"Wasn't that a bit much?" Neville mumbled through a bite of sausage.
"Krum's a famous Quidditch star, after all. Malfoy supporting him isn't exactly… throwing a shaman priest's honor to the wind, is it?"
"Why?!" Ron whipped his head around, growling under his breath. "Harry's a Quidditch star too! K Champagne's Harry's rival! His competitor! As Harry's friends, we're supposed to back him!"
"Oh, my dear little Ronnie," Fred leaned over with a grin. "Sure, we're all Harry's supporters when it comes to Quidditch—got his posters plastered all over the Burrow—but there's a harsh truth here. Harry hasn't played in a club match in ages. The Kenmare Kestrels have even got a new member on the team."
"Yeah, but they haven't kicked Harry out," Lee Jordan interjected. "They said he could come back for a guest appearance anytime. You can't stop people from liking their favorite players, Ron, even if Harry's our mate and Gryffindor's Tauren Lion King—speaking of, I thought Hermione would be the one fussing over this, not you." He glanced at her. "Hermione?"
Lee's words drew everyone's attention to Hermione, who didn't seem to hear her name being called. She was staring daggers at a girl across the table, her face half-hidden by a scarf, only her eyes visible.
"I feel a murderous vibe, mate," Jordan said, swallowing a bite of bread. "You feel that?"
"Yeah, mate, I do," Fred replied, following Hermione's gaze. "But I'd call it more of a war between women." He turned to Ron and Neville. "Any idea what's got her like that?"
"Who knows?" Ron said, slathering gravy on his bread, still fuming about Malfoy. "It started outside. Acting like she's got a grudge against her, and they've only just met—well, haven't even seen her face yet."
"I know why!" Lavender Brown, sitting next to Ron, perked up. She glanced at Hermione, making sure she wasn't listening, then whispered, "You lot are just too used to Hermione to see it. You don't treat her like a lady."
"What's that supposed to mean?" Ron asked, bewildered. "What's a lady got to do with it?"
"Ugh, dummy!" Lavender huffed. "Everyone knows Hermione fancies Harry. And just now, when that giantess headmistress from Beauxbatons came down, what did she say?"
"What?" Neville looked just as lost.
"She introduced Harry to that girl," Lavender said, her eyes wide as if it were obvious. "Said they'd met before in France or something."
"Correction," Fred said, looking like he'd just solved a mystery. "Not met—she mentioned her name to Harry before. Can't blame you for missing it, Ron. Took us a second too."
"Yeah, yeah," George nodded eagerly. "What did the girl say? Something about Harry being younger than she imagined? And having exceptional abilities?"
"Exactly!" Lavender said, pleased. "Girls are way more tuned into this stuff than you lot."
"Wait, what are you all on about?" Ron's confusion deepened. "I'm completely lost here."
"Your girlfriend's saying that Beauxbatons' headmistress is trying to set Harry up with that girl!" Fred explained, exasperated. "And the girl didn't exactly say no, so Hermione's not thrilled—because she wants to be Harry's girlfriend. Clear enough, my dear little Ronnie?"
"Got it, I—" Ron started.
"I am not!" Hermione cut him off sharply.
Her face flushed red as she protested. "I'm not trying to be Harry's girlfriend! I just… think she's a bit odd, that's all!"
The keyword seemed to snap Hermione back to reality. She noticed everyone staring at her, and her scalp prickled with embarrassment.
"Oh, come off it," Lavender said sharply. "Every girl at Hogwarts wants to be Harry's girlfriend. It's just that none of us get as close to him as you do."
"Hey, hold on!" Ron sensed trouble brewing.
"Oh, that was then. Now you're my one and only, sweetheart," Lavender cooed.
That was enough to melt Ron's scowl into a sappy grin. The two shared a quick kiss right there at the table, oblivious to everyone else.
Fred and George, sitting nearby, made synchronized gagging noises, clearly grossed out.
"Ugh, people in love…" Fred muttered.
"Wait, hang on! Is she coming over?" Neville suddenly sat up straight, nudging Ron. "She's actually coming!"
And she was.
Hermione's intense stare wasn't unusual—everyone was eyeing the foreign students—but hers was particularly… blatant.
The girl broke away from the Beauxbatons group and approached, finally removing her scarf. A cascade of silvery blonde hair tumbled down to her waist, and the simple act of tucking it back caused a collective gasp around the table.
The already chilly October air in Hogwarts seemed to drop a few degrees.
"Pardon me, may I sit here?" the girl asked.
Her voice was melodic, like the chime of bells. Fred and George instantly scooted over to make room.
"Please, do!" they said in unison.
Ron, who'd been about to say something, was silenced by warning glares from his brothers—don't ruin this for us, mate.
It was hard to blame Fred and George for their quick defection. Ron, still recovering from his kiss with Lavender, hadn't gotten a good look at the girl yet. But when he did…
His face turned beet red, his mouth slightly agape, making odd little noises like his throat had seized up.
It wasn't just Ron. The entire Gryffindor table—and nearby ones—wore the same dumbstruck expression. It was the kind of look you'd call utterly captivated. (P.S. In the books, Fleur is described as stunningly beautiful—movie casting didn't quite do her justice.)
"Ron!!" Lavender's sharp tone snapped him out of it. He was in trouble now.
"You're all quite amusing," the silver-haired girl said with a radiant smile, completely at ease with the attention. She turned to Hermione. "I'm sorry, you're Hermione, right? Hermione Granger?"
"…Yes. You know me?" Hermione, who'd been sitting with her arms crossed defensively, faltered.
"I've heard about you," the girl said candidly. "According to Madame Maxime, you're Headmaster Potter's only female companion. Very close to him. Important to him."
"I-I… is that so?" Hermione stammered.
It was like a dam breaking under a flood. The hostile, icy demeanor she'd been wearing crumbled instantly.
"Of course," the girl continued without missing a beat. "So, if I want to win Headmaster Potter's heart, I'll have to best you first."
"What?!" Hermione's mouth fell open, her composure shattered. "What do you mean, best me? What are you even talking about? Why are you so shameless about it?!"
Hermione was dumbfounded.
What was this French girl going on about?
Where was her decorum? Her modesty? Her restraint?
Did French people not have those things?!
How could she say something like that so boldly?!
"Why not?" The girl seemed genuinely surprised by Hermione's reaction. "When you care for someone, you should pursue them bravely. Those who shy away from love only get hurt by it."
"But you've never even met him!" Hermione sputtered. "You haven't spoken to him! You don't know his personality or what he likes! And he doesn't know you!"
Hermione was… panicking.
Panicking so much she didn't care about the stares from Ron, Neville, the Weasley twins, or the other Gryffindors nearby. She was too busy trying to argue her point.
"I know," the girl said calmly, smiling. "But everything has to start somewhere. I can get to know him, and he can get to know me. If we find each other suitable, we'll have a lifetime to learn about one another."
"You're so much older than him!" Hermione blurted, her usually sharp mind a tangled mess. "You're not compatible at all!"
It was a weak argument, and she knew it.
"Pfft, age?" The girl looked Hermione up and down, amused. "Don't you know how long wizards live? A few years' difference is nothing. It's not even a barrier for Muggles."
"Your reasons for stopping me aren't reasons at all, Miss Granger," she said confidently. "There's only one reason you're trying to block me—you like Headmaster Potter too. We're rivals."
"You may have heard earlier, but I'll introduce myself again." She tossed her hair with a flourish. "My name is Fleur. Fleur Delacour. And I don't intend to lose."
With that, Fleur stood from the bench.
"Thank you for the seat, gentlemen. Enjoy your meal."
She gave Fred and George a graceful curtsy before returning to the Ravenclaw table where her Beauxbatons companions sat.
The Gryffindor table—or at least this corner of it—fell into an awkward silence.
"…Bold," Fred said.
"Confident," George added.
"Elegant."
"Completely in control."
"Oi, enough! Whose side are you on?" Ron snapped, cutting off their play-by-play.
"Just stating facts," Fred said, sliding back to his spot with a shrug. "She's got style. Very cool."
"Yeah, not your average girl," George agreed. "Didn't you notice? She owned that conversation. Had it all under her thumb."
"Oh, I think Hogwarts girls are just as good," Ron muttered, quickly turning to Lavender. "Like you, love."
"Oh, really?" Lavender sniffed. "Because it looked like your eyes were glued to her."
"She's… off," Fred said bluntly.
Joking aside, as brothers, they weren't about to let Ron's relationship implode.
"Yeah, I reckon she's got some weird bloodline," George said, drawing out the words. "Like… Veela?"
"I thought so too," Lee Jordan mumbled around a chicken leg he'd finally managed to bite into. "That kind of charm isn't normal. I mean, yeah, she's gorgeous, but look—everyone was staring. That's not just beauty."
"Is it?" Hermione said glumly, staring at her plate. "Seems to me you lot just like pretty faces."
Her reflection in the shiny dish caught her eye—her prominent front teeth stood out, making her mood sink further.
"Don't lose heart, Hermione," Fred said, trying to cheer her up. "To be fair, in that little showdown just now… yeah, you got trounced."
"I haven't lost!" Hermione's head snapped up, her eyes red with defiance. "I'm not done yet!"
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