i heard a wind chime ringing
while I was on my way to you,
and I stopped to stare at it,
wondering how it was able to play
the same melody I have
saved in my heart for you.

--

v. (s)maerd ecin(s)

(nice dream without the S’s spelled backwards; smeared essence with the S’s read forwards)

Friday, August 16th

Trapped in the void of her own transgression, the abyss of her own volition that was pitch black, and yet she still believed it all to be a nightmare, but wondered just how it hurt so badly. It struck the very cores of her being, yanked at the chords of her mind and heart and voice, making her go mad, making her have an epilepsy, making her scream for no one to hear in Hogwarts that night. The night Voldemort was supposedly defeated, but only bodily – the soul was most important, and he thought Fleur’s body to be useful. And in that body reined a soul that was trying desperately to take over, but to no avail, despite its tremendous, murderous efforts.

Her breaths were raspy and not her own – she breathed the stench of blood and death as she remembered it. Breathing and blood flow and thinking was something she wanted to all stop, for it kept her alive to see the painful recollections. They hurt so much to the point of making her smile with each one that passed through her mind, first as a white hot flash that stung her and made her writhe. The speed at which they all hit her made her feel a revolting amount of motion sickness on top of the searing headache from the traumas being splintered out of her open mind trying too hard to close its wounds. The memories continued to bleed from her, the screams continued to rip from her bleeding throat, and her crimson voice could only continue to moan one name over and over again –

Hermione.

Hermione? You love her, don’t you?

Don’t you?!

You weak fool. Love is for the weak…

Her body continued to lock up and loosen again, only to send her shaking and squirming and going into a fit of spasms once more. Her same body flew with the wind of the recollections, jerking about in the same directions as the memories went – she desired to keel over and vomit red just as her parents had done thanks to her. She needed to curl up and cower once more just as Lucius mocked her in his home for initially being so weak and pitiful. Not even the sanctuary of remembering how it felt to hold Hermione hours ago could help her; every memory of Hermione only seemed to scald her even more, send more bile to her throat, and constrict her same stopped-up throat on and off and on again.

So weak…so…vulnerable…

Do you want to kill me, Fleur? Just like you killed your family?

Don’t you want revenge against the world for making your life hell…?

Memories of her sister were cut short by scathing remarks from Draco; thoughts of teasing children in the orphanage switched to Draco teasing Hermione; the cries and crimson of her home; running in vain away from Death Eaters; failing to protect Gabrielle; failing to protect Hermione; not standing up for Hermione; being controlled by absolutely nothing; Hermione’s scowl in her direction… What did it mean?

It means your weak little feelings get smashed to bits whenever she scowls at you.

You care about her. You love her. She is a girl, but no matter – she is just as vulnerable as you are.

Take advantage of her, Fleur…

Take…advantage…

Gabrielle’s screams and death made Fleur want to rip her throat out so that she couldn’t scream anymore. Lucius’s laughter made her want to sever her ears and destroy her head completely to stop the echoes. The spasms were nearly breaking her bones and she didn’t want to feel anymore – death was the solution, but the same madness was telling her to hold on. Her lingering strength was pulling her through, making the illusions subside; she was steadily only murmuring Hermione’s name, almost whimpering it pathetically, to call out to her. Call out to her, or to speak to her, making something very clear.

She still had a purpose in this world that was making her go through this, and Hermione was only further making her feel pain and guilt and shame that she had to hide and bottle up every single day.

You need the upper hand.

Regain control.

Control.

Love her if you must, respect her if you must, but you need control over the weak minds of others.

Seize the day; seize the world; make them all pay.

Hermione is the perfect accomplice for this.

Take advantage of her.

Otherwise…I will.

****

Fleur shot up from laying down seconds ago in a pool of her own sweat, breathing heavily and fighting back an impossibly strong urge to retch. Seeing so many people in the room that night nearly made her panic until one of them began ushering everyone out and stayed in themselves. Fleur tried to catch her breath as she peeled her soaked hair from her face and body, watching Chanel shut Hermione’s bedroom door and place various security Charms on the door and walls and window for some reason before walking over to the bed. Fleur watched apprehensively as her cousin sat cross-legged on the bed next to her and had her lie back down after drying both her and the bed. Chanel sat in a very silent contemplation while Fleur tried to remember where and when she was.

She seemed to recall going through a loop of what she realised eons ago was her possession that she was able to fight off. It repeated itself over and over again, obviously for several hours considering how many presumably worried people were in the room just moments ago. Her cousin’s presence was enough of a sign as well – surely Hermione had panicked and called Chanel when it seemed as if she wouldn’t wake. Fleur felt horrible for worrying Hermione, and she wasn’t particularly comfortable with thinking of that experience at the moment. Never had her nightmares plagued her so, not until before the sealing and after she began to realise exactly what it was that she felt for Hermione.

“So…you’ve been asleep since Wednesday morning; it’s Friday morning now. Hermione called me when she couldn’t get you to wake up. She was crying about how you kept muttering her name and you were having a seizure, almost.”

“Oh…” Fleur swallowed loudly and took one last breath to compose herself. “I… I kept having the same nightmare over and over again…”

“Voldemort.”

“Yes… The recollection of the, ah, possession…bits and pieces of it anyway. That’s what I kept seeing over and over and over again…”

“Fleur…your eyes are amethyst at the moment.”

“What? Chanel… Why…why do you look so calm about this…? My…my eyes aren’t supposed to be purple! Blue! Blue, not…not purple! What’s happening to me and…and why are you smiling?!”

“Seems that you’ve lost control. Shouldn’t you be getting it back by not yelling at me…?”

“I…” Fleur’s eyes went out of focus for a fraction of a second, shifting from amethyst to blue and back to the same colour. “You know something good that I don’t, hm?”

“Something good indeed… Starting…it’s starting… So wonderful, cousin.”

“Tell me, won’t you?” Fleur grinned impishly. Chanel sighed and nodded, grinning in the same manner.

“Hermione…did you kiss her the other night?”

“Why yes. She kissed me first, in fact.”

“She did? She did…and you kissed her during your fall in the Atrium as you were reverting back to ‘normal’.”

“Yes.”

“She’s already had the agent in her for years then… Supposed Kiss of Death.”

“It won’t kill her, will it?”

“Supposed, so no. She is just vulnerable to being planted. So when she orgasms, the agent will spread a little more and a little more to the world, waiting to blossom once you plant the seeds for them to do so.”

“Chanel…she told me that she masturbates.”

“Strange, she’s never told me that… So she’s had quite a few orgasms…”

“Yes.”

“Something different ought to happen once you help her. Spreading more mist, your thrall, her sorrow. Seems that you’ll be getting your revenge after all. She’s already given the world an invisible, silent preview for things. She just needs you now. Something ought to help that along the second time, for the seeds, which I’ve brought for you.”

“Oh? What is it?”

“Shrunken; it’s in your purse. Second time only, after getting her to climax once. She’s still a virgin, don’t worry.”

“You’re completely sure?”

“She tells me things…you know, ignoring the masturbation. She’s probably just too shy to tell me herself.” Chanel changed her grin to a passive expression once she lost transmission and noticed that Fleur’s eyes had reverted to blue once more. “So yes, you should probably go back to sleep for a few hours.”

“I should.” Fleur nodded blankly and closed her eyes. “Tell them to not worry, especially Hermione.”

“Certainly, Fleur. Certainly…”

****

Hermione sat in the parlour late that afternoon amongst much appreciated company; Fleur was still asleep, and Chanel had come out hours ago, kindly suggesting that none of them disturb her. Hermione had urged Chanel to stay, needing answers to the questions ravaging her mind, but the woman left, claiming to be very busy with work-related issues and Disapparated. This was rather strange, as Hermione could always count on her Therapist to be there for her when she needed her. It was also extremely strange that she’d heard the woman cast security spells around her bedroom right after shooing everyone out that morning.

Now, Harry, Ron, Draco and Ginny were with her, despite having missed work that day. The twins couldn’t escape their work, nor could her parents, and Hermione had asked that no one inform Mr. or Mrs. Weasley; she didn’t want to burden them. Hermione was very grateful for her friends’ concern, but it was difficult for her to express her own concerns that day.

She felt rather ostracised from her friends, and it took until that afternoon for her to truly realise just how much of an outcast she was – Harry and Ginny were happily engaged, Ron finally managed to find a woman who fancied him, and she was the one who was still dealing with such obtrusive issues in her life despite having found the woman she loved years ago. Draco seemed to be the exception, but he and Hermione never spoke of exactly why he was choosing to be so reserved for the most part. Though it may have had something to do with what he explained to her years ago, or possibly something else. Hermione made a mental note to ask him before tuning back in on the conversation her friends were having, Draco included.

“The Tornadoes may actually beat us this season,” Ginny said, “but I don’t know about you two.”

“We’ll pull through,” Ron boasted. “Us Cannons’ve always been hard workin’. You Harpies’re good though, I’ll give you that. Just expect to be playin’ us in the finals, Ginny. Playin’ Seeker ‘gainst your fiancé for the Cup sounds mighty harsh, though.”

“Potter’s skills won’t make much of a difference if you can’t even block a Quaffle, Weasley,” Draco chided with a glare in Ron’s direction. “I’ve seen your goalkeeping and it’s quite lousy. No wonder your team’s in low standing this season. I don’t know why you keep bragging and talking about bleeding Quidditch as if you’re so good at it. Just shut up about it for a change.”

“Tch, who asked you, Malfoy?” Ron asked, red in the face. Draco snorted and shook his head.

“He’s right you know,” Ginny added evenly.

“It’s just not very nice to say,” Harry whispered to her.

“What was that?” Ron demanded.

“Even your teammate agrees,” Draco clarified for him with a sneer. “And his fiancée who plays for another team who’s actually beaten you loads of times. Pretty pathetic if you ask me.”

“Well no one did.”

“Yeah well—“

“Draco. Ron.” Hermione shook her throbbing head at them. “Please, stop.”

Draco merely nodded curtly to her and Ron huffed and kept silent. Hermione sighed and rubbed her temples, wondering why every time those two were in the same room they had to resort to elementary bickering. She understood quite clearly that Draco hated the lot, and she supposed that that was his way of showing his distaste with them. Hermione herself never really expressed any disapproval of them that they could see, but she knew that they cared about her and Fleur. But for years, she never really cared about any of them in the same way.

As the five of them continued to sit in silence, Hermione wondered exactly when she made the shift from loving them to hating them, with the exact opposite happening with Draco. She felt closest to him, second to Fleur even after so long. Harry and the Weasleys seemed to be nowhere on her list, and she wondered why she even bothered to associate herself with them anymore.

Fleur only did it because Hermione cared for them so, and, now Hermione realised, that she was only doing it now because the woman clearly cared for them as much as she used to. They were her only family. Hermione understood now just how hard it may have been for Fleur to adjust for her; to change her entire way of thinking and living and believing for her. Fleur had made so many sacrifices, changed herself in a way that she’d come to enjoy, and made such a lasting impact on everyone that she came into contact with.

Perhaps what helped Fleur along, besides Hermione’s feelings towards everyone, was a flattery that they all cared for her so much. If Hermione was correct in her sentiments, Fleur not once expressed disapproval of any of them. Ron was a different story, though… It was strange how much Hermione seemed to despise him the most out of anyone. Mainly because of how extremely thick he was, how clueless he was, how horrible he was at knowing when to not talk about Quidditch, and how rude and inconsiderate he could be at times. Harry was just plain clueless nearly all the time, and Hermione no longer felt the brotherly connection with him that she’d harboured for so many years before. Despite all that they’d been through, as the Golden Trio, it was all for nothing. It didn’t mean anything if they didn’t really succeed in thwarting Voldemort at all…not really.

The guilt of her hatred stung and burnt her, but she knew that they’d never really understand if she told them to kindly go fuck themselves. She didn’t know where the hatred came from, besides from the jealousy and resentment, but even those were completely not like her. She’d changed so much over the years, and she wondered if the reason why she could identify so much with Draco now was because she’d turned into him. When Draco insulted Ron’s goalkeeping abilities, scolded him for always talking about Quidditch, and berated him for losing to his sister’s team on multiple occasions, Hermione wanted to agree. When Draco snorted and sneered and scoffed at any one of them, especially Ron, Hermione wanted to follow suit.

Everything had been bottling up for years. Anguish over Fleur, feelings of loneliness, guilt for always sobbing on Chanel and complaining to Draco, remorse for hating her surrogate family, and absolute shame began to eat at her for even feeling the need to hate and envy and attack her friends and family who’d never done a thing to harm her. But Draco never lied about things; he expressed his disgust as politely as he could to them. He never attended holiday dinners at the Burrow, only to have to pretend to be happy and smile a fake plastic smile whenever someone looked his way. He never tried being polite or nice to Harry and Ron, because he knew that Fleur only put up with them because Hermione did. He knew that Hermione had lost respect for them and was not obliged to go looking for it.

She wished she could be more like him.

“Hermione?” Draco asked with a raised eyebrow; she was staring vacantly at him.

“Something wrong?” Harry asked carefully.

“Yes,” Hermione hissed through gritted teeth as she turned to face him. Draco smirked knowingly.

“What’s up…?”

“You…us…all of you…”

“Come again?” Ron asked blankly. Hermione felt a surge of irritation from his vapid tone and whipped around to face him as she stood up and balled her fists at her sides.

“I’m entirely sick of…of you!”

“M-me?! What did I do?!”

“Oh I don’t know Ron!” Hermione said exasperatedly, ignoring the fear smeared all over his face. “Haven’t you noticed how irritated I get with you? How every time you say something, I look the other way and try to ignore it? I went off on you the other night because I’m tired of you and your antics! The absolute worst part is that you don’t even know you’re doing it!”

“Well how’m I supposed to know if you don’t tell me...?!”

“I’m telling you right now! Can’t you hear properly?!”

“Y-yeah but why d’you have t’yell about it?! I’ve ears that hear just the same as yours do!”

“You don’t have eyes that see the same as mine do! You never did! You never did, Harry never did, the twins never did, Armand and the others never did… it seems like the only ones in here who actually have tact and a pair of eyes are Ginny and Draco!”

“What the hell Hermione!?” Ron stood and glared down at her, but Hermione didn’t falter at all. “You know I’m no good at lookin’ out for signs that you never even put out in front of me! An’ even still, I’m your best friend! If something’s wrong you oughtta be perfectly fine with telling me what the hell it is! Don’t just spring this screamin’ match on me outta nowhere!”

“Ron, do you honestly think that I enjoy yelling at you?! Do you really think that I like disliking you?! I’ve been angry for years ever since Fleur had to leave! Angry and jealous and miserable and I didn’t want to be around anyone! You forced your presence on me and could never get the hint that I wanted to be left alone! Why would I tell you what I really wanted to say? ‘Fuck off’ sounds harsh to say, but it’s what I’ve wanted to say! You wouldn’t understand, your family wouldn’t understand…

“I’ve changed! I’ve changed I’ve changed I’ve changed and I don’t care! I’ve felt like an outcast with you all except for Draco! Why do you think I’m always with him or Chanel!? He agrees with me! Everyone’s moving on with their lives and still dragging the parcel around that’s Hermione! You try to be there for me and show me sympathy but it just makes me feel even worse! I couldn’t express any of this to you because I felt horrible at what I was feeling for starters! And besides, that’s not who I’m supposed to be! I’m not supposed to be angry at you! I’m supposed to love you! I do and I appreciate you but I still hate you at the same time and I don’t know why!”

Hermione took a deep breath to calm herself as she looked around the room and surveyed the damage. Harry was awe-stricken and gaping at her, Ginny was paler than usual and holding on to him, Draco was looking at her calmly and Ron was still standing, in a daze almost. Hermione did not want to be around them for their awkward comments of being blindsided, and conveniently remembered that she needed to have been out finding a present for Fleur.

“It’s Fleur’s birthday tomorrow,” she announced, “and I still need to pick up her present. Chanel told me that she ought to wake by evening time. I’m really not comfortable with a party with so many people, as Fleur’s still having a bit of a time adjusting. I’ll let you know tomorrow what she wants to do. I apologise for hurting your feelings, but this is exactly what I was trying to avoid by keeping it all to myself. I’ll see you all tomorrow, maybe.”

Hermione promptly Disapparated. She felt better to have gotten everything out, and was surprisingly unfazed by her best friends’ hurt feelings from her words. She thought this strange, but Fleur’s birthday was of greater import to her at the moment.

****

Fleur finally opened her eyes that evening and looked over at the clock on the nightstand next to her – 8:14. She brushed the hair from her eye and was relieved to not feel any sweat this time, and also glad that she’d had a dreamless, restful sleep. Hermione wasn’t in the dark room, and she sighed as she chanced getting out of bed, slowly.

Again she noticed quite a few of her old possessions about the room; even her broomstick was mounted on the wall. She also noticed the other night that all of her old clothes were in the closet, seemingly unworn for years but still taken care of. Her awards and posters and lists were also on the walls, as were quite a few other things. A picture on the windowsill caught her attention, and she treaded softly across the room to get a better look.

Inside the rectangular frame sat Fleur and Hermione on the grass by the lake at Hogwarts in the spring, holding one another and smiling. The Fleur in the picture prodded Hermione and pointed out the real Fleur gazing down at them, and the two in the picture smiled warmly at her. Fleur gave them an unsure smile and continued to watch them for a little longer, wondering who exactly took the picture and why it was making her throat and eyes sting. She tried to divert her eyes from the picture, and instead focused on a familiar list near the window – various areas of Paris where she and Hermione had considered moving to.

Fleur kept the list in mind while she turned around and looked back to the empty bed. It was just a bed. A bed where Hermione had apparently masturbated. To her. To them. The thought sent ripples through her legs and weakened her knees considerably to the point of making her stagger back to the windowsill and lean against it for support. She placed her hands at her sides, feeling her nail tap the picture frame and rip another strange, almost unknown craving through her, just from almost touching Hermione in a picture. Touching. Touching. Hermione survived four years alone by touching. Herself. To her. To them.

Fleur had slept and sweated on the same sheets that soaked of the essence of Hermione before she could. The thought made anger well up inside of her, but it also made her smile wickedly. Knowing that Hermione was now so very in-tune with her body and her sexuality and wants and desires kept coating her lips with a molasses that she nervously kept trying to lick away every five seconds.

The longer she stared at the bed, the more she wanted to do in the bed. Not alone. The bed, the floor, the window – anywhere would do, really, now that she thought of it. Having Hermione anywhere would satisfy her. Having Hermione, giving to Hermione, pleasing Hermione, screaming Hermione for Hermione, to satisfy her, to make the pain go away; Fleur wanted it. Ignoring it was futile. But she tried; tried as she might as she dug her nails into the wood behind her keeping her stable. She tried to constrict her breaths but they only came out as shallow, hitched, and dripping with a want to permeate the vast unknown excitement that was Hermione and her sex.

Dripping was an adequate word for Fleur. It was a very adequate word, state, being for poor Fleur who was trying to fight the animalistic urges she felt. Half of Fleur merely wanted a gentle kiss; the other half wanted a rough and wild lip suck. Another half of Fleur simply wanted to hold Hermione and assuage the pain away; yet another half wanted to hold Hermione during a fuck. Hermione wanted all four of those things, but Fleur feared that she wanted them too.

Feared, because she’d never done half of them before, even though they were supposed to be completely natural. Feared, because such ravaging halves of her wanted such sexual fulfilments that she’d never even considered before, because they weren’t natural. Not in her sober states… The very truth that she had drunken and sober states even when never having been under the influence before bothered her to no end. The struggle made her sweat, made her limbs tremble, made her mouth and throat and eyes dry because Hermione was not making her sweat and tremble and wet.

She was not the agent making her think and fantasise and visualise such situations. It was something…or someone else. Someone else was making her do this. Someone else was making her dehumanise Hermione, and turn and flip and rock and gyrate her into a mere sexual being whom Fleur aimed to please no matter what the cost. Please her, repay her for her sorrows, and repent for bringing them about in the first place. Fleur wanted everyone to see just how majestic and commanding and esteem-worthy her Hermione was. Hermione deserved everything… Everything she had and everything she didn’t have but still wanted to give. Fleur was solely vulnerable with and to and for Hermione; her now wickedly haggard state of being at the moment was testament to this.

Still…they were ever so strange, the urges. They rang in her ears, softly, slowly, just like the footsteps she heard on the carpet, coming towards her. Fleur was trying to conceal her hitching, shallow breaths and trembling limbs, and she succeeded to some extent, regardless of the nearing majesty. The nearing made her shiver and the closing space made the moonlight freeze the sweat over her body that she wanted licked away. Her frail, vulnerable, screaming body that wanted those delicate, effeminate hands to smooth her frozen skin down; sculpt her into a new body, one that would always cater to the body sashaying towards her in nothing but short shorts and a sleeveless T-shirt. Her pores were screaming to be incensed and purified with their sounds drifting through the night air, just as the woman continued to drift, sensually, so close to her; nearing, now, not nearly near enough despite the nearness.

Near. She was near. Close. Proximal. She was right in front of her, looking up at her through dark auburn eyes, shaped just as dark and sharp as they were reflecting in the azures above her. Fleur wanted. But Fleur also knew that she was still so afraid; afraid of her other self that had still not been suppressed despite the years of diamond dust that built on her; inside of her. She knew she wanted Hermione’s hands to inch closer to her as they were; inch on her, right to her waist.

The want was making the blue deeper, vaster, more expansive, as was Hermione parting her lips after licking them and keeping the husk in her hard gaze. The air between them had congealed with their deep breaths, and Hermione was cutting it with the near spade she had for a tongue and eyes every time she licked her lips or ripped Fleur from purgatory to hell and back again whenever she blinked. Fleur felt the fear build just as the loudness of her moans did that she kept trying to hide and bury and drown in her dry, parched, desert-like throat that needed hydration pertaining to an essence. An essence of Hermione.

“Fleur. I wonder about you... I always seem to have this power over you. I was the one who got to yell and vent at you the other night while you stayed dutifully silent. I know you hate me. I know you hate me for doing this to you, possessing you, and controlling you so...easily... Stop bottling things up. Tell me off; yell at me and scream my name. Or can you even hear me...?”

Fleur was too weak to tell Hermione to stop inching her knee amid her soaked thighs; she had no authority to stand up to the divine power before her. The power that wanted her; the power personified as Hermione incarnate. Fleur wanted that power, to compensate for her weakness, but not to control it. She wanted Hermione to share, though she knew the woman was stingy; such a tease, just as she was with herself and her body and her sex. Fleur enjoyed the loss of control and the vulnerability that at least made her crane her head back as she finally let out a quiet, breathy moan at Hermione’s ministrations. Did she even hear what Hermione had just said...?

She continued to bask in the increasing scent filling her senses, the sounds; the fantasies swarming her mind. Though she knew she couldn’t; if she let go, she might hurt Hermione. She didn’t want that, but Hermione seemed to want it; the way she was holding her close and still keeping her knee going was evidence of this. Clear, plain evidence for her to let go, but she was still so…afraid. Despite the delicious pressure building just over Hermione’s knee, she needed to stop. She couldn’t stop enjoying it, but Hermione could simply stop. Her fear was her control…it was her only form of control, regardless of how overwhelmingly desirable Hermione was…

And that fear made the illusion stop, only leaving her with the faint, sensual echoes of her guilty, pleasure-laden exhales.

****

Fleur opened her eyes and steadied her breathing; her head was thrown back against the window and her body was arched away from the glass, casting a strangely elegant shadow on the wall opposite her. Hermione was not there, nor was she ever there. It was just a dream; a waking dream.

She slowly pushed herself from the window and wiped the minimal sweat from her face, concluding that she needed a bath to calm her senses. Before she could get too caught up in wondering exactly why she was so afraid of herself, she exited the room and went downstairs to try finding something to eat, first. She was hardly paying attention as she was going down the stairs, and once she reached the bottom and finally, really opened her eyes, she felt a pang of surprise stab her.

There stood Draco Malfoy a yard in front of her, looking as though he was on his way to the staircase. He hadn’t seen her at all since she’d been released, and Fleur now felt the question rise as to why no one had even tried to contact her once her four years were up, and yet they all spoke to her cousin. Moreover, she wondered why in the would anyone would take so long to go collect their girlfriend, even if it was just by accident.

She chose to put the question in the back of her mind for the moment as she surveyed him – he looked very handsome and well-groomed, as she’d expect of someone like him. He was wearing an emerald casual suit with a white tee underneath, as virtually all men in Paris dressed. He was still half a head shorter than her, his hair was still nicely slicked back as it was in Hogwarts, his shoes were not scuffed at all, and his watch was designer and expensive, just like the rest of his attire. But the look on his face…

Draco looked as if he was caught between morbid shock and joy, and even his eyes were somewhat teary. Fleur wasn’t sure what to say, or what to do, and she was extremely disarmed when Draco stepped forward to embrace her for the first time in almost fifteen years. It was a surprisingly warm embrace, which Fleur returned as best as she could as she felt her muscles relax.

She remembered quite clearly that he was there to see her off that afternoon, and she must not have had a reason to hate him anymore if he was in Hermione’s home. Hermione did mention him a few times, but it hadn’t really clicked that they must have been friends until that moment. If they were friends, then he must have helped her through the years. Fleur found that she wasn’t bothered by what Hermione had mentioned of the two almost kissing; she understood completely.

Before Fleur could realise that she was actually hugging the man, he let go and took a step back, trying to hide that he was wiping his face. Fleur swallowed a knot in her throat and continued to look down at him, and was about to say something before six arms took their turn to wrap themselves around her and nearly suffocate her.

“Fleur! Merlin it’s really you!” Ron bellowed.

“We’ve missed you so much!” Ginny said.

“Way too much, Fleur. Really we have!” said Harry.

“Hey now,” Draco said, fighting back a laugh at the shock in Fleur’s face, “you’re gonna choke the woman to death. Let her breathe why don’t you?”

The three of them muttered their sincerest apologies as they let her go, garnering a curt nod and a smile from Fleur as she caught her breath. They led her further in the parlour to sit, and Ron and Draco sat at her sides on one couch while Harry and Ginny took the couch opposite them. A moment passed with everyone staring at her, almost in disbelief that she was really there. Fleur smiled at them effortlessly, though she felt rather silly, almost like a doll on display that they were ogling at through a store window. She didn’t blame them, though.

“Are you all right now?” Ginny asked with concern. “Chanel told us you had a bout of nightmares earlier.”

“Yes I’m fine,” Fleur said, though she wondered if this really was true. “I didn’t have any nightmares when I went back to sleep. I don’t even remember what the ones I had were about.”

“Oh,” Ron smiled, “well that’s good news, I think. No gain in rememberin’ unpleasant stuff anyway.”

“I couldn’t agree more…”

“Fleur…” Harry said. She regarded him sombrely. “She’s missed you so much… I don’t think…well… Hermione’s…”

“It’s true that she’s traumatised about things,” Ginny added quietly, “but she doesn’t regret anything.”

“If there’s one thing I’ll say about her,” Draco chimed in, “is that the woman’s a lot stronger now. She definitely won’t take any shit and she’ll say whatever’s on her mind now no matter what it is.”

“I know…” Ron and Fleur muttered in unison. Fleur regarded him questioningly, and he purpled before explaining.

“Well she went off on me ‘n Harry, mostly me, about how thick we are basically. She’s been wantin’ ‘er space ‘n whatnot but she was too polite to tell us to sod off. We thought, you know, ‘cause she was so lonely that she needed some company to get ‘er mind off things. Turns out that she’s been mad at ‘erself for hatin’ us but still appreciatin’ our tryin’ to be there for ‘er. It’s weird…”

“I’m surprised she didn’t wake you,” Harry mumbled. “Still…I had some idea that she was peeved with us. Not Malfoy, Ginny or Chanel, but pretty much everyone else in her life hasn’t been much help. I wasn’t sure whether to say anything or not…she probably would’ve denied it anyway… But she’s changed…a lot…”

“Has she been upset the entire four years…?” Fleur asked worriedly.

“No,” said Draco, “but for about ninety percent of it, yes. She thinks it’s running away from her problems to go surround herself with people. We’ve tried our best to keep her away from alcohol as much as possible, but she already has her own views about getting drunk. No worries about alcoholism.”

“But I think there came a time when she got used to it all,” Ginny said. “She adapted to the despair…or something. I’m not sure if she wanted it because it was the only thing she had left of you, but I think she’s told me something like that.”

“Damn depressin’,” Ron sighed. “But you’re here now… Just help ‘er out. She’ll be back to ‘er old self in no time.”

“He’s right,” said Harry. Fleur smiled at them both and nodded. “So how’ve you been?”

“I don’t know. I try not to wonder about it.”

“Any normal person’d gone mad from the pressure by now, I reckon,” Ron surmised. Fleur shrugged.

“I don’t feel any pressure in regards to society. Just…”

“Just what…?”

“Hermione…”

“How come?”

“I don’t…know… I’m still trying to figure it out I suppose.”

“Oh,” said Harry. “Well if you ever figure it out, we’re here for you.”

“Thank you,” Fleur said sincerely. “I’ll keep that in mind. But where did she go?”

“Oh, uh… She…”

“Didn’t say,” Ginny lied. Fleur didn’t see through the lie and merely nodded; she was still somewhat disoriented from earlier.

“Well I take it you’ve been here all day. Perhaps you all should head home. I was just about to take a bath after finding something to eat.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes, it’s fine. Besides, it sounds to me that Hermione’s still angry at Harry and Ron if she yelled at them.”

“She prolly is,” Ron sighed. “Wouldn’t put it past ‘er.”

“Yeah,” Harry groaned as he, Ginny and Ron stood up. “But it was really wonderful seeing you again Fleur.”

“You too,” Fleur said truthfully.

Harry, Ginny and Ron smiled and nodded to her one last time before the three of them Disapparated. Fleur sighed and turned to face Draco who was still sitting next to her. He gave her a small smile as he rubbed the back of his head and cleared his throat.

“Yeah…you look like you’re doing all right. I’m glad.”

“Thank you.”

“I ah…take it you don’t hate me anymore?”

“No.” Fleur shook her head and sighed again. “Hermione clearly doesn’t hate you, so why should I?”

“Good point…”

“So why doesn’t she, exactly?”

“Well… I came by and visited a few weeks after the ceremony… It was awkward at first but we eventually got to talking on a civil level and whatnot. I apologised, for her sake, and also because I knew you wouldn’t want us to hate each other anymore.”

“I’m glad. And you were right.”

“Yeah…” Draco cleared his throat apprehensively again when Fleur continued to regard him patiently. “I have a, uh…confession to make. About Hermione.”

“She told me you almost kissed. I don’t blame you.”

“She did…?” Draco looked taken aback, and Fleur merely nodded. “And you’re not pissed?”

“No,” Fleur said evenly. Draco swallowed and laughed nervously.

“Shoulda known… You wouldn’t care about something like that. Not quite up your alley I take it. I’m glad…”

“Thank you, Draco.”

“F-for what?”

“For taking care of her, in a way, all these years. You’ve matured a lot, I can tell. And I’m glad she had someone with her that I trust.”

“You still trust me…?”

“Yes.”

“Oh… well…good! Good! Yeah…heh.. I ah…well…”

“Hm?”

“I’d give my life for her you know… And you… You both mean a lot to me… I’d do anything I can to…help you…or whatever… Just…just keep that in mind…”

“Of course, Draco.”

“All right then,” Draco said with a small smile as he stood up. Fleur stood with him and smiled down at him. “I’ll see you around, then. Hermione’ll give you my number. Keep in touch.”

“You too.”

They both moved in at the same time for a short embrace before Draco Disapparated. Fleur sighed in relief to finally have the house to herself, though she wondered about the whereabouts of…her parents. She glanced in the direction of the kitchen and chose to skip eating until after a much-needed bath. Having company to keep her distracted worked quite well, but now that she was alone again, she needed the water to distil her foreign urges.

****

The warm water in the loo adjoined in Hermione’s bedroom certainly helped Fleur immensely to clear her mind and her ravaging hormones. She always felt completely at ease and able to think clearly while in the water, even if it was just a short shower. Baths were the most helpful nonetheless; immersing her entire body from the neck down in chocolate-scented bubbles and water was the best remedy for all of her problems. Still, it was past ten and Hermione still hadn’t returned home yet.

She closed her eyes and began to wonder why it was that she’d begun to feel so strangely whenever she wasn’t around Hermione only after seeing her again last week. Before that she was perfectly fine, minus the excess thawing and therapy from her cousin. It was a tedious process to essentially remind her body what it was like to feel again. Chanel had informed her that she ought to be practically immune to the cold after that ordeal, but Fleur still felt in her soul that something was still off. The way she felt towards Hermione when she was alone felt akin to how she was before realising that she was possessed.

Fleur scowled; there was simply no possible way that she was still possessed. The notion was completely ridiculous. What was all that time for? If nothing worked, then it was all a waste just as Hermione said. All those years of thinking, repenting, and practically feeling her lingering passions for Hermione burn the very blizzard surrounding her might have been for nothing. Hermione had suffered for absolutely nothing if she was still possessed! The realisation sent a surge of anger coursing through Fleur’s veins, making her nearly tremble with rage and a nourished want for revenge.

Hundreds of days spent with an aching mind, an aching body and an aching heart for Hermione were for nothing. Fleur should have been the master of her emotions; it was not the other way around. She refused to believe any other possibility. Trudging through a blizzard while crucified with a horrible, insatiable longing was her punishment, and for what? To not have even been cleansed at all? They should have just locked her in a body of water if that was the case! But that wasn’t what bothered her the most – knowing that Hermione had gone through the same toils but in the harsher environment of society and reality ripped and tore at her more than anything.

Still, despite the possibility, Fleur refused to believe it. It was an impossible possibility at the most, and absolutely nothing more than that.

“Fleur?”

Fleur sighed and relaxed her face, opening her eyes as she turned her head to see Hermione sitting on a chair right next to her. Hermione was smiling a bit, already in her night things. Fleur couldn’t quite return the smile and instead continued to observe her with many a question and comment on the tip of her tongue.

“Is there something wrong? I’m sorry I disappeared, but the others were still here for you. I just spoke with them.”

“I need to talk to you.”

“Oh.” Hermione looked slightly surprised, and Fleur turned her head back to face forward. “I’m listening…”

“Why did you take so long to come find me? And even then you stumbled upon the place by accident.”

“I… To be honest I wasn’t sure I’d know how to behave… I had absolutely no idea what to say…despite how badly I wanted to see you… Besides, I was afraid that you hated me…which you…did.”

“Even if I did hate you completely I’d still have wanted to see you. I thought you broke your promise and got married to Draco or something.”

“No, Fleur… I haven’t been disloyal at all, I promise you…and I already told you about the thing with Draco. Aside from that nothing else happened.”

“So you spent years…being angry and upset and lonely…”

“…yes but…why are you asking me this…?”

“I spent years feeling the exact same thing, and yet I had nothing to distract me, not really. You…you suffered. You were in pain. You were unhappy…”

“Yes…but I was… I was… I’m not anymore, honest I’m not. Things are still in transition and need a little getting used to, but I’m ready to move on…with you.”

“Do you want to get out of this city?”

“You mean move out?”

“Yes… I was looking at that list of places we were considering moving to after we graduated. I know it’s a little overdue, but… I think you need to get away from here, even if’s just moving to Paris a few blocks away. It’s easier to hide there, I think.”

“Are you asking me to move there with you?”

“To our own place, yes… I think I’d like that. Money won’t ever be an issue for us, I promise. I still have my inheritance in my vault, assuming you haven’t spent it all.”

“No, no! Certainly not... I admit I’ve gone to your vault, but it was only to make sure they added extra security on it. I’d love it if we moved someplace else, actually. Did you favour any place in particular?”

“Mmm…I remember I saw a place right in the centre of the city in the Xarcabard region. I’ll show you some time. It’s no rush.”

****

“Fleur…it’s not the end of the world if you open yourself up with me. I’m not going to hurt you; I’m not going to laugh at you… I want to get to know you.”

“If you say so.”

“R-really?”

“Yes.”

“All right… But you seem tired… Perhaps we should prep for bed.”

“Hmph. You get this close and you shy out on me?”

“No… I just don’t want to pressure you into anything. I sort of get the feeling that you only agreed to tell me more about yourself because you don’t want me to think that you’re afraid. You’ve nothing to be afraid of… I just wish you’d understand that…”

Fleur let a look of bewilderment slip from her face just as Hermione moved back a bit to drain the bath. She then moved back to Fleur, once again resuming the same cradling of her head and tender hold on her before she stood with a subtle air of strength about herself. Fleur carefully wrapped her arms around Hermione’s neck again, which was considerably less tense than before while Hermione stepped out of the tub and over to the expansive counter where she had towels laid out.

Just as Fleur took a deep breath while she pondered Hermione’s words, she was laid down completely over one of the soft towels. Fleur watched Hermione’s hands this time as the younger girl dried her off with a gentle precision, not at all embarrassed anymore at either of them being so exposed. The careful brushing of the dry softness just under Hermione’s delicate hands was…enjoyable.

Even Hermione’s daring action of drying her completely in between her legs was enjoyable. Different…but there was still some entertainment to be found with it. Hermione was blushing once more, but for perfectly good reason. Her fingers were strangely dexterous on her nether regions, despite the soft barrier. It was highly sensual, highly familiar even though she’d never let anyone touch her there, and highly relaxing.

Fleur was almost disappointed when Hermione glossed her hands from in between her legs to dry the rest of her body. The almost was lost upon her, however, when she replayed Hermione’s words and actions in her mind. Her tone, her emphasis, her care; it was all carelessly meticulous, just as Hermione was with everything. She was like this with her schoolwork, with her actions, and now with her words and her careful thoughts about their aftereffects. She really did take into consideration what Fleur had said to her about underestimation, it seemed.

Fleur finally moved her eyes to Hermione’s when she felt the girl cup her face with her damp, warm hand. Hermione worked carefully to dry Fleur’s hair, very wary of sudden movements so as to keep Fleur’s head pain-free. Fleur swallowed again, feeling something somewhere simmer inside of her again while she took in how genuine Hermione may have been. She was unsure, and the uncertainty was not appealing to her.

And while she watched Hermione dry herself off quickly, most of the water already dried by now, she could only wonder if it really would be the end of the world if she confided in Hermione what she only told to Draco. And possibly even more…far more than that… She was harmless. Fleur was certain of this. But harmless in nature could mean a possible source of pain in many other ways.

She wasn’t sure. Her indecisiveness was something she grew tired of day in and day out. She didn’t even realise that she’d wrapped her arms around Hermione’s neck and was being guided back to bed in her dark room. Hermione simply placed Fleur underneath the duvet and gave her a small smile before redressing. Fleur actually blinked at her for a moment while she watched Hermione swiftly put her clothes back on and put all of her things back in her bag. Hermione felt Fleur’s stare on her and turned to regard her once her tasks were completed.

“Yes?”

“Nothing.”

Hermione raised an eyebrow at Fleur and merely shrugged before retrieving Harry’s Invisibility Cloak and slinging her bag over her shoulder. She walked carefully to the door, fully aware of Fleur’s darkened eyes on the back of her head. Fleur continued to watch her while she stood there, hand just over the handle, looking as if she were deep in thought about something.

Silence. Again. It tainted the air around them and made them both quite unaware of breathing and blinking; only thinking. Only watching with a deep concentration what it was their eyes were focused on. There was nothing to say between them – Fleur was tired, this was her room, and Hermione was in no place to spend the night a second time.

Hermione slowly turned around and Fleur felt her gaze harden around the edges of her silhouette some feet away from her. More time and silence passed before Fleur licked her lips and spoke audibly, softly…

“I nearly forgot.”

“Wh-what’s that…?”

“Happy birthday, Hermione. What are you now, eighteen? I suggest you act like it.”

****

Saturday, August 17th

By the time Fleur finally woke up late that afternoon, she was surprised to find Hermione lying on top of her and peering down at her passively. Fleur raised an eyebrow at her and Hermione could only smile gently as she continued to stay right where she was. Before Fleur could even think to say anything, Hermione whispered something that left her extremely confused –

“Happy birthday, Fleur.”

“Hm?”

“It’s your birthday! You’re…you’re twenty-five now.”

“I am?”

“Yes… you’ve forgotten…?”

“I suppose… that and I didn’t really age at all in that cold. Time was essentially frozen.”

“Time…? But I thought it would just…”

“Mmm…yes, it actually was cold enough to freeze time, thus making it so that I technically hadn’t aged at all.”

“Oh…so, in theory, I’m older than you now.”

“Mhm. Strange, isn’t it?”

“A bit…”

“I’d thought about something involving time while I was in there. But you look like you’re itching to show me something.”

“Am I that obvious…?”

“A bit.”

“Yes, well… I thought of taking you someplace where we could be alone…unless you want to see everyone else. It’s perfectly fine if you do. I just wasn’t sure whether you wanted to be surrounded, or alone, or if you just wanted to stay here for the evening…”

“I’m interested in the place you have in mind, actually. I can see everyone else some other day. You’re more important to me than they are – don’t ever forget that.”

****

Later that evening after eating with their parents, Hermione and Fleur were both walking hand in hand down a deserted street in Paris. Fleur was glad to be away from the usual crowd, and was perfectly comfortable with the silence between them. She’d surprisingly never been in this area of the city before, and was trying her best to memorise the paths they were taking.

The part of the city they were in appeared abandoned, as appropriate, and it seemed to only look more and more prehistoric, almost, the further they continued down the road that was gradually turning into a walkway that appeared to be made of bone. Fleur was deeply intrigued by the gradual evolution of their environment; the sky seemed a somewhat lighter blue than the ceiling above them was metres ago, and the air seemed cleaner and almost cleansing, in a way.

There were various structures just ahead that were all made of the same bone-like material. The paths were jagged and uneven, and Hermione navigated them with ease as she continued to lead Fleur to one specific building not too far away. They were soon inside what appeared to be a well-lit, empty house, and Fleur raised a sceptical eyebrow at the old furniture within, but Hermione wasn’t stopping there – she was leading her up a spiral walkway that continued to the high ceiling of the house. Fleur was dishevelled by the sight of a rather large goldfish floating in the air in the centre of the spiral, and was about to ask Hermione what the deal was before they reached the end of the walkway, leading to absolutely nothing but thin air. Fleur spoke up about this –

“So where are we…?”

“This is the Forgotten City that the founders created, initially, just to see if their magic was potent enough to mimic an entire metropolis. It looks rather antediluvian because the branch of magic they were experimenting with wasn’t strong enough to evolve with the times – it regressed hundreds of thousands of years, in fact. Or perhaps intelligent enough is the correct phrase. Whichever it is…no one’s really come to fix this part of the city... It has a certain sentimental value, I suppose.”

“Where did you learn about this?”

“The library,” Hermione said simply. Fleur smiled and shook her head; she should have known. “Anyway…I’ve always had this sort of daydream about you carrying me down there.”

“Back down the walkway we just came up…?”

“No, silly.” Hermione smiled and shook her head at Fleur’s confusion. “There’s another pathway right in front of us. Carry me…please. Just trust me.”

Fleur didn’t think twice to trust Hermione’s judgment, most especially with the chance in front of her to have a daydream of hers fulfilled. She let go of Hermione’s hand and picked her up with the same graceful ease that had always stayed with her, and took a deep breath once as she familiarised herself once more with the feel of those arms around her neck. Fleur continued to regard the end of the path before them with a somewhat sceptical look, but out of the corner of her eye she could see Hermione looking up at her encouragingly.

Doubt was soon expelled as much as it possibly could from Fleur’s mind as she walked forward. She was wary of falling, now, and remembered at such an inopportune time that she still had lingering vestiges of acrophobia. Still, she continued to walk to the end of the walkway, and as soon as she stepped down on what was supposed to be simply air, an entire staircase appeared, spiralling out widely and down to a venue that she was afraid of ascertaining at the moment. She continued down the almost transparent blue staircase with Hermione in her arms, and the house that they were once in also disappeared; they were soon surrounded by an endless sky the same colour as the staircase.

Her footsteps sounded like faint wind chimes fluttering in the wake of her awe that she was actually there, carrying Hermione, and making Hermione happy. She occasionally glanced down at her beaming face that was looking around with the awe that Fleur also possessed, but was a little too paranoid to act on. The altitude at which they were at was extremely high, and the stairs themselves weren’t very wide at all. She was all the more determined to not slip and fall, and was equally as glad that they both decided to wear their old favourite trainers, black jeans and fitting white T-shirts; she didn’t trust her ability to walk in heels down a wild height and carry Hermione… The pressure on her shoulders, in her arms and the delicate one on her chest made her feel empowered, but she still had indubitable fears that were prodding at her concentration at the moment.

“Are you still afraid of heights?” Hermione murmured as they were halfway down the staircase. Fleur could only nod stiffly while she continued to watch her footing. “It’s all right. You’re doing just fine… I trust you.”

Fleur wanted to say something in response to Hermione’s gratuity, but as soon as she thought to do so, she realised exactly where it was that her feet were leading them – down to another, smaller building that didn’t look as archaic, surrounded by an effervescent lake of water. In the centre was an equally sparkling, tall structure that looked similar to an altar, with cylinders rising in succession up from the bottom of the lake, unconnected, acting as stairs of some sort leading to the altar. Hermione gestured to the general area of the centre of the shimmering water, and Fleur promptly set about getting them both over there.

It was rather surreal to Fleur to be having such an experience. The very air about them was so fine and pure, just like the one in her arms, that she could forget about the problems that had been ravaging her mind and heart, even if it was simply for the moment. It was especially fulfilling to have finally reached their destination, and Hermione prompted her to sit on the marble ground with her back against the crystalline structure. Fleur did so, and was rewarded with a wonderful view of the area that they were in, and a small sigh from Hermione. Fleur waited, wondering if Hermione was going to explain the place they were in any further; sure enough after a few more moments, she was right.

“I come here a lot… It’s very bizarre to me how they were able to create this place with such rudimentary magic, really. It also strikes me as odd how no one comes here anymore. It’s magnificent…”

“It is.”

“You’re not religious, are you?”

“I’m afraid not.”

“I’m not either…but I found solace in coming here to pray for you, or just get away from the world. Sometimes I’d come here to read, or think… I visited you, you know. Every day…”

“Chanel told me you had.”

“You don’t find it creepy, do you?”

“No, not at all… Thank you. But for me…I suppose it was easy to get caught up in despair. I thought about a lot of things. But all that time I spent being angry was wasteful. I think I was frustrated that I couldn’t be with you, more than anything…maybe I moulded that into a false hatred of you, of the world... I don’t know…”

“Don’t worry about that... I’m just glad you’re here now. You don’t need to be angry anymore.”

“But…I still feel horrible that you were in pain for so long. I can’t help it. At least you had something to distract yourself with from time to time…I didn’t...sort of. I kept wondering about you, and all I could do was wonder. I wanted you so badly that it hurt me more than the freezing cold. I’d eventually gone numb to my environment, but not the absence of you.”

“…I know… and I’m sorry. I’m sorry that things had to turn out that way, but we’re here now.”

“But…”

“But what…?”

“There was something else that I’d wondered about, almost to the point of driving myself mad. I kept thinking about my age being preserved because the time around me had been frozen. I was probably humouring myself in wondering about this…but as outlandish as it sounds, I was hell-bent on the possibility of freezing time everywhere to…to…let us be together eternally…”

Hermione said nothing in response; she merely looked up at Fleur in silent conjecture with as much concentration she normally had when reading or writing. There was also a silent curiosity that Fleur could barely spot, but she thought back to what Geneviève had said about Hermione. Her friend was right, completely right, but that foreign agent was at work again, making her want to convince Hermione of...something. Doubts and fears and hurt and part of her personality were shed as she spoke up once more.

“Well…” Fleur continued on, “it was just a nice dream, or something… You know…to make up for that time you had to suffer for. It’s a great fantasy and everything, but… I don’t know. It was just some upscale dream I kept pondering about around the time I was released to keep myself occupied.” Hermione was still looking at her in the same manner, seeming as if she were drinking her words with gusto. Fleur smiled gently and kept speaking, “I respect you, Hermione. But from what I’ve heard, it seems like not everyone shares the same reverence that I have of you. It bothers me…that I have no control over how other people make you feel…

“I… I know that you say I don’t need to be…angry anymore… I know. I hear you just fine, and I promise you that I’m not as angry… And yet there’s this…feeling I have… a feeling to…I don’t know…act on this lingering anger I have, that we have, and…seize the day and make it eternal. The motivation for revenge is coming from the love I have for you…nothing more. I know it seems strange and impossible, but like I said, it was just a nice dream. Don’t worry about it.”

“Are you sure it was just a dream…or do you really want to act on it?”

“There’s nothing I can do to make it happen. Unless you know a way… I’d love to love you forever, Hermione. But it would be dangerous to make that happen.”

“’I’d love to love you forever’… That reminds me of something.” Hermione reached in her pocket and kept her hand there, waiting; thinking hard while she continued to regard Fleur carefully. After some time, she let go of Fleur and knelt before her on one knee. Fleur observed her questioningly; her questioning was only accented by the uncertainty upon Hermione’s face and perfumed by the hint of red wine rising from her neck... “Fleur…I… I admit I also had another daydream about this place. I understand that our time together was cut short rather abruptly all those years ago…and…well…

“I know it’s only been just over a week since we’ve seen each other again… Not much time has passed at all of us simply reacquainting ourselves with one another…but… I don’t think we really need an eternity to become comfortable with each other again… But an eternity to love you…I promise you I’d love that more than anything other than simply having you, even if it was just for today and no longer. It’s been nearly five years since we’ve been friends…four and a half since we’ve been together…and it’s been almost twelve years since we first had that staring match…

“When I sat down and thought about it some months ago, I realised something… I don’t think I ever really hated you… No… Maybe I loved you the entire time, but I denied myself of the possibility because I didn’t think it possible for you to return my feelings. You always looked so…serious. Like you knew, secretly, that you were above everyone.

“Believe me…you were, and you always will be…and yet you always give me the impression that I will always be the one you hold high above the world, even yourself. I’m truly flattered that you think so highly of me…and… I… I want to continue where we left off more than anything. We don’t need the awkwardness or apprehension between us…we’re above that, right? I still love you and I know you still love me, so…”

Fleur’s eyes widened considerably once she finally got to see what it was that Hermione was holding in her pocket – a golden band underneath a cerulean, petal-shaped diamond. She understood completely why it was that Hermione was blushing, and soon felt an illegal amount of heat rush to her own face from the shock she was in.

“Th-this doesn’t have to be official or anything,” Hermione stammered quickly, “I just… I wanted to make your first birthday…with me…a special one. I’d been saving up for the ring, and this…this moment, I suppose…for ages. I… I was so choked up when I read what you wrote back in Hogwarts, in that entry, and…that’s what I was thinking about when you said not too long ago that you hate not having any control over how people see me…

“You are just…so…good to me… And even though I had my doubts, I knew that we would always have an immense love, even though it was interrupted…but the feelings would never go away. I’m not leaving; you’re not leaving…so I want you to have this… You’ve given me one, and now you deserve one from me… Please…”

Fleur could only nod numbly and wonder in awe how it was that she wasn’t crying as Hermione gently took her left hand in hers. She could almost hear the tinkling echoes of the ring sliding down her lithe finger, accentuated by Hermione’s shallow breathing and the spontaneous combustions going off throughout her own body. Hermione kept their palms together once her task was finished, and Fleur could only find it in herself to stare at the cerulean mirrored back at her; the jewel was just as effervescent and tame as their very surroundings. Fleur was further struck by how what they were sitting on was an altar that Hermione had prayed upon a number of times, for her.

Perhaps it was her lingering detachment to the world that was taking away the sentimental feel of everything, or her own dehumanisation, but she was having an extremely hard time connecting with the emotions she was feeling and those that she could barely feel underneath the rubble of her traumas. Hermione seemed to understand completely and moved in to hold her again, making sure to place a mindful kiss on Fleur’s silent lips; Fleur did her best to reciprocate, but the detachment was still there, and the fear of Hermione overanalysing her silence into a sign that she’d made a mistake. Fleur made a point to place her lips over the warm roots of Hermione’s tresses just underneath her head, and whispered a thank you that she managed to excavate from the crater of her sentiments. The crevasse still needed filling, but they had plenty of time to work on it.

--

Preview for the next chapter

“Fichte says that to be frozen in time is to be both having thought of something and reflecting upon itself, having thought of that at that very moment. Can’t the thought be our own? Our own, Hermione, our own! Can’t we be the ones frozen in time, having thoughts, becoming beings together, and becoming the absolute by defying physics, defying the world, defying time for love? Thoughts that aren’t reflecting the truth of constantly being thought of at this moment, but those that transcend the frozen and continue in our own time could belong to us.

“Conscience is guided by the infinite, but Fichte thinks that there is no guarantee that the infinite is the realm of good and true. But he also says that no one willingly and knowingly does wrong. So how can we act for the infinite if we’re convinced that it is true, where there’s no guarantee of it being good and true? I think it is. Subjectively. And you would be my Goddess there, in that infinitely frozen time. We could be selves, be together, and be thoroughly our own creations without anyone else.

“The greatest despair is knowing that one cannot transcend one self, and must settle for who they are and not who they can become. I think…I think I have that despair, Hermione. And here – Kierkegaard says, ‘When one man investigates objectively the problem of immortality, and another embraces an uncertainty with the passion of the infinite: where is there most truth, and who has the greater certainty?’

“We could be immortal and ignore someone else, everyone else, struggling with the uncertainty! Don’t question it… Forget Socratic ignorance… ‘A young girl may enjoy all the sweetness of love on the basis of what is merely a weak hope that she is beloved, because she rests everything on this weak hope; but many a wedded matron more than once subjected to the strongest expressions of love, has in so far indeed had proofs, but strangely not enjoyed quod erat demonstrandum.’ … ‘But the passion of the infinite is precisely subjectivity, and this subjectivity becomes the truth.’…”

“Fleur… What…what is it that you’re trying…to tell me…?”

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Rating is going up for the next chapter. Why? Mmm........ And no, there won't be an official wedding or whatever. The ring is just for sentimental value; the term husband/wife can be applied for them and the reason will be given later. I'm positive that you won't be able to guess it. That altar area is very, very important... Yeah, so be on the lookout for the next chapter, signalling that I've made up my mind about things. I'm such a philosophy junkie...ahem. Everything will be clarified/understandable by the end of the next chapter with my commentary. I'll probably post it relatively soon, but I'm wondering if it's worth posting the trilogy. It's REALLY out there and whatnot. Hmm...

Um, I know I'm super indecisive about things. I've just noticed a surplus of personal 'reviews' and hardly anyone clicking the button there, let alone reading. The next story is going to be very radical but I know where to set my boundaries. Well. I dunno. We'll see. The posting date of the trilogy is extremely tentative at the moment, but the next chapter will be up pretty soon. I'm writing the last scene over, which shouldn't take too long. A day to a few days at most.

Until then.