On Teenagers & Love
a story by anamatics, beta'ed by HyperCaz
Chapter Two - On A Stolen Kiss
Author's Notes: You guys are amazing! Thank you to everyone who reviewed. :)
A word of warning for the story - there will be a good but of underage sexual content over the course of the story. Hermione is fifteen during Goblet of Fire and Fleur is seventeen, while they age up over the course of it, I feel it is necessary to warn the readership who might find such sexual situations triggering.
There are also some mentions of general World War Two history and aspects of the Holocaust.
"Put it on my life baby
I can make you feel right baby
I can't promise tomorrow
But I promise tonight"
-"Give Me Everything Tonight"
"Trust thyself: every heart vibrates to that iron string." – Self Reliance
She has History of Magic every Monday, Wednesday and Friday right after lunch and Hermione Granger has not been to class in a week. She's retreated into the library, into that far corner away from the prying eyes of anyone who might look for her, and into Fleur Delacour's intriguing way of teaching.
Fleur Delacour is many things to Hermione; she can't even begin think of how to order her thoughts on the matter. She spends her lunch periods silently eating sandwiches and searching for underwater magic that could possibly help Harry with the Second Task. She spends her lunch periods watching Fleur Delacour write Transfiguration and Potions essays – watching her prowl the stacks and pull out novels from amid the thousands of reference books. She watches Fleur Delacour, the way she moves, the way that she twirls a lock of hair around her finger as she reads, the way her nose scrunches up when she can't quite figure out a word in English.
Hermione spends the class period after lunch being taught about 'La Résistance Française' and she has to stop herself from referring to it as such in the most recent essay for Professor Binns. He gives her an O and tells her to keep up the good work before floating past her into the wall as she's on her way to Arithmancy on Friday. "Do try to come to class eventually, Miss Granger," his ghostly voice trails off as she stands there, stunned at how ilittle/i he seems to care that she's skipped his class for a week.
Hermione decides that she has to go back. She is reluctant to give up the extended time she now has to spend around Fleur, and she struggles with it the entire weekend. Ron tells her to do what she wants and Harry tells her to ask Fleur for a tip about the Second Task.
To Harry, she retorts that if Fleur hasn't worked out the clue yet, she is not going to take away Harry's competitive advantage.
It is then that she begins to wonder why Fleur has offered to be her teacher. It is strange to have a teacher so passionate about the subject matter. Passion is something that Fleur Delacour has in spades. Hermione could listen to her talk for hours, and sometimes wishes that she could linger in the library to hear more of her beautiful voice.
"La Résistance Française," Fleur says on Monday after Hermione has carefully folded up the wax paper from her chicken sandwich. She is going to have to start surprising Fleur with lunch at some point. She doesn't like the idea of Fleur thinking she doesn't feed herself. "'ow do 'ou think of it so far?"
Hermione sets her quill down and regards Fleur critically. "I think I have a biased instructor," she says with a laugh. "But a brilliant teacher."
Fleur seems to contemplate this, adjusting herself in her armchair and fixing her skirt. She looks up after a moment, eyes intensely blue and boring into Hermione's very soul. "'ow soon will ze professeur move on... from zis subject?"
She honestly does not know. With Professor Binns it is hard to guess. She shrugs, not really knowing what to say. Harry and Ron both sleep through the class anyway, so it is not as though they would be able to tell her that they're talking about something else in class now. In the few moments when she's perfectly honest with herself, she doesn't ever want to go back to Professor Binns' class. Fleur Delacour's voice is much nicer to listen to, and the way that she finds herself furiously blushing every time Fleur leans in close to take a look at what she's writing down is most intriguing and deserving of further investigation.
"Professor Binns tends to... go on a bit." She isn't lying, not really. "I don't know how long it'll be."
There's a wicked smile on Fleur's face, and she scoots closer to Hermione. Her voice is low, almost predatory. Hermione wants to push away, but finds herself trapped and immobile. Since when has she become powerless against this woman's charm?
"Zen I shall continue to teach you. It 'as been... how do you English say? Un moment..." Fleur trails off, searching for the right word.
"A minute?" Hermione ventures. She's never fancied learning the French language before this moment; it has skyrocketed up her list of things to do whenever she has free time again. If she knew the language, she could speak to Fleur in it, and she could hear that beautiful voice speaking without the constant hesitation of not fully grasping the language it was speaking.
Fleur shakes her head. She seems to be concentrating hard, her eyes narrowed as she thinks. Hermione watches as her lips - oh so perfect in their shape and how Hermione longs to lean forward and touch them - form several soundless words, Fleur's head shaking every time the word is incorrect. It is fascinating to see one who has such a good grasp of the language struggle to find the right word.
Finally, Fleur is triumphant. "It has been a while, since I 'ave 'ad un étudiante - a student - so willing." She looks down at her nails and Hermione can see a slight tinge of pink on Fleur's cheeks. "Merci, 'ermione, truly. Merci."
Yes, this penchant for blushing by the two of them when in close quarters to the other deserves further investigation.
db
The first time Hermione Granger is kissed it is not by Viktor Krum, though it is right in front of him. Hermione hopes he doesn't mind too much, but Fleur looks as cold as Hermione feels and together with teeth chattering they seem to warm each other up, just a little bit. Over the din of the crowd as the judges debate scores, Fleur holds her little sister close to her, gauze wrapped around her neck. Hermione had helped pull the girl out of the water, and had cast a warming charm far above her year in school over the little girl before Madam Pomfrey could even get close enough to do any diagnostic spells. When the matron had given her an odd look, Hermione had merely shrugged and said the girl was shaking. She'd held out her hand to Ron then, doing the same for her best friend, watching as Fleur hovered anxiously and held Gabrielle close to her.
"Grindylows?" Hermione asks after a moment of silently chattering her teeth in Fleur's direction.
"Zey broke my bubblehead charm," Fleur mutters angrily. "Je suis une tache - I cannot be champion if zis keeps 'appening."
Fleur's sister pulls on Hermione's soggy robes and Hermione leans down, listening intently as the girl is barely speaking above a whisper and her voice is shaking. It is so loud here, as the three schools roar around them. "Ma soeur, she 'as need of – ahhhh – comfort."
Hermione smiles, and wraps her towel around the smaller girl. "You do as well, little one." She stands and faces Fleur, scooting towards her. She feels strangely confident, and as she moves closer, Fleur lifts her arm and Hermione tucks herself into the space there, under the blanket and the towel and a far stronger warming charm than she's ever been able to muster.
"You are very sweet, 'ermione," Fleur whispers. "You care for 'er, for Gabrielle, even zough you do not know her from a 'ippogryph."
She blinks, not knowing how to respond to Fleur's compliment. "I just want to help."
Fleur leans in, brushing ice cold lips across Hermione's equally freezing ones. "You are sweet, chérie." They sit there, huddled against the cold for several more minutes, before Dumbledore announces the final scores and Fleur leaves to go thank Harry and Ron for their heroics.
Icy fingers raise shakily to touch burning hot lips, her cheeks flushed a bright red.
Fleur Delacour had stolen Hermione Granger's first kiss, and she'd stolen it as though it had been the simplest thing in the world.
