Standard disclaimer, I own nothing and everything you see is coincidental.
Oh my gosh you guys. I'm sorry for not updating sooner, a lot of things were going down. Namely, living in China for a while. Like a boss. A boss with very limited internet. There is the other matter of being side-tracked by tons of excellent fics - they're just so shiny! Also, I've been working so that leaves very little time for writing. However, this is longer, sort of fluffy, and new chapter-y! I hope y'all enjoy it =]
Musical influences/supports: The Driver (Catacomb Kid), Belispeak (Purity Ring), the Danger Days album (My Chemical Romance), and like all of Ellie Goulding's work. Seriously she's awesome.
Here 'tis! Enjoy =]
X
There is a familiarity almost like home that each person finds within her friends, a warmth that can only be uniquely provided by such relationships. Therefore, when one has not seen a friend, close or not, in quite some time, a reunion can be most pleasant and comforting. However, the meeting also holds the potential to be quite awkward, especially if previously, disagreements have been vehemently voiced (some call this phenomenon "arguments" or "fights"). A one-sided tension may also arise in the instance of sudden realizations deciding to strike. This latter happening can, depending on how it is handled, affect the reunion to the point of creating a significant change in a friendship. Whether said change is of positive or negative impact rests entirely on the way with which the parties affected meet it.
"Fleur!" Hermione exclaimed, rushing into the living room. She swiftly swept her visitor into an enthusiastic embrace, bringing forth a chuckle from the Frenchwoman. As her hug was returned, she noted a subtle yet delightful scent about Fleur: had they not been hugging, Hermione would never have sensed it. For a second, she pondered its identity.
"Bonjour 'Ermione, it is good to see you again." Fleur smiled into her statement, squeezing just a fraction tighter before breaking the embrace.
"You too! I hope your Floo travel went well?"
"It was ze usual, but I had no troubles."
"That's wonderful to hear! You wouldn't believe the things that could go wrong with Floo," Hermione started, thinking back to her second year at Hogwarts, when Harry had mispronounced "Diagon Alley" and ended up in Knockturn Alley instead. Her mind then drifted to the several times she had had to go retrieve an inebriated Ron from some poor wizarding home, because he had tried to Floo home from whatever pub he had visited.
"'Ermione?" A gentle hand on her elbow brought the younger witch back to the present. Slight embarrassment ran through her –she rarely, if ever, allowed her mind to float away, especially if guests were present.
"Oh Fleur! I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to drift off like that!" Immediately her eyes snapped to the hand holding her elbow, then to the opposite hand, where she focused on the suitcase. Her mind took a fraction of a second to flash back to their embrace in France, leaving only a slight pinkness in her cheeks as evidence.
"Well, let's get you all squared away then! Or are you hungry? I've just been preparing for lunch, if you'd like a bite."
"Oui, I would like zat very much!"
Hermione headed towards the kitchen, simultaneously Levitating Fleur's suitcases upstairs. She had been [preparing a sandwich, so two more slices of bread were added to the cutting board, which was now doubling as a large plate.]
"Is one going to be enough for you? It usually does the trick for me, but I can make more in the event that it isn't enough for you." The response was a throaty chuckle:
"Il suffit, merci. I 'ave always found zat un sandwich is just ze perfect meal. It does not completely fill you, but zere is just enough to keep you going until dinner."
"What about breakfast, then?" A twinkle of mirth danced across brown eyes and into cerulean orbs. A perfect mouth quirked itself into a small smirk.
"Qu'en est-il, chérie?" The joke was not lost upon the English woman, and she let loose a laugh that was soon joined by Fleur's. The two mirthfully let their laughter fade into giggles, and afterwards engaged in simple conversation while Hermione made sandwiches.
X
Fleur decided to take a brief nap after their lunching, leaving Hermione with time for a stroll. Naturally, as if remembering a well-learned dance, her feet took her to the park. In contrast to a week ago, the air was pleasantly chilled instead of biting. The English anomaly of blue skies followed her, with little puffs of clouds briefly glancing by to observe her trek. As always, Hermione's attention wandered to her surroundings, and her mind ticked off both familiar and new observations. The neighbours cut their grass; somebody picked the daisies near the end of the lane; that fence needs to be replaced, it's going to rot out with the next rain. Eventually, her thoughts meandered to Fleurs presence – as is normal, when one has a houseguest. Bill had not been brought up, but she wanted to make sure that the older woman was alright. She wondered if the other Weasleys had extended a hand of friendship – or even of support. Judging from her husband's reaction, the family had engaged in no such behaviour. A snort escaped her lips; the Weasleys were often something of a clique instead of a family, in that once someone was out, they were out. Her better side scolded that derisive thought, because isn't that true of most families? Families were units who were connected, either through genetics or through mutual sentiment (and on the rarest of occasions, both). Scientifically, to ensure that their particular line continued onwards, it would make sense to oust undesirable members. Hermione's brow wrinkled. It made sense yet made absolutely none at all! Fleur, of all the people in both magical and Muggle worlds, was in no way a threat. She was a courteous, warm woman. The only reasons Hermione had disliked her during their school years were due to her and Fleur's relative immaturity. Now, all she saw was a lady who was as beautiful inside as she was out.
Her musing took her to the swing set, and continued sifting through her mind as she aimlessly swung. Perhaps she could get Ron to see what she saw, and then maybe through him the rest of the Weasleys would understand what Hermione saw in her friend. Especially since, excepting Molly, Ron would be the toughest nut to crack… For a second, she felt guilty for thinking of her husband in such a way. Her logical side brushed the emotion away; it's true, though. Both he and Molly are the most stubborn of their family, and when they set their heart to disliking someone, it may as well be a done deal. It isn't necessarily a bad quality; the world needs the hardheaded so that things can get done. You yourself have been known to employ the clichéd "my way or the highway" method from time to time, her Spockian side argued.
Eventually, her mental rambling gave way to the way her mind had summoned her hug with Fleur earlier in the day. As if sensing her shift, the phantom of a shiver tickled her body, causing her eyes to flutter before closing. Her legs planted on the ground, effectively stopping the swing. A deep breath filled her lungs with autumn, making the calming exhalation cool and sweet. It was the way her body reacted that had the memory niggling in the back of her skull, teasing her with something unrealized. Come on, "something unrealized?" Granger, she probably just has sensitive ears. Calm down before you make yourself hysterical over nothing. Acknowledging her sensibilities with only a sigh, the witch slowly began making her way back to her home.
X
Dinner was a surprisingly uneventful affair: Ron and Fleur conversed as though they had seen each other only yesterday, and while the topics remained superficial, Hermione breathed a sigh of relief at the relative peacefulness. She had been expecting Ron to show the same disdain for Fleur that he had been expressing to his wife not even two weeks prior, or something along those lines. It must not be easy for him, she conceded. He was doing the right thing, though, and she was proud. It was moments like this that showed her just how her husband had grown and matured, and that evidence created a nice warm feeling in her chest.
Nice? Is that how you'd describe it…snickered the part of her mind that was usually unhelpfully insightful. Shouldn't it make you swell with pride; make you all the more in love with him? Shouldn't you be aroused by his adult behaviour? Hermione's nose wrinkled with distaste at her own thoughts. She could swear that there were sometimes two people inside of her, one of them existing purely to challenge her in every way.
"'Mione? You alright?" Ron had noticed her small contortion of the face from across the small table. She opted for a white lie; telling him what was going on would disrupt everything, and would not end well for any party involved.
"Quite alright, thank you luv. Just had a foot cramp," she smiled, flexing her foot despite its hidden position under the table.
"A charley horse you mean? Those are just simply the worst. Why don't you stay here, I'll bring in dessert and take the dishes to the wash. Don't want you to strain your foot!" He gathered dishes as he spoke, only stopping both actions to swiftly kiss Hermione on the cheek. Once he was out of sight, Fleur leaned over towards the left, towards the younger woman and whispered conspirationally:
"Is 'e usually zees 'elpful?"
"Not really, no. We sometimes divvy up the kitchen work, though usually I get the lot done magically," was the quieter reply.
"You make all of ze meals, oui?"
"Well, yes, a majority of the time."
"Zen 'e should be doing ze dishes, it is only fair. You cook, 'e cleans. Il est tout naturel." Hermione's eyebrow quirked at her friend. She shared the sentiment, agreed with it wholeheartedly, yet at the same time she didn't exactly trust Ron's aptitude in the area of preparing food or cleaning it. If you want something done right, better to do it yourself, she thought.
"Well, it may be natural and equal and all that, but I don't feel at all under any sort of pressure to push it as an issue."
"Pourquoi?" Blue eyes held Hermione in a curious gaze. The brunette was struck by how her friend resembled a blonde kitten, and couldn't stop the small smile that tugged on her lips.
"Because I'm frankly better at all things within the kitchen, and we both know that. He mows the lawn, I clean the dishes," Hermione chuckled. "A system's been established, and as long as we both agree on one thing, it doesn't matter who does what."
"And what is zees one zing you bozz agree on?" Fleur leaned closer, her voice dropping to an even quieter whisper, eyes twinkling.
Hermione straightened, smirked, and leaned back in:
"It's that I am always right."
For a second, there was silence. Silence and eye contact.
Then, Fleur let loose a guffaw of mirth. It was not a graceful tinkling of laughter, nor was it a gentle giggle. It was a out and out guffaw, straight from the depths of the Frenchwoman's being. Il est tout naturel.
X
Midnight – actually, around 1:42 in the morning – saw Hermione silently padding her way into the kitchen for the slight midnight snack that she'd been craving. She'd gone to bed sated, but after dreams containing rolling hills of ice cream and oceans of yoghurt, her stomach loudly began voicing its objection to not having some form of cold dairy inside of it.
As she neared her destination, she noticed light coming faintly from the room. Probably the refrigerator, she mused sleepily. Onward she crept, not making it five steps before realizing that oh sweet Merlin, someone else was up! Or she and Ron were getting robbed! From the kitchen..? Peering into the kitchen, Hermione couldn't help but smile softly. There, illuminated by the glorious light of the refrigerator, was a pyjama-clad Fleur. A look of concentration and conflict created a cute contortion of her visage: her brow was furrowed lightly, mouth turned ever so slightly downwards in a thoughtful frown. One delicate hand rested on the fridge door, while the other toyed with a small necklace resting upon the woman's collarbone.
"If you want, there's ice cream in the freezer," Hermione offered, making the other witch jump slightly.
"Mon dieu, 'Ermione! 'Ow do you move about like un chat?" The older woman clasped her chest as though trying to contain her heart.
"I really don't, I just invest in Silencing charms for my floorboards," she grinned.
"Zat…makes ze most sense, actually."
"I am usually very sensible," Hermione teased. "I was serious about the ice cream though, it's in the freezer if you'd like any."
"I zink zat ice cream sounds razzer perfect, merci 'Ermione."
"Don't thank me yet, I came down for frozen dairy as well."
"Well zen, we shall share!" Fleur smiled as she reached above the refrigerator to open the freezer, revealing a pint of Häagen-Dazs. Bringing it down, she looked to Hermione with the unasked question: Spoons? A quick Accio later, the two were leaning against the counter and trading off bites of coffee flavoured frozen goodness. You could ask her how she's doing now, you know, the niggling voice crooned. For once, the rest of Hermione's mind didn't disagree, and she put forth the question. A small, sadly gentle smile was the beginning of the reply.
"I am…I am alright as far as ze general zings go. I expected zees, bien sûr. 'Owever, it is lonely, at many times. As you know, I do not keep many close friends. It is difficult to 'ave friendship when ze Veela in me eizzer attracts a person or zinks zat zey are competition. Besides you, Gabrielle, and mon propriétaire, I do not get out much. It is lonely, and it is boring. It never used to matter in my mind, because Bill, 'e kept me entertained. We would go out with 'is work friends, we would travel, we would do everyzing togezzer. But now, 'e is 'ow you say…AWOL?" Hermione nodded in understanding. "I also miss my family, but we 'ave 'ad no contact besides ze letters and ze meetings I 'ave with Gabrielle. Zey were very against my decision, as you know. Being wizout your family is absolute 'ell, 'Ermione. I do not suggest it." The blonde witch, who had seemed to shrink as she spoke, suddenly straightened and a personably false smile appeared on her face.
"Oh, but listen to me! 'Ow loudly I complain! Tell me, 'Ermione, what plans do we 'ave for my visit?"
The younger witch saw the abrupt change in subject, and decided to let her friend's attempt to switch topics go ahead. When Fleur was ready to completely unload, she would do just that. Hermione wouldn't push it.
"Well, it depends on what you would like to do. I have some errands that need to get done, restocking the fridge and all that, but there's a few new Muggle movies playing in Peterborough, if you'd be interested in that? Or we could see the museum in London. The Fens are lovely this time of year, if that's more up your alley," she articulated with a spoon full of ice cream, before sliding it into her mouth. There was a strange look on Fleur's face, and Hermione wondered if she'd babbled enough to show her inner geek. Her friend shook her head, swallowing the ice cream she'd spooned into her mouth. Amusement shone bright in her eyes.
"You 'ave a bit of, ah…" the older woman reached up, and with her thumb wiped away a stray droplet of coffee ice cream from the corner of her friend's mouth. Her hand lingered, and the pure softness of her touch was not unnoticed. The strangest urge to lean into Fleur's hand stabbed at Hermione's consciousness for the briefest of seconds. Perhaps she imagined the catching of…someone's breath. Opting for a different strategy, she instead grinned and took that hand in her right, bringing it down and holding it as friends who are girls are wont to do.
"Thank you for getting that for me, I honestly would not have noticed!" But you would have, though.
"It was no trouble, chérie. I 'ave never been to ze British Museum, shall we go for a day? I would also like to see zese 'Fens' you speak of." The French woman paused. "I would also like to 'elp you wiz ze errands; as your guest, it is ze least I can do."
"It's settled then! We just have to pick a day to go, and I'll get us there. And Fleur, please don't feel like you need to be helpful, you're my guest. Let me take care of you." Fleur put her spoon down, ice cream forgotten.
"I trust you, 'Ermione. I trust zat you will take good care of me, and I trust zat we are friends. I merely wish to be as 'elpful as possible, so zat you do not need to be stressed over ze duration of my stay. You 'ave been so good to me in ze past, and I am so grateful to you. Zees is just anozzer way for me to say 'zank you.'"
Happy warmth spread through the Englishwoman at her friend's declaration. With a tug on the hand she was holding, Hermione brought Fleur into an embrace, hoping to share the feeling through physical contact. Their bodies connected and molded, it seemed, almost instantly to one another, with Hermione's head tucked comfortably into the crook of Fleur's neck and Fleur's head resting atop Hermione's. The scent of the older woman pleasantly invaded her younger friend's senses, lightly bringing forth a sensation of a permanent summer. Whether a couple of minutes or a half an hour had passed before they broke the hug, neither knew, nor cared.
"Fleur?"
"Hm?"
"Just, what you were saying earlier. You're not completely alone. I promise Fleur, if you ever need anything, Ron and I will always open our door to you. You will always be welcome in our home." She knew it was only a fraction of what she wanted to express, and hoped that her eyes conveyed the absolute sincerity with which she uttered her words. What she wanted to say, to adequately get across to the Frenchwoman, was that even though their familial status was legally of the "ex in-law" variety, they were both still family in Hermione's eyes and she still cared for Fleur as deeply as she did her family.
There was silence for a small second, and Hermione wondered if her words still hung in the air, or whether Fleur had taken them into her mind and heart. The response came soon enough: with a softly grateful smile, the elder witch leaned in and gently kissed Hermione's cheek. Time seemed to slow by a fraction as her lips brushed against the younger witch, whose mind hiccupped at the combination of Fleur-scent and lip contact. She felt her face go warm as tingles shot up and down her spine. After the French witch pulled away, Hermione could still swear she felt those lips pressing themselves firmly against her cheekbone.
"Merci beaucoup, chérie." was whispered into a stunned ear. As if a phantom, Fleur was suddenly gone, leaving only a spoon as evidence of her previous presence.
X
Oh man, moving the plot forward one glacial step at a time! Thoughts?