Accepting A Veela (фемслэш)

“Are you alright?” Hermione managed to ask.
She’d only seen a transformed Veela from a distance at the Quidditch World Cup but seeing one up close should have terrified her. She was positive those talons could easily slice through her skin but there wasn’t anger in the posture more a resigned defeat that clung to once proud shoulders.
The Veela turned, gray-blue eyes taking her in, looking equally surprised to see her.
“I’m not feeling well,” the French words rolling over her with a much harsher tone than the usual lilting quality Fleur’s voice possessed. While it didn’t sound as clunky as when she spoke in English, it still changed the tone of her words.