Ch. 26. Transition
At times like this, Fleur longed for more strongly delineated ends and beginnings. Clearly demarked transitions that would patiently explain to her the end of one moment and the beginning of another. How was it possible for Fleur to fall asleep one night on winter holiday and wake up the next morning to the first day of a new term? To her, it was as disorientating as falling asleep in France and waking up in Japan (or England, for that matter). She needed more than a horrible night's sleep to mark this change.
If pressed, it was not as if Fleur knew exactly what she wanted, desired, (needed) to mark this (drastic, not so drastic) change, but she knew that there had to be something. Something more. A marked change in weather perhaps or banners. Pamphlets perhaps. Clearer warning signs. Better preparation. Something more civilized and less jarring than it just actually occurring. Just something more.
But come Monday morning, she entered her classroom with the same ease and grace as she did every morning. There was no other choice. No one could tell that Fleur felt anything less than absolutely prepared and comfortable. But they were there if one paid attention and knew how to look, the subtle hints of exhaustion creeping up more than ever upon the edges of her. It was a Delacour gift, the winning smile, the ability to not skip a (noticeable) beat. But underneath, she was no different from anyone else.
Behind the glow of the holiday, the benefits of a good night's sleep were a rarity at Hogwarts that morning. It wasn't exhaustion, overwork or anxiety, but instead a simpler form of tiredness and restlessness on the students' faces. It was an adjustment to a different schedule and place, a different bed from what they were used to. For the students who had remained, it was the filling and sharing of spaces that had previously been empty and theirs alone. A restlessness to hear all the latest gossip, to see friends they had yet to catch up with.
In between third and fourth period as she waited for the second year Slytherins, Fleur wondered idly if her inability to sleep without Hermione the night before was something that would be so easily curable as adjusting to new patterns, new habits. That in a few nights she would be able to fall asleep just as easily as she now did with the warmth of her lover next to her. (Is this something she wanted to happen? And would she have to re-learn how to sleep next to Hermione again if this did happen?) Exhaustion clung to her more readily, more easily seen than it had last term. Still not noticeable perhaps to the student body but further on its way to getting there. One sleepless night felt like a week. Soon it would be bound to show.
The night before she had tossed and turned as if trying to reinvent the agony of sleeplessness, as if there was something new to discover and learn between the tangles of her duvet. At one point, she had thrown her pillow across the room in frustration only to grumpily retrieve it a few minutes later. It was pointless to throw a temper tantrum with yourself.
So all Monday Fleur longed for better preparation for the new term. Not so much in schedules, plans, assignments and demonstrations but in a better night's sleep and in the actuality of her relationship in the Hogwarts setting.
It was torture seeing Hermione in the hallway and only being able to smile politely and walk past as if Hermione was just another student. Where the previous term, the affects of her veela charms on students was hardly noticeable, a boring fact of life, they were now starting to shift into an annoyance for the Frenchwoman. Her admirers started to resemble gross parodies of the beauty that she shared with Hermione but was forced to hide.
And in this new term, Fleur turned her anticipation towards the end of the day with more vigor than before. After all her students had finally filed out of her classroom, it was that plan that Fleur would (politely) race to her office to find Hermione waiting there for her. It was their only set plan for the time being—the weekends had not yet been figured out. But there, behind the locked door of Fleur's office, they would be granted a few precious moments of privacy before making their way to the Hospital Wing.
On that painful first day, after Fleur had closed and locked the door behind her, before even speaking, their bodies moved hungrily into each other. And before speaking, before seemingly even breathing, the two lovers collided, held each other tightly as if it had been weeks, months, years, and not merely a night apart. (Oh, to be in love.) In that short minute, before they moved apart just enough to kiss, in that short minute when they held each other it was enough just to feel each other's breath against their bodies. This is where I end, this is where you begin. Fleur tried to adjust her breathing rhythm to match Hermione's. It was something she had done countless times before and could never quite get it right. But it never stopped her from trying. The act in itself was calming.
And when they kissed?
And when they kissed, despite tender beginnings and the familiar hunger and want that clung in each and every embrace, there was a trace of a new edge of restraint that had not been there.
And when they kissed, despite the locked door, there was an unspoken fear that someone might discover them. This unspoken fear silently and subtly marred their kiss. It complicated everything further. (Where was Fleur's brave lion?)
"I didn't realize how hard it's going to be," Hermione said after a moment, breathing the words as she pressed her forehead against Fleur's. "I still don't believe that I do. I mean I knew it'd be hard to sleep alone. But your side of the bed last night was so…" Hermione seemed to search for the word. "Empty and cold. And the hallways. Fleur, the hallways. I don't know how long I can handle us walking past each other as if nothing matters, as if we don't matter. It hurts. I knew… but knowing and experiencing are quite different." Hermione shook her head slowly. The poor night's sleep hung more clearly over the lovers than most in the school. "I don't like this."
Back in the public eye, they took the long way to the Hospital Wing, choosing unpopular routes, unused and mostly forgotten hallways. Even so, they stood safely apart and did not touch. They kept their conversations safe—maintaining topics such as class, Defense Against the Dark Arts theory and practice of—all stimulating and exciting conversations to be had, but not the ones they wanted to be having. Only when they were in an area of Hogwarts they were sure no one else was did Hermione abruptly change the subject from their theoretical debate about counter curses.
"What are you doing tonight?"
"I do not have any grading as of yet so I was considering visiting Rosmerta at the Three Broomsticks after dinner," Fleur answered after a moment. "I have not seen her since before we left for France and she sent an owl over earlier inviting me to visit."
"Oh." Hermione looked down and nodded.
"Why?" Fleur craned her neck so she could at Hermione as they walked.
"I just…" Hermione shrugged. "I wanted to come over, that's all."
Fleur stopped walking. "I was planning on visiting her after the dinner rush. Surely by the time you finished your homework and your Head Girl duties, I would be free." She spoke remembering the lateness of the hour when Hermione last visited her in night.
"It will be late by then. You need your sleep, Fleur. I would feel guilty keeping you up," Hermione looked down, afraid to say what both were thinking. A poor night's sleep was looking badly on Fleur, her weakness was starting to show through. She had never really recovered fully from Christmas. It was if the full extent of Fleur's condition was now both their secret to hide from the school.
"You know I cannot sleep without you," Fleur spoke softly, nearly a whisper. The fear of being overheard, of being watched forced her to speak quietly, prevented her from reaching out and touching her girlfriend.
"We both might have to learn to, at least for a little while," Hermione sighed after a moment. "I just don't want to have to sneak around. It's how we will get caught."
"You do not have to spend the night, but I would love it if you came over tonight," Fleur bit her lip before continuing on. They rounded the corner into a busier portion of the school and Fleur effortlessly started up the conversation that they had paused momentarily, bringing in a point made by a recent article on counter curses. Hermione joined in without skipping a beat.
Fleur's home was saturated with Hermione. Everywhere she looked, a book, a quill, a forgotten item of clothing. A memory. For the briefest of moments she thought about gathering all the physical pieces of Hermione together in one place. It would be easier then for her lover to find her belongings when she needed them. But in the end this was not something Fleur could or even wanted to do. She loved the idea of her home filled with Hermione, infused with the sense that at any moment she could turn the corner and there Hermione would be. It was oddly revitalizing, the sensation that Hermione lived there with her and had merely stepped out for a bit. Fleur preferred this delusion to the constant reminder that Hermione lived across the grounds where Fleur could never truly visit her. (Part of her spent hours idly wondering what Hermione's dorm room looked like. She had never seen a Hogwarts dorm. Were they allowed to decorate the walls? Were they messy or clean, how did they generally smell? How many books were scattered on the floor or neatly stored in piles?)
Waiting to head over to Rosmerta's, Fleur picked up a few of Hermione's books at random. Most of her schoolbooks Hermione had brought with her back to Gryffindor. Books of a more personal nature, however, Hermione had left behind, safe from the wandering eyes of classmates. It appeared as if Hermione had checked out every book in the library that had the briefest mention of homosexuality. And there was a fair amount of reading about enchantments and charmed objects. Fleur was sure that Hermione had at least a few (if not all) books out on veelas, however if she had, she kept them in her room. Or maybe she had read them all already. Hogwarts did not have the most extensive collection on veelas. No non-veela library did.
The first book Fleur picked up was all on the theory, practice and regulation of port keys. It was entertaining for a moment to figure out why Hermione had such a book, but the material itself was rather dry and Fleur quickly put it down. She then leafed through a history book focusing on nineteenth century England, probably chosen for its two chapters on gay witches and wizards. Her eyes ran across the pages, but the sentences did not stick out to her, would not travel from the page into her mind. She scanned the pages half trying to figure out what information Hermione was gleaming from the text in front of her but soon decided it would be better to ask Hermione the next time they had a moment alone.
Being gay was never something Fleur had ever thought about much. Or rather, she assumed that if she were not part veela, it would be something she would think about more and in greater detail. In her mind, she was not gay and did not identify as a lesbian. She was in love with Hermione. It was different. (Was it?) Gay people preferred people of their own sex. Fleur merely preferred Hermione to everyone else. True, Hermione was female. But if Hermione suddenly woke up male one morning, it would not change the love and the attraction that Fleur felt for her. Fleur loved Hermione, the essence of her, what burned behind her eyes, her curiosity, her sense of justice. Yes, Hermione was breathtakingly beautiful. But Hermione would be beautiful male or female. The love Fleur felt for her girlfriend, it transcended the sex, the gender, the physical appearance of Hermione (though all those aspects strongly affected Hermione's identity and how the younger girl moved through the world, this too Fleur was aware of). But being gay was not something Fleur thought a lot about in regards to herself. She loved Hermione and that was that. And so she only thought of her sexual orientation in terms of how people perceived her, as a lesbian. But she was also a veela, a professor, a young French woman, a witch, a poor cook, and so many other things. There were countless ways to classify her, why worry about one?
But now, reading this book, Fleur found herself contemplating her lover's sexuality. Did Hermione consider herself a lesbian? What did that even mean? And was this something that they should talk about more? It was clearly something that interested Hermione. She was not the type to check books out of the library merely to have books. No, in terms of knowledge, while Hermione loved it in a general sense, there was usually a mission, a purpose to her research.
These thoughts accompanied Fleur all the way to the Three Broomsticks, making Fleur only dully aware of the biting frost. Like always, the warmth and the noise of the tavern greeted Fleur instantly upon opening the door. Rosmerta, busy with a customer, did not notice Fleur until she had sat down.
"Well, look what the cat drug in," Rosmerta grinned widely, wiping her hands on her apron as she moved over to engulf Fleur in a hearty hug. "So, stranger, how have you been?"
Fleur arrived at the tail end of the dinner rush. She occupied herself with a glass of red wine while she waited for Rosmerta to finish up. It seemed to Fleur that she spent many parts of her life waiting for people to leave so she could talk—patrons of the Three Broomsticks, her students, her colleagues (well, mostly just Snape). But that was probably just how life was for everyone. In about twenty minutes, the place had nearly cleared out. Rosmerta came over and leaned casually against the bar.
"So luv, I haven't seen you since last year," Rosmerta smiled teasingly as Fleur rolled her eyes at the new years jokes. They got old so quickly, but she couldn't quite find herself getting that annoyed when Rosmerta did it.
"So hilarious," Fleur shook her head.
(With some prodding from Rosmerta) Fleur set about divulging the details of her holiday with Hermione—keeping the personal parts private, but mentioning the fight on Christmas, the general gist of their conversation, the results on her health from that night. (She did not mention falling asleep while cooking dinner. For some reason, it was something she was determined to keep secret. No sense in making people worried over something they had no control over.) Rosmerta listened attentively, giving Fleur breaks to pause and sip her wine as she did periodical rounds of the near empty bar.
"What about you, how was your holiday?"
"Oh you know, nothing special," Rosmerta shook her head, and waved her hand as if to physically dismiss the subject. "This place keeps me busy year-round so I don't usually get much of a holiday. I have to keep this place sorted, you know? Dreary in comparison to a young, beautiful Frenchwoman in love. So tell me about this sealing. It won't happen until Hermione tells her parents?" By this point, the Three Broomsticks was nearly empty and Rosmerta had pulled up a chair next to Fleur. "But I thought it was finished when, you know… How does Hermione telling her parents enter in all of this?"
"The sealing is different from the courtship," Fleur explained slowly, patiently. Why couldn't it be this easy to explain to Hermione? (Because around Hermione every word mattered. Because Fleur was shy. Nervous. Rosmerta was Rosmerta, but Hermione was Hermione.) "Technically, Hermione… well, the sealing occurs when she falls completely in love with me. But I cannot allow the actual sealing to occur until she tells her parents."
"Why?" Rosmerta did nothing to hide her confusion on her face. "Hermione coming out her parents doesn't seem to make a lot of sense, if you don't mind me saying so."
"It does not seem right to me. Not… well, gentlemanly. Being sealed is the veela form of engagement. I cannot imagine an engagement without the parents knowledge let alone consent."
"Under normal circumstances, I would understand that, luv. But you have to admit that your circumstances aren't normal."
"Are not normal? You mean because I am her professor, that I am part veela and she is a muggle-born wizard, or that we're both women?" For some reason, the lack of normalcy of her relationship was beginning to wear on Fleur.
"The whole bit, Fleur. It's not just a matter of Hermione telling her parents that she's in a serious relationship, or even that it is with her professor. She has to tell her parents that she's gay. That's no small matter. When a parent raises a child, they have this image of their child. And coming out kind of disrupts this image, it has to be reformatted. Sometimes it can be very traumatic." Rosmerta, began to gesture as she talked. "For some parents, no matter how much they love their child, it's simply not possible to do so. Or it takes a lot of time. And time is not something, if you don't mind me saying, you have a lot of. You don't look well, Fleur. Maybe in your particular situation, the formalities do not have to be observed. After all, Hermione is an adult."
Fleur ran Rosmerta's words over her mind as she took a slow sip of wine, closing her eyes slightly as if to fully absorb her friend's thoughts. The entire ramifications of being gay were not something that Fleur fully had to face. At least not in the terms of her family. At least not like Hermione. And she was in no condition to contest how well or not well she looked.
After a moment, she opened her mouth and spoke slowly. "Hermione is like me in that we both straddle two worlds. I am not a half-blooded veela, but I am close. And Hermione? Hermione is a muggle-born witch. In muggle society, the legal age of adulthood is eighteen. Hermione is seventeen and so in her parents' world, she is still a minor, a child. Rules in all worlds have to be observed."
"As does your health, Fleur. You need to stop being the perfect gentleman before you get yourself killed from observing all the niceties. You have to get this courtship ritual sorted." When Fleur groaned, Rosmerta sighed. "Or at least figure out some way to sleep. A potion, perhaps?"
"I'm too weak for a sleeping potion, I am afraid," Fleur whispered to her wine glass. It was hard to tell if Rosmerta overheard it.
Sleep remained elusive over the next couple days. And with each passing day, Fleur felt herself becoming increasingly grumpy and more easily irritated. She had always prided herself in her ability to remain calm and collected while in front of the classroom, or in most situations for that matter, but her grip on this control was something she knew she was losing. Quickly dwindling was her patience, her ability to smile and laugh things off. She needed sleep (Hermione), and needed sleep (Hermione) badly.
It was a strange sort of exhaustion. At some point in the week, Fleur began to feel more dehydrated than fatigued. It was a strange sensation, as if her tongue was swelling, fusing to the roof of her mouth. But no matter how much water she drank, the feeling would not go away. She tried eating, sucking on candy, chewing gum but to no avail. It became more of a source of her irritation than her general lack of sleep. Her frustration seemed to radiate from within her teeth. But these were symptoms she felt so silly in explaining that she didn't bother telling Pomfry. Dry mouth, irritated teeth. She just needed sleep (Hermione.)
On Thursday when Hermione walked Fleur to the Hospital Wing, Hermione broke their unwritten rule by reaching out and briefly touching Fleur's hand. It barely grazed past the back of Fleur's hand, but it was a deliberate, if not subtle, sign of affection.
"Fleur, you need to sleep," Hermione spoke softly.
Fleur squeezed her eyes shut, as if in that moment she could achieve a full night's sleep and make her lover happy.
"Fleur, you're not yourself. You need to sleep." Hermione paused after repeating herself. "And I'm nearly as grumpy as you are. This isn't working."
Fleur stopped walking and turned to Hermione, her heart afraid to beat. "What do you mean?"
"I just can't keep doing this anymore. This us pretending business, it isn't working. I need to see you more than I see you, and when I see you, I need you more than I can be with you. It's frustrating beyond belief. I don't care what we have to do to do it, but I need more than a quick snog in your locked office. I need you so much more than that. I miss talking to you before falling asleep. I miss your morning breath."
"I do not have morning breath," Fleur protested, smiling widely, relieved. "And if I did, it would smell of lilacs."
"You have morning breath, it smells nothing like lilacs and I miss it," Hermione repeated, and then to fight off the protests coming to Fleur's lips. "And I am missing countless mornings without it and it just is not going to keep working like that."
"So what do you propose?"
"Us remembering to set the alarm clock before falling asleep tonight, for starters."