A/N: Hi everyone, we've made it to the last chapter. Thank you so much for going on this journey with me. Your supportive comments have meant a lot
It's a longer chapter than the others, and I thought about splitting it up, but in the end I felt all the emotional beats belonged together and I tend to write long last chapters anyway so here you go! lol
CW: sexual content ahead
Chapter 7
Luna and Dean did their best to distract Fleur after the trio and Griphook left the cottage, but her thoughts were too chaotic. Too consuming.
Not just her fear for Hermione and the others' safety, but also the recent revelation that she'd set her heart on the witch. That she would have to somehow figure out how to get over this love.
The wireless was left on all day, which added to her disquiet. The worry. The counting of the hours. The helplessness at knowing things were in motion when Luna and Dean snuck away and left them behind. And then the relief when the Order was finally summoned to Hogwarts for battle.
Fleur tries not to think of the fighting nowadays. She'll have the occasional nightmare, still haunted by the images of dead teenagers and Voldemort's followers, and even more so by her near-miss with Bellatrix Lestrange.
After spotting Hermione, Ginny, and Luna trying to defeat Bellatrix on their own, Fleur was desperate to help. They were too far away and it was too risky to send off a death blow when there were so many innocents between them. Fleur ran, shoved people aside, and when her mother-in-law took over the duel, she knew it still wouldn't be enough. Someone knocked into her before she could reach them, but as she fell to the ground, she chanced a wordless arresto momentum which fortunately grazed Lestrange's wand arm and gave Molly the advantage in finishing her off. Hermione was the only one who noticed, looking at her from across the wreckage and giving a short nod before everyone turned their attention to Voldemort and a suddenly-alive Harry.
More often, Fleur will think of the aftermath. The deaths of Tonks, Remus, and Fred, and so many more. A Weasley family in mourning. Seeing Hermione at Ron's side and trying to find some good in it. At least the girl was alive. At least they won.
Fleur comes back to herself and realizes she's lost track of time. A little over two hours late now.
Taking a few calming breaths in order to center herself, she glances down at her left hand. It's always been a habit of hers to remove her wedding ring when she bathes, and she sometimes forgets to put it back on afterwards. Not this time. This time she deliberately placed the gold band in the inside pocket of her blazer after she got dressed for the party.
It feels disingenuous to put it on, but showing up without it will no doubt prompt questioning, so she fishes the ring out of her pocket and slides it onto her finger, then gives herself a once-over to make sure all is in place and that her thrall is as reined in as it can be.
Just as she's ready to apparate to the Burrow, she notices pieces of the rosa rugosa sticking out of the hedge. She must have missed them in her haste to destroy the bush.
Most are splintered twigs and scattered rose petals, but a few appear to be intact cuttings. The right lengths. The right numbers of leaves.
Holding her wand aloft, she begins to draw out every remaining piece of the bush and piles them up. It takes a minute to gather the pieces and she's about to incinerate the small pile when she wordlessly calls forth one of the cuttings.
It floats in front of her, taunting her.
Tempting her.
Not giving herself time to second-guess it, her rosewood wand flicks in a left-right motion, and then she apparates to the Burrow, not waiting to see the magically-preserved cutting fly off to the duffel inside the cottage.
She arrives a distance away from the front of the house. The Burrow is a charming home, she's always thought so. Fleur likes the surrounding property. The tall grasses. The gnarled old trees. It's all rather pretty in the summer, and today is the first Saturday in July.
The noise of the graduation party sounds boisterous even from here.
Bill came earlier to help clean and set up the tables and large tent, and she can see the edge of the white canopy as she walks to the house. Fleur can also hear the live music; the family hired the same band that played at her wedding.
Instead of going around, Fleur decides to walk up to the front door, her charmed heels easily traversing the mud and turf without sinking into them. Perhaps Molly needs some help and she can avoid the festivities for a few minutes longer.
Once inside, the first thing she notices is how empty it is. A rare occurrence for a home so well-loved and lived-in.
Heading towards the kitchen, Fleur observes the dishes cleaning themselves, spoons stirring pots on the stove, and large platters piled with sandwiches when someone touches her shoulder from behind.
She tenses, hand reaching for her wand, then she's met by the bright smile of her husband.
"Bill!" Fleur scolds, swatting him lightly on the shoulder.
He laughs and gives her a short hug before pulling back with an exaggerated pout.
"What?" Fleur asks.
"I still can't get used to you calling me that."
"It's your name, oui?" she teases.
He rolls his eyes and smiles at the standard response, and she's glad he's in a good mood. At least for now.
Fleur transitioned to calling him Bill last summer after the war ended. She still says William on occasion but Bill is more common now than not. It began as a way to impart a sense of unity with the Weasleys, and since she was trying to reconnect with her husband during that time, she thought he would appreciate her efforts to be one of them.
She didn't anticipate he would see it as a further fraying of their relationship.
"Anyways," Bill says, looking her up and down, "you're dressed up."
Fleur hums, standing a little straighter and cocking an eyebrow.
"A little overboard for a graduation party, perhaps, but I'm comfortable."
His features turn serious. "Well, you are traveling to France, so I suppose it works."
She blinks rapidly as her brow knits together. "How did you–"
"You always scour the house before a trip. And you've cooked enough leftovers to last me weeks." Bill blows out a breath and drags a hand through his hair. "We also work in the same department, Fleur, did you really think I wouldn't know you took the Marseille assignment?"
It's not as if she planned for this assignment to start on the Monday after the graduation party, though not telling him when she volunteered for it was purposeful as she wasn't yet sure what her answer would be when he asked how long she would be gone.
And now that she's decided, Fleur wanted Bill to enjoy himself first, and make lighthearted memories with his family and friends.
Opening her mouth, Molly inadvertently saves her by rushing into the kitchen.
"Bill, we need to make more punch."
"Good afternoon, Molly," Fleur says.
"Good afternoon, dear," the older witch responds distractedly, waving her wand to get the knives started on cutting up some oranges. "Wasn't sure if you were coming."
"I wouldn't miss it," replies Fleur politely. Glancing out the window, she says, "It looks like a fine party."
"Yes, well, Bill did a fine job helping his family set everything up."
Her smile forcibly widens. "I'm sure he did."
The remark doesn't sting as much as it would have before the wedding, and she and her mother-in-law really are doing better around each other, but the woman wants grandchildren and will always believe Bill made a mistake. There's not much common ground after that.
As expected, instead of defending her, Bill just offers the usual little shrug and says, "Guess I've got to do more. We'll talk later, all right?"
Understanding his look to mean the Marseille job, Fleur gives his arm a squeeze in agreement, then goes outside.
There are more people than were at her wedding, but there is no longer the threat of war so it makes sense.
Ginny is joking around with George just outside the tent, and she goes to them. George gives her a quick greeting and rushes off to another group of friends.
"Congratulations, Ginny," Fleur says, giving the girl a firm hug. After the battle, Ginny claimed her as a sister and ended the animosity between them. They haven't been able to talk as much during the schoolyear but they owled and made the most of holiday gatherings.
Ginny shrugs. "With Hermione as a classmate, it wasn't all that hard to keep track of schoolwork."
"I'm sure," answers Fleur with a small smile. "But I also meant the offer from the Harpies. I'm so proud of you."
"Thanks, Fleur. Speaking of the other guest of honor for this shindig, she's over there," Ginny says, raising a hand towards a table in the distance.
Calming the flutter in her stomach, Fleur casually looks to where Ginny is pointing. Hermione is standing behind a seated older couple, chatting with them and with Harry and Ron who are seated next to them. Andromeda Tonks and little Teddy are also there.
From the resemblance, and the descriptions the girl once gave her, Fleur knows the couple are her parents. But it's not them that has her entranced.
Hermione's hair is down, the curls falling past her shoulders. A light purple sundress makes her look soft and alluring.
Fleur is startled from her admiring stare when Ginny yells, "Hey 'Mione! Look who decided to be fashionably late in her fashionably French clothes."
The brunette witch turns their way and her eyes widen. After saying some words to her parents, she starts to walk over. It's almost amusing how she does anything but look directly at the blonde. Fleur doesn't blame her. They haven't spoken to or seen each other in several months, not since that day in February.
Fleur braces herself. She has prepared for this encounter all day, and she's more than adept at wearing a mask.
When Hermione reaches them, Fleur's eye catches on the pendant she's wearing and her mask nearly falls away. But she hangs on, not opening her arms to give the same hug that she gave Ginny. Instead, she takes a couple of steps back, hoping her sister-in-law doesn't call her out on it.
"Happy graduation, Hermione," Fleur says airily, briefly making eye contact before glancing around at the party. "I heard you'll be starting at the Ministry soon. You're well on your way."
"Thank you, Fleur," Hermione says quietly. "And yes, I'm looking forward to the challenge."
Fleur nods, eyeing the refreshments table nearby.
"Erm, I overheard Bill talking to Mr. Weasley earlier. You're going to France?" Hermione gnaws a little on her lower lip, no doubt holding back her other questions due to the redhead's presence.
"No way!" complains Ginny. "I thought we were going to have a chance to hang out more this summer."
Fleur grits her teeth, not liking that Bill discussed her travel plans with others before they've had a chance to talk about it themselves.
But that's what she gets for waiting until today to tell him.
"Mm, oui. Several days ago, a well-regarded family in Marseille requested assistance from Gringotts to access a recently discovered private vault beneath their family mausoleum. The protections are too much for them to figure out on their own, and since Gringotts doesn't currently maintain a curse-breaker department in their French branch, I volunteered."
Ginny looks like she's about to question her further but Fleur cuts her off.
"But enough about work. Congratulations again to you both. I see Bill made sure wine was available, and it's a party, non?"
Just as she turns around, a broad shoulder bumps into her.
"Sorry, Fleur," mumbles Ron. "Glad you could make it."
He moves to Hermione's side, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and kissing her cheek. Fleur huffs at the stiffness her potential mate can't quite hide at his display of affection.
She'll have plenty of time to practice, Fleur thinks, striding towards the refreshments, not bothering to excuse herself or acknowledge Ron's apology and welcome.
From behind her she overhears Ginny's expletive at her abrupt departure but Hermione distracts her by asking when all the others are coming.
Her hand trembles as she pours a glass of wine. She swallows down a large gulp, trying not to think about how the sight of Hermione and Ron together as a couple slices through her chest.
After topping off her glass, she aimlessly wanders through the tent, smiling and saying hello along the way, until she lands at a deserted table far from the food and drinks. The band announces they'll play one more set before taking their leave, and she can see George and Harry setting up some sort of magically-enhanced stereo system during the short break. Fleur sips her wine, taking advantage of the moment alone before she is inevitably approached by friends wanting her to enjoy herself at this graduation party which is especially meaningful after everything they've gone through.
The summer after Voldemort's defeat was a busy time. A grieving Weasley family needed her to step in to help cook and clean, in addition to consoling her distraught husband. Hermione stayed at the Burrow, and they had a few small interactions, but never alone and nothing that gave Fleur any satisfaction as to how the girl was coping. After the funerals, the witch left for Australia to find her parents and restore their memories.
In the middle of August, Fleur was pleasantly surprised to see Hermione at a small party at Grimmauld Place. But the witch left soon after Fleur and Bill arrived, so she didn't get a chance to speak with her. Ginny told her later that Hermione's parents had reacted poorly after getting their memories back, and that they were giving her a hard time for choosing to go back to Hogwarts to finish her schooling. Fleur felt awful for the girl, though it also bothered her that she had to get this information from Ginny and not her friend.
Given the lack of communication, and the efforts Hermione seemed to make to avoid being alone with her, she feared their friendship was over. Telling herself it was for the best, Fleur buried the hurt, continued to concentrate on her marriage, and reapplied for her job at Gringotts.
Then Hermione started owling her soon after the schoolyear started.
The bookworm apologized for essentially disappearing over the summer, and compensated for it by writing long letters about her studies, plans, and struggles with nightmares and bad memories. Her parents were slowly starting to forgive her, and McGonagall gave her permission to visit them over a few weekends during the term. Fleur was also secretly relieved that Hermione and Ron were still only just friends, reaffirming what the girl told her about telling him she needed time.
For her part, Fleur wrote about going full-time at the bank, although she avoided discussing how that decision annoyed Bill or that he had taken to dropping subtle reminders about how she agreed to try those fertility spells after the war was over. She had hoped he would've realized she was just placating him so that she could use the extra time to convince him of the facts of her biology, but he wouldn't give up. Overall, she avoided mentioning him to Hermione as much as she could.
Each owl received was a breath of fresh air, and Fleur had looked forward to them all. It was like they didn't want to stop sharing and learning about each other, and she ignored the part of her which warned that she was supposed to get over her love, not continue to feed it.
She was in denial. They both were. Both content to live in the same suspended reality they'd created at Shell Cottage where they could pretend their only connection was friendship.
Pretending didn't stop Fleur's thoughts from wandering to her other potential mates, though. It was easy to list all the ways she and Hermione fit, the commonalities that brought them closer together and allowed her feelings to grow. But what about the others? What was it about them that Fleur would have loved?
With the American girl, it was impossible to say one way or the other, so she turned to Cedric Diggory.
Kindness, bravery, intelligence, these were all qualities she found attractive in a partner, and Cedric had them in abundance. Well-liked, a leader amongst his friends but not full of self-importance or conceit. There was a steadiness about him that likely would've grounded her as she adjusted to being abroad at a foreign school. He would've brought her out of her shell, would've made her comfortable, more willing to explore and experience.
The more she thought about these things, the more Fleur noted how similar her husband was to Cedric. She observed those attractive qualities in Bill in the early days of their acquaintance, but she hadn't quite connected him to Cedric in that way before. As stubborn and impatient as he was, Bill had been a comfort in the aftermath of a painful loss, but now it appeared he was more of a replacement than she realized.
Fleur's guilt subsequently increased, and she tried to be more patient and kinder to her husband as a result. Even so, as autumn waned into December, she began to turn away from his touch.
It was the letters from Hermione, the excitement they brought her, seeing her words, knowing her fingers handled the parchment. Those conversations in the kitchen and on the dunes also wouldn't leave her.
At the time, Fleur thought her potential mate's choice in Ron was a foregone conclusion. But then it didn't happen. And as she waited to hear further news on this front, certain pieces of those conversations made her think about another possibility.
That possibility, however, was pushed to the back of her mind. It added some urgency to her wish to see Hermione, but just because she was beginning to wonder if her potential mate had developed feelings for her didn't mean she was ready to think about what she would do if it turned out to be true.
All she knew was that she hoped to see Hermione at Hogsmeade or over the Christmas holidays at the Burrow. But Hermione never asked Fleur to visit and she stayed with her parents over the holidays, even mentioning that Harry and Ron would be going with her. Hermione said her parents had taken a liking to the boys, and that they were helping her parents understand the danger they were in and why she took their memories.
Undeterred, in early January Fleur owled to ask about meeting over the Easter holidays, but Hermione apologized and said she was going to be with her family then, too.
Hermione's owls were less frequent and less open after that. Which only made Fleur more anxious to see her.
When January turned to February, that rising anxiety helped Fleur realize what she truly wanted. Not just to see Hermione, but to be with her, to no longer deny her love. The choices she made due to losing Cedric didn't have to be permanent. Wouldn't Bill be happier if he had a wife who could give him the love he deserved and the children he wanted? Wouldn't she be happier with Hermione as her partner and bond mate?
But her realization came too late.
::
Fleur, fresh out of the shower, dries herself and goes to her room to change into sweatpants, soft long-sleeve shirt, and warm socks.
It's around eleven o'clock in the morning on the last Saturday in February, and she spent the previous couple of hours pruning the beach roses in preparation for new spring growth, as well as clearing the garden of any sand that blew over the garden beds.
Going downstairs, Fleur takes a book off the shelf, settling onto the couch and placing her wand on the coffee table. But instead of reading, she stares off, thinking about Hermione.
Her patience is wearing thin. In a few months, the schoolyear will be over and the Weasleys are planning a big graduation party for Ginny and Hermione. It feels wrong to wait that long to talk to the witch but she doubts a surprise visit to Hogwarts would be well-received.
Then again, Bill won't be back from his work trip until Wednesday. Now is the perfect time to go.
Sighing, Fleur reaches for the book on her lap.
Then she senses it. They no longer use a fidelius charm, but they keep a ward up to alert them to visitors.
Soon after there's a knock on the front door.
When Fleur opens it, she is surprised by the sight of a nervous Hermione. It's a cold, blustery day and the young woman is bundled up in a coat, scarf, and knit hat.
"Hermione! It's so good to see you," Fleur says delightedly, flinging her arms around the girl in a tight hug. Hermione returns the embrace and it lifts and swells her heart so much she doesn't know what to do with herself.
Fleur pulls back before she can get too carried away. She can be a proper hostess before declaring her love and begging Hermione to give them a chance.
Ushering her inside and closing the door, she walks towards the kitchen, turning her head to say, "I was going to get some tea going, would you like some?"
"No, I can't stay," responds Hermione, taking off her knit hat and gloves, and stuffing them into her coat pocket. "I slipped away at Hogsmeade and need to get back. I'm supposed to meet Ron in about an hour."
"Oh." Fleur stops moving and turns to face Hermione, hiding her disappointment. "Well, in that case, what can I do? Whatever you need, just tell me."
It's been so many months that Fleur greedily takes in the witch, pleased that she has snuck away to see her, and happy at how healthy she looks, at the wind-blown ruddiness of her cheeks.
Hermione swallows, wringing her hands as she walks towards her, looking around the living room before taking a breath and setting her eyes on Fleur.
"He wants to be together and today I'm going to tell him yes."
The words knock the wind out of her.
Fleur thinks back to that feeling she had in the aftermath of the battle. The ache and jealousy she felt at the way the brunette and Ron leaned on each other. Those feelings later went away when their correspondence began.
And she eventually let herself hope.
So much hope it makes her nauseous at the loss of it.
"They're my family. And I do love him in my own– I mean, I do. It's what I want."
Fleur doesn't say anything, she just turns to the side. Hermione said all this on the dunes. She shouldn't have fooled herself into thinking the bookworm would actually choose a different path.
"Explanations are not necessary," Fleur says evenly. "You've made your choice. It isn't as if you're the first potential mate to reject a Veela."
Hermione's breath hitches. It's the first time it's been said out loud. The first time she's confirmed who the witch is to her, and more importantly, what Fleur wanted.
But she's tired of talking around this. Tired of pretending Hermione has no idea how she really feels.
If she didn't know, she wouldn't be here to reveal her choice.
The brunette steps closer to Fleur, slowly, as if she's trying not to scare her.
"I will always be honored to be considered a perfect match for you, Fleur," Hermione says, reaching for her hand. A finger grazes over the place on her ring finger where her wedding ring should be. Fleur forgot to put it back on after her shower. "That dance we shared, and then those weeks here, getting to know you… It's just too much. It feels too much that I don't know where my head's at half the time and Ron's–"
"Please don't say any more, Hermione," Fleur says, dropping her hand. She can't bear to hear it. Or even think about the last few weeks when she stupidly hoped for the woman to be hers.
"I– I got you something. I know your birthday is next month but…" Hermione reaches into her other coat pocket and brings out what looks to be a necklace. "It's not much. I spent so much time trying to find the perfect present but in the end, this was the only thing that felt right."
She holds it out and Fleur looks at the silver chain and the polished, oval-shaped amber pendant. The pendant itself is about the length of a sickle, and the amber matches the color of the witch's eyes. Fleur shakes her head.
"You keep it."
The witch's face crumples but she says 'okay' and puts it back in her pocket.
After a few moments of silence, Hermione says, "I guess I'll be going then."
Fleur's eyes move over Hermione. The spattering of freckles over her nose and cheeks. The delicate curls she tangled her fingers in while Hermione slept that last night. Those honey-brown eyes looking so full of regret. Silky lips she's wanted to taste from the moment she felt Hermione's fingers brush across her back during their dance.
When the witch turns to the door and walks to it, Fleur does nothing. Her breath catches in her throat. Her fists clench at her sides.
But when Hermione opens it, Fleur springs into action.
Rushing forward, she pushes the door closed and plants her hands against it, with Hermione bracketed in between her arms. Her back is to her. Only the sounds of their heavy breathing are heard as Fleur rests her forehead against the back of Hermione's head, nosing into her hair.
Every inhale sends her pulse racing, like she's a pinwheel spinning round, delighting in the colors of the wind. How still and listless will Fleur's heart be when the very breath of her is gone?
"Let me go," Hermione whispers, not turning around.
"Non," Fleur rasps.
Fleur opens her mouth again and shuts it, gritting her teeth. She has to respect Hermione's choice.
But how? How can she let her go?
Hermione's head drops forward, sighing Fleur's name. She can tell the witch was hoping to avoid this. That she didn't want Fleur to put herself out there so completely. It's laughable that the woman thinks Fleur is above embarrassment now. As close as they are, Hermione really has no idea how far she would go, or how much she would be willing to endure for her.
Of the many promises she has broken, Fleur's grip on the last one is tenuous, the swirl of desire a powerful current. Her dignity, her self-respect and personal code, they all still mean something to her. She should pull away now before it's too late. Before she destroys herself fully.
Suddenly, the woman spins around and her eyes are wild and fierce. Her expression is otherwise unreadable as they stare back at Fleur. But when they drop to her lips, Fleur lets go of the last of her restraint and willingly chooses destruction.
She lunges forward, and Hermione instantly kisses back as if she means to devour her. The strength of the witch's desire sends fire through her veins, while also adding to her despair that this first kiss is nothing like how she dreamed it would be.
"Tell me it's not set," gasps Hermione against her mouth. "Tell me you don't love me and that I stopped it in time."
Fleur kisses her even harder even as her tears start to fall at the words that mean the witch still intends to leave. She kisses down an elegant neck, pulling apart the scarf and sucking at the pliant flesh.
"Tell me," Hermione insists.
"I can't," Fleur pants into her neck. Moving her head up to rest her forehead against the witch's temple, she shuts her eyes and bites back a sob.
"Then if I stay away, if we stop being friends, tell me you'll get over it. You said it was possible."
Fleur nods weakly. It is indeed possible for a Veela to get over someone their heart is set on. But she also told Hermione that person would be thought of as the Veela's chosen in their heart, so while it is technically possible to stop loving an unbonded potential mate, it is also highly unlikely.
It's not Hermione's fault. Growing closer through their letters added to her love, but it didn't start it. Fleur's heart set during those weeks together here at the cottage and she had enough warning back then that this was always going to be Hermione's choice.
That doesn't make it hurt any less.
Her rage rises. At Hermione. At the future they're facing. At the future she and Hermione will never have.
"You think you need him, and maybe you do," Fleur says harshly. "But I need you, too, Hermione Granger. And I don't need you because of familiarity or security or bullshit expectations. I need you because I love you. I love you. And we could be happy. But you're going to break all three of our hearts instead."
Fleur kisses her again, backing her up against the door.
Hermione doesn't respond at first but then she deepens the kiss, pulling her closer.
She yanks off the scarf and then opens the buttons of the brunette's coat, pushing it off her to the floor.
When she starts at the buttons of her flannel shirt, Hermione reaches for the bottom hem of Fleur's shirt and lifts it off her. Fleur isn't wearing a bra, and Hermione whimpers as the blonde takes her hands and brings them up to her breasts. The girl's touch is tentative at first and then she squeezes, causing Fleur to groan.
They briefly lock eyes and then Fleur kisses her hungrily while she finishes unbuttoning the girl's shirt and unclips the front clasp of her bra, leaving both to hang open as she cups a breast, feeling a hardened nipple beneath her palm for a brief moment before dropping both hands to the witch's belt buckle.
Fleur doesn't stop kissing her as she undoes the belt and buttons of her jeans and shoves them and her underwear down over her hips, moving her left hand between her legs and not slowing down until she has one finger inside her and she's swallowing Hermione's gasp with her mouth.
She doesn't feel anything to indicate otherwise, which isn't unusual nor was she expecting it, but from the way the girl's eyes flit between hers, and the way they widen as her finger moves inside, the novelty of the sensation so clear on her face, Fleur knows that Hermione has never done this before. Not with anyone.
Possessiveness surges within her and she pushes deeper, her other hand pinning Hermione's hip against the door.
Fleur knows she's being rough. She should take her time to memorize Hermione's heat, to savor the evidence of her mate's desire for her on her fingers, to show the girl gentleness and love for her first time.
But fingers dig into her back. An urgent 'harder' is whispered into her ear. Fleur readily complies, setting a steady pace of shallow thrusts. The woman's head falls back with a loud gasp when Fleur inserts a second finger, using the palm of her hand against her clit.
Hermione's moans and whimpers fill the air. Fleur licks down her neck to her chest, using her free hand to move the shirt and bra straps down off her shoulders. The witch shakes them off her body, then brings her left hand to the back of Fleur's head, the other to the back of her shoulder just as Fleur grabs a breast, pinching her nipple as she scrapes her mouth along a collarbone.
She bites a mosaic across flesh. A landscape of tiny indentations which Fleur traces with her lips, some marks barely noticeable, others deep enough to bruise for days. Filling her tongue with salt from their passion and anguish as she does so.
It's not enough.
Being inside her, hips rocking into hers, the skin of their upper bodies sliding against each other as they grasp and pull at each other, it'll never be enough and she bites on the inside of a breast to keep from screaming. A hiss lets her know it hurts but Hermione pushes her chest upward against her teeth, the hand tangled in her hair tightens into a fist, and she widens her thighs to allow Fleur to fuck into her even harder.
When the woman's body begins to tense, the rhythm of their joining more erratic, Fleur moves her mouth up to Hermione's jaw, wanting to see her face when she comes.
Her movements still when the brunette surprises her by letting go of her hair and slipping that hand inside her sweats and underwear.
"I want to touch you, too," Hermione whispers.
Fleur answers by slotting their hips so that she now straddles her mate's left thigh.
Hermione is clumsy at first, and Fleur gives her a reassuring kiss as she fumbles through her wetness and need. When fingers find her clit, Fleur whispers, "Comme ça, hold still," and proceeds to grind against the woman's fingers and thigh, while working Hermione back up again with her hand.
The tenderness she's been fighting against takes hold of her after that. Not their movements, which are becoming more frantic, but the way they stare into each other's eyes. The way Fleur nuzzles against Hermione's cheek. Her thrall, which until that moment was a tightly coiled thing, unfurls and wraps itself around her mate.
While a thrall has minimal effects on potential mates, it can heighten arousal for both the Veela and their partner during sex. It does so now; she can feel Hermione's response to it on her fingers, and the way her own arousal is driven higher. But that isn't why she unleashes her thrall, or why it caresses over Hermione's body as if to cherish the woman who holds her heart.
"Tell me you love me," gasps Fleur. She wants to hear it. Just once, she wants to hear it.
"I love you. I love you, Fleur," Hermione cries out breathlessly, her right hand clutching Fleur's back in a desperate grip.
Fleur watches her mate moan her name repeatedly, the echoes of which will haunt her for weeks, until Hermione finally falls over the edge, her right arm wrapped around the witch's waist, helping to hold her up. The pleasure on her face is so blindingly beautiful, she has to close her eyes. Her hips don't stop moving until the waves of her own orgasm crash over her, whimpering Hermione's name as more tears prick her eyes.
Hands are on her neck as she comes down, and Hermione's panting mouth presses kisses all over her face. Gently removing her hand from between the brunette's legs, she wraps her arms around her mate, burying her face into her neck.
She gives herself one minute to say goodbye to this feeling. One minute to feel her warmth and softness against her, to know the care of her hands across her back.
When it's done, Fleur takes a deep breath and extricates herself from Hermione's arms. The bookworm looks confused. Even more so when Fleur goes to the coffee table to grab her wand and casts a charm which swiftly redresses the girl as if Fleur never touched her.
After using her wand to clean her hands, Fleur picks up her shirt and puts it back on. The sickening guilt isn't overwhelming yet, but it's there, a dull roiling in her gut.
Hermione fidgets and says quietly, "I don't feel any different. Shouldn't there be a sign or something after the bond seals?"
The blonde looks at Hermione incredulously. She doesn't mean to reply as harshly as she does. But everything is too raw now, and she protects herself the only way she knows how.
"You think a quick fuck like that is enough to seal a mate bond?"
At Hermione's reddening cheeks, Fleur's stare becomes more pointed.
"Or did you think it would take the choice out of your hands? That I'd force you to run away with me?"
Hermione gaze drops, and Fleur scoffs.
"I thought you said–" the brunette murmurs.
"I said a bond seals when a Veela and their mate consummate their love," the blonde interrupts coldly.
"But we just– I do love you, Fleur."
"And part of you wishes you didn't!" Fleur spits out.
Hermione blinks and purses her lips, understanding dawning at last.
Vitriol bubbles up in Fleur's chest. If they had been properly courting, Fleur would've told her that a sealing takes more than a surrendering of their bodies. Their hearts have to surrender, too. A mate bond seals when each partner consciously chooses to bind their souls and magic in a lifelong and unbreakable love.
As angry and hurt as she was, that didn't stop her from wanting it. Her magic and thrall enveloped Hermione and waited for her mate's answer.
But there was nothing.
Her traitorous heart won't let Fleur leave it at that, though. She has to ask.
Swallowing down the knot in her throat, Fleur looks into her eyes, heart thundering in fearful anticipation even as it knows what Hermione will say.
"I've chosen you, Hermione. If you want this, tell me now and I'll do everything I can to assuage your doubts and prove we belong together."
"Fleur, I…" Hermione whispers, her wounded expression and tearful gaze saying the rest.
Brittle and hollowed out, with no fight left in her, Fleur crosses her arms over her chest and sits against the back of the couch.
"You should go then. He's waiting for you. Your choice is freely made with no ties between us, and I will respect it. In the ways of my people, I must sever our friendship. You must stay away from me as you said you would."
Hermione takes a couple of steps towards her and stops.
"I'm sorry," Hermione says wetly, wiping her eyes. "I didn't mean…"
She falls silent and Fleur says nothing in reply, her eyes fixed to the floor in front of her as she waits.
Whispering she's sorry one more time, Hermione turns around, opens the door, and runs out.
As soon as Fleur hears the pop of apparition, she finally allows herself to collapse to her knees, the whole of her shattered.
::
Fleur finishes her third glass of wine just as Luna drags her back onto the dancefloor with her and Ginny for a fast-paced muggle song. The sun is lower in the sky at nearly six o'clock, adding a golden color to the party's atmosphere. With a few hours to go until sunset, it feels like the evening will never end. The music from George's stereo fills the air, and she's actually having a good time. Many of the older guests left over an hour ago, including Hermione's parents, but more of Ginny and the other Weasley siblings' friends have since arrived.
Everyone is dancing and drinking firewhisky and spiked punch, and the party feels unbridled and effervescent. After the war ended it didn't feel right to celebrate. Not like this. Not after the losses they suffered. But now everyone is making up for lost time.
Having fun was the last thing she expected today. She came to the party prepared to be left alone in her moodiness until it was time to talk to Bill, but Ginny, Luna, and others wouldn't let her sit at her table for longer than five minutes at a time. And it felt good to act her age for once. She took off her blazer, the summer warmth making her glad to have chosen the sleeveless blouse, and danced with Neville, Cho, Katie Bell, and then Harry. She did a strange jig with George, Angelina, and Bill whenever he wasn't running around playing host, and twirled around with countless others, conscious of Hermione's proximity to her throughout. Thankfully the witch kept her distance as agreed.
Sometimes Fleur escaped to chat and catch up with other guests, or she managed to convince Molly to let her help with bringing out more food and drinks from the kitchen, but mostly she danced and watched the others in their merriment. And when the whole group danced together, she made sure to keep her distance from Hermione, to not look at her or touch her.
"We should get a conga line going," says Ginny, her slurred words bringing Fleur back to their dance. "Or maybe I should just dance with my boyfriend."
Fleur laughs at the inebriated girl. At the edge of the dancefloor, she spots Hermione dancing with Cho and Neville. The woman does look happy, and Fleur should be content with that but it sits bitter in her chest.
Luna spins her around, Ginny laughs and says she's going to get Harry, and Fleur watches the younger witch run over to Harry who is talking to Ron, George, and Angelina.
The song ends and Fleur wraps her arms around Luna.
"I wish you the best of luck with all of your future endeavors," she whispers. She's not drunk but the wine has seeped into the nostalgic melancholy roots of her, loosening her tongue. She's really going to miss Luna.
"Thank you, Fleur," giggles Luna, drawing back. "I wish you the same. And I think it's time I get some air." The young witch gives her a wink and ambles away from the tent.
Fleur is about to go pour herself another glass of wine when she feels a tug on her left arm, and Hermione appears before her.
The next song is as fast-paced as the others, and people crowd the dancefloor, but their surroundings blur when the brunette steps towards her.
They're so close, Fleur can feel her breath on her face. Hermione's awkwardness from their first encounter this afternoon is gone. The firewhisky on her breath suggests alcohol has muted the girl's heretofore caution.
The urge to throw away her own caution is so intense, she nearly pulls Hermione against her until the amber pendant on the woman's chest grabs her attention, reminding her why she can't indulge again, not even for a dance.
Balling up her fists, Fleur steps back and turns around, walking off the dancefloor and out of the tent.
Her momentum drives her towards the tall grasses that lay beyond the shed. Unfortunately, she barely gets five meters before Hermione grabs her arm again, this time not letting go.
"This isn't staying away," Fleur warns, spinning about to face her.
"I know, I just– I didn't realize it was going to feel like this, can't we–"
"I'm respecting your decision, Hermione. Please respect what I have to do now to get over you."
"Do you think this is easy for me?" the brunette's voice cracks, her grip on her arm moving down to hold Fleur's hand. "Just because I'm not a Veela doesn't make this any less crushing. It doesn't mean I know how to stop loving you."
Then don't! Fleur wants to yell. Her eyes burn, her soul cleaving in two yet again. How many times must their hearts break for Hermione to understand these are the paths she's chosen for them?
Hermione's eyes fill with tears, and Fleur is torn between wanting to comfort her and wanting to flee.
Looking around, she notices curious glances from nearby onlookers so she shifts to a friendly expression.
She whispers, "This is the only way we'll get over it, you know this."
"You're right, I'm sorry. I just miss you…" Hermione trails off when her fingers brush over the Frenchwoman's wedding ring, her face tightening as she quickly moves her fingers away from the ring.
Despite all that's happened, the small display of jealousy lights a flame low in her belly. Her heels give her height and she looks down at the witch in front of her. Can see her trembling body as the woman moves closer.
Eyes look up into hers, and Fleur nearly falls into them. The love and desire for her that the brunette can't hide. So much more than what she saw that day in February.
Her grip tightens on Hermione's hand, and her anger spikes.
They could apparate to the cottage right now. Fleur could point out her bag, reveal she's leaving her husband, and beg Hermione to floo with her to France.
Would the witch say yes?
Or would they just fuck again before Hermione rejects her once more?
"I ripped out the garden today," Fleur says instead, pulling her hand away and crossing her arms, not caring anymore how it appears to others.
"What?" exclaims Hermione, her features twisting in surprise.
"It's all gone."
Tear-filled eyes dart over her face, and Fleur knows she wants to ask about the beach roses.
She doesn't get the chance because Bill chooses that moment to interrupt.
"Ladies," Bill calls out good-naturedly, his hands falling on their shoulders and giving them a squeeze. "Having fun?"
Hermione speaks first. "Bill, hi, yes. Just catching up, you know."
"Ah, I thought I saw you two on the dancefloor earlier. Fleur welcomed you into the Weasley fold, did she?" Bill jokes. "Gin told me that's what you two did with Fleur at the wedding."
"A graduation party is hardly a wedding," Fleur chuckles lightly, though if Bill were paying closer attention he would hear the lack of humor in it.
"Well, if my brother has anything to say about it, there'll be a wedding soon enough, eh?" replies Bill as he nudges into Hermione's side. The girl's face reddens as she tries to laugh away his remark.
Her stomach churns at the lack of denial, which prompts Fleur to say, "That may be true, but Hermione has been a Weasley family member for years. She needs no welcome from me."
Both of them hear the bite this time because he gives her a sharp look while Hermione winces beside him.
Hoping to redirect his attention, Fleur amps up her thrall a little and says smoothly, "Come, William. A slow song is starting and we didn't dance enough to those at our wedding. Excuse us, Hermione."
Bill's pupils dilate slightly as he looks back at her and nods before giving his head a shake and chuckling under his breath appreciatively. Fleur knows Hermione can feel her thrall, too, but all the younger woman does is put on a neutral expression and respond, "Of course. Have fun you two."
It takes all of Fleur's willpower to resist looking back as they walk towards the tent and onto the dancefloor.
Bill takes her hand and pulls her into a dance.
"I'm glad to see you two are trying to patch things up," Bill says. "What happened there? You two were owling multiple times per week at one point."
"People grow apart all the time," Fleur replies.
Her words apparently turn his thoughts to their situation because he says quietly, "You weren't sure how long you were going to be gone but you are now, aren't you?"
Fleur sees the hurt in his eyes, and her throat constricts. She can't postpone this any longer.
"Bill, I…"
"Yeah," he says sadly. "That's what I figured."
They dance slowly without speaking for a while, and another slow, romantic song starts.
"The vault in Marseille, I assume you'll be apparating there from your parents' house, and then staying there afterwards?"
"Oui, that is the plan," she admits, her words thin and defeated. She drops her forehead to his chest and waits for his anger.
"Fleur, I know I've made a pig's ear of everything. Too stubborn for my own good. Too stuck on what I thought our family had to look like, but just make it a long holiday instead. I'll be better. I'll stop bothering you about those spells."
Fleur throws her head back to look at him. She's surprised by Bill's plea, and even more surprised by how much it tempts her.
She saw something in him once. Something that allowed their relationship to develop to a level which convinced her that she could find some happiness with him. Love in friendship is still love, isn't it?
Turning her gaze to the other couples on the dancefloor, Hermione is dancing with Ron now. The boy, drunk as he is, looks at her as if she hung the moon, and the girl looks back at him with a sad sort of affection.
Then their eyes meet and Fleur feels tempted in a different way. Hermione's attention quickly goes back to Ron, her features inscrutable, but from the rising blush on her neck Fleur knows she can feel the heat of her gaze on her.
The rational voice in her head argues this should be the end of it. Hermione made her choice and the only thing for Fleur to do is to make a clean break and leave everything behind.
Except a part of her won't let go. The part that's kept the pictures, the shell, Hermione's letters, and the cutting. It whispers enticingly that she can keep her feelings locked away as long as she keeps her distance. As long as they don't become friends again.
Her mother would call her a weak-willed, masochistic fool.
And she would be right.
"Bill, if I agree to try those potions and spells," Fleur starts, and the way his eyes light up leads her to remind him one more time, "even though we both know they won't work. But if you need to see this for yourself and I agree to try… will you agree to move to France?"
"That's a bit far from my family, Fleur," Bill reasons.
"Oui, I know," Fleur replies stiffly, her jaw clenched, daring him to ignore her sacrifices over the last few years.
He swallows and licks his lips, his eyes searching hers, wanting what she's offering. After another minute he nods.
"Okay. Yes, I'll consider it. Wait, I'll do more than that. I'll do it. I promise."
Fleur relaxes and lets out a long exhale, pushing away her guilt for manipulating him in this way.
"D'accord. After the vault is cleared and opened, I'll come back–"
"No, you should still spend time with your family afterwards," Bill rushes. "I know you miss them and… you can get some ideas about good places to settle."
Hope and love shine in his gaze as he pulls her into a hug, and Fleur feels like the worst person in the world for betraying this man who wants to love her and have a family with her, further cementing her decision to never tell him about Hermione. She won't ruin the witch's relationship with Ron, and maybe being with Bill is the solution to getting over her set heart.
"It's going to be okay, Fleur, you'll see. It'll be perfect even. Just picture it. A little girl with your hair and my eyes. Or a boy! Wouldn't that be wonderful?"
A pit in her stomach grows at every word. At his failure to recognize she would have preferred silence, or at least some sort of acknowledgement that their marriage still needs work. Not these misguided assurances and outright fantasies.
But now that she's come to his side at last, he conveniently forgets what the last year has been like for them. How she gradually pulled away from physical intimacy as she turned more and more towards embracing her love for Hermione. How, after she was rejected, she suddenly demanded sex from him nearly every night for two weeks upon his return from his work trip in an attempt to purge all thoughts of the witch. Only to stop again altogether after she blew up at him on her birthday over yet another one of his hints about those damned fertility spells.
The last few months have been quiet between them ever since. Fleur accustomed to keeping her thoughts to herself, and Bill accustomed to not expecting otherwise.
Someone shouts for Bill and he looks over her shoulder. He yells he'll be there in a minute, then looks back at her.
"Dad needs me to help him enlarge some of the rooms for all the drunks tonight. But listen, just try to be optimistic about the spells, all right? Think of that little girl with my eyes."
Fleur smiles through her tears and nods. He's happy, and even though it'll likely all come crashing down around them, she can't bring herself to take it away from him now.
Before she takes the floo to France, she'll have to take out some of her things from the duffel bag and put them back in her room. He probably won't bother asking about what she did to the garden.
The personal mementos, on the other hand, will be left at her parents' house. Doing so won't erase the pain but hopefully it'll ease it.
When the song ends he gives her a peck on the lips, tells her he loves her and bounds away without waiting for a reply, leaving her feeling alone and bereft.
Unaware that his wife is a liar and an adulterer who's so deeply in love with someone else that she's drowning in it and selfishly using him as a lifeline.
And completely ignorant to the fact that the only child her heart and soul can conjure is one with honey-brown eyes.
A/N: For those Ballads fans who want to know when everything happens, here are some chronologically ordered dates:
I Only Have Eyes For You, 1 Aug 1997
I Get Along Without You Very Well, 3 July 1999 (not counting various flashbacks)
The Dark End of the Street, early hours of 21 March 2004
You'll Lose A Good Thing, 14 May 2004
In addition to showing us how their love grew, I wanted this fic to give insight into Fleur's thinking and behavior, in this fic and the others. It's easy to hold things against Hermione after reading the parts that happen after this one, but Fleur makes choices too. Every step of the way she knows better, and slips and takes what she wants anyway. For Ballads overall, I wanted to write a more realistic portrayal of an affair between two well-meaning people, and the painful consequences of those choices. It's heartbreaking to read, but hopefully still enjoyable.
As for one of the most common questions a lot of you might have, yes, I have been thinking about what happens after You'll Lose A Good Thing. I've written notes, and I have a general idea how it would go. I don't know when I'll get around to it though, or if I will, because a fic like that requires an emotional investment I can't give right now. And I won't do it if I'm not confident I can do it justice, or at least get close enough. But also, there are other in-between ideas for this series that I find more interesting as a writer at the moment, as well as other fic ideas in general.
Next thing on my plate, finish Winning Affections
Again, thank you so much for reading. I appreciate all of you. Cheers and happy holidays!