Hey. Here's another update. This chapter kind of just flowed out of me and I had to get it down and put it out there before the ideas were lost forever lol. Also, I had originally intended to include more in this chapter but it ended up being too long (I'm trying to keep the word count reasonable). So I had to end this chapter at a place I hadn't originally intended to. I apologize if it is awkward or clunky. Also, this is a huge dialogue chapter. I apologize for the huge info dump lol. It should be noted that the information revealed in this chapter is not all there is to it. There is much more to come.

Okay, I've rambled and apologized enough. If you like it, great. If you don't, oh well.

Disclaimer: not mine. No money was made, etc.

Chapter 3

Hermione's head throbbed. She felt like she had been hit by the Hogwarts Express at full speed—more than once. She rolled over and whimpered, the pain surging throughout her brain as she switched positions. There were a set of covers and sheets blanketing her arms that she slapped away to rid herself of them. Once free, she brought her hands up to her temples, rubbing lightly at the pain there.

Her eyes suddenly popped open. They darted to the covers she had just removed from her upper body. If those were covers then that meant she was in a bed. It certainly wasn't her own bed. Her eyes darted to the lower half of her body—thank Merlin she was fully clothed. But this begged the question, if she was in a bed that was not her own, where exactly was she? Her head stayed unusually still while her eyes darted around taking in her current surroundings. This was most definitely not her room. She jolted upright. The ache in her head becoming stronger at the abrupt upward shift of her body. She pinched the bridge of her nose; a measly attempt to ease the ache that served to blur and disrupt her vision.

When the pang finally dwindled, she looked around the room. It was significantly larger than the last room she had been in but it also lacked that certain charm. The walls were white with intricate flowery designs painted across them in a delicate shade of blue—of which Hermione did not particularly care for, but that she could admit were pretty in their own right. The windows were sizable but heavily curtained to keep the light out. Silvery knickknacks accented each of the numerous shelves and tables that were scattered about here in there in no particular fashion.

Where am I? Hermione thought to herself.

A feather-like moan drifted into her left ear. Hermione jerked her head painfully towards where the noise had come from and immediately regretted it. She squeezed her eyes shut to once again mitigate the dull ache. It didn't work.

How do I always manage to get myself into these situations? She thought, releasing a grunt of frustration.

In the next instant, she was pushed flat on her back. The weight of a body straddling her rested lightly on her stomach. She tried to move her hands in order to push the offending weight off but they were instantly captured and pushed down to the bed beside her head.

"Docteure, please, do not struggle," Fleur said as she continued to hold Hermione in place.

"Don't tell me not to struggle, Fleur. You're completely mad if you think that I wouldn't struggle against the person who beat me over the head and kidnapped me," Hermione yelled. Each and every one of her grunts and groans echoed through the room as she continued to try to escape.

She felt a sharp, boney knee take the place of the hand that had been holding one of her arms down. The freed hand quickly cupped over Hermione's mouth. A curtain of blond hair fell down around the side of her face. Her breathing sounded harsh and ragged as she exhaled loudly against the French witch's hand. Those two cerulean blue eyes were so close to her own. They stared ever so expectantly into Hermione's very soul. But expectant of what, the English witch was not so sure.

"Please calm down, ma belle," the French witch soothed, "I told you no 'arm would come to you and I will keep my word. But you 'ave to remain calm. Your life is in grave danger and I cannot protect you if you do not remain calm."

Hermione's breathing started to slow. She felt all her muscles relax, though her heart continued to beat thunderously inside her chest. As she settled, she was promptly reminded of that awful headache.

Fleur waited for the brunette to completely still before speaking, "Now, I will remove my 'and, but you 'ave to promise you will not scream. Zere is more danger outside zat door zan you or I are prepared to deal wiz right now. I will answer any questions you 'ave, you just 'ave to promise zat you will not scream or do anyzing to draw attention to zis room."

Hermione's eyes widened. She nodded her head fervently in agreement—desperate to be free. After a brief moment of hesitation, Fleur removed her hand from the English witch's mouth.

"YOU ARE SO—" Hermione was cut off by a warning glare. The blond's hand was poised in the air, threatening to once again cover the English girl's mouth. She was wandless and at the mercy of a beautiful woman with strange magic she did not understand. And to top it all off, her head bloody hurt.

Hermione was upset and there were many things she felt she needed to say to the woman but she knew this was her only opportunity to get the one thing she'd wanted from the very beginning. Answers. And if the French woman was finally going to offer up answers, Hermione would be foolish to pass up an opportunity such as that. And she was not known as the brightest witch of her time for no reason.

"No harm my arse," she mumbled quietly under her breath, "You hit me over the head and kidnapped me."

"Zat..." Fleur struggled to find the right way to explain herself to the brunette, "was an exception."

Hermione's eyebrow rose and the corners of her mouth flattened out.

"I did not mean to 'urt you. Zey were coming and if I 'ad left you, zey would 'ave taken you and done 'hoo knows what wiz you. I was trying to protect you," the French witch explained but to no avail.

"They were just muggle police, Fleur. I could have handled myself just fine. It's not like they could have charged me with anything. I'm completely innocent of whatever it is they had on you."

"Zere are a lot of things you don't understand about me, 'ermione. Zere are things you don't know about zat situation," the blond retorted, fully removing herself from atop Hermione's body and folding her arms across her chest. The brunette's hand went to her head on instinct. The pain was more tolerable but it was still poignant in its existence. The frustration she was feeling began to eek out of her with a new compounding sense of vigor and vitality.

"Then tell me, Fleur. Tell me what it is you think I don't know about you. Tell me what I don't know about the situation," the brunette pleaded.

"I do not even know where to start," she said, lowering her eyes to the bedspread as if it were more fascinating than the current conversation.

"Well...okay then...let's start with an easy one then, shall we? Where the bloody hell are we?" Hermione asked, the words themselves were harsh, but the tone in which she spoke was very mild and tender; as if she wanted to have a casual conversation but wasn't able to find another way to phrase the question.

Fleur got up from the bed and walked over to a wardrobe on the far side of the room. She opened the cabinet and rustled around through the contents before popping around, seemingly satisfied with what she found there. A glass vial with red liquid was in the blonde's hand and was unceremoniously offered to Hermione as the blond returned to the bed. The English witch gave Fleur a questioning stare.

"For zee headache," she said. Hermione wasn't sure if she could trust the blond, but her head really did hurt. And what more could Fleur Delacour really do to her at this point, short of killing her—even that might not be so bad anymore. With that, she threw the potion back, feeling instant relief as the liquid hit her empty stomach.

The French witch made herself comfortable as she sat back down on the bed beside Hermione before responding to her earlier question, "Delacour manor. Zis is my 'ome. You are in ma chambre."

"Good," Hermione encouraged, feeling more confident in herself now that the headache was gone and the French woman was cooperating with her, "Now...why are we here?"

"Zat is a very long story," Fleur saw Hermione's eyebrow arch again. Realizing she was teetering on the verge of breaking her own rules, she quickly sought to recover her delicate position, "And while I want very much to tell you all about it, I am afraid zee story will 'ave to wait for anozzer time, when I 'ave enough time to tell it."

"Why do you not have time to tell it now?" Hermione asked.

"Because it is zee morning and zee ozzers know we are awake. Zey will be expecting us down for breakfast soon." Fleur didn't blink even once as she spoke, trying to instill confidence in her recently demurred honesty. She knew what the next question would be before the girl could even ask it.

"Who are 'they,' Fleur?"

The blond witch was not sure if she or the English witch were ready for the answer, but she had told the girl she would tell her anything. And she had felt bad enough having put the brunette through so much already, not to mention she brought her here and she couldn't very well lie to the girl about the circumstances she would come to find she was now in.

"'Zey' are my clan. Ma famille."

"Clan?" Hermione was perplexed. Talking to this girl was like talking to a research project. She felt like she constantly had to push for any and all information she desired out of the woman.

"Oui."

Hermione folded her arms across her chest, mirroring the blond girl sitting before her. Fleur sighed.

"'Ermione, I am not exactly," she cut herself off, struggling to find the words to say what it was she needed to say, "I am not human. I believe your Ministère de la magie classifies us as magical creatures."

"Well what are you then?" Hermione was on the edge of her seat, dying inside to know the answer to this question and more.

"'Ow familiar are you wiz l'histoire of zee Greek and Roman myzology?"

Hermione's eyebrows drew down in confusion. She was a little thrown off by the direction Fleur had taken this conversation. She wondered if the mysterious blond might be deflecting in order to get out of telling whatever it was she didn't want Hermione to know, but she was willing to let things play out a little further to be sure before the accusations started flying.

"I studied it a bit back in primary school before going to Hogwarts, why?"

"Do you remember zee sirens in zose stories?"

"Yes."

"Well we are descendants of zose creatures. A more appropriate title for what myzelf and my clan are would be zee Veela."

There was a brief pause in the conversation. Hermione had just taken in a lot of information at once and Fleur wanted to allow her the time she needed to process it all.

"So you're telling me you are related to a creature that essentially seduced people to their deaths." It wasn't a question. Fleur hurried to correct the girl, well aware of how quickly she could fly off the handle.

"I am telling you zat I am a Veela and we are distant ancestors of Sirens."

A thought struck Hermione rather suddenly, "Is that what happened to me? Did you...did you seduce me?"

"I did not seduce you, 'ermione," she said in a way that implied that she fully believed what she was saying to be true, which was as close to honesty as the English witch was going to get, "Veela are different zan sirens in zee sense zat we 'ave thrall. Zee thrall ees often times used to get what we want. I am not sure 'ow to describe it. Eet is like a type of wandless magic, I suppose. We cast a certain spell on 'hoever and can make zem do almost anyzing for us."

"Sounds kind of like rape if you ask me," Hermione muttered under her breath, not sure how the Veela would take it. Though she said it, she didn't really find it to be true. I mean those weren't her feelings at the time it happened to her—or at least she thought they weren't. Either way she knew it was far more complicated than that, having been through it herself. She only said it because she was upset and wanted to get under the other woman's skin.

"It is absolutely not rape!" The blond declared passionately, "We would never! Zee zought alone is vile and repugnant!"

"Okay, okay. It's not rape. I'm sorry," the brunette apologized, wishing she could take back her words. But it was too late. They were already out there. The damage had been done.

"Zee thrall does not work zat way," the blond continued, looking off to anywhere but Hermione's eyes, "it is unbelievably insulting for you to say somezing of zat nature. Zee Veela are many zings, but we are not rapists!"

"Hey," Hermione rested a hand to Fleur's shoulder, "I really am sorry. I shouldn't have insinuated that. I sincerely apologize."

Their eyes locked and Hermione's heart skipped a beat. She wondered if it was due to any thrall Fleur might be emitting at that moment or if it were due to something else—something she wasn't quite ready to admit to herself or anyone just yet. She was still very unsure of how this whole thing worked and was curious to find out, having high hopes that what she might find would be just the thing she needed to solve the other burning issue she had been keeping so repressed. Just then, a knock came at the door to the bedroom.

"Fleur? Descendez-vous les escaliers pour le petit déjeuner?" The feminine voice giggled through the barrier.

"Un moment!" Fleur called out in response.

The blond got up from the bed and ran off into an adjoining room. Hermione, curious as to what had suddenly gotten into the woman, followed after her. When the brunette stepped into the large room, she could barely contain her gasp. It was the most magnificent bathroom she'd ever seen. Fleur stood at the sink, adjusting her makeup snd fixing herself up—not that she wasn't already gorgeous. She was doing so in a way that implied she meant to look a certain way for whomever it was downstairs. When she was finished she came over to Hermione and started mussing up her hair. The brunette was thoroughly confused.

"What are you doing?" She asked.

"We 'ave to go downstairs now, ma belle. I am making it look like we spent zee night together. I believe zee Americans call zis...sex 'air?" The blond said, as if it were perfectly normal for her to be doing what it was she was doing.

Hermione's cheeks turned a bright shade of pink, "You mean to tell me that you're trying to make it look like we had-" she couldn't allow herself to say the word as loudly as she had been speaking; she lowered her voice to a whisper, "that we had sex?"

Her blush grew in intensity at having spoken the word out loud.

"Oui."

"Why, Fleur?" Hermione was starting to get frustrated. It irked her that she constantly had to push the woman for answers to simple questions.

Fleur grabbed some blush and started to brush it across the English witch's cheeks.

"Zee Veela are a very private people, 'ermione. We do not share our secrets wiz anyone, especially non-Veela," the blond stared into the brunette's eyes as she spoke, "but seeing as your life is at stake and I 'ave vowed to protect you from 'arm, I will tell you zis. Zee Veela are very sensual beings. We do not bring people 'ome wizout zee intention to mate wiz zem. It is apart of 'hoo we are."

"Okay, but I'm not sure how that is of any concern to me," Hermione said, shifting uncomfortably under the blond's stare. The blond stepped away to retrieve another makeup product from one of the drawers under the sink.

"You are about to walk into a nest of Veela. Zey will 'ave expectations of our relationship. Zey will expect you to be under my thrall. If zey 'ave any reason to believe zat you are not and zat we are not mating, zen one of zem will capture you wiz zier thrall and you will die."

Hermione did not expect such a blunt answer, considering how withheld the french witch had been up until this point. She remembered the blond's reaction earlier when she had accused her of rape. Something did not add up here.

"So you're against rape but murdering innocent people is perfectly acceptable?"

"It is not like zat, ma chérie. It is not like it is done execution style. We do not mean to do it. Zat is what makes zee Veela so dangerous," she said calmly, spreading a shimmery substance around Hermione's eyes and lips, "Zee thrall does not just affect zee person under zee eenfluence of it. It also affects zee Veela. If we use it too much for too long, we will get too caught up in zee feelings and we loose control. Eventually, it becomes so strong zat it 'as a permanent affect on zee brain of zee person 'hoo is under zee influence of it."

The blond stopped applying makeup, satisfied with Hermione's looks.

"What happens to them?" The brunette wondered aloud, deeply invested in the tale being told.

"Zey become so obsessed and enamored wiz zee Veela zat zey stop taking care of zemselves. Zey stop eating. Zey stop moving. Zey just stop. Until one day zey just wither away completely." Fleur was very quiet. Her eyes looked sad and she closed them as if it would make the unwanted feelings disappear. She shook her head and walked off, grabbing two silk robes from a hook that had been previously hidden on the back of the bathroom door.

She held the robe up to Hermione with the expectation that the brunette would step into it. Hermione shrugged it on and turned back to the blond witch who was doing the same with a robe of her own. The soft, cool silk left a feeling against the English witch's skin that she rather enjoyed. So much so, she started absentmindedly playing with the fringe on the sleeve.

She suddenly felt nervous. Was she really about to go down to a room filled with women that had the ability to do whatever it was they wished of her to a point that she could die if things got out of hand? She wasn't necessarily frightened. In a weird way, she trusted the blond when she told her she would protect her. And Hermione didn't think she was currently under the influence of the Veela's thrall; so she was most certain these were her own feelings on the matter—but she had been wrong before. It was an extremely delicate situation and should be handled as such. Which is why nervousness was the best description of what she felt; slight apprehension at best, but most definitely curiosity.

Fleur grabbed Hermione by her shoulders and stared deeply into her eyes, effectively breaking the brunette from her wandering thoughts, "I will not use my thrall on you. Unless, zat is, you feel like you need it." She shook her head and stumbled over her words, as if she truly meant to say things in a way that wouldn't be upsetting to the girl before her, "What I mean to say is, zey are expecting you to be under my thrall. It is imperative zat you act as taken wiz me as possible. You must appear to desire me in every way possible—in a way you 'ave never desired anozzer before. If you feel as if you are unable to do zat, I could use a little of my thrall—it would not take much. But I will not use it unless zat is what you wish. Zee ozzers cannot tell if my thrall is zere or not. But zey will be 'eavily scrutinizing you and zey will be able to tell if you are not acting passionate enough wiz me."

Despite what the blond was asking of her and the circumstances in which she now found herself, Hermione thought the offered gesture was sweet. She didn't know much, if anything, about Veela culture aside from what Fleur had just disclosed to her, but she got the sense that this was not an invitation the Veela extended often—if at all. So, she considered herself lucky to be in the good favor of the French witch and the tightness she had been feeling in her chest since she had started this mess finally started to ebb. And while she felt relieved, she still had no desire to be under Fleur's thrall again. It was a feeling she was not prepared to deal with and she felt like she needed time to recover from those feelings it left behind from the last time she was under its influence.

"Thank you for the offer. I think I can handle it on my own, though," the English witch said with a small smile.

"Are you sure, 'ermione?" The French witch questioned, her eyes giving away her obvious concern, "You will 'ave to touch me and quite possibly kiss me as you would a lover behind closed doors. Your passion for me will 'ave to be as much visible as it is believable."

The English witch looked to the mirror beside her. Fleur had done a very good job making her up to look as if they'd spent the night doing ungodly things to each other's bodies. Hermione's cheeks looked pink as if they had been kissed by a permanent flush. Her lips shimmered as if the taste of a lover were still lingering on them. And her hair was messy like it had been gripped wildly in the throws of passion. She looked like a right tramp.

She could pull this off. It wasn't as if the blond wasn't attractive. You would have to be blind to think otherwise and even then your sanity would be severely questioned. Hermione found herself wondering that if Fleur weren't a Veela, and if they had meet under entirely different circumstances, and if she had had the opportunity to try to form some kind of sexual relationship with this woman would she do it? The answer was most undoubtedly yes. It would not be too difficult to pretend to desire the blond with everything she had. The only difficulty would be in not letting the awkwardness of pretending in front of a group of predatory Veela get to her. But even then she still felt confident enough to handle it.

"Yes. I'm sure. No thrall, please."

"Okay. Zis is it zen. Shall we go?" Fleur offered her arm for Hermione to take.

The brunette looped her arm through the offered one and they left the room.

Translations:

1. Descendez-vous les escaliers pour le petit déjeuner? = Are you coming downstairs for breakfast?