On Teenagers & Love

a story by anamatics

Part Two

Chapter Five: On Reunions

AN: See?


On their First Hogsmeade weekend, they form a Defense Association that Hermione jokingly calls 'Dumbledore's Army.' Hermione has to get Harry started, but as soon as they gather together in the Hog's Head, she knows that this might be a bit bigger than they'd initially planned. There's a lot of people crammed into this very small room. The barkeep is scowling at them, as not many of them are old enough to buy anything from behind his bar – but Fred and George get pints of whatever is on tap and sit down to Hermione's right and the barkeep seems to relax.

"Erm – hi." She begins, feeling stupid and antsy.

There's at least twenty sets of eyes on her and soon she gives it up to Harry, who is scowling and looking rather murderous. Umbridge has just banned him from Quidditch and that is probably what finally made him to agree to do this in the first place.

Harry actually holds the audience better than Hermione does and tells them a little bit about what he plans to teach them. He says that he's not going to try and follow the book that Fred and George used last year, but rather just teach him the spells he knows that are good defensively as well as work together with them as they all learn new spells together. They discuss potential meeting places, what they would do if Umbridge bans all school groups that aren't sanctioned (this one certainly is not going to be) and how to best keep in touch with each other about this.

A few of them are prefects, which works to their advantage, and they agree to pass the information along through code for now, and Hermione makes a list. She likes lists, they make her life simple and orderly. She likes order. As those gathered one by one sign their names, her mind is racing – trying to figure out how to hold them to their word. She thinks for a moment, and then charms it with one of the nastiest curses she's read about in the past few weeks. "If any of you tell," she whispers as they stare from the list they've signed to the wand in her hand and back again, "We'll know, and you'll be very, very sorry."

They leave the Hog's Head in twos and threes – a good tactic that Hermione is pretty sure will work for wherever they decide to set up shop for these lessons. Harry and Ron smile at Hermione before saying that they need to go to Zonko's for some things. "Meet you back at the castle?" Ron says, raising his eyebrows in a brazenly suggestive way.

Hermione blushes a little bit and waves them off. "Hopefully I'll be back for dinner." There's a curfew and she has to be, but she doesn't want to think about it.

Following a feeling, Hermione heads to the Three Broomsticks, watching carefully for the telltale signs of Fleur's presence. There's a hint of her smell in the air, and Hermione sees Madam Rosmerta gesturing for her to come over. She approaches the bar, elbowing older students out of her way as she presses her way closer to where the bar's proprietor is cleaning a glass and grinning brightly at Hermione.

"You're needed upstairs, love," is all the bar mistress says and Hermione knows. "End of the hall."

Anxiety fuels her every motion, she fiddles with her hair, it's frizzing from being in the Hog's Head and then back out into the heat of the day. She wishes it would calm down, but knows that it won't. She adjusts her collar on her shirt and tries not to think about the fact that she's wearing faded and old corduroys that had fit her better before the year had begun. She grew again, she knows it.

Still, they're amazingly comfortable.

Logic tells her that she's going to stop eventually, but she's sick of shooting up like she's some sort of teenage boy and gaining centimeters far faster than Harry is growing. Ron is a freak of nature and has grown at least six inches in the past two years. He complains that he hurts all over, and Hermione can relate to that sensation lately. She hates that she's growing, but is grateful that the school skirts are purposefully cut long and her – ah – top half seems to be pretty settled into its size.

Hermione has never been to the upstairs of the Three Broomsticks. It looks a bit like the Leaky Cauldron, only a little less shabby and more art deco. Hermione decides that Madam Rosmerta has fantastic taste as she moves down the hall. She's nervous – she's wet – she's worried Fleur won't want her any more.

She's deluding herself, Hermione thinks darkly, raising her hand and knocking on the door at the end of the hall with some trepidation.

Fleur answers the door wearing a leather jacket over a v-neck shirt and muggle jeans so tight that Hermione flushes, looking her lover up and down for a long moment before finally meeting curious and dark blue eyes.

"Hi," she says awkwardly for the second time that day.

A wide grin spreads across Fleur's face, but there's something unreadable in her eyes. It is deeper and more passionate and when Fleur grabs her and pulls her into the room, Hermione realizes that it is desire. She's so bad at picking up on these signs, she knows that Fleur thinks that it's adorable, but she hates it.

Hermione definitely does not hate it when Fleur pushes the door closed behind her and shoves her against the wall just off to the side of said door and puts her hands everywhere – reminding Hermione (perhaps far too starkly) what she has missed since she has been back at school.

She gasps as Fleur growls into her neck, kissing Hermione on the spot that they both know Hermione loves.

"Do 'ou – 'ave any idea 'ow much I 'ave missed 'ou?" Fleur demands, pulling herself away from Hermione's neck long enough to meet her eyes once again. They stare at each other for a long and drawn out moment. Hermione's chest rises and falls and her fingers toy with the ends of Fleur's hair, falling loosely around her shoulders.

She opens her mouth to reply, but Fleur's lips are on her own and she finds herself unable to think of anything other than how Fleur is going to take her right here, against the wall with the door still unlocked next to them.

The idea arouses Hermione more than she cares to admit, and she wraps her arms around Fleur, hips pushing wantonly upwards against the knee that Fleur's shoved in between her legs. Fleur seems to like this, and her facial features go all avian for a moment and in that moment, she is more beautiful than Hermione has ever seen her before.

When it is over, Hermione pulls Fleur back towards the bed that's the main centerpiece of the room. She's pulling off Fleur's clothes, forcing those sinfully tight jeans off of Fleur's legs and marveling at the pale skin that she's exposing. It's been too long, she doesn't know how she's going to handle this separation between them.

"Why the leather jacket?" Hermione asks, raising a curious eyebrow as Fleur kicks off her jeans and settles down on the bed next to her. There's a sense of equality here now, they're both naked, but Hermione secretly wants Fleur to put the jacket back on and fuck her with just it on. She's not going to say anything, but if Fleur offers, she certainly would not say no.

She suddenly feels like she's Sandy in Grease and she's just seen Danny Zuko at school for the first time after their summer together. Fleur would make a fantastic Danny Zuko, her post-coital brain reasons – she's totally hot enough in a leather jacket to pull off the Travolta role.

Hermione has no idea why she's thinking about American musicals that her parents forced her to watch as a child. She loves every minute of those films, even if she protests that she has better things to do with her time than watch moves with her parents.

Still, no idea why she's thinking about that particular movie at this particular moment. She's pretty sure she's not even attracted to men – even if they do look like John Travolta looked in that role.

"'ou can blame Weeliem for zat," Fleur laughs, jerking Hermione out of her completely – and disturbingly – random thoughts. "'e seemed to zink zat 'ou would enjoy it."

Hermione traces her fingers down Fleur's side, forcing thoughts of Grease out of her head and concentrating on how Fleur is watching her, and how she still desperately craves Fleur's touch. "I do," she confesses, a sheepish smile crossing her face. "You look rather dashing."

"Merci," Fleur kisses her and suddenly it starts again. Fleur shifting to move on top of her, their bodies pressed together as one.

It is slower this time, far less frantic than it had been before. There's a tenderness here that Hermione recognizes and loves. It drives away all thoughts of Umbridge, their new defense club, and the fact that she's a bloody prefect and is willingly breaking Hogwarts rules without much thought for the consequences. Hermione reasons she must risk expulsion at least once a year for Harry's sake. It comes with the territory of being one of his best friends.

Fleur's hands slip down to her breasts – nipples hardening under teasing nails and gentle touches that turn harder as Hermione groans. Fleur has always known how to elicit the best responses out of her, despite the fact that Hermione desperately tries to not sound so completely undone during their encounters.

Hermione has long accepted that she's not very dignified when they make love. She tires her best, but Fleur knows how to move her lips and fingers and tongue to make Hermione come completely and utterly undone. Hermione is lying when she says that she does not revel in the loss of control – in the feeling of being so completely stated that she can't even remember her own name.

Fleur Delacour is amazing in bed, and the smug smile that graces her lover's face as Hermione moans and grabs at Fleur's back, nails raking against the pale skin she's so carefully exposed.

"Aimes-tu cela?" Fleur asks, lips dipping down to join her fingers. "'ow I touch 'ou?"

"Yesss…" Hermione grinds out. Fleur is biting, sucking, drawing her closer and closer, her hand brushes against Hermione's navel, further down, She bucks against the touch, her whole body's attention focused laser sharp – on how Fleur's fingers are carefully caressing and exploring. They're driving her wild with every dip towards what will inevitably bring Hermione to climax, but every time they drift inwards, they hastily scoot back and away. They tease Hermione and she groans in frustration and longing.

Fleur stares at her, eyes wide and full of the passion that Hermione can barely put into words. Her eyes are even blacker than before, and she's panting in that elegant way that Fleur Delacour pants when Hermione is on the brink of orgasm.

Hermione wants to come. She wants to feel Fleur inside of her, rocking against her. She knows that this isn't fair, that Fleur has made her scream and come once already today and that their time is lamentably limited, but she does not care.

She's being selfish when she urges Fleur to linger, to push her fingers upwards and inwards, taking her suddenly and harshly. Two fingers and Hermione is so full. She groans and Fleur hisses, predatory and dominant as she forces her back down onto the bed.

Fleur's fingers fill her and she feels herself clenching around them. She doesn't know the muscles in the human body, but the way that Fleur has forced her down and is attempting to take her is so incredibly arousing. Hermione cannot help herself, not after nearly a month of only her hand to satisfy her.

She's becoming more and more undone; Hermione realizes this, as Fleur sucks hard on her neck. She can't resist much longer, she's going to fall claim to Fleur's aggressive love making. There's a smugness in Fleur's eyes that Hermione recognizes. She wants to feel everything and Fleur's pushing her further than ever.

Fleur adds another finger and Hermione gasps, babbling incoherently. Her entire body is wrapped around Fleur, who is taking her as a man would, pushing in and out of her – in and out and oh so deep and bloody fantastic.

"Oh God," The words escape Hermione's lips and she struggles to say much more than that – she can't think – she can barely breathe. Fleur is taking her so thoroughly that Hermione feels the dominance and the power that Fleur is so eager to place upon her, and she accepts it hands down. Her body full of the ache to come, to have her sacrifice be recognized by the family as they revel in her claiming together.

Fleur growls and Hermione's hips buck back and upwards, forcing Fleur to adjust her position to continue hitting that spot that drives her so damn wild. Hermione feels so good – so damn good – and when Fleur finally puts her over the edge Hermione shrieks in pleasure and satisfied knowledge that Fleur can make her come whenever she wants.