Golden Haze, Act Four, Scene Three
AN: Guys, this is it. The plan is in motion. I hope you enjoy it as much as I did writing it. Fleur is nervous, she can't ask her questions, Jones is in the way, but it is coming to an end. Part one of two of the finale, and then an interlude and then the ending. Let me know if I've left any major plot holes. I'm working on revising Act Two with Crosswood (we're currently on chapter 15), who is a lovely beta, and I have another project in the works that I'm sure you guys will love as much as Golden Haze.
I think you'll enjoy this. :)
Shout to the reviewers and new watchers of this story. Really grateful that you guys took the time to read what is turning into the longest and most popular story that I've ever written.
Music of the Story - Enter Sandman - Metallica (duel) and Lovesong - Tori Amos (date)
There was a sense of trepidation that came with the passage of time into February. The days turned icily cold and Jones' letters continued to come. Sick and twisted verse, penned in ink and blood and failure; she could not stand it. Nervous, chapped lips chew hesitantly on the tip of a goose feather quill, carefully contemplating the logic of completing such a request.
Fleur Delacour sighed, long fingers setting the pen down on the desk before her, reading over the letter that she had just completed, contemplating phrasing and the justification of each and every word. The language still bothered her when she wrote, and each piece of writing had to be carefully examined for verb tense and agreement.
A small box rested on the desk near her elbow, its contents had not been examined since it had arrived in a package from France several weeks before. She felt almost afraid to touch it, afraid to know what was in it and to actually contemplate what the implication of giving it would be. Her mother's note was still tucked into the faded brown paper the parcel had been wrapped in, elegant looped letters proclaiming that her intent must be pure.
She did not know if she was ready. She was still young; there was still a youthful spring to her step that the war could not take away from her. She had lived through the worst of it, and yet she had not escaped unscathed. There were deep wounds on her heart and in her psyche because of the actions she had taken during the war. She was hardly innocent and her intentions were hardly pure.
She was a monster, she wanted to claim ownership of the girl that she had fallen in love with at seventeen – she was twenty-one now. She was fully capable of the control that she tried to boast around that girl, but she had lost it.
The malice in Jones' letters was not lost on her, and she worried on her already chapped lips as she thought about how easily Jones had driven her to lose the control she had so carefully clung to for so long. Veela are predators, she was raised knowing that fact. They are violent and they defend their mate to the death if need be. She knew these facts, but the taste of blood from the split in her lip that she had worried on was a stark reminder that she could do nothing.
The holiday was fast approaching and Fleur's fingers closed around her quill once more time, adding another line with a time of arrival. She surveyed it, concentrating hard for a moment before licking her lips and reaching for her sealing wax. It was next to the box that she'd been eyeing all night, nervous energy filling her every time her eyes fell upon it. It was Hermione's, rightfully; Fleur was just waiting for the right moment – the moment that she feared would never come.
She was a coward; her worried and chapped lips and anxiety over even requesting the reservation for the holiday were a testament to that. She did not know what was wrong with her, where her confidence had gone. Her nerves were frayed, and her eyes full of fear that only dissipated when Hermione slipped into her rooms and into her arms after hours. She had not voiced her fears to Hermione, not after the resolute way that Hermione had told Fleur that they would have to leave the safe haven of Hogwarts to bring Jones down.
Safe, that was a laughable concept. Nowhere was safe, not with Jones still at large and a constant threat to their very safety.
Veela are predators. They defend their mates to the death.
The sick feeling in her stomach returned and she moved the sealing wax to sit in the flame of the single candle that she had lit in order to write this letter before Hermione rose for the morning. The warm smell of it met her nose and her nostrils flared, taking in the harsh scent and relishing how it jerked wakefulness into her senses.
The wax smeared when she pressed it onto the back of her letter and Fleur scowled, pressing her family's seal into the melted glob of wax and waiting until it dried before pulling it away. She eyed the box one more time, before sweeping it and her sealing wax back into her desk drawer and rising to greet the school owl that waited just outside the window.
She pulled aside the curtain and hissed as the cold air that had been hiding behind it hit her naked skin. The window was the next step, and by the time she'd unfastened it and pulled it open, her skin was covered in gooseflesh. "Take this to River Run," Fleur whispered to the bird, naming the bistro just off the beaten path in Hogsmeade. She shivered as the owl took the letter and hooted quietly at her before taking off into the growing dawn.
Fleur Delacour watched the bird go and shivered once before closing the window.
Valentine's Day was just a week away.
x
"I understand zat zere are a great number of 'earts and the like around ze castle," her voice cut across the room as her third year class of Ravenclaws and Slytherins took notes. Her accent was exaggerated, as were her movements. She was going for effect here, and she was very good at creating a mood when she set her mind to it. She paused at the front of the room, tapping her wand thoughtfully on her leg. This was the last class before the weekend.
Valentine's Day weekend.
She had told Hermione to not make any plans and Hermione had eyed her with some trepidation before agreeing to allow Fleur to surprise her. There was a sense of wonderment in the girl's eyes, and Fleur once again thought of the box in her desk drawer.
She bit her lip and turned to face her class once more, forcing her best smile onto her face. Valentine's Day was not until Sunday, and as such, the headmistress had delayed the usual Saturday Hogsmeade visit to the following day. Fleur had actually voiced her objection to the change during the past staff meeting, saying that students needed the Sunday to complete their schoolwork so as not to fall behind. Inwardly, however, she was hoping that her objection would be ignored and was grateful when it was.
The coward's way out, it seemed, was not in store for her this holiday.
"Please do not forget that you 'ave a test on Monday. This test is one that a mere glance over your notes will not prepare you for." Her voice had turned hard and steely, the veela coloring her every word. Her eyes flashed dangerously as one of the boys who was forever acting out snickered behind his hands. He balked under her glare, his hands falling to rest on the desk before him and his expression carefully neutral.
A sly smile spread across her face and she winced as her already chapped and worn lips cracked under the strain of moving them upwards into such a predatory expression. She turned her back to the class and licked the blood that had blossomed at the wound away and resolved to go and see about getting a salve to help them to heal before the holiday. Fleur began to lecture again, not caring that there was ten minutes left in her class and she did not have the attention of her students.
This is what she felt her strength was as an educator. She could be firm, and yet kind in her teaching style. Her students seemed to greatly enjoy her lessons, especially the younger ones. Fleur reasoned it was because they were too young to truly realize what she was, and therefore were able to fully concentrate on their work.
She demonstrated another charm that might help one repel a kappa if one were to get stuck in a bog containing the brittle-fingered creatures, and her students seemed rather impressed. She promised that they would all practice the spell after the weekend, provided their scores on the test on Monday were satisfactory.
"Class is dismissed," she said after a few more moments of lecture and trying not to worry on her lips or think of the box in her desk drawer. "'ave a fun weekend in town."
"Professor, are you coming to Hogsmeade?" One of the girls that Fleur actually enjoyed conversing with on occasion asked. She was wide-eyed and her hair was falling out of its braid as she gathered her books and put them haphazardly into her school bag, but Fleur could see the intelligence in her face. She loved the children here, and felt a pang in her heart when she thought of them having to live through the previous year at Hogwarts.
They were just babies; it was hardly fair to force them though a war the way that the entire school had been dragged through it. She hoped they did not have too many nightmares.
Fleur shrugged, her shoulders almost touching her ears as she drew her over robe more closely around her – the chill of the hallway had started to creep into the room as her students filed out. "We will see," she said, her tone airy and her words as deliberately vague as possible.
She did not need the third years gossiping about her love life.
x
The box was burning a hole in her jacket pocket as Fleur checked that her wand was carefully tucked into its holster on her wrist. Her fingers dropped down, trailing along the outline of the knife in her boot. She was not going to think about Jones today, but she would be ready, should he chose to show himself. The feeling of dread came from the box, from the threat of Jones, from what she was planning to ask Hermione later tonight.
Her fingers trailed upwards, touching the black muggle jeans that she'd worn what seemed like years ago when she'd met William on the first Hogsmeade weekend in September and surveying her reflection in the mirror. Pants tucked into boots and a long sweater that she'd wrapped a belt around after some experimentation earlier made her look far older than her age.
You can do this. The promise rang out like a mantra in her mind, and she repeated it over and over before pulling on a knit cap and adjusting her long coat. She looked like a skinny girl who had no idea how to dress herself, Fleur scowled at her reflection. The mirror informed her that her face would stick that way and Fleur turned away from it with disgust. Sometimes she hated magical mirrors.
Hermione would be waiting. The box ached in her coat's pocket and Fleur pushed all the thoughts of it as far from her conscious mind as she could. There was no way around it, she was full of nervous energy and had no way of dispelling it before she had to, once again, find herself in a position of bringing up an aspect of veela existence that she had so carefully hidden up until this point.
After the rather abrupt conversation with her mother, Fleur had sat Hermione down and told her as much as she had cared to learn about how veela mating worked. Her mother, before Hermione had come into the room, had filled her in on a few of the finer details that she had (perhaps willingly) chosen to ignore. She hated that she was not giving Hermione a choice, but Hermione did not seem to want a choice and when Fleur had touched the earrings that Hermione had given her for Christmas, Hermione had just known. Intent was everything to a veela and Hermione had known what they had meant to the monster that rested just inside of her without Fleur even having to explain anything to the younger woman.
For that, Fleur mused, she was eternally grateful.
She pinned her cloak into place and cast a warming charm over herself before glancing at her reflection one more time – realizing it was hopeless; and departing from her rooms.
She had not seen the haze in weeks now. The golden flickers at the edge of her vision came not around Hermione, but around Jones' constant threats and letters. She was taking a large and calculated risk, departing the castle with Hermione like she was now. The end result, she reasoned, was most certainly worth the risk of leaving.
The haze was gone from her, leaving her only with the feeling of complete contentment and oneness that she had not felt since she was a child. Veela heritage manifests itself at puberty, Gabrielle would be experiencing it soon enough and Fleur longed to be able to hold her sister as her body changed violently from what she had spent all of her twelve years getting used to. That time would come soon enough, and Fleur would be there this time. She refused to hide from her family any longer.
The box in her pocket was testament to that.
Hermione was waiting at the foot of the stairs, standing among many of students who were leaving for the later Hogsmeade departure date. They were being escorted down to the village by officials and aurors sent by the Ministry of Magic, who feared that Jones would attack at any moment. Fleur was grateful for their presence, but not for the large numbers of students that had clogged the Entrance Hall.
With a jerk of her head, she caught Hermione's eye and motioned with her hand that they should go out the main doors and meet walking down together. As they were both adults, the officials could not stop them from departing as they were 'old enough' to understand the risks of leaving the protections of the castle.
The late afternoon air was bitterly cold and Fleur waited until Hermione fell into step beside her before casting a strong warming charm on herself and her date. She turned then, smiling brightly at Hermione. "I 'ad not anticipated so many leaving at this time."
Hermione laughed then, and Fleur fell in love with her all over again. She could hear Hermione laugh for days and never tire of the sound – light and happy and so full of joy at merely being alive. "It is Valentine's Day," Hermione pointed out as they walked around the great memorial to all those who had died in the battle here. "School full of teenagers and all that."
At that comment they both laughed and Fleur held out her hand to Hermione, who took it with gloved fingers. "I am surprised," Fleur said quietly, "That you 'ave not asked me where we are going."
From under the layers of fabric that covered her body, it was almost impossible to see the shrug of Hermione's shoulders. "I like surprises."
"Do you now?" Fleur smiled inwardly. She suddenly glad she had more than one surprise up her sleeve this evening. "Then you are in for a treat tonight," she added mysteriously at Hermione turned to watch her with wide and intelligent eyes.
Oh yes, tonight was going to be fun.
x
The bistro was not at all crowded and Fleur was grateful for it as they ate and talked. They lingered there, for longer than Fleur would have thought possible, staring into each other's eyes and just watching each other. The food was good and the wine was even better. There was an essence – something so incredibly romantic in their long and drawn out moments together in that small hole-in-the-wall bistro – that Fleur could not assign a name to. All she could think about was how she wanted to prove herself to Hermione. Prove that she was worthy of this girl who had stolen her heart without a second thought.
When they finished eating and their conversation had lulled to the point where Fleur could speak with body language alone, they agreed to depart. Fleur did not trust herself to speak, not with the question burning on her lips as it was throughout dinner. There were things still unspoken between them, things that Fleur knew she would play out along the curve of Hermione's hips and the swell of her breast when they were safely behind locked and warded doors once again. She longed to touch Hermione, ached to feel Hermione's skin under her hands and lips and teeth.
This was the predator that rested inside of her. The sexual being that Fleur Delacour had never known herself to be had emerged in the recent weeks, taking ownership and control over the passion that Fleur felt for Hermione and changing it into something truly beautiful.
She helped Hermione into her cloak and told her to go and wait outside while she settled the bill. There was a protest on Hermione's lips, and her hand was half-way into her pocket for her own wallet before Fleur stopped her. ""ermione this is my gift to you."
"But," Hermione said, fiddling with her wallet, still mostly inside her pocket.
Fleur shook her head. "I will see you outside in a moment."
The hostess smiled at the exchange and Fleur grinned back at her as she her fingers brushed against the box in her long coat before her fingers closed around the galleons she'd put there. She had no idea when she was going to give Hermione its contents. Maybe on the way back, in the middle of the snow and the cold and the promise of warmth just moments away. Yes, that was the ticket.
"Romantic date?" The hostess asked, taking the money that Fleur offered her and ringing in their ticket into the ancient cash register that was tucked just out of sight of the main dining room. "Glad you chose us."
"You were 'ighly recommended." Fleur said honestly, thinking about how Peter Townsend and even the headmistress herself had suggested this place. The food had been to die for, and the atmosphere had been charming without being too over the top.
The evening, thus far, had been perfect.
"Well, do come back," The hostess said, counting back Fleur's change and handing her a handwritten receipt. Fleur tucked the contents into her pocket and nodded her thanks.
There was a loud bang outside and Fleur felt the rosy color that had been resting on her cheeks since she had first seen Hermione in the Entrance Hall earlier that evening drain from her face. She turned, her wand already in her hand and her coat and cloak swirling behind her, and hurried out of the bistro.
It was bitterly cold and snowing outside when Fleur pushed the door open. She did not bother with her usual warming charm, her eyes searching the side street for Hermione. Her girlfriend was nowhere to be seen, and the street seemed to be completely deserted.
Fleur scowled, her wand alight and raised over her head as she squinted into the darkness.
Another bang sounded from just to her left and Fleur wordlessly cast a grande lumos, the entire street swimming into view under the force of her spell. While the incantation was not the same as the one that was taught at Hogwarts, the effect was similar to lumos maxima; and a small ball of Fleur's magic hovered above the street, bathing it in pale blue light.
Hermione was standing, her wand raised and a shielding spell so complicated and powerful that it hurt Fleur's eyes to look at it as the one barrier between herself and the onslaught that was coming from – Fleur's blood ran cold – the wand of Jones. The villain of the day stood in a tattered coat blowing in the stiff wind, his attacks were erratic and powerful, but Hermione's shield charm was holding strong.
"'ermione," her voice shook.
Maniacal laughter unlike any that Fleur had ever heard before ran through the cold night air and Fleur shivered despite her coat and cloak. "The creature itself finally decides to show up!" Jones turned, his assault on Hermione's shielding charms halting temporarily as Hermione quickly dived behind a low garden wall. The stone and obviously warded wall would at least, Fleur hoped, provide her with some cover. "I was beginning to think that you were going to leave her to her own devices."
Fleur scowled and held her wand ready. "She is more than capable of taking care of 'erself." Her control felt like it was slipping, like she was becoming more veela, but as the transformation and shift happened, Fleur realized that it was not the veela taking over but rather her own body taking on a more powerful form.
Veela will always fight to the death to defend their mates.
So this was what oneness felt like.
Her wand was clenched in between fused and still lengthening fingers and her back itched under sweater as the feathers started to sprout from the skin there. Fleur's eyes narrowed, "I believe your business is with me," she hissed. "Leave the girl out of this."
Jones' face, the scars across it clearly visible under the light of the grande lumos, lit up then and he began to cluck his tongue. "Now, now, pretty creature – we cannot having you losing your precious control over yourself. You could hurt someone."
"I will 'urt you." Fleur spat venomously and brought her wand down and across her body, firing off cutting curses as quickly as she could, knowing that her window to take him by surprise would only be so long. He was a madman, and his movements were irregular. She did not know how likely he was to bring an unforgivable curse into their duel. His movements suggested classical training, which said that he would not bring such spells into the fight. Fleur doubted that he had the mental stamina for them anyway.
Intent was everything in such situations and Jones' lack of coherency in motion suggested far too loose a grip on reality to actually pull off the more complicated unforgivables.
She felt good then, in control as her spells cut the air around Jones before dissipating uselessly at his shields. Perhaps this was what came with being truly one. She inhaled and then exhaled, shifting her body weight ever so slightly, watching as Jones swayed on his feet before he too moved into a ready stance.
"It seems you can't," Jones growled, his dirty clothes and scarred countenance filling Fleur with worry that she had not felt since Hermione's sudden disappearance and their subsequent discovery of her being kidnapped. "Foolish girl, thinking you can get in the way of my plan." His wand twisted upwards and Fleur was thrown from her feet, her body jolting upwards off of the rapidly changing earth under her feet.
Elemental spell, interesting. Those took concentration that Fleur did not think that Jones possessed in this state, obviously the crazed swaying was his dueling style, not reflective of his mental state.
Fleur landed on one knee, hissing in pain and skidding backwards through the snow on the street before finally coming to a rest. Her wand was already preforming the motions for the most complicated and powerful shield charm she knew. She was going to need defense if Jones was going to be unpredictable like that.
"Aquium," Fleur could have sworn that she heard the voice in her head, rather than from Hermione's hiding place behind the warded wall, wand watched as Jones was taken by surprise by the jet of scalding water that came out of the end of Hermione's wand. The stream hit him squarely in the stomach, just inside his open jacket and he shrieked as he fell to the ground, rolling through the snow to cool his burns.
Fleur stood, her arm twisting as she cast a binding spell that would hold Jones in place long enough for them to run and get the aurors from the local Department of Magical Law Enforcement branch. Their offices were just off the main road, maybe five minutes on foot. Fleur did not trust Jones to not shake off their spells and vanish into nothingness once again. No, this time, they had to make sure that he could not flee.
Jones' form stopped writhing on the ground as the ropes of Fleur's spell appeared around him, trapping him and forcing him motionless. "You can't hold me," he wheezed as Fleur took a few hesitant steps forward. Hermione had also climbed over the wall and was advancing with her wand at the ready.
"Are you alright?" Fleur asked quietly as Hermione drew level with her. She reached out to brush the hair off of Hermione's forehead, noting with a sudden surge of protectiveness and hatefulness that there was a small cut along Hermione's hairline.
Hermione nodded. "A bit shaken, but yes."
They had kept their distance from Jones, but as they spoke, the man's body began to shake, his laughter coming in short, wheezing breaths. "She'll leave you, you know."
Hermione's wand lowered, ever so slightly, "Excuse me?" she demanded.
"All veela are the same. They say that they are in love, but they never truly are," Jones spat out every word, his voice shaking as Fleur twisted her wrist, just outside of Hermione's field of view, trying to silence him before he spoke again. She did not need Hermione worried. "They lie to you, tell you the story of their one great love, but all they love is themselves. They're no better than beasts, completely incapable of human love."
As Jones finished speaking, three things happened in such quick succession that Fleur was unsure the order that everything had truly taken place in later when she recalled the incident. The binding spell that she had been tightly closing around Jones shattered as Fleur could not contain the violent and alien cry that escaped her lips. No, she would not have it. Jones was a liar.
Gold tinged her vision as Jones twisted on the ground, his wand outstretched and moving in the downwards trajectory of a cutting curse. The blood red bold of light shot out of the end of his wand just as Fleur reached out to grab Hermione's arm and pull her down and out of its way. Her fingers closed around Hermione's jacket, but it was too late, the magic hit Hermione's arm and Fleur felt her heart stop as Hermione shrieked, clutching at the wound.
"Better you know now she does not truly love you," Jones spat as Hermione sank to the ground, whimpering.
Fleur could not pause for Hermione, not when the treat was so close. "Accio knife," She hissed, feeling the worn handle slip into her fingers, dislodged from her boot and at the ready. Her eyes narrowed to slit and she twisted her body, throwing the knife with all her might into Jones' chest.
Her aim was true, and that only seemed to fuel her rage as Fleur advanced on Jones. His hand was grasping at the hilt of the Damascus steel blade, trying to pull it from his chest. Fleur drew level with him, clawed fingers closing around the hilt of the weapon and twisting it. It would not be enough to kill him, a muggle perhaps, but not a wizard.
She raised her wand and met Jones' eyes evenly, staring into his hateful gaze with her golden-tinged one. He was slightly cross-eyed as she rested her wand on the bridge of his nose and hissed, "Adamornor."