Tracey had been dismayed to learn that Hermione was going on holiday with her parents.
"You'll miss the election!" she bemoaned. "You can't miss that, Hermione, you just can't!"
Daphne and Draco had come to the rescue, though, to Tracey's relief and Hermione's amusement. With the both of them working on it, they'd managed to get an International Portkey authorized in record time.
"It will transport you to Diagon Alley at 9am, UK time," Draco told her seriously, giving her a blue sock. "It'll send you back at 7pm, back to your parents in France from the exact spot you left from."
"Right. 9am on the 14th, back in France at 7pm," Hermione said. She straightened. "What do you think I should wear?"
Draco paused to think, his eyes going soft.
"Whatever you think is best," he murmured. He looked at her, his silver eyes taking their time drinking her in. "You always know how to make an impression, Hermione. I'm sure whatever you pick will be fine."
Hermione felt flattered despite herself.
In the meantime, Hermione's parents were very excited for their holiday to France.
They'd arranged for the dental practice to be closed for a full three weeks, insisting all of their staff take a holiday as well. Her mother had planned out the family's itinerary, where they would go on which days, what they would do, and what restaurants they needed reservations for. Her father, on the other hand, busied himself by practicing his rusty French.
"Où est la toilette?" he practiced, reading carefully from a book. "Je dois aller."
Hermione giggled at his attempts, and he shot a look at her but grinned.
"It's the most important question I'll need to ask!" he protested. "I need to get make sure I have it mastered."
"It's 'où sont les toilettes'," Hermione corrected. "'Toilettes' is plural. And I'm sure you'll be able to find the loo, Dad," Hermione assured him, smiling. "They have symbols on the doors, too."
Hermione's mother had kept up her French moderately well, and Hermione had taken French in muggle school for her Modern Foreign Language simply because she'd thought it was prettier than German. She didn't know much French, really, but she was confident she could at least get around if she had a pocket dictionary on her. She remembered most of the grammar – she just didn't have too large of a vocabulary of French words under her belt.
The holiday had Hermione curious, though, and she looked into what wizards did for other languages and translations, which lead to a fascinating exploration into attempts at translation spells over the years. Wizards had tried to get around the obstacle of learning a new language magically for centuries, it seemed, with little to no luck. The best they'd managed was a sort of modernizing spell encased in an amulet, so if someone spoke Middle English, it would update their speech and understanding to modern English. But any attempts at English to French or French to English or any other combination had failed – there was no innate way to encase entire languages into an artifact.
There were a few theories on other ways to learn a language, most of which involved the transfer of a language innately, which made Hermione shudder. Though the book she'd found was all theoretical, she knew from the language ritual with animals that whatever sacrifice was required would probably make any working language transfer ritual extremely unethical and Dark.
Hermione also got a book on Wizarding France that she devoured on the plane ride over. France had its very own equivalent of Diagon Alley – the Place Cachée, she learned, which meant 'hidden place'. And there were little hidden bits of wizarding history all over, she learned, hidden from sight of muggles. Hermione's parents were willing to go with her to the Place Cachée after a few days, and Hermione was extremely excited to see the magical cultural differences in France.
She hadn't gone on a proper holiday with her parents in years, and Hermione found she simply couldn't wait.
After they arrived and got situated at their hotel, Hermione's parents sat her down for a very grown-up conversation.
"France is a relatively safe place, but we need to be careful," her mother told her seriously. "There was a terrorist attack last week inside of a church, and the people who did it are organized."
"What? Here?" Hermione said, panicked. "In France?"
"It was in Cape Town," her father reassured her, "but eleven people died, and fifty more were shot and injured, Hermione. And there was an attack in Turkey earlier in July, too." His eyes were unusually serious. "But people are on guard everywhere these days. France has a lot of high-profile potential targets, so they're on alert. There will be armed soldiers at some places, watching. Just make sure you behave yourself, and we should be fine."
Hermione shuddered. "I'll behave."
It was obligatory, Hermione figured, that her parents sit her down and make sure she knew to behave when in a foreign country, but it still shook Hermione to a degree. She'd so firmly enmeshed herself in wizarding culture that sometimes she got a bit of shock when she had to suddenly consider the muggle world again.
It was an odd feeling, feeling like an interloper in your own native land. She'd grown up hearing about the woes of the world from her parents, who had always been very honest with her and treated her like an adult. They'd explained what the fall of the Berlin Wall meant, for example, and Hermione had grown up vaguely aware of international tensions and the problems they presented - it was why she had wanted to be Prime Minister someday when she was younger, though she had very different career goals now.
But now... it was easier to just ignore it, to pretend it didn't exist. Like when Hermione had overheard her parents talking about North Korea withdrawing from the Nuclear Nonproliferation Treaty over breakfast, it was easier to just ignore it, to pretend that type of thing didn't affect her anymore, even if it very much did.
She just… didn't want to think about that type of thing.
Changing the wizarding world was in her realm of possibilities, something within her grasp.
World peace was very much not.
Her parents went over safety precautions with her, and they made sure she had a map back to the hotel in case she got separated or lost. They went over what the emergency numbers in France were, as well as how to shout for help if she was being kidnapped. Hermione endured it, knowing it would help alleviate her parents' worries – even though, more realistically, if someone tried to kidnap her, she was zapping them with every spell she could when she had the chance.
Finally, after her parents were reassured she was ready, they set out to tour France.
Hermione's mother directed their exploration the first few days as they did the typical touristy things. They went and saw the Eiffel Tower, they visited the Notre Dame cathedral, and they went to see Napoleon's tomb. Hermione's father whispered to her at each place to let him know if she saw any ghosts, but each place, Hermione assured him, didn't seem to have any ghosts about that she could see.
Hermione loved it. It was fun. The Eiffel Tower was amazing, Notre Dame was gorgeous, and Napoleon's Tomb was huge on an insane scale. It was exciting, exploring a foreign land and learning new things, and France felt more and more like an adventure every new place they went.
On the fourth day of their trip, they took a train and went to visit the Palace of Versailles, an obscenely gilded palace Hermione had learned about in passing in muggle history class. Once they got there, Versailles was astonishing, the entire place ornately decorated and gilded and massive, and even more overwhelming than Hermione had imagined, shining brightly in the French sun.
"Makes you wonder why the peasants didn't chop their heads off sooner," Hermione's father commented with a snort, looking up at the magnificent structure. Hermione giggled, and her mother pushed at her father playfully, admonishing.
They bought their tickets and went inside, Hermione happily reading about all the rooms, how the palace was constructed, and all the history it contained. The Hall of Mirrors was particularly impressive, though Hermione despaired over all the fingerprints smudging everything – it would have been truly magnificent to see if all the mirrors were clean.
As they walked along, Hermione paused at an intersection for the Queen's Rooms. She stepped towards it, only to have her mother pull her back.
"Don't ignore the signs, dear," she chided. "We're not allowed in there."
Hermione looked up at her mother quizzically. "Why not?"
"It's under construction for restoration," she said, pointing at the sign. "We're not allowed in for safety."
"That's not what I see on that sign at all!" Hermione exclaimed, excitement thrumming through her. "I see a sign for the Queen's Rooms and an exhibit on Poisoning in the Palace!"
Hermione's father came over to examine the placard too.
"Are you sure?" he said. "This definitely says we're not allowed in."
"I think it's a wizarding exhibit," Hermione said, bouncing slightly on her toes. "Can I please go in and see it? Please? I can hold your hands and get you in to see it too, I bet! Please?"
Her parents exchanged a look. Her mother looked skeptical, but her father shrugged.
"Why not?" he said with a grin. "I'd like to learn the secret history of Versailles, too."
Her mother sighed.
"Fine," she said. "But if we get separated, meet at the courtyard at 2pm, okay? Our tour of the gardens is at three."
Vibrating with poorly suppressed excitement, Hermione took her parents' hands, her mother on her left, her father on her right, and waited until the guards weren't looking before tugging them past the placard, a curtain of magic rippling in the air as she pulled them past the ward.
On the other side of the placard was a hallway that lead to a full exhibit, placards and signs on the area as well. Some of the visitors in this area wore stranger clothes, a mix between muggle skirts and robes, and the guard near one of the fancier exhibits wore a wand.
"See!" Hermione exclaimed. "I did it! See?"
Her parents were surprised and looked around with wide eyes, before settling down and becoming amused.
"Don't leave this area without telling us, Hermione," her mother warned as Hermione skipped off towards the exhibits. "We might not be able to get back out without you."
Hermione waved at them in acknowledgement, her eyes already devouring the first piece.
The exhibit was fascinating to Hermione. Apparently in the late 1660s, many influential members of the French nobility began to die unexpectedly and quickly, one after another after another. When the king called for autopsies, their insides were blackened and corroded, and a fever for poisoning and witchcraft infected the court.
The "Affair of the Poisons", as it came to be known, ended up being one of the largest witch trials in modern history and was a major contributing factor to the International Statue of Secrecy. 319 subpoenas were issued, 194 people arrested, and 36 were executed, though some scholars suspected dozens more had died from suicide, prison, or being exiled. The entire affair claimed between two and three times as many lives as the Salem witch trials across the Atlantic, and the placard seemed almost smug stating that – the French had had the worst witch trial in the world, not the Americans – and Hermione suppressed a smile as she moved on.
The next placard was about Marie de Brinvilliers, a witch with a talent for potions. As Hermione began reading how the muggle investigation of her had made things spiral out of control, a ruckus across the room caught her attention.
"Non. Non!"
Hermione turned to look.
There was a witch about her age, maybe a little older, being harassed by a boy. From his tone of voice, the boy seemed to be insistently pleading with her, reaching for her to pull her along with him, making her dodge him each time he tried. The girl was clearly turning him down over and over, uncomfortable, but the boy continued harassing her, not accepting 'no' for an answer.
Hermione frowned, glancing around. The girl's parents didn't seem to be around to help, and the guard was ignoring the scene.
The boy reached for the girl again, and the girl flinched away. Mind made up, Hermione strode across the hall with determination, moving to the girl's side.
"Parlez-vous anglais?" she asked the wizard, glaring at him.
The wizard was taken aback. "Of course," he answered, his English heavily accented.
"Then bugger off," Hermione snapped at him. The wizard reared back in surprise. "She already said 'no', you cad. She doesn't want to go with you."
Hermione could see the witch reacting with surprise out of the corner of her eye, but Hermione's eyes were fixed firmly on the wizard across from her, whose eyes were narrowing. The guard a few yards away was also watching them with a careful eye, and Hermione was careful not to go for her wand.
"Who are you to demand thees?" he asked, his English very accented. "You do not know 'er. I know 'er from school, and she is—"
"She is not interested in you," Hermione interrupted, folding her arms. "If you continue to harass her to go with you, it would be attempted kidnapping, and she would have every right to defend herself against you with her wand."
The wizard clearly didn't understand all the terms Hermione used, frowning at her instead. Hermione glowered back - the sheer presumption of this boy, treating his classmate like she owed him her attention, made her eyes practically glow in anger.
"I am committing no crime," he objected. "I just want 'er to—"
Hermione lost her patience.
"Go away," she said, gesturing at him sharply, and her air elemental blew through the room, forcibly shoving the wizard backwards across the hallways, his boots skidding over the stone. The wizard's eyes went wide.
"Wandless magic?" he said. He looked incredulous. "But 'ow old are you? You cannot be more than fourteen…"
"Go away," Hermione snapped, and the air pushed him back further again, making him trip backwards and hit the far wall.
"Yes," the witch next to her insisted. Hermione could see her fold her arms as the witch glared at the boy. "No one wants you here, Albert. Leave us alone."
The witch's voice was fierce, suddenly, and the boy glared at them both before straightening up, shooting them both dirty looks.
"D'accord, d'accord," he muttered, skulking from the hall.
Hermione watched him go. He glanced back several times, his pride clearly injured, but Hermione glared at him the entire way down the hall until he eventually left and turned the corner. Pleased, Hermione turned to the witch she'd helped, only to stop short, barely managing not to gasp.
The witch was beautiful.
From a distance, Hermione had been able to tell that the witch was pretty, but up close, it was clear she was incredibly beautiful. She looked like a model, her lithe figure fitted and flattered perfectly by her skirt and blouse, and her pale skin was smooth and flawless. Her face had perfectly symmetrical features with high cheekbones and deep, enchanting blue eyes that Hermione could scarcely look away from. Her hair was the only thing about her Hermione could find fault with – her dark brown hair looked dyed, the color clashing with her skin tones, and the cut of it wasn't particularly flattering to her face.
That being said, she was clearly stunning, and Hermione wondered if she faced harassment from boys like that a lot.
The witch was looking down at Hermione in puzzlement, and Hermione realized that the other witch was slightly taller than her.
"Thank you," she said finally, her English accented, and Hermione beamed.
"You're welcome," she said. She glanced at where the wizard had gone with a dark look. "I'm so sorry you were harassed like that. No one needs that."
"'e wanted me to walk the gardens with him," the girl dismissed. "It was nothing threatening, but 'e would not listen when I said I did not want to go."
"Boys don't like taking 'no' for an answer," Hermione commiserated.
The girl looked at Hermione thoughtfully.
"No," she agreed finally. "They do not."
"I'm Hermione," Hermione said, finally remembering her manners. She offered her hand to the girl, only to abruptly realize she was meeting a witch, quickly stepping back to offer a curtsy instead, the best she could do in her muggle clothes. "Hermione Granger. Pleased to meet you."
The girl laughed, and it was like the musical tinkling of bells.
"Enchantée. I am Fleur Delacour," the girl said, sweeping Hermione her own curtsy, and Hermione envied her grace. "You are here on holiday?"
"With my parents," Hermione admitted. "You're from France?"
"I am," Fleur said. She looked at Hermione for a long moment, almost quizzical, and Hermione found herself somewhat floundering for how to proceed.
"You go to Beauxbatons, then?" she asked, trying to keep the conversation going a bit longer. "What's that like? I've read that it's much larger than Hogwarts is, much larger, and I'm so curious about the differences in the curriculum between the two schools."
Fleur looked down at Hermione, puzzled.
"You do not hate me?" she said abruptly, and Hermione blinked.
"Um," she said. "No?"
Fleur's eyes narrowed.
"Why are you talking to me?" she demanded. "Why are you still here?"
Hermione reared back, hurt.
"I—I wanted to make a friend," she said, shocked. "I thought—you're my age, almost, and I thought—"
Her hand had somehow made its way to her heart, pressing against her chest, and Hermione bit her lip hard. There was an empty, pained feeling in her chest and throat, and her eyes burned.
"I'm sorry?" she said finally. "I don't know French wizarding etiquette very well. I was trying to help rescue you from that boy. I'm sorry if that was presumptuous? Or if it was rude to be so familiar with you so quickly."
Hermione bit her lip, looking at the Fleur for a long moment, who looked openly suspicious, before sighing.
"Sorry," she said quietly, and she turned and walked away.
Hermione went back to the placard she had been reading, though her mood had soured. She had just been trying to help, and she'd thought she stood a chance of making a new friend, but apparently not…
Marie de Brinvilliers, Hermione read, had a passion for poisons, and she took delight in lacing cakes and other sweets with her latest discovery, which historians now suspected to be arsenic. She was suspected to have poisoned her father and her two brothers, putting her in line to inherit a fortune, until the muggles became suspicious and went to arrest her.
"She was very fierce. Very Dark, and she had no 'eart to speak of."
Hermione looked up.
Fleur stood next to her, hesitant. Even though her stance was graceful, she seemed anxious as she looked at Hermione, a nervousness in her eyes.
"We learned in school," Fleur said, nodding at the placard. Her brown hair fell forward, and Fleur impatiently pushed it behind an ear. "She and her muggle lover – Gaudin de Sainte-Croix – poisoned dozens simply because they were bored."
Hermione looked at Fleur, who was looking at her tentatively.
"Was she really related to Catherine de Medici?" Hermione asked finally.
A slow, beautiful smile blossomed over Fleur's face, and her eyes shone with relief.
"I do not know," Fleur said. "But here, on this side – after the furor started, Catherine Monvoisin, the famous alchemist, she was apprehended, and ze muggles found 'er entire laboratory."
"Really?" Hermione gasped. "What did the wizards do?"
"They had to disavow her," Fleur said darkly. "Make her look like a muggle fortune-teller, to protect everyone else. She sold her potions to muggles to finance herself – giving them love potions, poisoned posies, powders to flush the womb…"
Hermione followed the girl to the next placard, reading the signs and asking Fleur questions, who was happy to flesh out the details of what had happened that the displays didn't cover. Fleur was very smart, and she knew a lot of fascinating details about what had happened. Hermione wondered how detailed Magical History lessons were at Beauxbatons, and what all Fleur learned in school.
Regardless, it seemed Fleur wasn't so opposed to having a new friend, now, and Hermione found herself smiling as they went around.
Fleur took her around the entire exhibit, talking to her about everything, and Hermione felt very much like she had her own private tour guide. Though Fleur struggled for the correct word in English sometimes, she seemed to delight in answering Hermione's questions, and Hermione was having fun learning about everything about the poisoning scandal from someone who knew all the details.
Near the end of the hall, Hermione watched Fleur as she explained about the suspicions that Louis XIV's mistress had cast a love spell on him. Her blue eyes were bright, excited, and Hermione felt her throat dry.
"Would you like to see the gardens with me and my parents?" she blurted suddenly. She felt her face flush. "We have tickets for 3pm."
Fleur look startled for a moment, before slowly giving Hermione a brilliant smile.
"Yes," she said, looking down at her. "Yes, I think I would."
Hermione's parents greeted Fleur politely, and Fleur was gracious enough to shake their hands, though she shot Hermione a surprised look.
"Your parents are muggles?" she asked quietly, as she tagged along with them to the next exhibit.
"Is that a problem?" Hermione asked mildly, and Fleur quickly shook her head.
"Non! Non, not at all. They are just so accepting…" she said, trailing off. She paused. "It is nice. Most muggle parents, they seem wary of our world."
"I'm very lucky," Hermione agreed, smiling at her parents who were ahead of them, looking at a display about the expense of drapes.
As they explored the palace, the girls chatted between exhibits, Hermione telling Fleur a little bit about Hogwarts (and its horrible lack of detailed history) while Fleur shared bits from her life as well.
"I do not have many female friends," she admitted to Hermione. "I do not have many friends at all."
Hermione blinked.
"Why not?" she asked. "You're so smart, and you're so nice!"
Fleur looked surprised as this declaration, before she smiled bitterly.
"Boys, they want one thing from me," she said, her eyes scathing. "They do not want to get to know me, they do not want to talk with me. And girls, they see how the boys come to me, and they are jealous and isolate me from their groups."
"That's awful!" Hermione said, horrified.
"It is what it is," Fleur shrugged, but Hermione was indignant.
"That's ridiculous," she said fiercely. "I mean, it's true, of course, you're very beautiful—"
She flushed fiercely, not meeting Fleur's eyes.
"—but that's no reason to not to get to know you! It's not like you can help your looks, and you're more than your appearance, anyway, just like everyone else is!"
Fleur looked startled by Hermione's impassioned defense, then touched.
"I am sorry I was so rude, before," Fleur told her. "I… I do not have much experience making friends, and I was suspicious."
Fleur was a couple years older than Hermione, but she didn't treat Hermione like she was younger, which Hermione appreciated immensely. Instead, she helped point out the different flowers in the gardens and what magical properties they had (if any) as they wound their way through the palace's gardens. Hermione was fascinated – Fleur seemed to know so many things about everything – and Hermione found herself abruptly glad she'd run into the girl by chance.
Eventually, the day was at an end. Hermione's parents were ready to go, and they waited patiently while Hermione said goodbye to her new friend.
"It was wonderful to meet you," Hermione said, honesty shining in her eyes. "Today wouldn't have been nearly as special without you there."
Fleur looked like she wanted to say something, but she was hesitant.
"La Place Cachée," she said suddenly. "I can show you. I can show you around there, too." She flushed. "Ah, if you want, that is. You mentioned you had not yet gone, and—"
"Yes!" Hermione said eagerly. She smiled at Fleur. "I'd love that. Is Friday okay?"
A slow smile spread across Fleur's face.
"Perfect," she said. "I shall meet you at the entrance? At 10, perhaps?"
"Works for me," Hermione said cheerily. She smiled at Fleur. "See you Friday, then!"
"À vendredi," Fleur bid her, smiling. "À bientôt."