- - This chapter is tragic! Just like Fleur.

Chapter 8 - In The Comfort Of Your Bed Sheets

Fleur pulled back, looking extremely apologetic. "I did not mean to be so— I'm sorry." she said a little breathlessly. (Liar.)

Her mother had warned her about this. Brushing aside her desire was somewhat unhealthy and potentially dangerous to whatever relationship she cultivated with Hermione. She had practically attacked her.

"It's okay."

Fleur slowly lifted her gaze to meet Hermione's. She looked just as unsure as her voice sounded. They both stood still for a second, afraid to break any kind of lull in their situation. That, and Fleur had no idea what to say.

However, Hermione was pulled out of the trance all too soon. Her brows furrowed and she tilted her head slightly in question. "Your eyes..."

Fleur quickly diverted her line of vision, blinking quickly in succession. She was not ashamed of her heritage, but she wasn't at all comfortable in disclosing all the things it entailed to Hermione. It was much too soon. (It was much delayed.)

Maybe she could start there.

"Sometimes they become more," Fleur began, not confident in her own words. "Saturated in color during more... intense moments."

'I wish to continue to have these intense moments.'

"Because you're Veela, right?" Hermione asked timidly. She was now sitting on the edge of the bed, playing with the hem of the sheets. Somewhere in the back of her mind, Fleur remembered a dream (multiple dreams) she had, with Hermione in a similar position, although the conversation they had (didn't have) was entirely different. Focus.

Fleur nodded and wrung her hands together in anxiety. "Do you know what that means?" she inquired, selfishly wanting Hermione to say no.

Hermione took in a slow breath and shook her head. Fleur's shoulders relaxed. Coward.

It was wrong of her, to keep Hermione in the dark, she knew this. But it was honestly the only thing that was keeping Fleur from feeling like her next step forward with Hermione would be her last. The fear of rejection was just too much.

Griphook was right. She was pathetic.

"Hogwarts curriculum never…" Hermione started, interrupting Fleur's thoughts. "The books in the library were hardly in depth and I..." she trailed off, looking at Fleur almost pleadingly to say something. Fleur could tell she was talking just to fill space.

She once again didn't know what to say. 'Be with me.' was too much forward, and slightly off topic. Other declarations of affection were on her mind. None of them appropriate for the conversation.

Fleur had been waiting (dreaming) for this moment, yet here she was now, all previous ideas from her fantasies thrown out the window. She had imagined herself sweeping Hermione off her feet, that she would be so charming and alluring that things would just fall into place. Fleur never imagined or planned for things to happen the way they did. The war. Her marriage to William.

Foolish thinking.

(Once, she imagined herself as Hermione's paramour during the Triwizard Tournament, instead of Viktor. Once was enough though — she did not want to relive what was most definitely the worst school year of her life.)

"I haven't been truthful with my intentions, Hermione." Fleur admitted. She tentatively sat beside Hermione on the bed, keeping her eyes lowered to the ground. If it was any other time, she would relish in their closeness, but at the moment she felt as if she were a bomb about to go off. Fleur didn't want to hurt Hermione with her shrapnel.

Hermione turned her head slightly to her, quietly urging her to continue. Fleur didn't dare to look her in the eyes.

"It is a curse until it is a gift." Fleur began, nervously wringing her hands in her lap. "Veela are born with the ability to see," she said, taking an uneven breath. "To see what our souls desire the most."

One look at Hermione through her peripheral vision and Fleur knew she was being too vague. Hermione's eyebrows were drawn together in confusion and her eyes searched the space that Fleur occupied. Dread seeped within her. This was the point of no return, words could not be taken back.

"You are what my soul desires the most."

If she wasn't too busy about to have a breakdown she would have prided herself on how romantic that sounded.

"I don't — what does that even mean?" Hermione stuttered quickly. Fleur could hear the shakiness in her voice. 'Please don't be afraid of me.' She pushed back the regret that was clouding in her mind and continued on, quickly recounting her childhood when she had similar questions.

"The Ancient Greeks believed that people originally had four arms and four legs, with two faces on their head. In his affinity for destroying things, Zeus tore them apart, leaving them with halves of their bodies and souls." Fleur paused and looked up to meet Hermione's gaze. Seeing her confusion, Fleur straightened her back and continued.

"Veela believe something similar. That, although adapted to be whole themselves, our souls still seek their other halves."

The words seemed to roll off her tongue. She had been raised with this belief ingrained in her very being, it was the most at ease she had been throughout this conversation.

"And I'm yours?" Hermione asked in a small voice, her eyes searching Fleur's face.

Her question sent shivers down Fleur's spine. She closed her eyes and answered. "Yes." It came out oddly, as if she were out of breath.

Fleur felt Hermione's hand cover her own. They were closer now, shoulders touching as Hermione leaned closer. Although she no longer felt like a bomb, she still had the feeling she was going to explode.

"And you're mine." Hermione barely whispered. It was somehow altogether a question and a statement. Her word choice made Fleur shudder a little, words should not be able to make her feel this way. She could feel her body moving closer.

"Yes." she murmured, lips dangerously close to Hermione's.

Their lips only brushed before there was a loud knock on the door.

"If you guys are done shagging, dinner's ready!"

They both pulled back quickly, as if burned. Fleur was going to murder Bill. Setting aside her irritation, she searched Hermione's eyes for a moment (for any hints of regret) before Hermione spoke up.

"We should go." she said, sharing a tentative smile. Fleur could tell Hermione was trying to hold back questions, for why, she did not know. Fleur only nodded in response. 'No, let us stay here.' she wanted to plead, but Hermione had already stood from her place on the bed.

Fleur sat still for a moment, looking at her hands. Everything was okay. She no longer had to pretend, at least around Hermione. They had time, they could work all this out. She had an overwhelming urge to share this news with her mother.

Hermione could not linger. And she could not show Fleur the look of dread on her face. She couldn't help but feel that she had led Fleur on to believe she could stay. She was leaving. Soon. Harry had explicitly stated that what they were doing had to be kept secret, and Hermione was nothing but loyal, even with what Fleur revealed to her only minutes ago.

How poetic it seemed, to find something like this only to be whisked away a moment later. Granted, she was still processing what 'this' was, and what the hell it exactly meant.

If they were really — whatever Fleur said they were, how could Hermione do something like this? The words 'Greater Good' rang out in her mind. Sacrifices must be made. Somewhere it the back of her mind it felt like running. Fleur had asked her something she wasn't willing to give. Not anytime soon.

Without looking back, Hermione opened the door, sure that if she left now this was the last time they would be alone together.

Chapter title inspired by the music of: Milk & Bone - Pressure

- - if you couldn't tell i tried to change the tone. i think the only difference is less cussing and no lame jokes.