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Thy Kingdom Come

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“Hello, darling,” Fleur said softly, smiling at the lioness.

Hermione didn’t respond. She dropped her bag, kicked her shoes off and launched herself at Fleur. She pressed a heated kiss to her mouth, begging entrance which was promptly granted. She moaned into the Veela’s mouth, allowed her hands free reign to travel wherever they pleased, and found her fingers deftly unbuttoning the blonde’s blouse. She practically ripped the offending garment from her body, and tossed it to the floor carelessly.

Fleur drew a sharp breath as nails bit into her shoulders, Hermione’s mouth leaving its own to claim her neck and collar. She arched against the lioness, drawing her closer, more than willing to succumb to her body’s primal instincts and wishes.

How long had it been? A week, perhaps? Far too long, whatever the case. Hermione was intoxicating, and Fleur was drunk.

Slender, talented hands reached the button of Fleur’s jeans, and the Veela mustered all her strength to restrain them. Hermione fought her, but Fleur took dominance and forced her outer robes aside and down her arms, pulled the black sweater over her head, leaving her panting in the white uniform blouse, the crimson-and-gold tie around her neck, plaid skirt and knee-high grey socks.

Fleur’s eyes were dark as they dragged themselves over Hermione’s body. Fleur gripped her tie with one hand, and pulled the brunette flush against her body, her mouth claiming Hermione’s again.

This kiss was anything but gentle. It was possessive, unrestrained and left no room for argument. Hermione shuddered against Fleur as she held her tighter, as she stoked the Veela’s fire, moaning loudly into her mouth and raking her nails over her shoulders. She found herself beneath Fleur, looking up into her eyes, panting for her, begging for her.

If Hermione enjoyed having control, she adored the way Fleur wielded it over her. She adored how Fleur knew where her favorite spots were, and just how to bite them. She loved the way Fleur shivered every time her name was whimpered, or every time Hermione’s hips rolled towards her, her skirt bunching up at the top.

Fleur pressed her lips to Hermione’s neck, and dragged her teeth over the sensitive skin there. Hermione let out a shaky breath, her hands clenching strong shoulders, shuddering again when she felt rather than heard Fleur’s low growl in return.

“You’ll have to be quiet, Hermione,” Fleur whispered, hot breath rushing over her ear. “You don’t have a silencing charm in place.”

Hermione bit her lip and moaned softly, mentally berating herself. But she was not about to allow Fleur to leave, even for a moment, and pulled her in closer. She lifted her hips high, knowing very well that the Veela could feel her heat.

Suddenly, the weight over her was lifted, her body left cold. Fleur leaned back on her haunches and stared down at Hermione. The brunette panted under her, pleading wordlessly, and finally, Fleur hooked her fingers under the waistband of Hermione’s knickers. She obediently lifted her hips as Fleur slid them over her legs, and began to unfasten the clasps to her skirt when the Veela’s hands stopped her.

“No. Leave them on.”

Hermione nodded and watched as the blue of Fleur’s irises surrendered to the black of her pupils. Without breaking eye contact, the Veela drew a single finger over Hermione’s sex, spreading her apart before she pushed inside. The brunette under her clenched her jaw, trying her very best to remain silent.

Fleur had to bite back her own moan. Hermione clung to her, drew her deeper, and the look of pleasure that washed over her face just before her eyes closed had sent Fleur into an internal frenzy. She tightened her grip on herself, on focused on Hermione; how she moved with her, how she took air in though narrowly parted lips and released it in shaky exhales, as her hands first busied themselves with clenching her blankets, then beckoned Fleur near again.

The Veela only shook her head, and quickened her thrusts. She pressed in deeply, withdrew, and pushed forward again, watching as a blush spread over the other’s skin. She continued her slow, deliberate assault, pleased when Hermione whimpered her name. She slowly lowered herself between Hermione’s legs, kissing over her thighs without stuttering in her thrusts. As her mouth continued higher, Hermione’s breathing quickened, labored, her hips insistent to bring her closer to her lover’s mouth.

Fleur’s breath ghosted over her skin in a chuckle. She nipped gently, teasing the other with hot breaths and sudden, brief touches on her clit. She kept up her deliberate torture for several long minutes that passed like eternities to Hermione, before finally, she gave her lover the pleasure she’d begged for.

Fleur whimpered as she tasted Hermione, quenching the thirst that had clawed at her for far too long. Hermione was just as enthusiastic, and had to bite down on her knuckles to keep from crying out. She bucked against Fleur’s mouth, against her hand, small whimpers and gasps of pleasure breaking her lips from time to time. Fleur would hush her, and thrust harder against her, bringing her to the edge of orgasm before she pulled away again.

Hermione protested softly, lifting her hips and pleading her to return with pants and breathless words. Fleur only chuckled and straightened again. With a devilish smile, she brought her fingers to her mouth and sucked them gently. They replaced her mouth and started tracing circles around her clit.

Hermione came unraveled beneath her. She writhed and panted, choked down her screams of ecstasy, and was incredibly surprised when she felt weight settle over her. Fleur buried her face in her neck, panting into Hermione’s ear. She continued to meet her thrusts, and rode out orgasm on her hand, whimpering brokenly into the Veela’s ear as she met a second crest, arching up to press every line of her body to Fleur’s.

Hermione moaned softly as Fleur withdrew, and very nearly came again when she licked her fingers clean. The Veela turned to lie on her side, and drew the other into her arms, smoothing her hair down. Hermione didn’t hesitate to burrow into her neck, sighing as she did.

“Well that was a lovely surprise,” she chuckled softly.

Fleur hummed in agreement. “I didn’t think you’d be so… insistent.”

Hermione resisted the urge to roll her eyes and fell silent, pressing her ear to the Veela’s chest. Her heartbeat was still fast and excited, reluctant to calm. The lioness couldn’t resist another chuckle.

Fleur cocked an eyebrow at her. “What’s so funny, love?”

“I’m just glad you’re here,” she sighed happily.   

The Veela said nothing, and began rubbing gentle circles into Hermione’s shoulders, peppering her face with kisses. They lay together in content silence for several long, happy minutes, until Hermione sat upright, startling Fleur.

“What time is it?”

“Ten forty-five, why?” Fleur asked, glancing at her watch.

“Shit!” Hermione jumped out of bed, and began rummaging through her drawers in search of clean clothes. “I promised Harry and Ron I’d only study for an hour!”

Fleur rolled to her side and propped her head upon her hand. “You were studying, were you?”

Hermione paused to throw an exasperated glare her way. “I would have.”

“Of course, love.”

“And after Quidditch tryouts, we’re going to see Hagrid. Want to come?”

“Sure, it’s been a while. He isn’t very happy with you dropping the class I take it?”

“He won’t even speak to us.”


Shortly after, the two made their way to the Quidditch pitch. Harry had just chased off a group of Hufflepuffs and younger Ravenclaws, all of which joined the Veela and Hermione in the stands. Fleur watched with keen interest, trying desperately to remember what all Hermione had told her at the last game she’d watched.

“So what did you do at Beauxbaton’s? If not Quidditch, I mean.”

“Well, we had a rather interesting version of polo we played on the horses. Took a long time before we had a team that was any good in the air. What are they doing now?”

Hermione studied the figures below. “Looks like it’s the Keeper’s turn for tryouts. Ron was Keeper last year, won the championship, but he still looks a bit green…”

Hermione fixed a large boy in her stare and drew her wand.

“Hermione, what in God’s name are you doing?”

“Long story, love.” She said softly, and concentrated very hard on Cormac McLaggen. Fleur watched flabbergasted. Though she was playing dreadfully unfair, she did not do as horrible a deed as she could have, for McLaggen only made one horrible miss. He grit his teeth and returned to the ground, snarling obscenities.

Hermione sighed, and broke her concentration, stowing her wand in her robes again.

“Are you going to tell me?” Fleur asked, still scandalized.

“His personality is not compatible with the Gryffindor team. He’s arrogant and rude, and does not take responsibility for his own actions. You should have heard him talking about Ron and Ginny the other day. Said he would take over their positions while guarding the posts, they’re so rotten. Harry doesn’t know this yet, but he would tear the team apart to make himself stand out.”

Fleur raised an eyebrow and nodded silently, deciding to let the whole thing go.

“Good luck!” a voice called from beside them. Lavender Brown buried her face in her hands as Ron turned to see who it was after he’d mounted his broom. Hermione rolled her eyes.

“Bad blood?” Fleur asked.

“Not at all, I just wish some people would be more up front about their attractions like you were.” She returned, not bothering to lower her voice.

“Not everyone is as charismatic or hopeful as I, love,” she said between chuckles. “I had one chance to make it or break it, so why not go for it with everything I had?”

“If I recall correctly, you were quite shy,” Hermione returned, kissing the back of Fleur’s hand.

The Veela balked for a moment. “I hoped you would find it cute. I believe it worked.”

Hermione rolled her eyes, but did not reply. 

Ron saved all five of his goals, much to Hermione’s delight. Then she turned her eyes to McLaggen, whose voice was easily detected by the Veelas.

“His sister didn’t really try, she gave him an easy save!” he thundered.

“No,” Harry returned, holding his ground. “that was the one he nearly missed. Ron saved five, you saved four. Ron’s Keeper.”

For a long moment, the two stared at one another. Hermione drew her wand, anticipating a punch. Instead, McLaggen turned and strode off, shouting threats and curses to anyone in his way.

“See?” Hermione said. Fleur only sighed and nodded. The two presently raced down to the pitch, high-fiving and hugging Ron. Lavender passed with a scowl on her face, her arm looped around Parvati’s.

After Harry had fixed the first full practice for the following Thursday, the four of them bade goodbye to the rest the team and headed to Hagrid’s.

“I thought I was going to miss that fourth penalty,” Ron continued, still high from the excellent tryout. “Tricky shot, did you see the spin on it?”

“Yeah, I was quite surprised.” Harry returned.

Fleur cast a skeptical glance at Hermione. She shook her head and nodded to Ron.

“You did a great job, Ron, honestly,”

“And did you see McLaggen? Lumbering off in the wrong direction on his fifth? Looked like he’d been Confunded…” Hermione turned a very delicate shade of pink. Harry noticed immediately, but had the grace to say nothing. Fleur shot him a glance.

Buckbeak greeted them when they arrived at Hagrid’s hut. Harry bowed low to the beast, who soon bowed in return, and allowed the wizard to stroke the feathers of his head.

“How are you?” Fleur asked softly, after the hippogriff had accepted her bow. “Miss him, don’t you? At least you’re happy with Hagrid…”

“Oi!” a loud booming voice sounded from the hut. Hagrid had come striding around the side of the hut, wearing a large flowery apron and carrying a sack of potatoes. Fang bounded along after him, and seemed dead-set on licking Hermione to death.

“Git away from him! He’ll have yer fingers—oh. It’s yeh lot.” Hagrid’s eyes passed over Hermione, Harry, and Ron, ignoring Fleur, before he turned and went back into his hut, slamming the door behind him.

“Don’t worry about it,” Harry grumbled, drawing his wand. He walked over to the door and knocked loudly.

“Hagrid! Open up, we want to talk to you!”

No sound broke the silence.

“If you don’t open the door, we’ll blast it open!”

“Harry, you can’t possibly—” Hermione began.

“Yeah, I can! Stand back!”

Then the door opened just as Harry knew it would. And there stood Hagrid, looking rather alarming despite the flowered apron.

“I’m a teacher!” he roared at Harry. “A teacher, Potter! How dare yeh threaten ter break down my door!”

“I’m sorry, sir,”

Hagrid balked for a moment. “Since when have yeh called me ‘sir’?”

“Since when have you called me ‘Potter’?”

“Oh, very clever,” Hagrid growled. “Very amusin’. That’s me outsmarted, innit? All righ’, come in then, yeh ungrateful little…”

Fleur looked very alarmed, and kept glancing between Hermione and the retreating form of Hagrid, who had yet to even comment on her presence. Hermione reached out a hand before she could think of retreat, and pulled her inside.

“So,” Hagrid said, his back to them as they seated themselves at the large wooden table. “What’s this? Feelin’ sorry for me? Reckon I’m lonely?”

“No,” Harry said at once. “We wanted to see you.”

“We’ve missed you,” Hermione added softly.

“Missed me, have yeh?” Hagrid snorted. “Yeah. Righ’.”

He stomped around, brewed tea, and set three bucket-sized mugs on the table along with a plate of rock cakes. It was only then he noticed Fleur’s presence.

“Oh,” he said, looking around him. “I’m afraid I only have the three mugs…”

“It’s quite all right, Hagrid.” Fleur returned. “I’ll share with Hermione. It is really good to see you, though.”

“Yeah, yeh too. How’re the Horntails?”

“They’re all doing quite nicely. They’ve all accepted Veelas in the tribe, and everyone’s quite happy.”

“And Hermione’s Alkaia?”

“She was sad to see her go, but I visit her as often as I visit Shamin, so she’s not without company for long.”  

The giant nodded, and Hermione was quick to kill the impending silence.

“Hagrid,” she began softly. “We really wanted to continue Care of Magical Creatures, you know.” Hagrid gave a great snort. “We did! But none of us could fit it into our schedules, and even if we all had Time-Turners, we wouldn’t be able to keep up with all our bloody homework!”

“They’re really piling it on this year,” Ron added quietly.

“Yeah. Righ’.” Hagrid said again.

A funny squelching noise emitted from the large barrel near Ron, who let out a squawk and jumped out of his chair. Hermione and Fleur drew away, studying the barrel with keen, yet disgusted, interest. It was full of what appeared to be foot-long maggots.

“What are they, Hagrid?” Harry asked, trying to sound more interested than revolted.

“Jus’ giant grubs,” said Hagrid.

“And they grow into…?” Ron asked, recovering slightly in the corner.

“They won’ grow inter nuthin’. I got ‘em ter feed Aragog.”

And without warning, he burst into tears.

“Hagrid!” Hermione cried, leaping from her chair and rushing to his side, and tried to stretch her arm around his massive shoulders. “What is it?”

“It’s… him…” gulped Hagrid, his eyes streaming. “It’s Aragog… I think he’s dyin’… got ill over the summer an’ he’s not gettin’ better… I don’ know what I’ll do if he… if he… We’ve bin together so long…”

Hermione cast a worried glance at the other three, and stroked his shoulder speechless. Fleur knew exactly how she felt. She knew Hagrid had presented a baby dragon with a teddy bear, crooned over giant scorpions with suckers and stingers, and attempted to reason with his giant of a half-brother. She knew there was nothing of comfort to be said, nothing to soothe his worried, except one thing. One, horribly selfless, dangerous thing.

“Is there—is there anything we can do?” Hermione asked softly, despite Ron’s vigorous head-shaking.

“I don’ think there is, Hermione,” Hagrid choked out. Fleur tried not to release an audible breath of relief. She trusted Hermione’s capabilities, but from the stories she’d heard from Harry and Ron, along with what she’d experienced herself, the giant arachnids of the Forbidden Forest were a force not to be reckoned with. “See,” Hagrid continued. “The rest o’ the tribe… Aragog’s family… they’re gettin’ a bit funny now he’s ill… bit restive… I don’ reckon it’d be safe fer anyone but me ter go near the colony at the mo’,” he paused to blow his nose on a large spotted handkerchief. “But thanks for offering, Hermione… it means a lot…”

The atmosphere lightened considerably after Hagrid considered Hermione’s offer as amends to the three Gryffindor’s past transgression. He chatted happily, and never allowed their mugs to empty, not that it wouldn’t have taken an eternity anyway, since they were more buckets than mugs.

“Ar, I always knew yeh’d find it hard ter squeeze me inter yer timetables, even with Time-Turners,”

“Even if they did apply for Time-Turners,” Fleur spoke up. “They couldn’t have gotten them anyway, since they destroyed the Ministry’s stocks. The French Ministry was asked to provide a few for the Aurors that needed them.”

“Yeah, it was all over the Daily Prophet.” Hermione added.

They chatted a bit longer, and soon retired to the Great Hall for dinner, where Harry cornered Hermione and inquired about McLaggen’s performance. She reported honestly, just after the large Gryffindor shoved Fleur out of his way to be met with an angrily cast Jelly-Legs Jinx and a Bat-Bogey Hex from Fleur and Hermione, respectively. The male was reduced to uncooperative legs that refused to heed his commands while attempting to run away from the bat-winged bogeys issuing from his nostrils. Someone cast the counterjixes and helped him to his feet, leaving him to scowl over his shoulder as he walked away.

“And what about Ron?” Harry asked, eyeing her skeptically after McLaggen had seated himself at a far table.

“It was all him,” Fleur murmured. “She put her wand away.”

“Hey, what are you three doing?” Ron asked, poking his head around the corner.

“Nothing, just had to sort McLaggen out.” Harry replied.

Ron threw a contemptuous look over his shoulder. “Git.” He murmured.

“Ah, Harry my boy!” a voice boomed in front of them. “Just the man I was hoping to see! I had hoped to catch you before dinner! What do you say for a spot of supper tonight in my rooms instead? We’re having a little party, just a few rising stars, I’ve got McLaggen coming and Zabini, the charming Melinda Bobbin—I don’t know whether you know her? Her family owns a large chain of apothecaries—and of course I hope very much that Miss Granger will favor me by coming too! And who is this lovely young lass?”

Hermione flushed darkly, and took Fleur’s hand. “This is Fleur Delacour, she’s my mate.”

“Mate?” Slughorn repeated, a curious, confused look sweeping over his features.

“Yes,” Fleur spoke up. “You see, I’m quarter-Veela, sir. Hermione is my mated consort.”

“Oho! A Veela, you say? Well, you certainly must accompany Miss Granger, if, of course, the two of you so choose!” Slughorn finished, giving them a little bow. It was as though Ron was not present, for despite the three other’s glances towards him, Slughorn paid him no mind.

“I’m sorry, Professor, but I can’t tonight. I have detention with Professor Snape.”

“Oh dear!” said Slughorn, his face falling comically. “Dear, dear, I was counting on you, Harry! Well, now, I’ll just have a word with Severus and explain the situation. I’m sure I’ll be able to persuade him to postpone your detention. Yes, I’ll see you three later!” he turned and bustled out of the Hall with great gusto.

“He’s got no chance of persuading Snape,” said Harry, the moment Slughorn was out of earshot and they had seated themselves at the Gryffindor table. “This detention’s already been postponed once; Snape did it for Dumbledore, but he won’t do it for anyone else.”

“Are you going, Fleur?” Hermione asked softly, glancing at the Veela.

“I’m not leaving you to deal with it alone, if that’s what you’re asking,” she returned softly, though reluctance was clear in her tone. “Besides, I’m sure he’ll be disappointed anyway, when I can’t answer his questions.”

Ron huffed from Harry’s side, but said nothing.

Hermione didn’t comment, instead picked up a copy of the Evening Prophet someone else had abandoned. “Oh, look, your dad’s in here, Ron—he’s all right!” she added hastily at the alarm on his face. “It just says he’s been to visit the Malfoy’s house…they didn’t find anything… and he was acting on a confidential tip-off.”

“Yeah, mine!” Harry thundered. “I told him at King’s Cross about Malfoy and that thing he was trying to get Borgin to fix! Well, if it’s not at their house, he must have brought whatever it is to Hogwarts with him—”

“That’s impossible, Harry,” Fleur murmured. “Filch and some Order members ran Secrecy Sensors all over the students when they came through the gates. Any Dark object would have been found; a few shrunken heads were confiscated.”

“What about the owls—”

“They’re being searched, too,” Hermione said.

Harry frowned, and glanced over at Ron’s cross-armed form hopefully. His attention seemed to be trained on Lavender Brown. “Can you think of any way Malfoy–?”

“Oh, drop it, Harry,” said Ron.

“Listen, it’s not my fault Slughorn invited us to his stupid party, none of us wanted to go, you know!”

“Well, as I’m not invited to any parties,” said Ron, getting to his feet. “I think I’ll go to bed.” He stomped off and out of the Hall, leaving the other three to stare after him. Shortly after, the new Gryffindor Chaser approached with a letter from Snape to Harry, confirming what he already knew.

Sighing, he ate quickly and accompanied the two Veelas to Slughorn’s room and wished them luck. The two traded a glance, took the other’s hand, and knocked.