickly dissuaded her from proceeding with it.
Even though Fleur was a witch and she was currently at Hogwarts, Hermione couldn't help but feel as though the other girl seemed more distant, unobtainable; aloof, than she had been in France. They weren't on equal footing any more. Hermione was the bookish, bossy little fourth-year, recognised for her intelligence and relationship with the Boy-Who-Lived, while Fleur was a gorgeous, older, exchange student that Hermione had noticed seemed to garner more attention than most, merely by walking into the room.
It had been only a day since their abrupt, unusual reunion—and since then the French witch had already gained notable group of admirer's, which that seemed to grow even lager every day—again, much to Hermione's chagrin, even if she didn't know why she hated they way boys eye's lingered on Fleur's skin, or her legs in those short, blue skirts; showing just enough skin to tease the senses—
Pinching the skin of her forearm through her thin, black robes, Hermione tried to concentrate on the book she was currently trying to read. Presently, she was sitting nonchalantly on the stands that had been erected in the Great Hall, where most student's had been spending their lunch breaks watching the Goblet of Fire, most cheering when someone managed to gather up the courage to enter.
Harry and Ron were sitting either side of her, the latter sitting on the edge of his seat; looking as though he would throw caution to the wind and ignore Dumbledore's age line and enter his name anyway, at any moment. Harry, to Hermione's relief, didn't appear to be as obsessed as Ron was with the Triwizard Tournament, but it was surely close. Honestly, Hermione was rather thankful Dumbledore had imposed the age restriction. She didn't think she could handle it if either one of them ended up being a Champion.
The room abruptly went silent, and Hermione looked up curiously from her Arithmancy text book only to find her own mouth gaping open; much like the rest of the Great Hall's occupants. Fleur was standing there, in her usual Beauxbaton school uniform. By her side was an anxious and excited looking Gabrielle. Behind the taller of the two was a line of similarly dressed students, both male and female.
A scowl replaced Hermione's stunned expression, when her eyes caught sight of a delicately folded peice of paper in Fleur's left hand. Standing, Hermione slammed the book she had been reading down on to the bench and stalked over to a too-calm Fleur, who seemed to tense just slightly as Hermione became increasingly closer.
"Fleur," she hissed, grabbing the older girls arm and pulling her slightly out of sight of prying eyes and out of the range of eavesdroppers—really, she was getting fed up with the constant watching, that everyone seemed to do when she even so much as breathed Fleur's name. "What do you think your doing? Do you have any idea how dangerous this tournament is? You could die!"
"Of course I do." Fleur answered back, a soft frown tugging insistently at her lips. "But I must at least enter. It was the whole purpose of me coming here. I 'ave no doubt Madame Maxime expects me to get chosen, and most likely 'ez assuming I will win." The explanation didn't at all set Hermione at ease.
"That's the stupidest reason for entering I've ever had the displeasure of hearing," Hermione shook her head, scowling with a mix of irritation and concern. "Fleur, you can't take part in such a dangerous game just for expectations! You might not even come out of it alive." she tried to quell the trembling in her voice, but to no avail.
The French-girl look pained as she shook her head. "I 'ave no choice, mon coeur. I must enter." and without hesitation, Fleur stepped past Hermione and walked briskly over to the fiery Goblet, gracefully throwing her parchment into the blue flames. Applause, cheers and various wolf-whistles broke out amongst the crowd, but Hermione merely shook her head, grabbed her Arithmancy book and stomped from the room.
Though, not before she sent Fleur a furious glare, conveying the utter disappointment and disbelief she felt at the tall, azure-eyed witches actions.
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Hermione pretended not to have noticed the weary looks she was being shot from her friends as she stabbed angrily at her meal—yes, she had come to the conclusion that not eating wouldn't stop the house-elves slave labour, much to Ron's mirth—it had been twenty four hours since the Goblet of Fire had been announced as the 'impartial judge', and tonight was the night that the Champion's would finally be selected. Hermione, naturally wasn't in a good mood, and the fact that Fleur was recklessly endangering herself for no discernible reason, added to her no-so-pent up anger.
Diligently, she continued to glower down at the French cuisine on her plate, ignoring the bright blue eyes across the room that were persistently trying to catch her own. Hemione was still much to furious to even think of speaking to Fleur right now. She just couldn't understand how the older girl could be so foolish as to enter into such a perilous competition—it was driving her mad!
Hermione's attention was abruptly switched from her plate to Dumbledore when the wizened, older wizard began speaking. Crouch and Bagman where occupying the staff table, like they had been for the past few days. In front of them all, standing proudly was the Goblet of Fire. It seemed, as Dumbledore called the Hall to attention, that every single person held their breath in anticipation.
"Well, the Goblet is almost ready to make its decision," said Dumbledore. "I estimate that it requires one more minute. Now, when the champions' names are called, I would ask them please to come up to the top of the Hall, walk along the staff table, and go through into the next chamber," he indicated the door behind the staff table ". . . where they will be receiving their first instructions."
With a great, almost melodramatic—in Hermione's opinion—sweep of his arm, all the candles except the ones in the carved pumpkins all snuffed out instantaneously, leaving everyone shrouded in semi-darkness. A few, silent seconds ticked by and then suddenly the flames turned a violent red, sparks flying from the large Goblet. A tongue of flame shot from the enchanted object; and a charred piece of parchment fluttered down, and straight into Dumbledore's hands.
Hermione's whole body felt taught as the headmaster took a breath to prepare himself to speak. "The Champion for Durmstrang will be. . ." a pause, "Viktor Krum!"
"No surprises there!" yelled Ron as a storm of applause and cheering swept the Hall. Hermione rolled her eyes at him, and watched idly as Viktor Krum rose from the Slytherin table and slouched up toward Dumbledore; he turned right, walked along the staff table, and then disappeared through the door into the next chamber.
The headmaster of Durmstrang; Kakaroff, gave a booming, smug congratulations that was so loud, it could even be heard over all the applause. The clapping soon died down, and once again everyone focused their attention back on the Goblet, which turned red seconds later. Hermione, once again, felt her whole body go taut, and her stomach began to churn uncomfortably.
A second piece of paper shot from the Goblet, "The Champion for Beauxbatons," Hermione felt like something was trembling inside her chest—making it even more difficult to breathe. ". . . is Fleur Delacour!"
Hermione couldn't even gasp as she found her eyes locked on Fleur; who with grace, stood from her seat at the Ravenclaw table and walked—floated—towards the chambers, just like Krum had. However, just before she entered; azure-eyes met Hermione's panicked hazel. The moment seemed to last forever, but was only really a matter of seconds, and soon enough Fleur exited the room completely.
The loud sound of her blood rushing in her ears was only penetrated by the sound of loud enthusiastic applause and cheers. Hermione mechanically joined with the clapping, and with the way Cedric walked into the same chamber as Fleur, deducted he had been the one chosen to be Hogwarts Champions. Opposite her, she could hear Ron muttering 'stupid, git of a pretty boy' under his breath—yet, she couldn't bring herself to reprimand him, or even deliver a scolding glance.
Unfortunately for Hermione, she suffered another shock when Harry's name was called.
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"Honestly, Harry. . ." Hermione's wild-hair swayed as she shook her head side to side in exasperation. "You shouldn't try to ponder the ways of Ronald's twisted, knut-sized mind. He's being a git, and I bet he knows that—but is just too proud to admit it. Give him time, he'll eventually get over himself."
"Yeah, I agree he's being a real prat. But that doesn't change the fact I'm angry at him." Harry clenched his fist and glared down at the library table before him. "I mean, I can see why he would be jealous, but I didn't ask for this. He's supposed to be my best mate." the green-eyed boy looked slightly lost. "Isn't he supposed to support me when things like this happen?"
"Tch," Hermione scoffed, grinning just slightly. "Since when had Ron ever done something he's supposed to? You are both best friends, alright? Don't let some silly misunderstanding ruin that for you."
"Like you would know, Hermione." Harry retorted sharply, "You're having some best friend troubles of your own aren't you? You and that Veela girl." he paused, scowling. "When were you going to tell us about her anyway? You didn't even introduce me to her, and guessing by how delighted you were to see her when Beauxbaton's arrived, it seems like you two are pretty close, or were close, I should say."
"Don't take out your anger with Ron on me, Harry." Hermione glared at him, irritably snapping the book she had been flicking through shut; with a loud clap. "I haven't told you about her because I knew exactly how Ron would react. He would have demanded to see proof, and when he did, moon over her like the over hormonal teenage boy he is. And for the last time," she gritted out, "Fleur is not a Veela."
"Yeah, he's a bloody moron is what he is." Hermione rolled her eyes at the sulky, immature response; getting irritated at the way Harry completely ignored what she had actually said.
"You are both as bad as each other!" she stood from the study table with a flourish, ignoring the glower she was being shot by the librarian. "I'm not speaking to either of you until you both grow up a little and act your age."
"That's rich, coming from you!" she heard Harry call after her, as the librarian changed the direction of her death glare to him. Hermione felt her rage mounting higher at his next words. "Why don't your take your own advice for once and stop being such a hypocrite!"
"SHH!" Mrs. Pince hissed at them, still scowling from behind her counter.
Hermione ignored the aged librarian's warning. "Shut up! It's a completely different situation!" she yelled back at him, furious expression on her face as she whipped around and stormed out of the library doors; only to walk straight into the rather shocked, topic of their conversation.
"Uh," she stuttered, expression flickering between once of concern and forced disinterest. "Are you okay?" Hermione half-reluctantly held out a hand for the French Champion, and helped the lithe female to her feet.
"Bien, merci." Fleur muttered, gazing right into her eyes, while brushing imaginary lint from her silk, blue Beauxbaton's uniform. "I 'appened to be just looking for you 'Ermione, it is fortunate I ran into you," she chuckled, a husky note to the sound; sending shivers down Hermione's spine, for reason's unknown to herself. ". . . no pun intended." (Fine, thanks)
Goosebumps rising on the skin of her arms, Hermione hesitated for a moment before shaking her head in the negative. "I'm still mad at you Fleur," she brushed past the older girl, who was sporting a crestfallen expression. The younger witch faltered slightly, giving a sigh. ". . . but I'll come around eventually, okay? I just need some time to think."
". . . Oui," Fleur conceded, swallowing. "I will wait for you, 'Ermione. Not matter 'ow long. I assure you, I will always be here."
Hermione didn't look back as she continued to walk, and even though she had heard what the azure-eyed girl had said—she still missed the hidden meaning within Fleur's words. After navigating through the hallways, still angry and confused; Hermione ended up climbing the spiral staircase leading to the astronomy tower. After a rather long, drawn out contemplation of the odd feelings she was developing for the blonde Beauxbaton, she came to a conclusion; one she wasn't pleased to accept.
She liked Fleur, more than a friend. Not enough to be love, but it was more than she had felt for any one else; and that was what frightened her the most.
It wasn't easy coming to terms with the fact you were homosexual, Hermione mused, as she continued to gaze out over the vast, beautiful grounds of Hogwarts. For some reason, though, the fact that she was a lesbian didn't come as too much of a surprise. Hermione had never really found herself that attracted to any boys, nor was she really interested in gossiping about them. She just hoped the realisation of her affections wouldn't damage her and Fleur's relationship more than her harsh behaviour had done already.
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Note: Hmm, Hermione is finally figuring it out. I hope the way I'm portraying her emotion's well. I don't believe I'm too good with it, but I guess practice makes perfect, eh? I hope no one is too peeved about the Hermione-Harry argument—but I think that's pretty in-cannon. I mean, Harry has a tendency to snap at his friends when he is confused about something or under emotional stress. Plus, Hermione is beginning to realize her like for Fleur, so she would be rather frustrated and feeling pretty unbalanced as well—not a good combination. Ron? We will see more him later, along with Ginny.
Oh, about the conversations in French—I'm still not sure what to do about that, as I'm reluctant to take it out and change it all around. (School, work; I don't have much time for editing on my fics, really.) Plus, I honestly find it to be a beautiful language—but I can see why it would be rather bothersome for people who don't understand a word of it. Just tell me in review's what you would rather me do about it.
A) Have all French conversations like this: "Hello, how are you?"
B) Keep it the same.
C) Something other. (Suggestions?)
Anyway. Review, yes?