Hermione sighed with relief as the clocks hit five on Friday evening. Sure she was a workaholic, but there is only so much even she could do without needing a break. Her work was vital and incredibly important to her, but she was emotionally and physically exhausted after her virtually sleepless week. Wearily, she put on her cloak, stopping briefly to neaten her desk, before wordlessly exiting her office and locking the door securely behind her. With a nod to various witches and wizards, she made her way out of the Ministry and headed around the corner to a muggle grocery store. Firewhiskey was good, granted, but there was nothing like a nice bottle (or three) of red wine for relaxing her at the end of a stressful week. Libations in hand, she apparated silently to her home from an alleyway out of sight of the main road.
House tidied somewhat, she stripped off and stepped into her shower, the hot water energising her and releasing some of the tension from her aching muscles. Liberally applying soap to her hands, she let them roam freely over her body and she gasped sharply as her hands made their way over her chest, suddenly vividly remembering her dreams over the past week. Admonishing herself for her lack of self discipline she briefly entertained the notion of taking care of the problem herself, her fingers edging their way down her body, before realising with a start that Fleur would be due in less than half an hour.
She dried herself off with a quick charm, before settling on a flattering but elegant combination of a knee length red dress and black cardigan, choosing comfort over style by wearing a new-ish pair of kitten heels she had picked up when last visiting her parents. Not one to typically overdress, she relished the opportunity to make herself up, not having many opportunities to do so. Besides, Fleur always looked to be the epitome of style and she felt assured that her efforts would have been matched, if not surpassed, for a simple evening in.
She wasn't wrong. At five past seven Fleur apparated outside her house, knocking briefly before being invited in. She, as always, was breathtakingly beautiful and had chosen to wear a flattering but modest light blue dress which perfectly matched her eyes. Momentarily stunned, Hermione smiled warmly before offering her guest a glass of wine which was readily accepted. Shocked at her hesitation, she reminded herself firmly that she wasn't attracted to women in the slightest and Fleur's Veela charm must simply be working overtime. And besides, it's rude to ogle one's guests, albeit accidentally.
Four glasses later, and her confusing reaction to Fleur had been well forgotten. Laughing endlessly at the most mundane anecdotes, she found herself to be having fun for the first time in a while. Fleur too, had perked up considerably, having briefly related to her a story of her almost losing her job at Gringots. The young witch had found her control over her life slipping and had managed to be late a number of times before being brought before her superiors. She had taken the meeting as a sign that she needed to try and sort herself out, though how, she had no idea at all. Hermione was relieved at the determination the slightly older witch had shown when she retold her story, and told her that she would be there for her whenever she needed her. Now though, they were thoroughly drunk and had descended to the inevitable stage of manic giggling. She had just finished retelling, for the third time, the tale of a disastrous date with a former Hogwarts Quidditch player, at the end of which she ended up pouring a glass of butterbeer over his head after his hands wandered for the fifth time without her permission.
"Ermione, wizards, they do not understand me, I think, per'aps I may 'ave to try witches again!" she lilted melodically in her broad French accent, giggling maniacally to herself. Focussing with a start, Hermione straightened herself up from her lounging position on the couch, now decidedly more interested in the drunken Frenchwoman's ramblings.
"Hang on Fleur, what exactly do you mean by 'again'?" She asked, shock evident in her voice.
"Mon ami, it is simple, non? At Beauxbatons there were many beautiful witches, it is only natural non? Though you English are so … reserved, I thought per'aps it would be easier to court only wizards 'ere."
"Wow Fleur, I didn't know. I guess I just never asked. I certainly wouldn't be one to hold it against you though." Hermione replied, eager to reassure her friend.
"Oui, as I thought 'ermione, you are a most uncommon witch. Per'aps it is time to try witches once again. They are, after all, more resistant to my... charms, and I might actually be able to speak to a human, not a bumbling, blushing moron" She replied, a slightly bitter tone at the end, clearly frustrated with her lack of success at finding a partner somewhat resistant to her Veela thrall. Nodding in agreement, Hermione topped up their glasses, smiling and humming along as a song from the Weird Sisters came on the radio. Soon, serious topics forgotten, both witches were drunkenly dancing and singing along in an impromptu karaoke session before collapsing almost on top of each other on the couch. Tiredly, Fleur yawned, before nestling into Hermione and hugging her tightly.
"Ermione, I do not think I can apparate safely, per'aps I could sleep on your couch tonight?"
"Don't be silly Fleur, my bed is big enough for two if you don't mind sharing, and far more comfortable. Just stay in my room tonight."
"You are too kind mon ami, it will be like old times!" The Frenchwoman replied happily, smiling widely.
Getting up wearily, they each prepared for sleep, before heading upstairs and settling into Hermione's king sized bed. Not one to withhold affection, Fleur kissed Hermione briefly on each cheek in the traditional French fashion, not noticing the slight blush that heated her friend's cheeks before falling into a deep slumber. Hermione lay awake, confused at her reaction to the most innocent of expressions. Attributing it to alcohol, she settled into an uneasy sleep.
She awoke as the first rays of dawn filtered through her curtains, noticing that in their sleep, they had moved closer. Fleur's right hand was laying across her midsection, her silky blonde hair draped partially over her shoulder and the Frenchwoman's hot breath was barely tickling her ear. She tensed with this realisation, starkly reminded of her explicit dream a few days before. Her sudden movement drawing the attention of the still unconscious Fleur, causing her to readjust and unknowingly move her arm slightly higher, gently brushing the underside of Hermione's breasts. The touch felt electric to Hermione. She lost the ability to breathe and lay, eyes wide, in the warm embrace of her friend. Within a few moments, the blonde had adjusted herself again, sleepily oblivious to the plight of the younger woman beside her. Once again admonishing herself for her silliness, Hermione closed her eyes, though further sleep would prove to be elusive.
