Gift For: wishing_wounds
Disclaimer: Don’t own these characters, not making any profit, etc.
Summary: A discontented housewife finds a new love and a new… un-life…
Warnings: Femmeslash, hints of past het, vampirism, corsets, slightly rough sex, post-war AU
Possible Spoilers: Books 1-6
A/N: This was written for the HP Vamp Conversion Fic Exchange as a gift for wishing_wounds. Hope you like! Many thanks to my beta, who wishes to remain anonymous.
It was so strange, Fleur mused, how the simplest, most seemingly insignificant things were so exciting to her now. She had never really considered the beauty of the moon before – its brightness, its eerie sensual glow after midnight as it teased and flickered in and out of dark blue clouds, and its seductive feminine roundness. Whenever Fleur looked out the window to behold the waxing moon, she would feel a sudden trembling overtake her, imagining the delicate curves of breasts peeking over the lacy, silky softness of diaphanous, low-cut dress robes. As the wind sent the night-time clouds scattering like ghostly wisps across the frostily shimmering starry sky, Fleur could almost hear the sweet, yet darkly enticing whisper of the one who had become a near obsession.
To the Weasley family, Hermione Granger was an unpleasant memory they were striving to forget, the girl who had grown and changed too much for their liking and irreparably broken their beloved son and brother Ron’s heart. But to Fleur, she was beauty and allure incarnate. No longer the studious, bossy girl of Hogwarts days, but a glamorous and ethereal seductress. More articulate, intelligent and literate than ever before, but far more ripe and luscious than Fleur remembered from long ago. The promise she had shown so many years ago, resplendent in periwinkle blue at the Triwizard Tournament’s Yule Ball, had finally blossomed and flowered as if it were a blood-red rose, fragrant and perfect and without a single thorn.
It had begun so suddenly – a chance encounter in Diagon Alley at dusk, a meeting of eyes and a pang within Fleur’s heart before she even realised what was happening to her. That smile of Hermione’s had made Fleur melt inside, arousing her more than her husband Bill ever could. And as soon as Hermione touched Fleur’s hand and spoke to her in that exquisite voice that had changed so wonderfully – a low, erotic purr instead of her former shrill girlishness – Fleur knew that she had to either possess this gorgeous creature or be possessed by her. It was like sweet poison in her veins, this lust – inevitable and irresistible.
Fleur had known since before the end of the war that her love for her husband Bill, and his for her, was on the wane. Even her Veela charms seemed to have little hold on him after some years of marriage, dull, dreary times when he complained about her cooking and housekeeping and her seeming inability to produce more than one child, even though their precious Mina was unique, a little girl amongst a vast tribe of boys. All the other Weasley wives, and Arthur and Molly’s daughter Ginny and her husband Harry, had produced only sons so far, but Mina was a rare and beauteous child with all her mother’s attractiveness. Watching Mina grow, Fleur found herself recalling her sister Gabrielle at that age, and being distracted into thoughts of how she wished that she had had the courage to choose Gabi’s path, the way of loving other women, body and soul. Gabrielle had found such happiness with her beloved Lucy, and almost every day Fleur’s mind slipped into fantasies about the silken caresses and sweet-tasting kisses of women.
Hermione had begun to woo her soon after their unplanned reunion. Delicately scented flowers soon found their way to Fleur by owl, and sparkling jewels that Bill could never afford to buy for her, provided by the wealth that Hermione had come into thanks to the generosity of a mysterious, rich and beautiful lady benefactor that Hermione was reluctant to name. Perfumed letters filled with poetic words of love soon captured Fleur’s heart, and she found herself repeating them before she fell asleep each night, oblivious to Bill’s snores beside her in their marital bed.
When Hermione finally shared her dark and hidden secret with Fleur, the blonde found that she was too deeply in love to be frightened or shocked. It was a terrifying thing, to be sure, but it added to the fascination Fleur had become ensnared by. Hermione had woven a spell around Fleur’s heart more potent than could be cast by any wand, and as Fleur waited in the moonlit bedchamber of Hermione’s luxurious new manor house, she shivered with an ecstasy that eclipsed the slight twinge of fear that troubled her.
Warm lips met Fleur’s and parted them; an exploring tongue caressed hers into a sensuous dance. Fleur moaned as she felt the merest points of small yet deadly fangs in her beloved’s mouth. Their bodies, naked except for satin and velvet corsets, a vivid red for Hermione, and the white of lunar pearls and innocence for Fleur, entwined sinuous as serpents on the heart-shaped bed beneath the sultry aura of the crystal chandelier’s many candles.
The piercing bites did not penetrate Fleur’s neck, but seemed to dance over her vulnerable flesh and enter her in the most intimate and wickedly delightful of places. Her dampened palms, the creases of her inner elbows, the muscles of her twitching thighs, the backs of her slender knees. Fleur moaned and sobbed in rapture as her skin was dewed by drops and then by streams of scarlet life-fluid; the pain was both delicious and unbearable as Hermione’s teeth tore at Fleur and her skilful fingers slid between the blonde woman’s legs, parting the white-furred folds and thrusting deep into their heat and slickness. And when at last Fleur gave herself completely to her lover, surrendering to the immortality that Hermione bestowed, she tasted the other woman’s blood from her hardened nipples, lapping the luscious, salty rivulets from her beloved’s breasts.
As the silver moon set, slipping beyond the horizon into blackness, the vampire lovers reposed at last, to finally sleep as the sun rose. They would not awaken until the skies were ebony once more, and the moonlight touched the sleekness of their warm, aroused and eternally youthful forms.
They would rise to feed then, these deathless beauties, seeking prey in the darkened streets and growing ever stronger. Some day they would seduce and lure Gabrielle and Lucy into joining them, and even Mina when at last she reached the age of seventeen. But for now they were content to lose themselves within each other, under the pale light of the glorious moon.