Disclaimer: Still don't own Harry Potter... I'm just playing with J.K. Rowling's characters!

A/N: Wow, another chapter within the same week? Unheard of for me! I was just so excited to write this part that I had to stop all that I was doing to do it. The last of the information dump will be occurring in the first part of this chapter, and then we can enjoy the loveliness that is Fleur, Hermione, and the First Task!

Chapter 4: Revelations (and the First Task)

"I 'ave finally got you, 'Ermione Granger," declared Fleur Delacour with a smirk.

"F-fleur Delacour!" nervously exclaimed Hermione as she slowly inched up the staircase of the astronomy tower, both distancing herself and the French witch and placing a firm wall at her back.

"I do 'ope you are not trying to leave so soon, going up zose stairs like zat," Fleur pointed out as she too ascended the stairs.

As much as Hermione expected to be nervous at the Beauxbatons student's appearance in the tower, she could feel nothing but calm and attraction towards the blonde witch. Straightening up her posture on the stairs, she astutely retorted, "Of course not, I was just trying to not fall out the window. Besides, it's not like there is anywhere to escape from at the top of the highest tower in the school!"

Fleur merely shrugged. "I am not familiar wiz ze entire castle, and I 'ave 'eard zat you are an exceptionally smart witch. I would not put it past you to find a way out. You 'ave been avoiding me quite diligently ever since I 'ave been 'ere."

At that comment, Hermione blushed guiltily. Trying to change the subject, she asked, "How do you know my name? I know yours since you've been chosen as the Beauxbatons champion for the tournament, but I haven't introduced myself to you."

"As I 'ave said, 'Ermione, you 'ave quite ze reputation. Wiz 'Arry being chosen as a fourth champion, it became easy to find out who you were," answered Fleur lightly. "Are you sure you are not trying to escape me?" the French beauty asked, raising a perfectly shaped eyebrow.

"I, erm, no, of course not," Hermione stammered out. Though her body was relaxed, her mind was still unsure of how to approach the veela, going by their unconfirmed past history. "It's just that, you keep coming closer to me, so I keep backing away."

"And why would you be doing that, 'Ermione?" questioned Fleur as she continued to close the gap between them. "You are not afraid of me, are you?" Fleur asked, the first time since speaking the older witch sounded nervous. 'Owever briefly I starred in zat melodramatic Skeeter woman's news article, you must 'ave 'eard, at least from 'Arry, zat I am part veela."

"No, it isn't that," reassured Hermione, though she couldn't tell why exactly she felt the need to calm the French witch's insecurities. "I just can't help but think you were the one I encountered in the woods during the Quidditch World Cup this summer. Because if you are, I have enough reason, don't you think?"

Hermione halted her advance up the stairs, mostly because her back had slammed into the door leading up to the roof. With her words, Hermione observed Fleur's crystal blue eyes begin to darken as her pupils turned a lustrous gold. The blonde witch continued to close the gap between them until the younger brunette could feel the witch's breath tickling her cheek. Mesmerized by those smoldering eyes, Hermione could not resist when the French witch's soft lips descended upon her own, sucking gently on her bottom lip before greedily pressing forward. When she felt the blonde's tongue pushing for entrance into her mouth, Hermione readily complied, too encapsulated by the feelings of desire, the yearning she had for the Beauxbatons student, but also the want, the need she could feel rolling off the older witch. Only when the need for oxygen began too overwhelming did the two part, Hermione noticing that Fleur's eyes had returned to their normal piercing blue. Fleur smiled wryly, exposing her pearly teeth.

"Does that answer your question?" she asked rhetorically, her voice low and seductive, at least in Hermione's opinion.

Hermione's mind could not function properly, not after that breathtaking kiss. She had obviously kissed back that time, and enjoyed it immensely if she was being honest with herself. The fact that she had just been snogged by one of the most sought after females on the grounds of Hogwarts did not escape her either. Her mind unable to cope with this new development only managed to eek out the question, "Why me?"

Fleur tucked a lock of her silvery hair behind her ear as she answered her question with another, "You know much about ze veela, no?"

Hermione nodded, thinking back to the numerous tomes she had read on the magical creatures, recalling the mostly vague descriptions they had recorded on their rituals. Fleur grinned, obviously impressed, although Hermione couldn't see why, given that the French witch had assumed that she already knew about her kind.

"Of course," continued Fleur, "ze books or ze teachers do not do ze topic justice if zey are not veela zemselves. 'Owever, every book, no matter ze quality, outlines ze veela's thrall," Fleur stated. Hermione couldn't help but notice that "thrall" was the only English word with a "th" that Fleur had actually pronounced correctly. The brunette puzzled herself sometimes, why in Merlin's name would she take note of the elder witch's speaking quirks? "As you must know, 'Ermione, ze veela thrall does not work on females," Fleur smiled, with the nervousness that made Hermione anxious, "except if zeir mate is female." Fleur looked pointedly at Hermione at the same time the younger witch felt a wave of lust crash upon her. "You felt zat, no? I 'ave kissed you, 'Ermione Granger, both ("th" at the end of words were also pronounced correctly) in ze woods during ze World Cup and right now, because you are my soul mate."

Hermione, quite frankly, was flabbergasted. She had been unwilling to entertain this possibility in her reading, unable to accept the idea right up until Fleur had thrown her lust at her. Of course, the French witch's explanation made sense, perfect sense, really, but Hermione was not prepared to be something else other than Hermione Granger, self-loathing daughter of the Dark Lord, and even with that identity she was struggling. "What exactly does that mean?" asked Hermione tentatively. "You said the books were not always accurate, and I have to admit they were vague about this part."

"Why yes, I am not surprised zey are. Only a veela would be able to explain it," replied Fleur with an uneasy chuckle. Hermione became more anxious. If the blonde was unsettled by something, a witch who always exuded confidence, it was bound to make the Gryffindor's stomach churn. Her fears were confirmed when Fleur said, "A veela, no matter 'ow promiscuous zey are portrayed in literature or by 'umans, mates for life. Zeir mate is ze only one able to complete zem, quite literally a soul mate. Once meeting zeir mate, ze veela is unable to mate with anozzer, wizout significant repercussions to zeir 'ealth, zat is. Zey share an unbreakable bond between zem. Put simply, a veela cannot live wizout zeir mate. You are my mate, 'Ermione Granger. I can feel it wizin my very being," Fleur told Hermione, fear lightly shading her azure orbs.

"Oh," Hermione said dumbly, trying to process the information. She questioned her renowned brain, as it seemed unable to understand monumental changes in her life at a reasonable speed. Hermione actually felt bad for Fleur, she was mated to Lord Voldemort's daughter! It sounded like she didn't have much choice in the matter, and being tied to the most hated man in the world's daughter seemed like a cruel twist of fate, at least to Hermione. "Are you sure that I am you mate?" asked Hermione, inwardly hoping to relieve Fleur of that doomed life.

"It is undeniable," replied Fleur with conviction. She gripped the Gryffindor's hand in her own, Hermione noting how smooth and warm they were. "I promise you it is nozing bad."

Hermione let out a strangled laugh. "It's not me you should be worried about," said the emotionally muddled brunette. Her throat tightened up again as she prepared to reveal to Fleur what she couldn't even bring herself to tell her best friends. "It's you. You're mated to Lord Voldemort's daughter," she spat, tears welling in her eyes. However, Hermione refused to let them fall, instead tearing her hand from the other girl's. "You don't deserve to be tied to such a damned existence," she said bitterly, side-stepping the blonde's speechless form as she exited the astronomy tower.

It had been a couple of uneventful days since Fleur had cornered Hermione in the astronomy tower that night, and from the French witch's behavior, Hermione was beginning to question whether that night had happened at all. They had not spoken to each other at all since then, and while Hermione could still feel the veela's gaze on her in the Great Hall or in the corridors, it was nothing different from before their confrontation. Judging from the lack of whispering, the Gryffindor guessed that Fleur had also chosen to keep the brunette's identity to herself, something that increased her skepticism that the evening even existed. Wouldn't someone as showy as Fleur reveal something as monumental as her decrepit heritage? At least whisper it to a friend, fuelling the rumor mill? In any case, Hermione sighed resignedly, turning the page of her Charms book. She had finished her essay on Summoning Charms long ago, but she was not eager to leave her seat in the library, where she could find solace in the musty tomes of knowledge. They, at least, would not alienate her for who she was. Although she was loathe to admit it, Hermione was disappointed that she had lost a potential relationship with the veela, cursing her father's existence. However, it was for the best, seeing as anyone closely associated with her would constantly be put into danger.

"Excusez-moi," rang out the voice of the person she had been thinking of, "Could you please show me where I could find a book on English 'Istory?" she inquired in a lofty tone.

Hermione turned around to see Fleur Delacour standing behind her, nose turned up and arms crossed over her chest haughtily. Hermione was about to lift her arm and point the way so she could free herself from the presence of one who so obviously disliked her, when she saw the optimism shining in Fleur's crystal blue eyes. Hoping that she interpreted the look correctly, she said in an equally audible voice, "Of course, follow me."

The History section of the library was quite the distance from the Charms section, and almost always empty. History of Magic was not one of the more popular subjects, and since it was located near the small Muggle Studies section, hardly twenty people stepped into the area every year, Hermione being one of the few. As she reached up to retrieve the massive 58th edition of A History of Magical England Fleur bent down and whispered in her ear, "I do not mind."

Hermione yelped in surprise, almost dropping the large book as she spun around to face the solemn face of the Beauxbatons student. "What do you mean?" asked Hermione, thinking that she meant what book she was choosing but hoping that she meant something else entirely. She pushed the thought away, not wanting to get her almost nonexistent hopes up.

"I mean," Fleur clarified in a low voice, feigning interest in the book as a couple of Hufflepuffs passed by, "zat I do not mind if your fazzer is ze Dark Lord. From your public identity as a muggleborn, your fervent beliefs in magical creature rights, and your own self-loazing, I can tell you are nozzing like zat 'orrible man." Closing the book and tucking it under her arm, Fleur said in a louder voice, "Merci, zis will do fine. Could you show me 'ow to check zis out?"

"Sure, follow me," Hermione said so that any potential eavesdroppers would hear her. She was inwardly relieved to hear the other girl's sentiments, but her logical and controlling side refused to commit to anything that would expose anyone to Voldemort. Hermione did not want to let the girl into her dark existence, knowing association with her could be harmful, but at the same time she wanted someone to support her through it all. However, she could not ask Fleur to be that someone. As the pair walked slowly to the front desk Fleur imperceptibly whispered to her, "I still 'ope you would consider being my mate."

Leading Fleur to Madame Pince's desk to check out, Hermione murmured in an equally indiscreet manner, "I can't, I don't want to hurt you," before leaving.

Hermione had no time to sort out her thoughts like she had wanted to, however, as soon found herself with Harry in an empty classroom, books and quills scattered haphazardly around him. Soon after she had abandoned Fleur in the library, Hermione had rushed to Herbology, where she learned over a Flutterby Bush that Harry had only just discovered what the First Task was, and how he was planning to win it. Though she had been an unreliable friend to Harry as of late, wanting to distance herself from him in an effort to make telling him the truth about her father, whenever that would be, easier, Ron had been worse. His jealousy still rampant over Harry's unwilling entry into the Triwizard Tournament, Ron had not yet come to his senses, and Harry was too obstinate to go to him to mend the relationship. Hermione, familiar with Ron's thickheadedness, understood Harry's reasoning, and while she was annoyed that it took him so long to find out what he had to do, she was still one of his best friends and agreed to help him learn how to cast a foolproof Summoning Charm. What kind of friend would she be to let Harry go against a dragon unprepared?

However, as the daylight died and moonlight leaked in through the windows of the Gryffindor common room, Hermione was beginning to fatigue. They had shifted locations after Peeves decided to throw chairs at them, and had been in the common room for at least four hours. As the clock struck two, Harry tiredly cried, "Accio Dictionary!"

The dictionary that Hermione had been holding flew out of her hands and into Harry's outstretched one. Hermione let out a sigh of relief, watching Harry excitedly thumb through the pages of her dictionary as if he were checking if what he had just accomplished was real. It wasn't as if Harry would have been interested in a dictionary otherwise.

"Harry, I really think you've got it!" the tired brunette congratulated.

"Just as long as it works tomorrow," Harry replied, putting the dictionary down. "The Firebolt's going to be much farther away than the stuff here, it's going to be in the castel, and I'm going to be out on the grounds…" the dark-haired boy trailed off, becoming overwhelmed by the odds.

Hermione was proud of Harry for thinking so far ahead, for thinking of the circumstances that would be surrounding him during the First Task, but from her long experience of planning and foresight, she knew that right now her friend needed confidence and sleep, neither of which would be achieved with his worrying. "That doesn't matter," assured Hermione firmly, "just as long as you're concentrating really, really, hard on it, it'll come. Come on," she waved at him to get up, "we'd better get some sleep…" Hermione told him, hoping that she would be spared the nightmares tonight. "You're going to need it."

Taking her seat in the rapidly filling stadium, Hermione could not stop her hands from fidgeting. Emotionally she was all over the place, worried for Harry, who had only managed to eat a few mouthfuls of toast before the task, who had just managed to cast a decent Summoning Charm, who was constantly getting himself into life-threatening situations. She was worried for Fleur, who, according to Harry, probably knew about the dragons from Madame Maxime, but was nonetheless in the same danger as Harry. She was also still confused about her feelings for the French witch, as she had vowed not to get close to her to protect her from herself, but at the same time longed for her, a hollowness making itself present in her chest when she thought about giving her up. Hermione was angry at Ron, who was still stubbornly ignoring Harry, ignorantly believing he put his own name in the Goblet. She was feeling guilty about evading Ginny so much, realizing how persistent the younger ginger had been trying to get her to open up, to heal. But as she took her seat beside the third year, she told herself that she wasn't ready, that she was protecting them all. But Hermione was also trying to quell her disgust, not at any person in particular, except for maybe Ludo Bagman, who announced with glee that the First Task required the champions to retrieve a golden egg from the nest of a mother dragon. Was the man a sadist? She thought that he, as well as the whooping crowd, deserved to be locked up, harboring such barbaric desires. A tournament promoting adolescents to battle overprotective dragons seemed more than dated, in Hermione's opinion, and she made it known to Ginny.

"Don't worry, 'Mione," comforted Ginny, who looked happy that the brunette had spoken to her of her own will for once, "Harry will be fine."

Little did she know that she feared more Fleur's safety than Harry's, however horrible that seemed to her. She couldn't help it though, something in her made her fiercely protective of Fleur's well-being. Hermione wondered if it had anything to do with the veela's apparent bond with her. At least the Gryffindor knew what Harry had planned to do to face his dragon, she had no idea if what Fleur was going to do would work. She chastised herself, reminding herself that Fleur was two years older than her, that she had a wealth more magical knowledge than she did. However, that did little to reassure her as she watched with horror as Cedric Diggory attempted to lure his Swedish Short-Snout away from the eggs by transfiguring a rock into a Labrador. Hermione knew that it would not work completely, as Swedish Short-Snouts were notorious for their short attention spans, and she was gruesomely proven correct when the dragon changed its mind half way towards the dog, catching Cedric with flames as he swiped the egg. Clutching his face in agony, his free hand gripped the egg as he took cover behind some rocks. As some wizards appeared to lead the dragon away, Hermione desperately hoped that would be the worst of the casualties.

Fleur's name was the next announced over the roar of the crowds, and Hermione saw her emerge into the arena wearing a silver dueling top and navy pants, her wand clutched in her left hand, exuding an aura of confidence. However, as their eyes met, Hermione could sense the nervousness that permeated through the other girl's body. She in turn tried to send the blonde whatever courage she could muster, which in theory should have been a lot seeing as she was a Gryffindor. Fleur seemed to notice something at least, as she grinned at Hermione before turning her attention to the Welsh Green that was being led into the arena by the wizard support crew. The brunette watched in nervous anticipation as Fleur charmed the dragon into a trance, stealthily making her way to the nest housing the golden egg. Her breathing escalated rapidly, one could say that she was almost at the point of hyperventilation. She gasped, probably louder than the rest of the crowd, when a stray jet of flame shot out of the dragon's nostril, burning Fleur's back. Despite the pain that Hermione could have sworn she herself felt, Fleur held up the egg to the audience as the Welsh Green was dragged away. Only when Fleur had retreated into the First Aid Tent did Hermione notice the blood leaking from her hands, coating her fingers and palms. She had been clenching her fists so hard it seemed her nails had dug their way deep into her flesh. Had she been worried about Fleur that much? Was it really wise to deny her feelings for the other girl? At a loss for words, Hermione stared mutely at her bleeding hands, not able to decide how to deal with them. It was then that Ginny noticed them too.

"Bloody hell, Hermione, what happened?" cried Ginny over the roar of the crowd, eagerly waiting for Viktor Krum's turn. "What did you do to your hands?"

"Erm, just a case of nerves. Really, Ginny, it's not so bad," Hermione replied lamely, knowing it was futile to play down the ribbons of crimson flowing freely from her palms.

"Like hell it is!" retorted Ginny, grabbing Hermione's wrists and leading her from the audience stands. "You have to get these seen to right now, Hermione." Not waiting for an answer, Ginny thrusted Hermione through the flaps of the tent, following closely behind her. Inside, Madam Pomfrey was scurrying between two cubicles, Hermione guessed they each housed an injured champion. Hermione felt out of place and pathetic with her bleeding hands, this was, after all, the tent for the burnt champions recuperating from dragon attacks.

"Miss Weasley, Miss Granger, what are you two doing here?" called Madam Pomfrey, noticing us standing in the walkway as she put down some bandages. Hermione could hear rustling and a sharp hiss from the cubicle on the far right. Madam Pomfrey's head snapped towards the noise, "Miss Delacour, I told you no sudden movements! Your back has barely started healing!"

Hermione blushed, embarrassed to be distracting Fleur and causing her pain, embarrassed that she had worried so much over the Beauxbatons student that she had hurt herself to the point of profuse bleeding. Overcome by her self-consciousness, Hermione found herself unable to explain. Luckily, Ginny did that for her.

"Hermione had a panic attack or something, I'm not quite sure," answered Ginny, tugging Hermione towards the healer. "But she managed to claw at a good chunk of her hands, their bleeding a lot." Again, shifting followed by a grunt of pain sounded from the far right cubicle.

"Miss Delacour," warned Madam Pomfrey, walking over to her French charge. Turning to Hermione she said, "Come here, Miss Granger, I'll treat you as I check on my rebellious patient."

Pushing her forward, Ginny gave the brunette a pointed look before leaving. Hermione shuffled to the cubicle that she knew contained an injured Fleur, but the sight that she was met with still surprised her. The beautiful French witch was sat upright in her bed, her torso covered in a thin layer of bandages, her face pulled into a still somehow elegant grimace as she attempted to ward off the nurse's well-intended advances. Hermione stood awkwardly at the entrance to the cubicle as Madam Pomfrey attempted to poor a potion down the blonde's throat.

"I told you, Madam Pomfrey, I do not need it," Fleur insisted, batting away the elder witch's hand. "It is only a burn, I do not see why I also 'ave to take ze Dreamless Sleep."

"Normally I wouldn't," huffed Madam Pomfrey, never one to encourage overmedication, "but you seem to be extremely excitable right now, and I can't have that interfering with your healing!" The medi-witch sighed, putting the potion down, seeing that the obstinate witch would continue to refuse her. She shifted her attention to her other patient, still standing uncertainly at the cubicle entrance.

"Oh dear, what have you done?" asked Madam Pomfrey with concern, bustling over to the Gryffindor. Without waiting for an answer she began Summoned a large purple bottle and rubbed its contents on her wounds. Judging by the herbal scent and accompanying sting, Hermione surmised that she had applied a good layer of dittany to the gashes. Wincing in pain as the salve did its work, Madam Pomfrey gave her a reproachful look. "I haven't a clue what could have worried you so much to make you do this to yourself, Miss Granger, but you better solve it, because this cannot be a repeat occurrence!" she reprimanded as she wound fresh bandages around each of Hermione's hands. Hermione nodded numbly, her stare shifting from her hands to Fleur, and back again. It seemed as though Madam Pomfrey wanted to add something else, but the sound of another new patient caught her attention, and the nurse hurried out, muttering under her breath, "Bloody dragons!"

The two bandaged females were alone in the cubicle, staring intently at each other, wondering who would speak first. It was only then did Hermione notice how thin those bandages were, and how she could still clearly see the shapely form of Fleur's breasts through them. She blushed fiercely and looked down at her own injured hands, feeling more awkward than she had before. The silence continued, and Hermione could deduce that the blonde was waiting for her to speak. She cleared her throat.

"So…" Hermione began hesitantly, unable to put into words what she was feeling. She mustered up that renowned Gryffindor courage yet again, and let her thoughts tumble out, "Despite what I said earlier in the library, I really cannot stand to not be with you. I mean, I didn't want you to get close because of my father, that's why I've been avoiding most of my friends, but it seems that it does more harm than good to go down that path," the brunette rambled, motioning to their bandaged body parts. "What I'm trying to say is…" Fleur smiled knowingly and cut her off.

"You can feel ze bond, can you not?" she asked, a smile on her face. "I felt ze courage you sent me before ze task. It was much appreciated."

"You actually felt that?" Hermione exclaimed with surprise. "So that was actually your pain that I felt when you got burnt," the bookworm speculated. However, Fleur looked alarmed.

"I did not consciously send you zat pain, never would I 'ave!" she insisted, her face scrunched up in thought. After a moment she said in an incredulous voice, "Ze bond must be stronger zan I zought."

The two stood silently in thought, a cyclone of eager, nervous, and lustful energy swirling around them.

"So, mates, huh?" Hermione asked, running a wounded hand through her hair. Wincing in pain, she couldn't stop her nervous habit. However, she was excited that someone knew about her secret and still wanted to be around her, that she hadn't been outrightly rejected.

"Oui," affirmed Fleur, sinking down into her bed.

Realizing how tired the Beauxbatons student must be, Hermione started to leave, telling Fleur that she would talk to her later. It was only after emerging from the cubicle did Hermione notice that the First Task was over, seeing Harry being led in by Ron, a large burn covering his shoulder. It seemed the two best mates had made up, something that Hermione was pleased with, however, it now made her look like the bad friend for not watching him compete against the dragon. She had just begun to solve one problem before creating another. Fourth year never looked harder for Hermione Granger.

A/N: I hope you liked that resolution of sorts, I'm nervously just plodding along this story. I've never been so unsure about the character interactions, reactions to certain events, it's all an exciting experiment for me. Don't expect another update so fast, I have a lot of summer homework I just put off to write this! As always, reviews are welcome!