In the Eye of the Beholder

AN: A random idea, so yeah, bear with me. This is a new genre for me, so don't go too hard on me!

Chapter One

Hermione could never, and would never, deny beauty. Whether it be male or female. She supposed her obsession with beauty came from the fact that she possessed very little of it herself. She wasn't ugly, she had enough self-esteem to understand that, but she also understood that nothing really made her stand out. She was ordinary, with ordinary hair, ordinary eyes, ordinary shape, and ordinary size. Her smarts were the only extraordinary thing about her. It seemed strange, that her normally logical brain, so focused on facts and solid truth, could become so preoccupied by something so…shallow. She always wanted to know what was beneath the surface, what made something ticked, the why and the how. But with beautiful people, she never felt she had to know what was behind it. She was content to look and admire.

Until she saw her.

Something about her struck Hermione. Stunned her. Amazed her. Made her wonder. Something about her made Hermione want to know what was behind that lovely face, to know that the beauty was a person too. She didn't want to just look and admire this beauty. She wanted to have it. To possess it. This was the first time Hermione had ever felt any sort of real attraction to anyone, male, female, ugly, or pretty.

When she had stepped down from the carriage, Hermione had felt her heart rise and flutter. The periwinkle blue robes had swished around her ankles and a strand of white-blonde hair had fallen across her gorgeous face, masking the amazingly clear blue pools that were her eyes. Hermione was more poetic that moment than she had been in her entire life. She had been entranced by the shivering figure in blue silk, until the harsh voice of Harry interrupted her reverie.

"That's if he hasn't been attacked by his skrewts. Wonder what's up with them?"

"Maybe they've escaped," said Ron hopefully.

"Oh, don't say that," said Hermione with a shudder. "Imagine that lot loose on the grounds." The shudder was sincere, even if Hermione's voice was flat and not too enthused. The idea of the exploding pseudo-insects loose was slightly terrifying. Hermione struggled to keep herself aware of her surroundings until the feast. When, during Dumbledore's welcoming speech, the beauty in blue had laughed at something he had said, Hermione bristled in anger at the scornful tone, but quickly forgave the girl. Hermione hadn't been very comfortable her first time here either.

Ron's attention to the girl had received a negative retort from Hermione as well. The beauty was her girl, if only in her mind. Those nasty boys needed to stick their eyes back in their heads. Hermione's attitude towards the girl continued as she tried her best to dissuade any interest towards the foreign veela-girl. Hermione spent almost as much time pondering and planning how to approach the girl as she did doing her homework, sometimes under the pretense of doing her homework.

When the Goblet of Fire spat out the name of the Beauxbautons champion, Hermione had been overjoyed to finally learn the lovely's name. Fleur Delacour. Flower, in English. It was wonderfully fitting, in Hermione's mind. Fleur's skin seemed like it would be petal soft, and her form was long, slender, and stem-like.

When Fleur battled the dragon, Hermione had held her breath and wrung her hands. When she saw Fleur on the lake's beach, she resisted the urge to run and comfort the freezing girl. And when she saw Fleur, distraught over the events of the Maze, she had to resist –once again- the urge to run and hold the elder girl. When Fleur left in the enormous flying carriage, Hermione had to resist saying any sort of meaningful goodbye. The distraction that was Victor Krum did not serve its purpose, and Hermione could not forget Fleur. As the year passed, Hermione tried to let go of the memory, but she could never fully release it. It always drifted right below the surface of her consciousness.

And when, two years later, Hermione had learned that Fleur had become engaged to Charlie she had been livid. Not outwardly, of course. Outwardly she had been as neutral as possible. Inwardly, she had prayed that something would happen, that they would argue, and that she could find a way to be there for Fleur. It sounded cruel and manipulative, but Hermione figured that there was no harm in hoping. Sure, Charlie would never find a girl quite like Fleur, but there were plenty of girls falling over themselves to date him at the very least. Hermione got her wish. Just not in the way she had hoped.

She would never wish harm on Charlie, especially the physical kind, but it happened anyway. The Great Battle had occurred shortly after the invasion of Hogwarts. Harry had faced Voldemort after a summer of intensive training with Remus Lupin and Professor McGonagall. He had killed Voldemort, and he had died doing it. Ron had captured Snape, but had been mentally destroyed. More than half the students had died in the battle, as well as a third of the adult members of the Order of the Phoenix. Hermione had fought her through the madness of the battle, shooting a pathway with her wand, stunning and binding left and right, to Fleur's side, where she was moaning and weeping over the still body of Charlie Weasley, slaughtered by Greyback, the werewolf.

Hermione pulled the surprisingly light young woman from the corpse, holding her to her side as they forced their way towards the gates of the school. Hermione had forced the sobbing almost-veela behind a bush, and then shielded her with a Disillusionment charm. Once the battle had passed, and the last of the Death Eaters rounded up, Hermione returned to the gates, running a hand along the wall until it swept across the softness of Fleur's hair. Hermione had removed the charm, and pulled the dazed Fleur gently away from the school, towards the carriages waiting to carry the injured to St. Mungo's Hospital.

She stayed with Fleur through her entire examination, holding Fleur's hand or petting her hair when she became too distraught. She took Fleur back to the Weasley's Burrow, but when she collapsed at the door of her and Charlie's bedroom, Hermione continued to lead her up the stairs, laying Fleur out on her own bed. Hermione pulled the covers up to Fleur's chin before sitting up on top of the covers, leaning against the wall with a hand gently stroking Fleur's wheat colored hair.

When Hermione woke the next morning, the gray sky of early morning still hovered in the sky. Fleur was still sleeping the exhausted rest of the emotionally depleted, her breaths deep and heavy. Hermione brought her hand down from Fleur's hair to stroke her cheek. The skin was as smooth and soft as she'd always imagined it would be. Hermione sighed regretfully.

This wasn't what she had meant, what she had wanted, when she wished for Charlie and Fleur to separate. She wanted something peaceful, something relatively normal and amiable. Like any other breakup. Now, now the separation she had wished for had been forced and violent, and Fleur had been left in pieces. It was the end of her and Charlie; it was the end of Charlie. It was forever.

When Fleur awoke, Hermione was no longer seated on the bed, perched instead on the edge of a chair next to the bed and the warm rays of the early afternoon sun were filtering through the curtains. As Fleur woke, she rubbed her eyes with the side of her hand -a gesture that Hermione found endearing even given the current situation- and stretched her arms above her head, a soft little sigh slipping from between her lips. Like a little white kitten. When she had finished, she pushed the covers off her body and threw her legs over the edge of the bed, pulling herself upright. They sat like that for a few minutes, knees almost touching, the silence palpable between them.

Hermione was the first to speak.

"Are you going to be alright?" She almost instantly began to mentally berate herself. Her fiancée had just died, of course she wasn't alright. Fleur surprised her with an answer.

"I zink I will be, someday." Fleur attempted a weak smile, and Hermione returned it with a smile only a slight bit stronger. Hermione rose from her seat.

"Shall we head down to breakfast?" Fleur nodded gently, pushing herself off the bed and heading towards the door. Hermione pulled the door open and held it for Fleur, then closed it with a strange sense of finality, as though leaving a piece of history or memory locked away behind them.

The war marked an end. But it also marked a beginning.