Hermione

Hermione's brain was desperately searching for a way out of this frankly stalemate. She wanted to be the smartest student, at least in the castle. She wanted it badly. Until her eyes were red and swollen with tears, she wanted it.

Her parents had always told her that she should study hard and obey her elders, and then everything would work out in her life. When she was called names at her regular muggle school, she regularly told her teachers everything. After all, it was better for everyone. Yes?

She read books. A lot of books, not distinguishing whether the cover was a textbook, a magazine, or fiction. She was very good at memorizing everything that was written, she always thought that such memory was called eidetic memory. Her head was full of un-systematized information on any topic.

Though, one had to admit, fiction was her favorite genre. So how pleased she was when they came to her and claimed she was a sorceress. One wizard out of thousands of ordinary people. The Chosen One.

She was ready for anything. For fantastic schooling, adventure, friends, and definitely her personal prince.

Reality snapped all that wishful thinking. She was there on bird's rights, even studying hard and being the best, she realized that Ron, who was just born into a "pureblood" family, had more opportunities than she did.

She seemed to have already accepted that and decided to just study like mad, to become the best of the best, but even here she was quickly brought down to earth. Difference in potentials. Some, most often in a pureblood family, are born with high potential and others, most often muggleborns, are born with low to medium potential. Of course, there are exceptions. Lily Potter is said to be one of them, she was very strong, according to Professor Flitwick, so much so that she was even mistaken for a bastard of some ancient family.

Hermione, on the other hand, had average potential. She was told this without offense, stated right to her face. Professors had long ago agreed that it was better to say such things directly and immediately. Sure, she knows more spells now than most in her course. But it takes her two hours of failed attempts to learn a new spell when some Draco Malfoy only needs a couple tries. It was frustrating to the point of tears.

Oh, and Malfoy was a different topic. When she'd first seen him, she'd immediately thought he was her prince. She had already painted in her head how they would communicate together, he would tell her all the magical secrets, and she would tell him all the muggle secrets, and in the meantime he would be interested in her, and then they would get married and live in a huge beautiful castle... All of these thoughts were hovering in his head until Draco's first glimpse of her. He was looking at her... through her. Like a bum on the street. As if trying not to even touch her with his gaze. And when his gaze stopped on her or any other Muggleborn for a second, there was contempt in it. Not strong, but it was... like a worm that decided to crawl up your shoe. Then he started bullying her, of course, but even here she realized he was only doing it because she'd befriended Potter. He's trying to hurt Potter through her, and he doesn't care at all what she personally thinks about it. She's just a tool. The same amount of attention he'd pay to the hole in Harry's robes if she showed up to mock him.

Oh well, okay, she'll get over that too. She'd be the smartest witch of the century. And she held that title until the day we know of.

Then life dealt her another blow. Someone smarter than her from birth.

And she was also refused to take her OWL early. That bloody Potter was allowed to take the NEWT and she wasn't allowed some pathetic OWL. Albeit rudely, Harry had made it pretty clear to her why that was the case the one time she and Ron had decided to go see him.

Also, when Harry had finally moved in, Hermione had realized that she didn't have any friends... not that Potter had any, but he listened to her faithfully and even nodded his head occasionally. And walked with her. And was a link to Ron, who had turned his back on her because, well, what interests did they have in common?

And that French girl who wouldn't let Harry go? Hermione is sure she bewitched Harry with her veela magic. Obviously to capitalize on the hero's fame and money. And to get him to help in the tournament.

They look so pretty together, though. When they enter the Great Hall to dine, they look like the King and Queen who have come down to see their subjects. Especially when Harry bought himself such an expensive suit. It was actually then that she realized that her, albeit former, friend Harry was not much poorer than Malfoy. And, judging by the color on Ron's face, he had realized it for the first time, too. Then, though, it turned out that he had several of these costumes in his stockpile. One of them was the one he'd gone up against a dragon in, by the way.

Hermione was sure that Dumbledore had done it. Harry couldn't have conjured something like that on his own. That's what Victor had said.

Victor, by the way. It was quite flattering, he had chosen her because she wasn't into Quidditch and wasn't a big fan of it, but then, for some reason, he slowly stopped communicating with her. The Headmaster had put pressure on him, he was a Death Eater and she was a Muggleborn, so it was clear, they couldn't have a relationship. That's what she told him. He smirked and went on his way. Eh, why can't she be happy?

But she decided to take some things into her own hands now. She had come to terms with the fact that Harry was smarter than her and she just wanted to repair their friendship. She needed some companionship at least, even if it was so... neutered.

She sat down confidently across from Harry and that... Phlegm, as Ginny had dubbed her. She received two icy stares. There was no contempt in them, or... there was nothing in those eyes, except that when they were directed at each other, there was a clear warmth, but here, snap and it was like two pieces of ice. Hermione felt sharply uncomfortable. But she was determined to open his eyes to the French whore.

"Harry, can I talk to you? Tete-a-tete," putting emphasis on the last sentence, Granger said.

"No," Harry replied simply.

"This is very important, believe me."

"La fille, you know it's unseemly to jump into a conversation and then ignore one of the participants," Fleur said a little haughtily.

"Harry, let's go and talk. It's important," Hermione decided to use her trump tone. It had worked for them without fail before. Now Harry raised an eyebrow.

"Are you seriously counting on my positive response while showing . disrespecting Fleur?" asked Harry a little mockingly. Something inside him was hurt when Hermione treated his girlfriend like that. The same one noticed that Potter was on the verge of sending her off and blurted out:

"Harry, she's a veela, and she used her charms on you. She's using you to get..."

A laugh from the aforementioned veela interrupted her. She, how shall I put it more culturally... roared. A veela can't roar like a mere horse, but a beautiful and elegant one can.

Harry just looked surprised.

"Quoi get? I am the daughter of the head of the aurorate of France. I am a veela. I have enough of everything. 'Arry I need on himself..." Fleur finished a little awkwardly. English wasn't her primary language after all.

"And I'm not affected by veela charms, if you remember, Hermione," Harry said confidently. First of all, Hermione noted that at NOT her name, Fleur rolled her eyes. Secondly, she actually remembered how Harry was the only one left sitting still at the World Cup. It made her feel ashamed. It certainly didn't rule out the possibility that a grown, very beautiful witch could have seduced Harry without veela charms, but... she had studied him quite well before the 'reveal', so she realized that it was unlikely he would have been so easily seduced. Hermione felt extremely embarrassed and ashamed. But she squeezed out the remnants of pride:

"My name is Hermione. And-and-and... will you pardon me...?" She said very uncertainly, looking at Fleur. To her surprise the veela's gaze softened. Still, the conclusion Granger had drawn was the most obvious one, albeit the wrong one. She did apologize, though, which was something Fleur honestly didn't hear very often, especially from the female gender. They're usually convinced that the veela is a self-serving whore, anyway. Then she was worried about Harry, after all.

"D'accord, you apologized, which is already good. Personally, I have no complaints. Arry?" deciding to tone down her arrogance a bit, Fleur said.

"I don't really care. If you have no complaints, then neither do I," Harry said neutrally and started eating. Even though he guessed that Hermione was here to win back at least one friend, he didn't give any sign. But Fleur, who had kept her hand on the pulse of Hogwarts, threw a slightly guilty look at the girl and took up her food just the same.

"Harry, I also wanted to ask you..." began Hermione anew.

"Ugh," Harry interrupted her and, after giving her an assessing look, said, "you can come over to our place after lunch. Without the ginger. We'll discuss whatever you want there. Now I'm hungry."

Those were the last words spoken at the table.

They settled into Harry's apartment quite comfortably. Harry simply and uncomplicatedly lay down on the couch, resting his head in Fleur's lap, who reflexively began to move through his hair. Hermione settled herself on one of the armchairs. Fleur began:

"So what did you want to talk about, Ermione?" she pronounced with simple interest in her eyes. Hermione was a little taken back by the fact that the veela had lost her usual haughty look and now she and Harry looked like a simple couple. Well, as simple as simple. A very beautiful couple. Almost like a fairy tale. A handsome hero, the savior of the world (England) and a tall, slender, incredibly beautiful blonde princess.

"Harry, I gather, is something of a genius, isn't he? You know, just like on TV, right?" asked Granger without offense.

"Yeah," replied Harry simply.

"But... I read... it's not that easy in the magical world, is it? I mean, it's all hereditary and... well... for Harry to be a genius, one of his parents has to be a genius," Hermione asked in an uncharacteristically unsure, stammering way, without a lecturing tone. Just mentally Fleur and Harry jumped from 'stupid teenage classmates' to 'mature, experienced people'.

Harry had read studies like this. They're pretty interesting theories that only have direct research in practice. In the magical world, magic tries to make its owner as good as possible. It brings into the dominant position the genes that the magic "thinks" will go better for the owner, and takes the other genes into recession. It doesn't make much of a difference, but it's exactly why old lineages haven't died out yet. And that's exactly what Hermione is talking about. That's what they call "ancestral magic," by the way. It doesn't always work, it requires quite a lot of conditions, at least a person must be quite strong magically, further the blood must not carry any defects. Like different diseases that are hereditary and similar.

So Hermione is basically right, and the chance of Harry being born a genius on his own is about five hundredths of a percent. Which is to say, unlikely. Very.

"This is getting interesting." Harry thought, "Really, we should do a little investigation. I wonder which of my parents hid their talents."

"You booted him," remarked Fleur, "he's deep in thought right now, thinking about which of his parents is a genius, and why he had to hide it. I'm betting on the mother, too many factors that she was hiding something. And the father, from what I've heard, was pretty... stupid. Oui. Stupid."

At first Hermione, too, fell out of Fleur's speech. Then she thought that it was unlikely Harry would date a stupid, albeit beautiful witch. Great. She's probably the dumbest one in this room. That's great. That's great.

"I'm actually thinking about Lily Potter too," Hermione agreed.

Harry, still to himself, stood up, sat down in his chair and smoked, staring at the fireplace. The extinguished fireplace. Hermione smiled slightly and asked:

"А... Is this normal?"

"Oui, it happens quite often," Fleur replied, sitting up a little disgruntled that Harry had left.

"You know, it's kind of sad to think you're friends with a person and then realize that you don't actually know them. I found that out before you guys even arrived, but it was really a shock. Smoking, cutting himself, deciding quickly..."

"'CUTTING HIMSELF,'" interrupted Fleur, remembering the bloody drops on his sleeves.

"Well I thought you knew, I watched him and he would sometimes cut his hands and sit smoking," muttered Hermione a little apprehensively as she watched Fleur's other part of the veela heritage begin to show from anger. She began to transform into a bird.

Harry seemed to smell something amiss and quickly 'floated' out of his thoughts.

"I just told you that you cut yourself I didn't mean for this to happen," a frightened Hermione said in a high-pitched voice.

"Hermione, go to the tower. This is a private matter," Harry said, looking intently at the shape-shifting Fleur.

Granger noted that Harry had now said her name correctly and without a hitch.

While Hermione followed his advice, Harry himself was thinking about what to do. Supposedly, veelas shift into bird form in times of anger or danger.

So despite a brain that was screaming its head off, Harry decided to follow his 'heart' for the second time after Fleur's confession and kiss. Thinking to himself about what an idiot he was, fish and all the other stuff on top of that, he walked over to the veela and hugged her gently. Looking carefully into the yellow, now so bird-like, eyes.

The process went in reverse, and now he had the most ordinary Fleur crying in his arms, though in a torn dress.

Now the thought that he would leave her after what she had seen was in her mind. She cursed herself for freaking out like that. Too much had been going on lately. The third stage coming up, which meant her parents were coming, all these signs talking about some other side, Harry not listening to her on this issue, and now this.

"Knowing you and predicting your thoughts, I can tell you that I still love you, and your bird form hasn't changed that one bit," Harry decided to clarify right off the bat, minting each word with confidence. He could feel Fleur relaxing mentally and physically in his arms. "I'll explain myself right away. Yes, I used to cut myself. No, I'm not doing it now. You're not stupid and you should calculate for yourself why I was doing that, and I'm sure you've figured it all out by now... Well why are you still crying?" a little panicked Harry asked. He was not a master at comforting girls. Or anyone for that matter.

"Because you're a jerk," muffled from the veela clutched to Harry's chest, "a complete. An outright fool. A clinical idiot. Moron straight up."

Of course, a long kiss followed.

Honestly, Hermione was a little jealous of this relationship. She wished she could be in Fleur's shoes instead of peeking through the hallway mirror. It didn't have to be Harry, just a nice, smart wizard.

Fleur, on the other hand, was just thanking all the gods she didn't believe in for sending her Harry Potter. Normally, the bird form would only cause fear and rejection, even when she transformed back and the attraction kicked in anew.