Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Fleur was in a bit of a pickle. 

You see, her beloved grand-mère Isabelle finally decided to kick the bucket after living to the ripe ole age of one hundred and twenty-two, and while that wasn’t the crux of her problem, it was most definitely the source. 

Dear Ms. Fleur Isabelle Delacour, 

You are hereby invited to the reading of the will of one Madame Isabelle Delacour, which will take place promptly at the Delacour Summer Estate this weekend. You have been listed as one of the potential beneficiaries of the late Madame Delacour’s vast fortune and are in consideration for the new Delacour Clan Leader amongst her other grandchildren. The qualifications Madame Delacour outlined in her will are as follows:

• Must be at least 18 years of age. 

• Must be capable. 

• Must have a mate. 

If your presence is not given at the reading of the will, you will forfeit any claim to Madame Delacour’s assets and they will be split accordingly.

And that was where Fleur’s problem came into play. Fleur was twenty six, well over eighteen. She would say she was capable—Triwizard Tournament champion, war hero, and veteran curse-breaker just to name a few of her accomplishments. But Fleur didn’t have a mate. She had an idea of who she wanted to be her mate. Of course it was none other than the amazingly talented and gorgeously insufferable Hermione Granger…

...her best friend, but that was a bit of a sore point. 

Because Hermione Granger would never love her back.  

Fleur didn’t think she would survive asking Hermione to be her mate even in pretend—oh the embarrassment of it all—let alone live through an entire weekend acting as Hermione’s girlfriend. By the end of the whole ordeal, her family would have to prepare her funeral as well. 

She could already see her gravestone. 

Rest in Peace

Beloved Daughter, Generous Sister, Decorated War Hero

Killed by Too Much Body Contact with Hermione Granger

Fleur Isabelle Delacour 

All things considered, it wasn’t the worst way to go. 

Fleur really had no choice though. Her circle of friends were slim—by her own design thank you very much—and there was no one she trusted more than Hermione. 

She would have to embrace her fate. 

“One more time. Brief me through that whole thing again.” Hermione hid a yawn behind her palm. 

Hermione’s ideal weekend consisted of lazy mornings with hearty brunches, proper reading time whilst curled up in the absurdly large armchair she bought at a muggle garage sale, and maybe a nice stroll down Diagon Alley to browse the newest releases at Flourish and Blotts and then lounge around the evening engaged in deep conversation with her best friend Fleur. 

She certainly didn’t envision waiting for a portkey at the crack of dawn with more luggage than she could possibly carry—that’s what magic was for—and oh right, a fake girlfriend, who also happened to be her best friend.

Also known as the love of her life. 

But Fleur didn’t know that yet. Nobody knew.

“So your grandma passed away–”

“Merlin bless grand-mère Isabelle. She was a fighter until the end,” Fleur muttered looking up at the sky. 

“–And now, you and your siblings and your cousins and your extended cousins are all vying for a piece of her fortune.” 

“It is a really big fortune,” said Fleur. “Like, really big.”

“Right. I get that."

“No,” Fleur drawled, “I don’t think you do. This decides the next clan leader, Hermione. That’s how big this is. It’s huge.” 

“Okay, okay.” Hermione squeezed her eyes shut, forcing the sleepiness away. “What I don’t get is, why am I here?”

“Well…” Fleur wrung her hands. “Grand-mère placed three conditions in her will that needed to be met in order for us to be considered an heir candidate. Age, which is pretty self explanatory. Gabrielle is really pissed about it though. She’s just a month too young.” 

“Oh...no.”

“Again, I feel like you’re not getting the importance of this.” 

Hermione sighed. “What are the other two?”

“Capability, which is really wishy-washy if you ask me. How do you know if someone is capable? Because in my opinion, none of my cousins really qualify–”

“And the third condition?” 

Fleur bounced her legs hoping to get rid of this excessive jitteriness. She fiddled with a ring on her index finger, twisting it back and forth. It was new, Hermione noticed. A silver band. Not too showy. 

“The last condition is a mate,” Fleur said quietly, daring herself to look Hermione in the eye. “Hence why you’re here.”

“But…” Hermione spoke slowly, “I’m not your mate.” The familiar sting of bitterness rose in her chest. 

“No,” Fleur agreed with a frown. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ears. “I’m asking you to be my fake mate.” 

“Your...fake...mate?” 

Ouch.

Fleur sighed, her expression turning serious for the first time since she rudely woke Hermione up. She grabbed Hermione’s hands and rubbed soothing circles with her thumbs, the way she knew Hermione liked. 

“Please Hermione? Just for the weekend? You’re my bestest friend in the whole wide universe and the only person I can ask to do this, not to mention the only person I trust not to run off with my share of the inheritance since you clearly don’t give a rat’s arse about this really big chunk of money. So…” Fleur bit her lip. “What do you say?”

“Well…”  

“Wait, don’t say anything yet.” 

Hermione jerked forward, eyes bulging as Fleur got down on one knee and revealed a velvet case from her pocket.

“What are you doing?” Hermione hissed, grabbing Fleur by the shoulder. “Get up.”

“Every veela gets one of these made on their eighteenth birthday,” Fleur explained, slowly opening the case to reveal a gorgeous silver ring with a sapphire embedded in the middle. “We’re meant to give them to our mates. I want you to have it. At least...at least for the weekend.” 

Hermione didn’t know what to do. Her hand hesitated to take what her heart wanted so much. 

It’s not real, you idiot. 

“You’ve clearly thought this out,” she said hoarsely. 

“You have no idea,” Fleur murmured. “Say yes?” She raised the ring encouragingly. 

Hermione could have had a million doubts but it would always be a losing battle. She was terrible at saying no to Fleur. 

“Fine. Let’s go con your dead grandma out of her money.”

“A woman after my own heart.” Fleur beamed, sliding the ring onto Hermione’s finger. It thrummed as it shaped itself to its new owner. 

“It fits perfectly,” Fleur whispered, taking a moment to admire it. 

Her face suddenly sobered, and a shadow fell over her expression. 

“Fleur?” Hermione reached out, wanting to smooth the crinkle on Fleur’s forehead but Fleur backed away. 

“It’s nothing.” Fleur forced a smile to her lips. “Let’s go. The portkey should be ready soon.” 

“Fleur this is the middle of a forest.” Everywhere Hermione looked, she was surrounded by beautiful rolling hills and lush greenery. 

And mud. Lots of mud.   

Hermione lifted her foot. It popped off the earth with a wet squelch. 

“Ugh.”

“Sorry, it must’ve just rained,” said Fleur. “I portkeyed us a little aways from the main estate to give us some time to mentally prepare while I give you a quick rundown of the other contenders for the fortune.”

“You have flashcards prepared, don’t you?”

“No,” Fleur drawled out, wondering if she should’ve prepared flashcards. “Flashcards are your thing, not mine.”

“Damn it.”

“You wanted flashcards?”

“Yeah.”

“Next time,” Fleur promised, making a mental note. “Alright, so from youngest to oldest, there’s cousin Jacques who is just a bit older than Gabrielle. He tends to be a bit of a snob, a real Draco Malfoy type.”

“Sounds like a lovely bloke,” Hermione grimaced, stepping gingerly into the mud. 

“You don’t know the half of it,” Fleur muttered. “When you guys first meet, he’ll probably try to kiss your hand. Don’t let him.”

Hermione nudged Fleur with her shoulder. “Possessive much?”

“Very,” Fleur deadpanned. Again, you don’t know the half of it. “Luc is next in line, two years older than Jacques. He’s a nice boy, sort of gives off sad puppy vibes or a wet rat. It’s in between really. You’ll see what I mean.” 

“You have such lovely opinions of your family.”

“Save your criticism for when you’ve met them. Next we have Francoise who is a year older than me. She looks like a bully and could probably bench press your weight thrice over but she is very nice. A bit clumsy. Super competitive though. She’s also 185cm tall.”

And probably the prettiest of my cousins, so stay away from her. 

“She seems cool,” Hermione commented.  

“She’s married.”

“Okay?”

“Just thought you should know,” Fleur murmured. She reached a hand out, helping Hermione over a fallen stump. “Lastly, there’s Camille, the oldest of the bunch and Luc’s older sister. She’s my favorite but don’t be fooled by her innocent act. She’s as innocent as Zeus’s dick. Her mate, Adrien, is also a really nice guy but I swear to Merlin I think he has a foot fetish and he's not hiding it very well.”

Hermione made a face. “I…didn’t need to know that. Any of that really.” 

“You’re welcome,” Fleur beamed, shoulder buzzing with nervous energy. “Anyways, prepare yourself because we’re coming up the front yard.”

“The front yard?” Hermione squinted as they climbed up a hill, hands still clasped with each other. Castle peaks came into view over the top. The closer they got, the longer the walls grew and for a moment, Hermione was convinced that it would go on forever. Her jaw had fully dropped by the time they finally reached the apex of the hill—the entirety of the mansion finally revealed in all its dawning glory. 

The Delacour Summer Estate stood as if the surrounding nature had embraced it. The flora flowed within it as much as around it. Such nature loving creatures were the veelas that a mighty oak grew in the centre, centuries old, and the great house had been built around it.

“Holy—Fleur. ”

“Yes?”

“Remember when you told me your family was well off and that I wasn’t taking this seriously enough?”

“That was literally ten minutes ago, so yes.”

“Yeah, well. I see what you mean now.”

“Don’t tell me you’re backing out on me.”

Hermione felt Fleur trying to pull away from her hold so she turned. Nothing could have prepared her for how nervous Fleur looked, no matter how much the veela tried to hide it. Hermione’s eyes softened as she squeezed Fleur’s hands. 

“Never.” 

Fleur squeezed back, smiling gratefully. “Glad to hear it.” She turned towards the mansion. “Hope you still feel the same way after you meet my family.”

“Cousin Fleur!” 

Two identical little boys, whose ages Hermione hadn’t the faintest idea of, came running towards them into the main pathway leading up to the estate, one dragging a large war axe behind him and the other wielding a stick he most likely picked up from the ground. 

“My baby cousins,” Fleur whispered to Hermione before calling out towards the twins. “Louis, where did you get that from?” she asked with the correct amount of concern coloring her voice from seeing a child carrying a medieval beheading weapon. 

“I’m Philippe! He’s Louis!” The boy huffed indignantly, puffing out his small chest. “And I yanked it off a wall from some room. Grand-mère has a lot of cool stuff.” He closed his eyes and dipped his head. “R.I.P. grand-mère. You were a cool bean.” 

"The coolest bean," Louis said in commiseration. "But look! I have a wand!” Louis proudly lifted his twig. He brandished it at Fleur like a sword with a boyish grin. “Fleur! Watch me! I can do magic! Avada Kedav-!” 

“No!” Hermione jumped in front of Fleur, the spell halfway out of her lips before she realized what she was doing. “Expelliarmus!”  

“Hermione, wait!” Fleur tried to intervene but it was too late. Louis catapulted into the air, his small body folding in like a ragdoll as he crash landed into a nearby bush. 

“Oh…” Putain. Fleur could practically hear the nagging of a lifetime her mom and aunt were going to give her. 

Hermione lowered her wand, her jaw slackened with horror. “I’m sorry, I thought he was, that you were, I…I might have overreacted,” she admitted quietly, the guilt evident on her face. “Though in my defense, he just tried to killing curse you.”

“With a stick!” 

They rushed towards the bush where Louis was curled up. Twigs sprung from his blonde hair like satyr horns and fat tears welled up in his eyes. 

“No no no no no,” Fleur crouched down towards her baby cousin. “Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Please don’t cry.” 

Louis began to sob. “Maman! Maman! I’m telling maman!”

“No, maman. Don’t call for maman,” Fleur whispered, trying to get the situation under control. “It doesn’t even hurt that bad. Come on, stop crying. You’re a tough guy. Get up and walk it off. Hermione is sorry. Right Hermione? There’s no need to get your maman.”

She looked over her shoulder to find Philippe staring at Hermione like he’d just found his new hero. 

“That was...awesome! Can you teach me that trick?” Philippe exclaimed, dropping the axe to the ground. 

“Um no.” Hermione twisted the hem of her sleeves uncomfortably. “Is he okay?” she asked, nodding towards Louise. 

“He’s fine, right buddy?” Fleur checked his body for any injuries. “You’re fine. No scratches. No harm done.”

Louis wiped his tears away. “You owe me a new stick,” he sniffled. 

“The biggest and bestest one,” Fleur promised. “As long as you promise not to tell your maman about this, okay? Hermione didn’t mean it. It was an accident.”

“Okay,” Louis said dolefully. 

“Pinky promise?” Fleur held out her pinky. Louis obediently linked his pinky against hers. “Good boy. Now run along.” She ruffled his hair and nudged him towards his twin. 

“That was a close one,” Fleur exhaled in relief as the boys took off, all giddy again, the axe forgotten on the ground. She turned towards Hermione. “Are you okay?”

Hermione frowned. “I’m fine. I wasn’t the one who-” she made a whistling sound and traced out the path of Louis flying backwards. 

“I know but-” Worry creased Fleur’s brows. 

Hermione put a hand on Fleur’s arm. “I’m okay. I haven't done that in a while. I just, when I saw you were in trouble–” Hermione took another breath, keeping the memories at bay. “I’m really sorry about your cousin. That was—I should have better control.” 

“No you’re fine,” Fleur was adamant. “He wasn’t even hurt. The little sucker can take a hit or two. Are you sure you’re okay though?”

“Yeah.” Hermione forced a smile. “I would let you know if I’m not.” Despite her shaken nerves, she meant it. Fleur would be the first to know. 

“Okay.” Fleur bit her lip. “You ready to meet the rest of my family? Or do you wanna take a quick break first.”

Hermione grimaced. “We can go in. Let’s just hope I don’t jinx anyone else.” 

“I’m sure they’ll love you. I know I do.” The words registered through Fleur’s body in a tense shiver. She dropped Hermione’s hand like it burned, a look of regret crossing her face for an instance before it smoothed out. “Just maybe keep your wand sheathed until after brunch.”

Hermione stared at Fleur as the other girl was suddenly unable to maintain eye contact with her. 

“Sounds like a good idea."    

If there was one thing the Delacours took seriously, it was the art of the weekend brunch. Though it wasn’t quite time to eat, the dining room was already bustling with activity, silver plates and platters weaving through the halls. 

The first to find them amongst the chaos of preparation was Apolline Delacour. 

“Dear! I’m so glad you could make it!” Apolline swept her daughter into a hug, before doing the same to Hermione. “And Hermione! It’s wonderful to see you again.” Her eyes sparkled as she zeroed in on the ring on Hermione’s finger. She grabbed Hermione’s hand and held it to her face, examining the shining gem with joy. “So my daughter finally did it,” she whispered.

Fleur was shocked to see the tears welling up in the corners of mother’s eyes. 

“Oh I’m so happy!” Apolline covered her mouth with both of her palms, suppressing a squeal. “Certainly took you two long enough.”

Hermione glanced to Fleur in panic. 

“Maman please,” Fleur hissed. Her face burned the shade of merlot wine. 

“Oh, let me enjoy the moment,” Apolline scolded her eldest. She grasped Hermione’s hands in her own, beaming at the newest addition to her family. “I always knew you two were going to end up together, you know? My Fleur has always been fond of you. Would not shut up about it really.”

“Maman!” Fleur cried.

“I must tell everyone!” Appoline picked up the nearest empty wine glass and tapped a teaspoon against the glass. “Attention everyone, attention! My daughter Fleur has finally chosen a mate. I’m sure you’re all familiar with her already so there’s hardly any need for an introduction, but please welcome our newest addition to the Delacour clan!” Apoline turned towards Hermione and gave her a motherly smile. “Welcome to the family, darling. If you ever need anything, never hesitate to ask, alright?”

Hermione fidgeted under the room full of expectant, grinning stares. A cold line of sweat trickled down the back of her neck as the full weight of their deception fell onto her for the first time.  “Uh wow,” she swallowed, trying not to stammer. “Thank you Mrs. Delacour. That’s too kind of you, really-”

“None of that nonsense, silly child. Call me maman, or mom if you must.”

“Of course...maman.”

Apoline clapped her hands together, lips bursting at the corners with joy. “I can die happy now!” The mirth suddenly dropped off her face and she clasped her hands together, muttering under her breath. “Rest your wings, maman.” She then grabbed Hermione by the shoulders, excitement back in control of her visage. “You have to tell me how Fleur proposed–”

“Hermione!” 

There was a blur of blue as a figure crashed into Hermione. 

“Gabrielle!” Fleur scolded, prying her pest of a little sister away from Hermione. 

Gabby ignored her sister, focusing all her attention on her companion. “Hermione! What are you doing here?” She beamed happily before scrunching her eyebrows with innocent naivete. “Did you know grand-mère Isabelle?” She looked to the ceilings. “Rest in peace, grand-mère. You were a real one, even if you excluded me from your will.”

“Hermione is here as Fleur’s mate,” Appolline informed the younger Delacour. “Isn’t that great? Say hi to your new sister-in law.”

Gabrielle extracted herself from Hermione, her face a look of utter betrayal. 

“You brought Hermione as your mate?” she glared at Fleur. “How dare you!”

“What? What’s wrong with Hermione?” Fleur took a protective step forward, drawing to her full height. 

“First the will, now Hermione too. Ugh, I hate this bloody household!” Gabby threw her hands in the air and stomped out of the room. 

“Is she okay?” Hermione voiced her concern. “Should we go after her?”

Fleur clicked her tongue. “I think,” she remarked duly, “that my dear sister has developed a crush on you.” She resisted the urge to facepalm. Her sister really did take after her. “That explains why she wouldn’t shut up about you after you helped save her during the second task.”

“Really?” Hermione mused. “That’s rather adorable.”

Fleur shot her a dark look. “Do not encourage her. You’re already taken unless you’ve forgotten.”

Hermione laughed, throwing her head back. She’d never seen Fleur like this before. It almost made her wish…

“Someone’s being possessive,” Hermione teased, running a finger down Fleur’s arm. “A girl could get used to it,” she whispered before pulling away, not noticing the redness that had bloomed across Fleur’s cheeks. “Come on, let’s go save a seat. I know you’ve missed your maman’s cooking.”

Brunch ended up being a tiresome affair. Not even the food and drinks could salvage Fleur’s mood from her mother’s incessant fawning over Hermione and the effort of fielding questions about their dating life from the rest of her family members. Had things been slightly different, had this engagement between her and Hermione been real, Fleur would have happily basked in the attention. But as things were, every question only served to sour the smile she fought to keep on her face. 

“Are you feeling alright?” A hand squeezed hers underneath the table. 

Fleur looked over, meeting concerned brown eyes. If she wasn’t careful, she would find herself drowning in them.  “I’m fine. It’s just…” 

She struggled to find the words to express her dilemma. How does one tell the women she’s been in love with for years that this whole fake mate scenario had gone out of hand and that she would gladly give up her claim as heir if there was even a chance of this being real, of Hermione being hers?

Hermione rubbed her thumb soothingly over Fleur’s hand. “I know. It’s not easy, losing a loved one.” 

Fleur blinked. “Right. Of course. Not easy.” She looked down at her lap. Love be with her grand-mère always, but Fleur was glad that she was not here to witness this. Isabelle Delacour would’ve smacked her into the seventh dimension for her pathetic display by now. 

Beside her, Hermione scooted closer until their hips were pressed up against each other and Fleur felt a rush of heat betray her cheeks that had nothing to do with the mimosas she’d had. 

“Listen, I’m here for you, okay?” Hermione whispered, leaning in. Fleur’s gaze fell treacherously to her lips. “Anything you need at all, just say it. If anything becomes too overwhelming, if you ever just need a break, let me know and I'll figure something out, okay?” 

“I—” Fleur swallowed the lump in her throat. Years of want idled on the tip of her tongue. “—appreciate it.” 

“How adorable,” Apolline cooed across the table from them. She gave them a quick wink before standing up. “Now that we are fed and full, let us gather outside for some post brunch entertainment.” She ushered the Delacour clan outside to the gardens. 

As the crowd slowly maneuvered outside, Hermione pulled Fleur aside. 

“Entertainment?” she repeated. “At a will-reading? That’s a bit morbid, isn’t it? Did they invite a live band or something?”

“Well…” Fleur avoided eye contact. 

“What is it you’re not telling me, love?” 

Fleur winced, struggling to keep a straight face as Hermione’s grip on her hips tightened. 

“You see…”

From the gardens, Apolline’s voice rang out. “In honor of my beloved maman—bless her crazy dead heart—let’s get all of the mates into the dueling ring. It’s time for them to duke it out. May the best mate win!” Appolline raised her champagne glass and the Delacours followed suit, erupting into cheers. 

Hermione stopped walking. “Fleur.”

“Hm?”

“You failed to mention this part.”

“What, the death match?” Fleur said lightly. “Yeah, no, I left that out on purpose.” 

“You ass.” Hermione gave a light slap to Fleur’s arm. “You knew this was happening?”

“No, no I didn't know,” Fleur said appeasingly. “No one can predict grand-mère’s decisions, but I suspected she would pull something like this. She was always a fan of watching us duel as kids.” She paused, suddenly seeing her childhood in a new light. “I think she might’ve been grooming us for this since we were five.”

“Oh…”

”We can unpack that later,” Fleur rushed out. 

Hermione looked reluctant but pressed on. “So there’s no way out of fighting your in-laws in front of your entire family?”

“Unfortunately, no.” 

Hermione sighed and removed her hold on Fleur. She pulled out her wand and twirled it between her fingers. “You are lucky you’re cute, Delacour.” 

“That’s the spirit, babe,” Fleur called after her, giving her a little tap on the butt. Hermione turned around armed with a deadly glare. Despite the fear at the promise of retribution in those eyes, Fleur couldn’t help but feel a burst of pride as she watched Hermione take her position in front of the Delacour clan. Hermione was an excellent dueler and soon her entire family would come to recognize the same. 

From within the crowd, Gabby popped out and sidled up next to her. “Popcorn?”

Fleur grabbed a handful. “Ready to watch Hermione wipe the floor with everyone?”  

“It’s the only thing getting me through the day,” Gabby responded mournfully.  

The two sisters settled in their seats and waited for the spectacle to start. 

“So is it serious between you two or-” 

Fleur flicked a piece of popcorn at her sister’s head. “Get your own mate.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Gabby grumbled. Her features took on a rare air of gravitas that had Fleur wondering when her little sister grew up.

“You two look happy together,” Gabby mumbled around a half-chewed piece of popcorn. “Really. I’m glad you have each other. After everything that’s happened…” 

“Yeah,” Fleur choked, unable to meet her sister’s gaze. “Me too.” 

Having Hermione in her life had been a salvation in more ways than one. Their friendship worked well. Fleur shouldn’t be wishing for more. Yet as she looked out across the lawn, her gaze falling upon that familiar figure, her heart called out to what it could not have. 

“Get him, Hermione! Get him! Aim for the knees! Aim for the knees!” Fleur shouted over the screaming crowd. 

“He's open! Hit ‘em where it hurts!” Gabby jeered, pumping her fists into the air. 

“Fuck him up, my daughter!” Apolline hollered at the very front, her expensive champagne spilling out of her glass. 

Hermione stalked down the last remaining Delacour mate. Adrien, she recalled. Magic coursed through her blood like wildfire until every step she took hummed with the threat of burning the gardens down. Her cheeks stung from a near-missed curse, and every survival instinct inside her body had been lit. She was unstoppable. She had a girl to impress. 

Adrien backed up slowly, looking more and more unsure of the corner he’d trapped himself in. This was not at all what he’d expected when Lou described the friendly family bout to him. 

They traded a few more spells back and forth and it quickly became painfully clear he was outmatched. 

“Must we go this far?” he chuckled nervously, searching for a way out. It was no wonder, he thought as she advanced on him, that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named lost the war. 

“Adrien, is it?”

The calmness in her voice sent shivers down his spine. 

“Do you surrender?”

Adrien considered his options. Truthfully, it was a no-brainer, not after what he’d witnessed. He turned towards the crowd, found his mate amongst them, and mouthed a quiet I’m so sorry. Then after a silent gulp, added She terrifies me. 

“I surrender.”

Hermione, wand still up, nodded towards the ground. “On your knees.” 

A bit humiliated but entirely too relieved, Adrien dropped to his knees, grateful to still have them. His wand rolled out of his hand.  

“And there we have it!” Apolline announced, barely audible over the eruption of cheers. “The winner, Hermione Delacour!” 

Hermione raised her hand and threw her head back in victory. She’d done it. She could hardly believe it. 

“That’s my mate! That’s my mate!” Fleur screamed, the loudest of them all. “That’s my mate,” she repeated, quieter to herself. 

From across the lawn, over the heads of hundreds, their eyes connected. 

Unable to hold herself any longer, Hermione made her way into the crowd, desperately trying to find her way through. The Delacours parted down the middle, creating a path. Fleur ran forwards, intent on meeting her halfway. Laughing, they launched themselves at each other and Fleur caught Hermione with ease. Hermione was half scorched and half covered in slug slime, but Fleur didn’t care. She was too happy, too high on excitement. 

“Did you see that? Did you see me?” Hermione shouted, breathless with adrenaline. 

“You were amazing! That was amazing! I-” 

Hermione’s arms were around her neck, Fleur’s around her waist, holding her up. The sound of Hermione’s laughter rang in her ears, her breath hot on her cheeks, and the flush across her face heart-breakingly beautiful. With the encouragement of the entire clan hollering around them, it was hard to tell who made the first move.

Fleur leaned in and Hermione was pulling her in by the back of her neck. Both of them eager. When their lips finally touched, the cries of the crowd deafened into a roar. And in that one glorious moment, everything seemed alright in the universe. 

Then they pulled apart, chests heaving, lips swollen, and eyes wide, still sharing a breath. A single question ran through both of their minds. 

Where in bloody hell did that come from?

Chapter Text

It was not everyday Fleur got to kiss the girl of her dreams. 

If it weren’t for the hooting of her clan members, Phillipe’s cry of “Look, maman! They’re scissoring!” and her aunt’s subsequent scolding, Fleur would’ve thought she was dreaming. But Hermione’s mouth was pressed against hers, her palm cupped against Fleur’s chin, and however brief the contact, however fleeting the moment, it was there. 

When they finally broke apart, the last of Fleur’s breath escaped in a gasp so desperate she couldn’t believe it came from her. 

“Woah.”

Hermione didn’t seem to hear. Her eyes were glazed over and half hooded, focused somewhere low on Fleur’s face, eyelashes trembling. Fleur swallowed nervously and Hermione’s gaze dipped even lower, following the movement of Fleur’s throat. 

“Get a room!” Gabby’s voice pierced through. 

“Okayyy,” Apolline slid in, colliding against Hermione and spilling champagne onto Fleur’s shoulder. “Maybe we should stop there, ladies.” She winked, shoving the now empty glass into Fleur’s free hand. “For that thirst of yours, dear.”  

“I–” Hermione dropped herself from Fleur’s embrace, eyes wide with panic. Fleur shot an arm out, half to steady Hermione, half to keep her near.

“Wait–” Fleur couldn’t find the words. Curse her grandmére and her addiction to muggle sweets. If she hadn’t kicked the bucket so soon at one hundred and twenty-two, maybe Fleur would have gathered the courage and invited Hermione here as her real mate. 

“Anyways, brava, Hermione!” Apolline planted two fat kisses on either cheek of her new daughter. “That was some excellent dueling. I’m sure you have made maman, bless her wrinkly soul, very proud.” 

“You’ll have to teach me that spell some time.” Gabby piped in. She leaned in hoping to mirror her maman’s actions, but was plucked away violently by Fleur. 

“Alright, enough crowding around Hermione. Give the girl some room to breathe,” Fleur scolded. 

It was her mistake to think her family would listen though. Once the Veelas were riled up, there really was no stopping them. They crowded in, jostling elbows against ribs and noses, trying to get closer to the star of the afternoon. 

Fleur turned to Hermione in panic knowing her aversion to crowds. However much to her surprise, Hermione was calm, staring at Fleur in the midst of all the chaos with a singular intensity. Fleur knew that look. It was the look Hermione got whenever she solved a difficult problem and arrived at an equally difficult solution, that stubborn look of utter determination. 

It’s never been aimed at her though, at least not like that . Despite everything, Fleur found herself both relaxing and tensing in anticipation. 

Between the sea of bodies, Hermione’s hand found hers with a gentle squeeze. Later, Hermione mouthed, before turning with a bright smile to entertain Fleur’s rowdy family. 

As someone elbowed her in the face, and someone else stomped on her foot—she was pretty sure it was Gabby—Fleur didn’t think she could be more in love. 

After a never ending slew of congratulations, pictures, and signings, which included, much to Fleur’s horror and dismay, a handful of bosom signature requests from a few older female members, the Delacour clan relented Hermione to her space. 

“Do Veela boobs not sag with age?” Hermione asked in half-wonder, blowing hair out of her face in exhaustion. “I don’t think I’ve seen an eighty year old with perkier boobs. Not even mine are that buoyant.”

“Do you see many topless grandmères?” Fleur huffed. May her grandmère’s memory be eternal, but Fleur knew, had grandmère Delacour been alive, she would’ve one hundred percent asked for Hermione to sign her rack. “And your boobs are perfect. Wonderful. Really. Don’t insult them.” 

Seeing Fleur’s disgruntled expression, Hermione stepped closer, eyes softening into laughter. 

“You got something—” She reached up slowly, brown eyes asking for permission with every inch. “Right here.” 

And Fleur, Fleur could never say no. 

Fingertips brushing by her temple, Fleur held her breath. It was as if time stilled as Hermione tucked a strand of hair behind Fleur’s ear. A shiver ran through her body and Fleur hoped that Hermione hadn’t noticed how sensitive she was to the other girl’s touch. The memory of the kiss replayed in her mind and her gaze dropped to Hermione’s lips.

She’d barely leaned in eight degrees when her maman’s voice rang through the garden.  “Champions of the Delacour Clan, step forward! It is time for the Presenting.” 

"Fuck." 

“What’s happening now?” Hermione asked, looking a little pink in the cheeks. 

Fleur pulled at her bangs. “The Presenting. I must stand before the Tree of Time, and offer one of my feathers as proof of my Veela heritage.”

“Doesn’t seem too bad. Why do you look nervous?” Hermione asked apprehensively. 

“Because, I also have to present a strand of hair from my mate.” 

“Well, good thing I’m not bald,” Hermione joked. “What’s the catch? Does…does it have to be pubic hair or something?"

“No! Mon Dieu, what?” Fleur recoiled. 

“Don’t look at me like that! You’re the one acting like your sister died. This is on you!"

“Do you really think that Veelas would use pubic hair in a sacred ritual? What do you think of us?” 

“I don’t know! You were the one who told me that touching a Veela’s feather was an intimate thing. It was a logical conclusion, okay?” 

They stared at each other, wide-eyed with incredulity. Fleur was the first to break, bending over in silent giggles. 

“You ass,” Hermione accused through laughter. “I’m trying my best here.” She ran a hand through her hair, looking for a strand to tug out. “Here, does this work–”

She was cut off as Fleur suddenly straightened, pulling Hermione into a hug. Hermione froze as she felt lips on her neck. 

After a long moment where neither dared to move, Fleur whispered. “Thank you. I really needed that.” 

Hermione pulled her close, resting her chin on Fleur’s shoulder. It wasn’t often the older girl relied on her. 

“Always,” she breathed out. “Now will you tell me why you looked like you saw a ghost just now?”

Fleur sighed, gathering herself. Give her a dragon to tame, or the Dark Lord re-incarnate and still she'd feel more confident. “If the Tree does not accept my offering…”

It took Hermione a second. “Then we’ll be found out,” she realized. “And you’d lose your right to the inheritance.”

Fleur nodded. “Not to mention, I’ll probably be disgraced in front of my entire clan. It would embarrass my maman and Gabrielle, threaten our family’s standing within the clan. I’d be a laughingstock.”

“Fleur,” Hermione hesitated. “Do you still want to continue then? That’s a lot at stake.”

Fleur shook her head. “Maman expects me to take up the mantle, to keep the title within our line. I can’t just drop out now. She’ll press for an answer and this–” she points between them, “–will come out anyways.” 

“So…we wait and pray?” 

“It’s not that bad,” Fleur murmured. She grabbed ahold of Hermione’s hands, too scared to look straight at Hermione. “I love you the most out of everyone in this world. You are my bestest friend. And if the Tree rejects us, then it’s wrong. It has to be.” 

For all the fear and anxiety of what the future holds, Fleur found solace in the way Hermione's hands tightened in hers. 

“Fleur.”

“Yes?” 

“Look at me.” 

Fleur obliged. There was that look on Hermione’s face again, that stubborn look of determination. 

“Make me your mate.” 

“What?”

“Your real mate.” 

“Hermione,” Fleur protested. “I can’t force you into a lifetime of soul bondage with me just so I don’t disappoint my maman.”

“Fleur, don’t be stupid. This is the only way. Plus,” Hermione’s eyes watered. “A lifetime with you doesn’t sound so bad. I–” Her voice wavered, dropping to a whisper. “If only I could be so lucky.” 

“You’re..serious?” Fleur didn’t dare hope. Years of pining, of accepting her unrequited love. 

“As serious as your grandmere is dead.”

The two shared a smile. “Mercy be on her soul,” they finished in unison. 

“Okay,” Fleur bounced on her toes. “We’re doing it. We’re really doing it.”

“How do we make it official? Is there anything we have to do?"

No power in the world could contain Fleur’s grin as she pulled Hermione in. “Nothing we haven’t already done.” 

And then she kissed her, for real, for life.