Challenge of a Young Heart

by Narthal

Fleur arrives at Hogwarts and struggles to get along with Hermione. Fleur/Hermione.

8. Chapter 8

A/N: Finally, another one up. This was harder to write and put together than usual. As you can guess, life is still in hectic mode.

Thank you for all the reviews, opinions, remarks, pointing out errors and also so many nice messages. It's amazing to read your thoughts and ideas. :D

A special thank you to Andy Lewis, the author of a very interesting Fleur/Hermione fic that all fans of this pairing should read: 'She is the Sunlight'. He made a list of suggestions in his latest chapter for readers of several fandoms. Don't forget to check that out too. I'd add to that list (Fleur/Hermione, T rating) 'Cursed by a Veela' by O'Faolain abu (fun, sweet and a very pleasant read) and randomtastic7's 'Plunging into the Depths' (suspenseful and a bit dark). I've also started reading 'Look at Me' by Apocalyptic Mirage and 'The Luna Letters' by The Spectrum Sings, both gripping and well written. And that's as far as I had time to go. Do you have any suggestions? Please, feel free to share!

Lots of thanks also to Black Rose Blue for bringing up the issue with the apostrophes. Fixing that gave me a good opportunity to go through the chapters and clean up some spelling problems, punctuation, grammar and other stuff. Still not perfect, but better.

Well, this is the moment for short warnings on the chapter, so here are a few:

1. From now on, the plot will move more seriously into AU. We know little about Fleur in canon (as a foreign student, as a part-Veela and as a seventh-year), so there's room to get creative. Since our leading ladies are (sort of) acquainted, the story will branch out with a little more freedom and other characters (CC and OC) can grow around/with them. I hope this doesn't make you wince.

2. Please, assume that when only French individuals are around, they are all speaking in their native language, so their dialogues are written without accents.

3. The visit from the Veela was meant to be here... but... things got in the way and this long weird chapter was the result. The Veela are in store for next.

4. This picks up right after the last chapter. Somewhere along these lines, you'll have an inkling to Fleur's state of mind (that was intentional). Best read when wide awake.

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Chapter 8.

You wend your way through the crowded Great Hall with small steps and plenty of patience. As you walk, the last signs of lunch are being magically cleaned out from the large tables, in that impecable display of the work of house-elves. You know the bell is about to ring and students all around get ready to leave, adding in to the large gathering jamming the doorway.

The usual loud blend of noises fills the air, making it impossible to keep a decent conversation without yelling now, so you simply follow after your friends in silence, idly looking around.

A flash of lightning criss-crosses the enchanted ceiling, capturing your curious stare in that single glance up. The intense blizzard raging nonstop works like an enticing bait to your scrambled brain, luring you into thoughts of steaming cups of hot chocolate, warm pyjamas, soft pillows and a cozy duvet.

You sigh, daydreaming about the wonderful comforts waiting in your room, perfect for a day like this. Mustering some extra determination, you keep on walking and telling yourself to hang on just a little more. Right after dinner, there'll be a chance to enjoy all of them.

A persistent tug on the left sleeve of your uniform drags your thoughts back to earth. Your startled stare falls on Hermione, who then holds your wrist and starts to pull you along.

Taken by surprise, you bump into a couple of younger girls, clumsily apologizing as you go. The determined brunette cuts through the mass of students, directing you straight through the doors and to a corner of the Entrance Hall that looks like a much better place to talk.

"Sorry for doing this right before class," she says, releasing you and sinking one arm deep into her rucksack. "But I promise we won't be late again, Fleur. All I need is a minute."

"Mmm... Sure, 'Ermione," you reply, pulling off the hat that was nearly knocked down from your head in the squeeze through the crowd.

After tossing your hair a few times from side to side, you try to loosen and rearrange the strands with your hands. It's the second time today that you've made the attempt to better your appearance at the Entrance Hall.

While you're slowly adjusting the cap in place, you take notice of a large number of boys aiming fixed stares your way, gaping and thunderstruck. You roll your eyes and decide to ignore the situation altogether. Luckily, the students behind them, annoyed at the hold up, start to impatiently herd the stunned group forward.

Hermione remains focused on her current search and you rattle away to fill the silence, "Staying awake at night was not a very bright idea. I could use a large cup of coffee right now."

She chuckles a little, "I know what you mean."

Halting her exploration briefly, she whispers in a very low voice, looking stealthily at the passers-by to make sure no one is listening in, "I just remembered. Thanks for helping me at the library. Sometime you'll have to show me how you did that."

"It was not a big deal, 'Ermione. Perhaps during ze weekend when we are alone," you stress a little that last word, also stealing suspicious glances around. This isn't something you want to share openly.

She nods and finally closes her eyes, smiling, "Found it."

Pulling out her arm, she hands you a large bunch of chaotic parchment, "This belongs to you, right?"

You take a look, soon recognizing your own handwriting. With a frown, you start to put the messy and overly wrinkled rolls in order, "Oui. My letter to Gabrielle." Lifting your eyes to the brunette, you ask in a faltering voice, "'Ow...?"

"Ron saw a student taking it from your bag," she explains, swinging the rucksack over her shoulders again. "It was open and you were distracted with all the racket going on. When I spotted him, he was already showing it to his friends. And the way they were smiling... well, it couldn't be a good thing."

That bothers you a lot. Reaching for your bag, you realize it is, indeed, wide open, and you check its contents, but find nothing else misplaced. "Zen you went to take it back from zem?"

"I tried, but the crowd slowed me down," Hermione answers, clearly displeased. "They were all over your letter before I could summon it out of their hands. I think they didn't realize it was me. Is it all there?"

Still shocked by the audacity of whoever did that, you go back to checking the scrolls. "Oui. Zere are no lost parts, 'Ermione. Ze complete letter is 'ere."

"Well, it's all written in French," she remarks. "They probably couldn't read any of it. What about the three sketches?"

"Zree? Zere were four." You double check. She's right, there are only three now.

She starts to bite her lip, "Which one is missing? Was it important?"

"Let me see," you mutter, running your eyes through the pages. "One of ze castle, one of ze first task, and one of ze decorations of ze Yule Ball. Ze last one was of you and 'Arry talking in ze Transfiguration Courtyard. A regular school day."

A set of surprised eyebrows bolt up.

You only shrug, completely unfazed, "I was showing Gabrielle a bit about you."

Her heavy expression makes you wonder if she feels guilty for not reaching the letter in time to collect it in full. You try another approach to calm her down, explaining a little better your reasons for choosing that particular sketch, "My sister is a very curious young girl and zis is ze first time we 'ave been apart so long. She is in a phase when she wants to know about everything, non? Ze Tournament, who I meet, what I do, ze classes… Even ze weather amuses 'er."

Noticing her still concerned look, you sigh and add on, "Please, do not worry so. I will add another sketch to replace zat one when I send ze letter."

"It isn't that, Fleur. Doesn't it bother you that someone took your sketch?" she asks in disbelief.

"Of course it does, 'Ermione. Whoever did zis was very disrespectful. Zey probably 'ad ill intentions," you reply in a firm voice. "But I stay calm like zis because I am sure zat zey will get nothing from zat sketch. It was very simple and innocent. Two friends talking. It cannot be used against us in any way. Who could zink anything bad from it?"

"You don't know them as well as I do, Fleur. That trio means trouble," she says with an edgy tone.

"Trio?" You frown at that. Now it starts to make sense.

"Yes, they're some of the Slytherin boys in my year. Draco Malfoy and his goons, Crabbe and Goyle. That's them," she indicates, with a pointed look that you follow easily.

The boys are way up the stairs overflowing with students, but even with their backs turned to you, the lean blonde and his pair of bulky buddies are unmistakable. Especially sniggering in that holier-than-thou attitude.

"I 'ave seen zem before," you state in a flat voice, as if this didn't deserve much importance.

But no matter how you twist and turn things around in your mind, it doesn't change the fact that they took something that belongs to you and relates to Hermione. Deep down you wonder about their interest in the sketch they managed to keep. You remember it well and there's nothing really amusing about it. Or compromising. Was it a coincidence? Or maybe they kept the sketch because the brunette's summoning spell didn't reach it?

Pushing those thoughts aside for now before your own concerns start to show on your face, you glance back at the brunette, "I still zink you should not worry about it... And zank you for getting ze letter back for me. I am really glad it was not lost."

Shaking her head, she gives you a small smile, "You would've done the same for me."

"Oui, I would," you confirm honestly, tapping your wand on the rolls of parchment to get rid of folds and wrinkles.

She asks curiously while watching you fix the letter, "How come you didn't notice someone taking all that from your bag?"

"I really did not feel a zing. Perhaps I am more worn out zan I zought." As you put the letter back together, you tease a little, "Even you sneaked up on me at ze library, non?"

"Very funny, Fleur. You better get used to that," she counters right back, crossing her arms in that playful defiance of hers.

You set the letter in your bag while she stares at you. When you're done and carefully close the bag, she adds in a concerned tone, speaking slowly, "You do look tired, you know. Very tired. And we still have classes all afternoon. Are you ready for that?"

The bell rings and you frown, realizing it's time to go, "I will 'ave to deal wiz it. Double Potions for me."

Many younger boys and girls are still swarming up the large marble stairway or filing for the Transfiguration Department. The smaller troop of seventh-years marches in front of you and becomes more compact, funneling into tight duos and trios to disappear down the narrow stone staircase to the dungeons.

As they pass you by, some of your friends notice your presence and a couple of them steal fleeting glances at the younger brunette by your side. You consider the chance to make introductions, but Hermione is oblivious about the nearby company.

The brunette's eyes are locked on Harry and the two redheads walking together through the Entrance Hall. She takes a couple of steps their way, but then turns with a frown and whispers, "Watch out for Snape, Fleur. Be careful, alright?"

"Oui. You too," you reply, warmed by her worried tone. "I will see you after dinner."

"Deal." With a lopsided smile, she spins on her heels and dashes up the stairs with her companions. You briefly notice Ronald and Fierce-girl's stares, until you remember about your own friends and, with a quick look around, you realize that all of them are already gone.

Gripping your bag, you follow their trail, bringing up the rear of the group. You move quickly down the steps, the sound of their soft voices and carefree laughter carrying all the way up to you in this confined space.

It doesn't take long for you to catch up with them, but the cheerful whispering dies out the very moment you reach the Dungeon Corridor. In an unspoken agreement, everyone remains silent during the short stride to the door of the classroom.

Most of the students are now shivering from the cold, and warming charms start to be muttered profusely. From the unsurprised look of the Slytherins and the automatic way they perform the spells, it's easy to guess this is a part of their routine. You wonder about the temperature in their sleeping quarters, which you've heard are down here somewhere, and a fresh shudder runs down your spine.

Your mind defensively returns to steaming cups of hot chocolate, warm pyjamas, soft-

A long whining creak resounds loudly, startling the entire group into noticing you've been granted permission to enter. The door to the classroom swings fully open and you all go inside. Under the professor's severe stare, a soft rustle of robes is the only sound to be heard as you take your regular seats.

While you wait in place for the last stragglers to settle down, you slowly scan the room for the umpteenth time. As always, there's a complete lack of any cheerful décor.

The dark stone walls and floor, those monotonous candlelit brackets and all the shelved jars of raw ingredients only add up into something... hmm, spooky, if not a bit unsettling. And you haven't even factored in the occasional samples of weird smells or the effects of the fumes when there's any brewing in the works.

You exchange glances with your friends and their glum expressions are enough for you to know their thoughts are not very far from yours.

"We are moving on to advanced healing potions," the professor begins. All eyes and ears are immediately drawn to him. The Potions master of Hogwarts barely moves his lips and his voice is but a whisper, but you know every student in the classroom can understand him just fine. "You will start with a NEWT-level mixture used in every Hospital: the Blood-Replenishing Potion. It is a three-stage process. Today, we prepare the first stage. You will work in pairs. All rise now."

He quickly calls out the names of each duo, showing them to their designated tables. It soon becomes clear that the professor is deliberately breaking up close friends and matching students of different schools.

So on top of producing a difficult potion, this will be a socializing exercise as well, working side by side with a partner you don't know well on your toughest challenge. Sounds just about right, considering Professor Snape is the one to devise it all.

"Miss Bampton and Miss Delacour, take the center table in the back," he instructs.

Silently, you nod at your companion for the afternoon and you both walk to the free spot at the back of the classroom.

When everyone is sorted, he adds silkily, in carefully drawn-out words, "When correctly made, this potion can save lives. If you don't pay attention, you will cause anemia or turn blood so thick that it will not flow. You want to be very careful. Only acceptable potions will be allowed for testing. Perfect potions, should any of you produce them," he remarks, lips curling into a sneer, "are to receive top grades and will be offered to Madam Pomfrey at the Hospital Wing."

This makes a few heads snap up and many sit straighter, already shuffling through the pages on their "Advanced Potion-Making" books in search for details.

"Instructions are on the board," a flick of his wand makes them appear there and he goes on, "and everything else you need, in the store cupboard," with another wave of his wand, its front doors spring open. "You have an hour and a half. Begin."

You start to double check the instructions on your book against the tiny scrawled lines on the blackboard. As you had suspected, it's no surprise that he set you in pairs to tackle this potion.

The list of ingredients alone takes two whole pages. The methods require attention to minimum details, from size and color of components to the careful handling of the cauldron. There'll be a constant need for changes in temperature, stirring direction and the timely adding of ingredients. It's a nightmare.

Yvonne Bampton, the dirty blonde Ravenclaw that will be your partner for this potion, brings her stool closer and starts to discuss the proceedings. She asks to handle the ingredients, so you'll tend to the actual brewing. You break down a list of components to collect and leave to pick them up from the cupboard, while the girl arranges the tools needed at the table.

As soon as you're back, roots, horns and jars are spread out in an orderly fashion and the book is set in a way that both of you have easy access to read it. Yvonne pulls the brass scale in front of her and weighs the four initial ingredients while you initiate the flames under the cauldron and take the ladle.

The classroom is fairly quiet, all students doubling over their tables in deep concentration. The professor is writing at his desk and glancing around on occasion, checking for anything unusual that could demand his attention. He's probably waiting for you all to advance further along the instructions in order to begin his inspection of the cauldrons.

You thank the highest of heavens that at least Professor Snape is one to keep your adrenaline levels on a constant high. From what you've heard, if this class had been under the History of Magic ghost-professor, it would have meant a done deal for your brain.

Trying not to blink, fixing unexistant creases in your robes and changing the hand dragging the ladle are some of the amusing little things you come up with to stop yourself from dozing off.

A quarter of an hour later, vapours from the eighteen concoctions are mixing together close to the ceiling, creating a dark mist that the candlelight from the torches penetrates with difficulty. Professor Snape stands up and starts his slow and thorough survey, sweeping from desk to desk to stare down his crooked nose at the potions.

Yvonne just pestle-grinded the dragon horns, handing you the bowl with the fine powder to add to the mixture. And now the boring part begins, with a long time of stewing clockwise to be followed by a few counter-clockwise turns, all before the next ingredient is due.

You spell the ladle to keep the same rotation rate and sit down, counting down the minutes to go. Your companion is already distracted, clearly more interested in starting a whispery chat with the girls around than in keeping track of the potion-making.

With nothing else to do, fatigue starts to really settle in and weigh you down.

The darkness, the quiet, the vapours, the warmth, it's all slowly rocking your mind into a haze.

Every blink lasts longer.

Every time it becomes increasingly hard to order your eyes to open up again.

Until they don't.

And your thoughts disconnect from reality, stranded away in the realm of dreams by an overworked brain that reached its limits...

"We have Fleur, here," someone speaks loudly beside you, touching your arm.

You jump up, shaking your head and rubbing your eyes. Realizing what happened, you check the clock in a hurry and find out it's been only eleven minutes in dreamland. The potion is alright. You sigh in relief and take a look around.

Professor Snape is making remarks on a cauldron at the front of the class while the large group of girls in the back is enjoying the stewing time to do some catching up.

"You're a champion too, Fleur," a Slytherin girl that you've never met says in an unflattering tone, as if she'd just realized this for the first time. "Come on, tell us. What's he like?"

You give her a surprised look, "Hmmm? Je suis désolée. I 'ad my mind somewhere else... Who are you asking about?"

The girl checks the professor's position to make sure it's safe to keep on whispering and follows with a low hiss, "We're talking about the knockout of all knockouts."

At your raised eyebrows and still surprised expression, she rolls her eyes and proceeds, "Oh, come on, silly. I mean Viktor Krum, the most desirable bachelor in the premises. Who else?"

Your eyes move on their own to search the front of the class, where said bachelor is quietly working with a pale Slytherin boy. Snorting, you shake your head and your lips twist, caught between a scoff and a sneer. Luckily, the fumes conceal your face well enough that the group of girls doesn't notice your reaction.

It's for the best. There's no point in getting into an argument centered on Mr. Krum not being your exact definition of a knockout. By a long shot.

"I met Mr. Krum a few years ago. 'E is a 'ardworking student at 'is school, very dedicated to Quidditch," you finally answer, mentally distracted by more interesting matters, such as comparing the color and odor of the fumes puffing from different cauldrons.

Smirking, a brunette Hufflepuff whose first name you didn't grasp (her surname, Applebee, was rather amusing and hard to forget, though) laughs mockingly, "Is that the best you can say on that hot piece of temptation?"

That gets you sufficiently annoyed. You're about to speak your mind freely about how you don't feel tempted at all by the boy, when your glance scans the nearby assembly and you're surprised to realize that at least ten girls are staring at you. They even moved closer into a tight formation, avidly waiting for more.

Frowning, you put some effort into scraping your brain for a bit more of information, while still keeping an eye on Professor Snape's slow progression to your part of the classroom. It's a difficult task. Sure, he's a nice guy, famous (yet humble, which is a unique thing in itself) and there's a great future ahead of him with his flying abilities. The main issue, though, is that he's not interesting to you in that way.

"Uh... 'E is very respectful and polite, a true gentleman," you say slowly. "Mr. Krum is also quiet and keeps to 'imself." You almost cringe at your lame comments about the Durmstrang champion, but really, what else can you say? Truth be told, you don't know him well. "Hmm... I remember it is pleasant to talk to 'im."

"Yes, yes, but what of the juicy stuff? Does he have a secret girlfriend waiting at home?" Miss Applebee cuts in.

The Slytherin girl takes the lead again, asking with a suggestive tone that provokes a round of giggling, "Is he a player, and I don't mean on the Quidditch field? How many fans did he ever date? What's his reputation as a kisser?"

Sharper now and on alert, your eyes dart from one unrelenting stare to the next. These girls mean business and you so not want to have anything to do with this. In a very unemotional voice you reply slowly, "I do not know 'im closely. We met at a formal dinner years ago, zen talked for a few minutes and zat was all."

Satisfied with their disgruntled looks, you shrug and finally drop the subject, trying to go back to reading instructions. A few of the girls mumble grim complaints, but you don't understand most of what they say.

Weirdly enough, the parts you do understand sound a lot like they think the reason you're not sharing good information on Viktor is because you want him all to yourself. It almost makes you laugh. Your brain must be in a worse state than you'd thought.

Shaking your head, you realize Professor Snape has reached the back of the classroom and is making sharp comments on the cauldrons to your left. The girls will probably leave Mr. Krum alone now. The potions are not going to prepare themselves and no one can afford to lag. Miss Bampton concentrates on the potions book and you both keep on working.

It's time to move forward with the instructions, so you grasp the ladle and start the counter-clockwise stirring. You're fairly pleased when the professor stops in front of your table, looks inside the cauldron, then checks Yvonne's technique for chopping roots, but remains silent and prowls ahead.

His eyes glitter dangerously at Miss Applebee, who is on a table to your right, speaking and gesturing excitedly at any neighbors that pay attention. Noticing the professor's stare, her partner lands a rather heavy elbow on her hand. With a yelp, the girl goes back to grinding ingredients, not daring to glance up.

"Ten points from Hufflepuff, Miss Applebee," he says coldly, but adds no comment on their brewing potion.

Once Professor Snape has returned to the front of the class, his black cloak whisking behind him, most of the girls resume their stealthy whispering, Yvonne being one of them.

Broken bits of the lively chat going on are loud enough that you hear them, and you end up finding out that the large group of girls is gossiping about every possible detail concerning Viktor Krum, exchanging the most unbelievable theories on why he remained alone all week.

Luckily, you realize the investigative fan club has only shown interest in following Viktor Krum's moves. Had they been tailing Hermione, the entire school would know by now what really happened during the week.

You flinch. Wouldn't that be something?

The peppy giggling witches now start to sound like mathematical geniuses, calculating the statistical probabilities of the famous Seeker being 'on the market' once again, since no witnesses caught him near the bookworm Gryffindor that they all secretly (and some not so secretly) envy.

You frown, not liking where their conversation is heading, and it startles you to see the Slytherin girl leaning in your direction to whisper with enthusiasm, "What about her, Fleur? I saw you talking to her in the Entrance Hall. We don't understand what Viktor could've seen in such a young witch. So what that she's best friends with the Potter champion? She's not even an OWL student."

There's a hint of scorn in her voice that has your eyes narrowing in reflex.

"Right. Do you know anything about that Granger girl?" Miss Applebee snickers.

"Oui, I know 'er a little," you reply slowly. Your hands start to shake weakly, so you take a deep breath to calm down and pause. This would be a bad place to cause a scene.

Spinning your head to look squarely at the obnoxious students, your grip on the ladle becomes very tight and your free hand curls under the table, nails digging into your palm, "Miss Granger is a very kind and caring 'uman being, if only a bit shy. As you probably know, zat girl is in Gryffindor 'Ouse, where zey are chosen for courage and loyalty. She is a great companion to all of 'er friends, not only 'Arry Potter."

Your thoughts stray to Hermione and it becomes all too easy to find the right things to say, "Miss Granger is also a much smarter student zan you give 'er credit. I know for a fact zat she studies advanced magic far beyond OWL level in 'er spare time."

Pleased at how steady your voice sounds now, the next words are chosen carefully, "I zink she 'as no tolerance for injustice of any type. Last year you must 'ave seen 'er all over ze school, campaigning for ze 'ouse-elves, non? Zat is something I 'ave never 'eard anyone in ze wizarding world do before."

Some of them trade awkward glances and you can tell they didn't expect any of this.

"And what about ze Yule Ball?" Now there are fallen faces all around and you just know you touched a very raw nerve, "I suppose you all noticed zat she looked beautiful zat night. Ze proper date of a champion, hmm?"

In a softer tone, you continue whispering and they lean closer to listen, "Zere must be much more to 'er zan ze little I know, but perhaps zose are some of ze reasons for 'is choice."

And with that, you stop and wait, almost daring anyone to argue against what turned out to be quite a long monologue. To your inner satisfaction, most of the small group seems surprised beyond the ability to reply.

"Whatever," Miss Applebee snaps rather loudly, waving a hand around in a derisive gesture. "Get a grip. Why praise her like that?"

"I am not bending ze truth in any way. You should learn more about someone before judging zem as you did," you retort evenly.

"Alright, you can stop now," the Hufflepuff raises both hands in surrender. The girl then searches the room to check the coast is still clear and mumbles with an impatient tone, "You sure had a lot more to say about her than him. Merlin. If I didn't know you want Viktor too, I'd say you had an interest in that girl."

Your eyes widen momentarily and parts of your speech start to replay in your mind. Were you so obvious?

And then you suddenly frown, realizing the meaning of her words. Who ever said you wanted anything with Viktor Krum? Is that what's being said in school? That you're after him?

Through the corner of your eye, you notice Yvonne watching you closely and you try to bring yourself to relax again. Perhaps she's on to something, but you won't fuel her curiosity.

As stealthily as possible, you check if there's anyone else suddenly showing an unusual interest in analyzing you.

The Hogwarts girls are either worried about their potions or following Professor Snape around. Good.

Glancing at your friends, all seem a bit distracted and mostly indifferent now. Great.

Except one. Oops.

One who has a very smug smile on her face and greets your stare with a knowing wink.

Pretending to check the instructions, you lower your head to the book, just as you feel your cheeks burn. The others might be oblivious, but someone who knows you enough and was paying attention would've made the connection on the spot. And you just had to give yourself away right in front of the one person that wouldn't miss it even if she went blind, didn't you?

"Don't be so harsh to Fleur, Tamsin. You've done enough of that today."

'Oh, right, Tamsin Applebee was her name.'

Wait. What?

Your eyebrows leap and your neck creaks when it quickly whips around to look at Yvonne, who was the one to just surprise everyone by cutting in sharply to stand up... for you.

The blonde matches the Hufflepuff's glare, "You shouldn't complain. None of us should. Fleur answered our questions. We all heard what she had to say." She continues, looking around at the rest of the small audience, "Can't you see why she's defending the Granger girl? They're friends and we're being terrible about her. I think we're lucky Fleur didn't take offense at the things we said. Some of us would've hexed anyone who did that to a friend of ours. Let's stop giving her a hard time, shall we?"

Miss Applebee and a few others mumble half-plausible apologies under their breaths and go back to tending to their steaming potions. It's time for you to do the same, calling Yvonne to help with her part.

The blonde nods and starts to prepare more ingredients. While she's crushing dry Mandrake roots into a thin powder, she suddenly whispers, "I'm sorry we put you through that. I didn't realize it would go so far."

You shake your head, "Non, please. I want to zank you for speaking like zat. It was a surprise for me. A good surprise."

She gives you a small smile, which you return in earnest, and keeps on working. You correct the temperature of the flames and start alternating the stirring direction, already checking for the next sequence of ingredients. Not long after that, a long yawn and the need to stretch make you lose a bit of control over the ladle. You grip it right in time for the counter-clockwise turn, though you can't see a thing through your now watery eyes.

It takes a series of hard blinks and rubbing for them to become more focused, but you can feel the puffiness and they must probably be all reddened up. That's when Yvonne adds the Mandrakes to the cauldron and spares you a glance, "What's the matter with you?"

"Tired," you reply with a shrug, not elaborating.

"Yeah. Looks like you could use a break. Why don't you go freshen up? There's nothing else to do for the next ten minutes, anyway. I can take over till you're back," she offers, already stepping closer to reach and take the ladle from your hand.

You realize it's a grand idea and thank her, leaving on the spot for the nearest bathroom. Quickly finding a sink with a large mirror ahead, you splash generous amounts of cold water on your face and blink away the sleepiness.

It's only a temporary solution and you know you're not doing very well. Sighing, you fix your hair neatly and take a long look at the unusual reflexion you see before you, wishing it's the last time you ever have that face on.

As you return to the classroom, you remember about your lunch and search your bag all the walk back for the small jar from Dobby. When your fingers close around it, you notice one of your Beauxbatons friends is at your table, working with Yvonne and laughing at something that must have been very funny, if their wide grins are any hint.

While setting your things in place, Yvonne starts to explain as soon as you're within hearing range, "Fleur, Coraline came over to give me a hand."

The raven-haired girl smiles and raises a hand at you in that humorous and overly confident attitude of hers, "Do not zank me, Fleur. I wanted to see if zis girl could 'andle your cauldron."

The blonde snorts playfully and crosses her arms, "Give me a break. We've been partners before, Cora. You know I can handle a cauldron just fine."

You shake your head and interrupt their banter, getting ready to continue your task, "Are you done already wiz ze potion?"

"Not so fast, mon amie," your friend replies with a smirk. "What would be ze fun in zat? We still left you, uhm, let me see," and she mockingly squints, faking a difficult mental exercise, "eight zings to do. But ze next five ingredients are all prepared for you."

Yvonne shows you the steps left and the organized ingredients. The vapours are the right color and smell. They've been doing a great job.

You take over the ladle, keeping up the adequate stirring as you go over the next instruction slowly.

Shortly after, Cora returns to her own table taking Yvonne with her under the pretense of picking up more Murtlap tentacles. One teases the other all the way, their giggling loud enough for you to follow their trail.

You quickly take a look to check where the professor is and make sure they're out of his reach. Surely enough, they're completely safe. Professor Snape is still at the front of the classroom, thoroughly engaged in reprimanding a Durmstrang-Gryffindor pair that managed to produce a potion with silvery pink fumes, when everyone else's is a deep green.

You proceed with the potion-making on your own and you can feel that you're reaching your limits. It's good to know there's little left to do before you can call it a day, for you're feeling utterly defeated.

The rest of the class is a blur. You pinch yourself more than one time to try and stay alert. Weariness is wrecking your ability to focus. You follow the instructions as carefully as you can, wishing time would speed up to put an end to all this. Luckily, Miss Bampton finally decides to make the walk back to your table, eagerly starting to cut the Murtlap tentacles she brought along. A little company seems great.

The blonde girl interrupts your musings to state in a curious tone, "Fleur, please help me understand. Why is Cora such a control freak in Potions? She didn't let me go near her cauldron. Was she always like that? Or is it because of Snape?"

You chuckle when you catch a glimpse of Cora's approaching figure and the size of her pout. She must have overheard the blonde Ravenclaw. "I zink zere is something you should know, Yvonne. Do not take Cora too seriously, except when it comes to cooking or potions. 'Er parents are renowned chefs and master potioneers in France."

"That's really cool," she replies in amusement.

"Oui, it is. Cora is pretty good 'erself," you state, smiling at your friend. "One day you should taste 'er charlotte au chocolat. It is unforgettable, I guarantee. She is a top student at Potions too."

"Wait a minute. I'm not bad with potions," the Ravenclaw retorts defensively, glancing at Cora.

Your friend looks her up and down, keeping her lips pursed. You raise an eyebrow at that and can't really tell if Cora is fooling around or not. Shaking your head, you move along with the instructions, not getting caught up in whatever is going on between them.

Yvonne frowns at Cora's attitude and turns to you again, "That was serious, then? While you were gone she was checking that I didn't mess up our potion?"

Keeping your head down, attention set on the cauldron, you answer innocently, "Oh, Cora is only playing around. It is probably because of some of zose absurd jokes in wizarding France about ze English and zeir potions. Just like ze English tease us on our duelling styles. You must 'ave 'eard zem, non?"

"No, I don't think I have," she answers in a low tone. Something seems weird, but you're so tired that you don't waste time trying to figure it out.

"Non?" you carefully glance around to check where Professor Snape is and then explain, "Zat ze English cannot brew potions by zemselves, so zey require constant supervision? It is a-" Your stare accidentally falls on Cora, who is raising a pointed finger in front of her mouth in the universal gesture for you to hush. She's also shaking her head so fast that it makes you wonder if she could get whiplash on her own.

"Whaaat?" Yvonne interjects in a very shrill voice and your brain finally catches up with the heavy tension in the air.

Uh-oh... Too late.

Startled, you see Cora slap her forehead and scamper back to her table.

The blonde glares at your retreating friend, "Oh, you come back here. So you think I need supervision? I'll give you supervision."

You cringe at her tone. How were you to know a bad joke could trigger such a response? Under your breath, you make an oath to never again say an English-French rivalry joke out loud. Ever.

Yvonne follows after Cora and the two start a heated argument far away enough that you can't hear them. It makes you think about how humans can be really weird sometimes. This is something you'd never see happening to Veela, whatever village they come from.

In-between stirs, you steal a few glances at the bickering pair of girls, engaged in their enthusiastic debate. When Cora looks at you in the middle of it, you mouth a hurried 'Sorry' and she only shrugs, scrunching her lips to a side.

You can see one is as relentless as the other. It makes you wish you had a fraction of their considerable disposition to carry you through the last bits of this awful class. For here you are, all alone again to deal with the potion.

Around the time you're struggling through the three last steps for this stage of the potion, your brain is about to give in, jumbling measurements, ingredients, weights, colors and ways to stir.

You catch yourself rereading the same line six times in a row and the words seem to simply bounce off your skull, never sinking inside. Right when you are ready to start pulling your hair in frustration, Professor Snape roams closer to your side of the classroom, investigating the contents of the cauldrons again.

Miss Bampton notices him and decides it's time for an appropriate interval from the discussion. In a careful way, the blonde makes the walk back to your side and picks up her sharp knife to finish chopping the tentacles.

The professor announces in a sharp voice, "Twenty minutes left. Check your cauldrons. The potions should have a weak red sheen now."

A few hushed and desperate remarks start to pop up from various tables. Cries of 'Ours is too thick' and 'Why is it turning blue' are squeaked quite loudly.

You slowly keep count of the last necessary counter-clockwise stirs. Glancing at the next line of the instructions, you state in a low voice, "After you add zose tentacles, please mix in ze last ingredient while I lower ze temperature to ze right level so we can let it mature for next week."

Yvonne hums her agreement, collects the cut tentacles in her hands and carefully drops them into the boiling potion.

Grateful all this is almost over, you look at the sinking tentacles and frown, thinking hard about why this seems a bit wrong. You stare and stare, peeking into the cauldron, but you can't find the problem.

After carefully checking the instructions again, you at last grumble at the blonde, "Zose tentacles were cut lengthwise, Yvonne. Zey 'ad to be sliced crosswise."

Still noticing movement through the corner of your eye, you quickly add, "Stop everything."

Turning to glance at her, you watch mesmerized as she's tipping the last contents of a small jar into the cauldron.

A small... jar? Your eyebrows zoom up when you realize it's Dobby's jar, with pomegranate arils. From your forgotten would-be lunch!

You reach out to still her wrist, exclaiming urgently, "Zat is not an ingredient to zis potion!"

She gives you a puzzled look and then stares at the cauldron with wide eyes, "W-what?"

You try to capture the small speckles of scarlet with the ladle, but they are already scattered and sinking throughout the mixture, that is turning a rich pearly white now and chancing a few angry sputters. All you can do is put out the flames under the cauldron and wait for it to cool down on its own. At this point, you wouldn't risk meddling any further by attempting to cool it magically.

The purplish thick and absolutely stinking smoke that spews from the pot is enough of a warning. All the nearby students, including Yvonne and yourself, start to retreat away from the increasingly blobbing paste. The possibility of being splattered turns into a very real concern.

Even Professor Snape proceeds with caution, wand raised in front of him as he makes his way to your table, giving the cauldron an imperiously icy glare, as if he could stare it down into insignificance. He analyzes the mixture through suspicious eyes, his hooked nose taking in the scent of the fumes.

Finally, he flicks his wand to vanish the mess... and nothing happens. He repeats the spell another time and it's just as ineffective.

"I have never-" his words are cut mid-sentence as a loud fizzle makes everybody jump back. A few droplets hit the professor's cloak, singeing the material at once. By now, everyone in the room stopped what they were doing to look.

A few hushed comments, some colorful swearing and many gasps spring all around, particularly with the professor's eyes busy on his clothing and the potion. He must be trying to determine what could have gone wrong.

Professor Snape knows his potions very well. He can usually tell in seconds which mistake was performed by a student, whether it involves the amount of ingredients, the order they were added to the potion or the way they were processed. Of course, there's no chance he can take an educated guess now, since he isn't aware that an unintended ingredient was released into the cauldron.

"Silence," the professor barks, taking a few steps to stand beside you. "What," he goes on coldly, not tearing his eyes away from the fuming cauldron and the heavy cloud floating above it, "happened here?"

He's not looking at either of you, but you know he is very certain about who are the owners of the gurgling chaos. The fresh adrenaline rush suddenly rids you of all signs of tiredness.

You take a look at your terrified companion and start to whisper, as calmly as you can, "We were following ze instructions correctly until ze two last ingredients. Zen... hmmm... ze Murtlap tentacles were cut lengthwise."

"That would not have caused this," he remarks, lazily lifting the tip of his wand in the direction of the cauldron. "What else?" he demands in a low voice.

The fizzle becomes a loud hiss and more students back away from the dramatic cauldron.

Reluctantly, you lower your voice as much as you can, hoping no one else can hear you, "Today I was to 'ave pomegranate arils for lunch. Zat small flask," you say, pointing at it, "was full of zem. I did not 'ave time to-"

Your explanation is interrupted by a round of mini-explosions coming from the potion. Uncertain on how to continue anymore, you stay silent and brace yourself for the professor's reaction.

Surprisingly, he doesn't release his contained fury or resort to sneering. "Arils. Pomegranate arils." A deep frown creases his forehead, his greasy hair covering most of his face. He seems to be considering this information, whispering just as low as you had, "Fortifiers for your Veela phasing, I suppose?"

'He knows this?' Disconcerted, you only manage to nod and your attention bolts forward as the cauldron becomes excessively quiet.

Its lower half starts to disintegrate and globs of the opaque paste splash on the desk, forming a thin layer that spreads at large. The mixture discharges ominous sparks as it goes and destroys everything in its path, except the glass jar of the arils, which stands alone as a glittering island in the middle of the impenetrable cream.

Professor Snape observes in rapt attention and the potion doesn't miss a chance to impress with its devastating ability. Soon, small holes grow wider on the table and the liquid plops down to the floor, in a shower of small beads that carve their own path on the stones to fuse together in a pool.

"A stimulant," the professor murmurs to himself. "Resistance to magic. Eats through fabric, metal, wood, ston-"

With a weak crinkling, the jar finally gives in, cracks to pieces that float briefly, and then disintegrate into the mixture.

"And glass," he adds, smoothly.

A few minutes later nothing more has happened, so he carefully moves forward to examine the cauldron, the table and the potion. He tries a few spells on it, but you soon realize from the wand movements that the concoction also resists being scoured, shrunk, siphoned and set on fire. It can be levitated and frozen, however. The desk and cauldron remain damaged, 'Reparo' after 'Reparo'.

Slowly, the rest of the class loses interest and goes back to finishing their potions. Yvonne and you return to the table, finally noticing up close the full extent of the destruction accomplished by your afternoon's work. And all because of a silly distraction.

Your silly distraction.

Groaning, you try to picture the look on Madame Maxime's face once she learns of this. Or your mother's. You ruffle your hair, clenching and unclenching your hands until some of the frustration eases down.

Tools and ingredients are gone, the table is a mess and it doesn't even look like there ever was a cauldron nearby. The professor is still testing the potion with non-verbal spells.

Following a momentary inspiration, you pull out an empty flask from your bag and put an Unbreakable Charm on it.

"Glass seems to be ze toughest substance against it," you explain under Professor Snape's dangerous stare. Setting the flask on the floor, you twirl your wand just so to separate a small amount of the potion from the main puddle and levitate it to fill the container. "Perhaps wiz an Unbreakable Charm it will resist."

After sealing it shut, you levitate the vessel to the table, avoiding any contact with it. Time passes by and it remains intact. Professor Snape conjures a larger glass jar, making it unbreakable too, and then seals the rest of the potion inside. With a flick of his wand, the jar floats to his desk. He picks up your flask and turns it in his hand, watching the potion inside.

He then addresses the class, "You should have finished for today. Clear away. The potions will stew for a week. Homework: twenty inches of parchment on the Blood-Replenishing Potion, to be handed next week, before your exams."

"Follow me," the professor adds, calling both of you. Gathering your things, you carefully wander to the front of the class as everyone else quickly leaves for dinner.

Once you're alone, he starts in a cold voice, "I expect an essay about this on my desk by Monday morning. The list of ingredients and the methods are to be explained in details, including the additions that caused this accident. In the meantime, I shall test your mixture. It might have some use."

You both nod in silence. His last remark, subtle as it is, proves he is genuinely interested in the potion. Coming from an expert potioneer, it's saying something. Who knows? Maybe this wasn't a complete waste of time and ingredients.

"Next week you will need a mature first-stage potion if you are to keep up with the class," he goes on smoothly. "I do not tolerate delays. Tomorrow is your last chance to prepare it in time."

Your brows furrow at that, but Yvonne is the one to speak first, "We have classes all day, sir."

Actually, you don't have classes in the morning while Yvonne does, since your choices on NEWT classes were a little different, but you keep that information to yourself. The potion needs to be done in pairs, so you'll have to work it out somehow.

"Indeed?" The professor's lips curl dangerously and he makes the decision for you, "Then you will start after dinner. Be warned: there are two more stages to complete the potion. Final grades depend on them. I suggest you pay close attention this time."

"Oui, professor," you reply, nodding at him.

Yvonne turns to leave and stops when she notices you're not following.

"I need a minute," you tell her and she assents, walking out the door.

Turning to face the professor, you make a serious request, though you avoid letting it sound too much like a plea on the off chance that it'll make him less tempted to give you a straight 'no', "Professor, I would like to keep my small flask."

His dark eyes narrow considerably, "Why?"

"It is a custom in my family, sir... My grandmuzzer always told me to learn more from my failures zan from my victories," you whisper with as much dignity as you can, considering the situation.

"Be that as it may, this is one dangerous potion, Miss Delacour. I am not even sure what it is," he replies calmly.

"I only want it as a reminder of what 'appened today, professor," you counter, keeping your tone neutral.

His face remains unreadable, his heavy stare uncomfortably set on you. Seconds tick away and neither of you bend. You wonder if he's trying to catch you in a lie, so you don't even consider blinking. There's no reason to fear when you're being as truthful as you can, right? Or so you keep telling yourself.

Finally, he says coolly, "Very well, you may take it."

He pauses to wait your reaction and adds in a silky voice after you quickly nod, "No one is to know of this. Remember, that vial remains sealed. It is a souvenir and no more."

"Merci, Professor," you consent, reaching to collect the container and place it in your bag.

When you're about to leave, he surprises you, proceeding in a reproachful tone, "Miss Delacour, this wouldn't have happened in my class if you were taking care of yourself." He briefly looks in disdain at the creamy potion, "You missed your supplements today."

You nod, keeping your head hanging low.

"Are you sleeping well?" he inquires coldly.

"More or less. Usually. Last night," you shake your head, biting your lip, "was an exception."

"Have you been using magic - Veela magic?" he presses on.

You start to feel uneasy with the interrogation, "I practice a little every day."

"Under guidance?" his voice is barely a whisper.

You lift your stare to meet his, "Non. I am learning from books until I go 'ome."

"Is it overtaxing?" he inquires, openly analyzing you.

You frown and tilt your head in surprise, unable to grasp the meaning of his words.

He narrows those dark eyes, clearly irritated at having to explain himself further, and he carries on slowly enough to make his displeasure known, "Is there physical pain after the use of such magic?"

"No-" you stop when you remember about today in the library and you open and close your hand a few times. "Hmm... Oui. Only today." And then you hastily add in a "Sir" which you'd completely forgotten about since the sequence of questions began.

He doesn't take notice, to your relief.

The professor mutters something you can't understand under his breath, grasping his quill to scribble a few lines on a roll of parchment. "Miss Delacour, listen closely. If you skip sleep, you are forbidden to practice Veela magic. When you don't take your supplements, you must not use Veela magic, either. And you should never," the stress on the word is enough for you to understand the gravity intended, "miss sleep, forget the supplements and perform Veela magic in the same day. Today should serve as a warning."

"Oui, professor," you reply weakly, completely baffled by the direction of the conversation.

The professor hands you the parchment, "You will present this to Madam Pomfrey, at the Hospital Wing. The nurse will give you a phial of Sleeping Draught. Keep it in your room to use when necessary. Under no circumstances are you to stay awake all night."

Another "Oui, professor" and you store his note away in your bag.

"Take the fortifiers daily, always before lunch," he continues with his instructions as he walks to the door of his classroom. "Be careful when you try magic. Without tutoring, you do not know what you are doing."

You follow behind with wide eyes, uttering one more "Oui, professor."

He stops by the door and turns, black eyes glittering at you, and starts to speak even more slowly, accentuating every word with unnerving precision, "A last word of advice before you go, Miss Delacour. If you ever return in similar conditions as today, taking risks in my class, you will not have a second chance to brew your potion. It will be a straight zero and a full month of detentions for you, champion or not."

Your swallow comes in a struggle to unclog your throat.

"Do you understand?" he asks smoothly, opening the door for you.

With a last "Oui, professor," you nod and finally take your leave.

The door swiftly closes behind you and the Dungeon Corridor never before felt this inviting. You just stay there, blinking several times, still processing the one-on-one with the Potions master of Hogwarts.

A short distance away you see Yvonne. The blonde girl waits for you to catch up with her, "Some of the girls are still in the bathroom, can you believe that? They take too long to fix their make-up. Wanna go with me to dinner? There's still some time left until the bell rings."

"Oui, sure," you smile at her, the shock slowly fading away. Your brain is as worked up as it could be. Something tells you the professor knew what he was talking about. But how did a wizard learn details about Veela that you didn't find in your books?

In private books that not even someone like him can access. You frown. Books that taught you the benefits of good rest, but failed to mention that sleeping a full night's sleep was an absolute necessity.

There's something else bothering you a lot more, though... Where is your mother, the one who should be telling you all that? Sleep, diet, magic… What else is there that you don't know? When do the questions stop and where do you find answers at last?

Still, no matter how bad it all went, you have the very weird feeling that the professor wasn't as awful as he could've been. The potion was a complete failure and you've seen him flawlessly demolish other students' morale for far less than you accomplished today. In a sense and in his own twisted way, he served you a light punishment, but he also offered you help and advice. And realizing this is quite unsettling in itself.

When you take in consideration the destruction done to his classroom, the loss of ingredients and his unusual knowledge of Veela affairs, you really don't know what to make of the afternoon.

"I thought he was going to skin us alive," Yvonne whispers, shuddering.

"Oui, me too," you agree quietly.

The blonde remains silent, perhaps brooding over what happened. From the little you know of the Ravenclaw students who share NEWT classes with you, she's probably never been associated with a failed project since she entered Hogwarts.

You take the stairs side by side until you start to hear soft laughter coming from the Entrance Hall, and then the blonde finally decides to slow down and talk. "Fleur, I'm really, really sorry. I was so into that thing with Cora. If only I'd read the instructions..."

After a long sigh, you're completely honest with her, "Yvonne, I was almost falling asleep where I stood. It is surprising zat nothing worse 'appened until zat part of ze potion. I need to apologize, too. It was my fault ze arils were zere in ze first place."

She gives you a surprised look. "Then, you're not mad at me?" she asks, in a hopeful tone.

You offer her a smile and shake your head, "Non. Are you mad wiz me?"

"I'm too shocked to be anything," she replies weakly and you can relate to her reaction, knowing your nerves are terribly strung, too.

Yvonne continues with a frown, "Well, I am a little mad with myself. This only proved Cora right. I can't stand it that now she thinks I stink at Potions."

"I am sure it is not what Cora zinks of you, Yvonne," you say, trying to ease her worries. "She was ze best Potions student in our school. It was difficult for any of us to keep up wiz 'er. But she is also very friendly. Cora is one of zose rare people zat looks for ze best in uzzers. It is why she is never alone. Zat girl is... hmm... 'ow do you say zis? Ze life of ze party, non?"

She chuckles despite the gloom in her eyes, "Yeah, I guess that fits Cora to a T."

"Ze zings I told you, do not believe zem. Zey were only bad, shallow jokes. You should not take zem to 'eart," you tell her sincerely. "Tomorrow we will nail zis potion, alright? Zen you and I will feel a lot better."

"That sounds good to me," she states with more confidence. The Ravenclaw finally allows herself to smile a bit. She then gives you a long look and adds with a smirk, "You are a really good friend too, you know. It was great what you did, speaking for the Granger girl."

You decide not to make remarks on the suggestive way she stressed the word 'friend' and to avoid thinking too much on the intended meaning behind it. Pretending not to notice anything, you quickly turn it around, "And you 'elped me zere too."

She smiles and you know she saw through your attempt at covering it up. At least she doesn't push it further, "I'd say we helped each other. Tomorrow we'll be a better team, yes?"

A few hasty words in French reach you then, and you turn on the spot to search for their source.

"Fleur, attends-moi."

While you're distracted, Yvonne leaps up the final steps and smiles mischievously when her eyes rake the Entrance Hall, "Looks like I have a bit more supervision to do, Fleur. I'll talk to you later, okay?"

And with those parting words, the blonde girl strides away from your line of sight. There goes more trouble for Cora.

You go back a few steps, soon meeting piercing green eyes framed by lank auburn hair. And this is the very person you knew would be hunting you down. Alix, your closest friend since childhood, the one that can read you like a book.

Your stomach anxiously sinks to pits you didn't know you had inside.

This trip to Hogwarts has witnessed your longest time apart. So close, and yet so far apart, each one focused on your own personal ordeals. You haven't once talked for hours, or spent nights awake like you used to at the dorm in Beauxbatons, sharing dreams and making plans for the future.

Since you discovered Hermione and your lone quest began, there were never right words or timing to say anything more personal, particularly considering that you didn't want to bring up your interesting brunette. And Alix has kept a bit of distance as well. Perhaps her stay at Hogwarts has been exciting as well.

The moment she sees you, her lips twist into a huge smirk, "The professor let you live, huh?"

You roll your eyes, but smile all the same, "It was a surprise, but yes, I'm still in one piece. Thanks for asking."

"No problem," she nudges your shoulder playfully. "I couldn't believe that was your potion. Last time you did that, we were all in second year. Good old times, when we had our potion races on Professor Roubailleux's class. One of our group always destroyed half the classroom."

"Best of times. It was mostly Reva, though. Never Cora, and hardly ever you," you add with a smile.

She smiles back, but you notice it's rather small and a bit off, "And now here we are, to witness Fleur Delacour melt down her first English cauldron. I'm so proud of you."

You play along while it lasts, "Please. You keep that up and I might even blush."

Alix nods slowly and locks a challenging stare on yours. You hold your breath, knowing it won't take long now. Her eyes narrow. Here it comes.

"You should be blushing, Fleur," she speaks in an accusatory tone, poking your forehead. She only does that when she's reasonably upset. Not good. "And we both know it has nothing to do with potions. How can you be hiding something like that from us? From me! Do I have to remind you of our friendship? Of the pact we made before coming here?"

"Oh, yes, I remember the pact very well," you cut in with a little impatience, in an attempt to regain some control over the situation. "After all, everyone stuck together after the Goblet made its decision, right?"

"Can you really blame anyone? They wanted the glory too, Fleur. All the girls, even me, wished to be champions," she replies, and it's hard for you to imagine what it meant for them not to be chosen. "But when your name was called, it was fair. I cheered for you. And one by one, our friends came around."

You cross your arms and frown.

"I know, some were very stubborn," she adds with a provocative smirk, "but one look at those dragons did the trick. It worked wonders to change their minds."

"Good thing I survived, then," you say with obvious sarcasm.

Alix lifts an unamused eyebrow and goes on in a steady tone, "Yup, it proves you were the right choice. Do you think anyone disagrees?"

"At least not now," you reply, though still sourly.

"Alright, enough of that. Stop interrupting me, Fleur, and let's get to the point," she adds in a stern tone. "Can you please tell me why I have to find out by accident that my best friend is falling for an English witch? What's changed so much in these few months that you didn't tell me yourself?"

"Nothing changed. There was a lot to deal with since we arrived at 'Ogwarts," you explain calmly.

"No, no, no, girl. You can stop right there. I'm not letting you get away that easy. Did you really think I'd buy that?" she asks, her tone as fierce as her stare. "That's not the kind of news to keep to yourself. Wake up, Fleur. Take a look around. With those crazy Viktor Krum fans, you're going to need all your friends. Better be ready for when the word gets around."

"No. None of that, please," you say tiredly. "No word getting around."

That spikes her curiosity, "Oh? What's going on?"

"Nothing," you answer with a curt shrug. "I only want us to remain more private."

"Us? So you're an 'us' already. Wow, that was fast. How did I not see this?" She pauses, her eyes glassy and distant, clearly thinking. And then she regards you closely for a while, "You're afraid of gossip, aren't you? Oh, I know… It must be that Skeeter reporter. Is that it? You're a champion. That witch will have a field day with another mini-scandal."

"No, I am not afraid," you answer slowly.

"Huh? Is she? The Granger girl?" She grasps your arm to get your full attention and her eyes narrow dangerously, "Are you saying she's embarrassed? Ashamed of you?"

"Of course not," you counter impatiently. "She's simply getting used to this, I think."

Alix gives you a skeptical look, enough to make you feel the need to explain yourself better, "It seems that I am her first... hmm, her first everything."

Right then, you remember that secret kiss at the Ball and your mood flatens somewhat. "Actually, almost everything," you correct awkwardly.

"Look, I'm letting you off the hook now because we can't have a long talk here, but you owe me. Big time," she raises both eyebrows to emphasize her words.

With a furtive look backwards to check for eavesdroppers, Alix starts to pull you along, up the stairs. She chortles heartily and whispers closer to your ear, "Funny how those girls, oh so smart about Krum, didn't notice this. I could see what you were trying to hide through the fog across the room."

You snort in your best mocking way, "Alix, you are rambling. Please. Get to the point."

"I want the full story. Stop being so independent, or shy, or whatever it is that's keeping you from talking to us," she states bluntly. "It must be this awful English weather. You're more affected than us." She blinks a few times and keeps on offering wild explanations for her theory, "Or this girl is really getting to you. It could be the food, too. Bad for the figure, bad for the brain-"

"Rambling again," you interrupt before it goes on indefinitely.

"Sorry," she whispers and falls silent, gathering her thoughts. Her eyes take on a renewed sparkle and she starts again in a gentler tone, "Fleur, you and I shared everything since the day we met. Remember? And what about Beauxbatons? Always together, in Quidditch, detention, classes and parties. That's us. I don't want a fancy tournament in a foreign country to ruin it. Come to your senses. At least tell us, your nearest friends. We'd never leak this to anyone."

Hesitating, you answer what you can at the moment, "Thanks. I'll think about it, alright?"

She nudges your shoulder again, "Don't give me that. This is huge. You must be dying to tell someone."

You lower your head, closing your eyes and trying to hide the twitching smile testing your lips.

"Alright, I know what will convince you," she adds with a sly smile. "I'm going to make you curious too. Maybe I have some news to share, so you better not keep me waiting for long. I won't tell mine until after you share yours."

An easy chuckle finally breaks free and you nudge her shoulder back. How can anyone go long without friends? "You win, Alix. I'll tell you. Just not now, okay?"

"Okay. I'll hold you to that. Now let's go. I'm starving and I have to talk to Reva," she picks up speed and you follow her to the Entrance Hall.

Alix soon hurries away. You slow down, looking around, and notice in amusement a couple of girls in a corner, in the middle of another 'supervision' session, all by themselves. They're standing quite close to each other and whispering so their voices are not overheard.

Despite their body language being a lot more relaxed now than it was at the Potions classroom, from the wild gestures and faces, you can tell their debate is still going strong.

There are many other students scattered in the hall, divided in small groups. The rest of your friends are nearer the Great Hall, in a strategic place where they can keep an eye out for the start of the meal and still not miss the Yvonne-Cora showdown. Alix is already a part of the giggling gang, blending easily into their conversation.

No doubt, you'll be the target of lots of questions and perhaps even jokes on the failed potion and what Professor Snape had to say. You shake your head.

Feeling too tired to face this now, you ignore the eyes that follow you and make a beeline for the doors.

The familiar cold greets you as soon as you're out on the courtyard. The snow that has taken over the grounds didn't melt during the afternoon, probably well preserved by the low temperatures. You watch for a while as the veil of darkness slowly unfolds before your eyes, only held back by the weak torches burning at either side of the doors.

A few steps to the right take you to the covered walkway that marks out the rectangular courtyard. You wander in the shadows, distractedly registering the weak clicking of your heels on the stone floor.

The lone indication of the earlier storm is the heavily clouded sky, hiding away the moon and most of the stars. All in all, it is a beautiful and calm night.

You think about the Veela, that must've left the warmth of their homes some time ago to keep their appointment. Their party is now probably meandering through the woods, cutting their way through the snow as fast as they can.

In less than an hour they'll be here. And this time you'll be allowed to meet them properly. Perhaps there'll be a chance to talk, to learn more about them and their life at the village in the Forbidden Forest. You might have the chance to find the answers that you need for all the questions of late that have kept you guessing.

One of the doors opens again, but you stay silent and don't give yourself away.

"I know you're there," Hermione's soft call brings a small smile to your lips. "What are you doing?"

"'Ello, 'Ermione. I was checking ze weather for ze night," you reply and listen as she treads carefully in the dark, chasing the source of your voice.

A bit of light springs from the tip of your wand too so she can find you faster. The smile in that beautiful face is very welcome right now. With an inner sense of glee, you notice that it turns into a wide grin as she closes the last stretch to you.

And she doesn't halt until you're pressed together in a tight embrace and you feel the cold tip of her nose gliding up and down your neck. It's all so spontaneous and carefree that you end up chuckling together.

"Someone is 'appy tonight," you tease, extinguishing the light from your wand.

"Oh, I am," she agrees. "Fresh snow is so pretty that I could stay hours watching these landscapes. It's one of my favorite things. I've wanted to get you all alone out here since morning. You know that. And now it finally happened."

"Zis really was a busy day," you comment, hiding away the traces of weariness in your voice.

Hermione pulls away just enough to look at you, hands resting on the curves of your waist. It's darker now and you have to pay extra attention to read each other's emotions as they flutter across your features.

Her calm stare clings to yours and you marvel at her ability to make you relax in such a simple way. After such a long and dreadful afternoon, your unsteady hand rises to stroke her cheek lightly, as if you could hardly believe she is really here, so present and so close. Caught up in the precious sensations at your fingertips, your voice is but a heartfelt whisper, "You are, as zey say, a sight for sore eyes."

The seriousness of your words and tone has the brunette temporarily speechless, although she was eager to speak only a moment ago. Instead, she follows your eyes and simply enjoys the caress, until a chilly breeze sweeps by and your hand moves from her face to help keep her tresses in place. A weak shiver runs loose through your body and you try not to give it importance.

"And you," she finally murmurs, covering your fingers with what feels like a very warm hand, "are the freezing one now, Fleur."

In a confident way, she pulls out her wand again and performs a warming charm that encases you both in a steady protection. Curious eyes follow the careful motions and you listen quietly as she whispers the incantation.

She frowns briefly at your reaction, "Why the surprise? You do it all the time."

"Because you learned it in one day and by yourself," you state, impressed. "Zat particular charm is NEWT-level, 'Ermione. Seventh-year NEWT standard. When did you find ze time to look it up?"

She bites her lip and you blame the darkness for not being able to see the cute blush that must be crawling over her cheeks. "I picked the book in the library before meeting you this morning. You were busy with your letter, so I did a quick search on the shelves. After lunch I read and practiced whenever I could."

Your insides swell in pride at her accomplishment, "Ze spell worked as expected. Well done, ma belle. You do not cease to amaze me."

"Thank you, but it wasn't that hard. I had you to show me the wand movement many times yesterday." She pauses to return her wand to a pocket somewhere inside her robes. Deliberately, the brunette fastens her arms around you again and rubs your back a few times, "Fast to learn and handy, a great combination. And now I get my turn to warm you up."

You nod, smiling, "Always ze thoughtful one. I appreciate it very much."

"You're welcome," she replies softly, her stare still roaming over you, keen on observing your expression. "Please don't take this the wrong way, but I have to say, you're looking quite..." she stops, hesitanting, "er... terrible. How did it go with Snape?"

And there it is, clear as day, that same concern as before. Her brows are furrowed and you can see, even through the darkness, those dark eyes lined with sadness. Her sincere apprehension makes you sigh. It's in the little things that she shows she cares.

Closing your eyes, you slowly lower your head and lean forward, marking the way as you go with a soft trail of kisses. From her forehead, to the tip of her nose, and finally a long taste of her lips. After such a day, it feels right to make this last, to spend what little scraps of time you have left to be in her company and make sure she knows how much you've missed her.

But it's still too short, and ends much too soon.

You wonder if you'll ever have enough of her. Maybe not. Probably not. Even if you had hours to spend together, something tells you it would still leave you wishing it didn't have to stop.

"It could 'ave been better," you start to answer truthfully when you straighten up and can speak again.

She cuts you off, surprising you with a demand for more. Her hands reach up for your cheeks and carefully bring your face down again. As soon as you're close enough, her lips claim your full attention, driving any types of potions or professors completely out of your mind.

There's a new sweet urgency in those lips, in the way she makes them join yours, stoking a burning trail deep inside you. It takes you too long to realize that while you're still trying to recover from the stunning effect of the bold approach, her eager kiss is quickly turning your body into a dysfunctional mush.

Before your control crumbles, you hold her waist and gently move towards an arched window, until her back is safely shored there. As your hands slide forward over the stony sill at her sides for support, you slowly tilt ahead and your bodies make contact, dismissing any distance in between.

She inhales sharply and pulls you even closer, into a deep kiss. You half-sigh, half-moan at the first signs that the lightheadedness is settling in, but you redouble your clutch on the stones under your fingers and try to fight it off a bit longer.

And then she's the one to pull back, her breathing hard and uneven. You're not doing any better yourself. After a few teasing nibbles on your lower lip, a last brush of lips follows and she leans away.

Well, perhaps you were being one-sided earlier. It looks like she thought she wasn't having enough of you, either. This alone makes you smile.

"Goodness, your hands, lips... All of you..." she says weakly, taking a deep breath and releasing it slowly. Her hands still hold your face, and her eyes finally open again to allow dark orbs to study you. "I miss seeing the color of your eyes, Fleur. Do you even know how irresistible you are to me? How you make me feel?"

"Non, but if ze effects for you are anywhere near what zey are for me..." you reply, leaving it open to her interpretation.

She chuckles, shaking her head a little, "We're in trouble, aren't we?"

You grin in silence, melting into it all, until her hands move further to your hair and now they're... covering your ears?

It's something so random that you manage to turn your brain back on and ask in amusement, "'Ermione?"

The brunette kisses your cheek, laughing against your skin. She seems still reluctant at letting go of you, "I thought they'd be really cold. Don't you know that the ears suffer a lot during winter? It's okay. I'm only trying to keep you warm."

You nod and she slowly lets her hands move down, around your neck. Moistening your lips, you notice there's something else new. "Cherries..." Tilting your head, you look at her, "Lip gloss?"

"Mm-hmm. It's from my Mum. She makes this long list of things that I have to watch out for when I'm at school. It goes from silly stuff to some really creative ones. And it gets longer every year. Since we're in the middle of winter, chapped lips is right at the top." She licks her lips slowly, "You too... Peppermint. You must really like peppermint."

"Oui, I do," you confirm, smiling. "It is my favorite flavor in candy."

Another cold wind rushes through the window and you step back. In moments, your wands are out, reinforcing the warming charms. When you're done, she resumes the original conversation, "I interrupted you before. Sorry about that. Er... though I'm not really sorry, no." She frowns, tripping over her words, "I mean, it wasn't nice to interrupt you and I'm sorry for doing that, but I'm not taking back that kiss. Do you-"

"'Ermione," you cut in softly with a smile, saving her from any more explaining, "I did understand you well enough."

"Er… You were saying something about Snape, wasn't it?" she smiles and hurries to make the conversation skip forward.

You nod and offer her a hand, "Walk wiz me a little?"

Her hand finds yours and she seems pleased that it doesn't feel cold anymore. Fingers carefully lock together as you choose words to share the outcome of your afternoon. But there really isn't a way to embellish this, "I was distracted and ze potion was ruined."

"How bad was it?" she asks curiously.

"A total loss. Cauldron, table, ingredients, tools, time. Probably 'is patience too. My partner and I will 'ave to do it again tomorrow night," you whisper.

Her eyebrows jump up, then, "He gave you detention?"

You shake your head and explain better, "I do not zink it is supposed to be detention. Zat was a zree-stage potion. We need to prepare ze first part now to do ze uzzer stages at future classes."

"I'm sorry to hear that. Come here, you," she says, leaning on your shoulder and reaching around for a quick hug. "I can't make it right, but I can cheer you up a little." And with that, a warm kiss scorches your neck and another shiver runs down your spine, though it has nothing to do with temperature this time.

"Oui, you do zat a lot. More zan you know," you reply, pecking her head as she lets you go and continues with the stroll.

"Those pheromones are really something," she says breathily, rubbing her forehead. You look at her, still trying to shake off the aftereffects of coming closer to you.

A little later, her voice steadies some, "Too bad he didn't tell you to do it tomorrow afternoon. You could work in my class."

"Sit wiz you in class? 'Ermione, you do understand zat Professor Snape is not going to forgive me a second time if I destroy ze potion again, non?" you tease, chuckling.

She pouts in such an exaggerated way that you could tell a mile away she was doing it in jest, "Are you suggesting I'm a bad influence for you?"

"Non," you counter without a flinch, "I am saying wizout a doubt zat I would be even more distracted zan today if we shared ze same classroom, ma belle."

"Is that so?" she outright laughs.

"Oui. And I zink you know zi-" The ring of the bell silences you at once. Sighing, you both turn in the direction of the doors and make your way back to the castle. "I 'ad to tell you about ze study group. We will stay in ze carriage to study zis Saturday, in ze afternoon. Do you 'ave any engagements wiz your friends?"

"Nothing planned, no. It isn't a Hogsmeade weekend and the boys have a lot of homework piling up," she says, rolling her eyes. "I guess the most Harry and Ron'll want to do is knock on Hagrid's door to see if he is doing better."

You nod, "Zen we can meet to talk before we go to ze willow."

"Great. And spend Sunday together?" she asks with a smile.

"Oui, zat too. But I need some time in ze library, at least in ze morning. A last minute 'omework came up," you continue, thinking about your Potions essay. "It was good to talk to you now, before dinner. I will 'ave to leave early during ze meal."

"I know. That's why I dodged my friends to find you," she shrugs and continues playfully. "You have something top secret to do with Hagrid tonight."

You lift an eyebrow at that, "Oui, I do. I apologize for not telling you more."

"It's alright. Someday I'll hear about it. I wish whatever it is can make a difference, Fleur. Harry is so upset with his absence," her voice sounds anxious and a little sad.

You sigh, hoping it does help somehow.

"But promise me you'll go early to bed, okay? You need to rest," she completes in a firmer tone.

"Zat is a promise I cannot make, since it is not up to me. But I 'ope it will not take too long. I 'ave not craved my pillow zis much in a while," you tell her.

"That's good enough for me. At least I know you want to go to sleep," she says, squeezing your hand a little.

"Of course," you reply. When you reach the doors you can't hold back a quick yawn, "Time for good-bye, hmm?"

"I think so," she whispers, turning your way for a short kiss. "Good night, Fleur."

You hug her close and kiss her temple, "Good night, ma belle."

She opens the doors and walks away, looking for any sign of her friends. You notice all of yours are missing. Not even Cora or Yvonne remained in the Entrance Hall. In slow paces, you go into the Great Hall and take a place at the Ravenclaw table, only this time not with your friends, but at the farther end, right by the doors.

You greet the students around you and explain you're not feeling well, so exceptionally you'll sit with them for the meal and leave early. They nod and try to behave casually, while you keep to yourself.

True to your word, you choose a few samples of food that look like they'll give you enough sustenance and satisfy your appetite until you feel confident your mission is accomplished.

Checking the time, there's little over half an hour left. Excusing yourself, you stand slowly and leave without a fuss.

Time to get ready.

---

TBC

P.S.1: Congratulations if you got this far without dozing off or giving up. Your will is a force of nature and I bow to you.

(by the way, this version is not even that bad... you should see the original one, which I almost posted a week ago... put me to sleep three nights in a row before I got to the part where the potion spun out of control... and I was in the middle of an insomnia streak, how about that?) o.O

P.S.2: Now there are names, looks, personalities and a little background history to some of Fleur's friends. It was weird to keep calling them 'friends' and never really show their interactions, but getting Fleur and Hermione into a certain level of closeness was planned out as the first priority. And the idea was to get them there without rushing it too much.

P.S.3: You might have noticed that the speed of the timeline has slowed down throughout the story as the couple started to share time together. Unless something changes radically in chapters to come, I'd say this is the slowest it will get in all of the story (chapters 7, 8 & 9 - three chapters to complete a full day) because the events taking place in these chapters will affect everything from now on. So next chapter is the last overly slow, and then things will flow a bit faster again.