Asphodel and Wormwood

"Oh mon Dieu."

Pushing an errant brown curl out of her face, Hermione shot an exasperated glance at her friend, frustrated that between the two of them only she had managed to become disheveled during their travels. Her blonde counterpart couldn't help that she was, as always, effortlessly put together, and she gave the brunette girl a sly wink before silently casting a beauty spell that forced Hermione's offending curls into beautiful submission.

"Beaucoup mieux," Fleur jokingly chastised with a devious grin that Hermione couldn't help but return. It was hard to be stoic when she was moments away from sharing such a special place with her dearest friend. Hogwarts was the place she called home during summer holidays, but this year she, and the Beauxbatons student-body, would be visiting for the entire academic year.

The anxious tension lingering in her chest was an unfamiliar feeling. As a member of Ombrelune, the most elusive house at Beauxbatons, a tight grip on emotions was expected. The house had a predilection towards logical thinking, a cold demeanor, and discrete manipulation that didn't reconcile well with this feeling of anxious apprehension. Feeling self-conscious was foreign to the witch who had spent most of her young life assured of her own talents and abilities.

Hermione cooly remarked, "I appreciate your assistance, ma moitié. It is important that I put my best foot forward while at Hogwarts."

Fleur and Hermione had come to an agreement years ago that they'd use English when speaking despite the blonde's preference for her native French. That didn't stop terms of endearment from working their way into the duo's vernacular. Hermione justified blatantly sharing evidence of their close friendship by reasoning that even without the pet names it would be obvious by the way that they interacted that the girls were inseparable.

"Your phrases are nonsensical; either way it doesn't matter which foot you step into Hogwarts with. Your Potion Master will make sure you are welcome, no?" Fleur's heavy accent floated through their carriage with a graceful elegance only known to Veela. She ran a hand down the front of her already wrinkle-free white blouse and straightened the black ribbon that circled under her collar.

Professor Snape's glacial expression appeared from memory in Hermione's mind. She'd first arrived in the potions dungeon before she had even started at Beauxbaton, after promising entrance exam scores and outside backing had pushed for an aggressive immersion into the art of brewing. In the comfortable silence enveloping the carriage, she allowed herself to recall their first encounter when her blood status had been unceremoniously declared by the Headmaster of Hogwarts, Albus Dumbledore.

"Severus," the elderly gentleman had stated, "I'm pleased to present you with Miss Granger. This young woman is a Muggle-born witch, but she's shown great potential in the art of potionry."

Hermione's right eye twitched slightly at the memory of her contempt toward the well-known wizard, a feeling that was born during those initial moments but had only grown in severity since then. Such a blatant addressing of blood status was taboo in France, seen as an attempt to water down an individual's magical abilities by their lineage's perceived faults. Regardless of his intent that day, her offense wouldn't go away quietly. Albus Dumbledore, for all his joviality, could take his inability to hold social decorum and kindly leave her alone.

With what she now knew was his characteristic sneer plastered on his face, Professor Snape had simply replied to his superior with a curt, "My main concern is only in her ability to brew, Albus. Leave me to determine if this colossal waste of my time will become a regular occurrence."

Waste his time she did. For the last four summers, she had made the trip to the Scottish countryside to absorb as much knowledge as he was willing to part with. He was stingy during the early days but Hermione understood his hesitancy; she would have been the same way. It was rather serendipitous that her private tutelage was under a Slytherin, a house whose core values were a near-exact replica of Ombrelune.