I just want to hold you.

of course I'll let you.
the only question is whether or not I'll let myself.
let myself be held, that is.

but how the hell can a simple question
drive the best of us completely mad?

it's because I'm not supposed to question.
I'm not supposed to doubt.
I'm not supposed to speculate.
I'm not supposed to suppose anything but you.

nor am I supposed to act on human nature;
only the nature;
the truth that I love you too much
to give a damn about anything else.

x. vim and vigour

A tender reunion; a joining of arms, body, and, supposedly, mind and soul. However much it warmed Fleur to be in such a dark room with a darker woman in her arms, it was all a joke. A lie. A scheme. She was being fed; fed to live, fed to live only to eat and eat and eat. Devour the power exuding from what lay dormant just underneath the black satin under her trembling fingertips. Of course her fingertips were trying, possibly in vain, to drink Hermione's essence; to absorb something that she herself once had. But what was it? She knew what it was – she just couldn't put a name to it. A name. A label. A meaning.

Without that meaning, there was no point in searching for it. Right…? It was meaningless because the meaning could not be identified. Easily dismissed, then.

So…instead…Fleur only continued to hold Hermione. Glossing her hands down her every imperfection; memorising the form of that which she could only dream about. The form of what? The form of Hermione's power, what else? The woman was commandeering, assured, elegant, svelte; absolutely perfect. She was, to everyone else, as spotless and gleaming as the throne behind her. But of course, she had her secrets. Secrets…carefully locked away… Tender feelings that no one could ever know. Not even Fleur; not unless they were in their bedroom.

Their bedroom raised their vulnerabilities, but at least they were able to connect easily; more naturally there. Outside, there was to be a façade, even when no one was looking. Supposedly no one.

Hermione was paranoid. Power hungry. Relentless and brutal and thirsty for everything. There was a definite disparity with the way Hermione was outside and the way she was in their sanctuary. Fleur longed for the disproportion to tip in her favour, at least for the moment, but she knew that there were other matters at hand; she could, in fact, feel them emanating from underneath her own. Hermione was bothered; deeply bothered by the outside and underground world, even though the Inferi assured her that nothing and no one else remained. Fleur had no say in anything – she only followed Hermione. The reasons were negligible. The why behind anything was simply because Hermione said so, because Hermione asked her to do this, because Hermione demanded that.

For all intents and purposes, Fleur was still, and always had been, a nobody who just so happened to have assurance of otherwise. Forgetting was easy with love in her arms in the shape of an hourglass. But she had no means of ever turning Hermione this way or that to restart the grains from flowing, despite her work outside. Hermione was unmovable, and could only be moved by powerful currents of emotions that she refused to ever feel again.

"Forget the Order," Hermione hissed to Fleur's shoulder. "Forget them. I don't want you searching for them. It's too risky. You're not leaving me. Not again."

"But—"

"You heard me."

Hermione's conviction reverberated about the room, ran down the near transparent sheets around them and nearly fractured Fleur's spine while she tried to keep from flinching. Fleur merely edged a hand down a back curved with more defiance than elegance at the moment, cursing herself inwardly at her slip up. The chances of getting Hermione to retire to their quarters at all were slim to none now.

Despite the woman's paranoia that invisible enemies were out to get her, she chose to always sleep on her throne. Her justification seemed to be Fleur's hard work and determination to earn the throne for her. Either way, Hermione was very good about covering her paranoia, even if it meant replacing it with time to spend with Fleur. That time, Fleur fully believed, was to be earned. Finding the Order seemed to be a wonderful way to earn that time, but Hermione had other plans. She knew of Fleur's desperation, and was quite possibly amused by the whole affair. Anything to keep Hermione amused for an eternity was molasses to Fleur, and she ate it willingly due to a severe lack of options for anything else better to eat at the present time.

"Yes Hermione."

"Good… Fleur, love, do me a small favour, won't you?" Fleur was deeply relieved that Hermione's voice was at the usual, softer decibel reserved only for her.

"Anything at all. What is it?"

"Those prisoners are still in the Keep. The ones the Inferi caught ages ago. I've been meaning to interrogate them, but I've my suspicions that they won't want to cooperate. Still, I would rather use them instead of sending you off again. You mean too much to me, Fleur... I've missed you…"

"I've missed you too… I understand. You wish for me to bring them here?"

"Yes. There are only two. I forget their names. However, their names are unimportant. Just bring them to me, please. We can catch up later over a meal."

"As you wish."

Hermione said nothing more and made to be released from the embrace. Fleur eased her from her arms before watching Hermione curl her body about and saunter back to sit on her throne. Azures watched her in a silent interest, taking in every movement, every jingle of jewellery, every swish of hips with a humble fascination. The lids of her eyes grew heavy; heavy with the very ardour that was permeating her insides for the woman before her.

"Are you just going to stare at me or are you going to go do as I asked?" Hermione asked amusedly with a raise of an eyebrow after a long while of sitting; Fleur was indeed staring openly at her.

"Oh." Fleur smiled coyly at Hermione's enjoyment. "I apologise. You're just so… So…alluring. I can't help myself."

"Not even after all this time, Fleur?"

"I'm afraid not…"

Just as Hermione let out a small chuckle while shaking her head, Fleur smirked and shyly waved good-by to her before kneeling deeply and allowing the marble beneath her feet to materialise into ripples of white water. Fleur slowly slithered through the aqueous floor, careful to not even so much as blink; she wanted to savour every fleeting moment. The desire was absurdly strong for some reason – to always be with Hermione. It was almost…inhuman. Sick, even. But Hermione enjoyed it, and that was all that mattered.

"LET ME OUT! OUT OUT OUT! I! WANT! OUT OF HERE! DO YOU HEAR ME?"

"Merlin Weaselbee, will you give it a bloody rest—"

Draco merely continued to stare at the opposite wall of his dark, damp cell as Ron bellowed even louder on the other side. His expression was one of absolute disinterest and boredom with the triteness and sheer hopelessness of the situation. Neither of them had any clue as to what was going on, who was behind this, or what the point of it all was. But none of it mattered. None of it did. Why should it? They were powerless to do anything. Ron was useless enough as it was, anyway.

Discomfort and uncertainty were the banes of his existence. The food being sent in his cell was exquisite, even if it smelled of death. He was filthy, his hair was matted and long, he was in desperate need of a shave and shower and change of clothes, and he felt as though quite a few gears in his head had stopped turning long, long ago. His eyes had a deadened look about them; the man felt defeated by unknown forces. No answers, no explanations, no nothing for years it seemed. He still felt the same age, but a lot had happened to him, mentally, during his state of unrest and constant contemplation.

He had no idea how long he and Ron had been down there, but he was quite sick of feeling nauseous from the stench about him – the smells of course, yes, but there was also the stench of longing and lust and vagueness about him as well. The walls around him seemed to be made of some sort of rock that was a deep shade of violet, and he had his suspicions about the colour. The walls were also slightly jagged but conveniently thin for Ron's purposes; Draco oft heard the man whimpering and moaning in his so-called sleep. And, for once, Draco didn't blame him at all.

Draco was extremely dishevelled and alarmed by Ron's sudden cease of shouting. He heard the man quickly get to his feet right after the door to his cell appeared to have been opened for him. Draco's cell was soon opened by invisible forces, and he immediately stood and exited to survey what the commotion was about. As soon as he stepped out, he understood exactly why Ron didn't have it in him to say anything at all, including why he was so pale and yet so purple at the same time. So shock-ridden.

"Come with me."

Ron and Draco didn't have time to observe the woman's front before she whipped about and began strutting off at an unbelievable pace. They scampered after her, making sure to stay right on her heel despite their shock. Draco for one had a plethora of questions swarming his mind, and he was ready to pass out from shock or the absolute allure fluttering about her wake. But there was…no time for that.

No time to linger on her beauty, her attire, or why he couldn't find it in himself to stop her and demand answers from her. He felt like he had been ripped back into reality with Fleur's reappearance, but he still had the nagging feeling that something was very off if Fleur's appearance was any hint to anything. There was still the underlying truth of something more that had haunted him for an unknown amount of time.

However, Ron appeared to have a very different agenda and set of things in mind.

"F-Fleur… Wha' the bloody hell is…going on 'ere? An' why're you dressed like tha'? Y-You're… Merlin…will you…will you s-stop an' say somethin'? Wh-where are we and wha' is goin' on—"

Fleur stopped abruptly as soon as they exited the damp Keep and were in the warmer area of the castle, appearing to be listening very intently to something. Ron unfortunately walked right into Fleur and fell backwards, also causing Draco to topple over in his frazzled state of mind. For years it felt like, not a word from anyone, but Fleur had been around the entire time and she looked like this? Draco had to admit he had the same questions as Ron on the mind, but now was certainly not a very good time to be asking them.

Thankfully for them, Fleur merely brushed herself off and ruffled her hair briefly before continuing on through a warm, rich-coloured room that appeared to be a two story gallery. The carpet was a deep crimson, the walls were high, and there was a vast amount of paintings about the walls. There was no time to observe the art, for Fleur was still walking very quickly and had them leave the gallery and into a similarly lit room but without the paintings. Draco knew he was absurdly filthy and felt quite unworthy to walk about such an astute palace, but there was still the burning question of how the castle came about in the first place. Among other things anyway…

After walking through several large rooms that were slowly becoming darker and more ostentatious as they progressed, Draco realised that he was staring just as openly at Fleur's form as Ron was. Purple did suit her well, and he was surprised at how potent her thrall was, even if it was visibly exuding from her in the same hue. The lavender sash flowing from the shoulders of her vest was hypnotising enough as it was. The clicking of her mauve boots atop carpet and wood seemed to be spelling something out for him that the swish of Fleur's hair about her back kept erasing only for the clicking to spell it out again and again.

"I'm hopeless…" Draco muttered to himself. Fleur and Ron appeared not to have heard him.

He sighed dejectedly and stopped his hopeless staring and patted impatiently at his overgrown hair and beard. If he had to be hopeless, he had a smidgeon of hope that he could get away from showing it. The small bit of arrogance and pride he possessed depended on it, even if he was clueless as to what exactly was going on.

Shortly after, they entered a rather dark room with near-transparent sheaths hanging about. The only light appeared to be coming from the golden throne they were approaching, and that glimmer was thankfully shining on the sheaths, furthering lighting the room adequately enough. Draco had tuned out Ron's pathetic whimpering long ago, but he himself almost felt like whimpering as well – there was just something about the room and the…person whom they were nearing. All he could see was black talons on the arm of the chair, but he felt ripples down his spine and rips along his throat, robbing him of the small bit of pride he thought he possessed just moments ago.

Fleur gestured for the two to continue in front of whoever was sitting and to stand a bit of a distance away. Her subsequent gesture was that of a bowing motion once they completed their tasks. Draco was not foolish enough to disobey her, even though he felt stupid for having to bow to some strange person, or thing, who he didn't even know or care for. He really wasn't sure what he cared for at all anymore, but getting on Fleur's bad side, if that even was Fleur making to sit in the…woman's…lap…

Hermione.

Draco nearly bit his tongue off to keep the surprise ripping from his throat as he and Ron stood where they were directed and turned to face the two women. The two women who had undergone quite the change; the only thing that seemed to have stayed the same was the colour of their skin and eyes and nothing more. But Hermione… Draco regarded her evenly, wondering how on Earth she was able to fit into that dress. And what was with the headdress? The talons? The barely-hidden bits of malice in her sharp gaze? Why was Fleur able to sit so languidly and sexily in her lap? Why were he and Ron their prisoners? And why—

"Shit, I'm sorry!" Draco cried just as Fleur whipped her arm diagonally in their direction, sending a powerful vigour towards them, forcing both men to kneel deeply; they forgot an order and paid for it painfully.

Draco winced and took in a sharp breath while he braved looking up at the women; Fleur had relaxed once more, her arms wrapped about Hermione's neck, watching him intently behind narrow lids. Ron was visibly shaking, and it was taking everything Draco possessed to not do the same.

Hermione was regarding him amusedly now while she kept one arm about Fleur's body and another on the arm of her throne, fidgeting ever so slightly against the gold. Every clink of her fidgets along with the occasional jostle of her jewellery ran a razor along Draco's grimy skin. Something happened to his best friends, but he found that his determination to fix the mess was quite…non-existent.

Still, he needed to play along and do something. Anything to not have to go back down there. Hermione looked to be very amused, and Draco planned to keep that going for his own sake. Ron was the least of his concerns at the present time.

"Hermione!" Ron exclaimed, sounding somewhat...excited to see her. Draco swallowed nervously when Hermione ripped her gaze from him to the man next to him. "It…it's been ages! Wha'…jus' wha' exactly is goin' on 'ere? Why're we your prisoners…? I though' we were your bes' friends?"

"Who…are you?" Hermione asked sceptically with a raise of an eyebrow.

"Y-You mean y'don't remember us…?"

"Apparently not," Fleur commented lazily. Ron had nothing more to say. Draco was only slightly stung by their failure to recognise them, but it merely fuelled his idea even more. "Would you mind explaining to her who you are?"

"We are Englishmen," Draco proclaimed proudly.

Fleur and Hermione returned their dubious gazes to him, but he wasn't deflated in the slightest. If Ron had the energy, he would have looked at Draco as if he had gone mad. The vibe Draco sensed from the redhead was enough to fuel his spirit even more. What else was there to do?

"Englishmen?" Hermione deadpanned, eyebrow still raised. Draco nodded fiercely.

"Yes Your Majesty, Englishmen! Englishmen important enough to be in the prison of your castle, mind you. What do you call this place anyway?"

"Pandemonium – the Castle Frozen in Time. It's very fitting. But you believe you are important, hm?"

"Very!" Frozen in time…? "Ignore our appearance, however! Clean, bah! Know nothing of the smell of man, food for the wicked. Like flies you draw them with the promise of ease."

"Right… According to the redhead, you know who we are."

"Certainly, yes! You, Your Majesty, are Hermione. And the one in your arms is Fleur."

"Fleur is my Knight," Hermione corrected fiercely.

"Your Knight?" Draco babbled.

"Yes… My Knight who is perfectly capable of getting information out of you. As am I."

"Your Knight! Your Knight, yes, yes of course!" Draco babbled again. What information?

"Now what are your names?"

"This is Ron. Ron Weasley! And I am Draco Malfoy!" Lying was to be avoided at all costs, even if it was odd that Hermione had forgotten who they were. "We are your best friends!"

"If this is so, then tell us what you know."

"About what, Your Majesty?"

"About Chanel." Draco noticed the small flash of anger that shot across Fleur's eyes. But why did it come about in the first place? Fleur's cousin was harmless. But Hermione didn't seem to think so. Draco had no idea what was going on, but because they apparently had 'information', he thought it best to simply play along.

"Ah…Chanel. She waits, bids her time for the ending, of the beginning!" He shouted gloriously.

"So she is against me?" Hermione spoke sharply. Fleur appeared to be frightfully passive. Very frightfully so, to the point of making Draco extremely dishevelled. But what else could he do?

"Quarrel, no, past deeds, yes, and more to come; her fault as all was and will be."

"Merlin, what's happened to you?" Ron asked quietly, incredulously; his voice was compassionate and full of pity. "You sound like a raving, babbling lunatic, mate."

"Keep your kind eyes. Know nothing of what I do, service to all, Knight to the world." Draco decided to just go on.

"What is she waiting for? What ending? How does she plan to end things?" Hermione sounded hungry for answers, but answers, Draco had none, and he knew he would pay dearly if he didn't keep this up.

"Answers, answers, this and all and nothing, you ask us here and know not why! Why trouble us? Now is not your time to know, Hermione."

"Answers are what you're here for!" Hermione said venomously. Draco didn't dare flinch at her rising anger.

"Here, here! Here is home! Home is near, home is with you and you go!"

"You're stark raving mad, Malfoy, she's gonna gut us," Ron muttered hotly. Draco tried his best to ignore him, despite Hermione's anger clearly rising exponentially.

"Forget about your home, Draco. Tell me about Chanel—"

"As said, the one and the all, she is gone, her sentinel, her part, the one of many!" Draco chattered eagerly. He was trying desperately to hide his nervousness right along with Fleur still attempting to shield her fury.

"I said tell me—"

"Observe her!"

"She's not here!"

"Her Majesty sees!"

"Draco Malfoy!—"

"BEHOLD!"

Draco stood up abruptly out of nerves and pointed south, though Hermione was not amused. Ron would have collapsed on the floor from embarrassment and confusion had he not been terrified that Hermione would make it so that he could never stand again.

And after Draco's antics, their chances of leaving the room alive were extremely thin. Draco had absolutely no idea why he was frozen in a pointing position as if he were a dog on the hunt, but what else could he do? He had no idea what the hell was going on, he literally felt like he had gone mad, time was apparently frozen, and his best friends had turned into evil deities.

"The two Inferi outside will take you to your chambers, and not the prison," Hermione said grimly. Fleur appeared to be holding back another fit of rage. "You may leave."

"Behold!" Draco yelled as he ran out of the room. Ron slowly got to his feet and regarded Hermione in a silent warning before following after the blond.

"Come with me," Hermione said as an order for Fleur to remove herself from her. Fleur did so, erasing the anger from her features as Hermione stood. "I'm quite hungry, aren't you? We haven't had a meal together in ages. I've missed you so terribly much, as you know. Now come."

Fleur watched Hermione make to leave the room, unable to hide the malicious scowl upon her face for only a second before catching up to take Hermione's arm. She was feeling more like a pawn than a Knight at the moment. If it was for any other ambition besides her cousin, she wouldn't care. But something was going on. Something. She just wasn't sure if she wanted to know what it was.

Eating was simple. The dining room was spacious enough and made for an ornate kind of simplicity. A diamond chandelier overhead, a handsome amethyst glass table underneath, and an adequate distance was between them along the elongated table. Just enough but not too much to seem distant from one another, though Hermione was no fool. She felt the distance Fleur was putting between them in their silence and the agonisingly slow pace at which the woman was eating. Food could be conjured any time, and in any combination and flavour they wanted. Fleur was the same way to her, but not when it came to her cousin; there had to be more reasons other than familial ties for this.

The black-clad woman still hadn't returned, and Hermione was suspicious of this. The Inferi only managed to capture two people out of however many she had requested. She was beginning to forget why she had requested them. Looking up at Fleur and giving her a small smile every now and then would not help her to remember. Placing warmth in her eyes when it should have already been there in the first place, always, while regarding Fleur would not sate her crazed obsession with her amnesia. The amnesia was what was making her paranoid, on top of the nagging feeling that this Order, whatever it was, would soon find her and remove her from power.

Hermione watched her elongated nails carefully as she ate her seafood, wondering why she had to be aware of anything at all. She was just fine, ruling over the dead. Being Queen was simply exquisite, though she didn't know why she enjoyed it. She wasn't sure exactly where the thrill originated from. She was never like this before, though she wasn't sure how she really was. Before. Before? Before when? There was no sense of time anymore. There was only now. Now, and Fleur. Though Fleur was feeling off. She was angry at her.

But would Fleur understand that it wasn't her that was doing this? It was something, someone else. It was inhuman; sick, almost, the thrill she felt from manipulating and controlling and fooling others. Something was wrong, but she didn't know what. Fleur was to be her entertainment; her amusement. Her power came first. Fleur was second. Chanel was third. That was how it had always been. But now that the third was nowhere to be found, and Fleur was not willing to speak on the matter, her triangle was broken. She was to have order. Order, routine, and no broken commands. If it meant having one line, one very straight and safe line instead of the other two, then so be it.

"Are you enjoying your meal, love?" Hermione asked modestly. Fleur didn't even look at her. "This seafood is quite lovely. I always wonder how they conjure such wonderful food, you know."

"I always wonder how you conjure up such a mess sometimes," Fleur muttered.

"I'm sorry. I didn't quite hear you. Would you mind repeating that?" Hermione was merely toying with the woman; she heard her well enough.

"Yes. I would. You heard me just fine, Hermione."

"I beg your pardon?" Hermione looked affronted and Fleur set her fork down loudly.

"You were supposed to be interrogating Draco and Ron about the Order of the Phoenix, not my cousin. I already told you she was—"

"Looking for something. Waiting for something. Did you not hear Draco? He knows something you don't."

"Chanel doesn't give a damn about all of this, Hermione," Fleur said hotly. Hermione flinched ever so slightly at her conviction. "She's family. She's third in command. She's our commander. Why would she be plotting to bring you down? That's what the Order is doing, which is why you sent us to go looking for them in the first place, need I remind you. Now stop this paranoid mess—"

"I am not..." Hermione was shaking out of anger ever so slightly, regarding Fleur dangerously who had stood to walk towards her. "…paranoid."

"Yes…you are," Fleur said as she reached Hermione's end of the table. "Don't lie to me."

"I'm not ly—"

"Don't you dare finish that sentence!"

Fleur removed Hermione from her seat and held her gently by the shoulders, looking down at her fiercely. Hermione felt a sting of nostalgia nearly burn her from what Fleur had just said. She barely remembered saying the very same thing herself to Fleur one night when they were having a row; Hermione almost laughed dryly from the irony of the whole situation. Fleur had almost taken her for a fool that night as she recalled, and here she was, doing it to her.

"Fleur…it's…I'm… I understand that something is wrong. But it only comes about whenever you're…gone…for long periods of time. I don't even remember what the Order is…anymore… And yet I know they're a threat…which is why I keep sending you two…because the Inferi can't find anyone worth a damn. But neither can you…and yet you are my only hope."

"Hermione…"

"Yes…?"

"Who…are you?"

Hermione did a double take and looked up at Fleur in sheer confusion – the woman knew damn well who she was. Underneath it all, she was still the same person. She was still the same. They both were. Even if they didn't remember their own supposed best friends, what did it matter? They had each other—

"You didn't even remember Ron and Draco. They're our best friends and you had them locked away, forgotten about for ages. You're acting strangely, too. Besides this amnesia, you're paranoid, and now you're lying to me."

"If I'm not mistaken," Hermione said accusingly, "you don't even remember who is in the Order or where their Headquarters is, despite claiming that you were once a member. I'm not the only one who can't remember certain things."

"It seems to me that you're forgetting everything, and not just certain things. You're afraid—"

"I am not afraid. Of anything! Nothing! Nothing at all!"

"And what of me, Hermione? What if something happens to me? Isn't that why you asked me to come back here? Or was it because you turn into some wicked tyrant whenever I'm not around? It's because you miss me and you're afraid I'll get hurt, or worse, turn on you because of my cousin. Is that it?"

"No it's not!—"

"And now you're lying to me again! What, Hermione? Am I supposed to be your pawn? I thought I was your Knight? Regardless if I'm not arrogant enough to claim to be your equal, I'm not someone to be manipulated! I don't just follow your orders blindly, either! Regardless if we've an eternity together, that doesn't mean I'll take anything lying down. I follow you because I believe in you! You are my absolute! But not when you become something else!"

"Fleur, wait, I'm sorry—"

"You're sorry."

"Yes…"

"Then tell me the truth about my cousin. Why do you think she's against you?"

"…because the Inferi've all been failing to find the Order. She is our commander. She is responsible for their blunders. They should've found them by now. And they only returned two hostages out of however many I ordered to have brought here."

"Why did you want hostages, again?"

"To keep them quiet. To keep them warm. Because I cared…about them…"

"Which is why you prepared chambers for Ron and Draco, even though you don't even remember them anymore."

"Yes…I had forgotten about them until I began thinking about Chanel's mistakes."

"The Inferi aren't any better than the two of us combined. Not even we could find them on our own. It's not her fault, Hermione. She's not manipulating them. She is not against you. Stop being so paranoid—"

"And what if she is, Fleur? What if she is? I n-need this eternity—no, we need it! I remember waiting for you! Waiting for you to return, to come home to me! I swore I never wanted to go through it again! I never wanted to go another night without you! I don't even remember why I was waiting, but…but that's why I change whenever you're…gone. I remember the feelings, the pain, even if I can't remember the form. It's…"

"An abstraction…"

"Yes…"

"Abstractions can't hurt you."

"But Chanel can. What if she's plotting something? What if everyone's really against us? The whole army? They'd kill themselves permanently if Chanel ordered them to, leaving me completely defenceless. Regardless if I could easily kill any one person I wanted, or several at once, I'm no army. I need her. I need you. That abstraction makes me remember that I can't trust anyone. But if I can't trust you two, if I lose you, then…then I'll go mad…"

"Hermione…"

It felt as if her head had been tipped back, her mouth opened ever so slightly, for the sole purpose of drinking the essence of Fleur's presence that she had been sorely missing for far too long. Her lips were fully exposed to the warm barriers keeping the quintessence in quietude, only now coming to the surface to wash away doubts and fears and lies and insecurities. The fervour she felt from Fleur's breaths and passions whispering down her throat, straight along to the rest of her, was complete bliss; it helped her to forget.

Her rage had been covering up the real reason why she was burning. It was partly because of the abstraction, partly because she longed to be held around her waist and back again as she was now. She missed with an almost lustful yearning how it felt to be explored, to be roamed, to be felt and basked in, even if it was all for the wrong reasons. Covering up her eternal problems with body and consciousness united in such a way would always be the best and only solution.

It was the best solution because she could literally taste the solution continue to flutter down to her stomach, setting her off, forever doing its job as the catalyst of everything she would ever need. Walking forward along the spacious room, eventually and slowly and deliberately; slowly but surely getting the chance, as she was now, to pin Fleur against the wall and press more need into her was what she wanted to focus on at the moment. Everything else could be dealt with later; much later.

But Fleur merely sighed before lifting her head and subsequently her mouth out of reach. Hermione found that she wasn't at all frustrated. Not in the slightest. Regarding Fleur with a soft ferocity akin to the look she was receiving was still keeping the ardour flowing within. Nothing had changed, but she found that her feelings were still growing, never slowing; always bringing her to Fleur in chains, even if she was supposed to be the one with the most power. Fleur had powers over her that no one could ever dare attest to; no one could ever dare put a name to. It was unnameable, but not without meaning. It was certainly not meaningless; it gave her life meaning. She was not the cold, ruthless tyrant whenever she was in Fleur's arms.

Cold was not even a word in her comprehension when Fleur was around; especially not when Fleur had her swollen, slightly moist lips against her ear, breathing softly and speaking quietly but still so powerfully. So passionately; enough to make Hermione simply dissolve, just as they were through the floor beneath them.

"Even if the world is against you, I'll still be your Knight. I'll protect you, even from myself. I made a promise to you at the very beginning. Just because it's the end of the beginning doesn't mean it's the beginning of the end. Remember this."

Cold returned to her comprehension, for the moment, as Fleur let go of her as they reached the area where their guests were staying. Fleur merely murmured something about catching up with old friends before she gave Hermione a winning smile and turning to leave. The temperature change was strange; she felt flushed in her face, but as soon as Fleur was out of sight, the coldness returned. It was not the cold of her blood and wrath; it was the cold of fear and loneliness.

Why did there seem to be so much distance between them even though they were under the same roof once more? Even though she could feel Fleur if she really needed to, she still felt so far away from her. Or perhaps it was just a part of being so deeply in love; feeling as though the very foundation of her world was being ripped apart simply because Fleur's arms weren't around her to keep it all together.