Ch. 13 In the Morning.

Fleur awoke Friday morning with the feeling that something was amiss. Not quite wrong exactly but perhaps not right in the sense things not being quite familiar. It was different somehow. It was hard to put her finger on it right away exactly. Different. Somehow different.

After saying goodbye to Hermione outside the hospital wing, the rest Fleur's Thursday was near impossible. She couldn't concentrate. She ended up spending more time cleaning the house instead of grading essays. She did not know exactly when Hermione would be coming over (and what it was that Hermione expected) and that made her nervous. She assumed it would be somewhat late, but by seven o'clock her eyes were practically locked on the clock just the same. It was irrational to expect her then, but when would Hermione come over? When?

And then? What would happen then?

Instead of making final revisions on her lesson plans, Fleur ended up twisting the issue of the winter holiday over and over in her mind. How would she bring it up? (Should she? Could she?) And her eyes kept straying back to the clock. As the hours passed by, she went through and threw out countless scenarios. As the hours passed by, she became increasingly anxious. She could not help but constantly look at the clock and every time she glanced up her eyes lingered on the slender arms. And every time she did this, the small pit in her stomach grew. Every time came the realization that whatever time it was, Hermione still had not shown up (yet).

And it was then that Fleur started to doubt herself. What Snape had said early began to nag at her elbow. Was she an experiment? It was doubtful that Hermione would be as serious as she was at this point, but Fleur doubted that she was a lab rat of sexuality for Hermione. (One did not experiment with their high profile professor, did they?) But still, maybe it would be too forward to invite her to France for the holidays. There was no casual way to bring it up. It was too last minute. And maybe Hermione had changed her mind, had become shy, had become straight and was not coming over (was not coming out).

By eleven thirty, Fleur felt thoroughly dejected and was consumed by a foul mood. Exhausted and sad, she unfolded her legs from her father's recliner where she had been sitting (fidgeting) for the last couple of hours attempting (pretending) to read, to grade. There was no use depriving her self of sleep and torturing her self further. She was now thoroughly dreading her first class, a double period with the seventh years.

As she stood up about to turn the lights off downstairs, she heard a tentative knock on the door. It was so quiet that Fleur could have been imagining it. Fleur had thought she almost heard a knocking before, earlier in the evening. But as she paused listening and questioning, the knock came again, bolder this time. Hesitating for only a moment longer, she forced herself not to rush to the door. Perhaps she was imagining it still.

"Hermione," Fleur smiled weakly as she opened the door, trying to wipe away any signs of her anxiety.

"Fleur, hello. Sorry it's so late. I had this essay due for Snape and then the first years were wreaking havoc in the common room. Thank god I'm Head Girl or I would have never gotten through the hallways to get here unless I had Harry's invisibility cloak and he's using it tonight to visit Ginny… I mean… You aren't supposed to know about that because you're a professor… Not that that fact has really prevented us…" A large exhale. An apologetic, guilty smile. "I'm sorry I'm late." Hermione breathed her excuse with nervous rapidity. It was obvious by her breathing and the flush on her face that Hermione had probably ran most of, if not all of, the way. "Can I come in?"

"Oui, certainly, of course," Fleur nodded and stepped aside to allow Hermione in.

Once inside, Hermione leaned in and kissed her quickly.

"Hello," Hermione grinned.

"Hello yourself," Fleur recaptured Hermione's lips softly, not quite ready for her to slip away so quickly. The kiss was brief only because Goldie was filled with determined insistence to take Hermione's coat immediately and as soon as possible.

Fleur led Hermione by the hand into the parlor where the fire was crackling. Standing in front of the fire, Hermione stretched her hands out to warm them up.

"It's so cold out there," Hermione explained meekly. "I should have grabbed a warmer cloak but I didn't want to make it look like I was going to make a trek across the grounds."

Fleur stood next to Hermione and nodded, still not sure if she was (now irrationally) mad or not. Hermione, however, gave Fleur no time to dwell as she moved closer to Fleur and slipped a cold arm around Fleur's waist and leaned her head on Fleur's shoulder. Fleur shivered at the coldness of Hermione's hands and then moved into the touch.

"I'm sorry I came so late." Hermione's words were soft, sweet, and sincere. Fleur melted.

"It is fine. I understand that it must be hard to get away." Fleur sighed. (And it was not as if Fleur could come visit Hermione.) If this was to happen again, however, and she hoped it would, the system would have to be revised.

Somehow their conversations led Fleur and Hermione into the bedroom where the two girls sat on the bed, up against the headboard, holding each other. Simply enjoying the warmth, the feel of each other's bodies and how they fit together.

"With veelas, even part veelas, it is not the same as with other wizards I imagine. We are raised differently, where gender—at least in terms of love—is not as significant. I mean you must understand that we do not grow up in isolation. We witness the norms, the social constructs, the assumptions, the beliefs, mais…" Fleur shrugged. "The veela culture is more accepting as long as it is a genuine and authentic love," Fleur tried to explain, looking at her ceiling as she spoke, carefully choosing her words. "In Veela, we have no words for gay, straight, or any of that. Or this, really. Only for real love or… I suppose one could translate it into something along the lines of shallow love, infatuation or practice love perhaps." Fleur sighed

"I think, for me, I always knew. In some way. But I was scared. And always looked in the other direction." Hermione bit her lip, her brow furrowed. "I wanted so hard to like Ron," (Ron. Again.) "but last year when he was with Lavender-…"

"Wait, I thought Lavender-…" Fleur furrowed her brow in confusion and looked at Hermione.

"She was trying to hide it. She was secretly with Parvati for most of the time. Believe me, it has caused so many problems," Hermione groaned with frustration. Apparently she was privy to hearing or witnessing a fair amount of these resulting problems. "I think that's partly while Padma is a bit weary of Lavender. Lavender just says it's because Parvati has commitment issues, but I think she knows better."

"Hermione?"

"Yes?"

"We were talking about you." (And Ron.)

"You interrupted. I was clarifying!"

"I only required a brief moment of clarification. You are now officially avoiding the subject."

"I am not!"

"Hermione, you're absolutely adorable when you get flustered. But you were telling me what happened when Monsieur Weasley dated Lavender last year." (And how it related back to Hermione.)

"Well, I was just so… jealous. And I didn't know where all this jealousy came from. It was all so very confusing." Hermione's face scrunched up in an unbearably cute expression. It was evident she was not used to the level and kind of confusion that this jealousy had caused. "Every time I saw them together, or heard about the two of them, I just… But some part of me knew it wasn't because of Ron. Even though I wanted it to be, knew it should be that way. I wasn't jealous of Lavender for being with Ron but…" Hermione exhaled. It was becoming obvious that Fleur was probably the first person Hermione had told this to. "And it took me a really long time to realize that it was Lavender. I mean, I was jealous of Ron for being with Lavender. Not the other way around." Hermione sighed and closed her eyes, and she shook her head. Her words were increasingly slow and deliberate. She was also blushing a deep red of crimson. "I don't think I fully realized it, though, or really let myself… not really, I mean, until you…"

"So you do not like Monsieur Weasley?" Fleur asked it partly as a joke, a way to lighten up the situation. Fleur could imagine that this was not easy for Hermione. It was probably a lot of things Hermione never had given voice to out loud before. (But she also asked because she needed to hear it.)

"Heavens no, Fleur!" Hermione turned over abruptly to look Fleur straight in the face, almost alarmed. "Not like that, at least."

Fleur shrugged innocently, trying to be casual, but also showing the teasing, the joking on her features. "What? The first years said…"

Hermione flopped down beside Fleur with an exasperated sigh. "You cannot be serious, Fleur."

Fleur turned on her side and enwrapped Hermione in her arms. She closed her eyes and let herself for a moment be surrounded by the smell of her lover. (Her lover.)

"Well, the latest hypothesis presented in class by the third years was that I kissed you in the hallway due to a wayward love potion that was in fact meant for Monsieur Weasley. However, as I do not eat in the Great Hall or spend any spare time with the boy, the switch was never fully explained. They are currently revising their theory."

Hermione broke out into laughter. At this point, all they could do was laugh. Hermione twisted around and locked eyes with Fleur, suddenly her expression one of dead seriousness. "I will have you know, Fleur, that my love potions are never wayward."

"I will keep that in mind." Fleur nodded with mock grave seriousness. "Though I am wondering perhaps why you are brewing love potions. Should I warn Lavender and Parvati?"

"The only person who should be worried is you, Fleur, and that is pointless as I already have you." (More than you even realize.)

Fleur grinned and kissed Hermione on her forehead. "A point for you indeed."

"I prefer kisses on the lips, by the way. If you were wondering." Hermione informed playfully.

"Oh, well then…" And so Fleur kissed Hermione on the lips and the thread of conversation was lost for quite some time. When they pulled apart, Hermione was quiet for a moment.

"What are you doing for the holiday?" Hermione's tone was shy, and her eyes flickered between looking directly at Fleur and looking away.

"I am going home to France to visit my family."

"Oh. For some reason, I thought the professors stayed at the school…"

"Most do. However, there are some exceptions. I am one of them."

Hermione nodded, and Fleur could see thoughts forming and moving around in Hermione's mind. "Oh. Well… I was thinking of staying at Hogwarts for the holiday. My parents have a dentistry conference at the beginning of the new year in America and thought they'd go a few weeks early and have their holiday there as well. I don't have a plane ticket to join them."

"A plane?" Fleur, who had been listening quietly before, suddenly became confused.

"A mode of muggle travel."

"Oh, is that the one that flies?" Fleur did not excel at Muggle Studies while at Beauxbatons. At the time, she honestly did not care. She was now thoroughly regretting it. (The follies of youth.)

"Yes, Fleur. It's the one that flies," Hermione shook her head with amusement.

"Oh, I always wondered how it did that…" Fleur mused to herself quietly.

There was a moment of silence, and then Hermione spoke up again, trying to sound casual. "What's France like in Christmas?"

Fleur paused for a moment and then turned to look at Hermione. (Now or never.) "Why don't you come and find out?" (Gryffindors aren't the only ones who can be bold.)

Hermione blinked. "I… would that be alright? I mean… it's last minute."

"If you would like to come, my parents have already extended an invitation." Which was true, in a way. They had hinted, the way parents do, but had not come outright and said anything knowing that the situation was still delicate.

"I mean, of course I would like to come Fleur. It's just the logistics of it. It's so sudden." Hermione paused, working through an unreadable expression on her face. "Would it really be ok?"

Fleur smiled, not sure if Hermione was trying to politely refuse or was really trying to figure the situation out so that it would work.

"My family would be fine with it. Adding a second person to my traveling arrangements would not be an issue. It is more dependent on you. Would you truly want to come?"

"I…" Hermione paused, and then exhaled and smiled. "I do. Yes." She nodded firmly at first and then more excited. "This will be exciting."

For the next half hour, the two began to plan the arrangements to be made and Fleur sent an owl off to her parents. As Fleur's owl swooped off the windowsill and out of site, Hermione became quiet. After a moment, she turned to face Fleur.

"I don't know how to tell my parents, Fleur." Her voice was soft, shy and meek.

"Tell them what, your holiday plans?" Fleur, who had eased into a more comfortably lying position, propped her self up enough to look fully at Hermione.

"About us. About me. It's just going to be another thing that will distance us, another thing that I don't think they'll understand."

Fleur, unable to hold back the temptation, kissed Hermione tenderly on her temple as she spoke.

"Only tell them what you are comfortable with. There will be a time and a place to tell them. If coming to France with me now will bring unneeded complications and stress, maybe you should visit another time. I certainly do not think you have to tell them now, or have my invitation rush you in any way."

"No." Hermione shook her head. "I want to come. And besides, you already owled your parents."

"There is no limit on owls that I can send. Maybe we did not think this through?"

Hermione shook her head; the familiar look of determination began to take hold of the brunette's features. "I am coming to France. I just have to figure out how to tell my parents, that is all. It just might be a little…"

"Hard, I know." Fleur nodded, remembering the moment when her parents found out about what happened during her first year in England. But now was not the time for such memories.

Hermione yawned. "I'm exhausted. What time is it?"

"Quite late, I am afraid." Fleur spoke as she closed her eyes, holding in a yawn herself.

"I should get going soon. I have class tomorrow. This dreadful double period with this wretched professor… do you know who she is? A French woman. She's positively horrid. She barely knows anything about the subject, is poorly organized and cannot hold the class' attention to save her life. Tries to rely solely on her looks."

Fleur arched her eyebrow sardonically. "Careful or I will fail you for the day."

"You can't," Hermione twisted around so they were facing and cupped Fleur's face in her hand. "I'll make it up to you…"

Fleur awoke to the sun streaming in through her window. Even before opening her eyes she realized things were different. Not quite wrong exactly, but different. Somehow. Different. First of all, she was surprisingly cold. With her eyes still closed, she groped around looking for the duvet assuming she had lost it during the night.

In the few seconds it took her to search for the duvet, she realized several things. And in her groggy mind, the pieces of the situation suddenly came together. First, she was cold because she was not under the duvet, but on top of it. Added to which, she was still wearing her clothes from the day before. And that she was not alone in bed.

Her eyes snapped open and she shot up in bed. The abruptness of her movement woke up Hermione, who groaned softly and moved toward the warm spot of the bed where Fleur had been lying a moment before. The adorableness of the moment, however, was partly lost on Fleur. Her eyes darted around the room and found the clock.

"Hermione!"

"Hm?" Hermione half-heartedly rolled over to face Fleur, her eyes still closed.

"Hermione, we have to get up. Now. We fell asleep. We have class in ten minutes."