For CrimsonJoy who wanted Fleurmione, with Fleur asking for help around the time of 'Goblet of Fire; Ended up being sort of pre-Fleurmione, but enjoy. :)
Hermione had taken an instant dislike to Fleur Delacour. It was all in the name, really. Pretentious, air headed Barbie – not that many of the wizards and witches around her even knew what a Barbie was – but that was Fleur summed up in one word. She flounced and draped and many other words that reminded Hermione of the covers of her mother’s romance books that she had never been allowed to read. Still, Hermione supposes she must be particularly skilled at something because the goblet wasn’t likely to be taken in by pretty looks and a Veela heritage.
Hermione was surprised to find her spot in the library taken by none other than Fleur. She was pouring over a book, staring at it like it held the answer to all her problems. Perhaps it did, Harry had only just figured out how to get the clue from the golden egg yesterday, Fleur may have been having the same trouble. But the fact remained that Fleur was in her spot. It wasn’t that Hermione was possessive of the area or anything. Despite how some of the other students teased her she was not a slave to routine. It was just that that particular table was closest to the books she would need for that year’s classes while still being in plain sight of Madam Pince’s desk. It was always a good idea to keep an eye on the woman and Hermione had found that over the years, as Madam Pince had seen her constant respect for the libraries books she had actually warmed to her, if only a little. Not that it showed when Ron and Harry were around though. Ron and Harry were the other reason that Hermione always sat in the same spot. Neither of them had the patience to actually look through the large library for her. And really, Ron was always a step away from getting a life ban every time Madam Pince saw him. At least if he knew where she was, Hermione could keep an eye on him.
She had only been standing by the table, wondering where to go now when Fleur looked up. Her brow was furrowed slightly, whatever she had been reading was obviously causing some distress.
“If you wish to sit, zen sit. I will not stop you.”
Then she turned back to her book while Hermione sat and flicked through her own book for the chapter she needed to read for her transfiguration essay. It only took a few minutes before Hermione’s eyes dragged away from her book and too Fleur. If anything she looked even more frustrated than before and quite possibly seconds away from tearing the book in front of her up.
“Is something wrong?” Hermione questioned loud enough for Fleur to hear, but not Madam Pince.
“I find myself struggling with ze latest Triwizard clue.”
“Would you …” Ron would die if he knew she was considering helping out Fleur, though Hermione didn’t know if it would be from some weird brotherhood honour with Harry or because she was talking to the girl he was currently fawning over. “Would you like some help?”
Fleur stared at Hermione for a few seconds. “You are ‘Arry Potter’s friend. I am afraid it would be a, uh, conflict of interests.”
“I think Harry will survive.”
Fleur nodded slowly and pulled a rolled up scroll out of her Beauxbatons’ uniform. She unrolled in carefully and placed it in front of Hermione. She recognised the rhyme instantly as the clue from the golden egg that harry had told her about.
Come seek us where our voices sound,
We cannot sing above the ground,
And while you're searching ponder this;
We've taken what you'll sorely miss,
An hour long you'll have to look,
And to recover what we took,
But past an hour, the prospect's black,
Too late, it's gone, it won't come back.
“It is zis,” Fleur said, tapping the end of the second to last line. “zat I ‘ave trouble with. I do not understand the words, zey make no sense.”
“Oh. Well a prospect is – ”
“Non. I understand what a prospect is, but ‘ow can it be black?”
Perhaps Hermione should have noticed it sooner; it wasn’t like Fleur hid her accent, if anything it was unbelievably obvious. Of course she spoke at least two languages (possibly more, Beauxbatons did recruit from a number of different countries after all).
“It just means bad. It’s a metaphor. After an hour something bad will happen.”
Fleur frowned again. It was becoming rather endearing.
“Zen why not say zat? Oh, English is silly!”
Not a Barbie after all, perhaps. One did have to be intelligent to be fluent in more than one language. Not to mention to be chosen as a Triwizard champion.
