A/N: Hey everyone. So this is my first attempt at ever writing anything to be actually put somewhere for others to read. I tried not to make it too long, in case I'm boring, but if you feel it's too short and details got left out, then please let me know. Any criticism, constructive or not, is welcome. This was written to a Coldplay tune, which to my knowledge, has no name. It was a bonus track on the X&Y album, and if anyone knows the name of it, it'd be cool if you would let me know. Tis a beautiful song, for a beautiful pairing.
Warning: Rated M for one instance of bad language, and is about a girl/girl relationship (Fleur/Hermione).
Disclaimer!: I do not own anything to do with Harry Potter, it all belongs to J.K. Rowling, the lucky bugger. I also do not own the lyrics that are placed throughout the story. They belong to Coldplay.
Lyrics are in bold italics.
Hermione stormed in through the front door of her apartment, thrusting her purse upon the table and hurling her keys into some distant corner. She and Fleur had yet, another fight. What over this time? One of Fleur's co-workers, one who was straight, albeit being incredibly attractive. Hermione's suspicious nature had her second guessing Fleur's commitment to their relationship.
"Fuck!" was heard from the brunette's mouth as her purse upset a mug of coffee. Hurriedly taking off her coat she threw it somewhere in the direction of her porch, ignored the mess and began pouring herself a drink.
Of course Fleur had denied that there was anything between herself and said co-worker, but she had also been hurt at her lover's lack of trust. Thus, fighting ensued.
Hermione was always a person who was somewhat quick to anger, but things were different when it came to Fleur. They had been together for a little over a year now, and falling in love with her had been one of the scariest experiences of her life. It's not as easy as it sounds to find out you're gay and then wind up the nerve to tell someone. Anyone, for that matter. Then trying to finally find someone you want to be with, now that's rough. Finding out Fleur was also gay, and quite interested was a moment Hermione would never forget. Something about the blonde struck a chord in the very deep of her heart, some kind of love that couldn't be explained.
Tonight, however, Hermione wasn't focused on that. She was focused on how much she had been hurt to discover that most of Fleur's texting inbox held flirtatious messages from whatever-the-hell her name was. Isabelle, or something of the sort.
She sank into the nearest chair, face still flushed from yelling. Her blood pressure felt like it was through the roof, her muscles were tense and she had a pounding headache. Anger still boiling inside, she knocked back the drink.
Still my heart, and hold my tongue,
I feel my time, my time is come.
Hunched over with her head in her hands, Hermione could hear the distant sound of a car door slamming and footsteps coming up the path. Fleur had followed her home from where they argued in the backyard of her parent's house after dinner.
She quickly leapt to her feet and raced to the door to lock it. She didn't want any further confrontation with the other girl, enraged enough as it was. As she stepped away from the lock, she heard the Frenchwoman tap on the door, seeking entrance.
Silence. The only sound Hermione could hear was her heart beating rapidly. Should she say anything?
Outside, Fleur was standing on the step in the ever-darkening night. Determined to make Hermione see that there really was nothing between her and anyone else, she had taken a cab back to their apartment to try and make her see reason. She knocked on the door again, harder this time. Hermione was in there, and she knew it.
Finally, "Go away Fleur."
"'Ermione, open up."
Let me in, unlock the door,
I never felt this way before...
"No. Go somewhere else for the night." Stubborn, as usual.
"'ermione please. I'm not leaving. 'Ou should know I would never cheat or do somezing like zat to you. Never."
Fleur was prepared to stand outside all night, if that was what it took. She knew getting Hermione to let her inside was going to be a challenge, but she was ready to deal with it. She knew her girlfriend's signature hard-headed behavior well enough by now.
The wheels just keep on turnin',
The drummer begins to drum,
I don't know which way I'm goin',
I don't know which way I've come.
The younger woman's head was in a swirling tornado of emotions. She hadn't expected Fleur to follow her home, she thought she would also want to be left alone and brood, as Hermione herself had intended to do. Instead she was persistently still outside, begging to be let in. Hermione's mind kept swaying from one choice to the next. She could let Fleur stand there for god knows how long, or she could let the blonde in, a possible cause for more argument. She sighed and leaned her back against the door.
Hold my head inside your hands,
I need someone who understands,
As much as she hated to admit it as such an independent soul, she needed Fleur. Needed her more than anything, or anyone else. Hell, she needed her no matter how angry she was, even if the target of her fury was the woman herself. She turned around, resting her hand on the doorknob, still stuck in indecision.
I need someone, someone who heals,
For you I've waited all these years.
"'Ermione.. Please. Je t'aime. I love you. Eet kills me to see 'ou all worked up like zis. And eet kills me even more to know that 'ou don't trust me like I do you. Please let me in, or I will be out 'ere till ze sun comes up."
For you I'd wait, till kingdom come,
Until my day, my day is done.
And say you'll come and set me free
Just say you'll wait, you'll wait for me...
Fleur knew how hot-headed and stubborn her girl could be. What hurt the most was knowing that she didn't know how much the blonde loved her. In Fleur's mind, if Hermione did know the extent of Fleur's feelings for her, this would never have been an issue. The Frenchwoman held no doubt in her fiery counterpart, and trusted her with every ounce of her being. She was disappointed in her girlfriend's constant feeling of inadequacy, how Hermione not-so-subtly felt threatened by other women.
In your tears and in your blood,
In your fire and in your flood,
"Mon amour, I do not understand why 'ou zink I would betray you so. Zere is no uzzer person, man or woman, zat I would want to be wiz. Only you. We 'ave been zrough so much wiz each ozzer, and I love everyzing about you, and I always have. I always will."
I hear you laugh, I heard you sing
I wouldn't change a single thing.
Silence hung in the air. No sound was heard from either side of the door. Fleur waited in anticipation, wondering if Hermione would forgive her just enough to let her inside. On the contrary, something in Fleur's words had struck home. Hermione felt as if her girlfriend could read her mind, bring all her insecurities out and reassure her that they were nothing to worry over. For that was exactly why she had been so upset.
Hermione had grown up as an average child, with one exception: she was a genius. But in every other aspect in life, she was the epitome of "average". Not the social butterfly with looks to kill, the in-shape athlete, or talented musician, she had always compared herself to others and felt like she didn't quite come up to par.
She always wondered why Fleur fell for her in the first place. Fleur had everything going for her. The looks, the money, and all the skills necessary for her to get anything she wanted. She had been dumbfounded that the blonde bombshell had chosen her, although in recent years, her own curves had filled out quite nicely, and she had become aware that books weren't everything.
Whenever Hermione had thrown into conversation what she thought were sly questions, attempting to discover the motive for Fleur's attraction to her, she had only ever gotten the simple response of "Ma chere, I do not care about what I could have, or 'oo I could have. All zat I ever want is 'ou."
The wheels just keep on turnin',
The drummers begin to drum,
I don't know which way I'm goin',
I don't know what I've become.
A tear rolled down Hermione's cheek. A moment later it was followed by another, until a stream of tears had stained her visage. On the step, Fleur heard a stifled sob and knew at once that her lover was crying.
"'ermione-"
Her plea was cut short by Hermione opening the door. She immediately stepped in and turned to see her girlfriend's face. Tears were silently flowing, her eyes becoming red and puffy as she gazed up so that brown eyes met blue.
Fleur rushed forward to take her lover into her arms, and they stood in the porch, door still standing slightly open, lost in the other's embrace. Fleur reached up to move the hair out of Hermione's face and placed a loving kiss on her temple.
"Mon amour, please don't cry. Je t'aime."
After a minute or two, the brunette's crying finally slowed, she reached out her hand to push the door shut, and with her other arm still around Fleur's waist, she led them both in to their sofa.
For you I'd wait till kingdom come,
Until my days, my days are done,
Say you'll come and set me free,
Just say you'll wait, you'll wait for me...
Together they snuggled up on the couch, Hermione held close in Fleur's arms. The blonde slightly nuzzled into her lover's hair, and Hermione pulled in closer as an unspoken apology hung in the air. Fleur knew that Hermione had somewhere inside, found the reason for her quiet apology, without being prompted too much by proclamations of love through the oak of the front door. She had searched deep down and found her trust for the older woman, and that was all Fleur needed. It would be some time before the memory of the night left them, but Fleur didn't mind, she would always do whatever it took.
Just say you'll wait.. you'll wait for me..
A/N: Well there you go. PLEASE review, and let me know whether it would be smart to continue writing, or wise to just stick to reading and reviewing for others. I also apologize for any errors. I don't have a beta, and this was written quite late at night with the only editor being myself. Once again, please review, I don't mind harsh criticism.