Disclaimer: JK Rowling owns the very basis of the world that this AU is based off of, her various characters and concepts, as well as my eternal gratitude for this massive sandbox we get to play in.

« As per usual, italicized and within guillemets is dialogue written out in english but intended to be understood as the characters speaking french. »

"Regular ol' English dialogue, or the occasional French phrase slipped."

'Italicized and in between apostrophes is thoughts.'

In spite of the rocky first week, Fleur Delacour's time at Hogwarts had been wonderful thus far. While she still wasn't a fan of the heavy English cuisine often served in the Great Hall, the conversations with the local students during meals easily made up for it. Her classes allowed her to prove herself to the professors and students at the school, many of which were skeptical that such a pretty face could be a true competitor in the tournament. And her absolute favorite part of this year so far?

Sa Petite Feu. Her lovely little spitfire, Hermione Granger.

At first, her near obsessive need to be next to the girl could almost entirely be blamed on a physical need created by her diluted Veela instincts. As she buried her face in riotous curls, it was like she sat before the bonfires her clan would erect during the summer nights when gathered together. It was a warmth that reminded her less of an escape from the ever present Scottish cold and more like the comforts and safety of home . But it wasn't long before Fleur learned that Hermione Granger didn't just physically burn like a furnace, but she had a personality to match the fiery aura she naturally exuded. Debates were a common occurrence between the two, and the blonde learned very early on that the resident Gryffindor genius embodied her house in many ways but especially when she argued her points as fiercely as a lioness defended her cubs. It did not matter that Hermione had three less years of school than Fleur, the younger girl proved her brilliance over and over again.

And the brunette even did it with references and citations to the exact book and page numbers! The proud witch chafed at how often she lost ground against her British opponent in their verbal spars. Her inner bookworm on the other hand swooned .

It had only been a week, and they were far from an established relationship. But the spark was there, the forge had been lit, and the beginnings of something amazing between the two was surely in the works. Fleur was sure of this.

So if her graceful strut through the castle resembled more of a giddy skip, then that was just one more embarrassing blow to her image destined for the pyre. Not that any of the black robed students could tell the difference, with many of those that ogled her on a daily basis too busy with the drool that seeped out of their open maws to really notice the difference in order to judge her lapse in decorum.

Her year mates on the other hand had long since developed an immunity to her creature inherited wiles. Thus they had little issue voicing their amusement in regards to her behavior.

« Ah, the Beauxbatons Triwizard Champion, everyone! Be amazed by her overwhelming ability to make us vomit due to how nauseatingly enamored she is. » Antoine's shit-eating grin only survived by virtue of his fast reflexes; the suit of armor to the left him on the other hand managed to look indignant even in its new bright pink hexed state. Fleur murmured an apology and a counter spell to the enchanted metal as their mutual friend Giselle giggled at her fellow students in blue silk.

« You must admit, Fleur, that you've been quite giddy as of late. » Fleur's glare transitioned to a pout once she realized that her two friends were committed in their intent to needle her. « Oh, don't give me that look. There's certainly nothing wrong with your infatuation. It's just interesting to see how… » The red head paused for a moment to contemplate her delivery. Unfortunately, Antoine chose that moment to aid her.

« How love has brought the ice queen low! » The french wizard didn't even flinch as the set of magnificent antlers established themselves upon his crown of amber locks. The subject of his teasing nonchalantly put away her wand and raised an unimpressed eyebrow at both her companions.

« You're both being ridiculous. Hermione and I have only known each other a week! As of yet there is no 'love' to speak of. » Love for a Veela, even one with diluted blood, could be likened to that of an inferno. What they had was still a spark in her eyes. ' But all fires began with but a few sparks.' Fleur flipped her hair and continued their trek to their next class, but her hopes that they would drop the subject were dashed as Giselle caught up to her with a wicked twinkle in her eye.

« 'As of yet' she says. Which means that you have an end game in mind. »

Antoine snorted from Fleur's other side as he simultaneously walked and examined his new headpieces in a hastily transfigured hand mirror. « Please! She guards that girl's attention like a male Ostrich does its territory. »

« Seriously? An Ostrich? » The part-Veela rolled her eyes at the wizard's ridiculousness.

« Yes, ferociously and with a stick so far up its ass that it'll think itself capable of flight. »

Luck was fortunately on the trio's side that moment because the corridor was notably empty, and thus no one was made witness to the French champion as she attempted to strangle her fellow student with his own cravat. Without magic.

It was also fortunate that the third member of their party had dealt with the antics of the other two for years, and was quick to separate them before one of the idiots finally succeeded in murder.

« As I was saying! » Antoine gasped out as he straightened out his uniform, minus the traitorous cravat of course. He even dusted off the still present antlers. « Our beautiful, yet insane, champion has been glued to that English witch's side at every permissible moment since their initial meeting. While known for her homicidal tendencies, » He nimbly dodged the blonde in question's swipe at the convenient handholds on his head. « Fleur is not so crass as to play with a young maiden's heart. »

« No, what I sense is the beginnings of a passion filled romance so intense that all the lovers in Paris would cry with joy and envy! » Antoine's voice suddenly echoed through the empty corridor, his cadence reflected by the intensity of his pose as he dramatically pointed at one half of the aforementioned 'passion filled romance.'

The sound of the applause from the nearby group portrait of various busy body Victorian women was only matched by the sound of Fleur's palm as it slapped against her forehead. Giselle murmured ancient meditative breathing techniques beside her, whether it was for herself or for the blonde remained to be seen. The theatrical wizard bowed before his impromptu painted audience and continued on as if his two compatriots didn't regret their several years of friendship with him.

« Besides, with how often you attempted to fuse yourself to the witch and she hasn't hexed your face in? You'd have to piss off Aphrodite herself to ruin your odds of love! »

Before Fleur could retort in some way, a bird darted in front of the trio. Or at least, at first glance it looked like a small songbird of some sort. Upon closer inspection, the animated figure was an intricately folded piece of parchment magicked to fly on its own. It was common to see these origami birds fly to and from classrooms and offices in Beauxbatons as they ferried letters and messages from within the campus. As there was only one staff member present from their respective school, Fleur curiously allowed the bird to unfold on her palm so she could see just what Madame Maxime wanted.

One beat, then a second, which soon turned to a whole minute as the three read and then fully comprehended the letter in their champion's hands. Eventually, the lone wizard of the three turned to Fleur and grimaced.

« So, what are the chances that in a past life you kicked Aphrodite's dog or something? »

The part-Veela groaned and buried her face in her hands.

« Shut up, Antoine. »

-o0o-

With the way that Fleur's giddy skip turned into a sullen trudge through the castle, one would think that the letter from the headmistress relayed some sort of terrible news, such as a death in the family or a message that informed of some severe academic failings.

No, instead it was a memo that let them know that their order of new cloaks had arrived all the way from France and they were to pick them up immediately .

Fleur had never felt such extreme, mixed feelings about an article of clothing before. On one hand, the crick in her wrist from the numerous and unending warming spells would finally get a chance to heal. The ludicrous amount of permanent charms layered within the fabrics of the piece made it so that not only did the scottish chill become a thing of the past, but it was resistant to wear, tear, and spell damage. And most importantly it was impervious to any charms, hexes, and curses that would alter its color in any way.

It was warmth and comfort tied together in a wonderfully stylish package.

Fleur hated it.

Or at least, the part-Veela decided she hated it the moment she went to visit (ie: ambush with the intent to cuddle) her favorite curly haired witch in their usual spot in the library. The plan had been to sweep the girl into her arms and then distract her with a continuation of their fierce debate over the use of platinum ink versus bronze ink in alchemical based wards.

Either way, Fleur would have won because regardless of what side she chose to fight for, she'd have the brunette in her arms.

Except, that's not how it turned out at all. Instead, Hermione took one look at the cloak adorned on the blonde and then proceeded to maintain a minimum of four and a half feet of space between the two. Over the course of the week that the two had gotten to know each other, Fleur had come to understand that Hermione hated anything that generated more heat than absolutely necessary. Extra layers of clothing, the fire places that kept the castle warm and cozy, and shared body heat were just a few of the things that the walking human furnace hated more than anything else.

Fleur had gotten away with such close contact in the past because she naturally ran cold . Her mixed heritage had robbed her of the ability to counteract that lower body temperature with magically generated balls of fire. This also meant that the blonde siphoned warmth from other sources at an accelerated rate, which also meant that Hermione had no previous qualms in regards to the other girl's closeness.

Until that damned cloak came in. No matter what Fleur tried, she could not get close to the other witch. She had even taken off the offensive article of clothing prior to their meeting, only to find that the damned thing had been charmed to leave behind residual heat for over an hour even after she had divested it. Her planned debate-turned-cuddle-time ended up more like a not-so-subtle game of cat and mouse disguised as a study session. And the worst part was that her own time was limited thanks to Madame Maxime's insistence on non-negotiable extra classes she had to take in addition to her current workload at Hogwarts. Just because everyone else in the contingent was welcome to join, did not mean that it wasn't an obvious loophole used to circumvent the anti-cheat rulings within the tournament's system. So an hour after she was deprived of any and all snuggles with her intended target, she had to leave for the carriage.

The bottom line was the world evidently hated the half-Veela. In fact, she was convinced that unknown forces doubtlessly schemed to destroy any and all things that could make her happy on this plane of existence until Fleur Delacour was nothing more than an empty husk of her former self.

« Is she attempting to be more extra than me? Giselle, I'm feeling attacked! »

Oh and her friends were clearly unsupportive in the face of her dilemma.

« Oh, hush Antoine. Fleur is simply having an episode. Give her a few minutes and she'll be alright and back to sassing you again. »

« Oh, I don't know. She literally just did a monologue about evil winter wear and how it clearly interfered in her pursuit of her nerd crush. » The french wizard pointed his fork in accusation at the aforementioned blonde. « Seriously? Debates over ink in archaic ward placements? Turn in your blonde card, your flirting is nearing three digit IQ territory! »

Fleur briefly glanced up from her perfectly splayed dramatic pose upon the top of the Ravenclaw table to glare heatedly at her friend. Unfortunately, she hadn't mastered wandless combustion through eyesight alone, so she opted to change the wizard's hair to a putrid green that clashed with the accessories he insisted upon the antlers that he still refused to spell away. The man feared colors that clashed more than charred flesh anyway.

"Miss Delacour, this isn't a muggle arts class! Remove yourself from the top of the table immediately and sit yourself like a civilized witch." The familiar Scottish brogue interrupted the miniature french episode at the Ravenclaw table as the three seventh year students smiled sheepishly at the deputy headmistress. Fleur reluctantly lowered herself to a spot on the bench next to Antoine, and soon watched as the space that she had previously occupied was then taken up by several dinner dishes identical to many that had already littered other parts of the long table.

After another reminder to behave themselves, Professor Mcgonagall quietly eyed the bedazzled spikes upon the french wizard's head before she turned and walked away towards the staff table with a few muttered words about 'teenagers' and 'odd fashion statements.' Giselle pointedly ignored the audible amusement from the rest of the Great Hall and slipped instantly back to french.

« Seriously, Fleur, why is it such a big deal? You and Hermione are clearly still talking and hanging out. The only difference is that you're not stuck so close to her that a niffler could not slip between you two. » The redhead scrutinized the other girl as she inquired about this. In spite of Fleur's earlier denials, Giselle could tell that her friend really was quite smitten with the British witch. Or at least, was well on her way to such. And as far as she could tell, the curly haired Gryffindor seemed to reciprocate. A minor setback in physical affection should not have caused the blonde witch to sulk like this. While it was true that the part-Veela could be over-dramatic at times, the other girl was normally far more sensible. There was a reason that Fleur had been chosen by the Goblet of Fire to represent Beauxbatons, but irrationality certainly wasn't it.

Antoine nearly spat out his food in excitement as an idea came to him.

« Sweet Circe, is this some obscure Veela mating ritual?! » The two french witches stared at their friend for a moment before they both simultaneously dispelled the horns on his head. They ignored the anguished cries of despair from the over dramatic fool that sat between them and nonchalantly continued their conversation.

« Honestly Giselle, I'm… actually not too sure. » Fleur picked apart a dinner roll while she thought over exactly why she was upset about the situation. As of today, she and Hermione had only really gotten to know each other for a little over a week now. And even then it was through stolen moments between classes, or during their designated study sessions in the library. And originally she could blame the necessity of being glued to the brunette's side during the entirety of meal times as some leftover instinctive reaction to the fuck-off-cold .

Until swiftly it wasn't.

Suddenly, it was less about the need for warmth and more about the slight rumble of amusement that was so easy to miss if she wasn't so close to the tiny body that the well hidden laughter originated from. It was the subtle hint of ink mixed with honeysuckle that wafted from riotous curls because deft hands often fidgeted with the untameable locks while in the midst of an arduous essay. It was the flecks of gold hidden in hazel eyes that glittered brightest when paired with a victorious smile after a point was proven in their favor during a fierce debate.

A cloak could provide warmth, but it couldn't replace the little things that made being close to Hermione so worth it in the end.

Their time together has thus far been brief, but already one evening without the other girl in her arms had already left the part-Veela greatly disgruntled. It's not like she wasn't capable of flirting across the table from Hermione. Their budding relationship was more than just a physical need to hold the younger witch in her arms. They had proved time and time again that conversation between the two was no hardship to endure. It just seemed… empty, without the addition of the Gryffindor's body flush against her own. In spite of what everyone initially thought of her due to her looks, Fleur was not this needy! It was an irrationality that left her confused and irritated, but mostly with herself. What was wrong with her?

The thunk that resounded as the blonde's head hit the table was impressive when one considered the present noise levels in the Great Hall. The volume was only rivaled by the groan of despair that soon followed.

« Hormones suck. » The other witch rolled her eyes at Fleur's continued theatrics.

« I suppose you could just stop wearing the cloak but… »

« After the fit I threw when we were told about the delay in delivery? Champion or not, Madame would have my head after she worked so hard to have the tailors expedite them. » As Fleur admitted this, she simultaneously checked that the rest of the Beauxbatons contingent was still largely situated on the other end of the Ravenclaw table. The group had been quick to pretend they didn't know the trio of misfits as soon as their champion decided to channel her inner thespian in the throes of an overly dramatic death scene upon their supper table. No reason to let them know that Fleur had actually regretted her previous tantrum, after all.

Antoine chose that moment to jump back into the conversation, his mental eulogy for his lost head accessories finally finished and quickly forgotten as he threw his personal two-cents in. « Well, unless something changes, your personal fireball isn't letting you near her. I vote that we transfigure Fleur into an Erumpent. »

« Why an Erumpent? » The mirth in Giselle's eyes belied the serious look of curiosity on her face. Fleur could only wince in anticipation.

« They're explosively violent and have the most ridiculous mating dance one can think of. So basically it's Fleur but with a more adorable wobble when they walk. Hermione would love it! »

The squawk of indignation caused many at the eagles' table to jump in their seats, but the banter that ensued in the foreign tongue made sure that any interested party was sure to tune out soon after. The trio was so sure of the ignorance of their neighbors that they missed the pair of cognizant eyes that had remained focused on them from the beginning of the meal.

Alright! Here's the second installment in the "Heated Charms" universe. Many who commented on the first story wondered what would happen once those replacement cloaks came in. Well here we go! This one is more of a two-shot instead of a one-shot. I'll hopefully get the second one out soon!

And if anyone's wondering why there's a severe lack of Hermione in this (or at least, a direct scene with her in it) is because the entire second half will follow our favorite Gryffindor furnace.

Thank you again to everyone who followed, favorited, and commented on the first story. It was all that love and support that got me working on this. Thank you!