A MEETING OF EQUAL HALVES: Where My Heart Lies
A/N: Title from a Simon & Garfunkel lyric.

X-X-X-X

Late August, 1999

Fleur slipped into bed. The night was warm, with a slight breeze to relieve the worst of the stickiness. Cooling charms were a possibility, but she hated to use them unnecessarily - she always shivered, like she did under muggle air conditioning. Or perhaps she was just bad at them. She was more attuned to fire and air, heat - not the cold, and knew that well. Her nightmares sometimes still featured the bone-deep chill of the Black Lake during the Triwizard. Hermione's cooling charms, on the other hand, were perfect, chilled earth and refreshing water. Not that magical prowess was all elemental affinity - Hermione's talent with flames proved that - but it did help.

Instead, Fleur relied on thin sheets and a bewitched muggle fan Hermione had found at a charity shop. Not that the fan had been bewitched before Hermione had gotten her hands on it, but it had been a successful experiment, though not one to be repeated outside the house, as the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts department was now headed by Percy Weasley, who still had a rather large stick up his arse about The Rules. It did mean, however, that Fleur had a fan that wasn't dependent on the small amount of electrical power they had available in the house, generally allocated only for the muggle radio they used to listen to the BBC or Harry's rice cooker, and that she did not have to apply charms which needed refreshing halfway through the night. But in any case, the room was just comfortable enough for sleep, even if it would not come to her. Mostly because of Hermione. Her thoughts kept returning to Hermione.

Everyone in their small social circle knew the two had not started out on the best foot. Fleur admittedly had been a bit of a snot, when they had first met. In a strange country, surrounded by those who preferred to stare at the daughter of the veela, in a nation where her rights were curtailed because of her ancestry, she was defensive and haughty. And she had not performed well in the Tournament at all. Though if the veela student of a half-giant could be properly marked in a British-run competition, she would eat her stupid blue hat. Hermione Granger, meanwhile, spent the tournament desperately trying to keep her best friend alive and dealing with the idiot they had considered their other best friend at the time.

Then had come the war, which had thrown them back together. Her friendship with Bill had by necessity changed into a false marriage to protect them both - an old pureblood family would not be well treated if it was known their heir was a homosexual and she as a homosexual and a veela and French would be either dead or deported. They had told no one in Britain. Bill knew his mother would not accept him, so Fleur's family took him in as their own, as they had her when she had come out at sixteen. The Delacours had tried to convince them to leave England, to fight from France if they had to fight at all, but they both had people to fight for - Bill had his entire family, Fleur had the memory of Cedric Diggory and the friends she and Bill had made in the small, frightened, secretive gay community of magical Britain. If they had to fight in France, it would be too late for Britain. The Delacours had asked, desperate, why they wanted to fight for a country that would sooner spit on either of them, Voldemort or not. Neither of them could really answer that.

The end of the war had been a relief. Within six months, Kingsley Shacklebolt had used royal decree from the Queen Herself to throw out just about every ridiculous law on the books, and started creating a legal code from almost-scratch, borrowing heavily from muggle law with help from several squib and muggleborn solicitors. By the time the laws were in place to file for divorce, she and Bill had done so. He had stayed at Shell Cottage, and would unless his family threw him out and his aunt claimed back the land. She had moved into Grimmauld, invited by Harry after he had heard of the divorce and the reasons thereof. She still remembered the conversation.

"It's odd, but it'd be a favor to me if you'd move in. I know you need a place, and we've more than enough room. It's just Hermione, Luna, and I right now, so you know everyone," he said, shuffling in his seat in front of her. They'd met at a small muggle pub on Charing Cross Road.

"I don't want to cause a problem between yourself and the Weasleys, Harry." She was confused. She knew Harry liked and respected her – the feeling was mutual, and they had formed a tentative friendship between the Triwizard and his time at Shell Cottage. But she also knew how much the Weasleys meant to him, and the vast majority were not pleased with her or Bill right now.

He shrugged, "That's their problem. They were never quiet about how they felt about you, and it's my turn to not be quiet about how I feel about how they've treated you. You've done so much, for the War, for Bill, for Luna, for Hermione, for me, it means a lot. Besides, things with Ginny, they're bad anyway right now. If this is the straw that breaks the camel's back, so be it. Ron and I haven't talked in months, after I took Hermione's side when they ended whatever it was they had. Damage is done, and you still need a home."

She peered at him, still confused, "How is this a favor then? As a test for the Weasleys?"

He blushed. "It's silly. But no, not a test. When I was little, I could hear my uncle's rants from my cupboard." Fleur's eyes widened at "cupboard" but she remained silent. "And he used to rant about 'homos' all the time. Hates them, a lot. I was six or seven the first time I remember hearing about it. I had no idea what a 'homo' was. I looked it up in a dictionary at school, the one the older students could use, a regular Oxford. I didn't understand why he hated them. So I would sneak the papers from the dustbin sometimes, trying to understand – he was ranting about something he'd seen on the news, or read, I'm not sure. One day there was this letter to the editor, talking about how homosexuals just wanted to be free to love each other. And I decided right then that I liked 'homos,' because I wanted to be free to be loved too. I saw other letters to the editor in that paper, ones that were full on nasty, and sounded like my uncle's rants. I decided, if I could help someone avoid that kind of hate, I would. Didn't have much of an opportunity back in Little Whinging, and no one was out at Hogwarts, but now I can, and it's even better that you're a friend anyway."

Fleur looked at him for a long moment. She needed a home, Harry wanted to provide one, and she did like all his roommates. Luna was incredibly sweet, if a bit odd as the Lovegoods tended to be. She'd actually met the girl a year prior to her wedding, when Luna's uncle and his partner had brought her along to London's pride celebration, meeting up with herself and Bill and a few others. Luna had kept quiet when she attended the wedding, knowing from long experience what her uncle and his partner had faced all their lives, knowing that Bill and Fleur's safety, perhaps their very ability to survive the war, depended on everyone believing their platonic love was romantic. She and her father had been publishing coded messages for gay wizards and witches in the Quibbler for years, ever since Phillip Lovegood had fallen in love with Timothy Roberts. Hermione was perhaps the most brilliant person Fleur had ever met, and was also equipped with a large social conscience and a hatred of intolerance in any form, having encountered quite a lot of it herself. And Harry was perhaps the gentlest and kindest man she knew besides Bill. Perhaps even gentler and kinder than her ex-husband and best friend, despite his defeat of Voldemort and ability to fight.

"Of course, Harry, I would be glad to live with you. I can't offer much in the way of rent, but I can cook," she finally decided, eyes locking on his.

"Oh, no rent." He waved his hand, "No need for that. We just swap off chores. And it's perfect that you cook – you're quite good, and I like to do it as well, but Hermione is hopeless and Luna makes the oddest things sometimes – I think she changes recipes halfway through. Kreacher does most of the cleaning and whatnot, but he's not the best at laundry, so Luna does that, and Hermione does the shopping that Kreacher can't. We've got most of the bedrooms really cleaned out, you'll have a choice, but you'll have to find some furniture. All the stuff that was there we binned. Unless you really like a snake motif, it's for the best."

She smiled at him, "No, it's not my idea of good decorating. When can I stop by to look at a room?"

"Tomorrow? I've got some errands today that I can't put off, and I'll need to be home to let you into the wards for the first time. If you have any ideas for improving them, let me know. Hermione's a genius, and her wards are excellent, even Andi said so, but we've been layering and there's always room for more. The wardstone is amazing."

"That would be fine. I did not know you took Ancient Runes."

"Oh, I didn't. But Hermione and Luna have been tutoring me. They say if I'm in charge of wards I should know what I'm doing. And they're right," he grinned, his face boyish in that moment. "Bill's welcome to visit, and we'd like his advice. Hermione says what you two did with Shell Cottage was brill." The grin slipped from his face a little, "And if he needs a place, let him know he's got it."

She smiled, her eyes lighting up. Harry Potter was a very good man, "Thank you Harry."

He checked his watch absently, "Oh, damn. I have to go. Can I meet you outside Gringotts tomorrow at one? Best for me to Apparate you there and then key you through the wards."

"Of course. I'll see you then."

"Great! Till then," he stood up, and squeezed her shoulder fondly. "Stupid appointments." Laying a few pounds on the table to cover their drinks, he stood, and walked off towards Diagon.

She'd moved in two days later, bringing her bed from Shell Cottage, her clothes, books and little else. There was a simple, refinished wardrobe in the room, and Hermione had provided a set of shelves from a charity shop nearby after she saw the large pile of books on the floor. She'd gone out with the household to the local stores in search of a bedside table, and other necessities, over the next few weeks, slowly fitting into the routine they had made. They were good people, good friends, and she loved living at Grimmauld. She hung pictures in her room, and then, as they redecorated, some of her own graced the walls of the drawing room. She cooked a few times a week, went to the muggle markets with Hermione or Harry as a guide, and learned to use Harry's prized electric rice cooker.

It was a quiet life for the four of them, despite their fame in the small, insular world of magical Britain. Harry concentrated on helping to raise his godson, as some days Andromeda was not terribly functional due to a combination of grief and long-term spell damage from the war. Luna and Hermione were attending Oxford. And she had signed up for a fast paced course in Healing at St Winefride's, with a hope of specializing in midwifery. She was content in a way she had only dreamed of during the worst days of the war. They all had bad days, all had nightmares, but in their little household, it was understood and dealt with gently, affectionately.

The night was quiet as her thoughts labored onward, a single candle lit on her bedside table. She was normally asleep at this hour, but the room was still too warm for comfort and her bed was emptier than it had been the last few nights. Strange, how she could get used to a bed partner so quickly, and miss her so much.

A gentle knock on the door interrupted her thoughts. "Yes," she called softly. "Come in."

A messy head of brown hair poked into the room. "Why are you still awake?" scolded Hermione lightly, slipping fully inside and shutting the door behind her.

Fleur grinned, "Because you just knocked, of course."

Hermione huffed. "Of course," she echoed, kicking off her shoes and grabbing her nightclothes. "Be right back." She went into the attached bath, closing the door behind her. Fleur heard the sounds of Hermione's nightly routine – a long session of teeth brushing, washing of the face, use of the toilet - and settled back into the bed. Within a few minutes, the door opened, and Hermione stepped back into the room, pajama shorts and loose tank top on instead of her day clothes. Hermione moved her wand through the precise movements of a long-lasting cooling charm which washed through the room quickly thanks to the fan. "That's better. You're rather hot-blooded," she smiled.

"Me? Well, at least I'm not a block of ice like someone I could mention." Fleur laughed at the slight blush on Hermione's cheeks.

"We should get some sleep," Hermione replied, sliding into bed next to Fleur, and blowing out the candle. Darkness descended, a slice of moonlight coming through the open window. For a moment, it was two bodies in one bed, touching side to side, together but not. Then Fleur sighed, and pulled Hermione's back to her chest, wrapping her arms around the smaller woman, and breathing into a mass of bushy brown hair tied back in a single plait.

"That's better," she breathed, reveling in the feel of Hermione in her arms. Their hands intertwined over the other woman's stomach, and Fleur could kiss her neck where the braid left it bare. They hadn't been together long at all, and while they had been sharing a bed for a couple of weeks they had yet to move beyond kissing and cuddling. Despite their relatively chaste actions, passion sizzled between them when they let it loose. And the back of Hermione's neck was most certainly a way to encourage that. But she – they – weren't read for that step, yet. Sighing, Fleur moved closer to her Hermione, and settled in for the night. Talking could come with the morning, maybe. Until then, she'd enjoy what she had, whatever it was.

Sleep found her easily then, snuggled against Hermione.

End.