Fans of Harry Potter Femmeslash

Author: lash_larue
Title: Now and Then
Pairing: Hermione/Fleur
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: FemmeSlash, Explicit Sex, Sentimental Twaddle
Word Count: 6050
Disclaimer: These characters belong to JK Rowling

A/N Originally posted on LJ HP_Femslash, moved to my page when it grew past simply femslash. There are currently seven chapters.



Now and Then 1



The war against Voldemort, while not exactly over, was in the phase known as “mopping-up”. Voldemort was destroyed, and the remnants of the Death-Eaters and their collaborators were being ruthlessly hunted down. The Order of the Phoenix still met daily at Grimmauld place to discuss progress and make plans, but the aurors increasingly did the actual work.



Harry had opened Grimmauld place to any of the Order who cared to stay, but they had gradually returned to their lives and homes; those of them that had either left, anyway. Bill whose marriage to Fleur had been postponed several times was now back in Egypt with Remus Lupin along to help him come to terms with the lingering effects of his werewolf bites.



The only people in residence were Harry, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, and Fleur Delacour, though Molly Weasley generally turned up to cook whatever meal corresponded to the meeting time.



In the absence of Bill as a reminder of Fleur’s dedicated care of him, old resentments and jealously began to resurface and it wasn’t very long before “Phlegm” was back.

Hermione walked down the hallway of Grimmauld Place that led to the library. As one might imagine, she was looking for a book. She opened the door and strode into the room, intent on her objective and nearly collided with… “Phl, er Fleur! I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you were in here, I’ll come back later.” She turned to leave.



“Are you afraid you will step in some Phlegm?” said a bitter voice from behind her.

Hermione felt a deep flush creep up her neck and onto her face; reluctantly, she turned around. “Fleur, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said tha… have you been crying?” She was shocked to see Fleur’s perfect face all red and puffy, her eyes filled with tears.

“And what do you care if I ‘ave? No one here cares for me at all, except for Beel, and even he is pooling away from me. I should go ‘ome to France.” She wiped her nose on her sleeve and turned away.




Until that moment Hermione would have agreed with that assessment. Certainly Fleur was no favorite with any of the other women in the house now, and the males’ opinions were surely swayed by her remarkable beauty and her Veela heritage. But Hermione had a big heart, and she could not help but respond to this obvious pain. “Don’t be silly Fleur, we all…”




“Please do NOT call me silly!’ Fleur shouted through her tears, ‘I know what you say of me, all of you. I am not a fool. ‘Full of herself’, (Hermione blushed) ‘great body, but nuzzing upstairs’, I ‘ave ‘eard it all my life, and I am sick of it! I never ‘ear, ‘there goes Fleur Delacour, the woman who was Beauxbatons Champion’ or ‘Fleur got 13 Outstanding O.W.Ls; no, people look at me and stop right zere. I cannot ‘elp what I look like!”



“I can imagine that would be frustrating,’ sympathized Hermione, ‘but unfortunately people don’t much notice what I look like, so I don’t have any first hand experience. And to be fair to others, Fleur, you are a bit, well, arrogant-seeming at times,” she added cautiously. Fleur’s head turned to face Hermione, the silver fall of her hair whipping through the air, Fleur angrily tried to brush it back but it seemed to almost flee from her fingers.

“There she goes again,” thought Hermione.

“I hate my hair,’ cried Fleur in frustration, ‘it ees always whipping around, hitting people in zee face! Zey zeenk I am doing it on purpose.”

That gave Hermione cause for thought; how could that not be intentional? “I hate my hair too,’ agreed Hermione, ‘but not for the same reason. Mine’s just ugly.”

“Nonsense,’ said Fleur, ‘it is thick and ‘as body, and it does not try to beat people to death.”

Hermione laughed at that, and Fleur actually smiled a little. “I guess I never looked at it that way, but why does your hair do that?”

“My Grandmuzzer; it is Veela hair. it ees more, ‘ow you say, ‘alive’ than regular hair.”

“May I touch it?” asked Hermione.

“Of course,” Fleur answered, and Hermione reached her hand towards it. “Watch out for zee Phlegm,” Fleur cautioned, but there was a twinkle in her eye this time.

“Oh!” gasped Hermione. Fleur’s hair did indeed feel alive. It moved of its own volition, almost teasing Hermione’s hand as the silken stuff slipped through her fingers. “I’ve never felt anything like it, it’s marvelous.”

“Zank you, but it does cause trouble. It is a big reason why men stare at me, and women ‘ate me.”

“Well, I wouldn’t say hate; at least no one here hates you. I suppose the women are jealous, and the men are just muddled,” Hermione told her.

“All men all muddled,’ agreed Fleur, ‘boys also.”

“Even Bill?”

“Especially Beel,” Fleur confirmed, a little sadly.

“I can see now that being you is not as much fun as I imagined it would be, and I’m sorry for the way I’ve acted,” Hermione told her.

“Zank you, I am sorry also, for zee way I ‘ave be’aved to you. Did you know zat I ‘ave to put anti-transparency vision charms on all of my robes? Men are not so muddled zat zey do not try to get a peek now and zen. It is tiring.”

“I’ll bet it’s not just men,” thought Hermione. Aloud she said, “I suppose it would be tiring; still, a part of me wishes I had to do that, at least occasionally. But no one has ever put a transparency vision spell on a robe that I was wearing,” lamented Hermione.



“I ‘ave,” admitted Fleur quietly.

“What?” asked Hermione in astonishment. “Whatever for?”


“I was jealous.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“Oh, but I am,” insisted Fleur. ‘It was after zee tournament. All I ‘eard from Viktor was ‘ow smart you were, ‘ow clever, ‘ow ee ‘ad nevair met anyone like you. And everyone respects you; me, zey just want to ‘ave sex wis. I was ‘oping your body would be ugly, so I could feel superior.” Fleur sighed heavily. “But no, it was beautiful. Deefrent from mine, but lovely all zee same.”



Hermione was stunned, and more than a little pleased: if Fleur thought she had a nice body, maybe she did. “Well, between you and me, I do get a bit tired of people talking about how smart I am.”



“I can see zat. Perhaps we ‘ave more in common zan we thought.”



“Friends?” said Hermione, extending her hand.

“Yes,” agreed Fleur, and she took Hermione’s hand in hers. Then because she was Fleur, she grasped Hermione’s face and kissed first one cheek, and then the other. Hermione could see why Ron was so eager for those kisses, they were very pleasant, and Fleur had a lovely scent about her. Suddenly, Fleur’s hair flowed down her arms and wrapped itself around Hermione’s neck. It felt like living silk. That had never happened to Ron. Hermione looked into Fleur’s face and saw shock written all over it; apparently this was something a bit new for Fleur as well.


“What’s happening?” asked Hermione, but Fleur just shook her head. They remained that way for a long moment, staring into each other’s eyes, and then the hair began to pull them closer, and it seemed that the kiss that followed was something that neither of them expected, but both of them enjoyed. In fact, Hermione felt a river of warmth flow from her lips all the way down to her groin, touching everything in between. She would have sworn that she levitated a bit. When at last the hair released them, she could see that Fleur was just as shocked as she was. “What was that?” she whispered.

“Zis is not possible,’ said Fleur softly, ‘do you ‘ave any Veela blood?”

“Of course not, my parents are Muggles, there has never been any magic in my family.”

“Zere certainly is now,” avowed Fleur, still clearly shaken. “Tell me,’ she began, but then she hesitated, and Hermione could see her gathering her courage, ‘did you like zat?”



LIKE it? “Like is not the word I would choose,’ said Hermione carefully, and she saw Fleur’s face fall a bit, ‘it’s more like I WAS it.” Fleur’s face cleared a bit, but she still looked puzzled.

“It was pleasing to you?” she questioned again.

“Fleur Delacour,’ thought Hermione, ‘Queen of the understatement. Semantics are definitely getting in the way here.” Aloud she said, “Yes, very pleasing.” The smile that lit Fleur’s face struck her with physical force.

“Come with me,” said Fleur, and she took Hermione’s hand and led her towards the bookcase where she had nearly run into Fleur. Fleur took out her wand, and said something too quiet for Hermione to hear. A portion of the bookcase disappeared, revealing a steep and winding staircase. Fleur pulled her through the opening and it immediately vanished, plunging the stairway into darkness. “Lumos,” said Fleur, and she began to climb. “Do not let go of my ‘and” she told Hermione.



“Fleur, how did you find this passage? The entire Order has been all over this house looking for secret doors and things, and none of them found this.”

“I am more zan just zee pretty face, non?” answered Fleur. “Keep ‘old of my ‘and. When I found this place I enchanted it to bind it to myself. I am not sure what would happen if you let go on zee stairs.”

Thinking of how Fleur might have accomplished this occupied Hermione’s thoughts for the rest of the considerable time it took them to climb the stairs. A door loomed in the distance and they soon were on a small landing.

“This is where I come when things get to be too much. I have never brought anyone here before.” She opened the door, led Hermione through it, and shut it firmly. Only then did she release her hand. “It is safe to let go now, the protective spell does not exist inside this room.”

“Fleur, what is going on, and what happened to your accent?” asked a very bewildered Hermione.

“Nothing has happened to my accent, it is simply that you are beginning to understand me better.”

“I understood you just fine, your English is quite good,” Hermione protested.

“This is different, and it is new for me too, although I do have an idea what is going on. But it should not be possible. Oh, this is complicated, let’s sit down.” The room was not large, but it was pleasant, there was a comfortable-looking couch, a table with two chairs beside it and a large mirror above it, a bed, and a large bookcase full of books. They sat on the couch and Fleur raised her wand high in the air and then released her grip on it. It remained suspended at a good height to softly illuminate the room. Hermione’s eyebrows rose in appreciation, and Fleur acknowledged this with a smile. “First, this room; Veela magic is a bit different from the magic you are accustomed to, it has much to do with feelings, both reading them and inspiring them.” Hermione nodded, she had read something about this. “I am not pure Veela, but my Grandmother was very powerful, and for some reason her influence is very strong with me. Take my hair, for example.”




“I’d love to,” thought Hermione, Fleur laughed, and Hermione realized that she had caught the thought. Rather than feel it an intrusion, it gave her a warm feeling. She also realized that Fleur’s laugh, a throaty chuckle that Hermione and the others at Grimmauld Place, (at least the women) had thought was a studied thing that she did for effect, was simply the sound that joy made when it passed her lips.




“I felt this room, and the passage that leads to it. I should probably have told everyone about it, but I needed a place to go, a sanctuary. I have spent a lot of time in this room,” her eyes wandered around the place as she spoke and it was clear that the room held great meaning for her.

“When?’ asked Hermione, ‘you haven’t missed any meetings, and you’ve always helped prepare meals.”

“Whether Molly wanted me to or not,” said Fleur. They both laughed at that, and Hermione was a bit startled to realize that her laugh sounded a bit like Fleur’s’ or did Fleur’s’ sound like hers? “The very best thing about this room is that it exists outside of our time frame. When we leave this room and return to Grimmauld Place, we will do so at the precise time at which we stepped through the portal.” Hermione, who had had some experience with time, nodded. “While we are in this room, which is actually not in Grimmauld Place at all, the only time is now. When we return, it will be…”




“Then!” exclaimed Hermione, delighted. Fleur nodded.

“I knew you’d understand. I should tell you that I do not really know where this room is, the only exit leads to Grimmauld Place, and there are no windows.” Hermione thought about that for a moment, things she didn’t know tended to bother her, but she decided that it really didn’t matter. She gave a very Gallic shrug, and Fleur laughed again. “As for what is happening to us, we are experiencing a ‘Veela Bonding’.”

“I’ve never heard of that,” said Hermione in some surprise.

“Few have. There is nothing written of this anywhere. The only reason I heard anything about it is that my Grandmother was a traditionalist. This knowledge is the greatest secret of the Veela, for the bonding is very precious to us.” Fleur was looking into Hermione’s eyes as she said this last, and Hermione felt a sort of melting deep inside her, Fleur moistened her lips and continued.



“My Grandmother despaired of my ever experiencing it, for it is very uncommon even among true Veela. For me, a part Veela, and you, a woman of no known Veela heritage to experience this is surely a singular event.”



Hermione felt a surge of pride, she did enjoy being different when it was in a good way. “I see,” she said. Was there perhaps a surge of something else as well?

“Not yet, you don’t,’ replied Fleur, ‘nor do I, but I think we shall.” Fleur lightly touched Hermione’s hand as it rested on the couch, and it was impossible to tell which hand was trembling. Perhaps both of them were. “The bonding will make us take on some characteristics of each other, some of them physical, some mental and emotional. I am told it is a most intimate connection, but I of course have no more first hand knowledge of it than you do. Some changes will be apparent to others, but most will not. I cannot say exactly what will happen, that is why I asked you if you enjoyed the kiss.”



At the reminder of the kiss, Hermione felt the melting increase, and she saw Fleur’s pupils dilate.



“Now we must decide, do we want this? If we part now, and never see each other again, the bond will fade over time, but once complete there is no going back. As for me, my mind is made up. I want this.” The look she gave Hermione brought the blood to her face, but Hermione was still Hermione, so she thought about it.

It would be foolish to enter into something so unknown, yet so potent. I will never be the same, and this is all so sudden,” she thought rationally. She looked over at Fleur, sitting composed beside her, but she could feel the tension inside. She looked into Fleur’s eyes, and knew the decision had been made. Never see Fleur again? Unthinkable.



“So do I,” she said. She had expected a return of that glorious smile, but the look on Fleur’s’ face was hard to read. She looked a bit… hungry… “How do we proceed?”


Fleur stood, and held out her hand to Hermione to help her to her feet. They stood facing each other, quite close together. “I think you know how,’ said Fleur huskily, ‘Veela are, after all, creatures of feeling, and passion.” Fleur took Hermione’s face in her hands, and once again kissed her. The kiss began softly, but when Hermione felt Fleur’s tongue touch her lips, she opened her mouth to it and sent her own to meet it. The river of warmth returned, but it was no gentle brook; it was a torrent, and they were both swept away on it. Hermione ran her fingers into Fleur’s hair, pulling her face tighter to her own. She delighted in the feel of the hair caressing her fingers.



Hermione reached for the fastenings of Fleur’s robes and felt Fleur doing the same to hers. Passion made them both a bit clumsy, but they accomplished their task. Hermione took a step back, so that she could see Fleur as the robe fell, she saw Fleur pull her robe off of one shoulder as she did the same. Her heart was in her throat as she braced herself for the sight. Their robes slithered to the floor, and Hermione could not breathe. Never, in any dream she had ever had, had she ever imagined such beauty, she thought she must look a fool, staring dumbly. But then she noticed that Fleur too looked stunned. Silently they turned together and took the few steps to the mirror, where they stood side by side. The reflection did not match the reality: mirror-Fleur was indeed beautiful, her skin flawless, her body slender but nicely rounded where appropriate, but she was not the celestial being Hermione saw when she looked directly at her. Her own reflection looked much the same as usual, she supposed. Hermione did not spend a great deal of time naked in front of a mirror, and she thought mirror-Hermione looked a bit dumpy beside mirror-Fleur, although her hair looked a bit different than she recalled. From the look on Fleur’s face, and from the thoughts she was starting to pick up from her, she knew something similar was happening for her. She shook off the thought and walked over to the bed, stretching out on it, holding her arms out.

“Come here, Veela,’ she said, 'look later. Me now.” Fleur moved gracefully to the bedside and drifted into Hermione’s arms. Their mouths met again, and the river picked up speed.




“Nox,” said Fleur as she released Hermione’s lips, and the light vanished.

“But we can’t see each other,” Hermione protested.

“No need,’ whispered Fleur very close to her ear, ‘I know where I’m going.” Indeed she did, Hermione felt that Fleur’s lips were like a butterfly; a very warm and insistent butterfly. Fleur kissed her eyes, her cheeks, the hollow of her throat, the warm soft spot behind her ear. Her tongue would gently warm a spot, only to leave a cool memory of itself behind when it moved on. Her hands wandered freely over all that was Hermione, no clumsy groping, no insistent prodding, just Fleur’s warm, delicate, and surprisingly strong hands. They caressed, they gently pinched, and they knew exactly where to go, just as Fleur had said.



“She must have done this before,” came the thought to Hermione, and she felt a sliver of ice in her heart.

“NEVER!” came the thought back from Fleur, and it carried such conviction and raw honesty that Hermione knew it for the truth.

Fleur’s lips reached her breasts, and they kissed, and they nibbled, and they gently sucked, but they always moved on before it became too much. “How do you know?” moaned Hermione.

“You’ll see,” answered Fleur, as her hand slid flatly down past Hermione’s navel. Fleur laid her head on Hermione’s chest just below her breasts, her hair, that glorious hair, once more twined around her throat.

“It’s the Veela in her,” Hermione thought. Fleur chuckled softly against her ribs, her breath soft and warm as her hand smoothly stroked down Hermione’s thigh. Hermione’s breath caught when Fleur caressed the back of her knee, gently urging it to bend. “The Veela, it must be the Veela in her...” Fleur’s hand moved across to the other knee, and simply pushed it gently aside. Then the hand slid back up the inside of that thigh, her fingernails trailing lightly across Hermione’s skin. A soft sound came from Hermione as the small finger on that hand followed the shallow valley between her thigh and her vulva. “Veela…’, she thought, ‘it’s the Vee…” Fleur’s hand moved slowly downward once again. It was the only thing moving in the entire room. Hermione’s heart pounded in Fleur’s ear, Fleur’s breathing grew deeper and warmer, and Hermione felt the fingers of her hand form a ‘v’ as they slipped down either side of her mound. Fleur raised herself up on one elbow, her hair accommodating the motion smoothly. She brought her face to within inches of Hermione’s, and she could feel her nearness, feel her eyes fasten onto her own. Slowly, so very slowly, Fleur’s fingers came together, gently squeezing Hermione’s sex. “How do you know?” she thought.

“You’ll see.”

Hermione felt Fleur’s lips just barely touch her own, and as she slipped her tongue into Fleur’s mouth, one of Fleur’s fingers slid into her. “It’s the Veela in…No,’ thought Hermione savagely as she held Fleur’s face; as she thrust herself into Fleur’s hand. ‘It’s the Veela in US!”



“You do see!” thought Fleur exultantly.

Clinging fiercely to Fleur, Hermione felt that she was part snake, a writhing python that clenched ever tighter on Fleur. Fleur’s hand pressed firmly against her, and with a sense of wonder Hermione felt herself actually clutching the finger that was deep within her, as if afraid it would leave too soon. “Oh, Fleur,” she breathed, kissing her neck. “Fleur,” she said again burying her face against her shoulder. Her senses reeled, nothing existed except the places their bodies touched, she felt the muscles of Fleur’s arm against her belly. Her legs began to tremble, and she held tighter to Fleur, her breathing was ragged, she… “FLEUR!”

She had died, she must have died, it was just not possible to feel that much and not die.

“Fleur?’ she said softly. The butterfly landed softly on her throat, flitted to her eyes, briefly touched her cheeks.

“Yes beloved, it is your Fleur, we are not really dead.” Fleur softly laughed her beautiful laugh, and gently moved the hand that was clasped firmly between Hermione’s thighs. “You can let go now.”

“Never!” thought Hermione, and she laughed too, then reluctantly released Fleur’s hand, although not without a fairly impressive show of resistance from certain quarters. “Sorry,’ said Hermione, not sounding sorry at all, ‘I don’t know what’s gotten into her, she scarcely listens to me at all anymore.” A muffled snort came from the darkness, and Fleur stretched catlike beside her. She couldn’t exactly see her, but she knew where every part of Fleur was, it was quite remarkable really. She felt the silky ribbon of hair cross her chest and curl ‘round her shoulder. She felt… altogether marvelous, actually. “Fleur,” she said.


“Yes?”

“That was, well, it was really…”

“A beginning,’ echoed the voice in her mind, ‘just a beginning.”

Whatever reply Hermione might have made was effectively stifled as Fleur gave her a kiss that proved conclusively that there was indeed more, though she would not have believed it possible. In fact, now that she had some idea what this bonding was like, she felt herself go liquid at the first touch of Fleur’s lips. Fleur kissed a trail of fire straight down Hermione’s body, and in no time at all she could feel the python part of her begin to writhe. And when Fleur had kissed her way down low on Hermione’s abdomen, she spread her legs wide and grabbed two handfuls of Fleur’s hair. A sound came from Fleur’s throat that was somewhere between a purr and a growl, a sound that sent a thrill all the way to Hermione’s toes.

“I love you,” Hermione heard, deep in her mind.

“I know,” she thought back, “I, Oh…” Fleur’s tongue had just traveled the full length of her other lips, and sent a spasm through her that caused her to tug on the hair more than a little. The purr came again in response, so she did not let go. When Fleur gently nibbled on them with her lips, her grip tightened a bit, and when her soft, hot, tongue pushed inside her she… “FLEUR!”

“I’ve died again, Fleur. You know that, don’t you?”

“Oui.”

“French?”

“Sometimes it just sounds right.”

“Je t’adore.”



“Like that time.”

“Fleur?”

“Yes.”

“I fear I may not be dead after all. Kiss me.”

“Always.”

Hermione released Fleur’s hair, and it may have been her imagination, but it seemed reluctant to go. Fleur’s lips met hers again in a kiss that was so soft and warm that Hermione nearly stopped breathing, just to better experience it. They were Fleur’s lips, now known better to her than her own, but the taste of her kiss was somehow different, as was the scent of her skin. Hermione’s brain, a really extraordinary thing, did a few calculations and came up with…*me*… her brain filed it away. Fleur broke the kiss, and gently but firmly grasped Hermione’s shoulders and turned her onto her stomach.

Fleur sat astride Hermione’s rear, and reached to spread Hermione’s hair away from her neck, she leaned forward, and her breasts flattened against Hermione’s back and she could feel the rubbery nubs of her nipples. Fleur kissed Hermione high on the back of her neck where the hair was softest, and fitted her body as close to hers as she could manage. She snuggled her face up against the side of Hermione’s neck and lay very still.

Hermione loved it as she had loved everything they had shared, Fleur seemed weightless on top of her, a warm and loving cover. Hermione found that by keeping very still, she could not only feel the beat of Fleur’s heart, she could actually hear it. She thought it quite the loveliest sound that she had ever heard.

“Merci.”

“Fleur?”

“Yes.”

“What are you up to, up there?”

Her answer was the laugh, followed shortly by the purr, and then she felt Fleur’s teeth gently seize the skin of her shoulder. She felt a ripple through Fleur’s body, and that set off one in her own. Fleur had shifted her hips slightly to the side, and Hermione could feel a hot place on her left buttock that was Fleur. Fleur’s hips slowly moved, as she rubbed herself against Hermione.

“Fleur, my love,” Hermione’s thought began.

“Because I love your bottom, and I thought this would feel nice.”

“Oh.” It did feel nice, it was warm, and it was Fleur. “My Fleur.”

“Yes,’ breathed Fleur next to her ear, ‘I am your Fleur. And you are my Hermione.” They both giggled at the sound of that. “What a marvelous thing, to be able to laugh while making love.” Neither of them could tell where the thought originated, and neither of them thought that it mattered.

Fleur’s hips were moving with more force now, and Hermione could feel her buttock flattening under the pressure. She clenched her muscles tightly, and was rewarded with a growl from Fleur’s throat. Stretching to do so, Hermione reached back with both of her hands and found Fleur’s bottom, and squeezed. She was amazed at the muscles she felt under her fingers, taut now with a kind of urgent tension. Fleur was panting now, and Hermione could feel the length of her quiver, she felt a spreading heat against her skin, she…



“HERMIONE!”

Fleur melted into Hermione, and then slowly slid off to one side. Hermione shifted to face her, folded her into her arms, and held her.

“Hermione?”

“Yes.”

“Kiss me please, to see if I am dead.”

Hermione kissed Fleur on the forehead, she kissed her temples, and lingered there to enjoy the stirring of the hair against her face. She kissed her lips, her throat; she stretched Fleur’s arm out and kissed from the tips of her fingers to the warmth of her armpit. Her hands roved over her, reveling in the softness of her skin. She kissed Fleur’s breasts and took them into her mouth, softly at first, then with more effort when she heard Fleur’s purr. “You do know,’ breathed Fleur, ‘you really do kn…ahhh…” Hermione’s fingers had found Fleur.

Hermione’s heart and mind were singing, for she realized that she did indeed know. Lovemaking was not something you did to someone; it was something you did with them, someone you loved. And with all that she was, Hermione Granger loved Fleur Delacour, and because of there was Veela in them both, she did indeed know. She touched where she wanted to touch, and kissed where she wanted to kiss, and because it was all Fleur, it was all wonderful for Hermione. And because she really did want to, and wanted nothing else at all at the time, it was wonderful for Fleur.

“Yes! Yes, Hermione, my lover, THAT is the Veela in you! It is love, and need, and desire. And it is nothing else at all.”

“Oui!” Hermione could feel a desire building within her that was almost frightening in its proportions; she desired more Fleur; and she knew where to find it. She lay her face on the warmth of Fleur’s belly and let her head drag downward. She didn’t kiss, she didn’t lick, she just tried with of all her heart to take Fleur in through her very skin. The purring growl sounded again, but this time it had rolled out of Hermione’s throat. A scent made it’s way to Hermione’s brain, and it was in part what she had been seeking, a hot woman-scent that her mind instantly and forever filed away as… *Fleur*…. In another moment a taste was filed under the same heading.



For a little while, Hermione simply lay with her cheek pressed against Fleur’s heat, she could feel her hair moving over Fleur’s body, and that seemed wholly unremarkable, but very nice. Fleur’s finger’s played in her hair. Then something else came to her, this place, this most “Fleur” of places, was not a goal to be sought, neither a gate to be battered down nor fortress to be assailed. It was another mouth to be kissed, more Fleur to love. So Hermione kissed this mouth too, and as the need built in her she explored it with her tongue, all of the intricate little places, the changing textures, and that particular little spot right…

“There! There, my love…ohh…”

Delicately, Hermione sucked the bud of Fleur into her lips and caught it on her tongue, she could feel the life in it, and of course, because it was of Fleur, she loved it. Fleur’s hands wound themselves in Hermione’s hair, just as she had done, and again the purr came from Hermione’s throat. She increased the pressure of her tongue, and Fleur pulled harder. Hermione could feel the tightness in Fleur’s legs, and when she glided a finger into the incredible softness she was delighted to feel Fleur clench tight around it, just as she had done. But the Veela in her wanted more, and she opened her mouth as wide as it would go and laid her tongue over as much of Fleur as she could. Fleur pressed Hermione’s head hard against her, and this time the growl came from Fleur. Fleur’s whole body tensed and jerked, and Hermione delighted in the increasing tempo and strength of the squeezes her finger was feeling. What a wholly marvelous creature this was here with her, what a marvel of touch and sound! Such wonderful scents and tastes that were a part of … “FLEUR! My fleur….”



“YES! Oh, yes, my precious Hermione. I am yours, toujours, toujours, we are one; toujours, toujours….”



Slowly, after a passage of time that they could not begin to guess, Hermione and Fleur began to stir. Hermione knew precisely where she was, and was content to be there. Fleur’s hands stroked her hair, and her hair responded in kind. “I could stay here forever.”

“Moi aussi.”

“Can we?”

“… I do not know.”

As always when presented with something new, Hermione’s brain leapt to the challenge. She really couldn’t think of an overwhelming reason why not. Magic was, after all, magic. She presented her opinion to Fleur.

“I thought much the same thing, but while I could never tire of being with you, we both have responsibilities. And there are other people that we care for, though I cannot think of any just now.”

“A responsible Veela?’ Hermione teased, ‘won’t they take away your Union Card or something?” Fleur’s laugh set her head spinning, but she saw the sense of what she had said.

“Responsibility is also a feeling, I think. Kiss me, I grow sad at the thought of leaving.”

“You’ll have to let go first.”

“Non, figure it out, Veela.”

Hermione started to protest the label, but she realized that it was true. The bonding was complete: in some way, she truly was a Veela now. And so of course she could quite easily figure out how to kiss Fleur without being released. So she did. And then Fleur kissed her, and sometime later they woke again, and this time Hermione could not figure out where she was precisely, nor really which leg was whose, never mind any of the other assorted woman-parts that seemed scattered across the landscape. “Fleur?”



“No, I cannot figure it out either. I am afraid it is time for some light. Lumos.” The wand glowed steadily and after a moment their eyes adjusted. It was quite a sight. “You have to let go, Hermione love, I don’t want to either, but it is time to.”



“Let go of what? There is a good deal of involvement here.” They both laughed, and no one other than one of them could have said whose laugh was whose.

They worked it out; the hair was the worst problem. Somehow their hair had gotten together and decided that it wanted to stay that way. There were a couple other sticking points as well, neither of them really wanted to let go of everything, but they got it done. They stood facing each other in the wandlight, looking for what had changed. Something had to have changed.


It was less visible than they expected, but they were not disappointed. Hermione’s hair was straighter than before, so it looked longer, and Fleur’s hair seemed less inclined to fly around, but perhaps it was just tired. Neither of them could think of a single thing that they would care to change about the other, and for a moment they simply looked at each other with full eyes and hearts. Their heads moved together, and the kiss was gentle and familiar, but…*us*…reported that marvelous brain.



“My Fleur.”

“Yes. My Hermione.”

“Yes. Toujours.”

“Toujours.”

They clasped hands and walked together to the mirror and stood facing it. This time the reflection matched the reality. “We are a bit mussed, I’m afraid,” said Hermione ruefully. No sooner had she said it than their hair stirred, and soon enough their tangled tresses were smooth and shining. Hermione’s hair was definitely smoother than before. She liked it. Fleur’s hair wound itself into a rope and draped across Hermione’s shoulders. Hermione simply had too much hair for that, but hers did manage to spread across Fleur’s nearer shoulder like a half of a cape. “My hair isn’t long enough,” she observed.



“It will be,” answered Fleur confidently.

“Yes, it will be. I really believe I’d rather have Voldemort back than do it, but I suppose we have to go back to the world of illusion. We do indeed have things to do there.”

“You are right beloved, but we will return…”

“Now and then.”


The start.