Author's Note: This is my first ever story on fanfic. I'm not usually a romance writer, but I absolutely LOVE this pairing and decided to take a stab at it. Still not sure if I want to continue or not. So if you're interested in seeing more please write and review. I'd love to know what people think! Cheers. ~xoxo Ambrosia
Hermione sat at the Leaky cauldron staring forlornly at the dregs of firewhiskey in her cup. Love. Why had she ever assumed she would be good at love? Hermione knew her strengths. She could write a ten thousand-word term paper on ancient runes or devour a five-volume set on magical creatures, but love wasn't something you could learn from textbooks. Maybe she just wasn't meant for love at all.
She cast her mind back to her pathetic attempts at relationships. There had been Victor of course. A quiet sweet natured man, they had connected over a love of reading. It had been so nice to be seen and desired for once. She had let herself fall into his arms, not really out of any strong feelings but more out of sense that it was expected. He was a famous quidditch player for god's sake! Every girl at shcool had been drooling over him, and he was kind and gentle and much more thoughtful than Ron, but eventually she'd had to admit it – the spark just wasn't there.
With Ron it had been different, falling for him had felt somehow inevitable. Harry Potter's two best friends – heroes of the battle. Fate had shoved them together so many times it was impossible not to notice. She had loved him. She felt sure of that. But the fighting had been so intense – her stubbornness combined with his idiocy…really what had they been thinking?
She gulped down the last of her whiskey. Thinking about the last words they had screamed at each other before Hermione stormed out.
"I've told you a million times Ronald, there's nothing going on with me and Kingsley! But maybe there should be! What have you ever done except cause trouble with your jealousy and insecurities? I can't spend my whole life trying not to tread on your fragile ego!"
Hermione winced, knowing how much that must have hurt him. Ron's face had turned bright red – his ears almost purple with rage. "GET OUT!" He'd roared, and Hermione had turned on her heel and left without a word.
"Pardon me Miss Granger, can I get you another drink?" Tom the barkeep asked, shaking Hermione out of her reverie.
"Sure why not," sighed the witch – rubbing a hand across her tired face. She'd barely slept a wink last night, tossing and turning in her bed at the inn. Maybe more whiskey was the antidote she needed. She grimaced as she recalled what had awoken her that morning; tiny Pigwidgeon tapping at her window.
She glanced down at Ron's note, still clasped in her hand, rereading it for the thousandth time: I can't do this anymore Hermione. It's over. I'm sorry.
"This one's on me," winked Tom, flashing his toothless grin and promptly filling her glass with more ice and alcohol. Hermione nodded numbly, wishing the firewhiskey could burn the painful memories from her mind.
" 'ermione?" said a soft voice from behind her.
She looked up surprised to see the soft blue eyes of Fleur Delacour staring at her.
"Oh hi Fleur," she blinked. Just what she needed, a gorgeous, happily married woman to commiserate with. She shoved the note quickly into her pocket, and tried hard not to look as miserable as she felt.
"May I sit wiz you?" the blonde witch asked.
Hermione swallowed and gave a slight nod. Fleur must have noticed the distressed look on her face, because she instantly reached out and gave Hermione's shoulder a squeeze. "Forgeev me for prying, but what 'as 'appened? "
Hermione couldn't meet her eyes. Looking down she blinked into her glass, trying not to start crying. Clearly Ron hadn't shared the news with his family yet. Startled she felt the brush of soft fingers against her cheek as Fleur tucked a strand of Hermione's forever wild hair behind her ear. The younger witch glanced up, a single tear escaped her at the tenderness in Fleur's piercing eyes.
"It- it's Ron. We broke up," Hermione choked out. She realized it was the first time she'd said it out loud.
Fleur frowned, "What are you doing 'ere? You should not be alone at zis time."
Hermione swallowed. She had thought about going to stay at Grimmauld Place with Ginny and Harry last night, but had realized immediately that was the first place Ron would head. Why had she ever been stupid enough to date her best friend? Now what would happen? Would Harry and Ginny pick sides? Would she loose the love of the Weaselys? She realized in horror that tears were spilling out of her eyes.
Fleur pulled her into an embrace, cradling the small brunette as she finally released her pent up tears. Hermione collapsed into the other witch's arms, breathing in the strangely familiar sent of rose and pine. It felt so easy and comforting, and she realized suddenly that she'd sobbed into these arms before. Her mind flashed back to those weeks at Shell Cottage more than three years prior.
She barely remembered arriving at the cottage tortured, bruised, and battered as she'd been. But she realized now whose soft hands had calmed her and healed her that night. She remembered again the nightmares that had haunted her in the dark days that followed: Bellatrix's hollow eyes, and Fenrir's rotting breath, and how Fleur had held her every night when she awoke shaking and sobbing uncontrollably.
She took a rough breath and drew back, rubbing her eyes with trembling fingers. "I– I'm so sorry. We've got to stop meeting like this…" she trailed off, smiling weakly at her own pathetic attempt at humor.
Fleur however did not look amused. Her eyes still showed concern, "'Ermione. You don' 'ave to be zo brave all zee time. Eet iz not weakness to dezire comfort," she said firmly.
Hermione gulped, half of her wanted very much to collapse into those arms again, but the other half knew she was talking to Ron's sister in law. "No!" she protested feebly, "I'm probably ruining your evening. Is – is Bill around?" Hermione stumbled over the words. Her stomach clenched in nervousness at the idea of confronting one of Ron's brothers.
Now it was Fleur's turn to look nervous. She coughed slightly, " 'e wuz 'ere wiz me earlier. We 'ad zum business to attend to wiz Gringotts…finalizing zee divorce papers." She practically mumbled the last sentence, not meeting her companion's eyes. Hermione, who had been attempting to rally her courage with a gulp of firewhiskey, gasped in shock. The alcohol came spraying out of her mouth, and hit Fleur square in the face.
"Oh shit! I'm so sorry!" Hermione squeaked, turning bright red and attempting to dab at Fleur helplessly with a cocktail napkin. The blonde looked at her, whiskey dripping from her nose. She blinked for a moment in shock, and then suddenly she was roaring with laughter. Hermione felt a smile tugging across her face as well. Soon both girls were giggling fiercely, clutching their stomachs and barely managing to hang on to their stools.
"'Ermione eef you wanted to buy me a drink you could 'ave zimply asked. Zere was no need to zrow eet in my face," Fleur giggled sopping up the whiskey with a nearby bar towel.
"Absolutely my bad!" Hermione gasped, clutching a stitch in her side, still flushed with laughter. "Bar keep! A drink for my friend here please!" she cried, flagging down Tom.
With a fresh glass in hand Fleur turned to Hermione, a slight smile still dancing in her eyes. "I'm zorry if I shocked you wiz zat information. We were waiting to make zee announcement."
"But what happened? You guys always seemed so happy. The perfect couple!" Hermione frowned in confusion, trying to think if she'd noticed any tension between the two recently. Nothing came to mind.
Fleur sighed, "I love Bill. 'e iz my best friend, but zee marriage wuz never truly about romance."
"What do you mean?" Hermione asked confused.
"Eet iz difficult in zee best of times for foreign witchez and wizards to stay in zee country, but in zose days before zee battle zere was so much 'atred and perzeecution. Zay would 'ave zrown me from zee country for my 'alf-veela 'eritage…or worse. Bill offered to marry me, 'as a form of protection. Eet wuz so kind." Fleur was staring off into the distance, eyes clouded with memory.
"We were best friends, I zought zat would be enough. I zought zat time, would 'elp eet grow into true love, but…" Fleur trailed off. "I zought wrong."
Hermione stared, amazed at the similarities in their situations. She'd always assumed that friendship was the best basis for a relationship; assumed that her feelings for Ron would grow into true and inescapable romance. But if she was being honest, there had always been something missing. Ron must have felt it too, no wonder his jealousy had been eating at him. Without thinking Hermione reached out to squeeze Fleur's hand. Fleur's cheeks blushed slightly and as she glanced down at Hermione's fingers intertwined with hers. Hermione felt her own cheeks heating up. Perhaps that had been to forward. She quickly withdrew her hand.
For the next two hours the young women sat sipping drinks at the bar, and swapping stories. Fleur regaled Hermione with her adventures as a curse breaker, while Hermione shared some of her own tales working as an Auror with the ministry. She delighted in seeing Fleur's face light up with laughter, the graceful tilt of her neck as she threw her head back. I can see why Ron was so attracted to her, she thought - she's beautiful. Then shook her head. What was she thinking? The drink must be getting to her.
" 'Ermione," breathed Fleur, leaning in close to whisper. "I am feeling like an adventure into zee muggle world. Do you wish to accompany me?" Her eyes were bright and playful, her full lips sitting just inches from Hermione's face. Hermione's breathing hitched slightly. "Yes," she giggled, mentally delighting at Fleur's naivety – the words "muggle" and "adventure" weren't exactly synonymous. She swallowed, wondering why she suddenly felt flushed. Quickly, she tossed back the rest of her drink, and moved to stand up stumbling slightly.
Fleur reached out to steady her, a strong lithe arm gripped her waist. Hermione felt herself leaning into the touch, enjoying it a little too much. Is this Veela thrall? frowned Hermione, checking herself slightly. Throwing a few galleons on the counter the two tipsy witches stumbled out into the cold night air. Hermione shivered and shrunk into her sweater, realizing she'd left her scarf upstairs in her room. Seeing how cold she was Fleur threw an arm around the smaller witches' shoulders, and Hermione snuggled in, putting her arm around the blonde's waist in return.
"Zere is a bookshop, just around zee corner I 'ave been wishing to visit." Fleur informed her.
"Really? A muggle bookstore?" Hermione asked surprised.
"Yes. I 'ave been reading muggle books for zum time. Eet began as rezearch for Gringotts – looking for clues on new 'istorical sights. But I began to realize zat our two worlds are more connected zan I assumed. Zere are dark changes 'appening in our woods and wiz our climate. Zee Veela have been watching zem for some time."
Hermione looked up in interest. She knew very little about the Veela, they were a secretive tribe – rather like the Amazons – "protectors of the forest" they were sometimes called. She studied Fleur's face, noticing a dark and troubled look cross her brow. Hermione gave the other witch a squeeze, and Fleur turned to meet her gaze. She blushed suddenly pink, and looked away. Hermione hoped she hadn't made her friend uncomfortable. Harry had often complained that Hermione's stares were far too intimate. "Can't keep any secrets from you Hermione," he'd grumbled once.
Before long they were standing before the bookshop. The window display looked dusty, as though no one had bothered changing it for some time, but the lights inside were warm and inviting. Fleur pushed open the door, and the two women stepped inside- the sound of a bell ringing somewhere in the depths.
Despite the small shop front, the store was actually surprisingly deep, bookshelves winding away in a labyrinth of design. Hermione realized she was still clinging to Fleur's side and stepped away in embarrassment. Fleur looked at her with a smile, and said, "Go explore 'ermione! I will find you soon." She walked off, following a small sign pointing to the history section. Hermione marveled at the elegant sway of Fleur's hips beneath the shimmering curtain of silver blonde hair. She sighed, wondering if she'd ever possess that level of beauty and confidence.
Wandering slowly, Hermione eventually found herself in front of the poetry section. She plucked a book of Pablo Neruda poems from the shelf. Tell me about love Pablo, she begged, her thumb skimming the pages. What am I missing?
The book fell open, a love poem staring back at her.
You know how this is:
if I look
at the crystal moon, at the red branch
of the slow autumn at my window,
if I touch
near the fire
the impalpable ash
or the wrinkled body of the log,
everything carries me to you.
As if in answer to the poem Hermione heard the soft sound of Fleur's footfalls behind her. The familiar rose and pine scent brushed against Hermione's nose, as the older witch rested her chin over her shoulder. "mmm, Neruda. 'is poetry iz so lovely, eet should be French," Fleur murmured in a thick slightly husky voice. " 'E knows zee taste of a woman so well."
Hermione felt her heart beat quicken. What did Fleur mean the taste of a woman? Did she go around tasting many women? She suddenly realized that Fleur's hand was resting delicately on her waist. She whirled around, surprising herself with the speed of her movements and knocked the stack of books Fleur had been carrying to the ground.
"Oh no! I'm so sorry," said Hermione flushing with embarrassment. She knelt to help gather up the books mumbling something about having drunk too much firewhiskey. She stood up, realizing that they were standing slightly too close. Fleur made no move to take the books from her hands. Instead she reached up gently and touched Hermione's pink cheeks.
"You are zo cute when you are flustered 'ermione," the blonde witch said. She stepped forward, closing the distance between them. "Eeef each day, a flower climbs up to your lips to seek me, ah my love…in me, all zat fire is repeated." Fleur whispered the lines of the poem in a low voice, one finger tracing Hermione's lower lip. The smaller witch was frozen in place, her heart beating wildly inside her chest.
Leaning in, Fleur dropped a sweet tentative kiss onto her lips. A small gasp escaped Hermione at the shiver of electricity that shot down her spine. She dropped the books unheeded at her feet and deepened the kiss, her hands reaching up to hold Fleur's face between her palms. The blonde's mouth opened in a soft moan and Hermione's tongue slipped between her lips, tasting strawberry and the spice of whiskey.
Fleur grabbed her waist, pulling their hips together in a rush. Hermione felt herself arch against the other woman. The curve of their bodies pressed together. Her skin was suddenly on fire, every inch of her begging to be touched. She moaned in pleasure as Fleur's hands traveled the curve of her waist and up her spine, a prickling warmth starting between her legs. Already? she thought. She couldn't remember the last time her body had responded this way to a kiss. She suddenly felt her feet lifted from the ground and her back pressed against the shelf behind her. Her legs rose unbidden to wrap themselves around Fleur's form.
The other witch was breathing heavily now, her kisses trailing hungrily down Hermione's neck to her collarbone. Hermione closed her eyes, marveling at the way Fleur's touch was making her skin pulse. "'ermione," the French woman gasped, lips close against her ear. She sucked softly at her lobe and then licked tantalizingly slow, "take me to your room."
Hermione nodded, unable to speak properly. Fleur slid her gently to the floor, placing another kiss on her lips that left the brunette gasping. Grabbing her hand Hermione practically dragged the other woman from the shop…the books still lay forgotten on the floor.