Here are a few chapters for those who are persisting with this story. As always, thanks to every who follows this story, to those who leave comments and to those silent readers. Enjoy!

Cheers!

The clatter of Fleur's heels echoed off the stones as she hurried to the dungeon. She had woken up late, but despite only a few hours sleep, she felt energised. And happy; it'd been such a long time since she had felt this happy. The two of them had stayed up until the early hours of the morning just talking, becoming accustomed to each other's company again, neither being able to stop smiling or laughing. She remembered the reluctance in Hermione's eyes when they both decided it was time to call it a night, Hermione shyly taking one of her hands in her own, both savouring the touch, letting their hands linger; she didn't have to close her eyes to remember the sensation of Hermione slowly running the pads of her fingers over the top of her hand before squeezing it gently. And to finish off the night, a goodnight kiss which had made her blush, making her feel as young as the students she taught; it had been chaste, one kiss on each cheek, she was French after all, but the brush of Hermione's lips against her skin, the warmth of Hermione's cheeks against her own and the smoothness beneath her own lips had sent anticipatory tingles coursing through her body. She had been gratified to see a splash of colour high on the brunette's cheeks when they separated. Just thinking about it made her grin.

She breezed into the classroom beaming at her final year students who were lounged around gossiping.

"Bonjour! My apologies for being late. Could everyone please take their seats, and we'll get started." Her wide smile was not missed by her students, many of whom unconsciously found themselves smiling back equally widely.

"Professor, you obviously got out on the right side of bed today! Good weekend?" asked a male student at the back of the class.

Fleur looked up from the pile of papers she was holding, surprised to see her students looking genuinely interested in her weekend, waiting expectantly for her answer.

"I did 'ave a good weekend thank you, didn't 'ave to face you lot which is always a plus," she deadpanned, hearing a few chuckles in response.

"You do look extra smiley though Professor, must have done something special…or someone…" chirped a female voice, garnering louder laughs from her classmates.

"Enough, settle down. Whilst you all seem so interested in my personal life, I'm more interested to see 'ow you do in this morning's surprise practical test," she smirked, ignoring the groans and complaints that it elicited.

As she watched the students silently collect their ingredients, she mentally reminded herself that she needed to have a stronger grasp of her emotions when around her students; her thrall intensified as her own emotions intensified, and considering her subconscious control loosened considerably when she was preoccupied with other things, it was a poor combination, one that could lead to dangerous situations. It had happened before. Just a quick scan of the room and she could see more than a few of students glancing at her with longing, infatuated gazes. She reprimanded herself silently, but she had few concerns over her students' crushes, knowing the labile nature of teenage hormones, it had always been adults who had been the most difficult to deal with. She shook off dark memories, reminding herself to be more careful in the future.

Once satisfied with the progress of her students, she took a seat on her desk, reaching into her bag for the pile of parchment that needing marking when she noticed a small white envelope on her desk, her name written on it in Hermione's neat hand. A familiar knot of anxiety formed in her stomach, she desperately didn't want to be disappointed, not after all the conversation and laughter they had shared. She took a deep breath, looking up to make sure all her pupils were occupied with the task at hand. Unfolding the piece of parchment inside, that knot transformed into butterflies as she felt excitement flood her body.

Fleur,

I am so glad that we had last night and I really hope that we have many more. Would you like to go out on a date with me this Thursday evening?

Yours,

H

P.S. I did want to ask you in person, but I just couldn't wait that long.

Fleur wanted nothing more than to just go and find Hermione to give her an answer, but knew that it would have to wait. There was always the option of sending a student to her with the reply, but quite frankly, she wanted to see the expression on Hermione's face.

She had always been so afraid to dream about this and yet somehow it all appeared to be happening. It was as though she had just woken up from a waking dream, she no longer wanted to walk through her life as she had been doing, she wanted to live it, and she remembered how much she had missed that. She wasn't prepared to think about the future just yet, not after last time; she didn't think she would be able to cope feeling as though her soul had been torn apart again, briefly wondering if that was how Voldemort felt as he voluntarily fragmented his own soul.

She sat in the dark, knees tucked up to her chest, wrapping her arms around herself, in the same chair that she found Hermione in that night, eyes looking out over the moonlit coastline, but seeing nothing. Five days. It had been five days since she had left and there had been no word. No letter, no message, no sign, nothing to indicate that she was safe, even alive. Five days of tossing and turning, only managing a few hours of sleep a night with dreams interrupted by nightmares, pacing around the cottage restlessly, everything reminding her of Hermione. She was already losing weight, all the foods she had once loved no longer had appeal.

And he kept looking at her. He would look at her with those light blue eyes, silently beseeching her to talk to him, but she couldn't. After that kiss that Hermione had seen, she hadn't let him touch her, claiming to be too busy, too tired, too anxious before eventually not even bothering with a reason. She could see the hurt and puzzlement in his eyes, the way his scarred jaw twitched as he wanted to ask her why, but never quite being brave enough. Just over a week ago they had been happy, at least he had, and she had believed that perhaps one day she would learn to love him as much as he loved her. They had been planning their future, enjoying their companionship, settling into a routine as a newly married couple. Their late nights extended into early mornings as they tried to claim satisfaction from each other's bodies. But after, she always felt regret. That physical craving was satisfied, but that was it, nothing more. It was as though it was purely a means to an end, and she struggled to reconcile the thought of her husband and the act of love making. Unless it was one of those rare times she let herself think about Hermione, and suddenly her body came alive. She would keep her eyes firmly closed, focusing only on herself and her needs as she imagined it was Hermione that was touching her, imagining Hermione's voice and for those few seconds as she let the waves wash over her she would be content. But as she quickly regained her senses, that feeling of happiness would plummet into nothingness and she couldn't bear to tell her husband that she reciprocated his feelings of love, couldn't stay in bed listening to him sleep. And on those nights, she would inevitably end up falling asleep in this chair exhausted by her guilt, hating herself for knowing that she would never love him as much as she should, as much as she felt for someone she would never have.

Since he had returned from London, she hadn't been back in their bed, choosing instead to fall asleep in one of the spare bedrooms, on the bed that still smelled of Hermione, where she had finally understood what making love was. And when she couldn't sleep and was too tired to try and focus on more spells for the war that she knew was fast approaching, she would just sit in this chair until sheer exhaustion took over.

"Fleur?"

She scrunched her eyes up in frustration, not having the energy to face his silent questions. She turned her head, seeing him hovering in the doorway, and a small sigh escaped her lips as she knew what was about to happen, she could see the way he had mentally built himself up for an argument, his normally relaxed stance now unnaturally aggressive.

He walked in and sat on the edge of the bed facing her, and suddenly she felt as though he was intruding, remembering the way Hermione had given herself completely to her in that bed.

"What's going on with you Fleur? You can talk to me you know, about anything, I'm here to listen," his voice cajoling.

"Nothing's going on Bill, I'm just tired."

"Then come back to our room, come back to our bed and we'll go to bed," he stated, not even trying to keep the pleading tone from his voice.

"I can't, I'll just toss and turn. I'm better off in here, I'll fall asleep eventually," she stated, her voice tired, desperately trying not to think of how easily she fell asleep in Hermione's arms.

She visibly flinched when he touched her arm with his hand and he recoiled, devastation written across his face.

"What happened Fleur? Everything was fine before I left, what happened when we went to London? I can't fix something I don't know about, please just talk to me."

She couldn't tell him that she felt for someone else what she was meant to feel for him, how she knew that from the first moment her own lips touched Hermione's, that no one else would ever suffice. But she didn't want to make up any more excuses.

"I need a break Bill, I'm sorry. I need to go 'ome, I need to spend time with my family."

"Is that why you can't sleep? You're worrying about your family?" They both knew that he was clutching onto anything to try to save their marriage from something he didn't understand, willing to accept any lie she told. And she felt her emotionless façade begin to crack, the man in front of her had never deserved to be the victim of her denial, of her fear.

"Non. I need to spend time away from us Bill. I don't …..I don't know if we should be together anymore."

"Why are you saying that? What the hell has happened?"

"You deserve someone who loves you as much you love them, and I'm not sure I can-"

"You love me enough, I'm happy with you, I don't need anyone else, I don't want anyone else Fleur!" he shouted as he felt tears sting his eyes.

"I'm sorry."

He shook his head at her in disbelief, unable to process everything she had said.

"I will return to France tomorrow, if you need to find me, I will be with my family," she said with a finality that she didn't feel.

He stared at her, struggling to understand what had happened. In a space of a week, the woman he had been proud to call his wife and friend, was now almost a stranger to him.

"I don't know if you're panicking about being married, or you're worried about your family or perhaps it's the brewing war that's making your nervous, but you should know I'm here to listen to you, and I'll protect you with my life, Fleur. Take your time, it may do you some good to spend time with your family as I'll be busy in the upcoming weeks with things from The Order, but remember that I love you. I swore an oath that I would love you and protect you for better or for worse and I hope that this is just a period of worse."

With that, he picked up the tattered remains of his dignity, calmly stood up and left the room, closing the door quietly behind him.

And for the first time in months, she cried. Streaming tears soon gave way to gut wrenching sobs that she tried to muffle with her hand. She thought of the three of them, all of them hurting because of her. She thought of the man she should never had selfishly married, the good man with a better heart who was prepared to live a lie for her, who was prepared to spend the rest of his life knowing that she had settled for him just so that she was happy. She thought of the young Englishwoman who took her breath away, the woman who she understood and who understood her completely, a woman who had trusted her completely, and the way that fear and anguish had shadowed her brown eyes when she heard Bill's voice. She had damaged three lives including her own; it was ok to make mistakes when you were the only casualty, but when you irrevocably damaged others, she wasn't sure that she would ever be able to fully forgive herself.

No, she wasn't prepared to allow herself to think about the future yet, but she already knew that the carefully constructed wall she had placed around herself had already started to crumble the moment she had caught sight of those brown eyes again. She took another look at the letter in front of her, running her finger across the words and thought that maybe she could finally begin to make amends for her past actions.