It's late in the evening, and the light from the setting sun drifts in through the nearby window, bathing the library in a golden light.
It creates a nice atmosphere that Hermione rather enjoys, it relaxes her. Enjoying the silence of the library during golden hour is one of her favourite ways to unwind after a long day, and God knows she needs it after today. It's been a very stressful day, no wait, it's been a very stressful week. Better yet, a stressful month!
Although, it doesn't seem to be working tonight. She has a book open on the table before her, a huge leather-bound tomb that is surely stuffed full of knowledge. Yet she finds that she can not concentrate on it, her eyes slide over the words without really seeing them, and the contents fail to imprint themselves on her mind.
Her distraction isn't just down to helping Harry with his dragon problem, or trying to mediate between him and Ron. The truth is she'd been having her own problems, like her lack of sleep. For the past month her dreams had been troubled by … by visions that left her questioning some things about herself. She'd woken up several times over the last few nights with a name on her lips, and she really hopes that she doesn't talk in her sleep. The perils of sharing a room with others.
She'd thought the incident at the world cup had been a one-off, a freak accident, but it transpires she's not that fortunate.
"Hello."
The sound of the voice rips Hermione from her reverie, and she feels a chill run down her spine. The lilting quality and the distinct French accent cause her stomach to tighten almost painfully, and her heart actually skips a beat. Her mind races with all sort of thoughts and feelings that she's in no particular rush to examine.
After taking a moment to steady herself, Hermione forces herself to look up from her book.
Sure enough she sees a blue eyes staring back at her, there such a deep blue like the colour of the sea. They're set in a face with delicate yet striking features, and framed by hair so blonde it's almost white.
It's the prettiest face she's ever seen.
"Is this seat taken?" Fleur asks.
Almost without conscious thought Hermione shakes her head. However, as Fleur gracefully lowers herself into the seat on the opposite side of the table, Hermione surreptitiously casts her gaze around the room, and immediately spies several empty tables not too far away. As such she can't help but be suspicious.
None of the other Beauxbatons students are here, so Fleur came alone. Why? More over, she specifically chose to sit at a table with Hermione, despite the fact that plenty of others are clearly available. Is she going to try and fish for information on Harry? She is currently in last place in the tournament, so maybe she's desperate enough to try and gather dirt on the competition?
"Am I really so suspicious?"
Hermione starts, shaken from her thoughts at the sound of the other girl's voice.
Fleur giggles, and annoyingly Hermione finds the sound light and melodic.
"You are not very adept at hiding your emotions," Fleur says. "You face is wonderfully expressive."
That … sounded very close to a complement, and Hermione feels the heat creeping into her cheeks.
She clears her throat in the hopes of retaining a little of her dignity.
"Can I help you with something?" she asks.
She intends to sound polite, perhaps even a little friendly, to avoid tipping her hand if nothing else. Unfortunately, her voice comes out a little more icy than she'd intended. Strangely, Miss Delacour does not seem at all insulted by her tone, if anything the smile on her face actually grows slightly bigger.
"Very well, let us get straight to the point," she replies. "There is indeed something you can help me with."
Hermione braces herself for whatever Fleur says next. Whatever the French girl tries to bribe or threaten her with, she won't give her anything on Harry.
"You are aware of course, or the Yule Ball occurring on Christmas?" Fleur asks.
That brings Hermione up short, because she certainly hadn't expected her to ask about the Yule Ball. She had expected her to ask about Harry, or about something else that would potentially give her an advantage in the upcoming tasks. Unless this is some roundabout way of asking? Is she trying to get her to lower her guard by starting with something more innocuous?
"I am," she answers.
Fleur sighs dramatically, and runs a hand through her hair. It's an act, but it's obviously an act, so obviously an act that she couldn't possibly have expected it to be convincing.
"Unfortunately," Fleur continues. "It seems I currently find myself without a partner."
Hermione frowns. Surely this girl can't be expecting her to help her find a boy to go to the ball with? She's pretty sure that Fleur has enjoyed more popularity with the boys during the short time since she came to Hogwarts, than she has in her entire life. In fact, it seems really odd that Fleur of all people doesn't have a partner yet. Given how most of the boys can't seem to stop throwing themselves at her feet, she should be spoilt for choice.
This has to be a ruse.
"And what does that have to do with me?" she asks.
"To be blunt, as you English so often are," Fleur replies. "I was hoping you would be my partner."
And that causes Hermione's thoughts to come to a sudden stop, the gears of her mind grinding against each other as they struggle to turn.
Fleur wants her to be her partner for the Yule Ball? But that's … they're...
In her head she can suddenly picture it, the two of them dancing together in some kind of waltz. She has her hand up on Fleur's shoulder, whilst the French girl's hand is at her waist. For some reason she imagines them dancing beneath the stars, surrounded by snow on all sides, It should be freezing, but for some reason she feels so warm in Fleur's arms. Lights sparkle in the nearby trees, giving the whole setting a dream-like quality.
Then suddenly they're not alone. There's other people there, watching them, judging them. She can hear the whispers and the snickering, she can feel their eyes on her and it's like being bathed in ice. The music suddenly becomes discordant and chaotic, and she can match her steps to the rhythm.
Hermione drags herself out of her little reverie, and forces herself back in to the present moment.
She can see that Fleur is watching her carefully, her expression dangerously close to concern.
Hermione clears her throat, buying herself a moment to regain her composure.
"Why me?" she asks.
Her voice is a little tighter, a little more strained than she would have liked, and she knows the other girl has to have noticed.
Fleur smiles again, and leans back in her seat.
"You think I have not noticed the way you looked at me?" she asks. "I told you, you are not very adept at hiding your emotions."
Again, Hermione feels her cheeks grow warm. She noticed?!
"But you could have your pick of any boy in this school," Hermione says. "Why me?"
Fleur laughs again.
"It is true," she says. "Many of the boys in this school would gladly be my partner for this ball, some have even summoned the courage to ask. But their affections are shallow."
Hermione can't help but feel a little incredulous at her explanation, and arches an eyebrow.
"More shallow than this?" she asks. "We've never spoken before."
Fleur suddenly leans forward, and places her hand over Hermione's own. For a moment Hermione is distracted by just how soft and warm her hand is.
"And that is precisely what makes you a better option," she says. "You are attracted to me, I can tell, but you do not immediately throw yourself at my feet. These boys, for all their declarations of love, they see the veela but they do not see Fleur Delacour."
Then she pulls back, and Hermione immediately finds herself missing the warmth of her hand.
"Do not misunderstand," Fleur says. "I am proud of my veela heritage, but it is not all that I am. And an ideal partner would certainly not be swayed by just that."
Hermione nods her head. Fleur's argument seems almost logical, disturbingly so.
"You're saying that you would prefer to take me," she says. "Because I didn't immediately give in to your veela charms?"
Fleur nods.
"Just so!" she exclaims.
Hermione doesn't have to look to know that Madam Pince is glaring in their direction, although Fleur looks supremely unconcerned.
She has to admit she's tempted. It's true that she's attracted to Fleur, so much so that it kind of scares her actually; and attending the ball with her feels like it would be amazing. Yet on the other hand, the entire school will be at the Yule Ball, and if she goes people will know. She will be coming out of the closet in a very public way.
There's always been a bit of hardness in Hermione, a stubborn voice that refuses to be completely cowed or intimidated, and that voice speaks up now.
Is she going to hide all of her life? Keep the truth a closely guarded secret, and live in fear of anyone ever finding out? Hasn't she always told herself that she needs to live true to herself, for better or worse? Why make this the exception? Why lie about this?
Hermione takes a deep breath to calm herself, and then looks Fleur straight in her deep, blue eyes. Her heart is beating fast, but she manages to keep her voice level.
"Like I said," she answers. "We've never even spoken before. And I wouldn't want to go to the Yule Ball with a completely stranger. So tell me about yourself."
Fleur's grin turns into a true smile, and it's absolutely radiant.
"Of course," she says. "What would you like to know?"