3
Fleur tightened her grip on her wine glass, the cold stem offering some relief against the heat that crept up her neck. The soft din of the restaurant enveloped her, the low murmur of conversations and clinking silverware almost soothing. Across the small table sat a strikingly beautiful woman, her red hair falling in soft waves over her shoulders. Fleur recognized the appreciative glances they were drawing from other patrons and silently cursed her Veela allure for its unrelenting pull.
Her date smiled, clearly charmed. "So, tell me more about Gringotts," the woman prompted, leaning in slightly. "It must be fascinating, handling all those ancient curses."
Fleur nodded absently, her gaze briefly flicking to the woman's slender fingers curled around her own glass. They were elegant, sure, but not her hands. Not Hermione's hands, with their small scars and ink-stained fingertips that Fleur had grown shamefully obsessed with.
"It is... fulfilling work," Fleur replied vaguely, her polished tone smooth but detached yet gave the women a small smile, the type she'd perfected over the years—a smile that didn't reach her eyes.
The woman continued the conversation, mistaking Fleur's reserve for intrigue. Fleur barely heard it. Her thoughts were already elsewhere, back in the flat, where Hermione had been stretched out on the sofa that morning, her form draped lazily across the cushions as she read. Fleur had walked in to find Hermione in a pair of shorts that barely clung to her hips, her loose tank top revealing the delicate lines of her collarbones and the faint outline of her bra. The memory alone made Fleur shift uncomfortably in her seat.
"Are you alright?" her date asked, concern flickering across her features.
"Oui, sorry, just thinking about work" Fleur said quickly, waving a dismissive hand. "It has been... demanding"
The excuse was thin, but her date nodded sympathetically. Fleur exhaled, grateful for the reprieve. She had agreed to this outing in a desperate attempt to quiet the relentless fire that burned within her, but it wasn't working. It never worked.
By the time the meal ended, Fleur had barely touched her plate, and the goodbye was mercifully brief. She returned to the flat alone, her heels clicking sharply against the cobblestone streets, the cool night air doing little to quell her frustration while she returned home.
The flat was warm and lively that night, filled with the comforting aroma of freshly brewed tea. Ginny sat cross-legged on the couch, a grin tugging at her lips as she read aloud from a letter she had taken from Hermione and that now she held in her hands. Fleur leaned against the kitchen counter, her icy composure intact, though her eyes flicked toward Hermione from time to time.
"So he's coming to London for a few months" Ginny exclaimed with excitement. "THE Viktor Krum himself, training with the Tornadoes! That's incredible, isn't it?"
Hermione, seated in the armchair, smiled warmly, the corners of her eyes crinkling. "It'll be nice to see him again. He was always so kind."
Fleur kept her expression neutral, though her grip on her cup tightened imperceptibly. The news of Viktor's coming to London had not been a surprise, they had kept contact over the years, she even invited him to her wedding with Bill, and he had written her a few weeks back letting her know he might come. The surprise came because she was not aware he kept close contact with Hermione, nor the reaction and attention Hermione was giving to the news. The way Hermione's face lit up as she spoke about him sent a flicker of unease through Fleur, a sensation she quickly smothered.
Ginny, of course, wasn't about to let the opportunity for mischief slip by. She leaned forward, her grin widening. "Kind? That's what you remember about him? Because I seem to recall him being rather... fond of you, Hermione."
Hermione laughed softly, her cheeks turning a light pink. "That was ages ago. We were just friends."
"Were you, though?" Ginny teased, her voice sing-song. "Because I remember a certain someone spending quite a lot of time in the library with him. And let's not forget the Yule Ball, nor Fleur's and Bill's wedding. He couldn't take his eyes off you."
Hermione rolled her eyes, though her smile didn't falter. "We were fourteen, Ginny. It was hardly serious. And at the wedding he had a date"
Fleur felt her stomach twist at the playful banter, though her expression remained perfectly composed. She took a slow sip of her tea, her sharp gaze fixed on the steam rising from her cup.
"But he did like you," Ginny continued, undeterred. "I mean, come on, he keeps inviting you to visit him in Bulgaria almost every year after the tournament. That's not exactly a casual gesture, is it?"
Hermione laughed again, setting her book down on the arm of the chair. "I suppose not. But really, Ginny, we are just friends
"Oh, I doubt it," Ginny said, her grin turning sly. "If anything, I'd wager he's been waiting for the perfect chance to sweep you off your feet again. And now he's coming to London. Convenient, don't you think?"
This time, Hermione didn't brush off the comment. Instead, she shrugged lightly, her lips quirking in a way that bordered on amused. "Well, who knows? Viktor is a good man. I wouldn't rule anything out."
Fleur's fingers tightened around the edge of the counter, the coolness of the surface doing little to temper the heat rising in her chest.
I'll tell you what," Ginny said, her tone conspiratorial. "If you and Viktor do rekindle things, you have to let me come to a match as his girlfriend's guest. Front-row seats, of course."
Hermione laughed, shaking her head. "I think you're getting a bit ahead of yourself."
"Am I?" Ginny shot back, raising an eyebrow. "Because I don't think I am."
Fleur's voice cut through the lighthearted chatter, cool and measured. "Viktor is a talented player, oui. But I doubt he is coming here for... romantic pursuits."
Ginny turned to Fleur, her grin unfazed. "You never know, Fleur. He's always had an eye for Hermione, hasn't he?"
Hermione chuckled, waving off the comment. "Alright, that's enough. Viktor is a friend, and I'm happy to see him, but let's not make this into something it isn't."
Fleur's lips pressed into a thin line as the conversation moved on, though her thoughts remained tangled. Jealousy wasn't an emotion she allowed herself to indulge in—it was unbecoming, beneath her. And yet, the idea of Viktor Krum and Hermione together, even in jest, gnawed at her in a way she couldn't ignore.
Later that evening, when Ginny had gone to bed, Fleur found herself lingering in the kitchen, her movements slow and deliberate as she tidied up the counters. Hermione appeared in the doorway, a soft smile playing on her lips.
"Still up?" Hermione asked, her voice light.
"Oui," Fleur replied, not looking up from the glass she was drying. "I could not sleep."
Hermione stepped closer, leaning against the counter. "I'm glad Viktor is coming, you know. It'll be good to catch up with him."
"Of course," Fleur said evenly, setting the glass down. "He is great."
Hermione tilted her head, studying Fleur's profile. "You don't seem particularly excited about it."
Fleur met Hermione's gaze, her expression cool and unreadable. "I am happy he is coming. Maybe you are too excited, which is different ma chère"
Something flickered in Hermione's eyes—curiosity, perhaps, or something deeper. Fleur didn't linger long enough to find out. She excused herself with a faint smile and retreated to her room, leaving Hermione standing in the quiet kitchen, her brow furrowed in thought.
