(This chapter is dedicated to my gf, J. Thank you for understanding why I cloister myself in quiet solitude when I write. To my readers, here is a lengthy chunk for you to chew. Enjoy!)

Fleur led Hermione to the pub's back alley.

'You know, if you want a bit of privacy… I would suggest somewhere less dingy.' Hermione's nose wrinkled at the stench of dried vomit, extinguished cigarettes and the lingering spirits of spilled alcohol. 'Are you sure you want to talk here?'

Fleur's look evaporated Hermione's thoughts of repugnant smells.

Sapphire eyes slowly traced Hermione, a sculptor committing to memory every line, curve and inflection of the woman before her. Fleur's mind tangled in those dark auburn curls, those embers of chocolate eyes always alight with intelligence, the most expressive lips that quirked, twitched and danced to every mood.

She longed to let the younger witch know just how much she missed her. But to reveal so would show weakness. And Fleur didn't do vulnerability with ease. Not now when so many things depended on her strength. She hoped this would be enough. Hoped that her eyes would give eloquence to the silence of her lips.

Hermione fidgeted uncomfortably. She never felt this devoured by a gaze before. Not even in the most intimate moments with her ex-boyfriend Ron. Nor in those stolen minutes around Hogwarts with Viktor. She forgot how intense Fleur could be. How being in her mere presence could make her feel so many mercurial emotions that threatened to break free from the calm surface. She was about to speak when she felt the softness of Fleur's hand slipping into hers.

'Do you trust me, 'Ermione?'

Of all the things the brunette thought Fleur would say. It wasn't this. But a question was asked, and Hermione's inner gears kicked into a response.

'Ofcourse. Fleur, is there something wrong?' She thought she glimpsed a passing turbulence in those cerulean eyes.

Fleur responded by fully wrapping her fingers around the younger witch's. Her grip strong and certain as they disappeared into the night.

.

.

Hermione guessed they were pretty high above ground. They stood outside a vermilion red door of a blue-roofed bungalow that stood atop a hill. Plump shrubs of purple juniper and towering spruce fenced the house, providing a natural camouflage from roving eyes. Not that there would be any other eyes around as the house was secluded without another structure in sight as far as the eyes could see.

Once inside, Hermione was led to a cosy sitting room where a fireplace crackled merrily into life, suffusing her with a mild, toasty warmth. She jumped as she felt the brush of heated fingers on her shoulders.

'Your coat, Mademoiselle?' Fleur's heart-shaped lips quirked into an easy smile.

Hermione sheepishly shrugged off her leather coat and scarf. It was hard to switch off her senses when being in a new place… and being in the company of someone familiar yet new.

'This is my 'ead quarters for now.' The blonde said as she slid off her own coat and carefully draped it with Hermione's on the rack. She wore slim fit khakis with a midnight blue knit top that made her locks pale platinum and her eyes a lighter hue of blue.

With a graceful wave of her wand, Fleur lit all the lamps, arranged skewed furniture, re-capped ink bottles and snapped shut books and parchment that were splayed open on a long, driftwood table. The house resembled a work station more than a residence. Cups with remnants of coffee could be found here and there. A flatscreen muggle computer sat at a desk by the window. Whitewashed brick walls were covered from floor to ceiling by books and framed paintings of elegant swords and oddly shimmering weapons. Fleur noted the younger witch's eyes eagerly sweeping through the titles emblazoned on the book spines and decided it was time to distract the other witch from deep diving into curiosity. 'Would you like some refreshments. Wine, per'aps?'

'I.. maybe another time, Fleur. I still need to do something for work later. Speaking of which, what brought you to my crime scene this morning?' Hermione, always direct, took a seat on an avocado green easy chair. She crossed her ankles, straightened her back and looked at the blonde witch expectantly.

Fleur sighed, her shoulders wilted a fraction. She knew that look. A look that says, 'There is no escaping the inquisition of Hermione Granger'. If she truly wanted to be in the younger witch's good graces, she better not show any outward unwillingness to answer her question. But maybe if I play my cards right?

An idea kindled in the French witch's mind as she disappeared into the kitchen. She re-emerged with a floating tray of honey wine, grilled cheese sandwiches, and a stack of cards.

'Per'aps a light snack and a game of Trade, hmm?' The blonde suggested with a charming smile as she settled the tray and deck of cards on a round coffee table beside the younger witch.

Hermione stared at the cards as if it were laced with a Basilisk's venom.

Trade was a dangerous game The Guild students play. Certain cards have the power to make your tongue give voice to truths hidden in your mind. It was a trade of truth or lies, depending on one's skill in deception.

Hermione only played the game once with Phomela with disastrous results. She recoiled at the truths she was forced to admit that time. At how she felt that deep down, Ron wasn't the One. How, even after all these years, she was still plagued by thoughts of not being good enough, that she needed to constantly disprove the fallacy of muggleborns being less magical. She also admitted that she thought Fleur was intriguing and mesmerising, much to Phomela's glee. She never lived those taunts down.

'No, Fleur. I'm rubbish in that game.' Hermione crossed her arms, chin jutted out to punctuate her dislike.

'If memory serves, ze 'Ermione I know can accomplish anything she sets 'er mind to,' Fleur said as she settled on the easy chair opposite the brunette. 'If you want answers to your questions, here is your chance mon amis.'

Hermione sighed. Why do I always find myself in this dance with Fleur? Why can't we just tell each other things like normal people, instead of this tango of conceal or confess?

Because Fleur is a labyrinth she loved getting lost in. And here she was. Drawn into those sea blue depths once again. Fleur was still as confident and enigmatic as she remembered, but at the same time there was a new mellowness, a certain weariness she didn't see in the part Veela before. There were faint circles underneath her eyes, and an imperceptible dimness in those blue irises. What happened to her? She's hiding something. Why is she so reluctant to tell me?

'Fine. I call the first card,' Hermione said in resignation.

The blonde let out a breath she didn't know she was holding. They both took turns in shuffling the onyx black cards and swept it across the table, face down.

Hermione slowed her breath and relaxed her mind. Deception didn't come naturally, but she will try. She picked out a card and read the words scripted in bright green ink set against black.

A Lie for a Lie. This was easy enough. The brunette blurted the simplest lie her mind could summon.

'I'm an American guy who digs chicks.'

'I'm..' Fleur struggled momentarily. 'A virgin 'oo freezes in bed.'

The card escaped Hermione's grasp and flew to Fleur. One point for the part Veela.

'What?' The brunette exclaimed in disbelief. 'It was a lie for lie. Why did I lose the trade?'

'Though you are clearly not male, per'aps it is not too clear whether you don't really dig chicks 'Ermione. Or maybe you lacked conviction in your lying.'

'You mean not as convincing as your lie of not being hot to trot?'

A nonchalant shrug was Fleur's reply along with a rogue wink. 'Wouldn't you like to know?'

Hermione's mouth hung open at the blonde's audacity. She flicked a crumb of bread at Fleur's face which the blonde deftly blocked with an Impervious spell. Trying to dispel the thoughts of Fleur and her self-proclaimed prowess in bed, Hermione poured herself a flask of honey wine and chewed on the still warm, grilled cheese sandwich. She hadn't realised she was hungry.

Fleur followed her lead and took a sip from her own flask. The vestiges of formality ebbed as both women felt the soothing lull of the liquor. The blonde kicked off her boots and freed her hair from its pins. She observed the other witch over the rim of her flask, noting the shoulders that rolled into a relaxed posture and the way her teeth tore off bits of the sandwich with relish.

The blonde chuckled inwardly. She quite missed seeing this worry-free Hermione and hoped that the game will smooth over some of the creases in the younger witch's mind. She reached out for her card. A Lie for a Truth. Now this is interesting. If she made her lie good enough, Hermione wouldn't be able to resist telling the truth.

'I never missed you after I left.' The blonde lied smoothly.

Hermione felt the enchantment on her tongue, urging her to speak the truth. She knew if she overcame the charm, Fleur's trade won't succeed and she would snatch one point from the blonde. She furrowed her brow in concentration to stop the words from being wrenched from her mouth.

'I…' Hermione began and bit her lip. Breathe and lie to her. Lie. 'I thought of you always.'

Hermione slapped her palm against her forehead as the card flew to Fleur's pile of wins. What a stupid thing to say. Of all the truths she could've carefully worded, she had to say the one closest to her heart. She cast an apprehensive look at the older witch who refilled her flask of honey wine and seemed entirely unaffected by her admission. She didn't know what the trade was about, whether it was truth for a truth, or a lie for a truth, all she knew was that Fleur must not win this game.

She vowed to watch her words with vigilance. She won herself several points for random truths that threw Fleur off guard (I'm wearing a black lacy Victoria Secret lingerie) and some easy lies (I love to spend my free time drooling about Quidditch players). Fleur met her head on in her strategy and indulged Hermione with tidbits that made Hermione gulp and sputter her wine (I first learned 'ow zo French kiss with my friend Celine) and (I never liked being stared at, but I don't mind if you do).

Later in the game, things started to get sticky. For whom, remains to be seen.

Hermione drew a breath as she held a card. A Question for an Answer…but she had too many questions. Which one to ask?

'Why did you break your engagement with Bill Weasley?'

Fleur sighed, steeling herself from answering.

'Because I didn't love him anymore and I thought I was falling for someone else.'

This was a surprise.

Though having won the point, Hermione looked less than pleased. An unspoken question of 'Who' bloomed across her face. Eyes bugged from their sockets, lips withdrawn, cheeks inflated, the brunette looked like she was about to burst from withholding the unasked question.

'Breathe ma belle. Maybe you'll get another chance to ask a question, oui?' The blonde's hand picked another card.

A Secret for a Secret. This is the one card Fleur wanted to avoid. She could refuse making the trade and let the point pass for both of them. Will she let this one pass?

She took a breath. If she finds out what I've been up to, will she leave me be? A smidgen of a grin tugged at her lips. If there is one thing she knew about Hermione is that she is relentless in her pursuit of what she thinks is right. She needs to carefully word what she was about to say.

'I have personal interest in ze case you are 'andling. I have been investigating it for more zan a year without ze Guild's knowledge.'

So many questions stormed Hermione's mind. She knew Fleur was being deliberately ambiguous, but at least now she can hazard a guess of why she was at her crime scene. This case, the peculiar case of mighty dead men. If Fleur has been looking at it longer than she has, she must know some leads.

If she wins this game, she can call the terms of the final trade.

'I…' Hermione faltered, feeling the press of magic probing her undisclosed thoughts like a flashlight torching the darkest chambers of her mind. Tell her about your most secret desires. How you long to feel her, know her, to delve into her depths.

No! Her cheeks burned at the maelstrom of images in her mind. Tell her something she already knows. No secrets. Just facts. Stick to the case. I can do that.

'The latest victim of the case I am investigating is Gregory Rosseu from France.'

The card flew to Hermione. Yes! They were now neck in neck. Only one card left and it was the younger witch's turn.

Please let this be easy. Please let me win.

Hermione cleared her mind and read her card.

A Future Hope for a Past Memory. This should be interesting. She ransacked her brain for her brightest hope. She knew the stronger it is, the harder for the other party to resist the trade from being made.

She closed her eyes and remembered Dobby and his different coloured socks.

'That all house elves are free from slavery, with commensurate compensation, healthcare and the right to lead a life of their choosing.'

So fervent was her hope that a white wisp immediately escaped from Fleur's temples and descended on Hermione.

Fleur's memory was crystal clear, she felt physically transported to that moment.

She saw the Great Hall of Hogwarts fully decked with pine trees, holly, icicle sculptures and drifting snow. The sea of students mingled and swayed to rhythmic music. They were all dressed in their best dress robes.

A gaggle of girls from Beauxbatons were eyeing a dancing couple. Hermione realised they were looking at her fourteen-year-old self with Viktor Krum.

'I don't get it, what does 'e see in 'er? 'e could've ask anyone, why 'er?'

'She's way too young for him. Look, she's as flat as a blackboard.'

'If only 'e asked our champione. Zat will surely make Beauxbatons headline again. Don't you zink so, Fleur?'

Hermione's face heated up. Her fists clenched. Why is Fleur showing this to her?

'Ee's not my type.' Came Fleur's firm voice 'And eef you look closely at 'er, you will see 'ow obvious it eez zat she is growing to be a beautiful woman. I've seen 'er spellwork with Potter. She eez a brilliant witch and she 'as this crusade zo protect 'ouse elves. I zink she is more interesting zan you give credit for.'

'Mon Dieu, Fleur. Since when are you into underdeveloped girls?'

The memory faded with the sound of guffaws and giggles.

Present Fleur suddenly stood up. Alarmed at everything that Hermione just witnessed. For the first time in the brunette's memory, she saw the blonde's cheeks flush with a mixture of anger and embarrassment.

'Je suis désolé. I apologise for ze despicable behaviour of zose girls, 'Ermione. Zey were young, but zat is no excuse for insulting you.'

Hermione was too stunned to speak. At the time when she despised Fleur for being too beautiful, too distracting for Ron, the blonde witch actually defended her and found her interesting? This was too good to be true. But the furious look in those eyes spoke the truth.

The younger witch stood up and reached for Fleur's hand. 'It's okay, Fleur. You defended me, I couldn't care less what those girls thought of me. Merci.'

Fleur looked at their entwined hands. Hermione's was smaller, a bit calloused between the thumb and index finger, a testament of how the witch had spent many an hour writing with a quill or wielding a wand. She knew the younger witch looked up to her somehow because she was her mentor. But she never let on how much she admired her, even back then in Hogwarts. To have been in battle so young, to have risked her life not just for a friend but for the whole wizarding world. It was Hermione who has done so much, gave too much. She deserves someone who will be loyal, who will never lie to her. Someone who is not her.

The blonde witch sighed as she reluctantly withdrew her hand and sat back down. 'I believe you have won ze game, 'Ermione. What is your call for ze final Trade?'

Hermione wondered at the sudden distance. After seeing the memory, after noting the blonde's not-so-subtle flirtation and charged banter, she thought there could be a chance…a maybe of what could be. Fleur was back to her formal, aloof self again. She sighed as she sank back to her chair. Another time perhaps. For now she needs, as Ron would put it, to sort out her priorities.

Emotions seemed to have clogged her voice. Hermione cleared her throat. 'I would like to trade a Question for an Answer.'

The blonde nodded once, her lips set in a firm line as if to brace herself from an attack.

'Why are you personally interested in the case I'm investigating?'

Fleur considered lying to Hermione. She really wanted to. But those intelligent chocolate eyes held her and searched her, twin beacons that are about to glimpse her rage, her catastrophic storm. No matter how much she can prolong this, she knew the younger witch will remain relentless.

The truth. Maybe it is time for the truth, no matter how unkind.

'The serial killer you are looking for is a siren. She murdered my sister Gabrielle almost two years ago. When I find 'er, I will not apprehend 'er. I will kill her. And anyone who stops me will be my enemy. Comprenez-vous, 'Ermione?'

.

.

A/N: Whew. That was heavy, even for me. Thank you, Joan for the first comment in chapter 4. Yes, better get used to cliffhangers my dear, but I promise to make the wait worth your while. To those who reviewed, thank you for stopping by. As I mentioned, writing can be a solitary endeavour, so it is nice to hear your thoughts. Points to my gf and to Tux for guessing correctly that Fleur's mysterious sleight of hand has something to do with Gabrielle. Though my mind had a darker but not entirely hopeless scenario. And thank you for the 'non-jerky' feedback.

I am heavily laden with work these coming weeks. So I apologise in advance if I could not update soon enough. Rest assured, my mind already plotted the next chapter. Stay tuned!