Golden Haze, Act One, Scene Four

AN: OKAY EXTRA SUPER SPECIAL ONE TIME DEAL ONLY. PER SHETAN83, THE LOVELY BETA, THE PREVIOUS CHAPTERS HAVE BEEN EDITED AND EVERYONE SHOULD GO BACK AND READ THEM. :D

I get excited sometimes, and I want to share with you all my first versions of chapters that are usually really rough. It's bad. I'm sorry. But hey, now you can go back and enjoy the chapters as I meant them to be read with the benefit of some very good editorial eyes to boot as well.

Also the rating as gone up. Sorry to anyone who really didn't want that…

Music of the story: Imogen Heap, Plies (yes the rapper), Róisín Murphy and bitter:sweet

The next Sunday was the first school-sanctioned Hogsmeade visit. Fleur had spent a little longer than usual getting dressed that morning, finally pulling on a pair of black muggle designer jeans that she'd buried in her closet as she'd bought them on a whim, and they weren't exactly the height of wizarding fashion even among her peers. After some debate, she'd pulled a sweater that Mrs. Weasley had made for her before she and William had 'gotten serious' (it was the most lovely shade of blue) over her bra. It was still too warm to be layering, but the wool was a nice comfort against the chill that permeated the castle.

She wore her practical boots – although she longed for a reason to wear her other pair – with the metal capped heel and the just-right fit of well-broken leather – and a cloak against the slight drizzle outside. She was glad of the boots, as the ground was slicker than some of the tombs that she and William had ventured into in Egypt, and she had to pick her way carefully through the throngs of excited students down the road towards the main gates of Hogwarts. She had a 'date' for lunch, before some blessed time to herself. She was caught up on her grading and had absolutely nothing to do for the rest of the afternoon.

Fleur reasoned that she'd take the time to finally fix her nails – as they'd become chipped and she would be damned if she was going to use magic to fix them. Some things simply had to be done without magic.

Bill – Fleur tried to never call him that horrible nickname (it usually just slipped out around his family) – Weasley leaned against one of the gateposts with his arms crossed over his work jacket. His hair was tamer now, held back in a pony-tail, and he had taken his earring out as his department was out on a dig presently. He looked roguishly professional, Fleur reasoned. "Alright, Fleur?" he asked as he fell into step beside her.

She sighed loudly and said quietly, "I 'ave been better." She did not want her students (now looking at William with jealous eyes – did they not know that he and Fleur were the couple of the year or whatever the newspapers were saying now?) to hear her unhappiness. A teacher was supposed to be a person beyond reproach and personal problems. Fleur wanted, desperately, to remain professional at all times.

Bill dug into his pocket and produced a faded packet of cigarettes – Arabic in bold red lettering advertised the best tobacco in the world. Fleur begged to differ but they were not allowed to smoke on Hogwarts grounds, so she'd all but given up this incredibly bad social habit that she had developed from spending far too much time with William in dusty old tombs of dead wizards. "Want one?" he asked, fishing one out and putting it between his lips.

It had been a while. Fleur shrugged. "Why not." She accepted the proffered cigarette (a little bent and worse for the wear) and then the lighter when William was finished with it. She lit it with her back to the brisk breeze that swirled around their bodies causing their hair and Fleur's cloak to drift every which way. She took a long drag and realized, yes, she had missed this.

They walked, smoking in silence for a little while. Fleur did not like to admit how much she had missed him. He was her best friend, her only real confidant outside of her sister (who presently thought her an idiot and was maintaining her silence until Fleur did as she promised and floo'ed their mother) and the only person who'd really been nice to her when she'd started work at Gringotts.

"William, how are you these days?" she asked as they rounded the bend into the town. Students were everywhere, watching her and William as they made their way to a bench off to one side of the town square. She'd meant to write him, really she had. It had been complicated with the situation involving Hermione Granger and the sudden increase in her personal work that came with a career change.

He grinned at her, looking rather as though he had also been meaning to write. He probably had. They were both rather bad about that. It was the sign of a good friendship when one could pick up exactly where it left off, and considering the airs they had to put on for appearance's sake – it was probably better that they could pick up so easily where they left off. "Alright." He took another drag on his cigarette. "It's lonely without you at home. No one to talk to, I'm sure the photographs and portraits think I'm bonkers by now."

Fleur giggled. "You 'ave always been bonkers, as you put it." This was what she had been missing. She could talk to her coworkers, but they were all still caught up in the whole 'you are unbelievably attractive and part magical creature' aspect of her being. It made it very hard to interact with anyone other than Minerva (old and stuffy) and Filius (also part magical creature, but more to the point; old and stuffy).

"Lies!" Bill protested, waving his arms around and drawing the attention of most of the common to their bench. He laughed, his eyes crinkling upwards and a genuine smile crossing his face. It had been a while since Fleur had seen that smile – since long before their farce of a wedding. "I went out the other night, again. I think I've met someone," he said seriously after another drag on his cigarette.

"Oh?"

"He's wonderful, Fleur! Looks rather like you actually, tall and with that whitish blonde hair. He's from Wales and talks with that truly lovely accent too." He was talking quickly and excitedly, his hands waving all over the place as they usually did when he was desperate to share something.

Fleur pondered this. She did not know any Welsh wizards other than Luna Lovegood and her father. They were rather… odd as a pair, but surely not every witch or wizard from that county was that bizarre. "Is 'e a wizard?" she asked. She had to; it wasn't a prejudice, but rather a legitimate concern with the given laws still on the books from the Dark Lord's reign of terror. Their marriage would at some point have to end and while the wizarding world was not as close-minded to outside-of-the-box relationships, one still had to be careful when finagling around the current legal situation.

William had other, bigger, problems than the blood-status of his potential love interest. As the heir to a fairly prominent wizarding family, he was expected to produce an heir. He wanted nothing to do with it, however, and had no interest in children. (Or the women that men needed to create children, but that was a different matter entirely.) He would probably end up having to give up his rights as heir to the family if it ever got out that he did not favor women – his brother Charlie would become heir and William would probably be in disgrace.

Fleur hated to think of Mr. and Mrs. Weasley like that – disowning their son because did not want to continue the family line – but the fact remained that that was what they would have to do, in the eyes of wizarding law. She shook her head, ever so slightly, at the thought.

"Yes! That's the best part! He went to one of the smaller schools in Wales - St. Armike near Cardiff - and thinks that I'm terribly worldly because I went to Hogwarts."

"Oh yes, worldly William Weasley." She still struggled with her 'W's but she took the time to clearly pronounce each and every one of them to raise the dramatic effect of what she was saying. A grin clearly across her face, Fleur stubbed out what was left of her cigarette on the bottom of her boot before vanishing it with a nonverbal spell and a flick of her wand.

Bill slapped her arm gently, "Oh hush up," he said quietly, laughter in the corners of his eyes. "How is your thing going?" he asked, his tone suddenly far more serious.

"My thing?" Fleur asked, confused.

"With Hermione."

She should have known better than to expect him to have somehow missed her attraction to his younger brother's best friend. She had never explained what it meant to be in love and be part veela to him, and she hoped she would never have to. She did not mind being attracted to Hermione Granger as the girl was beautiful, but the depths to which her attraction went and the means that the veela inside of her would take to achieve that release that she so craved was frankly terrifying. "I may have ruined my chances forever, William."

His hand moved to her shoulder in a comforting gesture, and his eyes were suddenly concerned. "What happened?"

"I forgot that a spell is different for humans and veela." Fleur said, defeated.

"Forgot." Bill asked quietly.

"Yes. Forgot."

He sighed. "I'll take your word for it, Fleur. That brain of yours is far too sharp to forget anything though."

He had seen though the lie. He always saw through her lies.

She hung her head, staring at her hands and her chipped fingernails. "I am not perfect."

"No one is."

They sat that way for several long minutes, not really looking at each other or even realizing the other was there. Fleur couldn't believe she'd admitted such a failure in judgment to William – she did not want him getting involved in her problems – he had his own to deal with.

For a few more moments, they watched the younger Hogwarts students, allowed into the village for the first time, run around with glee at being set free of the school. Bill turned to Fleur and asked, green eyes sparkling mischievously, "Have you heard that England beat Bulgaria? Your friend Krum there caught the snitch, but England still won."

"'e seems to 'ave made a 'abit of doing that," Fleur shrugged.

They laughed.

That afternoon, after a quiet lunch with William, Fleur finally had a moment to herself to simply breathe. She had missed him in the way that one misses a friend after being parted for a long time unexpectedly. She had Apparated to a Muggle town near Hogwarts after she and William had parted, purchasing the necessary materials to correct her imperfect nails. It was always an awkward experience to shop in the Muggle world, but as her English had improved so had her confidence, and she had had enough Muggle-born friends in school to understand how to use Muggle money. Now she sat, perched on the corner of the overstuffed sofa that dominated her sitting room-slash-office, carefully applying a new set of tips.

She bit her tongue in concentration, moving the brush with her right hand with difficulty. This is why she usually had someone else (Gabrielle, her mother) do this for her. Her muscle skill with her non-dominant hand was simply not there. She had done this many times before, however, and the results were so far a practiced perfection. It was almost meditative, to perform the same, repetitive motions. She had steady hands – her only saving grace. She would not use the guides that came in the package with the polish. She was above that.

She had just finished her left thumb and was carefully inspecting it for imperfections when a soft knock sounded on her door. Fleur jumped, startled, and was grateful that she had put the brush down temporarily. "Entrez," she said in distracted French, her hands preoccupied with her bottle of nail polish and brush. Had she been paying more attention, she might have noticed the hesitance in the knock, and would have answered in English – as very few people here even spoke French.

The door squeaked slightly when it opened; Fleur had been meaning to look up a spell to oil the hinges. The curly brown-haired head of Hermione Granger peered through the opening. Fleur smiled (this is unexpected) and beckoned her inside with a jerk of her head.

Hermione looked hesitant, but quickly scooted around the door at Fleur's stern look. Fleur had a feeling she knew what this conversation was going to entail, and she did not want anyone who happened to wander by her rooms to overhear her attempting to explain herself to a student with regards to a spell that she had very purposefully forgotten the lasting effects of when casting it.

Hermione stood awkwardly by the door, eyeing Fleur's bare feet and apparent preoccupation with her nail polish. She had somehow decided on such a cold and positively dreary day to wear a skirt and oversized sweater (did you dress up for me, beautiful one?) that made her look almost adorably childish. "Um... Hi?" she ventured at Fleur's apparent disinterest in her presence.

Fleur was trying to get her to squirm. She liked it when Hermione was squirming in her presence. The younger woman blushed just so, and it was unbelievably attractive how she seemed to be incredibly preoccupied with Fleur's every move. "'ermione." she said, setting down her bottle of nail polish and waving her hand around. They would need time to dry now. "What can I do for you?"

Hermione was staring at the floor, a pink tinge clearly visible on her cheeks and ears. (Let me see you blush.) "I um..." (Look at me.) Fleur could see nothing but gold, the world had taken on a sparkle that she had never before witnessed. She knew what it meant, and she was not entirely sure that she liked it. The veela wanted her to make her move now, Fleur wanted to take her time and be sure that this was what Hermione really wanted. (She wants you, wants you to make her scream.)

She looked up at Fleur, who met her gaze evenly, her hand stopped in mid wave. There was an intensity in the way that Hermione stared at her in that moment – it was so alike (and yet dissimilar) to the looks that Hermione had given her that time as well, the time that Fleur did not like to think about back at Shell Cottage where she and Bill lived during the war. Hermione had been so hurt then that Fleur had barely known how to make her better. Fleur mused that Hermione had always been rather good at intense looks, even when they had been much younger and first encountering each other during Fleur's seventh year.

"I did some research on that spell you used in the duel two weeks ago." Hermione said quietly, not averting her gaze.

"Mnnn?" Fleur looked down to inspect how her nails were drying. She knew that it would annoy Hermione, who liked to have a person's full attention when she was speaking to them. (Fleur had tested this many times during summers at the Weasleys'.) Fleur wanted that reaction out of her, to feel her emotion and her anger that Fleur was not actually listening to her. She tried to sound as bored and distracted as possible when she asked, "What about it?"

"I think it did - erm... things. That you did not know would happen." She was now looking at her feet, concentrating on them with an intensity that she usually reserved for Fleur herself. She reached into her bag, slung over one shoulder and rummaged for some papers. "I confirmed it in my research," she said, pulling out a pamphlet and some note paper attached to it.

The very idea was hilarious. Fleur's vision was swimming with gold flashes as she put on her best sneer. There were many things that she was willing to take from Hermione Granger, but insults to her intelligence were not on that list. Granted, the overall effects of the spell had rather conveniently vacated Fleur's mind (she blamed the veela) at the moment it was cast, but she was acutely aware of them now (thank you very much). Hermione knew better than to doubt Fleur's ability, for she bore almost no (visible) scars after being under the care of Fleur following the Trio's escape from the Malfoy family estate. "And what makes you think, Mademoiselle Granger," Fleur drew out the words, the annoyed hiss barely contained behind a veneer of calm disinterest, "that I am not perfectly aware of what actions my spells will take?"

For once in her life it seemed, Hermione Granger was at a loss for words. She shifted awkwardly from foot to foot, squirming under Fleur's gaze. "Well, I..." she began, looking down at the papers in her hands and then back to Fleur. She shoved them back into her bag and clipped it shut with a jerk. "Look, I just wanted you to know that there was something messed up about that spell. I saw things that I don't think I was supposed to see - personal thoughts" she spat the words, "of yours."

Fleur knew her face looked like that of the proverbial cat who at the canary. "What sort of thoughts?" Her tone was even, inquisitive – but inside, the veela was laughing. It was funny, to know what Hermione had seen, to have intimate – knowledge – of those fantasies.

"Personal." Hermione was bright red. She kept staring at Fleur for long, pregnant moments, and then looking away quickly, as though she wasn't sure that she had the resolve to keep up that intense stare of hers under Fleur's own gaze.

Screwing the cap back onto her nail polish, Fleur stood up. Even barefoot she was slightly taller than Hermione was in shoes. The height advantage was quite nice if Fleur did say so herself. She set the bottle down on the ottoman next to her bag from the Muggle store and a stack of essays that she'd graded the night before for her third-year class. The floor was freezing under her bare feet, but she stepped forward toward Hermione with what she hoped was a purposeful gait.

Her body was screaming, begging her to not chicken out this time around, to touch, to taste, to have her way with Hermione and then, when she was too tired to continue, to have her way again. Just thinking of Hermione seeing those (wonderful, delightful, debauchery-filled) fantasies made the near-constant ache between her legs that she felt just being around the younger woman come to life with a gusto that Fleur did not realize possible. She was surprised, as she moved forward, at just how wet she was.

Hermione took a step backward, her throat contracting as she gulped, and Fleur smiled. You make it too easy. It was easy to advance on the shorter girl, to corner her against the door with a hand on either side of her, effectively trapping her. "Tell me more... 'ermione... about these personal thoughts you think you saw." Fleur asked, leaning in to whisper in Hermione's ear. Her lips barely grazed the shell of her ear - Hermione was practically quivering under her stare.

"I saw you... and I saw me, and we were..." Hermione swallowed hotly, and Fleur smiled, catlike in glee. Hermione's eyes were wide, as if she could understand what was happening, or how close Fleur was to losing control of the creature within her. There was a fearful, tentative look behind those eyes, one that made Fleur pause until Hermione turned her face to the side and stared resolutely at Fleur's desk, her face now in profile and her ear right where Fleur wanted it to be.

"We were what? Talking? Laughing?" Fleur leaned in closer still and whispered, sounding as scandalized as possible, "Kissing?" She paused as Hermione tried to catch her breath, and then leaned forward, her lips brushing Hermione's earlobe. "Fucking?" Hermione smelled exquisite, and Fleur did not have the control to stop herself from lingering there a moment, just inhaling her scent.

Hermione made a strangled noise in her throat, as though she was trying desperately to speak and simply could not. Fleur could not contain the smug smirk that crossed her face, pulling away to examine Hermione's reaction. Hermione was still trapped, under the spell of the veela that Fleur was (really not) trying to repress. Hermione inhaled and exhaled quickly, as if trying to collect herself before she became undone completely. Fleur wanted to see Hermione let loose; there was a creature of extreme passion under that bookish shell, of that Fleur was positive. It was Fleur's duty as a potential love interest to drive her to the breaking point over and over and over again until she begged to be taken.

The veela's thoughts weighed on Fleur's conscious, and she was not sure that she had the mental fortitude to fight them. Or if she even wanted to. The idea of Hermione breathing so heavily, so obviously aroused underneath her mere gaze was enough to drive even the most sensible of thoughts from Fleur's mind. She wanted to touch this girl, touch her the way that she had always longed to do – and to be touched by those now shaking hands that still had yet to truly learn the art of passion.

"Did you know that the… ah…the spell would do this?" Hermione asked quietly, looking down at the floor once again. "I mean, this is constantly on my mind, I can't stop thinking about it."

"Would it be all that bad if I said yes?" Fleur's palm was pressed against the wood of the door that she had cornered Hermione against. Hermione could run now, and the moment would be gone forever - but her pleading eyes and shallow breaths told Fleur that she wanted something far more than to run. Fleur could smell her arousal - all veela could - and it smelled exquisite.

"N-no."

Fleur tilted her head ever so slightly to the side. Her bangs fell into her eyes as she leaned forward to again whisper in Hermione's ear. "Good," she said, unable to resist putting her mouth in places where it should not be lingering, brushing up against Hermione's earlobe once again. "Je le veux." She knew her smile was smug and self-satisfied when she pulled away. It was astounding, how easily the veela had gripped her consciousness and filled her with thoughts of how she was going to seduce this girl, and how she was going to take her time. She did not care that it was improper, that they were acquaintances (maybe even friends at this point) or that they had other problems and issues far more pressing that Fleur's magical blood deciding that it wanted nothing more than to have its wicked, dirty way with Hermione Granger.

But the ache was too good, a comforting pain filled with longing for what was to come. Fleur was surprised she was still standing, for those long stares that Hermione was giving her were making her weak at the knees. She wanted Hermione to kiss her, but she needed Hermione to know that what Fleur was feeling – and what Hermione was feeling— that was no spell.

Everything was clouded in a golden haze now, but Fleur did not care. She would deal with the after effects at some other time. She was too caught up in the feeling, in the emotions and reactions she was bringing out of Hermione. For now, she was content to simply let whatever was to happen, happen (within reason).

Hermione stared at her. "I... I don't speak French very well."

Fleur laughed, running her fingers along Hermione's cheek and down her neck. Her skin was so soft. She lingered there, before her hand traveled further down, resting in places where it should not have been. Pausing at the swell of her breast, feeling the excited nub of something just barely hidden behind fabric – feeling down further still, caressing her stomach, her arse – never lingering too long in any one place. She watched Hermione's reactions with interest as she explored the shorter girl's body through her clothes. She dragged her freshly-painted nails over Hermione's exposed thigh and was granted a rare gasp from the girl. It was getting close to the point at which Fleur would have to stop – to continue the tension at a slow boil for another day - to drive Hermione wild with desire. "Then I will teach you, daughter of 'elen and Menelaus, because French is the language of passion."

"I..." The girl was persistent, still trying to talk when Fleur wanted her to simply shut up and feel.

"Mn?"

"I want you…" Hermione said breathily. She seemed conflicted after she said the words, blinking and shaking her head ever so slightly. Could she not believe her own audacity, as Fleur herself could not?

"You want me?" Fleur raised an elegantly arched eyebrow. "You want me to what, little girl? You must be more precise than that." Their lips were so close now, so close that Fleur could feel Hermione's breath upon her own. The younger woman (not really a little girl, despite what Fleur had said) was aroused, her pupils dilated, her breath shallow. She was squirming, trying to adjust Fleur's hand on her thigh without actually moving all that much. She was getting frustrated.

This was a spell's effects? Fleur thought not. No magic could create such a moment.

Hermione was fidgeting; Fleur's lips were so close to her own. There was a hesitation, and her lips parted slightly before the words finally came tumbling out of her mouth, as if unbidden. "Kiss me."

That would be giving everyone what they wanted.

Fleur wanted to keep at her cruel game a little longer. She leaned in and tilted her head ever so slightly so as to graze Hermione's cheek with her lips. "Come back to me when you realize that this…" Fleur trailed off as she dragged her fingers upwards to brush against the soft damp fabric of Hermione's underwear.

With a muffled moan on her lips that filled Fleur with triumph, Hermione wobbled on her feet. She pitched forward into Fleur, who caught her with ease and steadied her. Their bodies were pressed together now, the feeling unbelievable. She fits so well. Fleur's hand pressed more fully against Hermione.

This was exactly what Fleur had set out to do. She wanted to keep going, to push Hermione's underwear aside and make her scream. Regretfully, she pulled her hand away, staring into Hermione's confused eyes with a predatory stare of her own (something all those descended from veela were quite skilled at). "When you realize that this between us is not a spell," she finished.

At the loss of contact of Fleur's hand, Hermione let out a frustrated whimper, her cheeks bright red. She straightened slowly, pulling away from Fleur and slumping against the doorway instead. She raised her chin to meet Fleur's triumphant gaze with a wide-eyed look of her own, trying in vain to regain control of her breathing.

Fleur removed her hand and placed it firmly on the door handle, staring at Hermione with a promise. She would not let her blame this on a spell. There was much more, far more than a simple spell at work right now. She turned the handle and pushed Hermione out the door with a smile, watching as Hermione stumbled backward on unsteady legs. There was anger and frustration in Hermione's narrowed eyes – as if she could not believe that Fleur would deny her something such as this. She was obviously trying to regain her head from the passion and lust that also clouded Fleur's consciousness, but the longing in her eyes as Fleur started to close the door almost made Fleur's resolve cave.

"I will be waiting, 'ermione," Fleur said quietly, closing the door with her most sultry of stares.