On Teenagers & Love
a story by anamatics
Part Two
Chapter Fourteen - On Creative Rule Bending
Valentines' Day is on a Saturday. Harry has apparently asked Cho Chang to the village and it's thrown a wrench into Hermione's best laid plans. She tells him to bring her along if he must, but has very carefully not told Harry what's going on. She knows that it's probably a bad move, but she and Luna have both agreed that they need to chaperone this interview because Rita Skeeter cannot be trusted.
Harry, to his credit, seem to take the whole thing in stride, but casts a dirty look at Hermione afterwards. "Coulda warned me," He mutters, glancing around, hands in his pockets. "I could've told Cho what was actually happening – now she thinks I ditched her to be with you." He scuffles his feet and Hermione wants to scream.
"Go," she says, glancing at her watch. She has five minutes before Fleur's set to meet her. "Go and tell her that I've made a promise to Fleur and that I wouldn't think of breaking it."
"What's that mean?" Harry asks.
Hermione rolls her eyes, because this is why Harry and Ron are constantly a half a step behind. "Cho will know what I mean," she smiles. "Apologize to her, tell her why you did it – she'll understand." She stands there, fiddling with her bag, knowing that Rita Skeeter is probably lurking somewhere, listening. "I have to go," she says with a sad smile. "I'm sorry that you're your date was ruined."
He gives her a little shrug and heads towards where Luna is waiting at the top of the road. Hermione watches as he smiles politely at her and they start to head up the high street together. She's glad that Harry can interact with girls at least some of the time, and shakes her head at the thought. She's a little nervous about what they've just done, but she knows it's the right thing to do.
She turns down the alley and cuts across towards the Three Broomsticks. There are students everywhere, holding hands and generally being overly-affectionate and somewhat grotesque. Hermione knows that she's been guilty of the same thing, but she'd never stick her tongue down Roger Davies' throat like that girl is doing in a public place. She wrinkles her nose and slowly makes her way over to the third lamp post from the front door. The throng of students is thinner here, and Hermione leans against the lamp post, glancing at her watch once again.
Right on time, she thinks, smiling happily. She's glad that Luna is there to walk Harry back to the school, and that the interview didn't take as long as she'd worried that it was.
There is a faint popping behind her and Hermione turns, shivering slightly in the icy cold of the February afternoon. Fleur is standing there, wearing a thick winter cloak and a scarf that Hermione recognizes as Mrs. Weasley's Christmastime knitting project. Hermione can't help but feel incredibly happy that Mrs. Weasley seems to have embraced Fleur as one of her own. She knows that Fleur's parents must be grateful that their daughter has someone taking care of her while she's just starting out in life.
"Salut," Fleur says in happy French. Hermione's face erupts into a grin that grows only wider as Fleur steps forward and pulls her in close. She smells of Mrs. Weasley's cooking and of books and magic. Hermione rests her head on Fleur's chest and exhales.
"I missed you," she whispers. When Fleur's arms tighten around her she adds, "So, so much."
"Et Je vous manqué," Fleur replies smoothly. Her nose is slightly red when she pulls away to look at Hermione – like she's had a cold or has been outside far too much in the wintry weather recently. Fleur's smile is as wide as Hermione's own and her eyes are sparkling with something that Hermione can't quiet put into words. Fleur looks like her world is slowly being remade before her eyes, her facial features shifting ever-so-slightly under Hermione's gaze. "I suspect 'ou 'ave much to tell me," Fleur says with a small smile.
Hermione shifts from foot to foot. "Yes," she agrees. "I really do."
She's found a restaurant that's down an alley off the high street on Ginny's suggestion after Fleur suggested that she find a place. It's quiet, known to Hogwarts students, but a little out of the average student's price range. Hermione's told Fleur that she's not to pay, that this is her treat after their trip to Paris.
"I've done a terrible thing," Hermione confesses after they've placed their orders.
Fleur shifts forward, her eyes narrowed. "Does zis 'ave any'zing to do wiz ze letter 'ou sent me about Monsieur Bode's death?" She's got this curious expression on her face that makes Hermione worried that Fleur is going to be cross with her if she tells her the truth. Hermione's parents have always told her that the best way to support a relationship is honesty. She remembers how angry they had been when Professor McGonagall had come to explain why all the strange things that Hermione had done as a child were signs that she was a witch. They were completely honest with her then, about their fears and worries for her future. Hermione had not known, at eleven, how to handle their candor.
She takes a deep breath and nods, feeling just a little guilty. "Do you remember when I told you how Rita Skeeter was able to find out all that information about us last year?"
"Ah, oui," Fleur nods, reaching for her water glass and taking a sip.
"I er- might have made her promise that she would not print anything for a year. In exchange, I wouldn't tell people that she was an animagus," Hermione shifts a little uncomfortably under Fleur's piercing gaze. "But, I was thinking about what you said last year, when you were telling me about La Résistance Française, about how Charles de Gaulle was able to get the word out to the public using underground papers and the radio." She sniffed. "The Prophet is completely in the ministry's pocket, and I realized that the problem was that no one knows what happened."
"'ou did not," Fleur sounds impressed and not at all disapproving. Her eyebrows have climbed high up her brow and she's got that private sort of smile on her face that Hermione knows so well from last year.
Hermione raises an eyebrow, "I might have facilitated it."
The smile that comes across Fleur's face is one that Hermione wants to remember forever. Her whole face lights up, her eyes crinkling and her teeth flash happily as she throws her head back and laughs. "Zat chienne is not going to be 'appy wiz 'ou or 'arry," Fleur laughs.
"It isn't against the rules," Hermione points out with a wide smile. "I've checked."
It is very surreal to be out on a date with Fleur. Hermione has very purposefully worn a shirt that is cut low across the neck (and subsequently her thickest, warmest scarf as it is well below freezing outside) because she wants people to see that she is with this beautiful girl whom she loves so much. The waitress whispers congratulations to her after Hermione settles the cheque and Hermione grins as Fleur draws her out of the restaurant and into the cold once more.
There are stolen kisses as they make their way back to the Three Broomsticks. Fleur's fingers tangle in Hermione's hair and her kisses spell out a promise of what is to come. Hermione wishes that it could last forever, kissing Fleur amidst the falling snow.
"I love you," she whispers later, as Fleur fingers the necklace around Hermione's neck with almost reverent fingers. They're sweaty and naked and Fleur's got that smug look on her face that she usually gets following such encounters. Hermione cannot believe her at times, because she knows that Fleur's smugness is because of how happy Fleur is that only she gets to have Hermione.
Fleur kisses her then, slow and honest. "Je t'aime," she says and Hermione curls closer. She doesn't want to leave, but the hour is already drawing late. She'll be pushing it if she doesn't leave soon. It is good and warm here, and Hermione's not sure if she can make herself concentrate on the time much longer if Fleur keeps kissing her like that.
Reluctantly, Hermione sits up and reaches for her bra. "I hate this," she confesses as Fleur runs a hand through her hair and falls backwards onto the pillows beside her. She's the picture of disheveled, her hair down and arching white against the deep red of the pillow cases. Hermione thinks she is at her most beautiful like this, when she is not putting on airs for anyone and is simply being.
"It is not ze best solution, non," Fleur agrees. She watches sadly as Hermione gets up and starts to look for her pants and shirt. "But it is all zat we can 'ave, right now."
They've grown so spoiled to being around each other all the time that Hermione almost forgets that Fleur is still two years older than her. Fleur's involved with the Order, she's working to stop Voldemort; she's doing everything that Hermione wishes she could be doing with all her heart.
"I want to help with what you are doing with the Order," Hermione says as she pulls her shirt over her head.
Fleur's face twists downwards into a frown and she shakes her head. "'ou are too young," she explains, as it has been explained to Hermione, Harry and Ron time and time again. "Zis is not like 'ou it is 'ere. People are dying." Fleur sits up and takes Hermione's hand. She's squeezing it tightly, her knuckles almost white as Hermione stares down at the connection. "I cannot risk 'ou, mon amour. Not until I 'ave to."
Hermione sighs and nods. She really does understand, probably better than Harry and Ron do anyway, that the best thing she can possibly do for the Order is to say in school, learn as much as she possibly can, and prepare herself for battle. She's not entirely sure that she can do that, not with knowing what she already knows. "I don't want to risk you, either," she points out.
"Ah, but zat is good, I would zink," Fleur smiles as she speaks and Hermione wants to kiss her all over again. "'ou should not worry about me," Fleur moves her hand, twisting it in a way that Hermione's only ever seen Fleur do once. The flesh at Fleur's fingertips seems to flex and change, lengthening into claws that Hermione remembers from the veela at the Quidditch World Cup the previous year. "I 'ave been practicing."
Hermione hopes to God, Merlin and anyone else who might be watching over them, that Fleur will never have to use her heritage to protect herself.
