On Teenagers & Love
a story by anamatics
Part Two
Chapter Nine - On Travels (con't)
AN: Someone left a comment on my last chapter and I wanted to address it. They said that this story reminded them of Entangled and Entwined and I was really flattered by that, because I feel as though those two fics are a part of one of the best AUs written for this pairing. That being said, when you're writing a close canon AU, it's pretty hard to be truly original. All I can do is write around the canon because I don't want to change it too much. There are some details that will change, as I'm sure the author of Entangled and Entwined will do as well. The stories are different, however, and were written based around different principles and with very different subplots. While the comparison is flattering, each idea is original and the two fics are very different. So thank you. :)
The Spice Girls are playing everywhere. Hermione knows that she's missing a cultural revolution by not going to school in the muggle world. Their music is so popular it's being remixed by muggles and wizards alike, playing in the dance club that Fleur's shyly asked her if she'd like to go to as they count down the New Year.
She's too young to be in this club, she doesn't know how to dance like these sophisticated-looking French girls, and she certainly doesn't know what to do with the drink that's been given to her by Fleur. She's only ever had butterbeer. She's far too young to be drinking like this, out in public.
She wrinkles her nose and pushes the concoction with its ridiculous umbrella and orange slice back towards Fleur. "There's fire whiskey in this," she says in a tone that she really, really hopes doesn't sound too much like Mrs. Weasley. She doesn't want to be a stick in the mud, but she's not entirely comfortable with this either.
Fleur stares at her for a moment, before she picks up the drink and disappears back up to the bar. Hermione watches her go with confusion, and wonders if this is what it's like to be nearly of age. She doesn't want to offend Fleur, but she's not ready.
"J'avais pense..." Fleur says when she comes back. She has two bottles of butterbeer in her hands and looks absolutely lost. "'ermione 'ou are nearly of age, no one 'ere would care."
She takes the butterbeer that's offered to her and nods her agreement. "I know," she says as the music turns quieter and slower. It's a slow dancing song - Hermione thinks it's maybe Ace of Base, but popular music that's actually successfully made the crossover from the muggle world to the wizarding world really isn't Hermione's forte. "I just... I want to remember tonight."
"Peut-ĂȘtre," Fleur taps her chin with a knowing smile on her face. "'ou are zinking zat 'ou are still too young, non?"
"I didn't want to offend you," Hermione mumbles, peeling at the label on her butterbeer. The book that Fleur's given her about veela has been a fascinating read, even if it's only told her things she already knows. Hermione's very aware that veela are proud creatures, and when you add to that a general level of Frenchness, you get the creature that is Fleur Delacour.
"Pas de rien," Fleur shakes her hand dismissively. "I see zat zey are playing more muggle music zan usual."
Hermione bites her lip and smiles shyly. She's glad that this isn't going to be an issue.
They dance long into the night, and Hermione has enough butterbeer to feel a pleasant buzz despite her wish to avoid the harder stuff. It's nice, really. She feels a little bit like the world has taken on this sort of cheerful hue that she knows is just a venire before the coming storm.
If this is the one moment that they can have, then so be it. She can stomach the feeling of absolute contentedness as she dances with Fleur (and discovers that Fleur apparently listens to a good deal of muggle radio as she knows all the words to 'Love Shack' and can sing it in near-perfect English).
Fleur whispers things in hurried French in Hermione's ear as the night turns late. It's French that she's come to know out of necessity, despite the fact that they've had so many problems with distraction when it comes to Fleur teaching Hermione the language. Hermione has been pleasantly surprised by how easy it is for her to communicate here. She's learned more than she thought, apparently. "I will take care of 'ou," Fleur promises.
Her hands are on Hermione's hips and her lips are pressed, hot and open against Hermione's neck. The club is dark and Hermione can't see Fleur's eyes, but she knows that they're black as night. She closes her eyes and lets Fleur guide her in a dance she doesn't quite understand. The bass is pounding in her ears and the lyrics of songs that she's heard on the muggle and wizarding radio alike all seem to blur together.
Fleur does not do any more than kiss her as the buzz that Hermione's got from the butterbeer becomes more evident. Hermione wants to do more than kiss her, and she moves to do so, fingers skirting around the bottom of Fleur's t-shirt. Fleur stops her then, and pulls her out into the street and away from the noise and heat of the club. "I will not press you, tonight," she promises, taking Hermione's hand and resting it on her chest. "'ou 'ave 'ad too much to say yes."
Hermione thinks that Fleur's being unfair and that she'll be fine. But when she tries to protest and the words come out a jumble of English and the odd French word, Hermione realizes that Fleur probably has a point. She leans against Fleur's chest and sighs. "I didn't mean..."
"We are all young once," Fleur replies, as if she's the most worldly witch that has ever lived. "Zese zings, zey 'appen."
She wants to point out that Fleur is eighteen and barely legal herself, but she just smiles. Fleur is trying to be the grown-up as Hermione still underage in the eyes of both muggle and wizarding society.
They go back to the hotel and watch the fireworks from the balcony. Fleur makes Hermione take muggle aspirin before she goes to sleep with two large glasses of water. It is a strange thing, to fall asleep feeling like she's spinning. Fleur's hand keeps her grounded and Hermione smiles as the world slips away to dreams.
