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Chapter Text

September 1, 1997

Their final year. The Hogwarts class of ’98 was thrumming with excitement as they loaded into -what most believed to be - self-driving carriages. Those who could see the thestrals rarely volunteered that information, so the majority of the students were blissfully unaware of what exactly powered their transportation. “Magic” was accepted as a reasonable explanation. It’s a wonder more students didn’t accidentally run into the unseen creatures in their excitement to board the vehicles.

Harry and Luna exchanged small smiles as they each discretely patted their carriage’s thestral when they walked past, having shared their personal stories with each other some time ago. The two of them climbed up into the carriage to join Ron, Hermione, Ginny, and Neville, the latter of whom was holding the rare Mimbulus mimbletonia plant he got from his great uncle Algie for his 15th birthday. He brought home the beloved gift every break, dutifully traveling with the boil-covered magical quasi-cactus, much to his classmates’ chagrin having witnessed it spewing Stinksap all over the railway carriage, Harry, and Luna in a previous year. Even though Ginny was able to quickly scourgify the mess, limiting the damage, the memory was still fresh for those in attendance and no one wanted a repeat. At least it was no longer making odd crooning noises when Neville stroked it. So creepy. The group was quiet as the carriage jostled them about, pulling them ever closer to the castle. All warily watched the tall Gryffindor who nonchalantly clutched the magical plant to his chest.

“I wonder who our new Charms professor will be?” The silence was quickly broken by Hermione who was already in full school mode and wanted to prepare herself for a new factor in her final year. A month prior, she had set a strict NEWT study schedule for herself and had been relying on Professor Flitwick’s usual 7th-year teaching outline she had snagged from a student last year. Finding out on the platform at King’s Cross that Professor Filius Flitwick had gone on sabbatical for the first time in his 20+ year teaching career, right when she was counting on everything to be just as she planned for optimal success, put her in a temperamental mood already. Hopefully, that’s the only surprise this year.

“I heard it was a foreigner. I hope they’re not from Durmstrang.” Ron had a distasteful look on his face as if he didn’t fall all over himself to get closer to the Durmstrang Triwizard Champion in their fourth year. Ginny looked at her brother and rolled her eyes, huffing, “Oh yes. We all know how much you hate anyone from Durmstrang… oh wait don’t you still have a picture of Hermione’s ex on your wall?!” Ron quickly tried to protest about how that’s different but was cut off by Hermione.

“He’s not my ex. We just sort of… hung out for a time.”

Harry snorted. “Hermione, you meant a lot to him. You were his most prized possession after only staring at you in the library for a couple of months, barely talking to you, and miraculously getting you to go with him to the Yule Ball. He cared more than you think. Probably still cares.” Hermione felt Harry’s earnest eyes on her and was extremely uncomfortable as she always was when discussing her personal life, especially in front of Ron, whom she knew still fancied her, unrequited though it may be. She loved that Harry cared about her and wanted her to be happy. She also respected that he had gotten close to the three Triwizard champions as Dumbledore had made him one of the three personal attendants – along with Cho Chang and 6th-year Slytherin, Cassius Warrington – assigned to them during the tournament tasks. He had helped prepare the champions, made sure they had food and stayed hydrated, calmed their nerves as needed, and tended to their wounds when injuries inevitably happened. It allowed him to spend more time with the three than most and to see them in a different, more approachable light. Harry’s lack of fawning and good-natured helpfulness also endeared him to the three Champions.

Hermione softened her voice to tell Harry once again, “I know. We remain friends and owl each other often. We just never actually dated.” Harry gave a brief nod, respecting Hermione's clear desire to end the conversation. Ron appeared to be listening with rapt attention and a relieved look on his face.

“I think you’ll all be pleasantly surprised at the new Professor. Especially you, Hermione.” Luna added in her typical dreamy drawl.

Quickly looking at the blonde, Hermione raised an eyebrow, waiting for further details. When none came, she asked, “What do you mean? Who is it?”

Luna just gave a small smile and looked around, “Oh. We’re here.”

Hopping down out of the carriage, the quiet blonde missed the look of annoyance Hermione sent her way. Ginny just shrugged her shoulders at her friend’s antics and followed along. Harry helped Neville climb down with his large potted plant and followed his red-headed girlfriend. Ron sidled up next to Hermione, making sure to walk alongside her for as long as possible at the back of the group. “So, Hermione. Our last year at Hogwarts.”

“Yes, Ronald. It’s going to be…”

Ron cut her off and emphatically said, “Amazing!”

Hermione cut her eyes at him. “Amazing? I’m surprised you’re excited about all the extra work we’ll be doing.”

“Well sure, but like… we will have so much more free time!”

“Free time? Ronald, those free periods are to study for our NEWTs. We’ll be putting in 8 hours every day in addition to class and homework. You do realize that, don’t you?”

“EIGHT HOURS?!” Ron stood stock-still and looked incredulous.

The gang looked back at the outburst, but all started to chuckle as they correctly guessed the cause of Ron’s exclamation.

“Well, even more on the weekends.” Her feet started slowly shuffling forward again after Ron’s outburst.

“More?! But when will we have time to go on dates?!”

“Dates? I don’t plan on doing any dating this year. There is too much to do to prepare! Our NEWT grades determine our futures.” She turned back toward the still-stopped redhead, frustration clear in the set of her shoulders.

Ron closed the gap between them, speaking softly after he looked around to make sure they wouldn’t be overheard. “But… I thought this year we’d finally have time to hang out. Just the two of us. You know, finally, make it official.”

“Ron…” Hermione had been dreading this conversation. To delay the inevitable, she turned back toward the castle and tried to catch up to the rest of the group, and Ron followed. For years, she had naively hoped that a lack of action or enthusiasm would signal Ron that she wasn’t interested, but she should have known better and listened when Ginny warned her that Ron’s affections had only grown over time. “I care about you as a friend. Just like I care about Harry.”

“Well, not just like Harry. He’s like a brother to you!”

“Ron, just like Harry. I don’t want to hurt your feelings, but I’ll never want anything more than friendship with you. I’m so grateful for what the three of us have. I don’t want that to change.”

“But…but everyone sees that what we have is special. Everyone knows we’re meant to be together. It’s just been a matter of time. I’ve given you time, but we’re 7th years now! I’m 17, and that’s an adult in the magical world. I know you’re muggle-born, but you’ll be 18 this month. We’re both adults in our cultures or whatever. It’s time to start our life together.”

“Ron, I don’t know how to be clearer. What other people think or believe doesn’t matter. I want to be your friend. Always. I think you’re strategically smart, supportive, and kind. But I don’t want to date you; not now and not in the future.”

Ron stopped walking at this point. Hermione turned back towards him, seeing his face scrunch up in both hurt and confusion. From her perspective, she had never treated him any differently than Harry. She didn’t understand why he, and others, thought they should be together. He wasn’t at all what she needed or wanted in a partner. However, she knew she should have said this explicitly long ago. It would have saved them both some hurt and aggravation. In the past, she always hesitated because she didn’t want to lose his friendship as she was severely lacking in friends. Also, his welcoming family helped her feel more at home in the magical world, providing her history and context her own muggle parents couldn’t even begin to comprehend. Without the friendly introduction into the wizarding world, she would have been unable and unwilling to come out of her shell and been lost without Harry and the Weasleys these past six years. Hermione would have felt even more alone than she did growing up in the muggle world because she would have been rejected in two worlds: always an off-putting and insufferable bookworm, magical or not.

Finally, finding the words he wanted to say, Ron quietly stuttered, “You don’t really mean that. You’re just nervous about the NEWTs. It’ll be fine. We’ll work hard this year to do well on our exams and then we’ll make plans for our lives. You’ll see. Everything will be fine. Yeah… just fine.” Hermione knew he was trying to convince himself with his overuse of the word “fine” but just couldn’t summon up the energy to keep repeating herself. Ron had already turned and started catching up to Harry and Ginny, who had just crossed the Great Hall and headed to the Gryffindor Common Room.

Hermione sighed and kicked herself for not telling Ron it wasn’t just him that she didn’t want to date. It was men, in general. Over the summer, she read an article highlighting London’s Pride Festival in July. It led her on a research tangent that culminated in some cartoons in the collection of “oblivious lesbians”. It took her a while to get the jokes because she found herself saying, “But wait, don’t all women…” one too many times before the lightbulb clicked on. Oh… OH! Not all girls had a crush on Jasmine and not Aladdin. Not all girls felt like their skin was crawling when boys tried to dance with them. Not all girls daydreamed of having a wife instead of a husband, because clearly being married to a sophisticated, smart, beautiful, mature, warm, soft woman would always be preferable to being married to a brutish, immature, hairy, rough man with the emotional range of a teaspoon, right? Apparently, not all girls stared longingly at their girl friends’ toned arms, soft lips, and tight bums; just the really, really queer ones did that. So… that was a revelation that made her cringe at how oblivious she had been.

Since then, she had replayed every single interaction she had had with her female friends over and over, analyzing her actions and just how fucking gay she must have seemed, yet no one had ever said anything. That was another thing. She had started swearing more. She blamed her absolute devouring of all the queer media she could find in the past 2 months; unfortunately, it tended towards lots of drugs, drinking, sex, and swearing. While she didn’t relate to a lot of what she found, she did at least feel less alone in her feelings, knowing others out there in the muggle world felt the same.

Once she started thinking about it, she couldn’t remember anyone in the magical world ever mentioning anything about the LGBTQ community. Maybe it was a non-issue in magical circles? Or maybe it was completely taboo. She had no idea. Who could she even ask? It wasn’t covered in any of her previous readings, not that she had expected it in Hogwarts: A History or anything. God, what she wouldn’t give for magical Google; Moogle, if you will. For a minute she thought about asking Ginny but knowing the girl’s penchant for taking the piss out of her, she wasn’t the best option for a sensitive chat.

All of this was on her mind as she walked up through the castle by rote, finally ending up in the Head Girl’s private room. She was proud to have been chosen by the Headmaster to be the Head Girl this year, as the role was chosen based on academic achievement, outstanding reputation, and an honest, good, and hard-working personality. The Head Girl was the standard-bearer, and she was determined to do a great job. She had already settled into the position by spending her time on the Hogwarts Express in the Prefects’ carriage, telling the prefects when they would need to patrol the train and helping the Head Boy, Ernie Macmillan, to create the castle patrol schedule for the year. She knew from previous years that the regular schedule left a lot to be desired, so she changed the frequency to reflect the limited time the 6th and 7th years had to patrol, while also providing more mentoring opportunities by pairing up older students with the 5th years, something she wished they had done when she was first a prefect.

After learning she was to be Head Girl in August, she owled Professor McGonagall with a plea to select a new 7th-year girl as prefect to replace her, so she didn’t have to do both jobs. It took a few back-and-forth letters to get the Head of House to agree, but the stern woman finally acquiesced. Hermione was grateful as she thought it silly that if a person was a prefect in their 6th year and chosen for Head Boy or Head Girl, they then had to do that and still be a prefect in their 7th year. Along with increased homework, practicals, classes, and NEWT test prep, it was just too much. McGonagall ultimately chose Parvati, which Hermione was fine with as she knew her quite well having been in the same dormitory since their first year, and thought she’d make a fine prefect having really matured these past couple of years.

Seeing her trunk, Crookshanks’ carrier, and other belongings already in her room, Hermione started to unpack and organize her things, wanting to start off well-prepared for her busiest, and most important, school year. With the schedule she devised, she’d have almost no time to spare the entire year so the more she set up before classes started, the better off she’d be. It was also soothing to unpack her things as it was a time of mental transition for her. That morning, she had packed her trunk in her muggle home, in front of her muggle parents, in their muggle neighborhood, and brought it to her magical, wizarding school. Every year she had to switch from one world to the next and having this time to prepare mentally was helpful. She was grateful for her parents, but there would always be a chasm between her two worlds; one that they could never completely bridge. It was a lonely feeling, which was another reason she was grateful for the Weasleys welcoming her into their large family with open arms. She hoped that the welcome wasn’t conditional on her dating their son. They could be irrationally loyal to their own family; if push came to shove, and they had to choose between her and Ron, she knew she’d lose.

Shaking herself from her thoughts, Hermione looked at her clock and seeing it was almost 7 pm, changed into her robes heading to the Great Hall for dinner as soon as she was ready. Maybe I’ll find out who the new Charms professor is. I hope it is someone who knows what they are doing. I can’t afford to have some fresh-faced new graduate who doesn’t know how to properly put a lesson plan together. They’ll ruin my whole schedule. Hermione was trying to set a good example, and stay optimistic. She was self-aware enough to know that she tended to get frustrated easily and assume the worst when faced with uncertainty. She didn’t know why she did that but was actively trying to counter that tendency. The stress and importance of this school year certainly didn’t help matters.

Coming to the Great Hall, the brunette found most students already seated with some stragglers filtering in with her. Her classmates were quieter than anticipated and she noticed quite a few had their attention on the front of the room, where the Headmaster and professors all sat. As she sat down next to Harry and Ginny, across from Ron and Neville, she noticed that Ron’s attention was also on the head table. Following his line of sight, Hermione found herself locking eyes with someone she didn’t think she’d ever see again: Fleur Delacour, Triwizard Champion, and recent star of more than one of Hermione’s fairly tame - thank you very much - new fantasies.

As her self-awareness had grown this past summer, so had her acceptance of her feelings. While she would never want to cross the line of what was appropriate when thinking about her friends, she had found herself thinking about previous interactions with girls she now realized she found attractive. Fleur had topped that short list along with an Auror she met once named Tonks, Harry’s Godfather’s cousin. With Fleur, what she had previously categorized as frustration and dislike, had been accurately identified as attraction as soon as she took her blinders off. Strong, strong attraction. How unfortunate that she was here now, just when Hermione needed all of her focus preparing for her NEWTs. Wait… Oh no. If Fleur was the new Charms Professor, she would not be able to focus. Was she still staring at Fleur?! Oh shit. She might not even survive this year.

With rapidly reddening cheeks, she lowered her eyes from the gorgeous blue ones she had been staring into for way too long dammit, Hermione focused on her plate and then glanced around at her tablemates. Neville was calmly eating, Ron was still looking at Fleur Was that drool?, Harry and Ginny were being gross and apparently playing footsie while exchanging shy glances, and Luna… was looking right at Hermione, lips curved into a smile that said, “Caught you”. Blushing even more, Hermione looked back down at her plate, making a show of selecting her food, feeling Luna’s gaze on her the entire time.

“I thought you’d be pleased, Hermione.”

Luckily, said Head Girl had not yet taken a bite of anything, so she only gulped at the implication in Luna’s words. Now not actually wanting a reply to her earlier question of why Luna said that Hermione would be pleased with the new Professor selection, she just nodded her head at the younger girl and stated quietly, “So Fleur’s the new Charms professor, then?”

Having heard the name of the woman he had been ogling for some time now, Ron quickly looked over to Luna and rather loudly whisper-yelled, “Oi. Are you sure? She’ll be teaching the 7th years then, right? Going to be giving us special attention due to the upcoming tests, you think?”

Unperturbed at the man’s volume, Luna simply leaned over Ginny to grab another dinner roll. “Well, she’ll probably give some students special attention.”

This comment-action combo seemed to break Ginny from her Harry-focused trance. “Oh, Fleur is the new professor?” The redheaded girl quickly cut her eyes to her boyfriend. “Harry, did you know she was going to be here?”

Hermione could hear a hint of jealousy in the redhead’s voice, but Harry cluelessly said, “Oh. I did. She mentioned it in her last letter. I forgot to tell you! When she was here for the Triwizard Tournament, Professor Flitwick had been impressed with her use of charms and so set her up with a colleague to do her Charms mastery. She just finished it and he hand-selected her to take his place while he was out on sabbatical for the next year. I was so excited. I can’t believe I forgot to mention it.”

“Funny that.” Ginny’s forced calm was undermined by the absolute fire in her eyes and the thin line where her lips used to be. Harry just sheepishly shrugged and gave her a small smile. The Boy Who Lived, lived once more as the Headmaster chose that moment to clear his throat, “The very best of evenings to you. Now, to our new students, welcome! To our old students, welcome back! Another year full of magical education awaits you. And to help you with that education while our dear Professor Flitwick is on sabbatical is the wonderful Charms Master, Fleur Delacour, returning to us after having been here three years ago as a Triwizard Champion! Please, everyone, welcome Professor Delacour.” At her initial introduction, Fleur had stood, inclining her head to Headmaster Dumbledore at his kind words, and sitting down immediately afterward. The rather loud reception that met her introduction was finally tempered with the Headmaster’s wand-enhanced, “Tuck In!”.

Chapter Text

Charms Master, and new, temporary Hogwarts Professor, Fleur Delacour, was sitting in classroom 2E on the castle’s second floor and didn’t know what the hell she was doing with her life. She knew she excelled at Charms and had been lucky to have the support of revered Professor Flitwick these past three years, both for the introduction to her Masters’ Advisor in France and now for the opportunity to teach at one of the premier wizarding schools. Though it was no Beauxbatons, Hogwarts was still in the top three of the eleven long-established and prestigious wizarding schools worldwide registered with the International Confederation of Wizards. Anyone would be proud to teach here, let alone have it be their first teaching post.

However, the young adjunct professor knew she didn’t really want to teach, at least not in this setting, and certainly not right now. The idea of being in a room with dozens of hormonal teenagers for hours at a time, five days a week, was beyond unpleasant, and left her chest so tight she could only take shallow breaths. She thought back to her 7th year, to the experiences in this same castle she had ignored, claiming to not remember much from that difficult year; the memories rose to the surface surprisingly easily like bubbles in her sister’s much beloved Orangina.

While her thrall was more frustratingly erratic back then, thankfully, it was also less powerful, reaching out sporadically, like a leaf caught in the autumn wind. She detested how out of control it made her feel, always on high alert to avoid uncomfortable situations, distracting her from her tournament preparations and academic pursuits. How could a person grow and truly feel comfortable with who they were becoming if they were always censoring themselves to not draw attention, to keep all at a distance? How could a teen learn about relationships when they could never build any and so didn’t know how others experienced them? She had been constantly wary of any interactions with new people, unsure if it would lead to unwanted advances or, as in the case of one unfortunate lunch in the Great Hall, a glass of pumpkin juice to the face by a stranger in a blind jealous rage.

How much of her experiences were colored by the fact that, in her own Veela culture, she was a vulnerable child in a dangerous tournament fighting to bring honor to her school and family, but in British Wizarding culture, she was an adult to be leered at and criticized, her very presence in the tournament questioned with barely veiled innuendo. Fleur's final year of school was a prime example of the stark difference between the two cultures.

The reel playing in Fleur’s mind skipped, her body tensing as memories assaulted her, one after the other, reminding her of her slightly younger self. Fleur’s shoulders twisted even more as she recalled how the other students’ (and some professors’) eyes felt heavy on her body and the ever-increasing, heady scent of desire in the room would become suffocating by the end of each class. Being here brought back so much that she had tried to suppress. Knowing that it was often not the fault of those affected by her thrall helped a little, but she still felt frustrated and angry at their inability to fight the impulse, especially the adults.

When Professor Flitwick first presented the idea of being his stand-in while he went on sabbatical, she had tried to beg off explaining that it wasn’t a good time for her, surely there was someone else more qualified, and many other polite excuses. He would always gently brush her concerns aside and insist she was the only one he trusted while he was away. No matter the argument she tried, he always came back to how her integration into the position would allow him to have a carefree, rejuvenating holiday, knowing his students were in such excellent hands. If it were anyone else, Fleur might have worried the professor was flirting, but he had always been respectful with her and said it with such upbeat certainty that she found herself saying yes before she knew what she was doing.

Now, she felt grateful, but also guilty. Shouldn’t someone who wanted to teach with a burning passion be here taking advantage of such an incredible opportunity instead? Should she have explained the true reasons for her reticence? Would he have understood? Maybe he would have. She had seen him deal with his share of prejudice, staring, and careless comments.

The saddest part was that Fleur loved teaching. She loved the thirst for knowledge some students had. It ignited a burning fire of excitement in her when she saw someone have a mental breakthrough, discover something new, or make a connection they hadn’t before. As a teaching assistant in France, she had worked hard to help students conquer concepts that they’d previously struggled with and encouraged them to reach new academic heights. It was such a pure feeling to share with another, that spark of awe at an endless expanse of learning. She relished the challenge of explaining things in different ways to ensure everyone fully understood the concept. It was like a puzzle to solve and there was a victory to share every time she was successful.

A smile spread across her face as she realized she had learned more by being a TA in France than she had as a student at Beauxbatons. She wouldn’t stop until she knew the subject inside and out. It was what her competitive side demanded from her: to become the best at what she did. Unfortunately, as an unmated Oh, how I hate that word Veela, her thrall was working overtime, searching for someone suitable. Even with her improved ability to control it, it was still ever present and still affected those attracted to women. It would continue to do so until she found a mate or reached age 40, whichever came first. Only then would she be able to control it completely. It made teaching on a larger scale incredibly difficult and frustrating. While she was focused on the subject, many of her students were only focused on her. It disrupted her instruction and their learning, making it a lose/lose situation for all involved.

While those not attracted to women weren’t affected physically by the thrall, they sure reacted psychologically, with envy, jealousy, backstabbing, fake friendship, or just being downright rude. It was the curse of the Veela, to attract false attention and anger while trying to pinpoint true love–whatever that meant. It had the effect of creating an even more insular population of an already secretive group. For many, the pros of having a thrall to find your perfect match far outweighed the cons. In Fleur’s case, it wasn’t even a guaranteed trade-off. As she was only a quarter, there was no guarantee she would be in tune enough with her inner Veela to identify her mate, but she dealt with the frustrations of the thrall, petty jealousies, and prejudices all the same.

It didn’t seem fair, though she did quite appreciate the time it saved making herself look presentable every day. In twenty minutes, she could take a shower, finger comb her hair, throw on some clothes that she magically cleaned and ironed, and walk out of her room looking like she had spent two hours and hundreds of dollars on various products to look stunning every time. Add in her fashion sense and a natural penchant for a killer walk worthy of a runway, and she was a sight to behold. She had to study muggle and magical makeup and skincare tips just to have something to talk about when asked about her nonexistent beauty regimen. She never told anyone that she didn’t do anything at all. If they were envious before, they’d probably kill her if they knew she put in zero effort.

Was all the hassle with her thrall worth it to find her “one”? She didn’t think so. To be honest, she had long since put the idea of finding a mate out of her mind. The only reason she was even thinking of it now was the curious feeling she got when a certain brunette walked into the Great Hall at the welcome feast. Most of the students had already entered, so it was fairly easy to pinpoint who caused the sensation when the younger witch was the only one to walk in right at that moment, oblivious to how her confident swagger drew eyes to her.

However, Fleur was prepared to pass it off as new job jitters messing with her magic until the girl met her gaze, and an intense shiver ran down Fleur’s spine, followed by an all-encompassing gentle warmth that removed the chill she always felt in the drafty castle. That… she couldn’t quite ignore. She furrowed her brow. The sensation was so strange and unprecedented that her natural inclination was to seek advice from her grand-mère via sturdy owl at the first opportunity, which had been that morning. While the experience compelled her to take near-immediate action, she didn’t let herself dwell on the implications of needing to consult the Veela elder. Surely, the reply would confirm that it was nothing out of the ordinary.

The sound of students coming into the classroom snapped Fleur from her reverie. The previously mentioned brunette witch was among them, apparently having shed her earlier confidence and skulking into a seat in the back. Fleur well remembered the so-called brightest witch of her age and knew the back of the classroom was not her usual choice. Interesting. Of course, Fleur noted with a passive face, most of the male population of the class had already clambered to get seats as close to the front as possible, straightening previously sloppy uniforms as they sat. Hard to get a seat in the front when it’s already full within seconds of students arriving, I suppose.

“Hello, class. For today, it is fine to sit wherever you’d like, but I may move some students in the future based on instructional needs.” Fleur caught Hermione’s eye briefly as the younger woman slouched a bit in her seat, reaching over to dig into her brown leather messenger bag. Hermione quickly averted her eyes, a dark blush racing across her cheeks, as she realized that she missed the bag’s opening completely and was clumsily sweeping her fingers along the floor instead, apparently too distracted to aim properly. Fleur turned away, struggling to keep the small smile from her face, mostly managing by licking her lips and clearing her throat.

As the bell rang, Fleur once again faced her students to officially greet them now that class was set to begin, and most were present. Just before she began speaking, a disheveled Harry Potter and his red-headed friend burst into the room, taking the last two remaining seats in the back. The redhead looked extremely put out at their seat options, but Fleur assumed that was because Hermione was on the opposite side of the room, though the boy didn’t actually spare Hermione a glance. Upon his sitting, Fleur and Harry beamed at each other. She was happy to see the young bespectacled man again. They had been in correspondence since the Tournament and she found his calm playfulness refreshing, also enjoying their chats about Quidditch and other mundane things. Due to her prep work, she wasn’t able to speak with him at the feast which she was sad about but seeing one genuine, friendly face helped loosen the vice on her chest ever so slightly bringing welcome relief. Though now she had a weird fluttering sensation taking its place.

“Good afternoon, 7th-years. Congratulations on your OWL results and obtaining an Exceeds Expectations or Outstanding on your Charms class last year! I am Fleur Delacour and I’ll be your Charms Professor this year. You may call me Professor Delacour or just Professor if you wish.” She swept her eyes across the room of attentive and overly attentive students, avoiding one witch only, hoping to give the poor woman a chance to collect herself. She wasn’t sure what was going on between her and Hermione, but it was clear she wasn’t the only one affected by whatever it was.

“While this is my first full year as an adjunct professor, I am well versed in the curriculum at Hogwarts having spent my own 7th year here a few years ago. I’ve also spent a great deal of time corresponding with Professor Flitwick working to update the curriculum with the latest advancements and intersectional discoveries. We will still reference the texts, The Standard Book of Spells by Miranda Goshank, Achievements in Charms, and Quintessence: A Quest, but I will be adding other sources along the way. There may be a period of adjustment as we work together to perfect this curriculum, but I know how important NEWTs are and want to assure you all that you will be well-prepared come time for your exams at the end of the year.”

In a quick show of wordless and wandless magic, Fleur sent the stack of syllabi flying around the room, one packet going to each student. Not letting the whispers of “This thing is ten pages long!,” “What is this, a novel?!,” and “Even McGonagall’s syllabus is only 5 pages!” lessen her resolve, Fleur continued, quickly reassuring the class.

“I know this may seem daunting, but a thorough syllabus is key to a successful class, especially at this level. It shows I’ve spent the required effort to create a rigorous course that will properly prepare you not only for your exams but for a lifelong use of charms that will pay dividends for decades to come. It is our shared roadmap to success and covers what is expected of you as well as me.”

Fleur finally let her eyes roam over to Hermione and immediately regretted it. The younger witch’s eyes were glassy, and she wore the most lovesick expression the blonde had ever seen, clasping the syllabus to her chest like a beloved teddy bear. I’m 99% sure that lovesick expression is directed at the curriculum. How adorably nerdy. The French witch schooled her features and returned her gaze to the rest of the class, her heartbeat now slightly elevated.

“I will not be going through this document with you during class today, but I trust you will all read it thoroughly before our next class.” Despite the mixture of groans, sarcastic comments, and looks of disbelief, Fleur soldiered on.

“I have added a protection charm so you should not have to worry about your copy being damaged in any way. However, please add your name in the designated space as soon as possible so that the NeverLose charm can be properly matched to you. Please do not hesitate to reach out to me via owl or in person during my office hours, if you have any questions.”

One of the boys in the front, valiantly, if misguidedly, collected himself into a state capable of coherent speech, and asked, “And… what would those hours be, Fleur?”

At her raised eyebrow and the giggles around him, he quickly amended, “I mean Professor Delacour.”

“Conveniently, those hours are listed in the syllabus you just received, Monsieur Braun.” Fleur responded with the air of the patient, but long-suffering. Grateful that she thought ahead to make a seating chart that filled names in magically as the students sat down, she made a mental note to keep an eye on young Braun from Hufflepuff.

The rest of the class was spent laying the foundation of the Charms work they would be doing over the year and some administrative items. While she didn’t want to dive too deeply on their first day, these were 7th years, so she did want to have a practical portion of the class. This was both to show the students what they would be capable of by the end of the year and to demonstrate that while she had high expectations, she still knew how to appreciate the fun and wonder of magic. She surveyed the class for someone who looked engaged but not drooling and landed upon a dark-haired student in the third row who blushed a bit when their eyes first met, but otherwise looked to be paying attention. Looking down at the subtly moving seating chart in front of her, she paused at the name listed. Suspecting the name might not be what this young student went by, Fleur smiled once their eyes met again and said, “Would you be willing to help in a demonstration?”.

At the small, nodded response, Fleur added, “I’m sorry. We haven’t met. What is your name?”

The chosen student paused but quickly realized Fleur must have a seating chart based on knowing Braun’s name immediately at the start of class. Looking into the professor’s kind eyes and realizing the opportunity the Professor was offering responded, “I’m Daniel, ma’am. Or Mr. McAndrews, if you prefer.”

Smiling wider at the student’s quick understanding, Fleur raised her wand, gently bringing some items to the desk at the front of the class while the student stepped down towards the table. One additional flick of her wand updated the seating chart to reflect Daniel’s chosen name.

“With the help of the brave Mr. McAndrews, I’ll be demonstrating some side-by-side comparisons of charms versus other methods attempting to get similar ends by varying means. For my muggle-born students, this means we’ll be examining the Machiavellian side of magic. Though I do hope Machiavelli wrote The Prince as satire.” At this last comment, Fleur directed a friendly wink to a student in the back of the room with a patch promoting a current muggle band displayed prominently on the backpack sitting in front of them.

While a small subset of students chuckled, the rest looked a little confused but were focused on the front of the room in varying states of intensity.

“As you know, and have seen me demonstrate already today, magic is not limited to spells cast by a wand, though wanded spells and enchantments do form the bulk of the syllabus here at Hogwarts.”

A keen observer might have picked up on the subtle dig toward Hogwarts, but luckily there was only one such keen observer in the classroom that day. Fleur saw Hermione frown, arms crossing tightly across her chest, appearing to take great offense on her beloved school’s behalf. It was easy to imagine the girl’s fury causing her brown curls to crackle in impotent rage, a testament to the loyalty Harry told her about three years prior.

Fleur turned her back to the classroom, whispering into Daniel’s ear causing a bark of laughter to bubble up from him. He gave her an incredulous look but eventually nodded with a smile forming on his face. Fleur patted his shoulder and nodded before turning her attention again to the class.

“Charms are distinct from other varieties of spells in that they alter the physicochemical properties of their target. They are not inherently good or bad on their own either. The outcome can be negative, positive, or even neutral depending on the caster’s intent, the chosen charm, and the level of execution. While mastering charms often creates an exceptional dualist, charms also help with everyday life. They can facilitate better cleaning, quicker transportation, or even…”

Fleur’s wand remained in its usual place strapped to her arm, as she flicked her wrist and caused a gallon of blue viscous liquid to fly from the large glass beaker on the table and splash onto Daniel’s expectant form, the globby goo landing on the floor in thudding drops.

“... play a prank.”

The class sat frozen, momentarily wide-eyed as the dripping blue blanket slowly lifted from Daniel’s smiling form and arched back into the glass beaker to sit calmly on the table. Though he was now completely clean, a few in the class started to cruelly laugh and point at Daniel, clearly used to using him as a target for ridicule, and Fleur noted their position in the classroom.

“Of course, the key is to know how to use the charm in different ways to your intended effect… Now, who can tell me what charm I just used?”

Fleur swept her eyes around the classroom, willing one courageous teen to at least guess the answer. Seeing no one brave enough to venture what should be by their 7th year, a well-educated guess, she glanced at the seating chart once again.

“Pansy Parkinson?”

At her name, Pansy sat up straighter and looked to Hermione at her right.

“Um, do you mean Granger?” Pansy’s face was a perfect reflection of clearly you were expecting her to answer, not me.

“Your name is Pansy Granger?” Fleur tilted her head, the picture of innocent inquiry.

Pansy went red immediately, stammering out a “NO!”.

“Oh, perhaps you thought I should have called on Ms. Granger instead, non?”

“Well… yeah. She always thinks she knows the answer.”

Hermione scoffed but resolutely kept her head down and arms crossed, still miffed at Fleur’s Hogwarts slight.

“Well, in this class, I want you all to be thinking about each question. A wrong guess isn’t a bad thing. It shows you are engaged.”

A timid voice in the middle, right side said, “Was it the levitation spell?”

“Ah Wing-gar-dium Levi-O-sa, a classic. That is a good guess. I would have used that if I wanted to lift the beaker of liquid and then let it fall and splash the entire front of the class. However, I moved only the blue substance. How did I separate the substance from the glass?”

Not wanting to put too much pressure on the class on day one, Fleur revealed the answer.

“I used a version of the Wipe-Off Charm, Tergeo.”

Pansy let fly a mocking scoff, perhaps irrationally angry at the new Professor’s remark linking her to her nemesis.

“Wipe-Off charm? That’s used for cleaning!”

“Ah, Ms. Parkinson, you are correct. That is what it is often used for in its most basic form. However, the true genius of the charm is that it separates the surface of an object from anything that might be on it. In this case, the surface was the inside of the beaker, and the blue goo was easily separated. I then could move the goo however I wished, much to Mr. McAndrew’s detriment, I’m afraid.”

At this, Daniel chuckled good-naturedly, and Fleur leaned over to whisper to him again. He nodded and made a small motion with his wand. Fleur looked impressed but corrected the motion, subtly emphasizing the speed with which he should move his wrist with a delicate hand on his and whispering again. He gave one final nod as he looked back from the small group of students still clearly mocking him and shared a conspiratorial smile with Fleur.

“So, I can’t let you all go around trying this method without also showing how one might counteract such nefarious use of a cleaning charm. So once again…”

At this, Fleur repeated her earlier move, though slightly slower than last time and at an altered angle, giving Daniel enough time to quickly mimic the wrist movement Fleur had just shown him while loudly and clearly saying, “Protego!”.

The student’s shield charm was invisible for a split second until the viscous missile splashed against it, bouncing wildly off and dousing the previously laughing and mocking students in blue revenge. After shaking off the protective charm, Daniel looked at the now shocked and remorseful students, turning his head in an attempt to hide the smile blooming on his face as he walked back to his seat. Fleur was quick to remove the evidence from their persons, the blue goo easily arching back into the glass beaker, feeling self-satisfied in a way she knew she probably shouldn’t as a professor.

Trying to calm the class as peals of laughter rang out, Fleur drew attention to herself with a softly muttered, “Lumos Maxima”. The students immediately quieted down and turned their attention to the bright light in the room.

“Excellent job, Mr. McAndrews. That was definitely a NEWT-level Shield Charm you produced. Well done.”

Said student turned a bit pink but nodded gratefully from his seat.

“Alright, so we’ve seen an unconventional use of the Wipe-Off Charm, the blue attack, and an example of an everyday use, cleaning up the aftermath. But what about in more simple situations? Do you always need to use magic to solve a non-magical problem? Do the ends always justify the magical means, as it were?”

Fleur set the large glass beaker to the side and held up a dirty cutting board, the pulpy remnants of an orange sticking to the wooden surface.
“I used this cutting board just this afternoon for a snack. I want to clean it before putting it away. How should I do so?”

A firm voice rang out, “The charm you just showed us!”

“Okay. That’s one method but is that the best option?”

Confused murmurs popcorned around the room.

“The Wipe-Off Charm does just that, wipes off. But using magic comes at a price, does it not? You exert energy every time you use it. Your use of magic could also negatively interact with other magical and non-magical sources. Couldn’t I get the same result by just… using a rag and wiping off the cutting board?”

Fleur quickly glanced at the clock on her desk and saw that the time she wasted on petty blue revenge had eaten into her lesson more than she anticipated. Knowing that class was about to end, she quickly shifted gears.

“For the next class, I want you to choose three of the following Charms to compare and contrast the benefits of using the magical method versus a non-magical one. I also expect to see ideas about how you could use those three spells in an unconventional way. I expect…”

The class either tensed or leaned forward, depending on their feelings toward their new professor and/or homework in general.

“... Four feet of parchment in a reasonably sized font, no more than ¼ inch or 6mm, please.”

Fleur shrugged good-naturedly at the groans she elicited with her successful plugging of an oft-used loophole as white chalk spelled out the ten charms the students had to choose from onto the blackboard at her back. Fleur read them off one by one.

“Water-Making Charm (Aguamenti),
Wand-Lighting Charm (Lumos),
Shield Charm (Protego- Horribilis, Diabolica, Totalum, or Maxima),
Summoning Charm (Accio),
Wipe-Off Charm (Tergeo),
Mending Charm (Reparo),
Locomotion Charm (Locomotor),
Basic Levitation (Wingardium Leviosa),
Portkey Charm (Portus), or
Disarming Charm (Expelliarmus).”

The students rushed to copy down the options, with most finishing just as the booming bell sounded, standing to leave as soon as their scrawlings were complete. However, many students would later wish they had spent more time making sure their writing was legible. Over the din of shuffling, Fleur called out.

“Miss Granger. Could you stay behind for a minute, please?”

Fleur watched as Hermione, like a long-imprisoned bird whose cage was finally opened only to be slapped closed again by cruel hands, paused her forward movement and turned around, the slump in her shoulders almost comical. Stepping aside to let the rest of the class pass, envious looks being sent by both the aggrieved student and the youth reluctantly shuffling past, Hermione made a valiant effort and rose to her full height, slapping a disaffected look on her face. Fleur, an expert in all things “petulant teen”, noted that it sort of worked.

“Is everything all right?” Fleur waited to speak until they were alone. As this was the last class of the day, no one would come in to interrupt them, though, in addition to a Muffliato Charm, Fleur waved her hand at the door casting a gentle repellant charm, the heavy door staying open for propriety’s sake.

“What do you mean, Professor?” Hermione’s eyes looked to be carefully calculating her standing distance from Fleur, with subtle shifts of her feet and limbs, adjusting her position as she assessed. Fleur’s left eyebrow rose, trying to determine if the younger woman was attempting to hit the perfect sweet spot of “clearly engaged in conversation” but as far away as possible. The blonde briefly wondered why her student would be analyzing the nearness of their bodies to such a degree. Though if she was feeling even a fraction of the frenetic buzzing energy Fleur had been since Hermione had stepped closer to her, maybe the younger witch was just puzzling out the strange sensation. Or perhaps Fleur was placing too much significance on the witch’s actions, her unexplained reactions to the shorter woman causing her to be awkwardly hyper-focused.

“We did not spend much time together when I was here for the Tournament, but even I know that Hermione Granger doesn’t relegate herself to the back of a classroom.” At the younger woman’s small smile, she added, “I know that this is an important year, and you might be disappointed to have a different professor. Is that all this is? Disappointment?”

Fleur was hoping that Hermione could offer some clarity to the weird dance she found herself in. If Hermione hadn’t had any reaction to her in the Great Hall then her question would come off as an eager and concerned professor trying to help her student. If she had experienced something out of the ordinary, Fleur hoped the brunette would respond with honesty. Fleur just needed to know if this was a duet or a solo dance. As she waited for Hermione’s delayed reply, the fluttering that felt like wings bouncing around her insides intensified, making her feel like her curiosity was blowing this out of proportion.

“Professor, as you said, 7th years have a lot going on and I’m also Head Girl. I’m doing my best to balance all of my responsibilities, but I look forward to your instruction this year.”

It was obvious that Hermione had in no way answered the question. The subtle lift of her body as she repeatedly flexed her ankles was a visible indicator of nerves, most likely an unconscious distraction so Fleur wouldn’t notice her obfuscation. Though she was slightly dismayed that the student didn’t say more, leaving her without any insights into what Hermione was experiencing, Fleur was content to let it pass, for now. However, it seemed Hermione felt compelled to fill the quiet.

“Your curriculum looks wonderful. I’m sure the syllabus will also help me better adjust my NEWT study schedule.”

Fleur took the compliment for what it was - heartfelt, high praise from the bright witch.

“Thank you.”

Fleur waved her hand, removing the charms she had placed just minutes before, indicating an end to their somewhat disjointed discussion. She was intent to keep this interaction light, an initial parry reminiscent of her bygone fencing days where her Beauxbatons instructor would scold her for her overuse of feints. Her classmates just called her a tease. Though in this scenario that would make Hermione her opponent, and her mind rebelled instantly at the thought. Shaking off her momentary lapse and shoving her brief unease into her mental “to examine later” box, Fleur nodded, allowing a gentle pull at the corners of her mouth.

“If you need anything, Ms. Granger, or have any questions, please don’t hesitate to come to me.”

“I won’t. Thank you, Professor.”

Smile blooming unhindered on her face, Fleur acknowledged the clever way the young witch phrased her response, promising nothing. She watched Hermione walk out of the room, her feet taking the steps as quickly as she could without appearing to run. The conversation had been… unhelpful. She had thought Hermione was experiencing strange sensations just as she was but now doubted it was anything other than a distracted student with too much on her slightly anal-retentive plate and a strange affinity for proper course instruction. Alas, she would just have to wait for her exceptionally sturdy owl to return from France, hoping her grand-mère’s reply would be bland, but helpful.