On Teenagers & Love

a story by anamatics, beta'ed by HyperCaz

Part Two

Chapter One: On Summer Nights

AN: I haven't finished this, but I wanted to give you folks a teaser for the next part of this story, which will take place during Hermione's fifth year. This is a little bit more grown up, but certainly nothing more adult than what was in the last section. We're all teenagers, or have been teenagers, and this is what teenagers in love do.

The response to this story has been so fantastic, I feel like because I've written this out so far that I owe it to y'all to give you a little bit more of the story rather than leave you hanging until I finish what is sure to be a super long (to match the book, lol) endeavor.


"You can test it out ma, tell me what you see
Order what you want, hell yeah it's on me
Don't it tell ya I'm good?
What that tell ya? I'm good.
What they tell ya? I'm good.
What she tell ya? I'm good.
What you see? (I'm looking good)"

- I'm Good

"You better shape up;
you better understand
to my heart I must be true."

- You're the One that I Want

Their summer is hot, full of sweat and sleepless nights. Fleur casts cooling charms on her room and Hermione goes in there to sleep when it gets too unbearably hot in the room she shares with Ginny. Mrs. Weasley has forbidden them from doing that, and Ginny covers for her as best she can and as Hermione slips under the covers and into Fleur's arms, she does not feel guilty.

Fleur kisses her and Hermione pushes Fleur onto her back, reveling at how cool Fleur's skin feels under her sweaty palms. Their lips are pressed together and Fleur's tongue is doing that thing that it does to make Hermione's toes curl as Fleur pulls her tank-top up and over her head. They break away briefly and Fleur throws the shirt onto the dusty floor (no matter of cleaning charms can get all the dust out of the floor, Fleur has tried several times) beside the bed.

As Fleur's lips push back down against Hermione's, Fleur flips their positions and Hermione tries to protest. She likes being in control, likes watching Fleur become undone, but Fleur is hearing none of it tonight. Her hands are everywhere as she moves, kissing her way down Hermione's neck, lingering just long enough to make Hermione gasp, but not enough to mark her.

Hermione has found that she rather likes the marks – in her own twisted way of throwing what she and Fleur share back in the faces of those who doubt her commitment to it. Mrs. Weasley has been rather vocal about the fact that she is far too young to be in such a relationship and Sirius has pulled her aside several times to ask her if she's doing alright. Hermione cannot stand it and has made her opinion clear to anyone who questions her: she is in love with Fleur Delacour, and Fleur is in love with her.

Warm fingers close around her breast and she gasps, Fleur smiling above her. "Like zat?" Fleur asks quietly and Hermione nods. The air in the room is so much cooler than it has been in Grimmauld Place all day, and Hermione is uncomfortably warm despite the coolness of the air. Fleur's fingers are hot against her skin, and warm as she feels, there's goose bumps appearing on the skin her tank top had covered.

Fleur's touch burns as she runs her fingers carefully down Hermione's stomach. She lingers in places that Hermione has helped her to find, places that Hermione did not even know she possessed. The warmth of Fleur's touch and the almost sinful way that Fleur is watching her, eyes dark and full of passion, is almost too much for Hermione and she moans. Fleur's eyes always get to her when they're doing this, they become so dark they seem almost black and are stark in contrast to Fleur's pale skin and hair. Hermione has wondered if this has something to do with Fleur's heritage, but has never had the courage to really ask.

Dark eyes dip downwards, hidden by a mane of silvery blonde hair as Fleur bends to kiss her breast. Her lips are hotter than her fingertips and Hermione squirms under the touch. Fleur's body holds her still and Hermione flops back on the pillow, her fingers burying themselves in Fleur's hair, twisting and pulling as Fleur sucks her nipple into her mouth. The sensation is almost too much, and Hermione can feel the wetness pool between her legs as Fleur's tongue dances across the sensitive skin in her mouth. She groans when Fleur moves her hand downwards, dipping down into her kickers and pulling them off as quickly as possible.

They fall to the floor with the quiet sound of garments hitting wood, and Fleur lifts her head and Hermione can see that her eyes are darker still. There's an almost avian quality to her now, in this act of passion, and Fleur studies Hermione's face carefully as she pushes her fingers up and into Hermione's embarrassingly wet core. Hermione gasps, her hands reaching out, grabbing for Fleur's shoulders, pulling her down and into a kiss. She doesn't want to be too loud, and Fleur's tongue is ravaging her mouth, silencing her moans and gasps before they can be released.

Fleur rocks against her, Hermione's hips pushing back against every push of her fingers. She loves this feeling, it is so rough and so raw and so them. Full of the passion that neither of them dare speak of for fear that the allure of it might vanish into nothingness. Hermione is so full of Fleur, so content and the way that Fleur's palm is rubbing against her is threatening to send her over the edge far too soon.

Their kiss breaks apart and Hermione's nails rake along Fleur's back as she moves closer towards ecstasy. Fleur's lips have returned to her neck, biting and nipping at the skin there. Hermione shifts, her body trying to take in more of Fleur's lips, her fingers, her entire body craves Fleur's touch and she's unashamed of it.

"Zis is what 'ou like," Fleur breathes into Hermione's ear. She's panting too, her eyes gleaming in the dim light from the half-drawn curtains. "'ou like it when I take 'ou."

Hermione groans loudly, verbal response is beyond her at this point. Fleur's pace quickens and there's something almost feral about the way that she moves, pushing Hermione closer and closer to the edge. Hermione can't think straight, can't concentrate on anything but the way that Fleur is watching her, coaxing the orgasm out of her. There's a fire in her eyes, heavy lidded and waiting on the edge of Fleur's consciousness, ready to strike.

Fleur's thumb flicks across overly sensitive skin and Hermione comes hard, moaning loudly as Fleur brushes sweaty curls off of her forehead. "Je t'aime, 'ermione," Fleur whispers quietly, slowly withdrawing her hand and contemplating her fingers for a moment. Hermione is suddenly horribly embarrassed that Fleur's fingers are covered in her essence, but as Fleur begins to lick them clean, Hermione falls back on the pillows, panting.

"I love you too, Fleur."

A few moments later, when Hermione is finally able to think straight once again, the question tumbles unbidden from her mouth. "Why do your eyes get so dark?" She wants to take it back almost instantly, as Fleur looks up, her eyes normal once again.

"Mn?" Fleur asks, moving to curl around Hermione, her arm flung casually over Hermione's stomach.

Hermione swallows hotly, her cheeks flushing as she rephrases. God, there is no way to put this without it sounding horrible. She gives it her best shot, and says again, "When you're um… aroused, why do your eyes get dark?"

Fleur laughs then, bright and airy, like wind in the trees or a bird's chatter. Hermione frowns, hating that she's constantly drawing comparisons between Fleur and birds now. It's like a scab that won't go away, she can't get the image of the veela that she saw at the Quidditch World Cup out of her mind with their beaks and wings and claws.

She hopes Fleur doesn't get claws.

Or wings.

"Because my grandmere is a veela," Fleur leans in and kisses Hermione on the cheek. Her skin smells of sweat and Hermione turns her head to catch Fleur's lips, lingering there for a moment before Fleur pulls away and adds, "It is simply part of who I am."

Hermione's brow furrows, "I imagine that there are differences between a partial veela and a full one?"

Fleur nods, "Oui, but now is not ze time for talking about zem. Je veux dormir."

Hermione nods and that is the end of that conversation, she's too spent to protest much. She's ask Fleur again in the morning. Yes, the morning is a good time to ask such a question.

In the morning, Professor Snape corners Hermione and Fleur in the entrance hallway of Grimmauld Place as Hermione is seeing Fleur off to work and says that he wants a word with both of them. He ushers them into a sitting room that they have yet to fully decontaminate and tells them to sit. Hermione is slightly terrified as she sits next to Fleur on a moth-eaten sofa that creeks ominously under their weight.

"It has been brought to my attention that you two are engaging in certain," Snape pauses, as if for dramatic effect. Hermione glares at him as discretely as possible, she doesn't want to borrow trouble to add to her humiliation. "nightly activities that I shall refrain from mentioning here as they are – by nature - unmentionable."

Fleur folds her arms across her chest and scowls at Snape who looks down his crooked nose at her with a look of upmost contempt on his face. "What of it?" she asks flippantly.

Hermione is almost proud of Fleur, except that she's terrified about how Snape is going to use this to embarrass her in class come the fall.

"As it kept me up for half the night I would advise that you learn a good silencing charm, Ms. Delacour." Snape's snide smile solidifies the mortification that is now permanently etched in Hermione's mind. Snape heard them. Oh God.

Hermione thinks she's going to be sick.

"And you, Ms. Granger, I should think that you should keep your mouth occupied with other things during such endeavors. You are rather loud."

Fleur's arm is around Hermione and there's that same fierceness in her eyes that Hermione sees when they make love. Angry and ruffled and oh god she's got to stop drawing comparisons between Fleur and birds; it's just wrong. "You will apologize to 'ermione," she says angrily, staring Snape down with as much contempt as he's showing them.

Snape gives a mock bow, looking even more like an overgrown bat, and shrugs elaborately. "Discretion is key in all things, Ms. Delacour. Learn this and you might live through the coming war."

Fleur's shouted curses in French and English wake Sirius' mother and Snape sweeps from the room to deal with her.

Hermione is shaking and Fleur's words mean nothing to her. She's hurt and humiliated and she just wants to leave to get away from this god-awful house and that god-awful man. "I want to die," she mutters into the crook of Fleur's neck.

"Come to work wiz me," Fleur says, taking Hermione's hand and pulling her to her feet. "Vas-y."

Fleur is doing paperwork that day and Hermione spends the afternoon curled up with a cup of tea and her new Arithmancy text book, carefully staying out of sight of the goblins as she hides out in Fleur's office.