Note: Threw canon out the window in hopes of breaking my writing slump. Hardly skimmed through it, sorry. Hope it still makes sense. Let me know, you know. I'll reupload an edited version if it is necessary, but I just need to put something out there. In fact, I think I will come back and rewrite some of it after I get feedback. Some "mistakes" as fanfiction's Doc Manager points out are actually purposeful. I think you'll get those, though. Sorry for the long and mostly useless note. Cheers.

"You can't help what you are, 'Mione," Harry started on their long trek back to the castle. He's clueless at feelings, and even more so at conversations about feelings, but something about almost dying gets you doing things you normally wouldn't be comfortable doing. Something in that near-death adrenaline pushed you to be extra courageous and just...

Fuck it.

He felt the girl tense under the arm he had slung over her shoulder. They were both pretty banged up. Hermione couldn't put pressure on her left leg without wincing in horrible pain, and Harry's right leg was completely, uselessly, a dead weight to the point where he couldn't even feel it anymore. Together, they were attempting a shuffling strategy ridiculously similar to the muggle childhood game of the "three-legged race" with their weak leg inside, trying to get back to the tower before dawn.

They were bloody, beaten, sore - and Harry had never felt more alive! He felt he could howl into the night, but the adrenaline in his system was making him feel daring - not stupid.

In fact, he was thinking quite clearly. And in this newfound clarity, he felt the need to share some things with his best female comrade to further enlighten the bright witch. On the matter at hand - feelings - Hermione was about as clueless as he. Maybe more. She could really be dense about some truly blatant things.

Well, no more! Their mutual cluelessness ended here. That was that.

"What are you saying, Harry?" Hermione tried to play ignorant, but he knew she was more or less aware of where he was going with this.

"You can't help what you are," Harry repeated in a much stronger voice. He was smiling like a loon.

"And what am I, Harry James Potter?" she asked it like a dare. Almost angrily, going for the full name and looking him dead in the eye.

"You can't help what you are, and you, Hermione Jean Granger" - he went for the full name - "are in love with Fleur Delacour."

Her face dropped from fierce to panicked. She went straight for denial.

"I'm not in love with Fleur Delacour. That's absurd," the girl scoffed. Suddenly, she needed to concentrate intensely on the... anything but Harry.

"Yeah, you are," Harry argued.

"No, I'm not," Hermione retorted.

"Yes."

"- No."

"Yeah."

"- No."

"Yup."

"- No!"

Their bickering fell into silence. Harry smiled still, which further infuriated Hermione into biting at her lip. He had her.

"Yes, you are," Harry stressed, "No point in hiding it, Mione. We all basically know."

She glared at him. He recognized it as the face she gets while working on a particularly challenging problem. She searched his face for the truth in his words, and the intent behind them. She was dead set on finding the meaning of all this. The reason of course was...

"- Fuck it!" Harry insisted, waving his free arm out to emphasize the idea, "Just kiss her and tell her... or tell her and kiss her... But just let it out, Mione!"

He wondered at all the arguments bubbling in that bushy-haired head of hers, but that was probably a jumbled up mess he couldn't hope to sort through even on his best days.

"Hermione, you think too much," he sighed tired at merely thinking about what she may think about.

There was a long, empty silence that spanned a couple of yards of shuffling down the path that progressively became more and more distinct, not merely the suggestion of crushed foliage but a bonafide dirt trail leading home. They were close. Still almost a mile to go, but that was close.

"What if she doesn't feel the same, Harry?" Hermione finally caved into off-handedly admitting it, though shaking her head at the boy's notion. She couldn't ignore how good it felt to acknowledge her feelings, but the evident possibility of them being revealed and unreturned... It scared her worse than any of the jinxes, hexes, and curses they just faced.

Some Gryffindor... A lion in battle, a kitten in all else! Hermione groaned, frustrated in herself.

"Come on, then. Love's a good feeling. Cheer up!"

She couldn't figure how to. She couldn't figure how he could possibly be so upbeat right now, either.

"Unrequited love is a nightmare. I'm not sure I can manage it."

She wasn't sure how she has managed it.

Over this school year, Hermione had unwittingly fallen for, lovingly adored, and amorously pined after the French delegate - the best French delegate physically, emotionally, mentally, and every other capacity, in Hermione's completely biased opinion. Hermione thought the world of her, and thought a lot about her, too. She almost went mad at how drastically the other girl had ripped her attention from her studies.

It started late October, when the delegation first arrived, a month into the school year. From the first sight of the enchanted carriage, to the Halloween feast especially catering to the foreigners palate, Hermione hadn't committed to an opinion of their guests. She pitied the ill-equiped French students shivering in their robes, though.

All was fine and normal until the blonde ventured over to inquire about their untouched bouillabaisse.

"Excusez moi, are you wanting 'ze bouillabaisse?" she spoke as smoothly as she could with that accent. She leaned over Hermione's shoulder. Hermione, having her back to where the Beauxbaton stationed themselves at the Ravenclaw table, never saw her coming.

A suddenly intense warmth bombarded Hermione. Being warmed well enough before, the added heat startled her and unsettled her to the point where she couldn't breathe, started fidgeting in her robes, and felt sweat collecting on her forehead and in her palms.

"Hermione, you alright?" Harry had asked, concerned of her sudden and apparent discomfort.

Ron was silent, unmoving, and growing purple, but he was far more susceptible than Hermione. Hermione, in every case, was always the most resilient.

Hermione couldn't respond.

"- Oh! My apology," the French witch gasped, backing away, taking the warmth with her.

A wand was produced from the lining of her coat, waved across her shoulders wordlessly, and returned to its place before Hermione could find herself cool again, almost cold in comparison.

"I 'ad forgotten to disspell my warming charm," she explained, smiling elegantly.

She slipped into the spot on the bench beside Hermione, facing out, close enough to brush shoulders. Her warmth was completely natural this time, not so obtrusive, but her presence still rendered Hermione un- ... un-Hermione-like... That is to say, speechless. And honestly? Thoughtless. Thoughtless bar the singular opinion she now formed of this particular French delegate.

She's beautiful.

Hermione apparently managed a breath, soft and shaky, while examining the girl from her sleek and straight blonde hair in that loose ponytail, to the seductive suggestion of her hips in that Beauxbaton blue skirt, and back to her eyes, a far more summery blue. A blue so startling because they were locked on her, in the depth of brown in Hermione's own irises. Hermione felt too warm again. Surely, going red.

The French witch laughed lightly through her smile, brushing a hand over the red on Hermione's face.

" 'ermione, yes?" she questioned. Hermione vaguely remembered nodding, engrossed memorizing how she said her name.

The French witch made a noise, something similar to a quick hum, sounding like an agreement. Hermione was mapping out the contours of the other's face, the slope of her neck, her collarbone.

"Fleur," the blonde told her, "Fleur Isabelle Delacour."

Shaking her hand felt so odd at how close they were right now, how Fleur's hand had to leave Hermione's face to be offered, and how Hermione's shook well enough for the both of them.

Her palms were still sweaty. Oh gosh.

"Her-Hermione... Granger," she attempted to speak. She could possibly manage to salvage her embarrassment if she could just speak like a proper person.

" 'ermione Granger," Fleur struggled in a French drawl.

Fleur, it rang in her mind, Fleur Isabelle Delacour.

" 'ow so terribly Eenglish," she teased, scrunching her nose adorably with a playful smile.

Hermione collected herself with adequate success.

"Yes, well, Fleur," she had to try to keep her smile down to a normal level, "The bouillabaisse is all yours, if you want it..."

"- It was excellent," Ron seemed to have found his voice as well. Hermione hoped she hadn't sounded as dopey.

"Excellent, yes," Fleur nodded off-handedly. She was still locked on Hermione, for all the uneasy, confusing, delight it brought the latter.

"I must return," she informed more or less all of them in a sigh, "But I will see you around, non?" She sounded hopeful, making Hermione feel hopeful as well.

"Yes. Definitely," Hermione agreed.

"Excellent," Fleur spoke more convincingly this time.

Fleur got up, grasped the platter under the bowl of still steaming bouillabaisse, and turned to walk away.

"Bye," Harry chimed for himself and the blubbering mess he called his best mate beside him.

"Au revoir," Fleur called back over her shoulder before walking - no, positively strutting - back to her group.

Hermione echoed the French, acknowledging it as a promise, not a farewell.

"- Oi, she only spoke to Hermione!" Ron cried outraged once he could again act himself.

Harry looked uneasy.

"Uh... Mione," he called.

Hermione felt herself again as well, and turned to Harry.

"What - ah - what is your middle name?" he asked, ashamed he didn't realize he didn't know until now.

"Jean," she answered. Trying to get back to normal, but she hardly felt the same. She paid nothing else attention save for the replaying memory of a blonde, blue-eyed, French girl who spoke to her. And only her. Like she was the most important thing in the room.

Fleur could always do that, and would always do that. She had a knack for making it seem like nothing existed but herself and Hermione. Not that Hermione paid much attention to anything else when she was around. She was hyper-aware, but only to Fleur.

Her presence, her voice, her touch, her smell... Hermione embarrassingly committed it all to memory.

" 'ermione, are you smelling me?" Fleur asked one time in a confused whisper as they were in the library, sitting far too near to each other than necessary, but neither said a word about it, much less a complaint.

"Er, no, of course not..." Hermione stammered and blushed while pulling back a bit, and thinking quickly for a reason her face being that close to Fleur's neck other than - yes - smelling her perfumed skin and the passing thought of kissing it that did indeed occur to her once she was that close, "Pass the ink, please."

Fleur did not so easily buy that, looking incredulously at Hermione, then to the nearly full bottle just beside the quill in her hand.

"The - the uh... Red ink..." Hermione covered up, coughing nervously.

"What for?" Fleur asked suspiciously, not knowing what Hermione could possibly need it for. Neither did Hermione.

"I need it."

"But what for?"

"For reasons, Fleur, gosh," Hermione spoke harshly, shaking her head willing the blush to recede so she could look adequately annoyed with the French witch.

Fleur was giggling at Hermione's behavior. Now, Hermione was genuinely, adequately annoyed with the French witch.

"Oui. 'ere you are," Fleur smiled and held the ink bottle out to Hermione.

Hermione looked at Fleur, staring curiously back at Hermione, and at the bottle of red ink - useless to her at the moment.

"Well?" Fleur made a point of pronouncing the troublesome word. Smirking. Knowing.

Desperate for a way out of the hole she was burying herself in, Hermione tentatively took the bottle into her hand. Slowly.

Still aware of Fleur's watchful gaze, Hermione looked from the bottle to her parchment and steeled her resolve. More like resign.

She unscrewed the cap, and in a bold motion, drizzled the contents directly onto the roll of parchment. An hour or so of notes vanished beneath the blood-red liquid she needed. Oh, her Gryffindor pride.

A small noise from Fleur expressed her disbelief and amusement.

"- Ow!" Hermione huffed indignantly, grabbing for the bit of flesh on the side of her face, where Fleur had evidently pinched her.

Glaring at the blonde, Hermione found the girl staring back with a blank face, but her eyes conveyed it well enough:

You cannot fool me, 'ermione Jean Granger.

Fleur leaned over onto her hand, elbow planted at the back of Hermione's chair, and told Hermione as much.

Fleur was a fan of using Hermione's full name, regardless that she could not quite enunciate the first sound. Not that it bothered Hermione any; she enjoyed the way Fleur sounded all the same. She was bothered by the fact that she had no idea where Fleur learned her full name, though.

In the most tantalizing motion, Fleur leaned into Hermione. The enchanting scent was so much stronger at this (lack of) distance. Hermione was choking on it, she figured because she couldn't breathe all of a sudden. Panic struck her. Fleur was all too close. She felt like summer blue was invading her soul. Roaming Fleur's face with her own eyes, Hermione felt the urge to reach for the contours she committed to memory amplify. Shaky hands began to move toward the smooth plain.

And Fleur was gone.

Pulled away, stood, and strut away in that graceful manner at which Fleur was a professional.

"Au revoir, 'ermione!" she called over her shoulder through a laugh.

"Fleur, wait I..." Hermione choked out and began packing her things in a rush. She vanished the wreck of red ink.

Fleur halted.

Hermione rushed to catch her and they exited together. In silence. Fleur wouldn't even look at her.

Fearing she had done something wrong - or rather, she was caught doing something wrong - Hermione began to apologize.

The words were just about formed when Fleur cleared her throat.

"Do not get me wrong... I enjoy time with 'ou 'ermione," Fleur furrowed her brow and sucked in her lips, frustrated. She had a firm grasp of the language, but struggled still.

"I do, too, Fleur," Hermione agreed with a dried throat.

"We can... do this again sometime?" she requested, playing at disinterested, but there was that hope again.

Hermione wanted to shout excitedly.

"We'll see, yeah?" Hermione shrugged, her smile betraying her play at indifference.

Fleur rolled her eyes, and looked at her once more before taking the turn to Arithmancy.

Her eyes said it once more:

You cannot fool me, 'ermione Jean Granger.

They grew close like Hermione had never experienced before. Now, it seems all too obvious what it all meant.

"Hermione, she does feel the same," Harry pointed out as a matter of fact.

The boy now had minimal control over his bad leg and took over most of the shuffling so Hermione could - and had to - focus on their conversation.

"She does not," now that was definitely absurd. Why would such a... such a... Fleur bother with her? That was the question she asked herself all the time. She never came up with an idea better than the adage "it's too good to be true".

"She does, though," Harry insisted.

"Does not," Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Does so, and we aren't getting into this again," Harry huffed.

They decided to stop, break. Hermione advised to keep standing, something about keeping the blood flow circulating. Harry was fine with the blood flow circulating, but he was too concerned with the blood flow from his head. And her head.

"Mione, when'dya start bleeding?" he demanded, reaching up his sleeve to wipe at the cut above her right eye brow.

"Around the time you accused me of fancying Fleur," Hermione grunted playfully. She pushed at his shoulder, but not too hard. At this point, it would be counterproductive to hurt him anymore. And stupid. She couldn't handle getting back on her own; he couldn't either.

Harry had a laugh. He seemed so lucid this evening.

"Bleeding doesn't get you out of it," he teased, "Better luck, though. Girls dig scars."

Hermione couldn't help herself there, and laughed as much as he did.

"What's wrong with you, Harry?" she asked half-seriously. Something was definitely up.

"I told you, Mione! Fuck it!" he repeated, feeling like a broken record at this point. Or an over excited parrot.

"We spend all this time avoiding it, denying it, beating around the damn bush, but no more! That's that!" He felt himself speaking in circles and getting dizzy, but he was also getting to the point.

"We could die at any moment... Like... Like..." He snapped his fingers, "That. Hermione, like that. Dead."

His words were making the impression on Hermione, he saw, and he wouldn't relent now.

"And you know, stuff like this - love and feelings and all the other stuff we're rubbish at..."

She was smiling. Good.

"It can't wait! It shouldn't! Love's a good feeling, and we should be happy we've found it!"

"You're talking about yourself, too, I hope," she finally spoke up.

"Damn right, I am!" he shouted, "I'm in love with Ginny Weasley and I can't be more thrilled about it!"

Hermione felt pleased. Harry finally realized what he should've all along, and Ginny would certainly be ecstatic.

"Know what I'm going to do, Mione? I'm going to kiss her! The next time I see her, wherever and whenever that is, I'm going to kiss her and tell her!" he explained dead set on the idea.

"You know, that could be taken as sexual assault?" Hermione reasoned with a roll of her eyes, "Kissing a girl without her permission..."

Harry's face fell and Hermione felt like she shouldn't have said anything.

"Yeah... Yeah... Well," Harry thought for a moment, "Maybe I'll... I'll tell her. Then kiss her. If she'll let me... Permission."

Hermione laughed, which seemed to defuse the situation. Harry laughed.

"Well, Limpy, let's get back to the castle," Harry suggested. They were off again.

They barely beat the sun onto the grounds. The sky was erupting into a light blue. A summery blue. Hermione took it as a good omen and resigned to admitting what she had felt like she knew all along.

"I am in love with Fleur Isabelle Delacour," she informed Harry in the calmest voice she could manage.

Harry smiled.

"Come're you!" he pulled on the arm still around her shoulder and got her into a half-hearted headlock as she shrieked.

"Harry James Potter, you let me go this instant!" she demanded.

"Hermione Jean Granger, I am so proud of you!" he laughed in the bellowing howl he'd been holding in since the forest. He was probably rousing every ghost in the corridor.

"Let me go!"

"Nope, too proud!"

The mood was considerably jolly on the last leg of the journey. Hermione was surely now feeling that feeling Harry had been reveling in all night. Alive.

All excitedly excited, they stumbled into the tower, leaning on each other for support.

The common room was filled with their recooperating house mates. They seemed somber. Harry and Hermione were about to worry when Ron spotted them and shouted loudly for everyone to hear.

"They made it!"

The common room exploded into whoops and cheers at this. They were all waiting for them, they realized. They felt relieved.

They were nearly sucked into the commotion when Hermione spotted the singularly outstanding person in the crowd.

Fleur.

Her Beauxbaton blue robes popped out from the red and gold of Gryffindor tower. Another stark difference from the others was that Fleur wasn't joyously celebrating their arrival. Fleur still looked somber and worried.

Then, their eyes found each other.

Registering that Hermione was indeed there and safe, Fleur was overcome with relief. Her sigh turned into a smile, evidence of the shift.

Hermione's breath caught again. She should be used to that not-able-to-breathe thing that happens in Fleur's presence. She knew, however, she never would. It was a good thing.

Hermione was overcome with... something. She couldn't quite identify it.

Feeling especially daring, she mustered up the adrenaline rush and went to her. This was it. She'd tell Fleur.

What's the worst that could happen? Harry's advice rang out through her head.

She barely noticed the horrid pain shooting up from her left leg. Still limping, Hermione shuffled across the floor, weaving through celebrating Gryffs to get to Fleur. Fleur got the idea, and began walking toward Hermione, making much better progress.

"Oh, 'ermione, 'old still..." Fleur fretted over her, grabbing Hermione by the shoulder at once, stilling the girl.

"Fleur, I must tell you -" Hermione tried, attempting to shake Fleur's worrying.

"Oui, but 'ou are bleeding profusely from your 'ead..."

"It really isn't that bad -"

"Non, it is. It really is," Fleur frowned at the cut above Hermione's eyebrow, dragging her thumb to wipe away some blood.

Fleur pulled out her wand, swirling the tip along the blood trail along the side of Hermione's face. Her free hand held Hermione by the chin. Deep in concentration, Fleur pursed her lips, and squinted at the wound, leaning down to come closer to the shorter girl. Hermione was left to stare up at her in silence. That wasn't too bad at all.

The wand withdrew from her forehead. Hermione knew she was healed. Probably blood-free, too.

"Zer. Better?" Fleur asked, smiling sweetly at Hermione, who nodded.

"Much, thanks," she muttered, licking her lips.

Fleur found herself doing the same, eyes drifting down away from Hermione's.

Hermione, however, refused to part with the comfort of summery blue... like the sky... her good omen. She waited until Fleur found her gaze again.

And she blamed the next bit on her adrenaline.

Hermione dared to push herself forward and take Fleur's lips with her own. Stupid. She wasn't thinking. A good lot of not-thinking also happened when she was with Fleur.

Fleur made a noise sounding surprised. It could've been a good thing, but when she felt Fleur push her away with the hand still holding her chin, Hermione felt just awful. Gut-wrenchingly awful.

Maybe Fleur didn't feel the same, which was - she realized - not the end of the world, but this was downright terrible of her. Forcing herself onto the other girl? Unacceptable.

Hermione opened her eyes to see Fleur staring back at her simply... astonished. Fleur's eyes were so wide, certainly shocked, mouth uncharacteristically hanging agape.

" 'ermione, I -"

"Fleur, I'm sorry," Hermione quickly cut her off, eyes shutting while backing up, "I didn't mean to - I shouldn't have."

She shook her head and Fleur seemed to not have moved at all once she'd opened her eyes.

"I assure you, I won't ever again. I just... I love you, Fleur," Hermione sighed and tried to regulate what she was saying, but now that she was saying it, she just couldn't stop, "I've loved you for the longest time, and I only just realized how silly I've been about it when I should have just told you. Told you. Like a civil person. I'm such a hypocrite! I'm horrible! I'm sorry!"

Hermione reluctantly pulled Fleur's hand away from her face. She considered turning and walking away, but limping off in defeat was too painful to try at the moment.

Hermione tried to drop Fleur's hand, but found that Fleur wouldn't let her.

"Oui. You are right. You shouldn't 'ave," Fleur agreed. She shook her head like she was disappointed in Hermione, which Hermione would totally understand - if it weren't for the fact that Fleur was holding her hand like she were about to lead them on one of their trips to the library. Was she? Maybe she was trying to make sure Hermione knew they couldn't be anything more than what they are. Friends. Study-mates.

A tug on her arm got Hermione to follow Fleur, who was having little sympathy for Hermione's injured leg at the pace she was setting, but Hermione was in no position to argue.

Biting her lip the entire way, Hermione sucked it up. She also convinced herself the tears welling up in her eyes was due to the pain in her leg. Yeah, the pain felt awful.

Hermione was seated in the corner of an alcove separated from the still-buzzing victory party.

Ron was being swarmed for his version of the heroic escapade, going on and on about the fifty Death Eaters he had to combat before he was knocked out. That was about forty-eight more than Hermione remembered him battling.

Harry, Hermione was certain, would be off somewhere with Ginny. She hopes his plan goes over more smoothly than hers had, but she was sure about that too. Ginny loves Harry, and is in love with Harry. There really wasn't much of a risk there.

Hermione took a gamble, and lost horribly.

She wasn't even sure why Fleur was still sitting with her in this awkward silence brought on by Hermione's own awkward actions.

Fleur had pulled Hermione onto the cushioned little hole in the wall, and planted herself much like the day they had met: close enough to brush shoulders. They did. Fleur withdrew her hands and laid them on her lap, deep in contemplation.

"Fleur, are... Are you going to say anything?" Hermione asked desperate for some sign they were still alright.

"Oui."

She seemed still in that deep contemplation, punctuated with a great sigh.

"You 'ad me worried, 'ermione," she started what seemed to be an explanation.

"I know of you, 'arry, and Ronald's reputation for perilous adventures... I know you rarely ever come back uninjured... I was 'onestly afraid... When Ronald showed up looking a step away from death, I feared you may not come back..."

Hermione felt overwhelmingly guilty, but had nothing to say to it. It seemed all the near-death adrenaline had run its course through her and left her to descend into the crash. She felt so physically and emotionally drained. Couldn't Fleur just leave her to wallow now? Nearly killed and heartbroken... Not to mention that Charms exam in the morning. She was actually debating whether to skip it. Which is saying something.

"- 'ermione, pay attention. I need to say zis," Fleur glared at her sternly.

"Why, Fleur?" Hermione argued through a new wave of tears threatening to spill, fighting the falter in her voice, "I feel awful right now... I'm still sorry I was practically forcing myself on you back there, but nevertheless, this... this is breaking my heart..."

"Zat is why I must say zis!" Fleur exclaimed, throwing her hands into the air. Hermione found her face cupped between them a moment later, leaving her nowhere to look but that unattainable summery blue.

" 'ermione, I was in no way able to enjoy zat properly! Too worried! Too scared! Too concerned wiz wezzer or not you needed medical treatment!" Fleur looked so frustrated. "Kissing was ze farthest thing from my mind! Stop apologizing for forcing yourself on me and start apologizing for you impeccably bad timing!"

Fleur sighed and let her shoulders fall along with her calmed expression. That seemed to take a lot out of her.

"I- I... What?!" Hermione huffed. Fleur may as well be speaking in French; Hermione wasn't following. "What do you mean: impeccably bad timing?!"

"October, 'ermione. We met in October. Two hundred forty-two days ago! You had all school year, and you wait til a week before I leave for France to run off, almost get killed, kiss me, and tell me in a half-assed, unromantic manner zat you love me and you're sorry?!"

Hermione's mouth hung open in the most incredulous, exasperated expression, brows furrowed.

"Bloody hell. Unromantic? Was my heroic entrance not grand enough for you?"

Fleur cracked a smile and actually laughed. How - Hermione wondered - was she able to recover that quickly? But honestly, Hermione didn't care. Fleur smiling at her made her smile.

"Oui. Very mediocre. I expected more of you."

Hermione's face reddened.

"So... Do it again..."

Hermione searched Fleur's face for the meaning of that.

"Kiss me, 'ermione. Do it again so I may enjoy it properly," Fleur looked back at her expectantly with a smirk.

"Or, tell me you love me first. Whichever order."

Fleur's hands went to hold Hermione's.

"Are you serious?" Hermione asked. There was that hope.

"I am speaking English, non? Why for one so bright must you be 'orribly dense?"

Affronted, Hermione felt the need to defend herself. Definitely Gryffindor.

"Maybe I don't want to kiss you after that?" she challenged.

Fleur's brow rose. Hermione recognized the look.

You cannot fool me, 'ermione Jean Granger.

There wasn't an ounce of adrenaline left in her body. She was running on empty as far as she could tell. They were tucked away in a secluded alcove corner in the Gryffindor common room where the return party had waned as they bickered in whisper-yells.

Hermione licked her lips and took a deep breath. Romantic, huh?

"...I'm foolish for waiting this long," she started, feeling again that she should regulate what came forth from her mouth, but could do nothing to halt the words, "For waiting this until you had a big chance of losing me and I of losing you. I could have said it all this time because I have known for such a long time."

Hermione smiled softly, sweetly, without really realizing it. Yes, it felt good to acknowledge these feelings.

"Starting from when we met, and more and more as I learned just what inner workings that beautiful exterior of yours contains. You have a brilliant, and fascinating mind. I love conversing with you upon every subject we can tackle. You're so caring, and generous that you never refused, even going out of your way, whenever I wanted to chat or study or just sit with you."

Hermione recalled first time, the one afternoon she just found Fleur sitting on a bench overlooking the path toward Hagrid's house. Hermione sat beside her. She didn't ask permission, or say anything at all. It was silent between them until one after the other got up to get to the Great Hall for dinner.

"Sitting with you is the best. It looks like I'm not doing anything sometimes, but a lot of things happen just when you're near me. I can't breathe at first, too nervous... Ever hear of the expression of feeling butterflies in your stomach? You render me speechless. Sometimes, thoughtless. It's almost infuriating, but I love it..."

The moment seemed right. This seemed right, not just a blithering mess of an apology like the first time.

"Fleur Isabelle Delacour, I love you. I'm in love with you."

A pause.

For everything to sink in, for Hermione to accept that she'd said it fearlessly, for Fleur to fully understand what was said...

"Wordy," Fleur commented with a nod, "Just like you. I approve."

Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Oh, you approve, do you?" she questioned, "That all?"

Her tone implied that she could not believe the other girl's behavior, but the more she thought about it, the more it seemed to make sense. Fleur was all about the theatrics in the end. Properly enjoy it. Made sense. It was just like her.

"Non. Not at all," Fleur took a serious tone, "I love you too, 'ermione Jean Granger... I 'ad 'oped you would 'ave figured zis out."

Fleur took her hand to the side of Hermione's face gently.

"Yes, my love, you 'ad me quite smitten from ze start. I believe you 'ad me completely... zat odd moment I discovered you smelling me..." Fleur's face twisted into her amusement at that memory.

Hermione glowered at her playfully.

"Whatever," she dismissed that last note, but could not help how pleased she felt. Ecstatic.

"I'm going to kiss you now, okay?" she asked, seeking permission.

"Oui."

Hermione had all the ability to realize how nervous she felt as Fleur waited for her to make the first move.

Leaning would be a good start.

As she moved forward, her left hand held the one Fleur had placed upon her face and her right hand reached out to caress the slope of Fleur's neck that she had much admired, above the collar, along the smooth skin she had much fantasized feeling.

"You torture me with impatience," Fleur remarked, running her tongue slightly over her lips.

"It's anticipation. Relax," Hermione laughed uneasily, knowing it was actually hesitation. Her hesitation. She groaned inwardly, frustrated with herself.

Fuck it.

All in, she went for Fleur's lips with her own, eyes shutting reflexively, head tilting, everything she'd only ever done once: minutes ago, though it seemed like hours.

The difference was great and absolutely fantastic.

Everything felt amazing: Fleur's lips, Fleur's skin, Hermione's skin wherever Fleur's hand traveled.

Exciting, stimulating, titillating... That all meant the same thing. Hermione wish she could stop thinking.

Fleur saw to that.

There was a brief moment of relief in the beginning as affectionate feelings were expressed and returned in its physical manifestation. Then came the break of frustration in the push for exploration, the desire for more. This was where Fleur was decidedly more dominant.

As if she were paying to anything else before, there was suddenly only Fleur to Hermione. Only Fleur and so much Fleur. Overwhelmingly Fleur.

The brick pressing into her back went unnoticed beyond Fleur's hands taking Hermione's shoulders, squeezing tentatively, dragging down Hermione's arm until she could pin them.

Air was sucked desperately through the lips abandoned by Fleur's in the search of that more. More.

Across her face, over the evident red blush, along and below her jaw; it was all just territory for Fleur to cross. Every inch was a kiss. Every breath necessary was troublesome. Every moment was pulled further into intensity.

Before going too far, Fleur was back upon her mouth. Fleur looped her arms around Hermione's neck. Hermione immediately clung around Fleur's torso, wanting to be ever closer. They kissed. They were kissing. It was all so unbelievable.

Even more unbelievable was that they parted.

Everything took time to settle back in when their lips disconnected. The transition was hazy until it fully registered that Fleur's lips were no longer anywhere on Hermione.

They were still against each other, holding one another, a singular push away from being caught up in each other again.

"Did you enjoy it this time?" Hermione intoned.

Fleur responded with a laugh.

"I was doing all ze work..." she teased.

Hermione rolled her eyes.

A gentler smile graced Fleur's features as she pulled back an arm to smooth over Hermione's hair.

"À chaque instant... Yes, I enjoyed it," Fleur spoke softly, eyes running over Hermione's face. She nodded closer.

"Can we do this again?" There was no hiding how much Fleur had wanted it.

So badly, Hermione wished to continue too, but the reality was hitting her very obnoxiously. She was exhausted.

Her head tilted to the side, seeing that the common room emptied some time ago. Not another soul in sight. Probably long gone to bed. It was so far into the night that it was basically over. Nearly morning.

"I'm not sure I have anything left in me, love... I'm so tired," Hermione mumbled. Suddenly, her eyelids felt too heavy.

Fleur seemed to understand. She pressed a prolonged kiss on top of Hermione's matted hair.

"Then you may go to sleep now. I can wait."

"You leave in a week, right?" Hermione asked, feeling as if she were losing Fleur just as she was truly getting her. She didn't want sleep; she wanted Fleur. Sleep would waste their time.

"Do not worry about that now. Go to sleep," Fleur instructed as she pulled away from Hermione. Or tried to. The effort was there, but Hermione was having none of it.

Fleur sighed.

"Where is your bedroom?"

The idea interested Hermione.

"Would you come with me?" she pleaded, unashamed of it, "Sleep with me... Innocently. Just sleep. Don't go."

Fleur obliged. It was exactly what she wanted; to stay with Hermione. Only Hermione.

Fleur pulled her up from the alcove, held her up, and helped her where she directed.

Up these stairs, next door on the right, the only bed without the curtains drawn... Yes, the one beside the enormous pile of books. What did you expect?

Fleur saw to it that Hermione changed out from the clothing she wore that night. They were bloodier and torn more than Hermione realized, showing where and how bad the Death Eaters had gotten her.

Waiting at the other side of the bed for Hermione tell her when she could turn around, Fleur heard pained noises from the girl. A particularly loud muffled cry caused her to check.

Fully clothed as she was, Hermione was trying to climb into the bed not knowing whether to start with her bad leg or not.

Fleur shook her head and walked around to Hermione before hoisting the injured girl without asking or being asked.

Hermione latched onto Fleur as she was placed into bed, and did not let go once she was settled. Fleur was forced to follow in. Not that it bothered either of them.

For a minute, Fleur hovered above Hermione, taking in the proximity and the view. Both were wonderful.

A wand flourish brought the curtains closed and the covers over the both of them. Fleur arranged them so Hermione wouldn't have pressure on the bad leg.

Despite the prominent exhaustion poking at the both of them, they managed to stay up for a bit. They laid there in silence; not a word escaped either.

Hermione's nervousness at being so close to Fleur was dulled over in her excitement, her downright giddiness. The butterflies were ecstatic. She could hardly believe it was happening while it was happening.

Somehow, she managed to breathe and keep breathing until it evened out. Fleur waited for it.

The dark irises glazed over, as hard as they were trying to keep focus. Her heavy eyelids had finally shut.

Fleur drew her hand away from its hold around Hermione's waist, and ran it gently across Hermione's face, pushing back over her hair, the endearing mess that was. Everything about this moment made Fleur smile and smile more. It was a good feeling. She couldn't help it.