On Teenagers & Love
a story by anamatics
Part Two
Chapter Seven - On the Most Joyous of Days
AN: This is the last section of this posting cycle. The rest of Order of the Phoenix will come when it's written - not right now. I hope you guys enjoy this last bit, the sex is a little more grown up.
Just before Christmas Mr. Weasley is attacked. Hermione has promised her parents that she'll be going home for a few days, but this changes things. It isn't safe to be unprotected anymore, not when she is so close to Harry. She's going to go home and have a nice dinner with them, and then Fleur is going to pick her up and take her to Grimmauld Place.
Hermione finishes penning the letter containing the most recent incarnation of her plans to her parents and turns to stare off into space for a moment before noticing that Lavender is staring at her with that same look that Hermione herself sometimes gets when she's around Fleur. She doesn't think anything of it, and tucks the letter into her bag to mail before dinner and not when she's on her way to the final afternoon of classes.
"Everything alright, Lav?" she asks, raising an eyebrow and adjusting the collar on her shirt. It's only their lunch break, and she's just stolen a few moments away from the general chaos of the Great Hall to the library to write this letter. She hadn't been expecting to run into Lavender Brown here, but she honestly isn't surprised. The girl was studious but not the most, she did care about her grades on top of her looks.
"It's okay," Lavender responds. She fiddles with a lock of her curly hair for a moment before adding, in a hushed tone. "I saw that Ron left already for the hols, is he alright?"
Hermione doesn't know what she can say, so she resolves that bending the truth a little is alright. She swallows, and begins to speak. "His father's at St. Mungo's, said something about work and things went bad and he's laid up now." It's close enough to the truth that Lavender shouldn't question it.
She doesn't and Hermione wishes her a Happy Christmas a few moments later and heads off to Charms with a smile on her face. Lavender Brown is a good and sensible girl, Hermione has always liked her when she's not off giggling with Parvati and her sister about some cute boy.
Hermione doesn't understand the appeal of that. She's not above looking, she doesn't think Fleur would mind, but she doesn't get men. She loves Harry, and she loves Ron, but as friends, never anything more. She's just another one of the guys for them, and she probably will always be. She's not particularly femme (and yes, she has read up on the terminology), and she can't imagine anything more satisfying than seeing Fleur in a pretty dress.
God, she's such a lesbian.
She sends her letter and sits through dinner next to a sullen-faced Harry. She can tell that he misses Ron, and that Umbridge gave him a hard time when she asked him to stay after in Defense today. Hermione had to go to another prefects patrol with Pansy-bloody-Parkinson and so she couldn't wait for him.
Pansy had been in a shockingly good mood, however. She'd asked Hermione about her holiday plans after outlining her own (going to a ball at Draco Malfoy's home on New Year's and a family dinner with her extended family at her grandmother's for the Solstice). Hermione hadn't known what to say, so she'd said that she was going home, and that Fleur was coming to stay for a few days. Not exactly the truth, but close enough.
"They're alright with that?" Pansy had asked as they'd moved through the mostly deserted school halls.
Hermione had shrugged. She honestly didn't know. "They seem alright with the idea of my dating, at least."
Pansy's expression had been carefully neutral. "Muggles don't really like that sort of thing, do they?"
"My parents don't seem to mind." Hermione had said simply, her voice hard and abrupt. She knows that Pansy will probably pass this information on to parties that Hermione does not want hear it, but she can't help herself. "Muggles aren't really that progressive about such relationships, no."
Pansy had shrugged, "Love is love, Granger, you'd think they wouldn't care."
Hermione knows she's right and that this is one of the few things that she and Pansy Parkinson will ever agree upon. She doesn't want to think about the cold feeling of dread that fills her when she thinks about having dinner with her parents and Fleur. The plans have been in motion for several days now, and she's sure that it'll be fine, that Fleur will be her usual charming self and that they'll be able to keep the sexual tension to a minimum.
Fleur is going to meet her parents.
Hermione swallows hotly and tries to not think about it too much.
Nymphadora Tonks and Kingsley Shacklebolt come to pick up Harry the following morning and they whisk him away while Hermione is standing at Hogsmeade station next to Luna Lovegood who is chattering away about something that they've done in their last DA meeting and how she's fairly certain that Harry kissed Cho Chang after everyone left.
Hermione thinks that that particular tidbit is mildly interesting, but doesn't say anything until Luna asks her why it is that Harry is still going after a girl that is clearly not emotionally available for him.
"No idea, Luna," Hermione says honestly and then the train whistles and Hermione can see a tall blonde figure cutting through a crowd of Slytherins by the train car entrance. Hermione guesses that she's not going to be taking the train home after all and raises her hand to wave enthusiastically at Fleur. She can see Pansy Parkinson amongst the Slytherins that Fleur just pushed by and Hermione knows her smile is smug and satisfied.
She gets Fleur Delacour and they can only watch.
And yes, she is incredibly petty, she knows this.
"Hi," She says quietly to Fleur as her lover draws level with them and stops just short of giving Hermione a hug.
"Salut," Fleur responds in kind and Hermione drinks in the sight of her, eager to reach out, touch her, have her once again.
Fleur's coat is belted tightly against the late December cold and she's got a woolen cap that looks to be of a Molly Weasley vintage pulled down tightly over her ears. A scarf that looks both tasteful and speaks to Fleur's upbringing is wrapped around her neck and her gloves, when she reaches out to pull Hermione to her, are fingerless. She is the most beautiful person that Hermione has ever seen.
"I take it I'm not riding the train?" Hermione asks as she's pressed against Fleur and Luna is watching them with a far-off expression on her face.
Fleur laughs, light and airy – like birdsong. "Non, chèrie, I am taking 'ou 'ome à moi."
Hermione wants to ask if Fleur means Grimmauld Place, her own home or the apartment off Diagon Alley that Fleur has described in great detail in her letters. She wants to ask a lot of things, but Fleur's lips are pressed against her own and there's a familiar tug at the pit of her navel, as though she's being shoved down a very tight tube. They're apparating, Fleur's tongue is in her mouth and Hermione can't help but groan as they reappear, seconds later, in the middle of her parent's backyard.
It's warmer here, and there's no snow, but Hermione still shivers under the intensity of Fleur's gaze. There's still several hours before her parents are expecting her (and they're both probably still at work), and Hermione has a very good idea how she would like to spend that time.
She leans into Fleur and kisses her again, gently and chastely, before pulling away to inform Fleur that she would have very much liked to say good-bye to Luna before being whisked away.
"You're impossible," She adds as Fleur grins goofily at her. They cross the yard as one and Hermione turns over flowerpots until they find the spare key to the back door and Hermione lets them into her parents' home.
She leaves Fleur sitting at the kitchen table and crosses to the phone against the wall to ring her parents. She has to tell them to not drive to London to fetch her from King's Cross Station as she's already at home. They'll appreciate that, she thinks.
"Mum?" it is odd for her mother to answer the phone. Usually it is Bonnie or James – their hygienists, who answer. Or Alice, the girl who works the phone in the mornings when they're exceptionally busy, but rarely her parents.
"Hermione? What are you doing calling? Is everything alright?" Her mother's voice sounds concerned, maybe a little bit panicked. Hermione makes a note to cancel their subscription to The Daily Prophet.
Hermione laughs as Fleur eyes her on the phone curiously. It is strange, to be here in this very muggle home with a witch that is so decidedly magical. Hermione can't get over it, she longs for Fleur and her magical being, given how ordinary her own origins are. "Everything is fine, mum. Fleur came and got me, so we're here already."
Her mother's smile is evident in her tone, even if she sounds a little bit flustered at the idea of Fleur in her home without being there to act as a buffer between Fleur and the Many Muggle Things She Is Sure To Not Understand. Hermione really needs to get her parents in the company of wizards that are not Ronald's father and have a slightly better understanding of muggle society. "That's lovely dear. Can you put the roast in the oven at five? Your father and I will be home by six, we'll eat by six thirty then."
Hermione agrees and a few minutes of idle conversation later they're completely alone. Fleur is standing right behind her, watching as Hermione sets the phone back into the cradle.
"'ow long do we 'ave?" She asks, blue eyes darkening, flashing dangerously – predatorily.
She's wet almost instantly and Fleur has her pressed up against the kitchen wall with no place to escape. "About four hours," she whispers, her voice shaking.
Fleur's lips crash down upon her own, her tongue pushing into Hermione's mouth. Hermione pushes back, her fingers pulling at Fleur's jacket, pushing it off of her shoulders – taking her scarf and silly hat with it. She wants to touch, wants to feel Fleur, and everything, all these layers are in the way.
She breaks the kiss and sheds her cloak and coat, tossing them over the back of the couch. She bends and picks up Fleur's coat and does the same with that, her eyes never leaving Fleur's own intensely blue ones. Hermione reaches out, her fingers brushing against Fleur's wrist, and pulls, heading through the living room to the stairs.
They head into her bedroom, kissing and touching. Hermione can't stop laughing. This is all too funny. She's never brought anyone home before. Literally none of her school friends have ever seen her bedroom, let alone her house. And here Fleur is, pretty as all can be, kissing her on her bed.
"I 'ave somezing for 'ou," Fleur whispers. From her pocket she produces a small box. Hermione watches as it expands, the shrinking charm that kept it concealed in Fleur's rather tight clothing wearing off. "Joyeaux Noel."
Hermione grins at Fleur and unwraps the brown paper, eyes curious as she sees the logo of a shop she's passed before in Daigon Ally and yet has never entered.
"What is that?"
"Some'zing zat I found … in a shop … jus' off Diagon Alley." Fleur's smile is bright – wicked. Hermione wants it. She swallows at the sight of it, sitting in the box in Fleur's hands, and she wants it badly. Her bed is right there and Fleur's smile is so wicked and oh-so-enticing. It is depraved, foolish, and far too overtly sexual for Hermione's taste. She just has to have it though, has to have it inside her.
Fleur bites her lip, "I … Je veux… I want to try." She's shifting nervously from foot to foot, eyes glancing from the box to Hermione's intrigued expression and back again.
Hermione swallows and nods her consent, aware that this will be different, more passionate (she's not sure about that), but very, very different.
Trembling fingers close around the straps and Fleur pulls her jeans down low enough to put it on. Hermione turns away, knowing that the preparation will ruin its effect.
She understands, intrinsically, how this works. She's read about it in the books her mother left in her room when she first entered puberty, but this is new, this is very different.
Behind her, Hermione hears the sound of Fleur pulling her jeans back up, of her buttoning the fly. The anticipation is making her nervous. She turns, glancing over her shoulder, staring at Fleur, the bulge obvious in her jeans despite the fact that she's tucked it in and closed them back up.
This is her bedroom, where she was ia child/i and yet this is where she wants Fleur to do this. She's nervous, frightened that she's agreed to do this, and acutely aware of the fact that she's still wearing nothing but her school uniform skirt and blouse. Fleur is skilled at removing both of them, and Hermione isn't afraid to test her prowess at such a task.
"'ermione," Fleur breathes, and they're kissing again. Fleur's touch is insistent and they collapse in a heap onto Hermione's bed, the box from the toy now secured around Fleur's waist falling to the floor with a thump. Fleur's tongue is in her mouth, pushing in and out, aggressive and dominant. Hermione doesn't mind, just this once, and lets Fleur take what she desires.
Her shirt is pulled open by hands impatient with buttons. She'll have to fix them later, Hermione thinks as they rattle around the room, falling into crevices and hiding places that she has cultivated since she was a child. Fleur's hands close around her breasts, uncaring and harsh, pushing her bra up and out of the way of Fleur's hungry lips.
She groans as Fleur's teeth bite down on the sensitive skin there, roughly, claiming what Hermione has always told her belongs to her. Hermione's hands tangle in Fleur's hair, pulling and hissing, begging for more of the touch that Fleur is so liberally giving away.
Fleur's tongue circles her nipple, her fingers pulling at the other, and Hermione sees white. Her hands slip down, pulling at the buttons on Fleur's jeans. She's annoyed, she can't get them undone, can't feel Fleur.
The anticipation is making her wet and when Fleur takes her hands and puts them above her head with a warning look, Hermione leaves them there, watching with wide brown eyes as Fleur slowly unbuttons the fly of her jeans and pulls it out.
It's changed, matching Fleur's skin tone exactly and Hermione can tell by the way that Fleur bites her lip as she touches it that it's sensitive.
"I love magic," she breathes as Fleur bends to kiss her again. She can feel it, hard and ready against her leg and she knows that she's ready for it.
Fleur's fingers loop around her underwear and pull them down in one quick motion, throwing them off to the floor, forgotten already as Fleur buries her fingers deep within Hermione, drawing them in and out slowly, making her ready.
Hermione can't think, she can't even breathe. Fleur's fingers are deep within her and her hips are bucking against every slow thrust. She won't be able to take this very long, and she's pretty sure that the way that she's moaning is a surefire giveaway of that fact.
"Êtes-vous prêt?" Fleur whispers and Hermione nods her head. She's had enough sex with Fleur to know what those words mean in French, even if she can't speak the language. She's going to have to learn, French is such a wonderful language. It fits so well for them, it is the language of love and of passion.
Hermione can feel it as Fleur's fingers pull away. She whimpers at the loss of them, and pushes her hips forward. She's too far gone at this point to want anything else, but as Fleur carefully guides the device between her legs forward so that it is pressing against Hermione's entrance, she cannot help herself. She rolls her hips, forcing Fleur to push into her, wrapping her arms around Fleur's neck and drawing their lips back together again.
She is so full, so completely and utterly full of Fleur. She can tell that magic is making this pleasurable for Fleur, because Fleur's breath is coming in shallow pants and Hermione pushes back against every thrust of Fleur's. Their lips are pressed together, Fleur's tongue matching the motions of her hips as she pushes into Hermione and Hermione almost cannot handle it.
There is something to be said for this. Hermione certainly would not want to do it every day, but it is pleasurable and exceedingly erotic. She can't stand how Fleur is able to completely and utterly possess her in such an act but that is exactly what she feels is happening.
Fleur's lips close around the pulse point on her neck and Hermione begins to wonder if this is what it is like to be taken by a full veela. To drown in pleasure so freely given, and to take without question. That was what it was to be with a veela.
She's moaning, her voice coming unbidden to her throat, the idea that her parents could be home at any minute making it all the more erotic and desperate. Her hips jerk upwards as Fleur's hand comes down to trace small circles around her clit and suddenly all she can feel is the constant thrust of Fleur in between her legs and the press of Fleur's fingers against her most sensitive place, drawing, coaxing the orgasm out of her as easily as Fleur can get Hermione to smile.
iIt's not fair/i Hermione thinks, just seconds before Fleur rolls her hips in such a way that Hermione shrieks out Fleur's name and rides out the crest of an orgasm so intense that she can hardly stop herself from screaming. She buries her face in Fleur's neck and bites down hard, hips continuing to move in sync with Fleur's own as she rides out the orgasm. How can she do this to me so easily?
She's tired and spent and exhausted, but Fleur's hips continue to push into her, hard and fast. She's like a piston, eyes wide and desperately searching for the release that Hermione can tell from her body language is oh so close.
"Come on," she whispers, fingers brushing over Fleur's breasts (when did she take off her shirt?), dipping downwards, touching the harness that she can barely see but can definitely feel (an after effect of the spell?) and then pushing under it to feel how wet Fleur is.
Fleur thrusts harder, grinding against her and Hermione realizes that she is still highly sensitive. She gasps as Fleur continues to push into her. She's so full, Fleur is so close. Hermione twists her wrist, pinching Fleur's clit underneath the harness and she's shocked to feel Fleur groan into the crook of her neck and collapse in a heap of twitching muscles.
They're silent for a few moments, breathing heavily and staring off into space and not looking at each other. Hermione is almost embarrassed for Fleur, she's never become this undone during sex before. She's usually the picture of composure.
"That was," Hermione begins, thinking of the right word to describe the experience, "amazing."
Fleur's grin is cocky a she sits up and pushes off her pants to shimmy out of the harness. Hermione watches with wide eyes as its color turns back to the supple black leather it was before the spell took hold. "I am… glad - zat 'ou enjoyed it, chèrie."
Hermione smiles at her. "I feel like a normal muggle girl now, I've had a tryst in my bedroom while my parents are away."
Fleur blinks, "Would 'ou razer… do it while zey are 'ere?"
"No!" Hermione sighs. This is one of those moments that she's been raised to understand through muggle movies and books. Fleur would not understand what it's like to hear whispers in primary school about American movies that had nothing but sex in them – dangerous films filled with the thrill of getting caught.
She supposes that she's a teenager, and very much in love, so it makes sense that she'd find such things alluring.
The dinner with her parents turns out to be far more embarrassing that Hermione had initially anticipated, but she makes it through unscathed and is somewhat proud of herself for that. She's never been in this sort of a situation, not entirely. She knows what it was like the first time her parents met Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, but with Fleur it's different. She doesn't know what to expect from Fleur's charming smile and feigned ignorance of the English language.
Still, it is intriguing to hear Fleur talk about the schooling that she's been doing on the side of her work at Gringots. Her father is particularly keen on the idea of wizarding higher education and Hermione doesn't have the heart to point out to him that if the attack on Mr. Weasley is anything to go by, it's probably going to be a very long time before either of them are finished with school.
"When I came to England, I 'ad 'oped to study before I took a position - but ze cards, zey did not 'ow do 'ou English say… ah, oui, stack out zat way," Fleur explains to Hermione's parents. Hermione had heard this many times before, little asides in Fleur's letters over the summer. She'd not paid them much mind then, too distracted by the other things that Fleur had written on those pages. Now, though, as they were apart more than they were together, it is the little details that make Hermione curious. "C'est bon, really, zough. I am... comment dit on..." Fleur trails off, her face pensive.
Hermione's eyes narrow, because she knows that Fleur is not searching for the right words at all. No, this is Fleur at her most cautious, carefully evaluating the listener as she speaks each and every word.
"Ah-" Fleur says a second later, her whole face lighting up in feigned realization. "I am building a resume, so zat I may 'ave a career après I am finished with ze mastery."
Later, as they're washing the dishes the muggle way, Hermione asks about it. "Why do you dumb yourself down for certain people?"
Fleur stares straight ahead, out of the window over the kitchen sink. In the summer there is ivy that grows there, but in the middle of an already colder-than-average British Winter there is very little to cover the window other than the half-closed window shade and the leafy trails of her mother's overzealous pathos. "It... is not zat I do not want zem to know, 'ermione. It is razer zat I do not know 'ow to win zeir approval, mmn?"
Hermione swallows, setting down her dishrag. Fleur's hands are wet, she's got her sleeves rolled up and her hair is pulled back into a ponytail that draws attention to her ears and the high cheekbones her genetics have graced her with. "I'm sorry to have to put you in this position."
"C'est..." Fleur begins, but stops, hands submerged on soapy suds up to her elbows. She turns to look at Hermione, her eyebrows rising. "I am 'aving some troubles with ze idea zat I 'ad 'ou just upstairs. So zere is zat as well."
Her cheeks burn and Hermione looks away. Her parents... they don't know that she's done anything more than kiss Fleur. Just thinking about it makes Hermione feel anxious like she's never felt before. She's only sixteen, her mother and father are sure to say that she's far too young to be doing that sort of thing.
When she's at her most sensible, Hermione is inclined to agree. The trouble is that when it comes to Fleur Delacour, there is very little sense involved in many, if not all, of Hermione's decision making processes.
"Probably best not to mention that," Hermione comments, reaching for the freshly rinsed plate that Fleur's handing her.
"Exactement," Fleur agrees.
That night, Hermione's grateful when her parents do not fight her when she says that she has to leave, to go to a safe place.
Hermione makes Fleur erect basic wards around her parents' home before they leave. She hopes it will be enough.
