Hermione has loved and been loved in return.
She is not recalcitrant of love due to a lack of it.
She had parents who loved her, Harry and Ron, family in the Weasleys, camaraderie in the Order of Phoenix and her classmates—she knows love.
“You’re heartless.” Lavender interrupts her brooding. She keeps a tight grip on Hermione’s hand. No matter the discussion or Hermione’s reaction, Lavender’s strokes of nail polish never fail.
“I am not.” Hermione grouches. She ignores the fact that she just accidentally publically humiliated another person. It’s not her fault that they keep asking her out in public spaces.
Why would anyone think they could win Hermione over with roses? Honestly.
“You won’t date anyone. You made the last boy who asked you out cry.” Parvati takes Lavender’s side—of course.
Roses. She stands by her rejection.
Hermione glowers. “I’m not dating boys. You know this.”
Especially not boys who’ve barely exchanged five sentences with her.
“It’s men, darling. Men.” Lavender defends the wrong part of Hermione’s statement.
“Ah, they’re such a foreign concept at this point that I’ve forgotten.” Parvati muses.
Hermione thinks that Parvati and Lavender take pleasure in getting under her skin. Even when dating each other, they’re still two of the most boy obsessed people she knows.
Hermione shoots her a disbelieving look. “You and Lavender went to the latest quidditch game to blatantly ogle the men playing.”
“With feminism.”
“As girlfriends.”
“So it’s acceptable and more of a girl thing.”
Hermione hates them both.
“That makes no sense.” Hermione says.
They look at each other and back at Hermione. “It makes perfect sense to me.”
“You’re objectifying them.”
“We’re appreciating them.”
“Besides, you made the last girl—sorry, woman—who asked you out cut her bangs and learn to play the ukulele. Her last six songs are obviously about you. One song is her crying and singing about you in a tie as you rejected her.”
“I respect that she still took the time to eye Hermione up even as she ruthlessly rejected her.”
Hermione rolls her eyes. “I don’t date.”
“We know.” They say at the same time.
“Your stone cold heart warms for no one.” Lavender pouts.
“Not no one.” Hermione whispers and tries not to fidget.
Considering who has felt that connection with in the past, she doesn’t like to ruminate on it.
Lavender winces. “Want my fucked over by Ronald Weasley shirt?”
Leave it to Lavender not to skirt around the person at hand.
Hermione’s smile is tight. “I’d rather not. We might actually have to talk about it then.”
She does not talk about her box of Ron feelings.
The only time she dared was one night when it was just Lavender, Hermione, and a bottle of fire whiskey.
The less said about the night is better.
“Perish the thought. It’s simply healthier to ignore your problems and let them fester.” Parvati says sarcastically.
“Was that aimed at you or me?” Hermione asks Lavender.
Lavender doesn’t look up from Hermione’s nails. “I’m practicing the ignoring and festering thing.”
The door slams open and Fleur barges in. “I am going to kill someone.”
Lavender nods seriously and hands Fleur a bottle of nail polish. “We’ll never open up and let ourselves be truly vulnerable.” Lavender debriefs Fleur.
“Excellent. I agree.” Fleur starts taking off her expensive gloves. Who wears dressy gloves?
Fleur, of course.
“Lavender, you told Parvati you loved her ten minutes ago. You told me you have a deep fear of platypuses this morning. You cried when you saw a bear cub last week.”
Lavender holds up a finger. “First off, I was saying we when I meant you because I didn’t want to single you out. Second, of course I tell my beautiful girlfriend I love her. Third, platypi are terrifying. Fourth, bear cubs are adorable and I dare anyone not to cry.”
“Thank Morgana that you’re here, Fleur. I’m almost at my limit with these two.” Hermione ignores Lavender’s whole spiel.
“Have you been eagerly awaiting my appearance?” Fleur teases.
“With bated breath.” She’s only partially joking.
Fleur does have a way of stealing her breath.
Fleur’s crisp white dress has a plunging neckline that is already playing havoc with Hermione’s respiratory system. And her blood pressure. And her sanity.
Of course Fleur would show up to girls’ night in an expensive dress and wearing half a jewelry store.
Fleur’s smile widens and the traces of annoyance and stress fade away. Hermione’s eyes dip momentarily to the matte red lipstick that Fleur chose today.
She is no stranger to love.
She is no stranger to being in love.
She’s been in love with Fleur for some time.
She was in love with Ron.
“Why are we picking on Hermione?” Fleur asks but doesn’t disagree—if anything she sounds eager to join.
“Another victim to Hermione cruelties. She’s never dating again.” Parvati is unimpressed.
“What a waste.” Fleur bemoans. It should be a joke, it could be—Hermione knows better than to miss the sincerity. Lavender and Parvati do them the favor of pretending not to notice.
Hermione is in love with Fleur.
Fleur is in love with Hermione.
It should be simple but it’s not.
That’s all on Hermione.
“We were also rating the reactions of the people Hermione’s rejected.” Parvati offers when the air grows silent.
Fleur’s smirk is savage. “I saw Moaning Myrtle tell a girl to cry somewhere else once.”
“Woman, Fleur.” Lavender admonishes and Hermione throws a pillow at her. Lavender’s glare is actually terrifying. “You better not have messed up your nails.”
“I saw a man walk out of a bar and he wasn’t seen in Britain ever again. He showed up in Canada a month later. He had to travel over a whole ocean.”
“Alright!” Hermione interjects because someone has to.
“We’re heading out. Padma wants to get drinks and cry about her ex. You better not ruin your nails.” Lavender tells Hermione pointedly.
“Why didn’t you just invite Padma? Isn’t that essentially what we’re doing?” Hermione asks.
“While we are having our weekly girl night and dishing on cute people, Padma is too bitter to enjoy it. She’s still in the angry hateful phase of a breakup. We might burn her ex’s broom later, you never know.” Lavender says.
“We could have had a spite night.” Hermione points out.
Parvati sighs. “We’re leaving you two alone so you can banter and flirt and do nothing about it. Take a hint.”
Hermione’s mouth snaps shut and she feels her cheeks heat up.
Lavender and Parvati leave in a fit of snickers.
Fleur doesn’t even react, she just keeps painting her nails. It’s not the first comment like this that they’ve made.
She wonders if Fleur blushes.
Hermione has never seen it.
She wants to.
“I abhor them.”
“No, you don’t.” Fleur reminds her.
“Who were you going to kill?” Fleur’s brow furrows with confusion. “When you came in?”
“Ah. Gabrielle’s mail carrier.”
“Why?”
“They keep putting packages in the mailbox. They squish it tiny to make it fit.” Fleur lifts up a finger and spaces out a small gap between her fingers.
“I’m quite certain they don’t bend it that small, Fleur.”
Fleur sniffs. “How would you know?”
“I’ve lived in the muggle world longer and have more experience with the mail system?”
“Hmm, no. I’m right. It is that tiny.”
Hermione’s lip twitches and she fights back a smile. “How small again?”
Fleur leans closer and makes the space between her fingers even smaller than the last time. “This small.”
Hermione shakes her head and grabs Fleur’s fingers. She ignores the way her heart races—she’s long grown used to the effect Fleur has on her. “At least keep the original size.” She moves Fleur’s fingers back to their first position.
Fleur pouts. “You doubt me? You believe I am a liar?” Fleur’s fingers tangle with her. “Why should I let you get away with that?”
Hermione’s mouth feels dry. She perseveres as she always does. “What other option do you have?”
Fleur’s grip tightens slightly around her fingers. “I could keep you here.”
“Forever?” Hermione questions amusedly.
“If I had to.”
“I imagine your hand would cramp eventually.”
“You would be surprised by my endurance when I want something.”
Hermione stares just as Fleur does.
It would be so easy to kiss Fleur.
She doesn’t even have to worry about being rejected. She knows how Fleur feels about her.
Fleur makes it obvious.
Fleur does so intentionally.
Fleur will find a reason to visit Hermione when none exists. She picks up trinkets and gifts just because they reminded her of Hermione. She compliments Hermione just as much as she teases her. She touches Hermione every chance that she can steal.
She flirts and flirts some more.
Fleur flirts as often as a human breathes.
Still, she can’t.
Fleur is close enough that Hermione can smell her expensive lotions and perfumes. She can make out the barely there scar on Fleur’s lower lip. She sees the way Fleur’s impeccable makeup is starting to fade and smear around the eyes after a full day of wear.
She sees Fleur’s eyes dip to Hermione’s lips.
“I can’t be with you anymore than I can with ukulele girl.” Hermione’s murmured words break the moment.
“You’re a Gryffindor even with your words.” Fleur snorts.
“What does that even mean?”
“The bluntness.”
Hermione can’t help the indignation at Fleur’s hypocrisy. “I’m blunt?”
“Oui. Everything with you is a fact or a weapon.”
“Gryffindors rarely know facts so you’re not entirely right.” Hermione snips.
Fleur’s laughter makes the warmth in Hermione’s chest grow worse. “Are you calling your friends idiots?”
Hermione gives her a look out of the side of her eye. “Have you met me?”
“Of course you are.” Could Fleur at least try and keep the fondness out of her words?
“Of course I am.”
“Do you think I’m blunt, Hermione?”
Hermione laughs all over again. “You tell anyone and everyone what’s on your mind. You probably gave Gabrielle’s poor mail carrier a heart attack.” Fleur has scared the wits out of many people over the course of their friendship.
“I expect better than squished packages.” Fleur has high expectations—bless whoever doesn’t meet them.
“You told Ginny to grow a spine and kiss Luna.”
“Someone had to do something. It was agonizing to watch.” Fleur is a romantic as well as assertive. She gets what she wants when she wants it. Hermione is largely surprised that Fleur hasn’t confronted her about their obvious feelings.
“You said that Molly’s roast chicken tasted like sawdust that was blended into worse sawdust.”
Fleur’s laughs long and hard. “Am I wrong?” There’s a drawl to the question that Hermione could listen to on repeat.
“Fleur, you know it’s delicious.”
“Ah, the comments about Veela must have turned my appetite then.”
“Not the ones about how Bill could do better?”
“Those turned the mashed potatoes into slime.”
“Of course, my mistake.”
The silence grows once more. Fleur still hasn’t let go of her fingers.
Hermione has that lightheadedness that comes from too much laughter and too much time with her favorite person. It’s a feeling that she always feels near Fleur. A smile seems permanently etched on her face. At times, her chest will nearly burn with how hard she laughs.
There’s a contentment with Fleur. Something in her chest loosens even as her skin buzzes. Fleur makes her nervous and comfortable.
Fleur looks at her and Hermione sees the switch flip.
The moment before Fleur starts calling people bigots or imbeciles, before she pointedly swallows chicken and calls it sawdust, before she enters a tournament of death, before she tells Tonks that they’re quite fit, before—
“If I love you, is that a fact or a weapon?”
What?
“How would I know if it’s a fact?” Hermione challenges instead of engaging. It’s just preservation. Preservation of their friendship and preservation of the self.
“You’re a genius, darling.” Fleur is soft when she shoots down Hermione’s excuse.
Hermione doubles down. “Not in emotions—certainly not in love.”
If she were a genius in love them he wouldn’t have—
“Don’t sell yourself short. Not to me.” Fleur’s softness flees and something hard enters her gaze.
“It’s not selling myself short if it’s a fact.” Hermione turns Fleur’s words back on herself.
“Cute. Is it a weapon then?”
“My lack of romance?”
“Hermione.” Fleur’s tone is stern.
“Of course it’s a weapon.” Hermione admits.
The back of Fleur’s finger brushes against Hermione’s cheek. “Why does it have to be?”
She thinks she might hurt Fleur if she admits that Fleur’s love hurts. It’s a weapon because it could maim—could kill.
He left wounds that have never healed—wounds that Hermione doubts will ever heal.
Hermione kisses Fleur’s fingers and separates their joined hands. “I’m not good for you, Fleur.”
“I can decide that well enough on my own.” Fleur hisses. Her eyes narrow. “It’s not you, it’s me? That’s what you’re going to pull?”
“You’re not good for me.”
Fleur—as predicted—looks hurt. “Why?”
“Do you really want to ruin this? That’s what happens.”
“It wouldn’t be ruined.” Fleur says with such certainty that it irritates Hermione.
“You can’t know that. You can’t promise that.” Hermione can’t stand the arrogance of a false promise like that. “Friends can’t date, I can’t date—I don’t know. I just know that eventually you will grow angry and bitter. Resentment will build up until eventually you leave.”
Fleur takes Hermione’s hand with both of hers this time. She holds on tight as if hoping the tightness of the grip will help her words land. “I’m not him, Hermione.”
Hermione nearly flinches.
The air is cold and they reek of sweat and odor. Harry isn’t even watching as his best friend leaves. His back is turned to Ron as Ron’s is to him. She’s caught in the middle and she’s falling—failing. She should be able to manage them. She’s always been able to manage them. “Ron!” Her voice shakes as she calls out but he keeps walking.
He doesn’t even look back at her. Anger and indignation rolls off him in waves. He won’t even spit out anymore searing words—at least he was talking then.
Her fingers slip over his jacket and he shrugs off her attempts to grab him. Stay! Staystaystay—
It’s hell and she just wants her two best friends.
He disappears and her fingers meet air. “Ron!”
He left her at the end of the world. He left her. She loves him and he left.
“Anyone can leave. Everyone can leave.” Hermione argues. She isn’t sure what she’s arguing for anymore.
It’s the kind of argument she’s had with herself so many times that she’s lost herself in it. She’s argued all sides.
It’s not like she hasn’t thought about dating Fleur. She has had a million fantasies of confessing her feelings. She’s dreamed of overcoming the way panic floods her body at being the girl left behind.
Everyone always shrugs off Ron’s crueler side but she’s never been able to move beyond the deep feeling of abandonment.
“I wouldn’t hurt you—not on purpose.”
Hermione wipes away a tear. “Everyone hurts each other, Fleur.”
Fleur’s smile is small but genuine. “Yes but I’d have much more fun ways to make it up to you.”
“I don’t date, Fleur.” Hermione feels herself losing the argument that she doesn’t even want to win.
“Non, you’re scared to date again. He broke your heart and your trust and you think it will happen again.”
She’s terrified because she knows it will.
If Ron could, couldn’t anyone?
Ron who was her person.
Ron had always made her smile. Ron was so smart and so dumb—easy to trick and yet difficult to fool.
Ron fought beside her for so many years until he was done with it.
Ron came back and nothing was the same.
Sometimes it hurts in ways she can’t ever really verbalize.
The love she has for Harry and Ron is different than everyone else. It was them. No one understands the love, the loyalty, the understanding of being in the golden trio.
If he could, couldn’t Fleur?
Fleur—whose gentle care and open affection is only rivaled by her hot temper and cutting remarks?
“Won’t it?” Hermione needs Fleur to understand.
“No.” Fleur says simply and with a confidence only she can have. “I can’t—won’t—promise forever. Neither of us can predict the future. I can promise now, I can promise if we end then it won’t be like that.”
“I’m just supposed to give it a chance?” Hermione scoffs.
Fleur looks soft. “That’s what dating is. A chance.”
Hermione laughs and brushes her nose against Fleur’s. “I don’t date, Fleur.”
Fleur hums. “I am everyone’s exception.”
“You’re smug for someone who asks if love is a fact or a weapon. You could have just kissed me.”
Fleur pulls away just as Hermione is about to kiss her. Fleur dramatically places a hand on her chest and reaches a hand behind her back. “I have something even better than a kiss, darling.”
Fleur procures a rose.
Hermione hits Fleur with the same pillow she threw at Lavender earlier. Hermione’s nail polish is absolutely ruined after what becomes the most flirtatious attempt on one’s life.