Thank you for all your continual support despite the long wait! New job and real life...they can be distracting. I hope you enjoy the new chapter.
Cheers.
Hermione flopped onto her bed, exhausted. The past two days had crawled by, perpetually followed by whispering and surreptious glances from her students. She savoured the quiet of her room, enjoying the pitter patter of the raindrops hitting her windows. She turned her head, looking out of the windows, grey clouds extending as far as the eye could see, throwing her room into gloom. Moving her head slightly, her eyes fell on the photographs on her bedside cabinet. Taking a prominent place next to one of her family, there was one of Harry, Ron and herself. She wasn't sure who had taken the photograph, but it was one she loved. It had been taken during their final year, when the state of perpetual fear and anticipation had been naturally exhausted and cast aside briefly, allowing them to behave like the teenagers that they were. In the photograph they were all too thin, but were all laughing, jostling each other playfully as they posed for the photograph; for a few moments they had allowed themselves to forget the danger they were all in and had let themselves go, their hopes and aspirations glimmering in their eyes.
Hermione felt like crying, knowing that the friendship between the three of them would never be like that, and even though it had been years, she still yearned for that friendship, but with what Ron wanted, she knew that it was impossible. Growing up had made life so more difficult. Thinking of difficult things, she was beginning to regret her decision to have dinner with Fleur that evening. Things had been going so well between the two of them recently, too well for Hermione's comfort in fact. Glancing at the photograph on her cabinet, seeing Ron's laughing face, she felt a sense of futility. Nothing she did was right. Perhaps she should cancel. But the thought of an evening with Fleur, away from the whispers and the looks, away from constantly feeling like she had to proclaim her innocence was too tempting.
Fleur had just finished setting the table when she heard the knock on the door. She smiled when Hermione walked in, drinking in the sight of the brunette; she wore skinny black trousers, an oversized sheer, maroon chiffon blouse tucked loosely into the waistband, a delicate, long chained gold necklace drawing eyes to the opening of the shirt, where a hint of the curves of the breasts could be seen, her feet encased in pale pink and cream pumps, finished with her hair in slight waves, loose over her shoulders. Fleur could feel her stomach tighten in knots, she had never wanted anyone as badly as she wanted Hermione right now.
"You look...tres belle," keeping her voice deliberately light, hoping her body language wasn't betraying her. She leant over and kissed Hermione on both cheeks, the smell of clean warm skin and a light perfume more than inviting.
"So do you. This is for you, to say thank you," smiling as she proffered a long wooden box.
"It is unnecessary, mais merci." Fleur took the box, surprised at the weight of its contents. Sliding the lid upwards, she found a bottle of wine nestled in a bed of wood shavings. She looked up, one eyebrow raised, sliding the lid back into place.
"I can't accept this, it is too much, especially as there has been no need to thank me."
"Take it. Please. I know you're a big fan of that vintage, and besides, I don't know anyone that appreciates a glass of red wine as much as you."
"In that case you have to have dinner with me again, I shall provide a meal fitting for an 'eighty nine Montrose and we will enjoy it together."
"Deal."
Fleur glanced from the box in her hand to Hermione, eyes narrowed in thought.
"The newspaper articles, they're not completely untrue about everything are they?"
Hermione blushed slightly, shrugging,
"I can afford to live comfortably thanks to my old job."
"Are you hungry yet? If not, we can enjoy a glass of wine first," she asked, hoping for the latter, needing something to distract her from Hermione.
"Wine would be lovely, thank you."
Hermione perched on the edge of a seat near the fire, eyes focused on Fleur's back, wishing she'd taken the easier option of eating in the great hall, or in her rooms, anywhere but so close to Fleur who looked absolutely stunning. The Frenchwoman was dressed in skin tight black trousers which accentuated every curve, an emerald green, sleeveless silk blouse which only drew the eyes to the slender, well defined arms of the owner, her blonde hair tied up in a messy bun, accentuating the smooth, fluid lines of the delicate muscles of the neck.
She could feel the brunette's eyes on her, and it was making her uncharacteristically nervous. Just knowing that she was a few mere steps away from her. The look in Hermione's eyes…she had seen that look in Hermione's eyes before…it was the look that made her to toss and turn in her empty bed at night, a look that made her writhe restlessly in her sleep-
Fleur felt the wine bottle fall onto its side before her eyes registered what happened, and as she reached to stop the bottle rolling off the table, she was surprised when her hand touched warm skin. Looking up she found Hermione stood next to her, brown eyes laughing, her hand unmoving beneath her own, the cold glass of the bottle underneath them.
"If you're having trouble with the corkscrew you could always use magic or just ask me to help, no need to try and break the bottle you know?" Hermione teased, watching in fascination as a deep blush stained the blonde's cheeks.
A flustered Fleur could only nod in agreement, her thoughts racing. She had been so distracted by Hermione that she hadn't been able to focus on the task at hand, she doubted whether anyone with Veela heritage had ever been as ungraceful as she had just been right now and what if Hermione knew what she had been thinking about that had made her so distracted-
She felt a gentle tugging on her hand and found Hermione taking the corkscrew from her, obviously trying to suppress a grin. She could feel the painful blush on her cheeks deepen, watching Hermione uncork the bottle of wine quickly and efficiently, laughing when Hermione took her open hand and lightly placed the cork in it, closing Fleur's fingers around it.
"If you need, I'm sure I could teach you how to use a corkscrew," she laughed, pouring them both generous amounts of wine, giving Fleur a moment to collect herself.
"Why do you use a corkscrew, I've never seen any other non muggle related witch or wizard use them before, everyone else just uses magic?"
She followed Fleur to the fireplace, settling comfortably opposite each other.
"There is something about uncorking a bottle by hand that is...'ow do you say...meaningful to me. Every bottle, even those from the same grape taste slightly different, and well, I feel that uncorking it, getting the first scent of that wine is as important as the taste. And they say smell is what evokes memories, no? I can be sentimental sometimes." She gave a Gallic shrug, not knowing why she had felt the need to explain herself so thoroughly.
"Oh. I'd never thought about it that way. It's...it's nice." Hermione looked at her glass of wine with interest. Tipping the glass towards her nose, she closed her eyes and inhaled the bouquet, eyes flaring open and stomach clenching as smell did indeed evoke memories.
Catching the look of alarm on Hermione's face, Fleur lifted the glass to her nose, heart suddenly pounding in her chest at the familiar scent of wine made from the vineyard on her family's estate. Wine that was made only for her family's consumption, wine that Hermione would have tasted that night...Fleur had been so distracted by Hermione that she had picked up the wrong bottle of wine. She was afraid to say anything, afraid to even move, waiting to see what Hermione would do next.
"I don't understand wine, it all tastes the same to me," she said raising an eyebrow, laughing as Fleur pulled a face in mock horror.
"Tu es Anglaise, you only have mead and beer, you do not have the refined palate of us French people-" she smirked as she ducked quickly to avoid the pillow aimed at her head, only to be hit by it from behind as the pillow swerved back to its target.
"You're using magic, that is cheating! Ok, ok, call off the pillow, I admit that la Anglaise have good taste too, they do 'ave Sunday roast after all!" She sat back catching her breath, grinning at the brunette. Grinning back, Hermione reached over, brushing the tousled blonde hair off her face, tucking it behind her ear. As she pulled her hand away, Fleur took it with her own, bringing the hand to her lips, lips brushing the top of the slender hand, grin softened to a tender smile.
Hermione went pink with pleasure, lifting her hand to Fleur's face as she traced the outline of the woman's bones with her fingers for what could have been the hundredth time.
"It's good to see that English-French attitudes towards each other haven't improved very much in the past few hundred years, keeps tradition going really," Hermione laughed softly, fingers trailing over the proud nasal bridge of Fleur's Veela heritage. "And Fleur?"
"Hmm?"
"Mead?" Hermione burst into a fit of giggles, pulling the blonde close for a short kiss, before breaking away into another fit of giggles.
"Oui. That is a traditional English drink, non?"
"Perhaps in the Medieval times. And if you were an invading Viking most likely. Although I'm fairly sure it was drank all throughout Europe for thousands of years, particularly in ancient Greece, anywhere you could get water and honey I suppose-"
"'ermione?"
"Yes?"
"I take it mead isn't a traditional English beverage then? What am I thinking of then? And 'ow do you know so much about mead anyway?" Fleur kissed the inside of Hermione's wrist, enjoying the tremble that she caused in the brunette.
"Sorry, I was babbling again wasn't I? I think you're thinking of ale-"
"Ah oui! Ale, that is the one!"
"And as to how I know so much about mead...I've no idea, must have read it somewhere," she shrugged, smiling. "You should really stop me when I'm babbling you know, otherwise I may go on for a while!"
"I like it. It's cute," she smiled widely, enjoying the effect her compliment had on the younger woman's complexion. "Well, mademoiselle Granger, shall I help you develop your palate to the standards of a- ouch! Ok, will you let me expose your tastebuds to le magnifique flavours of wine, I guarantee you will like my lesson, my teaching methods have been developed with specifically you in mind?" she asked, raising an eyebrow in invitiation.
"This won't be a pretentious smell the wine, swish it round your mouth kind of teaching will it?" Hermione asked slowly, a smile growing on her face in response to the glint in Fleur's eyes.
"Non. Well...a little. But my teaching techniques for this wine appreciation course has been developed specifically with you in mind mademoiselle Granger. It 'as taken much time and effort, oooo...approximately the last five minutes, to develop a method that will best facilitate this teaching. Would you like to learn?"
"Don't I always want to learn?" The smile that curved across the brunette's face made her shiver in anticipation. She theatrically cleared her throat, keeping herself covered with the sheet as she turned around and reached for the glass of red wine on the bedside cabinet, handing it to Hermione.
"Smell it. Swirl it in the glass gently, that way you will get the full aroma," she began, smiling. Hermione smirked, but obliged, eyes closed as she smelt the sharp, sweet tang of wine, listening to Fleur's soft voice.
"The wine you 'ave in your 'and isn't a wine you'll be able to buy anywhere, it is bottled from the vineyards on the family estate. We do produce wine from other vineyards that are intended for public sale, but never this one. Tradition dictates that it is only for the Delacour family and those they care about, although we're not sure where that came from. Wine - "
"So I'm privileged to be drinking this wine then, is that what you're saying?" grinned Hermione.
"As I said ma belle, only for the Delacour family and those they care about," she replied, eyes on Hermione's as she kissed the inside of the brunette's palm, tongue flicking across the inside of the delicate wrist, a familiar feeling beginning to uncurl in her stomach, seeing the brunette swallow.
"Back to the task at hand. Wine always smells different to different people, ignore what the critics say, tell me what you can smell?"
Hermione glanced at the wine skeptically, before shrugging and closing her eyes, bringing the glass to her nose. She could smell the sharp scent of the grapes, a fruity sweet smell tempered by something earthy, almost wood-like and...freshly cut grass?
"I'm certainly not an expert in wines, but they don't usually smell of freshly cut grass do they?"
"One of your favourite smells."
"Yes. Did I tell you that before?"
"Non. But this wine will always smell different to everyone, it will always reflect a little of what we love – stop laughing at me, I am part Veela, we believe in love and passion, even for our wine. Now we move onto taste," she smiled.
Fleur took a small sip of the wine, being careful to wet her lips, placing the glass back onto the cabinet. Leaning leisurely on her elbow, she bent her head to kiss Hermione, colouring her lips with the wine, moaning as she felt Hermione's tongue pushing its way into her mouth. Pulling away, a little breathless, she let the sheet fall away, tugging it down Hermione's body, fingers leaving a blazing trail as they ran across the bare flesh.
"Lie still," she commanded, enjoying the raised eyebrow that Hermione gave her as she obeyed. Hermione gasped as the cold liquid touched her stomach, muscles visibly tensing.
"Lie still 'ermione. Don't spill the wine in your navel."
"And if I do..."
"Well, I may 'ave to reprimand you severely for that," she smirked, biting the tender flesh of Hermione's neck lightly, smiling at the intake of breath.
And as her lips and hands travelled across the brunete's body, as she tasted wine and salt, the wine was gradually forgotten, neither of them noticing as the wine trickled from Hermione's navel, staining the crisp white sheets a crimson bloom, staining both their skins.
Looking up, Hermione could see the quickened flicker of the pulse in Fleur's neck, the only visible sign that she was afraid. And that she remembered what Hermione remembered.