EDIT: Re-uploaded to fix some typos and errors.

This is a weird little idea that has been floating around in my mind for a while. A 15-year old Hermione spending her Fourth Year curiously researching Veela and part-Veela alongside her other Magical Creature interests. Then quickly finding herself in over her head and forced to realise a few things about herself.

I'd love it if you had any desires for where this fic were to go - I have a loose plan in my mind but I like incorporating things other people want to see.

Fair warning, this story is going to progress into Fleurmione, aka femslash. If that isn't your thing, here's your heads up!

My job is crazy at the moment so I probably won't be updating this as much as my previous fic(s) but I'll try to keep at it!

Also, let me know how you feel about typing out Fleur's accent during the Hogwarts (i.e. heavy accent) days- Yay? Nay? Indifferent? I've typed it out for this chapter but it gets to be a pain after a while and I usually end up being wildly inconsistent, hah.

Hermione had always been curious of Magical Creatures. This fascination had only grown as she entered her Fourth Year at Hogwarts.

She had studied up on House Elves, learning their truly appalling conditions. She'd even set up S.P.E.W. in order to assist. Though much to her chagrin, it didn't seem like anyone appreciated it- Elf or human.

Now Hermione had a new target for her creature research.

Ron had speculated countless times that the Champion of Beauxbatons, Fleur Delacour, was a Veela. There seemed to be some merit to Ron's theory. She certainly made heads turn when she entered a room. Her platinum blonde hair also had a curiously silvery quality to it, similar to the Veela Hermione had seen at the Quidditch World Cup earlier in the year.

They were a couple of weeks into the school year, the horrors of the Quidditch World Cup seeming some time ago now, and yet the memory of the Bulgarian Quidditch team's mascots burned in Hermione's mind. Hermione, who had long been horrified by Muggle sports teams that mistreated animals that matched their sports teams mascots, had been equally horrified by the use of the elegant Veela as mascots.

They looked so charming, so alluring, so regal… It cheapened them to reduce them to sexualised mascots. Though, Hermione would be lying if she said she hadn't also felt her eyes glued to the beautiful humanoid creatures...

She'd been relieved that the males around her were far too concerned with controlling their own reactions to the powerful thrall of the creatures to notice her more-than-friendly appreciation of the stunning women.

It brought a blush to Hermione's cheeks to think about her reaction for too long. As if she needed another reason to be shunned by the girls in the dormitories.

No, she would focus on more academic pursuits. Questions of her attractions and sexuality were such trivial matters. They could wait to be considered another day.

A day hopefully several years from now, when Hermione was less startled by it all, that is.

Her own reaction to Veela aside, Hermione had caught a curiosity for the creatures. So they became her latest research project. They had proved a topic most elusive in the library, further stoking Hermione's eagerness to learn more.

She had even brought it up at one of the trio's visits to Hagrid's Hut, deftly hiding one of Hagrid's rock cakes in her pocket while asking if he knew of any resources on the creatures. Hagrid's baking was truly atrocious. But he was so lovely and so earnest, Hermione just had to hide his offerings in her pocket or handbag when they visited so his feelings wouldn't be hurt. As far as the overly large man knew, the trio loved his baking. Hagrid's eyes crinkled as he smiled widely, noting how fast the trio were devouring the baking. Hermione smiled politely, hoping Hagrid wouldn't notice Ron had crudely hidden two rock cakes in a pot plant beside the door.

It was near the end of their visit when Hermione asked Hagrid about Veela.

"Veela, eh?" Hagrid rumbled in his bassy voice. He scratched his beard thoughtfully, "They're qui'e the reclusive lot. They bin keepin' themselves to themselves fer as long as they've been 'round!"

"There must be some books on them, though," Hermione commented, "After all, wizarding folk seem to have had plenty of encounters with them."

"I wouldn't mind having an encounter with Fleur Delacour," Ron chimed in, his eyes momentarily glazing over, "Maybe I could help you with your research by asking her…"

Hermione snorted.

"She's so full of herself I doubt she would give you the time of day," Hermione shot back.

It was true. Fleur Delacour, despite only having been on the Hogwarts grounds for just over a week, had already racked up quite the reputation. Although half the population seemed to fawn over her, Fleur had already become known as a total Ice Queen. She frequently froze out her peers, was rude to others, and complained constantly.

Hermione had taken an instant dislike to her when she had noticed her laughing amongst her friends during Dumbledore's speech. She reminded Hermione awfully of the girls at her Muggle school who used to bully her.

"Harry, speakin' o' the other Champions," Hagrid interrupted before Ron could bicker with Hermione, "I wanted ta talk ta ye about the Tournament."

"I didn't put my name in," Harry replied flatly. It had become his default response whenever the Tournament came up, given that's all anyone seemed interested in.

Ron's brows knitted together. Hermione could tell he didn't quite believe Harry, something that was quickly forming a wedge between the two friends.

Hagrid looked thoughtful, perhaps weighing up whether or not that was true. After a long pause, he nodded.

"Tha's good enough fer me," Hagrid said solemnly, "But yer goin' ta need ta be careful. I'm sure ye know people have died in this Tournament in the past. It isn' anythin' ta take lightly."

Harry nodded, paling.

There was a tense silence over the trio as they trudged back to the castle after that conversation. Ron seemed to be silently broiling, his brows still knitted firmly together and his jaw set. Harry, on the other hand, seemed even more confused and alarmed. Hagrid was hardly known to be gung-ho on safety, after all. A warning from him carried a lot of weight.

They had just stepped into the Entrance Hall as a small cluster of Beauxbatons students were gliding towards the exit. They came to a stop as the trio sloped in the doors. The girls looked thoroughly put out at having to wait. Hermione had to withhold an eye roll.

Most of the girls from Beauxbatons looked like they had stepped right off a runway. They wore their silk summer uniforms no matter what the weather, short skirts and high heels included. Hermione felt like pointing out to them that they couldn't win extra points from the judges at the Tournament just from looking good.

Fleur Delacour stepped forward, eying the trio with dissatisfaction. Her eyes were a sky blue that was so blue, it almost seemed unnatural. Hermione wondered idly if she had vainly charmed her irises to be more blue. Fleur's proud gaze fell on Harry and she smiled, though it seemed more like a sneer.

"'Arry Potter," Fleur greeted imperiously, "'Ow are you coping wiz ze pressure? We will 'ave ze first media encounter next week at ze weighing of ze wands."

Her voice was silky and delicate, unlike what Hermione had expected. Her French accent was also far thicker than Hermione had expected. She seemed newer to English than Hermione had expected. After all, she had heard through the grapevine that Fleur was something of a gifted student herself.

"Don't remind me," Harry groaned, "I'm really not looking forward to it."

"If you did not want to participate, you should not 'ave put your name in ze Goblet," Fleur said airily, flipping her mane of blonde hair over one of her shoulders. The girls on either side of her tittered, causing Harry to blush with annoyance.

"I didn't put it in there," Harry growled.

Fleur muttered something in French, causing the girls around her to titter again. She flashed Harry a sly smile before strutting around him and gliding out of the Entrance Hall, her cronies in tow.

"Bloody hell," Harry groaned, kicking at the stone floor, frustrated.

"I don't usually say this about other girls," Hermione said, "But Merlin, she is a bitch."

This seemed to cheer Harry up a bit. Ron, however, was looking forlornly out the door, watching Fleur leave.

"Blimey," Ron sighed, before turning back to the other two, "You can't really blame her for calling you out on the name in the Goblet. She's just saying what we're all thinking."

"What we're all thinking?" Harry echoed, balling his hands into fists.

Oh, Merlin.

Hermione had seen a couple of tiffs between the boys in the past, but this looked like it was going to be a real corker.

"Oh come on, Harry!" Ron exclaimed, his voice raising, "Who do you think you're fooling?!"

"I'm not trying to fool anyone!" Harry bellowed back.

Their voices were echoing around the cavernous Entrance Hall. Hermione suddenly found herself wishing that the lesson on Silencing Charms that Professor Flitwick had scheduled for the following week had been held before now. She sorely wished she could stop the two boys from making a scene. Some Slytherins had entered the Entrance Hall and were standing on the fringes, sniggering amongst themselves as they watched.

"Come off it!" Ron shouted, "I thought you were my best mate! But instead you go behind my back and find out a way to put your own name in the goblet—not even letting me in on it!"

"You're mental!" Harry roared, "Why the hell would I do that?! The Tournament is bloody dangerous!"

"Probably just to get more attention!" Ron replied, purpling, "For once the focus was going to be on a Tournament instead of the Boy Who Lived and you couldn't stand it, could you mate?!"

Harry flushed with anger, almost shaking with fury. Ron had crossed a line now. Hermione knew how much Harry loathed the attention. Ron did too, deep down, when he wasn't blinded by his own jealousy.

"Fuck you!" Harry shouted.

"Whatever," Ron hissed, turning on his heel and stalking out of the Entrance Hall and back outside.

Hermione sighed heavily, turning to Harry.

"Hopefully a walk outside will cool him off," Hermione said to Harry. Harry scowled.

"I wouldn't bloody bet on it," Harry growled, taking off towards the Gryffindor Common Room. Hermione followed the furious raven-haired boy, sighing. This was set to be a long year.

A week later, it was Hermione's birthday. Unfortunately for her, the rift between the two boys had only widened further. It seemed like she would spend her fifteenth birthday bouncing between her two best friends.

She was having breakfast with Harry this morning, planning to have lunch with Ron later in the day. Harry was pointedly ignoring the redheaded boy who was sitting further down the Gryffindor table, discussing Quidditch with Dean and Seamus.

Harry plastered a big grin on his face, producing a package wrapped in scarlet and gold wrapping paper.

"Happy birthday, 'Mione," Harry said, handing it to her.

"Thanks, Harry," Hermione smiled, unwrapping it eagerly. Her face lit up as she saw a set of books by Charles Dickens.

"Thought you might have missed the Muggle world a bit," Harry said with a boyish smile, "Did you ever have to study one of these in English class?"

"No, but I love Dickens," Hermione replied, smiling widely, "Thanks, Harry!"

The morning owls burst into the Great Hall, dropping a few letters and packages from her family. She had received several textbooks from her parents, which delighted her. She had secretly wanted to keep up with some of the Muggle studies that she had forgone when accepting her offer to Hogwarts over a Muggle school.

"Only you would be excited to get textbooks as a gift," Harry chuckled, looking at the gift from Hermione's parents, "D'you think all your presents will be books?"

"I wouldn't be upset if they were," Hermione replied honestly, tearing into a gift from Hagrid. It was crudely wrapped in brown paper and she was relieved that it didn't seem to be a package of baking.

Sure enough, it was another book. The cover was glossy, a deep forest green leather-bound hardcover book. It looked new and expensive. Hermione was floored by Hagrid's generosity. She looked at the small note tucked inside the front cover.

"Happee Birthdae Hermione,

I looked in to one of my contacts in my Magical Creatures cirkles. They helped me source this for you. Hope this helps you with that curiosity of yours! I am so pleased that one of you three has ended up been as interested in Magical Creatures as I am.

Best,

Hagrid."

Hermione looked at the cover again. In light gold cursive on the cover was the title: Siren Song: Veela and Their Habits.

Hermione was absolutely thrilled, looking forward to reading about the creatures already. She had to restrain herself from delving into the book already, putting it aside with her other gifts and letters.

Her mind was already whirring though; did the title mean that Veela were descended from Sirens? It would certainly make sense.

"Hermione?" Harry asked, waving a hand in front of her face.

"Sorry Harry," Hermione apologised, "What were you saying?"

"I was saying that I know we were going to hang in the Common Room tonight for your birthday, but I'll be a bit late because of the weighing wands thing for the Tournament," Harry explained.

"Oh, right," Hermione replied. Harry's time was being taken up more and more with the Tournament. It was a shame, but at least she still got to see him on her birthday.

"Sorry," Harry apologised.

"It isn't your fault," Hermione assured.

Despite Harry being tangled up with Tournament duties again, Hermione's birthday went very well. She had all her favourite classes; Transfiguration, Charms, Arithmancy and Ancient Runes. Ron was in surprisingly good spirits when she sat with him at lunchtime. He didn't even raise his feud with Harry once. He and Ginny had got Hermione some nice gifts, too. Hermione rather suspected from the nice bracelet she received that Ginny had taken charge on the gift selection, but she appreciated Ron all the same.

After dinner, Hermione played Exploding Snap and Wizarding Chess in the Common Room with Ron, Ginny and Neville.

Hermione couldn't help but feel a little exasperated when Ron pointedly got up and left in the middle of a game of Exploding Snap when Harry entered the Common Room. It had just about been a birthday free of their drama. Ginny shot her a sympathetic smile.

"He'll get over it," Ginny assured.

"Yeah, but how long will it take?" Hermione retorted. She changed the subject quickly as Harry sat down, observing the game.

"How was the wand weighing thing?" Ginny asked, flipping a card down on the table.

Harry sighed.

"Terrible," he groaned, "Everyone acted like I shouldn't be there. Except for this dreadful reporter, Rita Skeeter. She wouldn't get out of my face. Fleur called me a 'little boy' again… Oh, and turns out Ron was right, at least partly—She said her wand has a Veela hair in it from her grandmother. So I guess that makes her a quarter Veela."

"Really!" Hermione exclaimed. Interesting.

"Doesn't make her less of a bitch," Ginny commented under her breath. Hermione couldn't help but smirk. She had to agree.

Harry seemed reluctant to talk anymore about the Tournament, though. Instead he fished around in his bag, producing a (slightly squashed) cardboard box full of cupcakes.

"I tried to get a candle or something," Harry said awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Oh, Harry! It's perfect!" Hermione exclaimed, "I wasn't expecting anything like a cake."

"Well, they're cupcakes," Harry said, "Hardly cakes."

"Still! They're great!" Ginny said, blushing a little as she complimented Harry, "Plus, with Ron sulking, we'll actually get to eat a decent amount!"

Hermione smiled. At least there was a slight upside to her friends being in an argument.

Later that night, she finally slipped into the cover of her four-poster bed in the Gryffindor dormitory. She drew the curtains around the bed, revelling in one of the few moments of privacy she got while at school. She settled her pillows behind her back, getting comfortable before pulling out the book Hagrid had got her.

She frowned as she heard Lavender gossiping loudly to Parvati. It was clearly bedtime. They should just go down to the Common Room if they felt like talking.

Thankfully, she'd finally had the lesson on Silencing Charms that she'd been looking forward to for weeks. She flicked her wand, pleased when the gossiping voices were quickly shut out.

She wriggled, getting comfortable nestled amongst her voluminous blankets and pillows. She felt the tensions of the day fade as she began to read. The book was fascinating, even in its early chapters.

Veela were descended from Sirens, it turns out. They had settled in woodland areas, and been around for a very long time. They were referred to intermittently in ancient texts as nymphs, Harpies and the like. Unlike their Siren ancestors, the Veela loathed the water. They had developed into an avian species, preferring dry and warm climates.

Hermione read on, soaking up the knowledge eagerly before she finally fell asleep.

The next morning, Hermione leafed through the book at the breakfast table, still deeply engrossed in learning more about Veela.

Ginny slumped down into a seat beside her.

"Merlin, you'd think Delacour had never seen a winter before," Ginny growled.

"What's that?" Hermione asked, looking up from her book. Ginny groaned.

"I forgot what you're like when you have new books," Ginny replied, "Anyway, I just got held up by Delacour loudly complaining about how cold it is. Maybe the Beauxbatons lot shouldn't have packed only summer uniforms then? Gods, its not like its going to kill her!"

Hermione, fascinated, leafed back to the page in her book about Veela's habitat. They loathed water and the cold; thriving in warm and dry climates. The textbook noted that Veela would exhibit poor tempers and increased physical proximity with peers when outside of their ideal climate.

Hermione looked up, looking across to the Ravenclaw table. Indeed, Fleur was scowling, nestled up so closely to one of her peers she was practically sitting on the girl's lap. The classmate seemed used to it, an arm slung around Fleur's shoulders absently as she ate her own breakfast.

"Curious," Hermione murmured. She wondered how fully Fleur exhibited Veela attributes as a quarter-blooded Veela. She certainly seemed affected by habitat.

"What is?" Ginny asked suspiciously, "You have that tone in your voice like you're going to rope me into another one of your projects or get me to prove one of your hypotheses. If I'm not going to do spew, I'm not going to do whatever your next hare-brained scheme is."

"They aren't hare-brained," Hermione replied irritably, her eyes still on Fleur, "And it isn't spew, it's S.P.E.W."

"You should get rid of whoever came up with that name," Ron said, sitting down on Hermione's other side.

"I came up with that name!" Hermione replied, thoroughly nettled.

Ron exchanged looks with Ginny across Hermione.

"For Pete's sake!" Hermione snapped, gathering up her things, "I'm going to the library until classes start."

"Oh come on!" Ginny protested, as Hermione slung her bag on her shoulder, "We didn't even do anything!"

"Leave her be," Ron advised his sister wisely, "She can be a right moody one."

Hermione scowled, storming off to the library without another word. Sometimes Ron and Ginny could be bloody annoying. Sometimes it felt like nobody understood her.

But maybe this was just normal teen angst.

Hermione sighed, setting her things down on one of her favourite tables in the library. It was usually quite deserted in the mornings before class.

Hermione pulled out her book on Veela again, before pulling out a small notebook. The notebook was one of her gifts from Ginny and Ron, along with the bracelet.

She opened up the first page, inking a quill before scrawling: How Strongly Do Veela Habits Present Themselves in Part-Blooded Individuals?

She underlined the title, before making a careful subtitle: Environment.

She paused for a moment, wondering if it crossed a line to study one of her fellow students. Then she remembered how truly dreadful Fleur was, quickly pushing her guilt to one side.

"Subject appears greatly affected by cold, damp climate—consistent with the textbook findings on full-blooded Veela. Exhibiting poor temper and close physical proximity to peers."

Hermione smiled, pleased with her findings from breakfast, before turning back to the book from Hagrid.

She wondered what other observations she could discover. Perhaps she could even end up writing her own textbook on partial-Veela. She was sure it would be a helpful resource to aid wizarding culture in understanding them better. Maybe it would even stop them from being so overly-sexualised in wizarding media.

Hermione read on. Veela tended to prefer lighter diets, grazing on fruit, vegetables, nuts and the occasional seafood throughout the day, rather than three square meals. That would certainly explain why the Ravenclaw girls were always remarking on how little Fleur ate at mealtimes. Hermione was also sure she had overheard Fleur complaining about how heavy the food was at Hogwarts.

Hermione turned the page of the book, reading further. There were some foods that Veela couldn't help but binge themselves on, that they found irresistible. Hermione was entirely baffled by the list: honey, olives and strawberries.

She had to test this theory.

Hermione packed up her things again, figuring she had just enough time to stop past the kitchens before classes started. She could also try and get in some discussion with the House Elves about their freedom. She was grateful that Fred and George had shown her where the kitchen was before S.P.E.W., because they definitely wouldn't have shown her otherwise.

As she walked there, Hermione wondered idly if the extra step of actively conducting tests on a schoolmate was too far. It certainly did go beyond standard observation.

Almost as if on cue, Hermione turned a corridor corner, coming across a slight altercation in the hallways.

Colin Creevey seemed to be the latest boy caught in Fleur's thrall. He was standing in front of Fleur and her friends, all but drooling. Hermione was too late to catch what he had said, but Fleur had a look of disgust and disdain on her face.

"Ew, non," Fleur said, fixing Colin with a look that would make even the bravest thirteen-year-old quake in his boots.

"I-I-I- Just one photograph?" Colin asked, blushing, "You're just so pretty!"

Fleur looked at Colin as if he were dirt on her shoe, flipping her hair contemptuously over one shoulder.

She didn't even deign to reply to Colin this time, simply gliding past him with a disgruntled "ugh!"

Fleur's friends followed her, giggling and conversing rapidly in French. They left the poor boy in their wake, subject to the jeers of some nearby Sixth-Year Slytherins. Colin looked as if he might cry.

Hermione suddenly made her mind up. Fleur was heartless—it was hardly wrong to run a few tests on her without her knowledge, especially when she wouldn't know any different.

Hermione convinced Dobby to provide a large bowl of olives on the Gryffindor table and to send it up by where she would be seated. She had her notebook ready at her side and was curious to see if Fleur would even notice.

Dinner had barely commenced when she noticed Ron turn bright red across the table and his eyes glaze over. Sure enough, she noticed a silky powder-blue uniform just behind her.

"Excusez-moi," a light French-accented voice lilted, "May I 'ave ze olives?"

Hermione grinned, she had arranged with Dobby to make it impossible to remove the olives from the Gryffindor table.

"Hello," Hermione greeted, turning around to lock eyes with Fleur Delacour. Her gaze was bright and intensely fixed on the bowl of olives.

Curious.

"I'm afraid I don't think you can take the olives from the Gryffindor table," Hermione said, shrugging innocently.

"Nonsense," Fleur scoffed, "Zere are none at ze ozzer tables! Let me 'ave zem!"

"You'll see what I mean," Hermione replied airily, gesturing towards the bowl of olives, "Try and take them if you like."

Fleur pouted at Hermione before doing just that, scowling as the bowl disappeared from her hands and reappeared on the Gryffindor table immediately. She snatched it up again, only for it to fade and reappear back in its place in front of Hermione.

"Merde!" Fleur cursed, "Zis castle is ridiculous!"

Thoroughly amused at pissing off the snooty blonde, Hermione had to hide the giant smirk that was threatening to spread across her face. The cold blonde really was quite an amusing subject to study.

To her dismay, Fleur didn't give up. She tapped Parvati Patel, who was sitting next to Hermione, on the shoulder firmly.

"Move down, s'il vous plait," Fleur demanded icily.

Parvati, who had a tendency to be fiery herself at times, took one look at the look on Fleur's face before nodding politely and shuffling down the table. Fleur, appeased, slid onto the bench seat next to Hermione and set to devouring the olives one by one.

Ron looked at her as if an alien had invaded the Gryffindor table. He seemed in shock at the blonde beauty gracing the Gryffindor table with her presence instead of the Ravenclaw table.

"Er, you don't usually sit here," Hermione commented.

She was surprised. She had thought Fleur would have given up, falling into one of her moods and loudly complaining to her friends at the Ravenclaw table. It seemed her craving for the olives was the only thing she cared about right now.

Veela really do find olives irresistible, Hermione thought to herself, discreetly making some notes in her notebook.

Fleur shivered a little in the cold. She didn't have her usual friends to cuddle up to. But, to Hermione's surprise, she didn't complain once. In fact, she almost seemed to be beaming.

"I did not know zat ze Gryffindor table had such amazing food!" Fleur replied to Hermione, her tone uncharacteristically warm, "I am Fleur Delacour, by ze way."

"Hermione Granger," Hermione introduced herself.

"Ron Weasley," Ron chimed in from across the table, briefly finding his voice, "You know those are just plain olives, right?"

Fleur ignored him, happily popping another olive into her mouth.

Satisfied the blonde was preoccupied with the food, Hermione made a few more short observations in her notebook.

Not only does the part-Veela find the olives irresistible, but it has had a noted affect on her demeanour. Mood appears to have risen; less argumentative.

Fleur ate the olives until the bowl ceased to refill itself. As soon as she was done, she flashed a smile at the Gryffindors around her, before simply getting up and gliding out of the Great Hall.

"Blimey!" Ron exclaimed, looking over at Hermione, wide-eyed, "What the hell was all that about?!"

"I guess she really likes olives?" Hermione said with a shrug.

Ron was gaping at the doors to the Great Hall, stunned.

"Who just eats plain olives one after another for a meal?" Ron said, baffled. But he soon brightened, "Did you see how she introduced herself to me? Maybe she came over here to get to know me!"

"Yeah," Hermione scoffed, "Maybe."

She was too engrossed in noting down all her observations to really pay the redhead too much attention.

Ron ran a hand smoothly through his hair.

"I am starting to grow quite an impressive moustache," Ron proudly informed Hermione. Hermione squinted across the table at him, making out the faint shadow of a fluffy ginger moustache on his upper lip.

Merlin. Hermione rolled her eyes.