Author note: maybe only a little angsty, okay who am I kidding. It starts off kinda funny but mostly it's just sad with missed connections, denial, acceptance too. Hermione is a gay mess, Fleur too. Basically I had an idea for an escort AU/comedy of errors but then it turned into this emotional mess because that's what I do. Sorry! Fleurmione. Post-war.

Chapter 1

Hermione sat nervously, fingering the top edge of her tea cup, waiting for Ginny to speak. She looked around the kitchen of her friend's house. Ginny and Harry had married and moved in to the cozy cottage in Godric's Hollow only a year ago. It was warm and inviting, a stark contrast to Grimmauld Place which was their previous residence. They were alone, Harry having been sent on a shopping errand to give the girls time to themselves.

She was tempted to run out. Hermione had gotten used to working alone, thinking about her problems alone, solving her problems alone. Researching this plan over the last couple of months, however, taught her one thing: she was out of her depth. Intelligence and cleverness were not the same as being good with dealing with people or knowing how to get what she wanted without making a public spectacle of herself.

Looking at Ginny, she was beginning to get frustrated by the lack of response, and by the shocked eyes that wouldn't go away.

"I'm sorry, what did you just say?" asked Ginny incredulously.

Hermione rolled her eyes in exasperation. She really didn't want to repeat herself. It wasn't as if she hadn't spoken about this before. Well, maybe not the hiring of an escort part. But the rest of it was not news. Books weren't enough to make her feel confident about this. She needed experience, as it were, in the field.

"Ginny, you heard me."

"I know you've wanted to get a notch on your bedpost before trying for the whole relationship thing with women but I thought you were just talking about hitting up a club and taking some random woman back to yours."

"That would be too messy. The pressure to… perform… would be too much."

"Hey, there are lots of witches out there who would love to be the one to show you the ropes."

"Witches who know who I am, expectations, feelings… No. I don't want any of that. Professional. Distant. Someone who doesn't care about the whole Golden Girl thing when she looks at me. It has to be someone that will see it as the detached transaction that it is."

Ginny furrowed her brow and Hermione watched her friend absorb everything. She could see that Ginny had moved past the shock of it and was now thinking of how to help make it happen.

"I suppose there are plenty of muggle escort services to look into."

"I thought about that. No muggles," Hermione said, looking down and blushing. "My magic, it's hard to control sometimes when I… get excited… There's a bit of a glow."

Ginny laughed. "Ron never mentioned that."

Hermione frowned. "Ron doesn't know." She stared at her friend who quickly realized what that implied. Hermione inwardly cringed. She hadn't meant to bring Ron into the conversation. But Ginny was her friend. Her only close female friend. She had no one else to talk to about this with.

"My brother is clueless."

She released a long breath. "I wasn't exactly a helpful wife in that regard. And then when I realized why that was… well, you know what happened after that."

Hermione pursed her lips and gazed out the window. She had really messed things up when she married Ron three years ago. After the war, it was like she put thinking in a locked box while she went through the motions of what everyone expected of her. Finished up her education at Hogwarts. Got a job at the Ministry of Magic and realized how hard it was to get to know people who only saw her as part of the Golden Trio and a hero. Ron was annoyingly persistent but steady. Familiar. He was a good person and had gone through a lot of the things she'd gone through in the war. And everyone else seemed to be pairing up permanently, like Harry and Ginny. Hermione told herself they could be happy and to ignore these other feelings that never quite went away. When Ron proposed, she said yes as a matter of course, submitting to the inevitability of it. The first year was pleasant enough but there was only so much faking happiness she could do. Then, having finally accepted that she was gay, she divorced Ron. It had been finalized six months ago and she was now sitting in a kitchen confessing to her friend Ginny that she never had an orgasm with her husband. She prayed Ginny wouldn't ask how she knew that about her magic when excited. Hermione was close with Ginny but were they 'sharing masturbatory experiences' close? No.

There was a period of time when Hermione literally had no one to talk to. A lot of denial and guilt made her try to salvage her struggling marriage but for the longest time she didn't have the courage to tell Ron what was really happening with her and why they could never work. And she was ashamed that her relationship was failing while others flourished. But after the separation and after months of staying away from the Potters, she began to reach out again. The effort took a toll on Hermione. Ron was still a presence in her friends' lives, and they were still figuring out how to make that work. He gave her space and tried to make sure she had time with her friends without him around but she could tell it was still awkward for Harry. Thankfully Ginny was a force of nature and never made her feel guilty for what happened with Ron. Ginny had always knocked sense into everyone when they got too caught up in their own shit, and Hermione loved her for it.

"Right. So, no muggles," replied Ginny, clearing her voice as if to clear away thoughts of her brother. "A witch. High-end, I should think. You'll want discretion, given who you are."

"And a reputable agency or whatever they're called. Paying for… well… I need to know without a doubt there's no coercion involved. She needs to be a fully consenting adult."

Ginny nodded.

"I can make some inquiries…"

"No. I couldn't ask you to do that. I… was just hoping you might have an idea of how I can go about this and who to call. I know how to make calls; this is for me after all."

"Yeah but you're famous. We can better hide your identity in whatever paper trail gets created if I'm the one who makes the arrangements."

"And what if it gets traced to you instead? You're a married woman. Married to the Boy Who Lived, I might add. The scandal would be tremendous."

"I can handle it. I'll just say Harry and I are the adventurous sort."

The two of them giggled. Smiling at her friend, Hermione felt her nerves calm. She was glad she had confided in Ginny.

"Preferences on what you want her to look like?"

"What? Erm, no. Attractive, I guess?" Hermione blustered, trying to avoid thinking about the image of the woman that came to mind at Ginny's question.

"You're going to be paying through the nose, at least be with someone who fits the type of woman you like."

"Ginny…"

"Hermione…"

Hermione chuckled and then bit her lip. Her friend was right, of course. Maybe this first experience could be the way to get rid of these thoughts forever. But then Ginny would know. Because there was no type, just a woman. A woman they both knew.

She took a deep breath and decided to take the plunge.

"Blue eyes. Blonde."

"All right. That shouldn't be a problem."

"Experience with women. Smart. About my height, maybe slightly taller. Slim. About my age, maybe a couple of years older."

Ginny nodded along, making mental notes.

Hermione swallowed and looked down. "French… and…" Oh Merlin, can I really say it? Ginny will know! She'll know!

She panicked and looked up. Ginny tilted her head as realization came over her. Her friend leaned forward and whispered.

"And Veela?"

Oh fuck, Hermione thought, her heart pounding. She blinked rapidly and sat up straight, looking at anything except Ginny. Maybe she could fake an emergency and disapparate right there.

Fleur Delacour had come a long way from being thought of as Phlegm in Ginny's eyes and Hermione had helped with that. After she'd been tortured, after what Fleur did for her in Shell Cottage, Hermione and Fleur formed a close friendship. When they won the war, she made it her mission to improve Fleur's standing with Molly Weasley and Ginny. Things had improved so much, Ginny and Fleur had formed a friendship of their own, keeping in touch even after Fleur and Bill divorced. That her own friendship with the Veela had become strained and then non-existent was another story, and one she refused to dwell on at this very moment.

Ginny reached for her hand and squeezed tightly.

"You could just ask her out. We don't talk as often as we used to but the last I heard, she was single," said Ginny gently.

Hermione's heart raced in anxiety. The last thing she wanted was to see Fleur. Not after what happened, not after all this time. Not when she'd finally managed to stop thinking about her every day. She'd been doing so well with once per week.

"No! Do not suggest that again, Ginevra Potter. And you are sworn to secrecy! You can't tell anyone about this. Not her, not Harry. No one."

"Fine," huffed Ginny. "I promise not to talk about this with anyone other than who I need to in order to make this fantasy of yours happen."

Hermione grumbled. "It's not a fantasy."

Ginny laughed and her eyes sparkled. If Hermione hadn't been so distressed at her friend now knowing about her attraction to Fleur Delacour, she would've been suspicious of her expression.

"Just so you know, it might take a while to arrange, especially given your list of preferences. A high-end, French Veela escort is a pretty tall order."

"She doesn't have to be Veela," conceded Hermione, now wishing she hadn't said anything at all.

"No, no, you can't back out now. If she's out there, I'll find her for you. I'll let you know when arrangements are made."

Hermione sighed. "Thanks, Ginny."

*::::*

Five weeks later, Hermione found herself in the suite of a top-tier muggle hotel in London, waiting for her guest to arrive. True to her word, Ginny had made all the arrangements, surprisingly saying she was able to fulfill all of her preferences. She had checked in under the name Monica Grey. That was only for hotel staff. Hermione had no delusions about hiding her identity from a witch who ran in upper crust social circles. She just hoped the promise of discretion wasn't an empty one.

It was around five minutes until nine o'clock at night, five minutes until she arrived, and Hermione nervously paced the room, clutching a gin and tonic in her hand, the ice having long melted. Soft music played on the small stereo next to the television. She had spent the last two hours debating on what to wear and eventually decided on a cream colored, long-sleeve, silk blouse and a charcoal gray pencil skirt that went down to her knees. Footwear gave her the most trouble and at the last second, she decided comfort was more important and settled on black ballet flats. Her hair was loose in soft waves that reached just below her shoulders. A light touch of eye makeup and rose-colored lipstick and she was ready. Hermione wasn't quite sure why she wanted to impress her guest; it's not as if it mattered what she looked like given she was paying for this but she wanted to at least look enticing.

A knock on the door stopped Hermione's pacing. She quickly downed the remnants of her drink and set the glass on the table, glancing at the various plates that room service had brought up fifteen minutes ago. It was way past dinnertime but she ordered wine and an assortment of fruits, cheeses, breads, and cold meats in case her date wanted some refreshment after some of their planned… activities.

She took a deep breath and calmed herself. This was what she wanted. Hermione had meticulously planned and prepared for this night by reading as much as she could, and even watching some erotic movies. The woman on the other side of that door was a professional and would answer all of her questions and refrain from judging her inexperience and naivete. She would enjoy herself and hopefully be able to do the same for her companion. And even if Hermione changed her mind about engaging in a physical encounter, at the very least she would be able to receive some verbal instruction from a woman who knew what she was doing.

Hermione started to feel butterflies in her stomach and a hint of arousal. It felt good to be excited about physical intimacy instead of dreading it. Flattening her hands across her abdomen, she smiled to herself, but then a horrible thought crossed her mind. This woman fit all the of the characteristics she'd given Ginny. A French Veela. What if she knew Fleur? Or knew of her?

Her eyes widened and the pit in her stomach grew even larger. Wasn't she doing exactly what Fleur had told her she'd always hated? How people only lusted after her, objectified her, saw her as nothing more than a plaything?

She had to stop this.

There was a stronger knock on the door.

Hermione grasped the door handle, turned it, and began to say, "I'm sorry, I think I made a m–"

Her heart stopped and the embarrassed smile froze on her face as she stared into familiar blue eyes. Eyes that had always seen right through her. Eyes that currently looked at her in amusement.

Hermione's throat went dry and for a split second, she thought about shutting the door. But it was too late.

Through all the confused feelings that battled within her, she knew one thing for sure.

She was going to kill Ginny.