There was a feeling of anticipation in the air all day, everyone excited about the arrival of the people from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang. There'd been a notice pinned on their noticeboard a week prior advising them the delegations would arrive at 6 o'clock, and as the hour approached, the air of excitement grew. Daphne and Pansy chatted about what the French students might be wearing as they pulled on their cloaks to go outside and wait, while Hermione carefully did her hair in the mirror, making sure it was clipped back just so.

Tracey came over as she finished, giving a whistle and nodding approvingly to Hermione.

"That's quite the piece," she commented, nodding to her hairclip. "Hoping to be a heartbreaker?"

A ghost of a smile touched Hermione's lips. "Just want to make a good impression."

The 4th year Slytherins joined the other students in pouring out through the Entrance Hall. The Heads of Houses were outside, ordering their houses into lines. While Snape merely pointed and directed with sharp eyes, some of the house heads took a more proactive approach.

"Weasley, straighten your hat," McGonagall snapped. "Miss Patil, take that ridiculous thing out of your hair."

Hermione caught Parvati scowl as she removed a large ornamental butterfly from the end of her plait. She shot her sister Padme a jealous look, who wore a smaller, more discreet butterfly in her hair. Daphne sighed in sympathy.

"I don't know if other countries even mark if they're of an age with butterflies," she murmured to the others, "but it's probably not a bad thought, making sure the older students know if you're of an age to court or not from the get-go." Daphne nodded at Hermione, giving her a smile. "You have the right idea, Hermione."

The Hogwarts students filed down the steps and lined up in front of the castle. It was a cold, clear evening; dusk was falling and a pale, transparent-looking moon was already shining down over the Forbidden Forest. Hermione subtly cast a warming charm on herself and helped cast some on the first years from afar as the tiny students shivered in their robes.

"How do you think they'll get here?" Blaise asked, curious. "Brooms?"

"Not Beauxbatons," Hermione dismissed. "They're very about the aesthetics. However they arrive, it'll be a statement."

"They can't Apparate in, and we're presuming that they're not coming by train, correct?" Theo asked. He tilted his head. "Do you think they know how to jump?"

Hermione shot him a dirty look as Daphne asked, "What's jumping?" but everyone was distracted a moment later by Dumbledore calling out—

"Aha! Unless I am very mistaken, the delegation from Beauxbatons approaches!"

"Where? Where?"

"There!"

Someone was pointing over the forest, and something large, much larger than a broomstick was flying across the deep blue sky toward the castle, growing larger all the while. Hermione watched in amazement as the shape grew clearer – it was an enormous, gigantic powder-blue horse-drawn carriage. The carriage itself was the size of a large house, with multiple stories, and it was pulled through the air by a dozen magnificent, winged horses, each the size of an elephant.

Students gasped and drew back as the carriage came in to land at a tremendous speed, crashing to the ground and bouncing on enormous wheels, and Hermione rather wondered if the wheels were functional, or if they more functioned just as landing gear. Amazingly, the wheels seemed to hold, and the carriage gradually came to a halt.

The carriage bore the Beauxbatons coat of arms – two crossed, golden wands, each emitting three stars – and a boy in pale blue robes jumped down from the carriage, messing with something and unfolding a set of golden steps, and then came Madame Maxime.

People were gasping and gawking, and Hermione felt her heart go out to Madame Maxime. Being stared at like this… but no, it seemed Madame Maxime had prepared herself for it and had dressed accordingly. Her hair was in an elegant, shining chignon at the base of head, and she was clad head to toe in black satin, with opals gleaming at her throat and on thick rings on her fingers. As she emerged, incredibly, Dumbledore began to clap, and then the students broke into applause too, and Madame Maxime's face relaxed into a gracious smile as she walked forward toward Dumbledore.

"That is a giant," Theo hissed, incredulous. "There's no way—"

"She is the Headmistress of Beauxbatons," Daphne hissed back. "No giant would be able to run a school—"

While the others watched Madame Maxime exchange pleasantries with Dumbledore, Hermione's eyes were on the carriage as the Beauxbatons students began to emerge.

There were a few tall, dark-haired boys, all clad in their blue uniforms, and then a few girls, and then—there! That was Léa, if Hermione wasn't mistaken, and that girl with the mischievous glint in her eye already, that was Manon, then another boy – Jules, Hermione guessed, though it was hard to see from this distance, and then—

It was Fleur.

Fleur's eyes held a tension Hermione hadn't seen from her before. Her bright blue eyes kept darting around, and Hermione realized she was tracking how close boys were to her, staying alert. Fleur's friends seemed to be surrounding Fleur in a sort of defensive barrier, blocking her from others' sight as much as possible. Her silvery-blonde hair was tucked up into her powder blue uniform hat, and she looked annoyed but resigned as her friends herded her toward the Great Hall as one practiced unit, keeping Fleur safely in the center.

Hermione's heart went out to her. Hopefully, Fleur wouldn't have to rely on her friends for safety for much longer.

The French contingent all went into the castle to warm up, while everyone else remained outside, waiting for Durmstrang to arrive. There was a silence for a few minutes, broken only by Madame Maxime's massive Abraxans snorting and stamping their hooves.

"Fashionably late?" Blaise whispered to Hermione, nudging her. "Or do you think they got lost on the way?"

Hermione had to stifle a snicker.

A moment later, a loud and oddly eerie noise drifted toward them out of the darkness, and then a muffled rumbling and sucking sound, as though an immense vacuum cleaner were moving along a riverbed—

"The lake!" a Gryffindor yelled, pointing. "Look at the lake!"

From their position at the top of the lawns overlooking the grounds, they all had a clear view of the smooth black surface of the water – only the surface was suddenly not smooth at all, with great bubbles popping on the surface and large waves washing over the muddy banks. A moment later, it was as if the lake had become a giant whirlpool with a long, black pole slowly rising out of its heart.

"A ship?" Theo said, astonished. "They took a ship?"

It was, indeed, a ship – the pole had become a mast with rigging as it rose, the ship it was attached to following it up out of the whirlpool, gleaming wetly in the moonlight. It had a strangely skeletal look to it, as if it were a haunted wreck, and Hermione wondered if it was actually a ship at all, or a cleverly enchanted submarine.

Theo had apparently not stopped talking, Hermione belatedly realized – she'd tuned him out as she looked over the ship in awe.

"—not even connected to the ocean! It makes no sense. To say nothing of the merpeople's response to something like that mucking up their environment—"

"Theo, nobody cares," Draco said, rolling his eyes. "Durmstrang wanted to arrive with an impact. I don't think they cared about 'disturbing the environment'—"

Theo glared at Draco, but he fell quiet, muttering mutinously to himself.

The Durmstrang contingent threw down an anchor and lowered a plank onto the bank, people carefully filing down the plank onto the grass. As they drew closer, Hermione could see they were all wearing matching uniform cloaks made of some sort of shaggy, matted fur. One person was not, however – the man leading them up had on sleek and silver furs, which matched his hair.

"Dumbledore!" the man called heartily. "How are you, my dear fellow, how are you?"

"Blooming, thank you, Professor Karkaroff!" Dumbledore replied, smiling.

While Karkaroff exchanged greetings with Dumbledore, Millie nudged Hermione, getting her attention.

"Look over there," she said quietly, nodding her head at Moody. "Moody doesn't look happy, does he?"

Hermione turned to look.

'Not happy' was a massive understatement – Moody's face was twisted up in loathing and disgust, his eyes narrowed, both his normal eye and his magical eye fixed firmly on the Durmstrang Headmaster. He was glaring at Karkaroff with such abject hostility that Hermione nearly took a step back instinctively, and she wasn't even who he was glaring at.

She had never seen Moody look at something with such hatred, such burning loathing. Dislike and disgust, sure, but never such execrative abhorrence. She wondered if this was how Moody was able to cast the Killing Curse with such ease. Whatever hatred he had in him, for whatever reason – it was this emotion that fueled the Dark curse.

"How good it is to be here, how good," Karkaroff was saying. "Viktor, come along, into the warmth… you don't mind, Dumbledore? Viktor has a slight head cold…"

Karkaroff beckoned forward one of his students. As the boy passed, Hermione could see a familiar curved nose and thick black eyebrows, and there were sudden hisses of "Krum!" from all around.

The light was dim, but Hermione could see Krum duck his head and shift where he stood, uncomfortable. Karkaroff had a proud glint to his eyes, and Hermione felt a stab of anger at him, that he would draw attention to his student just for clout by association when his student was so obviously uncomfortable with it.

It got worse as they all filed back up the steps behind the Durmstrang students – one Gryffindor boy was jumping up and down on the soles of his feet to get a better look at the back of Krum's head, and several sixth-year girls were frantically searching their pockets as they walked—

"Oh, I don't believe it, I haven't got a single quill on me—"

"D'you think he'd sign my hat in lipstick?"

And another voice, a male one she recognized – "You haven't got a quill, have you, Harry? I'm getting his autograph if I can…"

The Hogwarts students filed in – Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, then Slytherin. As they went in, Hermione saw the Durmstrang students were still gathered around the doorway, clearly unsure about where they should sit. One Durmstrang boy elbowed Viktor sharply and hissed something at him, and Viktor looked up a moment later, his eye catching hers, widening in recognition. She managed to give him a commiserating smile as she passed, following the others to take their seats.

"Budge up, budge up!" Draco said, as Hermione and Tracey sat down. "Move!"

"Why?" Tracey said, annoyed. "I sit here—"

"They're following Hermione," Draco said excitedly, utterly ignoring Tracey's protests. "Krum actually recognized you – budge up, Davis, he's coming to sit over here—"

Hermione turned as she took her seat, glancing back. Durmstrang was, indeed, following to sit at the Slytherin table. There was a pause and a brief flurry of conversation amongst them before they spread out a bit, all sitting down on the same side of the table but spreading out among the older years. Behind her, the Beauxbatons students seemed to have seated themselves at the Ravenclaw table, and Hermione wondered if that choice had been made simply based on color. From where she sat, she couldn't see where Fleur had sat down, especially not with so many furry cloaks blocking her sight.

One cloak stopped behind her, and Hermione looked up to a familiar crooked grin.

"I sit here?" Viktor asked, nonchalant, but his eyes were filled with mirth. "Is okay, Hærmionae?"

"Hermione," Hermione corrected, rolling her eyes, and Viktor grinned.

"Hermione, then," he said with satisfaction. "Is okay?"

Hermione huffed but couldn't stop her small smile. "I suppose it is."

She shifted over on the bench, and Viktor took a seat at her left, while a few other Durmstrang students scattered themselves about. Hermione shifted to face back towards the table, catching sight of Draco and Theo goggling at her, and she shot them a look.

"Welcome to Hogwarts," Hermione told Viktor, who was taking off his heavy fur. He wore a blood red uniform robe under it, and he looked up at the enchanted ceiling with interest. "How was your journey?"

Viktor snorted.

"Bad," he said. "Ships meant to be sailed, not submerged." He scowled. "But Karkaroff wanted big entrance, so… underwater boating."

Hermione's mouth dropped in horror.

"Wait, that's literally just a ship?" she asked. "It's not actually a submarine? Or intended to go entirely underwater at all?"

Viktor shrugged. "Just ship."

"That—I can't—the risk—" Hermione sputtered, scarcely able to articulate her thoughts, she was so horrified. She took a deep breath and tried again. "That—That's incredibly dangerous. You can't just put a boat underwater because it can go on water. I can't believe anyone would even think that was a good idea. And it's supposed to float! How do you safely just sink a boat, only to unsink it when you want to rise up again? And it's made of wood – just nailed, wooden planks, not metal, no, not anything sensible for a submerged submarine. Why, just from the water pressure alone, the entire ship could have splintered and drowned you all—"

A few other Durmstrang students were looking over at her now, eavesdropping on her ranting, but Hermione was too appalled to care. Viktor grinned at her crookedly.

"Is okay," he told her. "We casted Bubble-Head Charm in case. And everybody still alive."

Hermione huffed and rolled her eyes, folding her arms. "I'd explain about Survivorship Bias, but I don't think you'd listen to the entire thing."

"I listen," Viktor assured her, eyes bright with mirth. "Is just funny. You are so angry for us. Yet you not even know us."

"We all know you," Draco interrupted, giving Viktor a grin. "How could we not, after that spectacular catch?"

Hermione watched as the excitement in Viktor's eyes seemed to fade, and there was a slight sigh to him as he turned to face Draco, who was eagerly telling him about the Hogwarts Quidditch pitch and how he could practice whenever he wanted. She caught a few other Durmstrang students giving Viktor sympathetic looks, and Hermione wondered how often this sort of thing happened.

She looked around for Fleur again, with no luck, but she saw the staff was filing up the center aisle to take their seats at the top table. Last in line were Professor Dumbledore, Professor Karkaroff, and Madame Maxime. When Madame Maxime appeared, the students from Beauxbatons leapt to their feet, and a few Hogwarts students laughed, but the French students didn't seem to care, waiting until Madame Maxime had sat down on Dumbledore's left-hand side before retaking their own seats.

Dumbledore welcomed everyone with a brief statement that Hermione semi tuned-out. There were two seats still empty at the staff table, to Hermione's surprise. Who else was still to come?

"—I now invite you all to eat, drink, and make yourselves at home!"

The plates in front of them filled with food, including several dishes that were definitely foreign. Hermione recognized the bouillabaisse but didn't recognize most of the others. Conversation broke out as people began filling their plates, and Hermione was happy to tuck in and ignore the discussion of the Wronski Feint going on to her left. She turned instead to the Durmstrang students two down from her, next to Blaise.

"Hello," she said, offering a smile. "Welcome to the tournament."

The two Durmstrang boys looked surprised.

"cпасибо," one of them told her, and Hermione blinked. The other boy elbowed him, hissing something in his ear, before looking at Hermione.

"Zank you," he said, his words heavily accented. "English is not good. But ve are happy for your velcome."

His accent was different than Viktor's, she noted – Viktor couldn't properly pronounce 'th' sounds, but he generally replaced them with a hard T/D sort of sound. This accent seemed to lean more on swapping out the 'th' sounds for S/Z.

"Oh! Russian, right?" Hermione asked excitedly. She grinned. "Privyet."

The two boys looked excited and grinned.

"I am Dmitri Vladimirovich Ivanov," he said. He paused. "Dmitri is first name."

"Pleased to meet you, Dmitri," Hermione said, smiling. "I'm Hermione Granger."

The other boy brightened.

"Hello Hermione," he said. "I am Alexei."

Dmitri elbowed him, and he hastily added, "Ovechkin. Alexei Ovechkin."

"Blaise Zabini," Blaise said from Hermione's side, nodding to the two boys. "Are you excited for the tournament?"

Alexei shrugged. "Little. Bad chance of turning champion."

"Ve all zink Viktor vill be champion," Dmitri admitted. He grinned. "Ve vill all enter, but ve keep our pockets vide open."

Hermione laughed. "If you say so."

Hearing his name, Viktor turned away from Theo and Draco to look down the table at his classmates.

"You are liars," he accused, though he was grinning. "On way here, you tell me I have no chance."

Dmitri grinned. "So?"

"Are you excited?" Hermione asked Viktor. Viktor paused, considering his answer.

"I am hopeful a little," he admitted. "Would be good, being champion. But… tournament is dangerous, I know. I maybe would not be sad if not chosen."

He gave her a crooked grin, and Hermione smiled back.

"That makes sense to me," she said. "Fame and glory are all well and good, but what would I have to sacrifice to attain that, you know?"

Viktor was nodding. "Exactly."

"I vould be champion just so not go back to Durmstrang," Alexei declared. "I vould be happy to be ate by verewolf instead."

Hermione laughed. "Not fond of your school?"

Conversation continued, the Durmstrang students chatting about the differences between their school and Hogwarts. Hermione was amused to hear that Karkaroff had been strong-armed into bringing more students to enter than he had intended, an unexpected consequence of Hermione's new investigative direction for the Daily Prophet and the resulting arm-twisting from the Wizengamot.

"He only bring twelve, at start," Alexei said. "I not make ze list. But vhen he vas told he must bring more, I make new list of four and twenty."

"Twenty-four," Dmitri corrected, though his 'twenty' sounded more like 'tventy'. "I vas number nine on first list."

"Congratulations," Blaise drawled.

Alexei grinned at Blaise, unashamed. "Zank you."

Movement at the staff table caught Hermione's eye – two familiar Wizengamot members had just arrived, filling in the other two seats.

"Who are they?" Daphne asked, puzzled. "Surely not new teachers."

"Head of Magical Sports and Head of International Cooperation," Hermione told her. "Ludo Bagman and Barty Crouch."

"Why are they here?"

"They organized the tournament?" Hermione guessed, shrugging. "I suppose they wanted to be here to see it start."

The second course contained a number of unfamiliar desserts too. Hermione was amused to see the Durmstrang students carefully examine the British offerings as if suspicious, before trying bits and pieces of all of them, muttering to each other in low voices. Meanwhile, Draco was still interrogating Viktor about Quidditch, his excitement almost embarrassing for Hermione to behold.

"Tracey's flirting with the Durmstrang boy next to her," Blaise commented, seeing Hermione's disinterest in the Quidditch conversation. "Isn't she being courted by Pucey?"

"For now," Hermione said, glancing down the table at Tracey. "She's not sure how she feels about him, I think."

Blaise snorted. "Somehow, I'm not surprised."

Tracey seemed to be enjoying herself, talking to the Durmstrang student. She was pointing at different things around the room, evidently explaining them, and she giggled and laughed every so often, flicking her hair about. Hermione could only see the back of the Durmstrang's student's head, but he seemed to be speaking to her warmly, leaning forward somewhat.

Craning her head a bit more, Hermione scanned further up the table for Pucey to see his reaction. He appeared to not be reacting to Tracey's bit of flirtation at all – his eyes were utterly focused somewhere else. So were his classmates' eyes, Hermione noticed, all of the boys next to him watching and tracking the same thing, which was traveling down the table and towards Tracey…

"Hermione," a familiar voice breathed behind her.

Hermione turned, her heart skipping a beat. "Fleur…"

Fleur stood before her in all her glory, moon-bright silvery-blonde hair falling to her waist in shining waves. Her blue eyes held Hermione's, wide, and for a moment, Hermione felt like she was missing something – she hadn't changed how she looked, and she still didn't feel the Veela allure…

"Your hair," Fleur breathed. "Le papillon…"

Hermione's face flushed. She had almost forgotten the butterfly she'd worn in her hair.

"C'est belle, n'est-ce pas?" Hermione said, attempting an even tone. Her French accent came out rather stilted and strangled, but Fleur's eyes began to sparkle.

"Come," she said suddenly, taking Hermione's wrist. "Hermione, help me? Je dois aller—you must show me where your toilets are—"

Hermione was up and out of her seat being tugged along a moment later, pulled from the Great Hall to ostensibly show Fleur where the bathroom was. The moment they were outside and the doors to the Great Hall had closed, though, Fleur was on her, sweeping her up and spinning with her across the entrance way.

"Hermione, Hermione, Hermione," she said, her voice warm with laughter. "How I have missed you!"

Hermione held onto Fleur laughing as she spun them, and she kept her arms on Fleur's arms when she set her back down, looking up at Fleur into her deep blue eyes.

"I've missed you too," she said breathlessly. "I've missed you so much, Fleur. It's so good to see you."

Hermione tugged Fleur around the corner and into an alcove, Fleur following eagerly behind.

"I was hoping to see you," Fleur breathed, "but never did I imagine…"

Her hand drifted up to touch Hermione's hair as Hermione turned to face her, and Hermione felt her face warm.

"I am here but a moment, and you are wearing it for all to see," Fleur murmured. "Do you know how that feels? To recognize you, to find you in a crowd by my favor in your hair?"

Her hand caressed Hermione's cheek, and Hermione felt her heart stutter in her chest.

"You told me once that you would pay me suit," Hermione said, her voice soft. "And if I wore it where you could see…"

Fleur's eyes were molten.

"Did you think I did not mean it?" she told her. "That I would court you, if I could?"

Hermione voice was a whisper. "Did you?"

Fleur made a tortured noise, and then Fleur was kissing her, Hermione's eyes fluttering shut as she kissed back.

Fleur's kiss was hot and demanding, possessive and intense. Hermione could feel how desperately Fleur had missed her in her kiss, how she felt at seeing her wearing the butterfly, and Hermione moaned into the kiss, wrapping her arms around Fleur's neck. Fleur made a sound and pressing Hermione back into the alcove against the wall, kissing her deeply, so much that Hermione felt as if she were being devoured.

It would be worth it, Hermione thought dizzily. Any societal repercussions for openly being courted by a woman would be worth it, if it meant she could have this…

"Fleur!"

Fleur broke away reluctantly, the kiss leaving them both gasping. Fleur's friend Léa stood in the entrance to the alcove, looking at Hermione and Fleur in shock.

"Qu'est ce que tu crois faire? Tu sais ce que Madame Maxime a dit—"

"J'en ai rien à foutre," Fleur said decisively, and Léa groaned, leaning out of the alcove to look at someone else.

"Elle n'écoutera pas—Manon, Jules, venez m'aider—"

A moment later, Manon, Jules, and Juliette were at the alcove as well, all looking at Fleur wearily. Fleur, to her credit, looked determined, like she was ready to face all of them down, holding Hermione slightly behind her as if to protect her. Hermione's face flamed, but Fleur seemed unabashed at being caught.

"I am not arguing wit' Fleur in a tiny place," Manon said dryly. "Come."

Reluctantly, Fleur and Hermione followed her friends out into the Entrance Hall.

To Hermione's embarrassment, there was a small crowd – not only were Fleur's four friends there, but Blaise and Tracey had come out too, lingering behind the Beauxbatons students. Hermione felt her face flame, but she refused to hide her face. She'd worn the butterfly openly - she'd chosen this - and she'd have to just get used to being stared at.

Juliette guided Fleur and Hermione to a bench, where they both sat down. Fleur took Hermione's hand, squeezing it tightly as Fleur's friends stood in front of her forbiddingly, their eyes dark.

"Quoi?" Fleur drawled, unrepentant, and Hermione could practically see her friends stiffen and draw indignant breath.

And then they were off, angry French flying back and forth.

It was fascinating to witness, in an anthropological sort of way, Hermione thought. She didn't understand a word of what was going on, but she could tell wild accusations were flying back and forth, defensiveness from Fleur and stubborn refusal. Jules' tone was sarcastic, whatever he was saying, and Juliette seemed to be pleading with Fleur. Fleur didn't budge, turning her nose up at her friends, and they stood there in frustration as Juliette turned to Hermione, crouching down some.

"I will plead wit' you, if Fleur will not listen," Juliette said. "'ermione—"

"Do not drag Hermione into this!" Fleur said furiously. "She has nothing to do—"

"She haz everything to with this!" Manon said angrily. "Fleur, comment peux-tu être aveugle—?"

Juliette ignored Manon and Fleur arguing next to them, instead focusing on Hermione.

"'ermione, before we came, Madame Maxime 'ad us make a promise," Juliette told Hermione. "In order to come, we 'ad to promise to represent Beauxbâtons well in the tournament. We 'ad to promise to put it above all else."

Hermione looked at Juliette blankly, not following. Juliette sighed.

"Fleur cannot court you in public," she said flatly. "If she iz seen, Madame Maxime will send 'er 'ome."

Hermione's mouth fell open. "Wait, what?"

"I do not care," Fleur said furiously. "What is one tournament compared to—"

"Fleur, for once, will you cease your romantic nonsense and listen?!" Jules cut in viciously, his eyes hard. "If you go home, you cannot see Hermione anymore. At least wait – if you are not chosen for the tournament, you will at least have an argument to give—"

"Fleur, I think your passions have ahold of you," Léa added quietly. "You told us – ever since you returned from the isle…"

Her words seemed to strike a chord within Fleur, and Fleur fell back, stunned. She took a deep breath, exhaling slowly.

"You may be right," Fleur admitted. She sighed. "It is possible."

There was a tense silence as they all waited, Fleur gathering herself and turning to Hermione.

"I told you I would court you, and I meant every word," Fleur said firmly. "I will not take that back, if you do not allow. But…"

"Can you let her wait and see if she's chosen for the tournament first?" Jules said dryly, finishing Fleur's words. "Before you throw yourself headfirst into this public lesbian love fest?"

Hermione's face flamed at his alliterative summary of the situation, but Jules wasn't wrong. And he had a very good point.

"Of course," Hermione said emphatically. She looked at Fleur. "Fleur, of course we can wait – I didn't mean by wearing it that you had to make such a public declaration now—"

"I know," Fleur said with a sigh. A faint smile lingered on her lips. "I wanted to."

"And luckily, not too public of a declaration," Blaise said, his voice amused. "I mean, we're the only ones to see the details, right? Everybody else could think that Fleur just had to go to the bathroom really badly."

"Only if they are a fool." Manon scowled. "'ermione 'as been to Beauxbâtons before. Our classmates will recognize 'er."

"Especially now, when they can scarcely look away from Fleur," Léa added dryly.

"Oh!" Hermione said. "Right. Err—I have something that might help with that."

Fleur looked at Hermione strangely. "You do?"

"I hope?" Hermione bit her lip, pulling a wrapped package from her pocket and handing it to Fleur. "Umm - joyeux anniversaire. Happy birthday, Fleur."

Fleur's mouth fell open as she took the package from Hermione. It was a wide, flat box that rattled slightly when moved, and Fleur eased a finger under the purple wrapping paper to pull it off and reveal a matte black box.

"Well?" Hermione said, trying to hold back the anxiety she felt. "Open it."

Fleur opened the box, her eyes going wide as she pulled out the circlet inside.

The resulting circlet had ended up very medieval-looking, save for the shine of the metal. The osmium had made wide lines of vine motifs, with the curls of leaves surrounding the mounted gems. The metal shone and glittered ever-so-slightly, despite all the protective charms she'd layered on. Hermione had gone with purple gemstones - tanzanite, alexandrite, and purple sapphires – which were large and mounted sturdily in the middle of the vines every few inches. The face of the circlet held no gems, but had the metal curl into an abstract sort of fleur-de-lis at a bit of a point, just to differentiate it from the rest of the piece.

Fleur examined the circlet, awed but puzzled. Hermione hastened to explain.

"It's made of osmium," she told her. "It's the densest metal we have – well, densest stable metal, anyway. And with the gems, the crystalline structures—" she broke off, flustered. "Anyway. It—It will help suppress your Veela allure."

Fleur's eyes went wide, and Hermione hurried on.

"I took the idea from your original amulet," she said. "And after you got back from the isle, what you wrote—I couldn't just let you suffer, so I thought if I could help you suppress the allure, at least somewhat—"

"Hermione," Fleur said, her voice strangled. "This is—c'est parfait—"

She lifted the circlet and put it on her head, settling it in her blonde hair. She wore it high, with the point high above her forehead, and it looked almost like a hair ornament, with flashing silver amongst her silvery-blonde hair.

Fleur turned to her friends. "Qu'est-ce que vous pensez?"

Jules smirked.

"I cannot tell," he said. "If you return to the Great Hall now, though—"

"Where you should be," Léa huffed.

"—we will see if it works," Jules finished. He grinned. "It is beautiful, though."

"Yes. Back in. Now," Manon said curtly. "Fleur?"

Fleur stood, unrepentant, and her friends looked even more exasperated, rolling their eyes behind her back.

"Merci," Fleur said, leaning forward to kiss Hermione on the cheeks. She paused, before leaning in and kissing Hermione properly for a long moment, lingering. "We will talk again soon, Hermione."

"Of course, Fleur," Hermione said, breathless. "À bientôt."

Amusement at Hermione's accent lit up Fleur's face as she walked away, rejoining her friends and heading to the Great Hall, but Hermione didn't particularly care if Fleur was laughing at her, if it made her smile like that. She watched the small Beauxbatons party reenter the Great Hall, before she turned her eyes to her friends, both of whom were staring at her.

Blaise looked torn between amusement and exasperation, whereas Tracey looked angry, which took Hermione aback. She hadn't told anyone about Fleur, to be sure, but for Tracey to be so visibly upset about it…

"You never thought to mention," Blaise said finally, raising an eyebrow, "that your girlfriend was a Veela?"

"Quarter-Veela," Hermione protested, but Tracey had burst.

"You had a girlfriend? That was your French lover?" Tracey demanded, furious. "The one sending you courting gifts this entire time? With the lilies? Morgana's tits, Hermione, why didn't you tell us? Do you realize the stir this is going to create—"

"It's not," Hermione said sharply, giving Tracey a warning look. "Fleur can't be caught unless she's not the champion. And honestly – she stands a strong chance of being chosen as champion, I bet."

"Maybe," Blaise said, shrugging. "We still don't know how they're picking them. Dumbledore hasn't gone over that yet."

He gave her a pointed look, and Hermione sighed, getting to her feet.

"This isn't over," Tracey warned her, and Hermione gave her an annoyed look.

"It can be discussed later, in private," Hermione warned, and Tracey nodded, still visibly tense, as the three of them went back into the Great Hall.