For @waxwing-saint
There were few joys in life that really got Hermione Granger truly relaxed. At fifteen, the easiest and most obvious of these joys was reading. There was rarely a moment where Gryffindor’s resident swot was without a book or a scroll visibly on her person. So to find the brunette early in the morning and already curled up on one of the couches in front of the main fireplace in the common room was far from a surprise for the lions of Hogwarts.
“Is… is that Fleur Delacour in our common room?”
On the other hand, the sight of the Beauxbatons Champion curled around the resident bookworm was unexpected on so many different levels. Most of the room gawked and whispered, while one or two of the boys headed down from the dorms nearly fell down the stairs in their surprise. Not that either Hermione or her French companion noticed any of the onlookers. The former was happily immersed in a thick, leather bound tome while the latter was unabashedly using her wrapped position around the smaller girl to read alongside her. Fleur was so close that she only had to tilt her head closer to the brunette to whisper a comment or two about their shared reading material.
(This was such a casual, yet fundamentally sensual action that poor Seamus actually did fall down the stairs when he caught sight of it.
The resulting mini-explosion did little to deter the two oblivious lovers on the couch.)
And in spite of the fact that this was the house lauded for its bravery, not a single person wanted to go up to Hermione and ask about the anomaly in their shared common room.
So Harry was volunteered instead.
“What?! Why am I asking them?” The wizard in question stared at his fellow scared lions with sheer bafflement on his face. Fred —Or was that George? Damned if Harry knew— shrugged and gestured to the odd duo settled in front of the main fireplace.
“Well, for one thing she’s your friend. How weird would it be if Forge or I waltzed on over there and asked about the lovely bird she brought in? Be weird, innit?” Harry stared at the twin and gestured in turn to the sixth Weasley son, his and Hermione’s best friend.
“What about Ron? Hermione’s friends with him too!” Harry tried to sound outraged, but even he thought his argument sounded weak to his ears. Especially because his red headed best friend had his palms firmly planted over his eyes and his head pointed in the opposite direction of the two on the couch.
“Let’s be real Harry, I can’t string together two words in front of Lav— much less in front of Fleur bloody Delacour.”
“Oh, uh… wow.” Harry stared at his friend in surprise; it was no secret that the youngest Weasley son struggled with emotional awareness. To be fair, Ron was only fourteen so any emotional awareness on his part would’ve been a pleasant surprise. Or a miracle. “That’s mighty big of you Ron, good on you.”
“Thanks, Hermione promised me a whole box of chocolate frogs at the end of the month if I didn’t muck things up.”
Ah, bribery—Hermione always was the smartest of the three of them. Regardless, Harry was only fourteen himself. He certainly didn’t want to be the person to confront the erumpent in the room.
“Well, what about Ginny? She’s close to Hermione too!” The Weasley brothers all turned in unison, even Ron with his palms still glued to his face, towards the girl’s stairwell. Their only sister sat on the steps, a shit eating grin on her face and a bowl of popcorn in her hands as she watched the collective house of Gryffindor lose their shit over two girls cuddling on the couch. At this, Harry just threw his hands up in the air and proceeded to march over to his apparent doom.
When he got within a few paces of the duo, the martyred lion soon found himself lost for words. So he tried the surefire method of clearing his throat. Hermione didn’t bother to look up, but Fleur did and Harry was suddenly reminded of an apex predator with the way her half lidded eyes sized him up.
“Oh, hey Harry. What’s up?” Hermione thankfully piped in before he could totally freeze in place. The brunette still hadn’t lifted her eyes from the text in front of her, but her tone was friendly and not at all annoyed. That was definitely a good sign— Hermione could be an utter grouch when someone interrupted her reading. She seemed slightly tired and distracted though.
“Er… not much ‘Mione. I was just, um… wondering how you were doing?” His voice kind of cracked a little, and he hadn’t even addressed the blonde next to her! Harry also realized that the rest of the room had gone quiet in a clear attempt to listen in. Damned cowards.
“Not much, just tired. Didn’t get much sleep last night.” Almost as if to make a point, Hermione proceeded to yawn into her hand. She never looked up at Harry as she simultaneously read her book and spoke to him, so it wasn’t a surprise that she didn’t catch the way that Fleur’s grin sharpened in satisfaction. Actually, now that Harry realized it neither girl had gotten changed out of their pajamas. Which wouldn’t normally be an issue since it was Saturday after all but there was something odd about the clothes that Delacour had on. Harry could’ve sworn that Hermione had a sleep shirt of The Beatles just like the one that Fleur did—
At the realization of this, the very sliver of self preservation that made the sorting hat consider a placement in Slytherin all those years ago made Harry freeze on the spot. With a face that became more and more tomato red, he turned around, grabbed Ron by the elbow and proceeded to drag himself and his compatriot out of the common room and towards the Great Hall.
The implications of that morning were not worth even touching, especially before a proper breakfast.
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