Seven.

"She's cold and she's cruel…

But she knows what she's doing…

…She's just the girl I'm looking for."

Click 5

Bodies slammed mercilessly into one another leaving the lesser able covered in muck. The blokes about one man continued onward, threatening to trample him as he lay there. He coughed on his own blood, but managed to rally his remaining senses. Astonishingly, the man rose to his feet to a rousing ovation. It wasn't for him though. His team had scored a goal in a game called Soccer.

The television flickered with white noise among the thunderous yowls and smashing of beer cans to Cro-Magnon foreheads. Despite that Bill found himself absorbed in this violent Muggle born sport. It was after work and a few of his half-muggle buddies managed to needle him into a little obnoxious man partying. He had to hand it to them it was definitely a fantastic way to kill time until his rendezvous. Tanking another mug of that rancid brew from the pub's tap, Bill fished out his pocket watch and smirked.

The time had come.

It was a Thursday night. The only damned night he looked forward to every month in fact. It was routine for him, get snockered a slight and head over to her place. A month is too long to wait to satisfy those inhumane needs. Between work and working for the Order, Bill Weasley hadn't managed to tame his desires, not even a good wank managed to feed them. She owed him this night. It was a set agreement.

When he arrived at her doorstep and then twisted the doorknob. A wave of excitement coursed through him as he felt the tumblers give way. He didn't have to use a key, it seems…she had been expecting him as well. Why else would the door be unlocked this time? Bill felt his groin area twitch in anticipation.

Bill stole another swig of the bottle of whiskey he 'borrowed' from the pub. Maneuvering through the haze of his inebriation and dimly lit hallway, he heard familiar strains of a tune. He groaned outwardly detesting her taste in music. It was old and utterly outdated. There was no way Bill would ever live according to his age.

The tall wizard rounded a corner leading to the main living area. His eyes didn't need to fight to focus on the sight before him.

Two women…

Two bodies moving in unison…

The telltale deep breaths, incomprehensible moans…both were on the edge of bliss. It obviously wasn't a late night consoling session for Gryffindor's headmistress.

This was a dream for most of the male populace. Any blue-balled lout that says otherwise must have been queer. But THIS…this was different, he recognized the girl even before wiping the disbelieving crusts from his eyes. Tonight the display was revolting. Angry, he tromped into the room gripping the bottle's neck tighter with each step.

"I'll fuggin' KILL ye!"

A breathless, almost mousy plea escaped Hermione's throat, barely making it past her lips, "R…ron…"

"Bill…What an uninvited surprize." Fleur's reply was saturated with sarcasm, "You stink of alco'ol."

Hermione turned her confused gaze towards the Frenchwoman. "…Bill?" It was a soft askance that wasn't meant to be heard. Her body was suddenly hit with a heavy wallop to her gut – A feeling she realized, was both shame and guilt that made her think Ron had caught her. She screwed her eyes tight before opening them once more. The teenager sought Bill out; he now stood towering over Fleur's rooted form.

"You shu'up y'damned slag!" A newborn ache resonated within the eldest Weasley. He wanted to pound this woman's body into submission. Amazingly as his face contorted with absolute rage, Bill held the urge at bay.

"What the bloody 'ell d'you think you're doin?" His steely eyed gaze pinned Hermione before spattering out in a more hushed, yet infuriated tone to Fleur, "…Boffin' th'kiddies now?"

Her temple thumped mercilessly…

Fleur lifted her gaze and leveled it unto Bill's fiery ones. The Veela caught a tiny flinch of his facial expression. Something made Bill Weasley quake. She scoffed inwardly at that.

You've only seen this once, haven't you Bill? Her Veela blood began to simmer.

"Look to yourself before you fucking lecture me," hissed Fleur. A tempest raged within her, rage at being intruded upon and frustration at not attaining that release her Veela side craved so violently.

"Nothing," It was barely a whisper, but was audible enough for all to hear.

Swirled into the mix of her emotions, Fleur was rocked with a jolt. It had slipped her mind that Hermione was still in the same room. The shadows in the within the expanse, moved by the will of the moonlit night. The French witch followed them, remaining under their cloak. She couldn't…She wouldn't let Hermione see her. Her ghostly eyes pinioned intently on the Muggle. The recent memory of the youth's body pressed so gently against her, still lingered in her soul. It only reinforced the ferocious knowledge of wanting to find that release with her young companion. Remaining silent, Fleur made sure to keep her features hidden as she listened.

"What?" Bill boomed out.

"It was nothing," reiterated Hermione; her intonation wavered just slightly.

Fleur scrutinized the girl. Nausea crept into her; she tasted it as it nestled in the back of her throat. Being whored, after all, leaves a sickening flavor in one's mouth.

The teen's mind replayed what happened not more than a few minutes ago. She would never deny that it felt exquisite… She desperately wanted to lose herself, but the consequences of that would be too great. Hermione Granger was the epitome of a good girl. And a good girl should never feel guilt. Bill's coming here solidified that; what she nearly indulged in…was wrong.

"You can't expect me t'believe tha'."

"I expect that you would trust me, Bill."

Hermione's posturing was rigid and her words resolute. Her gaze never wavered from Bill's. This was the right decision.

"Whatever it is you thought was going on – isn't the case." The teen approached Bill slowly. She managed to edge out with much concentration, "You know me. So you know that nothing happened."

"I know you," said Bill heavily, "An' I know 'er."

The Muggle refused to follow his line of sight as he motioned towards a dark patch. She felt Fleur's presence and knew the Frenchwoman watched from nearby.

"Enough with the interrogationz."

Involuntarily, Hermione inhaled hearing the interjection.

"The girl came 'ere for 'er nightly lessonz," her accent thickened. It was proof that inwardly, the Veela began to win the right to be dominant. Fleur was too tired to fight the assault off any longer. The reason for fighting was non-existent; she should have learned by now...

But hope clung with those quiet exchanges and lingering touches…how could Fleur not have been swallowed into the game?

"Muggles are so left-footed oui? She needed 'elp - Desperately." The game changed and the Veela will adapt accordingly.

In graceful fashion the Veela skirted within the darker portions of the room, remaining out of view. Only the deep contralto timbre of her voice carried throughout the room, condescending in every uttered word, "Else the girl fall flat on that Muggle face of 'ers at the upcoming Yule Dance." The woman paused, "Public 'umiliation iz tantamount to suicide at that age" She allowed her cool gaze to wander over the youth's body, "Such iz the life of sheep."

Her silver eyes flicked upwards to Hermione's features. Unwittingly the youth met Fleur's gaze. But the look the teen received wasn't the same that she had become accustomed to.

"…You 'ave taken what you needed from me," The Veela announced crisply, "I doubt you need anything more…"

The teenager's throat constricted upon itself. Hermione searched the darkness to find Fleur but was met with a wall of stony silence and that heartless gaze. "I'll…return tomorrow for-"

"I 'ave other appointments. I suspect I shall be busy."

Hermione stiffened as she hoarsely echoed, "Appointments."

The Veela moved and was barely out of the shadows. That both Bill and Hermione could almost make out her features. "Oui. Now if you please excuse me…" the woman canted her head towards the red-topped wizard allowing her voice to dip a notch lower and added, "…I 'ave an engagement to attend to."

Bill failed to suppress his smirk. He had been told what was going on and that was all he knew. Giddy as a hormone enraged teen, he sputtered his two-cents, "I'll ge' th'drinks – White wine, right?"

The French Witch's nod was near imperceptible, but it was enough to send Bill scurrying.

"I thought you weren't with him," rasped Hermione when the wizard was finally out of ear shot, "You told me…"

"-Yes," sniped the elder woman, "I 'ave told you many thingz so let's add one more….You know where ze exit iz." The Veela turned about, letting her flowing mane of silver shimmer against her back. "…leave."

Hermione's form went stark still to her hands tingling with numbness.

"You… You cast iron bitch!" Hermione's eruption was enough to have the Veela pause in her trek.

Her eyes burned as the intensity of her headache doubled. The monster within clawed at Fleur from the inside. It surprised the Veela that her voice remained steady as she meant it to be.

"Tell me something I don' already know."

"Try this: Did you know how much these visits with you meant to me?" Hermione stared at Fleur and found no flicker of acknowledgement, "But then, how could you? I was nothing more than just a fucking appointment to you."

The clock tower tolled deeply. It just hit midnight, sounding the end of their dance. Not a moment to spare, she heard the teenager's hurried footfall and the angry thud of the door.

"…You never let me know."

Fleur immediately shut her eyes as she sought support for her worn form. Upon the windowsill she pressed herself against, a drop of ruby red contrasted against its Spartan white paint. She used the back of her hand to wipe at her nose and felt the stick of her own fluid. Cursing under her breath, she righted herself. Her eyes opened miraculously.

Just in time for Fleur to have seen Hermione fade from her view.

---

A lonely figure pulled itself from a nearby hedge, she wanted to share what an eventful day it was, capitalized by a most interesting night. Imagine her surprise to find a full house visiting the Counselor. The figure watched the Muggle witch run from the Counselor's temporary home.

Pulling the cowl of her cloak from her platinum head, the younger DeLacour chuckled. Her eyes drifted back to the wing that housed her sister. And for a fleeting moment, while watching Fleur struggle against the paned window – she felt a twinge of concern.

But it was just a twinge.

---

Time soldiered forth elongating the days into weeks. Rumors persisted and relationships were either on their way to being mended or still suffered from the strain of circumstances. Fall edged closer to winter; the scent of it was clinging lightly on the heels of November. Soon, the grounds would be covered in a blanket of snow as the earth slept and readied itself for the second term.

But for the now…The courtyard was littered with students of the respective houses this clear afternoon. Recess from classes had been called, a much needed break for the addled minds of Hogwarts. One such found her way on a luxurious patch of knoll, coursing along the tree line near the lake's edge.

A brisk wind tickled her from behind causing the red headed witch to tuck into her Gryffindor scarf. As she arrived to the designated 'loafer's' area, Ginny Weasley eyed the mod-squad group already gathered. Neville slept on his belly oblivious to his surroundings. Luna was propped against the trunk of a tree, without her robes and scarf weathering the cold as if it were nothing. Harry, whom she had reached a quiet truce with, paced the lake's edge subjecting himself to apparent brooding – at least that what it appeared as. But a squeal of high pitched 'Oh my god there he is!' broke the serenity of the moment. She caught Harry smirk. He just can't let go of his celebrity.

Ginny eased her way to the group and lobbed a silver canister on to the knoll; it landed dangerously close to Neville's head, causing the wizard to start. "Ah, apologies Nev." He grunted in reply and rolled over.

"Is it warm?" queried Luna.

The Quidditch chaser nodded, "As per request – A steaming brew of Butterbeer."

The blonde Ravenclaw grinned, "Brilliant – It's rather nippy out."

Neville, upon hearing that, popped his head up looking incredulously at Luna, then to Ginny. The red head though, had her gaze fixated elsewhere. Bringing himself upright he finally said, "'At's why we've been issued winter robes."

Luna erstwhile, snatched the canister and began to pour healthy amounts into separate cups for each person, "Oh. Yes. Yes that would make sense wouldn't it?" She passed one cup to Neville (who hadn't ceased his staring but said his thanks none the less), then meandered to Ginny.

Gratefully the witch bobbed her head in acknowledgement to the offered drink, before receiving a proud smile from Luna and a gentle caress upon her head. She watched her odd friend with mild amusement.

"So then…?" Neville managed out.

"Mm?" Charmingly replied Luna, "You should drink up Longbottom – Butterbeer never tastes as good as when it's warm."

Discombobulated Neville shook his head and tried again before Harry, tiring from basking in his glory gave a pat to his mate's shoulder, "Don't. You'll go mad if you pursue further. So just smile and nod."

He sighed and acquiesced, downing the contents in just a few swallows.

Harry nursed his drink before moving himself closer to his one-time ladylove. Luna had already situated herself alongside her best mate – Harry had learned to accept the blonde as Ginny's personal assistant/attack dog. "Have you heard?"

"There's a lot of 'have-you-heards' going about Harry, that one can't possibly keep those fucking rumors straight." Ginny lifted her eyes from behind the rim of her cup before resting her head against Luna's own. "Would this one be the Ron and Hermione one? Or Ron and Parvati, or…our headmistress and Hermione, or was that a lack there of…or..."

"It's the Lavender Brown one. Which I suppose adversely affects the Ron/Parvati relation."

She set down her cup and though her attention was on Harry, her ever wandering gaze became riveted elsewhere. Undeterred, the scarred teenager explained, "Lavender was moved to St Mungos Mungo's. 'Parently, she slipped into a deep coma and for some reason Parvati'd gone a bit wonky."

"Apparently? Harry – It isn't surprising that she would have. Those two were inseparable before Ron. Losing your best friend under any circumstance is...it's…"

With her ever-hawkish gaze, Ginny scrutinized two forms just breaking the horizon. They were obviously engrossed in nothing more than one another. Their body language alone screamed 'flirtatiousness'. The girl had listed her head, as the boy leaned in close and whispered something that caused his companion to guffaw with laughter – fake as it was. Ron and Hermione were headed their way. But the latter must have realized where they were going because she slowed in her trek.

"…Heartbreaking."

Luna rolled her eyes towards the same direction that Ginny had hers transfixed on. Then the blonde removed her spectacles and rubbed them free of debris before replacing them upon the bridge of her nose. "Mm. I think you need a refill."

Ginny nodded absently, even though her cup was still filled to the rim. Luna took the cup and dazedly wandered from her friend's side. The redhead stood as both her brother and Hermione edged closer. The Weasley sibs acknowledged one another when appropriate but other than, agreed to stay out of the way of the other. Ron effectively avoided his sister and strayed to where Neville and Harry stood.

She nearly couldn't recognize the Muggle-born. Her hair had turned a lighter shade of brown and her face…well. Hermione gently feathered it with make-up, nothing gaudy or remotely overdone. Her lips were blushed and lashes thickened for effect. It certainly made her look more than JUST appealing.

"You and Ron?" Ginny tendered out.

Hermione's brow furrowed, it was a simple answer, but it felt like rusted tacks grating against her throat, "…Are a progress in works."

Guilt slipped in to Ginny's body, but she had to know. "So you've confron…spoken to Ron."

"Whatever for, Ginny?" The Chaser's jaw tensed before Hermione continued non-plussed, "There's nothing to say."

The red head felt the onset of an incredulous stare being to take hold of her. Quickly she averted her eyes only to have them return to regard Hermione. But her mouth was like quicksilver and asked a question that begged to be voiced aloud.

"Is that why you and Fleur…rather, our headmistress have--"

"What," snapped Hermione.

"It's just that, you two were exceptionally close and all of the sudden…"

"She's a counselor. It was…IS part of her duty to listen," stated the muggle flatly. "I had a little rough patch – She offered an ear for at the time."

That's all it was. Was it? Ginny lowered her gaze and found that her hands were moving on their own accord. She accounted that to being a Chaser for her Quidditch team. Fidgeting was a natural reaction for her body. Clenching her fists to steady them, she lifted her head and moved closer to Hermione. "Listen…," Ginny began even as her hands thumped restlessly against her thigh. "What happened between us…What I did, no…what I should have done…"

"…I imagine it's difficult to turn on a dime." Hermione lifted her head towards the heavens commenting quietly. Her tone had dramatically changed.

"Yes, yes it – what? I…" It threw Ginny for a loop. She paused in mid sentence not quite understanding what JUST transpired. The crisp winter wind whipped gently about the courtyard, sending spirals of leaves into the air.

"As fast as you all go in Quidditch. Navigating at high speeds, isn't it complicated?" The muggle genially began to walk, causing Ginny to follow her on her heels in a confused daze. Hermione tucked a tuft of her hair behind an ear.

"It's challenging, but nothing that I can't handle, I suppose."

The Muggle gave an accepting nod, "That's good…You'll have to give me more specifics on the game as a whole, next time. Quidditch is…such a fascinating sport, I've been meaning to know more about it." She motioned towards the rest of the group, "I believe we're being summoned."

Ginny watched Hermione head towards the knoll. It became clear to the redhead that her friend was running as far as she could from the pain that was dealt to her. Hermione needed no reminders but needed to forget.

"How far will you run…" came her unsolicited, whispered prose. It was swiftly carried away by a gentle wind.

Ginny sighed. The cycle continued, with a quiet hope that it would break soon.

--

She decided it was not only huge, but also…gargantuan. The Salmon colored bubble covered the majority of Tonks' face. It was quite the enjoyable feeling, actually. The bubble expanded even more, with every breath she pumped into it.

Nymphadora Tonks was unlike most twenty something year olds. Being an adult was nowhere in her immediate dreams or goals. Yet, she found herself in the unorthodox position of teaching up and coming witches and wizards.

She laughed curtly. Tonks'd already been somewhat of an influence in their lives. For some students began wandering in to her class with her trademark shocking hair color.

The bubble immediately deflated as Tonks sucked the life from it. Thank the wizarding gods for the creation of everlasting gum. She had been working on this particular wad for the last two hours. Though it was everlasting it also had an annoying feature…the inability to explode all over one's face. That fact did not deter Tonks from continually trying to reach that apex.

She chewed mercilessly on her gum savoring the surprisingly good taste of coconut and chocolate rolling over her tongue. Tonks grudgingly stole a glance towards the nearest timepiece and sighed heavily. Swinging her legs from the top of the desk she lowered her attention back to the dull task of grading the many papyrus spilled before her forever waiting…

Students certainly had it easier.

This reason wasn't why she became an Auror. Granted, it killed time and placed her where she needed to be. But the assignment had proven to be a rather repetitive tenure. At least…Till the night of Lavender Brown's seeming demise.

Tonks began to rhythmically tap the feather quill absently against her lower lip. Her mind re-played the events pertaining to the past incident. Only…there wasn't much to recall.

She wasn't there.

Madame Pomfrey, was.

And what Madame Pomfrey could remember made no sense. It wasn't fathomable.

Could it?

Now she found herself in a rather unenviable task…

Sounds of hurried and lazed footfall echoed through the ancient hallways. They were semi stifled with the clamoring of youthful voices expressing their frustration with their exam grades.

Tonks chuckled, thankful she no longer needs to go through that torture. Sucking her forefinger free of the excess taste of her gum, she keyed unto a particular conversation.

(She couldn't help it; the crew of students was talking above normal decibels)

"That's rubbish…Here here! She's plenty qualified for that position – else what business would the school have in hiring her?...Blimey – she's meks m'boxers go tight e'ery time we pay 'er a visit...IDJIT, then don't visit her!...You lot are perverted bastards and bitches, if'n y'asked me…Well we didn't, so put a sock innit. You worship 'er as much as we do, dun even lie."

Tonks felt a swelling of pride. She gave herself a little pat on her back for becoming quite the popular teacher…

"You know, zome people 'ave placez to go. And I…well…I am not az thin as I waz. So please my loves, se remettre en marche…Move on."

The Veela's tone was drenched in her patented French coating. Causing the awe struck bunch to coo in unison. It was in that instant did Tonks realize that it was foolish of her to think it was she that they tottered on and on about.

Soon a slew of: "Sorry, counselor…absolutely…can we take your things for ya?" vomited forth.

"'Ave you all forgotten what I 'ave told you from our very first meetings?...You 'ave?" Fleur clucked her tongue against the roof of her mouth, "I should think zat my name iz a welcome relief to one's lips, oui? Try to use it more often."

That statement milked a collective swoon loose from their impressionable souls. Poor fools. Falling for classic Veela-isms. She knew better.

The metamorphmagus felt like gouging her eyes out with a plastic spork. Tonks grew more annoyed when her gaze lowered to one parchment she had begun to grade. Her quill dug into the ream, tearing the delicate paper.

"You've got to be fargin' kiddin' me…" groaned Tonks.

She'll just have to convince her student to turn in another essay, citing 'illegible handwriting.' Yeah. That would work. Tonks was a bona fide teacher after all; she'd not be questioned. Tired of waiting for Princess Pretty Puff…the bubble gum chewing Professor of Transfiguration shot from her seat and tromped her way towards the entryway of her class.

She'd show Fleur up. Right in front of all those worshipping teenyboppers. If they could just snap to from under the Veela's song, then it'd be worth it. Fleur DeLacour was a plain Jane. That's all there's been to it.

Squaring her shoulders Tonks pulled open the heavy wooden door even as her mind ran amok.

Tonks was every bit of a woman as that Veela. She had full lips, almond-shaped eyes, modestly sized chest, sparkling cider personality, and vibrant in her evermore youth.

Suddenly… as Fleur met Tonks' gaze briefly from over her shoulder, the latter woman realized that she didn't have that sensual curl of Fleur's lips. Nor the doe-shaped, crystal colored eyes that rendered you naked in her very presence.

Tonks didn't even have the right posture to carry a…Good GODS, is that her…

"…Rack o'lamb, Coun…Ms DeLac…Fleur…ma'am," one teen stuttered, effectively interrupting Tonks' thoughts. "A'least that's what Neville Longbottom suggested for this dance."

Fleur dipped her head in acknowledgement, "Bon," As expected the teens, because there were more than one willing to do her bidding, grew wide eyed with anticipation; the Veela gave a small smile then added, "'Ave m'sieur Longbottom see me."

Looks of vague disappointment and envy flickered from one youth to the next – they weren't lost upon Tonks as she watched – yet they grudgingly agreed, if only to win Fleur's favor.

This whole scene was stupid!

Once Fleur returned her full attention onto Tonks – with those eyes, the hidden smile, and that slight arch of the Veela's sculpted brow - the metamorphmagus felt her tongue disconnect from her brain.

In one breath Tonks blurted out, "Ilikemen."

Fleur gracefully eased her way into the young Professor's classroom and replied with a soft smarmy mewl, "So do I."

As the door failed to completely close in Fleur's wake, a very beet red Tonks burrowed her eyes on the Veela's back, "Funny that. Cause rumor 'as it, your harem's filled with the opposite."

"Petty jabs at my sexuality are unbecoming 'Professor'."

It was a warning that was shoved at Tonks to cease that line of prodding.

"Why did you send for me," Fleur strode through the room taking a detached interest in non-descript objects, carrying with her the absolute air of 'Business-as-usual'.

Folding her arms over her chest Tonks fell in step, "Just as an FYI…You DO know that we're all us in this together, aye? Tha' we've all got our duties…responsibilities t'perform, aye?"

Fleur slipped a glance at her companion, "Oui. Get to the point, Nymphadora."

From the murmur of her name, an unsought quickening of Tonks' flesh ran through her body. She despised her name for as long as her memory served. The effervescent witch wanted to ring Fleur's neck for making it sound half-decent.

"Miss Brown is close to dying." Tonks affirmed stolidly. "And you're to blame."

--

Feet. Feet were such useful appendages. Many misguided souls pay no heed to their feet; they carried you to where you need to be. They moved quickly when you wanted them to, cutting your trip down from its initial length. Most importantly, they kept one balanced and supported.

They demanded some sort of homage. Respect even.

Trundling along the corridors of Hogwarts, Luna Lovegood made sure there was plenty of admiration spewing from her, down to her faithful feet. She smiled lovingly to them and failed to notice that the women she trailed had halted in their walk. Absently, Luna felt a smart pain, erupting from the top of her head. She had collided into the Muggle witch's back.

The impact sent Luna bumbling backward and threatened to drop her on her rump.

She apologized quickly to the victim of her collision whirled about and offered the obligatory cursory words (which seemed sinfully delectable coming from once innocent lips). While her good friend – the red headed witch – was bitten by a passing giggle-bug.

Two weeks had passed since the unsteady truce between Hermione Granger and Ginny Weasley settled into more familiar waters. They were friends again. But the trust still had dotted gaps in its pattern.

As both estranged friends moved to help Luna, the girl's eyes caught the tendril mist of both Griffyndors' 'aura'. Hermione had a gentle Plum Wine, while Ginny's dynamic Salmon seemed almost glaring by contrast. As they moved towards one another their auras touched intermittently but didn't join. Ginny's in particular was the more persistent in trying to merge. But the colors remained defined.

Luna frowned. She turned her gaze onto the red headed Weasley and offered up a consolatory look. What she got in return was Ginny's confused glance and a slew of: "Are you hurt?…Are you sure you're okay?"

She nodded slowly and heard Hermione's quip while the muggle dusted the hidden debris from the lower portion of Luna's robes,

"Miss Lovegood, I feel inclined to say… If you'd just refrain from going Space-tastic (a terminology coined by half the populace of Hogwarts in regards to Luna – though she could never understand why), I would think you'd have a better chance of maneuvering these halls." The muggle girl paused and quickly asked, "Why do you always insist on riding on our heels anyway…?"

As Luna swept her eyes about her neighboring proximity, they played over pallid features, translucent bodies – souls stuck in limbo from Hogwarts' now by-gone and bloodied history. They stared at her, calling voicelessly for help. Luna drifted her eyes back to Hermione who suddenly held a look of worry over her chocolate hues.

"Because…" Luna replied in standard fashion, "It's crowded." She failed to notice Ginny and Hermione's traded mystified looks. They may say otherwise; something to the silly effect of, 'Luna… there's no one here.' In effect that would happen – which it often did – Luna would simply reply with a gentle smile and a bob of her head.

The Ravenclaw girl learned that her extrasensory abilities made her special at a very young age and that no normal human (by any spectrum) would understand what may be real and accepted in their world, was tame in comparison to her own reality.

So rather than just hide that part of her, Luna decided as per the teachings of her father, "…never deny whom you truly are, and who you are meant to be." She's never lied to herself unlike…some.

Luna assured the pair she was fine. They appeared satisfied with that and continued on their walk, with her tailing behind. Tipping her head casually to one side, her glasses went slightly askew. It sent her eyes out of focus, but as soon she refocused she saw the muggle gripping a reader and seemed flushed. A point made more obvious with the way her speech pattern quickened then alternately decelerated.

The Ravenclaw had a penchant for words and devoured them by reading anything and everything she could get her delicate hands on. The two girls were getting heated in their discussion; Luna paid no mind. She was too concentrated on the words running along the header of the opened magazine.

"Let me rub you down: A woman's journey to Tribadism…" Luna announced before having glanced from the reading, towards the pair. But as she begun to utter, "Are you studying for something Hermio-", she felt a stab of pain brought on by the clamping of Ginny's hand over her opened mouth.

With a surprised, yet muffled groan, Luna observed that as an indication that she oughtn't have said anything.

Luna blinked from Ginny to Hermione; the latter had reached the knob to a door that was slightly ajar, only to pause with a grimace as the words were spoken aloud. Simultaneously her face went ashen as the door lazed open.

In that instance… there the Frenchwoman stood.

A cool Lavender-Gray plume had engulfed the area. It covered over other surrounding aura colors. Luna would go so far as to describe the whole effect as other colors bent to its will, accepting the invasion, and trying to unite with it. Its boundaries would not be broached.

Yet…when the tint came to caress the fringes of Hermione's aura a most peculiar thing occurred. The colors mingled, tentatively at first but folded into the other willingly. Combining and seeming as they never wanted to leave the other's presence. They gave birth to a medley of colors that soothed the senses.

Ginny relaxed her hold on Luna, enough for the Ravenclaw to squirm her way from the Quidditch Chaser and move towards the source. But she was stopped as at a negating shake of Ginny's head.

Luna frowned, but understood as her eyes continued to take in the pulsing of colors that netted the pair.

She wished people could see the beauty of such unions. But…Luna supposed, only special ones could witness such things.

---

The day closed under the worst circumstances that one could ever conceive. Or had it?

It certainly ended with realizations.

With the rawness of pain still close to her, her body startled to wakefulness. As groggy as she felt, the teenager managed to peel herself from her bed.

She grabbed the top sheet from the bed and then curled it about her pained frame. Her eyes adjusted almost immediately to the dimness of the room. It was the dead of night as best she could ascertain, but her attentions were drawn suddenly towards the other form nestled in the beddings. Her bed moaned its discomfort under the weight of her bedmate. Feeling trapped, she felt the heavy desire to leave the room. Slowly she moved about her dormitory groping her dresser for a particular item. Once found she rushed her way towards her private bathroom…

"Cerrado…"

The door acquiesced and locked her in.

She sat in silence, feeling the fresh pain of her lower extremities and smelling that disgusting scent of musk and tang. As she continued to stare at the blankness of the diary her unshed tears threatened to spill onto its pages… nevertheless, the young woman began to compose one of many confessions into it.

---

December 11

I opened the door, she looked at me. And I looked at her. She seemed so tired, so lost, and I wanted to crawl into her.

…It should have been with her tonight.

Why.

Why did I do it.

---

Hermione's head nested backward upon the bathroom tiles and whispered softly the name that was her salvation and her regret.

"…Fleur…"

---

Preview:

The music from the Great Hall droned in the distance, serving as a rhythm keeper to their bodies. Obliviously teens danced the night away but she…She was pinned against a wall, dizzied under the effect of her companion's lust. Her fingers slipped through the silken mane, trying to ease the assault of Fleur's lips coursing along the side of her neck.

It continued to drive into her, raising her need to such fever pitched heights that she cried out in anguished pain.

Hermione wanted this.

Hermione needed this.

And Fleur would be the one to grant her every wish tonight.

--

an We're edging closer to the end – again my sincerest apologies for the sluggish movements of my posting and story telling. But it will be tied up in one form or another.