Author's Note: PG-13-ish...for sexual connotations. HP Femslash. Very, very short.
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.
~A
"Funny, how her name translates into 'flower'. Funny, especially, because I love her. But I hate flowers. All right, maybe not hate. But at the very least severely dislike. But she truly was a flower, in many ways. Beautiful, fragrant, fragile; she alone stood tall and respelendent among the undeserving weeds that crowded her untouchable beauty and threatened to choke it. If she was a flower, she'd be the kind you pick and put in a vase to keep selfishly to yourself and cry over when she wilts.
She'd be a white flower, perhaps a rose. White- so pure, so easily dirtied, so perfect and beautiful. And I'd keep her in a glass cage, adore her glowing white beauty, and slowly watch her delicate petals wither and her life evanesce away. I would hold her then, let my tears rain on her, clutch her tightly in my hands, rent apart by her thorns. But no. A rose wouldn't suit her. Roses bite only once, draw blood, and leave a tiny wound that is easily forgotten. No. Roses you can get close to. She'd be deadlier. More untouchable. Only approachable if properly protected. She would be a lily. A Belladonna lily, to be specific. The purest white, with soft, plush petals so like her lips. Underlying her innocent outward appearance is her deadly beauty, her sweet poison smell. The untouchable beauty.
I knew she was dangerous. Knew she could hurt, maybe kill, me. But I didn't care. Something pulled me to her and I couldn't, wouldn't, didn't want to resist it. And her arms, like vines, wrapped around me and pulled me close. I breathed in her toxic pollen and my logic and reasoning died and rotted away like dead leaves before my heart could beat again..."
My eyes widened slightly and I shut my journal quickly with a snap, shoving it, along with my pen, under the bed matress when I heard the water in the washroom stop running. I pulled the sheet up to my chin, hiding my naked body. She stepped out from the washroom, wearing not a thing save for the towel draped on her shoulder that she was ruffling through her platinum hair to assist in the drying process. She grinned, walking towards me, the light glinting off her wet, ivory skin. Silver-blue eyes were alight with predatory lust as she took in the sight of me, nude and eyeing her warily.
"You look almost frightened, mon chere," she chuckled, straddling my midsection with a devilish smirk.
I swallowed hard.
"Well, I do have a Veela sitting on me, Fleur," I murmured, running my hand idly over her hip.
She laughed deep in her throat, her left eyebrow arching.
"You don't have to worry, Hermione. I don't bite...hard."
She reached towards the lightswitch, and, with a flick of her wrist, the room went dark.
FIN