A/N:

This will be a story pairing Fleur and Hermione and it will be mature. If either of these is offensive or illegal where you are please exit now.

I am most certainly not, J.K. Rowling, but I am deeply indebted to her for providing me with an incredible hobby. I promise to return her characters in the same or better condition than I borrowed them

I am relatively new to this pairing, ok really new like in the last week. But I was astounded by some of the lovely things already written in this category. As always I am a reflection of some of the brilliant things I've read. I treasure the head canons created by Madame Cissy, Greyella, Liidg, and Bellamione in general. In this pairing I've been influence by bushy-haired veela, boxcaracer, D. Geheimnis and Dreiser. Thank you all for sparking this burst of creativity.

A special thank you to Uniquely Named for being my beta and following me through my every wandering tendencies through pairings and fandoms. You are simply the best.

I've made modest attempts at both French and the French accent as it was written in the primary text. My short fallings are entirely my own and I beg forgiveness in advance.

I wrote this with the intent that it would be a one shot, but it has already grown beyond that. We will see where it ends up.

We begin in the Deathly Hallows and there will be canon divergences in accordance with the femslash plot.


The harsh landing on the sand took her breath away. Laying on her back, Hermione attempted to assess the damage Bellatrix Lestrange inflicted on her body. She gingerly touched her neck, it was still bleeding from where the witch held the cursed knife against her throat while trying to negotiate with Dobby. Her arm was red and angry, though the bleeding stopped. Looking at it made her nauseous. Her body was weak and still convulsing slightly from the crucios she endured. After two tries she made it to her feet, albeit shakily, when she heard the cry of agony. She ran as much as she could to Harry's side. He was crouched over the crumpled body of the elf. The cursed knife protruded menacingly from his chest. The Choosen One cried over the lifeless form of one of the few friends he had.

Unable to process anyone else's sadness at the moment, the young witch looked out at the sea and then at the land around them. She had no idea where they were. Normally this wouldn't be such a problem, but she was wandless and without her bag. How would they survive even a few days in such a state. She laid back in the sand attempting to find the will to move. Perhaps Bellatrix had finally broken her after all. She heard the approaching footsteps but didn't exert the energy to sit back up. She heard the trademark Weasley shout and Bill calling their names followed by a string of what she guessed to be French swearing. Her heart clenched at the sound, though she couldn't put her finger on why. For one so usually in touch with her inner thoughts and feelings, she had no idea what to think. She'd always felt drawn to Fleur, though not because of the thrall. No, she'd simply always been fascinated by the woman. It did not, however, do to dwell in dreams. She presumed that after the failed wedding, due to Death Eater interruption, that the French part veela had married Bill. And Hermione would not lust, or whatever this was, after someone else's wife. She closed her eyes pushing all of the feelings away.

"Merde. 'Ermione." The soft French voice broke her concentration and a soft cool hand rested comfortingly on her forehead. Before opening her eyes, she breathed in the scent of the woman. She smelled of lilacs and summer air. She willed her eyes to flutter open.

"Thank goodness," the blonde witch breathed out. "You are alive. Come, we must get you into the cottage."

Hermione felt despondent and couldn't convince her body to move.

"I know you think zat you cannot do zis, 'Ermione. But you can. I will 'elp you. You don't have to do it alone."

The young witch sighed weakly and allowed the French woman to slip her arm under her shoulder and hoist them both up from the ground. Once on their feet, the other arm encircled her making her feel, for the first time since the return of Voldemort, really and truly safe. They walked slowly back up to the cottage primarily under Fleur's power.

"We are almost there, mon ami. Stay with me," she said, pressing a soothing kiss into Hermione's head.

The brunette did nothing but sigh in response. She couldn't deny how good it felt and she had no power to temper her reaction to it. Once inside she was deposited softly into a chair and watched with tired eyes as Fleur started assessing her wounds. She felt the warm tingling sensation of a healing spell on her neck as her skin knitted back together. She exhaled a sigh of relief and finally allowed herself to make eye contact. The blue eyes searched her as though they could read her.

"You will be ok, 'Ermione. Let me care for you."

Everything in the young woman wanted to push her away and tell her no. She couldn't in this moment of incredible weakness rely on her schoolgirl crush, that would threaten to destroy her. She lowered her eyes again, hoping to better control her emotions. Instead she couldn't help but stare at the slender soft hands that held both of hers. They were ringless. She looked back up in utter confusion.

Fleur smiled knowingly. "Non, ma petite. I am not married. After ze interruption of ze first marriage, Bill and I had a, what you English call, a heart to heart. I could not truly commit to him. I was foolish to zink I could. Zere are things about my heritage zat prevent it. But we are still good friends and partners during this war. But we should be focused on you right now, non?"

She ran her fingers gently down Hermione's face in a gesture of comfort. In a moment of what could only be described as Gryffindor courage, the young witch captured the hand and pressed a kiss into the palm, before she had even processed what she was doing. She felt a hot blush run up her face while she ducked her head in an attempt to escape what she had just done.

"Non, don't hide. You are safe. I will always keep you safe," she promised, pressing a longer, more lingering kiss into unruly curls.

Hermione felt her body melt into the touch and she was far too tired to fight it. Their moment of privacy was interrupted, when the boys burst into the kitchen where they were sitting. She attempted to pull away from the comforting embrace, but the strong arms held her firmly in place. She looked up to see the 3 men sit down around the breakfast table. She fought to find her voice and finally said weakly,

"Harry, I am so sorry about Dobby."

"Yea. As though the Malfoys hadn't taken enough from us already. But hey, how are you?"

The arms around her tensed almost imperceptibly. "I'm ok. Really tired."

"What exactly did she do to you," Ron interjected.

Hermione opened and closed her mouth several times trying to find a response.

"I do not zink we need to discuss this right now," the lilting French voice interrupted. "Food and rest before it is discussed." She raised a hand silencing objections. "Food and rest," she said again firmly. The 3 male heads nodded their compliance. Still sheltered in a half embrace, the young witch didn't respond. She wasn't going to oppose Fleur today (or any other day). "Come," the blonde witch said, rising and holding out a hand to Hermione. The young witch took it and struggled to her feet. She didn't look at any of the men, she knew what she would find there. She couldn't stomach the pity or pain on their faces. She was close enough to drowning in it already.

Slowly but compliantly Hermione followed Fleur up the stairs, clinging to her hand. They reached the top of the landing and turned right. The French witch opened the door into a light airy room. It smelled of the witch herself. The scent enveloped the Gryffindor, comforting her more than she understood.

"A bath, oui," she asked. Though clearly it wasn't really a question, it was a soft command. Hermione put up no resistance. She had resisted in Malfoy Manor enough to last a lifetime. She watched as the blonde witch drew her a hot bath and added bubbles that smelled divine. When she finished, she turned to look at the young witch in her care. Hermione knew that the intense blue eyes rested on her, but couldn't bring herself to look up. She just didn't feel human. Without speaking, the French witch went about removing her outer clothes, letting them drop to the floor. Finally Hermione stood only in her underwear, too distressed to even feel embarrassment.

"You 'ave it from here?" Fleur illustrated her meaning by gently touching the fabric of each.

"I… yes," Hermione responded slowly. She could do that much couldn't she? Her hands were still shaking from the force of the unforgivable curses inflicted on her body. After several attempts at the clasp on her bra, she broke down in heaving sobs. She actually couldn't. The strong arms were once again around her and the soft French voice whispered words she couldn't understand in her ear. The clasp was the first to go, and the young witch reached her arms out to allow the fabric to fall away from her body. A slender finger slipped in either side of her underwear and pulled them away. She was then guided into the warm water still crying.

"It's alright, 'Ermione. Let it out. You can cry here."

The sobbing witch only cried harder. She couldn't even begin to fathom the torture inflicted on her, even after all she'd seen in the last 6 years, this was so much more personal. She finally realized what Harry had been living with all along. And she couldn't bear it. Gentle hands moved her head underwater to get her hair wet then wove into her curls, massaging and washing. It had been so long since Hermione had been clean, she scarcely remembered what this was like. After several minutes of what could only have been described as bliss, her head was lowered again, rinsing the sweet smelling soap. Next a soft soap laden cloth was being rubbed gently against her neck, shoulders and down her arms, carefully removing weeks of dirt and sweat. The touch, though intimate, was not overtly sexual and young witch found herself sinking into it. She was vaguely aware of the rest of her body being washed, but she was so relaxed and on the edge of sleep that she couldn't keep track of what was happening.

"Rest for a moment, ma petit. I will get you clothes to wear."

Hermione heard the door click shut. She didn't open her eyes and held her breath hoping that Fleur would return soon. She didn't expect to find being alone so terrifying. In the past she'd always had a healthy appreciation for solitary activities, but her skin was practically crawling. She could feel the terror taking over and seeping into every cell of her body. She was saved by the door opening again.

"Oh 'Ermione," the French witch said with concern clear in her voice. "Deep breaths. Zats right just focus on breathing with me."

With a few minutes of gentle coaching, Hermione recovered her breath and sagged back again.

"Let's get you out and dried."

The secure arms helped her stand and wrapped a warm large towel around her body before helping her step out of the bath. With a smaller towel the older woman carefully dried her hair and body before helping her into the soft shirt and shorts. With practiced strokes her hair was brushed and pulled into a bun while it was drying. Silently she was led back into the bedroom and guided between the sheets. Fleur summoned a tray of soup and plain bread to them. Hermione shook her head slightly.

"Non, ma petite. Zat won't do. Ze boys told me how long it's been since you had a proper meal. Eat just a bit for me. D'accord?"

"D'accord," Hermione whispered in response. The slender fingers were already hovering in front of her mouth, offering a small piece of soaked bread. She took it cautiously, but moaned at its taste. It was true that she hadn't had real food in ages and this was phenomenal. She greedily took the next few mouthfuls gratefully. Shakily she took the bowl in her hands and held it close to her body, scooping the hot liquid into her mouth.

"I am so glad zat you like it. It is an old family recipe and one of my favorites."

The young witch nodded in response. She loved it in no small part to the hand that produced it. She finished eating in comfortable silence. It was clear she was being evaluated, and she wondered when the blonde witch had gotten to know her so well, not that it mattered now. When Fleur took the bowl and tray and sat them on the nightstand, she too crawled beneath the covers, opening her arms.

"Come, mon ami. I will keep ze nightmares away. You need sleep."

Hermione thought she should resist. Her crush and all of the desires that went with it threatened to bubble to the surface when the woman was so close and being so warm towards her. As terrible as the experience had been to get here, she'd dreamed a million times of having what she had at that moment. And she knew that there wasn't even a remote chance the French woman felt the same way, after all her heritage prevented her from even liking the charming and handsome Bill Weasley. But even so, the expectant look on the woman's face and her own overwhelming exhaustion won out over logic. She snuggled in close, resting her head against a shoulder and tucking her face into the long beautiful neck.

"See isn't zat much better?"

"Yes."

For a few moments, they were again wrapped in silence. The young witch struggled to get her mind to settle down as she often did before sleep. Again summoning her courage she began softly,

"I didn't think I would live. I thought surely even if I didn't break and tell her all I knew, that Bellatrix would kill me for being muggle born. She used so many curses on me before she used her knife, that I didn't have a voice to betray the Order even if I wanted to. But by that point, she didn't seem to care. I think she wanted my pain more than she wanted to further her cause. And just before she pushed me away and into Harry and Ron, she whispered in my ear that she marked me and that I belong to her now." Her face was once again drenched with tears."And… and she is right. No one will want me now. I am broken and branded." Her voice gave into the sobs, ripping through her ribcage.

At first the French witch didn't respond, only held her tighter, lightly kissing her head. "Non, 'Ermione. I do not believe zis. You may not realize it now, but you are an amazingly beautiful and intelligent witch. Anyone you choose will be lucky to 'ave you. We all 'ave our scars, our baggage. No one is perfect. Not even me."

"Where are your scars?" the young witch asked with more bite in her tone than she intended, but it was terribly hard to believe that there were any flaws to be found with her companion.

"Ah, well you are aware I am part veela, oui?"

Hermione nodded against her neck.

"In addition to being monitored as a magical creature, zere are parts of my heritage that I cannot escape."

"Like with Bill," Hermione concluded, engaging her brain for the first time in nearly 24 hours.

"Oui, like with Bill. I wanted to love him. He iz a good man and will be a wonderful husband, but I could feel nothing for him beyond friendship. What did you learn about my kind in school?"

"Well," the young witch stalled momentarily while organizing her thoughts. "Though their thrall attracts a large number of people, they are strictly monogamous beings. They fall in love once and for life, regardless of if any union is ever achieved."

"Oui, zat iz correct. Once a veela finds her mate, zere iz no changing course. Anything that iz not the mate feels like infidelity, like your very being iz ripped apart. It iz horrible."

"That means that Bill is not your mate, and so you could not marry him."

"I wanted to. I wanted to love him and have a normal life. My family warned me, but I would not listen. I thought zat I could be different just because I wished it so. But it iz a powerful and old magic."

"Is your mate so terrible then?"

"Non, 'Ermione, non. Not at all. My mate is the most phenomenal brilliant attractive witch. However, when I discovered our connection she was far too young and I could not take her life away from her. Perhaps our lives will find their way together, but if not so long as she iz happy I must be as well."

"Why not just tell her?"

"How do you say such things to someone so young with so much life? She has ze opportunity to choose her path, to be with whoever she fancies. I cannot take zat away from her, no matter how I feel."

"If you never give her the choice, how do you know she wouldn't choose you," Hermione continued in a small voice. She was painfully jealous of whoever this mate might be, who would be foolish enough to turn down such a woman.

"Put yourself in her place, 'Eermione. How would you respond if I walked up to you and just said such a thing?"

The young witch mumbled into her neck something indiscernible.

"I'm sorry, mon ami. I couldn't understand zat."

"I said, I would never send you away."

"Vraiment? I would not think zat iz true. Not on a normal day."

"Perhaps you are right, but today. Today you are perfect. I can't imagine how anyone wouldn't want you." The young witch was beyond being able to hold her tongue. It seemed an inconceivable injustice that such a lovely woman would think that she was unworthy of the love she so desperately desired.

"Peut-être it should be said laying in bed with my arms wrapped around 'er. I would have to tell 'er of the moment I met 'er and knew zere could be no other."

Hermione held her breath waiting to hear the story, ready to be angry at whoever had so unwittingly won the affections and cared not.

"She was just a child and surrounded by 'er friends. She was sitting in the Great Hall, when the Beauxbatons students walked in."

"I know her?" Hermione was astounded and nearly shaking with anger. She would put this young woman in her place, whoever it was.

"Don't get upset. It's quite alright. I can allow 'er to stay safe in ignorance."

"She deserves to know. Tell me who it is, I will make sure she deals with it appropriately."

"You are very sweet, but what is your interest."

"You, of all people, you deserve to be loved," Hermione responded passionately.

"They do call her ze brightest witch of 'er age, perhaps she could reason 'er way through it," Fleur whispered uncertainly.

Hermione raised unsteadily on one arm to look at the beautiful face. "What did you say?"

"I said, zat it is you," the blonde said, quickly attempting to get out of the bed.

"No, no please. Please don't leave me. I can't breathe."

"Merde. Shhh darling. None of zat. I am right here. You are alright. Please, no more tears."

Hermione attempted to burrow into the soft body, already feeling the shift towards claiming it as her own. Her breathing slowed as she attempted to put her thoughts together. The blonde remained tense below her, and she knew that she had to say something.

"Do you have any idea what I think of you?"

A chuckle softly shook her head, "Non, I've spent a lot of time avoiding zat specifically. Not knowing seemed better zan a broken heart."

"Then why today?"

"I was trying to distract you, but unfortunately my conversation turned on me. I should 'ave known it would. But I was so shaken 'aving found you half dead outside ze cottage. As I said, I would do anything for your happiness," she replied frankly, no longer hiding between clever turns of phrases. Cautiously she asked, "What do you zink of me?"

"I think I too have been avoiding the topic for so long that I hardly know what to say." The young witch watched the expectant, hopeful face fall. Before Fleur could turn away, Hermione hastily pressed her dry lips against the pink ones in front of her. She lingered for a few moments as electricity coursed through her. At once it was so exhilarating and new, but at the same time comfortable and familiar. As they broke apart for breath, the young witch crumbled in exhaustion and overwhelming emotion. The soft hands roamed her back in random patterns. "Please don't leave me," Hermione whispered, terrified of what she had just done.

"Never, mon coeur. I would never leave you."

Hermione cautiously drew her fingertips across the abdomen, feeling the taut muscles lying just beneath the soft skin. "I've wanted you for so long," she said quietly. "Perhaps not as long as you have wanted me. But I do want this."

"I dared to 'ope just a little, when you noticed I wasn't married. But we don't need to rush anything. Tonight just sleep. I will be here when you wake."

"You believe me?"

"Oui, ma petite. A kiss like that can only be shared between a veela and their mate. Magic doesn't usually invade a simple kiss."

"Oh," she replied quietly. "I have so much to learn."

"And I will be happy to teach you. But not tonight. You must sleep. And I promise to answer all of your questions tomorrow."

"So long as you promise," Hermione replied lightly.

"Sleep now, ma petite."

The young witch grumbled in resistance, but the steady breathing the of blonde woman seduced her into a deep sleep. For nearly an hour, Fleur watched in wonder as her mate slept soundly wrapped in her arms.