A/N: This is a small warning about the long chapter below. I know second-person narratives can be very boring, especially when they are extensive. In my (poor) defense, I did try to trim it down, but this includes the Yule Ball, so there's quite a bit of everything going on. Hopefully, it won't be too tiresome to read.
My sincere thanks to all that read/reviewed. Comments and suggestions were great, as well.
Chapter 3.
The following morning you get up ahead of time, shower and dress quickly, and then head out for the Great Hall before any of your friends is ready to go to breakfast with you. When you arrive, you notice that some of the students are already eating and getting started for the day. Hermione is comfortably seated and talking to her friends.
Taking a deep breath, you leave your things at the Ravenclaw table, gather what courage you can and walk over to the Gryffindors. You bow your head at them and your presence doesn't go exactly unnoticed. The Ronald boy fades into a purple mess, Harry is quiet and rigid, a younger redheaded girl besides Hermione frowns at you (how original) and Hermione uses a fork to move food around on her plate.
You remain in silence, looking at her, trying to find the right words to get her attention.
The angry redhead girl doesn't give you a chance to speak and blurts out an annoyed "Yes?"
Drifting your gaze sideways, you look into scowling Fierce-girl's eyes for the first time and reply slowly, "I would like to speak to 'Ermione."
The brunette shakes her head and Fierce-girl takes the lead again, sarcasm dripping from her lips, "She's busy at the moment."
You just stand there and the girl slowly lifts her head, letting her gaze meet yours at last, but you can't make out what's going on in her mind. "I zink an apology is in order. Zat is why I am 'ere."
Hermione shakes her head again, vigorously this time, and mumbles a low "It's okay." Fierce-girl looks at her intently, probably having a hard time restraining her curiosity, then turns to glare at you through narrowed eyes.
You bite your lip and close your eyes briefly. "I... see. Perhaps it was a mistake to come. Je vous prie de m'excuser. Zis will not 'appen again, I promise you. 'Ave a nice breakfast."
On your way back, a familiar owl flies to you and delivers the latest from Gabrielle. This might help lighten your mood afterwards. You return to the Ravenclaw table, pick your things plus an apple from the fruit tray and head out. Just out. Out of the Hall, out of the castle, out of the sights of any other living being (and the non-living that hover about), out of the stuffy air that suddenly fills Hogwarts.
Is there any way things can get worse? Non, strike that. It's better not to dare say that.
You find a flat rock to sit down and force yourself to eat the apple. It's quite hard getting small bites through the lump in your throat, but you eat, nonetheless. You'll need the energy to keep up with classes until lunch time.
Removing your cap, you take down your ponytail and let your hair cascade down your right shoulder. In slow motions, you run your hands through the loose strands, trying to relax. Furious with yourself can't even begin to describe how you're feeling right now. What were you thinking, strolling to that side of the Hall and being all polite, nearly offering yourself to be shot down?
How can you have a chance at fixing anything with her, if all you do hits a dead end?
Well, no more.
This was the last straw. The last drop to overflow your disappointment about any of this.
During the weeks that follow, you decide to change your routine. You certainly don't miss the way Hermione behaved and going in for a third dose might cause you some large measures of emotional damage. There's no way you'll volunteer to be her unintended punchbag.
It's time to give the brunette that much needed space to breathe. She won't even remember you two go to the same school, if it depends on you.
You still have your meals at the Great Hall and attend all your classes, but now you take longer routes through solitary corridors and you only stay in the library when you know she will be in class. There's no more looking at her, being close to the girl, and you make sure to always be surrounded by a tight pack of friends when you are spending time over conversation or wandering through the grounds. You're certain that she'd never approach you when you're not alone. This covers all the risks.
Most of your free time is now spent inside your room at the Beauxbatons carriage, reading or studying. Of course, this makes you feel imprisoned, but at least it keeps you at bay from the attempts of boys of all sizes and ages trying daily to ask you to the Ball. Even the Ronald boy interrupts a nice conversation with Mr. Diggory one day and asks you to be his date. The nerve of him. You don't bother to grace him with an answer.
After term reaches its end and the younger students leave for the holidays, the days become even more boring for you. The school is too silent and empty. Without the pressing routine of classes, you now have too much idle time on your hands. In desperation, you set your efforts and mind on trying to figure out what the screeching egg for the second task means in order to avoid going crazy.
Or perhaps it's a losing battle all the same and you are about to go crazy anyway because of that other thing that's bound to happen tonight... The Yule Ball.
The Davies boy is so excited to take you to the Ball that he's nearly blowing up in spontaneous combustion whenever he looks at you. Your stomach churns in response, but you gracefully keep a straight and blank face. You're expected to be content about it, aren't you?
Towards the final hours of the afternoon, you start to get ready. The one thought leading you on is that she will be all dressed up and having fun. For once, you'll have a glimpse not at the girl, but at the woman she is growing to be. Maybe she'll even spare you some attention. It's more than worth being in pristine condition to earn just that.
You take your time bathing and brushing your hair, applying a little make-up and getting dressed in the nice silver-gray robes that your mother sent you last week. Small earrings that are a match to your necklace and not-so-high heels complete your appearance. Taking an appraising look in the mirror, you think it's good enough, but not over the top. Classy and unpretentious. Safe.
It's time to go now and you follow your friends to the castle to meet your dance partners. They all notice and become very excited about the rosebushes that were conjured close to the doors of the school, set in meandering paths and illuminated by many scintillating fairy lights. Along the way, there are cute benches to sit outside, some scattered stone statues and a beautiful water fountain. From the look of things, Hogwarts spared no efforts to make this Ball memorable.
At the Entrance Hall, you are greeted by your date. Mr. Davies is handsomely dressed and a large number of girls make a show of noticing him in front of you. Little do they know that you would be more than willing to let any of them keep him company for the night.
Looking closely, you realize he is not yet drooling, but his eyes are far from focused. Your shoulders briefly slump. Great. Just what you needed.
Professor McGonagall tries to set the champions and their companions in position for a grand entrance and you quickly realize that everyone is there, except Hermione. You take small breaths to control your anxiety while you fight the need to glare at the large Krum boy that's pacing up and down, impatiently waiting for her. This is definitely not your idea of a good omen.
The brunette is fashionably late and stress keeps eating you up. Suddenly, a slow murmur catches your attention and you turn in the direction of the stairway. You watch transfixed as she swiftly appears at the top of the stairs. A sight to commit to memory.
She's done something to her hair and it looks spectacular. It's silky and set in a fancy knot, showing off her beautiful neck. The soft make-up and simple jewelry highlight her delicate features and the fire in her eyes. Her periwinkle-blue robes are more sophisticated than you expected and she stands at her full height, overlooking the crowd as she glides downstairs on low-heeled shoes.
An angel floating down to earth.
Simply elegant. The full-blown beauty you've always thought of her. And now she's out in the open, for all in the school to notice. You look around. Is it too horrid that you suddenly harbor bitter feelings towards everyone looking and gaping at her like that?
A long sigh escapes your lungs. Despite your personal feelings, you have to admit that deep down, a part of you is happy for her. Hermione more that deserves to be appreciated for her looks and the stature of the date that took interest in her company. You have the impression her self-esteem needed a little push and this might do the trick.
She comes closer and places her arm gently around Viktor's. You can't stop yourself from giving a dismal side-look at your own partner.
Her eyes seek yours and a soft blush taints your cheeks. This is the first time you've looked into each other's eyes in weeks. If that wasn't enough, she runs those fiery chocolate orbs all over you slowly and smiles in appreciation. You avert your eyes, looking down, fully aware that you're now blushing furiously. You were not ready for this. Hopefully, the subdued torchlight of the room conceals it a bit.
The Transfiguration Professor rushes everyone into the Great Hall, and then calls out to the four champions and their dates, inviting you to enter for dinner. All of you take a seat at the table set for the judges and champions under applause from the student body.
As you are settling down and greeting the other people at your table, you catch Hermione stealing glances at you and your date when she thinks no one is noticing. This makes you uneasy and upset. You had no plans to spend the evening satisfying someone else's scientific curiosity on human-Veela interactions. Especially one that is bound to go downhill.
You shake your mind away from your present thoughts and distract yourself with your surroundings.
The decoration is charming and very well planned for Christmas. It makes the Hall look more grandiose than usual, with all the silver frost, glittering icicles and arrangements of mistletoe and ivy. A cloudless starry night covers the enchanted ceiling and it stands out as the perfect background for the Ball.
Students from the three schools are sitting together at smaller, lantern-lit tables, and an exquisite mix of colors from all the dress robes spreads across the environment. Excitement and loud chatter fills the air.
Even the hovering ghosts are entertaining, though that rude poltergeist still gives you the creeps. Frowning, you notice that, of all possible targets, he is now floating your way, cackling something you can't understand. It's probably related to that last day of term, when he ambushed the corridor to your Charms class, throwing balloons of freezing water and bits of chalk at anything that moved.
You slowly pull out your wand, twirl it between your fingers and place it in front of your plate, smiling sweetly at him all the while. A veiled threat flashes in the evil glint of your eyes. It seems he remembers what happened that day, since he blows a huge raspberry at you and takes a detour away from your table. You breathe out in relief. This is not the moment for you to waste time worrying about Peeves.
As your attention returns to the table, you realize that Hermione has her arms crossed and she directs a quizzical look from Peeves to you. For whatever reason, something about her makes it look like she's not asking, but demanding an explanation. Worse even, she doesn't speak a single word to you. Your patience is wearing thin. After a short respite, you respond in kind, gracefully tilting your head and raising a challenging eyebrow at her. This earns you a complete change in her demeanor. She rolls her eyes and goes on to ignore you, starting a conversation with Viktor.
Oh, really? Two can play at that game.
From the corner of your eye, you notice your date is ogling you and it makes you wonder if he can hold his own in a straightforward chat. Deciding it's a good time to test the waters, you give him your undivided attention and begin to talk, comparing Hogwarts to Beauxbatons.
He listens quietly and you argue on, openly antagonizing the two schools and favoring your own. You make sure to talk loudly enough that your words carry around and that a certain someone can hear you. Mr. Davies doesn't react or defend the place he's spent the larger part of the past six years of his life. To make a point, you finish your last statement hitting your hand on the table to startle his mind into action. He simply imitates your gesture and babbles, repeating a part of what you've just said.
You direct a piercing look at him, through squinting eyes. As you suspected, he is now in a complete daze. You sigh in frustration. It was only a matter of time. Eyes glazed over, gaping, looking at you in a way that says he isn't aware there's anyone else in the room. Full points for Veela charms once again. How predictable.
Okay, so no, two won't be playing this game tonight, for your date doesn't sport a working brain at the moment. Hermione can play by herself.
You get the impression this is going to be a very long night.
When dinner is over, the champions are prompted for the first dance. You move to stand by Mr. Davies at the center of the dance floor, then grasp his hand and his shoulder lightly, stiffening somewhat when he encircles your waist. He smiles, pleased, taking it as proof of how much you approve of this new closeness. You hope the look you give him is enough to convey the contrary, but his thinking process is probably too far gone to catch that.
At least he is a good dancer and can keep up with you. Teachers and other students join in and, soon, you are caught up in the rhythm and start to have a good time. The music is excellent, the dance floor is full and everyone is having fun.
Your mind has been so worked up lately that you had forgotten how much you missed letting go like this, giving in to the thrills of music, adrenaline and absolute freedom.
For a large number of songs, you can't remember about a single thing to worry. There's no Tournament, no date, no Hogwarts, no tomorrow.
The play of lights and shadows helps to set the mood. Arms, legs, bodies, heads and strands of hair arranged in all types of hairdos swing around you in a coordinated frenzy. A few students are overly enthusiastic, but it's quite welcome for this one night. Some of your friends and their dates come to be near you and soon you're all dancing and laughing together.
The English and Bulgarian students have a different dancing style from your own and it's entertaining to watch. You carelessly let your eyes roam around the misty and dimly lit Hall, looking at everything and nothing in particular.
That is, until the sight of Hermione dancing nearby floods your vision. You always wondered what it meant to feel enraptured. This must be it. Your eyes further lock on her figure and your own motions slow down.
The brunette sways with ease, bending and twirling her body at the mercy of the ongoing fast pace. Your lips curl up in a soft smile and you allow yourself to enjoy the view. She's striking, charming and captivating. You could stay like this and watch her all night long.
For once, it's refreshing to see her so absorbed in something that doesn't involve books or learning spells. She knows how to have fun, after all. You notice she is completely lost in the moment and in the music, enduring Viktor's appalling dancing skills with patience and an enchanting smile. It is sweet to bear witness to this unusual side of her.
Oh, how you wish things were different. Could this twisting pang in your stomach be jealousy, that feeling that some of your friends tried so many times to explain to you?
Curiosity tempts you to watch closely the interaction between them. The large boy is obviously nice to her. He has eyes for no one else and he makes her laugh. She, on the other hand, has the blissful expression of one that is having the time of her life. Her body language speaks of confidence and elation, no anxiety in the least.
And there goes your good mood.
Suddenly feeling flustered, it looks like a good moment to take a break. You choose to sit away from the dance floor to rest. Your friends seem to find it's a good idea as well and come to stay next to you. All of your dates volunteer to get drinks and the girls strike up a conversation, but you barely participate, staying focused on the music and lightly bobbing your head in sync with the beat.
The boys return soon with drinks that are both refreshing and delicious. The light chatting and laughter help you feel better, and there's the bonus that the presence of your friends and their dates counters Mr. Davies' awkward daze.
You're about to cheerfully return to the dance floor, when loud voices reach your ears and you notice the noise is growing louder by the minute. It carries away through the Hall and it's so bothersome that you start to search for the source of the trouble. When you do find it, your jaw mildly drops in disbelief and your eyebrows get lost in your hairline.
Ronald and Hermione are in the middle of a shouting contest, gesturing wildly, while Harry is speechless, looking from one of his friends to the other, not knowing what to do. Through narrowed eyes, you watch as the scene unfolds.
Hermione seems ready to burst in tears and Ronald is going very red in the face. From the look (and sound) of things, the discussion is quickly escalating from bad to ugly. A small crowd gathers around them, appreciating the new type of entertainment, though all too careful to stay at a safe distance from the commotion. You wonder where Mr. Krum can be other than by her side, putting a stop at this nonsense.
You sigh and consider whether or not to interfere in this. It's not your place, but you can't just lie back and watch him treat her like that. Standing up quickly, your chair makes a crude and loud noise as it scrapes against the floor. Hermione distinctly turns her face and sees you. She bites her lower lip and casts a sad look in your direction. The brunette promptly says something loud about 'Vicky' to Ronald, then stands and rushes away, disappearing into the crowd.
'Vicky', hmm? It's not hard to guess what this was all about.
Without enthusiasm, you watch as the Krum boy finally shows up, talks to Harry and Ronald, and goes straight to the dance floor in the same direction the brunette has moved. He should be able to find her.
Excusing yourself from your friends' company, you then ask Mr. Davies for another round of drinks and promise to return soon. It might not be a very smooth approach, but you also follow into the crowd, trying to make sure Hermione is alright.
You make your way through the dance floor a couple of times, looking for the couple, but they're nowhere to be found. Perhaps they've gone outside, so you take a step back into the Entrance Hall, checking the swaying crowd one last time. You release a loud sigh and ruffle your hair wildly in frustration, mumbling a few harsh words in French to the wind.
Whirling around to step further away from the dance floor and out to the grounds, you stop dead in your tracks. There she is, leaning on the open oak doors that lead outside, looking at you with that pair of intent brown eyes. You gaze in silence at the gorgeous brunette standing so close to you. The very one you've missed for quite a while.
Wearing a blank face, you half-turn your body towards the Great Hall and ask her, "I do not mean to disturb, Mademoiselle. Should I go away?"
"No, it's alright, Fleur. Don't go when you've just arrived," Hermione states in a weak voice, very effective at making you stand still. "There's enough room for both of us."
You take your time appraising your surroundings while trying to calm yourself down, as if metering the place to confirm there really is enough space to accommodate the two of you. At the end of your musings, you're at ease and feel ready to fully turn to her.
She barely moves. Shimmering moonlight frames her figure and the silvery rays set off her flawless skin. A gentle breeze plays with her tamed hair strands and makes her robes flutter. There's a tenderness in her eyes that you'd never seen before and you wonder if it has anything to do with the tears she must have shed. The nervous habit of biting her lower lip shows every now and then, making it look darker and a little swollen. In your eyes, she's never looked more beautiful.
Steeling your resolve, you take a few confident steps towards her and stop at a short distance, in silence. You make it clear that you're giving her your complete attention, though you can't completely hold back the heaviness in your own stare. You think about all the hurt, loneliness and bothers of late. About how you've missed her presence, the witty humor and the smile you haven't seen in a long time. You wish you knew how she feels about any of that.
Frowning slightly, you finally breach the silence, "Why are you alone now? Mr. Krum went after you. Did 'e not find you?"
She nods curtly, "He did. A moment ago he went to get us more drinks. Don't worry. He'll be back soon."
Though her voice is steady, she looks too wistful and frail. Something is out of place. You can't shake the feeling that she's a breath away from crumbling down. "Very well. I shall stay wiz you until 'e returns."
She nods and, for a few minutes that feel like hours, she remains silent, not missing a single detail in your features. When the brunette finally locks her eyes on yours, something tells you she's letting her soul pour through that stare. Barely realizing it, you move closer and frown again, matching the intensity of her gaze.
And right before your eyes, a slow change starts to take place. You can tell she's struggling with inner emotions. Her lips become tightly pursed and her breaths are coming out all ragged and irregularly. The lower rim of her eyes begins to tremble and tears well up. At last, she chokes a sob and the dam breaks down, letting misery leak from her like there's nothing else inside.
Your feet quickly take action on their own, apparently disconnected from your stunned brain, and the gap between you disappears. Your arms waste no time to find their way around her, bringing her close and holding her together.
It moves you beyond words or reason to see the brunette so vulnerable. You never thought she, of all people, would allow herself to fall apart like this in front of you.
Probably taken by surprise, she doesn't know what to do at first, only resting her head on your shoulder and letting heartfelt tears wash away her pains. You keep her steady and run your hands lightly over her back in soothing motions. After a little while, she snuggles closer, bringing her face near your neck and almost hiding under your chin. Her arms settle around you and with a slight hesitation, her hands shyly land on the middle of your back.
You stay like that until she calms down enough to breathe evenly and you no longer feel warm tears trickling against your skin. Giving her a quick peck on the top of her head, you are about to pull away, when she tightens her hold around your waist and whispers in a voice so low that you almost can't hear it, "Why are you nice to me?"
The emotional timbre makes you smile, though she doesn't see it, and you reply softly, "You looked like you needed some comfort. Zis is not much, but it is something I can do for you."
She quickly cuts in, "No, not now. I mean, not only now. You've always been nice to me. Why is that? Why do you care?"
You rack your brain cells for an answer that will do for her. Sometimes, simple and honest is the best approach. "I like you."
She withdraws a little to look up at you and determine the meaning of your words. You can tell she's about to fire away all the twenty or more questions popping in that curious mind. You stop her at once with the brief touch of a couple of digits over her lips. "I know you like long answers and tons of questions, Mademoiselle, but I 'ave no uzzer way to phrase what I said. Zere is no need to complicate zings now. I just like you. Zat should do for you, non?"
After a short pause, she nods and whispers, "Thank you."
Risking your sanity, you raise your right hand and tuck a rebellious curl behind her left ear, letting your thumb run softly along her jawline until it reaches her chin. The feel of her skin sends tingles up your arm. You lift her face slightly, letting the night beams bathe her features. Fixing your gaze on her cheeks, you gently stroke away the fading tracks of fresh tears with your thumbs. Once it's done, you're now cradling her face carefully with both of your hands, keeping it almost leveled with yours. Her hands glide forward to your waist and stay still.
Your eyes slowly take in every detail of her face and she seems to do the same to you, stopping at your lips a few times. She finally gets lost looking into your eyes and you let the stare linger. Smiling inwardly, you lean in, little by little, bringing your face a breath away from hers.
The reaction is instantaneous. Her eyes widen, she inhales audibly and hands tighten on your waistline. You recognize panic when you see it and you wouldn't want to push her, but a little innocent fun can do no harm. You sneak a little closer, shut your eyes and rub the tip of your nose playfully against hers a few times, then slowly pull away to see relief, confusion and a dash of disappointment washing over her. All mixed up in a mess of uncontained emotions.
Interesting. So you were not completely wrong about her.
It's your turn to see her blushing a deep shade of red. You take a step back and your hands drop by your sides, immediately missing the quality of that unique contact.
Giving her time to compose herself, you start a conversation on neutral grounds, "No more tears... Zat is good. You look very elegant tonight, Mademoiselle. It would not do to let tears spoil zat." With a dose of concern, you add on, "Do you want to talk about what caused zis?"
She shakes her head vehemently and her voice trembles a little, "I'm sorry, but I just can't right now."
Her sincerity is visible. "I understand. Are you alright?"
She frowns and looks at the floor, "I should explain what you saw back there, in the Hall."
The change of subject doesn't go unnoticed to you, but that particular situation doesn't merit much importance anymore. "Non, zere is no need for zat. Your friend should 'ave asked you to ze Ball if 'e could not deal wiz seeing you wiz Mr. Krum. 'Is jealousy is not my business. Zat is something for ze two of you to settle. I am only worried about you, Mademoiselle. So I ask again... Are you alright now?
She smiles, but it doesn't stretch fully as it should. "I think I'll survive."
You close your eyes briefly and shake your head, "Zat did not sound very convincing."
Her face is blank and she zones out for a couple of minutes. You'd give anything to know what is going on in that mind of hers. "I'll fix it later with him, like you said. How about you? And your date?"
You shrug, not hiding the apathy you feel about this, "I zink I will live as well."
Her eyes narrow and she gives you an appraising look, "You're not having fun at all, are you?"
You manage a lopsided smile, "I take what I can, Mademoiselle. Zere were some good moments. Ze night is not a complete loss."
She then surprises you, reaching out to slide a hand down your forearm. The brunette grasps your right hand and gives it a light squeeze. Her eyes falter briefly, but she soon looks deep into your own, "Fleur, what about your other option?" She makes a brief pause, and then sheds her hesitation, "Did your girl come?"
Unable to take your eyes off her, you open and close your mouth a few times, in a sequence of failed attempts to stop this weird silence from becoming more annoying. Her curious stare bores into your eyes, trying to pierce any barriers and reach the answer hiding within.
You're suddenly too nervous and self-conscious for your own comfort. Should you throw caution to the wind and just tell her how you feel?
You swallow loudly and try to keep your breathing in check. In a crazy rhythm, your heart starts to do backflips at the base of your throat. Butterflies threaten to fly away with your insides.
You search her eyes for something - anything - that tells you she's on the same page. A single small spark of recognition will do the trick.
And you realize it's not as it should be. She's still very unsure, scared and mostly oblivious to how you respond to her mere presence. It's not time for this.
"She... is not my girl," you whisper hoarsely.
Her face seems to darken a little. While you're trying to gauge her reactions, the deep voice of Viktor Krum resonates in the Entrance Hall. He's right on cue, blasting to smithereens the better part of your night. "Herm-own-ninny, I haff drinks."
The one good thing is that this doesn't break your eye contact, nor does she tear her hand from yours.
He comes closer and addresses you, "Flurr, hau are you? I am thinking you vant a drink as vell?"
It's not possible to go on ignoring him anymore. Both of you are already stomping on the fine line between respect and impoliteness as it is. Sighing, you slide your hand out of her grip, step away and look at him, greeting him with a small smile. And here enters your own date, beaming and bringing a drink to your hands.
After proper introductions are made, Mr. Davies invites you to go for a walk outside to check the decorations. You agree all too willingly for a chance to get away from the rather awkward situation.
As you're moving through the doors, Hermione ventures, "Fleur?"
You promptly retort, "Oui, Mademoiselle?"
She flashes a challenging smirk your way, "You never told me... How did you scare away Peeves?"
"Ze poltergeist?" She's asking you about Peeves now? You almost chuckle. Hermione is one curious witch. "We 'ad a... hmmm... a misunderstanding after classes. It is a story for anuzzer time and place, non?"
In a playful tone, she continues, "Definitely. I'll want to hear about that."
You bow your head a little, smile and leave.
The change of scenery is amusing. The rose garden offers a delicate scent and the fairy lights remind you of Beauxbatons. Faint music reaches out from the Hall.
As you pace slowly, you try to listen to your date's comments on the settings made especially for the Yule Ball, but it's a lost cause. Your mind has remained at the Entrance Hall, replaying endlessly those past minutes. You sigh contentedly. She's gone back to a more comfortable and carefree behavior around you.
Distracted as you are, Mr. Davies seems to find it is a good moment to pull you closer and sneak behind a tall set of rosebushes. It takes you a couple of seconds to realize you're standing still and, after a few blinks, you notice with widening eyes that he is leaning in to try and kiss you. He wraps strong arms around your waist and you fiercely bend away from his grasp and his lips. Is he kidding you?
Where did he come up with the idea that you were in the mood for this? At all?
Madame Maxime yells loudly nearby at someone you can't see and it startles you both so much that you lose balance and topple to the ground in a tangle of limbs. Rolling over, he finally lets you go.
In a burst of flaming fury that you don't even try to contain, you stand up, shake the dust that clings to your robes and pull out your wand. He comes after you and, clearly not sensing the danger, makes to move in to grope you. Too bad for him you've had enough. His befuddled brain can't possibly keep up with the speed of your non-verbal spell and he is thrust backwards loudly, crashing against another rosebush, unconscious as he could be. Maybe later he'll find some of his senses.
A pounding sensation at the back of your skull announces an impending headache. Stress is finally taking a toll on you. You're ready to call it a night and to return to the warmth of your bed. Striding stealthily, it seems to be easy to avoid meeting anyone else, until you reach a small clearing close to the water fountain.
And that's when your limits are stretched beyond thin. Perhaps beyond repair.
Time simply stops and you lose feeling on your limbs.
Without any forewarning, the scene you've feared all through the night materializes right in front of you. Unwillingly, you've just walked in on Viktor Krum and Hermione Granger kissing under the moonlight.
How ironic. French kissing.
This is something you won't forget anytime soon, but you close your eyes just the same, trying to stop the biting image from permanently etching into your brain. A stinging urgency screams in your head to leave quickly. Of all things, you don't want to be caught staring at an intimate moment like this.
You step back out of the clearing as silently as possible. One of your feet lands on unsteady ground and you stagger, almost falling backwards. You barely regain balance and a muffled growl makes you turn around, only to come face to face with a very angered Fierce-girl. She looks from the scene at the clearing straight into your eyes, pure loathing bubbling out of her every pore.
Seriously, what is this girl's problem? Shaking your head at her, you lift open hands at your sides in a clear demonstration that you mean no trouble or, at the very least, begging for some sort of a truce.
Not expecting any response, you huff and walk past her, re-routing to your carriage. You want nothing more now than to unleash your frustrations in the safety of your room.
In all honestly, there's only so much you can take in one night.
Once you're finally alone, completely alone, you take a long bath to calm down, put on your favorite nightgown and lie awake on your bed, curled up with your pillow.
There's no way you'll be able to fall asleep soon and you can't stop yourself from overthinking about the night again. At least it doesn't last long, though, since that headache is now hammering awfully against your skull and ends up hindering any ability to think.
Humans and their fleeting relationships.
Of one thing you're absolutely certain.
If it wasn't for the magical contract keeping your name bidden to the Tournament, you'd be incredibly tempted to pack your things and go home right about now.
TBC