Author's Note: This was fun to write, as it felt fresh and almost like a new story altogether; getting to retell their past. It's broken into two parts. I hope you enjoy as it's a touch longer than my usual chapters. Not by too much though.

It hadn't occurred to her that as she stumbled along that old cobblestone path, marching through the sludge of the rain and the hills of buildings that surrounded her, that on record that morning had to have been the most dreadful of mornings to date.

Fleur scuffed her mud stained boot in a huff. Portraying with each stomping footstep the contempt she had felt bubbling within her. Bundled in her arms rest a crumpled heap of binders and envelopes. Her scribbled application sitting dampened and smudged; a permanent reminder that her hopes to become a teacher were as fruitless as Gabrielle's childhood dreams of becoming an astronaut.

Her interview, or rather her interrogation, had been as pleasant and promising as her mother's appalling disgust that she pursuit a profession in education altogether. Of course, as she considered the comparison, Fleur imagined her mother's delight at the thought of her interview going poorly.

It wasn't the first puddle she'd found herself in, but Fleur's boot sloshed through a stream of wet and unpleasantness as she grumbled. Regretting her choice in attire, she glanced at her fair and humble dress. Such a dress, that had sense been drenched in mud as she strolled towards her loft.

In her inner monologue of doubt and misfortune, it was as she strode towards her tram that she had missed a step along the path. In a hiss, Fleur's knees scraped against cement; much to her displeasure a splotch of red coming to blend in with her already stained dress. Her purse having scattered in the process, along with her binders and that damned retched application as the wind around her decided to soar and with it her papers as well as Fleur withheld her screams. However she could withhold her feelings on the matter as she sighed.

Ignoring a hoard of children and their laughter she pushed herself to her feet. "Putain!" she grumbled. Their chortled proclamations sifting around her at such an expression, and with a breath of disdain Fleur clenched her teeth and marched forward. In her marches more than grateful that the loft was a flight of stairs and a lock away from her as she proceeded to stomp. Remembering then the hole in her boot as the left squished in response. Her toes cold and as miserable as she felt as proceeded up the stairwell and hummed a string of curses as she went.

It wasn't long, though to Fleur it had seemed to stretch on for hours, but at last she had stepped into the warmth of her loft, and as she shrugged off her boots and stared angrily at the umbrella she had left behind that morning, she sighed.

"Oh, but don't you bring the sunshine with you as you come," commented Hermione. Her amusement there in the trace of her tone, but Fleur wasn't having it as she shrugged off her thin and ruined sweater and stormed for her bedroom. "Should I bother to ask about the interview then?" Hermione called. Fleur glancing at her as she passed, the glare in retort more than telling that she most certainly she should not as she bounded towards the hall. Near to hissing at Crookshanks herself as the cat's hairs stood on end at her presence.

Hermione remained seated against the windowsill. Rather meticulous as she sat, a leg brought to her chest as she focused her attention on the polish of her brush as she painted her toes. "I set a plate out for you if you're hungry," she hummed, and Fleur's muffled response was that she was not as she sought for the clasp of her dress.

Hermione hadn't seemed to grasp quite the level of her frustrations as she then sang in question. "Did you remember to stop for tea on your way home? I told you this morning that we're out."

Fleur had not even half scurried out of her dress as then hurried from her bedroom. Her hand clutching a change of clothes as she shuffled, a most furious expression lightening her countenance as she glared. "You told me nothing of the sort, Hermione!" she proclaimed. Hermione had jumped, surprised at her exasperation.

Pouting at the smudge that now dressed her big toe, Hermione plopped the brush into its container; tightening the lid as she sought for the polish remover for a second attempt. "Oh, a thousands pardons, milady. I didn't realize I was conversing with the bloody queen of England," Hermione strained. Not altogether used to Fleur's sudden change in temperament as she pinched a piece of cotton and dabbed it with alcohol. "Plus, if you do recall, I had written it on your palm before you left as I'm well aware how absent minded you are, and how frequent your hand comes to freshen your makeup."

"I was more than certain you'd see it."

Fleur laughed, though it was not a laugh that spurted its good intentions, as malice dripped from her tongue. Her aggressions not meant to be directed at Hermione. It was not, after all, Hermione that had regretfully informed her that the job opening was not a right fit for her as it seemed. It was not Hermione that had forgotten her umbrella, and it was not Hermione that had ruined her dress or scraped her knee.

It was not Hermione in the slightest, but regardless it was Hermione standing there nonetheless as Fleur sighed. "If you had the hopes for tea and crumpets than you should have stopped for yourself, Hermione," she replied, and Hermione's prompt scoff in return was more than called for as she stepped from the windowsill and craned her head incredulous at the blonde that stood before her.

"Oh that's rich," Hermione stammered. "I'll be sure to remember those words come the time you're in the mood for something amiss in our cabinets," hissed Hermione. Her complexion flushed as her own newfound anger pounded in her chest. "Honestly if it was such a chore for you, than you shouldn't have agreed to it in the first place."

Fleur scoffed, her intentions being to mimic the brunette that stood a near breath apart from her as she sighed. "You are most intolerable, 'Ermione," she professed, and Hermione's brow had risen considerably as with Fleur's aggressions her accent had thickened as she fumed. "I have had a 'orrid morning, and it was because of your damned insistence that I have ruined this outfit!" Fleur expressed. In the motion her hand motioning to her purse as she cried, "not only that but I was half an 'our late to my interview, and if you must know, I had not forgotten your tea, as I treaded for three blocks in the rain for it!" Fleur finished, and it was Hermione's answer that infuriated her most as the brunette huffed.

"It's not my fault that you neglect to hear the morning forecast, Fleur, and if you had remembered the tea, then why didn't you just tell me that from the start."

Fleur sighed, her hands coming to scrape at her scalp as she wished more than anything for this entire day to diminish before her eyes. It was Hermione's murmur that had her vehement, however, as the brunette rolled her eyes. "It figures you'd place the blame on me rather than accept it yourself, like an understanding and grown woman."

Fleur spun around, intending to hide in her bedroom, and seep into her duvet. However as she spun, a hand spun her back as Hermione's eyes a most prominent shade hue, had focused on her own in a glare. "No, you don't get to stand there and shout your opinions, only to run from them the second it doesn't go your way," she demanded. Fleur had hoped to steer from her grasp, though Hermione held firm as she sighed. "If you're going to point fingers at me to better your mood, Fleur, then so be it, but at least have the gall to finish it."

"I do not wish to fight with you, Hermione, let me go," Fleur whispered, her voice coarse and broken as she hung her head.

In their frustration, the both of them still were alight in adrenaline, though even as it pumped between them Fleur was exhausted. She hadn't wished to argue, and not with Hermione of all people, but her anger had gotten the best of her and it had still yet to simmer. Then there was also Hermione herself, whom was not one to stand down from a fight as her talons stretched in anticipation. Her hair had fallen in wisps around her eyes, crowning against her face with a most discernable scowl. It was not befitting of such a beautiful woman as Hermione, and Fleur was conflicted that she had placed it there to begin with.

"S'il te plait, Hermione," she had pleaded, but it was said and done, and that scowl aligning her lips was far from readied to wander from Hermione's pursed mouth as her fist tightened.

"Fleur, you and I both know that you've been chomping at the bit over something for weeks now," Hermione retorted. "You've been upset at me, and for what, I haven't a clue, but if you're going to have a go at me for something as ridiculous as this then you'll stand there and—"

"Je t'aime, Hermione."

Fleur hadn't meant for it to happen. Not the arguments; the petty back and forth, but it had happened. Fleur hadn't meant for it, and neither had she meant to shush her roommate as she had. Her mouth coming to meet hers, a plight against the curse likely to have fallen from those lips no doubt, as she then pushed her against the wall.

Hermione whimpered against her, her teeth nibbling at Fleur's mouth as she stifled on her words. Neither of them remembering the point of their argument, though in honesty there wasn't one. It was a flustered and weakened moment, a stir of emotions that seemed to match to the quiver in Hermione's stance or the tremor in Fleur's hands as she held her up and lifted the hem of her skirt. It had all blended together, in anger and lust and more than surprising the act itself, was Hermione's response.

In one fluid motion it was suddenly not Hermione pressed against the wall, but Fleur. Her dress still hanging off her frame but as fingers tugged it was made rid of as Hermione's foot shoved her legs apart. In her press for dominance her nails scraped against her flesh. Her mouth suckling, nibbling in possession as she moaned.

Fleur had whimpered the phrase again. For all the weeks that she had hid it; that she had hidden from Hermione, it was but those three words that had brought it all to the surface. Her mind suddenly far from applications and a dreary raining morning, but more attentive to the hand that teased and slipped through her panties instead as her hands braced against the wall. Her knees trembling but the scrape that scarred against her was long forgotten as she moaned.

It should be mentioned that Hermione said nothing in return as her fingers then tugged the fabric aside. Not bothering to tug the material off altogether but rather pushing it aside as her hand delved farther.

It wasn't often that Hermione let arguments go unsettled, you see, and in that moment she more than had the upper hand as Fleur writhed against her.

Author's Note: Hm, someone didn't love someone back. I sense a disturbance in the force. Part 2 should be up in a couple days I suspect, as I'm taking a break for now. Review if you'd like, lovelies.