So...this is the first story I've ever submitted on here. I'm really nervous about it but, I figure, it's time. And, FYI, Hermione/Fleur is my HP guilty pleasure :)

General Disclaimer:

The characters in this story don't belong to me – though I often wish they did – but are copyrighted to their respective owners so, let me make it clear that I will make no profits off of any of these stories. So, you know, please don't sue me.

Personal Disclaimer:

If you don't like Harry Potter, Fleur/Hermione, or girlxgirl in general than read no further.

You've been warned in an effort to save both your time and mine.

Oh, and just remember that there is a difference between a critical critique and a flame.

So, now that all of the unpleasantness is out of the way, please enjoy It Isn't About Love

My dearest flower,

I'm not sure why I'm writing this or if you'll even read it but I have to. Even if it doesn't change anything, I need you to know how I feel so that, maybe, you'll understand. Merlin, I hope you understand.

It's never been about love; it's always been about control. The idea that you can take me anywhere, anytime, and there's nothing I can do about it. It's what gets you off, what keeps you coming back to me. How far can you push me this time? How close can we come to getting caught? How many times will I let you punish me for crimes I've never committed before I walk away? Before I say enough?

You're never gentle but why should you be? What reason have I given you to make this about more than the physical? If anything I'm just as desperate, if not more so, than you are. I was a dead woman walking until you breathed your life into me, until you gave me something I didn't even know I'd been missing. You're not the other half of me, you're not what I aspire to be; I wish it were that simple. Heart and soul, in and out, from one end to the other, you are me, all of me.

All it took was one look, our eyes meeting across the Great Hall, and I was lost. I knew then that I had to have you or, more accurately, let you have me. I'd always considered myself a strong person, at least until you took me that first time, our bodies pressed together against the wall of the astronomy tower, your fingers plunging in and out of me so fast that I felt like I couldn't breathe. But there's something about you…something that makes me proud to be weak.

You're a habit, a drug I can't quit, an addiction that, if left untreated, will take all of me. But it doesn't matter. The taste you leave in my mouth, the ghosting touches of your hands, the look of your skin bathed in candlelight…I can't live without you now.

I've tried to tell myself that it doesn't mean anything and, if our time together has taught me anything about you, I'm sure you do the same. But it never seems to stop us or to slow the increasing frequency of our meetings. It doesn't make you hesitate to plunge into me over and over and make me scream your name.

No one knows about us, about our meetings filled with nothing but moans and a closeness that was once considered sacred. We've never spoken about not telling anyone. Actually…we almost never speak, unless you count the amount of times we cry out each other's names. Though, if that did count, we would have better communication than most couples our age.

And, Merlin, when we're together…it's more intense than the words either of us could ever manage. The heat pouring off of our bodies is almost as intoxicating as your scent and, even after you're gone, we both know that I'll be able to smell you on my skin. It's your mark, the only one you leave, the only thing you do to show the world that I'm yours.

It seems strange that something so medieval makes me feel so wanted, so unbelievably secure. It should make me want to rebel, to fight in attempt to hold onto whatever I have left of myself but it does the opposite; it makes me want to give in. Like I said before…there's something about you that makes me proud to be weak.

They aren't prearranged, our meetings; I never know when you're going to find me. I get only a moment's notice before your lips crash onto mine, your hands bury themselves in the folds of my robes, and I feel myself lose a little more of whatever it is that keeps telling me this – whatever it is – is wrong.

But it's not my dependence that frightens me; it's the feelings of withdraw I go through whenever you don't find me. The longer I go without, the more I feel myself slipping, and I sometimes think that that's why you wait. Maybe you want me to end this, to demand more from you than you're willing to give.

Sometimes I think you're just as addicted as I am and that scares me almost as much. To think that someone like you, someone so strong, so beautiful, could be so completely lost makes me all but lose hope in the idea of ever breaking free. But then you kiss me and I can't remember any of the reasons why loving you is so bad.

I do; I love you, am in love with you. Nothing but love, no matter how twisted, could make me feel so miserable and yet so wonderful. You have a way about you, a way of bringing out the best and the worst in me. But it's not really that surprising anymore; I've never felt more anything than when I'm with you.

I don't know how much longer I can live like this but I know that, if it ends, I won't survive it. I'm so hopelessly addicted to you, to all of you, that I don't know what I'll do if you ever stop finding me.

So, for you, I'll stay lost because, even if this isn't about love, I love you. I'll wait in this place of in-between, hoping that, if not now, then someday you'll feel something for me, something more than lust.

And I'll do this because, even though I know it isn't about love I think that maybe, just maybe, it could be.

Eternally yours,

HG

So...what do you guys think? R&R if you please (or if you don't please)