2

Fleur's breath hitched as she lay back on the plush velvet sheets, her fingers tracing slow, deliberate circles over her stomach. The room was dimly lit, the golden glow of the candlelight casting shadows that danced along the walls. Her silver-blonde hair splayed out around her like a halo, strands sticking to her damp skin as her body began to warm with anticipation. She closed her eyes, letting her mind wander to the fantasy that had been teasing her all day—a fantasy that involved none other than Hermione Granger.

Hermione. The thought of her made Fleur's pulse quicken. That sharp intellect, those wild curls always threatening to escape their confines, and that barely-contained fire in her eyes whenever she argued. Fleur could still remember the way Hermione's lips pressed together when she was concentrating, the way her hands moved so precisely when she cast spells. It drove Fleur mad with desire.

Her hand slipped lower, fingertips brushing over the soft fabric of her lace panties. She bit her lip, imagining it was Hermione's touch instead of her own. What would she do if she were here right now? Fleur wondered, her hips arching slightly as her fingers dipped beneath the lace. The first brush of her fingers against her slick folds sent a shiver through her body, and she let out a low, breathy moan.

In her mind, Hermione was kneeling between her legs, those clever brown eyes locked on hers as her fingers explored. "You're always so perfect," Hermione murmured, her voice husky with want. "I can't stop thinking about you."

Fleur's breath came faster now, her fingers moving in slow, teasing circles. Yes, she thought, just like that. She imagined Hermione leaning down, her lips brushing against the sensitive skin of Fleur's inner thigh before trailing upward. The heat of Hermione's breath against her core made Fleur whimper, her back arching off the bed.

"Please," Fleur whispered into the empty room, though in her fantasy, it was Hermione who heard her plea. "Don't stop."

Hermione's lips parted, and Fleur could almost feel the warmth of her tongue as it flicked against her clit. The sensation was electric, sending jolts of pleasure radiating through her body. Fleur's hand moved faster now, her breathing ragged as she lost herself in the fantasy. Hermione's tongue was relentless, alternating between soft licks and firm pressure, driving Fleur closer and closer to the edge.

"Look at me," Hermione commanded, her voice firm but tinged with affection. Fleur's eyes fluttered open in her imagination, meeting Hermione's intense gaze. There was something so intimate about the way Hermione looked at her, as if she could see every secret Fleur had ever tried to hide. It was exhilarating and terrifying all at once.

Fleur's free hand tangled in the sheets, gripping them tightly as her hips bucked against her own fingers. She was so close now, the tension coiling tighter and tighter inside her. "I'm going to—" she started to say, but the words caught in her throat as the pleasure threatened to overwhelm her.

Just as she was teetering on the brink, a sharp knock at the door shattered the illusion.

Fleur froze, her heart pounding in her chest. No, no, no! She held her breath, willing herself to stay silent as the knocking came again, more insistent this time. Her entire body was tense, muscles coiled like springs as she fought to suppress the moans that threatened to escape. Her fingers stilled, but the ache between her legs remained, desperate for release.

A sharp knock at the door startled Fleur from her spiraling thoughts. "Fleur? Are you okay? Gin and I are waiting for you to have breakfast" Hermione's voice called from the other side.

Fleur sat up abruptly, her heart hammering in her chest. "Oui, I am fine, I will be right out" she replied, wincing at the unsteadiness of her voice.

There was a pause, then the faint creak of floorboards as Hermione walked away. Fleur exhaled deeply, running a hand through her silver-blonde hair. She needed to pull herself together. This was getting out of hand, and if she wasn't careful, someone was bound to notice.

She stood and approached the small mirror above her dresser, glaring at her reflection as though it held the answers to her problems. "Get yourself together, Delacour," she whispered fiercely.

But as she caught sight of the faint blush still lingering on her cheeks, the words rang hollow.