Evening found Fleur in her living quarters, sat on a thick rug as she leant back onto an armchair, a glass of wine on the ground next to her, staring into a blazing fire. She had found herself doing this a lot lately, just thinking, although her thoughts never led to anything, they just went round and round in incessant circles. Always the same thing, the same person, and she was fed up with it. Contrary to her personality, all she really wanted to do was to run back to France, away from everything she was feeling, somewhere she wouldn't have to face Hermione, or even think about her. As if she could choose to not think about her.
She lifted the glass to her lips, inhaling the delicate bouquet of the wine. It was a beautiful vintage of red wine, a gift from Gabrielle to celebrate the birth of her first born. Taking a sip, she closed her eyes, holding the wine in her mouth for a moment, enjoying the blossoms of flavour spreading across her tongue, before swallowing, the liquid flowing smoothly down her throat. She missed the wines of France, it was easy to find good beer and whiskey in Britain, but harder to find the wines that reminded her of the sun soaked vineyards of her youth. She missed her family terribly, especially wishing she could spend more time with her nephew. But most of all, she was just lonely. Sitting with a glass of good wine and a book, in front of a crackling fire used to be one of her favourite pastimes, something she treasured. Now it just felt reclusive, she wanted someone with her so that she could entangle her legs with theirs as they both read in companionable silence. In fact, she didn't want someone, she wanted Hermione, that beautiful, intelligent, hair-pullingly frustrating woman. She sighed audibly, watching a spark fly as bark popped in the fireplace.
Everyone always assumed that being part Veela made life easy, but she was inclined to disagree. Good looks and a natural thrall did have many advantages of course, made life easier in a lot of ways, but when it came to love, which was the only thing that was important to her, it was a completely different matter. She easily attracted men and more than a few women, but their attraction wasn't love, just a superficial semblance of one. One that occasionally veered into sinister boundaries of obsession. She wondered if what she felt towards Hermione was an obsession.
Since she had first set her eyes on the brunette years ago, she'd been unable to get her out of her mind. Of course, over the years she had been attracted to other people, and even briefly involved with a couple of them, but those relationships ended just as quickly as they started as she lost interest. Except for Bill. She had believed that she would spend the rest of her life with him when she had accepted his proposal, that whilst she wasn't able to reciprocate the intensity of his feelings, she had loved him; she had loved him as much as she could, but it wasn't enough for either of them. He always knew something was slightly off, but he wasn't able to pinpoint what it was, and she had been unable to tell him, but still he had accepted her. She hadn't anticipated that Hermione would be at the Burrow when she was finalising preparations for the wedding and every time she had seen the brunette there, helping her prepare for her wedding to Bill, she felt as though a part of her was being torn apart. But thankfully Molly, inundated with last minute tasks, had enlisted Hermione, along with Harry and Ron, to be her own personal assistants and had them constantly busy with different chores, and Fleur rarely saw her. And with the space she was just still able to believe she could be happy with her soon to be husband. But the moment she caught sight of Hermione at the wedding, looking beautiful in a simply cut, tailored red dress, a delicate pendant at her throat, a fleeting look on Hermione's face began to make her think that there was a possibility, the most miniscule possibility that they could be more than acquaintances and she felt herself begin to unravel. Fleur shut her eyes wondering what may have happened had she not taken those few steps to Bill, but instead took Hermione's hand. What if she had declared her affections for Hermione in the days before the wedding? Always what if, what if, when it was now far too late to change things, too late to do the right thing.
She had arranged to meet with Hermione on Monday as neither had lessons in the afternoon but after what she had said earlier, she wasn't sure if Hermione would turn up. Or whether she wanted Hermione to turn up. And all she could see in her mind was the image of Ron with his hand against Hermione's cheek. And Hermione not pulling away. Surely they weren't...Hermione wouldn't...then Fleur remembered the small hand on Ron's arm when he had confronted her. The way Hermione had chased after him as he left. She caught sight of Hermione's scarf draped over her chair, and the taste of wine turned to vinegar. She angrily flung her glass into the fire, flecks of wine staining the rug, the sound of glass shattering and an explosion of flames in the fireplace. And then with the exception of wood crackling, there was just silence as she stared.