A/N: This is short and angsty. On a positive note, Happy Spring!


It was Hermione's subtle pining for Ron Weasley that taught Fleur how to want quietly from a distance. Trusting Hermione to keep her pattern of longing from afar, Fleur knew all she had to do was not do anything. The veela had seen Hermione's muggle photographs that never moved—people in stasis like Hermione's yearnings and now like Fleur's too.

They were forced to meet later and later into the night because of the tournament. But both witches didn't want to give it up—Fleur, because Dumbledore made her realize that soon enough she will be gone from Hogwarts. For Hermione, Fleur could only guess the witch was driven by her constant unmet want—agitating and stirring under the surface as it also did for her.

Fleur's tired eyes would meet Hermione's inquisitive, passionate stares. At any moment Fleur could touch the girl's cheek if she wanted. She knew Hermione's soft skin would gladly press into her palm. Their lips could meet—nervousness turning to eagerness, leading finally to the expansion felt in moments of love. But Fleur never reached to touch her cheeks. Nor did she kiss Hermione's ever-waiting lips.

On these nights when Hermione sought Fleur's eyes and arms for closeness, the veela felt keenly her confused emotions around the witch—a profound love mixed with a paralyzing fear of losing her identity. Ever since Fleur awakened into her skin at the Yule Ball, she ached for the brown-eyed witch. Uncomfortably parallel to that ache was Fleur's desperate want to know who she was outside of Hermione. This wish became a deeper need than her longing for love. It was what created the gulf between them—the separation Hermione must have sensed whenever they met.

The chasm was there after the Second Task when Hermione comforted Fleur with understanding and tight hugs—the young witch tried to bridge the gap the between them with kind words and touch. So late into the night they sat together, hands tenderly entwined. Eventually the dark around them turned to dawn. As the sunrise reached their faces, they stared at each other in the gold-pink hue of morning—helpless to stop themselves.

"Fleur," Hermione finally said in a sighing whisper, her eyes passing over the veela's lips.

Fleur almost gave in to the sound of her name and the sight of Hermione looking at her with such exposed want. But the fear of losing herself leaped in her chest, forcing her to break the spell that had locked their eyes and hands on each other for far too long. Fluer moved her eyes to the window. She didn't want to see Hermione's disappointment at her words.

"I should get back before Madame Maxime notices."

"Okay," Hermione replied, discontent clear in her voice.

Sometimes when Fleur was alone, she would picture Hermione as she was in the golden light of sunrise. No matter what, the sun would always come. But Fleur knew their nights together wouldn't. Soon all the years of hard work would have to be enough to fight against Voldemort's twisted darkness. She hoped and prayed she would be at Hermione's side when the time came.