Note: None of the characters that appear here are my own brainchild, I'm only borrowing them. A new pairing that I'm trying my hand at, so hopefully it doesn't come off too OOC. As usual spell checked. Reviews welcome.

When Veelas fall in love, they fall in love hard. Suddenly. Unexpectedly. And Fleur, notwithstanding, was part Veela. She knew that Veelas fall in love only once and forever; for all their charms over men, Veelas were never truly in love. She knew that, yes. But she certainly wasn't expecting it to be her. A woman, maybe. Fleur didn't rule out the possibility, even maybe secretly embraced it for women were soft and tender in ways men could never be. Plus, on the whole they smelled better. But no, Fleur - for all her mental preparation and lectures from her mother; Fleur had not been prepared for this. This, this threw her off guard.

She was so, young. And she, she was only seventeen. Her mother said that it would happen anywhere, anytime, but not this, Fleur was unprepared at best. It was as she sat at dinner, wedged between her two friends, Fleur saw, and she knew. And she wanted. Oh how she wanted.

Her hair was thick, bushy, curly and Fleur wanted to do nothing but run her fingers through it, disentangling it. Suddenly a compulsion came over her and she did not fight it. Her eyes memorized the way the robes clung to her body, her ears memorized her laugh; audible to her even over the din of the great hall. Fleur wanted to know, because she knew. She knew she was in love, and she wanted to know everything about her, Hermione. Her Hermione. She barely registered that she had called her, her Hermione, because then Hermione looked over and Fleur knew that in that moment she saw. Knew that she saw what Fleur already had seen, what she already knew.

Her mother had told her about this a million times before, but she had never mentioned any of this. This warmth, this want, this love. This love.

A blush came over Hermione and she looked away quickly, a blush creeping up her neck and onto her pretty features. But it was too late. Fleur knew and now she did too. When she got the note about a week later, Fleur already knew.

She was by the tree, just as she had written; her hands were wringing and her hair bathed by the light of the moon. She was anxious, pacing back and forth and Fleur thought she never looked better. Fleur approached her on light footsteps, startling her. Hermione whipped around ready to tell her off - but something died in her throat and all that came out was an embarrassed, "Hi. You're early." Fleur for her part said nothing, humming in the back of her throat. Because she knew. She felt. And Hermione felt too. Fleur knew.

It was unexpected what happened next – embracing almost - and like two magnets it pulled them together- closer - until they were only a hairs breadth away - sharing the same breath. Hermione was fidgeting, her hands wringing and twisting about; looking anywhere but at her. But Fleur was done being patient, done waiting. So she kissed her; letting the magnitude and the importance of what she had done wash over her. Over them. Feeling Hermione's lips against her own, it was soft and any petulance Hermione may have had melted with the kiss.

When they walked back to the castle later that evening, it was hand in hand, giddy and drunk off their love, every nerve alight with passion and want.

Her mother had certainly been right about one thing.