Author's Note - To those of you who know about Chanel and like her - if you want to read a story about her continuing from where chapter 100 leaves off, contact me and I'll hook you up. If you keep seeing this note throughout the story, and you've no idea who Chanel is, don't fret. I'm just advertising because I'm not posting the story here.

Warnings - Emotions that run high, addiction, twisting and turning of typical roles in subtle and not-so-subtle ways, highs and lows, confusion, distress, and, in other words... SEVERE drama later on. I know you're probably saying "Yeah, yeah uh huh." but I'm dead serious :)

Disclaimer - I own nothing but the plot. And my OCs. And my hands.. I'd like it if you didn't cut them off and/or sue me.

I'm sure the length of this story may scare you, but I promise you I put my all into this.

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This story is dedicated to Antoinette Brou, who will probably never read this, but whom I miss dearly. I can't thank you enough for giving me the inspiration I needed for this story.

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Chauvinism:

n. biased devotion to any group, attitude, or cause. Or, in this case, blatant denial.

adj.; Chauvinistic. Adamant in support of a group, attitude, or cause.

Coquette:

n. A woman who makes teasing sexual or romantic overtures; a flirt. The reasons behind her behavior are often assumed to be because of a simple desire for promiscuity.

But why would a woman ever act this way? What are the true, unassumed reasons?

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September, 2007 A.D.

I. Little Black Dress

(Fleur's POV)

The rhythm from my inch-long nails tapping on the table could not drown out the sound of that voice. That voice of a man who sounded like a complete fake, who elated his head so much with all of his accomplishments and awards, but who was probably a lot better talking in bed than out of it.

I stiffened at the realization that most of the people around me were doing the exact same thing. But, that was to be expected in a place like this. It happened to be the most popular restaurant in Paris this week, but by no means the least expensive. I had hoped that maybe my next date would be in a less big-headed environment, but I wasn't too hopeful. I was still sitting here hoping this man would maybe ask me something about myself. Or suggest that we leave, since we've both been done with our meals for quite some time now.

When neither seemed like they were going to happen, I just shifted in my seat and gave him a false smile. This same smile allured him to me, and I just had to blotch my face with it to punish myself. Why do I keep doing this? I keep going on dates with man after man after man until I realize that I've just about reached the point where I might have to re-wear an outfit. That just wouldn't do. This blue vest and fitting black trouser from Bebe were excellent, but I could never wear them outside again.

I placed my arms on the table and leaned in, pretending like I was listening closely to his words. He had glanced around while smirking then raised his eyebrows moments ago. I assume he was ranting on and on about how many times he'd really let the other seeker grab the snitch...

Well, please grab my attention with something else! I finally noticed that his attention kept wandering over my head, and then he would grin, and return his sickly gaze to me.

I widened my plastic smile as he laughed, but it just sounded like buzzing to me. Every sound in the room started to blend, and only come out from his mouth. His ears, his nostrils, and, most importantly, his ass. His ass that was quite nice, but not nice enough for me to break a nail to grab.

I'm not exactly sure when it became automatic for me to drown out the sound of their voice. It was terribly rude of me, I know. But there wasn't much else to do with these men. Whoever had the most money and looked good enough for my standards won my time every evening for the past couple of years. I didn't realize that so many qualified men walked around Paris, just waiting for me to fall hopelessly in love with their successes.

You could say that I'm lonely. Yes, you could say it, but I wouldn't let you. You could say a lot of things, and make a lot of assumptions about me based on my choices. I can assure you that you'd probably be right in each and every one of your accusations, but I wouldn't allow them to escape the safe confines of your thoughts. Call it denial, running away, fear of the L word. You can think whatever you'd like, but you would do well to keep it to yourself.

Meanwhile, I can do what I enjoy and continue boosting this man's ego with my narrow-eyed glances and smirks. Seeing their misty-eyed expressions, then letting them snap out of it and pretend like I didn't notice them shift in their seat to hide something is amusing. It's amusing because of how shameful it is to manipulate men in such ways, but I feel no shame at all. I am above that.

Just as I flashed my eyes at him and took a sip of my Cabernet Sauvignon, I heard a grunt from the person sitting behind me. An incredibly breathy laugh came from their mouth soon after. It almost sounded bourgeois, but the person sitting with them was laughing right along with them. Like I said, big-headed environment...

The buzzing seemed to grow softer as that breathy laugh rung in my ears. It was so easy to sense how fake it was, but their partner clearly didn't catch on to it. This partner's voice also managed to find itself from underneath the weight of my mental blocks.

"So then I fired him! You should have seen the look on his face!"

"I wish I could have."

That voice...no...both of those voices sounded familiar to me.

"Ahh, I must say, being Vice President of Eyevine has its perks. The women who are in and out of my office add wonderfully to my time spent there."

"Women?" So cross, so...familiar. But Eyevine is the name of my company. What was Armand doing here with...that woman, of all people?

"Yes, the women! There's one in particular that sticks out in my mind...ahh yes, yes. I can never seem to get her to stay, though. She's..."

The rest of his words were indiscernible. I didn't want to hear him anymore. All I could hear was the buzzing increase and this woman's deep breaths behind me. She grunted again after some time while the man in front of me started laughing again. I smiled fakely again and decided to finally see what he was babbling about.

"Yes, I know, I know. Pretty stupid of him to ask me, right? But I sure would if I were you. C'mon, what do you say?"

"I'm not sure." Just pretend to act like I know what he's talking about, stand up and pretend to go think about it, then I can finally drive back home.

"But it would be quite the time! A threesome would be absolutely lovely--"

"I beg your pardon?"

"What? I've been telling you all this time about how your Vice President so desperately wants you--"

I slammed my hands on the table and stood up, and I could hear that mystery woman from behind me do the same thing. We both huffed at the same time and made our way to the exit. No matter who it was with, I wasn't that depraved and lonely that I'd settle for a threesome. Especially not with someone who worked for me; someone who was so desperate to convince my date to persuade me into his little idea. I'll admit that it was flattering, yes, but also rather disturbing at the same time. Co-workers were strictly off-limits for me. I didn't even want to confront Armand about it that night; he'd get a howler from me in the morning.

She was right behind me, but I just wanted to pretend like I didn't notice her. She wasn't at all important to me. I didn't care why she was in Paris, or why she wasn't with her friends, or why she was on a date with the Vice President of my company. No. Make that ex-Vice President.

I heard her come to an abrupt stop and hiss to herself as I continued through the crowded parking lot to my car. My walk slowed to a crawl as I wondered about her situation with a sigh. Was she foolish enough to storm out of the restaurant, fully intent on leaving, only after forgetting that she had no ride back? She just thought she could just apparate back home, or to her hotel, but not with all of these Muggles around. She wasn't expecting to skip finding a secluded spot, and just get a ride from me, did she?

Apparently so, because I could hear her running after me. Or walking briskly considering how thin those heels of hers sounded. Hermione in heels? No...

She stopped just a few steps behind me, and I stood rooted to the spot. My car was a few steps away, yes. But I couldn't just leave her there. Well, I could. But even I would feel guilty about leaving her of all people stranded in a parking lot. Public transportation wasn't really an option in this area. I suppose I was glad I didn't bother with valet.

I turned around slightly and glanced down at her briefly. I had to restrain myself from letting her see my bewildered expression. This was not the Hermione Granger I remembered. She would not have been wearing such a short black dress, an astounding amount of mascara, a sleek head of hair, a Coach purse (one that I owned as well), or perfectly sculpted eyebrows. I pursed my lips and licked the outer rim of my teeth as I tried to not wonder how she finally came to terms with her beauty.

Yes, I said it; beauty.

I turned the alarm off and unlocked the doors to my black Mercedes C230 and walked over to the driver's side. I quickly looked at her, then to the passenger's side as I got in. Surely she was smart enough to get the hint. I started the car as I wondered how long she'd take to tell me where she lived...

Time kept tick tock'ing away as I turned the heater on. I drummed my fingers on the steering wheel and decided to speak up. I know she hates me, but this was ridiculous.

"So where--"

"14 Rue Ampère."

That was the same street I lived on...and I lived in 17. How did I never notice her before? Oh well. It's not like I wanted to notice her, anyway.

I exited the parking lot and tried to just keep my eyes on the road for the time being. My lips were rather tense, but I tried to relax the rest of my body. All of the headlights, streetlights, and other building lights gave the interior of my car a soft glow. I couldn't help but look at Hermione as I stopped at a red light.

She was so stiff, and that annoying frown was determined to forever be plastered on her face. I have no idea what I did to her, you know. I always figured she was just jealous of me. I understand why she would be, but for all these years? Why put so much energy into something you hate? I never quite understood that. Then again, she was the type to put all of her energy into everything she did. Maybe that was the only reason why.

But why was I even worth fussing herself over? Yes, I know I said everything, but why did I need to be included? It's not like I was important to her or anything. Silly, right?

For the first time in years, this question bothered me. Was it a coincidence that she lived a few houses down from me, and just had a date with the ex-Vice President of my company, and stormed out of that restaurant at the same time I did? She grew furious over what he was telling her at that moment, after sitting in there with him for hours before that, listening to his pompous banter? I knew he was talking about me. Why did she get so angry?

I was about to step on the gas as the light changed, but it had turned red again. The realization finally hit me that I was sitting at that light as it changed nearly three times, with a long line of angry drivers behind me, and I was staring at Hermione. She was staring right back at me, only remembering to scowl once the look in my eyes told her I had snapped out of my thoughts.

Why didn't she say anything?

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We finally arrived at her house, which was decently large, and sat in silence for a moment. Only the moonlight shone through the windows this time, but I could still make out the shadow of her figure. She was wringing her hands as I stared at mine in my lap. I wasn't one to ever be in awkward situations with anyone. I always had control over every outcome; I had control of everything. My company, my thoughts, men...but this was so different to me. I knew Hermione was probably the same as I, but she didn't do a good job of hiding it. I smirked at my thoughts and chuckled quietly as she finally opened the door. I figured I'd make some remark to rumple that dress up a little more.

"You weren't expecting me to walk you to your door, were you?"

"Of course not!"

And with that, she stormed out and slammed my door shut. She went around my car, and looked down at the walkway in front of her, swinging a stiff arm and clenched fist back and forth as she walked quickly to her door. From the look of it, she almost fooled me into thinking she was graceful or something of that nature. But Hermione? Graceful? Hardly.

Just as I closed my eyes and put a hand on my forehead to laugh, she rushed back over to my window.

"Thank you!"

She practically threw her callous gratitude at me as she bent down and cocked her head towards me, then quickly regained her angry walk she had moments ago. I finally let out my laugh as I turned my car off and laughed for a while. I had no idea what came over me, and I felt like an idiot, but no one was watching me.

No one except for a woman in a little black dress through her upstairs window.

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Preview for the next chapter

She's just so inconsiderate and snobbish and despicable and...successful. Professional. Too good to be true. Out of my league.

Her laughing...it just looked so derisive. So mocking. So Fleur. I held my breath as my veins threatened to pop out of my neck. My fists were shaking and I literally felt like exploding. But I didn't want her to know that she was the only one who could ever make me so angry. She had the whole world in her hands, with only her good looks to thank for it. As if Fleur would bother herself with thanking anyone for anything, or even apologizing if she did anything wrong. But I do bother. It's just who I am.

And she laughed at me because of it.