A/N: Old fan, new to writing a fan fic. Fleur/Hermione.

Disclaimer: I do not own any Legal Rights to the Harry Potter books, videogames, movies or memorabilia. I do not make any profits from adding this to the fanfic database. All praises go to JKR. =)

Chapter 1.

Chocolate brown curls sway in an entrancing rhythm, framing that determined face you like to follow around the corridors. Those sparkling brown eyes are always restless, keen to observe and analyze, permanently on alert. You notice there are depths and depths to those beautiful eyes. And a unique softness that is reserved to very few of her friends. You wonder what it would be like to delve into them, to have their undivided attention, to lower your barriers and let them focus into your own blue ones, to allow the girl a direct access into your soul. Would the brunette be able to reach inside and see you for who you are?

The Hogwarts student has a quality to her stance, an attitude, a poise of her own, and it makes her stand out from everyone else. Her quick pace tells the world that time is a precious asset that she values and has no intention to waste. In complete honesty, you never realized when exactly that brunette began to draw your attention. You are only aware that now it is a part of your days to seek the young girl among the crowd at least a couple of times. It is entertaining and, with every look, you notice something new about her. Little things that matter.

A Gryffindor, from the colors of her uniform. You were told that Gryffindors are known for boldness and courage. It suits her perfectly. Hermione is her name. It is an unusual name. You learned it in the corridors, as the brunette's closest friends called out to her. There is the Potter boy, who is also a champion and makes her smile. He seems sweet. And there is that other redheaded boy who had been angry at Harry before the first task of the Tournament. This one eats in mouthfuls and drools under the effect of your Veela charms. He is weird, but Hermione likes him.

True to her nature, the brunette is always burdened by a large rucksack filled with books. It turns out that the library is one of her favorite places, even during the weekends, and her ink-stained fingers cannot be more enticing then when they are up and about, scribbling away at rolls and rolls of parchment. You love to stare at those hands. So soft, and yet so firm and practiced with a quill or a wand. You sigh out loud and can't help but wonder how amazing it would be to touch them, to hold those hands in your own.

The more you think about her, the more you know that you have it bad.

This is too new. It is happening too fast. This has 'complete mess' spelled over it.

After all, you are Fleur Delacour, part-Veela, ace student, champion for Beuxbatons Academy of Magic. You, of all people, should not be at a loss.

In all of your life, lots of people came to you on their own. The Veela charms made sure of that. For your protection, your mother taught you how to keep a safe distance, an emotional detachment from the many strangers that claimed your attention. Thus, you never reciprocated, never reached out, never sought a single one of those people. Even considering the very few that caught your attention without the influence of the charms, none ever came close to being more than friends. Stating the obvious truth, no one had ever really interested you.

Until now.

Now you are treading uncharted territory. You crave to get to know better this brunette, this witty, sensible and intriguing teenager. Young, raw, untamed, passionate, the one that touched your heart so gently, and she did it without wanting, caring or even knowing it.

You are crushing, willing to have the girl's company and, yet, you have no clue if she holds any good feelings for you at all. Of any kind.

The brunette acts oblivious to you or downright not interested, always scowling your way. She makes you feel shy, insecure, not good enough and unwanted. A whole set of brand new feelings that sting and you don't welcome a single one of them.

One of your friends finds it ironic. Some of your peers might even say funny. You think it's abysmally depressing.

Too much of your daily energy goes into thinking about her, while time is relentlessly marching forward. You will stay at Hogwarts only for this term. Days are ticking away. This may be your only chance to make her notice you.

After exchanged glances that end up with one of her trademark glares at you, after tentative smiles that go unrequited, after random attempts to start conversation that are greeted with nothing but silence, you are growing frustrated from the sequence of failures. She doesn't give you any chance to come closer. The brunette is clammed up and barely keeps a polite civility when it regards you.

Still, you do your part with unwavering resolve, even if in a more subsided manner. You have to. She is here, isn't she? Then you have to try. And try again, and again, and again, no matter how many times she shuts down on you.

It takes only a few weeks for you to have her class schedule and routine memorized. You know when she goes to the library, where she sits at the Gryffindor table for meals, which corridors she uses to get around and the path she chooses to walk the grounds with her friends. You don't outright stalk her. That would be beneath you. Unbecoming of the Delacour that you are.

You resign yourself to look at her discreetly when you are walking through the same corridors, throw openly disbelieving comments at Rita Skeeter's ramblings on her friends (when she's not listening, of course) and maintain a respectful distance when she sits nearby.

Over the course of a few days, noticing that now you are mostly leaving her alone, her demeanor changes slightly and she stops scowling. Only a serious or blank expression betrays that she has acknowledged your presence. You welcome the change, even one as small as it is.

One afternoon you see her campaigning for the house-elves again at break time. Your curiosity gets the better of you and you finally approach her timidly, using this opportunity to introduce yourself and learn her full name. You listen carefully to what she has to say. It is the first time she actually speaks to you.

From what you know of the relationship between wizards and house-elves, you realize this must be a lonely crusade for her. Not many are bound to agree with her point of view. She is amused when you show true interest in her opinion and answers your questions in a very thorough way. A large number of students gather around you and she is placed under the spotlights. You join SPEW and wear the badge she designed. Many follow your lead and, as you take your leave, your heart soars with the obvious grin that spreads on her lips.

This is the happiest you've been in weeks. A big triumph for her, a small victory for you.

You go to breakfast the following morning with your friends at the Great Hall and an owl delivers a long letter from home. A huge grin lights up your features and you soon tear through the seals and read all of it. You barely take bites here and there, chuckling at several parts of the entertaining news. Your friends start to nag you until you share, telling them the latest pranks your little sister has pulled back at home.

In no time, all that were hearing you out are joining in and laughing as well. Gabrielle is definitely a piece of work. When you're done reading, you run your eyes fondly through the letter a last time, and then put it away. Moods are high and you finally decide to eat properly while listening to the ongoing conversation.

Absentmindedly, you glance in her general direction. This time, she is looking straight at you. From the intensity of her stare, you can almost tell that she has been watching you for a while. It is so unexpected that you blush against your will and you barely manage to keep your eyes locked on hers. Her gaze is heated and you sense she is trying to read you. With some dose of hesitation, you manage a very small smile.

She watches you still and then presents you with a wide and toothy smile of her own. It is beautiful and your brain goes haywire. You gape so goofily in response that she starts to chuckle, then shakes her head, turning her attention to the friends and plates of food around her.

Later on, none of your friends understands how you can manage to keep that huge smile plastered on your face through the entire Potions class, right under Professor Snape's nose.

TBC

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