6

The next few days were a whirlwind of work and introspection for Hermione. She threw herself into her cases at the Ministry, her meticulous nature keeping her desk organized and her thoughts relatively clear. But whenever she paused, even briefly, the strange sensations she felt the other night haunted her, she had come to accept that what she felt was jealousy.

A sort of jealousy that had been sharp and unexpected, cutting through her like a jolt of electricity. She hated how it had affected her mood and even her focus on Viktor that night, who had been nothing but kind and attentive all evening.

And then there was Fleur.

Hermione sighed, setting her quill down and folding her hands in her lap. She tried to understand the cause of her jealousy. She had noticed Fleur's lingering looks over the past few months—those moments when she felt the weight of Fleur's gaze on her body, catching the subtle flicker of her blue eyes before Fleur turned away as if nothing had happened. At first, Hermione had thought she was imagining it. But there had been too many of those moments, too many instances where Fleur's gaze lingered just a second too long. And when Fleur opened up about her sexual preferences some weeks back, this confirmed her thoughts.

She hadn't minded it, Hermione realized with a start. If anything, she had... liked it. She enjoyed the feeling of being desired by Fleur. Curiosity had taken over her mind.

Her cheeks flushed at the thought, and she shook her head quickly as if to banish the idea. Fleur was her friend. Fleur's natural charm and beauty meant she often attracted attention, and Hermione told herself that her own reaction was simply a mix of flattery, slight confusion towards her sexuality by being desired by a beautiful woman, and drunken insecurity from that night.

The next two weeks passed quickly. Hermione kept herself busy, going on a few dates with Viktor, who continued to be his warm self. They had kissed a few times—chaste, lingering kisses that left her smiling afterward. But she was careful not to let things progress too far. She enjoyed Viktor's company, but she wasn't entirely sure what she wanted yet.

Fleur, meanwhile, had been seeing Margot frequently. Hermione noticed the redhead's appearances at the flat growing more regular, their relation seeming mostly physical. And while Fleur seemed perfectly at ease with the arrangement, there was a casualness to their interactions, a lack of emotional depth that Hermione found oddly unsettling.


One Saturday morning, Hermione woke to the faint sound of murmured voices and the click of the front door closing. She rubbed her eyes, glancing at the clock on her bedside table. It was just past eight.

Pulling on her dressing gown, she padded into the kitchen, where Fleur stood by the counter, her silver-blonde hair loosely tied back and a cup of coffee in hand. She looked immaculate as always, even in a simple blouse and jeans.

"Good morning," Hermione said, stifling a yawn.

Fleur turned, her expression calm but her lips quirking slightly. "Good morning, Hermione. You are up early for a Saturday."

"Not by choice," Hermione muttered, moving to pour herself a cup of tea. "Was that Margot I heard just now?"

"Oui," Fleur replied, her tone nonchalant. "She had to leave early"

Hermione nodded, not sure what to say. She glanced at Fleur, who was sipping her coffee with the same air of serene confidence she always carried, and felt a strange mix of curiosity and discomfort settle in her chest.

Before the silence could grow too awkward, Ginny entered the kitchen, her red hair wild from sleep and her voice groggy. "Morning," she mumbled, making a beeline for the kettle.

They settled around the table with their respective drinks, Fleur having added a plate of fresh croissants to the center. The conversation started light, mostly about Ginny's latest date with Harry and Hermione's latest work at the Ministry.

"Viktor and I went to that little Italian place near Covent Garden last night," Hermione mentioned at one point, reaching for a croissant.

Ginny perked up, smirking. "Oh, so things are going well with him?"

Hermione shrugged, her cheeks warming slightly. "We're just... seeing how things go. He's been very kind, and it's nice spending time with him."

Fleur's gaze flicked toward Hermione briefly, her expression unreadable as she took another sip of her coffee.

"Kind?" Ginny repeated, raising an eyebrow. "You make it sound like he's a house-elf offering you tea. Is there any passion there, or is this one of those polite and lame, Hermione-style courtships?"

Hermione rolled her eyes, ignoring her friend, though she couldn't help smiling.

Ginny grinned, clearly pleased with herself, and turned her attention to Fleur. "What about you, Fleur? I see and hear Margot's still hanging around, thin walls sadly. Things heating up there?"

Fleur tilted her head slightly, a small smirk playing at her lips. "Margot and I are... enjoying each other's company," she said smoothly.

Ginny snorted. "That's one way to put it."

Hermione shifted uncomfortably, focusing on her tea. The rest of breakfast passed uneventfully, the three of them slipping back into easy conversation. But as Hermione cleared the plates and washed the dishes, her mind wandered back to Fleur's lingering gaze and the cool, deliberate way she spoke about Margot.

She wasn't sure why it bothered her so much. But it did.


Margot hadn't expected to be drawn to Fleur Delacour the way she was. At first, Fleur had simply been a beautiful, elegant woman she'd met—a friend of Ginny Weasley's. Fleur had stood out immediately, commanding the room without trying, her every movement exuding effortless confidence, her veela allure evident.

Margot was used to being the one who charmed people, the one who set the pace in relationships. But Fleur was different. Fleur was magnetic, and Margot found herself drawn into her orbit before she realized what was happening.

Their first date had not been successful, but after a casual encounter at a party, they began seeing each other, this felt surreal to Margot. Fleur was sharp and witty, her beauty almost overwhelming, and Margot felt lucky just to be in her presence. She threw herself into their dates with enthusiasm, planning outings and sending thoughtful messages. Fleur responded in kind, but there was always a barrier, an invisible wall that kept Margot at arm's length.

At first, Margot didn't mind. She told herself that Fleur simply needed time, that the war had left everyone guarded. But as the weeks went on, she began to notice a pattern: Fleur was warm, even affectionate, but never vulnerable. She deflected questions about her past and kept their interactions light, focused on the physical aspects of it and avoiding any discussion of a future together.

"Let us enjoy what we have," Fleur had said one evening. "There is no need to make it more complicated than that."

Margot had nodded at the time, forcing a smile. But the words had stayed with her, festering.