There are lots of ways to tell a story and I gave myself permission to tell you mine. Yes, that may sound cliché—but some clichés feel warm and constant, much like reading inside on a cloudy day.
So, here dear reader lies my story of love over time. Here I will give voice to what it felt like to have my love's hair draped over my chest —but I'm getting ahead of myself. Shall I start at the beginning? Maybe at just one of my beginnings —she and I had so many twist and turns, like one of those storms so powerful it had to be named so sailors could recall it and clank their glasses over their survival. But now I am rambling. So it goes with old people. Our minds are full of so many years and thoughts —but now it's time to batten down the hatches, to go back to a year of love starting. Because she wasn't always my love. She had to become that.
=0=0=0=
I hated Hogwarts—shallow as that may sound. People get confused at what is truly shallow. I know this because I was confused in the past. It was not what I saw, but what I always wanted to see that made me shallow. I only wanted to witness beauty. It took me too long to see the beauty of Britain, to appreciate the sun even through layers and layers of clouds. It did not take me long to see my love's beauty though —again I am ahead of myself.
Let me start again.
When I am silent, I can see one's true nature. I can look at a face and see one's character by the curl of their lips, by the arch of their eyebrows. So, when I silently stared at Hermione Granger this love story began.
=0=0=0=
"She's staring at me again!" Hermione complained as she reached towards her stack of books. "Since day one!" She added in a low mutter.
"Why does your voice sound like it does when a class you don't like is cancelled?" Harry replied, smiling.
The witch was flipping the pages of an overly large book before Harry's comment froze her in mid-thought. "What do you mean, Harry?"
Harry is very observant for someone that doesn't pay attention to most of his lessons. He recognized her confused tone from having a slight pleased feeling under her complaint.
"Nothing really. Could you help with my essay?" It was a classic redirection of attention, but it worked—Hermione had a weak spot for correcting Harry's writing.
"Well, since you barely know how to use prepositions—okay."
=0=0=0=
If you can imagine the most enthralling eyes and the most beautiful laugh line, so perfectly placed at the corner of a mouth, you would understand why I could not stop my staring. All of her expressions showed me who she was. I enjoyed them so much so that it was sometimes overwhelming to see Hermione's beauty over breakfast or in other mundane places like hallways and in front of chilly classrooms. Yes, this was back when I thought most things were mundane. I think young people cannot see the beauty in the steam rising from a hot meal or in the many sounds of life occurring—especially when there is magic to fill their senses. Magic filled my veela bones and mind. I wanted to excel at it, and so I did. Those early days at Hogwarts all I did was think about magic and Hermione—until I had to think about dragons…
Yes, dragons. Facing a dragon made my heart race. My heart must have opened in beating that fast. That may be the reason I was brave enough to finally seek the one that was already with me in my mind every day.
=0=0=0=
"Hermione Granger." Fleur's eyes may have looked wild in their focusing on Hermione. She wasn't sure.
"What?"
The witch's eyebrows reached so far down that Fleur could barely see the pupils of her eyes.
The veela thought it was a simple enough statement to say. But the witch's reaction to her was very strong. Fleur was still covered in grime from the First Task. She pondered if that was why—admittedly, she didn't look her best.
"Will you attend the Yule Ball with me?" Fleur asked.
"What. Is. The. Yule Ball?" Hermione replied sternly.
Hermione's annunciation confused Fleur, but she answered her question anyway. "Madame Maxime told me there would be a ball and that I would need to be accompanied by a date," Fleur replied.
Fleur was not nervous. No one had ever rejected her before. Even witnessing Hermione's angry face didn't dismay the veela. She already knew she liked Hermione's nature—she had seen enough to know that it was volatile at times.
"Fleur Delacour, who are you?" Hermione yelled.
"Why do your questions not sound like questions? Is this an English trait?"
"Well, you should ask someone to the ball that isn't English I guess."
And with that, Hermione turned around and walked quickly away, leaving a disappointed yet un-surrendering veela behind. Lucky for Fleur, she was so unaccustomed to rejection that it barely registered in her mind.