A Peculiar Case of Love and Desire

By Sleek Ink

Chapter 8

'Hey Phom, is this a good time? I need a favour.'

'Whoa, Hermione. It's nice to hear from you too.'

Hermione winced at the grouchy tone of her friend, whose brooding face was being projected atop her wrist-watch. It was early morning. The sun has barely crawled up the sky. But the rumpled hair and caffeine-glazed eyes of Hermione Granger doesn't care for decency of time.

'Phomela…' Hermione sighed, bottling her impatience. 'This is an emergency.'

'Emergency of your knickers finally getting ripped off by someone you like, or emergency of knotting your knickers by some boring case.'

'Can we not make the state of my knickers your business?'

'Sweetie, you call me at five a.m. and ask for a favour without as much as a hello. I get to be in your business.'

'Phom. Something happened with the case I'm handling, I need –'

'Always this case. That case. There is always a case. Aren't you going to ask the state of my knickers? What if I am in the middle of some passionate affair of the coital kind?'

'I need to run something through your underground lab.' Hermione ploughed on, willfully ignoring her friend's unsavory suggestion. 'Besides if you were really in the middle of something, you wouldn't bother to answer the phone.'

'Fair point, Granger. And for the enth time, it's not an underground lab. It's a lab prototype from five years ago. But since you so kindly asked. I will let you access it in exchange for a bit of juicy confession.'

'Phom! This is not Trade!'

'Those are my terms. Besides, what kind of a spy am I if I can't be nosy about the only girl from the Golden Trio?'

Hermione gritted her teeth. 'I bought lacy lingerie and actually wore it.'

'Sorry. The thighs of my lab won't part for that.'

'Fine.' Hermione growled. 'I made out with a girl last night. Is that juicy enough for you?'

'Oooh! Positively dripping!'

'And I will not tell you the details until after you let me use the lab.'

'Deal. Get your Floo on. Be in my fireplace in-'

Ding Dong.

'Dammit, Granger. How can you Apparate so fast?'

'I was already at your doorstep when I called.'

.

An illustrated map was spread wide across the driftwood table. An elegant finger traced the path of a moving red dot that flashed in brief pulses. Fleur's other hand skimmed a roll of parchment bearing a grid of places and names that were either crossed out, encircled or ticked.

Enchanting the map to locate the strands of Gabrielle, Fleur was able to discern the movements of the siren and her potential victims. After using this tracker spell for a year, she deduced that the siren places a strand of Gabrielle's hair on at least three new people at a time, with one ending up dead. Fleur knew everything the siren did was deliberate. That the she was being lured not just into a trap, but a confrontation. And whatever nefarious plot the siren had in mind, Fleur was more than willing to play the part of prey. And emerge as predator.

Blue eyes steeled, lips sculpted into a grim line, Fleur keyed in the addresses in her smart phone and plotted her destination. It wasn't a question of how she will catch the siren. The real question was why she wants to be caught. Using Gabrielle's hair was a message that was clear as day. The murders were not random. This was personal.

With a careful flick of her wand, the paintings on the walls shimmered into life. Fleur ran her fingers along the polished blade of an arm-length, short sword. Its hilt of ivory and silver was hand-carved into the graceful arches of a Veela's wings. She sheathed the sword into a leather scabbard and slipped it in her belt. She rummaged through her cupboards and refilled the contents of her belt's pouches.

She just needs to be a step ahead of the siren. There are three possible locations of where the siren and her victim could be now. All were far apart from each other. If only she had someone clever and capable working alongside her, she would cover more ground. If only she had Hermione.

Hermione.

The part Veela sighed as remembered the ferocious anger igniting in those earthy eyes. If Fleur wasn't so consumed about the wretched siren, she would know how to use her Veela charms to stoke that burning anger into another kind of fire. A fire that they would both enjoy and would involve less drama… and hopefully lesser clothes.

Fleur wondered what Hermione looked like sans clothes.

Yes she always admired the younger witch. For her bravery. Her intelligence. But that doesn't mean she was immune to the younger witch's svelte curves. That her eyes won't stray to those swells hinted underneath the neckline,

Fleur shut her eyes at the thought of Hermione's bare breasts, their soft weight filling her cupped hands. Pert nipples stiffening in her palms…

A glass jar of Asphodel slipped through Fleur's grip and shattered to the floor.

Merde. Fleur cursed inwardly as she slashed the air with her wand to repair the damage.

She should have not kissed Hermione. Sampling those lips again only rekindled that slow burning, ravenous flame she thought she had lost in her grief.

Her maman said finding your mate was a rare and almost impossible gift. And that making love with one's Veela pair would elicit pleasures untold and unravel new facets of her magic. And she would give Hermione not just her magic, but exquisite release. She would caress every inch of those lithe and slender curves, leave no soft, creamy skin unkissed. She would listen to her heartbeat, be so attuned that they would rock their hips in rhythm. Fleur would let every part of her, her lips, tongue and fingers coax the sweetest moans from Hermione, make her writhe and tremble until she scratches her back and howls Fleur's name in ecstasy.

Fleur slammed her fist into the driftwood table, toppling ink bottles and displacing sheaves of parchment.

A horny Veela was not to be messed with.

Either she finds a way to seduce Hermione on top of this case. Or she finds a magical solution to curb her desire.

Desire. Fleur was the master of desire. She wields it. Controls it.

And now I'm at her mercy. Fleur thought sullenly as she slipped into her trench coat and made a final check of her appearance in the mirror.

Her carefully applied make up brought out the darkest shards of blue in her eyes. Eyes that, for the first time, wavered with uncertainty.

She didn't know what scares her more. That she had never wanted someone so bad. Or that she never faced a chance of rejection so great.

Hermione, what power you have over me.

.

Bright chocolate eyes feverishly scanned through the pages thrice. She must be missing something. A small mundane fact that might be significant. Something hidden between the lines.

Hermione's brows met in utmost concentration.

After running the strand of hair through several tests, they have confirmed a DNA match. At least now Hermione knew Fleur wasn't lying about this part. She hadn't considered the blonde witch a liar before. But after stealing her crime scene evidence and obliterating a memory of their kiss? What else was the French witch hiding from her?

Hermione decided to re-evaluate her decision to trust Fleur.

'Give it up, Granger. You are looking at a solved case. Gabrielle Delacour died of drowning. It was an accident. Both the muggle police and Auror reports say the exact same thing.' Phomela's sun bronzed face hovered over her shoulder.' Besides, shouldn't you focus on finding out why a dead girl's strand of hair ended up in your crime scene?'

'That's precisely what I am doing, Phom.' Hermione said as she shut the file folder and plopped herself down in front of a computer. 'If someone is in possession of her hair, then clearly there is purpose and motivation.'

Fingers flew over the keyboard, mouse clicking madly, Hermione scrolled through dozens of pages in rapid succession.

'Oh-kayy. Yes it does make Gabrielle's death look less like an accident. But she's dead for about two years now. Maybe somebody broke into her tomb or something?' Phom said as she ran a clean cloth along a steel counter filled with small pewter cauldrons and vials of different coloured liquids.

'Phom, when was your database last updated?' Hermione said as she stared glumly at the last search entry. 'Why are there no records of sirens in the last fifty years? Were they hunted or did they just stop reproducing? Why can't I find anything about them except in fables and myths?'

'Why don't you go to The Guild to find out? You know that what I have here was just a prototype for a lab project eons ago.' Phomela quirked an eyebrow at Hermione.

'I can't go to The Guild.' Hermione muttered, not meeting her friend's eyes.

'Why not?' Phomela turned the swivel chair Hermione was sitting on so that the English witch was facing her.

They have reached the part of the conversation Hermione wished she could squirm her way out of.

Hermione stared at the burnt rims of the cauldrons that were visible just over Phomela's shoulder, her mind concocting a carefully worded non-answer. 'It's…inconclusive. I'm just riding on hunch and this strand of hair may have nothing to do with the case at all. I didn't want my search logged in The Guild just yet.'

'Do you think not being a field agent makes me dumb, Granger?' Phomela's voice dripped with bitter amusement. 'You think the name of Gabrielle Delacour doesn't ring a bell? She was your mentor's sister and we both know it.'

Hermione could feel herself sinking into the chair at the amount of glare her friend was dumping on her.

'Okay, do you solemnly swear… on your honour as Guild Agent and as my friend… that you will tell no soul about this.' Hermione hissed through narrowed lips.

A look of pure glee slithered across Phomela's face. 'You know you can trust me with anything. Thanks to me, no one at The Guild figured out you had the hots for the resident Veela vixen.'

Phomela was suspiciously too cooperative. But then again, when it came to Hermione's alleged feelings for Fleur, Phomela had always been the first person to prod and encourage her about it.

'Yes, this is about Fleur.' Hermione started, unsure how to proceed. 'She thinks her sister's death was caused by a siren, and that this siren is the serial killer I am looking for. She asked me to keep this thing under wraps first before we know more.'

'Wow. She must've been really good at making out to make you go behind The Guild's back.'

'I never said we made out!' The flush on Hermione's cheeks would've shamed a tomato.

'You did. Earlier when you called. And now with your face.' A triumphant gleam lit Phomela's ebony eyes. 'Tell me, Granger. What is it like to be french kissed by a French Veela?'

.

.

Several hours later, Hermione found herself stalking up a doorstep she hasn't been to since she was eleven.

One of the things she learned about The Guild was that if you can't find information, it means you are not looking creatively enough. And after the embarrassing talk with Phomela, the two tossed back and forth zany ideas on how to get solid information about the existence and whereabouts of sirens. And this idea was the least absurd of all.

The bell jangled merrily as a brown mop of a head looked up from a book and watched Hermione walk through the door. A thirty-something man beamed at her as if he hadn't had a customer all day. He had on a burgundy tweed jacket, a genial smile, and a question:

'Here to purchase for your little one? Though it is customary to bring the child here, as long as you have their arm and head measurements, it should be fine.'

Hermione sauntered inside the shop. She eyed the shelves upon shelves of narrow boxes, the spindly chairs at the corner that bore discarded pieces of wood, the thin coat of dust on the floor that seemed to emit a faint light, probably reflecting the magic it witnessed from countless witches and wizards.

'No, I'm not here to buy. I was hoping to catch Mr Ollivander. I'm an old friend of his. I was wondering if he might be interested in a, shall we say, sacred artifact.'

Hermione reached inside her magically extended pocket of her leather jacket and produced a book bound in what looked like black glass. 'I used to work as a treasure hunter for Gringgots, and on one of my quests I found this rare gem in a secret tomb of Hatshepsut. Made from tempered onxyx and silk papyrus, it bears the writings of Hatshepsut's mage, detailing his research of early Egyptian wandlore.'

A look of pure reverence dawned on the man's face. His hands quivered as Hermione placed the book on the counter in front of him. With an inaudible sigh, he gently turned the pages that were filled with barely visible hieroglyphs. 'I take it you are selling this? Unfortunately Mr Ollivander is on holiday and only he can make decisions on such significant purchases.'

'Well it is your lucky day. I'm entrusting this book to you. I will lend you this, for an unlimited time, if you would let me look through your records of sirens and veelas who, willingly or unwillingly, have sold their hair.'

The man's face slacked and clenched as if he was going through a great struggle. He looked constipated. Hermione almost felt sorry. With a few, well-chosen runes she etched on each page, she transformed Beedle the Bard's Babbity Rabbity book into a rare artifact. Certainly not worth getting constipated about.

'I'm sorry Miss, but no amount of gold, or rare book, can replace the trust Mr Ollivander gave me as his apprentice. All magical creatures and hunters we do business with are given anonymity and we honour our promise to them.'

Hermione's hopes fell with a sigh. She needed to know the motivations of this man. Ollivander was motivated by survival and pride. Possessing such a rare book will add to his esteem as Britain's finest wand maker. But this younger man was obviously driven by something else entirely.

'Quite understandable. It is a shame though, because I know Mr Ollivander was personally quite keen on learning about Egyptian wandlore. And there is hardly any reference material on such an obscure and mysterious art.' Hermione said, wishing her eyes could hypnotise this man to do her bidding.

The shop keeper assumed a stoic silent mask as he handed her the book.

What now? Hermione thought as she shoved the book back in her pocket. I can't be back to square one.

The bell jangled to announce the arrival of the person Hermione least expected.

She came in, her luxurious mane of pale gold held high. Her carmined lips full and lilting into a small grin as her eyes grazed Hermione. Her beige trench coat fit her form perfectly, gracing over slender shoulders and the sensuous curves of her hips.

The moppy-haired shop keeper sucked in a breath he lost to soon. His eyes widened, trying to acclimatize to the temperature that was rising in his face.

Honestly! Hermione tutted to herself. It's as if the man has never seen a Veela before!

Fleur did her cat walk strut towards the counter, her heels clicked to the beat of a racing heartbeat, her eyes locked into the man's glazed pupils. 'Salut.' She said in a purr of French.

The man open and closed his mouth several minutes like a fish before something coherent warbled out. 'Hi. What can I do you? I mean. Pardon me. What can I do you for?'

The delicate scent of almond and vanilla suffused the air. Hermione felt her own eyes about to slide out of focus, her breath caught in her throat.

No! Hermione thought and dug her nails into her palm. She's about to use her Veela thrall. Focus, Granger. We are on a case. What is she doing here, anyway?

'My colleague 'ere made an interesting…proposition.' Fleur let the last word linger like a caress. Her fingers kissed the counter, centimeters away from the man's hand. 'Per'aps, a man of his own unquestionable authority such as yourself, would spare us a few minutes poring over old, forgotten records?'

When Fleur blinked her eyes, they were a prism of silver and sapphire. A mesmerising kaleidoscope that hinted of pleasures sublime.

The man felt his knees wobble. His blood rushed downwards where his trousers bulged. 'Yes, ofcourse.' He said as he sprinted towards the back of the shop. He re-appeared even before Hermione had a chance to interrogate Fleur.

He thrust a roll of parchment towards Fleur. 'It isn't much. Mr Ollivander doesn't trust siren and veela cores as they are hard to tame. But we did have a couple of them here and there.'

Without a word, Fleur handed the parchment to Hermione. She gave the younger witch an imperceptible nod before Hermione figured out what she was supposed to do.

Spreading the parchment on one of the spindly chairs, Hermione hovered her wand over it. She began scanning each line on the ledger with her wand.

Fleur trained her eyes back on the man, who was now giving Hermione a puzzled look as if he didn't realise there was another person in the room.

The blonde traced her fingers over the man's shoulders. 'I did not catch your name, Monsieur…'

'Nathan. Please call me, Nathan. Would you like some tea?' He said, his eyes focusing back on Fleur's lips. 'Maybe we could have a cup in my office. It is rather cosier there.'

'No.' Hermione's voice sliced through the air. 'She will not. And here is your ledger. Thank you for your time.'

With a terse nod, she grabbed Fleur's wrist and half dragged her out of the shop.

When they were several blocks away, Hermione rounded on Fleur. 'What the bloody Merlin were you doing, Fleur? That man was about to have a cardiac arrest from your thrall!'

Fleur smoothed her coat and rubbed her wrist to bring back circulation. 'I'm 'elping you, mon chaton. We agreed to help each other, oui?' Fleur said as she took a step inside Hermione's personal space. 'Besides, your jealousy is clouding your usual logical mind. I never wanted 'im. You should know by now you are all I could think of, 'Ermione.'

To say Hermione was unprepared was an understatement.

She froze at the sudden proximity of Fleur's face. Those sapphire eyes pierced through the haze of her anger, her confusion. She knew she should ask how Fleur found her. How she knew about the proposition to the shop keeper. And how, even after being a manipulative liar, does Fleur manage to be so always fucking beautiful.

'You know,' Fleur murmured. 'All you need to do is ask, and I'm yours 'Ermione.'

And with that, Fleur tangled her hands into Hermione's tendrils and melded their lips together in a searing, ravenous kiss.

.

.

.

A/N: Sorry for the month-long hiatus. I have been working hard in my real job. Nose to the grindstone, man. I do hope it was worth your wait. I've dredged up all my energy to squeeze this one in, in between real life demands. Know that I will never leave this fic unfinished, as Fleurmione is close to my heart. Hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I relished writing it. See you again soon! Feel free to feed my starved muse by dropping me a line or two.

Oh, and thank you to those who reviewed!

Redjassy: Hermione remembered the obliviated kiss because Fleur gave the memory back. It was just implied. ;) I hope you found this chapter just as meaty as the previous one. Although, I would like to think this is more 'juicy'. I know I don't say it enough. But I appreciate every single comment/review you give. Especially during times when there was narry a review to be read. You bore witness to my sleepless nights when I write. Without your support, I would've stopped (from dehydration and lack of motivation). Thank you for being there for me here, and in real life. Love you, babe. (Wag ka nang tampo)

Smithblack: Yep, a Fleurmione story ain't canon without the mate thing. Glad you enjoyed it.

MRave: You're welcome! Do consider having a FF account, so you can get alerts for updates.

fernland: Aww, you're a sweetie. I do agree Fleurmione has the best writers and somehow you consider me part of that category (or I assume too much, don't mind me). I apologise for not being able to reply, but do know I am also reading your Prophecy fic (I think I am in chapter 3?). Please keep writing. You are wonderful.

ramenlife: Thanks for the review. Don't stop reading now, we are about to get to the mystery part.

tuxjim: Really, I couldn't thank you enough for your constant, steadfast support. It's readers like you that give me that extra kick when I entertain the idea of not finishing this fic. (No worries, I already made a blood compact of finishing this). Ja ne for now.

KrugSmash: Trade is my favourite game too. But not in real life. Thank you for your review. You are kind.

thewaywedo33: Man, your name is bloody long. Can I call you 33? Or theway? Anyway, I am so glad to see you here. Yes, I put much store in build up as well. I know it frustrates a heck a lot of readers. And thank you for appreciating this Fleur. She is not exactly in a healthy place right now. And that's one of the reasons why she makes an interesting dynamic with Agent Granger. Oh and about the kiss at The Guild, I thought of doing a purely The Guild story from Fleur's POV. Which will cover the kiss. But I am still pondering on that. And hey, I'm about to read your Fleurmione story here in FF. Please keep writing. You are fantastic. J

xxmadlaxx: But I like writing this hot mess. :) No worries. A happy ending is reserved for that. The ending. (or maybe not?)

Swarm012: Are you the same swarm who writes fleurmione fics in tumblr? Took me awhile to finish this damn update, hope it was worth your wait.

If you have any questions, please write in the review or drop an ask in my tumblr: swashbuckling-pen.