On Teenagers & Love

a story by anamatics

Part Two

Chapter Three: On Parting


Mrs. Weasley does not say anything when Hermione follows Fleur into her bedroom the night before they go back to Hogwarts. She merely shakes her head and tells Hermione to be sure to set an alarm. Hermione does so as soon as she goes into the room, programing her watch to commence its shrill beeping with more than enough time to get them both up and ready for the horrible day that awaits them.

She sits on the edge of Fleur's bed, picking at the bed spread, trying not to think of all the memories that she will have in this room.

"Did you-" Fleur begins, but Hermione shakes her head. She doesn't want to, not tonight. She wants to lay awake with Fleur and just talk, like they did before. If that talking leads somewhere, that's fine, she reasons, but she does not want to go into this expecting sex. Hermione is pretty sure that that will ruin the moment.

"Tell me about Beauxbatons," Hermione says, taking Fleur's hand and pulling her down onto the bed beside her. She's always been curious. The students who had come to Hogwarts last year did not really talk about their schools other than to compare them to the less-than-pleasant aspects of Hogwarts.

Fleur leans in and kisses Hermione gently, her tongue pushing forward and her hands playing into Hermione's hair. They stay like that for a moment, their lips dancing together, to their own rhythm.

"What do you want to know?" Fleur asks, pulling away. Hermione's fingers are tracing patters along Fleur's side, pulling at the thin t-shirt and touching the skin beneath it with hesitant fingers. They did not ever really do much of this, not until this summer when they had the time to lay about in bed.

Hermione shifts, kissing Fleur on the nose. "How do they tell you you've been accepted?"

"Zey send a letter, but 'ou 'ave to interview first," Fleur shakes her head slightly, settling herself down more comfortably next to Hermione. "C'est horrible."

"At eleven?" Hermione laughs, "I can imagine." She wonders how muggleborn children are introduced to the school then, or if their interview is simply waived. It would seem prudent to treat all students the same, but Hogwarts has a different procedure for muggleborn students than they do for halfbloods and purebloods. From what Harry has told her of his own experiences upon getting his Hogwarts letter, Hermione rather likes the way that Hogwarts handles the muggleborns – none of this being attacked by your mail and the like.

Still, the idea of Fleur at age eleven is intriguing. "What were you like, when you were eleven?"

"Hum," Fleur exhales into Hermione's hair, "I was small. I did not grow until I was treize ans – thirteen. Zen I grew like all women in ma familie, 'ow do you eenglish say, 'like a weed'."

"I was big," Hermione says quietly. She remembers how they'd teased her; how Malfoy and the Slytherins had used the fact that she was taller and more grow mature looking than the rest of the girls in their year against her. She had hated them then, and she still does now, close-minded bigots that they are. "Taller than both Harry and Ron. It wasn't until second year that they caught up with me. I didn't like being the tallest."

Fleur smiles up at her, and Hermione leans in, kissing those lips that she can never seem to resist. She loves how they feel, loves their softness and how they're still chapped despite everything Hermione has told Fleur about staying hydrated when out in the sun and wearing lip balm if it's sunny outside. She smiles into the kiss and Fleur pulls her down, kissing her in earnest.

Her hands are up the old t-shirt that Fleur uses as a nightshirt, touching warm skin covered in goose bumps from coming into sudden contact with cool air. She pulls off the garment and pulls away from Fleur's lips, her mouth burning a hot trail downwards. She kisses the skin as she exposes it, lingers in the places she knows Fleur likes. She's left a hickey on her hip before, listening to Fleur babel at her in French, saying things that Hermione can never hope to understand.

She's tried to learn the language, and Fleur has tried to teach her, but every time they try, they end up doing this, Hermione kissing Fleur or Fleur kissing Hermione and then all hopes of learning anything is gone and forgotten . All Hermione can remember from those lessons is how good it feels to make Fleur come, and how animalistic she sounds when she's rocking up and against the constant and sinfully wonderful assault of Fleur's fingers and tongue.

Hermione lowers her head down, kissing, touching, tasting – loving every second of this moment that she will not get to have again for at least a month. She lingers, kissing the inside of Fleur's thigh, staying there just long enough to make Fleur groan in frustration before moving back to slowly kissing Fleur to bliss.

"Je t'aime," Fleur is muttering, her hands tangled in Hermione's hair. She's repeating it over and over again, and Hermione knows what it means at least. She quickens her pace, loving how Fleur's babbling becomes increasingly incomprehensible. She's still learning, but she knows how to make Fleur gasp for breath and beg for release. She gives in every time, Fleur is not so kind, playing and teasing and driving Hermione wild with want.

Hermione cannot deny Fleur anything.

Fleur cries out when she comes, her words coming in breathless pants as she tells Hermione again that she loves her. Hermione lingers, cleaning up the mess she's made, kissing Fleur's stomach and breasts as she moves back up lover's body. She kisses Fleur and they lie together in a tangle of sweaty limbs, panting and enjoying simply being there, together.

"I zought zat 'ou did not want to…" Fleur gasps out after a few moments of calm.

Hermione laughs and intertwines their fingers. "I never said I didn't." She raises an eyebrow and Fleur laughs.

They snuggle together, Fleur pulls the covers back up and over them both, and Hermione kisses her again. This one is slow, calm, full devotion and passion that Hermione still cannot find the words to truly express. She loves Fleur with all her heart, expressing it with small gestures and pleasant smiles and kisses that she knew would make Fleur's toes curl.

"Nous devrions dormir," Fleur whispers, pulling away from the kiss. "Tomorrow is going to be terrible, but 'ou must be rested for ze journey."

Hermione sighs and nods her head. She knows that Fleur's right. Tomorrow is going to be awful, but that she as to get some sleep or else she's going to be a right git in the morning. She leans over and checks her watch one last time, to make sure that the alarm is on. Satisfied, she curls up and whispers that she loves Fleur before drifting off to sleep.

"Je t'aime, 'ermione," Fleur whispers back. "Toujours."

The next morning is full of half-eaten breakfasts and cold showers as Grimmauld Place's hot water heater is on the fritz. Hermione is in a bad mood before they even start to head towards the train station. Fleur tags along with them, to see Hermione off – she'll follow Bill Weasley to work afterwards.

Hermione likes that they've become close. Fleur needs a friend who is decidedly not interested in her, and Bill seems to be completely and totally in love with his job. It's good, it means that Fleur can get the rare gift of interacting with a man who doesn't want to have sex with her.

Fleur had thought she might be jealous, but Hermione had shaken her head and pointed out that William had a very nice girlfriend. She doesn't mention that this one seems far more serious than his other romantic entanglements (according to Ginny), Fleur can find that out on her own.

Platform Nine and Three Quarters is crowded with students, and Hermione feels the wonderment of everything once again. Her parents have come to the station to see her off and she runs over to them with a bright smile and hugs for everyone. She's going to go on holiday with them this year at Christmas, she promises. There's talk of skiing and Hermione is truly happy.

Her mother tells her to write and Hermione promises that she always does. They laugh for a few minutes before the whistle blows and Hermione has to hurry back over to the Weasleys to help Ron and George move her trunk.

"'ermione," Fleur says quietly, taking Hermione's hand and pulling her away from the Weasleys. "I will miss 'ou." She says it so fiercely and with such protectiveness that Hermione throws her arms around Fleur's neck and kisses her in the middle of the train platform, not caring who sees.

"I love you," Hermione promises, "I'll miss you too." She kisses Fleur one last time, "I'll write you every day."

"Bon," Fleur smiles back at her, tears in her eyes. "I will see you in 'ogsmeade."

Hermione nods and hurries her way back onto the train. She's a prefect, there's a meeting she as to go to. She puts her things in the compartment with Neville and Harry, half dragging Ron away. He still hates the idea of being a prefect, despite everything that Hermione says it will teach him about proper responsibility and duty.

Their meeting is short and they're back in their compartment as the train lurches to life. The school train leaves and Hermione watches Fleur vanish into nothing behind a cloud of smoke. She fights back tears and sits down next to Ginny with a scowl on her face. Ron tells her that her face will get stuck like that if she doesn't stop looking so down. She tells him to sod off.

Harry leans back and watches them, and Hermione watches him. It's hard to watch him, to know that he watched Cedric Diggory die and that he saw Voldemort come back. She feels terrible for him, to have those strange dreams, to be so alone in all this.

"So have you figured out how you're going to see Fleur?" Ginny asks. Hermione hasn't really talked to her about her relationship with Fleur, there hasn't been the time over the summer. Things have been happening so quickly with Harry's trial and then the going back to school process that always takes longer than Hermione intends for it to take. She feels guilty; they've all been so busy that the long talks that she's used to having late into the night with Ginny during their summers have fallen by the wayside.

Luna looks up from The Quibbler and raises an eyebrow at Hermione. She's an odd one, Hermione won't say any more than that, but a good person and incredibly smart. "I didn't realize you were a homosexual, Hermione."

Cringing, Hermione glances to Ron, who has his hands over his mouth and looks to be trying to stifle a laugh. Harry is grinning. She groans.

"I'm…" Hermione wonders how Luna missed the fact that Fleur Delacour kissed her in front of most of the school at the end of term last year. The conversation had spread like wildfire through the train and by the time they'd gotten back to London there had been so many questions from her peers that she's shocked Luna even asked. "Well yes, I am."

Luna's attention is back on her magazine. "That's lovely; I just wanted to hear it from you." Her tone is dreamy and off kilter, and Hermione does not know what to think of it. She shoots Ron and Harry a look that they should very well know means 'we will discuss this later' and picks up her book once again.

Later, when she's back in the Gryffindor dormitory and unpacking her trunk, does the full gravity of the situation really begin to weigh down on her. She's alone. Fleur won't be showing up here like she did over the summer. There will be precisely six chances for seeing her outside of school breaks – on Hogsmeade weekends – and suddenly Hermione is not sure she will be able to cope with the distance. She's put on a brave face for Harry, for Ron, even for Ginny – but Fleur was the one who held her last night as she shook and tried to maintain her composure.

Fleur promised that it would not be so bad and Hermione wants to believe her. She tries to concentrate on something else, opening her trunk and beginning to unpack her things. She's about halfway through when she realizes just how many things of Fleur's have found their way into her trunk. She's unpacking and finds a stray scrap of parchment covered in Fleur's handwriting – and then a shirt that Hermione had thought she'd given back. There's a few books that Hermione actually had permission to borrow and several others that she did not.

She sits on the end of her bed, Fleur's shirt in her hands, and tries not to cry. She's never done this before. She doesn't know what she's doing.

She hates feeling so completely alone.


AN: Finally fixed that typo. Sorry for the confusion guys.