Chapter Text
Flourish and Blotts looked nothing like the pleasant and quiet place it usually was. Children were running and screaming all around the bookshop while their stressed out parents, who seemed to have found out only this morning that Christmas was the 25th of December this year, were desperately trying to find the perfect gift for their beloved ones.
Hermione was pissed, she just wanted to buy a good book. Was it really too much to ask? Sure, the last week-end before Christmas was always incredibly busy, but somehow it seemed worse than usual.
Groaning after yet another kid has elbowed her without apologising, she decided to abandon the novel section for now and briskly climbed up the stairs to the history section. It was less crowded, but Hermione wanted a light novel, not an umpteenth book on the Goblin Rebellion of 1612 or the history of Hogwarts.
She usually avoided Diagon Alley like the plague in December but today she was hoping to bump into someone.
A couple of months ago, as she was browsing in the bookshop, Hermione had stumbled upon Fleur Delacour. Since the blonde had broken up with Bill a few weeks after Voldemort’s demise, the two witches hadn’t seen each other since Shell Cottage and the Battle of Hogwarts so it came as a very nice and unexpected surprise. They had talked seamlessly, Hermione enquiring about Fleur’s family in France and her job at Gringotts, the blonde asking about Hermione’s position at the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures and the achievements she had made so far.
Two weeks later, they met again by chance and had a cup of coffee, much to Hermione’s delight. The blonde even managed to make her smile and laugh, something she realised she hadn’t done in a while.
Since then, Hermione has come to Flourish and Blotts every Saturday at the same time in the hope of seeing Fleur again and her strategy has paid off. Out of 7 weeks since their first encounter, she’s met the blonde 5 times.
Not that she was keeping track.
At this point, it couldn’t be called a coincidence anymore, but neither Fleur or Hermione had been willing to address the elephant in the room. In truth, Hermione had developed a tiny little crush on Fleur and was afraid to have misread the signals. Rejection was not something she wanted to have to deal with right now.
Hermione sighed. She’d been in the bookshop for twenty-seven minutes now — not that she was keeping track — and there was no sign of Fleur. Maybe she had something better to do after all. Maybe she got tired of their little encounters, it’s not like they had a date.
Hermione decided to leave, but she barely made a few steps before she finally saw the person she was looking for.
“I can’t believe it! What a coincidence!” Fleur beamed, smirking. She was leaning against a shelf, her arms crossed over her chest. She looked beautiful in her black winter coat and her light blue scarf and beanie.
“Indeed! I didn’t expect to see you here!” Hermione answered playfully, mirroring Fleur’s smile. The two of them started to walk aimlessly among the aisles.
“I almost didn’t see you in here. Were you trying to hide from me?”
“No, it’s from those lunatic shoppers I’m trying to hide,” Hermione leaned against the railing of the patio, where they had a nice view of the first floor, and gestured to the loud crowd. “It’s crazy! Why is everybody waiting until the last minute to buy their gifts? I mean, it’s not complicated to plan ahead, no? It requires just a little bit of organisation and— and— er, you’re not here to buy a gift, are you?”
“Yes,” Fleur laughed. “But just one! I swear, my grand-mother is one of the hardest people to please…”
“Oh great… Good…” Hermione scratched the back of her head.
Fleur didn’t seem offended, though, as she started to tell Hermione about her plans for the holidays. Like every year, she was spending Christmas Eve at her grand-mother’s mansion with her many aunts, uncles and cousins. While she loved her family dearly, seeing so many people at the same time seemed tiring for Fleur so what she was really looking forward to was the week after. Her parents, her little sister and her would be skiing in the French Alps and relaxing in their chalet.
“But what about you, Hermione? Are you going to the Bu— No, of course not… How stupid of me.”
Hermione’s smile dropped instantly.
The Burrow.
The house that had been a safe haven during her teenage years was now the last place where she wanted to spend Christmas. Hermione had broken up with Ron a few months ago, ending their two-year relationship, and to say that it didn’t end well was the understatement of the year. Rita Skeeter had a field day.
“I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking,” Fleur added, a gentle hand on Hermione’s forearm.
“It’s okay, it’s not your fault.” Hermione straightened and became suddenly very interested in the mother downstairs that was running after her hyperactive kid, a crying baby in her arms. She could still feel Fleur’s curious gaze on her though and dreaded the question that was bound to come.
“What are you doing for Christmas?”
“Nothing,” Hermione answered too quickly. “A good book and I’ll go to bed early. Which is a good thing because it’s been really wild at work and I need to rest. And I’ll have Crookshanks with me, so it’s not that bad, I promise,” Hermione rambled. She couldn’t look at Fleur, she didn’t want to see pity in her eyes.
If someone had told Hermione a few years ago that she would be alone for Christmas, she wouldn’t have believed it. Of course, when she began dating Ron, she knew all too well that Molly Weasley would turn her back on her at the first sign of trouble. But she hadn’t anticipated that her own parents would be out of the picture, too.
Right after the war, she travelled to Australia in the hope of restoring their memories. It took her only a few weeks to locate them, but the damage her Obliviate charm had inflicted on them was too deep. She didn’t want to risk their sanity just for the sake of having them in her life.
She had stayed a few days and watched them from afar until it was too much. They seemed happy here. They had opened a new dentist cabinet and had made a few friends. Her father had even taken up fishing, something he had talked about for years. They didn’t miss the daughter they didn’t know they had.
“Come with me.”
Hermione quickly turned her head towards Fleur, her brows furrowed. “What?”
“To France. For Christmas. I’m inviting you. We’ll have to give you a potion because of our thralls, otherwise…” Fleur trailed off with a weep of her hand. “But anyway, what do you think?”
Hermione shook her head. “You don’t have to, really—”
“No, I insist. Listen, I’m inviting you to ski for a week in France. And with Christmas only a few days away, there’s no way you'll find a portkey”—Hermione rolled her eyes, suspecting it wasn’t true—“so you’ll have to share mine and spend Christmas with my family. And believe me, they’re a pain in the ass, especially my cousin Valentine. I’m so terribly sorry to have to impose this on you.”
Despite herself, Hermione chuckled at the blonde’s antics. “Skiing then. Where are you going?”
“We have a chalet in Samoëns, it’s near—”
“I know where it is,” Hermione interrupted, her head downcast. Her parents and her went skiing in Morzine every winter when she was a kid and the two villages were only a few kilometres apart.
Her spiralling thoughts were interrupted by the feeling of Fleur’s thrall around her. Hermione was surprised, she hadn’t felt it in a while. She could only assume that the Veela was projecting it intentionally.
It felt like a warm orange today. She didn’t know why, but Hermione had always associated her thrall with colours. Back at Hogwarts, when Fleur was an angry teenager and didn’t seem able to rein it in, it came in outbursts and fluctuated somewhere between a cold ice blue and a dangerous scarlet red. While it reduced most people into a pile of goo — including a certain redhead — it riled Hermione up to no end and made her want to stay as far away from the blonde as possible.
But now she could see that it had matured and was more peaceful. Fleur’s thrall was enveloping her like a blanket and Hermione was happily basking into it.
She looked up, Fleur was watching her sadly. Hermione smiled tentatively even though it didn’t reach her eyes and said something she never thought she would.
“Well, maybe I’ll come.”
The grin on Fleur’s face could have taken the stars out of the sky. “Perfect! I’ll owl you the details!”
Hermione’s suitcase was laying on her bed, already full to the brim. With her eyes closed, she was mentally checking for the hundredth time that she had everything she needed for her upcoming trip to France.
The novel she’d bought at the bookshop the other day? In her purse.
Crookshanks’ cage and enough cat food for the week? Already in front of the fireplace.
Warm gloves, a beanie, ski trousers? In the suitcase.
A casual yet chic dress for the Christmas party? Under her pyjamas, next to her heels.
From his spot in the middle of her well-folded clothes, Crookshanks was staring at Hermione, his tail wagging. The last time she took out that damn suitcase was the afternoon she decided to leave Ron. The cat was probably worried for her and wondering if they were moving out again.
“Relax Crooks, we’re just going on a holiday to France. With Fleur.” Hermione bit her nails. “And you have to be very nice to her, cause I like her a lot…” She sighed. “I don’t even know if she likes cats… Wait, did I pack my heels?”
Hermione quickly hushed Crookshanks away from the suitcase but he came back at once and started to knead her perfectly folded jumpers. As much as it annoyed her, Hermione let it go. She didn’t want to cross him just before their long journey. He’d never liked the floo, much less portkeys.
Hermione released a breath she didn’t know she was holding when she located her heels right next to her dress, exactly where they should be.
“Okay, maybe I’m the one who should relax!” Crookshanks meowled in approbation and rubbed his head against her for comfort. His purrs helped her take her mind off things so Hermione petted him until it was time to leave.
Once her suitcase was packed and shrunk, she placed it in her pocket and locked Crookshanks in his cage. Together they flooed to Globus Mondi travel agency in Diagon Alley where Fleur and her were supposed to take their portkey to France.
The small office was so crowded that upon their arrival, Crookshanks and her were pushed away from the fireplace by an employee so that they didn’t collide with the next traveller. The people around her were talking animatedly in various languages, probably excited to reunite with their families abroad.
From afar, Fleur waved at Hermione and her heart did a weird thing upon seeing the smile on the blonde’s face.
“I can’t believe it, it’s so crowded,” she said as they hugged.
“Do you think I was lying to you when I said you wouldn't find a portkey?” she said in faux-outrage. “Christmas Eve is always a nightmare.” Fleur looked at the cage in Hermione’s arms and cooed. “Oh, look at you little cutie, you must be Crookshanks!”
The way Fleur was talking to him sounded utterly ridiculous but Hermione found it endearing. If Fleur liked cats, that could only be a good thing, right? And Crookshanks, even though he seemed thoroughly unimpressed, didn’t hiss at her so Hermione counted it as a win.
Despite the crowd, they didn’t wait very long for their portkey, and once in France, they flooed directly into the living room of the Delacour’s secondary home in Samoëns. The chalet was built in a typical Alpine style with its wooden walls and ceiling. The interior was tastefully yet not ostentatiously decorated, giving it a quite homey feeling. Hermione liked this place and could already see herself spending a pleasant week here.
Crookshanks was released from his cage and immediately fled to another room. He had growled the whole trip and Hermione hoped he wasn’t going to destroy the furniture in vengeance.
Her worries vanished when she saw him in the kitchen though. Fleur’s parents seemed to be preparing various toasts for tonight’s dinner, and Crookshanks was sitting on Fleur’s father’s lap while her mother was feeding him with a piece of ham.
Hermione was struck by how much Fleur looked like her mother. They had the same blue eyes and long silvery blonde hair, the same prominent cheekbones and plump lips. Her father, on the contrary, had dark brown hair, brown eyes and a round face. He looked kind.
When Fleur hugged her mother in greeting, Hermione felt their bright yellow thralls mix together and smiled at how beautiful it was.
“Ah, you must be the famous ‘Ermione Granger!” Fleur’s mother said with a light French accent. “I’m Apolline and this is my ‘usband Etienne.”
“It’s Her-my-oh-nee, mum, not Air-me-on,” Fleur corrected.
“Well, everyone’s going to call her ‘Ermione. She’d better get used to it!”
Hermione chuckled. “That’s fine, Fleur, I know the French have a hard time pronouncing my name.”
“Welcome ‘Ermione,” Etienne said. His daughter grumbled. “Make yourself comfortable.”
Hermione and Fleur sat at the kitchen table and were offered a cup of coffee. Gabrielle, Fleur’s little sister, wasn’t here but would join them tonight. The twelve year old had unsurprisingly preferred to play Exploding Snap with one of her cousins rather than help prepare dinner with her parents.
Apolline and Etienne asked Hermione about her job at the Ministry and the differences between Hogwarts and Beauxbâtons. They seemed genuinely curious about her and not once did they mention her parents or the fact that she would have spent Christmas Eve alone if it wasn’t for Fleur’s invitation. Hermione was grateful for their kindness.
Their pleasant conversation was interrupted by the sound of someone coming through the fireplace.
“Oh, that must be your grand-mother,” Apolline chuckled. “She said, and I quote, that she wanted to meet your girlfriend before the dinner.”
“What? Why would she— Hermione’s not my—” Fleur pinched the bridge of her nose. “Ugh, there’s no stopping her anyway.”
Hermione had never seen the blonde flustered before and found it endearing. She just hoped her cheeks weren’t as red as Fleur’s but from the way her heart was beating loudly into her chest, she doubted it.
“Have you prepared her potion at least?” Fleur asked her mother.
“Of course! I made enough for the whole week, if needed.”
Hermione was about to ask what the potion was for when Fleur’s grand-mother entered the room. Her long blonde hair was in a high chignon, already styled for tonight, but she was wearing grey sweatpants and a horrendous fleece jacket, certainly waiting for the last minute to get dressed. The contrast was quite comical.
“Grand-mère!” Fleur greeted. The two hugged and, like before with Apolline, Hermione felt their thrall meet and mix together.
“I’m Andrée. It’s nice to meet you, ‘Ermione.” Hermione stood up so that Fleur’s grand-mother could kiss her cheeks. “I wanted to come here before the party so we have time to chat.”
Unlike Apolline, Andrée didn’t hesitate to envelop her with a warm yellow thrall. It wasn’t strong and didn’t feel uncomfortable — it rarely did — but Hermione had the uneasy feeling of being probed.
“Er, it’s nice to meet you too. And thanks for having me tonight. It means a lot.”
“You’re welcome, dear.” She patted Hermione’s shoulder. “So, tell me. What are your intentions with my grand-daughter?”
“Oh, I, er, we’re not…” Hermione mumbled before looking at Fleur for help — any kind of help — but the blonde was hiding behind her hand. Apolline and Etienne were visibly amused.
When Hermione turned back to Andrée, she noticed that the Delacour matriarch was sizing her up. She seemed almost puzzled and somewhat confused.
“Hm, I wonder if…” Andrée trailed off. Without a warning, she amplified her thrall, its colour changing to a deep dark red.
« Stop ! Elle n’a pas pris sa potion ! [She hasn’t taken her potion!] » Fleur yelled. The thrall disappeared as quickly as it came and Fleur was at Hermione’s side, worry clear in her eyes. “I’m so sorry, I don’t know what took her.”
“It’s okay, I’m not—”
“Do you want to sit? A glass of water?”
“No, her thrall didn’t bother me, don’t—”
“I swear I don’t know why she— she—” Fleur froze for half a second. “What do you mean ‘her thrall didn’t bother me’?”
“I could feel it, but it didn’t bother me…” Hermione shrugged. What more did Fleur want to know? Surely, she wasn’t the only person in the world not who was not affected by the Veela thrall.
“Fleur, you really think I would have dazed your girlfriend like that, I’m not that kind of Veela,” Andrée huffed before she turned to Hermione. “Now I’m curious dear, how did my thrall feel to you?”
“Er, burgundy…” Hermione watched curiously as Fleur covered her mouth with her hand.
Andrée was beaming. “Ah, just like you Etienne, she can see it as colours!”
“Burgundy?” Fleur shrieked. “What do you mean burgundy?”
“It’s, er, it’s a kind of dark red… But it was yellow before that.”
“And you’re sure it doesn’t bother you?” Fleur seemed bewildered.
“No, it—”
“But you told me you couldn’t stand it at Hogwarts!”
“Yes, because you were angry or pissed all the time! I couldn’t concentrate on anything, it was like someone was poking on the back of my head non-stop!” Hermione couldn't understand why Fleur was making a big deal out of it and it was grating on her nerves.
“And you threw up at Shell Cottage, you even said—” Fleur slapped her hand on her forehead. “Oh Merlin, you said ‘too green’! I thought it was an idiom for nausea that I didn’t know of, but you were talking about my thrall, weren’t you?” Fleur gripped Hermione’s shoulders and searched her eyes frantically. “Weren’t you!?”
“I don’t know! I just had a nightmare. I was so weak, your thrall was so anxious, I threw up! Fleur, why are you so freaked out like that?”
But Fleur didn’t answer, her arms fell limply down her side and she looked at Hermione like she had grown a second head. She was on the verge of tears. Hermione worriedly glanced at the other Veelas in the room but Apolline and Andrée were smiling.
“Looks like she won’t need your anti-thrall potion after all,” Etienne casually said to her wife. Crookshanks, who was still on his lap, was watching the exchange with rapt attention but seemed calm.
“You are, ‘Ermion, what we call a receptive,” Andrée finally explained. “You can feel the Veela thrall but it does not alter your cognitive system. And while it is not uncommon — my son-in-law here is just like you — it is quite hard to find.”
Fleur gasped and turned to her grand-mother. “She can’t come to the party.”
“She survived a war, I think she can handle a few Veelas.”
“A few Veelas?” Fleur threw her arms in the air. “A den of hyenas, you mean?”
“I don’t get it. Is there something wrong with being a receptive?” Hermione asked.
“Do you know what makes a perfect partner for a Veela?” Fleur’s voice ended in the high notes, which made Hermione wince. “Powerful magic, and immunity to the thrall! You have both! You’re the perfect match, everybody will want to claim you!”
While Fleur started to pace in the small kitchen, Hermione’s heart dropped in her stomach. If she was everything a Veela wanted, it could only mean that Fleur had no romantic interest in her in the first place. Could she have read all the signals wrong? Yet, Fleur had met her almost every week at the bookshop and had even invited her to spend Christmas with her family.
“You’re being dramatic, Fleur,” Andrée said. “Not everyone will want to claim her, only the single ones.”
“Unless”—Fleur pointed a finger in the air—”we don’t tell them. Nobody has to know after all!”
“A few of your cousins are going to try their luck. Do you have a problem with that?” Andrée asked with a crooked smile.
Fleur stared at her grand-mother with pleading eyes, but Hermione noticed that she didn’t answer the question. Was Fleur jealous? Was Hermione petty for hoping that it was the case?
“I think she’s right, though,” Apolline said. “We shouldn’t tell anyone. ‘Ermione came here to spend Christmas with us, not to be hit on by horny Veelas.”
Hermione chuckled despite herself at the phrasing.
Andrée looked at her daughter, seemingly pondering something. After a few seconds, she raised her hands in defeat and sighed. “Okay, fine! Are you happy?”
Hermione checked her reflection in the mirror of the bathroom one last time. Her unruly hair was tamed and cascading gently on her shoulders, a light makeup was adorning her features and her mid-length black dress fitted her as perfectly as she remembered.
Next to her, Fleur was trying for the third time to cast a spell on her hair but the French braid that resulted was uneven and quite a few strands were out of it. A green thrall briefly emanated from her when she stomped on her feet.
“Do you want help?” Hermione asked as she put her earrings on.
“No, I’m fine.”
“I can see your thrall, remember?”
Fleur sighed and dropped off her wand unceremoniously on the sink. Hermione made her seat on a stool and started to undo the messy braid. Under her fingers, Fleur’s hair felt incredibly soft and Hermione wondered what it smelt like.
“I’m sorry… It’s my grand-mother, she gave in too quickly.”
“She promised not to say a thing though. I think you worry too much.”
Fleur snorted. “Clearly, you don’t know her!”
Hermione cast a spell to quickly brush Fleur’s hair and started to work on the braid the Muggle way. She could have used magic but she couldn’t resist touching those damn silken locks once more. Plus, Fleur looked like she needed time to vent, it was a win-win situation.
“And what if she tells a few of your cousins? Would it really be that bad?” Hermione said.
Fleur’s eyes were downcast and she was fiddling with the ribbon of her dress. “I don’t know… They’ll probably try to flirt with you…”
“Then I’ll just have to turn them all down,” Hermione said with finality.
“Really?”
Hermione was done with the braid and was quite happy with the result. She placed her hands on Fleur’s bare shoulders and as soon as she did, she felt her thrall bubbling under her skin like an undercurrent of electricity. She couldn’t see its colour though.
“Yes. Really.”
Hermione finally looked up, Fleur was watching her intently in the mirror. She was stunning in her light blue strapless dress, and while Hermione liked to think it was thanks to her hairdressing skills, she knew it was just the blonde’s natural beauty.
“Once again, thank you for having me here tonight. I’d probably be alone and depressed in my flat if it wasn’t for you.”
Fleur grabbed one of Hermione’s hands. “You’re welcome. I’m glad you’re here.”
She looked like she wanted to add something but was interrupted by a knock on the door. Apolline poked her head and announced that it was time to leave.
Etienne smiled widely when he saw them arrive in the living room and complimented them on how beautiful they looked. Crookshanks meowed in approbation.
Just before they left, Apolline gave Hermione two vials. “The potion to lessen the effects of the thrall,” she explained. “You were supposed to need at least another dose during dinner.”
Even though she found the whole thing ridiculous, Hermione put the two vials in her purse without complaining. She placed Crookshanks in her arms — she didn’t want to leave him alone in a place he was not familiar with — and took Fleur’s offered arm. Together, they flood to Andrée’s mansion.
They arrived in a very large and sumptuous reception hall whose extravagance was in complete opposition to the warmth and simplicity of Fleur’s chalet in Samoëns. Three huge crystal chandeliers were hanging from the ceiling and the walls were decorated with red and golden ribbons.
At the far end of the room, the magnificent ten-metre-high Christmas tree immediately drew Hermione’s attention. It was richly decorated — tiny fairies and enchanted sleighs were flying all around it — and on either side of it, two grand staircases led to a balcony.
In the middle of the room, the tables were arranged in a U shape. They were already laid with fine crockery and the impeccable white tablecloths were decorated with Christmas wreaths and candles.
Near the fireplace, where Fleur and Hermione had landed, was an area for the guests to relax with a few red couches and several armchairs. Various drinks were at everyone’s disposal on high bar tables all throughout the room.
“It’s something, isn’t it?” Fleur said. She was smiling. “My grand-mother does not do things by half.”
“I can see that…” Hermione turned to Fleur. “Where are we?”
"Near Chambord and Cheverny, the home of the former kings of France."
Hermione hummed appreciatively, thinking that it fit perfectly what little she knew of Andrée. She also suspected that the so-called mansion was in reality a castle but that Fleur didn’t want to brag about it or scare her away.
“Fleur!” A blonde preteen, who could only be Gabrielle, launched herself at her. She was followed by another girl of her age. Both of their thralls were weak, forming an almost invisible halo around them. « Heureusement que tu es arrivée, Louise et moi on se fait trop chier ici… [It’s good that you’re here, Louise and I are so fucking bored here…] »
« Gabrielle, pas de gros mots ! [No swearing!] » Fleur pointed a stern finger at her sister before her mask fell and the two erupted into laughter. Hermione found them endearing. She didn’t know what it was like to have siblings but if she had, she wished they had that kind of relationship.
« C’est ta petite amie ? [Is this you girlfriend?] »Gabrielle asked with a crooked smile.
« Non, c’est— oh et puis merde! [No, it’s— oh fuck!] »
« Il est mignon son chat, il s’appelle comment ? [Her cat is cute, what’s his name?] »
« Crookshanks, » Hermione answered. She lowered her cat so that he could sniff Gabrielle. « Et je m’appelle Hermione. [And my name is Hermione.] »
“You speak French?” Fleur was smiling widely and Hermione’s cheeks reddened.
« Non… un peu… [No… a little…] I can understand it better than I can speak it. »
Gabrielle and Louise were tentatively rubbing Crookshanks’ head when Andrée arrived behind them with three other persons, presumably an uncle, an aunt and a cousin. She seemed to be floating in her long red dress and she was positively beaming.
« S’il vous plaît, laissez-moi vous présenter la fameuse Hermione Granger. C’est une amie de Fleur, [Please let me introduce the famous Hermione Granger. She’s a friend of Fleur’s,] » she added, raising her voice. « Et, fait intéressant, c’est une réceptive ! [And, interesting fact, she’s a receptive!] »
The conversations around them suddenly stopped. Hermione felt quite a few curious eyes on her as well as several thralls. In her arms Crookshanks was growling protectively, but what surprised Hermione was that he wasn’t the only one.
Next to her, Fleur was literally snarling. Her upper lip was shaking and her eyes were challenging anyone who dared to look in their direction. Her thrall was ice blue.