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.
A/N: Okay, I used another trite Fanfic literary device...see if you can find it. Bwhah ha! Also, a shout out to EmilyFieldsFan...you'll catch it. Thanks to all who have reviewed and PM'ed. Based on past comments, I'm actually telling you where you are in the story timeline, these days...
Chapter 4: You Can't Handle The Truth.
Flashback: 2 weeks Prior To The Start Of The Academic Year...
Hermione thought about it, once, and once only.
Her title.
She decided, in returning to Hogwarts, where it all began for her, it was time to get a fresh start from an old perspective. Thus, she dropped the "Weasley" from her name, opting instead, to use "Professor Hermione Granger" as her nomenclature, insisting many people did such things - using a maiden name for their academic title.
She didn't hear the end of it, from her husband.
"It's as though your ashamed of us, 'Mione!" Ron said, clearly upset.
Ron was not dumb, not exactly; being "not intelligent" is not the same as being dumb. He had plenty of common sense, and he had proven himself as a brave and capable Auror. Granted, he wasn't in Harry's league, or even his close to his own wife's league, but he held his own. And at this moment, his common sense was eating at him, telling him something stunk about this whole situation.
Hermione gritted her teeth. "Ron, this is not up for discussion. You don't own me, or what I call myself, professionally!"
He groaned. "Bloody hell, 'Mione..." He gritted his teeth.
She rolled her eyes. "And if it were up to me, you wouldn't be entitled to calling me anything in our private life, either! How many times do I have to tell you, I hate that nickname?"
"What...'Mione? I've always called you that!"
It was her turn to grit her teeth. "I'm aware of that, Ron..." She said, cooly. "Hence, my comment."
As she finished packing her beaded bag, the one with the extendable charm, he looked at her for the first time, in a long time. Looked at her through the lens of an adult. Ron wondered if he ever really knew his wife, at all.
She gave him a strained smile, kissed him on the cheek, as she headed towards the floo. "I'll owl when I get settled, okay? Have Harry and Gin keep you company, Ron; you're no good if you're alone too long." She gave him a sad smile. "You get a bit, well...surley."
"Never!" He said.
She gave him a reproachful look.
"Oh, okay. Sometimes, then!" He returned her smile. "But its usually because I'm hungry, or something."
"Goodbye, Ron."
"Goodbye, 'Mio...Hermione." He said, correcting himself.
"Thank you, Ron." She said quietly. "Goodbye. Take care of yourself, okay?"
And then she was gone.
XOXOXOXO
Across the burrow, an equally dismissive, albeit wildly different in nature, send-off occurred in Fleur Delacour Weasley's home.
Bill had brought home a "bird," the night prior, for Fleur and he to share in their bed; it was becoming more and more common of late. Bill was no fool. He realized that, despite Fleur's complicit participation in their sex life, she was clearly just "going through the motions."
They talked about it, because that's what they did; above all else, Bill and Fleur were friends.
Fleur admitted her prolicivites leaned more towards that of the female persuasion. Bill recovered quickly, and found a middle ground. As long as he could participate, on some level, he was totally fine with that. Thus, the parade of women in and out of their bedroom. He always felt a little bad for oblivitating their memory afterwards; but he justified it to himself. Given their positions at Gringotts, they couldn't have a slew of former disgruntled lovers parading their issues in a conservative institution such as Gringotts, should they get a bee in their bonnet.
There was no question in his mind, either, that eventually some woman would develop a bee in their bonnet, either. Hell hath no fury...and Fleur was good at what she did, especially once Bill honed in on her "type."
He himself preferred blondes, obviously; not so much with his wife.
While he realized quickly that any female was better for Fleur than a male, he would elicit the best response with one specific type. Fleur was always most passionate with brunettes - light brunettes. No redheads, no blondes, no black haired ladies for her; light brown hair was her turn on. Also, dark brown eyes; and they absolutely could not be taller than she. Their complexion could be tan, but she preferred them on the paler side.
Above all else, Fleur's biggest turn off was if the lights were on, but no one was home. Meaning, she preferred her conquests not to be...well, stupid.
Bill didn't mind, one way or another, as long as they had nice tits. It was really irrelevant to him, in fact. Fat or thin, tall or short, pink hair or grey hair...he could care less. As long as he could see his wife actually engaged, for a change, in bedroom activities, it was all fine by him.
The night before Fleur was to leave for Hogwarts, after they had sent their lady du jour on her way, the two shared a quiet fag together on their balcony. Fleur was deciding on what exactly to pack, and talking to herself, as she made out list after list of items to bring.
"How long, Fleur?" Bill asked, quietly, exhaling their shared smoke.
Fleur looked at him, quizzically. "Excusez-moi, William? 'ow long...what?"
He looked at her pointedly. "How long, exactly, do you think that you have been... in love with my younger brother's wife?"
There was no malice in his voice, just a genuine curiosity. He surmised he hit the nail on the head when he saw her eye widen with shock. Fleur straightened up, adjusting the blue scarf around her neck. Her hands shook, slightly.
"I...I don't know what -"
He cut her off. "Fleur, don't bother denying it. You and I have been best friends for a long time, now! You can't fool me, Frenchy." He stubbed out the finished deathstick, having finished it.
She gazed at the ashtray, not meeting his eyes. "I'm sorry, William."
"Don't be sorry, Fleur. It is what it is. Just...how long?"
"Why?"
He shrugged. "Just curious, I guess..."
Fleur finally looked up, and gave him a sad smile. "You know what zey say about curiosity, don't you?"
"I do. Indulge me, anyway. How long, Fleur?"
"Since..." She sighed, running her fingers through her hair. Flashes of memories of the times in her life she had interacted with Hermione paraded through her mind. Shell Cottage. The Beauxbaton arrival at Hogwarts. The Yule Ball. Christmas, last year. Their wedding, and Hermione's red dress. The time she loaned her a cardigan. The time they shared a shot downstairs, instead of cleaning up with Molly. She forced herself to stop.
Her eyes were far away, and Bill suspected he was not going to like the answer.
She sighed, again. "...since as long as I can remember, William." She said, quietly. Taking a long breath, she continued. "It iz my nature. Ze Veela wants what it wants...regardless if my human side wants to love you, and you alone."
He chuckled, sadly. "Well, it certainly would have been more convenient, that's for sure, given that we're already married." They both laughed.
Fleur grimaced. Seeing what was coming, Bill quickly crossed the room, scooping up his wife into a deep embrace when the beautiful witch began to cry, suddenly. He rubbed her back, and murmured reassurances that only made her cry, harder.
She pounded on his chest. "You see? Zis is what I mean!" She said, angrily. "Here you are, trying to comfort me, over ze fact zat ze person I'm hopelessly in love wiz, zat is NOT you, will never love me in zat way! Damn it, William, why do you have to be so perfect?" She sobbed.
They both laughed at the irony of it all.
"My perfection...it's a curse." He said gently, causing Fleur to giggle. He hugged her again, tears threatening to fall in his own eyes, as he looked out the window of their room, thinking. He stroked Fleur's beautiful, soft hair, and reassured her.
His eyes returned to his beautiful wife.
"Fleur Isabelle Delacour Weasley...the one thing I know about you is this: you are the most determined, and underestimated, person that I know! If you would just stop underestimating yourself along with everyone else, the sky would be the limit for you...really."
They sat in comfortable silence.
"Fleur..." He said gently, "We need to separate, and divorce."
"William! No, that's not-"
He held her face gently, in his hands. He forced her to look up at him. "We've had a good run, really we have. But how can you know what you want, or get what you want...if I'm in your way?"
Tears fell from her eyes, as she looked down.
"Worse," he continued, in his steady voice, "you'll never get what you want if YOU are in your own way, Fleur."
She looked at him, confused.
He sighed. "Maybe the Veela is right, Fleur, have you ever considered that?" He asked.
"No! I am not 'aving zis discussion, William, zis is stupid! I'm married to you!"
He cut her off, firmly. "No, Fleur, it's not stupid. It's the exact opposite of stupid, actually." He nodded, and hugged her, tightly. "Look, Delacour... I love you too much to let you not find your happiness. Maybe Granger is straight, maybe she isn't. But I do know this, kid...you'll never score, if you never pick up that broom and step onto the pitch, ay? That's a fact."
Fleur just cried, quietly, in his arms.
"So, here's how its going down, Fleur..." He said, firmly. "This teaching position...well, its the rare opportunity for a second chance. Those don't come along, that often. It's your fresh start."
He patted her.
"We don't have to tell anyone, if you don't want to, babe, for awhile. But you go into Hogwarts a free woman, even if its not in the legal sense, yet. You enter that Castle as Professor Fleur Delacour. Not Mrs. Fleur Delacour Weasley. And you give it all you've got, okay?"
She pulled away, and looked at him with tears still in her eyes.
"You are ze best person I've ever known, William Weasley...zis is why I wish I didn't just love you, zat I was actually IN love, wiz you..."
"Yeah. I guess. It wasn't meant to be... I've always known that, Fleur. I knew, and yet I married you anyway. Kinda selfish of me, I guess, in the end."
She looked at him, confused, as he pulled away from her and began to shuffle around their flat, tidying up. As he picked up the reminants of the Daily Prophet and the day old copy of Le Monde, Fleur was lost in thought. She said nothing, for a long time, as she packed her bags, stacking her robes neatly into her expensive and color coded trunks...a gift from her mother, Apollene, who had been delighted with her prestigious appointment, and her new career trajectory in general.
Her bags packed, she slid her wand inside her traveling robes. Clearing her throat, she looked at her soon to be ex-husband.
"I'm, em...finished, William. It's time for me to go."
He nodded, continuing to pick up the living room, not looking at her.
"Goodbye, Fleur."
"Au revoir."
And she was gone.
XOXOXOXOXOXO
Flashback: 9 Days Prior To The Start of the Academic Year
Minerva McGonnigall might have been a Goblin in a former life.
Nothing, save nothing, escaped her notice. Her attention to detail, especially ones of the tedious variety, and keen powers of observation might have made her an ideal banker in a different life. Those characteristics had served her well in her role as a Transfiguration professor, where the smallest detail on the flick of the wand, could make your spell go horribly awry.
As the Headmistress of Hogwarts, those skills immediately discerned something was not quite right with her two new additions to the staff, in regards to their homelife. All of the administrative paperwork turned in by the new Potions teacher and the new Transfiguration teacher were missing something important:
Their legal surnames.
"That's interesting." She said to herself.
"What's interesting, my dear Minerva?" Albus asked, peering down from his portrait.
"Look at this!" She said, holding up their tax forms filled out the day prior. "This is an actual legal document, Albus! Not the Hogwarts directory, or something internal. This is a legal document!"
"Yes." He agreed, patiently.
"They filled it out...Fleur Isabelle Delacour, and Hermione Jean Granger, just yesterday, Albus!"
"...And?"
"Well, technically, those are not their legal names, I thought. They had assumed married names at one point...you were there, Albus!"
He smiled. "Yes, but interestingly...and this is the advantage of you hanging up Kingsley's portrait here as well..." He gestured to his left, towards the frame hanging next to his.
"Minerva." The former Minister of Magic greeted her, with a fond smile, joining in.
"Kingsley." She nodded in return.
"It would appear, my dear headmistress, according to the Good Minister, here...that your two brilliant faculity acquisitions never actually took a married name, legally, it would appear. They just used them, socially, as it turns out. The Ministry never received a document from either to formally change their last names."
"Oh." Minerva said, quietly. "I'm certainly not sexist. Nothing says witches have to take on their husbands names, these days. But...well, now! Makes it sort of seem rather doomed from the start, though, doesn't it?"
Albus chuckled. "Oh, I think you and I both know those unions were going to be rather ill-fated, regardless...irrespective of what they called themselves, don't you?"
"Indeed!" Kingsley weighed in.
The headmistress scowled. "You two are like a bunch of gossipy old women, I dare say! Don't you have something better to do?"
"No." They answered in unison, and both laughed.
Minerva covered both portraits, to their great protest, and sat in her favorite chair. Nursing a cup of chamomile tea, she pushed away the nagging concern she had, wondering what other surprises her new new hires would have in store for her, in this coming year...
XOXOXOXOXOXO
"Damn it, Fleur...harder!" Hermione groaned. "Fuck me, harder, you fucking bitch!"
Sweat was pouring off the the brow of both women, and a stale smell of sex reeked in their shared quarters. The curtains were drawn and the evening light left only enough light to see the glistening on the brow of the beautiful Veela, straining over the younger woman.
Their hair was messy, robes tossed carelessly on the floor, and their sheets were in a wad, almost completely pulled off the mattress. Stains littered the mattress, as a result, comprised of various fluids: cum, sweat, wine, and in some areas, spots of blood, from both witches...
Clearly, they had been going at this a while.
"Merlin!...'ow can you still be so fucking wet for me, Mia?" Growled Fleur, as she ran her fingers through the younger's abused red folds, between her legs.
Hermione shuddered with her deliberate touch, both from her own arousal as well as her earned soreness.
"Careful, that's a little tender, down there..."
"Iz it, now? Why is zat?" Fleur growled, in a low voice, nuzzling into Hermione neck. The brunette let out a soft moan, causing the blonde's nipples to further tighten. Fleur kept up her deliberate long stroking, with her elegant fingers. "Hmmm? Why iz zat?" She teased.
Hermione spread her legs, wider, and opened herself to the French witch. Hermione's pelvis began to buck from the skilled touch.
"Ohhh!" She gasped, as Fleur made a deliberate thrust against her clit. "I...oh Gods, Fleur, you feel so damn good! I... I would guess, Bae, it's because you had your entire fist in it...maybe ten minutes ago?"
Fleur laughed, darkly.
"Peut-etre...but... I zink I want to visit it, again, ma belle..."
She rubbed Hermione's entrance demandingly, swirling her pooled arousal with the pads of her fingers. Hermione groaned, arching and keening forward to meet her touch. "Oh! Fleur..."
"Hmmm?"
"Fleur..."
"Yes, Mia?"
Hermione's naked body arched closer. "Fleur!"
The French witch said nothing, merely speeding up her deliberate strokes through her folds, teasing her. With her other hand, Fleur reached upwards, and gripped Hermione's hair tightly, pulling her head backwards.
"FLEUR!" Hermione was shouting, now. Fleur heard pounding, along with Hermione calling out her name.
With a start, Fleur jarred awake.
"Mon Dieu!" The Potions teacher gasped, realizing she had...dozed off.
Not only had she fallen asleep in her office chair, she realized, but she was now late for her first meeting with the Headmistress! Late...and recovering from a wildly inappropriate sex dream featuring the other new Hogwarts hire, and her very straight friend, Professor Granger!
The very same person who was currently pounding on her door, to pick her up, as they had tentatively agreed to do, prior.
"Fleur! Are you in there?
"Merde!" Declared Fleur, under her breath.
"Hello?" Hermione kept banging. "It's Hermione! We're going to be la-oh!"
Hermione caught her voice in her throat, as Fleur whipped open the door, eyes wild. The Frenchwoman looked feral, hungry; Hermione couldn't recall a time she had seen Fleur appear so...unedited.
"Fleur? Are you okay?"
The French witch chuckled. "Not really, 'ermione..." She licked her lips, giving the younger woman a once over. "Can you give me 5 minutes? If you don't want to be late...uh, head up, zen...wizout me."
Fleur turned, and raced into her bathroom, attempting to get herself into some semblance of presentable.
Hermione stepped into Fleur's room, tentatively.
"No, um...that's okay. I'll wait for you." Hermione answered, looking around. As she took in Fleur's quarters, and the tasteful way she had already put it together, she felt oddly unsettled.
Fleur poked her head out of the bathroom, soap on her face, her face brightened by Hermione's concession.
"Fantistique!" Fleur gushed, and their eyes met. Looking at the beautiful woman, gorgeous wearing only soap on her face, without a drop of make-up, Hermione's stomach did a somersault. The younger witch offered the older witch a tentative smile.
"I'll always wait for you, Fleur. Just...hurry."
"Okay."
TBC.