1
The war ended in a crescendo of chaos and loss, but also hope. Hogwarts lay in ruins, yet its spirit endured, a testament to the people who had fought so fiercely to protect it. The wizarding world began to rebuild, and with it, so did Hermione Granger's life.
For Hermione, returning to Hogwarts was a natural choice. The battle had taken everything from her: her innocence, her sense of normalcy, and the future she thought she was building. But education was something tangible, something she could control.
So, at nineteen, she joined the returning seventh-years to finish her studies. Her final year was now shared with Ginny, whose bright spirit had somehow survived the horrors of the war intact.
Ginny had always been a friend, but sharing a dormitory, studying together, and confiding in one another about their respective war traumas changed everything. By the time they graduated, Hermione and Ginny were inseparable, bound not just by shared experiences but by a sisterly love they hadn't known they were missing.
Meanwhile, Fleur Delacour had her own rebuilding to do.
Her marriage to Bill Weasley had been a passionate, whirlwind romance born during the war, a time when every moment felt fleeting and precious. But when the dust settled, they discovered that what bound them wasn't enough to sustain a lifetime together.
Their split was amicable, their love for one another remaining intact even as they realized they were better apart. Fleur kept her close bond with the Weasley family, her warmth and charm a fixture at family dinners and gatherings. Ginny, in particular, became one of her closest friends, a confidante who matched her sharp wit and unshakable loyalty.
Fleur found a home in London, where she began working as a curse-breaker for Gringotts. The meticulous, challenging work suited her sharp mind, and the bustling city offered her a fresh start.
The idea to share a flat was Ginny's.
It was early in the summer after Hermione's graduation, and Ginny had just been signed to the Holyhead Harpies. The thought of returning to the Burrow after tasting independence at Hogwarts wasn't appealing, and the idea of living in a bustling flat with Hermione sounded far more exciting.
"We'll find a place in London," Ginny had said over tea in the kitchen of the Burrow, her eyes alight with excitement. "You've got your Ministry job lined up. I'll be traveling a lot for matches, but we can split rent, and it'll be brilliant."
Hermione had laughed, but the idea had settled in her mind, warming her. She hadn't wanted to live alone, and being with Ginny was the best of both worlds—companionship without chaos.
It was Ginny who suggested adding Fleur to the mix a few weeks later.
"Fleur's been looking for a new flat," Ginny had said casually as they strolled through Diagon Alley. "She's been talking about moving closer to work. And you like her, don't you? She'd be fun to live with."
Hermione had hesitated. Fleur was elegant, sophisticated—a little intimidating, if she was honest. But the more she thought about it, the more she realized how much she admired Fleur.
"I suppose it could work," Hermione had said finally, smiling.
Fleur, for her part, had been delighted by the proposal.
"I am used to sharing space," Fleur had said when they met to discuss logistics. "And I sink this will be good for all of us."
And so, the three of them found a charming flat on a quiet street in London, nestled above a bakery that filled the air with the comforting scent of fresh bread every morning.
The first year of living together was a mix of hilarity, adjustment, and deepening bonds.
Ginny's larger-than-life personality brought a constant buzz of energy to the flat. She filled the space with Quidditch equipment, stories of her matches, and an endless parade of laughter. She and Hermione often spent late nights talking in the living room, their friendship growing stronger with every shared secret and whispered dream.
Fleur, meanwhile, brought an air of elegance to the flat that neither Hermione nor Ginny could replicate. She kept fresh flowers on the table, brewed the best coffee Hermione had ever tasted, and somehow made even the mundane seem extraordinary.
She also had a biting wit that kept Ginny's teasing in check and Hermione's overly serious moments in perspective. Fleur's friendship with Ginny remained as strong as ever, but it was her growing bond with Hermione that surprised them both.
Fleur found Hermione fascinating—her quick mind, her passion for justice, her drive to fix the world even when it felt impossible. They spent hours discussing everything from politics to literature, their conversations rich and invigorating. Fleur often found herself lingering in the kitchen long after dinner, captivated by the way Hermione's eyes lit up when she was explaining something she was passionate about.
For Hermione, Fleur became a source of unexpected comfort. Despite her sharp tongue and often haughty demeanor, Fleur had a warmth about her that Hermione found deeply reassuring. Fleur made her laugh in a way that felt effortless, and her unwavering confidence was something Hermione often leaned on during difficult days at the Ministry.
But for Fleur, something deeper began to stir—and it wasn't tender or sentimental.
It was in the moments when Hermione was least aware of herself that Fleur's thoughts began to shift. The sight of Hermione leaning over the kitchen table, poring over Ministry documents, her brow furrowed in concentration, made Fleur's gaze linger a little too long. The curve of Hermione's neck as she brushed her hair aside, the way her lips pressed together when she was lost in thought—it was maddening.
Fleur started to notice the subtle, physical details that left her restless late at night. The way Hermione's blouse clung to her when she returned home from a long day at the Ministry, the way her laughter caused her chest to rise and fall, the sway of her hips when she moved around the flat. Fleur's sharp blue eyes betrayed her more than once, catching on Hermione's figure for a beat too long before she forced herself to look away.
It wasn't love that churned inside her—it was hunger, raw and undeniable.
She knew it was dangerous, this growing desire that burned hotter every day. Hermione was her friend, her roommate, and Fleur wasn't sure she could trust herself not to let her thoughts slip into action. So, she maintained her icy facade, sharp and untouchable, burying the growing heat beneath layers of control.
But at night, when the flat was quiet and dark, Fleur's mind betrayed her. She would close her eyes, and Hermione's form would rise unbidden—her lips, her skin, the imagined warmth of her body. Fleur would flush with frustration and shame, forcing herself to focus on something else, but it was a battle she often lost.
The worst part was that Hermione seemed utterly unaware. Her casual ease, her platonic smiles, her openness—it all made Fleur feel even more like a woman on the edge of losing her composure.
Fleur told herself it was nothing. A passing infatuation. A phase. But deep down, she knew better. This was no fleeting distraction.
This was desire, simmering and consuming, and it was only growing stronger.
