Thank you everyone for the reviews! They absolutely make my day. Sorry for the delay, I had surgery and took a day to recover, but hopefully the fluff here will make up for that. Please read and review, they really do make me happy. :)
Fleur awoke early the next morning. Or rather, she gave up her attempts at sleep at an early hour. Bill slept soundly next to her, not having to be at work that day, he was catching up on some much needed rest. Fleur, however, was not so lucky, her job at the Ministry required her presence. She'd left Gringott's after her marriage with Bill and the birth of their eldest daughter Victoire, they'd decided the life of a cursebreaker was just too dangerous for the new mother.
The Frenchwoman regarded her appearance in the small bathroom mirror. She clicked her tongue lightly, displeased with the dark bags under her eyes, she pulled out her wand and with a quick flick of her wrist, she corrected the situation. She leaned forward, looking closely, searching out any small imperfection.
"You're acting like a schoolgirl," she whispered, disbelief in her words, she closed her eyes and shook her head, trying to rid her mind of unpleasant thoughts. She had decided upon a light blue dress, similar to her Beauxbatons uniform, it was not too tight, but it still hugged her curves well enough, bordering on what could be considered inappropriate. She knew she would draw looks in that dress, her Veela thrall would not help any, but she hoped, secretly wished, that Hermione may look. Her inner Veela purred at the thought, images of the brunette's eyes trailing down her body, admiring her curves, a look of lust, of love.
She closed her eyes, shook her head, and attempted to force the thoughts from her mind, "No, I am a married woman," she scolded herself (her Veela). Fleur left that morning, not even realizing she had not kissed her husband goodbye, too eager to get to Hermione. The door shut behind her with a soft click, the house in darkness, not penetrated by the early beams of light, dawn just breaking over the horizon.
The early morning air, heavy and humid, thickly constricting, stuck to her skin, clinging for life as she walked down the street. Her heels clicked, an even steady rhythm, click, click, click, the birds chirped, their early morning song filling her ears from their perches in the trees. Her feet carried her, click, click, click, on she went.
She walked into the corner coffee shop, a sleepy employee standing at the register, yawning as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes. The bell atop the door that announced her entry did more to acknowledge her presence than he did. He dusted off his hands on a green apron and picked up a cup, marker in hand, "What can I get started today?"
His voice was low, filled with slumber, Fleur smiled, at least he wasn't drooling like most men did. "A large mocha please, soy milk, extra whip and can you add some caramel as well?" He nodded at her as he jotted down her order, "Anything else?"
She paused, studying the menu momentarily, finding herself nodding slowly, "Yeahhhhh" she drug out the sound, her voice unsure. It was soft, subdued, her eyes were unable to focus on the menu in front of her, she was concentrating wholeheartedly on trying to remember what Hermione usually ordered, or at least, how she took her coffee.
The young man in front of her stared at her expectantly, a second cup in his hand, marker at the ready, his shaggy sand brown hair curling lightly, obscuring his eyes, a forced smile adorned his face. The pose looked rehearsed, forced, she broke her gaze from the menu board, "What do you recommend?"
"Depends," he placed the cup down, "Are you wanting hot or cold and how sweet do you like it?"
This was too complicated, her inner Veela screamed at her, fuming as it had just wanted to do something nice, and now, now failure was a complete possibility. "It is not for me, let's play it safe I suppose."
"Safe, got it. Hard to go wrong with a vanilla latte," he looked up at her, shaking his dust colored locks from his eyes, Fleur nodded in agreement and he scribbled upon the cup once more.
Fleur apparated to outside of Hermione and Ron's house, steaming cups of coffee in hand. Her nerves had only built as she got closer, heels crunching under dirt now as she took the last few steps up the walkway. Their cottage was cozy, ivy growing up the plaster walls, a soft tan, stark in contrast to the timber trimmings, their door painted a bright red on the outside.
It was a nice home, if not a bit outdated, but sometimes things became cozier, homey as they aged, she supposed this was one. Though it did nothing to steady her nerves, her inner Veela twisting and turning, pacing impatiently back and forth, she raised one hand up, willing her nerves to steady themselves, at least momentarily, a quick rap on the wood. Panic setting in, her heart clenching, chest tightening, her breaths becoming shallow and raspy, the door opened in front of her.
Ron stood there, leaning against the door, his eyes still bleary, unfocused, his fire engine red hair tousled, he wore a baggy white shirt and a pair of dark blue pajama pants, they were oversized, the extra material bunched up around his ankles, frayed with each wear.
His eyes widened in surprise at seeing the blonde Veela at his door so early, "Fleur? What'cha doin' here?" he spoke through sleep, keeping his voice quiet. His words were slurred as he spoke, a hand going up to scratch the back of his head. Panic, her mind blanked, she hadn't thought this through. She scrambled for a reason, something believable.
"We 'ave a meeting early zis morning, I zought after last night 'Ermione might have forgotten about it."
"A meeting?" he looked at her, disbelief in his pale blue eyes, "she hasn't mentioned a meetin' to me." He shrugged moving out of the way, the door opened wider, "Have a seat," he gestured to the couch, stumbling his way back to the bedroom, "I'll go wake her."
Fleur made her way to the couch, sitting down nervously, her back straight, rigid, she set the cups down on the coffee table before her, rubbing her sweating palms on her thighs, she waited, holding her breath in anticipation, hoping that Hermione would go along with her ruse.
What felt like an eternity later, but was really probably only a couple minutes, Hermione walked into the room, fully dressed, sporting a white button up and black blazer, her pants were slim fitting slacks and she finished off the ensemble with some tennis shoes, her look was rather relaxed, a lopsided grin. She shoved her hands in her pockets shyly, "Thanks for coming by, I'd completely forgotten."
Fleur stood abruptly, eyes drinking in the image of beauty before her. She nodded, a breathy "No problem," followed as she grabbed the cups, making to follow Hermione out. Ron reappeared in the room, slightly more awake now, "You'll be home for dinner, yeah?" he asked hopefully, sporting his easygoing grin once again.
Hermione nodded at him, "If everything goes alright, I should be." She made her way over to him, hastily kissing him goodbye, a quick peck on the lips, before grabbing her handbag, "Let's go," she spoke to Fleur, trying to sneak an apologetic smile in her direction.
Fleur's hands tensed around the cups, jealousy springing forth, burning in her chest, she felt her heart cracking and her Veela thrashing about madly, the urge to destroy something taking over, to release that tension, take possession of what is hers. The gesture had been innocent, a tender act between a married couple, she had tried to remind herself, but her Veela would not listen, Hermione was hers it argued.
She followed the brunette silently out the door, head hung, shame, embarrassment, anger, she could not trust her eyes would not betray her emotion. She had agreed with Hermione, had been forced to, that their lives should remain as normal as they could, but she did not, had not, thought it would be this hard. The door shut behind them, Hermione spoke, not daring to turn and face the blonde. "I'm sorry," her voice cracked, words betraying the pain she felt.
Fleur stood beside her, taking a drink of her coffee, cool enough to drink now. She didn't answer, her Veela still mad, she held out the other coffee to Hermione, the brunette silently taking the drink, their fingers brushing. Hermione looked at her finally, the blonde continued to stare straight ahead. Fingers, warm and soft, wrapped around hers, firm and sure, their grip unwavering.
Her eyes finally turned towards Hermione, anger evident, but she didn't dare break their contact, needing the touch, needing her reassurance. The pair apparated away with a pop, their insides twisting, body contorting, the feeling of passing through time and space, through walls and people leaving them momentarily dizzy, or maybe it was just the touch, their secret, they shared.
The duo arrived in a dimly lit, grimy alleyway, smelling of rot, trash littered the ground, mildewed cardboard boxes sat, ripped to shreds against the brick wall. Hermione didn't release her hand, instead her grip tightened, she led her out, tiptoeing around piles of garbage and human refuse.
They stepped out into the sunlight, sunrise now fully upon them, the world thrust out of darkness and back into the light of day, they blinked quickly, their eyes readjusting. Hermione turned to Fleur fully, "There isn't really a meeting is there?"
Fleur looked down, embarrassed at having been caught, her plan known so easily, pink colored her cheeks lightly, "No," she responded sheepishly, "zere isn't."
"Thought as much, so, since we have some time, what shall we do with it?" Hermione smiled at her, a playful glint in her caramel eyes.
"I uh, hadn't gotten zat far," she whispered, once again mentally cursing herself. Was she really that pathetic?
Hermione, unable to resist teasing her mate, pushed a bit further, "So, you got up early, went and got us coffee, made up a story to get me out of the house and alone with you, and you didn't think about what we could possibly do alone, together?" She finished her question coyly, stepping closer into Fleur's space, removing what little distance was between them, she watched Fleur's reaction closely, her head tilted up, lips parted slightly.
She saw the blonde Veela's eyes dilate, filling with want, the slim woman leaning in, coming closer, erasing the small gap between them, Hermione stepped back, a grin on her face, "Well, how about breakfast then?"
She turned and walked off, not waiting for the shocked Frenchwoman to gather her senses again, pep in her step, she tossed long honey curls over her shoulder. "There was a cafe I used to go to all the time around here, I wonder if it's still there." It was directed to no one in particular.
Fleur finally managed to regain herself, closing her mouth that had managed to hang open after Hermione just walked, she found herself regretting her choice of footwear as that evil, evil woman was now a good distance ahead of her and she couldn't very well run to catch up.
And there was no way she'd demean herself by calling after that witch. So that left just one option, thank God for long legs. It still took far too long to catch up to her, Hermione walking along at a leisurely stroll, slowed her pace slightly as the loud clicking of heels got closer.
One hand in her pocket, the other clutching her drink loosely, she brought it up to her lips, trying to hide the smile that had dominated her face since she left her mate behind. "Quit laughing," she was chastised by the indignant woman, a playful slap to her bicep only caused her to laugh.
"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have done that," she forced out around bursts of sound, unable to stop after witnessing Fleur's adorable glare. Fleur's glare slowly shifted into a pout, "Come on, it's not that funny!" Her heel stamped into the ground, acting like a petulant child.
"Okay, okay, I'll stop, I promise," the shorter woman said, holding her hands out placatingly. One shot up to cover her mouth, forcing back her laughter, determined to hide it if she couldn't stop it.
She took a deep breath, holding it, then letting it out softly, "Okay, better, I promise." Hermione held out her hand, offering it to Fleur, a gentle smile on her delicate features, she clasped it tightly, savoring the feeling of soft skin, warm against her own.
"Breakfast?" she questioned, receiving an answer in the form of Fleur's stomach growling its agreement. They walked down the street hand in hand, Hermione leading the way, her eyes drinking in their surroundings.
"You know," she spoke softly, wistfully, her voice a memory, "It's been so long since I've been able to do this without hiding," she trailed off.
"What do you mean?" Curiosity was evident, she spoke softly, tender, probing but not prodding, the other woman would open up to her when she was ready.
"I haven't been to London in years, it's too dangerous," her voice cracked at the admission, sadness evident, she sniffed, trying to force back tears. "We lost the war," she cleared her throat, "Erm, at the battle, at Hogwarts, we- my Fleur and I, that is- fled to safety. It's been years since I was last able to walk freely in London."
Fleur had the overwhelming desire to wrap her arms around the crying woman, to pull her into a tight embrace. She needed to comfort her mate. She pulled her into a hug, arms tight around her shoulders, her Veela purring at their contact. She relaxed into the contact more as Hermione's arms came up, winding themselves around her torso, one hand playing at her neck, her face buried into blonde tresses. Fleur's head dropped to rest on Hermione's shoulder, nuzzling into her neck, she breathed in the fresh scent, clean linens and honey.
Moments passed and finally, she felt Hermione's grip loosen, pulling away slightly, she wiped the tears from her eyes. She continued on, "At first, we didn't stay anywhere for long, Ron, he knew all the safe houses, and as the Order fell, we lost hope. We fled to the mainland on a boat."
She walked along slowly as she talked, not looking at Fleur, no longer looking at anything in particular, she still clung to Fleur's hand, its touch reassuring.
"We were outcasts of wizarding society, hunted down, wanted for our actions, we both sought refuge in a small muggle village, along the Spanish coast. But it was still dangerous, sequestered away there, they'll find us eventually." She offered a sad smile to Fleur, completely and utterly forced, her eyes betraying the truth, a dark amber, bloodshot and watering, "It's our little patch of paradise though."
Fleur nodded, "I understand." It wasn't her world, she knew almost nothing about it, she would not dare try to convince the other woman otherwise. Her mate had been holding in so much, carrying the weight of the world, a burden not hers to bear. Her Veela mourned, pained at the suffering of the young witch, aged beyond her years, unable to enjoy her youth.
Hermione looked around her, her features lighting up, a smile on her face, genuine this time, "There it is!" She excitedly pointed to a building just across the street from them. It looked rather plain, a simple brick facade, a large glass window in the front, gold lettering scrawled across it in an arc, Edna's Diner, the paint was faded and missing in places. Fleur had to admit, she'd never would have stopped there if it wasn't for Hermione.
The brunette pulled her across the street, hastily making her way towards the door, no concern for their safety as they darted over asphalt, Fleur attempting to protest the fast pace, cars honking at them angrily. Hermione threw open the door, a bell chiming over the door to signal their arrival in case the commotion outside wasn't enough.
An elderly woman in a flower print dress and green apron greeted them with an easy smile. "Just the two of you, dear?"
Hermione nodded, "Yes, a table near the back if could please."
"Sure thing, follow me," she grabbed a couple of menus, her glasses sliding off her nose, caught by the chain and dangling around her neck when she looked down. The trio made their way to the back of the restaurant, Fleur's eyes drinking in the surroundings.
Knick knacks decorated the walls, antiques in their own right, old family photos, black and white, hung in worn wooden frames, the tables were light wood, surrounded by high backed wood chairs, a plastic plant in the center. It felt cozy, like a farmhouse, static, frozen in time, of olden days. She could see why Hermione would enjoy this place.
They were shown to their table, away from prying eyes, although the small diner was far from crowded. Only a couple of tables were occupied, and those people seemed more interested in their food and coffees in front of them than on spying on two newcomers.
Hermione gazed intently at her menu, her bottom lip pulled between her teeth as she studied it. Fleur found herself unable to focus on the laminated paper in front of her, instead finding the beauty in front of her to be much more interesting. She'd barely even glanced at it when the waitress appeared again, asking to take their order.
She'd been so unfocused that she ended up ordering "the same". And then she wondered what it was that she had ordered when she saw the smirk that appeared on Hermione's face. She felt her gut twist, apprehension at what she would be eating, or maybe it was nerves, she was on the receiving end of that smirk. Oh that smirk, it would do her in if she wasn't careful.
"It looks exactly the same, I never thought I'd get to come here again." Her eyes were filled with wonder as she looked around the place, her excitement radiating off of her, a twinkle in her eyes again.
Fleur wanted to know more about this Hermione, but was unsure of how to ask, what to ask, she didn't want to destroy the happy mood of her love, her mind raced, unable to formulate a question that wouldn't lead to pain. The former ice queen had never been so nervous before, she was always the one in control, the one to make others nervous.
She rubbed her hands on her legs, her palms sweating, the gesture a poor attempt at ridding herself of her anxiety. Two cups of coffee in dark brown ceramic mugs speckled with white and blue dots were placed down in front of them followed by a mountain of creamer packets. The waitress walked off, going to check on her other tables.
Hermione reached forward, intercepting Fleur's hand as she reached for her mug, taking it lightly in hers, she gave it a gentle squeeze, hunched over the table, she whispered "Relax," before letting go and taking a creamer.
The waitress returned a moment later, setting two full plates down in front of them, "Enjoy!" she cheerfully chirped before walking off once more. Fleur looked at her meal, her eyes nearly popped out of her head, the mess in front of her was too much. She didn't know what all was on the plate, couldn't see half of it. She picked up her fork and began to prod at the pile in front of her.
Hermione laughed at her, already her mouth full of food, she watched as the blonde examined her meal closely. She'd found, under the pile of gravy, that there were eggs, bacon, sausage, a biscuit and diced potatoes, and... was that cheese? How could anyone eat this and not have a heart attack?!
"'Ermione, what is zis exactly?" she questioned, doubting the brunette's judgement (or at least her diet).
"The kitchen sink," replied the smirking brunette. She speared another bit of sausage with her fork and took a bite, eliciting a soft moan as she savored the flavor, her eyes closing.
Fleur, meanwhile, continued to poke at her food, shuffling it around on her plate, mild disgust played across her face. "'Ow can you eat like zis and not die?" There was no way that this was anything other than a heart attack on a plate.
"Just try it, please? For me?" Hermione looked at her with puppy dog eyes, soft brown meeting electric blue, a slight pout, her bottom lip jutted out, quivering. Fleur was powerless to resist, huffing agrily, she stabbed part of her meal, and slowly placed the morsel into her mouth. She expected to gag, to choke on the fat, but it practically melted. It was salty, savory, a light smokey taste. She swallowed that first bite before happily digging into the rest of her plate. She'd definitely underestimated this place.
Hermione nodded her approval before returning back to her plate, the two of them scarfing down their meals as though they'd been starved. The only sounds between them were the clinking of silverware on ceramic, a slight scraping as they cleaned their plates.
Fleur hadn't realized she was that hungry as she leaned back in her chair, stuffed, she looked at the empty plate before her, recalling the mountain that had been there just a few minutes prior. A belch escaped her, breaking their silence, she instantly colored, her hands flying up to cover her mouth.
Hermione looked at her jovially, her eyes sparkled, she held up a finger and let out a louder belch before the two broke down into a fit of laughter. "I told you it was good."
"Oui, you were right," Fleur admitted begrudgingly. "I 'ave eaten too much," she said simply, looking down at her overly stuffed belly.
Hermione took another sip of her coffee, leaning in to the table, contemplating, before asking, "So, tell me about my life here. There's obviously quite a few differences."
Fleur looked up at her, readjusting in the hard wooden chair, her position starting to become uncomfortable. Lost in thought, she laced her fingers together, hands resting on her lap, looking official, too official for the relaxed nature of their relationship. "I will do my best, but I 'ave to admit, we are not ze closest."
A hint of regret seeped into her words, touching on her true thoughts, the realization she could have spent more time with her mate, could have had a very different life, if only. She began to speak once more, "For starters, you are employed by ze Ministry. In ze Department for ze Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures."
Hermione nodded at that, her eyes betraying her thoughtful nature, "And if we were to have a meeting, I suppose you work for the Ministry as well?"
"Oui, zat is correct," Fleur nodded, matching Hermione's actions, she looked down at the table, her fingers wrapping nimbly around the ceramic handle of the mug before her. She took a sip, hiding her face, hoping the brunette would not notice her nervousness.
Hermione watched her companion closely, scrutinizing her actions, silence between the two of them. She wanted to speak, words at the tip of her tongue, she could taste them as they threatened to spill out. The cuckoo clock above them burst forth first, its annoying chime sounding, breaking the silence, once, twice, three times. Fleur looked up at the clock as it continued on, five, six, seven.
"We must go, before we are actually late," she smiled at the other witch, secretly grateful for their interruption. Hermione nodded and stood, a hand diving into her pocket, she fished out some crumpled up bills, throwing them on the table.
"That should be enough to cover it," she said absentmindedly, offering her arm to the blonde beside her. It took only a moment for Fleur to wrap her arms around the shorter woman's, her inner Veela purring contentedly. She would willingly be seen on the arm of her mate, her love, like a prize to be won, she'd often derided others in a similar state. But now, she understood it, the comfort it offered, a small sanctuary, known only to the two of them.
She let herself be led along, lost in thought, lost in a stolen moment, something that wasn't ever meant to be theirs. They went along until they entered the Ministry's Atrium. Fleur was pulled back to reality, a harsh crash bursting her bubble. She hastily moved to disentangle her limbs from the other woman, putting distance between them, much to her (and her Veela's) displeasure.
Hermione looked over at her questioningly, concern etched into her features, she moved to close the distance between them, but Fleur backed away, maintaining their space. Hurt flashed across her face as she studied how the ice queen was back.
Fleur looked at her, hoping her eyes would convey her apology. A shock of black hair moved in front of them, "Hey 'Mione, Fleur," he said, nodding at both of them.
Hermione looked at the boy, now man, in front of her, a face she never thought she'd see again, his bright green eyes hidden behind oversized black rims, an unmistakable lightning bolt scar on his forehead. "Harry!" she yelled, jumping forward, throwing her arms around his neck tightly. Tears had sprung forth, "I've missed you so much," she choked out, her voice muffled by his shirt.
The lanky boy stood there, stunned, unsure what to do next, he slowly brought one hand up and patted the back of his captor a couple times before trying to push her away, or free himself, whichever. "I've missed you too, but, it's only been a couple days."
She brought a hand up to dry her tears, "Right, right, it just, it felt like much longer." She finished trying to cover up her obvious mistake. Hoping that Fleur would be able to distract the boy from her slip up.
The blonde, sure enough, jumped in, "So, how was Slovenia? Any new leads?"
Harry looked at her seriously, somber, the previous excitement gone, he nodded, "Yeah, best we discuss it in private though," a hand went up, nervously scratching at the back of his neck.
"Right," she agreed, "'Ermione's office is closest, shall we meet zere in, say 10?"
The green eyed savior nodded, "I'll grab my notes and see you there."
"Alright, catch me up," she spoke lowly to the blonde.
Fleur led her towards her department, opening the doors for the brunette as she was already accustomed to doing. Hermione continued walking, ignoring the lingering stares of those at their desks, hushed whispers filling the room, taking the place of the sounds of shuffling papers.
Fleur returned to her side, whispering "This is your first day back from maternity leave." Hermione nodded, she stopped in her tracks and, turning towards the onlookers, "Alright everyone, yes, I'm back, now get back to work!"
Settled in Hermione's office, the young witch couldn't help but look around. This was her counterpart's private area, a chance to learn about who she was here, to connect with her other self. She walked around the space, examining the bookshelves, stuffed to the brim with texts, volume upon volume of information, brown leather books filled with yellowing pages. Golden scrawls on the spines hinting at the contents within.
Coils of parchment rested lightly atop her desk, next to a long black quill, too ornate to be used, the ink pot next to it nearly full, a bronze ring around its mouth. Her wooden desk, cherry, with a large black mat across the top, her name plate stood proudly in the center, Deputy Head Hermione Granger. Her fingers ran lightly across the surface, tracing over the letter etched in, a slight smile upon her face. It was a life that was almost hers, that should have been hers, she thought, but she'd never trade her life with Fleur, she was worth everything.
A matching cabinet sat behind her desk, magical items of various sorts spinning and whirring upon it, dancing about like little ballerinas, they continued on, never stopping. She took her seat in the large leather chair behind the desk, leaning back slightly, she couldn't help but prop her feet up on the desk, something she'd always wanted to do.
The bureaucrats at the Ministry always took themselves too seriously, put too much power in their rank and not in their actions, forgetting where they came from. And here she was one of them, Fleur would laugh if she knew.
Her eyes raised themselves, focusing on the blonde in front of her, sat at a small chair across the desk, wooden arms wrapped around it, the seat was a black leather, studded with gold colored rivets. She winced at how uncomfortable it looked and waved her hand, transfiguring the chair into another chair, exactly like hers, but with maybe a little more padding.
The change around her caught Fleur off guard, she'd been focused on the notepad in front of her, preparing the parchment for Harry's arrival. She looked up at Hermione, eyes wide, the other witch only smirked.
A knock at the door sounded, and Hermione once again waved her hand, opening the door to reveal Harry standing there, an overstuffed folder awkwardly in his hands, papers strewn about, threatening to fall as though they'd just been shoved messily in there.
He stepped forward, dropping his things on Hermione's desk. She dropped her feet to the floor and sat up, looking at the mess that now filled her space. "Sorry," he said sheepishly, taking a seat in the remaining chair, another uncomfortable seat. This time though, she did not move to transfigure the chair as she had done before.
Harry pushed his glasses back up on the bridge of his nose and began to shuffle through the mess of parchment before them. His hair fell into his eyes, he pushed it out of the way and resumed shuffling. Hermione missed the actions of her friend, his calm, uncaring attitude, unkempt appearance, the easy nature he had.
"Ah, here it is," he said, holding up a piece of parchment, "So, as you know, I've been in Slovenia recently, tracking down a smuggling ring. They've been dealing in magical creatures, dangerous ones mostly."
He paused, looking at the other two, studying them closely, they nodded in understanding. "Right, so, I'd been trailing this guy, Hemsworth, thought he was behind it all. That he'd run it out of Metlika, that's where he went to, but, from there, we went to the mountains, and guys, this is big, bigger than we'd thought."
His green orbs met Hermione's brown, an attempt at conveying the seriousness of what he spoke. "He's not the mastermind, if anything, he's rather low level. I think, I think, we've stumbled upon the next wanna be Dark Lord."