A/N: This one is a bit weird. Lots of things going on.

I'd like to thank everyone for the suggestions, pointers, corrections, and criticism in general. There's a lot that slips through, even more so with long chapters, and I'm grateful when it's brought to my attention.

Chapter 12.

A full ten seconds of quiet stillness is exactly what you needed, and you're grateful Yvonne made no attempt to interrupt that. The blonde is simply standing close by, waiting for you to acknowledge her presence, and probably for signs that you look more whole than you'd been when you left.

The dungeons are a place that causes her some kind of intense agony - Yvonne was quite specific about it - so as soon as your mind and emotions slow down to an easier pace, you turn to look at her.

One glance is enough. All the validation she'd wanted is plain in your expression. The blonde nods, and then she's directing you away, strictly under her surveillance.

The best option at hand is to yield, and that's exactly what you do. There are no thoughts wasted on the scanty lighting, this sinister silence, or how the temperature just plummeted below the minimum levels that should be deemed comfortable. Your single goal now is to tag along, trusting she'll take you far from that classroom.

It's still early when you step into the Entrance Hall and take a deep, cleansing breath. The large chamber is empty, except for a tall silvery ghost, floating by himself while yodeling an unorthodox variation of a Christmas carol. He goes through a wall before you can identify him, and then you start to look around again, trying to find a spot that holds your interest.

You notice the Ravenclaw frowning and glancing at you on occasion through the corner of your eye, which means the prospect of being left alone is most likely nonexistent.

A bothered sigh parts from your lips.

In complete honesty, you've been sufficiently analyzed for one day already. You wish you could just forget about Potions and Slytherins until next week. This short break until dinner should be spent on an entertainment as harmless as watching the slow sway of the Grand Staircase.

But the blonde is of a different mind. She chooses a spot away from the Great Hall to stop and face you, her expression a mixture of shrewdness and apprehension.

"Have you cooled off?" she asks, and you can tell this is only the beginning.

Her voice sounds firm, and you're not ruling out a hint of accusation in its midst. Sure seems like it.

"Oui. Completely," you reply, twisting to glance at a blur of movement by the window.

A very small bird is flying there, in quick circles around the statue of the Architect of Hogwarts. It's a male chaffinch, with a slightly pale orange-red chest. As you watch, it spirals widely to cover the perimeter of the chamber, and then zooms through to the Great Hall.

"Good, because you were scary in there," she mutters, keeping an eye out for newcomers. "I couldn't get through to you, like you were in a trance."

"Zings 'appened too fast. My memory is... unclear until ze moment I realized you were 'olding me down," you admit.

She gives you an odd look that lasts long after you went silent. "He's only a kid. They can say the most asinine things sometimes. Most of them do it for kicks. Malfoy isn't a threat to you."

"Of course not. I know zat." It sounded more forceful than you'd intended, and you search her expression for any evidence of disbelief. "If you zink I could 'urt zat boy, you really should stop worrying about 'im."

The blonde steps closer, her features still tight, though now also curious. "What were you going to do? Enlighten me, will you?"

The embarrassment of having this conversation is bound to last a long time, and you hope your cheeks don't become as colorful as you fear they might. With a gaze fixated on the stones of the floor, your voice comes out a mumbled whisper, "I 'ad zis vague idea... It involved distracting 'im while I sneaked zat bezoar into 'is cauldron."

Surprisingly, the blonde seems to have heard you well. "And that would turn his potion," the Ravenclaw says thoughtfully, calculating, and then she shakes her head, "into something I can't imagine. Can you?"

"Oui," you reply, still avoiding her eyes. "I know zat potion. It lacked a couple of crucial ingredients to be ready. At zat stage, ze bezoar would turn it into a..."

She grinds once more when your hesitation brings your voice so low that she can't hear, "Into what?"

"A stinking bomb," you repeat, correcting your lapse. "Enough to give 'im some trouble at ze end of ze class."

"Was that all?" the Ravenclaw pokes further.

You risk a look up, already frowning. There's no way to enjoy the degree of suspicion that you see there. "You... expected worse."

"Well, yeah! You looked ready to, uhm," she stops and shrugs, her voice wavering under your narrow stare, "hex his bloodline to the fifth generation?"

"What?" The high pitch would certainly be overheard if there was anyone else in the premises.

"I don't really know what Veela can do, okay?" the blonde replies with an irritated and slightly ashamed expression. "But it would be bad. I could see it in your eyes. There was a lot of anger going on in that silver. At the very least, you wanted to punch the little twit unconscious. Don't bother denying it, 'cause I won't have it."

You snort impatiently, looking at the doors to the Great Hall while you mentally wish the bell would ring soon. "You just said 'e is a small kid, and I am very aware of zat. As much as 'e angered me, I would not do anything to 'im."

"Why not?" she whispers softly, in a secretive tone. "I might."

The indignation in your voice only escalates, and you start to rub away the sharp stings in your temples, "I cannot believe my ears. You were scolding me a second ago for zat same reason. And now it is fine because it is you?"

"You didn't let me finish," she amends, protesting. "I might... if I really cared for the person he was insulting."

In surprise, your eyes are drawn to that dilating smile. Which quickly turns into a smirk.

You sigh. Not again.

"I was right, yes? You like her," the Ravenclaw presses on, her voice even lower when she sees a pair of Hufflepuffs turning a corner into the Hall, "and not as a friend."

"Please." You treat her newest foray into the recurrent subject with the most dismissive expression you can arrange on your face.

Her lips twist at their right corner, and you can hear the undertones of light sarcasm. "Please? Please, what? You and Hermione scream 'obvious.' And you do it in chorus."

"Zere is nothing obvious," you counter calmly, not giving anything away.

More students are popping up by the minute, each one looking out for their peers and bundling in small packs.

"It's smarter to admit it," Yvonne states seriously. From the way she straightens her spine to increase her height an infinitesimal bit, you can see she's determined to not let this go. "Malfoy didn't get a reaction from you till he changed his target to her, and then you were jumping up to make him very, very sorry."

You release a thwarted sigh and close your eyes, feeling the urge to flee of a cornered animal. This conversation hadn't been in your plans. You keep telling yourself that there won't be many more like it, anyway. The secrets and hiding are only a temporary device, until Hermione is ready to move forward. And it won't be a minute too soon when it happens.

"So," she goes on slowly, in an even more measured whisper, "about that claim of friendship..."

Your eyes snap open and you watch her critically, for anything that hints at deceit or obscure intentions. That isn't what you find there. What you do notice is how she's being furtive, careful to keep your exchange private. Her concern seems genuine and selfless.

Against any logical explanation, and even your better judgment, somewhere in your gut that feeling about the Ravenclaw is still firmly in place.

Perhaps the blonde deserves that little credit.

"Okay, fine. You are correct. We like each uzzer more zan friends," you finally confess, though somewhat miffed. "'Appy now?"

That cracks the tension instantly, and she smiles her wholesome satisfaction, "Yeah, very much. I thought you'd fight harder. I had a list of arguments in my head."

Your eyes roll towards the ceiling, fueled by the many unexpected twists in this conversation, though you allow a small smile to sneak through to her. It's quite tiny, but a smile nevertheless. "Zen I am really glad we skipped zat."

The weight of what you've just shared barely has a chance to settle, and there isn't time for any serious soul-searching. You see Cora and Reva coming down the stairs, and the rest of the senior class is little behind them. Yvonne glances at your friends with caution, and they both nod in your general direction before Reva hauls Cora into the Great Hall. The blonde's frown follows the taller of the two until she's out of sight.

Taking the opportunity while she's distracted, you try to put an end to this. "Look, it is over, nothing really 'appened, and I am calm now, okay? Can we not talk about zis any longer?" you plead, taking a tentative step away.

"Actually, no, don't go just yet," she says, blocking your progress with an open hand. You could easily go around the simple gesture, but she isn't being pushy, and there's an air of urgency to the blonde. "You should watch your step. Malfoy was seriously baiting you."

"Oui, and 'Arry, 'Ermione, Ronald, and ze Gryffindors in general, too. 'E seems to 'ave a problem wiz some people. Zat was not ze first time we antagonize each uzzer," you shrug, stepping back where you were, and very aware of how the bubble of space between you and the many students in the Entrance Hall has shrunk in the last minutes.

"No, that's not it. I'm trying to open your eyes," she prompts, pulling you farther away from anyone that can overhear. "That drivel on mixed blood was meant for you, too, and he'd said more about Muggles and Muggle-borns. It was deliberate. I got the feeling Hagrid was collateral damage. Every time, he checked for your reaction."

"Are you sure?" The tight wrinkles on your forehead should indicate how nonsensical this is. "Why would 'e pick a fight wiz me? No fourth-year in zeir right mind would challenge a senior."

"It wasn't that kind of challenge. I doubt he'd want to duel a senior, especially when she's the champion of her school," the blonde argues in a resolute tone, with a smile curving her lips. But then, out of nowhere, her expression becomes more serious, and rather odd. "Is that the way you do it at Beauxbatons?"

"Of course!" You are surprised that she'd even consider such a question, "Zat is 'ow we settle ze more significant differences."

She mumbles something under her breath that you strain to listen, but only 'hot-blooded' makes it to your ears.

"Hmm?"

"Uhm, how do I say this?" Yvonne scratches her temple while pursing her lips. "We don't go down that route very often. Duels are extremely rare at Hogwarts."

"Oh," you frown at that. "I wondered if you did it in secret. Zere were no duels 'ere since we arrived."

"Yeah, and, well, it really wasn't his approach, was it? I don't believe Malfoy intended to fight you. He's smart enough to stay out of trouble. All he did was play with words in class, when his favorite professor was conveniently at hand." The blonde moves closer, grips your arm, and nearly speaks into your ear, "I won't tell you what he wanted, because I honestly can't guess. Whatever it was, though, he looked like he got it when you left like that."

That part you know to be true. For a moment, you'd lost all references. With nothing more than arrogance and a bunch of words, that boy had pushed you over an invisible line that you'd never crossed. You remember the proud gloating on his face, how that grin was a clear statement of success. It leads you to believe that perhaps pure-bloods at Hogwarts are a bit more fanatical than you'd thought.

The odd thing is that you can't figure out what he gained by such a scheme. A first glimpse at your change in eye color? The basic satisfaction of annoying you? Or could this be payback for that episode with Peeves?

"Zis is absurd," you hiss without enthusiasm.

"Yeah, it was strange," she prompts half-heartedly, matching your thoughtful streak. "I still can't get over it was only a brat. You should've handled him better than that. You've faced the worse of worst without a blink."

Your rising eyebrow is instantly rewarded with an answer.

"Snape," she whispers, shrugging.

"I was too... affected. I could not 'old back my anger," you grumble, rearranging the bag on your shoulder, and enjoying a short pause to roll your stiff muscles back and forth.

"Relax your face. People might think we're having an argument," the blonde requests softly, and you school your features in accordance. "I know how a quick temper can get the best of us in the heat of the moment. I've been a living testament to that myself," her face darkens, and the girl struggles to pluck the words out, "ever since Potions."

"My temper never acted up like zat," you state in a firmer tone, assuring the blonde that your regular range of behavior doesn't include that particular alternative.

"This time, it involved Hermione." Yvonne's stare is piercing as she speaks, filled with the self-confidence of one who just hit the bull's-eye. "You might want to be more careful when something concerns her."

Thoughts of the brunette flip around in your mind, stirring your feelings in a degree that only reinforces the blonde's conclusion. You nod at last, conceding how transparent that display must've been to an attentive observer, just as Yvonne is proving to be.

A sudden noise has several heads turning, including yours, to a long line of students climbing from the dungeons. Hermione and her friends should be here in no time, plus a few unpleasant others who are surely on their way, as well.

As your stare moves about, you realize that the Entrance Hall has filled nicely over the past minutes, now taken over by a sea of black robes, with the occasional blue and dark red uniforms standing out.

The Ravenclaw clears her throat and you notice she's frowning in the direction of the new arrivals. She swings her head subtly away, towards the Great Hall, "About time we find our seats, isn't it?"

At last, you are both on the same brainwave, and you assent all too quickly. You can use a bit of time around a friendly group of people, and the earlier you go to dinner, the sooner you'll be ready to get that potion out of the way. Side by side, you stride leisurely, cranking through the tight maze of students.

"Give it BACK!"

You both stop in your tracks at the angry holler to your right, almost being run over by a few Slytherin boys buzzing through. They're laughing and hovering a wand up in the air, just out of reach from a pursuing Gryffindor. The desperate and much shorter boy jumps as high as he can to get it, with no luck.

"Or what?" the Slytherins sneer in derision, winding away.

That kind of exchange was bound to draw attention, and you see Gryffindors from all corners of the Hall start to converge towards the commotion.

"Uh-oh," Yvonne breathes. "This isn't good. It needs to stop now."

As if following the blonde's suggestion, the running stops as suddenly as it had started. And you soon understand why.

"Now, now. Take it easy," an authoritative yet kind tone is overheard, and you recognize Cedric Diggory's smooth voice. The flashy Prefect badge rests on his chest, and when he flicks a quick spell, the wand in the air rushes to his waiting hand. He smiles calmly at the boys involved, "Enough playing around, I reckon. Go on, get ready for dinner."

The Slytherins vanish at once, not waiting for the Hogwarts champion to issue any punishments. Oddly, the Gryffindor boy takes his wand and bolts into the crowd without as much as a 'thank you'.

Cedric shakes his head and walks straight to his girlfriend. On his way, the boy bows his head at you, and you smile back. The last time you talked to him was at the Yule Ball, only a handful of words traded over the music, and his handsome face melting into an expression of utter joy whenever his eyes darted to his date. He's always been very polite to you and a pleasant company, not too preoccupied with the fact that the Tournament supposedly turned you into adversaries.

You resume the march, and later wave at a grinning Cho Chang. They really look good with each other.

"It just occurred to me," Yvonne whispers seriously, "do you need help? Is there anything that could've stopped what happened earlier?"

The smile falters on your lips. What a way to get you back to reality. You cast a glance at the blonde, considering her questions.

Help. Help... Your mind skips to the Veela and their offer. Their insistence. Anca's concern.

It might've been premature not to listen, to think you were so capable, so in control. On the other hand, they'd been worried about your charms. You don't see the connection with this.

"Perhaps I should get 'elp," you reply in complete honesty. "But I may not find ze type of assistance I need 'ere. I zink I 'ave to talk to Veela."

"Okay, you probably know what's best in that area," she adds, wearing a resigned look. She probably doesn't know how your own helplessness in that field isn't too far from hers. "Can I make one last suggestion?"

You nod at her expectant expression, already wondering what she has to add.

The blonde glances even more uncertainly at you, "Protect yourself. Don't let anyone see your Veela traits, like the silver eyes, for instance. Keep them away in a disagreement."

"What 'as zat got to do wiz anything?" you ask flatly, losing a considerable amount of good humor in the process.

"Please, don't be upset." The blonde's voice is as low a whisper as possible while you walk, "The Malfoys must be very uptight pure-bloods. Anything you do to oppose the kid can be used against you by his parents, one day. If it came to light that you were not entirely human when it happened, they might blow it out of proportion."

You sigh. Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hogwarts. You dealt with all this at Beauxbatons a long time ago. And you believed, then, that it had been enough for a lifetime.

Apparently not.

Reaching the Great Hall, you are soon sitting down at the Ravenclaw table, surrounded by the elder students, from your class. All around you, they are retelling the best parts of the other presentations that you'd missed in Transfiguration Class.

Yvonne and you enjoy the detailed descriptions of the ideas chosen by each group to demonstrate the spells. The enthusiasm and easy laughter show that they had a great afternoon.

The ceiling above projects a sky of darkening blue, in deep contrast to the bright light from the floating candles. Each table admits more and more chatty students, while the staff quietly shuffles to their places. It doesn't take long for the fourth-years to pop up, and the brunette girl you hoped to glimpse again sends you a shy smile that looks so cute, it makes the hardest parts of the afternoon worth to endure.

Her friends sit at her sides and you watch the trio carefully. The boys are a sullen mess at each of the girl's sides, and her hair is a tight tangle yet again.

You shake your head slowly. Potions class definitely isn't very good for either one of them.

Plates of food with marvelous aromas appear everywhere, and the conversations are put on hold, while short and expressive praises to the culinary skills of the elves become abundant.

Félicie has a large grin as she chooses various portions of food, and when she notices you are looking at her, she leans forward and mouths 'Damus was wrong. No eyeballs and no bats'. You chuckle at that, checking curiously around to make sure the predictions are, indeed, incorrect.

"I'll try to be quick, Fleur," Yvonne says when she starts cutting into a dark meat.

That's the smart way to do it, so you stay attentive to keep up with Yvonne throughout the meal and to avoid being the reason for any delays.

You just put the goblet down and continue eating calmly, when Alix starts at your side, "Fleur was telling us 'ow you are lucky zere are so many attractive boys 'ere, at 'Ogwarts, Ophelia."

Your head turns around so fast to look at Alix that you miss your open mouth, and jab the forkful of steak-and-kidney pudding on your right cheek.

The sixth-year girl she's addressing, Ophelia Rushden, smiles amicably and squeaks, "I totally agree, aren't they? We have very handsome wizards this year."

Cho Chang nods at Alix and you, quickly turning around to glance at her boyfriend. You finally remember to put the fork down and distractedly clean your cheek.

Loretta Cornhill, a senior girl sitting at the other side of Cho Chang, and that you recognize as a friend of a certain Applebee, chips in, "Why don't you tell us who the French champion says is good-looking? That should be interesting."

Alix answers right away, pointing at you, "Zat is for Fleur to say. I could not speak for 'er in such zings."

Your cheeks are aflame, and you suspect your jaw must be dislodged. It's the explanation for this unstoppable gape, right?

Yvonne hides a chuckle behind a napkin when she notices that you are now glaring daggers, halberds and maces at your alleged best friend. Alix only smiles back at you, in an extremely saccharine way, supporting her chin on a hand and blinking repeatedly, as she bats long eyelashes at you.

"Hmm..." You stall, thinking hard.

This is tough. You wouldn't be caught dead complimenting Roger Davies after what happened at the Yule Ball. You don't want to mention any of the other champions, either, and you most definitely refuse to start fiction stories about how you have a crush on A or B.

As you look around at the girls expecting your answer, your eyes scan the Hall discreetly, as if there was an emergency escape route that you'd missed to consider before. Alix chuckles at the look on your face, probably feeling more and more satisfied with herself.

Yvonne must have taken pity on you, for she starts to budge from her seat and her clear voice reaches all around, "I'm sorry, I have to interrupt everyone's entertainment. I believe you all know Snape is expecting us. Tonight Fleur and I need to make up for the latest renovations we carried out on the Potions classroom without his consent."

The result is soft giggling and a few sympathetic nods.

"Our appetites aren't doing too well, so it's time to go back to the dungeons," the blonde continues, just as Professor Snape leaves the staff table. "Ready, Fleur?"

From the size of your smile she can probably gauge your sincere disposition to disappear from the premises.

Alix doesn't look too thrilled, but she shrugs and leans close to whisper safely by your ear, "See how that feels?"

"Oh, I do, and you were a lot worse than me," you accuse, keeping your voice low. "I would trade themes with you without a second thought, anytime, anywhere... Quidditch versus the boys I like? Really, Alix? That was evil of you. Those girls are dying to get their hands on more gossip."

"You'd find a way out of it. You always do," she says with a carefree smile, and you wonder if she really trusts so much your ability to talk yourself out of a tough spot or if she's just being overly optimistic.

You grasp your bag and she touches your hand for a moment. There's a more neutral expression on her face. "If you finish early, we'll be at the library for a while. You can return with us."

"Thanks. It all depends on things going well. That professor might keep us late if he wants to punish us for whatever reason," you reply, making a face.

She nods as you stand, and try to glance at Hermione one more time, before turning to leave. Your stares don't meet, unfortunately, and it can't be helped. You have to go now. Professor Snape shouldn't be kept waiting.

Yvonne and you walk at either sides of the table, crossing the Great Hall to meet at the doors. Once you're moving into the Entrance Hall, Cora calls out to you, "Good luck, tonight!"

You turn and smile at her, but Yvonne mumbles something, and once again it's barely intelligible to you. You get a few words, delivered in a rather acidic tone, "... hard work, not luck."

"Yvonne, Yvonne," you chant warningly, in a whisper. "She was being friendly. Be nice, hmm?"

The blonde squares her jaw, and her expression remains hard on the way to your destination. She's somewhere so deep into her thoughts that you doubt the Ravenclaw noticed you've made it to the dungeons.

But you did. And this time around you're very aware of everything about the place.

The overlong silence would be bad enough in any other part of the castle. Here, it's of an absolute oppressing quality. You look cautiously at the scarce flames and the irregular shadows. The more you walk down the corridor, the colder you feel, and you suspect it has little to do with the temperature. The dungeons are nothing short of disturbing.

There seems to be something malevolent, old and ingrained here, something trapped for too long, that radiates from the stones in the ceiling, the walls, the ground, from the very air, that is spreading around you, reaching towards you, infiltrating your clothes, contaminating your skin-

'Enough!' you shout in your head.

After a quick shiver, you draw your wand and set it to work. There goes the first warming charm of the night. And a reinforcement to the torches, as an added bonus.

Yvonne is startled by the spells, but the blonde quickly understands after checking your current location. Once again, she moves closer to you, and a look of dread takes over her face.

"Merci... For before, wiz Alix," you say quietly, in a provisional attempt to rectify her mood a bit. She probably doesn't need you to elaborate further.

"It's okay," the blonde replies calmly. "She was having too much fun."

"I never zought I would be anxious to get 'ere," you comment, at the sight of the right door.

"Me too. Let's finish this soon, yes?" she asks, trying to sound encouraging.

"Of course. I cannot wait to put zis potion behind us," you agree, pulling the door open and waiting for the blonde to pass.

Striding inside, you both nod at the professor sitting at his desk, and you can feel his dark eyes following you to the back of the classroom.

"Everything looks in place, as we left them," the blonde reports, glancing quickly at the ingredients while you extract your Potions book and find the right page.

"At zis rate, we will soon know ze potion from memory. We might not even need zis book anymore," you complain, lacking enthusiasm.

"Hopefully, it won't go that far," she remarks as you arrange the tools.

You look ahead at the professor, and he seems to be very engrossed in a book now, though his expression is far from pleased. The lines on his face reveal a clear disagreement with what he's finding there. The wizard shakes his head at several parts, sometimes impatiently flipping a page.

A witty remark about that is dancing at the edge of your tongue, when he raises the tome temporarily as he shifts into a more comfortable position, and your stomach drops in recognition.

That's a very familiar book. Your book. The one he snatched away.

You frown in defiance. What gives him the right to read it?

At last, he puts it away in a drawer and starts going through rolls of parchment, probably homework that some of the other classes turned in.

"Would you like to try something different this time?" the blonde offers, distracting you.

Professor Snape is set aside in your mind, to give room to your present ordeal. This should be taking all your attention. "What are you suggesting?"

"We could trade roles," she shrugs and smiles, taking a step back from the table. "I get a turn with the cauldron, you handle knife, mortar and pestle. And we'll cross-check the ingredients together. Would that be okay by you?"

"Are you sure? Taking care of ze ladle can be a little boring," you tell her truthfully. The long periods of stewing and changing stirring directions are still clear from your memories.

"It's fine, really. You can tell me the parts where I have to be more careful," she replies in a light tone.

"Okay. Any pointers for me?" you continue, separating the first sequence of ingredients and putting them in order.

The Ravenclaw sets the flames under the cauldron to the right temperature, and the brewing begins. "Your part is very standard. The Murtlap tentacles are a little tricky to chop, but that's closer to the end. I had it easy, yesterday."

You nod, though not in complete agreement, and check the book, keeping the flow of ingredients until it's time to reduce dragon horns to dust. Dark fumes are already rising from the cauldron, confirming that it's working out well.

The pestle comes to a stop and the powder makes the potion blob louder, immediately changing it into a thick orange.

"Now we have nothing to do for a while," the blonde says, using her wand to command the ladle into self-stirring at the correct rate.

You give her a smile, pick up your bag and retrieve quill and parchment. "Not exacly. I 'ave an idea to keep us busy. Professor Snape wants us to do an essay on ze failed potion. We could do it now, non?"

"Yeah, better now than during the weekend," Yvonne is in complete agreement, from the expression on her face. "And it'll be simple enough. All we have to do is copy everything from the textbook, except that last ingredient."

"I 'ave requested more arils, and zey will arrive zis Sunday," you inform her. "Zen I can weigh ze right amount to add zat bit to ze essay."

She nods, sits closer to you, and picks up the book. The blonde dictates the list of ingredients as you jot the information down in nice handwriting, taking your time so you don't finish too fast and have to wait on the potion.

As you are moving on to the instructions, the stewing liquid starts to sputter and Yvonne sets the book down.

She checks the cauldron and alternates stirring directions, "You should start chopping the dandelion roots. We'll need them very soon."

"Of course," you reply, leaving quill and parchment on the table at your right.

The handful of roots is neatly organized in compact small stacks, and you start to mince them to the required size. Your attention is committed to the rhythm of the blade, the grating sounds and the sharp odor wafting from the fresh cuts. You move swiftly, from stack to stack, to have them ready in time for Yvonne.

"Why didn't you tell me you were faster with the knife than I am?" Yvonne asks.

"Hmm?" you frown, looking from the amused girl to the ingredients. Her tone seemed neutral, but you can't be sure it's safe to trust that. "I am not faster. You did very well yesterday."

"Yes, you are," she deadpans. "And better, too. You cut pieces to perfect symmetry. Where did you learn that?"

"Wiz-" you blurt before your brain reminds you that's something to be shared with caution.

What is it about Yvonne that makes your brakes kick in always a second too late during Potions?

"With?" she prods, expectantly.

You put the knife down, rub your hands together, and then set them calmly on the table, before letting your face rotate left to look at her. "Wiz Coraline, Yvonne. We were partners many times in Potions during our early years together in school. She showed me many zings, including ways to improve 'ow I processed ze ingredients."

Frowning now, she stays quiet and her stare drifts to the concoction boiling in the cauldron. Her face remains clenched in the same expression, and you decide to leave it at that. Her steady silence seems to be a good cue to continue your work.

"Is she really that good?"

The question is only a breath above the soft hisses and bubbling from the cooking cauldron, but you can feel the shift in atmosphere, the wealth of emotions behind the short selection of words.

"Oui, she is," you reply, stilling your hands briefly, before restarting the knife at a slower rate. "Most of us, ze team from Beauxbatons, were chosen because we do well in classes, and eventually stand out a little in zis or zat out of personal preferences. But a few of ze girls are exceptional at one field in particular, zeir natural talent. Like Cora, in Potions."

"It doesn't change a thing," the crestfallen blonde retorts stubbornly, in a hurt voice. She shivers suddenly and casts a warming charm that reaches both of you. "What she did was disappointing. I thought she was fun and nice-"

"And you zought right," you interrupt categorically, handing her the sliced ingredient. "Cora is all zat."

"Then why did she spy on me when I was preparing the potion?" she finds the outlet to protest without losing fervor, as she showers the roots into the cauldron and the potion splashes angrily. "The supervision agenda was unnecessary. That attitude only tells me she thinks you are all so much better than us."

"Non, she does not zink zat way," you are careful to lower your voice to a calm murmur, shaking your head in a slow swing. And then your mind considers a different tactic. "Look, if I tell you what I zink, can you promise me you will keep it to yourself?"

She nods, suddenly more interested, and looking less sulky. Perhaps a little hopeful, too, though you can't be completely sure.

"You are as curious about us, foreigners, as we are about you. I zink she wanted to watch your work, to watch you work," you pause and let the words sink in before you continue. "Perhaps she did not choose ze most appealing way to 'elp you to understand, I get zat, but I remember Cora used to say she could guess a lot about someone by ze methods zey applied wiz zeir potions."

You hear one loud snort as she intensifies the flames under the cauldron. "Why am I not surprised?"

"I suppose you do not 'ave to believe it," you say in an appeasing tone, thinking about how the same girl said she could tell a good kisser by simply watching them.

One look at Yvonne's face and you are convinced it might be better to keep that information to yourself.

"Why would I? That's ridiculous," she retorts, chuckling darkly.

You shrug. "Or not. Consider ze possibility. What if Cora can do zat and she was curious to learn more about you?"

The blonde leans on her left leg, cocking her hip, and folds her arms, chewing over your arguments. You watch her closely, as well-hidden emotions barely dent her features. It doesn't last long, though. You don't need to hear the conclusion to know it wasn't exactly favorable to your point of view. But at least she seems to come to a decision.

The blonde shakes her head, and turns to face you squarely. "I like her, okay? You trusted me with your secret, so I'll trust you back, and say it. I really like her."

The admission is so spontaneous and such great news that the large smile overriding your previous expression is a shiny reflection of your sincere happiness. She takes notice, of course, and it temporarily disarms her.

The blonde forgets the on-going argument and a small smile escapes her, too, but in a much shyer version than your own, "Yeah, you heard right."

"It is liberating to say it out loud, non?" you confide in a whisper, stretching the moment a bit more.

You set the next series of ingredients in order and she carefully double checks each one, adding them to the cauldron. The vapors are becoming darker, as they should be. It's time to grind Mandrake roots, so she continues ladling the steaming mix and adjusting the direction of stirring, while you prepare that ingredient.

She nods, looking uneasy. "Things should be different. This Potions problem has been the most unpleasant shock. I did not believe Coraline could make me feel like I wasn't good enough. It's not, well, it's just wrong. Coming from anyone else, I could take it, I really could. From her, though, it's way too painful."

"I understand what you are saying," you try to find some common ground with her, to lessen so much disquiet. It isn't hard to imagine how it must feel in her shoes. "I also know it is not what she zinks of you. Cora has been trying to tell you zat, and apologize. And she will continue to do so, because she means it."

"I will accept her apologies," the blonde whispers prudently. "I wonder how helpful that might be to our situation. Every time we share a Potions class, I'll wonder what she's thinking of me."

"I see..." you reply, saddened by that. There's quite some damage to her confidence that needs to be remedied. Or is it too late? "So, you are going to stay away from 'er?"

"I haven't made up my mind," she shrugs, gazing idly at the fizzling potion. "It isn't fair like this. I really don't know what to do."

You grind the last sample of the roots, thinking up ways to reason with her.

"More work."

You both bounce at the clipped, icy tone, instantly looking up at the prowling wizard.

"Less talk," he finishes.

"Oui, professor," you mumble, and the small pride you felt at sounding coherent withers to nothingness under his powerful gaze.

Yvonne only nods, staying silent and with eyes wide in shock. The blonde apparently didn't get over the shock of the failed potion, yet. You pass her the powdered Mandrakes and it cheers her a little to have something to do, instead of shifting from foot to foot with the guilty expression of being caught with a hand in the cookie jar.

Keeping your head buried in the book, you barely register the way he stares quietly into the cauldron to check the color has reached the desired shade of green, and then at the ingredients on the table. There's nothing to criticize, so you straighten up a little and look surreptitiously at the mass of black robes whisking away to the front desk.

A long breath puffs through your lips and you frown. That's the second time he sneaks up on you. Where are your supersensory abilities when you really need them? They should have better timing to decide to work. You'd be smiling like a fool if you had picked up any signals from the moment he stood up from his chair.

The shaken blonde clears her throat and you glance at her. You try to smile and invite her over, "Ze potion needs to cook. Let us continue wiz ze essay, hmm?"

"O-okay," she stutters a little, then seals her lips to gather herself.

You start copying down the long list of instructions, and the Ravenclaw patiently recites each one slowly, keeping up with the speed of your writing. Her voice sounds better as more and more lines take shape and you move down the parchment.

"Time to get on with the potion. Can you hand me the next components?" she asks, getting up and lowering the temperature of the flames.

"Of course. We were almost finished, anyway," you reply, rolling the parchment and adhering to the guidelines from the book. "Zis is when you should be more careful wiz ze ladle. Too many changes in a short time."

She nods and you proceed, taking every precaution possible to do it right. Weighed salts, spoonfuls of honeywater, strips of bark and juice of Horklumps are soon mixed in, while the brew rotates this way or that at the blonde's hands.

"I can finish the next one. The Murtlap tentacles are trickier to chop," she says and you step away to gather that peculiar ingredient.

When you are about to grasp the knife, she makes a final remark, "And don't forget, they're supposed to be cut crosswise."

You turn to look at her with an eyebrow already clambering up, noticing her large, sheepish grin.

Smiling back and shaking your head, you retort as you lean over the tentacles and start slicing, "I will try to keep zat in mind."

You fall into the methodical role too easily, chopping the rubbery cylinders as the potent splutters coming from the cauldron start a contest with your knife to see which can make the loudest noises.

It would be quite distracting in itself, except your mind is still set on the previous conversation, and the blonde's inner conflict.

"I was zinking," you start slowly, with your eyes set on your work. "You are taking it so badly because Cora is very good at Potions. But zere is no going around zat. Potions is ze zing wiz zat girl."

"Yes, I get it," she responds without a drop of mirth. And then she adds weakly, in a slightly bitter tone. "She's perfection on a plate. No, even better, perfection on a cauldron. And I can never compare."

"Non. Listen to me, first," you cut in, glancing at her to emphasize that she should pay attention. "You are missing to see zat she takes special pride wiz Potions because she is extremely good at it. She 'as reason to be proud. And I never saw 'er put anyone down because zey were not as good as she is. Uzzer zan zat, she does fairly well in most of ze uzzer classes."

Yvonne is about to say something, but you keep on going, "Please, just listen... I said most." You stop, after the extra stress on the word. "Are you following?"

Reluctantly, she nods.

"Except for Divination and Astronomy. Cora is terrible at zose. She zinks Divination classes are useless-"

"Which they kind of are, unless you are a natural Seer," she agrees.

"Cora most certainly is not, zat much I know. If zat is what you zink, I assume you must be one, zen?" you inquire curiously. "Zat was ze class you 'ad zis morning, non?"

"Yeah, I take Divination. I'm not a Seeress, though. I simply have free time for that class," she shrugs. "And the professor's theatrics are amusing."

Containing an incredulous look with difficulty, you let that slide and keep on, "And... ah, oui, Astronomy. She cannot remember 'alf ze constellations."

The blonde can't hide back an interested look now. "Mmm? But Cora takes Astronomy with us. That's NEWT level."

You nod. "She would never cheat on an exam, and ze anti-cheating spells were severe during our OWLs. But it is a mystery, even to 'erself, 'ow she managed a passing grade. You see, Cora cannot find 'alf of ze constellations, even wiz a star chart in 'er 'ands and a telescope aiming straight at zem. And she does not agree wiz 'ow zey are called..." you fight to suppress a smile, speeding up with the knife to stay focused. "Did you know zat she makes up 'er own names for each of zem?"

Yvonne doesn't look too impressed. "That can be a good mnemonic aid, actually, to make it easier for her."

"Perhaps," you reply, conceading. "But when she forgets zat 'Broken Lollypop' was supposed to be 'Ursa Minor' and writes down ze wrong name on an exam, it is a bit of a stretch to expect zat it goes unnoticed. Once she even tried to argue wiz our professor zat 'er names made more sense."

"She really did that?" the blonde asks, even more curious at your visible nod. "And?"

That smile almost finds a way to your lips as you recall the memories. "Ze outcome was detention for a week, charting stars zrough a meteor shower."

"A meteor shower?" her voice reveals more confusion. "What's that got to do with anything? There's no way to mix stars and meteors."

"Of course not," you lower your head until it's almost painful to your neck, as if checking the last handful of tentacles, just in case you can't control your face. "Unless your name is Coraline Sauvage, apparently. 'Er charts from zat detention are still 'anging on ze Board of Fame at our dorm, in Beauxbatons. We 'ad zem framed. Cora became quite a celebrity because of zem."

Yvonne chuckles for a bit, but seems to have second thoughts, and it dies down.

"Poor thing," she finally says. The blonde seems sincerely touched, and her expression becomes thoughtful for a while, before reversing into slight sadness. "So she's human, after all."

"Oh, she is. Very much so. Cora is a great 'uman being," you reassure her with a very large smile, as you offer her the chopped tentacles. "She took it all in stride, and still laughs when anyone brings up ze charts, accepting well 'er shortcomings. We all know 'ow she is in Astronomy, and she always 'as 'elp when she 'its a tight spot. Just like she keeps track of 'ow we do in Potions, and takes care of anyone zat needs it."

The tentacles are added to the cauldron and you reach for the last ingredient.

She finally smiles, rather shyly, and whispers, "I'm glad you told me."

"Sure," you say, shredding the dittany in a small pile, right by the cauldron. When you are finished, you pick the pieces in your hands and look at her, wiggling your eyebrows, "Are you ready? Where are ze drum rolls?"

The Ravenclaw rolls her eyes and waves both hands towards the bubbling mixture, urging you to put an end to the final obligation of a week of school.

You raise your hands over the cauldron and bring them apart. Weak splatters are followed by dramatic hissing, and then the potion turns the final shade in color, after the fourth clockwise swirl.

"That was almost poetic," Yvonne remarks playfully, with a bit of sarcasm. "I'll remember this moment for years to come."

Chuckling, you start to clean up the table and stow book, parchment and quill in your bag. Yvonne places the lid carefully on the cauldron, picks up her things, and you both walk to the front of the classroom.

"We completed the first stage, sir," the Ravenclaw takes the lead, not flinching this time around. "All according to plan."

The professor nods curtly, and you notice he's in the middle of grading an extremely long essay, written in tiny handwriting. It's a wonder he can even read it without any type of magical aid. You take a better look and something about it strikes you as oddly... familiar.

"In time for the minimum period of stewing," he says coolly, "so you will continue to the next stage. Leave the cauldron, and don't forget to do your extra essay."

Trying to be inconspicuous, you search for the name of the author, at the top of the parchment in his hands. And then you have to bite the inside of your cheeks when you find it.

"Yes, sir." Your turn to answer now, and do it quickly, wondering if you'll be able to suppress a smile long enough not to show it in front of him.

Who else but the cute brunette would do such an extensive and detailed composition?

His stare returns to the homework and stays there, reading line after line of the lengthy parchment. Many more rolls are arranged at his left, and if those are going to require just as much dedication, then he has enough work ahead to last him a long time.

Yvonne starts to fidget, looking unsure on what to do, since there was no official dismissal. Perhaps his last words were meant to allude at it, and he's just too focused on his activity now to notice you're still standing there. It might be a good moment to test the possibility.

You nod once at the blonde, and then incline your head in the direction of the exit. She nods back and, without further delay, you both walk briskly away and out the corridor, before he can consider a change of mind.

It hasn't even closed in place and you're already bustling away, stealing quick glances over your shoulders, as if expecting a bad surprise. Probably thinking the same, you turn and rush into the bathroom together, where you are swift to neaten your robes, and then clean out your hands from unwanted residues.

Carefully, the door of the bathroom is pushed open just a crack to inspect the corridor. At no sign of the professor anywhere, you bolt to the stairs as fast as your legs can carry you (and your shoes allow), while still trying to be silent. You exchange a nervous glance when you get there, both breathing hard, though it's more from the sneaking around and a sudden giddiness than from any real exertion.

Your smiles begin when you set foot on the stairway, and they only grow as you flee up. The first bout of giggles bursts free after you lose sight of the depressive dungeons. From then on, the higher you climb, the stronger the laughter that sparks from both of you, breezy and genial, washing away the concerns from your minds. Half through the stairs, you're almost doubling over and need to stop for a few moments, unable to continue.

"What a climb!" the blonde whispers, mixing giggles and words as she leans back against the wall to catch her breath.

"We really did it!" Your voice comes out all squeaky and you cover your mouth in embarrassment, which only makes her laugh harder.

You stay silent, looking at each other for a while as your heartbeats ease down, and smiling like it's the only intelligent thing your brains still recall how to do.

"Thank you, for so many things," she says, breathing at a slower rate. "It was a good day, even with two rounds of Potions."

"I feel like I should zank you more. You 'elped me a lot today, not just now," you reply, as you realize the Entrance Hall is right ahead. "And you are very good at Potions. Never zink uzzerwise."

The blonde smiles quietly and points at the remaining steps, "Time to rest, at last, yes?"

"Oui, finally," you return, exhaling loudly in satisfaction, and moving up the stairs with her, at a much slower speed. "I would like to get comfortable in my room right away."

She nods, glancing up, "I'd like to pick up a book from the library first, before I climb the Ravenclaw Tower."

That leaves you thinking. It's so simple for her to move inside the castle, first to the library, and then back to her Common Room, without a single concern in mind. In your case, returning to the carriage means stalking through the grounds at night, in the dark, by yourself, and close to the forest.

You wonder if it would be wiser to go with Yvonne and look for your friends, although deep down you doubt any of them would stay this late here, when it can't compare to the homey comforts of the carriage.

One last step and you are now bathed in the more abundant light from the torches of the large Hall. It's very quiet here, except for the occasional rolling noises made by the Grand Staircase.

"Hello!"

You both spin at the sound of the unexpected voice, Yvonne probably in bewilderment, while you do it eagerly.

Hermione is sitting on one of the steps of the marble staircase, smiling and waving at you. You smile back, and Yvonne lifts her right hand to wiggle her fingers at the brunette.

The blonde then moves past you, pointing at the doors, "I better go. There's the matter of that book. I'll have to leave you."

Her intent is clear, and you are grateful for that perceptiveness. "Good night, Yvonne."

"Good night, girls," the blonde replies, nodding at the brunette before adding a wink at you.

Hermione stands up, aiming an intrigued look at the Ravenclaw, and your stares follow the retreating blonde until she leaves for the courtyard. Only after she's gone you turn around, to watch as the brunette slowly steps down to meet you.

With a smile and a reach for the girl's right hand, you stop her at the last step, where she stands an inch taller than you. Almost at eyelevel with each other, you risk an abrupt glance into her eyes, fast as a dart. It goes on for less than a second, though, and you quickly draw your gaze down, just in time. Once more, the undeniable pull was there, as intense as before, like a maelstrom in a vast sea of brown, ready to snare you into its vortex.

The brunette notices your attention is now drawn to your joined hands, and she changes them around, so now she's the one enveloping you, softly rubbing the back of your hand. You smile at that light touch, at the feeling of smoothness and slightly colder skin, and there's no protest, only a few chuckles, when you change their positions back the other way again, hiding her hand into your grasp.

"My lovely girl," you start, hoping it sounds charming, and not overly serious, "to what do I owe zis pleasure?"

"I'm here to see you, Fleur," she says in a tone that indicates how that should be obvious, although she can't stop her cheeks from changing to a light pink. The brunette takes a deep breath and smiles, "And to check on you, too. How did you do this time?"

"Everything went fine," you reply as you play with her hand to loosely knot your fingers, reveling at how well they fold and move in place, as interlocking pieces that recognized each other. "And your friends? 'Ow was it for 'Arry and Ronald?"

"They managed, I think. Their samples were rather good," she murmurs. The brunette bites her lip and looks at you in such an intense way that you know she's after any signs of complications. "So Snape really didn't give you a hard time?"

You shake your head and smile serenely at her, "Non, it was really fine. Ze potion was a success."

"That's a relief," the brunette says in a calmer voice, squeezing your hand. "Yvonne and you were so careful to prepare everything. I was hoping it'd go smoothly."

A minor nod is the only response you carry out, as your train of thought practically derails when you breathe in, deeply, and a refreshing scent of crushed pine needles hits you.

Actually, it almost knocks you over. In a heartbeat, you take a good look up, at her hair, realizing that it's back to its regular state, though a little darker and curlier.

You'd been so determined to avoid her eyes that you overlooked more than you'd intended.

"What? What is it?" she asks curiously.

"Zis aroma," you step closer, raising your free hand to capture a stray lock and guide it neatly behind her ear, "zis... your smell."

"I don't..." The brunette becomes visibly disconcerted, and pulls away to complain. "I just took a bath."

To say that your eyes enlarged to popping size wouldn't be too much of an exaggeration, and you quickly shake your head.

"Please, zat is not what I meant. It was a compliment," you speak softly, smiling slightly at the size of her pout.

The brunette moves ahead again, tentatively. The odor is all around her, like an aura, and it extends easily to envelope you, over such an insignificant distance.

"You washed your 'air. I recognize ze scent. I 'ad not felt it today, yet," You inhale once again, until there's no room left in you for more air, savoring the sensation in a state of pure, personal bliss. The weird thing is your normal balance around it, now. This is turning out to be a very unusual day. "Zis is delightful. Something zat fills my senses."

"Well, after that class, I just had to get Potions out of my head," she plays with the double entendre, a coy expression on her face while turning from side to side, swinging the damp curls loosely around her shoulders.

"And so you did," you chuckle at the cute display, using both hands to tuck the strands back in order, once she comes to a stop.

Her stare then settles down, accidentally aimed straight at you, into your eyes, and the words you were prepared to say instantly disperse in your mind. You carefully disguise the uneasiness looping around your throat and take a look at the steps over her left shoulder, avoiding the brunt of that hypnotic brown stare.

Fortunately, Hermione doesn't seem to notice.

"I didn't know you liked this fragrance."

That's the perfect invitation leading you back on track. "I do. I like your shampoo very much. It reminds me of you."

"Thanks. It's one of the reasons I chose it," the Gryffindor remarks, twirling a strand of hair. "Dad loves pine trees. I've had pine-scented bubble baths since I was very, very, very," she rolls her eyes comically, "very little."

Your creative mind instantly provides the image of a mini Hermione splashing in a large bathtub, with soap bubbles up to her hair, while her mother is trying to talk her out of the water and wrap her in a huge, cozy towel. The corners of your mouth slowly arch up, and it's all you can do not to let it turn into a face-splitting grin. That would surely put an itch into her curiosity. One that she would be compelled to scratch.

Shaking those thoughts aside, you look wistfully at her well-behaved curls, grousing with a twinge of jest, "What I would not do for a long, hot bath right now."

"Yeah, Potions does that," she nods in sympathy, and her eyes gingerly explore your features. "At least it doesn't affect you so much. You look great, and I can still pick up your sweet pheromones. No one would guess you just spent hours brewing anything."

Tilting your head, you edge forward and whisper a single "Merci" above her left ear. Your arms reach around her waist to chain her comfortably close to you, but very slowly, giving her all the chance she might need to refuse.

She doesn't. Instead, she tangles her arms over your shoulders.

"But I did brew for 'ours," you continue, "even if no one else can tell, and I missed you for all zat time. I zought we would not meet again tonight."

"I know we never planned this. I just didn't want to wait that long to see you," the brunette declares. "Snape is a monumental reason for me to worry."

"Mm-hmm," is your simple reply, a bit distracted as you are by the nearness and that soothing odor that surrounds you like a blanket. Or, being honest with yourself, very distracted, because that's an outstanding blanket and you've been wanting to lose yourself in it all day long.

Her hair feels so soft, and you peck the strands close by, inhaling one more time before leaning back to set your foreheads together. "And what did you do while we were at ze dungeons?"

"Harry, Ron and I went to the library to take care of some homework," the brunette whispers in a breathy voice.

You bow that last inch to merge your lips tenderly, in a caress that you can sense she wants as much as you do. The fact that she's even allowing it, when anyone can show up in a beat from the gyrating staircases at her back, says exactly that, and better than words.

A couple of fingertips journey leisurely over your jawline, and then her lips break away, twisting into a smile, "Nothing unusual to report, Fleur."

Sighing and with your eyes closed, you steal a last quick kiss from her delicate mouth. It feels smooth, coated with that subtle taste of cherries. A large grin swells your cheeks. The brunette has been consistent with the use of her lip balm, and you have only good things to say about that habit.

When you open your eyes again, Hermione guides her hand gently up to your left cheek, spreading trails of soft tingles on your skin. You can't put into words how glad you are that no one is interrupting this particularly good moment.

"Where are your friends?" you ask to focus your mind, suspecting they won't be far.

"They went to our Common Room. I bet Ron is beating Harry at wizard's chess as we speak," she shrugs.

"Zey let you go?" It sounds quite unlikely. You've been a witness to how they can put up a fight against that, especially at night. "Just like zat?"

Hermione straightens up, adding a little space between you. The hand at your face slips away to search her robes, and when it returns, she offers you a small object. "I told them I wanted to give this back, and they had to agree it was the right thing to do."

In one look you recognize Anca's letter and withdraw your hands to collect it. "Merci. I will keep it wiz my letters." You tuck it neatly inside your bag, with many other rolls of parchment. "And... did you 'ave a good time at ze library?"

"Yeah, I guess. I couldn't believe Ron wanted to go on a Friday night. He's been working harder, to compensate for all he didn't do over the holidays," the brunette replies in a flat tone. "We had the library to ourselves. Nearly no one else showed up."

That remark reminds you of Alix's words at dinner. "Ze girls from Beauxbatons, my friends, were going to be zere, too. Did you see zem?"

"Sure," Hermione confirms, watching as you proceed to shrink your bag and your cap, and then stow them in a pocket of your uniform. "They were a quiet group. Harry was impressed with the piles of books Madam Pince brought to their table. Right before they left, one of them looked upset, like she wasn't feeling very well. I think it was the taller girl, who talks to McGonagall a lot."

"Félicie," you guess, and yet the brunette's expression remains blank. "Hmm... 'Azel eyes, 'air ze color of caramel, and wiz a scar on 'er right 'and?"

"That's the one. I wonder how she keeps a tan through this winter," she remarks in a distracted tone, her voice dropping to a whisper at the end.

You frown, lacking an explanation to offer, "I 'ad never zought of zat."

The Gryffindor shrugs and continues. "When they were gone, I stopped by my room for a bath - as you noticed - and then I came here. It was less than an hour ago."

Which means you'll really be on your own to return through the grounds, and there's no way around it. "I was too late for zem," you murmur.

"They are going to understand, aren't they?" the brunette replies with a hopeful eagerness, probably mistaking your reaction as disappointment at missing an engagement. "You were busy, and it couldn't be helped with Snape."

You nod, keeping the true reason for apprehension to yourself. She takes your hands in a careful grip, and your mood improves remarkably at the sight of one of her beautiful smiles.

"You know," the brunette sounds more jovial and just a bit shy, all of a sudden, "it was okay at the library, but it would've been much better if you were there, too."

You clasp her hands together, one against the other, as if in a gesture for prayer, and cover them with your own, warming that little bit of her, entrusted so freely to you. It's easy to see she's trying to make you feel better. That cute face and the turn in the conversation say it all.

Until you take a closer look at her words, and the opening to tease is too good to pass.

"Hmm, of course. Zat makes total sense," you say playfully, and a smirk starts to curve the right side of your mouth, "because we would 'ave studied a lot together, non?"

She chuckles through her blushing cheeks, and objects, "Hey, you and I went there before. I can work around you."

"Indeed." Your voice modulates to a lower pitch, and you separate her hands, pulling her slightly closer with a soft tug. "On a Friday night?"

The brunette tightens her lips, in a brief and insecure frown. "Well... I... Yes, I thought so."

One challenging eyebrow hikes as high as it will go on your forehead, and the smirk curls further. "Really? You wanted us to be zere to do 'omework?"

Hermione gnaws on her lower lip while she concocts an answer, but the more your extended silence drags on, the less confident she becomes. It seems to be a losing battle in her head. You refrain from everything but a light squeeze to her fingers, waiting patiently.

At last, her face warms up into a darker pink, and she casts her stare down.

"Okay, fine," the brunette admits in a whisper, capitulating. "There'd be some time to study, and then we could hang out... for a bit. This is the weekend, right? Our first weekend together. We are both doing well in school, and it isn't like we were about to break rules, or anything like that. I mean, the term is just starting, and it should be okay. Wouldn't yo-"

You can't hold the façade any longer.

Crystal laughter tinkles from you, drowning out her digression in a cascade of sounds that echoes all over the Hall. The brunette seems taken aback by the effect, glancing aimlessly in awe at the large vestibule, as if trying to track the ringing waves, bouncing from wall to wall.

The fact she'd envisioned those moments together fills you with a joy that lingers on your stretched lips, and you watch her wide-eyed and innocent expression, a precious image to store within your memory files.

"Of course I would want all of zat, ze studying, ze 'anging out, being zere wiz you," you remark, and her attention homes in on you as you speak. "For as long as we could."

Something seems to change, then. Her hands squirm loose and her curious eyes slip away again, now to check the watch at her right wrist. There's no liking the lines of concern that start to tense her forehead, and you finally realize what you'd just said.

Time is a limit that can't be tricked. Any and all time you get to spend together lasts for as long as allowed, not for as long as you like.

You let her hands go to follow her example, and the numbers on the dial don't make you particularly ecstatic.

Where has the time gone?

"We... should leave, non?" you start the unpleasant topic, and your expression just won't adjust into a happy ensemble.

"Maybe," she replies with reluctance, glancing at the large windows that clearly show it's pitch black outside. The brunette nods slowly, absentmindedly, and her eyes start to glaze, "Yeah, maybe we should..."

"Come on." You add a bit of enthusiasm to your voice, even if you don't really feel it. "We can be zere wiz some time to spare."

This once she doesn't answer, betraying how distant her thoughts are. You wish you could get a glimpse at what's going on inside her head, particularly since staying here any longer is a luxury she can't afford.

After a minute is gone and she hasn't even blinked, you start to frown. "'Ermione?"

The brunette shakes her head quickly, looking startled, "Sorry, what?"

"As I was saying," you raise an eyebrow at her, going with a light-hearted approach, "if we go now, we will 'ave some time left until you need to be inside your room."

There's a twitch in her jaw, and you have the impression she's struggling with something to tell you. A question is finding its way through your lips when a small smile and profuse nodding make you reconsider.

"Then," the brunette turns sideways on the stairs, sets her left foot up one step, and stretches a hand at you, "what are we waiting for?"

You smile back pleasantly, wider than she did, wrap your hand around her fingers, and start on the stairs.

Your stare wanders up as you go, taking in the confusing and ever-changing mesh of staircases, although your attention never strays too far or too long from the girl at your side. Her hand feels small and cold even now, and soon she's squeezing tight, absorbing the heat from your skin. It's the first time you climb the Grand Staircase like this, hand in hand.

An occasional high-pitched laugh streams down from the upper levels, probably from other students, and there's also chatting and singing coming from the portraits all around the tower. The dominant sounds, nonetheless, are the creaks and scrapes from the stairways, which somehow are louder now than they appeared to be during the day. If the grating noise keeps up, you'll soon be taking a souvenir headache back to the carriage.

Hermione ascends silently, her stare locked on the steps, barely noticing anything else from the surroundings, and you can't imagine the reason why she's squashing her bottom lip once more. To add to your surprise, as soon as you reach the fourth-floor landing, the brunette takes a sharp left into the long corridor, and abandons the stairs.

You frown when your hand falls empty at your side. "Where are you going, 'Ermione? Up ze stairs is ze shortest way to Gryffindor Tower, non?"

She whirls to face you, and her gaze shifts from a quick flit over your features to a long survey of the swiveling structures, then a blink at you, and another lasting stare at the staircases, as if she was carefully making a choice, weighing her options. The expression on her face does nothing to ease your mind. You'd recognize it as Hermione-style anxiety anywhere.

"I was thinking... it might be best if I go with you first. To the Beauxbatons carriage, I mean," she says in a casual tone. The brunette gestures towards the corridor, "Through here, we can head for the Hospital Wing, reach the Clock Tower, and then use the exit to the grounds. It won't take us long."

For a moment you are dumbstruck, unable to take in her words or find any of your own to argue. Hermione is watching you sharply now, not a single ounce of distraction left in her. That makes you frown.

"Please tell me you are not serious. Your Common Room is right zere," you emphasize the statement by pointing up the tower. "A few more flights of stairs and we would be facing ze Fat Lady."

"But I am serious," she returns, her tone exposing an edgy conviction. "There's no one else to go with you. I want to keep you company."

You shake your head and attempt to withhold some of your discontent for her sake, "You 'ave been late to your room several times zis week, and all of zem were because of me. If we keep zings going like zis, one night you might be in real trouble."

"My top concern is not the time," she counters in a low voice, and her expression becomes strained. "Your plan is to take me to my Common Room, and then cross the grounds alone. That isn't fair. After yesterday, I'm not even sure it's safe."

And there it is, out in the open, the reason for her weird behavior.

You hadn't meant to broach this with Hermione. You never imagined she would worry about it. Most of all, you wouldn't dream she could contemplate such a suggestion. Whatever danger is lurking near the edge of the forest, you can't take any chances the brunette might end up dealing with that. It's up to you to persuade her to give up.

You take in a very deep breath, both to calm and prepare yourself. "Zere is nothing going on at ze grounds, as far as we know. Only in ze woods. Ze Veela would 'ave warned us if zere was," you contest quietly, with an impassive face.

The Gryffindor squares her jaw, frowning. "Do you really believe I'll fall for that?"

All you want is to throw your hands up in frustration, but it'll have to wait. Something tells you to not underestimate her determination. Even if you can't tap into her emotional ups and downs as you did in the afternoon, the ice in her voice and the flames in her eyes are frank indications of a storm raging inside the girl. You remember how much she can bottle up under a placid exterior. And she isn't even entirely placid right now.

"What I said is true," you reply in your defense, mustering all the calm that you can. It is the truth, after all, according to the little you know, even if you fear it isn't entirely correct. You're caught between avoiding a major disagreement and the urge to keep the brunette out of harm's way. "I do not agree zat you take risks wiz your curfew again, as much as I appreciate your company and your consideration. Ze right choice would be to go wiz my friends. Since zat is not possible, I can do it alone zis time."

Hermione looks away, rocking her head from side to side, "You said it yourself, if the Veela were worried, so were you. Now I'm worried, too. Something about this feels wrong. Just," her eyes trail up, wandering over your face, and her voice takes on a slightly softer tone, "please, try to see things from my point of view... If it was the other way around, would you stay in the castle and let me go out there?"

'No. Not in a million years.' The reply swirls loosely in the recesses of your mind as you watch her. As you can't stop looking at her, and your brain works furiously to find the best way to tackle the dilemma.

Your complete attention is captivated by her. Each flicker in her features lures your stare, each one registers in your mind. The more you notice, the more you feel for her, the more you want from her, the more your perception clings to her. You close your eyes when a subtle stream of emotions invades you, all foreign, her emotions, bare and raw, resonating deep in your chest, hitting you hard on a soft spot you didn't think she could reach.

Your resolve starts to crack.

Everything you can sense in her compounds into genuine concern. A genuine concern for you, exactly as you would have for her, if the roles were reversed. You saw it in her words and in her attitude earlier. Now, it's painted in textures and lines across her face, pelting a path through to your core.

Your eyes open again and she's still looking at you, unrelenting, anxious, eagerly trying to anticipate your reaction.

The full contents of your lungs are emptied through a heavy sigh. You shake your head slowly, numerous, countless times, restoring order inside yourself, putting your brain back in charge.

You can't fully agree to her request, but maybe there is a solution for this, a way that might satisfy her, and still be right by you.

"I am not going to change your mind, am I?" you ask gently.

"No. Not tonight, not on this," she says with determination. "I'm not out for an argument. I only want you to be okay."

"I know," you start over, toning down the dissension in your voice. If you're going to bridge the gap, then she needs some insight into your side, too. This has to cut both ways in order to work. "Zere is a good reason for me not to agree zat you go all ze way to ze carriage. Zat would put me in ze same position you do not want to be right now. When we reached my room, I would stay zere, worrying about you, knowing zat you were returning alone back to ze castle. And zat would not be fair, either."

Hermione takes it out on her lower lip, as she mulls over that. From her torn expression, the message got through to her.

The groundwork's been laid. Time to talk terms.

"We can walk together until ze wooden bridge, and from zere we go our separate ways. I will 'ave ze grounds ahead of me, and you can return zrough ze castle," you suggest. "Zat is more reasonable, non?"

"It's a little better." There's resistance in her voice. She probably wants far more.

Your expression hardens somewhat, sending the message you're serious about that limit. "Not enough?"

"I'd rather stay with you for a bit longer," the brunette replies, now vacillating as she tries to read your face, "maybe up to the Stone Circle. We can say farewell there, where I'll see you hiking to the carriage. A happy medium. Well, sort of. What do you think?"

You nod, after considering it. "Okay, zat could work out well," you finally agree. This assures she'll be safe, very close to the castle. You add an extra dose of reassurance, "And I still zink ze odds are against any surprises."

"I hope so. I really hope so," the brunette says, retracing her steps towards you. "It's just that... Don't go around being the heroine. I have a first-hand experience with Harry, already. Danger can find him in the most absurd ways. But not you, too. I don't want to see you injured."

"I understand," you say, pulling her into your arms and holding on tight to make a point, "and I am not dismissing ze risks. You do not need to worry so."

"Better safe than sorry," she replies and leans back, placing her hands on your arms, each one slightly above an elbow. Her eyes trace the collar of your blouse with such dedication that either she's found something fascinating there or she's avoiding your face with a passion. Her voice becomes a feeble whisper, "I bet you think I'm overdoing it, don't you?"

"A bit." You chuckle softly, relieved to realize she's breaking free from the rocky emotional ride, at last. Crisis averted, apparently. "You looked so nervous. It seemed you were ready for a big fight."

"Mm-hmmm... I feared that. I thought you wouldn't agree with me," she states with a fleeting glance at your features, before she looks at your right shoulder and pulls a few loose, long strands of platinum blonde hair from your blazer.

You stay extremely still, watching her release them and search for more on the other shoulder. The one thing keeping you calm is her utter lack of understanding or concern for what she's doing.

"And you were right, of course. I did not agree," you say slowly, to underscore the

words.

"I meant at all," the brunette insists, seeking your eyes. "You could've refused to accept anything from the start-"

"I did refuse, right when you said you wanted to go wiz me," you interrupt her, rubbing your eyes as an excuse to miss her stare.

"Okay, now I give up." She looks straight at you when your hands return to her waistline. The brunette crosses her arms in the tight space, while juggling a frown and a smile. "Remind me, why didn't we end up in a fight?"

"Because we are two very smart people," you say simply, adding a small smile, too. "Smart enough to realize zere are better ways to get along."

"Good answer. I like that," Hermione nods, reaching up to catch your hands and squeeze them. "But it wasn't all about being smart, was it?" Her next words are a bit surprising. "There's more... More to this. Right?"

You drink in her calm, wide, hopeful brown eyes, and understanding comes to you right away. A long answer is probably what she wants to hear. "Oui. We both 'eld a lot back. We made an effort to zink before speaking, even wiz our difference in opinions. You and I kept an open mind, and at ze end we both made concessions. Zat took more zan intelligence. Ze uzzer reason why we did not fight is zat we care about each uzzer. We care enough to want to choose our words, and try not to 'urt feelings in ze way."

It's hard to conceive anyone could ever outshine her smile. Right now, you're watching it light up the entire corridor, end to end. A fuzzy happiness revolves through you, mixed in with just a bit of pride at being the cause of that.

You graze her right cheek lightly, tracing its contour, and finish in a slow whisper, "I care about you very much."

"So do I, Fleur. That's why I couldn't go quietly to my room. What if anything happened to you?" She shakes her head, a renewed spread of anxiety covering her mood.

"I will not let my guard down." Your voice is steady and sure, and it has the desired effect to take away the concern from the brunette. "And..." you lower your fingers to her hand again, and then you raise an eyebrow, allowing a small smile to make an appearance, "perhaps zis would be an appropriate moment to remind you zat I carry a wand at all times?"

"Yeah, you're right," she concedes, allowing herself a marginally playful timbre that is quite welcome. "And you are kind of good with it, too."

"Kind of?" There's mock outrage all over your face. "'Ow inaccurate."

The brunette tilts her head, getting ready to tease some more, when she catches sight of your smile slowly turning into a broad, mischievous grin. "Oh, you think so, do you?"

She took the bait. This is going to be fun.

The grin quickly slants into a smirk, "Of course. Zat was a terrible contradiction. A minute ago, you were calling me a 'eroine. And 'kind of good' cannot do justice to such a title."

She looks confused, and then tries to rectify your conclusion, "But that is not what I said. I asked you not to be a heroine."

"True, but did you notice ze way you said it?" you ask.

Now she frowns, speechless, and her eyes begin to narrow in suspicion.

"It was so... moving and meaningful, a clear statement zat you zought I could be one, zat I 'ave what it takes. It is grand to realize zat you regard me so 'ighly. A true 'eroine must be admirable, a gifted witch, wiz great magic," you complete with a slightly pompous air and a wink. "Non?"

The failure to find a proper comeback is evidence that she never saw it coming. She's probably unable to believe her ears. You pretend not to notice her stalled breathing, or the subtle owl-eyed expression, and slowly lean close to her left ear.

"I am absolutely kidding, ma belle," you whisper. Releasing her completely, it's time to wave a hand at the empty corridor, "We were supposed to be going. Ze 'our is ticking."

You kiss her forehead with a loud smack and pace lazily backwards, still looking at her, frozen solid on her spot, gawking at the empty space where you no longer are. At last, she gains control of her features and scuttles to reach you, scowling as your chuckles ring free, stretching on the long walkway.

"Hey, don't do that. Stop laughing," she complains, snapping back in character. "You were up against a dragon and it didn't go to your head like this. I wasn't aware it'd take one word for you to climb on a pedestal and start thinking so much of yourself."

"Non, stop right zere. Zat is unjust. Despite what some people zink, or even say of me, nothing goes to my 'ead. I am very realistic about who I am," you argue as seriously as you can, though not hiding too well the smile dancing loosely about your face, or the added swagger to your step. "You were ze one zat provided ze pedestal. I zink your version of who I am is a lot more-"

"Don't," she interrupts the elaborate on-going gesture of your hands with a hasty squeal and a dusky blush, and then adds in a darker tone, "don't you dare finish that sentence."

You burst in rich laughter yet again, shaking shoulders, swaying ponytail and all.

"No, no, no, no. You won't laugh your way out of this," Hermione tries to keep her poise, although you see her lips trembling at the corners. "I mean it, or... or..." she glances around, helplessly, putting her mighty brain to use, before snapping her fingers together. "Oh, I know. Or I will go to my dorm right now."

"Non, please," you reply, covering your mouth while trying to curb the last giggles. "Do not do zat. I was really kidding all along, and zis is ze last you will 'ear from me on zat. Consider zis a promise."

"So you do want me to go with you," she says, smearing smugness all around.

"Of course I do," you nod, smiling, granting her the satisfaction. "I wish you are not late again, but our accord is just. I very much want your company to ze grounds now."

She chuckles, falling in step with you, as you tread through the corridor. You feel her occasional glances, and she finally shakes her head a few times. "I have to say, you're great at making me smile, but your sense of humor can be weird some times."

"At least you zink I 'ave a sense of 'umor," you go for optimism, wondering if the brunette noticed you've fallen into easy conversation again. "It is a good zing, non?"

"I guess. Depends on the type of humor, though," she teases, smiling still.

"Was zat really so bad?" you can't help asking, switching to a more neutral countenance. "We needed a round of laughs."

"It was… entertaining. And, yeah, a bit awful, too," she replies, chuckling. "You're in a good mood."

"Zis 'as been an odd day." You search her face carefully, or at least what you can see of her profile, and then choose an appreciative tone, "In my... 'umble opinion, you are looking a lot better now zan when we arrived on zis floor."

Her head moves in a strange way, apparently indecisive between a shake and a nod. "Okay, that might be true. I'm feeling better, too." She sneaks a furtive glance at you and nods, "So you knew what you were doing with the weird and the awful, then?"

You take a deep breath and swing your right arm in a wide arch ahead, for show, "Zat is who I am, always aiming 'igh-"

"Not again," the brunette groans, slapping a hand over her face, and sliding it down slowly. "No more pedestals for the night, or I'll have to knock them off your feet."

"Alright, alright," you reply, sheepishly. She doesn't miss your outstretched grin. "No more tonight. Only tomorrow."

The brunette tries to glare at you while chuckling, and you laugh harder at her expression.

It's short-lived, though. You both fall silent and look ahead at the sound of approaching noises.

A small group of young students appears at the end of the corridor, walking towards the Grand Staircase. One of them is telling the others an amusing interpretation of a fire-omen, probably from a Divination class. You recognize Ravenclaw and Gryffindor uniforms.

Some shy glances are spared your way in a polite greeting. Hermione gets more attention, though. From the exchanged nods, they are clearly acquainted with the brunette.

"Watch it, Hermione. Mrs. Norris is stalking by Madam Pomfrey's office," says a short boy with a friendly face and light brown hair. He's one of the stragglers, hurrying to catch up to the others. "I'll see you later at the Common Room."

The girl waves at him and replies a bit louder. "Thanks, Colin. I'll keep my eyes open, just in case. Good night."

You glance over your shoulder as the animated chatter restarts, and another funny story earns its giggles and chortles. "Zird-years?"

Hermione nods, "Most of them, and a couple of second-years, too. I only know the Gryffindors well."

"Zey must 'ave 'ad a good time in class," you remark.

"Sure, Divination can be amusing, or it has the potential to be, if you don't take it too seriously," she says with a reticent expression, checking a tapestry hanging on a far wall. "I quit last year."

"Hmm?" Your face rumples in surprise.

"You heard right. One day I up and left the classroom, to never return. That's pretty much what happened. Can't say I miss it. I'm cut out for logic and reason. Divination just isn't for me," the brunette explains, shrugging. "Professor Trelawney agreed I didn't have the Inner Eye."

You nod, thoughtfully, "'Ardly anyone does, non? Ze gift is very rare."

"Yes, I've read the statistics; all the data I could find, actually. It's extremely rare..." Hermione pauses, curiously glancing your way. "Did you ever take Divination?"

"I did, until my OWLs. Even zough zere is no Seer blood in my family, sometimes it 'appens unexpectedly, and ze Veela believe in late bloomers. As soon as ze exams were over, zough, I gave it up, too," you share.

The brunette takes out her wand to relight a burnt out torch as you go, keeping an eye on it until the flames are restored.

"So..." she starts quietly, and then looks at you with a quirky smile, "I heard you had a sword fight today."

"Where did you 'ear zat?" you ask, glancing curiously at her.

"Over dinner." Her eyes sparkle, noticing your fostered interest. "Ron's brothers were telling everyone that this is a great year to be a senior, with the fun you're having in classes. They overheard the Gryffindor seniors describing some of the moves from your battle."

"It was a practical demonstration in Transfiguration class," you explain quietly. "Yvonne and I went first, so we could leave for ze dungeons and prepare our zings. We only stayed for our presentation."

"And? Go on, tell me about it," she encourages with little patience and an excited expression. "McGonagall once caught Harry and Ron in a sword fight during class, with fake wands. I suspect it isn't the same you did."

The image of the boys playing around has you smiling and shaking your head, "It was not a real sword fight, and we did not use fake wands, either. Zat was a sword dance, by a pair of animated suits of armor."

"That must've been nice to watch. Fred and George said it was 'wicked'," the brunette states, sounding impressed. She glances at you, "Wasn't so hard to share, was it?"

"Not 'ard, but perhaps boring," you offer, "for a Friday night, non?"

"No, you can't bore me when this is totally new for me. Besides, it involves you," she protests. "There's a greater chance I'll be boring you with fourth-year stuff."

"Zat is not true," you counter. "I like to know ze zings you do. I remember 'ow it was in Beauxbatons, and ze professors at 'Ogwarts 'ave original ways to teach zeir classes."

You become silent as you climb a small set of stairs into Hospital Tower, followed by a spiral staircase. The doors to the Hospital Wing and Madam Pomfrey's office are closed, and you turn towards the corridor leading to the Clock Tower.

Hermione looks all around, searching carefully, and whispers, "No sign of Mrs. Norris, so far. Do you see that cat?"

"Not 'ere," you answer, checking your side of the corridor. "'Ow were your classes in ze morning? 'Istory of Magic and Charms, non?"

"Mm-hmm," she nods, watching every corner suspiciously. "Professor Flitwick started the theory on Banishing Charms this week. Last year we had Summoning Charms."

"'Arry used zat spell in ze first task of ze Tournament," you mention, recalling how his broomstick had been the key to outsmart his dragon. "'E did very well."

"He did, didn't he?" the brunette says in an overflow of pride. "And we're studying Goblin Rebellions with Professor Binns."

"I do not know zat professor, ze ghost. Someone told me 'is classes are not very exciting," you remark uncertainly, "but it is useful knowledge to understand goblins and zeir claims."

The Gryffindor purses her lips, probably measuring her words, "I'm lucky to really like History. His classes are not the most popular."

The Hospital Wing is left behind as you step into the Clock Tower. Both of you take a little time to admire the immense turret mechanism, the rhythmic ticking, the pendulum, and also to check the hour.

"We were fast," you say in good spirits, and then spin around to search beyond Hermione, where very soft scraping sounds are caught by your eardrums.

Mrs. Norris had been scratching one of the nearby balusters and just stopped to look at you. Actually, more like stopped to glare at you. And you didn't even know that a cat could do that.

"We have to go. It's almost eight o'clock." Hermione takes your hand, hurrying through the stairs down the tower, and only speaking again when you're near the last steps. "Now that she's seen us, Filch can show up really soon."

You plough on, to the courtyard, worried that the man might appear out of nowhere to give you the scare of a lifetime, listening for his heavy footsteps. Fortunately, they never make it. The only sound in range is the expected soft burble ahead, from the center of the square. Hermione proceeds cautiously, too.

"I think we're really alone now," she observes, lowering her voice.

The moment you step outside, in the open, you're both startled to a stop by the glimmer of your skin. You look up at once, and, surely enough, the moon is glowing on the dark background, among blurry clouds changing shape. It's the waning moon, little by little making its way down to a sliver. A few more nights and it'll be a whole week of new moon. A week where your skin is to look like anyone else's, day and night.

Hermione lifts your clasped hands and smiles at the sight of your shiny attribute. She stays like that, distracted and studying your skin, until you slowly resume walking. This time you're the one pulling her along, aiming for more distance from the castle. The central fountain deserves no more than a single, passing glance, and you only allow another pause to turn around after you reach the covered bridge.

Apparently, the cat didn't follow, and the caretaker might not have been warned. Perhaps the claw-sharpening session was too good to cut short for two students who were wandering about, even if they were pushing the limits of curfew. Or maybe Mrs. Norris just wasn't very stirred by either of you.

It's for the best. Hermione won't need that extra complication when she returns to her room.

A quick nod and you move again, now through the bridge, looking down at the long wooden planks that stand between your feet and the abyss below. Scarce lanterns shed weak lighting in spots throughout the convoluted construction. In the relative darkness, Hermione's features have a softer, almost surreal, look. You wonder if it can also take away some of the intensity of her eyes, perhaps enough to halt the effects you've been experiencing under that magnetic gaze.

She noticed you were staring, and you take it upon yourself to break the silence, "Zere is something zat I zink will interest you. Ze professor was correcting essays when Yvonne and I finished our potion, and you just received top marks. 'E seemed impressed. It was ze widest roll of parchment on 'is desk."

"That homework took a lot of research," she replies, smiling. "Thanks."

The moonlight can't find your skin anymore, and the brunette sets your hands down, to fall in a natural back and forth swing between you. "Did Snape return your book?"

A sharp intake of breath, and then a set of eyebrows scatter up. "I forgot about zat." The voice is small as you realize your mistake. There were plenty of other things on your mind, yes, but this one was a priority.

She frowns, pointing at the castle, "Do you want to go back and get it?"

"It is late, and I would not go to ze dungeons one more time," you reply, shaking your head. "Ze book will 'ave to wait."

A blast of wind, cold and cutting, jumbles branches through the forest and speeds up at the bridge. Hermione's cloak whips and flails about, at the mercy of the gust. Her hair doesn't do much better. There's wood creaking all around as the structure sways a little, enough to make you wonder if it's threatening to splinter, but the wind fades as fast as it came, and the truss underneath doesn't protest for long.

"Speaking of Potions..." She walks at a slower pace to pull her clothing in order, and you help with her hair, making no attempt to return to a faster stride. "You were going to tell me why you left the class like that."

She couldn't have chosen a better topic to have you ill at ease on the spot. The brunette notices your sudden stiffness and halts, dragging you to do the same. Now she's turned towards you, in wait of an answer. You stay stubbornly as you are, facing ahead, ready to keep on walking. Deep down you know it serves only to spur her curiosity.

You try the less descriptive, basic approach, "Ze reason was ze blonde boy sitting in front of you. 'E was bothering your friends, and 'e bothered me, too."

"Mm-hmmm..." Frowning, Hermione cuts to the chase in a firmer voice, "I saw when Yvonne went to restrain you. Harry was doing the same to Ron at my table."

Of course, she had to have seen that brilliant moment in its full extent.

You sigh. "I did not intend to do anything zat would justify zat. It was not a conscious decision."

"Please," the brunette requests, "details."

"Do you really 'ave to ask zat of me?" You glance at her, but then your eyes race away just as fast, to check the shabby woodwork around. "To me?"

"Yes." Judging from her pressing tone, there's no escaping this. "Ron won't speak about it, and Harry pretends to go deaf at my questions."

That leaves you to fill her in, apparently. You take a small step forward, trying to get her to walk again, "I overheard a senseless zing from 'im, and zen Yvonne stopped me before I could damage 'is potion. Zat was it."

"Let's get through this before we go anywhere else," the Gryffindor remarks and stands in front of you at once, blocking your way. She earnestly takes hold of your other hand, staring up into your eyes. "You are usually so calm, so unaffected... What did Malfoy say?"

Reason and feelings wage a war inside you. How can you share that with her? How can you keep it from her? You gaze down, to the curly tips of her locks, over one shoulder and the other, skipping the brown eyes in between.

"You have to tell me what happened," the brunette adds softly. "You said you would."

"Oui, I did," you reply with a grimace, but then never go on, refusing to produce the words.

Hermione squeezes your fingers, encouraging you to speak.

"Ze Malfoy boy... 'e said..." It takes a thick swallow for you to try again, "'E called... you-"

"A Mudblood," she whispers, finishing for you.

Pure anger ignites a path straight to your hands, and her fingers twitch where they are in contact with you, atop that outflow of magic. You berate yourself for forgetting she can feel it, and rub her skin in an apologetic, soothing way. The moment you relax again, the currents slowly simmer down.

"I thought he had insulted you," she says, looking at your hands, "like he was doing to Hagrid."

You shake your head. "Filthy Mudblood was ze full statement 'e used." The small, hoarse voice forcing a way through your lips is nearly unrecognizable. This is much worse than when you told Yvonne. "And zen I lost it. I could not contain my outrage."

"You lost it?" the brunette questions, repeating vaguely.

You can't bring yourself to look at her, so you lodge your stare as far away as you can now, beyond her, beyond this bridge, to scan the farther landscape, and focus on the whispery sounds of a light breeze, until your voice is ready for use without breaking. "I do not remember much of anything, except being very angry and... not myself. Yvonne said I seemed to be in a trance. One of ze bezoars I showed you was in my 'and, and I tried to stand up to use it on 'is cauldron, but she intervened. And zen I was back to normal."

It's imprecise and superficial, but it's also all you can say. The Gryffindor goes silent for a long length of time. Long enough that you can't stand it, and finally have to risk a glance back.

Her thoughtful expression stamps a frown on your face. "I 'ope zis will not give you ze wrong impression. Despite what you saw, I do not lose my temper easily. I feel strange for reacting in a way I never 'ad, and ze stranger part is zat it was because of a younger student, a student in your year. Normally I would ignore someone provoking me, or only talk back and reason, at ze most," you say defensively.

She nods. "I know."

"You should reali-" More arguments were lined up in your brain to contend your case, when what she said clicks in place. Your lips stop, stunned, and you blink at her. "You... What did you say?"

"I believe you. I believe those things you said. Malfoy's just too good at getting under anyone's skin, an expert, really," Hermione says stoutly. "He's only gotten worse since Rita Skeeter's article."

"You believe me just like zat?" Your eyebrows show her how much of a surprise that is. She's accepted it too well, too quickly.

"Mm-hmm," she hums.

"In all 'onesty, I do not understand zis from you," you grouse, shaking your head. "I know zat ze boy is not your favorite person, but it does not exempt me from criticism. I should 'ave been ze responsible one, ze one setting an example. You seem to be going easy on me, and taking everything out on zat boy, but I am not wizout fault. Zis was not all on 'im."

She steps a little closer, moving ahead that last bit, and tilts her head on your right shoulder, still holding your hands. "It's more complicated than that. If you were in a trance, then it wasn't you doing anything. It wasn't on purpose. I don't see your fault as plainly as you do, and nothing happened, anyway. Yvonne had great timing to stop you."

"Zis could 'ave taken place wizout 'er zere," you counter. "Zen what?

"Then his potion would have to suffer the wrath," the brunette pauses to stress that word, "he brought out of you."

"You sound so sure." You move your linked hands around her, in a loose embrace, and take in another whiff of her scent, very slowly. It's less pronounced, now that the strands are nearly dry. "Yvonne witnessed the full scene, and she 'ad her share of doubts."

"I think I've been watching you longer than Yvonne, and closer, too," she argues, and you like the challenging note in her voice. It comes across as a bit... possessive. "You've had hordes of people harassing you, and ogling you, following your every move. That patience of yours has been tested for months, and I'm sure at least one of them made your blood boil." Her face is concealed from you, but you can hear the slight grasp at humor, " You never even raised your voice. If you didn't hex anyone until now, it just isn't in you."

"Zat is quite a vote of confidence."

The unexpected leap of faith in your character feels ironic, really. How anticlimactic would it be to point out she isn't entirely correct? You did lose all traces of patience with one Roger Davies, after all, and there was that other thing yesterday, when you kind of set Peeves on Malfoy's tail. Although, technically speaking, no hexes were used on either occasion.

"I think I have it right," she shrugs, slowly changing her stance. The brunette lets go of your hands to bring her arms the other way, towards and behind you, over your waist. "Look, I know what you're doing, and you won't hear an accusation from me. You can say I'm biased, if you want. Maybe that's what I am - biased against him, or biased in your favor, however you choose to see this. Maybe both. The truth is, we don't have all the facts. That Slytherin is trouble on two legs, and something was going on with you today. We have to know more before you're so willing to take blame."

"It does not change ze fact zat I should not 'ave lost my temper," you mumble, downhearted, pressing a cheek against her temple.

Hermione sighs, stirring a little to release one hand. She lifts it to your jaw, tracing the arced outline with slightly cold fingers.

"That, I can't change, you're right," the brunette admits, and she seems significantly less excited. She shifts back to look at you, her eyes moving quickly to analyze your features. "But if you're beating yourself up over that, it's time I tell you another episode related to Malfoy. I think it might help, for the sake of perspective."

Her hand advances, up and over your right cheek. Your eyelids shut off the world as you indulge in the soft caress, smiling just a little, and then a cool, hasty kiss marks your mouth with the shape of her lips. You barely start to kiss her back, and it's over.

She's looking at you when you open your eyes again, and then you nod in approval, doubting your ability to speak.

"There's a lot you don't know, things that happened at Hogwarts. We haven't had much time to talk, yet, since we're..." the brunette hesitates, striving for words as she moves a forefinger, pointing back and forth between herself and you, "well, you know..."

Silence goes on, and you wait with bated breath for her to end the phrase.

"We," she completes shyly, adding no more.

Your expression goes blank. That's an answer that could really use some work.

But not now. Her mind seems to be going on an entirely different direction. "We will 'ave ze weekend to fix it. What did you want to tell me?"

"It's..." She turns her head to a side, avoiding your eyes. "Malfoy and I never saw eye to eye on a lot of things. I guess too many things."

You can't help but frown, wondering where she's taking this.

"I slapped him around a year ago."

"Oh?" The frown collapses, unable to fit into an expression overtaken by surprise. You repeat the question for confirmation, still getting used to the idea. "You?"

Hermione nods, and clings closer to you again, hiding her face on your shoulder. One of your hands stays at her waist, and the other climbs of its own accord to settle over her strands.

"'Ermione," you jump to very unpleasant conclusions, and just barely keep your voice calm, "what did 'e do to you?"

Now you feel the head shake. "It was about Hagrid that time."

"Please, zis is not ze time for you to be sparing of explanations," you protest. "I am curious. You cannot leave it like zis."

"Hagrid's teaching career started in my third year, when the professor for the Care of Magical Creatures class retired," she begins. "On his first lesson, he wanted to make it exciting for us, so we learned about Hippogriffs. Against all of his warnings, Malfoy disrespected one of them. The creature attacked, and that was the end of our class. Hagrid had to rush him to the Hospital Wing."

You splutter a raving "But" that has no effect on the brunette, and she simply goes on, "It was his fault, we all knew that. He pretended the wound was much worse than it was. The school governors almost sacked Hagrid."

"What an attitude," you grumble. "Ze professor is still 'ere, so ze attempt on 'is job must 'ave failed... And now zis Rita Skeeter stuff. Zings 'ave not been good for 'im."

"Yeah, Hagrid's had some rough years. The year before, he was sent to Azkaban on unfounded suspicions. And he was innocent." The sadness in her voice suppresses your will to keep on asking. You didn't know she held him in such high esteem. "Erm, sorry, I went off course. There was more on that story."

You stay quiet, oblivious to all else.

"Malfoy senior made a complaint with the Ministry, and Buckbeak - that's the Hippogriff - was sentenced to execution. Hagrid fought tooth and nail for him, but to no avail. It was terribly frustrating. One day, at the end of another of his classes, Hagrid was in a right state, and Malfoy made fun of him behind his back, pretty much like today. When he called Hagrid 'pathetic', I was so furious... So mad." The brunette speaks through gritted teeth, in a tone ripe with emotions drawn from those memories. "I know how you felt today, because I've been there, and at the hands of Malfoy, too. I lost it that day. He was just standing there, laughing. I got to him faster than either Ron or Harry. And then I slapped him."

Her hands are clenched at your back, wrinkling the blazer in their hold. You both stay very still for very long, and you have a hunch that her mind is going at top speed, just like yours. The only movement to be seen is from your fingertips, circulating tirelessly through her hair, trying to take the edge off her distress.

"I 'ave to ask..." The whisper is as gentle as possible, although it sounds too loud in quiet night. "Are you sure you are telling me everything?"

"Yes, that was all," she says in a tight voice. "I'd never done anything like that to anyone." There's a short pause, and the Gryffindor splays her fingers a bit, as if suddenly aware of what they were doing. "I guess we all have our triggers. He just happened to find mine."

The brunette takes her time to improve her position and recline her head sideways, near your neck. It's probably more comfortable for her, considering how easily she returns to that same spot whenever she hugs you, and soon the tip of her nose is rubbing your neck.

A freezing tip, by the way, colder than her hands or her lips had been. It could be from the anxiety, of course, but you hadn't taken the temperature into account, and perhaps you should. Keeping the hand at her head, you pull out your wand with the other one, and a spell soon spreads a good measure of warmth on both of you.

Her next word is muffled by your clothes, breathed out in a way all but steady. "Disappointed?"

"Non." The tone carried a strict inflexibility, despite how soft your voice was. "Not in you." In a quick whip, the wand is out of sight, and you lace her middle again. "I am still trying to digest what came over me. You, zough, I understand."

She retreats from you with a curious gaze, her eyebrows lifting as she speaks, "Now who's going easy on whom?"

"I am not doing zat," you reply mildly, unscrambling the fingers from her hair and joining your hands at her back. "You know zat zese situations cannot be compared."

"Yeah, they are different, even if Malfoy took a part in both. We have to find out more about you, and that trance," she concludes, while you confirm with a curt nod. "In the meantime, I think you should try to ignore him. Whatever he's up to, it can't be good. I don't like the idea that he's playing with your head, and that he's using me to do that to you," the brunette continues, more calmly.

You lean on her, seeking that degree of comfort that never fails to come from any contact with the girl. "All I need is my mind to stay sharp. As long as I do not enter anuzzer strange daze, I promise zat 'e will be less interesting to me zan a bug on ze wall."

"Even when it's a hard one to ignore," she narrows her eyes, staring somewhere over your right shoulder, "like that large beetle flying this way?"

You turn around and see the dark insect on an unsteady trajectory, knocking against the wooden frame in a succession of low taps, but still moving in your direction. Its wings are barely keeping the bulky body in suspension. With unbidden antipathy, you draw out your wand and a quick Stunning Spell smashes right on target, a couple of meters away.

The immobilized beetle clonks down heavily on the round-cornered railing, and then rolls off, down the ravine.

"What kind of promise was that?" The brunette is being quite shrill, still looking at the same spot. Her eyes are wider when they turn to your face. "You're throwing spells left and right now."

"It was an expression," you reply patiently, rolling your eyes. "In general, I cannot ignore bugs zat get too close. I prefer to keep zem far away from me." The wrinkle in your nose should make that clear. "My love for animals does not extend unconditionally to insects, particularly ze large ones, such as beetles, and grasshoppers, and, hmm, cockroaches, and..."

"Let me guess... and spiders?" she asks, and you suspect the slight mirth beginning to surface in her voice has deeper roots.

"Of course! Everyone I know zinks zey are disagreeable," you shrug nonchalantly, although your cheeks blush a few degrees warmer. "And 'ere, at 'Ogwarts, it is a lot worse, perhaps because we are stationed so close to ze forest. Ze spiders are ze size of my 'ands, black and wiz zick 'airs sticking out. You should see 'ow it is when we find one in ze carriage. Ze running, and ze yelling, and climbing on zings, and ze spells wiz shaking 'ands... No aim at all... Last time Lucie almost set 'er room on fire, and zen-"

Her hand covers your mouth to stop the rambling. "I think I can imagine." The brunette smiles. "In sum, you're terrified of bugs."

You frown, and hope she can't see your burning face. "I would not call it something as bad as a phobia, exactly. It is more of a... hmm, civilized repulsion. I am just really not fond of anything wiz more zan four legs." From the vast grin now dangling in front of your eyes, you realize you're still playing defense, and quickly retrace, back to the starting point, "As I meant to say, I promise zat I will be ignoring ze Malfoy boy. Not as I would a bug on a wall, zen, but as a speck of dust on ze floor. Does it sound better now?"

Hermione nods, and it's painstakingly slow. "Oh, much. Much better."

You scratch your nape and sigh, fully aware that you just sabotaged yourself in the last stretch of the conversation.

"So..."

Hermione says no more, and you tilt your head, watching her expression waver somewhat between peaceful and happy. That's the only indication of where her mind is, and it seems a great place to be. Her pretty smile deserves many repeat stares, and the on-going pause extends, lazily, for too long. It feels like a proper moment to give her a nudge.

You playfully oblige, rocking her a bit to one side, and then the other. "So?"

She chuckles until the swaying has stopped, and then you earn a tight hug. "We've done enough talking about Malfoy, haven't we?"

"I agree," you say, nodding insistently enough that you can hear the soft swish of the ponytail at your back, "but it was good to set some facts straight."

"Honestly, we should never let him monopolize our time together like this again," she insists, and the remark is a perfect match to your sentiments on the matter.

"And on a Friday night, too," you quip, smiling.

The brunette shakes her head, "You are not letting that go, are you?"

"Of course not. I am 'appy zat we 'ave a couple of days wiz no classes ahead of us. It means more time for us." You waggle your eyebrows a little. "More time wiz-"

Both of you are startled by a series of loud chimes from the Clock Tower, announcing eight o'clock. There goes Hermione's curfew. If you hadn't been so caught up in each other, you might have followed through with the plan, and the brunette would probably be in the castle now, somewhere close to her Common Room. From her upset look, you have to wonder if she has any regrets.

You wait for the last toll of the bells to speak again, feeling quite hollow all of a sudden. "It is official now, non?"

"Yeah, I'm definitely late," she replies, and her teeth lock onto her bottom lip. "The Stone Circle is right ahead. Come on."

"You should go now, so you are not out much later," you say, tipping your head in the direction of the castle and trying to sound positive about it. "You can make it back quickly, if you 'urry."

"No, I have to see this through," the brunette counters, showing her stubborn nature. And then she mumbles, "I just wish that clock was clanging a different hour. Time seems to fly when we're together."

Her hands start to pull back from you, and she takes a step away, turning around. But you don't let her go, and quickly hold her hands. Those simple words are bouncing inside, reaching into the emptiness, and filling it until it doesn't seem so bleak anymore.

She looks up in surprise. "Fleur?"

A smile is your first answer, small and light, joyful. And then you give voice to the second, that requires words, "Can you guess 'ow much I want to kiss you right now?" You breathe in slowly, deeply, seeking for the slight traces of the brunette in the air. "Can you tell?"

Hermione chuckles, shakes her head and glances away. Her eyes skim back to check if you are joking, and you earn a shy smile when the brunette realizes that it is a serious proposition.

"Oui, I meant it. Zis is a nice spot," you comment, pulling her back to you. The brunette is now enclosed in a snug little circle, all surrounded by you. "We are alone, and more shielded 'ere from ze wind and any-"

"Bugs?" she suggests, teasing with no shame or compassion.

"Hmm... Zose, too," you assent, keeping a smile and almost patting yourself on the back for not blushing again.

"I'll take you on that offer. I'd like that," she whispers, "a lot."

Her hands trail up your sleeves and fold behind your neck. A couple of fingertips curl through the bound strands at your nape, go up to the elastic band that keeps the ponytail tied, and then back down, scraping lightly a lane over that sensitive patch. You roll your neck a little, in response to her strokes, and let out a contented sigh.

There's amusement in her smile, and she brings her face closer. Your stare doesn't leave her, resigned to stumble on the shadows cast over her features. The intricacies of those beautiful brown eyes may not be readily visible, but you can feel, if only distantly, the relentless pull in effect, that invisible force drawing you to her.

The brunette bites her lip, watching you, too, and a playful smile twists both corners, as her teeth clench the center. Your heart rattles in approval at the confidence she's giving off, and she doesn't even seem conscious of that.

You wet your lips slowly, deliberately, and her expression takes a turn towards serious at the sight. Her breath hitches in expectation as you start to approach, and the brunette closes her eyes when you're only a couple of inches away.

A smile blinks on your face and you pause, leaving her an instant to wonder. In a single descending swing, your stare drops from her eyebrows, to her eyelashes, and down the line of her nose. It finally flaps closed after a glance at the underlying goal, and then you advance that final length, and cover her mouth gingerly.

The brunette remains very still, except for a bit of tension in her fingers, while you slightly glide to a side. Softness smoothes over softness, the smell of her lip balm floating between you, until you meet the bend of a corner and go back the same way, and then do it again at the other end, and yet again. It's a wordless invitation that she accepts without haste. Your lips start moving together, and the careful sweeps dissolve into long, gentle kisses.

She tries for a nibble, but you lean away, just out of reach, and shake your head, rubbing her nose with your own. She chuckles and mumbles an "Okay", redoubling the scrapes on your scalp, but otherwise waiting quietly. This is your turn to be in charge.

The tip of your tongue outlines her lower lip, staying longer on the outer spots that fit her teeth, as if you could undo the many stings they sustained during the day. A brief smile confirms that she understands, and you reward her with the tiniest nip.

Lingering on the inner edge, you tease that last limit a couple of times, until her lips come apart and you reach ahead, into her. You meet a warmth so sweet, and the rows of her small teeth, and a touch of pure velvet, now as invested in pampering you as you are in doing it to her. The taste you share becomes the same, her flavor and your flavor made into one, rousing, heady, fogging your mind.

Her fingers coil on your tresses, and short nails dig into your skin. Your arms clench further, to shrink the space dividing you, the action caught between the selfless desire to protect her from the world, and the selfish craving to have her more to yourself.

That feeling of anticipation grips you again, and everything in this night is eclipsed by her weak moan, more a delicate vibration than a sound, more felt than heard. It goes straight into you, and you catch that breath - her breath - and it dives into your lungs, spreads down your veins, and shocks all the magic in you into a low thrum.

Your charms become as unstable as the adrenaline fueling your system. Or your hormones, whatever this is. Emotions filter through, from her, from you, in a hazy and disordered succession that you don't have the ability or attention span to track at the moment.

The more lost in the kiss, the more certain you are that something truly exceptional is about to happen.

Should be right about... now...

...

Nothing.

You groan, but the brunette matches that with another moan, so it probably didn't seem too weird to her.

Any moment now. It's at the edge of your perception...

You frown.

Neither of you has all night, so it should be soon, or you might end up infuriated if that lightheadedness shows up and forces you to a halt. Again.

She bites your upper lip and now you really moan. That felt amazing. And then there's a slight nudge on your shoulders, and you realize she is withdrawing. You block the frustrated growl in your throat, pull back slowly, then press a last kiss on her swollen lips, and let her break apart.

The brunette releases a slow sigh that bathes your face in cherry-redolent bliss, but you're too caught up in that pull to give her up just yet. Before she has a chance to understand a thing, you are moving forward again, dotting a way over one cheek and down that long neck.

Her skin undulates beneath your mouth, fast waves in a strong throbbing, and even stronger as her pulse accelerates with the caress. You can faintly hear it, the flow of life, that rhythm, rustling just under the surface. Something delectable is mixed in with the scent of her hair now. Something that you can only detect close to the skin. Something that must be entirely her.

You realize all your senses are reacting out of proportion, electrified by the smallest cue coming from the girl, clawing at you, pulling you in, more and more, nearly drowning you in a lushness of sensations.

The dizziness that you had expected finally starts to set in, and as much as you hesitate, it becomes harder to deny that you have to slow down. You pause and retreat slightly, working to control your hard breathing. And call down your magic. And fasten your charms.

Hermione seems to be in a more steadier condition than you are, though not by much, and she shifts in front of you, but your vision is too unfocused to notice her intent.

"It keeps getting better every time," the brunette whispers, and her fingertips move as feathers over your cheekbone.

You nod in absolute agreement.

"They've changed," she prompts, looking at your eyes. "I can't see very well, but the color is too light to have any blue left."

"I know," you reply, as calmly as you are able to voice, in the same tone she used.

The curious brunette doesn't stop. "Is it painful?"

"Non." You offer her a small smile, "Zis is 'armless."

"How do you notice it's happening?" she continues, biting down on her lower lip and setting her hands on your shoulders.

"Ze shift is sharper now, zere are some physical signals. I know when my eyes change, and... uzzer zings, too," you explain, as you trace the lower border of her lip with your thumb, massaging the skin just right to ease it out of the clutches of her perfectly aligned front teeth.

She smiles when you manage to free the plump and darkened lip, following the slow motion of your light stare.

"It 'elps me to sense what you are feeling, too," you add.

"It... does?" she falters, and there's self-consciousness diffusing from her voice, right onto her expression.

"Oui, zough it 'as been complicated to deal wiz zat lately," you whisper pensively, hovering near until two sets of lips graze again, confirming with a quick peck each word you've said.

Your mind keeps going back to that uneasiness, the presentiment that has been haunting you every time you were with her in the afternoon, bringing you to the brink of jittery nerves.

"Your expression is not the same," she says in a subdued voice. "Is anything the matter?"

You shake your head.

She's still doubtful. "Did I do something wrong?"

"Non, of course not," you insist, taking a deep breath. "I was zinking, zat is all."

"You look tense. Go on, you can tell me," the brunette says in earnest.

"Today something 'as been... off." You hesitate, but she nods in encouragement and you purse your lips, digging into your brain for words that could add up into a reasonable explanation. "I longed for you all day when I could not be near you." You send your stare below the level of her eyes as your face is taken by heat. Particularly your cheeks. "And when we were... Non, when we are together," you correct, glancing briefly at her, "I 'ave everything from you, and it is not enough."

"Everything... What?" she asks, in mild confusion. "What isn't enough?"

"Let me try again," you say, and go the long route. "I can see you, 'ear you, talk to you, and show you zat you are very important to me. I 'ave a chance to be close to you, to touch you. Pretty much like now. We are so close, now, zat I can savor zat wonderful scent every time I breathe in."

You do exactly that, once, bending over her locks. She turns her head to make it easier for you, and you have to stop yourself from going for second and third helpings. You're trying to make a point, after all.

"I can also plant a quick kiss on your forehead, or on one of your cheeks," and you pause to demonstrate each possibility, "although I will not deny zat I 'ave preferred to give more attention to your lips."

This one the brunette must have been expecting, and she took it upon herself to lead, smiling all through a long taunt to your mouth.

"And when we share a more intense moment, like just now, I can sense your feelings. I might even be sharing mine wiz you," you end in a whisper with what's left of your breath, unsure if it's happening, or if she had been aware of it. "Do you understand? Everything about you is in my reach."

The brunette nods to indicate she's following, "What about the 'not enough' part?"

You sigh and a troubled look takes over your face. "No matter 'ow much I 'ave had of you before, or 'ow much I 'ave of you now, it is not enough. Zis entire day, I 'ave been aching inside. I still am. Zere is zis... anticipation zat will not leave me, like something crucial is missing, and it could manifest at any time, because it needs to occur."

The girl stays quiet, thinking, trying to unravel your honest and probably bewildering outburst. "We just had a Friday full of classes, and still, we were together so many times. I couldn't ask for more than all that. It was great the way it was. Don't you agree?"

"I know, and I agree, of course," you reply. "Zis is not a complaint. It is strange zat anything should feel out of place when it 'as clearly been a lot for a regular day of school. But I would like to know, zen," your charged voice should reveal your genuine desire for an answer, "why am I feeling like zis, today?"

The brunette raises both eyebrows, "Are you seriously asking me?"

You look past the bridge, to the dark sky above and the jagged rocks below, thinking before you turn to face her again.

"Non, zat was strictly rhetorical." You lick your lips, pausing, and then add, "But if I were to bring it up, it would 'ave to be wiz you. Zis only 'appens around you, concerning you. It would not make sense to ask anyone else."

She tilts her head, watching what she can of your face. It must have left her wondering, for she takes a few steps towards the edge of the deck, bringing you along until you're resting against the wooden siding, under the moonlight. The weak glow of your skin probably was the desired result, and Hermione takes her time to read your expression carefully.

"Does any of zis ring a bell?" you ask in a hopeful tone.

The brunette shakes her head, "I haven't felt anything unusual. Kissing you is, erm..." she blushes softly, and you can see it with the slightly better lighting, "delightful, it always is, but I think that everything I feel is supposed to be. There was no anticipation."

You nod, looking down, "Perhaps it is anuzzer item on my list of weird changes."

"Or, and this is purely hypothetical," she speculates, "maybe we are the ones to blame."

"What do you mean?" A curious frown gathers on your forehead.

After a long sigh, she loops her arms around your neck, stands on tiptoes, and brings herself flush against you, eye-to-eye. "If I asked you to try something, would you?"

In complete surprise, your arms shuffle at her back to accommodate for the smaller distance, and your eyes immediately close up, avoiding the stare blazing you whole, merely inches away.

"Hey, open your eyes," she pleads.

You swallow through a throat as dry as sandpaper, and your eyelids do as she asked, though your eyes aim below the tip of her nose.

And there's the question again. "So... would you?"

"Oui," you whisper, "I would."

"Look at me," she says, lowering her head until she finds your gaze and locks your eyes. "That's it. Now, this is what I want you to do," the brunette breathes slowly, "stop holding back. For this once, let loose. Really let loose."

Your throat shrivels further. Between her words and the stare into the darkened color of those fiery brown eyes, you don't need telling twice. The pull is there and you surge ahead, leaping at the speed of a heartbeat, until you clash together.

You demand as much as she can give. You offer back as much as she can take. There's no teasing, no patience, no slow building for this. Only arms snaking tighter, her curious fingers roaming your nape, a slender waist captured by your hands, soft moans that sound heavenly. Your mouths consume each other as tingles and goose bumps cruise your skin, and the crisp scent of pine needles diffuses all around.

Something rare, or exceptional, could be going on away from here - a reallignment of stars, the announcement of world peace, Peeves carted off to the Slytherin Common Room. And you would miss it entirely to stay where you are, just like this.

You don't care about how late it is, where you are, what's happening to you, how you'll make it to the carriage, or whatever else had been on your mind before. Thoughts and concerns, torments, doubts, questions ... blurred ... drained ... gone.

She's melting into the kiss, you know it, you can feel it, just as much as you are. No holding back, as she asked. Both letting go. And then you sense it again, the gripping anticipation, stronger than it had been before. Unavoidable and irresistible, an unstoppable force about to collide into you, probably about to crush you. And you don't make a single move to escape.

Two hearts thunder in disharmony, perhaps in a race against the other, or maybe chasing a common beat. Your breathing becomes anguished, desperate, a struggle in-between kisses. There's a faint pluck at the back of your head, and suddenly your hair pours loose, down your shoulders. You don't stop. Neither does she. Her hands leave your nape and take interest in the strands, collecting handfuls at a time, greedily, only to release them, and then do it again. You faintly remember there was some reason to be uneasy about that, but you really can't pinpoint what it was.

You realize that your charms seem to be out of order. You have no idea where they start, where they end, their intensity, their focus. You're overtaken with emotions again, hers and yours, without the ability to tell them apart.

Your lips barely touch now, keeping but a soft contact, an acknowledgment of each other's presence. It's no longer about the frenzy of the caress, or the rush, or the excitement. This is about something much larger than her, than you, perhaps than both of you, but still only happening because it's intrinsically related to each of you.

All else pales into abstract. You lose the most common perceptions of space and time, of the ground at your feet. This is dreamy ecstasy, and you don't want to wake up. You feel like floating, free, no obligations or restraints, drifting away together with the one person that matters so, who can scramble your world with a smile and a kiss.

Especially an unforgettable kiss, such as this, where she's touching your lips, but holding your heart.

The brunette trembles against you now, chills running down her spine, and you rub your hands over her back in a soothing way. She starts to loosen her grip, and you react hugging her more.

You frown. Her weight shifts, she grows slack, and her knees give in under her, breaking the kiss. Your arms harden in reflex, tying her securely to your body. Her face slides to one side, limp, and then you notice she is completely still. Not even breathing.

"'Ermione," you call in a voice that shouldn't be so panicky, shaking her a bit.

That startles the brunette into a fit of light coughs, and she squeezes your arms for support. Her forehead finds your collarbone to rest as her short breaths convert into gasps. You reach up to touch her. Her skin is too hot, feverish, and her hands are a bit clammy. Gently, you cup her face, holding her cheek steadily, and try to slide a bit away from her to have a look.

The pulse at her neck is drumming like raindrops on a windowpane. Dark, dilated pupils are directed at you, though you wonder if she's even able to see you right now, with how her eyes blink heavily and seem dull. Her expression is locked in a languid, faint smile, as if her mind was elsewhere.

"'Ermione!" you try again, with more urgency. "'Ow are you feeling?"

"Fine," she says groggily and finally fully opens her eyes, looking at your worried face. Hermione lifts an index finger to your chin like it's an immense effort, "Calm... It's..."

You conjure a small bench close to her, on the most drafty spot you can find nearby, and sit down by her side. Maybe a cooling breeze will be of help. The brunette leans on you, and you wrap an arm at her waist, listening to her breathing.

"Oui?" you ask to keep her talking, while searching for an explanation.

"You... charms..." she mumbles, gulping air, and clinging to you with the little strength she has left. "... minute."

"Zere 'as to be more zan zat. You stopped breathing," you say in an extremely concerned tone.

"No," she chuckles through shallow breaths, and there's a touch of giddiness in her voice. She's speaking slowly, as if she couldn't handle a faster pace. "That's really... what it was. You... stole my breath away."

Your eyebrows jump up and stay there. "I did not mean to do it literally," you reply, not amused as she is.

"I know," the brunette agrees and tries to chuckle again as she squeezes you, although her attempt fails. A weak waft passes through the bridge, jiggling her locks, and she inhales raggedly. "My Fleur... So... beautiful..."

The combined words and the way she's speaking send a red alert screeching through your brain. Your voice is hurried and a little out of pitch, "You do not sound fine at all."

"But I am," she insists, pulling away enough to let you see her as she shakes her head and her eyes start to focus again. "You're looking tortured. Why is that? The anticipation you felt had to have something to do with this. Weren't you expecting... something different?"

"Different, perhaps, but it never included you faint on me like zis," you protest. "You should be able to tell I am worried, non?"

"You know, I always wondered, since before the Yule Ball, how it might be with you. To be with you, I mean. To know you... To kiss you," she says slowly, at a pace she can keep. "There was so much speculation about Veela after you arrived, so many rumors. They had me thinking. And now this... the charms. It's more than different... or unique..."

Her voice fades off, and she seems unable to translate her thoughts into words.

"Please continue," you instigate the brunette. "Do not waste time trying to find ze right words, just tell me. I need to understand."

Hermione nods, "Never imagined anything like that. There was no separation between us, nothing at all. I think I could feel what you were feeling, mixed with what I was feeling, too. That must be how it is for you all the time, isn't it? When we're close, you just... know."

"Oui, sometimes, when I am paying attention and ze emotions are clear, or strong. But it 'ad been much weaker before, compared to 'ow it was today. Zere were times when I sensed everything, from far or close, each emotion as it 'appened." The sorrow in your expression should match the amount in your voice, "I cannot stop it completely to give you privacy."

"I don't mind, really," the Gryffindor says with a tiny smile, " only because it's you. It's been going on all day, then?"

"Not really," you frown. "It was on and off during ze day. And zis time was... more intense."

"So," she starts again, waiting until you look at her to continue, "are you going to tell me that something is still missing now?"

Your eyebrows bolt up in surprise. "Non," and the reply is truthful. "I am content, as I 'ave not felt... ever." It's like you had been unaware of a particular hunger going on before, and then you were served a plentiful meal.

"Then that was what you needed. I'm glad," she states with a sigh. You frown, watching her breathlessness slowly come under control, and she explains, grinning widely, "No, don't get me wrong. It was wonderful. It really was. I just don't think I could handle a repetition right now."

"Zat is not very reassuring," you say, touching her forehead, then one of her hands, and looking at her eyes. "Your skin is too 'ot, and your pupils are still dilated. You do not sound as agitated as you were before. Zese are all signs of an intoxicated state."

"I'm on a high, I know. It's from your charms." She chuckles at the shock that you can't keep from your face, and she tucks your hair behind your ears, saying playfully, "So are you. Didn't you notice? You're over the moon, too."

You shake your head at once, "I do not zink so."

Now she laughs, then holds your cheeks and looks into your eyes as you watch her expression. "Just be honest with me. How do you feel right now?"

"I am not-" you stop when she cocks an eyebrow and smirks, already opposing your phrase.

Okay, how do you feel?

Interesting question. You take a minute to consider that, to shut out the world and concentrate on what's going on at the inner side of your skin. Surprisingly, it's time to acknowledge she's right.

You were so preoccupied with her that you hadn't even noticed the effects on yourself.

Startled, you look down at your palms. It's a surprise that all the magic that is almost crackling through can't be seen under the thin barrier of skin. An airy, light clench playing at the walls of your gut is firmly settled there. And if you can be completely honest, you feel... terrific.

Stronger. More capable. Powerful. Like you could tackle that dragon again with nothing but this magic, and still find a way to come out victorious.

A bit of your current awe must have made it to your expression, for the brunette chuckles and whispers playfully, "So it was good for you, too, right? You had me worried, for a moment."

An uncertain smile and you nod.

"See what I mean?" Hermione sets the back of your left hand on her lap, and hovers her right hand above the area of the palm, sensing the magic. "Euphoria."

"Euphoria," you repeat, baffled, unsure if that came out as a question or an affirmation. But then you glance at her, seriously, and all you manage is a hoarse whisper. "From one kiss."

'All this from kissing... you,' is the thought looping in your mind.

"That wasn't just a kiss. That was the most wonderful kiss I ever had. And you've kissed me several times," she says shyly, keeping her stare down, on the hand above yours. "I wouldn't change anything about it."

"Oui, I agree," you mumble as you caress her cheek and deliver a peck to her forehead.

She leans on your hand, and you notice how her skin has gone cold, now that she's recovering. "Er, I didn't get what you said."

Another warming spell comes from your wand before you answer, "I said I agree zat ze kiss wa-"

The brunette interrupts, "No, I mean during the kiss."

"I..." You stop and turn to face her, frowning. You observe her in silence, that unwavering determination, how certain she apparently is. Perhaps you heard wrong. "Can you repeat zat?"

"You said something, during the kiss," she prompts, "and I couldn't understand you."

"Hmm... We were kissing, non?" you ask, shaking your head. "'Ow could I speak at ze same time?"

"I heard your voice. I'm sure it was you," she claims, unfazed.

Your head slants towards the left, wearing a dubious expression. "Are you sure you are feeling well?"

There's mild indignation in her voice, "I'm not making this up. I was aware of things." She pauses, frowns, and then shrugs, "Well, some things." Brown orbs lock onto blue ones. "I heard you, just not your words. It was when I was more tuned in, when everything felt more intense. I'd never been more connected to anyone," her eyes narrow as she tries to explain, "like we had this... bond."

"W-what?" you stutter, as your insides turn to ice. And it keeps on, before you can hold it down, "I-I cannot. No bond."

She frowns and looks at you in confusion, her curiosity just getting ready to spring forth.

"I am more 'uman zan Veela," you add hastily. Had she thought of that? Had she been expecting it? "Zere will be no bonding for me."

Now she seems stumped, her expression giving away an intense thought process, clearly struggling to decipher what you said. "Okay, what are you talking about?"

You don't even know yourself. But at least you can tell now that you are not on the same page.

Overactive charms. Your weird behavior near her. The fast changes. A very unusual kiss. Her reaction. And something that only she heard. All that adds up into... what?

No idea. No answer. Your head is now filled with question marks that you can't assuage. It's too much at once. Recognizing the first pounding of an incoming headache, you rub your forehead in circles. A long sigh comes from the deepest hollow of your lungs.

"I zink you said one zing and I understood anuzzer. Please, forget zat. Zis voice you 'eard is quite, hmm, peculiar. I am sure I did not say anything," you use a calmer voice than your actual state of mind, watching the defiance stirring in her eyes. And then you make a question for your own reassurance, "I need to ask... you are fourteen, non?"

Better than sweeping this under the rug of your subconscious, where it will haunt you every possible way, you should just rule it out entirely.

"Huh?" She clearly didn't keep up with the shift in your thoughts.

"Your... age?" you try again.

She frowns, not too happy with the change of subject. "I can't believe it. You're still checking to see if I'm disoriented. I'm fine, Fleur. Really."

'That makes one of us.'

The brunette studies your face avidly. "I mean it. I can tell you the name of my parents, my address in London, what I did at the library an hour ago, the food served at lunch, I can describe the classes today, the brand of my shampoo, whatever you ask. I'm really okay." Her voice harbors a considerable firmness now.

She keeps on talking, but your brain, the meddlesome thing, starts to try processing information on its own, attempting to join the pieces, rewinding that little word she had said.

You frown.

Is that even how it's supposed to be?

And how would you know?

No, this shouldn't be happening. Actually, it's more than 'shouldn't'. It isn't, and it can't be, because it's impossible. You grew up learning that. Accepting that.

But then... what if? Would that explain at least part of the weirdness?

You look at her. Could it be?

"... and I'm fifteen, by the way."

"Hmm?" you hum, not expecting that. Of all the things she'd been telling you, that one made more of an impact. "You are in fourth year."

"Yes, but my birthday is mid-September, so I'm fifteen," she reiterates.

You sigh again. In relief. Not what you'd assumed, but even in the absurd event that the impossible was an option, her age puts that to rest. No chance whatsoever. No risks.

"I stayed silent all ze time during ze kiss." You backtrack to fix her clear dissatisfaction. "I was too absorbed into what we were doing to even consider spoiling ze moment wiz words."

She nods slowly, thinking, and chooses not to disagree any further.

"Perhaps we should call it a day," you say, pointedly.

"Yeah," she agrees. "You are tired, too. I can see it in your eyes."

"Oui, I am. Can you stand up?" You raise from the bench and offer her a hand. She doesn't take it, and you seek her face, finding there a curious stare set on you. "What are you zinking, 'Ermione?"

"Your hair," she says quietly, standing up by herself. "Now that it's loose, it looks like... them."

There's no need to clarify. You know exactly who that 'them' refers to. Both of your hands rise to grip it tightly in a bout of self-consciousness, and you lower your eyes, "It 'as been like zat since I woke up today."

She cups your cheek and lifts your face so she can meet your eyes, "I think it looks stunning. Is that why you had it in a ponytail?"

"Oui," you reply, still uncomfortable.

The brunette brings her other hand forward, and you realize your hair band is encircling her wrist.

She removes it and presents it to you. "It's really pretty, just so you know," she tries again, in a reassuring voice. And then it goes down to a whisper as she caresses your cheek lightly, "You'll get used to it. Everyone will get used to it. That's you, how you are."

You only watch her, carefully. Her brown orbs are misted over, and there's still a slight tremor in her hands. The brunette is looking better, but not still fully back on track. As you're getting your wits together, you start to fix your hair again.

"Please, keep it down," the brunette says, taking your hands away from the strands and looking at their slow motion with a smile. "I mean, at least until we go. I like it that way."

You nod slowly, and twirl the hair band in your hands to keep busy. Now that there are no more distractions, you frown and ask, "Hmm... Should I apologize for what 'appened? Are you upset?"

"Of course not. It was exhilarating," she says, almost without panting. The brunette notices the concern on your expression and goes on, "But there's something you should know."

Your stomach tumbles out of place, suddenly filled with heavy anxiety. "I zink 'ere comes trouble..." you remark, preparing yourself. "You can say it."

She leans closer until your foreheads are resting against each other. Her hands cradle your face, and then she speaks in a hushed voice, "You like me." Her eyes look straight into your orbs, and there's that pull again. "I have a very strong feeling that you really, really like me."

A huge wave of reprieve washes through you, taking down a large part of your concern.

"I do," you whisper back as you pat her locks down, smelling that scent once more. The words may be few and small, but that doesn't limit their meaning.

"That's great," she replies, finally sounding steady. And then her voice breaks into a vulnerable and urgent tone, her hands falling at her sides, "Don't stop. I really like you, too."

Without even thinking, you instantly shake your head, and hug her with an unintentionally crushing strength, before completely releasing her.

Hermione pretends to clear her throat, cough, and then take a few deep breaths. "If I ever have trouble breathing again, you can try that maneuver. My lungs almost popped."

"Forgive me, ma belle. I will remember to take better care of your lungs." You chuckle, twisting your lips sheepishly. "Now, come on, we should get you inside. Are you ready to walk?"

She smiles, shaking her head, "I guess so."

"I will take you to your Common Room. It is not late for me, yet," you comment as you use the wand this time to vanish the bench.

You frown at the hand holding the wand, and no, you really don't remember using it to conjure the bench in the first place. Perhaps it slipped your mind.

The brunette protests right away, "You don't have to do that. It's only a bit past curfew."

"I cannot leave you like zis," you say firmly, waving a hand up and down her frame, leaving out any mention to your guilt or the fact that you are the cause of her current state.

"I'm getting better, and I don't want you out there even later," she counters seriously, gesturing at the darkness past the bridge. "That was the whole point tonight. We still don't know what's going on in that forest."

"Ze Veela do, and zey are patrolling ze woods, day and night. 'Ardly anything can get zrough zeir watch," you come up with a quick argument, and speak with considerable confidence. It seems you're still capable of surprising yourself. "Trust me, it will be fine."

"Then trust me, too. I can do this." The steady posture goes perfectly with the heat in her voice. She's sobered up.

"Are you sure?" you ask more out of concern than doubt.

"Yes, I am sure. I wouldn't lie to you. If I wasn't well, I'd want you to go with me," the brunette nods. "Look, it's late, so I won't even go to the Stone Circle. We should each go our separate ways now."

"Okay. I will let you go, zen." You sigh and hold her hands one last time. "I appreciate what you did, walking wiz me all ze way 'ere. Zis turned out to be an exceptional evening, much better zat I 'ad expected, because of you."

"Thanks. I had a good time, too," she says, smiling. "Er, have you thought about breakfast tomorrow? I mean, it's a Saturday, so do you intend to sleep late or-"

"Non, I will send some letters early, and zen I will 'ead straight to ze Great 'All," you share your plan. "I should be one of ze first to arrive."

"I'll find you, then. Be careful, okay?" The brunette steps closer and seals your lips together. This time it's quick, sweet and chaste, without even a shadow of subtext. An appropriate good-bye.

"Good night, Fleur."

"Good night, 'Ermione," you answer swiftly, and squeeze her hands a last time, before stepping back.

'My lovely girl.'

You fix your hair into a ponytail again as you watch the brunette go, her balance improving slightly at each new step towards the castle. The soft mewling of a cat, coming from the courtyard, takes care of the stillness and silence in the night. You wish there was something that could have the same effect on the sudden void you feel inside at seeing her go.

Once she's about to leave the bridge, you pull out your wand and command the tip to light up. The Gryffindor stops to look back right after she's passed the last lantern, and you can make out her surprise at noticing you're still there.

The brunette points in the direction of the carriage, in a clear suggestion that you should go. You chuckle quietly and nod in agreement. She lowers her hands to pick up something, and the shape of what seems to be a large pet struggles against her, taking both her arms to keep the agitated cargo steady.

After a bit of effort, some ample repositioning and low hisses that proclaim she must be holding a bulky cat, Hermione dislodges the large bundle to a side, and clumsily waves good-bye. Her hand is fast to wrap over the animal again. Your wand rises in salute, and the girl turns away, carrying the furry animal with her.

It's comforting to know she won't be going alone, and it's also a plus that her companion is a cat. They usually have great senses, and that one might warn her in time if anyone tracks her down.

When she's finally out of sight, you worry about starting your journey back to the carriage. Clearing your mind of any thoughts is quite the task now. You can't skip the vivid memories and aftereffects of that kiss, even as you recall every one of the inner shifts you experienced today, in an attempt to make it happen once more. This is something you need now, as an extra advantage.

To your relief, regardless of the inner struggle, it's easier than blinking, taking you by surprise, yet again. You almost don't feel the softer strain in your eyes, and just barely sense the magic running the length of your skin like a comfortable garment, as if your body was absolutely ready for... you are not sure what. Just more.

You're not experiencing the intense sensations you'd had before, when battling a dragon had seemed quite doable, and now a sensible amount of practicality takes over. Your skills with Veela magic are poor, they can't come close to your performance with a wand, and facing a dragon is out of the question. It was great to feel invincible before, but realism has a higher chance of keeping you in one piece.

A last glance at the spot where you last saw the brunette and you're up for it. Your pheromones must be skyrocketing right now, which doesn't go very well with the concept of being stealthy, but at least the heightening of your senses should offer a little advantage to detect danger.

It's quite a night, you realize as you walk past the Stone Circle, with scarce blotches of snow spread over the grounds. A soft wind blows from the forest, and the black mantle of the sky is sprinkled by stars and adorned with the moon high above. The clouds seem to be dissipating.

You tread charily, almost expecting that something will spring on you from the shadows. The wand feels light as a plume in your hand, and your wrist is all loose and ready. A deep breath confirms the air is fresh and clean, without any imminent threats that you can identify.

It would be terrific to undergo a change of clothes right now. Your scouting outfit seems so much appealing than this awkward school uniform. The shoes alone are more of a hindrance in the grounds than the skirt, in case you need to make a run for it.

An owl hoots somewhere through the trees, and then another one, farther away, does the same. You stop each time, to look at the woods, quietly listening for a while. At the second pause, the irregular sound of soft pads grabs your attention, nearly stopping your heart halfway through a thump. Silence ensues and you stay very still, gripping your wand as you rely on your senses to guide you.

More pacing and some dislodged rocks rolling about.

Now you can situate it as coming from your left and ahead, beyond the spot where the path bends towards the carriage. The gait is unsteady, somewhat between wobbling or hobbling, and this is clearly not coming from a human. You can hear the animal sniffing, probably searching for traces of the scent that will definitely give away your location. Looking around, there are no trees or large rocks close enough to offer any shelter. Nowhere to go.

Your wand lifts and you are preparing a few spells in your mind, when a slow waft reaches your nose, bringing you a familiar smell.

Wet dog.

Any other time you might make a foul face at how strong it is, hitting you straight on, but right now this is most welcome. You follow the path with less concern, and when you see a hesitating figure turning his large head your way, you quickly call out to him.

"Fang!"

That does it. The large dog trots over, nearly tripping on his paws, barking aloud his wild contentment at finding you.

"You big, overgrown puppy. 'Ow 'ave you been?" you smile, crouching as best you can in your clothing, and scratching his head happily. "Did you sense me all ze way from your 'ome?"

He jumps and doesn't stay quiet for a second. With great effort, you avoid the hulk of his licks, aimed at your face, but you allow him all the fun he wants with your left hand. And then you remember something else, raising your head to look past the shadows in front of you. "Is 'Agrid out, too?"

Fang barks even louder at the mention of the Gamekeeper. He grips your hand between his teeth, pulling you away with him. The large dog is so enthusiastic that it's clear he's missed company, and you let him drag you to the cabin.

To your surprise, the professor is sitting outside, by a bonfire, repairing some type of large equipment.

"Good evening, professor," you say when you're close enough.

He looks up in total shock, clearly not expecting visitors, but then his thick beard barely hides his smile when he sees Fang has a hold on you. "G'evening, Miss Delacoo."

"I am just arriving from ze school, sir. Fang found me on my way to ze carriage," you reply, grinning at the boarhound. "It is nice to see you again. You were missed, professor. And Fang, too."

He settles his glinting stare on the black dog, at first. "Back, Fang. Don' bite her, now!"

Fang lets go of your hand, wobbles forth and plops down on the ground at Hagrid's feet, making himself at home. Hagrid shifts a little to give him more room and you smile at the pair.

Noticing that you made no indication to retire, the half-giant looks uncertainly around and makes a small attempt at conversation, "Bit late fer a walk alone, aren't yeh?"

"My friends 'ad left earlier, while I was redoing my potion for Professor Snape," you explain calmly, unfazed by the discomfort that has him acting less friendly than usual. He's probably not very keen on talking to students right now. "Can I sit wiz you a little?" you ask, hoping he doesn't turn you down.

"Er – o' course, why not?" the enormous man says, glancing rather bashfully at you as he lets the large device in his hands down on the ground and proceeds to stand up. "I'll make tea... An' I have a plate of rock cakes."

You conjure a simple stool and sit close to the warmth, but stay a little away from him and Fang so as not to intrude.

"Merci, sir, I really appreciate zat, but I am dealing wiz an upset stomach now," you reply, and decide he doesn't need to know you're enduring the lasting effects of kissing a student he might be quite close to.

And what effects. When you think of all you just had with her, you can still feel the swarm of butterflies moving about. It'll take a while longer to settle your stomach. And your uneasiness, your mind, your magic...

"Right then," he says, and goes silent. He picks up what you realize to be his oversized crossbow back on his lap.

That works well to keep his eyes away from you without being impolite.

The weapon looks damaged, somewhat battered. The handle is chipped, and he's worried about fixing something about the stringing, it seems. That's tricky for a crossbow, but he's very strong and probably has the necessary knowledge. You'd offer a hand if you had any experience with crossbows and it wasn't so obvious that he needs his space.

"Should be thankin' yeh, fer ev'rythin' yeh did. Them Veela were tellin' me yesterday," he mutters and you shake your head lightly. "Great ter have aroun', Veela. Found 'em when I was a student meself, at tha' village. Bin o' great help. Jus' wish yeh hadn' taken no risks ter go there."

"It was fine, professor. I missed flying, and it was so pleasant. Ze landscapes 'ere are beautiful," you try to avert the subject before he has a chance to scold you for it.

"Yer a student." And here it comes. He's a professor, after all. "Yer not ter go sneakin' in the fores'. It's dangerous what yeh did."

You nod and lower your head, out of respect. Inwardly, you know you'd do it all again, if there was a way to turn back time. Looking around, you seek for something to say to take the conversation elsewhere.

"Hmm... Are you better?" You almost cringe at the shadows that fall on his expression with the question, but conceal your expression at the guise of leaning close to the flames and rubbing your hands together.

When you straighten up, he's lost in his mind, far away from reality, and you go for another attempt, in a very humble voice, "Sir, I am ze same as you."

A dull silence goes on long enough that you start to wonder if he heard you at all.

"Yeh musta bin treated better," he finally mumbles.

"Non, not really, sir," you shake your head quickly. "I 'ad many problems at school, on my initial years. It did not go into a newspaper, and I cannot imagine 'ow you must be feeling after zat, but Beauxbatons was ze place where I learned about prejudice. Some of my cousins preferred to drop out of ze wizarding system, and were educated at our villages."

He glances at you sullenly before turning to the crossbow again, "'S not the same, when yeh're half-giant. Can' teach yeh anymore. Bin gettin' a lotta letters after wha' Rita Skeeter wrote o' me Mum."

And then he mumbles something that you can't hear well, but distinctly has the word 'monster' along the way.

You shift uncomfortably in your seat, while watching the large fire. It's a sore topic to wade into, and it never fails to hit too close to home.

Your voice is far more constricted than his was, and low as a whisper, "Veela in non-'uman form are not very popular wiz wizards either, professor. You must know zis. In my school, it did not matter zat I was young, or zat I could not morph. Zere were always zose who would not let me forget zat I was unlike ze rest of zem. My time in 'Ogwarts is ze most calm I 'ave experienced since I started my studies, probably because of zis... champion status."

There's loud sniffing and you try to be inconspicuous when you look at the Gamekeeper through the corner of your eye, catching a glint of unshed tears.

"How did yeh do it?"

Now you make sure he notices you're turning to face him. "Friends, sir. I 'ad very good friends," you tell him quietly. "Zey were my support zrough everything, and stuck wiz me for ze best and worst moments, until I learned enough to stand up for myself."

He seems to nod, his tangly beard grating against his robes, though he prefers to keep his silence.

"If I may add something more personal, sir, I zink you are as lucky as I was." Your voice is calmer, as you watch Fang rolling lazily into a better position, smelling Hagrid's moleskin overcoat. "You 'ave great friends, too, and all zey want is to be wiz you. From what I 'ave seen, zey will not quit trying."

Fang takes notice of your stare and leaps at you, soon ducking by your side, pushing his head into your hand. You pat him heartily, laughing at his nips and licks. When the dog settles down, you stay in companionable silence, glancing at Hagrid every now and then.

He is relentlessly working with his hands to fix whatever is wrong, apparently with the large spring mechanism, but he never asked for your opinion, and you're still unsure he would appreciate that you volunteer a hand.

Being truthful, you know next to nothing about crossbows. They are hardly used by Veela and forest-elves, who prefer the more subtle art of precision with a long bow, rather than the powerful force of arbalests. For a man of his size and strength, though, you have to admit that it should be a perfect fit.

And so your mind is left to its own devices with this sudden interval in the conversation, free to wander. And it goes straight where it wants... Hermione, and that boggling kiss. You almost roll your eyes at yourself. As if you could escape thinking about that.

You have to talk to someone about this, preferably to someone who has answers. Your eyes find Hagrid again, and the impulse pops right up. When you're about to ask aloud, you lock your lips shut and shake your head. No, you need a Veela for this, or at least someone you know well and really trust, for it involves speaking of Hermione, too.

It's scary to be so clueless, even though you can't deny how wonderful all of it was, just like the brunette said. A tight uncertainty starts to compress your guts and that brutal headache is probing your threshold for pain.

You need to steer clear of stress, until you can go back to the carriage and take some remedy potion for this. A look around doesn't offer much options to distract a troubled brain, until you notice the quiver by his feet and, with a bit of hesitation, you reach out a hand slowly, to collect one of the arrows. The man doesn't object, so you pull it out with confidence.

The design is slightly different from typical arrows, as the ones you saw yesterday. These are adapted for his crossbow, a bit thicker and heavier. The fletchings are striped, black and white. Your eyes turn to the arrowhead. Solid.

"Made in the village," his deep voice startles you, "an' supplied fer everyone."

"Oh?" you return, realizing he must've been watching you for a while.

"Except fer 'em heads," he nods. "All compact, see?. Work of centaurs."

"What, sir?" Your eyes check that part again.

"Them fletchers o' the village bin workin' day in, an' day out, fer years, ter put arrows together. Centaurs help, an' forge 'em solid heads," he nods at the one in your hands. And then he adds, "An' Veela, they make the other ones."

"Ze... uzzer ones... Zen zere is a need for 'ollow 'eads 'ere?" you ask, hoping there's a negative answer coming.

"Yep." His fingers twang the cord loudly, apparently to test the result of his work. "On'y in tha' village, nuthin' ter do with the castle."

Not exactly very comforting. "All ze villages I know are like zat. It is a curse."

"A curse tha' came after a gift, I heard," he says hoarsely.

"A gift zat 'ad a very 'igh cost, sir. I wonder what our ancestors were zinking when zey agreed to zis madness," you retort.

"Mighta bin fate," the Gamekeeper states thoughtfully. "Wha' matters is ter keep 'em away. An' tha' yeh do."

It makes little sense, but you frown just the same. "And who is zis 'everyone' you mentioned, sir, zat are supplied wiz arrows?"

"Now, tha's the centaurs, an' me," the Gamekeeper answers as he starts to polish the long handle, "'Course, an' enough fer themselves."

"So zere are no forest-elves 'ere?" you ask. "Or wood-nymphs?"

"Nah, wood-nymphs never made it to the Forbidden Forest. On'y their distant kin, the water-nymphs," he provides, glancing at you.

Your face crinkles in disgust at the news.

"Don' like 'em either, do yeh?" His laughter booms all around, and Fang lifts his head to bark along. "Veela can' stand 'em."

You shake your head, but your lips stay sealed. If he knows Veela well enough, he should understand the underlying animosity between the races.

He goes on, undisturbed by your lack of participation, "An' the elves left, years an' years ago. Hated the weather."

It isn't hard to relate to that, if all Scottish winters are this tough and long, although giving up on an enchanted forest seems a bit drastic.

"Do you like zese?" you inquire, raising the arrow to point out what you're talking about, before reinserting it carefully back into the quiver.

"On'y ones I shoot," he says, with a tinge of pride. "Do yeh use a bow like them?"

"Oui," you reply, feeling Fang twitch against your leg when a strong breeze agitates the flames, changing the route of the rising smoke towards the hut.

The dog worms closer to the warmth of the fire, and he stretches his back while releasing a wide-mouthed yawn, until a small log bursts, spitting sparks on his fur, and he yelps away, searching for comfort with you again.

Hagrid clears his throat from the fumes engulfing him, and his voice sounds hoarse, "Learn when yeh're kids, right?"

"Zat is ze tradition, sir," you explain. "It takes too long to learn well, so we 'ave to start early."

He finally stands up and flaps his free hand and the crossbow around to get rid of the thick cloud. You stay alert to the swings of the long weapon, but they don't come too near to require evasive maneuvers. "Don' yeh miss the woods?"

You sigh as the memories hit you, of the forest, the village, your family, and home. "I do. I miss everything from 'ome. Ze forest around our village becomes so alive when spring arrives."

The man sits down again, smiling contently, "Not used ter our winter, yet, eh?"

"Perhaps not only ze weather, sir. It takes some time to adjust to a different country, non?" you shrug and blush, being as honest as you allow yourself to be, hoping he isn't offended. And then you try to change the subject at once. "Did you see ze Veela today?"

After throwing another log to rekindle the fire, he nods and glances at you, "Bin walking with Fang a bit, to clear me head."

"Ze forest 'elps a lot," you say in sympathy, looking over at the trees ahead. "It keeps ze mind in ze present when one is zere. I find it very soothing, ze sounds and ze silence, ze trees, ze animals, just everything."

He smiles and raises his eyebrows, concurring. It's good to see him on a more conversational mood.

This might be the right opportunity to voice your weird suspicions concerning the woods. "Sir, a few times when I came to zis spot, I could feel ze smell of something rotting, and it came from ze woods. Do you know what it could be?"

"Nah, forest's same as usual. Don' remember no rot," he says, and claps a huge hand on his knee. "Wha' abou' yeh, Fang?"

The large boarhound raises his head at the noise, looks at Hagrid, then at you, back at Hagrid, drools some more, and then flops down again. Even his ears sink down carelessly.

You smile at the dog, but reinforce your opinion, if only to yourself, "I am sure zere was something."

"Dunno, Miss Delacoo," the Gamekeeper states flatly. "Veela won' have none of tha', a threat close ter the school. Real danger's ter stay deep in there."

"Real danger... And you know what zat is, sir, non?" you probe, watching him carefully.

"Not as much as they do," he replies, vaguely. "Veela take care o' that."

You turn your head at the same moment Fang's head snaps up, and his ears raise a little. Footsteps, coming from beyond the hut. Your hand starts to move for your wand, but you notice the steps are slow and noisy.

They're from someone on an easygoing stroll, not even trying to stay concealed. Still, you keep an eye on the spot where whoever it is will eventually show up.

"Fang, boy!"

Your expression molds into a large smile. The boarhound nearly flies towards Cora, barking in joy. She gracefully moves to a side at the last possible second, and the large dog skids away on the mucky ground.

Chuckling at the sight, the girl makes her way to Hagrid and shakes his large hand warmly, without ceremony, "'Ow are you, professor? We came looking for you and zat cute pup every day."

Hagrid stands up, rocking back and forth on his feet, nearly bouncing off the ground in shyness. The little you see of his cheeks is blushing deeply, but there's clearly happiness on his face, as well.

"Missed yer all too, Miss Saw-varge. Erm... Can I offer yeh tea an' a Bath bun?"

"I would love zat, sir."

You make a mental note to praise Cora. Her ability to conceal a wince is worthy of rounds of applause.

Hagrid goes into his cabin, and you soon start to hear him shuffling and banging things around. You notice he's taken the crossbow with him and you're not exactly sure it's supposed to fit indoors.

"Hello," Cora says, conjuring a small bench to sit as she gazes at you with a raised eyebrow.

You smile at her, "I thought you'd be in the carriage with the other girls."

Fang comes back and shakes himself off, sending small sprinkles of melt snow and dirt everywhere. He finally settles at Cora's side, covering her left black leather boot with his large head, and he contentedly starts to drool there, like he's in puppy heaven.

"I was," your friend chuckles and starts to scratch behind his ears, "and I waited for you until it got late. You didn't show up, so I was on my way to the castle."

"You were going to the castle?" you ask in disbelief, looking her up and down. "Dressed like that?"

She glances down at herself, clad in dark skinny jeans, a casual turtleneck shirt that matches the color of her eyes, and an unbuttoned black overcoat. "So? It's the weekend, it's late, and classes are over. I wouldn't even let Professor Snape see me."

"If you say so," you reply, smiling at the thought that one blonde girl probably wouldn't mind a peek at this Cora.

The half-giant appears from the cabin balancing a plate of buns in one hand, and sets a kettle over the fire.

"Merci," the girl replies, choosing one to nibble. Carefully.

"Me crossbow," he whispers under his breath, looking around, and then patting his large pockets as if it might be stashed there, somewhere.

You try not to smile and stand up, "I was about to leave, professor. Zere are some zings zat I still 'ave to do tonight. It was terrific to stop by and talk wiz you again."

"Er, thanks, Miss Delacoo," he says. "G'night."

"I 'ave to walk wiz Fleur to ze carriage, sir," Cora follows after you. "I will be right back for zat tea, okay?"

"O' – o' course," Hagrid says, and then looks uncertainly in the direction you're going.

Answering his unspoken question, Cora adds, "Some of ze girls were planning to take a walk later. Zey might come along, too."

"More water... An' buns... An' rock cakes," he bellows, ticking off a mental list as he turns on the spot, staring at the size of the bonfire, Fang, and the cabin. "Everythin' ready."

"We should go, zen," you pat Fang a last time and nod at Cora, heading for the path.

You notice your companion is quiet, taking small bites from the pastry. Awfully quiet, so unlike her usual bubbly self.

As soon as you've left the cabin at your backs, you slow down to a near stop, "We can talk now. Why were you waiting for me?"

You aim an analytical stare at the girl, on the lookout for the smallest change in her features. There's something filtering through the charms, but you absolutely ignore that, still appraising her with your regular senses.

Her shoulders stoop down, and her gaze trails on the ground close to her feet. "I wanted to know if things had gone well in Potions. You are better today, but Yvonne and I went through another misunderstanding in the morning. She was upset. I hoped it wasn't so bad."

"Right," you nod, realizing how anxious she is. "We did fine, and in great time, too."

"That's great," Cora sounds clearly relieved. "I knew you could do it."

"She is upset," you add, quietly, "for now."

Cora stops in her tracks. "What did she tell you? Say it, come on."

"Don't give up on that girl, just yet." You wink at her, adding in an enigmatic smile, "And, no, I can't say more."

Her eyes scrunch slightly, but she knows it'd be useless to pry. You resume the stroll at an easy and slow pace, stepping over small puddles without damage to your shoes, and her footsteps hurry after you.

"I need to thank you for going after me, but don't do it again, please," you request. "It isn't safe to walk alone at night."

"Do you really think so?" she asks, looking around in doubt, and finally eyeing the woods with a harder expression.

"There is something in the forest," you confirm, "and it could be dangerous. I don't like it."

"Let me get this straight. You believe there's something dangerous out here, and then you return alone from the castle at this hour. That isn't very smart, and it isn't like you." There's reproach in her voice, and her frown only increases the tension of her face. "I left after dinner to do nothing in my room. If you'd told us about this danger, I could've waited for you."

"I'm not entirely sure to start worrying anyone. And Alix said a group would stay to study until Madam Pince closed the library," you retort. "There was a slim chance that I'd finish in time to return with them. Unfortunately, when Yvonne and I were done, I found out no one remained."

"They had an emergency," Cora explains. "Félicie suffered some kind of fit. Reva said she was wheezing so badly that her fingers turned blue. They rushed her to the Hospital Wing, and she didn't get better until the tenth potion kicked in."

"It sounds serious. How is she doing?" you ask, frowning.

Her head shakes lightly, though her face looks calm enough to pacify you. "She's better. Madam Pomfrey didn't have her spend the night in the castle. A bit after the medication worked, the nurse gave them permission to bring her back and get some rest."

You can't help smiling a little. "Everyone must be looking after her and trying to make her comfortable. I'll bet they are checking her progress every ten minutes. I wonder if she's getting any rest at all."

"Yes, well, we all like her," she comments, shrugging like the obvious thing it is. "Madame Maxime noticed her room was too crowded, though, and she took over. The rest of us were gently invited to leave."

The mere thought of that is enough to have you in chuckles.

"But I would have stayed behind to wait for you." Her tone is unmistakable, and you know she means every word.

"Thank you," you intone, swaying around to make a point of looking at her in gratitude.

She nods, and you catch a small smirk in the making, as all seriousness melts away from her expression. You lift an eyebrow, torn between requesting an explanation and dreading what's coming.

Her face is almost evil, in its full teasing mode. "This danger, or whatever you saw in the forest, was it before or after Reva beat you to a pulp?"

"You just had to bring that up." You roll your eyes.

"How could I not?" she says theatrically, with contagious laughter. "We don't see her flying without a broom too often. What a sight!"

"Weird, but true," you prompt, knowing that's quite a concession to your friend. "And to your information, I didn't see anything. I smelled something."

Cora is about to make another witty remark - you just know it - when she glances in your direction and jumps away, startled. Her eyes are wide and she raises a finger a little, though the action halts before she's aiming it at any specific place.

You grip your wand and look around in confusion, then over your shoulders. Nothing.

Wait. Nothing, except...

Your stare returns to Cora, her eyes still very open, and fixed on you. Or, more precisely, on your gleaming skin. A full-out grin blooms on your face.

"You scared me," she finally complains, watching your amusement.

"And without even trying. That's an extra point for me, I guess," you sing your victory playfully.

Quite timidly, she returns to your side and leans a bit closer. "That's new," she whispers.

"It is," you reply, keeping it simple. "One of the unusual things about a Veela growing up, hmm?"

Her stare doesn't detach from you, and you look away, at the carriage, giving her time to get used to the effect. It takes a while, but she eventually clears her throat and starts over. "That is very interesting. I'd never seen anything like it. I mean, I've seen your mother," she corrects herself. "I-I mean, not you, of course. You look-"

"Not human," you cut in, smiling to break the tension. "I know."

"That is not what I was going to say. I had something else in mind. And now you'll never hear it, because of that interruption," she claims in a fake upset tone. "It'll be your punishment."

"Fine, fine," you play along, raising your open hands. "Whatever you say. I surrender."

"Seriously, though," she changes her approach, "should I congratulate you?"

"Oh, no. Please, don't. This is supposed to be normal." It feels strange to say it. You'd really forgotten that your current transition would be a reason for celebration, at least with your family, if you were home or in your village. But here? No, not the same.

And then you stop to think about how it is for regular humans and give Cora an uncertain look. "Unless you celebrate going through puberty?"

She chuckles. "No, not really," and there's a trace of embarrassment in the way she turns to gaze ahead.

You nod, not sure if you should ask further, and try to twist the conversation out of the tight spot. "How was it with McGonagall after Yvonne and I left?"

The girl suddenly turns left and sprints away.

You yell after her. "Cora?"

"It's Guilles," she replies, running for a pile of rocks, and sinking her hands to gather what looks like a pile of snow.

Cora finally returns carrying him, wet and muddy, curled into a spiky ball in her hands. Your wand cleans him up enough so that Madam Maxime will be reasonably pleased, while your friend tickles his small belly and talks playfully, "Got you, tiny pincushion. what were you doing outside, at an hour like this? Madade Maxime will freak out if you aren't in the carriage soon."

She sounds merrier, and puts him on her right shoulder, where he's flanked by you, too. "You were saying?"

The little creature stays perched with effort, clinging tight to his unsteady ride.

"McGonagall," you try again, lifting an eyebrow. "Did you do well?"

"Yes," she nods, apparently thinking about the class. "She didn't have a seizure. I guess that was a sign the presentation was up to par. My group was good, most of them were. You did very well, too. I laughed so much at that acrobatic part, I had tears in my eyes."

"What did you do?" you ask, smiling.

You can see the pride in her eyes, though she doesn't make a show of it, "We transfigured a few objects, and conjured the extra details to build a miniature of the Durmstrang ship. It was a neat replica."

"Wow, really?" That was unexpected. "It must have been awesome. Who was in your group?"

She turns sharply to look at her right, where a large bird just flew by, and that nearly throws Guilles off of her. You raise your hands at either side of him, ready to pick him up if necessary. "Three guys from Durmstrang, including Viktor."

That was even more unexpected. Your hands fall down. "I thought you didn't stand him."

"I didn't. But Reva does, so I'm giving Viktor the benefit of the doubt. I'm her friend. I feel like I should check who the guy really is before she falls too hard for him," she shrugs.

"Before she falls hard?" you shake your head, doubtfully. "I wonder if it could get any harder than it already is."

"I know. I'm late for that ship," Cora shakes her head. "She can be so shy sometimes, it fools me. This is almost funny. I thought she was the least likely of us to have a crush in foreign lands. Who knew romance would strike her so hard?"

You notice she avoids any specific mentions to England, but say nothing about it. "What is your opinion of him now?"

"It turns out he's quite acceptable."

Great. Now you have friends defending him as well.

She continues, despite your automatic shift into scowling mode, "His fans are the tough deal. The most annoying girls were ready to curse me for being there."

This is something you can completely agree with her, at least.

"I know how it is. That Applebee girl is a total pain in the neck. It's great that she can't glare me to death, or she might be tempted," you say darkly, and Cora starts to chuckle. "How did you handle her?"

She smirks rather evilly, and you glance at her in silent query. "You know me, right? I am not the kind of girl to give in to anyone-"

"Except Yvonne," you slip in a whisper.

A frown dabs her face, before she glares at you in a flash, and then slowly restores her previous expression. "Yvonne is not 'anyone'. Besides, she and I are negotiating, which is very different."

Your time to smirk, but you nod and keep your lips sealed.

"If I may continue," she adds, and you can hear the taunting note in her voice, daring you to interrupt again, "I don't take trash from anyone. After Applebee made her first face at me, I had the boys smiling and laughing every chance I got, until that vein in her forehead was throbbing."

You laugh heartily, shaking your head. "Reva was right. You can be mean when you want to. Too bad I missed it."

"Oh, come on. I'm a nice girl," her voice is closer to a purr, and she winks in a naughty way. "It doesn't stop me from biting when I have a good reason."

"I'll keep that in mind, Sauvage," and you can't stop laughing.

She smiles smugly, "Wise decision, Delacour."

The melody of your chuckles rings the rest of the way to the carriage. When your destination is only meters away, the Knarl becomes so agitated that Cora has to keep him in her hands again.

"Listen," you touch Cora's wrist as she climbs the first step to the door, "I wanted to ask you for a little help."

"You need my help?" She stops before going further up. "With what?"

"My disaster of a potion." Your lips twist uneasily, "I'd like to understand what went wrong there."

"Actually, it was a very interesting result. A single potion with those destruction and corrosion levels is a rare accomplishment, and did you notice the color?" she comments, and it sounds so close to a compliment that if this was anyone but Cora, you'd believe they were being sarcastic. "When do you want to do it?"

"Sunday morning could be a good option, if you had no plans. In the school library we'd have all the books to ourselves and hardly any distractions. Few students go there on a Sunday," you suggest.

"I'll go, sure. I think it will be a fun project," the girl beams, so satisfied that she tosses Guilles up in the air, and the little guy squeaks in protest. "Sorry, buddy."

"Thank you, Cora. I look forward to Sunday," you join her up the stairs and you're soon past the wards, drying your shoes as you step into the carriage.

And then you are greeted by Reva, Lou-Ann, Sylvie and Solenn, who are on their way out.

"Hello," you greet them, although you suspect your smile is less bright than theirs. "Where are you going?"

Reva is the one closer and shoots right away,"Out, for a walk. Classes are over and we are free. Yayyy!" The small girl is so enthusiastic that her hands are in fists to keep herself from clapping. It's taken you all a while to help her contain her exaggerated outbursts when she's on a roll. "Don't you wanna change and come along?"

"I'm really tired, so I'll pass for tonight," you sigh. "Sorry."

Cora, on the other hand, promised to go back for her tea, and she smiles at her best friend. "Wait for me. I have to take Guilles through Damus, first."

"Okay," Solenn pipes up. And then she turns to you as Cora saunters away, with an eager expression, "How was it? Did you explode that classroom this time?"

You look at her in surprise, and feeling slightly offended, too.

She quickly explains conspiratorially, "It would be so awesome if you did. Can you imagine a week or two without Potions until they rebuilt the dungeons?"

In a blink, you are convinced of her sincerity. You know a few students who would be all too happy to get a rest from Potions. Apparently it didn't occur to her that you would be liable for the destruction of school property. But then, that's Solenn.

"Well, it wasn't meant to happen today," you shrug, ending all her hopes right then. "The potion went fine. Professor Snape didn't have a chance to complain, so Yvonne and I are off the hook for now. No detention for us."

Her eyes widen a little as she seems to realize you had a reputation to uphold, after all.

Lou-Ann is on a very high-up-in-the-clouds mood, and swiftly ignores the whole Potions subject. "Your cheeks look very rosy, Fleur. Is it really so cold outside?"

"A bit, but it's a great night for a walk. You'll warm up soon, and won't feel a thing." Your stare checks their attire and you nod in approval. They'll be fine. "You should start by going to see 'Agrid."

Reva jumps up and down, grinning, "He's back?"

You can't help smiling along, "Yes, and Fang is with him."

"Oooh, I'm going to tell him all I think of that Skeepter woman." The small girl runs all the way to the end of the corridor and yells, "Hurry up, Cora!"

It's quite a noise in the Central Hall and, surprisingly, Madame Maxime doesn't show up to investigate.

"Good night," you say to the trio of girls waiting by the door, and walk in the same direction that Reva and Cora took.

You can listen to the conversation that the girls probably had going before you arrived. Lou-Ann is telling the others another tale of her prince charming. She isn't the kind to brag or coat her stories with rainbows and star dust, but it can be a bit too much to take in when one's relationship isn't doing as well.

As you had suspected, a single look over your shoulder and you can tell that Sylvie is in a tormented place right now. Lou-Ann, on the other hand, is so enraptured in her own joy that she never noticed the misery in her companion's eyes.

When you cross paths with the girl that is returning to the door, you call her attention in a whisper, "Oh, Reva?"

"Yes?"

"Can you do me a favor and tell 'Agrid that I forgot to offer him help to transplant his new enchanted tree?" you ask.

"Okay," she replies at once.

"You should make sure Sylvie overhears you," you prompt, raising an eyebrow to stress the suggestion in the air.

She nods slowly and steals a secretive glance at the brooding girl, while you pace ahead, sticking your neck over the entrance to the Central Hall. You say your good nights to keep the basic formalities, and get ready to retire to your room.

"Fleur, wait up."

The voice reaches your ears when you're heading for the staircase, "Alix?"

"Hi. Uhm, I'm sorry for earlier," she says awkwardly, reaching you.

You look at her in confusion. "Which earlier are you talking about?"

"I hadn't expected anyone in the bathroom, only Yvonne, and I wasn't even sure if she'd be there," she explains.

'Oh, that.' You brush it off with a shrug, "It was okay. No harm done. You could've stayed with us. I'd have introduced you to 'Ermione."

She nods, glancing at the other girls sitting by the fireplace, scrunching her mouth this way and that a few times, like she was swishing a bit of mouthwash around. You clear your throat to get her attention again.

"Do you want us to have that talk tonight?" she finally whispers.

The intensity of the head shake should be enough, but it's best to make sure she understands, "It isn't a good time right now."

"You are not going to chicken out on me, are you?" she asks with a small, challenging smirk.

"No, not at all," you reply firmly. "In fact, I think we should do it soon. I really need to talk to someone."

"Is it, uhm..." The smirk has disappeared completely, and she goes another way. "Are you okay?"

You make an effort to smile, hoping she doesn't insist. "I'm fine for now. I have to write some long letters to my family, and sleep early tonight. Perhaps... tomorrow?"

"Okay. Tomorrow. After studying," she doesn't stop nodding. "That should be a great time to do something."

One simple nod and you turn to leave. "'Night, Alix."

"Good night."

And then you remember something, "Hmm... Alix? You kept Yvonne busy in the corridor when I was in that ladies' room with 'Ermione, didn't you?"

"A little," she admits, hesitating to look at you, as if she feared you were upset. "You deserved a treat."

"Thank you, then," you smile, putting her concerns to rest. "That was a real treat, the best part of my time in the dungeons today."

"It wasn't only me." Her green eyes glint merrily. "Yvonne wouldn't let the conversation end. She went on asking questions that had nothing to do with what I was telling her. I think she wanted you to have extra time, too,"

"Good to know." You nod, not entirely surprised. "I heard about Félicie. What was that?"

Her calm expression slumps into a very tired one, "She took a book from the Restricted Section, and when she opened it, an orange cloud puffed out, right at her face. It did something to her lungs. She couldn't breathe. You had to have been there to see it."

"But what was she looking for in the Restricted Section?" you ask, shaking your head. "The books for our exams are nowhere near that place."

"She was researching something for Defense Against the Dark Arts. You and her talked the other day, all the way to Herbology, and she wanted to check on it again. I think she said... uhm..." she pauses to think, and rubs her forehead, as if it would help. "Was it Occlumency? Whatever. Anyway, Madam Pomfrey had to work quickly."

You want a lot more details than that. "What else can you tell me?"

She shrugs, "I don't have a clue on what she was looking for. I can't even remember your discussion."

There goes some tremendous eye-rolling. "I meant about Félicie. How is she?"

"She's okay, almost good as new." The girl looks at the staircase, and then to the upper landing. "Did you want to see her? She might be asleep now."

"I'll check if she's up on the way to my room," you nod. "And the book that did this to her?"

She scowls. "In our opinion, it should be removed from the library. Maybe Madame Maxime will argue that, once Félicie is fully recovered." She sees your raised eyebrow and finally answers your question. "The nurse sent a note to Madam Pince, asking her to retain it. She told us it won't be allowed for consultation until the staff considers it safe for use again."

"At least it's been taken care of," you nod. "Anything else I've missed today?"

"Uhm, where do I start?" she runs her hand through her hair, and you get ready for the list. "Sylvie isn't doing too well with her boyfriend, we heard them fighting. Cora had a reclusive night. Lou-Ann thinks it won't take long for Mr. Perfect to propose. And Madame Maxime surely had one of those days. Don't cross her. Damus didn't let us in to ask her about those books with clashing information in Charms. I think she had more documents from the Ministry again, now that the second task is next month."

"Okay, I consider myself warned," you say. With a taunting smirk, you tilt your head and add, "And... I did fine, in case you wanted to know."

"Oh? Oh... Right. Snape," she mumbles, sheepishly. "Uhm, sorry."

"Never mind, I was messing with you. I think you had quite the evening, too," you reply, softening your expression.

"It's almost time for her potion, again," Alix whispers, checking her watch. And then she frowns at you, "Why did it take you so long to get back?"

"It didn't. We breathed through the potion. But, after that..." you pause and smile. "'Ermione waited for me."

She looks impressed. "Nice."

"Yes, it really was." You stretch your arms high above your head, and then yawn. "She's great."

"I like to see you smile like that," she says, looking from you to the stairs again, and taking a few steps back. "We're definitely talking tomorrow. Now, you get some rest. I won't last long, either. My eyes are closing down on me."

"Okay. See you tomorrow!" you intone, waving at her.

You hop up two steps at a time until you're over the stairs and into the long corridor. The walk to Félicie's door is short, and you stop to listen in, wondering if you should knock. There are weak creaking noises coming from the room, as if someone was rolling around, adjusting their position on a mattress. Your hand rises in mid-air, getting ready to knock, when a deep voice speaks at your back.

"Mademoiselle Gaudet has been medicated. Madame Maxime requests that her sleep is not disturbed."

Spinning on your heels, you lower your hand and look at the marble bust that just delivered the message.

"Thank you for the message, Monsieur Mondeville." As an afterthought, you add a late "Good night" before you turn a corner, and keep on walking.

As soon as you've entered your room, shoes are set aside, and then you restore the bag to its natural size and hang it over your chair. The wand is placed on your desk, and you continue to the bathroom, unbuttoning your blazer on the way. The blouse receives the same treatment next, and you finally unzip the skirt. You're hurrying now, so there will be a good number of hours of sleep between the time you get to bed and an early rise tomorrow. A quick search through the pockets reveals the feather from Peppy. You'd almost forgotten about it. The clothes end up in a pile for you to pick up later.

The candles close to the mirror will be of use, so you light all of them, and then set your hands at either side of the sink. There's a quick round of blinking, and you hover ahead, close to the flames, to check your reflection.

You will the flow of magic once more, watching intently as small swirls of silver engorge and blend together, taking over each iris. The 'other color,' as Yvonne called it, the one that betrays your unusual ancestry. A proof of your dual nature, of secrets lying just below the surface.

Still in front of the mirror, you watch the silver slowly recede into tiny taints amidst the blue. You move closer, still able to detect them. They won't disappear completely, but at least they are not very easy to see, either.

You sigh. These were only a small addition to another atypical day. All the encounters with Hermione flow across your mind as you take a moment to yourself, a moment to delve into the heavy turbulence of your thoughts, to reevaluate everything, and also to try not to freak out even more about the night.

Memories jump to and from the background, but no other is as astonishing as the last. You lick your lips, tasting the weak semblance of cherries that the brunette left on your skin, and it can't compare to what she's seared inside you.

You look down at your hands, considering the changes that are shaping you into someone very different from who you've always been. Too different. And there might be more in store for you.

How many changes will it take for you to wonder if you still fit among humans? Will that ever happen?

The conversation with Hagrid comes to the forefront.

Could this make your friends turn away?

Can it open a rift between Hermione and you? Will it ever influence the way she sees you?

The questions strike blunt blows on your self-confidence, each one followed by a spark of fear.

You shake your head. It's necessary to stop with all this thinking. Those doubts won't lead you anywhere, except straight into a headache and depression.

Perhaps you really are in over your head. Whatever this 'losing control' issue might mean, it seems to be slowly taking shape. You twirl the feather in your hand, seriously considering a change of heart.

Tomorrow you could bring it up with Hermione, if you find a breach to sneak it into the conversation. It would be interesting to hear her opinion. Or Alix, once you bring her up to date, although you still have to decide whether or not to tell her of the Veela.

Taking off your undergarments, you remove your necklace, too, and attach the feather to another link. The shower is quick, as is the getting dressed, and then you comb your hair until it's shiny, and there are no loose strands left.

You take a potion for the headache, leave the sleeping draught under your bed, and sit down to work on writing letters. The first is for Anca, thanking her for the visit to Hagrid, her message, and also letting her know that you finally saw him out of the cabin tonight. The next is a simple, shorter one, to your grandmother, telling her about school, how you found the village at the Forbidden Forest, the Triad, and Hestia, a Veela from the Elatia. Finally, the harder one, addressed to your mother. Using the one you had written before as reference, you to include everything you can, the latest news of the week, with long explanations of the Triad, Katalin, Anca's proposition and your refusal, then a full description of your new changes, and the fact that any search through the books has turned into a frustrating dead end.

She'll have to say something after that.

All three letters are rolled up and ready for sending. You reach into your bag to check Gabrielle's letter once more, and consider the missing sketch on Harry and Hermione. It won't be the same without it. You can imagine her complaints when she sees the other ones and realizes you never showed her the brunette. Time for more sketching, then.

You swivel in your chair and pull out the sketchbook from your bag. A soft sparkle catches your eye, and your stare zooms on the golden egg, the key to winning - and surviving - the next task of the Tournament, nestled on the farther corner from your bed. More than a month has passed since you grabbed that egg, and there it is, still undeciphered. It isn't in you to procrastinate, when the first task wasn't child's play at all.

You stand up and take in everything unusual in your room, the Veela books on the shelf, the random strands of hair that you vanish at once, the chain around your neck, the long letters you just wrote, and the sketchbook in your hands.

No, this hasn't been procrastination. You've been overwhelmed with other things to do, many other things keeping your mind busy. You'll get to the egg, once you have the minimum you need to move forward. And those letters, or at least one of them, should provide just that.

You sit on your bed, with your back propped on pillows against the headboard, getting comfortably ready for an activity that has proven to slow down your restless mind. Flipping through the pages, you reach the sketch you'd begun in the library yesterday, and your hand works quickly, finishing it off with a little shading and the necessary tweaks, here and there, until you're happy with the results.

As expected, another yawn soon has you covering your mouth. You feel more relaxed now, and wobble in your spot to sit very upright, defying sleep while you turn a fresh page. In your mind's eye you conjure the image you want of Hermione, and then line after line takes place and shape, dashing over the paper, guided by so many memories.

When you're done, you leave the pencils at the nightstand, lie down and hold that page up, in a position where it stays well lit. Your eyelids are wilting, weighed down by drowsiness. You take a long breath before you stop to look at the work.

Actually, you stop to admire the beautiful girl staring back at you from the page. You've outdone yourself this time. The correct proportions of her face, the fine curves of her features, even the details of her wild hair are there, all there. And this soft smile is exactly like the last one she gave you today, an hour or so ago.

Slowly, a fingertip traces the outline of one cheek, then goes down to her chin, and makes it to the other cheek.

'Who are you, Hermione Granger?'

The question takes over your mind. You want to know so much more about her.

Even more carefully, you trace the lips that you can still feel teasing your skin. The lips you kissed until she couldn't take it anymore.

'What did I do to you?'

And then you look at the enticing eyes that held you spell-bound all day.

'And what are you doing to me?'

TBC