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One of the worst things that a Veela, even one with diluted blood, had to deal with were whispers . From the moment that puberty kicked in, an invisible force would pull any and all unwanted eyes towards the unfortunate creature. And while as a race they were blessed with beauty reminiscent of Aphrodite herself, they were also often cursed with spurious admiration thanks to their thralls.
And then someone like that would be thrown in the middle of a school filled with hormonal teenagers.
It was a wonder that Fleur didn’t hate the entirety of her formative years at Beauxbatons. That likely had something to do with the fact that Madame Maxime and her staff enforced strict conduct amongst her students, especially because of the wide range of students with mixed non-human blood. It could be uncomfortable at times, but the part-Veela knew that it would never go too far; at least not without repercussions on the parts of those who would potentially harass her or her kin.
Hogwarts on the other hand?
“Fleur Delacour, go to the ball with me!”
“No, you piece of gobshite, she’s going with me!”
This was some form of hell, she was sure of it. Fleur threw two quick rejections over her shoulder, alongside a hex that made the floor as slippery as an oil slick and power walked as quickly as she could away without outright running. Even after the sounds of two determined idiots crashing into a suit of armor did not entice the harried seventh year to stop and admire her work.
That was just two boys of a dozen that had asked her before lunch time. There were surely more to come, and the ball had only been announced that morning. And not even two minutes after she had escaped, she heard a flurry of footsteps coming from the hallway up ahead. This normally wouldn’t have worried her, save for the fact that it was accompanied by the not so subtle yelling of several prepubescent boys.
“I heard that she comes through here from Charms!”
“Out of my way, idiots! Delacour is going to the ball with me!”
Fleur cursed to herself. She couldn’t go back where she came, and forward was clearly suicide. What was she to do?
“One rescue, coming right up.”
Before Fleur could even process the voice that had come out of nowhere, she suddenly felt someone grasp her forearm. The next thing the French witch knew, she was tugged into the massive painting of some nondescript garden; the surface of the canvas merely rippled to allow her passage. Fleur nearly stumbled in her new surroundings; it was a simple stone tunnel with a series of torches to light the way. The hand on her arm adjusted to steady the blonde so she wouldn’t fall.
“What—- laisse-moi!”
Fleur jumped back just enough to give herself room from her abductor, though not enough to fall back out of the passage.
“Woah! Sorry, I didn’t mean to manhandle you. I just figured that you needed an escape.”
Her supposed saviour raised her hands in supplication, and it was then that Fleur finally had a good look at the other person. The first thing that the French witch immediately noticed was the black wool robes with the red and gold trim, though it made sense that the person with the British accent was from Hogwarts. Fleur even recognized the gold pin that marked the teen as a prefect of some sorts, though it seemed oddly more elaborate than the one she saw on Cho Chang’s uniform. Was this the Head Girl?
Odder still, Fleur could’ve sworn that the Head Girl was someone from the badger’s house.
Then there was the wild mane of cinnamon curls that was a compliment to the Gryffindor’s olive skin and chocolate brown eyes.
Eyes that seemed incredibly amused by Fleur’s blatant perusal. The blonde felt a light flush form on her cheeks. Hadn’t she just been thinking earlier how much she hated it when others stared unnecessarily? And here she was doing the same!
“I am sorry, it has just been a rough day so far—” Her apology was interrupted as the stranger quickly shushed her, a single finger on her lips the only thing that stopped her immediate and loud indignation. That and the quiet seriousness in those chocolate brown orbs, so focused as they were on something behind the blonde.
Fleur turned her head, and she nearly gasped in surprise. Right there where she had clearly entered was a window of sorts, the hallway she had recently escaped from in clear view. And on the other side were about a dozen teenage boys, scrambling about as if they had just lost something and were desperately in the midst of trying to find it.
“I can see why your day was rough.” The stranger chuckled, her voice soft as she whispered to her companion. “Don’t worry though, none of them can see you. Though I’m not sure whether or not they can hear us.” The English witch opted to step away now that it was clear that the part-Veela wasn’t going to give them away. Fleur felt oddly bereft of the other girl’s presence, but she quickly paid that no mind.
“It does not look like they will be leaving the area anytime soon. What are we to do?” The French witch wasn’t exactly keen on hiding away during her lunch like some scared kitten, afraid of some boys. The brunette shook her head and started walking away from the mirror-like entrance and down further into the tunnel.
“That’s fine, we’ll just exit the other way. This should lead us closer to the Great Hall anyway.”
Fleur scrambled to follow her saviour, though the other girl’s pace was closer to a relaxing stroll than anything else.
“Je suis désolé, who are you?” The blonde didn’t want to be rude, but the girl was only passingly familiar. Which was odd because it seemed like she was in the same year as Fleur, but Hogwarts only had about fifty or so seventh years. And the French witch would have remembered someone with such a confident aura in her classes.
“Oh, forgive me. My name is Hermione Granger, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” Hermione’s enunciation was crisp, but an interesting mixture of polite yet enthused. Fleur half expected the customary English handshake, but was pleasantly surprised by two cheek kisses. There was no hesitation, which was often normal for those not accustomed to the greeting. Instead, the brunette decisively went for the left, and then the right cheeks. It was so smooth that Fleur couldn’t help but reciprocate.
“Ah, Je m’apelle Fleur Delacour.” The blonde reached for her own cheek, where foreign lips had lightly brushed against her skin. It was a normal greeting, but she could not help but feel like the simple action had a hidden undercurrent to it.
Like a lover’s caress.
Fleur shook herself of the thought. Clearly she was more homesick than she thought if something like a simple greeting could get her flustered. Actually, when was the last time she felt comfortable enough to even think about greeting someone like that? The unwanted feelings of loneliness that she had previously shoved deep down began to settle uncomfortably in her stomach. She didn’t want to think about it further, so the blonde forced herself to focus on other things instead.
“You are well practiced in that, have you been to France often?”
There was a hum of agreement from her guide.
“Many times, in the summers of my childhood. But I’m also well acquainted with a… friend from there.” There was an emphasis on that word, ‘friend’ as if Hermione was privy to an inside joke that was obviously lost on her companion.
“I see.”
She really didn’t, but what else could Fleur say to that? Apparently nothing because the two continued to walk in silence. The brunette seemed comfortable with just the sound of their footsteps, but Fleur felt awkward. Most people tended to fill in the gaps with their incessant need to talk to her, as if it was their one chance to sell themselves as a person to her by talking about themselves at length. And the worst part was that it was often one-sided, since most forgot to or simply never bothered to ask about her in return. It was rare that the part-Veela ever encountered someone so willing to give her the courtesy of listening for once, so she had little practice with dealing with an actual conversation.
Hence why she shamefully employed the tactics of her pursuers.
Fleur attempted “small talk.”
“So what is this place?” There was an attempt to infuse strength in her voice, as if she was trying to convince Mademoiselle Granger as well as herself that this wasn’t some poor attempt at avoiding the silence she was ill-equipped to deal with.
“One of the many secret passageways in Hogwarts. My friends and I specifically call this the ‘Monet Crossing’ because both entrances are these huge paintings of gardens.”
Fleur honestly didn’t get a good look at the painting before she had been dragged in, but there was a hint of surprise in her voice.
“There is a genuine Monet in this school?!”
Hermione laughed, though it wasn’t at all malicious.
“Oh Morgana, no! Claude Monet was very much a muggle, but it seems that he left an impression on some wizard or witch because they recreated his style to the best of their ability. When you get a chance, look at the paintings, they move.” The brunette gave a wry smile. “Personally, I much prefer Monet’s work, even if they are static paintings.”
The initial panic that Fleur had felt at the thought that someone could so easily deface one of Claude Monet’s paintings receded. No matter if it was here or in Beauxbatons, such a treasure should not be at the mercy of a bunch of trigger happy teenagers. It was then that Fleur realized something astonishing.
“Wait, you said you and your friends called this the ‘Monet Crossing.’ Does this mean that there are more of you that enjoy his works?” Magical or muggle, it did not matter. Fleur had always been a fan of the arts. None of her close friends who shared her passion had come to Scotland with her for the tournament, so the idea that she might’ve found more to talk with was an exciting one.
So it was a little disappointing to see Hermione shake her head.
“No, just me. Harry’s never been given the chance to learn to appreciate it, and Ron has never been interested in the arts to begin with. I just called it that one day and they went along with it. The naming helps, especially with all of the different passageways in this castle.”
“Oh.” Fleur felt a moment of disappointment, but reminded herself that one person was better than none. “So there are more passageways like this one?”
“Loads of them. It helps to know someone who has them down pat. I think I spent most of my third year outside of classes in every secret tunnel and nook I could find.”
“Why was that?”
Hermione shrugged. “I had a lot of classes, and I felt like I never had enough time to get to them all. It also helped whenever I needed to get out of sight.” She gave Fleur a pointed look at this.
The part-Veela blinked and thought about the idea. Disillusionment magicks were always useless on her because her thrall had a tendency of spilling through it and giving her away. But spiriting herself away through the hidden pathways of Hogwarts was a much simpler solution to her problems. It would certainly make her life this year a lot less stressful. Between her classes, her appointment as Champion of Beauxbatons, and the added scrutiny placed on her by all of these foreign students she hadn’t had a peaceful moment to herself.
And now this damnable ball. Even if she were to get away most of the time, the Champion still needed to go to class and eat. She couldn’t spend her whole time in the crevices of this castle, and when she inevitably emerged they would all strike. This whole year was starting to look like a mistake, nevermind the potential for ‘fame and riches.’
Well, except for right now. Unless one had become acclimated to a Veela’s thrall, most tended to be lustful to the point of delirium or unthinkingly antagonistic. And other than their initial meeting, Hermione had been nothing but courteous and respectful to her. Fleur hadn’t felt so relaxed with a complete stranger since… well, for as long as she could remember.
“Sickle for your thoughts?”
Fleur blinked and realized that she was so lost in her thoughts that she had likely stopped walking.
“I was just thinking… This is the first moment that I have gotten to really breathe. Even the carriage gets to be stifling because of the envy of my classmates.” Tense fingers gripped the fabric of her Beauxbatons blues. “You saved me from another uncomfortable experience. So… thank you.”
The words felt unpracticed and ineloquent, likely because it was rare for her to meet someone that she was genuinely appreciative of outside of her family.
“Must be tiring, being so popular.” Since it was evident that they weren’t going anywhere for the moment, the brunette opted to lean on the wall facing the other witch.
Fleur was used to those words being laced with envy or sarcasm. But she could see that Hermione meant nothing malicious. Even her eyes had a hint of genuine sympathy for what the part-Veela had to go through on a daily basis.
“Not popular, just… a spectacle for them to gawk at.”
“That’s wrong for so many different reasons.”
“J'ai l'habitude.” It was easy to fall back on her native tongue, almost as easy as it was to believe the lie that fell from her lips.
“No one should ever have to get used to that.” Fleur’s eyes snapped up to the other witch, momentary disbelief evident on her face before she remembered that the brunette had apparently spent a few childhood summers in France. It wasn’t so far-fetched to think she could speak French too.
Hermione kicked off the wall to cross the small space between them. Her hand moved to the blonde’s chin to gently lift it up so she was forced to look the brunette eye to eye.
“Hang in there, Fleur. I promise, it will get better.”
“You do not know that.”
“And you don’t know what I know or do not know.” The English witch challenged back.
Fleur snorted at the teen’s sass.
“Oh really? What are you, a diviner?”
A bark of laughter escaped the other girl, and a small part of the part-Veela was glad to steal such a reaction from the seemingly unflappable young woman beside her.
“Absolutely not! I find Divination to be rubbish.” Hermione winked at the blonde before she turned and continued down the tunnel. “Let’s just say that I just know these things. You’ll just have to trust me on that.”
“I don’t even know you.”
“I guess you’ll have to rectify that, won’t you?” The flirtation caught Fleur by surprise, but she laughed nonetheless. It was nothing like the thrall induced vapid one-liners or the dazed fumblings of those so determined to woo her. Instead, the words were like sparks. The potential for something more was there, she needed only to fan the flames.
“You’re incorrigible.” The end of the tunnel was in sight, its window-like portal obvious after so long with only torches for light. Fleur felt a fluttering of disappointment in the pit of her stomach. Was their time together already over?
“No, I’m just determined.” It seemed that the rumors were true — the lions of the red and gold house were a tenacious bunch.
“Determined for what?”
“For things to work out for you, Fleur Delacour.” There was an earnestness there, one that defied her disbelief and made her believe for the briefest of moments that things could get better. The part-Veela wanted to cling to that fluttering hope, and she knew just what she had to do.
“Well in that case, you could help things along by being my—“ The last word stopped dead in her throat because Hermione had begun to glow. From the tips of her fingers to every strand of her hair, the Gryffindor was a beacon of light. “What… what’s happening?!”
“Oh, I seem to be out of time.” Hermione idly observed her palms, as luminescent as they were. “I was hoping I could stay a little bit longer. I guess I overestimated things a bit.”
“Wait, you are leaving?” She couldn’t leave! For the first time since coming to Scotland, Fleur met someone she could honestly connect to. Someone that wasn’t blinded by her mixed heritage. A person that could make her laugh and smile with little effort, within minutes of meeting her!
And that someone was leaving.
“Fleur, please don’t cry.” Hermione gently brushed away the tears on the upset blonde’s face. When did she start crying? “I promise, it won’t be forever.”
“You are coming back?”
“You’ll see me sooner than you think, I promise.” The brunette shot her one last confident grin, before the light became too much and her form illuminated to the point that Fleur had to cover her eyes and look away. When it died down and she looked back, the Gryffindor was gone.
The tears refused to stop now, and Fleur was tempted to just stay in that passageway and wallow in her sadness. But the small space was also a reminder of her one-time saviour, and that would’ve made stopping the waterworks impossible.
So the blonde made the executive decision to exit. Which meant rushing out of the passageway in dramatic fashion so she could leave behind her brief memories of her almost friend.
“Oof!”
It only made sense that she would crash into someone. ‘Flair for the dramatic’ was important and all, but vision of where she was going was probably a bigger priority. Fleur furiously swiped at her tears with her sleeve before she opened her eyes so she could properly lambast the person who had interrupted her pity party.
Only for her to gape, because she had somehow managed to crash into Hermione Granger.
Except it wasn’t quite her. Her doppelganger seemed just a little bit younger than the witch that had just disappeared from the passageway behind her. And somehow, that easy air of confidence was missing as well.
But that might’ve been due to the fact that the poor girl was still sprawled on the floor.
“Ow…”
“Oh, putain!” Fleur scrambled to help the girl up. “Je suis désolé, I did not mean to crash into you. I was just…” She glanced back at the exit of the passageway, but there were no signs of the lit tunnel she had left. Just a grand painting of a garden, the flowers in constant sway against an invisible breeze. The part-Veela glanced back at the witch she had accidentally bowled over. How did she even begin to explain what had happened?
The lookalike for her part didn’t seem concerned with Fleur’s sudden speechlessness, and instead focused on the blonde’s face with a curious look on her own. After a moment, she pulled a single handkerchief from her pocket and offered it to the French witch.
“Here, you look like you’ve been having a rough time.”
“Merci.” Fleur took a moment to properly dry her tears before she magically cleaned the cloth and returned it. “I really do apologize for this. My name is Fleur, and you are…?”
She had to be sure.
“Hermione Granger, and it’s really not a big deal. We all have those days.” The brunette grabbed her bag from the floor before she gave Fleur a sympathetic smile. It was that smile more than the name she offered that made the French witch realize that somehow this was the same girl who had offered her comfort mere minutes before. Though she had yet to grow into herself, it seemed that the genuine kindness in those chocolate brown eyes was the same even a few years earlier.
“Oui, my day started out terrible but…” Fleur offered her own smile back. “I think it has already gotten a lot better.”
“That’s good. Though I was surprised to see you come out of that passageway. I was fairly certain that only my friends and I knew about this one.” Hermione nodded towards the painting.
“I… stumbled through it, which was quite fortunate. I may need to solicit someone to help me find more, if only to avoid some of my more determined ‘ suitors.’”
“Oh, because of the ball right? I swear, the whole castle has gone and lost the plot after it was announced this morning.”
The two had begun to walk towards the Great Hall. And though this version of Hermione may not know it, Fleur was beginning to realize that she enjoyed the company that the brunette provided.
“Yes, I have already been accosted about a dozen times since then. I know I should be flattered, but it is hard to feel grateful when the attention is likely fabricated because of my thrall.”
“That’s awful! I know I’ve seen the way that Ron and a few of the boys have started drooling whenever you walk past. I take it you can’t control it very well?” At the shake of the part-Veela’s head, Hermione huffed. “Well, I know the castle fairly well. I’m sure I could show you a few of the tunnels and the like so you can avoid most of the crowds.”
“Merci, you are too kind. I am… used to it, but it is nice to get a break sometimes.” Even in English, the lie tasted like ash on her tongue. But the familiar indignation in the brunette’s eyes was gratifying to see.
“No one should ever have to get used to that! I swear, some of these people don’t think!”
“Well, I am sure it is not entirely their fault. As they say, hormones can be a ‘right bitch.’”
“That still doesn’t make it right.” The annoyed Gryffindor shook her head. “Maybe if you can find a date that isn’t a drooling mess, the rest of them will back off a little?”
“Then would you be my date?” The question spilled out faster than she could think about the words themselves. At the look of surprise on the brunette’s face, Fleur backtracked a little. “I mean, if you do not already have one. I am sure that you have plenty of interested suitors of your own. And only if you want to!”
Oh dear, Fleur was rambling. When was the last time that she needed to do the asking? The likely answer was never, considering her circumstances. Still though, she nervously waited for the other girl’s answer.
“It’s not that, I don’t have a date or anything but… are you sure? You don’t even know me!”
Well, that wasn’t a no; Fleur could certainly work with that.
“I suppose that I will need to rectify that.”
It felt right, using Hermione’s words against her younger self. At the brunette’s tentative acceptance of the invitation, the French witch internally cheered.
“Well, what do you want to know?” The question was tentative, and the Gryffindor still looked slightly unsure even as she asked it. Fleur jumped on the opportunity.
“How do you feel about Claude Monet?”
-oOo-
Four years, a flash of light, and a groan of pain later and Hogwarts’ celebrated head girl reappeared face down in the middle of a large runic circle. And while the elaborate array smelled distinctively of dragon urine — a very important and expensive component needed to make the ink for this particular ritual — Hermione couldn’t find it in herself to move. It had taken every ounce of free time during her final school year, but the brilliant witch had managed to figure out a relatively safe way to achieve temporary temporal displacement.
Sure the side effects apparently included the worst hangover of her life, but it was still worth it.
“I still say this was entirely unnecessary.” Fleur sat down next to the exhausted figure and nudged the brunette so she wasn’t face first in tinkle flavored runes.
“You were upset! Of course it was necessary.” The time traveller was steadfast in her belief, which only made her girlfriend roll her eyes.
“I was distressed, not dying. Honestly Hermione, most would question your reasons for potentially disturbing the time stream.”
Hermione mustered up a smile.
“You’re the only reason I ever need.”
Damn, what was with this woman and making her swoon? Fleur laughed and then helped the brunette up from her splayed position on the floor.
“I would kiss you for that, but you were literally lying in giant lizard piss.”
The Gryffindor groaned.