iv.
For those that are Ron and Hermione lovers, I do apologize if I offend you in this segment. And once more, thank you again for all the comments, so appreciated for a novice like me.
~This section dedicated to my muse, my best friend, and S/O~
There was a light mist outside, despite the onset of Fall, it all but kissed her flesh fervently as she walked. The birds over-head sang their hellos to fortunate passersby, while the leaves were jostled by the gentleness of the breeze that every so often made its appearance. They let themselves free fall, carpeting the ground. As she lobbed her glance to and fro the compound, she smiled at the students loitering, laughing.. a few were coupled, she heard words of love being whispered, those though seemed to cease as she walked past – then words of disgust and irritant were let loose, mostly from the young women whose significant others halted their sweet nothings to them. The woman gave her silvery mane a tousle at that – too young to know what it really means, too eager to not.
But as always, Fleur Delacour was stared at – here, she garnered a legend status during her short time all those years before. A Tri-Wizarding Champion with the blood of the Veela pumped throughout her every vein. Perhaps at one point in her life, she adored the attention, now she could very well live a hermit-like existence away from the spotlight.
Everything was crystal clear – close to being perfect this afternoon. And that alone is a feat in itself, even by English standards. If she were given the time to listen to the pulse of life swirling about her – she would have heard the very essence of Mother Nature. As it stood, the sounds of life were all but droned out by an incessant buzzing wafting from behind her. The sound edged closer.. and the closer it did, the more distinct the white noise came. Soon, they managed to merge into a stream of heated words, breaking her reverie.
"…What made you think of recruiting a CHILD, Fleur? Have you no sense? Have you utterly lost your mind –Are you listening to me??"
Previous this - The man all but bounded into her tent at the fair, demanding an audience with her – not before he spewed out the same speech to her from within. She was not expecting Bill Weasley to be here at all. So to her credit the French-Woman rose from her seat and coolly motioned towards the outside. Fleur knew that Bill had a tendency to lose his temper at the wrong place and time. She was surprised that he agreed at all.
At his question now, she dared not turn about to look at him. The hurt of their break-up was still there, buried under a few layers of time; Fleur wanted terribly to believe she hated him, and yet – because she had given so much of herself to Bill, she knew – albeit stupidly, there was still a part of her that somewhat cared him. Somewhat. Fleur slowed her stride, her eyes rolled at his chastising. She lead the way for the most part, and found an Atrium far enough from the main hallways of Hogwarts, but close enough to the lakeside – perhaps the Veela could magically toss Bill Weasley in for a bit of a cool-off. Fleur couldn't help but chuckle at that enticing thought.
Steeling her resolve, the woman clad in a powder blue cloak, spirited about. Immaculate piercing blue eyes lanced upon Bill's rooted form, as if to challenge him to utter another syllable. At the ripple of his throat, she knew Bill had swallowed – involuntarily or not, she had drawn first blood with no words being uttered.. This drew a fleeting smirk over the full of her lips. A pair of diminutive hands with perfectly manicured nails edged out, pulling the cloak tighter about her form. Fleur was pacing herself, formulating words in her mind – though her English had dramatically improved, when confronted in such a way, her French would always begin to mix with the English.
"Drôle…" a breath, "'ave I not been working wit' an enfant for d'pas' two years..?" Fleur purred out sarcastically.
She offered a kittenish lopsided smile while she allowed her hands to toy with the fringes of her cloak's lapels. Fleur scanned her former lover's face observing the miniscule way his features tensed at her curt reply. Satisfaction seeped through her. Her head dipped a slight, which brought forth a cascade of few of her silken strands, hooding the intensity of her cerulean eyes.
A move that Bill was thankful for. It broke the French-witch's mesmerizing gaze.
Natural, everything she DID was seamless. No longer was Fleur that infatuated and flirtatious, 17-year-old youth that he sought to mold and impress so many years hence. Who stood before him now, was a woman that didn't bear any resemblance to that girl, Fleur was stationary there looking smug, obnoxious – at least to him – She was womanly and but mostly, seemed so untouchable. For some reason it was exhilarating. Bill found asking himself, WHEN did she change? How he loathed that she wasn't dependant on him any longer and yet he wanted her at the same time, he wanted to break her.
"Do us both a favor and get off your high horse, woman. Answer th' question. Do you not 'ave any brains t'all? Hermione Granger of all th' bullocking…" he edged closer, Fleur never flinched, "Th' girl 'as a future with Hogwarts an' th'ministry." Bill spat out anxiously just a few feet from the Quarter Veela at this point. "I'll be damned if you of all people, corrupt her."
Fleur rolled her shoulders beneath the cloak, indicative of a shrug, still holding her composure. Her back was ramrod stiff, "..Is dat 'er wants, or yours an' ev'ryone else's?" she began calmly. As everyone knows, the Veela carry an almost hypnotizing lilt upon their voices. If one weren't careful..
She injected the tone deliberately – a soft contralto - wanting to exact her vengeance to the very person that hurt her – Fleur knew letting her Veela prowess lose could have almost devastating results upon her victims, they would become her puppets if she so desired. Unfortunately.. she forgot Bill Weasley was perhaps one of the BEST if not THE best, Charm-Breaker in all of England. Fleur tasted it on the tip of her tongue, Bill had faltered, by his eyes, though mixed with an intense anger towards her – there was wont as well, she'd been witness to too many who've desired her in such a fashion. The woman could feel it in her bones.. if played right, Bill would regret ever letting her loose.
Moistening her lips with the tip of her tongue Fleur breathed out, "..I don' corrup' anyone 'oo doesn' wan' t'be, M'sier Weasley." A pause, "'Ermione is a brilliant girl. I inten' t'give 'er d'benefit of d'doubt..If only you did d'same."
"What's happened t'you Fleur? You're so.. so…"
"..Older? Per'aps it ees b'cause I am 'ow you say… An adult now? Some'sing you couldn' 'andle, oui?"
" – Can't be it." Bill dismissed that idea immediately, "Changed. S'more the word t'describe you."
Fleur maneuvered past Bill, flipping her bone-straight tresses over her left shoulder, giving the stunned Weasley a hefty dose of her exoticism.
"Je suis désolé. I tire.. an' you are running about in circles, no? We are finished 'ere."
A smell of Jasmine and Lilac lingered. She then pivoted about, readying to give her departing sentiments.. only to have her back pinioned to the Atrium's slick glass structure. She wasn't prepared for his sudden pounce. But inwardly pleased that he caved in.
"--!" Her words were never said, for in a fury Bill had attempted to smother any flurry that may have fallen from her lips. Fleur instantaneously began to dodge those assaults. As her neck craned, she felt the eldest Weasley's tongue slither forth to taste her flesh. To level herself.. the Veela hooked a leg about his trim waist, affording an additional brace from the arms that draped about his neck; her fingers slipped through his pony-tailed hair allowing her to grate her fingernails over his scalp.
Awarded with a guttural moan by the man, Fleur smirked.
A gasp fell from her lips as Bill angled his hips upwards bucking towards her with long and deep strokes. His manhood had betrayed Bill, it was tented achingly against the fabric of his wear. The heat of the Veela overcame his senses. And Bill hadn't cared. The only barrier was the damned clothes. He was absolutely rabid.. His hands groped desperately threatening to tear everything from off her. She lowered her hips a few times, meeting his wanton thrusts, enticing him even more.
Fleur's head had inclined, to get a bit of reprieve from the act, only to have her gaze rest upon a line of dense brush – moving. The wind did kick up a bit, perhaps…
Hermione froze in place, her breath stilled – but that damned gust almost revealed her hidden posturing. Fleur's gaze finally relented after a minute and she let a stream of air release from her lungs.
Slowly.. very carefully, the young Muggle crept backwards. The only sounds that greeted her ears now, were the faint moaning exchanges between the pair and the rustling of the leaves. The latter of which provided a bit of a covert retreat.
Tucked within her Prefect's robes, Hermione could barely feel the mist caressing her face, her mind was in a daze as she aimlessly wandered back onto Hogwarts and to her dormitory room.
She escaped the piercing looks and harsher whisper-rumors of the Great Hall - to the outside. The crisp of the air filled her lungs. She continued to walk, briskly to where her place of refuge was.
A solitary place that she thought no one would be a bench near the Atrium located alongside the Lake. A place where she could collect her fragmented thoughts and evaluate her next move. What Hermione hadn't realized that, people were already there – not at her spot but in near proximity. It seemed to the young Prefect that they had been there a while, bickering at best she could tell. Curious, Hermione edged for a look-see. At least it provided her a momentary separation from her own woes. The thing of it was, the voices had seemed familial to her. All of which had inexplicably died down.
She found that patch of brush, big enough to conceal her. What she had caught sight of though, rocked her. There was no mistaking that illustrious mane of Silver, contrasting against that flaming top of the man that firmly held the woman to him. It was taboo, it was something she should have stopped, only because it was part of her Prefect duties, uphold school regulations, but – it was erotic, and most of all, it was Fleur. She wanted to watch, she wanted to see how Fleur moved, it thrilled her to see Fleur writhe..
But soon plethora of questions soon inundated Hermione's mind, at the pit of her stomach, she felt the beginnings of the Green Eyed monster making its appearance – no rhyme nor reason for it. Why? How could she? Weren't they ended?? But before she could take her second breath, Hermione met Fleur's gaze. She could swear Fleur knew. But the French-woman's attention had immediately returned to her partner.
And NOW.. Hermione was crossing the Hogwarts' grounds in a daze. She couldn't remember when she had returned to her dormitory, but the exhaustion on her bones were becoming readily apparent to the teenager. Resting her hand upon the knob of her room, she pushed past the heavy oak.
"There you are, girl."
Blinking repeatitively, Hermione looked up, the shock of pale skin and flaming red tresses greeted her.
"Ginny." She rasped out. "What are you..? In fact how in the world did you get into my room?"
"Well that's a fine how-do-you-do", came Ginny's swift yet teasing response. With a flick of her wrist, the year younger female produced her wand and mused, "Alohomora. Standard book of Spells - And here I thought you were well read, Ms. Granger."
"Listen, Gin – I'm just,.. I'm not good company right now. Can I take a raincheck, luv?" Hermione confessed softly, slipping past the youngest Weasley offing her slightly damp robes and discharging it upon her bed before following suit and crumpling upon it afterwards.
Ginny watched her friend, her 'sister' putter past her with concern. She eased her slight frame against Hermione's four-poster bed's towering banisters, peering down to the over-stressed Prefect.
"First thing you need to remember, Hermione - Ron's a git. My brother, certainly, but still a git." Then a pause right before Ginny rested the flat of her hand on the Prefect's back – It took a bit of time to realize what Ginny was referring to-, "He loves you, you know more than anything."
She heard Ginny, heard the words, but all she could feel was the girl's hand on her back. Her mind began to wander and compare.
It was nothing like Fleur's.
The warmth that permeated from Fleur's palm just poured into every blood pumping vein of Hermione's. It stirred her.
"I know." She gave a muffled response, her face buried into her down pillows. Ginny sighed and patted Hermione's back. "Give me a few moments, Gin - I'd just like to be alone for a bit."
Grudgingly the young Gryffindor bobbed her head, "Sure. And Hermione…? Just.. give him a chance. Okay? Ron's a great guy."
"Mm." Hermione grunted.
The room stilled, and her head rose at the sound of the gentle click of the door closing behind Ginny. Hermione spirited her eyes to the nearest candle on her night stand. She propped herself upright and blew a steady stream of her breath upon it – the wick spasmed, then lit. A gentle glow of yellow and orange danced before her eyes. The last vestiges of day were being dampened. Night would soon be here.
She rolled over upon her back. Hermione's eyes shot towards the canopy of her bed watching as if in a trance induced state at the dancing shadows, the young muggle witch uttered a soft incantation directed to the shadows up above her. They swirled at her whispered sayings, forming into undefined images, of two beings; she knew very well who they were. But Hermione gave them no name – she wouldn't allow herself to say it out loud. Intently, she watched. Bringing her fingers of her left hand to her lips, the teenager began tracing the gentle contoured shape that it provided.
Her eyes listed closed for a bit, letting her imagination flow, allowing her fingers to leave her now moist lips down to her swan like neck. Hermione felt her pulse quicken. Her eyes eased open. Above her the shadows eased into one time and time again. Lower did Hermione's hand drift, passing her clavicle, to between her breasts. Her right hand, had already worked about her mid-section, tugging at the fringes of her pleated skirt over her the gentle swell of her thighs. At the slight flare of her nostrils, Hermione could smell it. The faintest trace of her arousal. She was damp; the first brief brushes of her fingertips over her underwear confirmed that. At the touch Hermione elicited a throaty groan.
Ron.
Ron was her beau. She gave herself to Ron. It's always been Ron, he and Harry had been all she knew – it was only natural that she be paired with either one of them. She was expected to be paired with one of them. And yet, since she had met Fleur – there was an engrained ferocity of that need to know her, to let Fleur know she's as every bit as equal to the Quarter Veela. That need had taken root. Fleur ignited an intensity at the very pit of her being. Hermione felt a fire, a… something.
Hermione bit her lower lip, squelching the burgeoning wont to scream. The shadows above continued to writhe and melt into one another, causing her breathing to go ragged. She was beginning to feel lightheaded; logically she knew the name to call. But abandoning that logic… she finally let loose the name that made sense to no one else but her.
"…Fleur…"
"Good save that one, mate." chortled Harry as they walked into the Prefect Common Room. He clapped Ron's back merrily, chiding the battered Gryffindor Keeper.
"Aw shtuff it 'Arry, least it pu' a shtop t'yiur bloo'y goal, didn' it?" Ron mewed piteously, rubbing the bridge of his swollen nose. "'Ey, if I didn' b'fore, thanks."
Harry shook his drenched hair and offered a roll of his shoulders, "Would've done the same for me, Ron." Neither spoke of what happened previous their scrimmage. Ron tossed a hand towel towards Harry, who was already stationed at the fireplace swathing off the rivulets of rainwater that had collected on his spectacles.
"Finally returned from th' pitch 'ave ye?"
Both boys glanced up as a very upset looking Bill who was hunkered just adjacent them on an old leathered lazy-boy. His feet propped up on an ottoman as he nursed his drink. He'd been there some time.
Ron physically slapped his forehead, suddenly remembering, "Oi, sorry 'bout leavin' the booth Bill, just.. 'Arry an' I y'see.."
With a wave of his hand in dismissal, Bill jetted in, "Least o' me problems, lad." Harry and Ron shared confused glances, as Bill rose to his feet, patting his vest's front pockets. Pulling out a pocket-watch, the slightly inebriated man, glanced to it. "..God, bloody worthless piece of invention e'er made t'man – makes no sense! Jus' like women."
Flushed red, Bill ambled towards the hearth, motioning towards both boys, "You, 'specially, get o'er 'ere." Complying, Ron stepped forth, only to be garroted about his neck by Bill's massive forearm.
"Don't trust 'em. Not a one. Conniving wenches they are. Don't let them step all o'er you, got me? Ron? 'Arry?" They nodded slowly. "If ever they start t'lip back with all their boo-hooin' an' 'elp me this an' 'elp me that', give 'em what for. Don't let them play with y'eart. T'ain't somethin' to trifle with. Got me?"
Again, they had nodded. With Ron turning a bit beet in hue, Harry took that slight que and offered to Bill,
"Hey, Bill c'mon. I think the Prefect's guest rooms are this way." At which Bill belched out his replying acknowledgement.
Rubbing the back of his head he glanced upward, taking in everything his older brother said, Ron called to Harry, "Gonna go check up on a few things, mate. Be back."
Harry afforded a nod, "Right. I'll get th' Butterbeers ready." That said, Harry proceeded to make sure the elder Weasley made it to the inner guest rooms safely, where during the duration of the fair, 2 days worth, the vendors were put up in Hogwarts' prefect dormitory.
Bounding upward towards the main rooms for the Prefects, Ron paused before the particular door. He hadn't bothered to rap upon the thick oak. Not that any one person could HEAR through it. So.. he shoved it open. The dimly lit room greeted his eyes. It took but a few moments for his sight to adjust.
"'Lo…? Oi, y'in 'ere?"
"Ron…? What're you doing in here..?" Hermione rose from the settee nestled snug against the farthest window; started by another entering her safehaven, disrupting her privacy. Scuffing his feet along the cobblestone floor, Ron rubbed at the nape of his neck, lobbing a glance out the window Hermione was looking from.
He gave no answer as he spied a very familiar silver topped woman slipping from the Great Hall enroute to the guest rooms of the Prefect Dorms. Ron glanced back to Hermione and shrugged.
"Just thought I'd entice y'to come t'bed."
Hermione couldn't believe the gall. "I thought I gave you my answer. But if I must spell it out for you, N – O." She stared at him.
"For once, Ron – listen to me instead hearing with half an ea—", Hermione never had a chance to complete her thoughts. A blinding flash of numbing white-hot pain shot at her cheek. Sending her stutter-stepping, and her mind reeling. Cupping her cheek, the unabashed stream of tears fell from their perch.
Ron was looking at his hand, then back to Hermione. The feeling was horrific. And the adrenaline was just as potent. His breathing was labored. He saw the shock painted all over her face. But most importantly, Ron heard the sweet sound of silence threading the room.
Swallowing hard, Ron said through clenched teeth, "I've been listening to you spew about everything for the past four years. YOU listen. You made me look like a bloody fool in front of ev'ryone t'day. I am your boyfriend, not some woebegone maggot that you think you can walk all over." He paused, advancing slowly on Hermione, failing to miss her cringe in respite.
"Said you always hated when ev'ryone stared at you, b'cause of your muggle 'eritage? How'd it feel t'ave ev'ryone stare at y'then in th'all?? All thought you've gone off th'looney bin, 'ermione! There goes that whacko Granger, whatever does 'ee see in 'er? I won't 'ave them all laugh at us. I won't 'ave Ginny and 'Arry look at me.. me, like I can't control you.."
He paced before her now, continuing his tyraid, "D'you know.. without 'Arry or me, youd've been 'nother mudblood, laughed at like Malfoy always does? Who'd've been there then, to watch y'back, huh? You owe us.. ME. An' y'better do right by me, 'Ermione."
No more words were uttered by either of them. Ronald Weasley felt a distinct amount of satisfaction at his accomplishment. He had done what Bill suggested. And held his ground.
Ron had left – leaving Hermione with only her thoughts.
What had she been doing?? Chasing an infatuation, which was nothing more than brief confusion? Trying to believe she was more than what she really was? Had she forgotten everything they had gone through in all their 4 years? He.. he made sense. They were.. are.. her family. People that wouldn't abandon her. The unknown is just that. The unknown. Unsafe.
It was close to Midnight.
He would be waiting for her arrival.
Slipping into her nightgown, Hermione preened herself exactly as Ron liked.. and left her room.
..Writing this on a whim, I never really had direction to this, where shall we go now? I would like to give insight on both ladies. It's time they get to know the other. Chaste. Innocent. Somewhat.