A/N: Thank you to all those who have left reviews, they're so lovely and it's nice to hear how people feel about the story!
Hermione was driven by a rage. It was less of the blinding, white hot rage that had led her to punch Bill Weasley. No, this was a calm and seething rage.
Following McGonagall's departure from their cottage, Fleur had gone for a shower, asking Hermione not to do anything rash.
The second that Fleur had ascended the stairs, Hermione had been into the Floo powder and arriving in Grimmauld Place.
To her frustration— but not her surprise— the damned gagging potion McGonagall had given her prevented her from saying much about anything to Harry and Ron about what she had learned at the gala.
The boys, having already endured a surprise visit from an enraged Molly Weasley, were looking at Hermione as if she had entirely lost her mind. Harry ushered her to a chair in the living room they were in, while Ron pushed a hot mug of tea at her with his large hands.
"I can't bloody say what I want to say," Hermione bemoaned, "The Order got me to take—" Hermione was prevented from giving the details by the invisible vines on her tongue, "—something that stops me. But it's dreadful. They're so callous."
"Okay," Ron said slowly, sitting down very slowly in a chair across from Hermione, as if a sudden movement might prompt her to attack him, "But… Why did you punch Bill? Mum said you absolutely lost it at him. He's hardly the one calling the shots at the Order, whatever they're doing."
Hermione sighed heavily, opting to take a long drink from her mug of tea to buy herself some time. There was no delicate way of telling Ron that his brother had been acting like a slimy git… And chances were, Ron wouldn't want to hear it. He could be so bullishly stubborn in his defence of his loved ones.
Harry was watching Hermione with interest, his bright green eyes slightly narrowed and his head slightly to one side.
"He… He took things too far," Hermione settled on. It wasn't a lie, but it wasn't enough of the truth to upset Ron, "He said something that crossed a line and I was already upset about the Order."
Ron, to his credit, nodded as he digested this information. It seemed just vague enough not to ignite his defensive temper.
"Well, you've met my brothers before," Ron said finally, "They can be a bit insensitive sometimes."
Holding back the laugh in her throat that threatened to burst out at Ron Weasley accusing others of being insensitive, Hermione simply nodded in response, grateful that Ron had accepted her explanation without argument.
"What can you tell us about the Order and their plans?" Harry pressed, turning the subject back to the things Hermione had tried repeatedly— and failed— to tell them so far.
Hermione frowned, trying to think of another combination of words, another way, to potentially warn them that the Order were not only carelessly trying to get Fleur killed— but they already knew about the Horcruxes.
The vines were strangling her tongue with every attempt.
"I don't fully trust them anymore," Hermione said finally, "I think we should be very limited in what we tell them."
Harry— who could be like Ron and his family when it came to Dumbledore— looked uncertain.
"McGonagall has changed since Dumbledore died," Hermione half-explained, though she was seriously wondering if Dumbledore had also been working in these same dark shades of grey.
Harry nodded, deep in thought.
"That's fine," Harry said, "We were never going to tell them anything originally. It's just a shame that now we finally have someone on the inside, you can't even tell us anything."
"I know," Hermione agreed, "But I'm hoping their general meetings won't be like that."
The boys were disappointed in the lack of information. They hated being left in the dark as much as Hermione did. But at least it wasn't her fault she couldn't tell them.
Ron stretched and yawned.
"Well, I s'pose we'd better get to the sauna," Ron said, using his new nickname for the uncomfortably hot library at Grimmauld Place, "The sooner we can find some Horcruxes, the sooner we can end all this."
"Yes," Hermione agreed, her mind distracted by a new thought, "But before we get into the books, I have to pop out and see someone."
Hermione stalked around the grounds of Kingsley Shacklebolt's manor. It hadn't taken long to find Remus, who had quickly informed her of the location of Tonks. Shacklebolt's manor was apparently a sort of default head quarters for the Order at the moment.
In fact, when Hermione had arrived, Kingsley and his staff hadn't been surprised at all, simply waving at her and inviting her to use the library and grounds as she needed.
Hermione swore that Tonks must know she was looking for her, and wondered idly if Remus had sent an owl hurtling through the baking sun to warn his wife. At every turn, Hermione was coming up empty in her search for the young auror.
At last, she came across a house elf that was doing a truly bizarre job of cleaning a small music room, mopping carpet with a sopping wet, filthy mop.
Suspicious, Hermione narrowed her eyes at the small elf. They looked like any other elf, dressed in a plain and filthy sack of sorts, with bulbous features and skinny limbs. But the tufts of hair on the elf were green.
"Tonks?" Hermione accused, putting her hands on her hips, "I'll hex you if I have to."
Hermione, for an awful moment, panicked at the prospect of having accidentally threatened an actual house elf who was enslaved by the Shacklebolts.
But sure enough, the elf sighed and threw the mop to the floor, before they began oddly extending in height.
Hermione watched with a sick interest as bones popped and the house elf before her morphed into Tonks, with green long hair and only wearing the (now too tight) filthy sack of the house elves.
Hermione pointedly avoided observing how short the sack was on Tonks, narrowing her eyes at the metamorphmagus.
"Yes, fine, it's me," Tonks sighed, crossing her arms across her chest, "You have no idea how many bloody floors I've had to mop this morning while avoiding you. I have no idea how you found me— nobody comes in this wing of the manor."
Hermione looked at the sodden mess of the music room floor.
"The skill level leaves a lot to be desired," Hermione said. For a moment, Tonks' expression lifted, but then Hermione frowned at her and the hope on the young aurors face disappeared, "Why didn't you tell me?"
"And tell you what?" Tonks said with a heavy sigh, "It's not my information to share, and I couldn't even if I wanted to."
"Is this why you and Fleur have been giving me so many vague warnings about learning more from the Order?" Hermione asked, her tone thoroughly displeased. Tonks was far from off the hook.
"Obviously," Tonks responded, "It's not a very easy thing to live with, knowing the things that are going to go down."
"Knowing?" Hermione countered, her tone thunderous, "You're aiding these things! Teenagers being put in danger? People used as pawns?"
Tonks looked conflicted, a terrible mix of guilt and obligation painting her features.
"It's not like we have a choice," Tonks replied, "Who else can stop He Who Must Not Be Named? Everyone in my family tree has had to make this choice: one side, or the other. I chose the one that isn't set on genocide."
"We always have options," Hermione replied fiercely, "I thought you would be more of a thinker than a blind follower."
Tonks looked as if Hermione had punched her in the face, equal parts stunned and shocked.
Further conversation was curtailed as loud footsteps on the marble hallway outside echoed. Hermione turned to the door, which was open just a crack, before turning back to Tonks.
"Oh for Pete's sake," Hermione muttered under her breath.
Tonks was standing before her as the house elf again, already holding the mop in her hands.
Hermione turned back to the door as the footsteps stilled. She was allowed to be on the Shacklebolt premises, but a part of her was stressed at some of the other Order members bursting in on her here. Particularly Molly Weasley… But if this was a less frequented area of the manor as Tonks had said, maybe Hermione would luck out.
"We can't send him to the packs," Kingsley Shacklebolt's bassy voice rang out, echoing despite probably not intentionally projecting his naturally booming voice.
"Fenrir Greyback is high ranking in the Dark Side these days," replied McGonagall, "Aside from Bellatrix, or the Malfoys, or Severus, he is one of the most trusted Death Eaters."
"Sending Lupin to the werewolves is dangerous," Shacklebolt replied, "They all know who turned him. They all know his allegiance. We'd be showing our hand and risking discovery instantly."
Hermione saw Tonks stiffen beside her, mop frozen in place.
"But if he could find dissidents, disillusioned werewolves," McGonagall replied, "Those who are more in touch with their human nature, like him."
"Then they might yield useful information gleaned from Greyback," Shacklebolt agreed, "But Lupin is useful to us, even if he is part-Creature."
Hermione's jaw set at that. She had wondered at Shacklebolt's attitude towards creatures given the number of house elves at his estate could almost rival Hogwarts. But it was entirely different and all together unpleasant hearing verbal confirmation that Shacklebolt didn't consider Remus his equal given his blood status.
It was appalling really, that the Order could recognise that Muggle-Born witches and wizards were unfairly discriminated against by a belief that their blood was different. Yet, the Order treated those with creature blood as less equal, purely by the notion of having non-human blood running through them. Hermione wondered if McGonagall herself had house elves in slavery at her own estate.
"Agreed," McGonagall concurred, "Which is why it is so important that we explore these non-human avenues this time around. Sending Hagrid to appeal his kind, finally finding a way to get the Veela to co-operate… it makes sense getting Remus to see what intel he can get from the werewolves. Perhaps he can even convince some to defect to our side?"
"Well, that would be very advantageous," Shacklebolt agreed, as the footsteps began to continue their walk down the marble hallway outside, "Besides, it's always good to have more people on our side who are a little more disposable than humans."
Hermione grit her teeth so hard at the last comment of Shacklebolt's that she was glad her dentist parents were no longer in her life to peer at her molars.
As the footsteps and voices faded, Hermione turned to Tonks. The house elf version of Tonks had paled, knuckles white as she clenched her hands around the mop.
"Well, if that doesn't sway your views, nothing else I say will," Hermione quipped, before leaving the room abruptly.
Fleur should have known the second she said "don't do anything rash" that her wife would be out the door the second there was a window to leave.
Still, she couldn't help but be annoyed as she descended the stairs to find an empty cottage.
No matter. Hermione had seemed riled up enough by McGonagall's visit that Fleur knew there was very little to be said that would have calmed the brunette.
Fleur had her reasons for doing what she did. They had been in a gala room full of Death Eaters and Order members alike. Hermione snapping didn't just put the brunette in danger, it put in danger every one of the Order members— particularly those that may have been working undercover.
Hermione's rage at Fleur's situation didn't justify other people being harmed.
Though, if Fleur were to be entirely honest, it was really quite sweet how Hermione was unwilling to soften on her protective stance. Fleur had never had anyone in her life before who would be so outraged at her treatment, except maybe Gabrielle.
There was a sharp rapping at the window and Fleur was drawn out of her thoughts. A barn owl was tapping at a window with a small note tied to its leg.
Fleur quickly crossed the room, locating some owl treats to placate the owl as she took the message from it.
"Fleur,
Drinks at the last place we went to together. Now.
Tonks."
It was strange for Tonks to send such a serious note, or to demand such a thing. After all, it was barely noon and hardly a usual time for them to head to a bar for a drink.
Fleur considered this as she ushered the owl back out of the cottage and gathered her things to head out. Surely Tonks wasn't seeking to lecture Fleur on the events of the previous evening as McGonagall had lectured Hermione. Tonks was one of the only members of the Order that Fleur found quite reasonable.
Within half an hour, Fleur had freshened up and was arriving to the dreadfully sage-scented location where she had last had a solo drink with Tonks. She arrived to find the young auror with long green hair, several facial piercings, and drumming her fingers restlessly on a chipped wooden table in the corner of the room.
Fleur sat down on the other side of the table, surprised to see that Tonks had already ordered them drinks— and stiff ones at that. Fleur lifted the glass tumbler in front of her, swirling it to gauge what its contents were.
"Firewhisky," Tonks answered before Fleur could ask, "You took your time getting here."
Fleur's mouth quirked into a smirk. The metamorphmagus was always a chaotic ball of energy, leaping from one place to the next, simply morphing when she needed to change appearance in any way. Impatience was common with the auror.
"Here I was thinking that I had got ready quickly," Fleur replied, setting down her tumbler without a sip, "What is the occasion for a midday drink? Shouldn't you be off enjoying your weekend?"
Tonks glowered moodily, sipping at her own firewhisky and wincing at the taste.
"I don't even know where to start with that, Fleur," Tonks replied, "I'm dealing with crisis after crisis here. First, your wife goes and bloody punches Bill Weasley in the middle of an already delicate social situation—"
"That was not my fault," Fleur said, inclining her head proudly, "If Bill wants to mouth off on the assumption that everyone has endless tolerance for him, then that's a risk he is choosing to take."
Undeterred, Tonks carried on her tirade.
"—Then, in trying to meet with McGonagall to get an idea of how to help your wife, I get an urgent patronus from Remus warning me that said wife is hunting me down to tear me a new one. I spent most of my morning as a house elf cleaning bloody Kingsley's manor!" Tonks exclaimed.
At this, Fleur snorted. The thought of Tonks being so terrified of Hermione's temper that she had ended up cleaning the Shackleton manor to avoid her was hilarious.
"It's not bloody funny, Fleur," Tonks said with a warning tone, necking back another sip of firewhisky.
"It is a bit, though," Fleur smirked, "This whole marriage has been so endlessly amusing to you, it's about time you had some comeuppance. So, why the urgent drink when it's barely the middle of the day? I'm assuming Hermione just had a go at you and left. Unless she punched you, too?"
"You don't have to look so bloody entertained at the thought of your wife decking me," Tonks retorted, before her face grew serious again, "Yes, she did have a go at me. But it's more than that."
Fleur sighed, leaning back in her chair. It was too early for this, and the day was already too hot for this. The heat in the bar was stifling, the hot sage-tinged air making Fleur feel a little sick.
"So what is it, then?" Fleur asked impatiently. Tonks was drumming her fingers restlessly on the table again, an agitated demeanour about her.
"You might want a drink for this," Tonks said, nodding at Fleur's firewhisky. When the blonde didn't respond, Tonks sighed heavily before continuing, "I don't think the Order view Creatures or part-Creatures as equals."
Fleur exhaled heavily, laughing. If that was the bombshell Tonks was hoping to deliver to her so urgently, it was the least surprising thing Fleur had heard.
"What gave it away?" Fleur replied sarcastically, "The mass amount of house elves they all own?"
Tonks frowned, perhaps realising how naive she sounded.
"Let me try that again," Tonks said, furrowing her brow, "I overheard Kingsley and Minerva discussing Remus and werewolves and Veela and giants as if they were nothing. Kinsgley literally referred to them as being 'more disposable than humans.'"
Fleur frowned this time. It was a lot more overt than the usual impressions she got from the Order on their views. If she were honest, it did hurt. While she had suspected that they saw her as disposable, as an object, or as someone lesser than the others— she had never expected to hear it confirmed so boldly. Let alone assigned solely to the fact she had some Veela blood in her.
This time Fleur did take a sip from her tumbler, relishing the burn of the hard liquor as it swarmed her mouth and charged down her throat.
"What do you expect me to do about that?" Fleur said darkly, her mood considerably dampened by this revelation, "Whether they see Remus and I as equals or not, we have a part to play in taking down He Who Must Not Be Named. What else can we do? Stand by and do nothing as the Dark Side take over?"
"Yeah, well, that's the thing," Tonks said, the drumming of her fingers intensifying, "I think that way too. But something Hermione said to me before we heard all that— it's stuck in my head. She said there's always options. I just… I really wonder if this is the only way, you know?"
Fleur was silent for a moment, considering Tonks' words and what they meant. She didn't want to entertain even a glimmer of hope. A prophecy had long ago sealed her fate, not the Order. Even if she were free from the Order, she wouldn't be free from that.
"You could warn Remus," Fleur suggested, "Put him on guard that he is to be used as fodder. There is not much else we can do."
Tonks slapped the wooden table between them so abruptly that Fleur jumped.
"Isn't there?!" Tonks demanded, "How long have we been moaning over drinks how absolutely fucked some of the Order's attitudes are? How long have we been annoyed that they never seem to take our opinions into consideration? What if we could do it differently? Take down the Dark Lord, but only using people who absolutely know what they're signing up for and what they are risking. No tricking kids with half-truths, no putting people in harm's way for purely political reasons, no pressuring people into making dangerous decisions."
Fleur felt the small piece of hope deep in her chest spark briefly, as if it were a flint trying to start a fire.
"Impossible," Fleur replied, "Without the others, we don't have the influence, the power, the resources…"
"Sod all that!" Tonks exclaimed enthusiastically, slapping the table once more for effect, "Look, if we're all putting ourselves in lethal danger anyway, why not do it our way? On our terms? I don't want to die under the banner of a cause I don't agree with."
Fleur bit her lip, thoughtful. Tonks had a point. If their situation was hopeless anyway, they could at least go about it in a way that felt more right.
"What do you suggest?" Fleur asked, leaning forward.
Hermione was irritated as she left Grimmauld Place much later. The sun was setting, thankfully taking much of the heat out of the day.
Hermione scratched the back of her neck, wondering if she had just wasted valuable Horcrux studying time researching how she could break the gagging potion that McGonagall had dosed her with.
Who was she kidding?
Hermione knew she was bright, the brightest witch of her age, but this potion had been around for the last two years. The greatest minds in the Order and Death Eaters had undoubtedly tried during that time to find a way around it, or a way to break it. Hermione hadn't even completed her Seventh Year of schooling yet.
The rage that had fuelled much of Hermione's day had been exhausted by hours poring over hot books in the unbearably hot library of Grimmauld Place. Even Ron wrenching every window open had done nothing to ease the discomfort.
Now Hermione just felt dejected.
Everything was feeling rather hopeless.
She stepped into the green flames of the Floo Network, wondering how annoyed Fleur would be with her after McGonagall's visit and her subsequent disappearance for much of the day. She hadn't given much thought to the consequences of her actions after leaving in a rage, more annoyed at Fleur showing deference to McGonagall than anything. It drove Hermione crazy that somebody could use Fleur like that and Fleur wouldn't fight it tooth and nail. It seemed contrary to everything that Hermione knew about the blonde's volatile temper. Was she that beaten down by what she saw as an inevitability?
Hermione longed to break the potion that prevented her from telling Fleur that any reasoning given by the Order as to why she must die, instead of just be injured, was being fed by a desire to whip the temper of the Veela community into a frenzy so great, they would assist the Order.
Hermione was startled as she landed on the rug of their living room face to face with the part-Veela she had just been thinking about. Fleur seemed a lot more relaxed than she had that morning, her features softened as she smiled at Hermione.
"Welcome back, my wandering wife," Fleur greeted her, stepping forward with a glass of white wine in her hand.
Hermione took the wine, a little surprised as Fleur stepped further into her personal space, her lips brushing Hermione's cheek in a gentle kiss before she stepped back again.
Hermione cursed her face for heating up, no doubt revealing how much she enjoyed such a gesture with an appalling display of redness.
"Erm," Hermione was thrown. As she turned to face the rest of the cottage, she could see a candle on the table and two plates of salad laid out with cutlery, "I thought we left things on kind of bad terms this morning?"
For a truly wild second, Hermione wondered if Fleur was actually mad at her and was attempting to curse her via salad. But she pushed this thought aside with amusement as she followed Fleur to the table.
"I know you are angry," Fleur said simply, sitting down across from the brunette, "You don't understand why I am cordial and obedient to Minerva despite her treating me as a little…" Fleur frowned before she said the next word, "disposable."
"Yeah," Hermione replied, skewering a piece of lettuce with her fork.
"I was frustrated with you too, you know," Fleur replied, leaning back in her chair, "I didn't understand why you didn't seem to get it. That this is just the way things are."
This got Hermione's attention, and she raised an eyebrow.
"Was frustrated?" Hermione queried, "But you're not anymore?"
Fleur didn't seem to have any of her usual veneer. She seemed vulnerable. Hermione was fascinated.
Fleur shifted uncomfortably in her chair for a moment, incredibly out of character for the usually stoic woman.
"I sat down with Tonks today," Fleur explained, running a restless hand through her silky hair, "She told me about her conversation with you."
Hermione sat in silence, waiting for Fleur to continue. Hermione hadn't thought her conversation with Tonks had gone well at all, so was curious to know where Fleur was going with this.
"What you said to her, about exploring other options, it really charged her up," Fleur explained, "She was so fired up at all the wrongs we see in the Order. Neither of us had ever considered another way. There is the Light side and the Dark side, and that is all we have known."
"More like the Grey side and the Greyer side," Hermione muttered, folding her arms across her chest, "Neither of them are interested in true equality and peace."
"Yes, but it was all we had… Or at least all we had allowed ourselves to consider," Fleur said, twirling her own fork in her elegant fingers.
Hermione was stunned.
"So… What does this mean?" Hermione asked, "What happened with Tonks?"
Fleur sighed, before offering a nervous smile to Hermione. Hermione felt herself melt at the sweet vulnerability of the part-Veela.
"Tonks suggested we seek another way— with like minded individuals. People that truly know what they are getting into. No sharing half-truths or pressuring people," Fleur said breathlessly, "She's gone off in her full 'auror mode,' intent on discreetly finding people that might be interested in meeting up to discuss this potential other way. If you're interested… We'd love you to come along when Tonks is ready to bring the potential members together."
Hermione was floored. She hadn't expected Tonks to actually take on board what she had said so quickly and so deeply.
"Hermione?" Fleur prompted, distracting the brunette from her surprise, "You started this. You got us to hope for a better way."
"I… Wow…" was all Hermione could manage, though she inwardly cursed herself for being so lost for words.
Nobody had ever taken Hermione's words to heart like that. Yes, people respected that she knew a lot from her reading, but they had never really taken her opinions that hadn't come from a textbook. When she had set up S.P.E.W., appalled at the blatant slavery occurring in every day wizarding life, she had been laughed at. Even Harry and Ron had found her "unbearable" and "embarrassing" in her opinions and hadn't taken her seriously when she had suggested that there might be a better way.
Hermione had gone from feeling entirely drained and dejected to feeling energised in an instant.
Fleur was watching her with curiosity, but remained silent, seemingly waiting for Hermione to gather her thoughts.
"I mean, it goes without saying that of course I am interested in coming to the meeting," Hermione said breathlessly, "But what now? What do we do in the meantime?"
Fleur smiled, taking a sip from her wine and leaning back.
"As inconvenient as it is, we cannot raise the suspicions of the Order while we are so early in planning," Fleur said, though she did not appear inconvenienced in the slightest, "So for now we must continue to sell our marriage to that dreadful Umbridge woman and the community at large."
Fleur was smiling widely, and it made Hermione's heart beat faster. A little longer of the marriage. Even if it was a ruse, Hermione was growing to enjoy every moment of playing the part of Fleur's wife.
"Terribly inconvenient," Hermione agreed with a grin, "I suppose we must resign ourselves to it for the near future."
"Exactly," Fleur said, beaming, "Now… I was thinking at some point or another, Umbridge will likely quiz us on details about each other. We probably need to spend some time getting to know the answers to questions that Umbridge may ask us."
Hermione raised her eyebrows.
The usually closed off Veela openly inviting Hermione to get to know her.
It was an opportunity that Hermione did not want to refuse.
The rest of the dinner had been spent as a pleasant first course, of sorts, of the two witches getting to know each other.
They had eaten their salad and sipped at their wine with broad smiles, rattling off where they had grown up, their first schools, names of relatives.
As Hermione cleared the plates and Fleur refilled their glasses of wine, they moved to the couch to progress a little further— sharing slightly more personal personal details.
Hermione admitted that when she had been a child, she had wanted to be Prime Minister. Fleur, a famous quidditch player.
They both smiled adoringly at each other's cute childhood dreams, the second wine already washing away at their careful guards that had been lowered more and more since their wedding day.
Fleur rested a hand on Hermione's thigh, and Hermione inwardly sighed, enjoying the intimacy between them. Hermione was very content that they would be continuing to play wives a little longer.
"So, you don't know who your father is, what about your mother— how did you get along with her while you were growing up?" Hermione asked, though she had some inkling of the answer from the little she had come across so far.
Fleur frowned.
"Barely," Fleur replied, "We were just lucky that we had a housekeeper to look after us growing up. She has always been quite selfish, always off pursuing her own interests and pleasures."
Hermione frowned, putting her hand on top of Fleur's. The part-Veela's skin was soft and warm to the touch.
"That must have been hard," Hermione sympathised, "If your mother was out living her life like that— how did you have time to be a kid? That's a lot of responsibility so early."
Fleur simply took a deep drink of her wine in response. Hermione squeezed her hand.
"Well, what about you?" Fleur said, smiling slightly, "How did you get on with your parents growing up?"
Hermione felt a searing ache in her chest, as if someone had just impaled a cold knife in there.
"I…" Hermione felt out of breath, "I got along with them really well. We were always super close, being an only child you see. We began growing apart when I found out I was a witch, of course. They were very rational and scientific, you see, being dentists."
Fleur nodded, her deep blue eyes watching Hermione intently.
"They never really got that part of me," Hermione shrugged, "We'd always bonded over our love of facts and knowledge. That was a whole set of knowledge that they didn't understand and couldn't really learn. Still… It really hurt having to… Well, you know how the Death Eaters are with Harry… And how they showed up at The Burrow… It was only a matter of time until they found my parents. Parents who would have no way of defending themselves. Anyway, it was really hard erasing their memories and sending them far away— even if it was for their own safety."
Fleur didn't look at her with the usual pity people did when they heard Hermione speak of what had happened to her parents. She was looking at Hermione with a tenderness that surprised her.
Fleur turned over the hand she had on Hermione's thigh, entwining her fingers with Hermione's.
"I'm sorry that there wasn't another way to keep them safe," Fleur said softly.
Hermione offered a half-smile in return.
Fleur leaned into Hermione's shoulder.
"You know… I never knew you had this side to you," Hermione admitted, "You're really quite sweet and sensitive."
"So are you," Fleur replied, "I have to admit, I think I had the wrong impression of you."
Hermione smiled at Fleur, taking a moment to appreciate how much things had improved between the blonde and herself. There really was a lot more to Fleur than first glance.
Hermione found herself leaning in, her heart beating hard in her chest. Fleur's long eyelashes fluttered as the blonde leaned in too.
Hermione kissed Fleur, feeling like fireworks were exploding in her stomach. Fleur sighed into the kiss and Hermione daringly used the moment to slip her tongue into the Frenchwoman's mouth. Fleur made a soft noise of approval, sliding into Hermione's lap.
Hermione ran a hand through Fleur's silky soft hair as the kiss broke. Fleur's breath was coming in quick pants and she leaned into Hermione's neck, peppering it with sharp kisses. Hermione gasped, her pulse quickening as Fleur pushed her down to lie on the couch.
Fleur sighed into Hermione's ear between kisses, her hips moving intoxicatingly as she lay on top of Hermione.
"Sweet Circe," Hermione let out in a strangled voice, as all remaining doubts regarding her sexuality flew swiftly out the window. Her hands moved down Fleur's back, enjoying the feel of toned muscles and curves under her hands.
Fleur gave Hermione's neck a teasing nip, causing Hermione's hips to jerk suddenly. Hermione moved one hand to Fleur's jaw, pulling the blonde back into a searing kiss.
Hermione was in heaven, kissing the gorgeous blonde in her arms. Fleur seemed just as content, judging by the way she was grinding into Hermione.
Hermione felt a pressure building within her steadily, dizzying and breathless.
Fleur broke the kiss and sat up, panting.
"I'm sorry," Fleur gasped, speaking in a rushed and disorganised way entirely unlike her usual way of speaking, "I… Uh… I never meant to push you into anything that might make you uncomfortable."
Hermione sat up, her hands coming to rest on Fleur's hips, something that was becoming an entirely familiar action now.
Hermione was tousled and out of breath. She'd never felt this out of control before, and it was exhilarating.
"No need to apologise," Hermione panted, "That was bloody brilliant."
Fleur smiled broadly, before leaning in to capture Hermione's lips in another kiss, gentler this time.