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The day before their return to Hogwarts, Hermione had a visitor.
She had left the breakfast room, and had returned to her own room to mull over the changes this summer had wrought in her relationships and in the lives of her friends. It had been eventful and, but for the quick action of her closest friend and the timely intervention of some adults, the outcome may very well have been tragic. But what was done was done, after all, and she supposed there was no sense in belaboring the issue.
The residents of the manor were due to depart for Diagon Alley that morning to purchase the final supplies for the students' return to school, and Hermione was looking forward to the trip. She knew her friends would tease her for her excitement, but she had always enjoyed the excursion—returning to school had always been an exciting time for Hermione, and the opportunity to learn, not to mention the chance to browse through Flourish and Blotts and purchase more books, was something which had always given her great pleasure.
Oh yes, she reflected, Harry and Fleur would certainly tease me about my book habits.
Especially Harry, knowing her best out of all her friends as he did, though his teasing would be gentle and playful, not the mean-spirited and spiteful bullying she had endured as a young child. Harry would never hurt her—not intentionally, anyway.
When the knock sounded on the door, she called out permission, and was unsurprised to see Fleur step in through the door. In addition to being intelligent, Hermione was also highly observant, and she had not missed the serious glances Fleur had been directing at her, not only since the announcement of her betrothal had been made, but especially in the past few days. She knew that Fleur would have witnessed the close camaraderie which existed between herself and her best friend, if she had not already heard of their friendship while at Hogwarts the previous year. Hermione had been expecting for some time now to have to reassure her best friend's betrothed of the exact state of their relationship.
Hermione smiled and invited Fleur to seat herself on the edge of the bed. To be honest, Hermione was not certain why the blond witch would be concerned—she was beautiful, after all, and had far more than her share of attributes to keep the attention of any young man. Hermione, though her confidence had been growing, still thought of herself as a mousy little bookworm. What could Fleur possibly have to worry about?
Shaking her head at such thoughts, Hermione concentrated on her friend. They exchanged small talk for several moments, and Hermione noted with amusement Fleur's attempts to keep the conversation light-hearted and friendly. But Hermione had come to know her in the time they had spent together and was aware that something was bothering her. The French witch, though she generally had good English pronunciation—much better than she had shown at the tournament—had a habit of slipping into a much more noticeable French accent when she was nervous or excited. And as excitement was not evident in her manner, Hermione could only conclude that Fleur was nervous about something.
"Hermione, I wanted to ask you something," Fleur finally said after their conversation had gone on for some moments.
"Of course," was Hermione's answer.
Fleur fidgeted for a moment longer before visibly screwing up her courage and looking Hermione directly in the eye. "I wanted to know more of your relationship with Harry. What are your feelings for Harry?"
Smiling at the fact that she had read her friend so well, Hermione immediately thought to reassure her friend. "Harry and I are the best of friends."
"And?"
"Like I said, Fleur—we are best friends," Hermione repeated, emphasizing the words. "We are extremely close and I would do anything for Harry—I know he'd do anything for me too. But there is nothing more than that. We're completely platonic Fleur—we've always been like siblings."
Fleur actually snorted at that declaration, causing Hermione to narrow her eyes at her friend. But before she could respond, Fleur had already spoken.
"Hermione," she said gently, while reaching over to pat Hermione's hand, "perhaps you are not aware of the specific powers of Veela, but I know that you are not telling me the truth. Whether you are lying to yourself or me matters little—but I want you to truly search your feelings and be as candid as you possibly can. It is very important.
"Most of the wizarding world considers Veela to be purely sexual beings, but I can tell you that our magic is actually highly in tune with the power of love. I can feel the connection between you and Harry, Hermione, and there is no denying it. Please be truthful."
Throughout Fleur's speech, Hermione felt her horror and mortification building to almost unbearable levels. Fleur knew her secret! How would she ever live it down? How would she even get the other girl to ever trust her again? She knew she was caught—only the truth would get her out of her predicament.
"I do have feelings for Harry," Hermione acknowledged while hanging her head in shame. "I didn't realize it until this summer after he was already betrothed to you, but I do care for him.
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