Hermione's parents were thrilled for her success.
"Being elected to the government at thirteen…" Her mother shook her head, but she was smiling. "That's quite an accomplishment, Hermione. Not many people will be able to claim that. You'll stick out on any job application, now."
Her father was less excited about the government position than he was about the logistics of her attending Wizengamot sessions as well as her classes, the answer to which simultaneously excited and horrified him.
"They just gave this to you?" he demanded. "They just gave you, a thirteen-year-old, a time-traveling device to bend time to your will?"
Hermione shrugged. "They made me read and sign a safety pamphlet first?"
Her father was incredulous, and Hermione caught him later making a list of books, with titles like Time Travel and An Introduction to General Relativity and The Grandfather Paradox.
"I am going to get these books for you, books about time travel and various theories on it. And you will read them before you go back to school, do you understand?" he told her seriously. "If you are going to be time-traveling, you must understand the possible implications of you doing so."
"I think general relativity and quantum mechanics are a little advanced for a teenager, dear," her mother said, raising an eyebrow.
"I think giving a teenager a time machine is a little advanced!" her father shot back.
Her mother sighed.
"Hermione's going to use it to go to classes and go to the Wizengamot," she said. "It only turns back six hours. It's not as if she's going to go try to kill Hitler, dear."
"Simplicity be damned," her father warned. "If Hermione is going to do this, she needs to do it right, Jean."
Her mother rolled her eyes but gave in.
Hermione hid her smile. It was odd having her father be the overly cautious one for once.
The next day, Hermione abandoned her parents. They were planning to watch a show at the Moulin Rouge and then take a romantic cruise down the Seine, and Hermione could tell they were secretly rather pleased she wouldn't be coming along with them and would be visiting Fleur's family instead.
"If you're sure you don't want to come along, dear," her mother said, but Hermione could see the doe-eyed looks her parents were already exchanging, and she hastily turned away, reassuring them she was fine not going along, thank you very much. She did not want to be the third wheel on her parents' date.
Fleur wasn't old enough to Apparate, but she'd grown up in Paris, and she was well versed in navigating the muggle Metro system. She met Hermione at a park near the hotel at 10am, her blue eyes bright, her light blue dress bringing out their color beautifully.
"Did you win?" she asked, eyes sparkling. "You did win your election, yes?"
"I did," Hermione confirmed, grinning, and Fleur let out a delighted laugh, sweeping Hermione up in a hug and spinning her around, ignoring Hermione's startled yelp and bright red cheeks.
"This is incredible," she informed her, as Hermione refound her footing. "Working in the government, at such an age! En France, we do not have this, this 'youth representative'. But what a wonder if we did—!"
Hermione and Fleur chatted on the metro as they went to her neighborhood, Hermione detailing what the entire election had been like, describing the different tables and candidates. Fleur frowned when Hermione explained Éadaoin's platform.
"Werewolves are… they are very tragique," Fleur said. She couldn't seem to get the English pronunciation of the word down. "They are humans as we all are, true, but for part of the month, they become ravaging, senseless monsters, who truly do risk all of our society." She sighed. "There is a potion, it is said, that can tame them on this night, but it is very expensive and very hard to make."
"Are werewolves much of a problem in France?" Hermione asked, and Fleur looked startled.
"Non," she said. "It is more a British issue, I think. But we have problems with hags and vampires quite often, especially in the north."
The Delacour family lived in the Belleville district of Paris, an extremely beautiful part of the city. There were incredible panoramic views of downtown Paris from the rolling hills, and there were public gardens with bright, vibrant flowers everywhere. The streets had a laid-back, cosmopolitan vibe about them, with trendy international restaurants boasting cuisine from Sicily to Brazil to Rwanda. Hermione envied Fleur immensely. To grow up in such an area must have been incredible – it was no wonder Fleur was so cultured.
As they continued walking, however, Fleur slowly grew more and more tense, stiffening next to Hermione and becoming more and more withdrawn, shooting darting looks at Hermione from the side of her eyes. Finally, Fleur seemed she could take it no more, and she stopped short.
"We will take a break," she announced. "Here, in the garden."
She led Hermione to a shaded area of the Parc de Belleville near large topiary bushes. Here, she sat, and Hermione sat with her. Fleur looked terribly anxious, and Hermione bit her lip.
"Is everything okay?" Hermione asked. "If you're not comfortable with me coming to your home, I can—"
"Non, it is not that," Fleur dismissed. "It is… I need…" She sighed, resigned. "I have something I need to tell you before you come."
Hermione blinked. "Okay…"
Slowly, Fleur reached to her neck, tugging at a necklace she'd been wearing under her robes. It looked like a rounded triangle made of polished hematite with a rune carved into it, and Fleur reached behind her neck, unclasping it and setting it aside on the grass.
Nothing visible happened, but somehow Fleur suddenly seemed more. Hermione suddenly felt somewhat more tongue-tied around her, like she had been the first time she had met her, at the Palace of Versailles. Not that that was unusual – Fleur was so very beautiful, it'd be impossible not to be tongue-tied around her – but Hermione knew she'd managed normal speech with Fleur for over a week now.
"Is that…" Hermione's mind wrestled with itself, trying to remember. "You said you borrowed a magical dampener amulet from your mother, once. Is that it?" she asked, gesturing to the necklace. Fleur tilted her head, looking at her sideways.
"You remembered that?" she asked, and Hermione flushed.
"I don't forget things often," she defended. "Did you think I wasn't listening to you?"
Fleur laughed, but there was little mirth in it.
"Non, it is not that," she said. "I am used to people listening to me, but not remembering things about me." Her eyes met Hermione's, and Hermione's breath caught. "But you truly listen and care about me, Hermione. It is not something I take for granted."
Hermione was fighting to act normal. Her mouth was still dry, her heart beating too fast, and she had to fight with herself to not just stare at Fleur and drink in her beauty. Fleur seemed hesitant, debating with herself.
"There is something else," she said finally. She looked at Hermione. "I am not sure if it will affect you or not, but it might. And it is better we learn now than at my home."
Hermione nodded. She took a deep breath, centering herself, not knowing quite what to expect. "Alright."
Slowly, Fleur reached up to her head, her hand sliding up into her dark hair before abruptly grabbing it at the crown and yanking harshly.
Hermione was surprised to see the dark hair actually come off, thrown to the grass in a tangled heap at Fleur's feet, while gorgeous, white-gold hair unfolded from on top of her head fell down Fleur's back in long waves. Her hair shone, seeming to fan out behind her with the slightest hint of a breeze, and immediately it hit Hermione why Fleur's coloring had seemed off – she'd been wearing a wig all this time.
Her natural hair was beautiful – stunning, going with her moon-bright skin and sky-blue eyes perfectly. Hermione's heart skipped a beat, but she looked at Fleur.
"Was that part of your disguise, too?" she asked. "To keep boys from bothering you?"
Fleur looked at Hermione with surprise. She didn't say anything for a long moment, before a wide smile slowly spread across her face.
"Oui," she said. "My hair, it tends to enchant men. It has since I came of an age."
"Really?" Hermione was fascinated. "Whether or not you want it to or not? How does that work?"
Fleur seemed to be relaxing more, though she hesitated.
"I am not entirely what I seem," she said. "My grandmother, she was a Veela."
"A Veela?" Hermione repeated. "What's that?"
"Veela are beings," Fleur said first, flatly, "but they are women, all very beautiful. They have the ability to hypnotize men and mesmerize them with their dance, seducing them. But when angered, a Veela turns more into a creature like a bird – long, scaly wings from the shoulders, launching fireballs from their hands."
"That's fascinating," Hermione said, her eyes wide. "Are Veela related to Sirens, then? Or Harpies?"
Fleur tilted her head.
"I do not know," she admitted. "Very possibly. But what is important is we are considered beings, not people, and many decry us as creatures."
"Can you turn into a bird?" Hermione asked. "I think I saw the fireballs once in the park, when you were angry over the hedgewitches. But you didn't get wings or anything…"
Fleur laughed.
"I cannot," she said, her eyes sparkling as she leaned back on her hands, more at ease. "I have inherited the Veela hair and charm, and a little bit of their temper, but not the transformation or the flight." She paused. "I am lucky, in this. I would not want to become a bird every time I was upset."
"Can you throw fireballs on purpose, though?" Hermione asked curiously. "That seems like it might come in handy."
Fleur was laughing, now, shaking her head but laughing freely. Her laughter was musical, beautiful, and Hermione flushed, self-conscious as Fleur shook out her hair, smiling.
"I was worried, you realize," she told Hermione. "I did not know if you would be okay or not, once seeing my hair."
Hermione blinked.
"Err…" she said. "I thought you said it affected men?"
"That is what the legends say," Fleur said agreeably, standing up. "But I thought it might affect you, and I wanted to make sure it would not before you met my mother – she is half-Veela, and she has even more allure than me." She offered Hermione her hand. "Now that we know we are safe, you will come and meet my family?"
"Ah—okay—"
Hermione took Fleur's hand for help standing back up, her cheeks flushing when Fleur didn't let go of it, leading her out of the gardens.
Fleur started talking about the neighborhood, identifying different areas and explaining how magical families had managed to gradually claim a couple blocks in the middle to make a small magical community, but Hermione was finding it hard to listen and think.
Fleur had thought her hair might affect Hermione, even though Hermione clearly wasn't a man – and she thought it enough of a possibility that she felt the need to test it.
Fleur didn't seem bothered by this, either, but Hermione couldn't take her mind off of the matter.
She finally managed to push it from her head as Fleur led her up a sidewalk to a smart white house with a blue door, knocking firmly. Hermione stood up straight, her shoulders back, and Fleur laughed and smiled from her place next to her, her eyes sparkling.
"I want to make a good impression," Hermione protested, and Fleur laughed.
"Hermione," she said, her eyes sparkling and alight. "I doubt you could not if you tried."
Apolline Delacour, Fleur's mother, was an incredibly beautiful woman who was very tall, and very, very blonde. She was somewhat more solid-looking and curvier than Fleur was, who was all slight curves and lithe-figured, whereas Apolline reminded Hermione more of her own mother – a woman whose hips had clearly birthed a child. Still, she was very stunning, and Hermione could tell Fleur had definitely inherited her looks from her mother.
"I am so delighted my Fleur has made a friend!" she exclaimed again, as Hermione waited for her to set out a plate of sweets she had prepared. "It has been so very long, and even though you are not French, I am happy to see—"
"Maman," Fleur groaned, and Hermione was amused to see pink flush Fleur's cheeks with embarrassment. "You make it sound as if I have never had a friend."
"But it has been some time, yes?" Apolline said, bringing over a tray of chocolates and small pastries. She looked at her daughter knowingly. "I have not seen you happy in some time, Fleur. Is a mother not allowed to share in her daughter's joy?"
Hermione laughed as Fleur flushed again, and she nudged her when her mother went back into the kitchen.
"Parents," she said, giving Fleur a conspiratorial smile and rolling her eyes. "They're all the same, aren't they?"
Fleur's eyes widened, and a slow smirk spread on her lips.
"That they are," she agreed. "French and English alike."
Apolline wanted to know all about Hermione, all about her schooling so far and what she thought of France. She seemed delighted to hear Hermione wax poetic about what a beautiful place France and Paris were, and it was clear she was very proud to be French.
"If you think this is beauty, you would be struck at Beauxbatons," Apolline told her, bringing over a sparkling drink for them to try. "Beauxbatons, mon dieu, it was made to be the most beautiful place, and with the Flamel legacy, it is a blessing to the eyes…"
"I wish I could," Hermione admitted. "It sounds stunning."
Apolline turned a sly eye onto Hermione.
"You are smart enough, it seems," she commented. "Maybe if your French improved, you could put in for a transfer."
"Maman!" Fleur exclaimed, her cheeks darkening to a bright red. "Ça suffit!"
"Je veux juste que ma fille soit heureuse," Apolline said back, unruffled. "Est-ce si mauvais de vouloir?"
Hermione's French was only barely adequate (she'd never be able to learn at Beauxbatons, not without serious remedial lessons), and she fought to follow along. Fleur had told her mother to cut it out, she thought. And Apolline had said something about just wanting her daughter to be happy, Hermione was fairly sure, but she wasn't sure about the latter part – maybe asking if that was a bad thing to want?
Fleur's face was red and she wasn't looking at Hermione or her mother, while Apolline cast knowing glances at her daughter. Hermione bit her lip at the awkward silence, only for it to be abruptly interrupted by a sharp knock at the door.
The noise broke the tension as all eyes went to the door, and suddenly Fleur was standing.
"Where is Gabrielle?" she asked, her eyes on her mother.
Apolline sighed as she went to the door. "I suspect we will find out…"
On the other side of the door was another woman, a very angry witch, from what Hermione could tell. She spoke rapid, angry French at Apolline, who was trying to respond in a calm, reassuring tone, but the woman was having none of it.
"The witches here, they all resent my mother," Fleur whispered to her. "They fear she will steal their husbands…"
The angry woman stepped aside, arms crossed and furious, and Apolline went outside, resigned. Fleur was quick to grab Hermione's hand and follow after, kicking the door shut behind them.
The angry witch marched Apolline down the street three doors to her backyard, where a young blonde girl was playing with two boys. One of the boys was dangerously high up in a tree, and the other one following the girl around with a dopey expression, talking at her constantly. As they entered the yard, the young girl's eyes flew to her mother.
"Maman!" she exclaimed, running to her mother and burying her face in her dress. She mumbled something rapidly in French, and Apolline shushed and comforted her, running her fingers through her daughter's hair.
"Gabrielle is just seven," Fleur told Hermione, her voice quiet. "She is having… there are changes in her magic, recently. It is unstable, sometimes, until we reach eleven, and then it changes once again once we come of an age."
"So sometimes her hair enchants boys?" Hermione asked, watching the one boy continue to babble at Gabrielle while her mother withdrew an amulet from her pocket. "Even though she's just a child?"
"She is so young," Fleur sighed. "She dislikes how the amulets make her feel. And she refuses to wear a wig. They are too hot, she says, and she wants to play like a normal child."
"I can understand that," Hermione commiserated. "No one wants to be treated as strange."
Apolline had fixed the amulet around Gabrielle's neck, and her daughter's hair seemed to wilt, no longer blowing in an unseen breeze. The boy nearby seemed to blink and come to, looking around with a startled expression, while the boy up in the tree suddenly started to scream.
The two adults swore in French and hurried over to the tree. They spoke rapidly, and the boy continued to scream, clutching the tree in terror, though he had been calm just a moment before. His desperate clutching of the tree made it sway more dramatically than it had been, worsening the situation as he shrieked, and Hermione felt cold fear clutch her heart.
Magic or not, a fall from that height...
"Boys try and impress…" Fleur continued, looking up at the child. "Usually false boasts of prowess. But to a child, trying to impress another…"
Hermione bit her lip anxiously, glancing at Fleur. "Should I go up and get him?"
Fleur looked startled. "You have a broom? With you?"
"No," Hermione said. "But that's alright."
The danger of the child falling was imminent, in Hermione's mind, and there was no time to run and find a broom. It took barely a thought for her air elemental to whirl into action, lifting Hermione up the tree gracefully, as if she had been born to fly. She flew up to the top, where the boy was still clutching the top of the tree, staring at her.
It was a risk, but a calculated one — there had never been a Voldemort here, as far as Hermione knew, and there was no reflexive association of free flight with Dark magic. And something had to be done to save the boy...
"Ça va," she told the child, whose eyes had gone wide. "It's okay. I've got you— come here— err— viens ici—"
The small child launched himself at Hermione, clutching her middle tightly and burying his face in her stomach, and Hermione staggered a moment under the impact. With a soft smile, she shifted so one of her arms was around the child as well, and she slowly started to descend, not wanting to startle the boy.
There was a soft bump as they hit the ground, and the boy fled from her to hurl himself at his mother, speaking rapidly in French to her, his mother hugging him tightly and talking back. Hermione glanced at Fleur, gnawing her lip.
"Is she less mad now?" she asked. "Will everything be okay?"
Fleur was surprised by the question.
"She is comforting him," she said. "She is still angry that Gabrielle enchanted them, but that will continue to happen. There is no use trying to drain her anger."
Apolline quietly departed with Gabrielle while the mothers fussed at their sons, Fleur and Hermione quickly following after her to head back to the house. On the way, Fleur nudged Hermione, who looked up at her.
"How did you do that?" Fleur asked, her eyes curious. "You could fly."
"Oh," Hermione flushed. "That's… it's rather a long story, really."
Fleur's eyes sparkled. "But you will tell me?"
Hermione looked at Fleur, gnawing on her lip. It was still a secret, really. But how could she refuse to share her secrets with Fleur, when Fleur had trusted Hermione with the secret of her heritage?
"Maybe," Hermione agreed, cheeks red. "If we have time, later. I still want to practice with your ley line."
A slow smile spread across Fleur's lips, and Hermione cursed her inability to keep her breath about her when Fleur smiled at her in such a way.
"Perfect."