Hermione's heart beat just a tad faster as she placed the final hairpin, looking herself over one last time before spinning away from the mirror with a rush of anticipation. Her sky blue gown moved with her, and she smoothed it down, a bit shy but also pleased at the desire she saw in her wife's eyes. The War had ended sixteen years before, and they had been married and mated for ten, but she liked knowing that she could still put that look in Fleur's eyes. That look of want.

She herself was not immune to such feelings, as she regarded the dashing figure that was her wife dressed for a night out. Fleur wore her hair up, with a few tendrils left to frame her handsome face. Her blonde hair and fair complexion contrasted strikingly with her black tuxedo, expertly tailored to hug her athletic form.

Hermione gulped.

"If you keep looking at me like that, we may not make it to the opera after all."

"Tempting as that is, you wouldn't want to miss it. It's Mozart tonight. Your favorite, in fact—Figaro."

Hermione was torn. She did indeed love the opera, but the darkening of Fleur's eyes beckoned her with promises of pleasure.

"Just think," Fleur whispered, her breath sending shudders down Hermione's spine as it tickled her ear in the most delicious way. "The waiting will make the prize all the sweeter, non?"

She pulled back, noting Hermione's state and looking self-satisfied.

"Besides, I 'ave a surprise for you." She took a small box from inside her jacket pocket. Hermione noticed the emblazoned orange triple-W logo with vague alarm. "Non, do not worry! It is no prank. The Messrs. Weasley are branching out, it seems, and they would like us to test something for them tonight."

Fleur went on, as Hermione hardly looked reassured. She would forever remember that incident with the twins' Punching Telescope. Fleur held up what looked like a hearing aid.

"We place these in our ears, and we can understand the opera, without the need for subtitles or a libretto!"

Hermione perked up. This was magic she could get behind. She opened her mouth, mind filled with a million questions, but Fleur cut her off.

"And now, Mon Coeur, we really must go. If we miss the opening curtain, you will be put out, and this will not bode well for my…plans for later."

Hermione felt her knees weaken, and it was all she could do to keep up with Fleur's long strides as they made their way to a nearby apparition point.

The curtain came down for the intermission, and Hermione looked round at Fleur as the house lights came up, beaming from ear to ear.

"This is brilliant, Fleur!" she enthused. "I can understand every word as though they were singing in English, and yet I can plainly hear the beauty of the Italian libretto. Thank you, so much, for such a…magical…evening."

Fleur gazed at her, breath caught at the look of adoration on her mate's face. Hermione noticed her staring in return.

"What? Why do you look at me in such…wonderment?"

She trailed off, uncertain.

"'Ermione," Fleur began, struggling to explain. "The way you thank me, the way you look at me… it's as though, instead of merely taking you for a night at the opera, I 'ad invented these devices myself, and purely for your enjoyment. You give me this look often, and I think have wondered at my staring before. I love to introduce you to the things you missed, between not growing up in this world and the War.

"But every time I do…" the blonde faltered. "It is like…it is as though I 'ave given you the moon. Stole it away from its sphere, and the sun and the stars as well, and fashioned them into the finest tiara ever seen—all for you.

"That look. It is simply intoxicating, Mon Coeur."

Hermione, spellbound by her words, had to finally look away, blushing. She could see the Veela giving her a look of its own, her azure eyes gone that familiar blue-black.

"Why do you look away?" A gentle hand stroked Hermione's cheek.

"It's just…well, you know the British. All stuffy and closed-up about feelings and things. And your speeches, your very Gallic speeches…"

"You do not like them?"

"No! That is to say, yes, I do. That's not it at all. I adore your passion, Fleur. It's just that, for whatever reason, an English girl must look down awkwardly and blush prettily on occasion. It's just part of the British constitution."

She could sense that Fleur, though she had lived in the country for some years, still struggled to understand this peculiarity of the British nature. Suddenly emboldened, she gazed up at Fleur mischievously.

"However, in the spirit of the evening, I think I will make an effort to be more…how shall I put it? Cosmopolitan."

So saying, she reached up and kissed the taller woman, briefly but thoroughly.

"And you do fetch me down the moon, the sun, and all the stars besides," the brunette whispered huskily into her mate's ear, just as the curtain rose again for the second half. "Every day that you love me, I have everything I could ever wish for."

Fleur growled low in her throat, sending a lance of pure heat to settle low in Hermione's stomach. Fleur leaned over to breathe in her ear.

"I know this is your favorite opera, but could I perhaps persuade you to leave early?"

Her wife's eyes met her own, and it was Fleur's turn to feel heat.

"I thought you'd never ask."