5
A few weeks later, the late afternoon sun slanted through the windows of the flat, casting golden light across the polished wooden floors. Fleur sat perched on the edge of the sofa, a magazine open on her lap. She wasn't reading, though; her sharp blue eyes lingered discreetly on Hermione, who stood at the bookshelves, scanning their shared collection for something. Hermione's fingers trailed along the spines, her movements unhurried, her figure framed perfectly by the sunlight.
Fleur's gaze wandered. She had become an expert in subtlety, perfecting the art of looking without being caught. But the curve of Hermione's hips in those snug jeans, the way her blouse clung to her, highlighting her toned arms and shoulders, made Fleur reckless. She let her gaze linger a beat too long.
Hermione turned suddenly, catching Fleur mid-look. For a split second, their eyes met. Fleur froze, her poised demeanor faltering just slightly before she tilted her head, feigning indifference.
"Did you want something from the shelf?" Hermione asked, her voice casual, though there was a flicker of mischief that didn't go unnoticed.
"Non," Fleur replied smoothly, brushing a strand of silver-blonde hair over her shoulder.
Hermione hummed in response, her lips twitching as though she were suppressing a smile. She turned back to the bookshelves but shifted her stance, leaning just enough to emphasize the curve of her body. Fleur's breath hitched. Was that deliberate?
This wasn't the first time. Fleur had caught Hermione glancing at her more frequently in the past few days—lingering looks, subtle but unmistakable. Or so Fleur thought. It was maddening, not knowing if Hermione was teasing her or if it was all in her imagination.
But there was one thing Fleur did know: Hermione had noticed her staring before. Fleur had no illusions about that. And Hermione hadn't been upset. Quite the opposite, she seemed to enjoy it.
The thought sent a thrill through her, though Fleur masked it well, maintaining her practiced air of aloofness.
By the time evening fell, Fleur had composed herself, donning an elegant black dress that hugged her figure in all the right places. The occasion was Viktor Krum's arrival in London, and Harry had offered to host a small gathering at Grimmauld Place to welcome him.
Small, however, had quickly turned into sizable, as Harry, Ron and Ginny's wide circle of friends invited their friends, and Ginny's Quidditch teammates insisted on attending. The house was buzzing with activity as everyone arrived, laughter and chatter filling the air.
Fleur arrived with Hermione and Ginny, the three of them stepping into the magically expanded living room where a long table was laden with food and drinks. The atmosphere was warm and convivial, the space illuminated by floating lanterns that glowed softly.
"Fleur!" Viktor's deep, familiar voice boomed across the room. He crossed the distance quickly, his broad smile genuine as he embraced her briefly, his large hands resting lightly on her shoulders. "It is so good to see you again."
"And you," Fleur replied smiling, her voice warm, though her poise remained intact. She stepped aside as Hermione greeted Viktor, the two of them falling into easy conversation about their shared Hogwarts memories. Fleur watched them closely, her sharp gaze flicking between the two as they spoke.
She hated how easy Viktor made her laugh, the way Hermione's eyes sparkled when talking to him. Fleur's jealousy simmered beneath the surface, carefully concealed by her calm exterior. She wasn't jealous of Viktor himself—he was a dear friend—but of the effortless way Hermione seemed to connect with him.
Across the room, Ginny waved them over to the table, where Harry stood pouring drinks. A group of Ginny's Quidditch teammates were gathered nearby, their boisterous laughter carrying above the noise. Fleur's expression softened as she followed Hermione and Viktor, falling naturally into the rhythm of the evening.
Some hours later, the party was in full swing. Fleur, ever poised, held a glass of wine between her fingers, the deep crimson liquid catching the light as she took a measured sip.
She let her gaze sweep across the room, her expression carefully neutral, though her attention was drawn repeatedly to one corner of the room. Viktor and Hermione were sitting together on one of the larger sofas, their postures intimately close and their laughter easy. Viktor had been paying Hermione plenty of attention, leaning in as they spoke and brushing her hand with his own on more than one occasion.
Hermione, Fleur noted, was responding warmly. Her cheeks were flushed—not entirely from the wine, Fleur suspected—and her smile was frequent, even shy at times. She had leaned into Viktor's touch at every time, her laughter lilting and genuine.
Fleur's sharp blue eyes narrowed just slightly as she watched them, a flicker of something hot and unwelcome rising in her. Jealousy rising, she hated the way it coiled in her stomach, its sharp edges threatening to pierce through her carefully maintained composure.
She tore her gaze away, forcing herself to focus on something else. Anything else. And then, as if summoned by her need for distraction, a familiar redhead appeared at the edge of the room.
It was Margot, Ginnys acquaintance, the woman Fleur had gone on a date with weeks ago—a striking, beautiful figure and with hair the color of fire and a smile that could melt hearts. Fleur had ended their brief dalliance after the first date and some letters exchange later, but it was clear the woman was still very much interested. She caught Fleur's eye and approached, her confidence apparent in the sway of her hips and the playful grin on her lips.
"Fleur," the redhead purred, her voice low and smooth. "Fancy seeing you here."
Fleur turned her full attention to the woman, slipping effortlessly into the role of a charmer she knew so well. Her smirk was subtle but inviting, her posture relaxed yet commanding. "Ah, Margot," Fleur said, her tone light but laced with intrigue. "I did not expect to see you tonight."
Margot's smile widened, her gaze flicking over Fleur appreciatively. "Ginny invited me. I had no idea you'd be here, though. Lucky me."
Fleur tilted her head slightly, allowing a strand of silver-blonde hair to fall over her shoulder. She reached out, letting her fingers graze Margot's arm lightly. "It is indeed your lucky night, or maybe lucky for me," she said, her voice dipping just enough to suggest more.
Margot laughed softly, stepping closer, and Fleur welcomed the attention. She needed this—a distraction, a reprieve from the simmering frustration that had been building all evening.
As the two of them fell into easy conversation, Fleur allowed herself to flirt and turn on her charm towards Margot. Her laughter was soft and melodic, her touch light but lingering, her eyes locking with Margot's in a way that left no room for ambiguity. It wasn't difficult—Fleur had always known how to draw people in with her allure.
What she didn't expect was Hermione's reaction.
From across the room, Hermione's gaze kept darting toward Fleur and Margot, her brow furrowing slightly each time she caught sight of them.
Fleur had noticed Hermione's lingering looks, though she gave no outward indication. She merely allowed herself the faintest of smirks as she brushed a hand over Margot's arm again, leaning in closer to whisper something that made the redhead laugh. Fleur didn't know exactly what Hermione was feeling—curiosity? Jealousy? Annoyance?—but the idea that she might be the source of it was... satisfying.
The party continued, the energy in the room growing livelier as the drinks flowed and the music grew louder. Fleur danced briefly with Margot, their movements fluid and close. The readhead providing a welcomed escape from her desire for Hermione. She let herself enjoy the moment.
Later, Fleur was seated on a chaise near the back of the room, her long legs crossed elegantly, the hem of her dress brushing against her ankle as she leaned toward Margot, her companion for the evening.
Margot was close, leaning in conspiratorially, her hand resting lightly on Fleur's knee as she whispered something that made the Frenchwoman laugh—a low, melodic sound that seemed to catch the attention of several people nearby. Fleur turned her head slightly, her silver-blonde hair cascading over one shoulder as she murmured a reply, her tone low and teasing.
Across the room, Hermione's eyes flicked toward them for what felt like the hundredth time that night. She hated that she kept looking and didn't understand why this was upsetting her, how every casual touch between Fleur and Margot sent a faint, hot pang of something unpleasant through her chest. It was irrational, Hermione told herself. First of all, she was straight, second of all, Fleur was her single friend, and lastly Fleur wasn't doing anything wrong—she was simply enjoying the company of a beautiful woman.
She tore her gaze away and turned her attention back to Viktor, who had been speaking to her with earnest enthusiasm, his deep, slightly accented voice cutting through the hum of the room. He had been so kind, so direct in his attention all evening, and Hermione knew she had been unfairly distracted.
"Sorry," she said quickly, offering him a smile that she hoped was apologetic enough. "What were you saying?"
Viktor gave her a slightly amused look, though there was no malice in it. "I was asking if you would let me take you to dinner while I am in London," he repeated, his voice softening as his dark eyes held hers.
Hermione's heart skipped a beat, though she wasn't sure if it was from the suddenness of the question or the way his gaze lingered, warm and sincere.
"That sounds lovely," she said finally, her smile growing more genuine. "I'd like that."
Viktor's smile widened, his face lighting up with a quiet satisfaction. "Good. Tomorrow evening, then?"
Hermione nodded, a faint warmth spreading through her chest. It felt good to let herself say yes, maybe this would take her strange thoughts away from her mind. She took another sip of her wine, glancing toward Fleur again before she could stop herself. Her stomach clenched. Fleur was laughing at something Margot was whispering in her ear, the redhead leaning dangerously close to the blonde.
