Hello everyone! I'm sorry for the late update. I took a mini vacation with my lovely girlfriend and now I'm back!

If you haven't already, I invite you to join us Fleur/Hermione shippers at the Fleurmione tag on Tumblr! There are tons of great writers and artists there. (Ressick, Anamatics, WhistleSilver and other great writers have tumblr accounts so go send them some creepy anon asks!)

construc crit (anon) Really love the username. :) I appreciate the advice but please know that this story does have direction. The last chapter was an interlude, a funsies chapter to show Fleur and Hermione's relationship through the eyes of another person. Does it further the plot? Absolutely not! Does it provide valuable insight onto the different friendships and how Fleur and Hermione's friendship is different? I think it does. :) As to the "stalker" plotline...well...you'll see. ;)

The point of Breakfast isn't to be filled with action-y, plot complicating events. As a matter of fact, you'll notice the absolute lack of external conflicts within the story and I did that on purpose. What is Breakfast about? Breakfast is about coming to terms with one's own sexuality, it's about Hermione and her misconceptions of life, love and being totally into blonde, French woman. It's a love story, of course, but it's Hermione's story first and foremost.

Last and definitely not least, thank you to all my readers, followers and reviewers!

Puzzle Pieces

Fleur's hands searched her, running across every curve, corner and angle until they came to rest on her hips. Hermione hung on to strong shoulders, afraid that would melt into a puddle under the other woman's fierce gaze and the fire that seemed to ignite wherever their bodies touched.

The need to touch, kiss, feel; to finger and dissolve began to pull at the fabric of her restrains, making them come apart like the catching of a singular thread.

Hermione knew with all her logical being and understanding of the English language that Fleur had said "not tonight". But Hermione also wanted, pressed and moaned into Fleur trying to cross boundaries set moments ago. She had waited too long in her work day to tell Fleur, stretched her patience to accommodate her friends and their quidditch frenzie and now, she couldn't contain herself.

She blamed it on the two beers she had, unwilling to accept the startling idea of being so sexually aroused by another woman.

Her hand fell from Fleur's shoulder, running past a mound of soft flesh encased in fabric and then a thin wire, crossed tensing abdomens and halted at the frills of a cotton shirt. Hermione fingered them, teasing the skin beneath and Fleur reacted by kissing her deeper, tongue entering the confines her mouth and grazing against pink muscle with delicious nostalgia. Instinctively, Hermione's hand trailed even lower until it was cupping Fleur's heated core through her long skirt.

The blonde gasped into her mouth, her body trembling. Hermione kissed her harder, with need and want and alcohol all on her breath. Her grip on Fleur's shoulder tightened, unwilling to relent until Fleur was kissing her back and grinding against her palm.

"'Mione." The older witch cried, trying to pull away. It seemed that her body was confused, pushing and pulling against Hermione at the same time. The idea that Fleur was so tempted and spellbound by her that her mind and body went against each other excited Hermione.

The blonde was unyieldingly and almost maddening perfect, all the time. There wasn't a moment when Fleur looked dumbfounded or lost; her limbs always knew where to be to look strong and elegant, her hair even on its messiest days looked styled and prepped for a picture. Yet here Fleur was—the same Fleur that walked passed men as they stared, groveled and begged for attention—breathily kissing Hermione with unbidden passion, hand weakly wrapped around her wrist trying to pry them away from a very sensitive spot.

Hermione angled her palm, directing more force onto the spot above the wetness she felt with her fingers.

Fleur whimpered.

"You make the sexiest noises." Hermione husked before crushing their lips together so the other woman had no time to agree or protest. In response, Fleur made a sound akin to growling and moaning at the same time, hands groping her behind and heaving her upwards. Suddenly, Hermione was taller, higher, legs wrapped around Fleur's waist, her hand forced to take leave from the warmth it sought between two heavenly thighs.

"Bedroom." Fleur mumbled, kissing her neck and biting down onto velvety skin.

"And then!?"

Parvati Patil yelled through the flames of Hermione's fireplace, making the embers and wood crackle.

"You two were snogging and what happened?!"

"I got cold feet!" Hermione said, covering her face with shame.

"Cold feet? Cold feet?! You get cold feet when you're doing something you've never done before!" Parvati sounded dramatically exasperated, "You've done it at least three times!"

"But I don't remember!" Hermione's face heated to a hotter degree than before, something she didn't know was possible. "What if I mess up? We didn't drink as much!"

Parvati loudly sighed. "So you two just…?"

"I freaked out and asked her to stop. We went to sleep, together." Realizing the implications, Hermione quickly added, "Next to each other. For the whole night. She made me breakfast the morning after."

"What do you want me to do?" Parvati asked, confused. "What was so urgent then? Did she hex you after?

"No." Hermione swallowed, knowing what she was about to ask would not be easily given. "I need your help, Vati"

They had been ambivalent friends through the years but after the war, with Lavendar's death, Parvati sought comfort in her other roommate. Hermione offered a crying shoulder and, in return, Parvati helped her through her last year at Hogwarts and her eventual break up with Ron—despite having already graduated. They grew close, maintaining contact even after Hermione had attained a job with the Ministry while Parvati stayed at Hogwarts as an apprentice to Trelawney.

"There is a potion—"

"—Oh no." Parvati's eyes widen in realization and she shook her head ardently, "I know exactly which one you're thinking of and the answer is no."

"I just need the ingredients you have access to." Hermione insisted. "I'll brew it myself."

"Padma!" Parvati called out to her sister.

"Padma is there?"

A familiar face appeared in her fireplace, identical to Parvati's but with her long, dark hair pulled into a high ponytail. Padma greeted her with slight fondness and Parvati explained that her twin was visiting. "Tell Hermione those horror stories about the Remembrance Potion."

Padma gasped, the flames withered as if she actually inhaled the air that fueled it.

"Hermione Granger. Why would you need that?"

"I didn't say I needed it." Hermione glared at Parvati. "It—it's for a friend."

Padma lifted an unimpressed eyebrow, as if she had heard the excuse multiple times before. She probably had. "I will not disclose information about the potion or how to brew it properly if I don't know why you need it."

It was Hermione's turn to sigh tiredly. "Okay, okay. Come over, we might as well meet face to face."

A couple minutes and flashes of emerald light later, Parvati and then Padma appeared through her fireplace. She greeted Parvati with a long overdue hug and, to her surprise, Padma offered her hand. Hermione shook it with a shy, embarrassed smile. It was the first time she had seen Padma since the war ended. The more studious of the twins chose to undergo a rigorous program of specialized potions brewing with St. Mungo's Research and Development team.

"How is the research going?" Hermione offered to make tea, trying to lighten the conversation, "Parvati tells me your team had made quiet a breakthrough."

Padma nodded, quiet and introverted as usual. "However, due to my contract, I cannot tell you the nature of our wonderful discovery." She offered an shy smile.

"That's quiet alright," Parvati piped as they sat down around they fireplace. "We're just here to tell you what you're doing is bad. Idiotic. Moronic. I never thought I'd actually have to use that word to describe you, Hermione."

"Yes," Padma agreed, "You understand that the Rememberance Potion has not been cleared by the Ministry of Magic to be used by the general public, correct?"

"Yes. But it exists. I've read that—"

"—you need to read more, as you are not scared of using it."

"I know, I've read about it. But I also know the Ministry uses it…as an interrogation strategy." Hermione revealed, determined. "I have the instructions to brew it. I just need the ingredients Hogwarts has access to. Parvati…"

"No! Absolutely not! Just for a girl!" Parvati exclaimed, "You are being foolish!"

Padma gasped. Parvati covered her mouth. Hermione wondered just how long before the entire world would know about her relationship with Fleur. She hadn't decided what she was going to tell Padma to convince her—the truth probably. But she would rather have it come from her own mouth.

The entire room, small and somewhat cramped with books and loose parchment, went quiet. Hermione waited for Padma's judgment, for her eyes to turn into that look of disgust and revulsion. To her surprise, the other woman shrugged then smiled, somewhat knowingly.

"I've always wondered…" Padma said, more to herself. "You had no problem facing and befriending boys at Hogwarts. Most people attributed it to your crush on Ron or Harry, depending on who you asked, but I always had an inkling…"

"…How?" Hermione, flushed, grew more and more interested as Padma spoke. "I—I don't give off a gay vibe or—"

The twins laughed, shaking their heads in unison.

"Do you remember on our fourth year, during the Triwizard Tournament?" Hermione nodded, "Every time Fleur Delacour's name was mentioned or when she walked by, you would stare…most people thought it was out of hatred but—"

"—It makes so much sense now!" Parvati exclaimed, "You were so awful to her because you liked her!"

"I didn't like her then." Hermione denied. "At least, not consciously."

It was a half lie. She did. Somewhat. Maybe. She didn't want to admit it. Fleur just looked really good in her silky, blue uniform.

"You didn't like her 'then'?" Padma repeated, putting emphasis on the last word. "Does that mean now you do…?"

The woman was observant, Hermione could see the gears turning in her head.

"All of this…is for Fleur Delacour? Merlin, is she not engaged to Bill Weasley?" Padma, despite being accepting of her sexuality, looked incredulously at her.

"Padma!" Parvati objected, slapping her twin on the shoulder. "Hermione would never! They've been separated for years now."

"Fleur actually lives next door." Hermione said, nodding her head to the wall that separated their apartments. Her two guests looked panicked for a moment, mouth opening but she knew their question. "The walls here are thick. Except for the bathroom. She can't hear you."

Padma still looked to be in slight shock and said, quietly, "Do you love her?"

"I—I don't know. We've only just begun…" Hermione was visibly shaken by the word. "We haven't even discussed what our relationship is…"

"Are you two girlfriends?" Padma straightforwardly asked.

"No…"

"Casually dating?"

"I don't think s—"

"—oh for the sake of Merlin's beard, Padma, they had some drunken one night stands!" Parvati said bluntly, tired of the back and forth. "'Mione needs the potion to remember what they did because now she wants to make love to—"

"No—I don't—not love, not yet." Hermione sputtered. "I don't know!"

"If not for Fleur's love, why else would you be willing to risk your ability to think." Parvati droned, "And only love can make a girl so blind."

"It is not love." The brunette seethed.

Was it?

"If it is not love then I will not help in your cause." Padma said. Parvati nodded in agreement.

Hermione bit on her lip, refusing to let frustrated tears fall. Padma's approval and advice she could go without but the ingredients, she needed. "Vati, please."

Her longtime friend and roommate offered an apologetic and sad smile. "Think it over, Hermione. Let your feelings come to pass. Once you have figured your true feelings towards Fleur, I may be more willing to help. There's no use to put so much at risk when you could simply be infatuated with her. Who knows, it could be a stage. Padma dated several girls during her training program."

Hermione's mouth dropped. No wonder the researcher seemed so unfazed by her sexuality.

"Parvati!" Padma shot daggers at her sister.

"Well since you know about Hermione, it was only fair that she knows about you." Parvati teased, knowing her sister was more than comfortable discussing that time in her life. "I'm the only one who hasn't been with a girl here. After hearing your responses, I'm wondering if I should hop the fence. There ought to be something special about kissing girls if two of the brightest women I know are snogging them left and right."

"It's not about kissing them or anything. Or even about being with a girl." Hermione's cheeks warmed.

"What is it about?"

"Fleur." Blood rushed to her face, "I've never felt that with anyone else. Not even with Ron."

"When did these feelings appear?" Padma's voice became therapeutic and Hermione, after knowing about the girl's history, felt more willing to share. Maybe it was better to discuss it with people outside her mind.

Hermione sighed. "If I am being honest with myself, over a year now."

The twins gasped.

"It wasn't always like this." Hermione started.

"When I first moved in next door we weren't the best of friends. But Harry assured me that Fleur, underneath the glamour and pretty cloths, was a good person. He asked me to befriend her. So I tried, for Harry's sake. Instead of finding this really haughty and snobby woman you'd remember from Hogwarts," Hermione did not want to mention her incident at the Malfoy Manor and Shell Cottage. "Fleur was welcoming, kind and warm. We bonded. And then… "

"Then what happened?" Parvati asked, uncharacteristically quiet and gentle.

"I just started noticing the little things. Like how lovely her laugh is. I started enjoying her company and how witty she was. I know this sounds so cliché but it never occurred to me that I could fancy another girl. Let alone Fleur." It was a half-truth, she never pondered on the idea because it was too scary, too life changing if it was true.

"I just kept thinking it—my fascination with Fleur—would go away, kind of like a child's fascination with a new toy, you know? Except, it didn't."

Several Months Ago…

Hermione sat awkwardly stiff at the fine dinner party, hosted at a massive and ornate ballroom. Next to her, Fleur was having an avid discussion of the fashion trends with Justine, her colleague. She studied the woman, dark eyes with dark hair, with growing jealousy. Fleur had spoken so highly of her in their earlier conversations and upon setting eyes on Justine, Hermione knew she hated her for all the wrong reasons.

It wasn't just because Justine was the same age as her yet majorly successful in her endeavors as a law clerk—a position Hermione had yet to reach. It wasn't because Justine's hair was dark and flowed down past her shoulders in waves while Hermione had to pull her untamable hair into a bun. No, it had to do with the fact that, when she first set eyes on Justine, Fleur gasped, left her side, greeted her and said;

"You look stunning."

Don't I look stunning? ´Hermione wondered, playing with the fabric of the dress Fleur had helped her pick out. Fleur was the reason she came to the dreaded dinner party—she couldn't deny pouty pink lips and watery blue eyes, not when Fleur's hands were gently and pleadingly wrapped around hers. Wasn't she supposed to be Fleur's plus one? Shouldn't she be doted on?

(Like you're her date? A voice teased in her mind. She ignored it.)

As the night wore on she felt more like Fleur's shadow than companion, sitting quietly at the table and then accompanying her from group to group as the blonde spoke to other witches and wizards. Fleur would introduce her briefly and then spearhead into a conversation, leaving Hermione to watch and listen.

In truth, Fleur looked ravishing. If not for her foul mood, she, like the rest of the party, would be taken by Fleur's natural charms and grace. The air, the mood, the lighting, everything in the ballroom reminded her of the Yule Ball—with significantly less hormonal teenagers and better music. She wished someone—Fleur came into mind—would pay attention to her so that she could enjoy the atmosphere better.

Hermione didn't want to admit it but when she looked at the center of the room, filled with young and old couples alike, she wanted to be part of the group. It was enchanting to watch them as they swayed to the rhythm of the music, happily laughing and conversing. She wanted someone to dance with. Unknowingly, her eyes drifted back to Fleur who was now talking, in French, with an elderly couple. She watched her friend for a little while, allowing her dull mood to be calmed by the fact that she was able to make Fleur happy.

"Excuse me." A voice from her left drew their attention. "May I have this dance?"

Fleur, who had been getting frequent requests the entire night, casually apologized and declined the offer. That was when the young gentlemen, blonde with green eyes garbed in a sleek dress robe, smile wryly and redirected his question.

"My apologies, Ms. Delacour for misdirecting my question. I am well aware that you do not entertain dances at social outings such as these." Fleur didn't dance with anyone? It was hard to believe considering her notoriety as the most beautiful, sought after girl in the room. "I meant to ask your beautiful friend here."

Fleur's face steeled but the corners of her mouth lifted to form a well-practiced smile. "If that is what Hermione wishes."

The mentioning of her name drew her (by Fleur) out of her thoughts. The young man turned, smiling at her. "Hermione? A pretty name for a pretty lady. Allow me to introduce myself, I am Edward Kinsley and it would be an honor to dance with you tonight."

Hermione blushed. It was flattering that someone had actually paid attention to her. Hesitantly, she took his hand and allowed him to lead her to the dance floor. She gave one last, excited glance back at Fleur—whose mouth was pressed into a thin line—and smiled. Surely, her friend would not be angry if she left for a few dances especially seeing as she could not understand half the conversations the blonde was having.

Hermione spent the rest of the night dancing with various gentlemen of the party. It seemed that once she entered the circle of swaying, dancing couples, it was an open invitation for other suitors to dance with her. She caught Fleur staring with an unreadable expression on her face several times in the hour but couldn't leave to the make sure the blonde was okay.

As people began to leave towards the last half hour of the dinner party and Hermione became relieved; her feet were getting sore. As she let go of her last dance partner's hand, Hermione's began searching for Fleur. To her shock and amazement, the blonde was in front of her when she turned, wearing the same indiscernible expression since Hermione left her side. Abruptly, Fleur took her hand and waist, stepping forward so that Hermione, naturally, stepped back. They fell into the rhythm of the violin and fiddle playing in harmony.

Suddenly, her feet were not hurting anymore.

"Fleur? Is this your way of asking me for a dance?" The older witch was known to be direct, almost arrogantly and snobbishly so, when she wanted something.

"Hypothetically, if I were, would you decline?" There was an edge to Fleur's voice that made the back of Hermione's hair stand in excitement.

"Rescind a dance? From the most beautiful girl in the room? Absolutely not!" The response drew a smile from Fleur, a real one. Hermione knew because Fleur's real smiles always made the bottom of her eyes rise as if she was ever-so-slightly squinting.

"Merci beaucoup, Mademoiselle Granger." Fleur whispered into her ear as she brought their bodies closer together until Hermione was resting her head on the taller woman's shoulder. She felt herself relax in Fleur's arms. With the others, she was careful to not step on anyone's feet and too tense to enjoy herself. Rather than leading her through the dance, Fleur was slow and guiding her to the sway of the music.

She liked it. Maybe a little too much, her heart was thumping erratically.

"I'm sorry this had to be such a boring experience for you." Fleur released a long held sigh that tickled her neck.

Hermione softly snickered. "Was I that obvious?"

"Non, ma chérie." Fleur squeezed her hand in comfort. "It would not be a dinner party if it is not boring. They are established for the upper wizarding class to mingle, you understand? I try to avoid them as much as possible but being a Delacour and my mother's unmarried daughter, they require me to attend at least the largest gathering once a year."

Hermione gasped, realizing the importance of the event. "But why would you take me, Fleur? If you wanted to avoid the suitors, you could have brought one of the boys."

Fleur gently nuzzled her nose on Hermione's temple. "Your company is the one that I desire most. When you are standing next to me, I remember that this night will end and tomorrow's sun will rise. I remember that I have gracious and wonderful friends such as yourself—and the boys—and this terrible event will be over soon."

"You French are too damn romantic." Hermione smartly commented, felting her cheeks heat. In her boredom, she had sipped on one too many flukes of champagne and a single defining thought tumbled from her lips. "It is a good thing you are not a man Fleur, or else I would be smitten."

She immediately regretted those words the moment Fleur stiffened. There was an awkward pause where their dance halted for a moment before continuing. They danced like that for several moments, the air thick with tension.

Fleur broke the silence, whispering quietly into her ears, "Does gender matter so much to you?"

Hermione's heart rammed against her chest at the words. She had been fervently avoiding the question within her own mind whenever her eyes wandered, scandalously, up and down Fleur's figure. (And they had been doing that, for some time now.) She ignored its pleas and cries every time she stared too long at the blonde or anytime when Fleur would invite her to watch a muggle movie. She had a more extensive knowledge of muggle customs, Hermione justified to herself, every time they would press up against each other underneath a blanket with the television on.

"I—" Hermione pulled away from Fleur's shoulder, the physical contact becoming uncomfortable. She kept wondering if Fleur could hear and feel the thundering of her heart. "Fleur, I—"

"Oh forget that I asked." Fleur smiled, hurt in her eyes. "We should not be discussing such heavy topics on an awful night, non? Besides, it is not my business. My sincerest apologies for asking, Hermione."

"But Fleur—I want to—" Blue eyes looked at her with apprehension. Hermione felt their forehead knock together and realized how close Fleur's face was to hers. A part of her knew that this was not the way friends treated each other; she knew that friends did not invite other friends to dinner parties and danced with them. She knew that friendship was her and Parvati sharing the latest news and laughing together.

She and Fleur's relationship had shades of that as well; they laughed together, listened to each other complain—about legal and fashion laws—but there was always this tension. It often felt like there was a magnet placed within her body opposite to Fleur's and they had to struggle to stay apart else they would come together.

Hermione wondered, how deliciously liberating it would be for them to collide.

She played with the tempting thought for a moment and then remembered that the real world existed. No matter what, she still was standing in the middle of a ballroom, intimately holding her friend, with many pairs of eyes watching with discretion. Hermione pulled away as the song ended.

(Ahh, how liberating it would be for our lips to have touched, a voice swooned in the back of her mind.)

(Another angrier voice, begged her to make distance.)

(And yet another voice yelped in fear. She had no experience, no knowledge of the foray she was undertaking.)

In the end, Hermione buried all the voices away and returned to the dinner table where she had originally started the night, glaring Justine down with ongoing jealousy. Fleur followed, sitting down and finishing off her glass of wine with a single swig.

It was the first time she had ever wanted to kiss another woman. The first time in years since she felt any kind of remote attraction towards any person. And it wouldn't be the last. In the following months, she watched the way she thought and spoke around Fleur, careful not to evoke the same voices she had heard. No matter how hard she tried though, Fleur would find a way to worm into her thoughts.

"My feelings for Fleur didn't go away. Not a single bit." Hermione covered her hands over her face, suddenly feeling like a school girl with a crush. "They kept on growing and growing and suddenly, I was wanting to hold her hand and making excuses to see her."

It didn't help that Fleur fed into her feelings, constantly doting on her with pleasant, friendly touches. Her mind riveted back to the first night she fell into Fleur's bed and how the older woman had taken care of her in their drunken state, how she slipped an arm around her waist and walked her home. And long before that, Fleur was kissing her cheeks in secluded corners to say hello and good night. In between those times were gentle hands slipping a piece of flyaway hair behind her ear, a comforting palm on her shoulder, deliberate and delicate touches. Friendly yet more so.

"I just kept repressing all of it."

"It would explain why, in an inebriated state, you would fall into her bed." Padma cleared her throat. "At least she feels the same way."

"I'm not too sure how she feels about me…"

"She likes you enough to drunkenly roll in the hay with you." Parvati, ever so blunt, noted. "Enough to respect your request to stop last night and was not angry about it."

The witch of Indian descent continued, "Think about it, Hermione. You had sex with her, and then acted as if nothing happened. Twice. After the third time, you ran away from her after barely reciprocating her feelings. She accepted you back with open arms on the same day." Parvati then deadpanned, "It takes a certain kind of woman with an extraordinary amount of patience and lo—adoration towards you to withstand that."

"She likes you." Padma interjected with finality. "I am not sure any man in my life would be so kind and patient without getting angry at the fickleness."

"But what if she's given up?" Hermione began to panic, "What if today's breakfast was a parting gift?"

Padma and Parvati exchanged a knowing look.

"Hermione." Padma began. "It's not."

"And if she really likes you, your performance in bed should not matter." The other sister added.

"But I want it to be perfect. Or at least perform up to par."

"There are books, Hermione." Padma was insistent.

"Sex is different for everyone! Books can't tell me what Fleur likes!"

"Fleur like you!" Parvati sounded exasperated. "You've at least been with Ron, right? You have some experience. It's going to be fine."

Hermione averted her eyes to the ground. Sex was an embarrassing subject. "I want it to be better than fine."

She wanted it to mean something, wanted it to be special.

The two sisters brushed away ashes from their respective robes, both taking a seat opposite of each other on Parvati's small dinner table. They held strong in their conviction to not help the young English witch in her mission to brew her desired potion. The Remembrance Potion was one that, when not brewed and used properly, could send the user into an eternal, dreaming slumber. Its purpose was to relive a memory that could not be consciously recalled but, due to the possible side effects, the Ministry will probably never allow it to be used freely.

"She has it bad." Padma commented. They left shortly after Hermione had given up her pestering for the ingredients for the potion, probably seeing the solidarity of Parvati's decision in her eyes.

The other twin snickered, resuming her studies. "Whipped."

Hermione paced the length of her small living room.

She much preferred Fleur's open floor plan to her book filled, cramped space. To be completely honest, there were a lot of things she preferred about Fleur over anyone or anything else.

The brunette shook her head trying to focus; everything in her mind somehow drew back to Fleur. Hermione didn't know what to do, would Fleur expect sex the next time they met? Were they dating? Casually? Or not? She cursed her inexperience, realizing that in the twenty three years she had lived she had a grand total of two notches on her bedpost and one hazardous, traumatic relationship.

Defeated, Hermione sighed and grabbed her coat. Her apartment was too confining, she needed bigger space to withhold the thoughts that flurried about her mind.

London's usual cloudy and humid weather greeted her, along with the colder winds of late October. Cars and the usual evening runners zoomed pasted her, minding their own business. She wondered what it would be like to be a muggle, what her life would be like hadn't been blessed with magical abilities. It was a hard thing to ponder, seeing as she played a pivotal role in the Second Wizarding War but Hermione still daydreamed. They—herself, Ron, Harry and George—strayed from the magical world, from the attention, after the war. Even Ron grew tired of the relentless questions from journalists, fans and new friends.

Sometimes, Hermione liked the idea of a normal life, ignorant to the world outside their own society, unaware about the creatures that lurked in the dark—Dementors, lentifolds and so many others. It was maddening to return from Hogwarts, victorious, only to see London and the entire muggle world around them bustled without fear or intelligence that their world was at the brink of destruction.

Ignorance is bliss, Hermione thought as she looked up at the darkening sky. She had nightmares months after everything ended, constantly tensing at flashes of light. Everyone did.

A crowd of teenagers rushed pasted her, laughing. She watched them go.

Soon, Hermione found herself at the empty neighborhood park. The trees had long begun to color, its leaves falling onto cold, dying grass. She took a seat on a lonely bench, easing her mind into her life now. There was no reason to dwell in the past or to be jealous of muggles simply because they knew less than her. She had a job, friends, and a possible lover, she should be thankful.

Hermione pouted at the last thought, the word lover making her goose-bump.

It bothered her that she had no words to describe Fleur. Or perhaps she had too many words. Fascinating. Beautiful. Arrogantly blunt. Astoundingly gentle. Caring. Lively. Loyal…Perhaps it was less about Fleur and more about the fact that she had no words to describe their relationship.

She knew a confrontation would be necessary but didn't know how to go about it. All the bravery she had was put in front of Fleur's door the night before and everything would have been perfect had they not been interrupted. It was harder now, realizing her inexperience in the likes of love and sex.

Her core throbbed, jumping to attention at the word. Immediately, her mind flung into memories of Fleur's soft skin and smooth tongue. That was possibly the scariest part of it all; knowing that Fleur had the ability to please her and knowing that Fleur used that ability to the best of her knowledge.

And Hermione? Hermione stumbled, clumsy, not knowing the valleys of Fleur's body. She wondered if Fleur had ever been with another girl—the blonde had attended an all-girls school—and jealousy flared to her throat. She felt sick from the assuming that she had been Fleur's first, her broken pride deflating to shame.

Deep in her thoughts, she didn't notice the wisp and glow of a patronus until an otter came to twirl about her, disappearing when it planted an obvious kiss on her cheek.

"Good evening." Hermione didn't have to look, she knew the voice. Fleur sat down next to her, dressed in a cardigan and decorative scarf. "Am I interrupting anything?"

"The pigeons and I were having a delightful conversation." Hermione reverted to sarcasm. Neither of them laughed.

"I came by your apartment earlier. You weren't there and it was getting dark, so I got worried." Fleur explained, "I sent my patronus to find you."

"You can do that?"

Fleur nodded, "It's like tasking your patronus to deliver a message; the patronus becomes its own entity with its own intelligence, capable of finding the receiver of your message. Likewise, I can task it to locate, return and lead me to you."

"That's interesting."

They fell into silence again, like they had during breakfast that morning.

Hermione threw her head back, taking in a large gulp of cold air. She hung onto the whisper of Fleur's question from the previous night; do you know how much I like you?

"What's happening, Fleur?" Hermione looked at her for the first time since she sat down. The blonde, with her hair down and cheeks red from the chilly weather, looked so beautiful her chest ached. "What's going on with us?"

"Whatever you want."

"Why is it up to me?" Hermione was frustrated. She didn't know how to please herself or Fleur. Then Padma and Parvati brought to attention the ambiguity of their relationship and Hermione had been reeling from the questions since. Not knowing how to have sex with Fleur was one problem, asking herself if she loved Fleur was a whole other. "What do you want?"

Fleur's hand came to tuck an unruly piece of hair behind her, a habit she had developed and continued for over a year now. "I want you."

"How? Sexually? Emotionally?" Fleur's response made Hermione panic, opening a floodgate of questions, "Since when? Why?"

Fleur looked at her, pools of cloudy blue eyes wide and unreadable. "I do not think you are ready for those answers."

Hermione met Fleur's intense gaze with her own. "Try me."

The tension between them grew. Fleur cupped her face and Hermione learned into her soft palm, trying to let the other woman know that she was here. She was ready for an answer, ready for clarity. Ready to move forward.

"When? Thursday, mid-November, eight years ago. In your Arithmancy class." Hermione went slack jawed. "I sat in your class, bored, during my free hour. You were wearing your uniform with the sleeves rolled up, fervently answering questions. At one point, you dared to challenge the professor and proved him wrong. By the time the class was over, I was enchanted."

A pause.

"When? At the Yule Ball. When? At my wedding to Bill. Again, at Shell Cottage. Again when you became my flat mate. Every time I thought I had forgotten about you or moved on, there you are in my life to remind me what I had given up." Fleur took in a shaking breath and Hermione felt lightheaded. "Why? Because I love the way you're not afraid to stand up for what's right. I love the passion in your soul, your bushy hair, the way you walk, talk, how you're willing to help anyone who needs it."

"And how do I want you? In whatever way you are willing to give to me, Hermione." Fleur's eyes watered but she laughed nervously, "Because, you see, no matter how hard I have tried to stay away, to give you the chance to live your life happily with a romantic interest, you always find your way back to me. I just—I thought, maybe, this time instead of running away, I should try to form some kind of a relationship with you."

Fleur visibly deflated, as if everything she had held inside of her came rushing out. Her hand still rested on Hermione's cheek, making warmth blossom in the small crevices that separated their skin.

"So…" Hermione's world spun. "You've been trying to woo me?"

"Not initially." Fleur smiled sheepishly, "I was happy to be your friend…then one day, I caught your eye looking at me like you did towards Ron all those years ago. To say I was hopeful when I realized there was a possibility you could return my feelings, is an understatement."

"You should have been more direct." Hermione mumbled, blushing. "It would have saved me many sleepless nights."

"Ma belle, I did not want you to scare you. How would you have reacted if I kissed you then?" Fleur made a face, raising her voice. "You would have thought, 'What a strange, French, lesbian veela!'"

"No!" Hermione stifled a laugh. "I would have—"

"—ran for the hills!" Fleur finished. The tense air around them dissipated. Hermione looked up at the older witch, smiling. "I wanted you to like me, naturally."

"I...I do like you." Hermione's face turned ten different shades of red. "I'm just so confused."

"How so?"

"Am I gay? Bisexual? Are we dating? Casually? Or girlfriends? What am I supposed to do in this situation?"

"Why do you need to put a label onto who you are?" Fleur looked at her as if she were looking at a ten year old who had just painted their legs green because they wanted long green socks. "It is like taking a brilliant, shining star and encasing it within a dark room. Be yourself. You've won my heart that way, non?"

"How do I—" Hermione stammered at Fleur's directness. "It's just so hard, Fleur!"

"What do you want right now, Hermione?"

She looked up at the blonde, who had long wrapped her arms around Hermione's shoulder and brought the younger witch against her chest. Hermione stayed still for several moments, looking at Fleur and breathing in the cool autumn air. She was collecting herself and all the parts that had separated before, during and after the war; pushing them together like puzzle pieces. Her life felt whole again, filled with friends and family.

Now, she was ready to include the final missing piece.

"I want you."

Let me know what ya'll think. :) Reviews are always appreciated. Feel free to stop by my fleurmione blog on tumblr, I've posted one-shots and ficlets there that don't belong on my ff page. (link on my profile page) Good night everyone!