I am a writer. I write because it is a passion of mine and I enjoy the way it makes me feel and the way it allows me to express myself. And every time I write I put a little piece of myself in every word. These stories are like my home and I choose to put them on this site because I wish to open my home to other people who might also derive joy from what I have to offer. So, if you walk into a person's home and set it on fire, you can't really act surprised when they get upset that their house is burning down. After careful consideration, I realized that it wasn't fair of me to punish the many for the faults of the few. And for that I am sincerely sorry. I would like to shout out a gracious thank you to all of the readers that reviewed and encouraged me to continue this story. You are all amazing.

Before we continue, I have but one request. It is perfectly fine to drop criticisms or uncertainties of this work in the reviews. If there's something you read that is incorrect or that you don't understand, please kindly let me know. But there is also a fine line between criticism and bullying and I will not tolerate the latter of the two. If something is bothering you that badly, PM me and we can talk it through. But please don't blast me in the reviews. I think that's a simple request. Please let me know if I'm being at all unreasonable.

Disclaimer: Not. Mine. No. Money. Made. Here.

Chapter 4

Anagnorisis. Anagnorisis is a term to describe the point in a story where a character has a sudden awareness of the reality of their situation, often signifying the untimely end of a most ill-disposed tragedy. Too often it feels as if our stories—our worlds—have ended, when in all actuality they have only just begun. If that is so, then how does any one person know when their story is over? After all, a story can't go on forever. Surely something as definitive as Anagnorisis is sufficient enough a symbol of the end, being that it is the very moment one accepts that very forlorn actuality. But even if we ourselves declare our story to be over and done with, does it ever truly end at all?

Surely not. There are times when we wish for our story to end and it doesn't and it gets worse. Coincidentally, there are times when we wish for our story to end and it doesn't and it gets better. There are even times when we wish for our story not to end, and to our dismay, it does—expeditiously and without a finite resolution—but then, to our surprise, a new story is born of it. So simply recognizing and wishing for it one way or the other cannot truly affect the outcome. Right?

Hermione hadn't the faintest clue of what her story had to offer. She wasn't even sure of how she wanted it to end. Hell, she'd be more than elated if she could just process the enigma that took shape in the form of her feelings on the matter. But nothing was clear. Everything had happened so fast and was still railing on at phenomenal speeds. She may never have the time it would take to figure it all out.

She sat slumped in front of Fleur's locked bathroom door pondering what exactly it was she felt at this very moment. That was a good place to start at least. She was not one to cater to feelings of melodramatic disquiet as if her very world were ending—she wasn't one to cater to an abundance of feelings at all. But this situation was most undoubtedly different than anything she'd ever experienced before.

Anger was first and foremost on the list of emotions. She was unbelievably mad—at what specifically, she wasn't sure, though it was safe to say many things had contributed overall. Betrayal was at a close second. But only because the blond's constant betrayal of her trust was one of the many things that made Hermione angry. Then there was the lust and desire which had become the usual when around the beautiful Veela. And now that she knew why she felt those two things, it was easier to shrug them off as lesser, insignificant feelings. But she couldn't help but think there was something else there. A certain something that had to have been the core reason why she continued to sit at that locked bathroom door. The very same something that had been stopping her from leaving since the minute that insufferable French witch waltzed into her life.

It was obvious that this moment was undeniably critical in Hermione's story. Whether or not it was a moment meant exclusively for her own recognition or not was unclear, but its significance lit a path inside her like a single burning candle in utter darkness. And the English witch, well...she was drawn to it like a moth to that very flame.

2 hours earlier...

"Follow my lead," Fleur whispered into the brunette's ear as they walked down the hall, "and do not speak unless spoken to."

They rounded a corner into the dining room and, in a bout of shyness, Hermione clung tighter to the blond's arm.

"Fleur Delacour! I was beginning to think you were never coming down from your little love nest," a strangely American voice rang out across the room.

The French witch stopped at the sound and Hermione could feel the woman's muscles tighten in her grip. The newcomer was a tall woman with eyes as dark as her brown hair. She wore a pretentious smile that looked as if it were always plastered to her face and Hermione was curious if there were a certain darkness that may have lurked behind it as well.

"Adriana, I was not expecting you to be 'ere," Fleur said. Her arm slipped from Hermione's grasp, clutching her by the hand at the last second and pulling her over to the strange new woman. Hermione watched awkwardly as the two women greeted each other with a kiss to each cheek.

"Don't be silly, Mademoiselle Delacour. You know I always pop by when I'm in the area. Let me fix you a cup of coffee, hmm?" Adriana replied, disappearing off into another room that Hermione assumed would be the kitchen.

Fleur pulled the brunette along over to the table where a large group of women were sitting and giggling to themselves. A few of them had men or another woman hanging off of them, kissing random parts of their bodies. Those poor people had to have been under the Veela thrall, given their focus was only on the women before them, Hermione presumed. She found herself briefly speculating at how much longer they had to live. Which was not long if judging by the worn down and unhealthy appearance of some of them. She shook the thought off. She should be focusing only on Fleur right now. Because that's what she would be doing if she were under the influence of the woman's thrall. She had a part to play and she would play it in that typical Hermione Granger fashion—without error.

Fleur sat in a chair at the table and led Hermione to stand behind her. The brunette's hands came to rest rather instinctively on the French witch's tensed shoulders. There then, this was easy enough. This was something a lover would do. She started to massage the strong shoulders in her hands, being sure to keep her face as close as possible to the woman's neck as if she were about to kiss it, but not quite taking that plunge. She looked convincing enough.

Adriana returned from the kitchen in no time with a hot cup of blackened coffee. She handed it to Fleur and stared at her expectantly, refusing to avert her attention for even a second until the blond took a sip. Apperceptive of this and not wanting to test Adriana's patience, the French witch took a large gulp. That seemed to satisfy the American woman, so she finally took a seat at one of the open spaces at the table and took a long drawn out sip of her own cup of coffee.

No one in the room spoke. This woman commanded everyone's attention as if she were someone extremely important and no one dare cross her unless they were prepared to deal with the consequences of having done so.

"Tell me, Fleur, who is this?" Adriana asked in manner that suggested she already knew the answer to the question.

"'Ermione Granger," Fleur replied almost immediately, her shoulders tightening in Hermione's grasp as she spoke. The English witch's ministrations quickly went from that of feigned infatuation to that of genuine concern, kneading harder at the muscles to loosen them from the tightness that she felt wasn't healthy for a woman as young as Fleur.

"THE Hermione Granger, wow. What a pleasure to be in your company. Fleur," Adriana said haughtily, "how on earth did you, of all people, get a hold of someone as revered as the Golden girl of the Second Wizarding War?"

"Gabrielle was wounded and we were being chased and I 'ad nowhere else to go for 'elp. A friend of mine 'ad told me a few days ago zat 'ermione might be taking a muggle train to Versailles, so I apparated to zat very train 'opeful zat she might be on it because I knew she would 'elp," the blond answered. Hermione would have been upset by the fact that Fleur had never told her that their meeting wasn't exactly accidental, except for the fact that she knew she had never asked. That and she was utterly fascinated by how forthcoming the blond was being with this strange woman. Was she a Veela too? Could one Veela use their thrall on another Veela? Was Fleur under Adriana's thrall?

Hermione's thoughts were interrupted by Fleur who was suddenly pulling at her arms, signaling for her to sit in the French witch's lap. The brunette tried to stay in character, feeling all of a sudden rather intimidated by the powerful American woman and still mildly mistrustful of the blond. She came around and sat across Fleur's lap as requested. She wasn't sure what an amatory lover would do in this situation, so she set about gently kissing the blond's neck. Though she was careful to also listen in closely to the conversation to gain more insight into what was going on. Whatever the cause, the blond was revealing important information. And it was in Hermione's best interest to absorb those facts while this limited window of time was offered to her. Only then, when she knew all she needed to know about these strange creatures and the reasoning behind her being here would she react to the situation.

"Why was Gabrielle wounded, Fleur?" Adriana questioned, taking another delicate sip of coffee.

"We were confronting another clan about zeir refusal to leave our lands and zey drew zeir wands on us. One of zee girls misfired a spell and it pushed Gabby back into a metal shard." The words flowed so easily from Fleur's lips. Hermione was perplexed by the easiness in which she spoke. She was so distracted by the story being told that she accidentally nipped a little too hard at a sensitive spot on Fleur's neck. The French witch shuddered.

In a matter of seconds, Hermione was helplessly drowning in the sultry sweetness of Veela thrall. It was so thick around her—the thickest she'd ever experienced. And, much unlike the previous times, it had happened so fast. A biting jolt of arousal shot through her entire being like a lightening bolt from the heavens. There was no one else in the room. There was only Fleur. And Hermione craved her, in that moment, like she had never and would never crave another being. She wanted to kiss her. She wanted to feel the blond's skin on her own. She wanted to feel Fleur inside her as she screamed the woman's name in ecstasy.

Hermione grabbed the French witch by the face and pulled their lips together hungrily, kissing the blond with all of the passion boiling over inside her. Fleur was hesitant at first as she and Hermione kissed. But the moment the brunette's tongue came into play, dancing wildly in search of Fleur's, the blond returned the kiss fervently. She moaned her pleasure loudly into the brunette's open mouth.

Adriana cleared her throat multiple times to get their attention, but to no success. After the third or so time, Fleur only managed to pull away from Hermione momentarily, long enough to say, "I'm sorry. Can zis wait? It is zat time. As you can see, I 'ave to take care of zis."

Hermione was relentless. She ravished Fleur's neck with kisses, leaving bites and bruises on any and all skin that grazed her lips. When Fleur pulled the brunette's head up and their mouths once again met, it was Hermione's moan that echoed throughout the room. With a fierce neediness, she straddled the blond to gain better access to her sweet mouth. She bucked and writhed as they kissed, seeking so much more than what she was being given.

Adriana's seemingly permanent smirk fell from her face.

"Yes, yes. Go on. Before you get everyone else all riled up," she dismissed them as if an unspoken rule prevented her from interfering with what was about to happen. What she said was true. The other Veela in the room were noticeably affected by the display. A few even left the room with their lovers at the dark-haired woman's dismissal.

Fleur was more than happy to leave. She grabbed a cheek from Hermione's bottom in each hand, pulling her closer as she did so, then stood, still clutching eagerly to the brunette's supple backside. Hermione's legs locked of their own accord around Fleur's waist as she was lifted. With another loud moan and a tight squeeze to the proffered cheeks, the blond began walking them to her bedroom.

The minute they got to the bedroom, Fleur kicked the door shut with her foot and shoved Hermione's body roughly up against it, kissing her anywhere and everywhere she could see skin.

"You 'ave no idea 'ow bad I want to fuck you, ma chérie," the blond growled. She pushed herself into the English witch, delighting in the pleasure that shot through her core. Hermione adjusted herself so that each thrust the blond made met her center. The fabric between them rubbed against the English witch's clit and livened her body with the same jolts of arousal. Hermione longed to remove that pesky fabric. She wanted to rid herself of the one thing that prevented her from rubbing her juices all over the magnificent blue-eyed beauty.

"'Ermione," the blond broke their kiss and cried out in pleasure.

The English witch could only moan in response, grinding herself back into the blond witch, cursing the very clothing that barred her from that which she desired most. There was so much she wished she could say. So much she felt inside that she yearned to voice out to the blond. It felt so good. The blond felt so wonderful pressed into her most sensitive of areas. She could feel how wet she had become with each and every thrust of Fleur's crotch into her own and it sent shivers up and down her spine. But she needed more. She wanted more. She wanted Fleur to fuck her. She wanted Fleur to keep fucking her until she couldn't be fucked anymore.

Without any warning, Hermione dropped to the ground with a hard thud. Fleur ran off to the bathroom. Seeing this and still so greedy for contact with the object of her greatest desires, the brunette quickly scrambled to chase after the French witch. But the bathroom door slammed shut in Hermione's face. She jiggled senselessly at the handle, but the door was locked.

Now that there was at least a little distance between herself and Fleur, she found the fog had cleared enough for her to be able to speak if only a little. Although the desire for the woman was still there, driving her mad in her want of the French witch. That passion made her sound wild and unrestrained as she called out to the woman.

"Fleur! Please, open up. Please don't go," she pleaded with the door repeatedly. She banged her fists against it until her hands ached. Though there was nothing but silence in return.

Present...

Hermione slumped further against the door. Fleur had just used her thrall on her after she had explicitly asked her not to. And she had knowingly dragged Hermione into a very dangerous situation. When Hermione finally came to her senses, she was livid. There was something about Fleur that made her seem so sincere and trustworthy. If all evidence proved otherwise, why did she keep giving the French witch the benefit of the doubt? Had she gone mad? Oh, but every kiss from that woman made Hermione feel like her soul was leaving her body to go to the most wondrous of places far away from this world and all its inconsistencies.

Perhaps the answers lie in that burning feeling deep down inside her that seemed to be the culprit behind her most unreasonable of actions. What was that unexplainable something inside her?

Could it be the Veela's thrall? She wondered to herself, remembering what Fleur had told her about the effects it had on a person's brain. It would be unbelievably easy to blame the thrall for all of this nonsense. Though the English witch could not allow herself to fully submit to the idea. There had always been a certain genuineness in all of her interactions with the blond that she felt could have only come from her own heart. Then again, Fleur had said that the thrall was so powerful that it also affected the Veela casting it. What if she had used too much? Hermione had been under the influence of the thrall a few times now, each of which, she had felt the blond lose control more and more. Maybe her brain was in the beginning stages of being altered to the point she couldn't tell the difference between her own feelings and what the thrall had stirred inside her. Then again, were those two things even different?

Another key player in this mystery was the English witch's unbridled curiosity. Hermione was a scholar. The one thing she always placed on a pedestal above all others was her pursuit of knowledge. Fleur and everything she'd figured out up to this point about the Veela were no more a gold mind to her intellectual proficiencies. She'd be lying if she said that everything about the blond didn't thoroughly intrigue her. Not to mention that if she weren't in her current situation, she would be at some stuffy convention partaking in idle chit chat about things she already knew. She most certainly wouldn't be here, in the thick of danger, learning new and exciting things. In a weird, roundabout way, the blond had saved her from such a fate. And who was she to ever turn down the opportunity to learn and explore something of which she had no prior knowledge.

Not to mention, her abounding intelligence assured that if she had wanted to leave, she was more than capable of doing so. But that was exactly the thing, wasn't it. Hermione Granger did not want to leave. Regardless of why or how, it was true all the same. She wanted to be there, in that room, at that door, near that blond sitting on the other side.

Hermione's head dropped even lower if possible. She laced her fingers throughout her messy hair.

And while it most certainly felt like the most untimely end to an ill-disposed tragedy, it wasn't. The world would go on turning just like it always had and everyone would go about their day to day lives just like they always would. And while she knew this, Hermione couldn't help the lingering trepidation inside her. She knew what she wanted, but she still needed to figure out the reasoning behind that feeling deep down in her gut. Because it may not end the world, but she knew that finding the answer very well could be the end of something and she wasn't entirely sure what that was or if she was even ready for whatever that might be. Nevertheless, she needed to find out for sure.

The door behind Hermione creaked open. A warm body joined her on the floor where she still sat, head in hands. The blond's presence only served to further fuel her confusion. And this time she was absolute in the fact that it wasn't the thrall causing it. She sighed defeatedly.

"Words cannot express 'ow sorry I am zat I did zat to you, 'ermione. Please believe me when I say zat I did not intend for any of zat to 'appen. I do not want to do anyzing to betray your trust like zat, I'm so sorry," the blond said softly. Tears trickled down her face, ruining the makeup she had applied earlier and she made no move to adjust it in any way. She looked so raw, so unkept. It was the most real Hermione had ever seen her, "I knew zat it is zat time for me and I chose to do it anyways. I shouldn't 'ave done it. Especially now, of all times. But she was asking questions—she could 'ave found out about you—she—"

"Slow down now, Fleur. I can't understand you. Why did you do it?" The brunette asked just as softly, her anger having long since died down to a dwindling ember among the ash.

"Veritaserum."

The words almost seemed to echo around the woman as she spoke, "Adriana slipped Veritaserum into my tea."