Fleur walked around the dungeon, offering advice and comments as the students attempted to make the euphoria inducing elixir. So far none of the students had been able to able to produce the sunshine yellow elixir and she found herself wincing as she saw one student hacking at a shrivelfig, almost losing a finger in the process. She was exhausted due to a terrible morning so far, one of her older students had brewed a hiccoughing solution so strong that a few of her students had ended up going to the infirmary to be cured and the dungeon was emanating a terrible smell as two of her first year students had ignored instructions on how to make a boil cure potion and ended up melting their cauldrons, getting the potion all over themselves which instantly caused their skin to erupt in boils and they also had had to be admitted into the infirmary. She shuddered to think what words Madame Pomfrey would have for her later on. And she was still meant to be meeting Hermione to discuss the Christmas ball, although she wasn't sure if that was still going to happen as she hadn't seen Hermione since the incident at the Three Broomsticks.

"Professor Delacour?" Fleur turned at the voice, spotting a young student at the doorway.

"Oui?" The young boy turned bright red at being spoken to directly, and Fleur bit her lip trying not to smile.

"I...I...I haveanoteforyou," he rushed, thrusting a folded piece of parchment at her and rushing off. She glanced at the front of the parchment and her heart leapt at the sight of Hermione's small, neat handwriting. Maybe she's changed her mind about working on the ball. With me. The memory of Ron's hand against Hermione's face flashed through her mind and she felt her heart constrict, clenching her jaw in frustration, before reading the note.

Fleur,

We have to work together. Truce?

H

She called me Fleur. The potions professor turned away from her students and went into the storeroom to take a moment to reign in her thoughts. The pungent smell of her herbs and other ingredients filled her nostrils, the wooden shelves rough against her fingers. Maybe Hermione extended the olive branch because of work. Maybe it was because she was back with Ron and didn't want any trouble. She rested her head against a cool glass bottle, taking in a deep breath. She didn't want to fight anymore, every painful encounter with Hermione was taking a greater toll than the last. As long as she's happy, then that will be enough. It doesn't matter who it's with. She stood upright, smoothed out her long hair and went out to reply to the note.

Hermione scanned the classroom, satisfied that all her students were busy practicing their hexes. For some reason the single word on the parchment that had just been delivered to her seemed so wistful, but she didn't doubt for a moment she was projecting her own feelings. She ran her finger over the elegant, flowing letters.

Truce

The young teachers were both overwhelmingly aware of each other, every look, every gesture, every word. It was awkward. However, the part Veela utilised every aspect of social training she had ever had, and with Hermione filling in any gaps of silence with more polite chat, they slowly became accustomed to each other as they walked towards the staff room together.

"Professor Granger, I need to speak to you!" shouted a young Gryffindor, causing the professors to turn.

"Is everything alright Clarice? You know you're not allowed to run in the corridors."

"It's Charlotte professor, some of the Slytherins were teasing her earlier about her lisp and now she's locked herself in the girl's toilets and won't come out. Can you come talk to her please, she'll listen to you."

"Of course. You go to your class, I'll go speak to her. Is it the girl's bathroom on the first floor?"

"Yeah, she's locked herself in the cubicle furthest away from the door."

"Ok, thanks. Now off you go to class please." Hermione watched the girl scamper off, sighing at being reminded acutely of her own days as a first year student.

"Fleur-"

"We can do this another time if you want."

"No, we have to get started. I've left the stuff in my chambers anyway, do you mind waiting there for me? It's behind the painting of the writer." The Frenchwoman was rather taken aback.

"Non, although you may 'ave to erm...give me your password. I can just wait outside if you'd prefer of course," she rushed.

"It's fine. It's gummi bear." Fleur raised a slender eyebrow, a hint of a smile playing on her face.

"It's a-"

"A muggle sweet. Oui, I am rather keen on them myself, particularly the white and green ones," the Frenchwoman grinned, enjoying the look of surprise on Hermione's face. Hermione opened her mouth as if to say something, before closing her mouth, grinning.

Hermione's quarters were a surprise to Fleur, she'd never imagined them to be so warm, always imagining the brunette living areas to be spartan. Instead, whilst the room was still simply decorated, dreamy watercolours drew the eyes to the walls, large squishy cushions and warm throws bringing splashes of pastel colours to the room. And inevitably there was a large mahogany bookcase which failed to contain its contents adequately, books piled up on top of one another reflecting the books piled high on the matching desk next to it. Glancing at the titles of the books, she was surprised to find that they were not organised meticulously, but rather arranged haphazardly, fiction rubbing spines with non-fiction, magical texts crushed next to what she assumed to be muggle books. The door which led to the bedroom was ajar, but Fleur fought her curiosity to take a peek, turning away from it to try and ignore the temptation.

Fleur was stood holding a muggle photograph of Hermione in her late teens, in the middle of two elegant, older people who she assumed were her parents. It was strange to Fleur to see all the people in the photograph so stationary, but it was beautiful photo nevertheless, all of them captured laughing together, Hermione's arms casually draped around her parents' waists.

"It was a perfect day that day." Fleur started at the sound of Hermione's low voice, turning to see the brown eyes fixed on the photograph. "I gave myself one day to let them take away my worries, to live in the world where Voldemort wasn't a threat they knew. We went walking in the woods, we ate a picnic near a beautiful trout stream and watched wild deer and in the evening we sat around a log burner and drank hot chocolate. We all laughed so much that day."

"Je suis désolée, I didn't mean to…" Fleur went to place the photograph back on top of the fireplace mantle.

"It's ok, it's been a while since I thought about that day," Hermione smiled gently.

"I'm sorry for your loss," her eyes full of sympathy. A puzzled look crossed Hermione's face, before she gave a short humourless laugh.

"My parents, they aren't…they're still alive, they're fine."

"But ze expression on your face, I thought…je ne comprends pas."

"The day after that photograph was taken, I removed myself from my parent's memories, to try and keep them safe from Voldemort. It's just hard to think that less than twelve hours after that perfect day, I had to do the hardest thing I have ever done."

"But you restored zere memories after, non?"

"Yes, but once I explained what had happened…I think I frightened them. " It pained Fleur to watch Hermione's expressions, the strained smile.

"But surely once zey knew about ze war…"

"My parents are both muggles. They don't read the Daily Prophet, they know very little of the magic world. They never saw any magic as I was underage, they just saw lots of books and strange equipment. To them, going to Diagon Alley was like being in a foreign market, albeit stranger, people in different types of clothes, goods that they didn't recognise, but I don't think they ever really knew how much magic could achieve. The most different thing they ever saw were the goblins at Gringotts, that was it. In the muggle world there was no impending war. They didn't know how dangerous it was becoming for them as muggles. As the parents of a witch. A witch associated with Harry Potter at that. All they knew was that for one year they hadn't been themselves. They had moved, lived under different names, lost all memories of their only child and they hadn't realised it. And all of it was done without their understanding or consent. They tried to understand, and they've never blamed me for anything. But how do you understand something you never saw or heard about from anyone else? I frighten them and I don't know how to change that!" Hermione's fists were balled up by her side as the frustration poured out of her, her back ramrod straight. And then something shifted in her, as she shrugged, her eyes pleading helplessness,

"But we're trying. We're trying to rebuild our family." And Fleur felt the abject despair in those words break her heart.

Hermione regretted telling her, but she had been unable to stop herself, the words had just flowed out of her mouth ceaselessly. She had never even told Harry how she had felt about that. She felt Fleur's hand on her shoulder in sympathy, but was unable to stop herself jerking away from the touch, trying to cover up by pretending to look for her notes which lay in full view on her desk. Both of them knew she wasn't fooling anybody.

"Here they are. I was thinking whether or not we should have a theme or some kind, or a colour theme, what do you think?" Hermione's voice was brisk and business like as she looked at her papers, avoiding eye contact. Fleur watched the brunette fiddle with her quill for a moment before taking a deep breath and reaching into her bag for her own notes.