Golden Haze - Act Two, Scene Five

AN: Someone reviewed asking why the fuck Fleur and Hermione don't just flee England and be done with it. While the idea had occurred to me, it honestly does not jive with what I see either of their personalities doing in such a situation, under duress though they are. Hermione is stubborn enough to want to see the notes situation seen through, as well as changing the laws because what the hell, they're wrong anyway.

Thanks to S who reviewed and corrected my misgendered French. Nightmares from high school, that stuff, I tell you. Mostly when I wrote Fleur I try to think about how one says things in French and then translate roughly with perhaps a little more eloquence than just bad translation. The reason I do this is because she's not a native English speaker and even with a few years of the language under her belt, she's going to phrase some things oddly.

This chapter spans quite a bit of time, and is used to bring some stuff to a head - about two and a half weeks sounds right, so it is now the middle of November.

Music of the Story: The entire album – Eingya – "Halving the Compas" - Britney Spears - "Femme Fatale" (GO BUY IT NOW ITS AWESOME)

There was breath on her neck, light and fluttering against her pulse point. Sleepily, Fleur opened her eyes to stare up at the inky black of the night sky. Brown hair that curled in ways that were no explainable to mere mortals pressed against her cheek and Fleur smiled, staring at her lover. They had fallen asleep under a hastily cast warming charm and Fleur's cloak, exhaustion claiming them. Now it was growing even colder, as October turned into November. Distantly, a clock chimed once and Fleur shifted. She pushed against Hermione's shoulder, "Réveillez-vous, 'ermione." She whispered. Her voice was hoarse as though she'd been drinking or shouting for hours. She had been doing neither of those things, and the gentle flush that grew on her cheeks as she thought about what she had indeed been doing was enough to bring a small smile to play across Fleur's lips.

Hermione shifted closer, wrapping her arms more tightly around Fleur's bare stomach, her fingers grazing against over-sensitive breasts. "Comfy," she muttered, "Stop moving."

Fleur smiled and shifted once again, the noises that Hermione was making were totally adorable – but they had to get off the roof before it got much colder. She was out after curfew now, and there was no way for them to both get back to their respective bedrooms that Fleur could easily think of. She was not nearly as knowledgeable about the castle as someone who had lived there for seven years now – so she needed Hermione to wake up. "You must get up," Fleur tried again, bending down and brushing her lips against Hermione's. "It is late and you must return to your dormitory."

"Shan't," Hermione muttered defiantly, but her eyes opened and Fleur smiled down at her in the moonlight. The haze was completely gone; she could look at Hermione with the startling clarity that she had not seen for a long time.

It was in that moment, free of the veela's influence, that Fleur finally understood what it was about Hermione Granger that enticed her so. She had probably been seeing what she now saw all along, but had only just truly accepted it. There was a golden line connecting them – heart to heart. This was not veela magic, she had never read of it. And her grandmere had never told her about anything like this.

Fleur reached out, puzzled, and touched the line. It hummed and Hermione's gaze followed her own – curious as to what she was looking at.

(She can't see it. Not unless you used that spell again.) The veela came unbidden, but Fleur did not mind it's presence for the first time in a long time. It was there but not dictating her existence like it had for so many years up until this point. Fleur realized that she could very easily live with that.

The reality of what they had done crashed down around Fleur and she inhaled slowly, looking from the line to Hermione and back again. There was very little that could be done now. She would have to tell William that there was no hope for their sham any more. The gods and goddesses of old had spoken and the magic was firm. She and Hermione were bonded in a way that many witches and wizards could not hope to understand.

Fleur only hoped the law would side with them in due time.

"What is it?" Hermione asked. Her voice was scratchy and still full of sleep. Her eyes crinkled upwards in a smile that Fleur could only just return. She was not ready for what they had done – and Fleur was afraid to explain the full repercussions. What if Hermione rejected her because of them? She could not – not until she knew.

"The 'aze, it is gone." Fleur offered in explanation, still staring at the line that connected them. A happy sigh escaped her lips as she thought about how clear her vision was. She twisted so that she was sitting, chest bare to the night with her hair just barely covering her breasts. "And we 'ave bonded."

Hermione sat up as well, drawing the cloak up with her as she did, staring up at the night sky. Ever curious, she asked, "How does that work?"

Fleur smiled. This she could explain at length, and maybe it would make her feel better about what they had done. "It is a joining of souls," she began, shifting so that she could be under the cloak as well. "Or rather, a connection between them is forged when two that are compatible come together much the way we did tonight."

"I never realized we were so compatible," Hermione breathed, looking at Fleur with wide eyes.

"'ermione, when I first saw you, I knew. It is a trait that all veela 'ave. When a veela comes of age, they are overcome with a knowing, deep within themselves, that tells them who they are to mate with. There is only one." She looked down at her hands. "This is a lot, I know, but you are that person for me." Her cheeks burned, she could not look up and meet Hermione's questioning gaze, but she knew that it was upon her. The bond told her, a gentle press upon her heart.

Admitting defeat was not in character for Fleur Delacour. And yet she could not bring herself to look up and see this person who she so clearly loved. She felt as though Hermione's eyes were burning into her skin, imploring her to look up, to stop being so selfish and so stubborn.

"I 'ate it," Fleur continued. The moon was at its apex in the night sky and it cast an eerie glow upon them. "I 'ate that I cannot give you a choice."

"What if I don't want one?" Hermione asked quietly. "What if this has always felt right?"

"You loathed me," Fleur ground out. "I could see it in your face; it is very expressive you know. Back then, when everything was more simple." She remembered those looks of hatred and betrayal far more clearly than she'd been able to in weeks. The haze was gone and she could think clearly once again.

Hermione sighed and shifted her weight. "I was young then, childish." She let her fingers rest against Fleur's bare arm, unsolicited goose-bumps growing under her fingers as the veela inside Fleur cooed happily at the touch. "We both were."

She could not deny that, and she knew that Hermione most certainly did not feel that way now, but with her mind so clear, she felt as though she had to speak upon it in that moment, or else she would stay silent forever. Fleur leaned into Hermione's touch, caution and fear of Hermione being caught out after curfew fleeing from her mind. "I think I was in love with you, even then," she admitted, her voice shaking slightly. Veela were passionate, but they did not appear weak in the face of such foes. Love came easily and naturally to them with their mates – and yet Fleur was terrified. The situation was so convoluted that she could hardly see a way for it to end well.

The hand on her arm shifted to her shoulder and then cupped the back of her neck; drawing Fleur back down to Hermione's waiting lips. The kiss was sloppy and awkward, as the angle was difficult for both of them to sustain for very long, but with the kiss came a promise. It would be alright, Hermione's lips said. They'd figure it out, together.

Something stirred deep within Fleur, awakened after being clouded for so long. The love that she felt for Hermione was stronger than ever, and the urge to express it once again, in clear mind and body, seized her. She moved carefully, pushing Hermione back down onto the transfigured mattress, their lips parting only for an instant when the angle got too difficult for either of them to maintain contact.

Hands resting on either side of Hermione, Fleur roughly claimed those irresistible lips once again. Hermione's mouth was open and Fleur's tongue pushed in again and again, the fierce duel between them only ending when they both needed air. Hermione groaned loudly as Fleur shifted a knee to press aggressively against her center, her hands wildly grabbing at Fleur's back, trying to draw her in closer.

Fleur kissed down Hermione's jaw, lingering on her neck, biting and sucking at the point that she had discovered would make Hermione cry out wantonly only a few hours before. She would leave a mark, but Fleur found that she did not care. She wanted people to know that Hermione belonged to someone. Veela were possessive by nature, and the growl that welled up in Fleur's throat as Hermione tried to squirm out of the way only seemed to drive home that point even further.

Her teeth lingered for another brief moment before continuing to travel downward. Soft, wet kisses were followed by gentle bites on Hermione's collarbone and the swell of her breast. Hermione was speaking, babbling in English so fast that Fleur had trouble following it. She was saying words that Fleur knew, words that meant passion and were far more expressive than she was used to from Hermione.

"Fuck, please, right there," Hermione hissed as Fleur's lips closed around one of her nipples. She sucked and pulled the nub upwards into her mouth, enjoying the groan it elicited from Hermione. She did not linger there, shifting her body to move downwards once more, placing kisses at Hermione's stomach and on the bone of her hip. The smell of Hermione's arousal was almost too much for her to bare as Fleur settled down between the younger girl's legs. She blew gently, marveling at how Hermione squirmed out of instinct and sheer arousal.

"Et si je vous racontais un histoire?" She asked, eyes never leaving Hermione's half-lidded ones. "A story of a little death?"

"A - little death?" Hermione could barely get the words out before Fleur pushed her tongue into Hermione's center, searching for that particular spot. She was acting on instinct now, and the gasp that escaped Hermione's lips told her that she had found it. Hermione was sweet and tangy, her hands tangling in Fleur's hair as Fleur pushed her forward.

Doing this was so perfect, so completely and utterly perfect. She could clearly see everything now, and understood that doing this was the right thing. She wanted to be with Hermione this way, and to not be caught up in her troubles and the problems that seemed to run rampant in her life. She sucked and nipped and pushed her tongue deep within Hermione not because the veela wanted her, but because Fleur did.

The sensation of power was driving her wild. Hermione's arousal was peaking and Fleur knew it would not be long now. Her hands pressed down upon Hermione's hips, holding her in place as her tongue kept up its furious pace. Hermione had grown incoherent as she grew closer to release, her moans now louder as Fleur sucked hard one last time.

Hermione came not with a shriek as she had before, but with a breathy moan. Fleur pulled away slowly, letting her ride out the last of the orgasm alone, before leaning forward to kiss her gently.

"That was amazing." Hermione said when speech had come back to her.

Fleur smiled, "That was a little death."

x

A week later, Fleur received a letter from William with her breakfast. It had been delivered by owl post, an oddity in their current situation. They had been flooing messages back and forth since the Ministry appointed mail screeners had settled in up at the Owlry to protect the students. The owl was one that she didn't recognize, and it glared menacingly at her as it stole some bacon off the platter in front of Professor Sprout and flew off without waiting for Fleur to respond.

She unfolded the paper carefully, after a few quick personal checks on the paper to ensure that there was no curses waiting for her when she opened the envelope. The parchment was worn and old-looking, as though it had been kept in William's pocket for many days before he'd finally been able to write. She flipped it over, realizing that it was something that Fred and George Weasley had invented over a year ago, following the example of a map that they had found while still in school. Without a password, the paper would not be readable to anyone and simply appear blank. It was a perfect ruse.

She leaned forward and whispered what would be the password with William every time, a smile playing across her lips as the words appeared on the parchment. No doubt that was why the owl was angry – it thought it was delivering a blank parchment.

Fleur,

I have found my way inside, please tell the others this. The people here are, as we expected, insane. Mostly muggle born and violently angry at what happened during the war. They resent the Ministry and the Forces that fought to put You-Know-Who down for not doing enough and think that Harry Potter is a fool for even interacting with those who have creature blood. They call it sinful and dirty – like bestiality only somehow more reprehensible. I've urged them that taking actions in a place such as Hogwarts, where Harry is and the Order has a stronghold is foolish and a detriment to their cause. They do not listen.

I can't stand these people. They're ignorant and intolerant and worse than the Death Eaters in a lot of ways because for all that hatred and intolerance there was still a single person spearheading it. Here there isn't one. The people here do things by committee, and that means that they can't be manipulated as easily. All that you can do is speak and hope that others agree with you. I hate it. These people judge me too, even though the Weasley family is far from the prime of wizarding society, my blood status is deeply resented. I tell them that I am angry and they do not believe me. I am trying to sell this, but it is a challenge that I cannot figure out how to overcome right now.

This is the right thing to do, but I hate to say anything bad about your or my other friends who have creature blood. They're good people – undeserving of such hatred. The muggleborns do not understand what it means to join with a magical creature. They think them sub or even non-human like You-Know-Who did, but think that the punishments for such people even existing should be imprisonment, or even death. I don't understand it. Where does this hatred come from?

I hope that your situation is improving as mine is as well, in doing this, I am actually encouraged to take part in the things that I cannot freely do in the world right now. It is wonderful to be so free, but the price is not one that I want to give too much thought to.

Bill

Ps- send the same parchment back, the password should stay the same, but they haven't figured out such communications yet.

Fleur folded up the parchment and tucked it in her pocket. She would respond when she went back to her office.

It was far later in the evening when she finally had time to put quill to paper and actually respond, however. She was far busier in her classes now, as she was preparing the students for a series of practical exams just before the Christmas Holiday break. The amount of prep work that Fleur had been doing had kept her in the school library for many hours late into the nights recently. Hermione had taken to spending her time studying for the NEWTs in a secluded corner of the library with Harry and Ronald, keeping her company as she looked up spells and counter-jinxes for various levels of defensive spell.

Sitting on her couch with an overly-large book of spells across her lap, Fleur began to write out a response to William. She knew that she could say anything now, but the weight of some of the things that she had to say to him pressed heavily around her. Time was gone for their careful game of lies; Hermione had now fully bonded to the veela and Fleur herself. She was feeling far happier than she had in years, and the veela had significantly stepped off with its constant pressure on her mind.

Fleur would not say that she had accepted her heritage, she was too afraid to do something like that at this stage in her life. She knew that there was a chance that the creature that sucked at the edges of her consciousness and soul would prove once again to be a parasite. Fleur was not willing to risk what she had built with Hermione only to discover that being one with that aspect of her heritage would cause some sort of dramatic change in her personality.

The fear was real, and yet childish, she knew it. She drew her wand across the paper and spelled it clean with the same password that William had used. Ink bottle carefully balanced on the couch cushion next to her, she began to write.

Dear William –

Time is running out for this charade. I cannot keep it up much longer. So much has happened since we last spoke, and while I know that you have been busy and doing good work for The Order, I feel that I must say this to you before I address what you have been up to. On All Hallows' Hermione and I bonded in what was probably a rash action. Because of this, my vision has cleared and the sheer insanity that had come from denying myself her for as long as I had has all but vanished. I have not been so happy in recent memory, probably since before I came to England for the first time.

As these circumstances affect you, I feel that it is only proper to tell you that we will have to stop trying to keep up this ruse. My body physically will not let me be around you in what could be considered to be a romantic way, even if it is only play acting. I'm so sorry. Things have happened so quickly here, and while I hate how little choice we both have in this, I do not regret my actions.

We will think of something (Hermione may already be working on it, I do not know what she does when she vanishes into the restricted section of the library for hours at a time) to get us out of this, as well as you out of being forced to reproduce. It's barbaric, William, I cannot stand the idea of you being unhappy simply because you are not like other wizards. I promise you that we will make it right.

Minerva has praised your work, and has requested that you attempt to get as many names as you can and gather evidence that will help the aurors arrest them before more incidents can take place. I know that you are in a precarious position there, but you are doing something that no one else could and it is a very brave thing. She has already set several meetings of all the muggleborn students that have come back to school to educate them on aspects of wizarding culture that they might not ever encounter until they are older. She is following the line of thinking that if the students encounter such things early, that they will be able to avoiding such prejudices. We are being encouraged to work such thoughts into our curriculum.

I have already had two or three classes where people ask why I am part veela. I have tried to explain it as best as I can, but honestly, I do not like to air my dirty laundry.

Stay safe,

Fleur

x

William was silent for an almost concerning amount of time after that, and Fleur had all-but given up hearing from him in response to what she had had to say to him in her previous letter. Minerva had told her privately that it was probably because he was worried about Fleur getting hurt or the letters (again) getting intercepted. Needless to say, it came as a complete shock when a large barn owl swooped in from the open window early in the morning and deposited a letter on Fleur's head.

It was early, even for Fleur. She hadn't been able to sleep well the night before, as the haze was coming and going and driving her to the point of distraction. As she could not simply apparate into Hermione's bed, she had been stuck with her hand and a very miserable feeling in the pit of her stomach. She'd come down to breakfast early with the hopes of being able to at least pass a note to Hermione asking if they could meet up that evening, but the few early-risers this morning did not include the brown-haired girl that Fleur was looking for and Fleur did not feel like intentionally lingering so that she could catch Hermione before she partook of her breakfast.

Professor Sprout was sitting at the opposite end of the table from Fleur, and they were the only two teachers present. Townsend had been in for a cup of coffee and a muffin but had left soon after. He'd mentioned something about a stack of essays waiting for him and Fleur had not envied his morning in the least. The herbology professor looked up the table at Fleur and smiled as she pulled the letter out of the back of her overrobe and smoothed out its creases on the table in front of her.

It was blank, and as she pulled her wand out to run the perfunctory checks on the envelope, a loud curse and then a shriek filled the mostly-devoid-of-students Great Hall.

Instincts born of a war still fresh in memory seized Fleur and she sprang into action, shoving the letter into her pocket and scanning the room quickly to see who was shouting. Clear across the hall, the Slytherin table was far more populated than the other house tables, and the noise seemed to be coming from there. Fleur pushed away from the table and hurried over to the small cluster of students.

"Out of the way," she shouted, pushing them apart so that she could get to the center and see what had happened. Professor Sprout was on her heels and began to push the students back further. The magical residue stank to high heaven of some sort of acid that Fleur thought that she'd had encountered in Egypt or potentially Jordan. She could not remember, but at Professor Sprout's sharp intake of breath, Fleur gathered that the herbology professor recognized the smell.

Draco Malfoy had fallen backwards off of the long bench and was now sprawled across the stone floor. A paper lay discarded on the table, and his hands and neck were covered in a harsh rash that seemed to be spreading quickly over his skin. An acid or a volatile potion?

(It smells of hatred.)

Several things happened at once, one of the Slytherins ran off towards the entrance, saying that they were going to fetch Madam Pomfrey. Fleur muttered a stasis charm over Draco and pulled him off the bench completely, so that he was fully on the floor. He glared up at her through pain-filled eyes, but did not say anything other than whimper as she hooked her fingers around his arm and drew it closer to examine it.

"Some sort of acid?" she asked, raising her eyebrows at Professor Sprout, who had spelled the letter on the table to float into the air. Draco's eyes widened and Fleur tried to remain calm, the stasis charm was already wearing off and the rash was starting to spread again. Desperately, Fleur cast it again, watching as Sprout sniffed the envelope and dropped it back down onto the table in disgust.

"Lampries Puss – highly acidic and volatile," she muttered, eyes flicking towards the door. "Stasis charm?" The Slytherins gathered around them looked angry and murderous at one of their own getting injured, but it was obvious to everyone involved why Draco had been attacked.

It was jarring to see skin so similar in color to her own pocked with a violent reminder of the hatred that people still couldn't find it within themselves to let go of. "It is wearing off very quickly," Fleur responded, making sure that Draco's shirtsleeves did not have any more of the substance on them. There was some on the collar of his shirt and she moved her wand in a quick slicing motion to pull the soiled garment off of him as gently as she could.

His neck was concerning – as the wounds there seemed worse than those on his hands. Fleur watched as the spell began to wear off once more.

"Add magnus and hope that Poppy gets here soon," Sprout said quietly. Fleur grimly recast the stronger version of the spell and sat back on her heels, staring at the scene before her in disbelief.

The mediwitch did arrive quickly, almost pulled along by a quiet fourth-year girl who Fleur recalled was particularly skilled at the same screening charms that she used every morning. She'd made a point to teach all of her classes the spell, just to extra careful – obviously Draco either did not remember to use it, or simply chose not to.

"What is it?" Poppy Pomfrey demanded as she began to cast a series of diagnostic spells over Draco.

Professor Sprout had conjured a stretcher, and together they all moved Draco onto it, "Lampries Puss."

Pomfrey sucked in a breath and moved into an even faster gear of activity, barking orders at anyone who would listen. "We will need to get him upstairs as quickly as possible. Get one of Snape's numbing potions. No, I know that I've been stockpiling them, I need to use one now, the magical potency of this stuff needs to be stopped and it'll hurt more than the initial burn if we don't hop to it."

Fleur followed the stretcher out of the Great Hall with a worried look on her face.

x

Later, when Fleur finally was able to calm down enough to sit down across the wide library table from Hermione, she pulled the letter she had received at breakfast out of her pocket and unfolded its several sheets of paper carefully. They were spelled blank, which meant that they were from William. As she said the password, the first line of text appeared and the color drained from Fleur's face. She set the letter down on the table and tried to calm herself down. Had she opened this faster, maybe everything would have turned differently.

Draco would be fine, a blessing in and of itself. Madame Pomfrey had said that had Fleur not cast that first stasis charm and removed his shirt, the damage to Draco's throat would probably have been irreversible. As it was, there was a good chance that he would have some faint scarring as there was no real way to magically heal the wounds from Lampries Puss.

When he had come to, in the Hospital Wing after several hours of hurried care and unconsciousness, Fleur had been waiting for him. He had stared at her in disbelief, and demanded in a hoarse voice what she was doing there.

She'd told him that he really should have taken her suggestion to heart and he had looked away in shame. She'd left when he'd promised that he'd actually consider it – his health was not worth his pride, apparently.

Fleur cursed herself as she read William's letter, knowing that had she been even a little less slow-moving this morning that she could have prevented all that pain.

Dear Fleur,

Draco Malfoy is the next target. I can't go into the full details of what has happened to drive them to this opinion, but it probably has something to do with the actions of his family during the war. Also apparently Lucius Malfoy's mother's sister's cousin twice removed was a veela, so they're horrible dirty creature fetishizes if you follow the logic of these people. Which is impossible. Even Dumbledore at his worst made more sense than these people, I swear to Merlin.

I felt so conflicted when asked to participate in the setup of this most recent attack. It almost felt like family obligation when I agreed, rather than information gathering and attempting to sabotage the packaging (I was unable to, give him my regrets.). While I hate the Malfoy family name, I cannot deny the fact that I think that they should not be targeted because of a distant relation passing on some blood that is not entirely human into their system. I know firsthand that veela blood does not make a person into a gigantic prat, that has far more to do with upbringing and old money.

Tell Minerva and the others that the attacks are planned at short notice and pass along the attached list of names to her so that she may inform the aurors.

With regards to your note: I understand. I figured that it was only a matter of time. I asked because it seemed prudent, but selfish at the same time. I'm sorry for that. It was not my place. I wish you good luck and hope that once I am free of this playacting we can actually have a conversation about how best to end this.

Your friend,

Bill

End Act Two

big thank you to all my reviewers!