Asphodel and Wormwood

655 Years of Comparisons

Students started to leave the room, their benches scraping against the damp stone floors with unpleasant screeches as they left for their next class. The familiar hum of excited energy that surrounded the beginning of a school semester still lingered amongst the group - that or everyone was excited to leave the dungeon that held the potions classroom. Hermione remained seated; she had a block of free time and wanted to prep potion ingredients before reviewing some arithmancy notes. Blaise, however, was hovering and in an attempt to speed up his departure she looked at him expectantly with a brown eyebrow raised in question.

"For what it's worth, your blood status isn't a factor to me," he casually remarked with a shrug of his shoulder as he stuffed his school materials, rather unceremoniously, into his bag.

Eyes narrowing with suspicion she countered, "Forgive me for being blunt, but slumming it with muggle-borns isn't going to gain you any favor with your classmates. As I said, I'm not interested. You're better off trying your luck with someone else."

After he tilted his head to the side in what appeared to be acceptance of her argument, Hermione turned her attention back to the parchment in front of her where she was listing potion materials to prepare.

Warm breath hit her ear as Blaise suddenly leaned in to whisper, "You're not fooling me, love. Who wouldn't want to be friendly with the young witch who'd won the approval of Nicolas Flamel?"

She felt her cheeks redden and her eyebrows shoot up underneath her bangs at his words. Monsieur Flamel, impressed by Hermione's entrance exam scores and her unquenchable thirst for knowledge, had taken a liking to the young witch when she started at Beauxbaton. One of her fondest memories with him had occurred before the end of her first academic term when the older man had covered her small hands with his wrinkled ones and with a twinkle in his eye declared, "You, my dear, are going to outshine even the brightest witches of generations before you."

In her memory, she can hear her timid reply, "How could you possibly know that?"

"665 years of comparisons," he'd looked at her with pride.

The alchemist and his wife, Perenelle, had welcomed her into their family with open arms despite the fact that neither of her parents was magical. They'd opened her eyes to the world of alchemy and the power in mastering difficult magic. Prior to their deaths, the Flamel's had decided to leave her with their manor, along with all of its contents, and a sizable endowment to use for educational endeavors since they had no children. The possessions, although generous, didn't fill the space in her life they'd left when they'd been taken from her. Yet another offense on Dumbledore's record.

Knowledge of her relationship with the Flamels was not widely known, kept secret in an attempt to give her the opportunity to make a name of her own - a request made by the alchemist himself. Turning to make eye contact with the boy who she was beginning to realize she may have underestimated, she simply responded, "I'm not sure I know what you're referring to."

"Of course not," he smirked and finally looped his bag over his shoulder, "But you should know that I'm a very capable wizard, and I know when to align myself with a strong witch."

Ambition was a characteristic of both light and dark magic users; non-exclusive to either group because there was always at least one person willing to adopt the Machiavellian belief system of the end justifying the means. The Slytherin, she realized, had somehow gotten his hands on information that only a handful of people were supposed to be privy to; information that he was now leveraging to advance whatever hidden agenda he had yet to divulge. To avoid falling further into the trap he'd so elegantly laid for her, she remained silent.

Walking away from their shared workstation, Blaise joined up with his housemates. Hermione noticed that Draco was delivering a glacial look in her direction while the girl from earlier remained glued to his side. Zabini waited until he was far enough away that everyone in the room had his attention before he added with a salacious smirk, "That flush on your cheeks is intoxicating, want to wager whether or not I can make it happen again?"

-

"If nothing else he's persistent, mon chaton," Fleur mused, flipping the page of the tome in front of her before quickly writing down notes on a piece of parchment that was nearly covered with her neat script. A muffliato charm allowed them to openly discuss Blaise's antics over the last week - his tendency to weave undertones of debauchery into the mundane conversation during potions class, and more notably how he'd failed to mention Nicolas Flamel again since that first day.

With a playful smirk, she added, "And quite nice to look at, although it appears he only has eyes for you. It's a shame he played his hand so early bringing up Monsieur Flamel, I almost want to assist him."

Bellefeuille, the house the Fleur belonged to at their academy, was known for bravery and loyalty to their loved ones. It often resulted, much to Hermione's frustration, in her friend taking in strays out of the goodness of her heart. Blaise's seemingly single-minded pursuit of her closest friend, whether it be strategic or romantic, had earned him a spot in Fleur's mind as a worthy cause, and she didn't hesitate to remind Hermione relentlessly of that fact.

"Tu es un menteur," Hermione rebutted with a wave of her hand in dismissal as she sorted through the books littering their table. "For every look, he spares in my direction, he graces you with two. It should tell us everything we need to know that the action doesn't bother me in the slightest."

Pointing out that even he wasn't immune to Veela charm wasn't fair, but she didn't care as long as Fleur dropped the subject. They had larger issues to worry about, related to the reason they were spending a beautiful day cooped up in the stacks of the library.

A week ago, Fleur's name had been selected by the Goblet of Fire to represent Beauxbatons in the Triwizard Tournament. Members of Bellefeuille were all characteristically book smart, but Hermione had demanded they implement a strategy to guide their extra-curricular studies. Their first task was making short reference materials for magical creatures that may be present during the tournament, as it historically included many different types.

"Besides, he's much too crass. The importance of subtlety is-"

"Often underestimated," Fleur cut her off with a slightly mocking tone, twisting a lock of honey blonde hair around her index finger. "Now, tell me more about the merpeople."

Conversation halted when for the third time in as many minutes, a small herd of girls scrambled by the makeshift workstation that Hermione had begun referring to as their strategic base. Sets of both powder blue and black robes flitted around the library, giggling as they passed unsuspecting study groups, obviously searching for something - or better yet, someone.

The Durmstrang champion was the recipient of an almost cult-like obsession amongst the female students of all of the schools attending the TriWizard Tournament. Beyond his celebrity status as a professional quidditch player at such a young age, his broad shoulders and athletic build only added to the sharp features of his face. Although he was not traditionally handsome, he was attractive none-the-less and his elusive nature only added to his universal appeal.

"It's a shame that Viktor can't seem to find a companion that isn't likely to dose him with a love potion," Hermione remarked with one side of her mouth moving upward into a smirk.

Fleur's cerulean eyes scanned Hermione's face, eyes flickering over the freckles that crossed the bridge of her nose, "Perhaps he should try for the young woman who could brew him an antidote from memory instead."

"Perhaps he could be so lucky," the curly-headed witch replied coolly before focussing once again on the book in front of her. Thestrals, after all, were quite an enigma to her and she didn't have much time to continue researching before her meeting with Professor Snape after dinner.

**************

I don't have a Beta reader, so any mistakes are my own & huge thanks to the people who left comments on the first 2 chapters - we'll have (at minimum) weekly updates from this point forward. If inspiration strikes, it may be more frequent! 

Rough French to English translations:mon chaton - my kitten, used as a term of endearmentTu es un menteur - you are a liar