A second chapter?! it only took me like...forever to update. hope you enjoy!

And, no, I still don't own Harry Potter. Mores the pity.

I choked back a sob as I crumpled the letter in my hand before hurling it towards the opposite wall with as much force as I could manage, watching with watery eyes as it drifted to the floor. How dare she tell me these things, these beautiful, horrible things and then just…just…I groaned aloud, my fist connecting hard with the top of my desk. It wasn't fair of her to tell me that she wanted, that she needed, this, me, us.

I told myself that there was no us, not really. That she was drawn in as so many others had been before her. After all, I'd always possessed a sort of magnetism; I could enter a room and have a dozen proposals before I'd reached the center. That was the gift my Veela ancestry had given me: a siren's call that whispered from my very core and fell always upon receiving ears.

But I knew that was a lie; she'd been different from the start. From the moment our eyes met across the Great Hall…I groaned again, this time in response to the words of her letter that had etched themselves into the walls of my mind. Could I not be free of her even in my own thoughts? Was nowhere safe?

I cursed aloud, the sound of my mother tongue spoken with the biting edge of tears making my already sour mood turn darker still.

"Fleur? Are you alright?" a voice asked from beyond the door, Claire's by the sound.

I nodded, clearing my throat. "I'm fine,"

"Are you sure? I heard…well…" she trailed off, unsure, and I nearly groaned again. The others were always so damned hesitant around me, as though they were half-afraid I would rear back and bare fangs. She had never treated me like that and she had reason! In fact, she was one of the only people who'd ever treated me like…like I wasn't special. And, oddly enough, it made me feel so.

"Fleur?"

"Leave me be!" I cried suddenly, surprising even myself with the ferocity in my tone.

I opened my mouth to apologize but closed it again, realizing that I was far too preoccupied to deal with that now. Besides, those words would come easier with the presence of the sun which would dispel my personal rain cloud with or without my consent.

Right now I needed to focus, to come up with a way to explain the words that were unfamiliar to my tongue even when spoken in my own language. I had no idea how to explain the beating of my own heart, least of all to her, the one it was now beating for.

I ran a hand through my hair, and sighed forlornly as I sank back into my chair. My reflection stared back at me, showing me a girl I barely recognized. This pitiful slip of a girl with bleary eyes and tear-stained cheeks couldn't be me. Not Fleur Delacour, the one chosen as Beauxbatons champion, the one who outsmarted a great dragon?

I pushed away from the mirror, tired of the truth I saw in my eyes. I didn't know how I felt about her, about what we did, what we were. Or maybe I just didn't want to know. It was so much simpler for this to mean nothing, for it to be but a distraction from the competition that could easily claim my life. It would be so much better if she wasn't who she was…if I didn't love her.

I closed my eyes and leaned back in my chair. I did; I loved her, was in love with her. I even knew when it happened, when I fell. It wasn't the moment I saw her; it wasn't even the first time I took her. It was our third or fourth time together. An empty classroom in one of the towers, away from prying eyes. The act itself had been fast, hard, and I'd gotten more pleasure out of the power I had over her than anything she'd done. But, afterwards, we were standing there, our bodies pressed against the wall and she looked up at me, her eyes nearly black with lust, and she kissed me. I hadn't asked, I hadn't compelled…she just did it. She kissed me because she wanted too, because she wanted me. And it hit me that I'd never had anyone want me before, not really.

There had been other girls before her and boys too. I was beautiful, popular, and I could take them, so I did. They meant nothing to me and, when finished, I would cast them aside, confident that both of us had gotten what we'd wanted. After all, they'd been compelled either directly or indirectly, by beauty or pheromones…but not her. She was different. In that moment she wasn't looking at me…she was looking through me.

I didn't go to her again for weeks, she'd shaken me so badly. And, when I did, I was so rough that I was sure she'd ask me to stop. But she never did. She took everything I had and, when I finished, I knew that I'd never be able to stop coming back to her because she wasn't some thrall…she was my only.

Dropping to the floor I reached for her letter, smoothing it against my knee. It had been nearly a week since I'd gotten it and every day I spent without her in my arms made the ache in my chest increase tenfold. I'd read the billet-doux over and over again, unable to do anything but rage and sob that it wasn't fair. I wasn't supposed to fall in love with her. But I had. She wasn't supposed to be the one. But she was.

And I didn't know what to do about it.

Confessing my love on bended knee in the middle of the Great Hall seemed dramatic. False. And doing anything less seemed…demeaning. I was Fleur Delacour, a Tri-Wizard champion, one of the most talented witches Beauxbatons had produced in over a century. I could do better than a tearful exchange in a darkened room. And, more importantly, she deserved better. She deserved everything I was ready to give and everything I was too afraid to offer.

I stood suddenly, an idea forming in the core of my mind. I raced from my room, heedless of the looks Claire and the others gave me as I hurried past, and nearly ran into the woman I'd been looking for. "Pardonne moi, madame," I said, curtsying slightly.

"What is it, Miss Delacour?" she asked, her voice booming in the confined space.

I looked around, keenly aware of how everyone's eyes were now on the pair of us. "May we speak in private?" I asked, lowering my voice even further.

Her countenance rapidly became concerned but she nodded all the same, gesturing for me to enter her private apartment. She was the only one besides myself to have a private room though, unlike mine, hers had been so since our departure; I hadn't gotten my own quarters until being named champion. It showed too; hers looked almost exactly like her office at school, down to the large desk that commanded the attention of the room.

I sank into a chair, thankful to be off of my shaking legs, and waited for her to close the door and cast a silencing spell before taking the seat behind her desk. "What is it you needed to speak with me about, Miss Delacour?" she asked.

I cleared my throat, wishing suddenly that I'd taken the time to organize my thoughts before rushing to speak my mind. "I have…come to a conclusion, madame," I said slowly, choosing my words with care. "And it is…not exactly a comfortable one," I admitted.

She leaned forward slightly and only my years in her care kept me from feeling dwarfed by her presence. "Is it about the tournament?"

I shook my head hurriedly. "No, nothing like that. My performance in the final task will not be affected,"

She nodded and tried not to show her relief, though I saw it anyway. I couldn't blame her for it. Winning the first Tri-Wizard tournament in so many years would be great for Beauxbatons and it made sense that, as our headmistress, her first thoughts were for the school. "Then what is it?"

I took a deep breath and let it out just as slowly as I'd taken it in. "You know of my…condition?" I asked, though I already knew the answer. Though it had come out during the wand weighing, she'd known long before that; my mother had made a deliberate point of informing her before I'd started school. And the series of…indiscretions that had marked my record since had been more than enough proof of the claim.

Her eyes narrowed slightly, clearly not liking the turn of the conversation. "What of it?"

"I believe…I believe I've found my…" I cleared my throat. "My mate, madame," I said finally, lowering my eyes to the hands clasped tightly in my lap.

She blinked, her mouth falling open slightly before she clamped it shut with a quiet snap. "Who is it?" she asked, taking me briefly by surprise before I realized I'd have to tell her if she was to help me.

"She is one of the Hogwarts students," I said, careful to gauge her reaction from the corner of my eye. "A fourth year," I added quietly.

"Zut alors," she muttered, pressing a hand lightly to her forehead. "You are sure?" she asked, raising a brow.

I nodded. "She's the only person I've met who is immune to my…thrall," I said hesitantly, feeling my face grow flush.

She sat back in her chair, drawing my eyes from my lap. "Does she…return your feelings?" she asked, discomfort heavy in her words. It was nice to know that I wasn't the only one uncomfortable with this situation, at least.

"Yes, madame," I said, unable to keep the happiness from my voice.

"You're placing me in a difficult position, Miss Delacour," she said slowly and I nodded, knowing that it was true. A relationship between students was one things, between students of different ages another. But a relationship between two different aged students who also went to different schools? Add in my place as champion, my veela ancestry, and the fact that we were both female and it was gossip worthy of even Britain's beloved Daily Prophet.

"I know, madame," I said quietly. "It was not my intent,"

She didn't answer right away and I was surprised to find myself worrying my bottom lip, something I never did. I realized that I'd never been so nervous before, not even when my name had risen from the Goblet of Fire. "Do you…want to pursue the relationship?" she asked, unsure. The ways of the Veela were hard to understand for those not counted among out number.

"More than my next breath," I said immediately. Because, for me, there was no choice. She was my mate. I didn't want her in my life; I needed her.

She sighed. "We must speak with Monsieur Dumbledore," she said, pushing herself to her feet.

I sucked in breath. "Is that really necessary?"

She looked down at me, eyebrow quirked. "If you did not come to me for this, what did you come for?"

I opened my mouth to respond but, despite myself, no words came. Had that really been my intention? To have them know? To have everyone know? "I haven't told her yet, madame," I admitted quietly. "I don't want her to find out like this,"

After what felt like a millennium, she sighed and resumed her seat. "Alright, Miss Delacour. You have three days to tell the girl. And then we take it to the monsieur,"

I let out a breath I didn't know I'd been holding. "Merci, madame. Merci,"

She waved me off. "Go on now; leave me,"

I stood, bowing as low as my shaking knees would allow, before I left her room and returned immediately back to my own.

Moving to my desk I slipped into my chair and pulled a quill from its perch.

Hermione,

I apologize for not writing sooner; please meet me atop your astronomy tower at midnight tomorrow. I have something to tell you. I'll be waiting.

I hesitated, unsure of how to sign it. Putting both of our names seemed careless but I didn't want her to have any doubts about who the letter was from. I frowned at the quill clenched tightly in my fingers and signed the only thing I could think of:

Your flower

I rolled the parchment, careful not to smear the ink, and slipped it into the pocket of my robes. "Claire?" I asked, sticking my head outside of my room.

She bounded over, her face a mixture of worry and curiosity. "Yes, Fleur?"

"You have a carrier bird, yes? May I borrow him?"

She blinked, surprised. "O-of course," she said, moving into her room and emerging a second later with a white-faced barn owl perched on her arm.

I stepped out and presented my arm. Clicking my tongue I didn't have to wait long for the bird to half-hop onto my outstretched arm, though I was surprised by the weight of it. Tying the message around its leg, I pushed my bedroom door open with my heel so it could see the open window, I watched as it took off, its maneuverability impressive as it slipped through the window and out into the night.

"Merci, Claire," I murmured, not waiting to hear her reply before shutting my door and leaning back against it. "Until tomorrow night," I whispered.

"Mon amour…"

So, I've got the next chapter all planned out except for one thing...I don't know whose point of view it should be from. Hermione...or Fleur? I'm leaving it up to you, the reader. You decide!

as always R&R please :D

(It's the only way I'll know what to do next, lol)