A/N: I would like to thank all the readers of this simple fic. The reviews and comments were very nice, and it was great to receive any kind of appreciation for a first trial. To the ones that marked this as a favorite or asked to receive alerts on future updates, I hope to make it worth your while.

Chapter 2.

On a late Tuesday, you hurry back to the library to continue your on-going research for the latest Potions essay, due the following day. You're shocked to see that it's packed full of people.

Probably the professors have handed out a lot of homework or tests are weighting down on the consciences of the students. It's hard to find an empty table among the ones you had already chosen as your favorites. All taken.

You finally find a good place to study farther away from the hustle and bustle, close to a window and rather hidden by many large book shelves. It will do. You collect the books you need, organize them in a large pile in front of you, spread out your things on the table and get to work.

You're so focused on the task at hand that you barely notice when someone stands close to the table and talks to you. The harsh scratching noise of your quill racing across parchment is all your mind registers, until you feel a soft tap on your right shoulder and you're surprised to meet quizzical brown eyes framed by dark curly hair.

"Je suis désolée," you mumble with wide eyes. "Hmm... 'Ello! You said something to me?"

She nods and keeps her voice low, "Hello, Fleur. I asked if I could sit at this end of your table. I see that you're really into what you're doing and I didn't mean to disturb you. Unfortunately, I can't find anywhere else to sit. Do you mind?"

"Oh! Non, I do not mind... Please, it is alright. Should I move my zings?" you offer politely.

"No, thanks. There's enough room for me as it is. I don't need much," she replies and takes the seat opposite from you, pulling books and parchment from her rucksack to promptly get started.

You silently watch as she settles in, then your glance drifts sideways and you spot her two friends in the distance. Harry and Ronald are sitting at a large table close to the entrance of the library. Large enough for her to have stayed there.

That's unexpected. You wonder if something has happened between them.

You look back at her and she realizes you've seen them. To make her comfortable, you give her a small smile and avoid bringing it up, making instead a short question about something else,

pointing at the books and rolls of parchment in front of her, "Exam?"

"Yes. Charms. And you?" she counters.

"Potions. 'Uuuge essay," you state, stretching the word a little for emphasis, all too aware that it must sound a little funny with your intense accent.

She smiles, nodding in understanding and starts to go through her books.

You try to get back to what you were doing as well, when a delicate scent fills the gap between you. Looking up, you notice that her hair is damp. This soft pine essence must be her shampoo, then. It is distracting and you strain yourself to try and concentrate, without much success. However, pleasant as it is to dwell on the moment and enjoy this closeness, the deadline for the essay really is tomorrow and Professor Snape has a reputation for being anything but forgiving. You snap back to reality, shake your head and coax your brain into action once again.

For the next hours, your quill runs impatiently through scrolls of parchment and her finger turns page after page of that book of spells. On occasion, either one of you lifts the gaze from what you're doing and looks around for a short distraction. Pointedly, your eyes never connect with hers.

As time goes by, you observe that a few students begin to leave. Taking a small break, you excuse yourself to go to the ladies' room, then refresh your parched throat and return with a small cup of water for her. She mouths a 'thank you' in silence and drinks it in small sips.

You return to your research until it's nearly eight o'clock and Madam Pince gets ready to close the library for the day. Hermione gives up on studying and picks up the rucksack, turning to settle her eyes on you, "I think we should go, Fleur. Are you done with your essay, yet?"

You scribble a last sentence, put down your quill and breathe out in relief, "Oui, all done now." Taking a look around, you notice someone staring back and you add, "You can go ahead, 'Ermione. I need a few moments to pack my zings and put ze books back where zey belong."

"Why don't you get your things ready? I can help you with the books," she replies.

You take another look at the other table and you know you are not imagining things, so you press on, "'Ermione, zank you, but zat will not be necessary. I can do zis on my own. Besides, I zink someone is wanting to talk to you."

Hermione is taken aback and whirls in the direction your eyes are pointing out. "Oh! That's Viktor." She waves her hand at him with a smile, then turns to you, "It's alright. We meet here sometimes to study. He knows I come a lot to the library."

You feel a sting inside that you don't want to give a name to and keep the conversation in a light tone as you pack quill, ink and rolls of parchment. "I met 'im some time ago. 'E is a good man. You must be one of ze few people 'e talks to in zis school."

She nods at that in sympathy and smiles to herself, tracing random patterns on the tabletop with her fingers, "Yes, you're right. I think he is quite lonely here. You know, Viktor asked me to go to the Yule Ball with him. That's why I didn't want to sit with Harry and Ron before. Ron has been bothering me about the Ball and I didn't want to mention Viktor, yet. I think some people will be surprised."

The understatement of the year. You are extremely surprised by the news, not to say shocked, but you keep piling the books in front of you and say nothing. Of all the competition you could expect and dread, did it have to be an older male student who also happens to be the best Quidditch Seeker in the world? How can anyone even compare to that?

'Okay, stop,' you reprimand yourself. 'Don't overthink things. You have enough on your plate as it is.'

One step at a time. Slow and calm. Breathe in, breathe out.

Oh, well, you had been expecting something like this would come up. After all, ever since Madame Maxime announced the news of the Ball, you knew that someone else would ask Hermione to go. Someone the brunette didn't reject. Someone she didn't have the urge to scowl at first sight. You've had a sinking feeling in your stomach about the Ball all along. This was one of the reasons.

"Did you pick a date to go?" continued Hermione.

And that was the other reason out in the open. As a champion, you are expected to choose someone to go and dance with them in front of all of the school.

"Oui. Roger Davies, from Ravenclaw," you sigh. This is not a pleasant topic for conversation. Especially not with her.

You look at her with a dose of sorrow that you can't hold back, but then try to steel yourself quickly in the hopes that she didn't see any of it. Except… this is Hermione Granger, so she was sure to notice.

"You don't seem too thrilled," she says, stating the obvious. "The Ball is the most exciting social event to take place in this castle for the past twenty years, or so they say. Don't you think it will be fun?"

"I would prefer to go alone zan in ze company of someone I do not find amusing. Unfortunately, champions are denied zat choice. I cannot go by myself," you reply and stand up, picking some of the books and taking them to their respective shelves.

When you return to the table in order to retrieve the last batch of books, she doesn't give up and keeps steering the conversation in the same direction. "Then why don't you go with another student that you do find amusing? You have plenty of admirers lining up to be your date. Certainly there is at least one option that meets your standards, right?" she asks in a playful tone.

You give her a hard stare, knowing full well that your eyes have gone frosty in fractions of a second. She frowns and keeps her eyes defiantly locked on yours.

"Non. Zere is no one interesting available," is all you manage in a low voice.

She goes back to scowling and it looks very harsh on her. You're glad that it's an expression you haven't seen on her face in a long time. "Come on, Fleur. You can't be serious. With so many possibilities? Students from three different schools? Don't you have anyone in mind?"

You are tired of this beating around the bush, so you quit arranging the books and deadpan, "Oui, I did wish to go with someone else."

With a satisfied know-it-all smile, she promptly goes on in a sweet voice, "See? There had to be someone to catch your attention. I'm sure there's not a single student that wouldn't love to go with you. Why don't you ask him?"

You shake your head and fight back the urge to pinch the bridge of your nose.

For such a bright witch, she can be so dense sometimes.

You exhale loudly. Placing your open palms flatly on the table to support your weight, you lean forward and bring your face closer to hers. A small part of your brain registers the fact that this is the closest you've ever been to her.

You gaze deep into those brown sparkling orbs, a shade of longing barely hidden in yours. "'Ermione, please listen carefully. I did not ask because she..." you pause a little for effect, hoping that the words sink in, "... would not want to go wiz me. Comprenez-vous?"

She looks blankly at you and then her eyebrows slowly rise up on her forehead. When she starts to gape, you are confident that you got your point across. Retracting your hands, you pick up the last stack of books, move to the shelves and make quick work of disposing them.

As you are completing the task and approaching your table again, Madam Pince shoos everyone out. You collect your things and Hermione is still staring blankly into open space.

It is as you had suspected all along... The girl didn't have a clue about you.

With an even voice, you call out to her, "Shall we go? It is time to leave."

Hermione blinks a few times and looks oddly at you, as if she was seeing you for the first time. You tilt your head and frown lightly, then point at the doors. Her eyes follow your hand and she briskly stands up, lifting the rucksack and almost knocking down her chair.

You walk in silence with her out of the library and through the corridors, until you reach the portrait of the Fat Lady. You both stop and she just stands there, completely zoned out. Patiently, you wait until she floats back to reality and whirls around to face you.

"Zis is where you stay, correct?" you ask in a neutral tone, standing a few steps away and not invading her personal space.

She looks at the Fat Lady and her surroundings in surprise. The brunette finally nods, whispers the password to the portrait and casts her gaze to the floor.

Retreating to the stairs, you say in a steady voice, "Good night, 'Ermione. Sleep well."

"Good night, Fleur. See you later," she barely whispers.

You freeze on the spot. The moment she says that phrase, you have the overwhelming feeling that she doesn't mean it. You just know. Focusing all your senses on her, you finally appreciate the full extent of just how uncomfortable she is now in your presence.

Years of curiously watching others have turned you into an expert at reading body language and now she is speaking volumes in that silent dialect. Her posture reeks of fear, anxiety and vulnerability. Maybe there's even a hint of aversion or disgust, but you can't be sure. She doesn't meet your eyes.

This shatters your heart to pieces. You feel small as you've never felt before and you stumble a few more steps away from her.

She goes into her Common Room and the portrait closes back in place.

You linger there, alone, staring at the Fat Lady for a long while until she starts a horrid attempt at singing an aria and you turn to leave.

Merde.

TBC

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