Thanks for the reviews! (And sorry for the delay.) Also, maybe slightly nsfw? (okay, maybe a lot)
Fleur awoke, an unfamiliar, familiar warmth pressed against her. She pulled the slumbering body closer to her, smiling as she received a disgruntled grumble in response. She nuzzled closer, burying her nose in caramel curls. The morning sun cast long shadows across the room, a golden haze illuminating the sleepy pair. She was content, happy to just exist, to be in the moment. A tired yawn escaped her mouth, she settled back in, letting the dream world claim her once more.
Hermione jolted awake, fear seeping into her mind, breathing hard, she looked around, her surroundings unfamiliar. She reached for her wand out of habit, clutching at her arm. It was bare. Her movements woke the slumbering form next to her.
"What's wrong, m'amour?" The soft, sleep addled voice of Fleur spoke, a raspy whisper this early. She tenderly reached out, placing a hand on Hermione's shoulder, trying to ground her back to reality.
Hermione fell into the muscular body of her (not hers, she reminded herself) lover, burying her face in the crook of Fleur's neck. A muffled sentence escaped causing laughter to erupt from her companion, "I thought it was all a dream."
"So, you dream about me often zen?" She teased, enjoying seeing her mate become flustered.
"N-no," a not so convincing rebuttal could be heard, barely, over musical laughter. Doubling down, she continued, trying to believe it herself, "I just didn't think there was any way it could all be real."
"So, you are saying zat I am ze woman of your dreams even in your ozer world?" Fleur teased playfully, "I am sure zat Monsieur Weasley will be zrilled to 'ear zat." Her last comment earned her a gentle smack, given by a limp wrist, as her mate twisted from her arms.
"Fleur!" she'd cried, mock offense upon her delicate features. "I can't believe you!"
Fleur reclined back, crossing her arms behind her head, trying to act as nonchalant as possible, "It is not surprising, my Veela blood is not too diluted." A cocky grin graced her features, the look completed with a wink.
Hermione scoffed, her eyes rolling, before reaching for her pillow, ready to use it to wipe the smirk off of Fleur's face. A firm grip on the feather filled fabric, she swung, smacking the conceited blonde square across the face, a resounding 'thump' filling the space.
The pillow fell away, revealing a disheveled Veela, fake outrage detailing her features, wisps of straw colored hair falling across her face, joviality glinting in her eyes despite the look she tried to maintain. She pounced forward, pushing the smaller woman back into the mattress, eliciting a small shriek as she caught her off guard. Fleur pinned her down, sitting across her middle. She tickled the poor woman relentlessly. Hermione laughing, until she cried, arms waving wildly, she tried to free herself. But Fleur was unwilling to ease up, grabbing hold of Hermione's wrists, she pinned them above her head, their bodies pressed together. She didn't realize their proximity until it was too late, the tension between them building.
Fleur swallowed nervously, averting her eyes, she released Hermione, putting distance between them as quickly as she could, she didn't notice the hurt that flashed through amber eyes.
Changing the topic, she asked quickly, "So, we can get started on finding a way to get you back 'ome today, if you'd like?" She added the last bit, hoping it would sound less like she was pushing for her 'not mate' to leave. She truly wanted to spend time with the other woman, enjoying the ease she possessed. Or maybe she'd just missed spending time with another, not focused on a lost war, on the past, on setting things right.
She'd had to keep reminding herself that the woman in front of her, an exact copy of her mate, was not actually her mate, not the woman she'd spent so many years with, the woman she'd nursed back to health and fought alongside, who she'd built her life with. They were not the same, their experiences making them different women who shared a name, who shared an appearance.
Receiving no answer, she turned back, Hermione looked conflicted, eyes unfocused, her lip between her teeth. A moment of silence before she spoke, "Uh, actually, if it's not a problem, I'd um, like to stay here for a bit. It's been ages since I've had a proper holiday, what with the baby and Ron hating to travel and all, that is, if it's no trouble for you." She rambled the more she spoke, mentally cursing herself for saying anything at all, it had been so clear a moment ago that Fleur had wanted her gone, and why wouldn't she? It was hardly a stretch to think that she'd of course want her wife back, not some doppelganger. But it was too late, she'd only gone and opened her mouth, the request was out there now and she'd have to prepare for rejection.
Fleur nodded, unable to deny her love, "Yeah, yeah, anyzing you want. Zis is your 'ome as well." The taller woman clapped her hands together suddenly, "I am going to go take a shower and zen, we can decide what we are going to do today."
She fled the room, it wasn't her bravest moment by any means, but she needed space, time, she needed to think. Her mind was a mess and her heart wasn't any better. She hoped that the steamy water would clear her mind, offering her sanctuary from her inner conflict.
Mental images of her Hermione filled her head, laughing at her and the situation she found herself in. The normally well-put-together (reformed) ice queen unable to handle a 'moment' between her and her mate. She knew the other woman would find it hilarious if she only knew what was happening now. Her sweating palms going unnoticed under the scalding spray, she pulled her hair back, soaking light blonde locks, turning them a dark honey. Her pale skin reddening under the pounding stream. She let out a sigh, feeling the tension drain from her shoulders, now slumping slightly. Fleur stayed there until the water ran cold, goosebumps dotting her porcelain skin. She left the safety of the shower, not yet ready to face these new challenges.
Hermione sat at the kitchen table, nursing a mug of coffee, yellowed with creamer, she watched as streaks of white circled within the dark beverage, mixing as she turned the cup in her hands. The scraping of ceramic on marble the only sound to be heard other than the drumming of the shower. Finally, the water stopped, causing her to look up, breaking her reverie.
She slurped up some coffee noisily. It was simple, unrefined, it was her. Hermione placed the mug back on the table as Fleur walked in, a powder blue silk robe tied around her body, a white cotton towel in her hands. She was still towelling her hair dry, a veritable mess atop her head. Hermione couldn't help but think it made her mate (she still couldn't get used to that) more attractive, if that was even possible.
She did her best to appear as unbothered by the blonde's appearance as possible, but chocolate eyes roamed over the statuesque form before her, drinking in every detail. "I was thinking," she cleared her throat, her voice had come out too high and squeaky, before starting again, "erm, I was thinking, maybe today you could show me around the area?"
Fleur turned to look at her, a curious look on her face, she continued to speak, "I realized, of course, I don't even know where I am, so I won't be much help in deciding what to do."
The Frenchwoman nodded her agreement, "I 'ad needed to do some shopping today anyways, I'll take you to ze village."
Minutes later, the two women were dressed and ready to go. This Fleur dressed much more practically Hermione mused to herself, her pencil skirts, lace tops and much too high heels were replaced with something much more comfortable, though still fashionable. She wore a black band t-shirt, it was fitted, hugging her curves nicely, yellow ink across the front advertised the band, Nirvana scribbled just above a smiley face. The edges were frayed and the ink was faded, it was obviously a favorite of hers. Light blue skinny jeans and knee high boots completed the ensemble, no heels in sight, Fleur looked to be an actual rocker with a backpack slung across a shoulder.
She winked at Hermione, her tongue poking out between her teeth when she noticed the younger woman staring. "You like?" she asked, spreading her arms and giving a quick twirl, showing off her body.
Hermione found herself nodding in approval, her eyes raking over the angel in front of her, and... where were these thoughts coming from? She questioned herself, the confusion palpable, she hoped the blonde wouldn't notice. She became rather self conscious however, feeling over dressed as she realized that she had found a pair of flats, black slacks and a white button up. She'd attempted to control her wild mane, straightening it out with a few spells she'd become rather proficient at. Her arms wrapped around her stomach nervously, the clothes didn't fit quite right and she worried she'd look sloppy and over dressed.
Fleur closed the distance between them, taking the brunette's hand in her own, pulling it away from her shy attempts at covering herself more, "You look good, nobody will notice," she offered tenderly, a kind smile on her face. She pulled the small woman towards the door, ushering her out into the bright sunlight. The tension from earlier seemingly vanished, they made their way towards the village center.
Hermione's eyes eagerly drank in their surroundings, the gravel crunching beneath their feet as they walked down the path. Their house sat at the top of a hill, overlooking the small village below. The path was narrow, barely wide enough for a small car, grass growing between the ruts left behind. Ivy clung to stone walls, bushes at the top providing light shade. Iron gates breaking the line of the wall every so often, guarding the entrance to another house, large and imposing, hidden away from the world unless one truly sought it out. Purple flowers dotted the green mass here and there. And on the other side, a view of the town from above. Houses lined the streets, one after the other, twisting and turning as the streets did. Winding roads of cobblestone, meandering along, making their way to the town square, a small market set up there. Rainbow tents of all colors sat there on display, hiding tables filled with various wares below.
She was too distracted to realize that she was still holding onto Fleur's hand. The duo walked on, making their way towards the square, small businesses popping up around them, beginning to outnumber the houses signaling that they'd entered the commercial district. A few small cafes lined the street they were currently on, tables sitting outside on the sidewalk, a couple canopies in forest green or faded red with white cursive on them hung above a doorway. She studied each, wondering whether any of them were good, if she should suggest getting lunch at one of them with Fleur, or if the blonde would send her off on her own, thoughts of that morning leaving the analytical woman wondering. Questioning, really, she'd never been interested in another woman.
Not that she'd ever had a problem with it, of course not, she'd just never thought of herself that way. Never even kissed another woman, and here she was, thrust into a world in which she was married to a woman. That meant she'd not only kissed another woman but, she'd slept with one, and not in a platonic sort of way either. Her mind froze at that realization. She'd (well, not her, but her other self) had actually had sex with Fleur, and wow, she'd never even really thought the other woman would be interested in her. And she'd obviously enjoyed it or they wouldn't be married.
"Stop zinking so 'ard," Fleur deadpanned, her voice leaving no room for argument, "you are on 'oliday." She reprimanded her companion, pulling her back to the present.
"You're right, there's another time for that," Hermione answered, faking a smile in Fleur's direction, a slight blush, embarrassment at being caught in her thoughts, before she looked about. "So, where are we?" she asked, unable to place her surroundings, it certainly wasn't a town she knew.
"We are in Spain, near ze French border, ze people 'ere keep to zemselves so we are not in danger." She paused a moment, "Zough, I am not sure you would be able to communicate wiz zem. Zey speak mostly Catalan 'ere."
Hermione nodded, she had a reason to stay with Fleur now. A chance to study the blonde, to figure herself out. Maybe things wouldn't be so bad here after all.
They arrived at the small outdoor market, blending in with the crowd of muggles, wandering through aimlessly, stopping to examine various items. The fruit all looked so vibrant, its color clear and radiant, a brightness not typically found in produce at home. She supposed it was due to the proximity to tropical weather. Sweet scents of melons mixed with the tangy scents of pineapples, swirling about, filling the air she breathed.
Hermione sighed contentedly, calm despite the bustle of the market around them, various voices calling out, advertising their wares, the gentle chatter of the crowd surrounding them. For a moment, she forgot about returning home, the thought that she could get used to being here, with Fleur crossing through her mind.
Speaking of, she looked around, noting that the woman had left her side, she searched for the familiar figure, anxiety rising in her chest. But it was soon disbursed, the radiant woman stood out among the crowd, even with her attempts at blending in. She was talking to an older woman, seated next to a table of fruits, a paper fan in her hand, she waved it lazily as she spoke. Hermione thought she looked like Professor Sprout, but her rational mind said there was no way it could be her, still though, she approached the pair, preparing for the least likely to happen.
The older woman smiled at her, friendly but not too familiar, she nodded a greeting towards the newcomer before returning to her conversation with Fleur. Hermione stood there, listening to what they said, but unable to understand any of it. An apprehensive smile plastered across her face, she began to examine the produce, feeling awkward eavesdropping on a conversation she couldn't even interpret. The brunette was pulled from her examinations when suddenly, she could understand what was happening around her, "See anyzing you like?"
Startled, Hermione jumped slightly, the voice closer than she had expected. Fleur was practically pressed up against her, her warm breath tickling Hermione's ear. How had the woman gotten so close without her notice? The market wasn't even that crowded that it was necessary to be that close, but still, she didn't back away. She nodded, "Yeah, it all looks good, honestly."
"I zink you will like ze watermelon ze best," Fleur responded, reaching for a small melon, she placed it in her bag and handed over some bills to the woman. She spoke again, Hermione assumed thanking the woman, before taking her hand and pulling her to the next booth. The contact was comforting, she hadn't even realized that she'd missed it.
They'd passed their day, wandering about the market, stopping at every table, visiting a few stores, exploring the small town. Hermione had enjoyed the feeling of freedom she felt, not realizing in her time with Ron just how restricted she'd been, the limitations she'd placed. Fleur had followed along, maintaining a polite distance, but close enough that Hermione did not feel alone in an unfamiliar area. She'd translated as needed and acted as a go-between allowing Hermione to be the clueless tourist.
She was startled however, when Fleur placed a hand gently at the small of her back, surprisingly intimate considering, "Shall we return 'ome?" It was a suggestion rather than a request, timid and shy, opposite the normally confident woman that stood next to her. "I can make us a late lunch?" She offered, eyes cast downward, she glanced up only when Hermione responded, her face lighting up as Hermione accepted, her fingers entwining with Fleur's, taking her hand firmly in her own.
Fleur led the way back home, her blue eyes shining in excitement, pulling Hermione along like an eager child who was promised ice cream. The brunette suppressed a laugh, her free hand covering her mouth as the image of a tiny Fleur invaded her mind, unable to apparate and yet wanting what was promised. She allowed herself to be pulled along, doing her best to keep up. Fleur, meanwhile, had not stopped planning lunch. Her mind ran through what they currently had, what she had bought that day, and came to a screeching halt, panic creeping up slightly, that she did not know if this Hermione and her Hermione had the same tastes.
Her Hermione would eat anything and everything, an almost insatiable appetite, unconcerned with the health benefits of a specific food as long as it tasted good. And, she wondered, if this Hermione was the same or if she was different due to different experiences. Her question was carried by the breeze, breaking the silence between them, "Is zere anything zat you do not like?"
"As long as it's not too unhealthy, I'll eat it." She paused for a second, then added, "I'm sure I'd like anything you make though."
And Fleur blushed, her cheeks turning a light pink, not from exertion, but from the confidence this woman had in her. She nodded and returned to pulling the petite witch behind her, a new found vigor in her steps.
Her focus would soon be on cooking them a lunch that may have been closer to a dinner. She'd wanted to show off, to impress her mate, a mate she did not need to impress, a wife that was already hers. She'd won, but that didn't change the stakes, it felt as though she had to win her again, had to prove herself, and instill confidence in the decision made by her Hermione. Clanking pans, sizzling sides, the bubbling of boiling water and thumping of a knife on the cutting board filled the kitchen. A storm of blonde, of waving arms, flashes of flames rising up filled the open space, making it seem small, cramped, fuller than it was.
She'd shooed Hermione from the kitchen, wanting the fare to be a surprise, she wasn't giving any hints, her nerves vibrating, boucning back and forth sending jolts of electricity between her joints. She whispered to herself, muted chastisements and curses, reciting the steps of the recipe, unwritten, passed through the generations, a family secret, spoken in her native tongue as she worked with confidence, sure in her motions frantic as they appeared.
A white ceramic plate was set down in front of her, its contents steaming, a sensual aroma wafting up, her mouth began to water as her eyes drank in the sight before them. It was simple, it was complex, a symphony of flavors, hidden in plain sight, waiting to be revealed. Running water, a glass of wine being poured, white, the perfect compliment to the chicken resting upon her plate.
"I thought you said this was lunch not dinner?" Hermione queried, looking up at the blonde before her, sweaty tendrils plastered to her forehead, disheveled and dotted in spots of sauce, seasoning, of flour and grease.
A sheepish grin spread upon rosy cheeks, her head ducking, "I may 'ave gotten carried away," she spoke, barely above a whisper, the sound muffled in her chest, words blending, hurried and rushed. Hermione picked up her glass of wine, a small sip, tasting the sweetness, dry and lingering upon her lips, cooled and relaxing, hiding her smile as thoughts crossed her mind, how adorable she looked when she was flustered. The thought shocking the supposedly straight, married brunette, a thought she shouldn't have, had come unbidden.
Averting her eyes, she picked up her fork and knife. Delicately, she cut into the chicken on her plate, it was tender, juicy, she took a bite. The zest of the lemon mixed with the spice of the pepper, the savory of the basil and thyme, a hint of garlic, smokey and full-bodied, it melted like butter in her mouth, beckoning forth a soft moan. Her eyes closed as she took the next bite, concealing the redness bleeding forth through alabaster skin. Fleur focused intently on the plate in front of her, cursing her body for reacting dangerously to that sound. Her eyes dilating, her Veela screaming, pushing her forward, urging her on, she was hers, her fingers trembled, sweat beads speckled her skin, glistening slightly, this time for another reason. The voice in her head getting louder, pushing more, unnoticed to her mate, the war that was happening just before her.
She could feel her control slipping just as Hermione finished her meal, a satisfied look on her face, her cutlery placed upon the plate, a slight clink and scrape. Long, slender fingers wrapped around the wine glass as she took another sip, licking her lips afterwards, it was only then that she finally drank in the sight of the other woman, straining with exertion. Her brow furrowed in confusion, but she decided not to comment, instead she rose, taking her plate and glass in hand and made her way into the kitchen.
She would give Fleur some privacy, some space, time to regain herself, she wasn't sure what was going on with the blonde, but it wasn't her place to ask. She wasn't actually her mate, just... shared most (all) of her traits. Her intent was to busy herself in the kitchen, at least, that was what she had hoped.
Fleur inhaled deeply, breathing in the scent of her mate as she walked by, her eyes drifting shut. Fingers curling into fists, digging crescents into her palms, she held her breath.
Skin pressed against skin, slim fingers winding through honey tresses, sweet and sensual, flowers and rain, cool and refreshing, Fleur lost herself. She pulled back brown curls, revealing porcelain skin, meeting with ruby lips, she pressed a tender kiss.
The body beneath her tensed, a sharp gasp, as she licked at the soft skin below. Twisting and turning, her connection was broken, deep brown eyes now meeting her golden ones, pupils blown wide. Hands came to rest upon her shoulders, keeping her at bay despite their contact. A blush upon her mate's cheeks, Hermione's eyes drifted down, coming to rest on her lips, wet with want. A pink tongue darted out, teasing Fleur, licking her lips, need filling her. Her lips parted, but she made no sound.
A moment's hesitation, eyes searching, before she dove forward, capturing Fleur's lips upon her own. Lips parted further, tongues battling for dominance as hands roamed freely over the other. Their limbs tangled, soft moans could be heard, unaware as to who they came from, their actions becoming more frantic, more needy.
Suddenly, there was too much clothing between them, on them, constricting them, too tight and consuming, they needed urgently, desperately, to remove it, hands sliding under shirts. Hermione had never felt so much need, so much want for another, a fire alight low in her belly. Her skin burned with Fleur's touch, her caress light, nails feeling like needles, a prickling, tingling trail left behind.
Fleur nipped lightly at her neck, lifting her up onto the counter behind them. Legs wrapped tightly around the blonde as her head fell back, giving further access. She felt herself coming undone with every touch, every lick, every bite, the older witch knew her so well, knew just what to do.
Her body shuddered as she dissolved, melting under sure ministrations, her nails digging into Fleur's back, leaving angry, red lines, trailing down as she fell apart, calling out, "Fleur!" she went limp. Panting hard, her head resting upon a firm shoulder, supported fully by her mate, she tried to catch her breath.
Lithe fingers ran through her curls, gently stroking as she recovered, her breathing beginning to even out, she placed a tender kiss upon crimson lips, feeling electricity spark between them once more. Her cheeks flushed, though she didn't know if it was from exertion or from the images that now filled her mind.
Their foreheads rested against each other, their eyes shut, just enjoying, feeling the breath of the other on their skin, a light "That was amazing," filled the silence, breaking it as the moment passed. She'd wanted to say more, to say otherwise, but her mind told her it was too soon, yes, she was Fleur's mate, but she barely knew her, this version of her, the version that her life here was committed to. Her heart screaming out, declarations of love that would go unsaid, shining behind bright eyes. Her thumb traced the outline of Fleur's lips, her own parted slightly before they crashed together again, brought forth like magnets, she refused to let go, to break this connection.
Emotions brimming, filling and running over, realizations that Fleur didn't belong to her, that she was married to Ron, cascading, pushing her over the edge. Sadness filtered through, her eyes watering, she continued to kiss the blonde, feeling guilty, wanting to feel that euphoria again. She sobbed through a kiss, her body shaking again, a less pleasant feeling this time, their kisses became damp, wet with tears.
Fleur wrapped her arms around the brunette, tightly, pulling her as close as she could, the petite woman, shrinking in on her self, becoming smaller yet, curled up in the arms of a lover that wasn't hers.
She didn't need to ask, didn't need the confirmation, she knew. They'd gone to far, crossed too many lines, boundaries that shouldn't have been crossed. Her eyes had returned to normal, deep blue, dark and stormy like the ocean. She too was conflicted, the Veela within purring happily at how easily her mate had surrendered. At how willing she was to forget him. She'd taken what was hers, he'd never be able to satisfy her now, not like she had. It preened, prideful at what had transpired, ignoring the hurt that it had caused.
Fleur wanted to regret, but she couldn't, wouldn't ever regret loving her mate as she did. Still, she cursed the beast within her, cursed her lack of control, of how easily she'd been overcome with desire. She'd pick up the pieces, her penance for betraying her mate, for causing the pain she felt, her guilt over her actions apparent.
She hadn't wanted to, meant to push, to lose herself. But the brunette had responded, eagerly, filled with want, she'd returned affections and pushed her further, and she continued to kiss her, tenderly, filled with love, hidden behind the tears of guilt.
"I love you," the words slipped out, barely a whisper, sounding foreign even to her own ears. She didn't expect a response.
A gasp, a choked sob, Hermione pressed their lips together, firmer, forceful, the lazy ease between them vanishing. She didn't want to think about it, not now, not what it could mean, not wanting to question who it was that the older woman was saying them to.
Strong arms lifted her from the counter, her legs squeezing tighter, she was carried up the stairs and towards their room. She buried herself deeper into the Frenchwoman, falling into a not unpleasant slumber, their limbs tangled together.