A/N: Wow. Last Heat Series one-shot. I'm glad to have them finished, but I'll miss thinking up ideas for them. I know I've got way too many chaptered fics on my hands to handle at this point, but sometimes we need a break to work on one-shots don't we? So I'm now taking ideas for one-shots if anyone has requests. Anyways, here it is; please review!
In the heat of the moment, Hermione finds Fleur revealing things she doesn't mean to.
It happens almost every time after sex. Fleur lies there, panting, shaking, and dazed, with glassy eyes staring out behind a sweat-shining face – like everything else she does, she loves with such intensity that it takes all of the energy out of her. Her mind, though, is unlike her sluggish body. It races far ahead and in all directions, leading her to thoughts that haven't seen daylight in a long time, and that she, in her uninhibited state, feels compelled to share.
Hermione loves this part of Fleur. She loves what she learns whenever her girlfriend begins to babble. Often it isn't useful at all, only random, but it always provides an insight into the French girl's past, or her character.
The first time it happens – the first time the two of them ever make love, actually, and it seems so long ago to think back on it – she cries. Yes, she admits at Hermione's concern, from the force of her orgasm partially. Her body nearly couldn't take it, she explains. But also at the mix of emotions; she's never felt so dirty or so cleansed somehow, or so loved, or so confused. Hermione, shocked and hurt, turns away, until Fleur's hand comes down on her shoulder.
"You know," whispers the French accented voice, "I mean all of zis in ze best way possible. I 'ave never been so 'appy." Without a second's pause, she kisses Hermione again and the tears are instantly forgotten.
After a few more sessions of lovemaking, Hermione comes to expect the rambling. She settles in close to her lover, catching her breath slowly and enjoying the sound of Fleur's sleepy voice.
Once, she remembers, Fleur goes on and on in French. Now, Hermione's French is decent, but this time she has no idea what in the world Fleur is saying. She speaks so quickly and with such emotion that Hermione can't pick up a word. She wonders if it's really French at all, or if the sounds are mangled so much in excitement that what Fleur means to be saying isn't really coming out.
Another time Fleur leaps out of bed as soon as she's finished, pausing only to slide a white lace nightgown over her head, and waltzes around the room, out of breath and laughing almost hysterically. The old Hermione would have wondered if she was insane, but the new one delights in the notion, and enjoys watching her lover dance around like a nymph. It happens to be a full moon, and with her white-blond hair spinning around her, the lace of her nightgown fanning out as she twirls, her radiant smile and trembling limbs making her appear ethereal, Hermione can't help but wonder if this girl she loves is human at all, for she must be something more supernatural – not a veela, she seems, but a fairy.
Most of the time, however, she tells stories. They're usually random; no matter how much she tries Hermione never makes a connection between the story told on any given day and recent events. The way Fleur tells them, it's obvious that they occur to her in the moment; they're never predetermined and it seems that she had forgotten they even existed until the instant she opens her mouth to speak. They're sometimes trivial – a memory of a family picnic or a dance at school – and sometimes landmarks, such as a first kiss. One such story is from primary school. She begins with her age (she was six) and the season (winter) and the event (The Time I Broke my Arm). The manner in which she tells the story is childish, but only makes it more authentic. Indeed, after seeing so many casualties from the War, an injury like a broken arm would be insignificant if not for Fleur's unsophisticated way of telling the tale – because, of course, to a child, a broken bone is practically proof of being a war hero.
One night, Fleur comes home melancholy. The mood continues through dinner and until they go to bed, and picks up as soon as their intimacy is finished. With a sigh long and deep, she begins to explain.
"I'm smart," she says as an introduction. "I 'ad to be. I wouldn't 'ave made it zis long if I weren't."
Though Hermione is desperately curious to see where this is going, she remains quiet and waits for Fleur to continue.
"Most people don't zink I am," she adds. "Zey believe I'm just pretty, zat I 'ave no substance. But zey don't realize what it's taken." She pauses (to collect herself, Hermione wonders?) and then picks up her lazy tirade again.
"My sister... she didn't understand eet. She zought zat she could change our parents' views. When we were little, zey told us 'no kissing until you are twenty-six!' or some ridiculous age like zat.
"We 'ad one of zose talks one day after my first girlfriend 'ad been at ze 'ouse. Zey didn't know about her, of course, but eet was very uncomfortable. Zey gave us both a lecture about how kissing leads to 'wanting ozzer zings'. Gabrielle was part embarrassed and part offended because she zought zey didn't trust her. She argued with zem."
Hermione smiles, picturing a miniature Fleur and an even more miniature Gabrielle, both blushing at the discussion of "wanting other things" with their parents.
"She made eet very clear zat she would kiss who she wanted when she wanted. She wanted to make sure zey knew zat zey didn't have complete control of her; zat she would pick her own course. Eet only made zem more suspicious." Another pause, before: "I didn't argue. As far as zey knew, Suzanne was just a friend, and I 'ad never been kissed or 'had ze desire to. I played ze good, obedient child. Sex was 'disgusting' and I would never, ever consider going behind zeir backs."
The next pause is even longer and heavier than the others. "I never felt guilty," Fleur finally sighs. "Zey were unreasonable to zink we would wait zat long- zirteen, fourteen maybe is possible, but twenty-six is ridiculous. Ze only reason I didn't like lying was because of ze stress of getting caught."
When it seems she's through talking for good, Hermione gently asks, "Do you feel guilty now?"
Fleur looks over at her, smiling slighly. "Yes and no. I wish I 'ad been able to tell zem I was gay. I wish I 'ad been brave enough. But also I'm glad I didn't, because I don't know what zey would have said. I don't know where I'd be now. I might be married to Bill."
Hermione smiles now, big and shameless. "You don't mind lying to them because it got you to me?"
Nodding, Fleur shifts closer. "Eet was worthwhile too, let me tell you."
For a while Hermione is unable to think of anything to say. She marvels over this strong and complicated woman; this gifted witch and skilled lover; a very real person with a firmly grounded head on her shoulders, but with interesting ideas that soar and a physical appearance that makes her look more in place in an enchanted forest. Finally she settles on, "thank you", hoping it can convey everything else she wants to say.
In the heat of the moment, Hermione finds Fleur revealing things she doesn't mean to.