Tell Me Your Secrets
Author: Ladyfun
Rating: M. Why? Because.
Summary: Hermione and Fleur, in the post-war world, find themselves in the unsettling role of colleagues with more than a bit of lingering and forbidden attraction towards one another, despite their obligations to others. One fateful evening, courtesy of the firewhiskey, they admit their repressed secrets and darkest desires, to one another. Problem is, one can't unring a bell, once rung...nor the actions that follow. Angsty Fleurmione!
Disclaimers: I don't own Harry Potter or any of its merchandising- all of this is in wholesome, non-profit fun. Ownership belongs to JK Rowling as everyone in the free world is aware. Will have some kinks in later chapters, disclaimers forthcoming prn. And yes, in this chapter, I went to the most cliched device in all of fan fiction: the tickle fight! Yep. I went there. Proudly. And this chapter is SO atypical for me: the slow burn.
We're getting there...I promise.
Chapter 3. Secrets & (White) Lies.
Ironically, Hermione never analyzed her present situation, in much detail.
The woman who had become famous for her meticulous study of every situation and its every corollary possible outcome, opted instead to remain oblivious in her own personal mess.
Thus, the irony.
However, Hermione wasn't the smartest witch of her era without cause. Her brilliant mind sought to protect her fragile soul without her own self even realizing it. Her mind, by avoiding the need to over-anaylize, just this once, was protecting Hermione Jean Granger's one weakness:
Her heart.
Because, that quiet and annoying voice from the pit of her subconscious reasoned, to no one in particular, if one were to analyze it, this...thing...between the two admired junior faculty, and actually invite the scrutiny? Well, it might ruin everything. Hermione feared, subconsciously, that too much scrutiny might scare off the mercurial and frequently skittish blonde goddess to whom she had grown so ...
Grown so...what?
Fond?
Enamored?
Hermione screwed up her features into something resembling an abused prune. There was no good word to encapsulate what Fleur had become to her over the fast few months. Not a single word, anyway.
Fleur...Hermione mused silently, to herself.
All the former Gryffindor knew is that her heart would beat, just a tiny bit faster, when Fleur arrived at her table with a private grin and a wink meant just for her; all she knew is that her eyes would look for her, everywhere, to seek her out; and she could feel her internal thermostat rise, just a little when Fleur Delacour would choose to tell her something absolutely routine in a conspiratorial and totally unnecessary whisper that would require the French witch to step just a little bit too close, into her personal space.
Thinking of her friend caused a nearly drunken expression to take over her face; a dreamy smile followed. Hermione tapped her fingers on her lesson plan she had been struggling over; the rarely distractible academic was struggling to think about the finer points of Gamp's Laws of Elemental Transfiguration instead of sinewy muscles that wove delicately into sculpted shoulders, which were framed by beautiful golden hair cascading down them...
Hermione shook her head with a start.
Since when have I started lusting after women like a fourteen year old boy? She thought disgustedly to herself. Attempting to clear her mind, actually shaking it out in the corner of the library she had holed up in, she sighed, resigned.
Truthfully, Granger, you don't lust after women. You lust after woman. Er...A woman, that is. One woman.
One perfect woman...
She put her head down on her parchment, feeling rather depressed. Despite all her success in life, her many storied accomplishments as a girl with Ron and Harry, and her later solo professional prowess as a grown-up, the one thing that terrified her was anything to do with the affairs of the heart. She had gone on to slay dragons in her adult life, both figurative and literal, during her short career at the Ministry; but ask her to face the simple fact she had a crush?
Impossible.
Despite the fact everyone seemed to want a piece of the Golden Girl, to this day, the Golden Girl herself never truly accepted that fact. She could never understand why people were so damn interested in her all the time! Forget strangers, even...she could never accept that someone close to her could like her, for her; and not what she could offer them in her vast skill set. Worse, when it came to the prospect of mutual love and desire, considering that with anyone, was foreign.
And Fleur?
Considering something like that, between them? The dazzling Beauxbaton and the Hogwarts alum? In considering if it were even possible, the mere thought process would reduced Hermione to feeling like the awkward and bossy 1st year student all over again. The very one with the frightening overbite and zero friends she had evolved from long ago, when contemplating if Fleur could ever consider... more, between the two. If she were to contemplate, that is.
Contemplate if Fleur meant anything, in her casual touches... the ones that would set Hermione's skin on fire.
Contemplate if her dark gaze that held her own brown eyes just a wee bit too long, during their Friday night escapades...if it meant anything other than the fact she was imbibed, or her usual French flirtatious self. Contemplate if it was just exuding normal Veela sex appeal.
Was it nothing more than that? Hermione mused.
The brightest witch of her era then openly scoffed at herself, realizing how tragic she was truly becoming in this moment, secluded away in the library. Sequestered away, like the recluse she could often be, off in fantasy land...dreaming of someone clearly out of her league.
Why would she want me? Hermione thought miserably. She could have anyone she wanted...someone perfect, like her! Someone...better. No physical flaws, no blemishes, no frizzed-out hair, someone not so...blunt. And awkward. Blunt AND awkward.
It was in this exact moment of her self-flagellation that she felt the skin crawl and prickle off her bones with a familiar touch, yet unexpected and certainly out of context. Delicate fingers trailed up her shoulder, coming to a stop at the juncture of the base of her neck, landing with a final squeeze, and resting there.
Familiar...
Hermione's head whirled around, the speed of the motion causing her neck to snap, loudly.
"Fleu...Fleur?" She gasped, startled from her pathetic musings.
The light giggle that filled the air combined with the delighted smile confirmed the identity of the owner of the graceful digits. Fleur's Cerulean blue eyes were leveled mischievously, directly on her, and unwavering in their stare.
"Of course! C'est moi! Who else are you expecting for a little rendez-vous in ze library, ozzer zan your Meuf?"
Fleur's fingertips began to move again, trailing light motions across the exposed parts of Hermione's neck. She seemed to smirk when she saw the goosebumps rise on the brunette's skin, as though enjoying her discomfort.
Hermione gasped, quietly.
Fleur grinned, again. "My...you're very jumpy today, Professor Granger..."
Hermione frowned at the amused look her friend was giving her, clearly at her expense. Hermione arched her eyebrows.
"Jumpy?" She snorted, indignantly. "Jumpy, per se...only when startled by your appearance, Professor Delacour... in an actual place of higher learning!" Hermione's eyes twinkled. "It seems so out of context, you know..."
Fleur's eyes widened, when the backhanded explanation registered. Then, they narrowed.
"Zat's it!" Fleur huffed. "It'z war!" She bellowed, with equal mock indignation.
Conjuring the speed of a Cheetah, The former Triwizard Champion lept from her chair, pouncing, and fully tackling the startled younger witch before she could react. Hermione fell, uncermoniously, out of her chair when tackled by Fleur; she landing sideways on to the floor in a heap.
With Fleur on top, naturally.
"Ooof!" Hermione groaned.
The blonde however, demonstrated no mercy. She lunged over her, quickly moving to grip the brunette's sides. Hermione's eyes widened with realization, and she quickly scrambled to protect her flanks.
"No!" She gasped, already breathless. "You wouldn't!" Hermione squealed, desperately.
"Oh, wouldn't I?" Drawled Fleur, straddling the startled witch underneath her. The new Potions professor grinned a simultaneously evil and delighted grin, as her long and elegant fingers, deceptive in their strength and agility, bore down quickly onto the hapless Transfiguration professor. Simultaneously, Fleur's toned thighs locked Hermione immobile. Hermione, anticipating what was coming, flailed her arms, in a futile attempt to block oncoming assault of Fleur's fingers.
It was to no avail.
"No! Ha..Ha..HEE!" Gasped Hermione, as she writhed on the carpeted floor of the library. "STOP! Hee hee...Gods, Fleur, stop! Quit! You bloody...FRENCH person! Hee hee hee!" Tears were streaming down her face, as pearls of tormented laughter erupted from the younger witch, thrashing left and right in a feeble attempt to get away from Fleur's determined attack.
"Surrender! Admit defeat, 'ermione Granger!"
"Never!" Gasped Hermione, squirming, right before Fleur attacked her with another round of tickling.
Hermione's papers went flying everywhere, as she kicked the leg of the table with her foot attempting to escape. Fleur only gripped her tighter, laughing darkly.
"Give up?" Fleur huffed, leaning over the younger witch while her onslaught of merciless tickling continued. "Rendre! Surrender to me, now, ma petite chou..."
Fleur's voice trailed off.
Still protecting herself, Hermione heard the Veela exhale above her. Then Hermione felt her, more so than actually hearing or seeing her, as she leaned over, moving deliberately closer to her captive prey. Fleur whispered in a deliberately low voice, directly into Hermione's ear:
"Surrender, 'ermione..." Fleur whispered, in that low, breathy voice. It was almost unrecognizable to Hermione. "Give in ...to me."
Hermione felt a rush of heat swell between her legs from Fleur's breathy statement. The nervous younger woman could feel the elder's dark gaze bearing down on her as they lay on the floor, next to Hermione's innocent capsized chair. Fleur's tickling pace had slowed to a stop, but her hands remained firm on Hermione's flanks, gripping them firmly.
They stared at each other, gaze unwavering, limbs and bodies in a tangled mess, until a small voice was heard next to them, clearing their throat.
"Ah-hem!"
Hermione's eyes shot up to the sound. Her eyes widened, with embarrassment, as she recognized the owner of the voice in her current upside down vantage point.
"Oh! Irma...Irma Pince!" Hermione said, startled. She cleared her throat, attepting to free herself from Fleur's grip, which Fleur seemingly would have none of, and merely gripping her tighter while emitting a low growl.
Hermione attempted to diffuse the situation, giving Fleur a pointed look.
Hermione blushed and grinned. "Madame Librarian...I'm sorry. So sorry! Er...got a bit carried away with lesson plans, you know..."
Hermione stopped talking as a muffled giggles filled the room. She glanced around the room with horror, realizing that multiple other sets of eyes were also on them, as well, and not just the steely gaze of Madame Pince alone.
The terse librarian pinched her nose as though stopping a nosebleed.
"Professor Granger," She began deliberately. "In seven years...seven years!" She shook her head with disgust, it seemed. "In seven whole years of your... what would one call it...hmmm. Your babysitting... of Potter and Weasley, here, in my library..."
Laughter openly erupted at that point. There was an audience, much to Hermione's dismay.
The stern librarian continued. "...and not once did I find cause to eject you, despite their multiple idiotic highjinks..."
The room tittered nervously, again, with laughter from the rapidly expanding crowd.
"And yet, in your first four months of jointing the faculty of this establishment of higher learning, I have cause to kick you out...now?" She arched her eyebrows, folding her arms, and looking down on the two indisposed female professors.
Hermione and Fleur began to sheepishly gather up the Transfiguration class items. "Sorry, Irma." Hermione murmured, quietly. She shot Fleur a semi-evil glare, which only caused the Frenchwoman to grin.
The librarian pointed, rather sternly, towards the exit door. Hermione was in such as rush, she failed to notice Madam Pince trying hard to smother the grin threatening to erupt on her face.
"OUT, Professor Granger! Now, please, and take your ...little French sidekick with you!"
As the two slunk out, attempting not to giggle, or bring further attention to themselves, Fleur's head shot up defiantly at the parting comment. She replied back.
"Excusez-moi, Madam Pince! 'ow do you know zat she," Fleur pointed at her friend, "Iz not... ze sidekick?"
Hermione rolled her eyes. More laughter was heard.
Irma Pince gasped, gesturing broadly. "Because this is the library, Professor Delacour!" Looking at the French transplant, she said in feigned annoyance, "The library! This is the house that Hermione built!"
She, rather theatrically shooed them out, and locked the door behind them for good measure before ushering the underage students back to work with her patented threatening glare. As she re-opened the door a few moments later, allowing enough time for the two troublemakers to exit, the stoic librarian murmured quietly to herself.
"Hermione Granger...kicked out of my library! Well!" She grinned, to herself. "... About bloody time!"
XOXOXOXOXOXO
They walked, side by side, down the long corridor in reflective silence. After a moment, Hermione finally broke the comfortable quiet.
Chuckling, she admitted to her friend, "You know...Irma was telling the truth." Hermione smiled. "That was the first time I was ever kicked out of...how do you say? La bibliothèque?"
They both grinned, sharing an easy laughter.
Fleur's gaze was down, looking at the ground, "Il y a une première fois pour tout, n'est-ce pas? For me, as well, 'ermione. That was my first time, too." She didn't meet Hermione's brown eyes nestled within a furrowed brow.
Hermione made a quick assessment, reassuring her friend. "That doesn't surprise me, actually."
Fleur's head shot up, looking at the woman next to her, gaging her level of seriousness. After a moment, she asked quietly, "Really?"
"Yes! Really, Fleur... I've always thought of you as a serious student. You struck me as very...academic, actually, when you were here for your exchange year during the Triwizard Tournament."
Fleur was quiet.
"Promise. I'm serious." Hermione reassured her, with a gentle smile.
She didn't know what to make of Fleur's strange expression, which immediately preceded the blonde launching herself against the younger witch. The force of her sudden embrace propelled Hermione backwards into the far wall of the corridor, as Fleur pressed herself against her startled friend.
As she wrapped her arms around Hermione, to embrace her, she whispered, "Zank you, 'ermione."
"Um...you're welcome?" Hermione said, awkwardly, as she struggled with what to do with her arms, exactly, as the French witch wrapped herself tightly around her. She finally settled with placing them on Fleur's waist, hoping Fleur didn't notice her suddenly sweaty palms. "It's not that great of an insight, actually. It's fairly obvious what a good student you were."
Hermione felt her face flush, as the tip of Fleur's nose nuzzled into Hermione's neck. She whispered softly into Hermione's ear, "Really? Zen why are you ze only one who noticed, 'ermione?"
Hermione ran her hands up and down Fleur's back in what she hoped was a reassuring gesture, and not a creepy one. "I find that hard to believe."
The younger woman cleared her throat, nervously. She felt her face flush further, despite their solitude in the hallway. Hermione frowned. Perhaps the solitude was the reason for my flushing, she mused, and the prospect of no one watching them stand inappropriately close to one another.
Yet neither moved to change that closeness, choosing instead to stay in one another's embrace.
Hermione closed her eyes, and swallowed, hard, as she felt Fleur's warm breath against her ear. "Believe it. You are the only one, ma belle..."
Fleur's voice was low, and dangerous.
"May...Maybe they were so distracted by your gorgeousness, Fleur...?" Hermione speculated, weakly.
The beautiful woman pulled away from Hermione, slightly, and gently traced her jawline, staring intently at her as she did so. Hermione could barely force herself to regard the blue eyes that had become so darkly intense in the past few moments.
Fleur was so devastatingly beautiful, this close up; it literally took Hermione's breath away.
There was a small part of her subconsciousness that suggested to Hermione that friends don't stand this close to one another; friends don't stare the way the two of them were currently doing; and finally, friends don't feel the butterflies in their stomach over the mere touch of the other...
...but she quickly pushed those thoughts away.
"You zink me gorgeous, 'ermione?" Fleur asked, low and deadly.
Hermione swallowed. Instead of answering, she quickly put on her best Griffyndor face, attempting what she hoped was a casual smile. Deflecting she answered, "Well, perhaps some people were distracted, that's all I'm saying. I wasn't...I see more than the surface of things, I guess." She cleared her throat, nervously. "Well...it's almost time for us to make rounds, right, brainiac?"
Fleur said nothing, instead just continuing to stare down at her, intently.
Hermione felt increasingly uncomfortable, as the area between her legs began to tingle under the Beauxbaton's unwavering gaze.
Hermione added, nervously, "...Right, Fleur?"
It was as though Hermione's final words snapped Fleur out of a spell, causing her to react. She replaced her predatory gaze with a more neutral one. Fleur smiled her typical dazzling smile at the shorter witch.
"Bien sur, of course...we're late, actually!"
Professor Delacour casually slid her hand from the side of Hermione's face that she had been holding, and snaked it downwards, deliberately. She wrapped it through the shorter witches' arm, while turning them forward, to continue their walk down the hallway; all as though it were the most natural thing in the world.
Hermione exhaled. She's so bloody smooth...
As they reached Hermione's quarters, the two made arrangements to meet in ten minutes time for their Professors' patrol duty. It was as though the highly inappropriate past few hours had never occurred.
Hermione frowned. As Fleur turned to leave, Hermione's voice stopped her.
"Fleur?"
"Yes, ma belle?" She responded, cocking her head.
"Fleur...um." Hermione paused. "Out of curiosity...how did you know I was in the library, exactly?"
Fleur chucked, eyes darkening.
The stoic witch quickly steeled her features back in to that of the perfect, oh-so-neutral mask she always wore. Her features were calm, but the fire in her eyes belied the mask, however. Flashing a look at the younger witch that was deadly serious and recalled their previous embrace earlier, she answered the question.
"Don't you realize? I always know where you are, 'ermione...always."
Then Fleur turned to go, without further explanation, leaving Hermione alone with a jumbled mess of emotions, sputtering to herself, mentally. Hermione attempting to decipher the cryptic statement provided to her, in the frustrating manner with which Fleur always answered.
TBC!
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