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Chapter Text

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

« Shut up, Antoine. »

-o0o-

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

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

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

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

Fleur hated it. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Until swiftly it wasn’t. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Chapter Text

Hermione Granger had a problem. It wasn’t life threatening. No one she knew or cared about had been hurt or had taken ill. And most importantly, her grades hadn’t slipped from the strict standards she had imposed upon herself. In her honest opinion the latter of those issues would have been less of a problem and more of a complication of catastrophic proportions.

No, what troubled her was more of an inconvenience in the great scheme of things. A predicament so steeped in adolescent undertones that when viewed with an aged eye, one would have more than likely been prone to a good eye-roll at the unnecessary dramatics of today’s youth. It was so ridiculous that it shouldn’t have bothered her as much as it did. 

Unfortunately, it overtook her thoughts and got in the way of her academics so the studious Gryffindor was forced to admit that she had a dilemma, no matter how juvenile she thought it was.

Hermione Granger was saddled with girlfriend problems. 

Or at least, that’s what Ron had amusedly deemed it after he had relayed the evening’s happenings at dinner. Hermione had hexed him for the presumption. She and the Beauxbatons Champion were close, certainly more than friends at this point, but neither of them had agreed to anything so official yet. That and Hermione was still convinced he had exaggerated a few of the details in regards to that evening. Fleur was dramatic for sure, but a full fledged scene atop the Ravenclaw table? Hermione didn’t care how many people corroborated the story, they were all ridiculous. Unfortunately, she only had second hand accounts to go by as she hadn’t been to dinner herself. Which had been her own fault, to be certain. 

Hermione had secluded herself in the library for so long that she had accidentally missed supper. And even with four straight hours of research she was no closer to a solution to her initial problem. That “problem” happened to be about fifteen pounds of high quality cotton, wool, and crushed velvet alongside enough thermal related enchantments that she wasn’t convinced that one couldn’t cook an egg atop it. If one considered the part-Veela’s severe discomfort in regards to the cold, it wasn’t a surprise that Madame Maxime had ordered such a robust and intricate piece for the blonde. Under normal circumstances, Hermione would have been happy that the French witch wasn’t in danger of hypothermia every time she travelled between the Beauxbatons’ Carriage to the castle. 

If only the damned article of clothing hadn’t complicated their current… arrangement. 

Since that first night the previous week, the two of them had spent a ludicrous amount of time together for two people who had just met. Especially since they both had such seemingly opposite personality types, many were surprised by just how well they got along. It was to a point that Hermione was even a little insulted. She was more than capable of befriending people so diametrically opposed to her own social comforts!

It was like they forgot that she was best friends with Ronald ‘can’t chew with my mouth closed’ Weasley. 

And it was no trial to spend time with the flamboyant witch. In spite of Fleur’s frequent theatrics, she was more than just the stereotype that her hair color attributed her to. The blonde was a brilliant academic in her own right, and the two of them were often found deeply entrenched in one debate or another. The topics varied and ranged from the alchemical significance of platinum ink in runic circles (“There are twelve peer reviewed articles that support its usage.” “Ah, but how many of them point out that bronze is just as viable, for a fraction of the cost? Exactement.” ) to the validity of magically reheated coffee (“ Non! It is not the same! Spit that sacrilegious shit out, tout de suite!” “Fleur, so help me if you banish my caffeine….”)

After having witnessed one of their more heated discussions, Ginny had commented that “of all the people to get you interested in dating, of course it’s the hottest nerd we’ve ever met.” 

Hermione apparently had a thing for smart people, who knew? 

What had surprised everyone more was that the normally serious Gryffindor tolerated Fleur’s insistent need to cuddle. Truth to be told, that fact had surprised Hermione as well. It was no secret within Hogwarts that while friendly, the brunette noticeably hated it when others unnecessarily touched her. Her friends knew not to hug her, clap her on the back, or even jokingly threaten to breach her personal bubble. What most didn’t know was that the reason for her enforced social distance was inherently magical in nature and not because Hermione abhorred teenaged social norms like everyone thought.

For as long as Hermione could remember, her ætheric core ran hot . This meant that the undercurrent of her magic was conflagrant in nature and was so potent that it manifested itself physically. As amazing as that sounded in theory, in reality it only meant that Hermione consistently ran a high internal body temperature. This had caused issues for her when she was younger only because the muggle scientific and medical communities couldn’t figure out what was wrong with her. Her life was a revolving door of tests, needles, and check-ups as the Grangers frantically tried to figure out why their child was in a constant state of apparent fever. 

This all came to a head when Hermione was six and the last physician attempted to take the little bookworm’s tome away during an examination.

Needless to say that the poor doctor had to be unstuck from his examination room’s ceiling by no less than four aurors; all of the nurses and the other patients had to have their memories wiped; and the Granger family had finally been given a full rundown of what “accidental magic” was five years earlier than originally scheduled. The healer that looked her over at St. Mungos confirmed that Hermione wasn’t going to die of hyperthermia ; the same magic that created the symptom also simultaneously ensured that it did no damage to her bodily functions.

Unfortunately, just because it didn’t kill her didn’t mean that it wasn’t unpleasant. No one liked to feel that oppressive wave of muggy warmth all the time. Perspiration was still gross, and it came in droves whenever someone decided to get close enough that their body heat leaked over to her. This was made worse by the way her magic boiled up from within and would lash out in a wave of more heat that felt nearly caustic for some but was abominable and uncomfortable for her.

Frivolous layers of clothing were also either avoided or discarded at the earliest convenience for similar reasons. As a child she frequently divested herself of any unwanted articles faster than her parents could scream “propriety!” Jackets? Gone. Dressings gowns? Immediately removed and forgotten. That odd shaped mess of wool and yarn that Aunt Thelma swore up and down was a jumper? ‘ Well mummy, I thought those poor duckies in the pond were cold and I couldn’t possibly have let them freeze to death! ’

For years this went on, until her eventual foray into Hogwarts. The promise of a more severe chill from the Scottish Highlands did little to sway Hermione to a decidedly normal attire for the environment, and she even told what would soon be her favorite Professor that there was little that could convince her otherwise. 

When Professor McGonnagall informed the girl that she would likely lose points for whatever house she ended up in due to her disregard for the dress code, Hermione merely promised that “however many points I lose so that I’m not drowning in my own sweat, I’ll just earn back with school work!” The curly haired witch counted as a “Hat stall” only because the Sorting Hat had laughed at her for a solid five minutes before it sent her to Gryffindor for “the most bullheaded and tenacious mindset I’ve witnessed in the last hundred years.”

Hermione was almost insulted.

For three years she dealt with the absurd conditions her magical core had laid upon her. And the inanity that riddled many of the looks that were thrown her way for her severely underdressed state in winter progressed to the point where some of her classmates had begun to call her such ridiculous nicknames like the Fireball Lioness or Granger the Unflinching of all things. For the most part, Hermione ignored them and focused on her academic pursuits. And it looked like her fourth year was set to be much of the same. 

At least, that’s what she had originally thought before she was tackled and used as a human space heater by the Beauxbatons Triwizard Champion. And Hermione allowed it to happen unchallenged and unpunished. So Hermione could understand the excessive gossip and the sea of unhinged jaws in the wake of that first breakfast at the Great Hall. She was not so far removed from her reputation that she couldn’t understand the shock that was caused by Fleur’s presence cuddled deep within her personal bubble. 

At first, Hermione had been against even the notion of such an undignified display of affection. Not only did she look foolish and out of place with the other girl draped upon her person, but she was so sure that the disgusting feeling of being drenched in sweat that accompanied such prolonged contact with another being was sure to follow. The familiar surge of acerbic energy would inevitably come over her and the unfortunate blonde that had essentially melded herself to Hermione’s side. And then before she could help it, Hermione would probably hex the other girl so thoroughly out of reflex that the Champion would have sported a cross eyed look all the way through the first task.

Forget their budding not-quite friendship. International relations would have been down the drain as well and it would have been Hermione and her magic’s fault.

However that surprisingly hadn’t happened at all.

Instead, for the first time in as far as the curly haired witch could remember, her core hadn’t punished her with the usual wave that scorched and suffocated her whenever someone neared. When Hermione later had time to analyze that first interaction in the library, she realized that the ever present heat actually lessened the moment Fleur had come into contact with her. She imagined it felt like the sensation that others had often attributed to most rudimentary cooling charms; a chilled arrow of reprieve that deliciously pierced through the unwanted curtain of torridity on an individual or object. Not that Hermione knew what those spells felt like first hand; she had long since found out that all the magic that fit under the umbrella of thermal related charms were ineffectual in the face of the firestorm that was her magical core. 

Except that Fleur wasn’t some charm found on Professor Flitwick’s second year exams.

She was the arctic confined in the slight body of an intellectual goddess incarnate and Hermione was smitten. Not that the brunette would admit to it just yet. At least, not aloud. They had only known each other for a week’s time after all. No one sane conceded to thoughts of love and adoration without abandon after only half a fortnight. Hermione was British for heaven’s sake, it just wasn’t done!

For now, they would continue on as they had been and Hermione would see how things went from there. In spite of the odd reputation she had built up due to her (entirely necessary) liberal interpretation of the school’s dress code policy, Hermione was actually fairly cautious for a Gryffindor. She would argue that logic and reason were her two greatest tools after her wand, so the brilliant witch was the last person who would ever go and tilt at any unnecessary windmills. 

And then that cloak came into view and suddenly the witch that many at Hogwarts coined the Fireball Lioness was a scared kitten ready to flee under her own bed. Fleur hadn’t even had it on when Hermione spotted her, and the panicked witch could still sense the effects of the enchantments as they lingered on the part-Veela. Whomever it was that Madame Maxime had contracted to make the piece clearly knew what they were doing. The enchantments woven into the fabrics were palpable, and the very undercurrent of its magicks taunted her and threatened to suffocate her in a gross wave of incalescence. 

So it was no surprise that Hermione spent the precious hour that she and Fleur had together in a game of “dodge the veela.” By the time that the blonde had to leave, the French witch had the look of a kicked puppy and Hermione had never felt like more of a coward in her life. 

Even Don Quixote would’ve found her shameful. 

And here she was, hours of frantic research and a day later with nothing to show for it. 

“Damn it Ginny, this isn’t funny!”

Well, except for an overly amused redhead. The youngest of the Weasley siblings had to wipe the tears from her eyes as she forcibly put a lid on her mirth and threw a strained smile at the older girl. 

“Oh come on, it’s a little funny. Badass Granger is afraid of a piece of winter wear.” Ginny had to fight to ensure that no more than a few chuckles had escaped her this time. If she was too careless as she ribbed the fiery witch, Hermione may just huff and run off! Just because the younger girl found the whole situation amusing didn’t mean that she didn’t want to help. 

Hermione didn’t run off, but she did huff at the terrible moniker. “I really wish you wouldn’t use that asinine nickname. I swear, they get worse every year. I don’t even know where people are getting the inspiration for these damned things.” The brunette was afraid that if she rolled her eyes every time someone used those odd epithets to describe her as she walked by that her eyes would be in danger of getting stuck that way. Ginny just snorted and raised an eyebrow at her friend.

“Well, can you blame them?” The redhead gestured between the two of them. Or more accurately, the stark contrast between their two attires. Ginny had the thickest of her outer robes on, the red and gold scarf tightly wound around her neck, and had opted for wool tights to combat the frigid draft that practically permeated from the very stones around them. On the other hand, Hermione had on what could only be attributed as the Hogwarts summer uniform. Ginny had no doubt that under the light jumper, the brunette most likely had the short sleeved button up blouse on. If it wasn’t for the oddly out of place Gryffindor scarf loosely draped on her person, the third-year would have been convinced that her friend was wholly unbothered by the wind that cut through the corridors. What with her lack of tights in combination with her pleated skirt.

“If literally anyone else tried what you wore on a regular basis in winter , they’d end up in the hospital wing with a cold and drowning in pepper-up potions. Face it, you’re a certified walking fireball and so you get all the damned names that come with it.” 

Hermione grumbled something along the lines of ‘damnable magicks,’ and ‘idiotic classmates,’ before she continued their trek to the Great Hall. The two had just finished morning classes and had opted to walk down together from the tower after they had both stopped by to drop off and swap the necessary books for the rest of the day. Ginny just skipped along beside her friend after she mentally tallied yet another victory against the Logical Queen of Gryffindor . 

Huh, maybe Hermione did have a lot of nicknames? Oh well. More to tease her with.

“Seriously though, there has to be something you both can do? I mean, I know you said that the cloak had ‘lingering effects,’ but couldn’t you just… I don’t know, wait it out and then go back to that weird cuddle routine you’ve both got going?” Ginny idly scratched her head in contemplation. This really seemed like the brunette had over thought this somehow. It couldn’t be that much of a problem, could it? Hermione sighed as she threw her hands up in protest.

“I will admit that is a possibility, but not really feasible with our time constraints. It’s rare that Fleur gets anything longer than an hour free at a time. Especially with the first task coming up soon. Madame Maxime has her in extra lessons in preparation.” Hermione even used her fingers to make air quotes as she said the words in emphasis. If even Hogwarts: A History openly acknowledged the rampant cheating that occurred in each of the Triwizard Tournaments, who was she to argue against tradition? 

“Well, look. Maybe you’re just overreacting?” Ginny wilted a little under the force of the other girl’s glower, but she kept going. “I’m serious! I know you said that your magic can be a bit tetchy when it comes to overheating and stuff, but maybe it’s not as bad as you think?”

Hermione opened her mouth to say something but froze in place before she could utter the words. Ginny stared at her with wide eyes as the normally put together academic gave off what could only be described as an entirely feral aura. The brunette’s irises blew out to the point where the younger girl could swear there was more pupil than sclera now. Hermione’s nostrils flared as her head slowly turned towards the entrance to the corridor that conjoined with their current one. Hermione’s freaked out companion was just about to ask what was wrong when Ginny noticed three distinct figures come into view. 

While Ginny didn’t know who the other two were, she certainly recognized the blonde among them. It didn’t take long for Fleur Delacour to notice the two of them frozen in the hallway, but the redhead could tell the very moment that Hermione came to terms with the fact that her not-quite-girlfriend was there.

With that accursed cloak on her shoulders.

Because Hermione’s magic licked out in caustic tendrils as soon as Fleur got within twenty feet of them. Ginny nearly let out an embarrassed ‘eep!’ when one of them poked her in the shoulder. That wasn’t good. Not even twenty four hours later and the brunette’s fiery core had apparently decided that it definitely didn’t like the French witch’s new ensemble. Ever the logical human being, Hermione did the most reasonable thing she could think of at that moment.

She jumped out the window. 

In a panic, the other four occupants of the corridor dove for the window ledge that looked over the third story and frantically searched for the crazy idiot who defenestrated herself. Thankfully there was a slightly slanted roof right below the window, and Hermione had her sensible boots on rather than the expected mary-janes. So the Gryffindor at least had decent traction as she sprinted away towards the only other open window that she could safely reach….

In the occupied transfiguration classroom. 

“MISS GRANGER!”  

The group left behind let out a collective sigh in relief that Hermione hadn’t fallen to her death. Although none of them were sure that the girl would survive the transfiguration mistress’ ire after this. As Professor McGonagall audibly loosed her fury on the idiotic lion cub, the lone wizard among them shook his head in disappointment. 

« Nope, nothing. I got nothing. She just jumped out a damned window. I might as well go home at this point. Fleur’s lady love has replaced me! »  

Ginny wasn’t quite sure what the guy was saying, but she understood the universal language of violence when the other French witch who wasn’t Fleur swatted him on the head. She ignored her head of house’s continued caterwauling and the theatrics of the two unknown French mages before she focused on the witch that had started all of this. While Ginny wasn’t as sensitive to temperature as her friend, even she could sense the wall of heat that emanated from the blonde. Or rather, from that cloak. She noticed the intense look of sadness on Fleur’s face and awkwardly patted her on the shoulder as Hermione simultaneously landed herself more detention in this one sitting than she had in the entirety of her Hogwarts career. 

Ginny had her work cut out for her.

-oOo-

“I can’t believe you jumped out of a window! ” 

Harry’s voice carried throughout the Gryffindor Common room. Hermione honestly just wished that the armchair she had plopped herself on would just swallow her up and put an end to her misery. Not that the bespectacled teen’s yelling made anything worse. If the entire castle hadn’t heard Professor McGonagall’s loud tirade, then the classroom of sixth year Hufflepuffs and Slytherins she had interrupted had filled in the gaps in the Hogwarts grapevine. Needless to say, everyone knew about Badass Granger’s flight from the third floor. 

“Oh, she did . I watched her do it with my own eyes.” Ginny solemnly nodded, though the twinkle of amusement in her eyes had given her away. Ron snorted at his sister’s antics, though privately he was glad it was Hermione at the center of his sister’s crosshairs. Nevermind that she was younger than him, the girl was a relentless tease. He looked up from his spot on the floor as he paused in his broom maintenance routine and raised an eyebrow at his lone female best friend. 

“See, what I’m more interested in is how you managed to talk McGonagall down. I can’t believe she let you off so lightly! That’s some favoritism right there, I’m telling you none of us could get away with a stunt like that with less than detentions up the wazoo!” Hermione challenged his raised eyebrow with one of her own as she deadpanned back at him.

“Last I checked Ronald, helping to grade all of the first and second year papers for the rest of the year was a punishment.” 

“Yeah, but is it really punishment if you enjoy it?” Ron jumped a little in surprise when the light stinging hex had hit him. “Ow! Damn it, still worth it.” 

Hermione sighed for what seemed like the thousandth time that day as she put her wand back in its holster. Ron wasn’t wrong , per se. McGonnagall had already assigned weeks of detention with both herself and Filch during her impassioned spiel before she realized that Hermione was in the midst of a full blown panic attack. The Professor had immediately dismissed the class and brought the distressed student to Madam Pomphrey, where she was administered a calming draught and forced to explain what might have possibly possessed her to do something so reckless. 

It was only the honest explanation of the situation that made her head of house realize that it was likely an instinctive case of momentary insanity caused by an overreaction of her magic. Professor McGonnagall had always made it clear to Hermione that she would try her hardest not to hold the girl’s unusual magical core against her, as it was often something she couldn’t quite control or help. It was why the deputy headmistress only ever took a single point away from her cub whenever she saw her as she walked the halls, and that was more due to the fact that neither of them wanted to encourage anyone else to attempt to imitate Hermione’s habitual style of dress. 

In the end, Hermione had a year’s worth of transfiguration homework to grade and a feeling of guilt tacked onto it. According to Ginny, Fleur had looked downright depressed after the brunette’s stunt. Harry dropped onto the seat beside the female Weasley and asked the question that just about everyone wanted to know at this point.

“So what are you going to do now?”

And that was the question, wasn’t it? Hermione quietly thought about why this seemed so difficult in the first place. For as long as she could remember, she treated her issues with heat the same regardless if it was one of Aunt Thelma’s lumpy jumpers or if it was physical touch with another living being. If it bothered her, she promptly discarded it and thought nothing more of the fact. It was a simple solution for a long standing annoyance.

The problem was that Hermione didn’t want to forget about Fleur. The French witch wasn’t some jacket she discarded when things got too hot. Fleur was a kind, emotive, and brilliant individual that could just smile and leave Hermione breathless and frozen where she stood. The situation wasn’t fair and her normally reliable mind had blanked on a viable solution. 

Harry, Ron, and Ginny watched as the formidable witch’s face crumbled as she breathed out three words that sounded so tiny and vulnerable that it instantly worried the trio into silence.

“I don’t know.”  

-oOo-

Hermione carefully tied the missive to the tawny barn owl she had chosen at random before she floated a piece of bacon near its face. The moment she had stepped away, the bird had snatched at the offered treat and flew out of the Owlery. It was an easy payment for a quick job, it only had to go to the powder blue carriage on the grounds after all. It had pained her to do so, but she had sent a message to Fleur to let her know that she had cancelled their usual study session. At least for today. Until they could figure out a solution to her fiery problem it wasn’t wise for them to meet. That and Hermione wasn’t sure she could take the look of disappointment on Fleur’s face again. 

Hermione dusted off her hands on her skirt as she glanced up at the parliament of weary avians above her. Animals almost always knew instinctively not to get too close to her. Even her familiar, Crookshanks, only ever sat near enough to siphon the warmth from his master but knew never to aggravate the more volatile tendencies of her magic. 

“The owls are quite dedicated, aren’t they?” 

Hermione nearly jumped out of her skin at the unexpected voice behind her. The only reason that she hadn’t whipped out her wand in panic was because this wasn’t the first time that Luna Lovegood had snuck up on her so thoroughly. 

“Damn it Luna, what have I said about doing that?!” The surprised brunette gripped her chest as she coaxed her heart rate to a more manageable level. She glanced at the stairs and what she had thought was the only way in and out of the Owl’s collective perch. Then again, if anyone could find a secret passage for the sole sake of getting the jump on someone, it’d be Ravenclaw’s resident dreamer. Luna smiled that practically trademarked grin of hers, the one that made the uninitiated scoff and roll their eyes at the girl. For the select few who knew otherwise, they leaned in close and listened to what came next. It took her longer than she cared to admit, but Hermione can comfortably say that she was in the latter camp. 

“Few realize just how hard their jobs are. It takes a truly flexible individual to do what our feathered friends can do on a regular basis.” 

Hermione felt her brow as it scrunched up in her confusion. What was Luna on about?

“What do you mean?”

Luna whistled and a tiny pygmy owl flew down to meet her outstretched hand. Hermione noted the little rainbow ring hooked around the bird's left leg and the familiar way it cuddled into the other girl's touch. As the younger witch gently ran her fingers through the feathers of what was clearly her personal owl, the Ravenclaw explained herself. 

“We expect them to deliver what we give them no matter the time of day or even the weather. For centuries we’ve relied on them as the messengers of our parcels and letters. And it’s because on an instinctive level, the owls know themselves.” Luna looked up and saw the look of bewilderment etched on her friend’s face. She took pity on the studious witch and gestured to the owlet. “It doesn’t matter their breed, their age, or even their size. They know their limits and what they’re capable of. But they also know when to take a leap of faith and trust that their wings will get them safely to their destination.” 

The enigmatic blonde attached her own letter to the contented bird before she allowed the little bird to launch itself out the same open window that the Tawny Owl exited from.

“It’s a little bit like our magic, you know?” Before Hermione could formulate a response to that, Luna skipped down the stairs without even a by-your-leave . The Gryffindor stood in the tower for a few minutes longer, trapped in her thoughts before she shook herself out of it and left as well. 

-oOo-

The next day for Hermione was par for the course. She went to breakfast, attended morning lessons, and continued to baffle her classmates of many years by the sheer temerity of her choice of dress. In fact, it could be said that the only sensible parts of her ensemble were the calf-length boots she wore, if only because it allowed her to easily traverse the half a foot of snow that had fallen the night before. And yet that too lost its novelty as the fourth years had three prior winters to get used to Hermione Granger’s give no fucks attitude in regards to mother nature. No one likely would have noticed anything amiss if it hadn’t been for one glaring detail.

Hermione hadn’t said a single thing during lessons. She hadn’t asked any questions to clarify some gaps on her notes. Nor was her eidetic memory put to use by the professor in charge to reference some obscure fourteenth century scroll, all to answer a question that had stumped the rest of the class. She didn’t even pipe in to correct Ernie Macmillan’s egregious wand work in their early morning Transfiguration lesson. Her out of character silence even had Professor McGonagall visibly worried, though she made no outward comment about her favorite student’s odd behaviour. 

It got to the point where the Slytherins that shared their Herbology practical with the Gryffindors looked perturbed by her eerie reticence. Harry had taken the opportunity afforded to them by the active portion of their lesson to move himself next to his silent best friend. He lightly nudged the girl, just enough to get her attention but not enough to disturb the delicate work with the glowing flora that she was obviously focused on. 

“Penny for your thoughts?” Harry had whispered to her, his voice light and as non-confrontational as he could make it. His mum always said he tended to listen to his gut when he talked to people, and the bespectacled boy made full use of that talent now as he realized that his friend was in a delicate mood of some sorts. He didn’t press when he saw the contemplative look on her face, and instead busied himself as he pruned and cared for his own assigned plant. After a few moments of productive silence, Hermione let out a half strangled sigh of frustration.

“Sorry, I’ve kind of been stuck in my head all morning.” 

Harry chuckled to himself, “no kidding? I really didn’t notice.” Oops , there was the sarcasm that Uncle Sev always claimed was a heavy hint of his Slytherin side. Truthfully, he was convinced the man was just salty that he lost the bet with his father after Harry was sorted. 

And that was the glare that proved yet again that Hermione was a Gryffindor and not one of Flitwick’s eagles. Harry had never bought into the mountain of odd nicknames that seemed to sprout up around his brainy friend, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t respectfully terrified of her above average hex speed. The laughter that escaped him certainly sounded more nervous, but he hoped the apology in his eyes had shone through. “Seriously, what’s wrong? Is this about the whole ‘window’ thing from yesterday?” 

“Sort of?” Hermione pursed her lips as she finished the last few steps she had to do to repot the tricky plant in front of her. “I’ve just been thinking about something Luna said to me yesterday in the Owelry… But don’t worry too much about me. I’m sure I’ll be fine before long.” 

In truth, Hermione had done more than just contemplate Luna’s cryptic words. She had taken the last part of the girl’s dialogue and really honed in on it. 

“It’s a little bit like our magic, you know?”  

Hermione had typically treated her ætheric core in one of two ways. She either ignored it, or she did the quickest thing to appease its decidedly bratty tendencies and then went about her business as per usual. Today, the academic in her did neither of those things and instead she really studied it. The undercurrent of her magic was more intense lately, and it had only just really set in that it was more active than normal. Not in the same sense as when Hermione regularly tapped into the resource to do spells or enchantments. She did that on a daily basis.

Instead, it seemed like her magic was more active on its own. It wasn’t just volatile, it literally was a brat that had its mood swings and tantrums. And it was only after she honed in on it that Hermione realized that it was angry . Though thankfully not in such a way that would cause it to whip at innocent bystanders like it did at Ginny yesterday. Instead, it sat in the center of her gut in such a way that felt like it was like a bow, taut and ready to shoot.

A predator poised to strike.

Thankfully Harry couldn’t feel it, and accepted her dismissal of his concern without much fanfare. Before long the class ended and the group of fourth years were outside as they trudged through the snow on their way back to the castle, the prospect of lunch on many of their minds. Any students out on the grounds had likely just left their lessons from the greenhouses or the paddocks that encompassed Professor Hagrid’s proffered teaching grounds, and were on their way into the slightly warmer confines of the halls of Hogwarts. 

Except for three students in powder blue and gold cloaks. Hermione noted with surprise and a hint of panic that the familiar trio from Beauxbatons were headed straight for the mass of Gryffindor and Slytherin fourth years. The brunette felt the anticipatory prickle of her magic as Fleur, Antoine, and Giselle came into speaking range. She also noticed the wide berth that her classmates had just given her. She mentally chastised her magic; the aura of heat around her was likely palpable right now. 

“Fleur? What are you doing here?” Hermione noted the cute way that the ethereal blonde’s features pinched in confusion.

“What do you mean? ‘Ermione, you asked me to meet you here.” The entire mass of students had stopped their commute to the castle, but Hermione had ignored the rubberneckers as she slowly shook her head to refute the older witch. 

“What? When?”

“Yesterday? You sent an owl with a message to meet you outside after your Herbology lesson.” 

“Wait, no I didn’t! I did send an owl, but it was to cancel our meeting yesterday!”

“Oui , you did. But there was another owl almost immediately after that said that we should meet for lunch instead.”

The bewilderment seemed to rack up further for the Gryffindor, and she scoured her brain for some sort of explanation for what was going on.

“Another owl?”

“Yes, an adorable little thing. It even had a little rainbow ring on its left foot.” Fleur’s features softened for a moment as she remembered the cute Owlet, but then it morphed into a look that was more unsure and a touch defensive. “Did… did you not want to see me right now?”

The scholarly lion’s brain came to a sudden halt when Fleur turned those sad eyes on her. She ignored the realization that Luna had apparently done her own brand of meddling and instead focused on the way that the French witch gripped the edges of her cloak. The knuckles had gone white with how tightly the digits wrapped around the enchanted fabric. 

“Take a leap of faith.”  

Hermione made her decision right then and there as something within her snapped into place. She took one look at the ornery, beautiful, enchanted cloak and glared at it. If an inanimate object could quiver, it would have at that very moment. She was Hermione Granger, the ridiculously proclaimed “Unflinching Red and Gold Princess of Gryffindor,” arguably one of the brightest witches to ever grace Hogwarts proper. She would not be beat by some frivolous article of clothing!

The collective audience to this moment took a subconscious step back as the tell tale sign of her irritable state showed itself in the form of a visible electrical current through her chestnut locks. Hermione immediately tugged off her jumper and scarf and threw them in Harry’s general direction before she made her way right into the blonde’s personal bubble and did the unthinkable.

She ignored the cloak and hugged the baffled blonde close . 

Hermione felt the magicks that lingered within the fabric, the various charms and enchantments that swirled within that allowed it to generate and retain so much heat. They brushed against the very essence of her conflagrant core and attempted to interact with it.

It was like a mouse that had the audacity to dance on the lion’s nose.

In one wandless swoop, Hermione’s magic reared up and struck out at the array of spells within the cloak with a ferocity reminiscent of the animal that represented her house. The cloak wasn’t alive , per se but all magic had a certain level of sentience to it. And while it couldn’t scream and writhe in fear and agony, it still managed to do the next best thing.

It shat itself.

As literally as an enchanted inanimate object was capable of, at least.

It was a good thing that everyone had given the two witches a surfeit of space for their reunion, because a veritable dome of heat pulsed out from them. It was enough to immediately melt all the snow in a twenty foot radius and knocked a few of the nosier onlookers on their asses. Thankfully no one had been hurt, but a quick probe by a tendril of Hermione’s magic revealed that the cloak’s enchantments had done the equivalent of curling into a fetal position. She was tempted to snuff the damned thing out, but that would leave Fleur cold whenever they were separated and that just wouldn’t do. Instead, the satisfied Gryffindor encouraged the enchantments to enter a dormant state whenever she was nearby and promptly left it at that.

Hermione finally stepped away from the blonde, just far enough that she could see the look of awe on the older girl’s face. The brunette smiled at the awestruck witch and took her hand in her own. 

“How’s about some lunch?” And before anyone could say anything, Hermione led an enamoured Fleur Delacour towards the castle and well out of hearing range.

Pansy Parkinson looked at the shocked crowd and asked the question that was on everyone’s mind.

“What the bloody fuck just happened?!” 

Not that anyone knew for sure, of course. The only ones that could have explained anything had already gotten a head start on the group. Before long they all had resumed their trek, and during that time Harry inched towards the two remaining exchange students that had opted to join the mass return to the castle.

“So any idea of what the hell just went on?” The french redhead shook her head, though the look of relief was evident on her face.

“Not in the slightest. Though I am glad that we convinced Fleur to allow us to join her when she opted to come out here.”

“Oh? Why so?” 

“It was quite clear that the second message was not from Fleur’s ‘Ermione. I think the only reason that Fleur went at all is because she was that desperate to see the witch.” 

At this point, Harry’s curiosity had piqued. “Well, what did the message say?”

“Oh! Please allow me!” The french Wizard practically jumped up and down in glee as he pulled a carefully folded piece of parchment out of his robe pockets and cleared his throat. “ Dearest Fleur, please forgive me but I forgot to mention in my prior message if you could meet me as I leave Herbology. I have something to talk to you about. No need to reply back, I simply hope to see you there. Signed…”  

At this next part, the eccentric boy grinned and somehow managed to get even happier. 

"The Grand Duchess of Flames, ie: forever yours, ‘Ermione.” The young man practically vibrated with excitement. “It was originally in french, but that is the english translation to the best of my abilities. I’m telling you Giselle, I absolutely love Hogwarts! Never a dull moment over here. Do you think ‘Ermione would let me call her ‘your most royal fiery highness’ the next time we chat?” 

If Harry nearly tripped over himself in laughter, he would be the last to admit to it. That definitely sounded like Luna’s dramatic flair at work. Who knew that the Ravenclaw could speak French? Oh well, at least Hermione and Fleur are over their short lived problem. Harry could spot the two from their place well ahead of the pack and even from this distance he could see the entwined positions of their hands. Harry could only smile contentedly.

“The Grand Duchess of Flames, indeed.” 

Hopefully the curly haired witch didn’t mind the newest of her nicknames. Because after today, Harry would likely spread the ridiculous moniker himself. Hermione would just have to live with it.