She was protected by her father's wealth and her mother's beauty. Her armor was such that even the thick stratum of mud that lined the streets of Salem Village for the better part of the year failed to tarnish her gilded exterior. Her newest pair of shoes danced untainted down the sullied path, and the hem of her dress taunted the earth with airy, blown kisses, never quite touching, as she sauntered along. That dress, though it made no ostentatious leaps beyond the bounds of Puritan mores, still drew just as much attention as the fine gown of crimson French silk she had arrived in just three months prior. Still, this plane, black garment of no exceptional hue nor hem, caught the sinful stare of every man by which it passed. Hermione, however, was willing to venture that it was the body underneath that was the work of exception, and it was at that which the menfolk of Salem leered. Almost as if the other woman was drawn to the buzzing of Hermione's thoughts, she turned sharply and made her way from across the street towards the baker's door from whence Hermione was exiting. The brunette gave a curt nod as the blonde slid past her in the doorway that she was now thankful she was departing. For her part, the other woman bestowed upon her a pearly white smile and a purred "Bonjour," as she slipped into the establishment. Hermione barely contained her snort of derision as a cloud of lilac scented perfume clung thickly to her nostrils. The scent was surely a luxury retained by the Frenchwoman against better judgement and on the good faith that no one would admit that they had been near enough to that human embodiment of temptation to complain about it. Hermione continued on down the road towards the village common without a second glance or a second thought. Internally rebuking Fleur Delacour would have to wait for another day. 1691 had ended with Salem in the clutches of a bitter winter and 1692 was picking up right where it left off. As such, the sick, the starving, and the seasonally stark raving mad were in no shortage, and she had an errand and three more calls to make before the day was out. She made her way through the wind blistered grounds of the common, off towards her first stop: the home of Goody Bishop.