Golden Haze – Act Two, Interlude One

AN – Hey everyone, thought that you'd like to know that this chapter was HORRID to write. I wanted to do a scene with Hermione and Fleur from Hermione's perspective. So I did. Enjoy.

The feedback on the last chapter was amazing!

Music of the Story: Neon Trees & Passion Pitt

She had exited the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom in a hurry, Hermione Granger knew this. It probably had made her look very rude. She rationalized her actions and her hurried goodbye to her – lover – girlfriend. She wasn't ready to call Fleur that just yet. She had been too flustered, too completely undone and still incredibly aroused despite the fact that she had lost her control and had given in to Fleur's insistent and wonderful tongue. She did not know how that had happened – how she, a prefect – had let that happen in a classroom of all places. Fleur had been impossible to resist, and Hermione knew that even if the veela's thrall or whatever it was had indeed been in effect; she would not have been able to say no.

She fled to the library, as magically spelling the buttons back onto her shirt had proven unsuccessful
(and she was positive that she was doing the spell correctly – thank you very much). Her shirt would no longer close properly and her school robes did not close completely enough to keep her decent, Hermione had 'borrowed' Fleur's sweater and had announced that she was going to go look up the spell to fix her shirt.

For future reference, yes that was it.

Alone among the stacks, she was finally able to calm herself enough to allow the analytical nature of her mind to take hold. Hermione was not entirely sure what had prompted that encounter between herself and Fleur, but she was most certainly positive she wanted it to happen again. And soon. She and Ron had never gotten that far and – regardless of her sense of decency – a classroom, surrounded by the smell of chalk and the spark of magic was oddly the most ideal place Hermione could think of to lose her virginity.

She swallowed hotly, the realization dawning on her like the press of that haze that Fleur had inflicted upon her with the Adamor spell. Wondering what had possessed her to completely and totally lose her control like that, Hermione ran back over the day's lesson in her head, trying to figure out what exactly she had done to draw Fleur's attention in such a sexual manner.

The class had been mundane, Fleur's sweater had been a little too tight, showing off far too much of her chest and causing Hermione to want to slowly murder all of her classmates for the looks they were giving their professor. Men, she thought darkly, shaking her head even now at the thought of their vacant stares and obvious attempts to not be caught drooling. Fleur was hers to look at, Hermione's and Hermione's alone. She should be the only one thinking that Fleur's sweater and the shirt underneath it had made her breasts look rather fantastic and enticing.

It was so easy for Hermione to get lost in her thoughts of Fleur. She still was not entirely sure what they were doing together, or if it was even what she wanted for herself. And yet, it was so easy to give herself over to Fleur's beauty and charm. It wasn't like it was with Ron and Harry; she didn't feel like it was her job to keep Fleur in line and actually doing what she was supposed to be doing. She could just kiss Fleur and forget about the fact that she was not speaking to her parents after rescuing them from their oblivated state in Australia. Or that she was considered by many to be a heroine when she had never felt that heroic crawling through the woods with Harry and Ron, trying to stay alive. She could forget the fact that Fleur was, above all other things, married to her best friend's gay elder brother. She could forget that she had not been brought up thinking that kissing girls was okay.

She refused to admit it publicly, but escaping into thoughts such as the ones that now plagued her mind as she ran her fingers along the bookshelf in the far reaches of the library was a wonderful sensation. Doubt never plagued her in those thoughts, just fantasy and bewilderment as to what she had done to attract so wonderful a person to herself. She could be free here; she could let her mind wander to how beautiful Fleur had looked with her tongue buried in that forbidden place between Hermione's legs.

Hermione blushed furiously and straightened her unbuttoned shirt once again beneath Fleur's sweater. She was going to find a spell to fix the buttons on her shirt, not lose herself in fantasy. It was so hard now, Fleur had effectively ruined her ability to concentrate forever. She would have to say something to her about that, Hermione thought, her cheeks still red. She would have to tell Fleur that they would have to keep their liaisons to the weekends or else Hermione's grades would slip and she would not be able to revise for the NEWTs properly.

A breath of air, from deep within the library, brushed against Hermione's legs and reminded her of the other reason why she was reluctant to return to the Gryffindor common room.

Fleur Delacour, the evil seductress that she was, had kept her underwear.

x

Holding her skirt down firmly with one hand, Hermione kept her balance with the other as she carefully slid through the portrait hole behind the Fat Lady and into the Gryffindor Common Room. She closed her eyes and prayed to God or Merlin or anyone else that was listening that the common room would be blissfully empty and she could get upstairs to her dormitory without having to speak to anyone and deal with the utter mortification of knowing that she was out in public and not wearing any kickers.

The common room, for once, seemed to be agreeing with her. The fire had died down to a few embers and the lone lamp at the back of the room had burned low. Hermione made a mental note to refill it with oil in the morning as she hurriedly crossed the common room, intent on the door that lead to the stairs up to girl's dormitories.

A voice cut clear across the room and Hermione turned oh so slowly to see the brightly smiling face of one Harry Potter sitting on the sofa that had its back to the portrait hole (he must have been lying down, Hermione reasoned, or else I would have seen him.). His grin seemed to grow wider (or wickeder, Hermione wasn't sure) as he asked, "Hermione, why are you wearing Professor Delacour's sweater?"

Bugger.

Harry Potter, despite his intentional obtuse-ness at times, was far, far too observant for his own good. Hermione laughed, slightly hysterical at this turn of events. Had it been anyone else, she could have just brushed them off, said she had to go up to her room to get something, that she was tired – anything to get away. But not Harry Potter, if there was one person in the world Hermione knew she could not fool, Harry would be that person. It was uncanny, how well he knew her habits and how her little actions carried far more meaning that Hermione would ever willingly say.

She pulled her over robe more closely around herself, her cheeks flushed slightly with embarrassment and shrugged, balancing her bag carefully on her shoulder in a practiced motion as she did so. "No reason, I said I was cold, she loaned it to me," Harry's look was skeptical and Hermione hurriedly added, "She's very nice you know."

Raising an all-together too suggestive and highly inappropriate eyebrow, Harry drawled in a passible impression of Draco Malfoy, "Oh, I know. Very agreeable, that Fleur Delacour."

Hermione wanted to scream. She folded her arms across her chest and glared at him. "Harry Potter I don't like your tone," she said in what she hoped was a passible impression of Professor McGonagall.

(It wasn't.)

Harry smiled and gestured for her to come and sit next to him. Hermione reasoned that at least sitting down, a sudden gust of wind wouldn't cause her to flash him or anyone else who might be lurking unseen in the shadows of the common room. He looked sheepish as she sat down and said without preamble, "You're a good hour late for curfew, Hermione."

And here she was thinking she was the prefect. Obviously Harry had taken over her job when she had been busy with Fleur. A brilliant blush blossomed across her face and Hermione buried her head in her hands. She was so completely and horribly transparent. Her voice was muffled by her arms when she spoke, "There were some questions… about our essay that was due." It sounded lame and Hermione hoped Harry would buy the excuse.

"Sure, Hermione," Harry said, leaning over and brushing a lock of hair away from her neck. "That's a lovely hickey on your neck, by the way."

"A what?" Hermione's hand flew to her neck as she mentally made a list of everyone that she had encountered earlier, she would have to modify all of their memories to not remember the mark that Fleur had left there. She swallowed, trying to remember if there was a spell that Lavender or Parvati or even Ginny had taught her when it came to these things when they were younger and not quite so plagued with the weight of the world resting on their shoulders. When they had just been able to be teenage girls.

She couldn't think of a single spell that would work on such a small scale. All the glamour charms that she knew were for full faces or body transformations. This was cosmetic at best. She frowned, her cheeks still bright red as she tried not to glare at Harry too much. She tried to feel where Fleur had left the mark. "Bugger, Harry, do you know a good concealing charm? I've never been that good at them."

Harry crossed his arms and shook his head. "That's rubbish and you know it."

Hermione frowned and realized that resisting her want to glare at him was completely futile. She gave Harry her best look, hoping that it would warm his stone heart and said quickly, "Just do it for me, okay, I don't want to mess it up."

Truth was, she had no idea where it was and didn't want to charm a part of her neck invisible by mistake. When Harry was learning to do this to conceal the scar on his forehead, he'd accidentally vanished half of his face because he was using a mirror and pointed his wand at the wrong side of his head. It had been amusing at the time, but now the idea of messing such a spell up and finding herself with a direct window into the inner workings of her larynx was rather unappealing.

Harry threw up his hands in defeat and pulled his wand out of his pocket. "Alright," he said, placing the tip of it on the tender spot where Fleur had lingered while her fingers had done unmentionable things below her skirt. Hermione swallowed hotly and Harry finished the spell with an extra prod to her neck with his wand. She had to stop thinking about Fleur, she wouldn't be able to think if she thought about Fleur, and Harry was looking at her with concerned eyes and an unreadable expression.

"Hermione, what were you up to in there?" he asked seriously.

"It's really none of your business." Hermione snapped before she could stop herself.

"It is if she's taking advantage of you because of that spell." Harry insisted.

Hermione sighed. The spell. The spell that had nothing to do with any of this anymore. It had given her a window into Fleur's tormented soul, and had marked her with the mark of a veela in the golden haze that she only now was able to see as surrendering to her own wild heart. She had not mentioned any of this to Harry or Ron after her initial tirade about how such a spell was entirely unprofessional for use on a student.

No, she had decided to let this – whatever it was - between the two of them develop. It had been the smarter of the two options that she had been faced with at the time. She didn't think that Fleur would have really appreciated her writing a letter to Mrs. Weasley to complain about her daughter in law, and now it seemed like a colossally stupid idea.

She shook her head, wrapping her arms around herself and smiling a little at Harry in the half-light. It wasn't uncommon for them to end up like this, up late talking while Ron, Ginny and anyone else who happened to be studying with them went off to bed. This was the aspect of their friendship that Hermione liked the best, the quiet times when they could be alone together and just talk about anything under the sun that came to mind. "It isn't that." She explained. "The spell is there, but it just made me realize some things. About myself. I can see the haze that plagues Fleur constantly."

Harry raised a questioning eyebrow, "Haze?"

"She has veela blood, you know?" Harry nodded because Hermione did have a nack for stating the obvious in conversations like this. She knew she was verbose at times, but at this instance, Hermione did not care and continued, "Thing is, I really don't think she likes it that much, or at least isn't that comfortable with that aspect of her heritage." Harry looked intrigued but didn't say anything. "The Adamor Spell is meant to make one see how another sees you. When Fleur used it on me, it gave me a window into what she is going through when she's around me. There's a haze that comes over her vision – over my vision – when we're around each other."

"A haze?" Harry asked again.

"It's a golden haze." Hermione shrugged, she wasn't really sure how to describe it. It was the sort of thing that one had to experience in order to truly comprehend. "Makes your head feel fuzzy like you've been asleep for days."

Green eyes gleaming in the half-light of the lamp, Harry muttered, "Wicked…" They were silent for a minute before he said abruptly, "Or rather, how can you concentrate in her class?"

That was a very good question. "I have no idea," Hermione answered honestly, "it comes in spurts."

Today in class, however, she had been very much unable to concentrate after Fleur had set up that ward and they had gone about attempting to break it. There was just something that had happened at that moment that had made her mind go somewhere else entirely, Hermione could not put her finger on what it was, but she resolved to ask Fleur about it when she next had an opportunity.

"Hum." Harry looked thoughtful. He bit his lip, glancing sideways at Hermione as he spoke once more, "Do you enjoy being er… alone with her?"

Hermione blinked, not expecting him to be so forward. "I…" she began, thinking. How did she feel about Fleur? Her thoughts were so conflicted and so filled with wonderment at the newness of the situation. Fleur took her to such heights that Hermione did not have words to describe how she felt, it was much too soon. "I like it very much. I like how she makes me feel."

"Then I'm glad for you." Harry smiled, reaching over and placing a hand on Hermione's shoulder. He squeezed encouragingly at her and she smiled back at him. Never before had she been so grateful for friends who truly understood her.

x

After lunch the next day, when she knew that the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor had a free period, Hermione made her way up to Fleur Delacour's office and quietly knocked on the door. It was half-ajar and Hermione could see Fleur's back, hunched over her desk, a stack of parchment next to her. She was grading papers. At the sound of Hermione's knock, Fleur jumped and whipped her head around, blond hair and bright blue eyes flashing dangerously in the bright sunlight that spilled through the windows and across her desk. "Can I talk to you?" Hermione asked, slipping into the room and closing the door behind her.

Fleur smiled that smile that Hermione found so intriguing. It was closed-off and polite, a politician's smile that seemed so out-of-place considering Fleur's personality. "Of course, Beautiful one." Fleur said, her accent cutting into her words but not enough to make them incomprehensible. Her English had improved greatly during her time on the Isles, of that Hermione was positive. Fleur set down her quill and turned to face Hermione, still standing nervously in the doorway. "What is bothering you?"

Hermione found that she could not contain the words, and all the questions came tumbling out of her mouth. This had been bothering her for weeks now, since their date and since the conversation where Fleur had established another more to this relationship that Hermione had not been entirely prepared to deal with. She would have to give Bill a child before they could truly be together. "Is what we're doing wrong? I mean, you're married to Bill and I know it's just for protection for both of you but I still feel like I'm doing something sneaky and dishonest."

Fleur stood and came to stand in front of her. She was wearing heels again, and she stood a good head taller than Hermione did in her flat school shoes. Hermione hated how Fleur could loom over her. It reminded her a little too much about how Ron had done a lot of that after his growth spurt over sixth year. Hermione had stopped growing and Harry had an inch of two later, Ron and Fleur were both freakishly tall. Hermione looked up at her, trying to keep the question and confusion from showing on her face.

An elegantly painted nail ran along her jawline and tilted Hermione's head further upwards, so that Hermione found herself staring into deep and intelligent blue eyes, "Do not feel that way, 'ermione, never feel that way." Fleur said fiercely, her eyes flashing dangerously. She looked away for a minute, as though she was composing herself, before continuing, her voice uncharacteristically curt, "What William and I have is an arrangement that is going to backfire if I do not miraculously pop out a baby. Don't look at me that way." Hermione had scowled at the mention of Bill's bizarre want to have a baby and the Weasley's outdated and barbaric need to have an heir before everyone could be happy with the fact that their eldest son was very obviously homosexual. "You know I won't do it unless you want me to – it would be our child."

Hermione sighed, pushing past Fleur and crossing to stand by the window. She bit back harsh words about how positively medieval some of the practices of the wizarding world were, instead voicing her other concern. She didn't know how she found the nerve to say the words as she felt – rather than saw – Fleur walk up behind her. "It's too much, Fleur," she said, pressing her palm up against the cool glass of the window. "Why can't this just be a casual, passionate beginning of a romance?"

Fleur's hand came to rest on her shoulder and Hermione leaned back into her warm body. She didn't know how she stayed away from Fleur, and her intoxicating scent and wonderful kindness. "Because that is not 'ow we work, apparently." Fleur breathed, her nose buried in Hermione's hair. "I am sorry."

"Don't be." Hermione turned, so that they were facing each other. She leaned against Fleur's chest and smiled, "You were wonderful, by the way."

Fleur ruffled her hair affectionately, and Hermione felt herself melt a little inside. "Merci," Fleur said in a rare lapse into her native language. Hermione knew that she longed to be able to speak it, she had said as much when she said that she couldn't express herself well in English. She smiled, and nodded her response at Fleur as the blonde's expression grew serious and she did not look away from Hermione's quickly clouding vision. Gold tinged Fleur's words, and Hermione had to shake her head ever so slightly to escape the haze that came with being so close to Fleur. "I 'ave a question for you – when you and I were together, did you feel like you were in control?"

"Yes." Hermione answered without hesitation. She knew that she had wanted it and had wanted it without any influence on her decision making. Fleur had been the one who had hesitated, not her.

Fleur's fingers were tangled in her hair and Hermione moved closer, wrapping her arms around her lover and inhaling slowly, listening to her heartbeat and the vibrations in her chest as she spoke, "I was merely curious, the veela can bend those who are not willing to their will."

Hermione frowned and looked up at Fleur. What was she talking about? Veela had no such power, they were monosexual beings, they couldn't seduce like that, it was a defense mechanism because they were beautiful and desired by many. The fact that Fleur was suggesting that she could have bent Hermione to her will was preposterous. "You wouldn't would you?" she asked, staring into Fleur's eyes. They were clear and intense. No lies there.

"Of course not!" Fleur laughed, touching Hermione's cheek and smiling sadly. "I just fear that I … because I am not as comfortable with that aspect of myself. I fear that because I do not know myself as well I will 'urt you."

"I trust you, you would never." Hermione nodded seriously. "Why are you worried about it?"

Fleur stepped out of Hermione's embrace in a careful sidestep that Hermione wondered if she practiced. She leaned against the window, her back pressed against the glass and the brilliant sunlight framing her face and hair and giving her an almost angelic look. Hermione stepped forward, to reach out to her, to tell her that it would be alright. That she was unafraid of the power that slept just beneath Fleur's consciousness. A look from Fleur stopped her, a want for distance, to say her piece. "I felt my control slip away yesterday. I could not 'ave stopped if I 'ad wanted to – if you 'ad told me to," Fleur's eyes were full of something that Hermione could not place, a sadness and a nervousness that was so completely uncharacteristic of Fleur that it scared Hermione. What had brought this on? A frown crossed her features as Fleur admitted, "It terrifies me."

Her brow furrowed, why not give into it – why deny your essence if it defined you? Fleur was the only being that she had ever met who actively rejected their creature heritage. She couldn't really understand Fleur's predicament, she was pure human, muggleborn, but still human. She didn't know what it was like to have two competing beings in her mind. "Then why not become one with it?" She asked with a question in her eyes.

Fleur sighed, and looked down at her hands. Hermione almost took a step back, alarmed, as they grew and changed before her eyes. Long, sharp talons grew from Fleur's fingers, fusing together and morphing into something that Hermione had only ever seen once before, at the Quidditch World Cup. She hadn't been aware that Fleur had been able to shift like this, and began to look at Fleur's face and chest – looking for the other tell-tale makers of a veela. "You fail to understand the implication of your words, 'ermione," Fleur's eyes were pupil-less as she stared at Hermione, her expression unreadable. "I cannot."