A/N: Regarding the French - there will not be much of it, and what is there, you should be able to figure out from context clues or Hermione's thoughts and interpretation. But just as Hermione doesn't understand all the French, there is some of it intended for you, the reader, to be a bit lost on, just the same as our heroine. ;)


Fleur Delacour, Hermione quickly decided, was the best part of visiting France.

Fleur was older than her, and her education had exposed her to parts of magic Hermione had never even heard of, whereas Fleur seemed happy to suddenly have a female friend to spend time with, which she hadn't had in a long time. Hermione was happy to have Fleur's company along anytime she could; France just seemed brighter and more fun with her around. Fleur had taken to accompanying Hermione and her parents as they explored Paris, chatting with Hermione and giving her small lessons on the wizarding history of places she'd never dreamed would have a magical connection, such as when they went to the Opéra Garnier.

"Le Palais Garnier?" Fleur said, nudging Hermione. She winked. "You have heard of the Phantom of the Opera?"

"No," Hermione breathed, her eyes wide. "You're not saying it's true?"

"Oh," Fleur said, her eyes opened in mock surprise. "I suppose I am saying nothing, then."

"Tell me!" Hermione said, tugging on Fleur's arm, and, laughing, Fleur did.

"Parts of it are true," she told Hermione slyly, "but other parts made up. There was a phantom, c'est vrai, but he was a man, a wizard – and part siren as well."

Hermione listened in fascination and Fleur described the wizarding history of the well-known tale, how this half-breed siren man, Erik, had been disfigured but born with an innate and deep understanding of music and singing. Shunned by the wizarding world for his unfortunate birth, he turned to music, traveling from conservatory to conservatory to learn and master music and the sciences. When he returned to France and took up residence in the opera house, it was Christine who first became enchanted with him and his singing voice when she overheard him, not he with her.

"A siren's song, it is very bewitching," Fleur said, her eyes playful, mischievous. "Christine, she could not resist his call."

It was fascinating to hear the story framed as attempts to help a woman escape from the thrall and draw of a siren, once she was already enchanted and convinced she loved the phantom. The phantom, Erik, did his best by Christine, spending time with her and teaching her to sing, even though he knew she had been drawn to him by having heard his magical voice. Over time, he fell in love with her, even giving her a ring and promising to be faithful to her.

Her wizard fiancé Raoul, though, whom she had been betrothed to since childhood, realized something was amiss when Christine told him of her love for another. Her obsessive, sudden love for the phantom made Raoul suspect an enchantment, but his suspicions made Christine run away to marry Erik, decrying that Raoul would never stop their love.

The ending was tragic: Christine's desperate promises to be Erik's bride, to love him forever, against Erik's anguish as he realized that though his own love for Christine was genuine, her love for him was but a façade, caused by the curse of his siren legacy. Raoul's quiet insistence that it was unfair to Christine to force her to give up a happy life and live one of obsession and desperation helped the Phantom make his choice, and, after giving Christine a tearful kiss, he sent her away in hysterics with Raoul, letting her keep his ring, before setting the opera house ablaze and perishing himself in the flames.

Hermione was crying quietly by the end of it, her mother casting worried looks back at her as she sobbed in Fleur's arms.

"That's so sad!" she said, heartbroken. "It wasn't his fault she overheard him! And he loved her so much he died so she could love again!"

"C'est tragique," Fleur agreed solemnly. "And that, that is not the worst. Many years later, Christine returned to find his gravestone. He had bid her to return his ring after his death, and though Christine went to see him, she would not return his ring, merely laid flowers upon his grave."

"That… what does that mean?" Hermione asked, wiping her eyes. "She… she kept his ring?"

"Though she eloped with Raoul, she kept Erik's gift of bright jewelry," Fleur said. "This… I think this is the same in England?"

"So she really did love him? Even without the influence of his song?" Hermione started crying harder. "So he might have died for no reason at all?"

They were attracting stares from muggles in the street, but Hermione couldn't care, too torn up over the sadness of the story. Fleur ushered her to the side, sitting her on a nearby bench still within her parents' sights.

"He did need to," she said quietly. "Otherwise, he would have anguished his whole life on if his love truly loved him back, or if he was forcing her to love him when she would not have on her own."

Fleur held her hand, rubbing circles on the back of it with her thumb, quietly soothing, and Hermione's tears eventually dried.

"I'm never going to be able to see that musical without crying again," she declared, sniffling and wiping her eyes. "Never. It's too tragic for me."

"Musical?" Fleur tilted her head. "There is an opera of it, here, in France. A wizarding opera, one that tells the truth."

"Is there really?" Hermione's eyes lit up. "Is it playing now? Is it possible to get tickets?"

"You just said you could not bear to see the story again without weeping," Fleur teased, and Hermione flushed.

"Well, I've seen the muggle musical, but I've never seen the wizarding opera," she said defensively. "How will I know if it will make me cry if I've never seen it before?"

Fleur could only laugh.

Fleur also suggested other sights and places to go that Hermione's parents hadn't considered, going with them to the Jardin des Tuileries and Luxembourg Gardens. Her parents were taken with the beauty of the gardens and grateful for Fleur's suggestions, and Hermione was happy to let her parents enjoy lovely, romantic picnics in the flowers while Fleur and Hermione splintered off to explore the garden paths and talk some more.

Over time, Fleur was becoming more relaxed with Hermione, Hermione noted, and more touchy-feely as well. Though Hermione hugged her Slytherin friends from time to time, as well as her coven, most witches and wizards in Britain were not physically affectionate with each other beyond a kiss on the back of the hand. Fleur, however, no longer hesitated to grab Hermione's hand and tug her along to explore some new area, or to take her arm and laugh when something amused her.

The physical affection seemed very French, to Hermione – after all, the French greeted each other with kisses on the cheeks – but she wasn't sure if it was something that all the French magicals did, or if it was just Fleur. It seemed to be part of Fleur's personality, an insuppressible affection that bubbled out of her in joy, almost like Fleur couldn't stop touching and hugging Hermione if she tried.

And Hermione didn't mind - even though her face continued to flame from time to time.

It wasn't that Fleur made her flustered, really, Hermione reflected, holding hands to her burning cheeks. It was just Fleur was so very beautiful and so enchanting, and she was so knowledgeable about everything, and she was just so smart…

The warmth growing in Hermione's chest at her delight in Fleur's company was not a new feeling, even as Hermione tried to deny it, refusing to acknowledge that she might be enjoying her time with her new friend a little too much. As much as the idea thrilled her, the fantasy of a holiday romance captivating her mind in the quiet moments before she fell asleep, Hermione at her core was a rational and pragmatic person, no matter how much her heart objected. Jade had warned her about this sort of thing, after all, and Hermione knew she'd have to go back to Britain eventually anyway, ending her acquaintance with Fleur all too soon.

And so Hermione resolved to just be, and to enjoy her time with Fleur to the fullest extent that she could, even if it meant getting flustered from time to time.


The day before Hermione was due back in Diagon Alley for the day of the election, Fleur went with Hermione and her family for a walk down the Champs-Élysées and then to the Arc de Triomphe. Her parents were awed and delighted, taking many photographs and watching a ceremony at the base of the grand arch, but they paid for them all to travel up the arc to the top, and Fleur tugged Hermione on ahead to the stairs, eyes alight with anticipation.

The view from the top of the structure was incredible. Hermione could see for miles in any direction, all of the roads of Paris seeming to sprawl out before her eyes. The roundabout of traffic around the arc seemed nothing short of insanity, several lanes wide as it was, but the entire thing was breathtaking to see.

Fleur looked sideways at Hermione once she had looked her fill, before taking her over to one of the less crowded ledges to look from.

"Here is a good place," Fleur told Hermione. She looked at her seriously. "You remember how I taught you?"

Hermione was nearly vibrating with excitement. "Yes. To reach out with my magic and feel the flow of the world."

"Exactement," Fleur said. "Now: close your eyes, and feel."

Fleur had told Hermione about something called ley lines. They were the natural paths of magic that flowed throughout the earth like veins, and magic was more plentiful near these places. Famous wizarding places were often located at junctions of two or more large ley lines, she had taught her: Stonehenge, for example, as were both Beauxbatons and Hogwarts.

Fleur's idea was for the hedgewitches to learn to use the innate ley line magic of the earth to use magic. While the hedgewitches might have their own magic stunted from not using it as they grew, they should still be able to reach out and draw up the earth's magic into themselves, and if they could, it was possible they could learn to cast with it.

In order for that to happen, though, someone needed to teach them how.

And in order to teach them how, Hermione had to learn herself first.

Fleur said it would be easiest the first time to feel the ley lines at a nexus, where more than one ley line met another, and the Arc de Triomphe was one of the largest such nodes in Paris. Taking slow, deep breaths to settle into herself and her magic, Hermione waited until she felt calm and steady before reaching out with her magic into the world, and she gasped.

"Fleur," she breathed. "Fleur... it's..."

Hermione's eyes were closed, but it was as if Hermione could see with just her magic, sensing the world around her, so great was the magic in the earth here. Before her lay a spidery network of lines of power, crisscrossing in some places and meeting up and joining in others, and several very large lines seemed to converge underneath her, right below the Arc.

"Tu vas bien, ma chérie," Fleur reassured her, touching her on the shoulders. "You are fine. Just feel."

"These are the ley lines?" Hermione asked faintly, her eyes still closed.

"Oui," Fleur murmured. "These are the magical veins of the earth."

Carefully, Hermione reached her magic out and down, down towards the nexus, touching her magic to the magic flowing in the ley line node, only to gasp as magic came racing up into her, flooding her body with itself. The magic from the ley line was nearly overwhelming, making Hermione's legs and knees feel weak, and she struggled for breath and collapsed back against Fleur, who was there to hold her up.

"Sshh, shh, chérie," Fleur urged her. "You are okay. Let the magic flow through you. Just feel it. It will not harm you."

The ley line magic was intoxicating in its power. It felt powerful, it felt eternal, it felt limitless. It felt like water made of pure magic itself was flowing through her in waves, carrying her along in its current, and Hermione felt like she could cast anything with this much power available to her in her body. She felt like she could get drunk off just feeling it, somehow.

"Now, let go slowly, Hermione," Fleur urged. "Slowly, let the ley line go back into the earth."

Reluctantly, Hermione concentrated, focusing on separating her own magic from that of the ley line nexus, letting the magic go back into the ground. It took a while to find all the bits of herself and pull them slowly back together inside her core, and then a while to let the ley line magic she'd taken drain back harmlessly into the earth. Once she had done it, she took several shaky breaths, still weak on her feet, before finally opening her eyes, Fleur's bright blue meeting hers.

"That was insane," Hermione breathed. "That was mad. All that magic…"

"Ley lines are not easy to learn to use," Fleur warned her. "But they may give your hedgewitches a chance to cast the magic that has been denied to them for so long."

Hermione nodded, the memory of the overwhelming power within her still strong.

"Nothing worth having is ever easy," she said. She looked at Fleur, determined. "I might not be the best teacher for them, but I will do my best."

Fleur's eyes sparkled at her, making Hermione blush again, and Fleur laughed as she helped her down the stairs of the Arc.

"Next time, I will teach you how to pull on a line and use it, yes?" she said. "Now that you know what to look for and feel, there is a small one in my backyard we can learn with. Not too big, a good size to begin with so you are not overwhelmed or lost."

Hermione looked at Fleur sideways. "You would invite me to your house?"

Fleur paused, quizzical. "Is that not okay?"

"No! That's very okay," Hermione said quickly. "It's just… I didn't expect that, I guess."

Fleur laughed, her eyes bright.

"I have met your parents over and over again, Hermione," she told her, amused. She patted Hermione's arm, even as she held it while helping her walk. "I daresay I am comfortable now with you finally meeting my own."