Title: Love is bitter, like a cigarette. | Chapter: One | Pairing: Hermione Granger & Fleur Delacour
Summary: Fleur fell in love with her best friend. Her best friend, who was in every definition of the word: a woman. A woman marrying a man. Tomorrow, and not today. So she has tonight. She has tonight to prepare her heart for being broken. A cigarette seemed like a good idea. But running away seemed a better one. Would she?
A/N: LOOK AT WHAT YOU ALL HAVE DONE. I damn well hope you're all pleased with yourself. It was hard getting over fangirling on this ship. And now, after seeing the #fleurmione tag finally making it on tumblr. It was hard to resist. This one had been sitting quietly in the deepest corners of my laptop for quite a while now. Mostly because I was running out of ideas on how to continue it. But alas, inspiration stroke and I just spent the better half of my morning writing this out. It may possibly have three chapters. This is AU, by the way. I have no beta whatsoever, so forgive me if I make any mistakes; they are completely mine. I'd love to hear what you would think!
~ o ~ o ~
White porcelain fingers reached out to rummage through a black leather purse, it was very much French. Said fingers took hold of a white rectangular box, a black elegant label etched onto the front going all the way to the back. Two fingers flicked the top cover open, an act probably done a hundred times, a thousand maybe. The act itself elegant and smooth, as if it had been practiced, orchestrated.
Another second passed, those fingers hesitated, and an audible sigh was heard. Finally, they moved. Taking out a small object from the box lined with white and black paper, an elegant golden label spiraled in an embossed fashion through it's circular shape—it was in every word, and definition; an elegant stick of a cigarette (but a cigarette, all the same).
It seemed to be the perfect weather to light a cigarette. The woman inwardly chuckled to herself; it was always, always like this in England. But no, today was different.
The rain started to pour.
Another set of fingers rummaged through the said purse, acquiring hold of a silver rectangular box. Taking the lighter, the woman flicked the lid open. The flame materialized, momentarily mesmerizing blue cobalt eyes. She blinked once. Using two fingers to hold the cigarette, she moved the stick in between her lips (aware that she would most likely need to fix the smudge of her lipstick later on). She lit the cigarette.
Today was a special kind of day. Not the good-special-kind of day. Just a special day.
The woman took a deep breath, inhaling the smoke. Inhaling the bitterness. Feeling the sides of her mouth twitch out of disgust (out of relief—for the momentary distraction). Exhaling slowly, she watched with lidded eyes as she breathed out the smoke mixing with the freezing air.
Midway taking another deep puff from her cigarette, she felt a presence to her left.
"I had no idea you smoked." A painfully (beautiful) familiar, lilting voice came from behind.
Fleur whipped her head so fast; she almost heard a small cracking noise. Choking momentarily from shock, she coughed a little, and then angled her head towards a different direction and exhaled the smoke forcefully; her head spinning briefly before moving to turn to her inquirer again.
"No… I… Yes." Fleur answered, flustered. She was caught off guard. Not because the question poses a tone that was demanding, or judging. It exuded a tone that suggests neutrality, curiosity even. It was a casual tone, akin to that tone one uses when one asks about the time of the day, or when acquaintances talk about the weather.
"Yes, I do. Occasionally." Fleur smiled an easy smile, a winning Delacour smile. But inside she was trembling, her chest was constricting painfully.
Hermione was standing a few steps away from Fleur, under the mild spray of the rain (holding an umbrella) with all of her glory (Fleur has no idea how this woman can make something such as holding an umbrella under the rain glorious). The woman was a few inches shorter than her; she had brown wavy hair that fell past her shoulder. Her inquisitive eyes full of wisdom and youth. It was colored in the most wondrous kind of brown, almost golden, chestnut. The younger girl was wearing simple, casual clothing. A white shirt under an oversized beige suede sweater, black fitting jeans and a matching suede heeled-boot. But even in her casual-clad attire, the older woman still felt that familiar sting of tears in the corner of her eyes from seeing something so beautiful, so painfully exquisite.
Hermione took a few steps forward until she was beside Fleur, holding the umbrella between them. It confused Fleur for a minute, and sent an inquisitive glance to the brunette.
Hermione only smiled sweetly in response, which in turn made Fleur's heart flutter. Not that she'd let Hermione notice.
"I didn't want you to get soaked in the rain." The brunette whispered, and the blonde's heart skipped another beat.
There was a moment's pause, where the younger woman seemed to be thinking. The wind picked up and blew the brunette's hair away as she tilted her head against the wind to alleviate the damage to her mostly pristine look. Still, a few stray strands of hair fell near her eyes. Fleur very strongly tried to quench the urge to tuck it under her the brunette's ear.
At this proximity… maybe I can… But no, that would be too weird for friends, wouldn't it? Fleur thought wryly. Friends don't really tuck each other's hairs under their ears. She mentally rolled her eyes.
"When did you start?" She heard a moment later.
"Smoking?" Fleur answered, up until that point the cigarette sandwiched between her fingers was forgotten. Suddenly aware that she should have been smoking, the reason why she was outside; she looked away for a moment to take a deep inhale of the bitter smoke. Exhaling it on the opposite direction of Hermione.
"Several months ago." She breathed out, conscious of speaking in a way so that her breath wouldn't be able to reach Hermione. She knew that people could get weird smelling the mix of cigarette on peoples' scent.
This realization though, made Fleur painfully aware of how close they are standing together.
"Is there any reason why?" Hermione prodded her again, still curious.
Fleur made a humming sound.
"No particular reason. It seemed a good idea then." And then shrugged her shoulders lightly.
"Which month was it?"
"Well…" Fleur gathered her wits for a moment. Dreading this question. She didn't quite want to relive the worst month of her existence. Today was the last week of September.
"Around five… six months ago, I think?" She feigned remembering, but she did.
She did remember exactly.
March 15th of that year.
She realized she was in-love.
"March, is it?" Hermione spoke.
She was in-love with one of her best friends.
"Yes, I think."
Her best friend, who was, in every definition of the word: a woman.
"Ah." Hermione drawled, smirking at her. "Same month of my engagement? Heart broken that your best friend was engaged, and would most likely ditch you on Saturday night parties, aren't you?"
The brunette paused for a moment and giggled under her breath. "People usually starts smoking when they experience heart breaks right? At least, from what I see in movies." Innocent mirth was dancing in the pool of her warm brown eyes.
Yes, she was very much in love with her female best friend, who was engaged and was getting married tomorrow.
Fleur playfully rolled her eyes, and then sighed dramatically. "Yes, yes. I am totally and utterly, heartbroken. Crushed, really." As she clutched her free hand over her chest. Fleur wanted to repeat the act of rolling her eyes. Painfully aware of the sarcastic tone she was using and at the same time, the fact that everything she just said is true. How ironic, really, not that the younger woman knew.
"And you watch way too much movies." Fleur added as an after thought.
Hermione laughed her usually charming laugh. She was such a charming creature, Fleur thought. A gentle smile was already pulling at her lips before she forced herself to look away.
She couldn't—wouldn't, antagonize herself further. As soon as the sun sets tomorrow, she will be out of here. She would be going back to France for the mean time. To heal, to move on perhaps, if she ever could.
"Does it bother you?" She inquired in a moment when Hermione's laugh faded into small chuckles and giggles.
Hermione smirked, her chest vibrating again trying to hold her laughter in. It seemed that the blonde's question was amusing to her. "You being heartbroken over me?" She drawled out playfully and proceeded to dissolve in fits of (lovely, charming) laughter.
Fleur laughed at that, the retort was humorous in itself (only if it weren't so true).
"Yes," Fleur smirked, and pause a moment before taking another inhale of the smoke. The stick was almost finished.
"No, I meant me smoking, should I put it out?" She slightly changed the subject. Cigarettes were a far less heartbreaking topic than her best friend's marriage is, thank you very much.
The brunette simply gave her a look. Fleur took it as a no, and she was right. She smiled sheepishly back at the brunette, and received a serene smile in return. Comfortable silence fell upon them. She looked onward, and below. The night was young, and the city was very much alive. She did not like London, not at first. Not until she met the brunette currently snaking an arm around her waist. She stiffened slightly but she forced herself to relax. It was an intimate gesture, a gesture they both shared millions of times, and it was innocent too. At least, on the side of the brunette. Fleur thought wryly, it still made her heart flutter uncontrollably. And how her voice seems lodged in her throat. She closed her eyes for a moment, dreading the next thing she'd know the brunette would do.
She opened her eyes as Hermione pressed the side of her cheek against the blonde's shoulder, like she had done so many times before. And like every other time, Fleur wrapped her arm around her best friends' shoulder too. But unlike every other time, this one was the most painful. She knew exactly that this would perhaps, be the last time, in a very long time.
The cigarette stick sandwiched between her fingers was almost forgotten, she glanced at it and contemplated on getting rid of it, but instead she took another drag. Lifting her free hand up to her face, inhaling deeply her eyes almost watered (Fleur kept internally arguing that the water threatening to fall in the corners of her eyes were because of the smoke) but she kept them at bay. Her mind running a thousand miles per second, she owes it to Hermione. She needs to be brave, and to tell her right now that she can't possibly attend her wedding. And she needs a damned good excuse, an excuse worthy for their 8 year's worth of friendship.
The smoke was incredibly bitter on the tip of her tongue. Oh screw it all. She mentally chided. Exhaling the smoke, throwing down the cigarette and taking a deep breathe to calm her senses. She will make up something, anything. And she has the courage to do this now. Yes, she would say it now. She would say that she needed to be away, to do… something, anything!
The sudden wave of bravery and courage (what's left of it, really) enabled her to open her mouth. But before she could utter a word, a syllable, before she made any sound at all—Hermione beat her to it.
"You would be there though, right? You'd take me to the altar. You'll hold my hand?"
Hermione said in a very quiet, insecure voice. Fleur knew that tone so well. It's the kind that she only really uses with the people she trusts the most. She was scared, and not for the reasons Fleur selfishly wanted her to be scared for. And Fleur? She cursed internally, time and time again. Because her heart could not deny Hermione; her heart would never deny the incredibly young, scared and amazing girl she's holding in her arms.
So the blonde gathered the brunette closer, tightening her arm wrapped around the smaller girl's shoulder, and shifting only enough so that she can press her lips against the top of the brunette's head.
"Of course, mon amie." Fleur responded evenly, reassuringly.
"Really? You promise?" Hermione asked again, pulling away slightly and looking up at the woman holding her. Searching for something in her eyes.
Hey, maybe she wouldn't die. Maybe she can pass off the tears as tears of happiness and not anguish. Maybe she could wear her earphones and listen to very cathartic music instead when they're about to say their vows and I do's.
"I swear, you have my word." Fleur whispered quietly.
Fleur looked down on the smaller girl, making the eye connection. Betraying her defenses for a moment and letting her feelings seep through her cobalt blue eyes. It wasn't difficult to do, she felt like she was swimming, drowning peacefully—if there ever was such a thing, as she lost herself on Hermione's eyes. She swam in the warmth, the honesty, the gentle fierceness and the way it seemed to be looking for something. And Fleur prayed and hoped, in that moment of foolishness, where she let herself get lost on those eyes she fell in love with; Fleur prayed that Hermione found what she was looking for. It seemed to last forever, and then none at all.
"Hermione?" A male voice behind them broke the trance. Both women blinked slowly, as if disoriented. And then a bit faster, and soon enough, the brunette was pulling away from her, turning around but still holding the umbrella in between them before lowering it slightly and then completely.
When did it stop raining? Fleur thought wildly.
"Oh and Fleur, Hello!" The male voice again, and Fleur looked to his direction—but not before swiping a side-glance to Hermione. Making sure she was okay, and as it was that moments ago that she seemed so vulnerable, she looked so strong now (smiling pleasantly at the boy—no, the man). Like nothing would defeat her. It was a testament to how her insecurities, and all the things she feared were only revealed to those she trusts the most.
Fleur smiled, a winning Delacour smile—like she's done hundreds, thousands, millions of times before.
"Ronald, hello. Hermione and I were just talking." She spoke pleasantly.
The redheaded man, walked towards them. Hermione met her halfway and they hugged intimately. And Fleur wanted to look away. She hated that they can hug the same way she and Hermione does. And the only (the most important) difference is that their hug was a touch of a lover's. And Fleur's was that of a friends'.
She mentally shook herself, zoning in on the conversation. They already separated, but held each other at arm's length. And she wanted to push the boy's hands away and shout mine, mine, MI—Fleur sighed.
"Ron! We're not supposed to see each other on the night before our wedding, you know! They say it's bad luck." Hermione reprimanded in an amused tone. The boy just smiled sheepishly.
"I couldn't help it. I wanted to see you and check if everything's okay. And I wanted to make sure you get home safely." Ron said quietly, intimately, but as if remembering there was another person in the room, he let go of Hermione and stepped back completely; but moved to grab the brunette's hand in his and entwined their fingers.
And Fleur? Fleur wished again that her vision would not hone in on such intimate actions. Or that her hearing was hypersensitive to the tone and the emotion of the voice they're using.
The read-head faced Fleur, smiling sheepishly and scratching the back of his neck (something the blonde found quite cute the first time they met, but quickly dismissed the thought when she realized his true intentions with her best friend) and spoke.
"I hope you don't mind if I'm taking her away from your conversation? I just wanted to make sure she gets home safe-"
"Non, it is certainly fine monsieur." Fleur cut his rambling short politely, smiling pleasantly at the two. Betraying what she's really feeling inside. She really, really wanted to be alone right now.
"Alright well, I suppose we will see you tomorrow then?" Ron smiled, flashing his boyish grin. This too, she found charming before. In a that-is-such-a-cute-smile-if-only-I-play-for-your- team kind of way.
"Oui," she replied instantly, moving her gaze to Hermione and smiling more naturally. Less forced around the edges. It came naturally, like every other time when she looks at the brunette. "I will be there."
Niceties are made, kisses on the cheek goodbyes, as well as hugs, see you soon's and a bout of take care's. Fleur watched the pair walk hand in hand towards the well-lit room, and down to the stairwell until their figures completely disappeared. She watched how the boy had his hand splayed firmly against the small of Hermione's back, guiding her gently. How she wished that it could be her, guiding the brunette down the stairwell gently. It struck her how painful this longing felt like. How it was capable of robbing air from her lungs.
She closed her eyes for a full minute, sagging down on the railing, gripping the metal tightly and she took a calming breath. She opened her eyes only to have them close again, as a single droplet fell beside her cheek. And then another, and one other more, unable to hold it in any longer, a choked sob escaped her throat before she clamped her mouth tightly shut. She opened her eyes again and let the rain against her face, streaking wet, cold lines on her skin. She stayed there until she could no longer tell apart her own tears from the rain falling from the heavens.
"Merde. I need a cigarette. Another cigarette."
She muttered to no one in particular, digging for the same rectangular box in her purse.