Maybe this year will be better than the last
I can't remember the last thing you said as you…
were leavin'."
-The Counting Crows
One.The Great Hall of Hogwarts was a grand staging ground, ancient in its steadfastness, elegant by stature. Within, weathered stones pressed against one another kept the formidable room its aged charm along with dimly lit nooks and crannies; but the medieval fantasy was kept alive with house elves trundling to and fro, effortlessly hiding…even before you manage to catch a glimpse of them. The floating mass of candles overhead gave the Great Hall its legend. But not more so than the vaulted ceiling, enchanted to echo the outside endless skyline. This magnificent room had always been and will continue to be the heart of the school.
Tonight was no different as it was pulsing alive with the vibrancy of youth. A new term had begun and as always scores of bodies filed into the cavernous expanse, abuzz with chatter, boisterous laughter and over all jocularity, the best time of the Hogwarts school day had all but come to an end – announcing that above all, it was dinner time. Clumps of cliques by then had already been formed and readied to raid the massive oak banquet tables. From your introverted outcasts to the extroverted attention whores, down to the athletes, freaks and geeks; despite being in different houses, many had made alliances with one another, but the majority remained true to their 'kind'. It was the normal social thing to do and no different from the Muggle world. But there was one group that was so exclusive, that it seemed to be by invitation only. At least that's what it was assumed for the first five years of their friendship.
They were simply called - The Three. Never too far from one another, some would dare to liken them to Siamese Twins…you just couldn't see the thin thread that bound them. Their legend had been created from their very first year at Hogwarts. Especially since their relationship was baptized by fire. And then it was made more infamous with the celebrity of their unequivocal leader – Harry Potter. It was his destiny to never be forgotten.
Harry had become too old to be labeled The Boy Who Lived. He maintained his signature tousled hair, heavily rimmed glasses and began to brandish his scar much more prominently than he had previous years. Those awkward years. His build was lean, devoid of fat, expected of an athlete that plays Quidditch. Harry was an icon of sorts for Hogwarts. Everyone either fancied him, or was in awe of the young man, or…hated him with abandon. He walked the precarious line of angsty teen, meets aloof cool. The James Dean of the Magical world. With his deep Emerald eyes and a soft but gruff voice, he'd have the women aflutter…and some young boys, if that's what he preferred. But no one…could harness his magnetism.
Though, the second of this obtuse grouping perhaps could. Ronald Weasley the main goalie for Gryffindor's Quidditch team came from humble wizard stock. Rugged good looks with flaming wild 60s-esque hair, was only matched with his outlandish personality. Much taller than the resident legend, Ron filled out during the years. Broad shoulders accompanied with strong often, calloused hands. His voice was a rogish brogue, which seemed to reverberate through one's body, which most of the female populace of Hogwarts found terribly attractive. He had been a loyal friend to Harry from the beginning; never having a real falling out with the Scarred young man.
But when the final leg had been introduced, it put a little spin on the otherwise tight bond that was already in place with Ron and Harry. Hermione Granger was an awkward prepubescent girl. Uncontrollable hair only offset with prominent frontal teeth, it made her look at least somewhat appealing. Her face was cherubic…accented by deepset eyes and a defined nose. What she had lacked in appearance, she made up for with a personality that was deadly sharp. Hermione's intellect became well known as much as her stubborn passion for what she believed in. Emotionally she kept herself at a lofty distance, allowing for bits to fall so that only her closest friends would have seen. After a rocky beginning, Hermione fit into the neatly working sprockets with the boys. Proving herself time and time again how vital a part she was to the team.
Like always though, time went on interests changed. Bodies…changed. She had grown into a prim and proper yet waify teenager. Not readily as curvaceous as the Patil twins, nor as exotic as Cho Chang, but the Muggle did come a long way from her awkward years. No longer was her outrageous hair poking out in every which way possible, it somewhat tamed, remaining full of volume but now more manageable. But her strong personality remained intact and unwavering in its intensity. You either learned to love her, or just minutely tolerated her.
Whether that was the case now, Hermione didn't rightly care. She valued the times when she was able to steal a moment or two away from the stress of Hogwarts' social circles. It wasn't that difficult for the Muggle Born to will herself to be invisible. All she needed to do was stifle her appetite to inject her opinions on any topic. So…even among the swarm of busy bodies that gravitated to the Great Hall, Hermione tucked herself into a non descript nook, novella in hand and took to her favorite past time…people watching.
Especially observing the fairer sex.
And it wasn't because Hermione was that way. There would be no possible way that she would be. She adored men and found herself…comfortable about them, nothing attached, nothing complicated like over-charged emotions. There was no one more comfortable to be with than her beau of over a year and a half; Hermione had cared about him for longer than she could recall and could see herself with no one else but.
The Muggle born's eyes peered from the cloaked depths of her hideaway. Hermione observed these girls, in hopes to imitate their style, their airs. Their…femininity. Since being with Ron and Harry, she had taken to their boyish ways. Which could be off-putting when intimacy struck Ron. Hermione never really knew how to access that part of her. But here in the nook of her personal space, Hermione's gaze drifted towards one of the more popular women on campus. Padma Patil. The girl had a knack for the game. She ran through boys like a woman changing underwear. Ensconced in the dimly lit area, Hermione's fingers weaved into her thick locks, methodically massaging her scalp, emulating every nuance that Padma did. Down to the smoldering way the Patil girl puckered her lips to beckon the opposite sex further into her web.
"Have you taken ill?"
The sudden voice jolted the newly appointed Head Girl into the now which in effect, left her dropping her book before scouring the expanse to pinion the intrusion. Hermione let loose a disgruntled cough. Plucking her reader from the stone floor the Muggle Born regained her composure realizing who it was.
"Honestly, if you hadn't just rudely…," exasperated Hermione before catching herself with a breath, "What are you going on about, Gin?"
With a motion of her hand over her features, the sinewy year younger red head replied, "Your face. It's all bunched up, like someone took a bloody mallet to it."
Hermione was unamused before chuckling dryly, "You're definitely a Weasley."
Ginny Weasley the youngest of the brood, held her own throughout her years at Hogwarts. She was popular not only for her stunning looks, but her quick to wit and bubbly attitude. A people person, Ginny was easily gravitated to by all castes in the school. But above all this…she was Hermione's confidant and perhaps only girl friend.
Cheekily, Ginny winked then shrugged, "You don't say? I'll have to have a talk with mummy about that." Rounding the lounger that Hermione graced herself on, the taller Gryffindor settled upon an armrest carousing the Hall with her green orbs. "mmm…the usual suspects tonight – and who are we case studying?"
Hermione sighed, and grudgingly flicked her cocoa hues towards Padma. Ginny followed easily.
"Hogwarts' real life blow up doll," snorted Ginny. "You must be ill…One could develop what you Muggles call…STD by just looking at her!"
"Oh yes, Gin. Louder, I don't think she quite heard you."
"Merlin's beard, 'Ermione - she's been ridden more times than Neville's blasted broom…In fact, I don't think he's ever managed to mount that thing since his first year!"
Hermione glanced back to Ginny under hooded lashes, "Ginny. That's terrible…", yet still afforded a soft scoff.
Canting her head a slight, Ginny added as an afterthought, "You could have picked someone a mite better to take notes from…"
The Muggle arched a slender brow precariously.
"Let's run through the list shall we?" mewled the Head Girl; crossing one leg over the other she lifted her digits and began,
"Milicent Bulstrode – Right, would she be my pattern for etiquette on how to attain that wonderful greasy look of hers? Or.." she rose from her seat, jostling her friend, whom continued to look at her in utter amusement. "Miss Cho Chang – lovely girl, except when she's not going absolutely mental emotionally, then there's Luna Lovegood – do we really need to touch on her? And dear Lavender Brown – she's not even sure which way she should bat!", she paused and looked Ginny straight in the eye…
"And finally…Pansy Parkinson – that's rich. The girl's as charming as a dull blade stuck into a pig. Would you have me adopt her persona?"
"Whatever for? You've got a delectable one of your own already, luv." Ginny winked.
"Gin…", bemoaned Hermione, crossing her arms over her chest.
"Well…I'm certainly not a bad person to emulate."
"Do you really think that Ron would appreciate half the things he and I try to do, then seeing your sense of style and your mannerisms painted all over me?"
Ginny's mouth gaped opened, then closed…slowly but surely a look of disgust crawled on to the Red Head's features.
"Exactly."
"I'd be inadvertently boffing my brother…"
"You seriously need to learn how pick and choose what you say."
Casting a glance towards the nearest timepiece, Hermione began to chew on the inside of her cheek, then lobbed her gaze towards the main body of the Great Hall. Most of the student body began to ebb away to their respected house common rooms, signaling that dinner was all but over.
"It's not like them to be late for food. Gin, did your brother mention anything to you…," intoned Hermione a little worry injected for good measure.
Ginny's jaws tensed slightly, moving off the armrest and offered a practiced response, devoid of any true emotion. "Quidditch practice… you know how they get." Gently, the much taller Witch eased her hand upon Hermione's forearm offering a reassuring squeeze, guiding her forth, "In the meantime – what say we polish off all the good stuff, I'm personally starving."
As Hermione lead the way, Ginny casually as she could muster coursed her eyes towards the entryway. It wasn't difficult to spot her older sibling. He was one of tallest boys entering the Great Hall and the most animated, but curiously stayed behind the main body of the group, comprised of Seamus Finnegan, Dean Thomas, Neville Longbottom, and the crush she's had since before she came to Hogwarts – Harry Potter. As they rounded into the main causeway, Ginny narrowed her eyes. Just a few paces ahead of Ron was Parvati Patil, Gryffindor's most eligible bachelorette and a carbon copy of her sister. The only difference was…She didn't advertise her services like Padma did. It was all hearsay.
"…Fucking trollop, she's no business being separated from Lavender." hissed Ginny.
Hermione didn't know whether to laugh or be wary. The latter was perhaps the best way to tread. But the joke was in itself funny. It's a rare thing to see Parvati and Lavender away from one another for an extended amount of time. Poor Lavender, though. She had confessed to Hermione by unfortunate circumstances that the she had been pining after her raven haired best friend for sometime; yet…Lavender to this day had still been denying acknowledgement of her sexuality.
She would never want to suffer through pain of that magnitude…
As those memories began to surface of that event in time, Hermione gave her head a slight shake, clearing her mind.
The 7th year Muggle glanced over her shoulder towards her friend and right off the bat, had taken note of her irritability. Just by the color of her ears, the Weasleys easily advertised their discomfort that way. Her eyes followed Gin's line of sight and paused at the newest incoming group. Arcing her brow she spied Parvati, Harry to her right, Ron to her left and a smattering of boys from each house: Gryffindors, Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs just lingering behind. It wasn't news that Parvati and Ginny weren't readily friendly to one another, but they never brought their dislike for the other to the fore. Hermione could only garner a logical guess as to why.
If rumors about the Patil twins were true, Parvati could easily be moving to her newest target, Harry Potter – whom she already had a history. What with her being scorned at the Yule Ball their 4th year, the tawny colored Gryffindor woman's wounds, may've healed. And Harry Potter was just one of some she's not conquered. Harry though, was and will more than likely remain, Ginny's on again and off again flame. Perhaps this was the singular point of Ginny's dislike for the exotic teen.
The ruddy-eyed Head Girl was glad she's never had that type of unstable relationship with Ron – she needed some form of steadfastness in her life. Especially dealing with the likes of her two lifelong friends.
Among her duty as Head Girl, she was the appointed peacemaker, or at least, the ONLY sane being for her house. Surprising that, given her track record with one Draco Malfoy who she had clocked in their 3rd year. With the utmost cautiousness, Hermione's hand rested upon Ginny's shoulder before she easily she maneuvered herself between her and Parvati, just in case. The former was notorious for her quick anger. After all, Hermione was witness to some spectacular fights between Ginny and her rumpled looking lover.
As Parvati and crew closed the gap, Hermione inclined her head and offered a charitable greeting by way of a smile, she couldn't help that her gaze traversed towards the towering Red Topped male, the love of her young life.
Ron met her gaze and reciprocated with that ever lop sided twist of his own but soon after, averted his eyes and unto the back of Parvati's head.
"I do hope the practice hadn't worn you so much that you can't have some dinner with me…?", questioned Hermione, hoping above all to ease the forming tension.
The other lads must have felt the same ambiance shift and sought refuge from a possible melee to the nearest benches. And Harry, remained silent for the most part, only exchanging eye contact with Ginny every now and again.
Hermione assumed they had got into another argument.
"Just a lil," replied Ron, drawing Hermione's attention back to him. Ron trailed his eyes towards the group of boys that now deserted him. His massive paw rubbed the shag that he called his hair. "Parvati was nice enough t'bring a light snack is all."
Hermione spared a quick glance to Parvati who lifted her brow and smiled broadly towards Ron then onwards towards the Muggle.
"That's very sweet of you to do, Parvati," murmured Hermione, then added, "I hope he had manners enough to at least tell you thanks."
Ron coughed.
"Mm, yes that he did. Quite the gent you've got there Hermione, well trained...," remarked Parvati, with a hint of a smile underlying her dulcet tone, "but…If you pardon me, I think Lavender's waiting," Quietly she excused herself and breezed her way past Ginny leaving that illustrious raven mane to trail freely at the small of her back.
"Hey...ah Parvati, thanks again for th'uh...what y'did, rather - gave at th'pitch. Helped my game tons," Ron offered quickly.
Pausing, Parvati spirited about and with an elegant toss of her luscious mane, winked, "The pleasure was utterly mine, Ronald."
As soon as Ginny felt the Indian descended teen was out of ear shot, she gutturally growled her discontent. Aggravated, she stared at her brother before looking towards Hermione. Without much fanfare, the taller Witch leaned forth and offered a chaste kiss to the Head Girl's cheek,
"I…won't be too far – if y'need me, luv."
Hermione furrowed her brow and nodded with unsure curiosity. Something was amiss. And for the first time, the Head Girl couldn't pinion the problem. She'll have to corner Ginny once again.
Ron stoically watched his sister edge from the pair his gaze intent. The intensity was broken though, as Hermione entwined her fingers with his. He glanced to her studying her face for only a beat. She looked at him with nothing but trust laced in her eyes.
He couldn't stand to look longer than necessary.
"Ron…?"
The worry was like a thick, clinging to her voice.
His mammoth paw firmly gripped Hermione's smaller hands and drew them to his gruff lips.
"'Ow was you're day? Get much done?", questioned Ron, turning towards one of the nearest seats and plopping unceremoniously onto the bench.
"Just the usual, you know…"
Ron looked away, already knowing the reply. It sickened him at how routine his teenaged life became. Since the defeat, apparently of You Know Who's regime life was simply…just there for existing. And the only thing that pumped him with vigor had been Quidditch and…
His green orbs danced towards a few tables placed to the left of the cavernous room…it had been easy to find that girl. The one with the deep raven hair that almost looks purple as the sun played over it. Almost blessedly…the caramel goddess turned to afford a pitying smile towards him.
"…But that's it." Hermione paused, a crease forming between her brow. Her ire had been raised. He'd never listen. It's to be expected…Still. "Ronald." Her tone had become more forcible.
Rubbing the bridge of his nose, the Qudditch player quickly looked to Hermione.
"What?"
"Were you listening?"
"Yeah, o'course!"
"And?"
"Well," Ron's hands began to pantomime as he fought through the haze of his wandering thoughts to 'get into' the mindset of his predictable girlfriend. "…Just make a few more socks te'…y'know off-set the scarfs y'made f'them elves. But, I still reckon they like it just fine…they make good rag-wipes after all."
Normally his cheeky reply would spur a battle of words…this time…
Hermione's lips quirked into a small smile, she nodded just barely. Ron crossed his arms over his chest observing her before he reached forth and pulled her to him until she nestled upon his thighs. Gently, he pushed her healthy swath of locks from her neck.
The heat of Ron's breath as he spoke blanketed her exposed flesh, immediately sending ripples of unbridled ecstasy through her smaller frame.
Pleased at Hermione's reaction, Ron whispered, "You were doubting me, weren't you?"
Her eyes lowered guiltily, "I…just…" fidgeting, Hermione tucked a tuft of her locks behind an ear, "There's just times it feels like I'm butting my head against a bloody wall. I'm sorry Ron."
Burying his face easily into the nest of hair, Ron chuckled, "Y'wound my pride when y'don't trust me, 'Ermione."
"Funny that. You forget that I have a brilliant right hook," amusement clung to her words. "So I wouldn't worry about your 'pride' hurting much if it ever boils down to it."
He laughed.
She loved the sound of it.
"Yeah, I don't think ol'Malfoy e'er got over that."
"Good! The roach needed a li…", Hermione wasn't able to finish her thoughts. For just outside the Great Hall, accusatory voices echoed and filtered into the room. The words were incoherent, except when a few expletives shot out from the female intoned voice.
"Isn't that Ginny…and…Harry?" she murmured; quickly she looked about, only now noticing that the scarred youth wasn't to be found. He must have gone after her. Hermione soon eased off her lover's lap only to be stopped by Ron. But it didn't cease her worry of the youngest Weasley. Ginny had been tense throughout the young night.
"Why don't you take a break…I'll 'andle this. I mean," Ron paused and oozed with his playful charm; not to mention it being the perfect moment to speak with his younger sibling,
"It's th'reason I'm th'Ead boy, 'sides, she's my sister an' is obligated t'listen te me."
Hesitantly, Hermione agreed.
"Whatever you're going to do, Ron, make it quick, mm? I won't make any promises that I'll be saving you the best morsels."
He offered a roguish smile before dipping his head for a stolen yet semi heated kiss.
Teasing, Ron said, "I'll just 'ave t'ave you make it up te me."
Her cheeks began to swelter with heat – no doubt a rush of color crawled over her fair skin. Unable to fire back with a snide comment – Hermione settled for one that was customary and that oozed with reprimand.
"Honestly Ronald…"
He waved off.
Slumping onto the bench nearest she, Hermione propped her elbows upon the aged oak table top. Candidly she dipped her head just a tad, whereby her fingers were able trawl over her lips, tracing the lingering wet that coated them. Her tongue tip slithered forth just fleetingly and drew in the remnants of her lover. Hermione blinked, tasting a foreign flavor.
"Raspberry…" she softly commented to no one in particular. It definitely wasn't her lip gloss.
For a moment longer, the brightest Witch of her school sat in thought. Things were happening that were obviously out of her control. The concern was all but etched upon Gin's features, the negligent nights that Harry and Ron spent away. So many unanswered questions and it was just barely the beginning of the term.
The Muggle born afforded another scoff as she shoved numerous scenarios running rampant in her mind; but as she lowered her eyes to her damp fingertips. One prominent query screamed out…
When did Ron begin using flavored Chap Stick?
His eyes worked to loosen the sleep that blanketed them, but he wasn't a very patient man. With the butt of his palm he aided the process. As one bleary eye took in the current environment the other joined and refocused.
The room was bathed in charcoal darkness, save for one or two Grecian oil lamps that hung liberally from iron rods, but above that there really wasn't much light. Heavy drapes covered the massive arching windows that in effect, the man really didn't know what time of day it was. Comfortably his robust body nested further into the rumpled sheets of the beddings. He was surprised this bed could harbor his lengthy frame at all. But then again…he didn't sleep much.
Bill Weasley was a man that never really demanded much for his life. He preferred to live by his rules. Not that he imposed many rules on himself, mind, but Bill lived on the edge for reason – he didn't want the complications that life loved to throw at everyone. And the eldest Weasley boy had succeeded for the most part.
What he hadn't accounted for…was her.
Bill gazed up to the darkened ceiling, which seemed endless by the scope of his imagination. By this time his eyes had acclimated and what light was provided, he witnessed a distant past. Shadows flickered across the bedroom walls, tugging forth the first images of his memories.
She was like any young female teenager, full of idle fancy, having everything, wanting more and needing everyone to covet her. But…the girl never needed to worry about the latter. Fleur DeLacour was an enchantress with her Veela blood. Despite having the disposition of a girl that only knows finery and creature comforts, no one male could resist her beauty. Even at the tender age of seventeen, the French girl knew this. That arrogance was what drew Bill to her web.
So he hoped.
The roguish ginger haired Wizard liked to believe that his will was above any sort of magic.
There was a shift within the beddings that drew Bill's attention for a moment. The dimly lit enclave didn't do well to hide his bedmate's silhouette, nor did the sheet that blanketed her. It molded to every curve that dipped and inclined (ever so gently) from her hip, to the coasting small of her back, and finally her beckoning shoulders. Her body was that of Venusian's – supple, satin to the touch. The deep breaths indicated she was still sound asleep.
Thank the gods for that…
Otherwise, Fleur would have regretted having fallen asleep in his bed after one of their sessions. The French Witch made him go mad with want – It was as if he couldn't get his fill of her. Even now…he couldn't stop his hand from just reaching out and…touching that magnificent silken platinum hair.
It really wasn't supposed to be like this.
But really, he couldn't complain because the sex was incredible.
Bill's thick digits coursed gently through the tail end of Fleur's strands…They had been together for the past three some odd years. Though not in a way that he'd've thought they would be.
The bed jostled once more and Bill ceased his ministrations. A soft, yet contralto voice, still clung with sleep rung out.
"Est il déjà…Iz it morning…?"
Her accent was still prominent, but Fleur's English had vastly improved. Bill still loved that purr that would be produced by her speech.
He smiled in the dark, "Reckon it is – haven't yet checked th'time."
"Merde."
The sheet was thrown from her naked form with little effort as a few more words dressed in French were spewed from her pillow-lipped mouth. No doubting in Bill's mind, they were all but unladylike. This amused him. Rousing his lean body upright, he groped at a night stand off to the side of the bed. Finding what he blindly sought for, the Wizard lifted the delicate object aloft and gruffly murmured,
"Lumos."
His wand gently awoke with the uttered incantation. A soft glow permeated the room and before Bill's gaze was Fleur just having barely slipped on her panties. Her back was to him even as he trailed the light over every roller-coasting curve of her body.
Fleur pulled her perfect hair over one shoulder as she glanced to him. The French Woman's near colorless pupils twinkled. She puckered her lips and elicited an ever soft, counter spell.
"Nox."
The room was once more clouded in dark. He chuckled dourly, "That wasn't very nice, Ms. DeLacour, jus' wanted to wake up to a sight that would put morning's light to shame."
"Je vous demande pardon, m'sieur Weasley – You 'ad many sights to see last night, no? Nothing 'as changed since then," curtly replied Fleur.
He sighed. She had changed. For the better, Fleur would argue. Bill on the other hand, saw nothing good about it. The girl he met had no longer depended on the need to stroke her ego. Which, in turn meant no more favors granted on a whim. He never found out as to why there was a sudden change in her.
Fleur felt his gaze burrow onto her back. Were she that ignorant child of long ago, she would have been excited at the prospect that this man was now her pawn. That a single sway of her hips would have had him on his knees begging for a lick of her heaven sent flesh.
Now…
She almost couldn't stomach the thought. Fleur barely recognized the man that stared at her. The eyes that coveted her are those very eyes she recalled in her teenaged years. The lust and want…She hoped that Bill was different. She hoped he was the one. Throwing caution to the wind, the young French Witch gave everything she was to Bill Weasley.
Her heart.
Her mind.
Her innocence.
Fleur knew that everyone, her schoolmates, friends and parents thought she had lost her virginity a long time ago. And she let that assumption fly – It only added to her legend. It was a part of the Veela mystique as much as the icy exterior.
No one, her grandmamma said once, was to be allowed in, unless…they are worthy for your heart. So let them draw their conclusions because that's all jealous and ugly people do, it is only important that you know the truth.
Everyone was trifled with, until that diamond was found. It lasted for a little over a year. But the relationship turned sour when Bill suddenly fell victim to the Veela charisma…he wasn't immune. And it tore Fleur apart. It only meant…she wasn't destined to have that elusive True Love.
When she began to realize that she was nothing more than just a trophy for Bill to parade and pine after, she grew distant, throwing herself into her work. Allowing her to reinvent herself, to depend on no one but herself and broke that one time bond she cultivated with Bill.
Of course, like any being that breathes, there is one thing that both men and women share a carnal need of…
"C'mon Fleur…you owe me something you know. We are together…"
Snapping on her bra, Fleur whirled about and with a flick of her hand towards the covered windows and said, "Abrir", willing the drapes open. Sunlight screamed mercilessly into the room, causing Bill to grimace.
"Est ce vrai …? In your dreams maybe." paused Fleur, "And I gave you zat somesing last night, somesing we both needed, oui," she hissed dangerously, causing her to ease into her accent and native tongue.
Soon she found herself leaning forth and her delicate hands began gripping the posterbed they had shared the night before, then continued…
"Th'best fuck you've e'er 'ad, m'sieur. Because ZAT is what we agreed on, no?"
Friends With Benefits.
Yes, he remembered agreeing to that. It was the only way he could assure she would stay with him; there would be no way he would let another own her. Fleur was feral, her eyes turned into angry silvery pools that threatened to suck him in. She was turning ugly. Figuratively and…outwardly. Veela had a nasty tendency to do that – change their appearance when extreme emotions were involved.
Bill lurched forward in return, just as threateningly.
"How can I forget? You remind me e'ry bloody day!"
Her mind freefell into a swirl of pain, the base of her skull throbbed maniacally. Fleur was nauseous. It was part of the Veela curse and part of the forever illness that she found herself succumbing to more easily now. Fighting the onset of the change had gotten customary for the Veela. Raking her fingers through the mesh of her hair, Fleur glanced to Bill.
"I asked you last night…," she murmured dryly, "Do you love me? Everything I am?"
Hope filled Bill for the first time in eight months. Carefully he answered, "Everything."
She searched his features.
But…
"Except when you let that thing come out, if you just let yourself stay calm…you'd be as devastating as you were when you were younger. I love your sensuality…your beauty," Bill seriously intoned.
He reached forth in an attempt to cup her cheek, hoping that cemented his conviction for the Silver-Haired temptress.
Fleur recoiled immediately, slapping his hand away in disgust. She backpedaled before hearing him cry out and fumble from the bed.
"Are you mad? You've fucking lost your mind!" Bill came up from behind her, stark naked and spun her about with his mammoth hands gripping her slender shoulders. "This idiotic display of your drama queening is really, getting' tiring, Fleur."
"Don' tes' me…else you will know 'ow mad I can get, comprenez?" she inhaled deeply adding, "If you please – I'm already late for work az it iz…"
Cooly, the Veela eased herself from Bill's presence, her storm colored orbs met his immaculate yet, surprised jade ones with defiance. A different fire from within Fleur, had been stoked. One that Bill had never seen.
Hate.
"What happened to you…I thought you loved me."
Fleur scoffed. "There you 'ave made your mistake, Bill. You were thinking."
He could ill afford to lose her. But he couldn't NOT have the last say in their arguments…
Rounding the hallway that led to her private sanctuary, the scantly clad woman heard his desperate retort.
"I hope you get your heart broken DeLacour…and I hope it hurts."
As she began to twist her hair into a loosely made bun, Fleur uttered softly, "Cerrado." At her bidding the door gently shut closed. Her movements were entirely natural, but overflowing with the grace she possessed. Fleur sat at her vanity recognizing the face that she was born with.
Ice colored eyes regarded her from her mirror. The perfection returned. Silvery blonde and shimmering hair, with high cheekbones, polished off by full lips. Obviously the illness…the pain began to ebb, allowing her breathing to ease into that familiar rythym. The words that Bill spewed played in her synapses relentlessly though. And Fleur simply replied,
"…You have to have a heart to hurt, m'sieur, and that…in my case, will be very unlikely."
a/n: I've been traveling (thanks to work) and got hit with an urge for a new tale to try my hand at. I know, I know…sue me. But I feel like this particular story has got my juices flowing once more, since it's a tad more personal. RR no flames is the only requirement.