9

The flat was unusually quiet that evening, save for the faint scratching of Hermione's quill as she jotted notes for a Ministry case. It was late, and the dim light of her desk lamp cast soft shadows across the room. Her mind, however, was elsewhere—on Viktor, on the night they had just spent together because she couldn't avoid any longer advancing in her relationship with him, and her guilt because of it.

Hermione sighed, setting her quill down and rubbing her temples. She didn't have time to untangle her messy emotions now.

Fleur, meanwhile, sat at the kitchen table, staring at the latest letter from Margot. The handwriting was elegant but sharp, the tone within growing increasingly bitter with each letter Fleur chose to ignore.

Fleur,

I don't understand how you could throw us away so easily. You say you were being 'fair,' but how is this fair to me? You're in my head, and I can't get you out. If I meant anything to you during all these months, you owe me an explanation. You owe me more than silence.

Fleur sighed, crumpling the parchment and tossing it aside. Ginny, who had been rifling through the fridge, turned at the sound.

"Another one?" Ginny asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Oui," Fleur replied coolly, leaning back in her chair.

Ginny frowned, closing the fridge and leaning against the counter. "This is the fourth one this week, Fleur. Don't you think it's getting... a bit much?"

"It is nothing I cannot handle," Fleur said dismissively, though her fingers drummed lightly against the table.

"You sure about that?" Ginny pressed. "She sounds like she's spiraling."

Hermione entered the kitchen just in time to catch the tail end of the conversation. "What's going on?" she asked, glancing between them.

"Margot," Ginny said, nodding toward the crumpled letter. "She's been sending Fleur these... dramatic missives."

Hermione frowned, moving to sit beside Fleur. "That sounds concerning."

"It is not," Fleur said firmly, her icy facade slipping effortlessly into place. "I am Veela, remember? People tend to become... fixated. It is not unusual."

"That doesn't make it healthy," Hermione countered, her brow furrowed. "Have you told her to stop?"

Fleur's lips quirked into a faint, humorless smile. "People like Margot do not listen to such requests. they must simply... burn themselves out."

Ginny exchanged a look with Hermione, her concern evident. "Just... don't ignore it if it gets worse, alright?" Ginny said.

"I will be fine," Fleur replied, her tone leaving no room for argument.


A week later, Fleur, Hermione, Ginny, and Luna met for drinks at a lively pub in Diagon Alley. The group had settled into a cozy corner booth, laughter and conversation flowing easily as they caught up on each other's lives.

"I heard the most amusing thing the other day," Ginny said suddenly, her grin mischievous as she looked at Hermione.

"What?" Hermione asked, her brow furrowing slightly.

"One of Viktor's teammates was chatting at practice," Ginny began, her voice light but teasing. "Apparently, they heard... sounds. Coming from the Tornadoes' building late one night."

Hermione's cheeks flushed instantly, her eyes widening. "What?!"

"Oh, don't play coy," Ginny said, laughing. "The word is that you and Viktor got a little... cozy before practice. And not quietly, apparently."

Luna tilted her head, her expression as dreamy as ever. "Is that true, Hermione?"

Hermione stammered, her face burning. "I— That's— We weren't that loud!" she said finally, burying her face in her hands.

The table erupted in laughter, but Fleur's smile was tight, her icy facade cracking just enough to reveal the flicker of hurt in her eyes. She took a long sip of her wine, her gaze fixed on the glass as her thoughts churned.

"Don't be embarrassed, Hermione," Ginny said, still grinning. "It's good to see you letting loose for once. Viktor must be over the moon after you finally gave it up, the poor man waited for months"

Hermione glanced at Fleur, catching the faint tension in her jaw, the way her fingers gripped the stem of her glass just a little too tightly. Fleur's expression was unreadable, but Hermione knew her well enough to see the cracks beneath the surface.

"I think we've teased Hermione enough," Fleur said smoothly, her tone light but edged with something colder. "Let us move on to another subject, non?"

Ginny blinked, surprised by Fleur's sudden interjection, but shrugged. "Fair enough. What about you, Luna? Any new discoveries?"

As the conversation shifted, Hermione stole a glance at Fleur, her chest tightening at the sight of the hurt Fleur so carefully concealed. Fleur's icy demeanor was intact, her sharp blue eyes calm and composed, but Hermione knew the truth.


The shift between them was subtle at first. Fleur's cool, composed demeanor had always been a constant, but now there was a distinct chill to her interactions with Hermione. She was polite, even friendly at times, but there was a careful distance in her words, a precision to her actions that left no room for the quiet intimacy they once shared.

Hermione noticed immediately.

It began the day after their outing with Ginny and Luna. Fleur, who usually sought Hermione in the mornings or late at night when the flat was empty, suddenly seemed too busy, too preoccupied. The knowing glances that once passed between them were gone, replaced by polite smiles and curt nods. Fleur didn't linger in shared spaces anymore, and when Hermione caught her in the kitchen one evening, Fleur brushed past her with barely a word.

Hermione tried to confront her about it a few days later, catching Fleur just as she was leaving for Gringotts.

"Have I done something wrong?" Hermione asked, her tone hesitant but direct.

Fleur paused, one hand on the doorknob, her sharp blue eyes meeting Hermione's. For a brief moment, something flickered in her expression—something raw and unguarded—but it disappeared as quickly as it came.

"Non," Fleur said smoothly, her voice as cold and precise as ever. "You have done nothing wrong, Hermione. You are happy, are you not? With Viktor?"

Hermione blinked, caught off guard by the question. "I... I suppose so."

"Then there is no need to worry," Fleur said, a faint, almost imperceptible smile curving her lips. "You have all you need."

"But—"

Fleur cut her off with a slight wave of her hand, her expression turning distant. "What we had, our moments together... they were unnecessary, redundant. Don't you think?"

Hermione's stomach twisted at Fleur's words, the air between them crackling with unspoken tension. "That's not true," she said softly, her voice trembling slightly.

Fleur's gaze hardened, her icy facade firmly in place. "It is," she said firmly, her tone leaving no room for argument. "And it is better this way. For both of us."

Before Hermione could respond, Fleur opened the door and left, her heels clicking sharply against the wooden floor as she disappeared down the hallway.

The days that followed were unbearable for Hermione. Fleur's words echoed in her mind, and no matter how much she tried to focus on other stuff, she couldn't shake the emptiness that Fleur's absence left behind.

She missed Fleur. Not just the stolen moments and the passion they had shared, but the quiet conversations, the teasing smirks, the way Fleur made her feel like the most captivating person in the room with just a glance.


With the distance, her desire for Fleur started to grow out of control. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Fleur—her sharp blue eyes, her silver-blonde hair falling in soft waves, the way her lips curved into that infuriatingly confident smirk. Hermione's body ached with longing, and no matter how much she tried to push the thoughts away, they always came back, stronger and more insistent.

It had been weeks since Fleur had imposed the distance between them, and Hermione felt as though she was suffocating. The tension in the flat was unbearable—an invisible, unspoken force that lingered in every glance they avoided, in every casual brush of hands they pretended not to notice.

Hermione missed Fleur desperately, and the ache in her chest only grew as the days passed. She tried to bury herself in her work, to focus on Viktor, but nothing seemed to dull the sharp edges of her longing. Fleur's absence was a void that consumed her, and no amount of distraction could fill it.

It all came to a head one evening, after Hermione returned home late from the Ministry. The flat was quiet, save for the faint hum of the enchanted lamps that cast a warm glow over the living room. Fleur was sitting on the couch, her posture perfect, a book open in her lap.

Hermione froze in the doorway, her breath catching at the sight of Fleur. She hadn't seen her like this in weeks—relaxed but poised, her silver-blonde hair falling over one shoulder in soft waves. Fleur didn't look up immediately, her sharp blue eyes focused on the pages in front of her, but Hermione could feel the tension radiating from her.

Before she could stop herself, Hermione crossed the room, her footsteps quick and deliberate. Fleur glanced up as she approached, her expression calm but guarded.

"Hermione," Fleur said smoothly, closing her book with deliberate care. "You are home late."

Hermione didn't answer. She stopped in front of the couch, her heart pounding in her chest, her hands curling into fists at her sides.

"I can't do this anymore," Hermione said finally, her voice trembling but resolute.

Fleur tilted her head slightly, her lips curving into a faint, icy smile. "Do what?"

"This," Hermione said, gesturing vaguely between them. "This... distance. This thing where you act like none of it mattered, like none of it happened"

Fleur's smile faltered, her expression hardening. "You have Viktor," she said coldly. "You are happy. this is what you wanted. Even when you didn't have the courage to say it, your actions spoke lenghts"

"No," Hermione said, her voice rising slightly. "It's not what I wanted. It's not what I want."

Fleur stood slowly, the book slipping from her lap to the couch. She was taller than Hermione, and she used it to her advantage, stepping forward until there was barely an inch of space between them.

"Then what do you want, Hermione?" Fleur asked, her voice low and edged with steel.

"I want you," Hermione said, the words spilling out before she could think better of them.

The silence that followed was deafening. Fleur's sharp blue eyes locked with Hermione's, and for a moment, neither of them moved. The air between them was electric, charged with weeks of suppressed tension and unspoken desire.

Fleur's icy facade cracked first.

With a low, frustrated sound, she grabbed Hermione by the waist, pulling her forward with an almost aggressive urgency. Their lips crashed together in a kiss that was anything but gentle. It was raw and hungry, a clash of teeth and tongues as they gave in to the longing that had been building between them for weeks.

Hermione gasped against Fleur's mouth, her hands tangling in the blonde's hair as she pressed closer, her body flush against Fleur's. Fleur's grip on her waist tightened, her fingers digging into Hermione's skin as she guided them backward until Hermione's back hit the wall.

"Fleur," Hermione breathed, her voice a mix of desperation and need.

Fleur didn't respond with words. Instead, she kissed Hermione harder, her lips trailing down to her jaw and then to her neck, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. Hermione's head tilted back, a soft moan escaping her lips as Fleur's hands roamed over her body, claiming her with a possessive intensity that made Hermione's knees weak.

Their movements were frantic, almost clumsy in their urgency, as they stumbled toward the couch. Fleur pushed Hermione down onto the cushions, her sharp blue eyes dark with desire as she climbed on top of her. Hermione's hands found Fleur's waist, pulling her closer as their bodies pressed together, every inch of them burning with unspoken need.

Clothes were discarded carelessly, falling to the floor in a tangled heap as their kisses grew deeper, more desperate. Fleur's hands were everywhere—exploring, caressing, teasing—drawing soft gasps and shivers from Hermione with every touch.

Hermione had never felt anything like this before. It was raw and overwhelming, a perfect storm of passion and vulnerability that left her completely undone. Fleur guided her with a confidence that bordered on reverence, her touch firm but gentle, her kisses a perfect balance of fire and tenderness.

Hermione's breath hitched, and before Fleur could say anything else, Hermione surged forward, capturing her lips in a desperate kiss. It was raw and hungry, filled with all the pent-up emotion they'd been holding back. Fleur moaned into the kiss, her hands tangling in Hermione's hair as she pulled her closer. Her hands explored every inch of Hermione's body, relearning her curves, her scars, her secrets. Hermione arched into her touch, her nails digging into Fleur's back as Fleur's mouth found her breast, teasing her nipple with her tongue.

"Fleur," Hermione gasped, her hips rolling urgently against Fleur's thigh. "Please…"

Fleur didn't need to be told twice. She slid her hand between Hermione's legs, her fingers slick with arousal. She teased her entrance, drawing a low whimper from Hermione before slipping inside. Hermione's head fell back, her curls spilling across the pillows as Fleur began to move, her rhythm steady and deep.

"Yes," Hermione moaned, her hands gripping the sheets. "God, yes… don't stop."

Fleur leaned down, capturing Hermione's lips in another searing kiss. She could feel Hermione tightening around her fingers, her movements growing frantic as she neared the edge. "Come for me," Fleur whispered against her lips, her voice rough with desire. "Let go, Hermione." With a cry, Hermione did, her body shuddering as waves of pleasure crashed over her.

When it was over, they lay tangled together on the couch, their bodies slick with sweat, their breathing heavy and uneven. Fleur's head rested against Hermione's chest, her silver-blonde hair damp and disheveled. Hermione's fingers trailed lazily through Fleur's hair, her body humming with the aftershocks of pleasure.

For a long time, neither of them spoke. The only sound was the faint crackle of the enchanted lamp in the corner, casting a soft, golden light over their entwined forms.

"I missed you," Hermione whispered finally, her voice barely audible.

Fleur lifted her head slightly, her sharp blue eyes meeting Hermione's. For once, there was no icy facade, no carefully crafted mask. She looked raw and unguarded, her expression softening as she cupped Hermione's cheek with one hand.

"I missed you too," Fleur admitted, her voice low and filled with something Hermione couldn't quite name.

Hermione leaned up, pressing a soft kiss to Fleur's lips, and for the first time in weeks, she felt like she could breathe again.