Hermione's parents were amused with her excitement at having made a French friend, but luckily, they were indulgent.

"She seems nice enough," her mother said. She paused. "Though, that hair…"

"She was so smart!" Hermione said. "She knew everything about the Poisoning of Paris, it seemed. I don't know half that amount of history of Wizarding Britain!"

With some persuasion, her parents agreed to let Hermione meet Fleur on Friday to explore the wizarding quarter while they explored the surrounding muggle area, agreeing to meet back up later that afternoon.

"It's probably better than us going with you," her father admitted with a sigh. "We already don't fit in as French. Trying to fit in as a French wizard? I'd probably give the game away and get us all tossed out."

Hermione spent the next day practicing her French with everyone she could. Her parents had taken her to the Louvre, and while her parents had opted for the English audio guide, Hermione kept switching her tracks back and forth from English to French on the little audio player as she fiddled with the cheap headphones it came with.

"C'est bon de te voir," she practiced under her breath. "No… je suis heureuse de te revoir? Ugh! Do the French even say 'I'm happy to see you' to each other?"

Fleur's English was much better than Hermione's French, and they'd undoubtedly speak English anyway, but Hermione wanted to make an effort. She wanted to show that she didn't expect Fleur to cater to her all the time.

The Louvre itself was crowded and hot. A quiet cooling charm on herself in the bathroom helped ensure she stayed cool the rest of the afternoon, and Hermione had a good enough time seeing all the art, though she was surprised by how small the Mona Lisa was in person – she'd always imagined it much bigger. The way her eyes seemed to follow you, though… Hermione wondered if Da Vinci had been a wizard, and if his painting had been the start of the magic behind wizarding portraits, somehow.

After the museum, Hermione's mother had made reservations at a nearby restaurant, and Hermione found herself reluctantly trying escargot, only to discover she loved it.

"This isn't nearly as bad as I thought it'd be," she admitted, fishing another snail from its shell. "They're actually kind of good."

Her mother laughed, and her father grinned at her.

"It's just another vehicle for butter and garlic," her father teased, eating another one of his own. "Why wouldn't it be good?"

Hermione grinned back sheepishly. "Fair enough."

The rest of the meal was enjoyable as well, wrapping up what had been a lovely day. Her parents discussed something they had seen in the Louvre as they retired, and though Hermione was exhausted herself, she found herself already thinking of the next day, a quiver of excitement to her thoughts.

Though it was only a few scant hours now, Friday somehow still seemed too far away.


When Friday finally dawned, Hermione was up bright and early, despairing over what to wear.

"Do I wear robes?" she asked her parents, worrying. "We have to go through a muggle area to get to the entrance, so I feel like that's not a great idea. But I don't want to wear muggle clothes and then stick out once I get to the wizarding quarter!"

"Hermione, we are on holiday," her father grumbled, turning over in the bed her parents had claimed and putting his pillow over his head. "It is too early to worry about clothes."

Her mother, who had risen early to take a shower, was more helpful.

"You could wear a nice dress with buttons down the front?" she suggested. "Like the kind you wore when your friends came over for dinner."

"Isn't that a little short for France?" Hermione said, biting her lip.

Her mother sighed. "Then wear one of mine. They're longer."

Glad she'd packed her new books on a whim, Hermione took out Beginner Tailoring Charms for the Burgeoning Designer and flipped through, looking for what she needed. Her mother was her height, but she was distinctly curvier than Hermione was, and a couple careful charms helped take in the dress at the bust, hips, and waist.

"Oh, sure, show off," her mother teased her. "We'll see how big your hips are after you've given birth to a child."

Color-Changing Charms weren't hard, either, especially on muggle fabric. Remembering Fleur's powder blue skirt from the other day, Hermione charmed the dress periwinkle, before stepping back, satisfied. It wasn't a copy, but it was the same type of soft, pretty color, and Hermione hoped it would work.

Accessories gave her pause, though. She had one monarch butterfly clip, and one malachite butterfly clip, and that was it. Neither one of them would match or compliment her dress color, and neither one would submit to a Color-Changing Charm if she tried. With a sigh, she asked her mother if they could take a detour by a shop so she could pick up some small muggle butterfly clips. Her mother had been amused but agreed, and Hermione had darkly thought that at least one of the dozen or so she would get in a pack would match her dress.

The entrance to Place Cachée was up on Montmartre, near Sacré-Cœur. Her parents had been wanting to tour the Basilica as it was, and Hermione was delighted that her parents would be able to entertain themselves while she entertained herself in wizarding Paris nearby, which would be much better than touring another old stuffy church, in her modest opinion.

The metro route they took put them out at the base of the hill, across from the Saint Vincent Cemetery. The Basilica was stunning to behold as they looked up at it, glinting in the light.

"We have to climb up all the way up there?" Hermione's father groaned, looking at the steep streets and staircases. "Jean, Hermione: if I die on the way up, know that I loved you."

Hermione giggled while her mother laughed at her father, rolling her eyes and smiling.

"Exercise is good for you, Richard," she admonished, taking his arm. "Come on. Let's go."

Hermione led the way with her map out, having very carefully plotted the exact way to get to where she needed to go. She was lucky; long before the streets got really steep, she saw the statue of Pythia she had read about come into view, and a familiar girl was near the bottom. Excited, Hermione ran ahead.

"Fleur!"

Fleur turned to see Hermione hurrying up to her. Hermione beamed at her, excited to see her new friend once again, and she skidded to a stop while Fleur looked amused.

"Ah—c'est bon de te revoir," Hermione said, careful of her accent. "Comment ça va?"

The amused smile on Fleur's face widened, her eyes alight. "Ça va bien, et toi aussi, à ce que je vois. Ta robe est magnifique."

Hermione froze.

"Err—okay, just a second," she said. "'Ça va bien' is 'going well', I think, and 'vois' is 'see'—"

Fleur laughed.

"Ça va bien," she simplified. Her eyes sparkled. "You tried to speak French for me?"

"I did speak French!" Hermione said, somewhat indignant. "I just… didn't quite understand your response, entirely."

Fleur laughed again.

"It is fine," she declared. "I need to practice my English, anyway. You are helping me by being my conversation partner."

"Really?" Hermione was surprised. "Your English is already so good!"

"You flatter me," Fleur dismissed. "No, I know my accent needs much work."

Hermione's parents caught up to them, having decided not to run up the stairs and slanted streets.

"Good to see you again, Fleur," Hermione's mother said with a smile. "Thank you for agreeing to show Hermione around."

Hermione's face flamed at the implication that Fleur was babysitting her, but Fleur either didn't pick up on it or ignored it.

"It is my pleasure," Fleur told them, curtsying slightly. "You need Hermione back at a set time?"

Her mother looked at her father, who shrugged.

"We don't know how long it will take to tour the Basilica," her mother admitted. "Let's see. A couple hours for a tour, another hour for lunch in there, another couple hours exploring…"

"If you would like, I can simply return Hermione to her 'otel?" Fleur suggested.

Hermione's mother was surprised.

"You can do that?" she asked. "It's not a magical hotel."

"I'm sure we can make our way there without problem," Fleur said, a smile playing around her lips. "I will return her in time for dinner. Is that good for you?"

"Good by me," her father said with satisfaction. "Come on, Jean – it's going to take me another hour just to walk those stairs…"

Her mother laughed.

"Well, you two have fun," she bid. She fixed Hermione with a look. "Don't have any dangerous adventures, you hear me?"

Hermione's face flamed. "Mum!"

Her mother laughed as she joined her father, and the two continued on their hike up the mountain toward Sacré-Cœur.

Hermione looked sideways at Fleur, embarrassed, but Fleur was smiling.

"Your parents, they are very accepting, for muggles," she said. "They are lovely people."

Hermione wasn't quite sure how to respond to that, but it didn't matter; a moment later, Fleur had stepped forward toward the statue, gesturing for Hermione to join her. Hermione's eyes widened as the statue came alive for a moment, looking around, before pulling her skirts to the side. Fleur grabbed Hermione's hand and tugged her through the stone the statue sat on, only to emerge on the other side on a busy street, full of Parisian witches and wizards shopping. Fleur guided Hermione away from the entrance off to the side, and Hermione's eyes drank in the sights.

The first thing she noticed was that there were just so many people. The entire street was bustling, filled with witches and wizards, and it was a sharp contrast to the frequent openness of Diagon Alley. How did France have so many witches and wizards? Or was this a special day of some sort, when everyone decided to do their shopping?

The next thing Hermione noticed was their attire. Very few of them wore robes. The women were wearing collared blouses and skirts or dresses, often with a soft hat, while the men seemed to be wearing collared shirts with trousers. Many of them wore vests or a blazer as well, sometimes with a tie. Color choices all seemed to be pastels and neutral shades, very unlike the rich jewel tones she often saw in Diagon Alley, and Hermione wondered at the difference.

With a glance sideways at Fleur, Hermione was reassured of her own choice of clothing. Fleur was wearing a light pink dress that came down past her knees, with rose embroideries around the collar. The color suited her dark hair much better than the light blue had, but it clashed with her skin, now, which was almost reassuring – Fleur wasn't too perfect, then. And the cut of her dress was similar to her own; Hermione might not be wearing French fashion, but she'd at least somewhat fit in.

Fleur noticed Hermione's careful examination of both her and herself, and she laughed.

"You are worried you stick out?" she teased. "Come. Let us explore."

The witches and wizards here were dressed very smartly, everything very tailored, and Hermione felt jealous for a moment.

"There are so many skirts here," she said enviously. "And the men! They're wearing trousers!"

Fleur laughed.

"From my understanding, magical France is much more, how you say… 'progressive', than wizarding Britain?" she said. "In France, we do not keep tradition for tradition's sake. Magic moves on, fashion moves on, and we move with it."

"I wish we did that," Hermione said. "Everyone wears robes. All the time. All the time, even the men. There are different cuts and the like, but in the end, they get a bit repetitive and dull." She paused. "Though, it makes it much easier to avoid committing some fashion faux-pas, when everything is the same."

Fleur sighed.

"I do like robes," she admitted. "But not cut quite so long, I think? I like the shorter ones, that do not reach your ankle. Ones of a length like yours," she said, gesturing to Hermione's calves. "They flatter my figure more, and I think they look more feminine."

Hermione looked at Fleur's own dress, which fell just below the knee, and for the first time, noticed her tights and matching shoes.

"Oh no, should I have tights?" she asked, her eyes flying to Fleur's.

Fleur shook her head, amused.

"You are fine," she assured her. "A bare leg is not as scandalous here as it would be in Britain or muggle France."

Fleur guided Hermione down the street, where Hermione took in the sights, her eyes eyes darting about in excitement. It was remarkably similar to Diagon Alley, really. There was a cauldron shop, there was an apothecary, there was a clothier, there was a Quidditch shop – just all with French names. The main difference seemed to be the amount of people – there were just so many! But when Hermione commented on it, Fleur blinked in surprise.

"Our wizarding population is not much higher than yours," she said.

"Really?" Hermione said. "We have maybe half as many people in Diagon Alley on any given day. Even on sunny days."

Fleur gave her a quizzical look.

"Well, maybe we will look into that later," she said.

The shops of wizarding Paris were fun to explore, Fleur telling her about each one before they stepped inside. Maison Capenoir was the clothier of choice, and Fleur helped Hermione pick out a set of French-cut robes to buy as a souvenir of her trip. They were a warm amber color, and on the brighter side for French robes, but Fleur dismissed it, waving her hand away airily.

"They are a neutral, no matter how rich," she said. "And just look how they make your eyes and hair come alive!" she encouraged.

Her cheeks flushed with Fleur's flattery, and Hermione bought the robes, quietly pleased and happy with the purchase of such a souvenir.

The store next door, Gaston McAaron, was a Quidditch shop. A cluster of teenage boys were around the window, all talking rapidly in French, and Fleur rolled her eyes.

"There is a new broom," she said. "The 'Firebolt'."

"And… this is a big deal?" Hermione asked. "Is it different than other brooms? Better?"

"It is a broom," Fleur dismissed, waving a hand. "It goes fast, it has new charms on it, and it is new. That is all the boys need to get excited."

Hermione snickered. "Of course."

One shop Place Cachée had that Diagon Alley lacked was a sweet shop, and Hermione was delighted to explore K. Rammelle's Enchantée. Fleur stayed at her side, translating the sweets for her as best she could, though some of them she struggled with.

"This is… they are…" she hesitated. "The word is souris. I do not know how you say…"

"Souris?" Hermione said, puzzled. "Like in jeune souris?"

"No, jeune souris is a young woman," Fleur said. "Souris is… it is a tiny creature, the ones that run around, that cats like to catch—"

"A mouse?" Hermione asked, astonished. She looked at the wrapped sweet with hesitation. "I've had Chocolate Frogs and been startled when they hopped away. Is this mouse going to try and flee from me as well?"

Fleur's laughed. "Non, Hermione. It will just make you squeak."

Both of the girls bought a variety of sweets, to the pleasure of the friendly shopkeeper. The next stop was Cosme Acajor, which Hermione thought to be an Astronomy store, only to discover it was a wand shop, with wand boxed stacked in displays in the window.

"How interesting!" Hermione exclaimed. She looked at Fleur. "Did you get your wand here?"

"Not exactly," Fleur said, shrugging. "The wandmaker, he helped make my wand custom – I needed a special core to capture my magic."

"A custom wand?" Hermione said enviously. "I can't imagine what it must be like to cast magic with a wand custom made for you."

Fleur laughed.

"Probably much the same as yours now, I imagine," she dismissed. "It is nothing terribly special."

They passed Dr. Aziz Branchiflore, an apothecary boasting to carry only the highest-quality ingredients, and Monsieur Sandin Chaudrons, a cauldron shop with a display of bright bronze cauldrons in the window. When they got to Animalerie, however, Hermione gave Fleur a longing look.

"Can we go in and look?" she asked. "Please?"

Fleur hesitated.

"Animals often do not like me," she said slowly. "But... perhaps if we are careful…"

The pet store was full of magical animals all around, barking happily or purring. Hermione wound her way through the store just looking. There were crups, which, though cute, she mostly passed by; she'd never been a dog person, and they weren't allowed at Hogwarts anyway. The toads were unappealing, and though she liked the practicality of an owl, she paused over the kneazles, purring and rubbing up against each other in their pens.

"You like these?" Fleur asked, coming up next to her.

"I've always wanted a cat," Hermione confessed. "Kneazles are just like magical cats, aren't they?"

"There are some differences," Fleur warned her. "Most witches, they buy a part-kneazle cat, not a full kneazle. They are much easier to care for."

Hermione sighed, petting the cats as they came up to the edge of the pen they were in, begging for attention and rubbing their heads on her hand.

"It's not like I could get an animal back through customs, anyway," she said. "Still. They're so beautiful…"

"Are French cats better than British cats?" Fleur teased, her eyes sparkling. "Why can you not just get a cat when you are home?"

"I could," Hermione admitted, blushing. "I'll probably do just that."

As they left, Fleur directed them back up the alleyway, guiding Hermione to a café with seating and umbrellas out front.

"I want to sit," she declared. "We have been walking a lot. And you must try the croissants au chocolat!"

There were cafes that littered the street, many French witches and wizards lounging outside of them in seats at tables, just chatting without a care in the world. It looked delightful, and very similar to the muggle cafes she'd noticed in Paris so far, and Hermione felt envious. There were only a couple places in Diagon Alley with outside seating. Though, to be fair, the French weather seemed much nicer than the generally cloudy and foggy days they had in London most of the time.

Fleur bought her a chocolate croissant and a hot chocolate, ordering the same for herself, and they sat down outside, just enjoying people watching. The croissant was very good, as was the hot chocolate, and Fleur grinned when Hermione told her so.

"We may be magical, but we are still French," she told her. "Chocolate is a matter of national pride."

Conversation flowed easily between the two of them. Hermione enjoyed asking Fleur many questions, unable to taper down on her insatiably curiosity, and Fleur seemed happy to answer. Hermione asked all about Beauxbatons and what French magic school was like, and Fleur was amenable to answering, despite the vague secrecy Hermione presumed surrounded the school.

"We have a beautiful chateau, up in the mountains," she told her, smiling. "It is mostly French students, but we have a lot of Spanish and Dutch and Belgians as well. The school's creation and scholarship endowment were originally funded by the alchemists Nicolas and Perenelle Flamel, who were insistent that Beauxbatons be made to be beautiful, so the chateau and grounds, they are all stunning. There is a fountain in the middle of the courtyard, named for the Flamels, and it is said to have healing and beautifying properties. If only you could see it, Hermione - it is sublime."

When asked Hermione asked if she liked it, Fleur seemed flattered that Hermione would think to ask for her opinion, but she became pensive and reflective.

"My classes, I like," she said finally. "I love studying magic, and I love practicing and mastering new charms. My teachers are kind enough and very clever."

Hermione could read between the lines. "But not your classmates?"

Fleur closed her eyes and sighed. It was a soft, delicate sigh.

"I… had friends at one point, it seemed," she mused. "My first few years. But recently, not so much, these past fewyears, after I came of an age. Instead, I have been greeted openly with suspicion and doubt, and there are very few who would stand by my side."

Hermione bit her lip.

"I'm so sorry," she said. "Is that… is that because the other girls are jealous you're so beautiful?"

Fleur looked up at Hermione, raising a delicately arched eyebrow.

"You think I am beautiful?" she teased, and Hermione flushed.

"I mean, clearly," she said, defensive. "Anyone with eyes can see that, really."

Fleur tilted her head, examining Hermione, before resuming her train of thought.

"Part of it, perhaps," she said slowly. "The other part is… they are not wrong, to suspect me of seizing the attention of the boys. I cannot help it – it is part of who I am, that they would be drawn to me."

There was something she wasn't saying, Hermione gathered, her brow furrowed. Fleur seemed to be stepping around the topic, though.

"They don't seem drawn to you right now…" Hermione ventured, glancing around the alleyway, and Fleur smirked.

"Ah, but they would not be," she said, mischievous. "I am in disguise."

Hermione laughed. "You're in disguise?"

"I am," Fleur said, her eyes sparkling. "And I am also wearing a magical dampener amulet, one of my mother's. It helps stop what the disguise cannot."

Fleur seemed very curious about Hermione and her life at Hogwarts. Not much information about British wizarding society was known outside the UK itself, apparently, which was an assessment Hermione wasn't entirely surprised by – she'd had a nightmare of a time figuring it all out for herself when she learned she was a witch, and she was still learning new things, which she ranted about all too easily to Fleur as she vented her frustration with it all.

"—And the 'of an age' thing and chrysalization still drives me batty," Hermione groaned, confiding in Fleur. "I have to wear a stupid butterfly all summer, just so everyone can see that I've started my cycle."

Fleur laughed. "The English, they have no sense of grace about such things." Her eyes twinkled. "This is why you are wearing a child's hair clip, yes?"

Hermione's cheeks reddened. "I only have two proper ones! A Monarch and a Malachite. And neither would have matched my robes—"

Fleur was smiling at her as Hermione defended herself, withdrawing an elegant wand with graceful woodwork at the end. She gestured and murmured something softly, and Hermione's words broke off as she watched as a dozen blue butterflies emerged in a cloud of subtle sparkles, flapping gently as they flew away. Fleur tapped one with her wand before it could escape, murmuring something, and it froze on the tip of her wand. She reached towards Hermione with her empty hand, smile playing on her lips.

"Your clip?"

Wordless, Hermione handed it over to Fleur. A bit of transfiguration had it transformed into an adult's silver clip, and another charm had the butterfly affixed to it, flapping softly from time to time before it finally stilled.

"Is it still alive?" Hermione asked as Fleur handed it back, her eyes wide.

"It was never alive to begin with," Fleur told her with a smile. "Most animal conjurations are made manifest by magic. They do not last long. Animal summoning, that is different. This, though – this is made from my magic, frozen to last."

"It's beautiful," Hermione admitted, turning it over and over in her hands. She looked up, her eyes meeting Fleur's. "Thank you."

"It is nothing," Fleur dismissed, but she smiled. "You need to wear it, yes? To show everyone you are a woman now?" She hesitated. "Do you mind?

Hermione shook her head, and Fleur adjusted her seat to be next to Hermione's, directing her to face the other way. Hermione's face flamed as Fleur ran her fingers through her hair, gathering up pieces from the front and twisting them somehow toward the back. After a couple minutes, Fleur seemed satisfied.

"C'est magnifique," she said. She conjured a couple mirrors so Hermione could see, reflecting the back of her head for her. "The Morpho joins your Monarch and Malachite, now. It is… c'est très beau, comme toi."

Fleur had taken the bits of hair from the front of Hermione's head above her ears and twisted her hair back and against itself, forming an elegant sort of rope braid on each side, which she clipped in place with the butterfly clip in the back. The butterfly was large, much larger than the crystal ones Hermione had, but it looked like it fit against the back of her head in a natural way, and the blue color shone against the brown shades of her hair.

"It's beautiful," Hermione murmured. Her eyes met Fleur's. "Thank you."

Her eyes sparkled. "It was nothing."

Fleur gracefully ignored the flush to Hermione's cheeks and asked her about her classes, which Hermione was happy to chatter on about. She told her all about Transfiguration and Charms, two classes Fleur enjoyed very much herself. Fleur seemed puzzled, though, when Hermione mentioned her class size, looking delicately confused.

"There are how many students?" she said. "There should be twice that number!"

"Well… there aren't?" Hermione said, unsure how to respond.

"Then it is wrong!" Fleur objected. She looked at Hermione quizzically. "Has something happened? Where have the other children gone?"

Hermione gnawed on her lip.

"Well," she began. "There was a war about fifteen or so years ago, that a lot of people died in? A Dark wizard was wiping out entire families for a while. I think that reduced the population somewhat."

"By half?" Fleur said incredulously, and Hermione winced.

"I think maybe most of the others are homeschooled," she admitted. "I recently met them, the others. They're called hedgewitches."

Fleur looked lost. "Hedge-witch?"

Hermione tried to explained as best she could, how the hedgewitches were the magical people with less power than those who went to Hogwarts, how they rented from the Sacred 28 families and tended to their lands and businesses, how most of their magic seemed to be folk magic with little rhyme or reason to what worked. As she spoke, Fleur grew angrier and angrier, and Hermione worried as she watched her.

"That is—" Fleur started furiously, when Hermione was done. She stopped, shaking her head. "That is—I cannot—"

Anger was tight in her voice, and sparks of magic and fire were beginning to dance along her slender fingers, which somehow seemed longer and more like claws. Her eyes were clenched closed tight, fighting something. Hermione's eyes went wide, and she bit her lip.

"Err—maybe we should go somewhere else for a moment?" Hermione suggested, standing up quickly and pulling Fleur's arm. "Is there a park nearby? Anything with fewer people?"

When Fleur's eyes opened to meet hers, they had changed from a brilliant blue to a dark, glowing amber, alight with fire inside.

"Oui," she ground out. "Allons-y."

She nearly dragged Hermione down the street, walking quickly and taking several turns until they emerged in a park. There were few people here, a beautiful magical fountain with a leaping unicorn and mermaid standing at the center, and Fleur quickly took them behind a hedge before her control shattered.

"That is—that is horrible!" she burst out, and Hermione dodged as tiny balls of fire seemed to fly out of Fleur's hands as she gesticulated wildly. "To deny them their magic – no one is born weaker than another! You either have magic, or you do not!"

"That's what I thought," Hermione said, with dark satisfaction. "I thought surely, if they were given a wand at eleven like other children, and they were educated and practiced, they could be as strong as anyone else."

Fleur growled, her eyes still alight, and Hermione watched her hands curiously, seeing her nails lengthen even further.

"In France, we do not have this nonsense, these hedgewitches," she spat. "Any magical child is welcome at Beauxbatons. The endowment pays their fees if their parents cannot. We do not discriminate and force others down." She looked furious and disgusted. "Has Britain not moved past a feudal society? Truly? If it will not, it will be overcome. Progress will not stop or wait."

Hermione watched as Fleur fumed, storming around the area as she raged. Hermione kept her distance slightly, watching the sparks of fire dancing around Fleur's fingers.

"How can I fix it, then?" she asked, and Fleur looked up at her.

"What?"

"How can I fix it?" Hermione repeated. "I thought of starting a sponsorship fund to help children get their wands if their family can't afford one, but that doesn't really help any of the people who are already past eleven and haven't had one, or help them all afford to go to Hogwarts. Is there a way for them to learn magic? Or is it truly too late?"

Fleur was staring at her, her amber eyes gradually fading back to the bright blue Hermione had become accustomed to.

"You are—" she said, breaking off. "You intend to fix it?"

"Well, someone has to," Hermione pointed out. "Clearly no one has up until now, so I'll have to do it myself."

Fleur looked at her astonished, before plopping down onto the grass with little grace. Hermione sat down as well quickly, not wanting Fleur to feel self-conscious, but Fleur was staring off into space.

"C'est très difficile…" she murmured. "Mais ça pourrait être possible…"

She looked up at Hermione abruptly, tapping her chin thoughtfully, and Hermione noticed her fingers and nails had returned to normal.

"You are being true?" she asked. "You want to help them, these hedgewitches?"

Hermione gnawed on her lip.

"Yes. I don't really have a way to prove I mean it to you," she told her. "But believe me – I kind of have a thing about this. I love magic, and I want to help anyone who can use it use it to the fullest of their ability."

Fleur looked at her suspiciously. "What do you mean?"

Hermione hesitated.

"Like, hypothetically, giving a species who had been forbidden to have wands Not-Wands," she said slowly. "Rods they could use to cast magic, that don't fall under our Ministry's legal definition of wands."

Fleur's eyes grew wider.

"'Species'?" she asked. "Creatures?"

"Well, goblins," Hermione said. "Hypothetically."

Fleur looked at Hermione with keen eyes, examining, something slowly growing in them that looked close to awe.

"You would not discriminate against creatures?" she asked. "Even though they are not like you?"

"Why would I?" Hermione asked, boggled. "Just because they're not the same as me doesn't mean they're any less."

Fleur looked like she wanted to say something, but she cut herself off.

"There is a way," she said slowly. "There is a way, that these 'hedgewitches' might be able to use magic, though they would never truly regain what they have lost."

"There is?" Hermione was excited, turning to face Fleur head-on. She rummaged in her purse for a small notebook and pen, taking them out eagerly. "What is it? Can you tell me?"

Fleur looked down at Hermione's notebook and pen. She looked like she wanted to laugh for a moment, but she settled on an amused, indulgent look before looking back up to Hermione, her eyes bright.

"Hermione," she said slyly. "Tell me: what do you know of the magic of ley lines?"