NOTE: I have decided to write in Fleur's accent now (and changed the previous chapters for continuity) because it was kind of bugging me that I wasn't and having a French lecturer for one of my courses at uni really helps to nail the accent a little more accurately, haha. But seriously, I've been re-reading HBP for you guys (and taking a lot of notes) to make things more accurate/canon and decided to give it a go. Plus I'm already writing in the cadence of others like Isaac so it feels like I'm cheating Fleur if I don't write hers. She'd never forgive me.

Anonymous reviews:

Guest– Thanks for the comments! I'm really glad you're enjoying my storyline and take on the characters. And don't worry, I heard your opinion loud and clear *salutes*

KatiriaM – I'm really glad you told me your worries about the potential Remus/Tonks stuff. I will not have them in a relationship before Remus and Hermione start their 'interactions' *cough-cough* Haha, but really, it wasn't until the end of the year, after Dumbledore died and Tonks yelled Remus's ear off, that they even began to get together (before getting married a couple of months later – a bit rushed but hey, their choice). I'm not really a fan of the love triangle myself, where the person stuck in the middle has relations with both people while convinced they can't possibly choose or it's too hard for them (blah -.-), but there will be a love triangle element in the future. It adds to the complexity and drama, right?

Harry released the breath he'd been holding and slowly shook his head. He couldn't move from where he watched the tryouts in the air, his broom hovering high above the ground. He watched as his redheaded friend lingered in the air for a moment before he very slowly followed the quaffle's previous path to the grass. Harry grit his teeth as he watched Cormac McLaggen far below them cheer and shake his fist in the air. He could see the ginger dot of Ginny's hair as she threw her broom to the ground and made her way over to her brother.

Ron had already begun walking from the pitch.

Harry sped to the ground as fast as he could, bypassing his new team as they called out for him, to follow his best friend back towards the castle.

He'd had such high hopes when Ron had followed McLaggen's perfect five-catch tryout with a successful five saves too. The tie-breaker had been nail-biting as the new chasers sped towards each of the competitors. McLaggen had successfully caught his quaffle and thrown it back with disgusting ease. It had all fallen down to Ron as the chasers took their positions against him. They'd flown fast, blurs in the sky, before Demelza Robins had shot forward to challenge Ron. Time had slowed as Harry watched the quaffle spin, round and round, as it gradually made its way towards the centre goal. Ron had stretched forward and spread his fingers, ready to intercept. The wind had blown his orange fringe back from his pale yet determined face as though removing anything that could impede his catch. Harry had held his breath, tense on his broom as his arms readied themselves to punch the air in victory, before Ron had fumbled the catch and dropped the ball all the way to the ground. Stopping the goal didn't matter when the opposing keeper had successfully put the ball back into play.

Now Harry chased after his friends as they walked away from the pitch. His face grew distraught as he imagined the beating Ron was giving himself. He'd failed, that was for sure, but the toll this would take on his self-esteem was something Harry could only dread.

And now he had to deal with Cormac McLaggen as Gryffindor's new Quidditch Keeper, too.

Fleur sighed into her bowl of coffee. She glanced across the table at Hermione again, only to frown once more at her gloomy expression. Attempts at conversation had so far proved futile. It seemed as though the new Veela wanted nothing more than to sit and wallow in her own misery. Fleur continued to watch as the younger woman picked at her croissant, blue eyes vacant and blind to the world around her. Fleur's expression became concerned. It was not in her nature to sit idly by. Fleur liked to move, she liked to do things and feel useful. She was not feeling useful as she sat in a silent apartment and ate a breakfast that was steadily becoming cold.

"'Ermione," Fleur smoothed her expression into a serene smile, her eyes sparkling as her companion glanced up at her, "is zere anything you wish to do today in particular?"

Hermione frowned. "No," her response was a monotone before she looked back down at her mutilated pastry.

"Eez breakfast not to your liking?" she persisted, unwilling to give up.

"It's fine Fleur, thanks," Hermione responded, her jaw clenching in obvious frustration.

Fleur frowned again, watching as Hermione breathed harshly through her nose once before calming. Pursing her lips, Fleur felt irritation start to claw its way up her throat before she suppressed it with a calming breath. No, it was not Hermione's fault that she was forced to come here and no, Fleur shouldn't expect them to be bosom buddies immediately, but the lack of communication was beginning to drive the Frenchwoman mad. Admittedly it had only been one night and this morning, but politeness dictated there should at least be basic conversation, didn't it? Fleur stopped to take another sip of her coffee and relished the warmth sliding down her throat. Patience was necessary when dealing with maturing Veela and patient she would be. It was an extreme circumstance that the young woman before her found herself in, anyway. The idea of an entirely unprepared and ignorant sixteen year old about to become a Veela was a foreign and unappealing concept to her. So much pressure was already on the young shoulders sitting across from her regarding Voldemort and the amount of study she knew the Gryffindor did. So yes, Fleur admitted she was being irrational, but she was part-Veela so it was to be somewhat expected.

"I 'ope you do not mind if I leave you for a few 'ours today, 'Ermione," Fleur interrupted their silence, putting down her beverage to smile easily at Hermione, no hint of her inner thoughts showing on her stunning face.

"No, I don't mind," she responded, looking up longer now to make eye contact. The clear sharpness in her azure eyes made Fleur smile more charmingly in a reflex action.

"Good, I am pleased to 'ear zat," Fleur smiled again. "Are you done with zis?" she asked, gesturing to the half-full plate in front of her guest.

"Oh, yes," Hermione agreed, leaning back from the table to observe as Fleur arranged both their plates and bowls in a stack before depositing them in the sink and waving her wand to wash them. "When will you be going?" Hermione continued.

Facing away from Hermione where she couldn't see her face, Fleur's polite smile became charged with slight excitement as Hermione engaged her in conversation. Calming her expression, Fleur turned around to respond.

"I want to be back for you quickly, so ze sooner ze better, isn't zat right?" she smiled amusedly.

"I appreciate what you're doing for me, Fleur, but I don't need a babysitter," Hermione glared up at her suddenly.

"No, silly girl, zat is not what I meant," Fleur attempted to sooth her, smiling kindly again. "I meant zat I will miss you too much if I stay out too long. I want to know you, 'Ermione. Zat means conversing with you. I meant no disrespect," she placated effectively and watching as Hermione's stiff posture relaxed. "I will go as soon as I am ready and will be back before lunch. Will zat suit you?"

"That's fine," Hermione responded.

True to her word, Fleur had left within the hour and apparated her way to Diagon Alley, a container full of lunch in her hands. Stepping into the street she ignored those around her as she made a beeline for the bank. It was a Saturday but she knew Bill had work to finish and that he'd be in today. With an eager smile on her face, Fleur stepped through into Gringotts and towards the back and her fiancé's office.

"Fleur!" he exclaimed, looking up from his desk as his door opened, expecting Bludgrin his supervisor only to be pleasantly surprised by his future wife.

"Bonjour, mon amour," Fleur greeted him throatily, stepping around his desk and between his legs to give him a firm kiss on the mouth. Bill's arms wound around her as they kissed before they both pulled away at the same time. "I 'ave brought you lunch," Fleur declared happily, clearing the desk space in front of Bill to place what was now apparent as a lunchbox before him.

Bill raised his eyebrows and asked, "Shouldn't you be with Hermione right now?"

"She is a Veela, not a puppy, Bill," Fleur told him sternly, smoothing down his long hair absentmindedly.

Bill chuckled but responded. "I get that, but you told me that new Veela are volatile. Are you sure it's wise to leave her alone right now, after everything that she's been through?"

"'Onestly, Bill, I theenk it is best for 'er right now to be alone," Fleur shrugged delicately, her lips frowning attractively as she became introspective, turning to perch smoothly on Bill's knee, his right arm coming around her waist automatically. "She only slept on these new developments again last night. She needs more time. If only she 'ad been prepared more! Even a month in advance, at least, to become accustomed to it all. Who was ze idiot to think up this plan, eh?" Fleur became impassioned, thinking about the disadvantageous position her new housemate was in.

"Hermione must be feeling like she's at loose ends right now," Bill agreed, only to glance up at his future bride as she turned confused blue eyes on him.

"What does 'at loose ends' mean, Bill?" she enquired.

Bill was still chuckling when Fleur left his office some time later, which caused Fleur to pretend to be offended and take advantage of the kisses he tried to give her in repentance. She was still smiling as she passed down the main street of Diagon Alley and in a high mood. Movement from her left caught Fleur's attention and she paused to admire her reflection in the window. Her smile lit up her face and the faint silvery glow made more prominent by the sunlight had her hair shining brightly and her eyes sparkling, too. Fleur knew she was beautiful, but it never hurt to look.

"Hey there, beautiful," said the man stepping close to her, who chose to lean against the wall beside her. "You having a busy day?" he asked, his gaze making her uncomfortable as he surveyed her.

"Je ne parle pas Anglais," Fleur smiled at him, turning away.

"Don't be like that!" he called, stepping after her and touching her arm.

Fleur whipped around and glared at him so furiously that he took a step back in shock.

"Allez-vous en," she spat at him, her expression as haughty as she'd only ever seen her grandmother's. Fleur gave him one last glare as she looked down her nose at him before she turned around and walked briskly away.

"Men," Fleur muttered disdainfully in French, walking away from the lewd man. She raised her chin and straightened her back even more as she strode over the cobblestones, a picture of perfection like she knew she was. Her mood had plummeted after running into that man. She knew what it would have escalated to had she chosen the polite route instead. She'd tried that way in the past and knew the pestering that would ensue if she gave them even a little leash. Her Bill was so different to those men; it was why she loved him so much. In every way he was perfect. Fleur sighed as she slowed her pace slightly, her eyes seeking a distraction for her mind. She didn't want to return home in a frustrated mood. That kind of environment for Hermione would only be detrimental to her development. No, it was best she calm herself first, perhaps with a pastry.

Fleur was in the process of seeking out a pastry shop when she passed Flourish and Blotts. A slow smile spread itself across her face as she thought of an idea, the perfect way to relax Hermione some more.

Fleur stepped into the bookshop, her eyes glowing with delight.

The commotion from downstairs was making Remus's head hurt. A new werewolf had come to their den – that much he knew – but, if it was this man that was responsible for all the noise, Remus was going to support the next person to suggest he leave. The sudden sound of breaking glass made Remus shoot up from his reclined position on the bed, a concerned frown on his face at the escalating violence. The next sound of what seemed alarmingly like something – or someone – getting thrown through a wall ensured Remus was up and walking towards his door, wand in hand. Far from uncommon, violence within the den was to be expected. This time, however, something felt different.

Making his way down the stairs, Remus saw another werewolf making his way up them.

"What's going on down there?" Remus stopped on the stair equal to his housemate and waited for an answer.

The werewolf shrugged.

"Some guy beating the shit out of Durvy. S'all I know. Taking a bit too much pleasure from it, though. I thought I'd get out of there before he turned on me."

Remus frowned and stormed past him, reaching the bottom of the stairs and following the much louder noises to one of the rooms they used as a common area.

Stepping into the room, Remus immediately spotted the cause of the ruckus. Durvy was attempting to crawl away from the looming, larger werewolf as fast as he could. The younger man had a bloody, gushing nose and split lip, swelling was beginning to occur on his body, and bruises were already forming clearly on his face. Every stretch of his torso made Durvy whine pitifully, indicating to Remus that he'd at least had them bruised if not broken. The young man's usually dirty clothes were now also ripped and blood-stained, and he appeared to have lost a shoe.

"That's enough!" Remus told them, stepping forward. The surrounding werewolves watching the fight all turned to look at him. Some lowered their eyes in shame for their passive behaviour, others glanced between Remus and the scuffle nervously, while Isaac himself, half-hidden behind a cluster of men as he watched the fight, widened his eyes.

The man that turned to face Remus was taller than he was, though not by much at all. He was, however, clearly stronger and better fed. Durvy was ignored as he crawled away from the centre of the crowd, scuttling between the legs of those that had begun to shuffle nervously amongst themselves. Remus couldn't help but feel he'd made a mistake as the other man bared his teeth at him and stepped forward, easily intimidating him. Remus grit his teeth, however, and told himself to think of his friends and what they would do in this situation. If he could even be a tenth of the people they were, and had been, he knew he would be a better man already. Still, the werewolf walking towards him seemed to take up more and more space the closer he loomed.

The last thing Remus saw before he was knocked out was Isaac shifting back into the crowd, an uncomfortable look on his face.

And the first thing Remus saw when he next woke up was Isaac looking over him with that same uncomfortable look on his face.

"Isaac," Remus growled before he'd even properly opened his eyes.

Isaac jumped back from him a little, taking with him the damp cloth he'd been using to wipe clean Remus's face of blood.

"Easy, mate, you're back in ya room now," he reassured him, not meeting his eyes.

Remus groaned as he – very slowly and painfully – sat himself up.

"Isaac, what happened down there?" he huffed as he adjusted himself, wincing and grabbing his ribs. "What happened?" he asked again incredulously, feeling tender everywhere.

"Uhhh," Isaac began, avoiding eye contact once more, "after Jeff knocked ya out, he came down on you and beat ya some more," he told him uneasily.

"What? But I was already down," Remus snapped, wincing again and attempting to control his agitation.

"Yeah, don't matter to 'im. He's tryin' to assert 'imself as top dog, inne? Bit of a sadistic prick if ya ask me," Isaac muttered, leaning forward to pass Remus the cloth so he could continue cleaning himself. Remus watched as Isaac stood up and walked away to retrieve his wand and return it to him. "You lost that when he knocked ya down, mate," he said.

"Thanks," Remus muttered, frowning again, this time in confusion. "How did he knock me down so fast?"

"Fast right hook, is all," Isaac shrugged. "It's Durvy that he was really goin' for. Poor kid made some smart-arsed joke about the big fella try'na compensate for som'n wif 'is size. Kid lost 'is front teeth for that."

"Why were you all just standing there?" Remus asked, hissing as the cloth scratched the fresh cuts on his face.

"Lemme wash that again," Isaac muttered, shifting forward to take the bloody rag and rinse it in the bucket of water by the side of the bed. "Here," he said after wringing most of the blood out of it, "that's better."

"Ugh, thanks," Remus expressed his gratitude, gingerly putting the cloth back in place. "So his name's Jeff. That's nice," Remus muttered sarcastically, breathing hard as the bloody water dripped down his face. "How long is he staying here, then?" he asked, somewhat nervous.

Isaac cringed.

"I, ah, I dunno. No one was in a real conversation-y mood after your performance down there," he said, slumping against the wall by the bed, no chair available in the Spartan-like room.

Remus grumbled about his choice of words for a moment before wincing again as he sat up straighter.

"So no one's going to say anything about his behaviour down there, are they?" he asked rhetorically. Isaac answered him anyway.

"Who'd want to? Are you gonna have another go at 'im anytime soon?" he asked incredulously.

Remus grit his teeth together and looked away from him. He felt the pain all over his body, the tenderness caused by the newcomer. The stinging of his cuts and bruises made his head spin. This wouldn't have kept James down, or Sirius for that matter, and Harry would have shot straight back out of the room after his assailant, his friends at his back. But they were all better people than he could ever hope to be. He wasn't James with his never-ending good humour, and he wasn't Sirius with his infallibly cocksure attitude. He didn't have Harry's bravery, or the loyalty of his friends. He was a lonely old disappointment, and that was all he'd ever be.

"I suppose not," he muttered, turning his face away.

Andrei Ognyanov sat still, gently stroking the photograph he kept hidden constantly. His beautiful wife stood smiling back at him. The moving photograph showed her eyes sparkling like diamonds and her long hair blowing gently in the breeze he knew was present that summer's day at the park. Most of all, though, he gazed at the picture of his little baby girl curled in her mother's arms and giggling at the camera, her chubby fingers grabbing for the device.

The matured Veela stared intently at the outdated image of his happy little daughter, wondering how the years had changed her. Did she still smile and laugh as much as he remembered? Did she still pout at the sight of carrots and dogs? Did she still have an overwhelming curiosity for everything under the sun and then that beyond it? Did her eyes still sparkle like the stars on a cloudless night, her smile brighter than the moon?

Andrei's eyebrows fell as he became overwhelmingly sad. It had been her birthday less than a week ago, her seventeenth birthday. That meant she would now know about her mother, her past, her family, and him. The thought of Hermione finally learning of his existence made Andrei inexplicably nervous. He didn't know if it was right, or normal, to feel such fear at the thought of yet another person learning of his existence, but it meant so much. He didn't know how she would react to learning about him, or her mother, or everything else that they'd been embroiled in since before she was born. She had been safe in Britain these last sixteen years, though; that was the thought that kept him sane during that time. She was safe there, she had to be. Everything they'd done had been to keep her safe and happy and protected. He only wished her mother could be that way as well.

Andrei's eyes passed back to his beloved wife and his depression increased. How long since he had seen her too? It felt like decades since he had seen them both, seen them smiling together as they did things as a family. They were supposed to be a family but politics, terrorism, and continental vulnerability had separated them. If he and Aphrodisia had to be alienated from their daughter at least they had each other, but then more had changed and their favour was claimed, and, barely five years after the separation from their daughter, their family was divided again. Andrei knew he would honour his promise to Albus Dumbledore, the exchange for his daughter's asylum, but it still exhausted him. He was so lonely – he had no allies here. He knew his wife had her family in Greece, yet he didn't know who Hermione had.

Did she have many friends? Did she have a love interest? Was she popular, was she shy? Did she do well in class or perhaps play sports? What were her hobbies, her favourite foods? Was she polite or was she loud? Did she know that he loved her more than his own life, more than words could permit him to express? She'd always been a daddy's girl when she was a baby. He wondered if she was happy now, if she would ever accept him.

If he ever saw her again, that was.

Andrei's face hardened at the thought and he put the photograph away. Rasputin himself could not stop him from getting back to his wife and daughter, even if it would take him more time yet. He had a job to do, a mission, something that would keep them safe when he was successful. It was his duty to protect them, his precious diamond and his shining star, the loves of his life.

His girls.

Real quick! Yes, the French do have their coffee in bowls, as the Chinese will also have milk (for example) in theirs. Personal experience, buahaha.

First of all, I am incredibly sorry that it has been so long (just over two months, in fact). Yes, my China volunteer trip was awesome and no, I didn't have time to write, only note-take (which I did a lot of for you, I promise). But coming back to Australia and trying to integrate back in and catch up on all the university I missed, and getting sick (again), has made it a bit hard to write for you. I wanted to have the chapter up on the 15/08 as a birthday present of mine to you, but I failed at that as well. Buuut here I am, back again, and hoping to get back in your good graces. How can I continue to do that, you ask? Well, this is a longer-than-average chapter for starters, but also by bringing in the earlier meeting of Hermione and Remus, of course! *crowd cheers* Yes, yes, I know, but I do want to reassure those of you who were happy with the original timeline; this romance will not be rushed. I hope that comforts you a little bit. As you'll come to see, my Veela and Werewolves are different to the type you'd typically find in this kind of story (an original take, if I dare be so bold to say it). I hope you still enjoy this, though! Oh, and I hope the date went well, Drowninginallmyfandoms ;)