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Hermione sat in the passenger seat of her car as ex-footballer and production partner Ginny Weasley drove them into the parking lot (Or should she say ex-soccer player now? Hermione might have been raised in England but she was born here and had lived in California since she’d moved back to the States for college). She’d ranted and raved to the redhead during the whole drive here and now all she could do was seethe in silence.
Fifteen years.
Fifteen years of hard work and determination. Building a successful acting career. Currently executive producing and starring in an upcoming movie adaptation of a noir novel called The Perfect Kiss that she and Ginny had personally pitched to Ministry Studios and film director Bellatrix Lestrange as the steamy sapphic thriller (emphasis on the steamy and sapphic) that Bellatrix had always wanted to do. It wasn’t a big budget production by any means. Hermione had taken a pay cut during negotiations. But with the promise of A-list actresses in the lead roles, the studio had guaranteed a wide release with the marketing to back it up.
And now here she was sitting in her car debating whether to back out of doing this screen test and tell Ginny to drive her home.
How dare Fleur Delacour audition for this role. And then to get a screen test? For Hermione’s movie? Fleur had practically campaigned for it, even. Which didn’t make sense. Sure, the Frenchwoman’s repertoire had broadened over the years. The rom-coms had given way to heavy dramas, lush period pieces, and cerebral indies, but a neo-noir featuring explicit lesbian sex? That didn’t sound like Fleur at all. No Oscars for her yet, though she’d had one nomination and there was buzz she would finally win for something coming out next month. (Hermione got hers last year. A milestone as well as a bit of a weight off her shoulders. Now she could afford to play around with her goody two-shoes image, starting with this film. Fleur’s motivation had to be something else considering she’d already done nudity—with male co-stars only—in some of her prior work.) So, while Hermione could admit that Fleur was good, that wasn’t the point. It wasn’t Fleur’s acting chops that had Hermione balking at the idea of working with her, it was what Fleur did all those years ago. And playing one bisexual in a movie last year did not change any of it. It did not make up for it one iota.
“Does she have to?” Ginny asked.
Shit. She’d been muttering out loud again.
“A meaningful apology would be nice. Not like I’d get one,” groused Hermione.
“You guys were what, twenty-one and twenty-three? Practically kids. And look who she married right afterwards?”
Hermione huffed. Having Ginny drive her today had been a mistake. The woman knew far too much. Not just what happened back then and everything she’d complained about during the drive but her mind’s inner workings, too. Her tells and self-denials. It was one of the few downsides to starting a small production company called Lioness Productions with her best friend who’d jumped into acting six years ago after a career-ending injury. Hermione could’ve come by herself, but she’d wanted the moral support. If she’d driven herself she would’ve been distracted by traffic and unable to properly prepare herself to face Fleur for the first time in fifteen years.
“I’m not saying you have to be besties again. That TV show you did together was eons ago. Don’t let the past keep defining who you both are today. I mean, I haven’t really talked to her since she left Bill, but that’s because I was still mad at her on your behalf, not his. He openly admitted to the family that he’s the one who screwed up, remember? And in terms of work, Fleur’s well-respected, you know this. She arrives on time. I’ve never heard any crew or cast member who’s worked with her say anything bad about her. And she goes all in on her projects. The suits are excited. Bellatrix is, too.”
“She’s directed Fleur before, of course she’s excited,” Hermione countered, ignoring the mention of Fleur’s two-year marriage to Bill. The only part of the last fifteen years where she had come close to seeing Fleur in a personal capacity. And hadn’t. Hermione had always declined Ginny’s invitations to family gatherings during that relationship. Across the auditorium at awards shows had been stressful enough. They were nowhere near as difficult as seeing her at a Christmas party would’ve been.
Ginny gave her a flat look.
“Fine,” Hermione conceded. “I’m a professional. I promise I won’t purposely sabotage her. That doesn’t mean I have to make it easy for her, though. This isn’t only a screen test; it’s also a chemistry read. I doubt it’ll go as well as Daphne’s did yesterday.”
There was no response, only Ginny’s knowing gaze. Hermione rolled her eyes and got out of the car. She knew what her friend was thinking, and no she wasn’t being biased just because she didn’t want Fleur to get the part. Yesterday’s screen test-slash-chemistry read with one-time-fling Daphne Greengrass had been perfectly satisfactory, in her opinion. So what if Bellatrix and the rest had more notes and nitpicks than she would’ve liked. So what if she had to admit their off-screen attraction fizzled on screen. Daphne was still the best candidate to co-star. All she needed to do was spend more time with the script and develop the character. They were actors for crying out loud. The chemistry with Daphne could be worked on.
Chemistry with Fleur Delacour, on the other hand, well.
Hermione couldn’t imagine there being much there at all.
::
“Hermione?”
Hermione groaned.
“Are you still watching the movie?”
Keeping her eyes closed, Hermione suppressed the smile that wanted to spread across her face. She’d obviously been caught dozing. There was no need to pretend otherwise. And yet.
“Yes.”
Laughter like bells rang throughout the living room of Hermione’s one-bedroom apartment. Her smile broke free, widening even more when she felt fingers trail over the hand she’d left hanging on the back of the couch as she’d fallen asleep with her head on her arm.
Fleur’s touch always made her stomach flutter. Sparking a heat that spread from the point of contact to down between her legs. She didn’t open her eyes, though. If she did, Fleur might see how she was affecting her. And Hermione swore to herself she’d never make the girl uncomfortable with her pesky feelings and desires.
Sometimes, though, like now for instance, Hermione wasn’t so sure Fleur would be uncomfortable. Fleur’s hand hadn’t pulled away. On the contrary, she trailed her fingertips higher over Hermione’s forearm.
It was moments like these when Hermione got the feeling that her best friend wasn’t as straight as she’d previously claimed. That she in fact was feeling the same way about Hermione as she did about her. Furthermore, Fleur had known Hermione was bi since shortly after filming began for the show. And their friendship had only seemed to intensify. The frequent movie nights, the cuddles on the couch, the constant touching, the charged looks. Surely that meant something. Surely it was time for Hermione to be brave and admit what it meant to her.
Hermione’s water bill would definitely appreciate it given all the extra-long cold showers she’d had to take after hanging out with the girl.
“At this rate we’ll never catch up on all of the movies we missed over the last few months,” complained Fleur. Which wasn’t really a complaint. Their show Sorority Girl P.I. had wrapped on the season finale for its first season last week. They had months before production for season two got going. But Fleur did like to tease.
“Well, I do have that meeting first thing in the morning. Maybe we should finish this one and call it a night?” Hermione said, opening her eyes at last. She only held eye contact for a second before sitting up and dropping her arm to her lap, her attention moving to the TV like she’d been watching the entire time.
So much for being brave.
Fleur chuckled. “The least you could’ve done was ask to reschedule to the afternoon like I did.”
“I like it better in the morning. This way, I get the rest of the day to myself.”
“Hmph,” pouted Fleur. “As long as we continue our movie night tomorrow?”
“Deal.”
::
“I’m sorry, what did you say?” Hermione exclaimed, her heart pounding. She couldn’t believe it. She glanced at her agent Emmeline Vance, who gave a curt nod, seeming to have heard this pitch before.
“You’ve seen what the fan base is saying about the show, and about you and Fleur in particular,” Gilderoy Lockhart replied with a smarmy smile. Hermione didn’t like the show creator all that much but after this conversation maybe she had to rethink her opinion of the man. “The chemistry crackles in all your scenes together. They call you Fleur-Mione or something like that. I mean, I don’t see it personally, but Nymphadora here assures me it’s a direction that could get a good response next season. Heaven knows we need it.”
The last part had been muttered under his breath, but Hermione was already turning to Nymphadora for confirmation and didn’t pay it much mind. Nymphadora Tonks, the young Head Writer who Hermione thought was the actual brains behind the show, nodded in agreement.
“Right,” Tonks said. “We’re thinking some time by episode seven enough hints would’ve been dropped that a surprise kiss between Charlotte and Mandy won’t actually be that much of a surprise for the audience. But we wanted to run it by you before we start tackling the scripts.”
“Well, I’m in. Of course I’m in. I think it’s a great idea,” Hermione said excitedly. She’d only recently realized she was bisexual last year, but she hadn’t done much dating because soon after her self-discovery she’d gotten the part of Mandy on Sorority Girl P.I. and met Fleur. But whenever the opportunity arose Hermione happily jumped in with support for the queer community and representation in media.
“Excellent,” boomed Lockhart. Then he tempered it by saying, “Well, it’s still only an idea, mind you. One of several we’re toying with, Nymphadora and I, including bringing on a male series regular as a long-term serious love interest for Charlotte. Nothing’s set in stone. We also still have to run it by Fleur this afternoon and see how comfortable she is about this, erm, direction. And whatever we decide on after that, well, the network will ultimately make the final call.”
“Understood,” answered Hermione, beaming, not even bothered by the mention of what was clearly Lockhart’s preferred idea of bringing on yet another male love interest, her mind fully consumed by the direction Tonks was pushing.
A kiss. A romantic storyline with Fleur’s character Charlotte. All the rehearsing, all the ways she’d get to show Fleur they could be amazing together. This was finally her chance to take her shot.
As soon as she left the office and said her goodbyes to Emmeline, Hermione tapped out a text on her phone to give Fleur the heads up.
Fuck.
Fuckity fuck fuck.
This was a nightmare. An excruciating ‘she’d rather shave her head than endure this for one more second’ nightmare. Except Hermione couldn’t try to wake herself because that would’ve been redundant. Nor did she have time to find hair clippers because she was contractually obligated to be on set right now.
The problem was that instead of Hermione’s screen partner sitting on an armchair across from her on the couch, Bellatrix took one look at Fleur and Hermione when they greeted each other after makeup and wardrobe, and ordered the armchair removed so that both she and Fleur would be on the couch.
Together.
And she had only herself to blame. Well, herself and the fact that Fleur’s collared shirt had been unbuttoned down to below her chest, revealing a clear lack of a bra. The shot of them on separate pieces of furniture would’ve shown it too, but that wasn’t what Bellatrix wanted now, no thanks to Hermione’s noticeable reaction to seeing what Fleur had done with the costume chosen for her for the screen test.
“Quit moping,” whispered Ginny under her breath as she walked Hermione back onto the redressed set. “This wouldn’t be happening if you’d kept your bisexual eyes on her face during the social niceties instead of trying to get a peek at her boobs.”
“I wasn’t trying to get a peek at anything,” protested Hermione, glancing around. No crew were nearby, and thankfully Bellatrix, the casting director Dorcas Meadowes, and the director of photography Filius Flitwick were far enough away not to hear them.
Fleur, however, was already on the couch in her black silk shirt and white linen pants with a smirk on her face and a twinkle in her eyes. Like she knew exactly what she and Ginny were talking about. The blonde crossed her legs, the movement causing the shirt to shift a little over her chest, and Hermione promptly spun away, feeling her face heat up. She fussed with her own costume of a red bowling shirt and blue jeans, her character having just gotten ready to go out for a bowling night with some cop buddies from her old precinct when Fleur’s character knocked on her door.
Ginny squeezed her hand and whispered, “You’ve got this,” before walking to take her seat behind Dorcas. Hermione nodded, grateful to have one person on her side, and took several breaths before plopping on the couch, as far from Fleur as she could, who sat to her left.
The chemistry read aspect of the screen test was why the director was here. Ordinarily, Bellatrix would review the playback later with Dorcas and Flitwick for how well the camera liked Fleur for the role. But, as with Daphne’s test, Bellatrix liked to be at chemistry reads to get a more visceral feel for how well the actors played off each other and to be able to offer direction to get immediate adjustments in a scene. Doing so gave her more data to play with when deciding who was right for the part. As an executive producer and the first star cast, Hermione had some say, which is how Daphne got as far as she did in the process, but that was as far as her pull went. Lioness’s development deal with Ministry Studios gave final say on casting to the director and the studio.
All of which meant that at the end of the day, no amount of bitching and moaning from Hermione was going to stop Fleur from being her co-star if that’s what Bellatrix and the suits wanted.
“Alright, ladies,” called Bellatrix, stepping away from her spot behind the monitors and walking onto the small set. “We’re just going to do the one scene we talked about. Hermione, Samantha believes Laura knows more about her husband Robert’s criminal dealings than she’s let on. She’s sympathetic to Laura’s plight but runaways are a dime a dozen, and her partner from her time on the force is dead thanks to Robert. And Fleur, Laura needs to find her younger sister Vanessa, and while it’s useful to have a private investigator who hates her husband more than she does, a personal crusade could become a liability. So here we are a few days after Sam and Laura found and confronted the sister’s boyfriend Nick. Neither of them had been seen in L.A. for weeks, and he claims they broke up after that initial weekend trip to San Francisco. Samantha thinks the trail’s gone cold and wants to pivot to the husband. Laura needs to motivate her to keep her focus on Vanessa.”
Bellatrix dished out more direction for their characters, similar to what the woman had told her and Daphne yesterday, but Hermione found her mind wandering to the drop-dead gorgeous blonde next to her.
Despite how the friendship ended, Hermione had seen all of Fleur’s movies and guest TV appearances, not that she’d admit it to anyone. Seeing her grow and develop on screen was nothing compared to seeing her in the flesh after all these years, though. A bit heavy on the eye makeup but this was supposed to be the 1980s so that part made sense. Her loose shoulder-length hair had that wet, messy look that reminded Hermione of supermodels at the beach. There was a maturity in how she held herself compared to the twenty-three-year-old Hermione had been friends with. A knowingness. A life lived without Hermione in it.
She had the same piercing blue eyes, though. The same pale silky skin.
God, Fleur’s showing so much of it.
On opposite sides of the couch, they were nowhere near as close as they used to be during their movie nights, but a few feet didn’t take long to cross. If Hermione wanted, if she was one of those disgusting people who took without asking, she could reach right over and—
Hermione’s fingers flexed and pressed against the tops of her thighs, Bellatrix’s voice cutting through her thoughts.
“Remember, Fleur, at this point the flirtation should come across more as a personality trait than genuine interest, though there should still be hints of that. The eventual movie trailer will of course give it away, but in the script this scene is where the audience only begins to suspect there’s more going on here for Laura, too. Whether it’s purely manipulation on her part has to stay a possibility in the audience’s minds.”
Fleur’s attention was fixed on Bellatrix as she spoke, reminding them both about Laura’s background. Thirty-two years old. Married to Robert Davenport for eight. She’d had experiences with a couple of women years before she got married but men were where the money and power were at. And after years of honing her skills of manipulation over men who lusted after her, witnessing the darker underbelly of the city and marrying one of its inhabitants, Sam’s stubborn single-mindedness and desire for justice were a charming and refreshing change. She was smart and intelligent, and Laura liked that. Laura had clocked that Sam liked women from the start, but Sam also wasn’t rolling over for her the way she’d become accustomed to with the men in her life. Getting the detective to do what she wanted would require Laura to get closer. And even dangerous women could find themselves falling down a slippery slope to something real if they weren’t careful.
Hermione saw how Fleur absorbed the words. The little crinkle between the eyes. The little nods at the various insights to the character. All the same mannerisms she’d memorized when they’d worked together on Sorority Girl P.I. Fleur had played the sorority girl turned intrepid investigator after one of her friends was killed and Hermione was the school newspaper reporter who became her ever-loyal sidekick. Had it been a cheap Veronica Mars knock-off which lasted only one season? Absolutely. Hermione still got fan-mail for it, though. She was sure Fleur did, too.
Like her, Fleur didn’t have the script on hand. Which meant she’d memorized it, just as Hermione had. Not unexpected. Fleur had always liked being prepared. It also meant she really wanted this.
Hermione tried to concentrate on those things. Not on how the shirt had been opened another button while Fleur had been listening to Bellatrix. Wardrobe must have used all the tape they had because no matter which way Fleur turned, or how, the shirt never revealed anything more. But what it did reveal was enough. The spattering of moles along her chest and the darker ones beneath. The dip between her breasts. The inside curves of them. Resting far enough apart that Hermione could drag a finger down between them like she was charting a map. Or lick her way down—
Her eyes drifted upward just as her stomach swooped at the thought of bringing her tongue to Fleur’s skin, and she instantly realized she’d been staring again. Bellatrix wasn’t talking anymore. Shit. When had she stopped? The sound of the clapperboard startled Hermione enough to get her bearings. They were rolling. Everyone was in position. She nodded her readiness though she was feeling anything but.
“Alright,” Bellatrix called out. “And, action.”
Hermione took a breath and then leaned back against the couch, laying her left arm along the back like she’d done it a million times. This was her apartment. Her ratty old couch. She tilted her head at Fleur with an expectant glare.
“Face it. Your sister’s long gone, Mrs. Davenport.”
“Maybe you’re not looking hard enough, Miss Banfield,” came Fleur’s reply. Her American accent was flawless. Hermione’s had naturally smoothed out after years of living in California. Fleur must’ve really worked at it considering she had returned to France for a few years soon after her brief marriage had ended.
“And maybe if she wanted to see you, she would’ve been found. As you said before, families are complicated. Like that husband of yours, for example.”
As the femme fatale in the story, Laura Davenport wasn’t easily rattled. And Fleur played it effortlessly. She rolled her eyes and smiled like she’d fully expected the detective to bring it back to Robert Davenport. That wasn’t all she did, however. Much to Hermione’s surprise, Fleur scooted closer, which wasn’t in the script nor in the blocking they’d discussed earlier when Bellatrix called for the scene to take place on the couch. Fleur was only supposed to bat her lashes a little and smile invitingly.
Oh no. Fleur was closer. Which meant Fleur’s chest was closer.
Hermione’s heart skipped a beat and her mouth began to dry up. Keep your eyes the fuck where they belong, Granger, she reminded herself. Thankfully, her eyes obeyed.
“Now that isn’t very professional of you, is it, Detective? I’m not paying you to think about my husband. You’re paid to think about only what I want you to think about.”
Fleur paused, biting the inside of her lower lip as she stared back at Hermione. After a few charged seconds, she turned towards the coffee table and leaned forward, her left hand slowly reaching for and picking up her glass of water which was standing in for vodka on ice.
All at once, Hermione’s willpower disintegrated as if non-existent. Despite every rational brain cell telling her not to, she couldn’t help but track how the opening of Fleur’s shirt handled the movement, taking in the pale moles she hadn’t noticed before. Her thoughts raced to the parts of the script where she’d be seeing so much more. The intimate scenes they would have to choreograph and rehearse, like Hermione’s mouth on Fleur’s nipples, or other nude scenes and all the ways they’d be touching and kissing each other.
If Fleur got the part.
Hermione blinked and adjusted her gaze before Fleur was done taking her sip. The blonde appeared to miss her embarrassing lapse, but what heated up her cheeks was the mortifying knowledge that the camera—and everyone else—had seen everything. Her searching for flaws in the body tape. Her disappointment when she found none. The way her legs had pressed together just before she’d torn her eyes away.
And more importantly, Fleur would see it too when she viewed the playback.
Replacing the glass on the table, Fleur said, “And what I want you to think about is my sister and what you’re going to do next to find her.”
“You’re forgetting something.”
“What would that be, Miss Banfield?”
“Vanessa didn’t just run away, she’s actively hiding. Tracks and traces don’t cover themselves; it takes effort. And that doesn’t sound like a spur of the moment decision in my book. She planned it. And the boyfriend–”
“Ex-boyfriend.”
“Ex-boyfriend. Nick. Whatever. He looked scared.”
“Well, you were quite intimidating.”
“Nah, that’s not it. There was something about the way he kept looking at you when we talked to him.”
Fleur smirked.
Hermione pushed out a loud exasperated sigh. “It wasn’t that either. Like I said, he looked scared. Scared of you, Mrs. Davenport. Now why would that be?”
“I have no idea,” Fleur answered nonchalantly. “Aren’t you supposed to be the detective?”
“Well, it got me thinking,” Hermione continued, her voice stronger to indicate her character’s confidence in her theory. “Maybe Vanessa is hiding because she’s scared. But is she scared of her big sister because of big sister guilt trips and scoldings or is it something else? And the thing is, you look scared, too.”
“I am scared,” Fleur replied, disregarding the reference to her character’s husband, her eyes falling to her lap, as if unsure. “She’s eighteen and alone out there. She’s never been on her own like this before, Sam. I’ve always been there to look out for her.”
The use of the first name was intended to soften Sam and get her back on track to find the sister. An effort to appear vulnerable and draw Sam in. All part of the script. Nothing to throw Hermione off, even if seeing Fleur appear scared revived her old instincts to comfort her.
Then, Fleur laid her right arm along the back of the couch. Her hand resting over Hermione’s.
Another deviation. Fleur wasn’t supposed to make physical contact. Hermione waited for Bellatrix to speak up, but she didn’t. Damn her. The wily director probably wanted to see how this played out.
Hermione held still as fingers played along the back of her hand. Inching over to her wrists.
It did fit with what Laura was supposed to be doing to Sam. Gain her sympathy and trust. Hint towards the sexual tension building between them. But what Fleur had chosen to do to signal this interest was exactly what she used to do with Hermione on their movie nights. Or whenever they’d hung out. Always touching her. Always finding excuses to do so. Was it any wonder Hermione had thought her feelings were reciprocated?
What the hell was Hermione supposed to think and feel now?
The touching didn’t stop. Instead, Fleur wrapped her fingers around Hermione’s wrist. And the sensation reached straight to her core, a familiar heat burning her up from the inside, bringing back all of those long ago yearnings. Every night with her insides twisted as she tried to dissect and analyze every second of the touch. The pressure, the duration, the expressions on Fleur’s face. One moment convinced it meant nothing and the next hoping it meant everything.
Actors often used their real-life experiences to inform their acting choices. Their personalities and quirks frequently blended into their roles, and vice versa. But Fleur using private moments from their past friendship in a scene meant to display her character’s manipulative tendencies?
Fleur was trying to get a rise out of Hermione. She had to be. There was no other explanation. The nerve of the woman. The gall. And Ginny was worried she’d be the unprofessional one.
A wave of fury washed over Hermione, and just as she was about to break character and launch into a lecture about sticking to the fucking script, a memory flashed in her mind.
::
Hermione walked into the party and immediately began looking for Fleur amongst the party-goers. The house was luxurious, as expected for a mansion in the hills owned by some industry bigwig, and it was full of actors, executives, and other entertainment types. There was no sign of her friend, though.
Fleur had been dodging her for almost two weeks. Cancelled movie nights, delayed responses to her texts, spending days at a time in New York when Hermione knew full well that Fleur hated New York. Even when they’d gotten the news a couple of days ago that the show had been cancelled, Fleur had still found a reason to avoid getting together or talking about it for any length of time.
Which was why Hermione was here. Another friend had messaged her an hour earlier, reminding her she’d been invited to this party and that Fleur was here so she would have at least one person to talk to if Hermione didn’t want to spend the night networking. Hermione hated that she had to resort to tracking her friend down at some random party, but she viewed it as less confrontational than surprising Fleur at her condo.
With a beer in hand, she made the rounds. Saying hi, making sure she smiled at the right people, confirming that Emmeline was hard at work lining up auditions and new projects for her.
When she walked outside to the pool area, she finally spotted Fleur’s profile behind a tall garden hedge. Hermione smiled. It’d been so long and she’d missed her friend. The smile faded when Hermione saw the man talking to her.
It was Bill Weasley, the oldest brother of one of Hermione’s best friends from her childhood back in England. He did a guest stint on an episode a few months back and she knew that he and Fleur had gone out a few times after that, but Hermione hadn’t realized they’d kept in touch.
Ignoring the alarms in her head saying she should wait until Fleur was alone, Hermione weaved her way through the clusters of people around the pool to the garden. It wasn’t until Hermione got close enough to hear their conversation that she wished she’d stayed away.
“You’re better than that show anyway,” Bill said. “I’m not surprised at all it was cancelled.”
Fleur chuckled. “Neither am I, if I’m honest. Still. A lot of crew members have to line up new jobs.”
“And that girlfriend of yours, too.”
“She’s not my girlfriend,” hissed Fleur, her face hardening in a way that set the hairs on the back of Hermione’s neck standing on end.
“Right,” replied Bill, a patronizing smile on his face. “Tell that to everyone who watched the show. Or to the crew who watched the two of you together. I’m surprised they didn’t try to get your characters together sooner.”
Fleur’s face paled. “How do you know about that?”
“Dora’s a friend of mind from back in school. I love her to pieces but you did the right thing shooting down that idea of hers. If the network had gone for it, it would’ve killed your career for sure.”
The blonde didn’t seem to know how to respond. She glanced around as if worried others were listening, and that’s when she spotted Hermione, who stood on the other side of the hedge stunned by what she’d just heard.
“Hermione,” Fleur uttered, thin and reedy. Her body wobbled side to side a little, as if she might faint right then and there.
Hermione opened her mouth and shut it just as quickly. No. She would not do this here. She would not do this at all, in fact. Spinning around on her heel, she marched around the pool and headed for the driveway instead of going back through the house.
Behind her she heard Fleur calling her name, but Hermione refused to stop. She had to get out of here, and her car was just down the road. Unfortunately, she hadn’t quite learned how to speed walk in heels yet. Fleur caught up to her just as she reached the control box to open the gate to the street.
“Will you please stop?” Fleur begged, grabbing Hermione’s elbow and pulling her to a standstill.
“Careful,” warned Hermione, yanking her arm away and pointing to the house. “Wouldn’t want anyone else to think we’re girlfriends.”
“Hermione, please, I can explain.”
“I can’t believe you. You told me you said yes. You lied. Why, why would you do that?”
“It’s complicated,” Fleur shrugged helplessly, her eyes welling with tears.
“Not really,” insisted Hermione. “If you’re saying you were uncomfortable performing a romantic storyline with another woman, I might’ve had words with you about it, but I would’ve tried to see your side. Instead, you lied. And you’ve been avoiding me ever since that day we had those meetings.”
“You don’t understand. Where I’m from, my family, I’m not like that, I’m not–”
“You’re not like me, you mean,” Hermione interrupted coldly and stared in disbelief at Fleur, seeing a whole new side to her friend. “You agree with Bill, don’t you? You’re afraid it would hurt your career. And not just playing a queer character. You stopped hanging out with me because you found out what others were saying about us, and the beautiful blonde French actress could never be anything other than straight.”
Hermione shut her eyes and blew out a breath through her nose, her heart thundering at what she was about to say next. Her eyes stinging at knowing she was not going to hear the answer she wanted.
Opening her eyes, she watched as Fleur took a step back, as if knowing what was coming and hoping that it wouldn’t. Nevertheless, Hermione had to say it.
She whispered, “I thought– I thought you and I were– that we– I mean, I thought you liked me the way I like you.”
“Hermione…” Fleur’s gaze dropped to the ground. Ashamed? Embarrassed? The girl stayed silent for almost a full minute before lifting her eyes. Though the tears were now falling down her cheeks, there was a distance in her expression that Hermione had never seen before. “I’m sorry if I did anything to make you think–”
“Fuck you, Fleur.”
For a moment, the two of them stood there unmoving, both shocked at the vehemence and vitriol in Hermione’s voice. No arguing or begging. No trying to smooth things over and apologize for misunderstanding her friend’s past behavior with her. Hermione had instead chosen to call bullshit on Fleur’s attempt to gaslight her, and they both knew it.
Fleur seemed to struggle to find a response and Hermione was too heartbroken to have the patience to wait for one. With a disappointed shake of her head, she pressed the button to open the gate and fled down the road to her car.
With Fleur’s imploring and tear-streaked face etched in her mind forever.
::
Sam was supposed to become flustered at Laura’s flirtations, avoiding direct eye contact while falling back on sharing her suspicions with a firmer tone.
Hermione didn’t do that. She held Fleur’s gaze and decided to turn over her hand until she lightly gripped the heel of Fleur’s palm, her fingertips on the underside of the blonde’s wrist, feeling her pulse jump at Hermione’s boldness.
Fleur’s pupils dilated almost imperceptibly but in a way that Hermione knew wasn’t acting. The slight parting of her lips. The quickening of her breath. These things were real. And a smug satisfaction came over her when she realized the camera was catching it all, too.
For a split second, Hermione almost didn’t know what to do next. She’d meant to throw Fleur off like the woman had done to her with her unbuttoned shirt, not inspire physical reactions like these.
Did it mean the reason Fleur touched her hand in the first place was not to get a rise out of Hermione, as she’d thought? Was it her way of saying her past actions had been exactly how Hermione had interpreted them when they were younger?
All those years of self-doubt. The second-guessing. The worrying that she’d gotten it all wrong and that Fleur had really only ever liked her as a friend. But if these reactions were genuine, if Fleur was actually attracted to her, it validated her younger self’s initial belief that Fleur had been lying to Hermione and herself that night about what she’d felt back then.
This turn of events was both unexpected and entirely flabbergasting.
It was also incredibly infuriating.
Why hadn’t Fleur tried to contact her and tell her all this before? Why did she do this during a fucking screen test? They weren’t inexperienced twentysomethings anymore, they were grown women in their mid-to-late thirties. All Fleur had to do was talk to her about it like a normal human being.
Shouting ‘I knew it’ wasn’t going to cut it for Hermione. Neither was forgiving and forgetting. If Fleur wanted to play games with the past, Hermione didn’t have to let her win. She had to show Fleur she wasn’t the sidekick anymore. The Perfect Kiss was her movie and Fleur was going to have to follow her lead for once.
“But that’s not all you’re scared of, is it?” Hermione murmured, going against the scripted stammering and blustering. This went the other way. Showing that Laura wasn’t wrong about Sam’s inclinations towards women and wasn’t wrong that something was brewing between them. Making Laura and the audience think the blonde’s plan was working, if only for a few moments. While Hermione was sticking with the scripted dialogue, she was about to take a different tack. And not solely because of Fleur.
In the script, Sam didn’t know Laura was more than she seemed in this scene. A point of contention since Hermione believed the screenwriters failed to fully understand the importance of Sam’s past relationship in the book with a closeted ex afraid to commit who scammed her out of her savings. The betrayal taught Sam exactly what women were capable of. That was what made the character and the book so interesting. Book Sam wasn’t naïve or easily led by a pretty face, and she let herself get mixed up with Laura anyway.
Hermione had intended to argue this point with Bellatrix after Laura had been cast. Starting things off by being combative over every book-to-movie difference she disagreed with wasn’t going to win her any favors with the crew. This was a screen test, however. It gave her an opportunity to inject a little book Sam into the scene without any significant consequences because they weren’t really filming the movie yet.
Like the last line, the next ones were supposed to come out fast-paced and forceful, essentially holding the audience’s hand while directing them to the known and obvious villain in the film, Robert Davenport. And to also set up the more explosive end to the scene in the script that had Laura storming out in a rage.
“Did Vanessa see something she wasn’t supposed to, Laura?” Hermione continued softly. “Or get mixed up in something?
Hermione paused here, letting her arched eyebrow imply Sam was smart enough not to rule Laura out as part of the reason for Vanessa’s disappearing act.
Fleur, to her credit, picked up on what Hermione was doing and went along with it. Since Laura wasn’t the type to wilt under pressure, Fleur didn’t turn away from Hermione’s stare, but her lips did press together slightly. Her eyes flitted between Hermione’s like Laura was trying to figure out whether Sam knew anything concrete before settling into a steely gaze, pulling her hand out of Hermione’s grip.
The whole reaction had been perfect. It not only added to the suspicion for the audience, it helped muddy Hermione’s next lines on who she was actually accusing. Hermione almost smiled. She’d forgotten how good acting out a scene with Fleur could be when they were in sync.
“I’m surprised you don’t think that husband of yours is involved somehow. It explains how afraid Nick is and how afraid you are. We both know that Robert Davenport doesn’t handle being crossed very well. And it explains why Vanessa is going to great lengths not to be found. All you need to do is give me something on his dealings. Names. An address? I’ll do all the leg work and I’ll keep you out of it. No one will know you helped. And once he’s put away, Vanessa will be free to come home and you’ll both be safe again.”
Though the audience would hear the suspicion about both Davenports in those lines, hopefully they would also be able to tell this was where Sam’s true blind spot tripped her up on not following through on it. It wasn’t the beautiful woman, though the blinders towards her would indeed be put on once they began sleeping together, it was Sam’s eagerness to nail Robert for her partner’s murder that gave Laura her out.
“I’m disappointed, Detective,” Fleur said, a weariness in her tone instead of the biting comeback in the script. She bent over to her side of the couch and picked up her purse, standing up and taking a step towards Hermione. “You were the last person I thought would ignore a woman’s plea for help in favor of some foolish vendetta. My sister is out there somewhere. If you’re not going to continue with my case, just say so and I’ll go hire someone else.”
Remaining in her seat, Hermione was about to respond when her eyes followed the path of Fleur’s neck and realized the woman’s chest was not only in her direct line of sight but also close enough to touch.
And this time one side of the shirt had moved enough to reveal more of her left breast.
The words got stuck in Hermione’s throat. What was she supposed to say again? Every idea she had of taking charge and proving a point to Fleur and to the director got blown away by the sudden urge to pull Fleur towards her so she could finally know what the woman tasted like.
“Cut!” yelled Bellatrix, interrupting Hermione’s fantasy. Maybe the older woman had seen what Hermione was thinking and decided to save her from doing something stupid. The director strode towards them, the crew scrambling around the set, and Hermione quickly stood up, plastering on a shaky smile. “Excellent, that was excellent, you two. I’m not too sure about some of those choices but I’m open to discussing what you think their motivations for them are. Dorcas, get over here.”
As Bellatrix continued to rave over their performance, Dorcas moved to stand beside her. The casting director’s responses were more muted but it was clear to Hermione that both she and Bellatrix thought Fleur had knocked it out of the park. And Hermione didn’t need to see the playback to know that, too. The tension, the chemistry, it was all sizzling. The choice between Fleur and Daphne was no choice at all.
Fleur Delacour was going to be her co-star and that was that.
Later, after the notes and goodbyes, and Dorcas saying she would be contacting Fleur’s people, Hermione headed back to her dressing room to change out of her costume. She planned to take her makeup off at home in order to leave as quickly as possible in order to eliminate any chance of finding herself alone with Fleur. Ginny was waiting at the car due to a call she had to take. Hermione should’ve just gone with her and returned the costume later because when she opened the door to leave the dressing room, Fleur was out in the hall, still in her costume. At least it was buttoned this time.
Fucking Fleur and her fucking shirt.
“It looks like we’ll be working together again,” Fleur said lightheartedly, a twinkle in her eyes.
“Yeah,” Hermione replied evenly. “Looks like.”
For a few seconds, Hermione was proud of herself. She’d kept it simple, not giving Fleur anything to build off of. Making Fleur work for it. This was exactly how she should act the rest of their time making the film.
Smirking, Fleur held out what appeared to be a business card. Hermione looked at it and then looked back at Fleur, cautiously taking the card. She reasoned it would’ve been rude not to, and taking it didn’t mean she had to do anything with it.
“That’s my number. If you want to run lines or, I don’t know—” Fleur stepped closer, “—watch a movie some time?”
Hermione’s jaw dropped open. Again, the nerve of this woman. They weren’t friends anymore. They weren’t anything. What was Fleur playing at?
Fleur chuckled and stepped away before Hermione could say anything.
“See you around, Hermione,” she called back and disappeared into her dressing room.
Not knowing what else to do, Hermione hurried to the building exit, frowning the entire time.
After she’d buckled herself into the passenger seat she realized she was still clutching the card in her hand.
“What’s that?” Ginny asked, starting the engine.
“Oh, um, it’s Fleur’s number.”
Ginny laughed. “Oh my god, I love that woman. Okay, I’m not going to say anything right now. You just process and overanalyze and vent to your heart’s content during the drive. All bets are off when we get back to your place, though.”
Hermione stayed silent, her eyes fixed on the embossed letters of Fleur’s name and the numbers underneath. Back in the hallway, while Fleur had surprised her outside of her dressing room and teased her a little, she hadn’t actually tried to corner Hermione into a prolonged interaction. She’d just given her a phone number.
As much as Hermione hated to admit it, that didn’t sound like a woman playing games.
She was about to tuck the card in her purse when she noticed writing on the back.
I’d like to talk about it. Call me. -Fleur
Hermione sighed at the simplicity of the request and leaned the side of her head against the window. Principal photography was supposed to begin in three months, and a strange mix of dread and anticipation churned in her stomach.
Was she finally going to get closure on what happened? Or was Fleur going to put her through the wringer again? Only time would tell.
Either way, one thing was certain.
Hermione was fucked.