Golden Haze – Act Two, Scene Three

AN – The lack of response on the previous chapter – really the previous two chapters has frankly bothered me. I have started to write the real core of the plot of the story and suddenly it seems that no one is as interested in leaving feedback. The hits are the same, so I know people are still reading it, is it really that bad? I really hope that that's not the case, I was trying to not write the same boring and cookie-cutter story that everyone else did. Please let me know if what I'm doing is wrong.

Music of the Story – Death Cab For Cutie

The notes kept coming, the curses upon them more and more complex. Fleur had taken to simply not opening her mail. William and Gabrielle had both started to send their letters through the floo network so as to avoid the mail screeners and with them the threat to Fleur in even opening her mail. She was grateful that they were so willing to work with her about this – Gabrielle protesting violently as use of the floos was restricted at Beauxbatons as it was at Hogwarts. She had to sneak into a professor's office after hours to send Fleur her mail and apparently this was very much frowned upon.

Fleur had no idea about that, as her time in school had been spent frolicking with her friends and certainly not mischief making. Certainly not. She had shaken her head when Gabrielle's words nearly jumped off the page, demanding better technique for sneaking around the Beauxbatons grounds (As she was absolutely positive that Fleur knew how to do it and was better at it than her). Fleur had promised her mother to keep her less than savory adventures at school from Gabrielle until she was older and had been established as a better (more well-behaved) student than Fleur had been.

Standing in front of her seventh year class the Friday before Halloween, Fleur found herself watching the students with interest. They were looking at her as though she was insane. She had a knife in her hand and was in the process of explaining how the addition of blood to a spell used for defense made it only nominally more powerful, but in creating wards and protections, the use of blood amplified the effects of the spell significantly.

On her desk was a box filled with chocolate galleons, their gold foil wrappers twinkling in the late autumn sunlight that streamed in through the classroom windows. It was beautiful outside today – and Fleur longed to go for a walk out of doors among the changing leaves before it weather again turned nasty as it so often was in Northern Scotland at this time of year. Fleur had drawn a circle around the box in chalk.

"Now," She began, the knife resting easily between two fingers in her right hand. "When one is going to create a ward such as this – to protect an important object – what is the proper pattern for the ward?" She raised her eyes to stare at the class. Hermione's quill was positioned over her parchment, in mid stroke as Fleur's eyes met her own. Bright brown eyes smiled at her warmly and Fleur knew that her control would falter soon. She had been trying to keep herself in check around Hermione, to not express the full extent of her emotions since she had revealed how she deep her emotions were for Hermione.

But to see her, here, like this, hanging on Fleur's every word was almost too much for Fleur. She wanted to get her alone, to press her up against the desk and have her. The veela's grip on her emotions was getting stronger and Fleur was certainly not opposed to its ideas. Still the haze constantly pressing against her vision was distracting, and the thoughts of Hermione, constantly of Hermione were driving her to the point of distraction.

She wanted to touch that skin, to remove clothes and to kiss her properly. The haze pressed in tight around her vision and Fleur swallowed, closing her eyes briefly and thinking of dead kittens and that battle during the war – anything to clear her mind of wanting to take Hermione in front of the class as though they were no there.

A few students tentatively raised their hands, but most of them simply looked longingly out the window at the beautiful weather. She cocked and eyebrow and pointed, knife outstretched in front of her, "Monsieur Longbottom, hum? What pattern?"

Neville Longbottom jumped ever so slightly, tearing his eyes away from the window, "Huh? What? Sorry Professor, It would be a six pointed star, I think."

Fleur smiled, glad that he was at least paying attention. "And why not a pentagram, which would be what an inexperienced person would most likely use in such a situation?" It was a leading question, but she planned on having a question about this on the test that was slated for two weeks from now. She wanted to give them the best chance possible at succeeding, as the NEWTs would not be so forgiving.

"Because a pentagram has a weak point, ma'am." One of the Hufflepuffs, Susan Bones, said. Fleur nodded at her and she continued, "If one applies enough pressure to the points, a well-placed blasting spell could easily get through even the most complex of magic."

"Exactement," Fleur nodded. "Five points to Hufflepuff, Mademoiselle Bones." She flicked her wand in the direction of the chalkboard and more information with the various ward patters appeared there in her neat script. The room hurried to write down the notes and Fleur continued, "The two interlocking triangles of a six-pointed star make the form that much 'arder to break."

The class appeared to be hanging on her every word. Fleur bit the inside of her lip and drew the knife very slowly across her finger tip, blood welling up from the wound. She hated doing this, blood wards were something that she had never been exactly good at per say, just good enough that she could get away with teaching them in such a setting. "One wants to always draw in a counterclockwise motion," she said, tracing her wounded finger over her desk in the requisite pattern. She closed her fist over the box and whispered the words to the seal the spell.

Smiling, she transfigured a piece of paper into a bandage and wrapped it around her finger, "Now, who would like to try breaking this ward?"

x

After class, Fleur found herself sitting perfectly still behind her desk, her eyes trained on the door as the students left. "Granger," She said quietly as Hermione too stood to join them, "A moment?" She had been struggling to control herself since the veela had started to press against her consciousness in the middle of class.

Hermione hung back, taking time with her bag and watching as the room slowly emptied. The last student hurried out the door and Fleur flicked her wand at the door and it swung shut. A closed classroom door usually guaranteed privacy, but Fleur was not taking any chances. Two curses came to mind and she cast them in quick succession. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Hermione gulp.

Excellent, Fleur thought darkly, standing and shrugging off her over robe. The room had grown warmer as the day had progressed and Fleur had become more and more distracted, stealing sideways glances at Hermione's always intense and focused face whenever she thought she could get away with it. Fleur felt more comfortable now, in her collared shirt that was a little bit too big, she didn't feel like a teacher any more. She was just Fleur, the girl who was digging herself a deeper and deeper into a hole that she didn't see a way out of.

"It is rather warm in 'ere, non?" Fleur asked, folding up her over robe neatly and tucking it into her bag.

Hermione looked up from her own bag, fastening the clip with deft fingers and setting it back down on the ground before saying airily, "I wouldn't say that, professor." She smiled ever so slightly, in that flirty way that Fleur had come to recognize as a sign that Hermione was indeed interested in more than just simple flirting.

Fleur had relished the moment she had discovered that, Hermione flashing that smile and then coming early to class one day to spell the door shut and pin Fleur against it and kiss her. That had been a flurry of motion and hands in places Fleur was still coming to know how to find on Hermione, but an educational experience to say the least.

"Oh?" Fleur asked, crossing the room in quick steps to lean against the desks in front of the row where Hermione sat. She was sitting on the desk now (something Fleur really should have said something to her about, being as it was against school rules) watching Fleur with interested eyes.

Fleur felt scrutinized by Hermione's stare – naked and knowing that she could not hide anything from Hermione for long. The girl was too perceptive and the veela would not let Fleur lie to her. She was completely debilitated around Hermione, and Fleur knew she was simply begging for more. "Then why do you think the temperature has risen so much during the course of the class?"

"I haven't the faintest." Hermione said, looking down at her hands. She was suddenly very interested in her nails and not in Fleur.

"Really, 'ow sure are you of this pronouncement?" She trailed a finger down the undone buttons of Hermione's shirt, watching as brown eyes vanished behind the swollen pupils of arousal. Fleur knew the veela was trying, struggling to grip her consciousness and to take control. She bit her tongue, a slow smile moving across her face as she shoved the veela back. Someday soon she would lose control and take Hermione with its powers, but not now. Now she had control, she had the pull of the veela in check and she was doing this to Hermione entirely of her own accord.

Hermione's shoulders came up in a truly elaborate gesture of a shrug, her school robes falling off her sloped shoulders and essentially trapping her arms behind her back – tangled up in fabric. She looked down, pulling on the sleeve with one hand, struggling to free herself.

"Stop," Fleur growled, her voice sounding alien to herself and her control growing ever weaker.

Her hands still tangled in the fabric of her robe, Hermione looked up at Fleur, her lips slightly parted. "Why?"

Fleur smiled and leaned forward, pressing her lips chastely against Hermione's. She met Hermione's eyes with a smile in her own, loving how Hermione had just stopped and had let her do what she wanted. She liked that control, but it scared her. Was this the veela's pull, the constant push for compatibility with one's mate? She shoved the thought away almost as quickly as it occurred to her; this was not the time to worry about such things. "You are beautiful like that, trapped and at my mercy," she breathed, unable to trust her voice to speak any louder. She'd never said something like that before, and her experience with such words with sorely lacking.

"Fleur, I…" Hermione started, but Fleur placed a finger over her lips.

"Quiet now, beautiful one. I 'ave waited far too long to touch you." She paused, her hands hovering at Hermione's shoulders, her trapped arms, anywhere she could touch without going too far without permission. She did not want to push Hermione, no matter how much her own body longed for Hermione's – it wasn't right, they were still too new, and Fleur had only recently been completely honest with Hermione about her heritage. "Will you let me?" She nipped at Hermione's ear, enjoying how she squirmed at the gesture.

"Please." Hermione said, turning her head so that she could meet Fleur's eyes. There was desire there, and permission, the permission that Fleur had been looking for.

Fleur leaned in and claimed Hermione's lips, her hands tangling in Hermione's hair, pulling her closer. "When a veela is in love," she whispered, breathless as she pulled away for air. She leaned in, kissing her again, her tongue slipping into Hermione's mouth – meeting her own and pressing greedily in for more. Again, she found herself pulling away from that kiss, that intoxicating kiss. She had to finish what she had started. "The pull towards their mate is constant," she said, brushing her thumb over Hermione's cheek. "Does it entice you, this pull?" The question was off her lips and Fleur felt her control again falter. The mere admission of the existence of the pull was enough to draw it out of her. She should have known better.

Her grandmother had told her long ago that she was lucky to only be a part Veela. That she did not have the control of the mental fortitude to be constantly assaulting others with the enticing thrall – the pull that drew others towards her. Fleur had told her then that she would never need to master that aspect of herself, as she was just a normal girl and certainly not a veela.

That had earned her a slap to the face.

The memory of her grandmother's hurt face and angry eyes burned into her memory as Fleur felt her cheeks burn. She had become the very person that she had so sworn not to become – the very creature that she had been so bent and determined to not let ruin her life. She had to get away, to think, to stop this before it got out of hand and she did something she'd later regret.

"Y-yes, Fleur, yes." Hermione's breathless voice pulled her back in, and the haze pressed against her vision, cloaking Hermione in a dazzlingly beautiful cape of positive emotion and love. Fleur knew she shouldn't – that she should back away now before it got any worse, before she wouldn't be able to stop.

She wanted Hermione. Oh, how she wanted her. Fleur could smell the want on Hermione's skin, on her own skin. The room smelled of sex and of sin and of everything that Fleur had promised herself that she would never give in to. She had kissed Hermione, had flirted with Hermione, had touched her and made her moan into sweet kisses. None of it was real though – Hermione was affected by the thrall of the veela. Fleur's traitorous heritage.

She searched for the words to explain this to Hermione. Hermione probably already knew, but Fleur knew that it would not be real unless she said it herself. Hermione had to hear it from her lips, or else it would just be one of those academic things that Hermione studied in books that had no application to the real world.

Fleur took a deep breath, "There is an aspect to veela attraction that I 'ave so far managed to shield you from. I fear my control is failing now, and you will be feeling the effects soon."

Hermione's eyes narrowed for a moment, "You're not going to turn into full veela are you?" She asked it with a smile, but there was an anticipation that the veela in Fleur could detect.

(She wants it, give into it.)

I will not. Fleur thought violently, but knew that she was going to lose the battle. She did not have the mental fortitude. The pull had not been what had drawn Hermione in, but it was facilitating this encounter and Fleur did not think that she could stop now even if she tried. She rested her hands on Hermione's shoulders, her forehead pressed up against the warm skin of Hermione's own forehead.

"Non, 'ermione, non," The words tumbled out of her mouth with emotion that she did not think she could feel presently. The smell of Hermione was everywhere, her entire body was urging her to just give in. The closeness was too much, and with that her control was completely gone. Her hands pulled at the buttons of Hermione's shirt, her lips at Hermione's neck, biting the sensitive skin there. "It is simply becoming 'arder to resist you."

Hermione groaned and pushed herself against Fleur's hands. "Then don't," she hissed through clenched teeth, her voice thick with the passion that coursed through Fleur's body. "Give into it."

A guttural noise welled up in Fleur's throat and she pulled Hermione's shirt apart, buttons popping all over the floor and against the desks. She had lost her control, this was the veela. She let herself drown in the feeling of Hermione's skin under her hands. Her bra was gone, Fleur wasn't sure if it was non-verbal magic, or simply the veela's power and want. The skin that that infernal garment had hidden was so soft under her lips, growing harder under her hands, causing Hermione to groan loudly.

She pulled Hermione forward, closer to herself, and sank to her knees, kissing the exposed skin of Hermione's thighs, at the edge of her school skirt. She could smell Hermione's arousal now, and the scent drove her wild. Her hands were shaking, running up Hermione's thighs, touching places she had never quite had the courage to touch before. She had to have it, had to taste it.

Her fingers slipped past the last barrier between herself and her desires, pushing upwards curiously – loving how clearly aroused Hermione was.

"Please…" Hermione moaned as Fleur's curious fingers hit a particularly sensitive spot.

Fleur smiled, hooking her fingers around Hermione's underwear, and pulling them off completely. She was never one to deny such a wonderful request.

x

Dearest Grandmere,

When I was fifteen you told me that you were glad that I would never be considered legally a full veela. That I could not handle the burden that comes with being one and that I would cave under the pressure. You were right. I have caved.

I am sure that maman has told you of Hermione – the girl that my heritage has decided on to be my mate. She and I are finally getting to know each other away from all of our previous engagements and could potentially even be considered courting.

She is surrounded by the haze, constantly. When I am around her, I cannot control myself. She is so beautiful, so intelligent, everything that I could possibly want in a mate, but I feel so uneasy around her. I had not wanted to take her as a veela would, in the heat of the moment and without the proper romancing, but now I feel I have lost that chance forever.

I know that we are not on the best terms with regards to my heritage and not wanting it to be a part of my life, but I do not know who else to turn to. Is there a way to control myself around Hermione so that I do not lose control again? Is there a way that I can begin to have control over the veela?

Your granddaughter,

Fleur

x

Sweet Fleur –

I feared for this ever since your mother mentioned to me that you were more willing and actively pursuing this girl. Your lack of acceptance of your heritage is largely to blame for this, and until you start to accept the fact that you are indeed of magical creature decent as much as you are of wizarding decent, not much can be done. There is so little that is written about those who chose to reject their heritage forthright instead of merely learning to cope with it. As you have chosen to do the former, I do not know what I can say to you other than that it wounds me deeply that you still fail to understand how vital an aspect of your life your heritage is.

You would not be you without my blood Fleur. Without my blood you would not share the looks of myself and your mother (though you do have your father's regrettable nose), you would not share the talent for magic or for learning. You would be a shadow of who you are now. It is unfair to us to see you reject us like this, as though we are meaningless in your life. I know for a fact that this is not the case, but your constant belittlement and denial has forced me to ends that I did not think possible.

The only advice I can give to you is that you must accept who you are. Converse with the creature within yourself, learn to coexist with it and to draw from its power when in times of need. Without it, you would surely be dead by now. Don't deny it, stick that pouting lip right back into your normal and pensive expression. There. I know you well Fleur, please don't forget this. You were never meant to reject yourself outright.

Grandmere

PS – If I were you, I would find a quiet place to be alone with myself and meditate.