On Teenagers and Love

a story by anamatics

part three - the fog

Chapter 23 - On Visits


March crawls by. Hermione's had three owls from Fleur around plans for Easter, but they're being deliberately vague due to the nature of Fleur's work, even with the codus charms Fleur's placed on their letters. Her hand aches no matter how much dittany she puts on it. The burn won't seem to heal. Hermione spends most of her time dodging Pansy, Lavender and Ginny now that she, Dean, Ron and Lavender have had a terrific and awfully public row over what is and is not good for Ginny.

At breakfast on a blustery Saturday some two weeks after Ron's poisoning and the miserable Ravenclaw-Gryffindor quidditch match which resulted in Harry, too, getting stuck in the hospital wing, Hermione looks up from the book Pansy's recommended she read on memory charms to find Dean and Seamus with their heads together over a copy of The Guardian.

"What's happened?" she asks, leaning over.

"Campaigning's started," Dean explains, passing her over the paper. "Mum's sent this and a form to sign up to vote by post." He flips the form over and groans. "What a bloody nightmare it is too. How do I even complete half these fields without breaking the statute of secrecy? You should get your mum and dad to send you this form if you want to vote."

"When are they holding the election?" Hermione mutters, half to herself, scanning the article before her.

"First of May," Seamus supplies. "Far enough away to get the forms in and forwarded through wizarding post."

"Do wizards vote in general elections?" Hermione asks, mostly to herself. "I can't remember from the last one."

"Mam says they don't, usually. She does, on account of the Troubles, but most wizarding folk are content to cast a vote for Minister for Magic and call it a day." Seamus answers. "Bloody stupid if you ask me."

Hermione hums. She's never quite understood how separate wizarding society insists on making itself from the rest of Britain, especially when they're no so far removed from muggles as they think.

It's then Professor McGonagall sweeps by, an amused smile at her lips and announces the apparition lesson scheduled for that evening will be held in Hogsmeade so as to allow students a chance to practice apparating across town. "There is time," she advises, "for a brief visit in the village beforehand, we have received an all clear from the aurors."

A small cheer comes up from the sixth and seventh year Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs who've heard the news. As she drifts by, a piece of parchment folded into a butterfly settles itself to land on the edge of Dean's newspaper. Hermione reaches for it and unfolds it. There, in Fleur's neat handwriting, is a proposal, and the familiar room number from The Three Broomsticks.

Hermione's heart thuds in her chest.

Fleur. She's going to see Fleur today.

"I—" She gets to her feet, newspaper and intriguing political news forgotten. She hasn't showered, isn't ready. She has to change and… Merlin it's going to take forever fighting with the girls in the bath. "I'll see you there."

Dean and Seamus share a look before shaking their heads. "Girls," Dean mutters.

"Nutters, all of them," Seamus agrees.

Beside them both, Neville sips his tea. Hermione is just headed away from the table when she hears him say, "Bet you Fleur's coming to see her."

"Nah mate," Dean answers. "Isn't she in France?"

Hermione just shakes her head and hurries upstairs.

x

Fleur is sitting in the taproom of the Three Broomsticks when Hermione pushes the door open some two hours later speaking to the barkeep. She's got on a fawn colored double-breasted coat belted at her waist and ratty looking muggle jeans tucked into her boots on beneath it. The barkeep nods to the door and passes Fleur a key.

The weight that had settled on Hermione's chest since they returned to Hogwarts seems to dissipate all at once. Fleur is here, standing before her looking like she's just walked out of the catacombs beneath Paris, beautiful and breathtaking as always. Hermione takes a step forward, and then another, before her feet move into a run and she's throwing her arms around Fleur's neck. "I've missed you," Hermione breathes into her neck. She smells clean, despite the mud on her boots and dampness on the shoulders of her coat.

"And I you," Fleur responds. She takes Hermione's hand and nods to the barkeep before pulling Hermione toward the stairs and the rooms above. Hermione's got Fleur up against the wall before they can go but three steps up, kissing Fleur like she's been gone half a lifetime. Her heart hammers in her chest as she pulls at the belt on Fleur's coat, wanting to touch – wanting to feel Fleur beneath her hands once more.

"We should go upstairs," Fleur says. She's breathless as Hermione pulls back. "I would have you here, 'ermione, but I do not think that we should try our host's patience. Not to mention – there are parts of you I do not wish others to know."

As if on cue, the bell above the door in the bar just beyond the stairs jangles and the sound of voices fills the room. Hermione rests her head against Fleur's shoulder, a small laugh bubbling up from somewhere. "We should," she agrees.

The room at the top of the stairs is small, just a fireplace and a low table and a bed. Fleur pushes the door open and tugs on Hermione's hand. The rough skin on her palm catches on Hermione's still-healing burn from the necklace and Hermione hisses quietly. She doesn't jerk her hand away, but it's a close thing.

Fleur's lips press into a thin line and she kicks the door shut and gestures toward the fire, lighting it with her wand and filling the room with warm yellow light that chases away the wan daylight streaming in through the window. "What happened to your hand?" she asks. Her tone is carefully mild, but there's something else there too – concern.

Hermione closes her eyes. She hadn't mentioned to Fleur what had happened when she'd had that row with Pansy. She'd been too caught up on Ron being hurt and Lavender's hysterics, the fighting, and bloody apparition to remember to say anything. "I um…" she moves to sit on the bed. "I had it out with Pansy."

There's an expectant air to Fleur's silence as she shrugs off her coat and tosses it over the lone chair by the table.

"She said something to Professor Snape about what I've been researching. Our patrols got switched two weeks ago and he said something that I would suspect was meant to be a word of caution if it hadn't sounded so threatening." Hermione drew in a slow breath. "One thing led to another and we ended up in an empty classroom dueling." From under her jumper she pulls her necklace. "By the end of it this was glowing." Looking up at Fleur, she added. "It burned me. It won't heal."

Fleur's throat works as though she's swallowing down something far more than just air. She draws in a slow breath.

"It would not," Fleur says. "Unless I were to do it."

She sits next to Hermione, taking Hermione's hand in her own and pressing her wand tip to the wound. Hermione watches as the ugly red mark and the cracked raw skin around it closes slowly but surely, leaving nothing but smooth pink skin in its wake. "I 'ad not realized the bond weighs as heavily on you as it does me. With me, given my heritage, I assumed that was why."

"What was this?" Hermione opens and closes her hand a few times, reveling in not feeling pain at the stretch of half-healed skin over still-raw injury.

"A warning," Fleur explains. Her voice is calm, but there's worry in her eyes. "You were angry when you and Mlle. Parkinson dueled, non?"

"I was. Incredibly so. She nearly ruined everything I'd worked for all term." Hermione meets Fleur's gaze. "Will this happen again?"

"Perhaps," Fleur answers. She leans in and presses her lips to Hermione's in a slow, gentle kiss. A feather-light brush of her lips against Hermione's as she intertwines their fingers together where Hermione's hand rests in her lap. The sensation Fleur's lips, their shared breath, and the way Fleur's tongue pushes at the corner of her mouth as Hermione brings her other hand to rest on Fleur's cheek is enough to make Hermione almost forget the fear, the worry about what was to come when they parted once more. Her fingers thread into Fleur's hair and she leans into the kiss, her lips parting to kiss Fleur more fully.

Fleur tastes of coffee and breath mints, and her breath catches as they part, Hermione's teeth dragging on her lip. Fleur rests her forehead against Hermione's, her eyes just a little wild, a little desperate. Her features are sharp in the shadows cast by the firelight. "This is the bond strengthening," she whispers. "This is what it means."

Frowning, Hermione draws back to see Fleur's face more clearly. "That when I'm angry I'll it feel more? More intensely?"

Fleur's smile is small, but her eyes darken with desire. She pushes Hermione's cloak from her shoulders and moves to unbutton her school shirt. Hermione scoots backwards on the bed and Fleur moves to climb into her lap. She undoes the final button, and puts her hand on Hermione's shoulder, pushing her back onto the bed.

"When you feel anything at all chérie," she says, her palm flat on Hermione's stomach. She moves her hand slowly, teasingly up Hermione's stomach. Her fingers brush the space between Hermione's breasts, stray off course, cup gently. Fleur bends to press a gentle kiss to Hermione's neck, moving to her ear and whispering: "It will be more intense."

When their lips meet again it's hungry, the hand on Hermione's breast tightens and the small breath of sound that escapes Hermione's lips is alien to her. She pulls at Fleur's jumper, tugging it over her head between kisses, anxious to feel Fleur's skin against hers. Fleur is warm, soft, her skin icy pale against Hermione's – her touch blazing hot. Fleur's resting on one elbow, her lips at Hermione's neck, her free hand running up Hermione's thigh, pushing her school skirt up to her waist and tugging at her tights. They shift then. Pull apart and Hermione sheds the rest of her clothing before collapsing back onto the pillows with Fleur.

They lay there for a moment, Hermione's breath coming in shallow gasps, before she tugs Fleur back to straddling her, shifting down slightly, her hands on the back of Fleur's thighs. "Want you," she mumbles, pulling Fleur toward her. She looks up at Fleur, at the rosy flush at her breasts and the dawning realization of what Hermione wants from her on her face. Her smile is wicked, sinful.

Fleur lays a hand on the headboard, chin dipping as she lets Hermione guide her to where she needs to be. She hisses, her breath catching as Hermione leans up and tastes her, hands on Fleur's hips holding her just so. Hermione looks up through half-lidded eyes, triumphant, as Fleur's eyes flutter shut and the flush at her chest deepens and flows to her neck as well.

They find a rhythm, Hermione's gentle, teasing licks turn move in time with the roll of Fleur's hips. Fleur's hand falls between Hermione's legs, slipping into Hermione as she balances between fucking Hermione and her own quickly mounting orgasm. The heel of her palm grinds against Hermione's clit as Hermione moves with Fleur – this, the dance of their desire.

And when Fleur's thighs quake and the force of her orgasm sets her off balance, Hermione is there to catch her, ease Fleur onto the bed beside her even as Fleur's fingers slip out of her when she's so, so close. Fleur's still breathing hard, her pupils blown as she cups Hermione's cheek and leans over, kissing her like she's salvation.

The kiss is crushing, full of everything they have yet to say to each other, and everything they've already said. Fleur's fingers slip back into her, dragging her desire up over her clit, tracing gentle circles there, firm and steady until Hermione can see nothing but gold.

x

"Will it be like that from now on?" Hermione asks afterwards. Her watch says they've naught but a few minutes left before she has to get to her apparation lesson and she wants to revel int his closeness with Fleur.

Fleur chuckles, smoothing a sweaty lock of hair away from Hermione's forehead. "Not quite – the bond heightens things. Emotions. Passions." She pauses, looking troubled. "Tempers."

"Are you saying I shouldn't get angry?" Hermione isn't sure she can. It isn't in her nature to hold back how she's feeling. Fleur knows this well, and now, Hermione supposes, so does Pansy Parkinson for better or for worse. "Fleur, I'm not sure I—"

"I am not asking you to stop how you are feeling, 'ermione, rather, to be aware of it. With me in Paris, the bond is strained as it is. I cannot predict what may happen should you feel so intensely as you did with Mlle. Parkinson again." She presses a kiss to Hermione's temple. "But that is not for now."

Hermione tucks her head into Fleur's neck and hums her contentment. "I missed you," she confesses. "I miss us. I cannot describe the ache in my heart when I am away from you, Fleur."

"There are no words for the longing I feel for you," Fleur answers in return.

They lay there for a few moments more, before Hermione rises and starts to pull her clothing back on. She bends to look in the mirror over the small sink in the corner, and smooths her hair back into place, tugging the cap she was wearing back over the worst of the mess Fleur's made of it.

Fleur's tugged on her jeans and is lacing up her boots by the time Hermione's mostly masked the marks of their encounter. Hermione stands in the middle of the room, hands twisting around her scarf. She doesn't want to leave.

"I shouldn't need to tell you this, Hermione, but you need to be ready."

"But Harry –"

"He is protected until he comes of age, ouais, but you are not. Ronald is not. You are both of age, non?" Fleur's lips press into a thin line as she shakes her bra out from the tangle of her shirt and jumper. "I cannot predict what he might do with that information, but you need to be ready. Especially if you are to come to France at Easter."

Ah yes, that conversation they've yet to have.

"I would – like to come that is." She grins at Fleur, because the last times they've been together have been brilliant. "What should I do?" Hermione asks, even though her mind is already casting around for the necessary pieces. She needs to see Pansy then. Probably tonight.