Hermione woke up, sweaty and tangled in sheets. She rolled over to see Fleur was not in the bed. She couldn't even tell if the blonde had gone to bed at all.
After a quick shower and a refreshing change of clothes, Hermione descended the stairs.
Her argument with Fleur was still playing in her mind. She'd gone to bed angry, reading a book to try and calm down until she had drifted off to sleep. A know-it-all. Who couldn't accept that they didn't know everything.
Well, Fleur was going to have to get used to the idea that soon Hermione would know everything. Hermione was going to make her intent known to join the Order.
The chaotic scene in the kitchen from the previous night had been cleaned so thoroughly it was as if the kitchen had never been used before. Fleur was sitting at the table, a black coffee in one hand and a copy of The Daily Prophet in the other.
There was something attractive about seeing a beautiful woman at her table reading. Hermione felt a strange pang of longing that she quickly stuffed down. She cleared her throat and immediately felt Fleur's eyes on her.
"I'm going to accept the Order's offer," Hermione said, speaking more to the room than to Fleur. Fleur made a cute noise of indignation.
No! Not cute, Hermione inwardly corrected herself, Annoying.
"Don't," was all Fleur said in response. She spoke firmly and coldly.
Hermione snorted.
"You can't push me around," Hermione said, smirking. Fleur Delacour was clearly a woman who was used to getting what she wanted. It brought Hermione great pleasure to deliberately not give her what she wanted.
"Hermione," Fleur said in a warning tone. She put her newspaper and her cup down and stood up.
Whatever argument was about to break out was cut short by a curt knock at the front door.
Hermione sighed, strangely having been looking forward to arguing with Fleur, and went to the door. She opened it to Gertrude Umbridge.
Gertrude, dressed head to toe in an insipid purple, immediately stood on her tip toes, craning her neck to look inside the small cottage.
"Oh lovely, this appears to be a much better time," Gertrude said in a simpering, sweet tone, pushing rudely past Hermione and into the cottage.
Hermione inwardly groaned, practically sensing the disappointment from Fleur that she had let the squat woman in once again.
"Do your office never book meetings?" Fleur asked, using a tone that was simultaneously icy and friendly.
Gertrude looked all around the room, already scribbling things on her clipboard. She paused mid scribble and smiled.
"In our business, it pays to stop by unexpectedly, dear," Gertrude said condescendingly. She dragged a chair from the table, screeching it obnoxiously across the wooden floor. She brought it to a stop facing the couch, then gestured at the couch. "Take a seat, ladies."
Hermione, slowly, warily, walked over and sat down.
Fleur slowly sauntered over too, taking a seat very closely to Hermione. Hermione tried and failed to suppress a shiver as Fleur's hand came to rest possessively on the inside of her thigh. Her expensive manicure brushed lightly against Hermione.
As much as Hermione loathed to admit it, it felt good. She selfishly allowed herself to enjoy it.
"I am your case worker," Gertrude said with a too-wide smile, sitting down in the chair across from them, "I'm assigned to assess whether or not this is a legitimate marriage. I'm sure you both know the penalty for aiding a part-Creature in obtaining a visa illegally."
"Far more than aiding a human in obtaining a visa illegally," Hermione commented, "Which speaks volumes about the Ministry, doesn't it?"
Whether an approval of Hermione's judgment, or simply to further their act, Fleur's hand moved ever so slightly further up Hermione's thigh. Hermione bit the inside of her cheek.
It was all too much, the heat of the day, Fleur's hand so possessively on her thigh, an Umbridge hanging the threat of thousands of galleons of fines and imprisonment over her. It all felt dizzying. Hermione shut her eyes for a moment, before opening them again to the toad-like woman before her.
"Humans are nowhere near as dangerous as humans, sweetie," Gertrude replied, her eyes flicking briefly to Fleur before returning to Hermione.
An Umbridge through and through, Hermione thought distastefully.
"I only hurt Hermione if she asks politely," Fleur said provocatively, nuzzling her nose into Hermione's neck. Hermione felt her libido spike, again throwing her sexuality into question.
Confusion aside, Fleur seemed to have succeeded in throwing Gertrude off-balance, as the prudish woman averted her eyes and frowned.
Hermione's mind had already raced away without her permission, mentally flicking through all the ways that Fleur could hurt her if she asked politely. She bit the inside of her cheek harder.
"It's unusual," Gertrude began, seeming to gather herself again, "I carried out interviews on several of your classmates from the year of the Triwizard Tournament. Most of them seem to think you didn't like each other."
"The tension between us was sexual," Fleur lied easily.
Gertrude flipped through clipboard to another page, reading it with a smug smile.
"My colleague, James Cashew, reported that the speeches at your wedding said you first fell in love at Hogwarts before separating, only to reconnect recently," Umbridge continued.
"That's correct," Hermione replied warily. She could still feel Fleur's breath against her, the warmth of her hand on her thigh.
"Hermione, you apparently often lost your temper that year when it came to Fleur," Umbridge continued, "Thought she was—" she flicked back another page for effect, "'insufferable.'"
"I…" Hermione tried to think on her feet, to distract or convince as easily as Fleur had managed to do for them both so far, "I was covering for myself. I wasn't ready to come out back then. You see, my attraction to Fleur caught me entirely off-guard."
"I thought I knew myself so well. Do you know how scary it is to realise you don't? To be ruled by rationality only to find yourself confused by… by… feelings?"
Wow, Hermione thought to herself, feeling Fleur stiffen a little beside her, Maybe that was a little too convincing. And a little too close to home…
Gertrude Umbridge frowned at the pair of them.
"That might be all fine and dandy," Umbridge said, instantly dismissing Hermione, "But that is hardly proof."
"Allow me to present you with something more substantial," Fleur said suddenly, standing up and moving to the fireplace. Hermione watched with confusion as Fleur opened a wooden box that sat beside the box of Floo powder. It was so non-descript that Hermione hadn't even bothered to question it or open it before now.
Fleur fished out some folded pieces of parchment, then tossed them on top of Umbridge's clipboard before sitting back down beside Hermione.
"What are— oh!" Umbridge exclaimed, suddenly shuffling the parchment hurriedly.
"Note the date," Fleur said primly, returning her hand to Hermione's thigh, "Hermione sent me those letters during the year I competed in the Triwizard Tournament."
"I— Fleur?!" Hermione sputtered. She felt like her brain practically imploded from the shock and surprise of what Fleur was saying.
"You can request a sample of her handwriting from Hogwarts," Fleur said lightly, "It will match. Or simply get Hermione to write something for you now."
"That… Er… That won't be necessary," Umbridge said, getting to her feet and placing the stack of parchment on her chair as if it were a bomb that may go off at any moment, "I still need to inspect the premises."
"Go ahead," Fleur said, waving her hand, "We have nothing to hide."
Umbridge, clipboard in hand, began nosing around the room. She pulled out a tape measure and measured the fireplace. She lifted a vase and looked underneath it. She opened every single cabinet in the kitchen and checked under every rug.
It reminded Hermione terribly of the horrible thoroughness her sister Dolores had exhibited when inspecting the part-Creatures teaching at Hogwarts.
When Umbridge finally disappeared up the stairs, Hermione immediately got up and snatched the parchment from the chair. She leafed through the letters. Indeed, they did look exactly like her handwriting.
Though she definitely had not written anything of the sort.
Hermione blushed hotly as her eyes caught the phrase 'my dearest Fleur, how I long to taste between your legs.'
"Fleur," Hermione said in a warning tone, looking up at the blonde sitting innocently on the couch.
"You were so desperate at that age, darling," Fleur said, with a smug smirk, "If not a touch graphic."
Hermione blushed darker and glared at Fleur.
How in the hell did she even know what my handwriting looked like? How did she copy it so remarkably?!
Her eyes angrily fell to the letters again.
"I would even fail a thousand classes if it meant one more touch of your breast?!" Hermione exclaimed, "Oh, come on!"
Fleur just smirked back at her. Hermione wanted to throttle her.
But before she could— or could at least get a decent insult in— Umbridge loudly descended the stairs again.
"All in order?" Hermione asked, turning her attention away from the infuriating Frenchwoman and back to the threat at hand.
"So far," Umbridge said in a clipped tone, scribbling on her clipboard, "But this is just the beginning. We will have several more meetings with many more questions. I will also be interviewing your friends and coworkers."
"Right," Hermione replied flatly, "That's a lot of scrutiny."
"We have to be careful about giving away visas to part-Creatures too easily, dear," Umbridge told her confidentially, as if Fleur were not even in the room, "The scrutiny is warranted. Now, I assume you two will be around? No honeymoon planned?"
"Non, we are saving up to do a honeymoon at a later time," Fleur replied, a lot cooler in her demeanour after Umbridge's comment.
"How… novel," Umbridge replied, writing something quickly on her clipboard and underlining it several times, "Well, until next time, ladies."
Hermione followed Umbridge to the front door and let her out, a part of her irrationally afraid that if she did not follow her to the door, she would just stay indefinitely. As soon as the toad-like woman had left, Hermione turned on Fleur.
"How did you manage to get those letters to look like my handwriting?!" Hermione demanded, "And why did you not tell me about them?! Do you know how embarrassing—"
"—It was not me," Fleur replied, "I didn't even know what was in them exactly. The Order gave me that box of fake letters and told me to give it to the Ministry official if they didn't believe we had a romantic past."
"But— my handwriting—" Hermione spluttered, still utterly shocked that someone could impersonate her like this, "How?!"
"A niche and complex form of Transfiguration, if I were to guess," Fleur shrugged, "Based on who gave me the letters."
"Professor McGonagall?!" Hermione exclaimed, raising her voice, "You mean to tell me that Professor McGonagall—"
"—Fabricated letters in your handwriting detailing all the graphic ways we made love?" Fleur replied, quirking a brow and smirking, "Oui."
"I don't know why you're smiling as if this is so bloody amusing!" Hermione fumed, "This is a total violation of my human rights, not to mention entirely inappropriate! Professor McGonagall has taught me since I was a child! She taught you while you were at Hogwarts!"
"Welcome to the Order, darling," Fleur laughed humourlessly.
Hermione narrowed her eyes. She was quickly becoming tired of Fleur keeping her out of the loop and then blaming it on the Order.
"Fleur—" Hermione began, but was quickly cut off.
"I need to go in to the office today," Fleur informed her, "Can you come in and meet me there later this afternoon? I need my coworkers to see you with me if they're going to be interviewed."
Well, at least that was some communication and transparency from Fleur. Hermione frowned, but nodded.
Fleur frowned as she picked her way through the dark and grimy vault tunnels in her high heels and skirt. She was still technically on leave from work. She'd only stopped in to sort an administrative issue and inform her colleagues of her marriage.
Naturally, the goblins had roped her into breaking a curse on an old vault downstairs.
It had been easy, thankfully. But if Fleur had known, she wouldn't have worn such expensive heels. She scowled at the filth on her shoes as she made her way back into the stark lighting of the office space, blinking as she adjusted to being out of the dark.
It wasn't all bad news. The best thing about working with the goblins had been how easily they had accepted her suddenly being married to Hermione Granger after having previously been linked to Bill Weasley. The goblins weren't big on gossip or trivialities. They cared very little for what people did in their personal lives. So they simply nodded politely and asked minimal questions. It was one of Fleur's favourite parts of working at a place where most of her coworkers were goblin— no unnecessary prying.
Fleur revelled in the satisfying sound of her heels clicking on the expensive marble floors as she made her way to her office. Gringotts was in a magnificent historical building— even the back office areas were elegant.
Once she'd stepped inside her office, Fleur sighed heavily, bending down with a cloth to wipe the dirt off her heels.
"I'd recognise that arse anywhere," a voice called out crudely.
Fleur's body immediately tensed as she recognised the voice of Bill Weasley.
"That was a short trip," Fleur said icily, quickly standing up straight.
"Yeah, well, I wasn't going to sulk forever about what happened," Bill grunted, "Besides, I didn't want to miss any more Order meetings."
Fleur didn't turn to face him, keeping her back to him as she straightened some papers on her desk. She decided not to reply, not wanting to prolong the conversation with the redhead. He made her skin crawl.
Fleur didn't hear his footsteps as he approached her. She was entirely caught off guard by the strong hand at her hip and the body suddenly pressed against her back. She went rigid at the feeling of Bill pressing his front into her and his hot breath on her neck.
"You broke my heart, babe," Bill hissed, "You should have just shagged me."
Fleur was debating between skewering his foot with the stiletto of one of her heels or grabbing her wand and hitting him with a nasty curse when someone else interrupted.
"Bill?"
Bill released Fleur and stepped away rapidly. Fleur turned to find Hermione in the doorway, regarding Bill with a strange look.
"Heya, Hermione," Bill greeted with false charm, "I was just saying hi to Fleur. I just got back from my trip."
Fleur wondered if she had shown something on her face because of the way Hermione was looking at her. She tried her best to look neutral. The absolute last thing she wanted was for Hermione to be nosing into her business.
Hermione's gaze flicked back to Bill and she scowled.
"Are you okay here, Fleur?" Hermione asked slowly. Her eyes didn't leave Bill, who was fidgeting the end of his shirt. He almost resembled a schoolboy who had been caught misbehaving.
Fleur was irritated. She was furious at the gall of Bill. She was annoyed at Hermione bursting in with her goddamned saviour complex when she was perfectly capable of taking care of herself. But she was also frustrated by the way her heart skipped a beat at how protective Hermione seemed. It didn't matter. Hermione just wanted to play the hero and pry, nothing else.
"I'd rather Bill leave, actually," Fleur said coldly. She drew herself up to her full height, shoulders back and chin raised.
"That's fine," Bill said, still talking in his falsely cheery voice, "I'll see you around. Bye, Hermione."
He slipped out of the office, not giving either of the women a second look.
Fleur released the breath she had been holding, finally relaxing now that the redhead had left. She looked at Hermione, her stomach sinking as she saw the look of concern on Hermione's face.
"It's none of your business," Fleur said quickly, cutting off any line of questioning before it even began. Hermione frowned, shutting her mouth before opening it again.
"Fleur, it seemed like he—"
"None of your business," Fleur repeated bluntly. She flipped a curtain of her silky hair over her shoulder as if she wasn't bothered at all.
"Right," Hermione replied flatly. She seemed annoyed again. But what else was new when it came to Hermione?
Fleur frowned. The way her heart had skipped for Hermione was already forgotten now that they were back to drawing their lines in the sand.
"Tonks has invited us to meet her for drinks," Fleur informed Hermione in a very matter-of-fact way, "It would be beneficial for us to go, as she is among coworkers. The more people at the Ministry that see us together, the stronger our case."
"Fine," Hermione replied. She wasn't even looking at Fleur now, her curious eyes roaming all over Fleur's office, seeming to take in even the most minor details. It made Fleur feel exposed.
"Let me take you to meet my colleagues" Fleur said abruptly, ushering the brunette out.
Hermione greeted the goblins of Gringotts in a half daze. Physically she was there, shaking hands and smiling. Mentally, she was back in the polished office, replaying what she had just walked in on.
Bill had been pressed against Fleur as Hermione had walked in. She'd felt an odd kind of shock, like a sucker punch to the gut. But then she'd realised Bill's stance didn't seem romantic; it seemed aggressive.
Sure enough, when she called out his name, he had released Fleur as if he had been burned. That and the paleness of Fleur's face told Hermione all she needed to know.
Molly's explanation of Bill being spurned and broken-hearted wasn't quite the full story.
Nothing seemed like she was getting the full story. First Molly seemingly content to let Fleur fend for herself unarmed against Death Eaters? Then no protections around the cottage? Now the way that Hermione had just witnessed Bill manhandling the blonde.
Hermione didn't like it.
Her teeth were set on edge, anger flowing through her veins at the injustice of it all.
Why was Fleur dismissing it? Did she not want Hermione to know? Did she not want anyone to know how she was treated?
Was Fleur a victim in all this?
Hermione's mind was buzzing with thoughts, even as she descended the steps of Gringotts with Fleur into the hot summer evening.
She took Fleur's hand— it was already becoming a habit— giving it a slight squeeze as she pondered Fleur's possible predicament.
She couldn't help it. Though their marriage was a sham, Hermione naturally felt protective of her wife.
If Fleur wasn't going to tell her anything, how could Hermione find out? Her mind whirred, thinking about possible sources of information.
She didn't even notice when Fleur tugged lightly on her hand, leading her into a nearby bar.
They stopped as they got in the door and Fleur turned to face Hermione, her deep blue eyes searching Hermione's. She raised a slender hand to cup Hermione's face, a slight smile warming her features.
Hermione felt like she'd lost her breath.
Fleur leaned in, her full warm lips brushing Hermione's softly. Her hand trailed from cupping Hermione's face down her neck, before finally resting on her shoulder.
Hermione let out a small hum of appreciation.
And then the kiss was over, Fleur leaning back again, her eyes once again searching Hermione's features with interest.
Involuntarily, Hermione grinned like an idiot.
Then her brain kicked in. Why was she grinning her head off? Fleur was terrible.
But is she? a voice in Hermione's head persisted She could be a victim in all this.
Plus, that didn't change the fact that the kiss had felt amazing and Fleur was looking positively gorgeous in her svelte skirt and high heels.
That again raised questions around Hermione's sexuality that she stuffed down immediately.
"You're getting better at acting like you love me," Fleur murmured approvingly, before turning on her heel and clipping towards a nearby table.
It was then that Hermione spotted the bright bubblegum pink hair of Tonks, waving at them with a smug smile. Surrounding Tonks was the strangest combination of individuals Hermione had seen, Alastor Moody among them. She supposed the risky nature of being an Auror must attract all different sorts.
So Fleur had kissed her for the benefit of the table of Ministry staff, Hermione thought to herself as she followed her wife dutifully. It shouldn't surprise her, it was part of the deal after all. Yet a part of her felt disappointed at the realisation.
Am I attracted to her? Hermione wondered as she took a seat beside Fleur. Fleur, possessive as always when they were in public, moved her hand to rest high on Hermione's thigh. Hermione felt a dizzying spike of arousal, an undoubted yes to her pondering.
Could I have been attracted to women this whole time and simply not realised? That question was easier. Obviously. Hermione focussed so much of her time and energy on seeking out knowledge on other things, it left very little time for introspection. She'd never been one to dwell on her own feelings, let alone begin to unpack them.
But here she was, not a book in sight, and a beautiful woman leaning into her. It gave her nothing but time for introspection.
Tonks was introducing everyone at the table to them, and Fleur was being surprisingly charismatic for someone as icy as herself. She clearly wanted to make a positive impression. A smile looked nice on Fleur though. It softened her usually hard edges.
Could I have feelings for her? Hermione found herself thinking, as she watched Fleur flip her hair and flash a dazzling smile. She was enchanting when she was like this, all smiles and warmth. Fleur's manicure dug into her thigh suddenly and Hermione was jolted back to reality. She hadn't said anything at all since sitting at the table.
"It's very nice to meet you all," Hermione said awkwardly to the table, "I haven't had much time for socialising before now."
Understatement of all time. Most people at Hogwarts found her annoying except in small doses. They called her a know it all. Even Harry and Ron obviously got irritated by her at times. She wasn't exactly a social butterfly.
"Hermione is Fleur's wife," Tonks explained to the table, "In case you didn't figure that out from the PDA as they came in."
The table chuckled and Fleur smiled serenely before nuzzling into Hermione's ear.
"Could you at least try to make an effort?" Fleur hissed under her breath, "Once again I'm doing all the work here."
Musings of Fleur's beauty were instantly forgotten as Hermione suppressed a frown. If Fleur was going to be like that again, Hermione could play her at her own game.
"What can I say?" Hermione replied to Tonks, and the table as a whole, "Fleur's never been able to keep her hands off me."
Tonks grinned at her boldness. Hermione cast a sidelong glance at Fleur, who was clearly wrestling to suppress an irritated reaction, before forcing a sweet smile on her face.
"I'm going to get a bar to get a drink," Fleur said suddenly, standing up from her chair, "Would you like anything, mon amour?"
"Surprise me, love," Hermione replied, before swatting Fleur's ass playfully.
Fleur's forced smile threatened to drop as she tried to discreetly glare daggers at the brunette. Hermione tried her best not to laugh. Who knew it could be so fun to wind the icy blonde up?
"Right," Fleur said between slightly gritted teeth, before smiling broadly at the table, "I'll be right back."
"You two are such typical newlyweds," a man across from Hermione chuckled, "Tell me, how long have you two been together?"
Grateful the others at the table apparently hadn't noticed her narrowly avoiding murder at the hands of an irritated Veela, Hermione smiled politely at the man.
"We were high school sweethearts," Hermione told the man, recalling the narrative the Order had decided on, "We reconnected recently and… Life is too short, you know? Fleur brings out that spontaneous side in me. Getting married was a bit of a whirlwind decision!"
The man laughed good-naturedly.
"Ah, well, when you know you know, right?" he replied, scratching at a blonde beard, "My wife and I had only been dating for about six months when we got married. Look at us now— married for ten years last year!"
Fleur returned with a gin and tonic for each of them. Hermione instantly sucked in her breath at the bitter taste of the gin and tonic. She'd never tried one before.
The hidden smirk as Fleur raised her glass and sipped her own drink wasn't lost on Hermione. She'd picked a drink that she'd known Hermione would struggle to drink.
After quietly evening the score between them, Fleur seemed to settle and was far more enjoyable to be around. She smiled and talked to all of Tonks' colleagues, making sure to get to know them all. She was attentive to Hermione with touches and glances.
By the end of the night, and a few more gin and tonics in (Hermione had already grown accustomed to the flavour, to Fleur's disappointment), Fleur was nestling in to Hermione as Hermione had her arm slung around her.
"You know it's only me left here, right?" Tonks said, quirking a smile at the two of them.
Indeed, Hermione blearily looked up and down the table. When had everyone else left?
"Shhh," Fleur said, shutting her eyes and resting her head on Hermione's shoulder.
"My Lord, when did you get so drunk?" Tonks laughed at the drunken Veela, "How did you find your first night out at a bar, Hermione? I assume it was, anyway, given that Harry and Ron aren't of age yet."
"Absolutely splendid," Hermione replied with a wide grin.
She hadn't felt like this before, kind of like the world was a little off-kilter but also so incredibly relaxed. No wonder so many adults drank.
Tonks twirled a lock of bubblegum pink hair around her fingers, leaning on the table and watching Hermione with interest. She had the same kind of knowing look she'd had when they had gone shopping for wedding attire.
"So you're enjoying yourself," Tonks stated the fact, rather than asking a question.
Hermione was drawing aimless circles on Fleur's shoulder with one finger.
"Absolutely," Hermione smiled. She felt warm and content. She liked being cuddled in to Fleur like this. She liked talking to Tonks.
Tonks opened her mouth to speak, looking like she was about to ask a question, when Fleur interrupted.
"It is nice," Fleur said, lifting her head once more, "To have a night as regular teenagers. I think this is the first time in a while I haven't thought about everything else."
Tonks shut her mouth again, the amused light suddenly leaving her face.
"Tonks, why do you look sad?" Hermione asked bluntly, cocking her head to one side. The metamorphmagus was looking at Fleur like she was at the Veela's funeral!
"No reason," Tonks said quickly, affixing a smile to her face, "Just tired I guess. We should call it a night. You two should probably use the Floo in the back of the bar instead of trying to apparate— given the state you two are in."
"I am in no such state!" Hermione protested, though she slurred her words. She'd meant to ask what 'everything else' that Fleur had been referring to was, but as she stood up, the world seemed to tilt uncomfortably.
"Make sure you drink a lot of water before you go to bed," Tonks advised them, standing nearby as if the duo might just topple over.
To be fair, it was a reasonable concern, as Fleur gripped Hermione tightly around her waist as she teetered on her high heels. Hermione furrowed her brows, focussing on the path to the Floo fireplaces.
Tonks announced their address for them, not trusting either of the drunk girls to pronounce it clearly enough in their conditions, before gently ushering them into the flames. Hermione didn't appreciate the lack of confidence in her, but stepped in all the same. The violent whoosh through the Floo Network felt so much jerkier and nauseating after drinking. Hermione felt her stomach squirm and protest.
Fortunately, she didn't throw up, though she felt close to it as she landed on the worn rug of their cottage. Fleur looked deathly pale, as if she had also struggled with the Floo trip.
"That was not pleasant," the Frenchwoman uttered feebly.
"Why did Tonks look at you so sadly?" Hermione asked Fleur suddenly, her tongue emboldened and loosened with liquor. Facts had been building up all day that Hermione couldn't ignore any longer.
Fleur let out a long and weary sigh.
"I don't really want to talk about it," Fleur said, with a surprising lack of edge to her words, "What The Order expect of me… What my mother expects of me… It… It's not easy. I understand why it is important. It must be done. But… it doesn't make it any easier."
It didn't make much more sense than Fleur's angry evasions had— but it was nice that she was at least trying to be open and friendly this time.
Again, the suspicion that Fleur was being hard done by reared it's head. Chest puffed full of liquor and Gryffindor bravery, Hermione felt an odd type of protectiveness over Fleur. Though she was her wife only in the black letter of the law.
Hermione reached out and took one of Fleur's impeccably manicured hands. The skin felt smooth and soft, and a little cold to the touch.
"Are you cold?" Hermione asked, slurring a little as she cocked her head curiously.
"Non," Fleur said breathlessly, before leaning in suddenly.
Once again, Hermione found herself locking lips with Fleur. The softness, the fullness, the quietly guilty thrill of pleasure that ran through her… It was all heightened by the liquor and the fact that— Merlin— Fleur wasn't doing this for any audience!
Hermione let out a small sigh, allowing herself to give in to the urge of pulling Fleur closer. The blonde made a small noise of pleasure, before deepening the kiss, her tongue slipping into Hermione's mouth as the brunette's arms slipped around her slim frame.
It felt right holding Fleur in her arms.
Fleur, though she gave off a big and intimidating presence— was small and slight in stature. As Hermione held her tightly to herself, Fleur felt as delicate as a small bird. Hermione moved her hands up and down the blonde's back before holding her tighter, almost afraid that Fleur would startle and fly away.
But the blonde appeared very content, seeming to melt into Hermione's embrace.
Fleur's hands travelled of their own accord too, one tangling roughly into Hermione's curls— in a way that made Hermione's blood rush in her ears. The other one went on a curious exploration of Hermione's back. The way Fleur's delicate fingers ran over her and tugged at her hair, it made Hermione throb with a longing she had been trying to ignore.
She wasn't clear how much time had passed, but the two parted, bleary eyed.
"Fleur…" Hermione began, unsure of how to articulate her jumbled thoughts.
They were both drunk and exhausted, bleary eyed and in no state to have a deep discussion. Fleur yawned widely.
"I am tired," Fleur stated simply, before turning on her heel and retreating upstairs.
Hermione's head was swimming.
Every inch of her body begged her to follow the blonde upstairs. If they weren't going to talk, they might at least kiss a bit more.
Hermione's thoughts were interrupted rudely as she lunged forward and immediately walked into an open drawer.
"For Pete's sake!" Hermione cursed, doubling over and grabbing her poor knee.
"Owowowowwwww,"
Hermione groaned, remaining doubled over and rubbing at the injured knee. All thoughts of Fleur and her sweet, soft skin dissipated and Hermione glared at the carelessly open drawer.
Oh.
In the shadowy jaw of the open drawer, Hermione saw the glint of small vials. It was evidently the vials of memories that Apolline Delacour had given Fleur before the wedding.
Swaying dangerously, Hermione crouched down and took a good look at the vials. Her curious hands had a mind of their own, already sinking in to the pile of vials and gently tinkling them around.
She glanced around the dimly lit room suspiciously, as if Fleur might rush down the stairs at any moment.
Slyly, the alcohol in her system egging her on, Hermione grasped one of the vials and slipped it out of the drawer.
She didn't stop to think about whether it was right or not, whether it was an invasion of her wife's privacy… Hermione's tendency to overthink had been soundly halted by several strong doses of gin.
She walked over to a side table in the corner of the room, where there was a pensieve so ornate, it might be mistaken for a decorative bowl.
The room felt like it was tilting awfully again, but the curiosity drove her forward.
Before she knew it, Hermione was spilling the contents of the vial into the pensieve and dipping her head in.
. . .
Hermione was suddenly standing outside a door that was slightly ajar. Voices could be heard from the room behind the door.
Hermione reached forward, pushing the door open to reveal a light and airy bedroom. As she stepped forward, her breath froze in her throat.
A man and a woman were lying in a large bed, nothing covering their bare bodies but a white linen sheet. Hermione recognised them instantly.
The woman was Apolline Delacour. Apolline Delacour, gifted by her Veela blood, was almost impossible to age. Hermione couldn't hazard at how long ago this memory could have been from looking at the half-Veela's unlined skin and glossy hair.
But tangled around her, arms holding her tightly, was a man that made Hermione's blood run cold. His face was serpentine, though less so than the current-day version Hermione had seen. He was not bald in this memory, sporting dark hair that was slicked back rakishly, a sinister smirk on his pale face. Hermione couldn't see it in current-times, but she could see it in this memory; he had been a handsome man.
But that still didn't explain what Hermione was seeing.
Lord Voldemort wrapped around Apolline Delacour.
They were conversing in rapid-fire French. So fast that Hermione could only pick up bits and pieces.
Voldemort had to leave again soon. See his Death Eaters.
Would Apolline meet him in Spain?
She would.
Bile rising in her throat, Hermione wrenched her head out of the pensieve. She retched, falling to her knees on the hardwood floor of the cottage.
The disgust at seeing Apolline Delacour snuggling with a mass murdering bigot.
The absolute gut-punch of realising the Delacours had evidently been tied closely to Voldemort.
Fleur wasn't being persecuted; she was being punished.
And from what Hermione had seen— the Delacours deserved it.