A/N: I apologize for the delay of this chapter. Many, many things kept getting in the way, but hopefully it was worth it. If you go to my livejournal (homepage link), I've posted pictures of all the cast, including a new Fleur, Matthew, Gabrielle, Kieran, and Apolline.
Hermione never really liked spending Christmas break with her parents. It was two weeks of unproductive boredom when, she knew, she could at least enjoy herself if she were with Fleur, Harry, and Ron. Her parents insisted that they spend as much time together as possible, but when they were with each other, it was always so quiet and awkward. There was some block that kept Hermione from indulging them on her life at Hogwarts. Perhaps it was because she knew they would not understand or be able to relate, which made it difficult to talk about. Yes, they did care, and yes, they were extremely proud of their daughter, but the moment she began to talk about Transfiguration or Herbology (she intentionally avoided the topic of Voldemort), a glazed expression slid onto their faces and they merely nodded and smiled, never fully grasping the idea that their daughter lived in an entirely different world from their own.
As the years passed, Hermione continued to find excuses to not go home during breaks or spend as little time there as possible, as she was never too keen to sit in that uncomfortable silence for longer than necessary. The summer after her second year she spent an entire two weeks at home before she and her parents went on holiday to France, where, four days into the trip, she ran into Fleur, who was shopping for new clothes with her mother. After getting permission from Apolline, the blonde eagerly invited Hermione to stay with her for the rest of the month in France, before going back to her father's house in England. With some reluctance, her parents let her go and stay with Fleur and her family, and said their goodbyes until Christmas break.
Only Hermione did not return home during break, opting instead to stay at the castle with Fleur, Harry, and Ron. They had not sounded too pleased in their responding letter, but she ignored the tugging guilt in her chest, telling herself that it would be worth it to stay at Hogwarts and get some quality reading done over the break. However, she could not escape the nagging feeling that her parents wished they had never allowed her to go to Hogwarts.
This became even more apparent in the summer before her fourth year. Gregory and Claire Granger had their daughter home for only a month before she received a letter from Ron, inviting her to go the Quidditch World Cup. Hermione knew the only reason they even let her go was because she stressed over and over that this was a "once in a lifetime event." There had still been some yelling and she had fled to her room crying, but in the end, they gave her permission.
The next two years happened in much the same style: Hermione spent as little as a week or two at home before travelling to Grimmauld Place or the Burrow, where she proceeded to spend the rest of her break. After her fourth year, the Grangers stopped putting up a fight; if she wanted to leave, they would simply let her. They came to realize that Hermione lived in a world they could never be a part of, nor understand, and they would only be holding her back if they forced her to stay at home with them. All they wanted was to have their daughter back, but they knew they had lost her years ago, the day Minerva McGonagall knocked on their front door. They loved Hermione, yes, and she loved them as well, but they had let each other go a long time ago, and simply made the most of their brief moments together.
It saddened Hermione that her relationship with her parents had come to this, but she much rather preferred to stay in the wizarding world. The familiarity and comfort it brought her was much more than she ever felt at home. This was why when Mrs. Weasley invited her to spend Christmas break at the Burrow, she immediately jumped on the opportunity. It was either go to the Burrow and spend break with her friends, or stay at the castle and spend break with Fleur, who she thought hated her at the time. As attractive an idea it was to spend time with her old best friend, she decided the former would be the wisest. It was also a plus that Gabrielle Deveaux was staying at the Burrow, and Hermione admittedly had a small crush on the older girl, as there was little difference in her and Fleur's appearance.
It never ceased to amaze her just how gorgeous the two sisters were. Honestly, beauty to that degree should not be allowed, as most men, and often Hermione, were struck speechless when in the presence of either girls. Gabrielle's was a much more mature kind of beauty, naturally graceful and elegant, and slowly adapting to the English customs, which, for some reason, made her even more attractive in Hermione's eyes. Fleur, on the other hand, was still growing into her body, as any other sixteen-year-old girl, and held none of the natural grace of her older sister. Her appearance indicated that she was more about comfort and convenience, always dressing the way she wanted to and not by other people's standards, and only ever applying a hint of makeup every morning. Nevertheless, she was absolutely gorgeous, inheriting the same exotic beauty as her mother Apolline.
Gazing at Fleur, who was carelessly flinging clothing into her open trunk on the floor, Hermione wondered how she could have been so lucky to fall in love with someone like her. Yes, she had her flaws, but as horrible as some of them were, Hermione knew that without them, Fleur just wouldn't be Fleur. As insufferable as the girl could be on occasion, Hermione was hopelessly in love with her, and possibly always had been. Even in their younger years she had been attracted to Fleur and her personality, but never thought to place a label on it until they were older. And the brunette knew that the abundance of positive personality traits her girlfriend possessed was enough to dim any flaws down to an occasional flash of light.
"Don't you have any packing to do?" Fleur asked, pulling several pairs of socks out of the top drawer of her dresser and tossing them into her trunk. She was curious as to why Hermione was sitting on her bed, alternating between reading a muggle novel and watching her while she packed for the next two weeks.
"I packed yesterday when you were in Care of Magical Creatures," she told her as she closed the book around her index finger to keep her page, sat up, and scooted to the edge of the bed, so as she was better able to see the mess that was the blonde's trunk. She rolled her eyes and shook her head when she saw a large heap of unfolded clothes piled up from the bottom, and a number of miscellaneous items haphazardly thrown about.
"Oh." Shrugging, Fleur returned to the task at hand. "Hmm…" She attempted to close the overstuffed trunk and failed. "Damn." Leaning over the top of its surface, the blonde used both hands to push down hard.
Amused, Hermione raised an eyebrow. She would never understand why Fleur insisted on packing her entire wardrobe for a two-week long holiday. There was simply no need for all the clothing she tried to force into her trunk, as Mrs. Weasley did laundry at least twice a week. "Would you like some help?" she offered, trying not to laugh when the younger girl continuously failed to shut her trunk.
Glancing at Hermione, Fleur could see how entertained she was by this. She imagined that if it was books she was trying to fit into her trunk, the brunette would be a little more sympathetic, and that thought made her smile fondly. Standing up, she straightened out the thighs of her jeans and sat down at the edge of her bed. "Help would be nice," she decided, wanting to finish up so she could enjoy her last hour alone at the castle with Hermione. Once they reached the Burrow, their time alone would be severely limited, as they would be sharing a bedroom with Ginny during their break.
Pleased that she did not refuse her aid (for there were many people that would be stubborn and decline any offered help), Hermione took her wand from her nightstand and flicked her wrist in the direction of the trunk. All the clothing inside neatly folded itself, and with another flick, the rest of Fleur's accessories and toiletries piled against the side. "There you go," she said, placing her wand, along with her book, back on her nightstand.
Impressed, Fleur slid her foot underneath the lid, lifted her leg upwards, and watched as the trunk closed with ease. "That certainly saves me a lot of time. Thanks," she said cheerfully, moving across the floor space between their four-posters and plopping down next to the other girl.
Hermione smiled softly as the blonde laced their fingers together. "You're happy," she noted, loving how infectious Fleur's smile seemed to be. For the last week of term, the younger girl had been in such high spirits that Hermione couldn't help being affected by it. For once, she was actually excited to be on break.
She nodded. "I am." Grinning, she tilted her head and leaned in to kiss the other girl, letting their lips linger together for a moment before pulling back. "I can't not be. Get to spend Christmas break with my sister, my friends, and my girlfriend," she said, holding up a finger for each one. "And a proper family for once too."
Hermione smiled but said nothing, feeling tendrils of guilt tug painfully on her chest. Last year, she had spent her Christmas at Grimmauld Place with the Weasley's, Harry, and Sirius; she had been with a proper family, a family that she knew she was welcome in, on Christmas for the first time in years. And it had been absolutely lovely. However, she knew that Fleur was back at Hogwarts, waking up on that very same day to an empty dormitory, with a large pile of presents at the front of her bed, and no one to celebrate with.
"Hmm?" Still suffering her guilt-trip, she realized that Fleur had not stopped speaking and she had missed what was said.
The blonde smiled innocently. "Gabrielle says hi, and that she's excited to see you again," Fleur said, pointing to the roll of parchment sitting on her nightstand. "Letter from this morning."
Clearing her throat, Hermione nodded. "So that's who the letter was from?" She swallowed hard and tried to act nonchalant. "I thought Mrs. Weasley wrote you again." It was true enough. Errol had flown into the Great Hall and dropped a sealed roll of parchment onto Fleur's plate of chocolate chip pancakes; he was the family owl after all.
She shook her head. "Gabrielle hates birds and refuses to get an owl of her own. And you know," Fleur pushed her hands against Hermione's shoulders, urging her backwards, "you're going to have to get over this crush you have on her." Once the older girl was lying down, Fleur eased her legs apart slightly, and slid between them, resting her weight on her forearms.
"I don't have a crush on her," she lied, her breath hitching when the blonde slid between her thighs. "Fleur, Lavender's only in the bathroom." Glancing anxiously at the door, Hermione could hear the sound of water pounding the shower floor. Twenty minutes earlier, Lavender, who had only just finished her own packing, excused herself to go take a shower before she departed for McGonagall's office, where they were using the Floo Network to travel to their destinations that year.
"Mm, so what?" Her lips brushed against Hermione's jawline and she grinned when the other girl tilted her head to the side, offering more skin. "She takes ages to wash." A hot blast of air issued from the blonde's mouth, directly into Hermione's ear, and she shivered. "And I don't believe you." Sucking her earlobe into her mouth, Fleur bit down gently, pleased when the brunette let out a quiet gasp.
"What?" she asked, steadily losing coherency.
"You have a crush on her," she stated, glancing at the bathroom door when she heard the water shut off. Looking down, she realized that Hermione had not heard a thing, as her eyes were still closed and her lips parted. As beautiful a site as it was, Fleur couldn't help but shake with silent laughter. "I love how you always make me smile." Chuckling, Fleur lifted her right hand, tossed her blonde locks out of her face and moved so that she was lying on her back next to Hermione, instead of on top of her.
Her eyes snapped open and she frowned, not sure what to make of the younger girl's tone. "What?" she asked, sitting up and self-consciously running a hand through her hair.
A moment later, the bathroom door opened and a towel-clad Lavender stepped out, dripping water everywhere. She smiled at Fleur, ignored Hermione, and went to her bed to retrieve the clothes she had laid out for herself earlier.
Grimacing, Hermione ignored the dripping water mess and turned back to Fleur, who was smirking at her. "What?" she repeated.
The blonde snickered and rolled off the bed. She turned around and leaned towards the other girl, resting her weight on her palms against the mattress. "You're always so paranoid," she began, her eyes shining playfully, "but you didn't even hear the water shut off." Jerking her head in Lavender's direction, she laughed when Hermione's eyes dawned with comprehension.
Her face turned bright red when she realized what Fleur was talking about. "Oh, shut up," she said, lightly slapping the girl on her upper arm, before pushing at her stomach to get her to move. Biting her bottom lip, Fleur closed her eyes and allowed Hermione to ease her backwards. These were the kinds of innocent touches they could get away with in plain view of others.
"Lavender, I do hope you bear a little more shame when you're with Ron," Fleur said when she saw the other blonde unabashedly dressing in direct site of her and Hermione. By now, she was used to Lavender dressing and undressing in front of her, but she did love to tease her about it, especially now that she was dating Ron.
Disguising her snort of laughter with a cough, Hermione quickly kneeled on the floor and busied herself with locking Fleur's trunk, completely missing the dirty look Lavender threw at her.
"Of course I do," she stated, slipping a tank top on over her head. "I only change in front of you because I know you like to watch." Grinning mischievously, she pulled on her lilac sweater and eased the zipper up to just below her generously-sized breasts.
Glancing up and down Lavender's half-clothed body, Fleur's eyes lingered on her bare legs. "I certainly do." She bit her bottom lip in a seductive manner and continued to leer at the other girl's attractive body. In all honesty, the sight of Lavender's body, whether clothed or unclothed, did nothing for Fleur; she merely enjoyed their flirtatious banter.
Her head tilted to the side and her left eyebrow rose. "Don't tempt me, Fleur," she said seriously, shaking her head.
She scoffed. "Oh, please. I don't need to make you want me." With an enticing grin, she stepped forward. "You already do."
Opening her mouth to respond, Lavender choked back her words when Hermione jumped to her feet so fast that it seemed as though Fleur's trunk had electrocuted her. "We should get going now," she stated in a rather high pitched voice.
Immediately after hearing Hermione's tone, Fleur stupidly realized that it had been unwise to flirt with Lavender in front of her. However, she decided that, for the time being, she would play innocent, and apologize later when no one else was present. "But we're not scheduled to leave until half past nine, and that's not for," she glanced at her wristwatch, "another half hour."
"I told Ginny we'd meet her in the common room," she said in the same voice.
Frowning, she searched her memory of the past twenty-four hours, trying to figure out when the other girl had mentioned that to her. "You said no such th—"
Grasping Fleur's arm firmly, possibly even a little too tight by the way she winced, Hermione began to lead them out of the room. "Let's go," she whispered sharply. "Have a nice holiday, Lavender." Her tone was noticeably stiff and insincere.
"Bye, Lav." Fleur was about to wave but Hermione had already yanked her out the door.
Rolling her eyes when the door banged shut, Lavender reached for the jeans on her bed and pulled them on. Hermione Granger had never given her any reason to like her, which was possibly why she was so content to ignore the other girl's existence. It wasn't just that she was a bossy know-it-all that got Lavender's blood boiling; she was also possessive, cruel, and a hypocrite. If someone got in the way of something she wanted, she would viciously lash out, but then run away in tears when they had the courage to retaliate.
In all her years at Hogwarts, she never much cared for Hermione, and was disappointed when she and Fleur rekindled their friendship, for now Lavender rarely ever saw her when she was not in Hermione's company. She wasn't too sure what their relationship was exactly. Every night, she would enter their dormitory and see one bed empty and the hangings securely closed on the other. At first, she thought nothing of it, as she and Parvati would occasionally do the same thing; however, it became a little suspicious when they hid themselves in one bed every night. Lavender wasn't stupid; she had lived with them for the last five years, after all. Perhaps the younger blonde saw something in Hermione that she, herself, had failed to see.
Only when they were two floors below their dormitory did Fleur speak. "Look," she began, nursing her arm when the brunette finally relinquished her firm grip, "I'm sor—"
"Must you so blatantly flirt with other girls?" Hermione interrupted, sounding somewhat vicious. She glared at the younger girl as they momentarily stopped travelling down the stairs.
Reeling back, Fleur was now overcome with the urge to defend herself instead of apologize. "Lavender and I are always like that with each other," she declared truthfully. Not even over Matthew did Hermione sound so jealous, and at least it would have been justifiable with him. Getting upset over someone like Lavender Brown, a very good friend of Fleur's, was simply irrational.
"Oh…" It wasn't relief that sounded in her voice; it was sadness. She scowled. "Well, why don't you just go and date Lavender then?"
"Because she's with Ron," Fleur said lightly, and then clenched her eyes shut when she realized how that sounded. When she reopened them, Hermione was staring at her, looking extremely affronted. "I didn't mean—"
"Unbelievable," she whispered harshly. "Absolutely unbelievable!"
"Unbelievable? Hermione, you're being terribly unreasonable," the blonde accused. "Irrational even!"
Her brow raised in a dramatic gesture of incredulousness. "Am I?" She began to walk backwards down the stairs, maintaining balance by keeping a firm hold on the banister. "How would you feel," her voice had taken on the same high pitched tone it had back in the dormitory, "if I began to flirt with other people right under your nose?" Spinning around, Hermione continued down the stairs without looking back.
"Hermione…Hermione, wait!" she hissed, glancing up the stairs to see if anyone had overheard. Though, she supposed that if the other girls heard a quarrel on the staircase, they would keep their dormitory doors securely shut, but at the same time, glue their ears to the doors to see if anything said merited good gossip.
A moment later, there was a soft slam of a door as Hermione exited the staircase a few floors below. "Damn it, Fleur," the blonde muttered to herself. "Fucking suck it up for once." Banging her forehead against the stone wall, she rested it there for a moment, feeling incredibly stupid. Hermione was right, as usual; Fleur would not be at all happy if she began to flirt with other people, Ron for example. It would drive her utterly insane if she was forced to watch even one spectacle like that. The Krum situation in fourth year was proof of that.
Sighing, she too continued down the stairs, realizing that she couldn't take back what she said. All she could do now was apologize profusely to her girlfriend and hope that she would forgive her for being so idiotic.
When she arrived in the common room moments later, Hermione was standing beside Harry, Ron, and Ginny by the portrait hole, appearing quite impassive, if not a little stiff. "Hey," she greeted the group dully, attempting to make eye contact with the brunette, whose gaze was glued to the floor. "Waiting for me?"
"For ages," Ron euphemized. "Where've you been?"
Shrugging, Fleur smiled weakly and said nothing. They left the common room and headed for McGonagall's office, where they would be using her fireplace to take the Floo Network to the Burrow. Despite her fight with Hermione, the edges of her chest still tugged with excitement for the upcoming break. Fleur had not seen Gabrielle since the Triwizard Tournament because she moved to England right at the beginning of that summer for a job at Gringotts. This was also the first Christmas they would spend together since she was five.
The longer they walked, the more Fleur let herself lag behind, as she did not want to bring her friends down with her sulking attitude. Even through her excitement for Christmas, her quarrel with Hermione was still the first thing on her mind. When she had fallen nearly ten paces behind, Ginny, who had realized her absence, detached herself from the group, and fell back to walk with her. Fleur knew that the other girl recognized her conflicting emotions…not as though it were a difficult task; she made no effort to hide what she was feeling at that moment, not particularly caring what people thought.
"What's wrong, Fleur?" she asked gently, touching the blonde's arm lightly. Immediately, Fleur glanced at the back of Hermione's head, and Ginny nodded in comprehension. "You and Hermione get into a fight?" The words never exactly left Hermione's mouth, but Ginny knew that she and Fleur were in a relationship. Finally gone was Hermione's awkwardness of acknowledging that fact and she sometimes even brought the subject up, though she never directly stated that she was in love with the blonde.
Breaking her gaze away from Hermione, she turned to Ginny and nodded. "I suppose that's what it was."
"What happened?"
Remembering that Ginny was unaware of her and Hermione's relationship, Fleur chose her next words carefully. "I realized that Hermione is just like any other girl on the planet." A moment passed. "She's completely mental."
Ginny laughed loudly. "Yeah, she is," she agreed, nodding her head. Fleur grinned.
From up ahead, Hermione glanced back when she heard Ginny's laughter. A dark scowl slid onto her face when she saw Fleur smiling at whatever the redhead had just said. Ignoring the burning jealousy in her chest, she increased her stride so fast that Harry and Ron struggled to keep up with her.
"What did you do that's got her in such a fit?" Ginny asked, noticing how the brunette sped off when she heard them laughing, and was not too sure what to make of it.
"I flirt a lot with Lavender," she stated simply, shrugging her left shoulder slightly, unsure of how the younger girl would interpret that information. She, too, quickened her stride, so as not to let Hermione fall completely out of sight.
Ginny's brow shot up. "Oh?" No wonder Hermione was upset; anyone would be. She wondered if Fleur was truly as clueless as she was making herself out to be, but upon one quick glance, Ginny could see that the blonde knew that Hermione's anger was completely justifiable. "You'll make up," she assured the forlorn girl. "You always do."
There was already a short queue waiting outside of McGonagall's office five minutes later when they arrived. Joining the trio at the back of the line, Fleur slipped in between Harry and Hermione, who tensed up and avoided looking at her, pretending to pay attention to Harry and Ron's conversation about Aurors.
"Hermione, I love you," she whispered into her ear, so as no one around would hear, "and only you. Never anyone else." She made sure she established firm eye contact before she continued. "It has always been you," she breathed out as quietly as possible.
It was barely audible, but Hermione heard, and her expression softened into a tentative smile as she gazed up at the blonde in silent forgiveness, happy that Fleur had figured out what she wanted to hear. It wasn't just jealousy that provoked Hermione's reaction; it was the insecurity that came with watching her girlfriend flirt with another girl. It wasn't very often she felt unsure of herself, but Fleur always seemed to have her ways of unintentionally making Hermione feel terrible (flaw).
Fleur knew it was reassurance that her girlfriend needed at this point; an indication that she was still in love with her. Simply saying it would not do the trick, she knew, but for the moment, that was the only thing she could do. Later, when they were alone, she would show Hermione how she felt. Her behavior with Lavender had made the other girl nervous, Fleur could tell.
Ducking her head, the left side of the brunette's mouth twitched into a lopsided smile, which Fleur found adorable. "I know," she whispered so softly that the younger girl struggled to hear. "I just—"
"Hey, Fleur!"
Mouth closing, Hermione frowned when she saw who had just called the blonde's name. She glanced at Fleur, whose eyebrows shot up in surprise as Matthew approached them. For the first time in the years she had known him, Hermione realized that she had never seen him in muggle clothing before. Though she was reluctant to admit it, he was quite the handsome man, especially outside of his Hogwarts robes. A vivid, emerald green t-shirt was partially hidden under the leather jacket, which lay snuggly against his broad shoulders; a black leather belt, with a simple metal buckle, held his navy blue jeans in place on his waist; and black and white striped, muggle-brand tennis shoes were on his feet.
"Matt, hi." Fleur struggled to keep the shock out of her voice. This was the first time Matthew had said anything to her since their break up last month. When things had ended, the blonde boy kept his distance from her, never speaking to her, scarcely even looking at her. Ron had joked about it in the beginning, saying that Fleur could cause any sort of trouble she wanted and Matthew would never know (he stopped only when Hermione had thrown him a scathing look and said that teachers could still put her in detention).
"Can I, uh," he glanced at Hermione, who looked quite impassive now, though her eyes held a hint of subtle curiosity, "can have a word?" Shifting uncomfortably, he ignored the stares he was receiving from all of Fleur's friends, who had stopped mid-conversation to listen, and waited for her response.
Nodding slowly, she spared Hermione a quick look, and stepped out of the queue. "I'll see you guys at the Burrow," she said, waving slightly. Giving her girlfriend one last meaningful look, Fleur hoped she would not worry. When Hermione subtly jerked her head and smiled reassuringly, the blonde realized that it was okay, and she accompanied Matthew to the next corridor over, where the only signs of life were in the countless portraits lining the stone walls.
Leaning coolly against the walls, she crossed her arms and rested her weight on one leg, flipping back her hair and staring at the pacing boy. Matthew was obviously nervous, and for one fearful moment, Fleur thought that he was going to ask her for another chance at a relationship. She quickly threw away that notion, however, when she remembered that they would not be seeing each other for the next two weeks; if Matthew wanted to rekindle their relationship, he would have waited until after the break.
"What's up?" she asked after an uncomfortable minute of silence. From the next corridor over, she could hear sounds of chatter and laughter coming from the students waiting outside McGonagall's office, but that was the only thing she heard. Countless memories of all those awkward silences between them came rushing back to her mind; she had somewhat forgotten what her relationship with Matthew had been like, as she had not spent too much time thinking about it lately. With everything else going on in her life, schoolwork, Hermione, Christmas, Fleur rarely had a spare moment to think about other things; Matthew was one of them.
Running a hand through his thick hair, he stopped pacing and looked at her. There was a tugging sensation in the middle of Fleur's chest as she stared back at her ex-boyfriend. She had forgotten how attractive he was, especially in muggle clothing. His hair as well; Fleur had always adored Matthew's hair, and right now, he looked unbelievably handsome, with blonde locks falling onto the left side of his face, but smoothed back on the right.
"You're spending your break with the Weasley's?" he asked, his brown eyes shining in the bright torch light. Both he and Fleur looked out of place in the medieval style castle wearing modern muggle clothing.
"Yeah." She nodded. "My sister's getting married to Bill Weasley next summer," the younger girl added. "Mrs. Weasley thought it would be nice for me to spend Christmas with them instead of staying here."
"That's good," he said, continuously nodding his head. "I was worried that you would be stranded at Hogwarts again this year."
Her chest constricted painfully and she remembered one of the reasons she was so reluctant to break up with him: he was always so caring towards Fleur, always looking out for her and worrying about her wellbeing. She regretted that they hadn't managed to remain friends.
"Did your dad even bother to write you?" Matthew asked, sounding bitter.
Shaking her head, she stared at the ground with a hardened expression. "He did, at the beginning of the month." She patted the pocket of her jacket, her normally icy eyes now turning black in this lighting. "Never read it."
"Good," he said firmly. "That bastard deserves nothing from you."
Smiling fondly at Matthew's protective manner, Fleur said nothing. She was happy that she had chosen to confide the events of that last summer with the boy, for he had done nothing but comfort and support her when the memory of it all became too much to bear.
"Good morning, Dad," Fleur greeted cheerfully when she entered the kitchen that morning and saw her father sitting at the counter eating a bowl of oatmeal and drinking his regular morning coffee. There was a thick piece of paper in his left hand, which he held up very close to his face.
"Morning," he said absently, obviously absorbed in the letter's words.
At age thirty four, Kieran Delacour was still an extremely good-looking man. He had the appearance of someone five years his junior, with light brown hair that extended into a series of long, carefully maintained spikes; striking grey-blue eyes, which he hid behind wire-framed glasses more often than not; a strong jaw line that made him look very intimidating; and the incredibly lean body of someone who spent just the right amount of time working out every week. Fleur was well aware that her father was a very attractive man, but she did not much like how often women swooned over him. Still, she had gotten used to the numerous girlfriends Kieran brought home, as she knew any relationship he had would not last longer than a month.
Placing two slices of bread in the toaster on the far side of their enormous kitchen, she leaned her back against the black marble counter and rested her elbows on its chilly surface, studying Kieran as he read. "Maybe you should put on your glasses," Fleur suggested, an amused smile tugging at her lips. Her father was useless without his glasses, and the proximity in which he held the paper to his face was comical.
"I left them on my nightstand."
"Figures." She reached into the stainless-steel refrigerator beside the counter and pulled out the butter. Crossing the expanse of wooden floor, she opened the utensil drawer and retrieved a bread knife. Sighing quietly, Fleur realized that she missed the convenience of magic and food at Hogwarts. While sometimes it was nice to escape and remember that there was another world other than the one she lived in ten months of the year, the inconveniences of a muggle household were somewhat tedious and difficult to get used to, especially in her father's house, where every room was so big and everything was so spread out. Perhaps she was merely being lazy, but was it really necessary for her to feel as though she was performing a workout every time she fixed herself a meal?
"Gabrielle's getting married to some Bill Weasley," Kieran said, placing the sheet of paper down next to his morning bowl of oatmeal, where it folded back up into the original shape it came in, and looking at his daughter with sharp, grey eyes as she pulled her toast out of the toaster.
Fleur, who was now slathering unhealthy amounts of butter on a slice of toasted bread, turned her head slightly, almost as though she was going to look at the older man but decided to quit halfway through. "Really? That's wonderful! I'm friends with Bill's brother and sister," she explained. Suddenly, the knife in her left hand became still as she pondered something. "Wait, she wrote you a letter?" she asked curiously, frowning at the white, wooden cabinets in front of her. It was rather odd that Gabrielle would write to Kieran, as she had loathed him all of her life.
Kieran stared hard at the blonde's back for a moment. After taking a sip of coffee, he picked up the letter again and reread a certain line. "And you got drunk at that party you went to two nights ago." It was not a question. "Snogged a blond fellow named Matthew several times according to this letter." His voice began to take on a subtly a tone of subtle anger and he brandished the letter, flicking it with the backside of his index finger.
"Um…" Forgetting her breakfast, Fleur turned around and stared at her father as he stood up from the stool. He was a tall man with a height of more than six feet and she grew frightened whenever he was angry. The blonde had inherited her temper from him, she knew, and she had a terrible anger problem. However, when a six-foot-three man grew furious, it was much more intimidating than the temper of an average height, fifteen-year-old girl (her birthday was in exactly one week). His anger was not often directed at Fleur, but the few times she had upset him…there had always been terrible consequence. "Gabrielle wrote that to you?" she asked uncertainly, her voice wavering slightly. She could not fathom why her older sister would tell her father something like that and was about ready to kill her.
Two nights ago had been Lavender's party, and yes, she did kiss Matthew Vaughn…to tone it down a bit. In the letter she had written to Gabrielle the next afternoon, after the worst of her hangover had passed, she had simply stated that she kissed Matthew, when, in actuality, they had done a lot more. Fleur couldn't remember what happened exactly, but they had somehow ended up in Lavender's bedroom furiously making out. But why would Gabrielle tell Kieran that?
Taking a few steps forward, he extended his arm, offering the letter to her. His expression was impassive. Frowning slightly, Fleur accepted the sheet of paper. The first thing that she noticed was that the letter was addressed to her. "You read my mail?" she asked furiously, looking up at him with disbelief. This was Gabrielle's response to the letter she had written her the day before.
"There was a bloody owl pecking at the kitchen window when I came down for breakfast. Excuse me for not being familiar with your mailing customs." There was a hint of spite in his voice. Fleur opened her mouth to respond, but he cut her off with a sharp jerk of his hand. "What the hell is wrong with you, Fleur?"
Her jaw dropped. "Me? What the hell is wrong with me?" She pointed at her chest for emphasis. "Damn it, Dad, what the hell is wrong with you? I told you years ago that owls deliver the post in our world. You completely invaded my privacy!" Her face was red now, burning with fury, but also with humiliation; her father was not supposed to find out about her getting drunk or Matthew.
"It's a good thing I did. I didn't know I raised my daughter to be some kind of slut!" he yelled, his fists shaking at his sides.
Fleur looked as though she had been slapped. Never, in her entire life, had Kieran said something like that to her. Yes, he was often times horribly neglectful, but he had never been so cruel before as to call his daughter a 'slut.' "I hate to break it to you, Dad, but you didn't really much raise me at all!" she whispered venomously.
Laughing dryly, he stepped forward, so as he was standing only a foot away from the blonde. "Whose fault is that?" His tone could only be described as one of scorn.
"What?"
He shoved his index finger against her chest. "Don't you dare blame me for never being there, when it's you who's in school ten months of the year." His nostrils flared and he tightly clutched the countertop on either side of Fleur.
"You are so full of shit, Dad!" she exclaimed, shoving him away from her and retreating a few steps. "Yeah, I'm in school for ten months, but you barely even pay me the slightest bit of attention whenever I am actually home. Real mature of you to go blaming this on your fifteen-year-old daughter!"
His left eyebrow rose, much in the way that Fleur's did, and he grinded his jaw together. He opened his mouth to retaliate, but closed it at the last second. Instead, he studied her with piercing eyes, noting how red her face always seemed to grow whenever she was angry. "You're not to stay out any later than eight o'clock in the evening until you go to visit your mother next month," he stated quietly. "Your behavior was unacceptable; you are not of age, therefore you do not drink. What would have happened if this boy tried to get you into bed? The consequences of irresponsibility are sometimes phenomenal." He exhaled slowly and stared at the blonde, who still looked livid.
"Do you honestly think I would let that happen?" She glared at him at him. "Do you honestly think that of me?"
His eyes narrowed. "You don't get it, do you?" He ran his right hand through his uncombed hair before bringing it down swiftly. "Alcohol completely destroys any sense of judgment you have," he stressed. "You might think that you're under control, but you're not. And you leave yourself vulnerable to anyone who might want to take advantage of your temporary lack of control. It's not a matter of whether you would let that happen, because when you're drunk, you have absolutely no control over yourself."
Shaking her head, Fleur averted her gaze, staring at her uneaten toast on the counter instead. Kieran was winning the argument and she knew it. She knew it and she hated it. There was never a time when her father did not win an argument. So rarely did he ever let his emotions influence his words that he had the wits to come up with the necessary counterpoints to win a fight. Fleur, unfortunately, had not inherited this same trait, and often times she lost arguments simply because her emotions blinded her judgment of language. Right now, she felt angry, and her father standing in front of her looking so calm and collected did nothing but irritate her even more. And she needed to lash out.
The blonde was very aware that she had an anger problem, but the only time she considered trying to change that was when she wasn't angry, when her emotions weren't bearing down on her like a dozen semi trucks. As of lately, strong emotion was incredibly easy to instigate out of her, so painfully sensitive she was to the world. Kieran did not know anything about her life or her reasons to drink. She had no doubt that if he was as heartbroken as her, he, too, would have drowned his sorrows in a bottle of firewhiskey. Every day was nothing but pain for her, and she had finally reached her breaking point. It infuriated her that Kieran would accuse her of being a "slut" when the only thing she was trying to do was erase some of the pain.
"Is that why you don't drink?" Fleur whispered dangerously, her eyes now shining midnight blue as she glared hatefully at the older man. "Don't want to lose control of yourself? Don't want people screwing with you the same way you do with them?" Narrowing her eyes, she tilted her head, feeling she was on a roll now. "Lack of control, huh? That how you get all your money? Swindle people out of their fortunes while they're too wasted to think straight?"
Kieran's eye twitched and his lips lifted into a wry smile. "It's funny that you mention the word 'straight,' Fleur." There was a tone in his voice that made the blonde feel incredibly nervous. Her heart thumped painfully against her left breast as all her anger instantly converted to fear. "You see, at the beginning of the letter," he pointed to the paper she clutched tightly in her hand, "Gabrielle mentions something of an attraction you have towards that friend of yours, Hermione." As usual, Kieran played his cards straight and managed to shine a light in the darkest caves of her mind. He always knew things he shouldn't…
Her whole body was incredibly tense as she stared at her father with wide eyes. With her mind as blank as a freshly washed whiteboard, Fleur was unable to formulate any kind of response. Instead, she merely looked at Kieran, terrified of what he was going to say next. To her surprise, he smirked, not seeming the least bit phased by the news of his daughter's sexuality.
"I'm sorry things didn't work out between you and her." His sincerity was questionable, and the blonde kept her mouth closed. "I liked her. She was good for you; kept you level headed." There was half a moment's silence as he paused to lick his lips. "Kept you from acting like the selfish, little bitch you're being now." Malice slipped into his voice as he said this and he took a dangerous step forward, his lips now a pale, thin line.
The counter, two feet behind her, prevented a further retreat. Fleur was scared now, yes; her father was acting frightening menacingly, but she was also furious that he would accuse of behaving in such a way. And anger always seemed to outdo fear. "You don't know what you're talking about," she whispered harshly, loathing the fact that he always knew why she acted the way she did.
His head turned and he arched an eyebrow. "You think I'm so wrapped up in my work that I don't pay attention to what's going on with my own daughter?" he accused, much similar to the accusation Gabrielle made in her fourth year. "I notice things, Fleur. I notice a lot of things, and you want to know the one prominent difference I've seen from you this summer?" He paused, studying her face for any betrayal of curiosity. When she blinked, he continued. "You're angry; much more so than you were last year."
"People change."
"And you're changing for the worse. Whatever Hermione did to you, you need to get the hell over it. One day you're going to realize that the entire world doesn't revolve around you and what you're feeling," he finished. Kieran could sense Fleur's rising anger as her jaw dropped furiously.
"What the hell do you know about what I'm feeling?" she fumed. It enraged her that the older man would be so quick to judge when he had no idea the kind of pain she was in.
"A lot more than you think I do."
And there it was again; that urge to hurt her father, to say something so cruel that the only thing he could possibly do was display some form of emotion that would convince Fleur that he was, in fact, human. "I'm not entirely sure that you do, Dad." She wasn't entirely sure what she wanted to say yet, and struggled to find the right words. "You see, you're like Hermione in this situation and I'm like mum." His eyebrows rose, but he said nothing. Biting her lip, the blonde formulated her next words silently in her head. "Hermione told me she loved me, and then she fucked me over." It was an extension of the truth, she knew, but she was desperate to prove her point. "And you did the same thing to mum, didn't you? You claimed that you loved her, but fled at the first sign of trouble, successfully leaving her without a husband, without any money, and without one of her daughters. She loved you so fucking much, Dad." There was a flash of emotion in his eyes and Fleur stared at him intensely. "And all you did was ruin her life."
There was a terrible stinging sensation on her cheek the moment Kieran's strong hand collided with her face. The sheer force of the slap slammed her into the cold, stainless steel refrigerator. Fleur had no time to react before her father grabbed her arms and violently twisted her around, shoving her against the door. Crying out, she struggled against his firm grip and gasped when he yanked her forward and then slammed her back once again.
There was a dangerous look in his eyes that Fleur had never seen before, and she was terrified. The way he glared at her, the animalistic fury that was etched deep in his grey eyes…she had gone too far. His grip was so tight on her arms that she knew it would bruise and tears blurred the edges of her vision as she stared wide-eyed at her father, utterly petrified.
"Don't you ever speak of that to me again!" he yelled savagely. Once again he pulled her forward and shoved her back, this time letting go of her. A fist came flying up, and Fleur clenched her eyes shut. No matter how much she braced herself for impact, she was unprepared when the powerful knuckles collided into her left cheekbone. Lifted right off her feet, she crashed to the ground with a painful thump, and slid a few feet against the wooden floor before smashing her skull into the bottom edge of a white cabinet.
"Fuck," she groaned in pain, bringing a hand to her head and gently touching the rapidly swelling spot. There was warm liquid pooling in her scalp, and her vision began to blur as black dots appeared everywhere.
"You never know when to leave things the fuck alone." Kieran's voice had lowered dramatically and he sounded terrifyingly dangerous. He towered over her, glaring ferociously down at his petrified daughter. For several moments, he did nothing but stare at her, watching as she struggled furiously to maintain consciousness.
With her entire body violently trembling, and her sight swimming more and more out of focus, Fleur was unable to stand and flee; she could not even crawl. Her fading consciousness was mingled with terror. She had to stay awake; she had to be able to defend herself. Where was her wand…?
"What the hell is wrong with you?" Her voice sounded faint and faraway. With tremendous effort, she managed to ease herself around the corner of the middle island, where she stopped, panting and bleeding, with her energy completely spent. With regret, she knew she had left her wand in her trunk upstairs; there was no magic allowed outside of school after all…
By the time Kieran rounded the corner of the island, Fleur had almost completely passed out. The last thing she saw was him bending down to strike her again. She couldn't even hear the terrible words he began shrieking hatefully at her.
"Have you told anyone else?" Matthew asked, shaking Fleur out of her reminiscing.
Smiling sadly, she shook her head. "Not yet. It's not like I see the man on a daily basis; no need to worry anyone."
"I'm worried."
She returned his gaze but said nothing.
"I just…" he moistened his lips before continuing. "I just needed to give myself some time to get over you before I approached you. You hurt me quite a bit, you see. No," he said, waving his hand to cut Fleur off when she tried to speak, "no; you did things the right way—you were honest with me, you told me how you felt; I don't blame you for anything."
Exhaling deeply, Fleur could not ignore the deep, burning guilt in her chest. Even though she had technically told him the truth, she didn't feel honest; she was a liar, a fake. Honest, yes; Fleur had told him she lost her feelings for him. But she was dishonest as well, sneaking around behind his back with Hermione. Thinking of her girlfriend, Fleur knew that whatever guilt she felt, it was worth it to be with her. That thought process, however, sometimes made her feel even worse.
"I just needed to make sure you were all right before we went on break," Matthew continued.
"Can we be friends when the break's over?" the blonde suddenly asked, looking up at him with sincere eyes. "I've missed you." Shrugging bashfully, she gave him a lopsided grin. Fleur missed him, yes, but she desperately felt like she needed to make things right, even though he was unaware of her wrong doings.
His lips twitched into warm smile and he nodded. "I'd like that." Shoving his hands into his pockets, he stared at Fleur's neck instead of her face. "I've missed you too," he admitted quietly. "You were always the one thing I could count on in this place."
Running a hand through her hair, she tilted her head against the wall, letting the back of her neck brush against its chilly surface. "I'm sorry I let you down," she apologized sincerely.
He shook his head. "Not your fault," he said firmly.
"Doesn't stop me from feeling like a horrible person."
"You shouldn't."
"But I do."
After gazing at her for a moment, he looked away and ran his hand through his hair once again. "I got you something for Christmas," he told her, changing the subject.
"You did?"
"Mm hmm. Should be arriving on Christmas day; I think you're going to like this one. Took me some time to get." Taking his hands out of his pockets, he began to walk away slowly, while still facing her.
"That makes me feel wonderful, you see; you got me something and I didn't bother to get you anything." Fleur remained leaning against the wall but she faced him as he slowly departed.
"Make it up to me when we get back. You give really amazing gifts I hear; a charmed ring for Hermione on her sixteenth birthday?" Shaking his head, he chuckled lightly, which was a very nice sound to hear. "Honesty, Fleur."
Laughing, Fleur smoothed some hair behind her ear. "Where are you going?" she asked, when she realized that he was heading in the opposite direction of McGonagall's office.
Now standing a good ten feet away, Matthew stopped moving and stood stationary, digging his hands back in his pocket (a habit he performed when he did not know what else to do with his hands). "I have to go and check all the house common rooms to make sure everyone goes to their head of house's office to floo to their homes," he explained.
Her eyebrows rose as she thought of tedious the task it might be to have to literally walk all over the castle to each of the common rooms. Fleur did not know exactly where the other ones were, but she knew they were very spread apart. "I'll see you later then." Offering him one last smile, the blonde moved away from the wall and began to walk to McGonagall's office, where, she knew, the queue to her fireplace would now mostly likely consist of the entire Gryffindor house.
"Hey, Fleur," Matthew called.
Turning around, she waited expectantly for him to speak. "Yes?"
He looked at her for a moment, his brown eyes glimmering in the orange torchlight. "Tell Hermione about your father," he stated seriously. "She's your best friend; she deserves to know."
With that, Matthew rounded the corner and was out of sight, leaving Fleur staring at the spot where he stood moments before. Tell Hermione….Chewing on her tongue slightly, she realized that telling her girlfriend about her father's new abusive tendencies had been something she was holding off on doing. They were so new in their relationship that Fleur did not want to dump such a serious issue on it yet. It's not like it was such a pressing matter anyway; she would not be returning home until the summer, which left her plenty of time to tell the other girl. Still, Matthew was right: Hermione deserved to know. It was because they were in a relationship that she had a right to know this piece of information.
Chuckling dryly, Fleur continued her trek to McGonagall's office while wondering how her girlfriend would react when she told her. Not well, she was sure, which was why the blonde decided to wait until after Christmas to tell Hermione. No sense in ruining the holiday with what happened more than five months ago.