Well, everyone, after a year-long hiatus… I am here, with fic nummer zwei. Once again, it's Fleur/Hermione, and once again, the characters do not belong to me. I'm just pretending Bill and Ron don't exist for now. This might be a one-shot, it might not be. We'll see.
It's a little… racy. It's rated M, just to be safe.
Review, please? Even if it's to tell me it's horrible. Flames will be used to heat my home in the cold winter months.
The scarf was brown, and cotton. It had no pattern, it wasn't particularly stylish, but it kept her neck warm, and that was enough for Hermione to like it.
It wasn't enough for Fleur.
"I don't care if it's not 'in style,' Fleur, it's cold outside. Have you looked at the thermometer?" It's negative two degrees outside!" Hermione had been arguing with Fleur for the past thirty minutes… over a scarf. Hermione insisted that Fleur should wear it while going to the store, and Fleur was, as usual, being stubborn.
"I will not be seen in zat… zat ZING!" she exclaimed, throwing her hands in the air. "I 'ave to keep up my appearances, 'ermione!"
"Your appearances? There's a war going on, people are dying, the Ministry has gone to crap and you're worried about how you look?!" Hermione was becoming furious, pacing back in forth behind the couch.
"Oui."
"Fleur. It's a muggle grocery store. Just put the damn thing on," Hermione took a deep breath, and counted to three. Her parents taught her this technique for dealing with insolent children, and it worked well when bickering with her French friend. "Please?" she added, smiling awkwardly.
Fleur let a sigh delicately slip out of her. "I… I will try it," she resigned. Hermione's smile grew wide.
"Fantastic," she ran to the blender, which Fleur had used in attempt to shred the scarf, and tugged at it until it released itself from the appliance. "Come here, it won't be that bad."
"Only because you inzist!" the French witch called from the living room. Hermione smiled to herself.
"That really means a lot, Fleur. I'm glad we're starting to compr-"
No sooner had she turned around than Fleur tackled her to the floor. Hermione's breath hitched in her throat. Her perfume tickled her nose pleasantly, and Hermione inhaled deeply, intoxicated. She began to open her mouth in protest, but, for the first time in her life, words would not come to her.
"I knocked the breath out of you, non?" she whispered in a tone that left Hermione unable to speak. She chose to nod meekly. Her stomach was twisting in knots, somersaulting in ways it had never done before. She wanted to say something, anything, but her thoughts flew out of her grasp more quickly than she could piece a sentence together. Fleur laughed.
"I am not wearing zat, 'Ermione," she narrowed her eyes, not bothering to remove herself from the younger girl. She, instead, leaned closer. "Per'aps, you can try it on?" Fleur had lowered herself so her warm breath was in Hermione's ear, and her lithe fingers slowly pulled the scarf from Hermione's grasp.
"I don't-" the French woman stopped Hermione by placing a finger over her floundering lips. She removed it, and began weaving the scarf through her fingers, smiling mischievously. Hermione's eyes widened. Fleur lowered herself once again, gently lifting Hermione's head. The young woman shivered at the contact; she heard Fleur chuckle throatily. Her fingers brushed her neck, traced the outlines of her ears.
"Wha-" Fleur pulled the scarf towards her and met Hermione's lips with hers.
I do love a good cliff hanger.