A/N: This was written for femexchange at Livejournal.


Parce Qu'elle Est Une Veela

6 P.M.

Hermione knots her fingers roughly through Fleur's long blonde hair. Passionately, they snog again. "Oh, mon Dieu," the other woman breathes. She slides her thigh between
Hermione's legs and, hands firmly on her hips, pushes her up against the kitchen counter. Hermione groans softly. She places kisses along Fleur's jaw and down her graceful neck, causing her to sigh with pleasure.

Fleur's slim, pale hands slip under Hermione's black robes and start attempting to work them off. "Mm, Fleur," the brunette gasps, shivering at the slightly older woman's touch. "Are you sure you want to do this?" Breathing hard, she stares into Fleur's still red-rimmed eyes.

"But of course, 'ermione." She brings her hands down to the girl's waist and caresses the sharp points of her hipbones, skin on skin.

Hermione kisses her once more on the lips, then abruptly pulls away. "We probably shouldn't be here."

"Tu as raison, ma belle," Fleur agrees enthusiastically. "To ze bedroom!"

Shaking her head strongly, Hermione stops her would-be lover. "No, no, I mean we shouldn't be doing this at all."

"Why ees zat, 'ermione?"

"Because of – oh!" Hermione is forced to stop as Fleur's mouth finds her breast. "Because of Bill?"

"I am certain," Fleur says around Hermione's nipple, "that if Bill was watching us from 'eaven, 'e would be 'aving ze – 'ow do you say? 'E would be 'aving ze 'ard-on."

Hermione takes a moment to savor the feeling of the other witch's lips on her. She pets Fleur's silky hair absent-mindedly as she tries to choose the words she needs to get her point across. "What I mean is that your husband, to whom you had been married for less than a month, and with whom you were madly in love, died less than forty-eight hours ago. I just don't think you're in the right state of mind to be sleeping with anyone."

She closes her eyes and remembers…


4 P.M.

The funeral has ended, and the little church is quiet. Harry, Ron and Hermione sit huddled together in a pew.

"It's such a goddamn tragedy," Harry says angrily, scuffing the toe of his dress shoe on the ground. "Why Bill, of all people?"

"Poor Fleur," Hermione says softly, glancing at the woman at the front of the church. Her previous dislike of the widow has been tempered by the amount of time they have recently been spending together. Hermione was forbidden to chase after Voldemort and look for Horcruxes by her parents, who said it was too dangerous, so she is reluctantly back at Hogwarts for her seventh year. During the summer, however, she and Fleur bonded over wedding plans and a mutual wish to be out there fighting the Death Eaters.

Ron's eyes are wet, although he yet let himself shed a tear. "Do we have to keep talking about this? Blimey, we've been over all this so many times already."

Sympathetically, Hermione puts her arm around him. "I know it hurts, Ron, but sometimes it helps to talk about these things. For closure."

"I don't want closure!" the redhead shouts, pulling away from his ex-girlfriend. "I want my sodding brother back!"

Ron's friends exchange an awkward glance behind his back. "It'll be okay," Hermione murmurs.

"It's just… a werewolf bite, for fucking out loud? Lupin said it would be fine. Everybody said it would be fine. And for six months, it was fine! I don't understand it." He buries his face in his hands.

Molly Weasley approaches the little group. "We're going to go to the graveyard now," she says quietly.


7 P.M.

Fleur's bedroom is dark, but the candles scattered around the room lend it a romantic atmosphere. The hangings on her walls, which Hermione can only half-see in the dim light, portray both Sapphic and heterosexual love scenes. It's funny how Hermione never realized that Fleur swung this way before today. She's not as surprised as she might be, though – and in any case, it's not an unpleasant surprise. Something about Fleur just exudes every kind of sexuality. Maybe it's her Veela background.

It might also be the Veela in her that's got Hermione out of her robes and into Fleur's bed in the first place. Hermione really doesn't usually do things like this.

For Hermione, the realization that Fleur was attracted to her came after years of trying to suppress her own desire for the Frenchwoman. They were both single, and although of course Fleur's singleness was regrettable, Hermione had figured there was nothing wrong with a little snog. She wasn't expecting it to lead to sex!

"Oh, Fleur," she moans as the witch clambers on top of her. Nude, Fleur is a masterpiece: pale, angled, with gloriously lovely breasts and a perfectly curved arse. And whether it's due to the room's lighting or something innate in Fleur herself, Hermione could swear the other woman glows.

One of Fleur's hands massages her breasts while the other runs surprisingly short fingernails down to her belly button. She teases Hermione slowly until the other girl feels like screaming at her to fuck her now. But she doesn't. She knows it's in her best interests to wait; Fleur knows what she is doing.

"Lean back," Fleur whispers. Hermione readily complies. Fleur presses her arms behind her head, letting her know without a word that they are to stay there. She kisses down, down, until she's not teasing anymore and she's in the spot where Hermione so desperately wants her to be. For a moment, Fleur gives Hermione everything she's ever dreamed of. The brunette finds herself instantly breathing harder and getting shaky. As if of their own accord, her hands move up to her chest and massage her own breasts. Her head moves from side to side, pressing into the pillow; she moans out loud.

Then suddenly, cruelly, Fleur stops.

"What are you doing?" Hermione nearly screams, glaring down at the woman between her legs.

Fleur laughs in a gently taunting manner. "Just seeing if you are paying attention, chérie."

With that, she returns to what she was doing with twice the fervor as before.

Hermione can hardly believe this is the same woman who, just two hours before…


5 P.M.

The coffin is in the grave and is slowly being covered with damp black dirt. Hermione thinks about how she will never see Bill's face again or joke with him over breakfast at the Burrow. And he's died from a werewolf bite, of all things. It's funny, but despite what the doctors said, at the viewing Hermione didn't think Bill's more recent wounds looked like much complications from the bite he suffered months ago. They could have passed more easily for the result of Bulbadox Powder and a few advanced curses she remembered reading about in fourth year.

Silence hangs over the scene as the coffin is completely covered. The widow sinks to her knees at the graveside and sobs quietly. Her cries become progressively louder, and she begins to beat her chest furiously as she keens. The rest of the crowd is frozen in action, unable to do anything but stare at the young widow sobbing herself dry. Finally, the lamenting ceases, and Fleur throws herself face-down into the mud.

The others start to move and talk amongst themselves again. People who aren't as close to the family begin to depart awkwardly.

Hermione, Harry, and the Weasley family congregate and begin to talk about going home, too. "Harry, Hermione, you're welcome to stay at our house for as long as you wish, of course," Arthur Weasley tells the teenagers.

"Thanks, I think I'll do that," Harry responds gratefully.

Everyone's eyes turn to Hermione, but before she can respond, they are distracted by Fleur coming to join them. She is muddy all over and still clearly distraught. "Fleur, I was just telling Hermione and Harry that they are welcome to stay with us," Arthur tells her.

"Eet is all right," Fleur says. "I need to be at my own 'ome."

"Would you like me to accompany you there?" Molly asks sympathetically.

Fleur shakes her head. "Ça va. I will be fine."

Ginny asks her sister-in-law the same question, and receives a similar response.

"Do you want me to go home with you? I don't have anywhere better to go, really," Hermione says. "I could stay the night."

The blonde looks at her appraisingly. "All right."


9 P.M.

After Fleur has satisfied Hermione, at least for the moment, the other witch wants to try her hand at the complicated art of pleasuring a woman. She starts off seated while Fleur lies down, so that she can stare into the other woman's eyes. Using her fingers, she attempts to do the same things that she likes to do on herself when all the other girls in the Gryffindor dorm are asleep. Fleur seems to enjoy it, but it quickly becomes clear that she wants more.

Grabbing Hermione's hand, she guides the first three fingers inside her. She is moist and tight around them as the younger witch moves her fingers in and out slowly. Hermione notices that her thumb is perfectly positioned to hit Fleur's clit with each stroke, and takes full advantage of the realization. Small gasps emit with each stroke, so the brunette assumes she is doing fine. At Fleur's prompting, Hermione increases the pace with which she is fucking her. Her efforts are rewarded a few minutes later by a series of full-body shakes and screams of pleasure.

"Zat was amazing," Fleur gasps when she's recovered her breath, "especially considering 'ow it was your first time."

Hermione shrugs off the compliment. "I've read a book or two on the subject. Anyway, what now?"

The blonde smirks. Placing a pillow underneath her own head, she then pulls the girl backwards on top of her. "I am quite fond of zis position, especially with a beautiful young woman."

Hermione blushes at being called beautiful by Fleur of all people. In her wildest fantasies, she never dared to imagine that her first time would be with the Veela. She's still blushing when Fleur's tongue reaches her in the exact spot where she wants it. Without thinking, she leans down to try the same things on her. They go down on each other for what feels like hours without stopping, until the pressure builds in Hermione and she has to free her mouth to let out a long moan.

"N'arrête pas," Fleur begs.

Immediately Hermione resumes her task, licking and sucking and using her fingers too, or as best as she can from her location. Fleur sighs and then cries out. A minute later, they're both coming together, both calling the other's name.

Hermione collapses by Fleur's side. For a moment they lie there just holding each other, letting their breathing return to normal. Then Hermione is reaching over to Fleur again, gently tugging and twisting at one nipple, then the other. The action has its desired effect; it doesn't take long for Fleur to push Hermione off the bed and onto her knees before her.

The brunette's tongue is getting tired, but she makes a commendable effort anyway. She licks Fleur in little circles, then slips one finger from her right hand inside the woman at the same time. Despite how satisfied she felt a moment ago, she finds herself getting aroused again. Her left hand is free, she realizes. As Fleur gasps, twists, and arches her back, Hermione manages to pleasure herself, too. Their orgasms this time are the most powerful ones yet.

Hermione crawls up on the bed again and allows Fleur to put her arms around her. Silently, each contemplates the events of the day.

The silence is broken by Hermione. "I can't believe we just did that," she says with more than a little guiltiness in her voice. "I never even did all that with Ron. And Bill… I can't believe I slept with you when you've just lost your husband."

"Ça va," Fleur says, stroking Hermione's cheek affectionately. "I finished my grieving at ze funeral. And besides, ma belle, if I was not ready to move on, I would never 'ave keeled 'im in ze first place."

Hermione is pretty sure that her heart just stopped. She must have misheard what Fleur just said. "I'm sorry, did you just say you killed Bill?" she asks her new lover.

"Of course," Fleur says cheerfully. "Eet ees ze Veela tradition. Why, is zat not what you English witches do?"