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Hermione stared at the stack of books precariously balanced on the edge of her desk. She had long been accustomed to having her books and papers in their rightful places on her desk, shelves, and sometimes even on the second bed. But everything changed when her new roommate moved in.
Fleur Delacour, a student from France, with her unshakable grace and enchanting accent, stormed into Hermione’s life like a hurricane, mixing her usual order with a whirlwind of emotions. Hermione tried her best to ignore the noise that now surrounded her. Whether it was the French tunes playing softly from Fleur’s headphones, her bright laughter on the phone, or the fragrance of French perfume filling the room — it all seemed to throw Hermione off her usual rhythm. No matter how hard she tried to focus on her studies, her gaze kept drifting back to Fleur. She could simply be sitting on the bed, lazily flipping through a magazine, or adjusting her blonde hair, and every gesture drew Hermione in, like a mesmerizing spell. Hermione couldn’t understand why her usual composure now had cracks, as if Fleur somehow slipped into her thoughts, scattering a storm of feelings she had never experienced before.
Gradually, Hermione grew used to this new chaos in her life. The scent of perfume, which seemed to have soaked into the walls, the casually left items here and there that Fleur forgot to put back in place. The irritation from the disrupted peace turned into a cozy mess. And everything would have been perfect if Fleur’s actions hadn’t changed once again.
At the beginning of the school year…
Hermione hurried into the room, habitually waving away the familiar scent of books and coffee that lingered in the air. She’d spent the whole day in lectures, trying to figure out how to tie together the final scene of her project, and now all she wanted was to drop her backpack and dive into another flow of thoughts.
But when she opened the door, her gaze fell on an unfamiliar figure. A tall blonde was standing by the opposite bed, neatly stacking her clothes and belongings. She turned at the sound of Hermione’s footsteps and immediately smiled warmly.
"Hello," she said, with a slight French accent, tilting her head a bit. "You must be Hermione?"
Hermione froze on the threshold, trying to process what was happening.
"Yes, that’s me," she replied cautiously. "And you are?"
"I’m Fleur Delacour," the blonde introduced herself smoothly, as if her name should have sounded familiar. "I transferred here for the final year. I’m studying to be an actress, and, as they told me, you’re my new roommate."
"An actress?" Hermione raised an eyebrow with interest. "I’m studying to be a director."
"Oh, that’s wonderful!" Fleur stepped closer; her movements so graceful it seemed like she was gliding across the room. "It’s almost symbolic, isn’t it? A future actress and director sharing a room."
Hermione smiled slightly, feeling the tension start to ease. Fleur seemed so confident that it was hard to remain serious around her. Still, Hermione couldn’t shake the strange feeling that her usual life was about to change.
"Yes, symbolic," she answered briefly, placing her backpack on the desk. "Do you need any help?"
"No, I’m almost finished," Fleur replied, waving gently. "I don’t want to keep you. You must be tired after classes?"
"Yes, a little," Hermione admitted, sitting on the edge of her bed and watching as Fleur carefully arranged a few books on the shelf above her bed.
"This will be fun," Fleur remarked with a smile, casting a fleeting glance at Hermione. "I’m sure we have a lot in common. I hope we can become good friends."
Hermione nodded silently. Her instinct told her to be cautious, but she couldn’t deny that she already felt a bit intrigued by her new roommate.
***
A couple of weeks of living together brought them closer. Fleur and Hermione began to spend more time together. The moments after classes became their little shared times. University was so filled with events that they needed to escape for a while to a quiet place to relax. After classes, they would meet in front of the main building under the huge oak tree across from the building and head to a small café a few blocks away.
On another school day, after particularly long and exhausting classes, Fleur gracefully dashed out of the classroom and spotted Hermione waiting for her.
"What a nightmare!" Fleur exclaimed, rolling her eyes and tousling her blonde hair. "If I hear one more word from that idiot, I might just run away to the ends of the earth."
Hermione laughed, nodding in agreement.
"Oh, I understand you," she said, walking towards their favorite café. "At least you don’t have to listen to Professor Weasley’s constant shouting about ‘the hero’s inner motivation.’ He literally repeats it every day in all his classes."
Fleur, who had grown accustomed to Hermione’s complaints about Professor Weasley, rolled her eyes and snorted.
"The hero’s inner motivation?" she mimicked. "Why doesn’t he try to play this ‘heroism’ himself? He clearly has never stood on a stage."
"Exactly!" Hermione replied, animatedly gesturing. "He loves giving instructions, but when it comes to practice, he just quotes books. Does he even have his own brain? It’s so irritating."
They approached the small cozy café on the corner. Inside, the scent of freshly baked croissants and coffee filled the air. In that moment, the world seemed to calm down — the hustle and bustle of the university remained outside the door.
"Let’s sit over there," Fleur pointed to their favorite table by the window, where sunlight softly fell on the table and the nearby flowers. "I’ll get us some coffee."
Hermione nodded, settling in and glancing out the window. As Fleur ordered the drinks, she caught herself thinking that these moments had become her favorite time of the day. Everything felt so easy with Fleur — even her French accent seemed strangely soothing.
Fleur returned with two cups of cappuccino, set them on the table, and finally sat down across from Hermione.
"Well, what are we going to discuss today?" Fleur asked with a broad smile, taking her cup in hand.
"Oh, I have something!" Hermione leaned forward slightly, as if she was about to share a secret. "You know Professor Snape? The one who teaches playwriting?"
Fleur nodded, her eyes lighting up with interest.
"Well, it turns out he mixed up his own lecture notes with another group and started talking about a production... that we haven’t even discussed yet!" Hermione couldn't help but laugh, remembering how the students had to correct the professor.
Fleur laughed too, pressing her hand to her forehead.
"Oh my goodness, I would have loved to see that! I’d give anything to see his face at that moment."
Their laughter was genuine as they shared funny moments they had experienced. A relaxing atmosphere surrounded them. This time spent together, where they let down their walls and simply enjoyed each other’s company, became the foundation of their budding friendship. They complained about their professors, sometimes joking in a way that made the grumpy barista glare at them for their loud, uncontrollable laughter. Small moments of support and understanding drew them closer than anything else.
"You know," Fleur took another sip of her coffee and smiled. "If it weren’t for you, I think I would go crazy here. I can’t imagine how others manage without this kind of support."
"Oh, come on," Hermione said, slightly blushing at the compliment. "It’s all thanks to you. We found common ground."
Fleur leaned forward, and her eyes sparkled with mischief again.
"You have no idea how much you help me."
***
They always found time to meet after classes, even if it was just for five minutes. Their brief encounters at the small café near campus—a cozy place with soft lighting and the aroma of freshly brewed coffee—were special. Hermione loved the calm atmosphere of the café, while Fleur enjoyed the great view of the green square outside.
"Did you see what he was doing today?" Hermione smirked, taking a sip of her cappuccino. "How could he get so confused over simple things in just one lecture?"
Fleur chuckled softly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
"Oh, that’s Professor Martin. He’s like an artist, always lost in the clouds. I don’t think he even cares that we sometimes don’t understand what he’s trying to say," she joked, shrugging playfully.
Hermione nodded with a smile. They could complain about their professors for hours, recounting funny incidents from class. In those moments, everything felt so simple and natural. They weren’t just chatting; they understood each other, laughing at the absurd situations they faced on their way to their degrees.
"Do you remember when he talked about the 'importance of improvisation'?" Fleur added, trying to mimic the professor’s tone, which sent Hermione into another fit of laughter.
And even though they sometimes grew tired of endless homework and university pressure, their meetings brought a sense of freedom. They didn’t yet realize how much more complicated everything would become in the future and how their own feelings would change the dynamic between them.
***
After a busy day at the university, Hermione felt the weight of exhaustion settling on her shoulders. All she wanted was to return to their room, stretch out on her bed, and read for a while while Fleur was at her extra classes. That thought was particularly comforting, as she had grown accustomed to the silence that descended when they both immersed themselves in their interests.
But when she opened the door, her eyes widened in surprise. Right in front of her, Fleur was sitting on the bed with some guy. Their legs were tangled together, and the laughter coming from the corner of the room felt far too intimate. The guy was tall, with tousled dark hair, and he and Fleur seemed to be in their little world, oblivious to everything around them.
Hermione froze, unsure where to go. She felt her cheeks begin to flush with heat. Fleur was the first to notice her presence; her blue eyes briefly met Hermione's, and a slight smile flickered on her face—as if the situation didn’t faze her at all.
"Oh, hi, Hermione," Fleur said with an almost unflappable expression, pulling slightly away from the guy but not removing her arms, which were wrapped tightly around his shoulders. "This is Jake; we met over the weekend."
Hermione felt as if she couldn’t catch her breath. She didn’t know what to say, and the only thought racing through her mind was, "Why here? In our room?"
"Uh… hi," she mumbled, trying not to look at them. "I, uh, might be... interrupting?"
Fleur chuckled and shrugged slightly, as if it were just a trivial matter.
"No big deal. I got out early, and we just decided to relax after classes," she said with a light French accent, as if what was happening was perfectly normal.
Hermione nervously nodded, feeling her cheeks heat up, and her gaze inevitably flicked to the guy, who seemed completely at ease.
"Oh... okay," Hermione mumbled. "I just... I think I’ll go," she said hastily grabbing her bag, not wanting to stay a second longer.
"You don’t have to," Fleur said so calmly that it threw Hermione off balance even more.
"No, no! It's fine!" Hermione blurted out nervously, feeling the heat spread throughout her body. "I just... I’ll go to the library; I need to finish some work."
She nearly rushed out of the room, slamming the door behind her. Once in the hallway, Hermione stopped, touching her burning face, which was flushed with embarrassment.
"What was that?" raced through her mind. Her heart pounded in her chest, and her thoughts couldn’t settle. Hermione quickly walked away, trying to push the image out of her head.
Several weeks had passed since that awkward moment when Hermione found Fleur with a guy in their room. During that time, she and Fleur had settled back into their usual routine: attending classes together, discussing lectures, and spending time over coffee as if nothing had happened. Hermione tried not to think about that day, though who was she kidding; she thought about it quite often. However, Fleur no longer brought anyone to their room—at least not when Hermione was home. This somewhat eased her mind, and she began to think that perhaps Fleur had simply decided not to create any more uncomfortable situations.
But one evening, when Hermione returned from classes a bit earlier than usual, she once again confronted what she had been trying so hard to avoid. As soon as she opened the door, she was greeted by muffled laughter and whispers. This time, Fleur was sitting on the bed with a girl whose long dark hair casually brushed her shoulders. Their faces were so close to each other that Hermione felt that familiar surge of irritation and embarrassment wash over her again. For a moment, she froze, then slammed the door shut and walked away without saying a word, feeling a wave of indignation flood through her veins.
The instances of Hermione catching Fleur with someone in their room had become more frequent. In the past week, she barely managed to return from classes before she would hear muted voices, laughter, or whispers behind the door. It seemed that each time she opened the door, there was a new person: a handsome guy with messy curls, a girl with extravagant tattoos, or someone else entirely. Fleur, as always, appeared completely calm and confident, ignoring Hermione's discomfort or embarrassment. Each time, she would simply look up, give a slight smile, and say something like, "Hi, Hermione," before returning to her conversation, not losing an ounce of ease in her interaction.
Hermione, in response, said nothing, increasingly suppressing her irritation. Her inner voice screamed that this couldn’t go on, but she silently closed the door and swiftly walked away, giving Fleur and her latest "guest" some time, even as her insides boiled. This was becoming a real test of her patience. By the end of the week, it felt like her own room no longer belonged to her. Her thoughts revolved more and more around Fleur: "Why doesn’t she think about the fact that she’s not living alone and that her actions might be inappropriate?" she repeated to herself, feeling her anger rise like a gathering storm.
Hermione tried to suppress her anger and tolerate Fleur's antics, but her nerves were wearing thin. In yet another instance of such behavior, she finally snapped.
"You're bringing someone here again?" Hermione's cold voice rang out as she returned to the room late in the evening. On the bed, a guy was lounging, clearly enjoying himself while Fleur chatted with him carelessly, oblivious to how much it annoyed her roommate.
"Oh, you're back," Fleur turned her head, her lips curling into a familiar smirk. "I thought you’d be at the library until closing."
"I was. But that doesn’t mean I want to come back to my room and see… this," Hermione waved her hand toward the guy, who, sensing the tension, awkwardly adjusted his shirt.
"You’re always so tense, Hermione. It’s bad for your health," Fleur cast a lazy glance at the guy, who, feeling the chill in the air, quickly excused himself and left.
"Tense? I’m tense because you keep bringing your… guests here!" Hermione stepped closer, her voice trembling with repressed anger.
Fleur didn’t seem to take her seriously. She lazily stretched, yawned, and then looked at Hermione with unexpected seriousness.
"This is my life, Hermione. I don’t bother you, you don’t bother me. We live together, but we each have our own freedom."
"Freedom?!" Hermione felt everything boiling inside her. "Do you even understand how this affects me? I can’t study properly or relax! Every time you bring someone here, I feel… disgusting!"
Fleur abruptly got up from the bed and approached closer, clenching her fists.
"Why? Why does it bother you so much, Hermione?" There was a hint of challenge in her voice for the first time. "Or are you just jealous?"
Hermione froze. Fleur’s words pierced her like a cold arrow.
"Jealous?" Her voice dropped, but it was no less furious. "Do you really think it’s about jealousy?"
"Isn’t it?" Fleur's eyes sparkled. "Or do you want to be in their place?"
Hermione clenched her fists, trying to contain the flood of emotions that overwhelmed her. She didn't know how to respond. All her feelings swirled in her mind: anger, hurt, embarrassment... and something else she had long tried to ignore.
Fleur stepped closer, their faces now just inches apart.
"You know," she whispered, "there's one way for me to stop bringing someone here."
"What way?" Hermione breathed, feeling her heart start to race.
Fleur tilted her head slightly, her gaze piercing yet soft.
"Go on a date with me," her voice dropped to a near whisper. "Then I won’t need anyone else."
Hermione stepped back, taken aback. She hadn’t expected that response, but deep down, she understood that these words were touching that part of her soul she had long refused to acknowledge.
Silence hung between them, tense and heavy.
"You... can’t say things like that," Hermione whispered, trying to gather her thoughts.
"Why not?" Fleur tilted her head, her voice quiet but confident. "I’m saying what I want."
After that conversation, where Fleur suggested going on a date, everything changed. Hermione felt an invisible concrete wall rise between them. She could no longer communicate with Fleur as she had before. Their light conversations over coffee and shared jokes seemed to evaporate, leaving behind a lingering awkwardness. Hermione didn’t know how to respond to Fleur’s offer, so she chose distance instead. It felt easier to avoid confrontation and the questions she wasn’t ready to discuss.
Now she tried to stay out late as much as possible. Classes, the library, any extra projects—everything became her refuge. Each day she studied until she was exhausted. When she finally did return to their shared room, it was long past midnight, and Fleur was already asleep. Hermione quietly made her way to her bed, trying to make no sound, and in the morning, she left before Fleur woke up. She felt like a stranger in her own life, as if everything around her had become wrong. But avoiding Fleur seemed like the only way to keep her feelings at bay.
Once again, Hermione was avoiding Fleur. She was heading to the library after classes, hoping to spend another day without running into her. But as she turned the corner, she spotted a familiar figure ahead. Fleur was standing by the café, animatedly talking to another girl, but as soon as her gaze met Hermione’s, a slight smile appeared on the blonde’s face.
"Hermione!" Fleur called, raising her hand in greeting.
Hermione froze for a moment, feeling the familiar pang in her chest. She could no longer look at Fleur—not after everything that had turned between them. Without saying a word in response, just nodding slightly, she quickened her pace, crossing the street and heading away. Fleur called out to her again, her voice filled with confusion, but Hermione pretended not to hear and soon disappeared around a corner, leaving Fleur behind.
Once she found herself in a quiet place, Hermione pulled out her phone from her jacket pocket with trembling hands. She dialed the familiar number, hoping to hear the voice of the one person who could understand her right now. Ginny, who had gone abroad on a sports scholarship to play football, was always someone who could lighten the mood and offer advice.
"Hi, Gin," Hermione began when she heard a response on the other end. "Can you talk?"
Her voice trembled; she tried to hold it together, but the words got stuck in her throat. Ginny noticed.
"Of course, Mione, what’s wrong?" Ginny immediately switched to a caring tone.
Hermione sighed, feeling the tension start to ease. All she needed right now was to talk to someone who could understand her.
She sat down on the nearest bench, surrounded by bushes as if hiding her from the rest of the world, gripping her phone tightly. Her heart was still racing, and her thoughts were tangled, but Ginny’s voice on the other end of the line helped her regain some composure. She wrapped her fingers around the edge of the bench, feeling the cool air soothe her flushed cheeks.
"Gin, I can’t take it anymore," she finally exhaled, closing her eyes. "Every time I see her with someone else, it feels like something inside me tightens. After her proposal, she’s still acting the same way. She drags anyone around, always showing up when I’m going somewhere. She’s constantly around. How can I be with her? She’s flighty, my roommate, a girl, and that proposal… it just turned everything upside down. I don’t know what to do."
On the other end of the line, there was a brief pause, but then Ginny responded in a warm and understanding tone:
"I get it, Mione. It’s terrible that you feel this way. But look at how your days have changed. Whenever we talk or text, you always mention her at least once. Are you sure it’s the fact that she’s a girl that bothers you? Maybe you’re afraid to admit that you might like her?"
Hermione sighed, lowering her head and closing her eyes from the feeling of helplessness.
"I'm so confused, Ginny. She throws me off. I’ve never looked at anyone like this before. I’ve never thought about anyone this way; she’s constantly on my mind. And her antics—they're so irritating. When I see her with someone else, I get so angry." Hermione paused for a moment, her eyes widening with realization, and for a second, she stopped breathing. "Holy Hippogriff, I like her. Ginny, what do I do? How can I live with her after this?"
"Hermione, breathe. I can feel your thoughts racing like a runaway train. Have you thought about whether there’s another room?" Ginny asked gently.
"I’d move out if I could," Hermione added quietly, nearly whispering. "But it’s the middle of the school year, and all the rooms are taken. If I ask to switch, it’ll take at least six months. I don’t know how I’ll last that long next to her."
Ginny was silent for a moment, as if considering the situation, and then suggested,
"Mione, I know it’s not ideal, but you could stay at my brothers' apartment in my room. While I’m away, you can use everything. It’s temporary, but at least you’ll be able to get away from her for a while. I’ll be back in a few months, and then you can decide what to do."
Hermione felt a slight relief at the proposed option. While it wasn’t a permanent solution, it was at least an escape. She sat up straighter on the bench, running a hand across her forehead.
"Thank you, Gin. I’ll think about it. Maybe it really is a good option… at least some time to sort myself out and figure out what to do next."
***
The next morning, Hermione woke up earlier than usual, before dawn. She lay in bed, listening to Fleur peacefully sleeping in the adjacent bed, and felt a surge of determination. Today, she wouldn’t hide. She would wait until Fleur left for class, gather her things, and move into Ginny's apartment. At least this would give her a breather, some time to think and calm down.
Fleur began to stir a little later, as always taking her time getting ready for class. Hermione pretended to be asleep, hearing her roommate prepare herself, throw on her coat, and, grabbing her bag, leave the room. Only after the door softly closed behind her did Hermione finally allow herself to exhale. She got out of bed and started to gather her belongings: carefully folding books, collecting clothes, and picking up little things from the shelves—everything she would need for her life in Ginny's apartment.
When her things were almost packed, she took one last look around the room, trying to manage the sudden wave of sadness that washed over her. So many moments had taken place here, from their first meeting to all the conversations and laughter that now felt so distant. Deep down, she didn’t want to leave, but it had become impossible to continue living with this tension.
As she began to pack the last stack of books into her bag, the door suddenly swung open. Fleur stood in the doorway. Hermione froze, her heart racing in her chest. Fleur had apparently forgotten something and had returned, but her gaze immediately caught on Hermione's gathered belongings. A tense silence hung in the room.
"Hermione, what does this mean?" Fleur's voice was calm, but a flicker of surprise mixed with slight concern flashed in her eyes.
Hermione swallowed, unsure of how to respond. She wanted to explain everything, but the words got stuck inside her, as if this moment had come too suddenly and was too complex.
Hermione turned sharply to Fleur, meeting her gaze defiantly. Her heart was pounding, but she was no longer going to hide or avoid the conversation. In that moment, everything made her angry: from Fleur’s daily meetings with new people to the way she was standing there now, as if she didn’t see what was happening.
"And what does this look like?" Hermione said defiantly, crossing her arms over her chest. Her voice was firm, even though everything inside her was trembling. "I’m leaving. I can’t take it anymore. Neither your behavior nor our relationship... it’s driving me insane!"
Fleur, not taking her eyes off Hermione, furrowed her brow but didn’t respond immediately. She slowly closed the door behind her and forcefully dropped her things by the entrance, stepping forward. Her gaze was intense, with the same calmness that concealed something deeper. She moved closer, and Hermione tensed, feeling the strain inside her grow even more pronounced from Fleur's proximity.
"You’re leaving... because of me?" Fleur whispered, now standing directly in front of Hermione. Her voice was quiet, but it carried an unexplainable bitterness.
Hermione clenched her fists, bracing for any reaction, but her heart suddenly froze at how close Fleur was.
Hermione struggled to catch her breath, her anger and tension surfacing in waves, but most of all, she was tormented by the pain she had hidden for so long.
"Yes," she said, her voice trembling with suppressed emotions. "It hurts to come home. Every time I walk in here, I know I’m going to see you with someone else. As if I don’t exist at all. As if everything that was between us means nothing."
Fleur, standing a step away from her, didn’t look away. The usual mask of composure was gone from her face. She suddenly seemed softer, more vulnerable. For a moment, silence hung between them, and it felt like the pause lasted an eternity until Fleur finally spoke.
"None of them matter, Hermione," she said quietly, stepping even closer. "I bring them here because I’m trying to forget, trying to distract myself. But the truth is, none of them are important. No one, except one."
Hermione froze. Her heart ached painfully in her chest, and she didn’t immediately understand what she wanted to ask. Could this really be true?
"Who?" she whispered, almost breathless, although at that moment she feared the answer more than anything in the world.
Fleur looked into her eyes, her face serious, but a spark flickered in her gaze that Hermione had never noticed before.
"You, Hermione. Only you."
Hermione stood still, her heart pounding so loudly that it felt like she could hear it in her ears. Fleur’s words echoed in her mind, but everything she had seen up to that point weighed heavily on her.
"How can I believe you... after everything I've seen?" she finally whispered, her voice filled with pain and uncertainty. "You say I’m important, but how can I accept that when you’re with someone else every time?"
Fleur, not breaking her gaze, took another step toward Hermione. The confidence that once filled her eyes was gone, replaced by determination.
"I understand that words mean nothing," Fleur replied softly, her voice gentle yet filled with seriousness. "So, I will show you. I will show you everything I feel through my actions, not just words."
She slowly reached out, placing her hands on Hermione's face, gently, as if afraid to scare away this moment. Her touch was warm, her fingers lightly gliding across Hermione's skin, sending shivers down her spine. Fleur leaned in, her face so close that Hermione could feel her breath.
Fleur looked into her eyes, then shifted her gaze to her lips and back to her eyes again. She didn’t move any closer, as if waiting for permission.
"May I?" she asked, her voice soft, almost a whisper, but laced with request and hope.
Hermione, still breathing unevenly, froze for a moment, feeling the world shrink down to this single instant. Her heart raced again, and unable to fight against what she had hidden for so long, she whispered back,
"Yes..."
And in the next moment, Fleur gently kissed her, their lips touching with such softness that the world around seemed to stop.
Fleur’s kiss was tender, almost weightless, as if she were afraid of doing something wrong. But that light touch was enough to turn everything inside Hermione upside down. Her tension slowly melted away, dissolving in this moment, and she felt her body instinctively lean toward Fleur. There was no pressure, no rush in that touch—only a calm, warm closeness in which Hermione gradually melted.
Her hands unconsciously rose, wrapping around Fleur’s neck, and she allowed herself to sink into her embrace. Everything that had been between them—pain, resentment, doubts—disappeared the moment their lips met. Time seemed to slow down, and there was something truly healing in that kiss.
When the kiss ended, Hermione smiled and leaned her head against Fleur's shoulder, lingering in her arms a little longer, feeling more at peace and... right than ever before. But this tranquility was short-lived. She took a deep breath and stepped back, her expression quickly shifting from soft to more serious. She looked at Fleur with a steady gaze, her voice firm, though a shadow of her recent emotions still lingered in her eyes.
"But if you ever pull a stunt like that again," she began, holding Fleur by the shoulders and looking straight into her eyes, "I’ll leave. And this time, for good. I can't keep enduring this."
Her words sounded like a clear, final warning.
Fleur froze for a moment, studying Hermione’s face closely. Her blue eyes were serious, but they held a deep tenderness and understanding. She knew Hermione wasn’t joking—those words were the last warning. But instead of arguing or making excuses, Fleur slowly nodded, accepting her terms.
"I understand," she said softly, her voice warm and steady. "And I won’t. You deserve better."
Fleur lifted a hand, gently touching Hermione's cheek. There was none of the cold arrogance from before in her touch—she was now completely honest and sincere.
"I don’t want to lose you," Fleur added, giving a slight smile. "You mean more to me than anyone. And I’ll do everything I can to prove that."
Her words sounded not like a promise but a firm intention, and in that moment, a profound understanding settled between them.
Bonus (somewhere between their conversations and Fleur's subsequent "fun"):
One evening, they decided to stay in the room after a long day of classes and just relax. Fleur was lying on Hermione's bed, propped up on pillows, while Hermione sat beside her with her legs crossed. The laptop screen flickered with scenes from a movie they had chosen almost at random, wanting to distract themselves from their academic routine.
"I don't understand how this movie even got such high ratings," Hermione scoffed, glancing at Fleur, who was barely containing her laughter. "It's completely predictable."
Fleur, propping herself up on her elbow, smiled wider. "Maybe people like when things follow a template. It's like... you know, comfortable predictability," she suggested, pronouncing each word with a slight accent. "But you're right, the plot is clearly lacking originality."
Hermione snorted, lowering her gaze to the screen. Their hands accidentally brushed as she reached for her cup of tea, and that light touch sparked a strange warmth that quickly faded but left a noticeable mark in the air between them. She quickly looked away, trying to focus on the movie.
"You know," Fleur continued after a brief pause, "sometimes evenings like this are the best. When you can just relax, without thinking about assignments or exams."
Hermione looked at her with a slight smile. "You're right," she quietly agreed. "In moments like these, I even forget about the stress."
And although the movie kept playing, they were barely paying attention to it anymore, chatting about trivial things—funny incidents in class, weekend plans. Their conversation flowed easily and naturally, the atmosphere around them becoming cozier, as if time was deliberately slowing down for these quiet minutes.
The movie had long faded into the background, and they had forgotten about the plot, engrossed in their conversation. Hermione leaned back against the pillows, holding her cup of tea in her hands, and listened with interest as Fleur shared stories about her childhood.
"My parents always wanted me to become a doctor," Fleur began with a slight smirk, her voice soft but tinged with irony. "They thought medicine was serious, stable. But I..." She shrugged. "I always knew that acting was my thing. Can you imagine the scene when I announced that I was applying to the theater arts program?"
Hermione smiled, imagining how it must have looked. "There must have been shock?" she asked, pouring herself some more tea.
"Shock is putting it mildly. My father didn’t talk to me for several days after that," Fleur recalled with a smile. "And my mom... she tried for a long time to convince me to reconsider. But you know, now they've come to terms with it. They even support me. In the end, they realized it's not just a whim."
"That's good that it worked out that way," Hermione said, frowning slightly as she thought about her own parents. "Mine... they always supported my decisions. They never really interfered with what I was doing; they just said the most important thing was that I was happy."
Fleur looked at her intently, raising an eyebrow slightly. "Your parents sound wise," she said with a warm smile. "But isn’t it even more pressure when they believe in you so much that they never try to steer you in another direction?"
Hermione paused for a moment, looking down. "Maybe," she replied a bit more quietly. "Sometimes it feels like I can’t let them down, even if something doesn’t work out. But at the same time... I’m grateful that they trust me. I suppose that's one of the reasons I chose directing. They always said, 'Find what you truly love.'"
Fleur set her cup down and looked at Hermione with a thoughtful expression. "I think they’re right. You really have found what speaks to you. It shows," she said softly. "And I’m glad you chose this. Creativity always requires courage."
Hermione nodded, feeling warmth spread through her body not only from the tea but also from Fleur’s words. "And do your parents feel proud of you now?" Hermione asked cautiously, remembering how difficult it had sometimes been to find support in such ambitious choices.
Fleur smiled a little sadly. "I think so. But I don’t know if it’s true or if they’ve just gotten used to it. In any case, I don’t regret it. And they... probably learned to look at it differently too."
They fell silent for a few seconds, savoring this quiet yet profound moment of understanding between them.