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It was strange, uncomfortable, and decidedly unusual which meant it bore studying but it was too...embarassing for even a field test. Even more confusing, it bore no precedent. There was only one way to find out and there was no way she would.
Most men and women ran towards one Fleur Delacour, drawn in by her thrall. They would sigh and giggle, not to mention the more - ahem - physical reactions. Hermione was included in the group that bore a physical reaction, but hers was nowhere near as concealable as the rest.
In Fleur’s presence some sort of unwelcome ache would well inside of her and spill over in the form of tears. It left her breathless, doubled over with pain if she wasn’t careful.
So she ran.
Whether it was excusing herself as ill at the Weasley home, or ducking into a random alley when it felt as though she’d been punched in the gut, Hermione found a way out.
In the last six years she’d never sat in the woman’s presence for longer than three minutes. Today, however, she had no choice. Fleur was scheduled to show at five on the dot for an hour long meeting. This meeting was imperative, ordered by the minister himself. The topic was classified but her knowledge was necessary. She had no game plan, no excuses, and therefore, no way out.
She watched the clock count down with dread and at precisely four fifty eight, heard her secretary, Megan, swoon. She tried to look at the bright side. At least she would finally have her answers.
“Oh um….Ms. Delacour.” she said clearly enamoured by their guest. “I’ll...annouce you.”
Hermione set her pen down and tried to catch her breath. It hurt so much to be in this woman’s proximity.
Megan knocked on the door and stuck her head in. “Your five pm is here.”
Hermione nodded and the veela stepped into the room with a smile.
“Bonjour Hermione.” She greeted beautifully. Hermione inhaled deeply and felt a crater blow into her chest.
“Bonjour Fleur. Ça va?” she asked, the only bit of French she knew. She stuck her hand out and the woman scoffed to pull her in for the customary bisou.
“Ca va. And you? All is well?” she asked as she sat in the chair directly in front of Hermione’s desk, legs crossed.
“Yes.” Hermione answered feeling her eyes drift and water. She glanced at the clock: one full minute had passed. “Yes, quite. ” her voice trembled only slightly and she resisted the urge to rub at her rib cage. “How can I help you?”
“Oh I just need a bit of your time. Mea culpa for going over your head to the minister but you’re a difficult person to catch.” She smiled.
“You know me, busy busy busy.” Hermione said and made a choice between cringing at the cliché or sobbing. “Sorry.” She said and glanced again. Two minutes. This time Fleur looked over at the clock and turned back with a frown.
“Are you needed elsewhere?” She asked and Hermione shook her head,
“No, no.” Hermione answered. “I mean maybe, yes. Would you mind if we walked and talked?”
Fleur watched her for ten seconds too long.
Those bright blue eyes seemed to carry a weight Hermione couldn’t bear. She inhaled deeply and it shook in her chest.
“I would mind, actually.” Fleur said softly and leaned forward in her seat.
Hermione pushed her chair back and turned around.
“Of course. Sorry. Tea?” She asked and crossed the room to grab the kettle. She made sure to give Fleur a wide berth, afraid that the single tear rolling down her cheek would become a sob.
“Non.” Fleur dismissed quickly. “Hermione, are you crying?”
Hermione cleared her throat.
“Yeah, sorry. Just something in my eye.” She took a shuddering breath a bit too loud for her lie to be believable.
Fleur stood abruptly and walked over to her.
“Are you crying for me?” She asked from behind her. “Is that why you’ve been avoiding me all these years?” Hermione laughed through the pain.
“Don’t be silly, Fleur.” She sniffled. “It’s just…allergies.”
“Putain, t’es tetu. Hermione.” She implored and took the kettle from her hands. “Mon ange, dis-moi la verité, je t’en supplie.”
Her stomach curled in on itself like she’d been punched.
“Oh god.” She cried out and sank to her knees, She took rapid breaths hoping to pass out before she fell apart.
“You are.” Fleur breathed in wonder as she joined her on the floor and lifted Hermione’s chin. “You’re crying for me.”
“Fleur, what’s happening?” She asked and began sobbing in the woman’s arms and somehow it felt like bliss. “Why...why does it feel like this? I - ”
“You should have come to me sooner. Anyone could have stolen you from me. Je les aurais tués.” Fleur scolded and caressed her face. “Are you done with your work?” Fleur asked gently. “Can you leave for the day, I mean?”
Hermione nodded like a child being told to they were too sick to be in school.
“Good. Come, come.” She said and, after helping Hermione stand, made sure to stay in physical contact.
“I just need to – ” She cleaned her face of the tears. and glamoured what she couldn’t fake. “Megan, I 'm leaving for the day. Can you cancel everything for the next...” she looked back at Fleur and shuddered as a fresh wave of pain washed over her, “The next three days? Feel free to take the day off or work a half day while I’m out.”
“Sure thing, Hermione. Should I enact Sick Mode?” she asked gently and Hermione laughed.
“No, no. Good call though. I’m safe I promise.”
“If you say so.” She said and nodded. “See you in three days.” She nodded and closed the door, putting her back against it.
“What is Sick Mode?” Fleur asked, her eyes flitting over Hermione’s face. “Are you sick so often, mon amour?”
Hermione shut her eyes against the blatant affection threatening to make her heart explode. “It’s code.” She said softly. “Distress call. Can we leave please?”
Fleur only smiled at her.
“I live nearby. Alone. Would you come with me?”
Hermione nodded weakly and when Fleur pulled her into a hug, she held on to the woman like a lifeline.
When they arrived, Fleur made no move to let her go and it only split Hermione’s heart further. Sniffling, she stepped back and wiped her eyes.
“Do you know what the thrall of a Veela is?” Fleur asked, leading Hermione to the couch as she floated about the kitchen.
“As much as the next person.” Hermione said once she was sure she wouldn’t cry.
“Then you know nothing at all. The thrall is a promise so powerful it resonates with nearly every creature alive.” Fleur supplied and pressed a cup of tea into her hands.
“A promise?” Hermione asked with a frown.
“Yes, of love. Most people are drawn to it in a way that makes them greedy, it appeals to their baser senses.”
“And then there’s people like me.” Hermione Interjected.
“There is no one like you Hermione.” Fleur breathed out at once, causing Hermione to blush.
“You were saying?” she asked.
“Yes, of course. Um, most people react to our thrall with desire in truth a deep seated need to possess, but our mate is someone who needs that promise. It speaks to something so deep inside of them that they can only cry.” She said softly.
Hermione blinked and set her cup down hard enough that Fleur winced.
“Your mate?” she asked.
“Oui.” Fleur affirmed and sank to her knees in front of Hermione. She held her hands and when Hermione stopped panicking, reached up to caress her cheek.
“Hermione, I promise you, no one will or can ever love you the way I will.”
Hermione looked away, tears falling from her face at a rapid rate.
“No, I…”
“Yes.” Fleur said with a smile. “Whether you accept today or next year, it’s yours. I can wait until you’re ready. I can say it as often as you like, as softly as you need. I’m here for you in a way that only we could ever understand.”
Hermione raised a shaking hand to the back of her mouth.
“Fleur…don’t...don’t tell me that.” she closed her eyes because Fleur was so certain of herself that Hermione wanted to believe her. She ached so desperately for what Fleur was offering, she nearly said yes. But no love story ever actually worked out that way.
So instead she said,
“How do we stop this pain?”
“A kiss.” Fleur said softly and approached her, stretching that cavern wider. Hermione let her, backing up until it became impossible.
“Are you lying?” Hermione asked helplessly as she approached.
“A little.” Fleur confessed and entrapped her. “It will ease your pain, but only temporarily. You will still ache for me.”
“Fleur.” Hermione pleaded and whatever she intended to say next was lost. Fleur did not offer the kiss of a gentlewoman. Hermione groaned deep in her throat as she was pinned, squeezed, nearly groped and thoroughly owned.
It was perfect. It was everything Fleur promised earlier and she fought not to sink underneath the weight of it.
After a moment she pushed Fleur back and was greeted with well hidden anger that she felt more than saw. She knew what the woman was thinking. That Hermione had no right to end their kiss, that the vela might make it a rule and kiss her until she passed out.
Instead of all this, Fleur stepped back and waited, her jaw working all the while.
“I erm…”
Hermione couldn’t bear to look at her, but at least there were no tears stinging her eyes.
“Thank you.” She said. “For the kiss. Um.” She closed her eyes in abject horror.
“You’re welcome.” Fleur said and Hermione nearly lost the remaining air in her lungs.
“What next?” she asked and shook her head again. “I mean, how does this work, usually?”
Fleur cleared her throat and finally, stepped away, allowing Hermione to breath.
“Courting.” Fleur said, “before the mating, there is courting.”
“Mating?” Hermione asked incredulously, “Are we going to mate?”
“Perhaps not today but eventually and not with the intention of creating new life.” Fleur chuckled, “Unless you would like. Moi, je veux bien te faire jouir et te remplir jusqu’à plein. But I don’t think now is a good time for that.”
“Are you saying dirty things to me in French?” Hermione asked with a frown.
“Would you prefer I said them to you in English?” She asked with a raised brow and stepped closer. Something inside of her held together by tape threatened to rip itself apart again. She pressed herself closer to the wall.
“Fleur.” Hermione whined. “Focus, please.”
The woman sighed and stepped back once more. “Very well. First we date.” She said with a smile. “Would you be interested in this? Could I eat you – take you out to eat sometime? Tonight?”
Hermione stared for a moment to determine if the slip was Freudian or French. Fleur gave away nothing and in the end she shook her head.
“Not tonight. Tomorrow.”
“Lunch then.”
Hermione laughed, “Sure. No dessert.” She said with a finger wag and watched those blue eyes focus on her as though she were prey. It was exhilarating. “Though you make a convincing case.” She admitted.
Fleur smiled. “Lunch then. Do you have any questions for me, Hermione?”
“Will it always feel like this?” she asked.
“Only if we’re lucky.” She responded and offered her hand. “Let me take you home. You have a lot to think about.”