Golden Haze – Act Two, Scene Four
AN: Thanks for all the feedback on the previous chapter. It really did mean a lot that you all enjoyed it even if I wasn't so keen on writing it. This chapter is mostly plot advancement, its Halloween y'all!
Sorry for the delay getting this out, I was rather caught up in the job search and all. And then I found a job and have been working quite a lot to get back into the swing of things. So here's an update.
Also, the site's being really annoying right now, so I've been adding to this since I can't post it. So the last bit is mostly because I've been bored and needed to write more.
Music of the Story: The Kooks – Naïve, Owl City – Alligator Sky
Sometimes, Fleur simply could not believe the audacity of her actions. She'd allowed herself to morph, completely and fully without regards to her surroundings or the situation at present. She'd done it in front of Hermione, a desperate act that was nothing more than self-sabotage of the fledgling bond that she and Hermione shared. A cowardly act and one she could not justifiably defend. She had known right away what she was doing when she let the control slip, and had not sunk into her old defensive habits. All she could do was watch within herself as the horrible scene unfolded before her.
Fleur hated her cowardice, her attempt to take the easy way out of this new and confusing (and not all together unenjoyable) situation.
Her grandmere had urged her, under no uncertain circumstances, to admit to Hermione exactly who and what her heritage made her. Fleur was simply doing what she had asked, she reasoned, in the only way she knew how. Her words were poison with regards to this situation and actions often spoke louder than words. So act – change - she did, in the only way she could, by giving into that haze that pressed around her temples and vision.
(She didn't mean for you to go about it like that, fool).
Fleur hadn't expected Hermione to take her hand (talons and all) and kiss her palm. She hadn't known how to react to that. She still wasn't entirely sure that she knew how to react to what Hermione had done. Her grandmere, her mother, no one had ever told her that it was the veela itself that needed the love – just the human that was bound to its fate. The feeling of soft, curious lips on her hand, on her cheek, on her lips followed her everywhere now.
Thoughts of Hermione had kept her up a good part of the night, lying in bed and staring at the ceiling. Her face contorted with emotions that she was not entirely sure that she understood. Fleur was smart, she had good schooling in both the real world and in academia, she would figure this out. It was a half-hearted promise to herself, but she did feel as though she was finally on her way to fully comprehending what her grandmother had meant to say with her urging to tell Hermione fully and completely of what it meant to truly be veela.
She rose in the morning after a restless sleep plagued by dreams of exploding envelopes and espionage that was more bizarre than anything else and blinked the sleep out of her eyes. It was Tuesday, her first class was at eleven and it was now eight o'clock. She'd slept in, accidentally, and was late to breakfast. Fleur couldn't shake the fear that she felt, as her shoes clicked on the hard stone of the second floor corridor that she was cutting across to get to the main staircase of the school as quickly as possible.
A glance at her reflection in the glass covering one of the portraits told her that she looked as haggard as she ever did after losing herself to the veela. The transformation ripped her soul in half and shoved it back together violently in a way that Fleur was really only beginning to accept. She hated it, and ran a shaky hand through her hair as she continued on her way. She would understand eventually, now was not the time. Hermione had accepted who she was without question and Fleur was still blown away with her reaction.
She hurried down the stairs, stepping easily over the trick step and nodding at the few students who were traveling in the other direction, heading to gather their things for their first classes, she reasoned. She could feel their eyes on her, wondering, no doubt, why she looked so awful.
She'd slept like shit, she was allowed to look like crap.
The Great Hall was still occupied by what appeared to be the second wave of Hogwarts students and professors. It was not so late that she would have to go to the kitchens to get some toast and an apple for breakfast, but the faces of the students were different from her normal early breakfast crowd. They all looked at her a little curiously as she cut up between the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw tables. To her right, over the heads of the Ravenclaws, she could see Ron Weasley and Harry Potter reading the newspaper with interest with no Hermione in sight.
Normally, this would have stuck Fleur as odd, but she knew from watching Hermione for nearly two months now, that Hermione was an early riser and liked to read in the library before her first class. She was probably there now, and Fleur longed to turn around and seek her… (what was Hermione to her anyway?) out.
The growling in her stomach forced her to turn though, and head up towards the teacher's table. Food came first, it seemed, although Fleur did not feel particularly compelled to eat.
Minerva McGonagall looked at her severely down her glasses as Fleur slipped into the seat next to her and smiled happily as the mug next to her plate filled with steaming coffee.
Coffee, regardless of what it did to one's teeth and breath, was amazing. She inhaled deeply, and took a sip, before turning to meet McGonagall's gaze evenly. "Good morning, 'eadmistress," the words flowed off of her tongue effortlessly. That was probably the coffee's doing, as she already felt more alert.
McGonagall took a sip of what appeared to be Irish Breakfast tea (Fleur had the good sense to be scandalized for Minerva's Scottish relatives) and smiled wanly at her, "Good morning, Fleur. I trust your evening was enjoyable?"
Fleur, in mid sip, almost choked on her coffee. She spluttered for a minute and swallowed the scalding liquid quickly before replying with all the dignity she could muster at McGonagall's curiously raised eyebrow, "Most certainly."
(You are blushing like a lovesick fool.)
Shut up.
Wanting to quiet the veela, Fleur continued, selecting an apple from the tray of fruit to her left and beginning to slice it into pieces. Peaceful conversation and polite inquiries were one thing, but Fleur knew all too well that dancing around a topic would only prolong already awkward conversations. She cut to the chase, "'ave you had any luck tracking down information with regards to the threats?"
McGonagall gave her an apprising look over square spectacles. "Some," she said in a quiet undertone. Her brow pushed forward into a single angry line. Fleur knew almost before she opened her mouth that whatever she had to say was not going to be good. Mentally, she braced herself. "We have placed some feelers at The Ministry and there's a distinct lack of remorse for the children who have been injured here who have magical creature blood with the majority parties."
Fleur dropped her spoon into her coffee cup with a sharp clunk and all-but-exclaimed, "But they are children!" She couldn't understand it, children did not deserve to be caught up in a war like this, it was unfair to them, tragic and unavoidable. She remembered what her father had told her long ago, when she had first told her parents of her life plans to return to England and fight the good fight against Voldemort. People were, in general, horrible to each other and to themselves. She supposed that given the circumstances of Harry Potter's victory over Voldemort in June that she really shouldn't have been surprised.
Yet she was. Completely horrified that people would go so far as to simply not care. A shaky hand reached out and gripped the side of the table hard as she fixed McGonagall with the most piercing gaze she could muster, "'ow could anyone not feel pity for them?"
Fleur couldn't understand it. So many children had died during the battle at the school and throughout the year last year that those who were still alive were precious commodities to the wizarding community. The next generation who could stand for what was just and true in the world.
She frowned as the headmistress shook her head sadly. There were no answers to her questions, only more complicated moral issues that she had not had nearly enough coffee that morning to discuss just yet. McGonagall sighed, her voice quiet, but her tone not unkind. "I do not know. Minister Shacklebolt is trying to make that point, but the majority thinks that these vigilantes are doing the right thing. They say it is prudent, as many old families have, as they say, 'tainted blood.'"
"That is disgusting." Fleur said, wrinkling her nose.
"You have my agreement there." McGonagall nodded while bridging her hands over her toast. She glanced around, before turning to fully look at Fleur, her voice hushed even more than before – barely audible over the late-morning breakfasting students. "We think we know where they're based, as well. We need someone to do undercover work that won't draw too much attention to the order. Bill Weasley came to mind."
That had not been what Fleur had expected. Why William? He was obviously the poorest choice for the project that The Order had as he was technically married to a girl with magical creature blood. She tried to think of the reasoning behind McGonagall's suggestion, but found that she could not place it or find any way to spell the feeling of dread that had started to grow in the pit of her stomach as soon as William's name was mentioned. It didn't seem right.
Her tongue finally found its way again, forming words as best it could with her thoughts racing, "William?" she asked with a raised eyebrow. "But 'e is married to me, will that not raise suspicions?"
It dawned on her suddenly that that might have been the entire point. She was not faithful to William – and had gone into the marriage knowing that she, if given the chance, would not be faithful to him. Her heritage really had nothing to do with the fact that both he and she were obviously interested in other people, and William was a fairly good actor when he put his mind to it.
Still, Fleur did not want that for William – it was not fair to him, as he was one of the kindest and most loving people that Fleur knew. Her best friend was being volunteered for a potential suicide mission and it was all because of his closeness with her.
(Good. Let him get killed. One less thing for you to worry about.)
Fool, it is not so simple. Fleur thought violently, quashing the impulse to she could barely contain to agree with the veela. What William wanted from her was something that could work in her favor in the long run. Veela loved children, and family was important to them. There were spells that could be done, and elements of veela lore that Fleur only half-understood that would allow for William to donate to the 'cause' as it were, without actually being present for the act.
Still, that was many years off and hopefully by then Hermione would agree to something like this. Fleur couldn't ask her now – she was still so new to everything. It truly terrified Fleur when she thought about how Hermione had taken her heritage without question and had embraced it fully. No one should love a monster, even if the monster had the charm of a veela.
McGonagall's voice pulled Fleur away from her musing and back to the Great Hall. "You said yourself, it is a sham." Her tone was fair, but there was an undercurrent of 'and I have no idea why, young lady, he is a good catch' in the headmistress' voice. Fleur wanted to smile at the tone, but the words were true and shame burned on her cheeks. She hated that they had done this; it had seemed like such a good idea at the time. Now, it was just closing doors to them both right and left.
They would leave each other eventually, once the laws were changed and everyone was free to be with those they loved not out of obligation, but out of affection and choice. That time had not yet come, however, and Fleur still felt the weight of it all press down upon her. She swallowed hotly, and tried to will her cheeks to stop burning.
"If we play up his frustration with the whole situation, his anger that he cannot be himself," McGonagall paused, clearing her throat loudly before continuing, "sexually because of you, there's a chance that they'll believe him and let him into their fold."
Fleur would have laughed, to hear McGonagall say something so open and having to do with sex, but her point was a good one, and Fleur could find no flaw in it, only embarrassment for William and for herself. Self-consciously, she tucked her bangs behind her ear and tried to not flush as she digested what the Headmistress had had to say.
She had a point, of all the wizards and witches in The Order, William was probably their best chance to infiltrate this new group. He was poor, he was in a loveless marriage to someone who was making his life miserable and adding needless complication because of her creature blood. He had asked her to have a child with him to alleviate these complications and she had refused him flat out, it all added up to a perfect angry wizard. In the muggle world, they'd probably say that he had 'terrorist potential,' as her father sometimes said when he read Le Monde after work.
Fleur nodded her agreement at length, but could not help but point out, "Remember that 'e is of pure blood. The majority of these people are muggle-born, there is a chance that it will not work even then."
You had better stay safe. Fleur thought viciously. If you are inclined to suicide missions.
She hadn't thought about things in such a way since the war – or even before. She knew William, knew he was careful and a good wizard. He was skilled and could defend himself. And yet, Fleur wished that it didn't have to be him. She did not want her friendship with him to be put on the line because of the ignorance of others. It simply was not fair – but she resigned herself to knowing that he really was the best man for the job.
McGonagall conceded her point and countered with one of her own, her eyes solemn as she spoke, "As a Weasley, he's downtrodden enough by pure blood society that it should work."
"'e is my best friend, Minerva, do not poison him to me too much." Fleur sighed, there was no winning this argument, and all she could hope for was for William to be safe.
The older woman clasped her hand on Fleur's shoulder and squeezed in what Fleur interoperated to be a reassuring gesture. She didn't feel assured, but when McGonagall smiled at her, she at least felt a little better. "Never, Fleur. We do not work that way," McGonagall promised, her eyes bright with emotion that Fleur could not place, "There are very few options for us presently, however, and this is a good plan."
"I agree," Fleur conceded; her eyes squeezed tight shut to calm herself. Inside the veela was seething and the gold pressed upon her vision. William was family, family that should be protected, not thrown out for sacrifice as higher authority saw fit. Fleur swallowed, trying to reason with the creature, to tell it that in order for everything to live happily, that they would need to go along with this plan for the time being.
She sipped her coffee, eyes narrowed as the creature waged against her thin veneer of calm.
(You are a fool.)
And you are rash, let this play out, it will be for all our benefit.
x
Fleur divided her time evenly during her seventh year class the afternoon of Halloween between pushing down the impulse to sigh breathily every time she looked at Hermione and ending the class early so that she could get the other matter that she had to take care of out of the way as soon as humanly possible. Now was not the time to allow Hermione's presence near her to drive her to distraction. She was not the only one, as Halloween fell on a Tuesday that year and the day had dawned brisk and cold. The students were preoccupied with preparation's for the evening ahead. She had been avoiding granting Narcissa Malfoy's request for too long now, and she felt the press of the obligation keenly. It would be better to simply do what was asked of her and then move on from there. There was a decent chance that he would not take her advice anyway.
It felt so odd, to promise to do something for someone who so obviously hated Hermione, but she had promised to help as best she could. She was only doing this as a favor to a woman who had been kind to her with no particular reason to be so, and yet she could not stand the idea of offering him kindness after what had happened to Hermione at his family's home.
For all of Fleur's struggle to quash the veela's instincts to lavish even the attentive student in Hermione with all the attention and Hermione seemed preoccupied, and when Fleur passed back their essays from the previous week, Fleur tucked an invitation to meet later that evening to keep up the appearance that they were simply teacher and student. She was not going to allow Hermione's peers to discover their relationship if she could at all avoid it.
She went through the class with a rigor that she hardly recognized – she had tried to perpetuate the idea that she was a hard professor, but a fair one. The level of questions and the points she assigned and took away during that class was rather harsh if she did say so herself, but Fleur knew that she had to set the stage correctly for what she was about to offer.
Distantly, the bell rang and the class stood almost in unison to leave. Fleur took a deep breath, gave Hermione a meaningful look at her smile and nod upon making eye contact and cleared her throat. "Monsieur Malfoy, a word?" She asked in a mild tone, her hands resting openly on the desk in front of her.
He looked up, eyes narrowed and nodded jerkily. Fleur watched as he gathered his things slowly, waiting for his classmates to file out of the room. He moved jerkily, as if still on edge from the previous year, his eyes nervously flitting towards the door as the last stragglers hurried out of it.
Fleur raised her wand and flicked it slowly, closing and locking it. She added a privacy charm as an afterthought. It wasn't a powerful one, but she did want Draco Malfoy to feel at ease. She was about to insult his magical prowess for no reason other than that his mother had asked her to. She took a deep breath and set her wand back down on the desk, her most charming smile falling easily into place.
Malfoy crossed his arms and scowled, his face pulled downwards into an altogether unpleasant expression. "You aren't having Granger stay after as well? I'm shocked by the preferential treatment, professor."
She bit back an insult, a curse, a growl at his insult to both herself and Hermione. She had to remain professional, or else all would be for naught. She closed her eyes and counted to ten in Latin before speaking. Even then, she could only just keep the venom out of her voice. "I would rather not take points from Slytherin, but do not think that I would not."
He sighed and sat back down, looking appropriately chastised. Slytherin House needed all the help they could get in terms of points this year, as their numbers were far lower than the other houses due to various attendance problems. Fleur was not above taking points to drive home the point that he should respect her. She only hoped that he could be reasonable about the whole situation.
"Then what is this about?" He asked at length.
Fleur bridged her fingers together and tried to sound kind as she spoke. The venom was still there, barely hidden – the veela knew that he knew things that he should not. She would silence him if it came to that. "As I am your teacher, it falls to me to inform you that you are very behind in the practical aspect of defensive spells."
He looked, for lack of a better word, flabbergasted. "I'm third in the class!"
She had guessed that he would respond like this. It was almost typical, as all boys at this age were the same. "In the theory, M. Malfoy. The practical is very much different."
He hunched his shoulders and stared at the desk, "So you're what? Offering me lessons?"
Fleur laughed softly, "I never said that." She met his grey gaze evenly and braced herself for his reaction. "I am encouraging you to join Monsieur Potter's defense club."
He opened his mouth and closed it again. His face was easy to read when it was twisted in disgust. Fleur wondered if it was simply his family that had raised him to be so hateful or if the war had tarnished him like it had the rest of the wizarding world. Finally, he found his tongue and spat, "You want me to what?"
She understood, on some level, where he was coming from. School boy rivalries and competition were what fueled such antagonism between people. But both Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy owed each other far more than could be imagined, if the talk around the Order was to be believed. Their dislike of each other had to be quashed before it could grow any more blatant and unpleasant.
In some ways, Narcissa Malfoy's request of assistance in actually teaching her son the practical elements of defensive magic was an excuse for Fleur. She knew that if Draco Malfoy was going to be at all involved with The Order's quest to seek out this latest evil, that he would need to be far more proficient at defensive magic than he was now. She was merely offering him a chance to learn in a non-class setting where his failures would not be graded alongside his successes.
Fleur figured that in time he would figure it out. He was an intelligent boy.
"'e is an excellent teacher." She said, sweeping her things into her bag and tucking her wand up her sleeve and back into its holster. "Ask for 'is 'elp, 'e will be willing."
The bang of the bench that Draco Malfoy was sitting on falling to the floor was all the indication of how her advice had been taken. He drew level with her and spat, "I'll not take his charity," before pushing his way through the privacy ward and out the door.
That could have gone better. Fleur thought darkly, righting the fallen bench and pulling the curtains on the wide bay windows shut.
(Those of our kind are stubborn.)
x
The Astronomy tower was abandoned as darkness grew on Halloween night. Fleur was grateful for the moment of reprieve, and was glad of the fact that she was not called upon to chaperone the Halloween Ball that the headmistress and Professors Sprout and Townsend had put together over the past few weeks. She had been told, privately, that it was because of her heritage, that they were afraid with so many hormonal youths in one place that something might happen.
Fleur had smiled and nodded her agreement. There was very little that she could do about her heritage other than to hate it with every ounce of her being – but it did have some perks. She did not have to spend the next five hours listing to terrible music and watching her students act like sexually-experimenting young adults rather than the studious pupils she now thought of them as.
The trap door in the floor swung open and the (tamed) brown hair of Hermione Granger became visible as the younger girl hurried her way up the ladder. She was wearing a dress that would have been acceptable at the ball, loose and tunic-like. She'd accented it with leggings and flats – and looked suddenly far younger than Fleur had ever thought of Hermione as being. The youthful nature of her attire made something stir within Fleur and she swallowed hotly. "Will the ball not miss you, Mademoiselle Granger?" Fleur asked calmly, her cheeks burning as she resisted the urge to give Hermione a blatant once-over. She kept her eyes fixed on the stars and the wanning moon instead, looking for some solace as the golden haze filled her vision.
Hermione came to stand beside her, leaning against the railing and smiling up at Fleur. "Perhaps I find the company there lacking, Professor," Her smile was flippant, and Fleur wanted to kiss the smugness off of her lips. She held herself back, watching as Hermione added off-handedly. "Also, I was extended an invitation."
Recognizing the game, Fleur responded in kind. "Oh? Tell me who extended such an invitation to you." Her voice turned harsh as she possessively placed an arm around Hermione's shoulders. "As I may 'ave to have words with them."
"She is taller than me, terribly beautiful, and a talented witch." Hermione seemed bored, but leaned into Fleur's touch with gusto, before adding with an off-hand grin, "Also, she's part veela."
Ah, the crux of the matter. Fleur swallowed, wondering if she should let the game continue or turn the conversation serious. "A veela non?" she asked, a smile playing on her lips as she tangled her fingers in Hermione's hair. It was so soft, tamed obviously for her eyes only, and Fleur relished the feeling of having the silky strands flow through her fingers. "To, 'ow do you say, tangle such a creature you must be very brave."
"She is fantastic," Hermione smiled brightly, her fingers twining with Fleur's as she rose up to kiss Fleur's cheek. "Bravery has nothing to do with it. I believe I may be in love with her."
Fleur blinked, comprehension dawning on her face. Love? Love was not something she had ever really allowed herself to dare hope for. She was a monster, a creature born of magic and of an obsessive love that she herself was tortured with. She swallowed, thinking of how Hermione had taken her hand when she had changed, how she had kissed it. Maybe it was love, but she did not trust herself to be sure. "Love?" she said quietly, glancing nervously towards the moon and their surroundings. "'ermione it is not wise to speak of love on such a night as this."
Hermione detangled their fingers and folded her arms moodily across her chest. "Whyever not?" she asked, her tone suggesting that Fleur better have a damn good explanation for why she was acting this way.
"It would do you well, young one, to read the books I gave you." Fleur trailed her fingers along Hermione's cheeks, watching as they grew and changed, the haze fully taking her over. Shifting was not painful around Hermione, but it was still jarring. She felt the feathers grow along her back and on her arms, felt how her fingers lengthened and became more claw-like. They were hard, powerful, ready to use when fighting or when loving. Fleur had read about how it worked, but had never found cause to try it.
"Fleur?" Hermione questioned, her brow furrowed and her cheeks flushed in the moonlight.
She felt awkward, shaky in this form, and yet she was driven by one primal instinct. The haze was everything now, she had to give into it, to allow it to control her fully in order to gain the release she so desired. She took one breath, and then another, knowing that Hermione would never forgive her if she lied at such a curtail juncture of their relationship. "I would 'ave you, if you would let me." Her voice felt shaky and afraid as she spoke, looking steadily at her hands – afraid of what seeing Hermione's face would make her do right now. "Like this – in the sin of my being a part creature that I must embrace to live fully."
Hermione's question came quickly, though her voice had an uncharacteristic shake to it that Fleur had not anticipated. "W-would it make it easier for you?"
A laugh escaped her then, and Fleur found herself staring into those questioning, intelligent brown eyes, so full of love and promise that it made her stomach turn. She had done nothing to deserve this. She pulled Hermione to her, nails scraping against soft skin as Hermione's gasp told Fleur that she liked the roughness. "Easier? Perhaps not, but it would give me a moment's peace from the 'aze."
They were pressed up against each other now, Hermione's breath mingled with her own as she dared Fleur into action. "Then to it, Fleur. It does not matter what you look like." Her voice was breathy, and full of passion, her teeth nipping at Fleur's lower lip as she spoke.
"You don't know what you are agreeing to." Fleur pulled back ever so slightly, her eyes meeting Hermione's own with a pupil-less gaze – the true mark of a veela. "Veela are sensual beings, powerful beings – are you sure you can 'andle - this – me?"
Hermione pressed herself more fully against Fleur, her body molding to fit perfectly against Fleur's taller form. "Fleur, please."
It was then that something just snapped within Fleur. She could not deny it any more. Her wand was in her hand in an instant, pointed at a discarded rock on the ground. With a flick and far too many years of careful transfiguration study, it turned into a comfortable-looking mattress. Hermione's eyes grew wide as Fleur watched her. "Lie down," Fleur said, her tone harsh and commanding. The veela was in control now, and there was little that Fleur could do against its powerful grip on her subconscious. She only hoped that Hermione was really okay with what they were about to do – she did not think that she could stop once they got started.
The veela was harsh and aggressive as Hermione kicked off her shoes and settled down on the mattress, her eyes bright with something that Fleur could not place. Fleur pulled off her cloak and sweater, settling herself down on top of Hermione. Her voice came out as a low hiss as she pushed Hermione's dress up around her midriff. "I will not be kind."
Hermione moaned as those vicious talons-looking gently caressed her body and pulled her dress clean off. Fleur pressed her lips against Hermione's pulse point. Her teeth and tongue pressed there, sucking violently, claiming Hermione as she allowed her hands to roam across her body. As Fleur's lips traveled lower, Hermione's voice cut through the breathy moans and gasps that she had been making as Fleur's lips burned their way downwards towards her breasts. "To do this – ah," She gasped out as Fleur's lips closed around one of Hermione's pert nipples. Fleur sucked hard for a moment before pulling backwards, the veela curious as to what Hermione was going to say. Her tongue danced around Hermione's breast brazenly as she looked up with expectant eyes.
Gulping, Hermione continued, "on All Hallows – what does it mean?"
Fleur smiled, pushing herself forward to press her lips against Hermione's in a possessive kiss. Her voice sounded almost feral as she said in explanation, "It is a claiming of your soul and its connection to me."
Hermione looked confused, but Fleur's fingers had pushed down her leggings and soon Fleur relinquished the kiss to move downwards, pulling off the offending garment and pushing her tongue and those oh so vicious looking fingers up into Hermione's core. She could not be confused when ecstasy was so clearly written across her face.
She was beautiful that way.