Golden Haze: Act One, Scene Two

AN: Thanks so much everyone for your kind words with regards to this story. I'm sorry that it took so long to get to some of the more interesting aspects of this story - as a consequence, this chapter is rather... long in comparison to the others.

Superdooper thanks to Shetan83 for the wonderful beta.

Soundtrack to the story: Delerium, Pink Martini and Goldfrapp.

The first morning of classes had been rather uneventful. She taught well, better than she expected, and the students seemed to like her. She had a command of the subject matter that appeared refreshing compared to the previous year. (She also was not a Death Eater with a penchant for torture in the form of 'lessons'.) After lunch on Monday, Fleur sat perched on the edge of her desk, her eyes locked on the clock and a stack of books beside her. This was not her most clever of ruses. She was worried that Hermione would not show up. She had not appeared all that amused at Fleur's request (demand) to see her alone.

Fleur exhaled quietly, twirling her wand expertly between her fingers. She was anxious. She should not have done this – she was not mentally prepared to do this. She set her wand down, her brow furrowed in thought. Was doing this the sort of thing that her mother would approve of? Gabrielle's words still rang in her head as she thought about how hurt and betrayed her sister probably felt that Fleur was so expertly denying everything that defined them as people.

Gabrielle was too young to understand, as she had been too young to really understand what was happening during the Triwizard Tournament when Fleur's control had started to slip for the first time. Fleur had flown into fits of jealous rage over Viktor Krum of all people, because he was able to touch the girl that she so longed for. She had tried to understand it herself, but the stress of the tournament had pushed the thoughts from her mind. She hated the fact that she was so powerless against whatever it was that pushed her into these rages.

I can do this. She thought resolutely as she glanced at the stack of books next to her. She had brought them down with her that morning, stacking them neatly on the corner of her desk, not really caring that these were the books that she had used for her mastery – that she'd written all over the insides in a bid for comprehension of some of the dense material contained within. She did not want them to think her an airhead after all, but her intelligence was a closely guarded secret that few really knew about her. To most, she was just the part-veela girl, stunningly beautiful and obviously there due to that alone.

Fleur smoothed her tunic over her pants, pulling it further down almost self-consciously. Her sensible boots (heels belonged on far less practical footwear) tapped against the side of her desk as she swung her legs back and forth, waiting. This was the point, the moment when one was bordering on both late and early, the moment when the most punctual people in the world would arrive in a flurry of motion.

There was a knock on her classroom door.

She swallowed (she was a nervous wreck.) and hopped off the desk with the practiced ease of one who spent far too much time perched on such locations. The door opened before she could get there to do it herself, and the curly-haired head of Hermione Granger peered around it, dark eyes full of inquiry and question.

Fleur plastered what she hoped was a warm smile on her face and shoved her hands deep into her over-robe pockets, suddenly far nervous than she had been before. "I 'ave been expecting you." She said, her accent creeping into her voice a bit more than it usually did after so many years of practice (pretending, like she did in so many aspects of her life).

Hermione's school robes were wrapped tightly around her per the school's requirements, but her school tie was loose around her neck and the top two buttons on her shirt were undone. This was their final year in school after all. They were allowed, Fleur reasoned, to be lax with the dress code. (I want to reel you in by that tie and kiss you senseless). Hermione looked uncomfortable and sullen, but as though she was trying (and perhaps failing) to remain civil. "Why did you ask me to come? Why not Harry or Ron?"

Why have you always hated me?

Her hands clenched angrily in her pockets at the question, and Fleur bit her lip to keep from retorting angrily. She did not think that she would have to defend her actions to Hermione Granger of all people. She was allowed to do whatever she wanted (within reason, within what was socially acceptable). This girl, this beautiful girl, was forever driving her to the point of complete and utter confusion and frustration.

If she were to do this correctly, she would have to take this slowly, to not rise to the oh-so-obvious bait that was laid before her. Verbal sparring matches were what girls still in school and diametrically opposed to each other's existence did. Now she was in a position of authority, and Hermione Granger commanded a respect about her that was difficult to put into words.

She simply was. Everyone knew her to be brilliant, powerful and unafraid of her power. Fleur was one of the few people (she wished she was the only one) to know that Hermione Granger hated the fame and to-do about the accomplishments that she and the others had managed to achieve. Her hubris was non-existent, and if anything it seemed as though she hated the idea that she was now nearly as famous as her best friend.

Fleur's outer-robe billowed out rather spectacularly as she moved back across the room, enticing the brown-haired girl further into her classroom. (Come into my chamber, oh beautiful one.) She settled herself back at her place on the edge of her desk, crossing her ankles and meeting Hermione's expectant stare head on. The brown-haired girl had stepped into the classroom and was now standing with her hand on the door knob as if unsure whether or not to close it behind her. At Fleur's curt nod, Hermione closed it with a snap.

Tapping her chin with her finger, Fleur tried to appear as mysterious as possible. She had done this many times before, and she liked to think of it as one of her many skills learned through years of speaking with double-meanings and giving back-handed compliments at Beauxbatons. "Perhaps I was wanting to speak to you?" she said at length. She shrugged broadly. "Perhaps not."

There was an air of disinterest around her, so much so that Fleur was tempted to inspect her nails to fully completely the image of complete boredom. She knew that this was driving the girl before her mad with curiosity, with barely-contained interest. There was a nervous tick in her fingers, and she was chewing (adorably) on her lip as she apparently contemplated a response.

"Then why?" Hermione asked, folding her arms across her chest and looking so adorably put-out and confused that Fleur longed to reach out and touch her, to kiss her nose and call her adorable pet names that had no right to exist in any language that Fleur spoke. It was intoxicating, the extremes that simply being around this girl were able to produce. Her vision was already tinted gold, and they had not even truly started to speak to each other yet.

This is going to prove a lot harder than I had initially thought. Fleur thought of Gabrielle's words, and of how she had shut everyone in her support network out for so long. She did not know how to mend those bridges now, but the confusion and the haze were going to prove impossible to deal with if she did not find some relief soon.

Fleur leaned back on her palms, staring at Hermione through half-lidded eyes. There was no sense in beating around the bush now, at least not exactly. "You interest me. You who are smart enough to take your tests now and pass with flying colors chose to come back here." She paused, as if searching for the right words. (Dramatic effect). "Why is this?"

Hermione looked as though she had not honestly thought about it that much. She bit her lip, nervously looking anywhere but Fleur. Again, she looked so impossibly adorable that Fleur felt her breath leave her. There was a beauty, an enchanting aspect to this girl that she had somehow never noticed before. Now that they could speak as adults and not as petty children, there might be a chance for something more from the two of them. "I dunno. I wanted to finish what I'd started, I guess."

Fleur liked to think that they were far more similar than they were different, the two of them.

"That is a good endeavor." She said seriously. It was fun, just talking, with no animosity. To give a compliment without fear of reprimand or repercussions.

Maybe I was a fool for staying away for so long, Fleur thought bitterly. She knew that she had not wanted to be controlled by the veela inside of her, and that her control right now was pitiful as she'd been denying herself for so long. She hated it, hated this whole situation, but to speak to Hermione Granger, to smile at her brightly and to flatter her with words pulled Fleur's soul out of the doldrums of despair where it had been languishing since she had first left England after the Triwizard Tournament.

"Why do you ask, Professor?" Hermione asked. She set her bag down on the desk, and began to inspect the books that Fleur had set out for her.

When did she cross the room? Fleur's thoughts, in rapid, panicked French, flew through her head. The golden haze was clouding her judgment and her senses - rendering her nearly useless. She is so close now. I could reach out - I could touch her.

(I cannot. It is too soon.)

"A mere curiosity, 'ermione." Fleur made a point of saying Hermione's name as though she were speaking French, rolling the letters off her tongue with a practiced ease that made her long for the warm waters of the Mediterranean Sea where her parents lived. Life there was far less complicated than it was here. She looked at Hermione sideways, a sly (predatory) smile crossing her face. "One as brilliant as yourself does not come along every day."

She blushed. (Small victories.) "I – Well, thank you."

Hermione busied herself with her continued inspection of the books that Fleur was loaning her, carefully putting each of them into her bag after looking them over. She was probably noting the condition, Fleur realized - so that she could return them in the same shape she'd received them in.

How… considerate. The veela was prowling inside Fleur's consciousness, pushing against her control, begging her to become a little more lax. If she were to let the veela out, the haze would finally dissipate once and for all. Actions would be taken, and maybe her life would return to some semblance of normal.

She could never be normal. "I am merely speaking the truth, Mademoiselle Granger." Her tone was even, polite, but still complimentary.

The flush on Hermione's cheeks became darker, and she ducked her head, obscuring it behind her untamable hair. (Small victories.)

Pause, silence. It was comfortable, and yet awkward at the same time. Fleur started to wonder if there was something else that she should say.

"Can I ask you something?" Hermione had shoved the books more completely into her bag now, and had clasped the buckles closed with such ease that Fleur suspected that she had charmed her bag to expand to accommodate anything that she chose to put into it. An impressive bit of magic for someone still in school, really. Fleur had yet to master that particular spell. Her mother was quite good at it, and Fleur had yet to find cause to use it without her mother there to help her as she was no longer moving to and from school in only a few suitcases (what a dreadful lack of space that was) every year.

She had had Molly Weasley help her when she moved in with Bill. Her mother had refused to speak to her that day. She still remembered the look of utter horror and betrayal on her face when Fleur had told her that she was going to marry him for convenience and protection from harsher and harsher laws. The memory [before, it sounded like the laws burned brightly] still burned brightly in Fleur's mind whenever she closed her eyes.

She missed being able to speak to her mother so freely. Now their conversations were full of disapproval and miscommunication. Fleur hated it.

She knew that answering Hermione's question would probably start to move her towards rebuilding a lot of the relationships that she'd destroyed in her pursuit of being left alone with her misery. At least, to some extent, William had understood her frustration. Especially after the incident that had begun his descent into lycanthropy, he had been nothing but understanding and forgiving of her rigid positions on such things.

The war was over now though. They were alone with their own problems and issues. The fate of the world no longer rested on their shoulders. It was a time to do things for themselves. William had told her that before she had boarded the train for Hogwarts - he was going to try, and she had to try too. Taking the job was trying enough for Fleur. The haze was enough to fill her with dread and fear and make her want to let go completely.

Small steps. She did not have the Gryffindor courage that the men and women whom she had surrounded herself when she came to England did. She was not a coward, but she lacked a certain… bravado that the others possessed effortlessly. Fleur met Hermione's expectant stare evenly. "Anything."

Probably a bad idea. Sometimes Fleur cursed the fact that she was unafraid of the consequences of her actions when it came to Hermione Granger. She would laugh in the face of adversity and act like just like a foolish Gryffindor at the drop of a hat, and yet regret her actions almost instantly.

Still, she had given her word, she would try to answer the question.

Hermione bit her lip, as if debating within her own head if this was a good idea or not. (Probably not.) "Why did you marry Bill?" She'd seen it. She looked as though she wanted to say more, but held her tongue as carefully as she could – afraid of what might happen should she continue. Fleur thought her uncertainty rather out of character (and adorable). "You two always seemed more like friends."

An opening. A question she really was not prepared to answer, especially not to this girl, not now. It was too soon, far too soon for these sorts of conversations. Fleur leaned forward, her weight now off of her hands as she clasped them in her lap. She did not look at Hermione, she did not think that she could trust her face to not betray the emotions she knew were playing across it. "We both are serving a purpose for the other." Fleur sighed, carefully steeling her features before turning to look at Hermione. It was hard to talk to people about this (poor decision) situation, and the confused look on Hermione's face seemed to illustrate why Fleur hated herself for agreeing to this ruse.

"He had 'oped that it would make Molly happy. I am not so sure that it has. Rather like yourself and Monsieur Potter." A close female friend and a boy who was obviously seeing someone else but for whatever reason wanted to keep that relationship quiet. Fleur often wondered why they never bothered to correct the rumors in the press. It was usually Hermione and Harry were a matched made in heaven, or Hermione and Ronald were going to get married in a large public wedding that the entire wizarding world was invited to. The speculation in the gossip section of the newspaper was horrific but still good for a few laughs now and again. Still, it hurt her that they were so comfortable with the situation that allowing it to perpetuate itself was easier than correcting the story. Fleur understood that situation well, even if William had yet to take step to actually force her to function as a – what was the English expression – a beard. It was only a matter of time, since William was finally starting to venture out into the community and to actually meet people like him. For now, they were keeping with the pretend wonderful marriage, even if the love was truly familial and there was no underlying attraction between the two of them.

Realization dawned on Hermione's face and she shook her head ever so slightly before responding brightly. "Oh. Harry and I are just friends though."

"I know." Well obviously. Fleur had always thought it rather adorable how in love Harry Potter was with William's younger sister. She would never tell anyone, however, as she was not in the best graces of the youngest Weasley.

"I don't think you and Bill getting married has made the Weasleys very happy either," Hermione sighed. She picked up her book bag and set it down on the floor, its strap falling in a neat circle as she leaned against the side of the desk next to Fleur.

The closeness was intoxicating. Fleur could smell her, smell the scent of her shampoo, of her body. She wanted a closer look, a more thorough inspection. She wanted to taste every inch of that body.

(Breathe. It is too soon.) Gold flecks swam across her vision.

"My family is not happy with it also." She was fishing for the question now, but at Hermione's polite silence, she continued. "They are veela, at least in some part, and do not understand the necessity of a complex life sometimes. To them, there is love, there is family and there is death. That is all."

(I miss my family, Hermione. Please help me make this better. Please help me fix this.)

There was a pause in their conversation, but Hermione's intelligence and intellectual curiosity apparently won out the battle over common decency and politeness that had been raging within the brown-haired woman. "Bill is not your destined one then?" So she knew about her people. Perhaps hints not the size of anvils were in order.

"'ow perceptive of you. I had not thought anyone would notice." Fleur clapped her hands together in a sarcastic gesture of exclamation. It was as though a huge weight had been lifted from her shoulders. She hoped that this would not make it back to Ronald and Ginerva, but she knew there was a big chance that it would. She just hoped the fallout would not be too bad. "William and I are a … how is it put… a means to an end."

"That's not very healthy of you." Hermione crossed her arms and frowned.

"I know." Fleur responded quickly, desperate to get the confused and upset look off of Hermione's face. She hated that look, and Hermione had been wearing it since she was fourteen when around Fleur. She had such a beautiful smile, Fleur wished that she could get to see it for her and only her. "I hate it, you know?" She sighed then, loud and long. "I hate that I cannot love freely like a human can. Mine is restricted to one."

Hermione stared, a question clearly on her lips, but she apparently was too polite to ask.

Fleur decided to indulge her just this once. Usually the fun was in forcing someone to ask the uncomfortable questions, but she did not think that it would go over well if she attempted to be coy with the answer to Hermione's unspoken question. This was going so well - so much better than she had ever anticipated. She threw caution into the wind and held up her hand, looking at thoughtfully. It looked so normal, but there was power beneath it. She knew it - Hermione knew it. A veela was not something to be trifled with. "A veela is a sexual being, no? But they are unable to love but once, and it is a great love."

"Why are you telling me this, Professor?" She scowled, confusion in her face. Fleur thought she was beautiful even in her anger, but she hated the scowl. She had to make the scowl go away.

(Because I think I fell in love with you when I was seventeen, and I am twenty one now. Because you are so beautiful my heart aches. Because all I want is for you to see me for me, and not some notion your fourteen-year-old mind created.)

She reached out, touching Hermione's cheek with the faintest brush of well-calloused finger pads. "So that you will stop scowling at me. It does not suit your beautiful face."

A gentle touch, Fleur indulged herself in the moment through her clouded vision. Hermione's skin was so soft under her featherlight fingers.

Suddenly, the golden tinge around Hermione had completely vanished. She backed away from Fleur, pushing away from the desk and gathering up her bag in one fluid motion. "I… I have to go." Hermione said hurriedly, pulling her bag across her chest in a practiced movement. "Thank you for the books."

And then, quite unexpectedly (she could not have expected anything more, really), Fleur Delacour was alone in her classroom with a pain in her heart that she could not explain in words. "Merde."