Golden Haze, Act Three, Scene Seven
AN: I'm looking for someone to help me go through acts two and three and fix them up for posting both here, LJ and AO3 before I continue on to the fourth and final act. My beta for the first act is unable to do the next two acts, so I need some help! I know that there are bits of them that do need some serious revision, and would love some help! Drop me a PM and let me know. :]
This is the final chapter of Act Three, the conclusion of the story will be Park's trial and the surrounding events.
I am so grateful to everyone who has stuck around and has enjoyed reading this story as much as I have enjoyed writing it. You guys mean the world to me. To everyone who is overseas from where I live in the US, thank you for reading my story. I look at my statistics tracker on occasion and it is SO COOL to see that people from all over the world read my stories. Thank you, to all of you especially.
Music of the story: Wild Nothing
Fleur Delacour sagged onto her lover's shoulders as soon as they both materialized just outside the picket fence and worn gate that enclosed the yard of Shell Cottage. There was a fresh dusting of snow on the ground and the stones in the walkway were slick with ice that had formed with the gathering night. Fleur felt weak at the knees as she glanced nervously around the yard, staring at the knotted forms of leafless trees and slumbering shrubs. There were no enemies here, no one that she considered to be an enemy even knew where here was. Her breath fogged in the air before her and she leaned heavily on Hermione's shoulder, magical exhaustion forcing her pace slow and her movements sluggish.
"I 'ad not thought that it would take so much to apparate 'ere," she admitted, burying her nose in Hermione's hair and struggling to support her own weight. Her footing was unsure on the walk and she stumbled, cursing herself for letting the veela take what it wanted out of her magical core without thought as to how Fleur-it's-their body would even function for several days after such a great magical exertion.
Hermione small smile was the first that she'd shared with Fleur in what seemed like years, and Fleur's heart rejoiced to see it. She shifted, so that Fleur's arm was more fully around her shoulders, and reached up with freezing fingers to grasp Fleur's hand. "You overdid it," she said quietly, her voice a little hoarse.
Fleur shrugged, feeling as though she could not at all be blamed for her actions and Hermione giggled at the carefully blank look that Fleur had schooled her features into in the split second she had needed in order to get Hermione to laugh.
Merlin, her laugh was like music. Fleur sighed happily, content to lean against Hermione in the growing night and cold, knowing that getting inside was important and choosing to ignore it. Her shivering was not created of the cold, but rather of fatigue. She held herself still, knowing that tiredness and cold were not nearly as important as thismoment in time between them two of them. Their souls had been forced apart in the most violent of circumstances and Fleur had felt the pain of the bond that was still so new, tested in ways that it was never meant to experience.
Hermione stopped moving then, and Fleur raised her hand weakly knowing the wards would allow her entrance without a fuss. She could feel the magical barrier of protective spells wrap around herself and Hermione like a cloak of power and warmth. Hermione's breath steamed in the air before them as Fleur pulled her carefully up the steps and onto the front stoop of Shell Cottage.
"I thought it was supposed to be warmer, by the shore," Hermione muttered, pressing herself closer to Fleur, her hand resting carefully on the small of Fleur's back. Fleur could feel the warmth of Hermione's hand through her thin jacket, the heat of it a burning reminder that she was not the perfect being that she was long-suspected of being. She, like anyone else, could fall victim of a touch, a gentle caress, a loving gesture. Hermione's hand resting so innocently on her back made Fleur feel weak at her knees, and Fleur found herself leaning into the touch as she hid behind the curtain of her hair as she unlocked the door to the house.
She did not want Hermione to see the blush that had blossomed across her cheeks after such an innocent gesture of affection.
Shell Cottage was cold as Fleur placed her hand wearily on the door handle and pushed it open, tucking the key back into her pocket in a practiced motion. Hermione was half a step behind her, still half-supporting her as Fleur's vision began to blur around the edges. She was tired, dead tired, the spells and all of the cross-country apparation had finally caught up to her and the fatigue was beginning to set in.
Hermione pushed the door shut behind them and Fleur wordlessly handed Hermione her wand and gestured towards the fireplace. As she collapsed on the sofa, she found herself desperately wishing that Hermione would be able to use her wand despite its unique core. She remembered hating it, hating that it had to be unique in order for her to even have a true match within a wand. She had hated that her grandmere had been right about something else and had insisted upon as much until the wand was placed in her hand and bright blue sparks had shot out of the end. The chances that Hermione would be able to get her wand to create much other than sparks was debatable, but Fleur was too tired to move and Hermione seemed to be doing alright for just being able to create sparks.
She had balled up newspaper and shoved it under the two logs that had been resting in the fireplace, only slightly burned from the night before. Fleur watched with interested eyes as Hermione lit the newspaper on fire with one of the simple igniting spells (which did little more than create sparks) that was part of the first year curriculum at Hogwarts. Her curly hair fell back and over her shoulders as Hermione sat back on her heels and watched the flames grow for a few long moments before she turned to once again face Fleur.
"Merci," Fleur said, her eyes already half closed as the room began to warm.
Hermione stood and crossed the room in a few short steps, settling down next to Fleur on the couch and pushing herself under Fleur's arm and resting her head on the rough fabric of Fleur's jacket. She fidgeted, getting comfortable, before she was finally still.
Though the movement came awkwardly, Fleur craned her neck downwards and place a gentle kiss on the top of Hermione's head. The curls there tickled her nose as she stayed there, her lips pressed against this warm and breathing body – her worse fears once again adverted.
"Mn," Hermione's contented sigh reverberated through Fleur's chest as Fleur let her head fall back down onto the sofa's arm. She wrapped her arm around Hermione's shoulders and held her tightly, afraid of ever letting her go again. She couldn't lose her like that, she did not think that her body could withstand such an event.
The fire cracked loudly, its flames had now grown tall and merry, but Fleur's thoughts had turned dark. Veela did not handle loss well. Fleur had seen it when her grandmere had been coping with the death of her own mother when Fleur was very young. Fleur could not even begin to think of how she would have responded had she truly lost Hermione to Jones' evil plan.
I would have murdered today, she thought, watching the flames. And I would have done it without prejudice or fear of retribution.
Hermione's breathing had come to be in time with her own, and they lay there in silence, lost in their own thoughts for several minutes before Fleur finally forced away her dark thoughts and tried to begin at the beginning. She shifted, wanting to see Hermione's face as she spoke, but was met with a limp and immobile body that was apparently quite comfortable. "Don't move," Hermione grumbled her arms tight around Fleur's hips.
An exasperated (or perhaps overly-dramatic) sigh escaped her lips and Fleur ceased moving. She found herself almost a loss for words, but she knew what she had to say. Her fingers found their way into the thick curls at the top of Hermione's head, tangling themselves in the hair there and making little circles along her lover's scalp. "'ermione, Je suis désolé," She said quietly, her voice half-shaking. She owed Hermione far more of an apology than this, she knew that she had to tell her everything, to explain it fully. The pain of doing so was not worth Hermione not knowing.
She looked away, back into the flames, searching their depths for the courage that she had not lacked that morning, but now found herself without. Hermione's breathing had become far less pronounced, as though she was listening intently to what Fleur had to say. Fleur bit her tongue, pushing her fear away, "I 'ave told them something that it was not my place to say."
Hermione made a dismissive noise, settling herself more comfortably on Fleur's chest. "They would have found out anyway."
"Despite that, I was wrong," Fleur began to move her fingers in the same soothing pattern in Hermione's hair once more, breathing quietly and calmly. She could get lost in the sensation of Hermione's hair flowing so gently through her fingers, it would be so easy to just stay like this and forget her troubles. "Forgive me," she murmured.
Fleur's hand pulled away from Hermione's head as Hermione sat up; fixing Fleur with an intense brown-eyed stare that Fleur could not bring herself to look away from. There was so much hurt written in those eyes, hurt that Fleur did not know how to fix. She opened her mouth to speak, reaching out to pull Hermione close to her once again, but Hermione batted her hand away. "There is nothing to forgive, my entire social network has been destroyed. At Christmas no less," Hermione gave a short, almost hysterical laugh as Fleur sat numbly under her. There was nothing that she could say to that. She was shocked that Hermione would put it in such a way. "I'll be alright."
"You should not be being that way." Fleur said, reaching out once again, this time her fingers merely grazed upon Hermione's forehead, smoothing the unruly curls away and out of her still angry eyes. Hermione's skin was hot under her touch, and Fleur was filled with worry that Hermione would grow sick after being in the cold for so long.
Her lower lip stuck out, and Hermione leaned into Fleur's touch ever so slightly as she asked, "What way?"
Blue eyes twinkling, Fleur trailed her fingers down Hermione's cheek, pausing to ever so gently to pull Hermione's slight frown upwards into a half-smile. Hermione grinned despite herself then, and Fleur smiled back at her. "You should not be feeling sorry for yourself. It is not noble, not my 'ermione."
The Hermione that Fleur knew was brave and unafraid of anything the world would throw at her. She would not let something like this beat her.
Fleur watched as Hermione raised a hand to wipe away tears that were forming at the corners of her eyes. She reached up shaking hands and smoothed them away, pulling Hermione's hands away from her cheeks and sitting up slightly, pressing a kiss against Hermione's forehead.
She lingered there, enjoying the way that Hermione smelled, her lips trying to pour every emotion that was running through her mind back into Hermione. She wanted Hermione to truly see her worth, her value to Fleur, to Harry and the others. She was so important, so loving and so wonderful; Fleur could not find the words in English, or in French, to express how much she loved Hermione.
Fleur did not think that she had ever been able to.
It was not just being veela that made Fleur uneasy in self-expression. To describe how important one's mate was to a veela required a far deeper understanding of veela culture than Fleur had ever willingly subjected herself to. She had been so young then, and so full of hatred for the long looks and the flabbergasted boys (and girls) by her mere presence. She had not wanted to listen to her mother and grandmere as they tried to tell her what would later come to define her life. Veela do not die when their mate does, they instead waste away into nothingness. She did not want that, she had to protect Hermione, even if she'd been flummoxed by her need to do it fairly badly up to this point.
As Fleur pulled away from Hermione's forehead, Hermione whispered, "I… Fleur, I'm sorry." She straightened, meeting Fleur's eyes evenly with an intense stare that rivaled Fleur's own. They sat there, resolutely refusing to look away from each other, as Hermione's emotions played across her face. Finally, Hermione continued, breaking their impromptu staring contest to look away and at the fire, "This has been too much to take."
Her teeth sank into the inside of her lip as Fleur thought about how best to respond. Hermione wanted something that she could not give her, something that Fleur did not think anyone could until Hermione was ready to receive it. Acceptance came in dribs and drabs, it was not all encompassing – Fleur was living, breathing proof of that fact. For Hermione to accept what happened to her, it would take time that Hermione was not giving it now.
Fleur reached out, and grasped Hermione's hands – willing the far-too-enthusiastic at Hermione being in her lap – part of her brain to kindly shut up and let this moment happen without the distraction of an overactive libido. "I understand," she said, knowing as she did so how lame and unsupportive it truly sounded.
"Do you?" Hermione's hands did not twitch away from Fleur's, but she did raise a skeptical eyebrow. Fleur inclined her head to the side, as if asking Hermione to elaborate. Silent communication through body language came naturally to veela, something that Fleur was grateful of, as Hermione continued: "My parents asked me to leave, and I try to go back to them and I get bloody kidnapped and shoved in a cold room by myself for two miserable days." She gave that same, almost hysterical laugh once more, and looked down. "At least I didn't get tortured this time."
Fleur's mind stopped then, and the only thing she heard was the rush of blood to her ears. Even the merry crackling of the fire faded away as she felt herself grow angrier and angrier. Her hands were shaking, still clenched around Hermione's own, handing limply in her lap. She would not let this happen, not again.
She still remembered the last time, full of fear and not knowing and desperate longing that she could barely suppress. She'd failed to protect Hermione that time too, but the situation was of Hermione's own creation then. Fleur had never been an option for protection, not like this time. This time the onus of protection of her mate had fallen on her and she had not risen to the occasion, instead choosing to let Hermione walk into a trap with no escape plan.
"If anyone is responsible, it is me," Fleur said, her voice shaking and low. "I 'ave created this… what is the expression… mess in the first place."
Hermione shook her head violently. "You could not have known, Fleur. It just happened, I'm just grateful it was not a more harrowing experience." She tilted her head to the side, staring at Fleur intensely, "Besides, you rescued me."
"Ah… ma petite," Fleur leaned forward, resting her forehead against Hermione's warm brow. She felt almost too warm then, and Fleur could not suppress the worry, once again, that Hermione would grow ill from being left alone in that terrible house.
Hermione pulled away, and Fleur watched as she uncertainly chewed on her lip, staring off into the distance, at some point past Fleur's shoulder. Her eyes were vacant, as if caught in a terrible place and unable to escape its grasp. "Sometimes, the memories are too much."
Long flingers that ended with well-worried nails came to rest on Hermione's cheek. Fleur knew in that moment that she was Hermione's anchor to reality, a beacon that would bring her out of the memories of that dark time in her past. "Look at me," she whispered. She let her fingers fall from Hermione's cheek to wrap around her lover's shoulders and pull her into a tight hug. "This was not your fault," she whispered fiercely into Hermione's ear.
Shaking arms wrapped around her and Fleur allowed herself to simply listen to Hermione's breathing for a few moments. Hermione seemed to be calming down, her hands had stopped desperately trying to grab onto the back of Fleur's jacket and had simply relaxed, pressing flat against Fleur's back once more. "I know that," Hermione muttered into Fleur's shoulder. "I just… I just can't move past it."
No one was asking her to. As much as Fleur longed for what had transpired during the past two days, and that horrible time last year, it had happened. There was no denying it, and healing passage of time was the only thing that would help Hermione to truly move past it. The constant emotional stress of the previous year, and then everything that Fleur had inflicted upon her this year, they were finally catching up.
Fleur felt full of guilt that her presence in Hermione's life had caused the younger woman so much strife, but she knew full well that Hermione would not have it any other way. The trick was forcing herself to not think too critically about the fact that she had caused Hermione some of the mental strife.
Pushing herself doubt away, Fleur chose her words carefully: "'ermione, il sera bien… give it time."
That seemed to cheer Hermione up, and she shifted once more, back and away from Fleur onto her own corner of the couch. She was unbuttoning her jacket and shrugging it off her shoulders, eyes still fixed very intensely on Fleur. As she pulled off the scarf she'd been wearing and shoved it down one of her jacket's sleeves, she asked, "Do they hate me?"
"'oo?" Fleur looked up, still unsure of her own internal body temperature and her own tiredness. She had half a mind to fall into bed with her clothes still on and simply worry about undressing in the morning. But the room, as the fire's heat mingled and connected with the heating charms that had been cast over all rooms of the cottage when they'd first moved in, had grown warm and she felt sleepy and comfortable.
Fleur reached up for the metal zipper of her jacket, pushing her hair over her shoulders and out of her way, never looking away from Hermione, her face questing for clarification on Hermione's previous statement.
The jacket was now folded neatly and resting on the floor by the foot of the sofa. Hermione's feet were curled up underneath her body and her hands rested once more in her lap. Fleur pulled off her own jacket and tossed it towards the coat rack by the door. It missed, and fell halfheartedly to rest on the base of Fleur's discarded boots.
"Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. I'm quite the home wreaker," Hermione clarified, uncharacteristic biting sarcasm cutting into her tone like a knife.
Realization dawned in Fleur's eyes, and she suppressed the urge to tell Hermione that changing the subject like that was a surefire way to never process what had happened to her. Tonight, however, she was simply too tired, and would let it slide. "They understood," she said simply.
There was not much more to say than that. They had respected Fleur's decision and the fact that she truly had had no choice in the matter. She had been honest with them, telling them that she wished that she had been able to give both Hermione and herself the choice, but that fate was not on their side. She had hated herself for this curse of her heritage for so long that it seemed almost like a blessing to have someone truly understand (at least to some extent) how difficult it was to be faced with something so daunting as a mate at such a young age.
"What?" Hermione demanded, leaning forward, surprise clearly covering her face.
Fleur looked down, embarrassed suddenly at the fact that she was keeping her answers short. She was so warm and comfortable, all she wanted to do was go to sleep, and this conversation was important, but also very long. She knew she was putting it badly. "They did not seem too angry. Sad is a better word for it, I think. William is their first son." Fleur knew she was putting it badly, but Hermione's face was full of sudden comprehension, so she continued on. "'e 'as obligations, yes, but the situation is …" Fleur paused, searching for the correct word in English to appropriately describe how Mr. and Mrs. Weasley would feel about what was happening. "Complex," She settled on.
"But…"
"'ermione, they understand that I 'ave no choice." Fleur paused, pursing her lips. She couldn't think, she was so tired. Words were coming to mind in both English and French, a complex mix that her exhausted brain could not make sense of anymore. "There is an expression in English… comment-dit-on… sexualité monocible… hummm." It did not sound right, but close enough for Hermione to somewhat understand her point. "Regardless, it is a singular sexuality, one above all others."
"Single-target sexuality?" Hermione offered. Had she not been so tired, Fleur would have laughed at it being phrased that way, it sounded so clinical. Not to mention the expression was so wonderfully Hermione that Fleur's face blossomed into a broad smile despite her tiredness. Laughter would come later, after she'd slept, but for now she would simply enjoy the inanity of the statement, her grin matching Hermione's own.
Fleur tapped her finger on her chin, "Ah, oui. That is what a veela suffers from. Molly and Arthur, they know it to be something that I cannot fight." She looked across the sofa at Hermione, her bangs half obscuring her face. This was the moment, the moment that she had known would come eventually, where she spelled out to Hermione just how incredibly important she was to Fleur's very existence, not to mention her mental fortitude. "That I do not want to fight."
A gentle blush blossomed across Hermione's face and Fleur felt triumphant. She reached out, grasping for Hermione's hand, and pulled Hermione forward back into her arms, content with the warmth and comfort of Hermione's body pressed against her own. "Fleur… I…" Hermione's voice was flustered, breaking ever so slightly as she pressed herself more fully into Fleur's arms.
"What is it?" Fleur asked, her fingers trailing intricate patterns along Hermione's back.
Hesitant lips brushed against her own, and Fleur understood perfectly well what Hermione had wanted. Her tiredness did not seem to matter anymore, her mate wanted something that only Fleur could give her, and Fleur fully embraced the challenge.
She cupped Hermione's cheeks with both hands, fingers brushing against soft skin, still damp from tears, and began to kiss her properly. Hermione shifted, pulling herself more comfortably into Fleur's lap and settling herself down, her legs straddling Fleur's hips; their lips never breaking.
Fleur pushed her tongue forward, past the barrier of her own lips and into Hermione's mouth. This was the part she liked the best, the ownership and willing this battle. Hermione always relented, allowed Fleur to do what she wanted, before taking her own afterwards. Fleur moved her tongue in and out, pushing forward again and again, doing everything she could to elicit a reaction out of Hermione.
Hermione's hands tangled into her hair, her hips shifted closer to Fleur, and finally, finally, she gave a little groan.
Her attack ebbed then, her hands moving more languidly over Hermione's back, playing with the hem of her sweater. A part of Fleur's mind wondered if it was too soon, if she could take it off without startling Hermione, but as her fingers trailed against the skin at the small of Hermione's back, Fleur realized that they both wanted this. She pulled away from the kiss, wordlessly asking for permission before she did anything.
"Please," Hermione's voice was breathy, and Fleur pulled her sweater off and over her head. It landed in a heap on the floor, and Hermione's shirt was quick to follow.
Fleur's reverent fingers played across the skin on Hermione's stomach, on her back, brushing against sensitive places she'd found through careful exploration. Her lips found Hermione's once more, and this kiss this time was dominated by Hermione's demanding tongue.
Their movements became more frantic then. Fleur pushed Hermione's bra up and out of the way, her fingers rolling over soft breasts and pert nipples, eliciting another groan out of Hermione. She lingered there, touching and gently caressing Hermione's breasts, knowing that they should probably stop. Hermione's touch was electric on her skin and she knew that she could not stop.
Fleur's lips moved away from Hermione's, burning a trail of hot and wet kisses onto her neck and shoulders. Her head dipped downwards, lips brushing against soft skin, their bodies moving as one. Hermione's head was thrown back, and as Fleur's lips found their goal. Hermione gasped, her hands pressing Fleur closer to her chest.
Fleur took this as a sign that she should continue, her hand pulling at the button on Hermione's jeans, desperate to touch what it was that she had so craved. Her lips had found the place on Hermione's breast that made her groan with anticipation and satisfaction so long as Fleur's lips lingered there. Fleur had other ideas for that spot tonight, biting, sucking, her lips never ceasing their movement as her hand tried desperately to make the stiff denim of Hermione's pants cooperate with her wishes.
From the back entrance, where they did their laundry when they were both living in the cottage together, Fleur heard a bang. She paused, her hand frozen halfway into Hermione's jeans, lovebite half-formed on Hermione's breast. William's voice cut though the startled silence. "Fleur? Are you here?"
"Merde," Fleur mumbled into Hermione's breast, her hand reluctantly withdrawing from the front of Hermione's jeans. Hermione groaned in frustration, reluctantly pulling her hands from Fleur's hair and smoothing it somewhat flat and straight once more.
Fleur leaned forward, her breath hot in Hermione's ear and whispered, "We will continue this later, get dressed, I will stall him."
"I…" Hermione began, one hand already reaching for her discarding shirt.
Feeling strangely energized by the whole exchange, Fleur placed a finger over Hermione's lips and whispered, "Just do it." Her eyes hardened, and Fleur found herself staring at Hermione critically, trying to articulate the feeling that she could not shake in words. She sounded paranoid, like the overprotective and jealous lovers of her storybooks as a child; she was right though. She knew why she did not want this to happen, and honesty, sometimes, was the best policy. "I do not want you around 'im right now."
Hermione pulled her bra down over her breasts and hissed, "It's just Bill."
Fleur gave her a warning look and Hermione buttoned her jeans. She leaned forward, kissing Hermione's cheek before standing and hastily crossing through the doorway that lead to the kitchen. "William, I am in the kitchen," she called, opening a cupboard and pulling out a small vial of pepper-up potion. She pulled out the stopper and drank the dose, knowing that her steaming ears would be the least of her problems in a few minutes.
The potion made her feel even more awake, despite it's awful taste, and Fleur set the empty vial in the sink.
William opened the door from the back room, his red hair wild and his eyes shining unnaturally in the dim light of the kitchen. Fleur moved over to the wall and twisted the lamp, coaxing the flame to be brighter. "Ah," he said, smiling appreciatively at her when the room grew lighter, "Did you find her?"
Fleur sank into one of their mismatched kitchen chairs, staring off into space for a moment before responding. "Oui, she is resting."
William nodded, his face dark as he came to sit down across the table from her. He set his wand on the table, as if considering it. When Fleur glanced it suspiciously, he flicked it towards the kitchen's hearth, igniting the logs that still rested there from several days ago. As the fire grew, Fleur felt the tension start to ebb between them. She gave William a small smile, glancing at his haggard appearance and waiting for him to explain what had happened.
Her best friend looked down at his hands for several minutes, wand still hanging limply from his index and middle finger. He spoke at length, pain clearly evident in his voice. "I have some bad news. Jones has arranged for someone else to take the fall for him."
"What? No!" Hermione had appeared in the doorway, fully dressed and fury clouding her face.
Fleur cursed silently, wishing that Hermione had listened to what she had said. She had not thought that this would happen, that Jones might actually get away with the crime he had committed. Anger rose from deep within her, not at Hermione, but at the whole situation.
It simply was not fair.
"I'm sorry Hermione," William said, looking up to meet Hermione's eyes with a sad expression of his own. "There's nothing we can do but let the aurors try to build a case based on what Park has to say."
Ideas had begun to circle in Fleur's mind. Dark plans that she could not voice out loud, plans that she should not even be thinking of in the first place. She was only sure of one thing, and that was that Jones would be brought to justice.
She ran a hand through her hair, trying to think, "There are… some things."
William raised his eyebrows, "That are illegal."
Sighing, Fleur shook her head. She was veela, she did not answer to the same rules that normal humans did. The forces that drove her internally would never compute with a human, as much as she hated to admit it. This was the one instance where she was grateful for her heritage, because it would allow her to not think like a human on this matter. She did not want to, anyway. She wanted to kill Jones, to tear him limb from limb.
Fleur placed both hands on the table, squaring them neatly and schooling her expression into one of perfect icy fury. "William, I refuse to allow this… this monster who 'urt us so badly, to walk free." She glanced, blue eyes harsh and angry, towards Hermione, and then back to William. "They will not know. It will seem fair and just."
William threw his hands up in the air. "I don't want to know."
"Bon." Fleur agreed. She folded her arms across her chest, "I will not tell you." She knew she was acting childish, but then again, so was he. Despite her reputation, Fleur Delacour was perfectly able to act like a child when it suited her.
They stayed like that, glaring at each other for several long and drawn out minutes. Hermione was oddly silent, hovering awkwardly in the doorway, her brown eyes flicking nervously from Fleur to William and back again. Fleur wondered what she was thinking.
William's chair made a loud scraping noise against the rough floor of the kitchen. "I'm going to go to bed," he announced, his voice losing its hard edge as he spoke. Fleur supposed that it was because he did not feel like he could make any headway with her views on the matter of Jones getting his due tonight, and she was grateful that he was not pushing his luck.
He stood fluidly, and reached into his jacket pocket, as though searching for something, "Malfoy found your wand on Park, 'mione, here."
Hermione reached out and took the proffered wand, her fingers wrapping around it with a degree of familiarity and gratitude that Fleur rarely saw cross Hermione's face. Hermione liked the unknown, so to take comfort in something that was so familiar was a luxury that she rarely afforded herself. "Thank you, Bill, for bringing it back to me."
He smiled at her, and Fleur felt the veela rage. She knew to not be threatened, William was a friend above all else. He would never willingly hurt Hermione.
Hermione stared down at the wand in her hands, Fleur watching with interested eyes as she did so. The wand was worn, but obviously well cared for and well used.
She did not want to intrude on this private moment of reunion.
After a moment more of silence, Fleur realized something, and an idea began to from in her mind. She stood, pushing her chair away from the table and allowing her fingers to gently encircle Hermione's wrist, "Come."
"Fleur – what?"
Fleur smiled at Hermione's confused expression. She looked adorable with her face all screwed up and her eyes full of question. Fleur could not deny her anything in a moment like that. "Come with me," Fleur said, "I want to show you something."
Fleur reached out, her fingers brushing Hermione's cheek. The skin there was warm to the touch, despite the coolness of the room. She smiled, allowing her fingers to fall down along Hermione's shoulder and then to rest on her upper arm. She lingered there, enjoying the contact and the knowing that Hermione was back here, and that she was safe.
How you have stolen my heart, she thought, letting go and turning away. She stepped forward, full of the confidence that Hermione would follow her. This had been the moment that she had been planning to happen at Christmas, on the eve of the holy night, but it had been delayed by the horribleness of the previous few days.
In her satchel, tossed haphazardly over the back of the sofa, was a small box. Fleur had seen its contents at a small store in Hogsmeade in September and had bought it on a whim, not entirely sure when – or even if - she would find cause to give it. Things had been shaky at that point – Fleur herself so full of doubt.
She had found herself, and Hermione had become so much a part of her that she did not think that anyone could willingly ever take that bond that they shared away from her. They had become one, bonded on All Hallows, even though it was not the time or the place for it. Veela bonding was strong, and their bond was among the strongest that Fleur had ever felt. Still, it was young yet, and like all good things, it would take time to mature.
Things were better now, and the gift could be freely given without fear of consequence.
Fleur drew Hermione back into the sitting room. She let go of Hermione's hand in the middle of the room, standing before the hearth, and crossed to fetch the gift out of her bag. She would have used a summoning charm, but she did not trust her magic in her fatigued state, it was not worth the risk of potentially destroying such a precious thing.
The box was a little worn at the corners, Fleur had had it wrapped at the store and had carried it with her ever since. She did not feel ashamed of her shabby present, however, because the contents were safe inside the box. Her fingers still subconsciously fluffed the squashed bow and tried to smooth out a large crease from one corner as she pulled it from her satchel.
She held it out to Hermione, her eyes shining with unspoken intent. Veela did not give gifts lightly. The act of giving had never come easily to Fleur. She felt strangely obligated to do it by the way that wizarding society had become so gift-oriented, especially around the holidays. She hated the feeling that she had to prove someone else's worth to her by giving them a meaningless gift that would probably never be appreciated fully.
This was different. This was a gift to a mate, an unspoken promise, not to mention a truly necessary protection.
Hermione took the box with hesitant fingers, her eyes no doubt taking in the battered nature of the packaging. Fleur knew Hermione was not one to judge based on outward appearance, but she could not stop the gentle flush that grew across her cheeks. "What is this?" Hermione asked, fingering the ribbon with a questioning look on her face.
Fleur smiled, "C'est un cadeaux." Sometimes she still found things easier to explain in French than in English. At Hermione's confused look, she added, "You missed Noel."
"Ah." Hermione said, still fingering the box, as if afraid to open it.
It was then that Fleur realized it. This was the first gift that she had ever given Hermione. The blush that had grown across her cheeks grew darker and Fleur wished that she could take back her gift – it was not worth of being the first gift she had ever given to her mate. She could do so much better.
She swallowed her pride and her fear, and nodded – cheeks still burning – urging Hermione to open the box, "Well, open it."
Hermione's fingers trembled as she pulled the still-squashed ribbon and let it fall to the floor. The box opened to reveal another box, this one far more ornate. It was made out of a soft wood that was easy to carve, but it depicted the scene from The Odyssey where Odysseus had himself tied to the mast of his ship to hear the siren's song. Fleur felt like a siren around Hermione on occasion, drawing her in and enticing her to her doom, it had seemed appropriate at the time. "Fleur… I…" Hermione fingered the edges of the box, setting the box down on the floor beside the discarded ribbon.
The box rested in her hands for a moment, the dark wood standing a stark contrast to Hermione's pale fingers. Hermione lifted the top and Fleur could see her eyes widen.
Inside the ornately carved wooden box was a simple pendant on a silver chain. On one side was a compass that Fleur had carefully charmed to always point towards her being. On the other side there was a watch face and a space to put a photograph. It had seemed so wonderfully practical as well as perfect for someone like Hermione, who did not wear a lot of jewelry when Fleur had first seen it in the store; she'd had no choice but to buy it.
Hermione lifted it out of the box, the chain wrapping around her fingers as she commented, "It doesn't point north."
"It points to me, no matter where I am." Fleur explained, smiling at the flush that had blossomed across Hermione's cheeks.
Hermione stepped forward, her arms snaking out and wrapping around Fleur's waist. She buried her nose in Fleur's chest and mumbled, "This is wonderful. Thank you." Fleur was surprised when Hermione stepped back from their embrace looking slightly dejected, "My gift to you is at the Weasley's."
Fleur laughed, she had been thinking that something was genuinely wrong. "Then we will 'ave to get it tomorrow, non?" she asked, raising a questioning eyebrow and reaching out to draw Hermione back into her arms.
"Yes," Hermione agreed. She sighed, obviously frustrated, "I feel bad though, I would have wanted you to have it tonight."
"Then give me something else instead," Fleur's finger snaked under Hermione's chin. Her eyes were half-lidded as she pressed her lips against Hermione's. This was not a kiss like the one that they had shared earlier, languid and comfortable, no this kiss was full of the passion that they had yet to express for each other.
Fleur reached down, untangling the chain of her gift from Hermione's fingers and pulled away from the kiss ever so briefly to slip it over Hermione's head, admiring how it landed, resting in the hollow of her breasts, rising and falling with Hermione's every ragged breath.
Hermione leaned forward, bringing their lips together once more, her eyes flashing dark with passion that Fleur found herself meeting full-on.
She could stay like this forever. She could rise above the problem of her past and her heritage if it meant that she could have this woman for an eternity.
It's only forever, not that long at all, Fleur thought, pulling Hermione closer to her.
End Act Three
Bonus points for Fleur's quote at the end recognition and subsequent squee. :D