Author: Carol Anne Caiafa
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: Fleur/Gabrielle, mentions of Bill/Fleur and implied Gabrielle/other female characters
Table: #1, Nature
Prompt: #9, Clouds
Word Count: 1,114
Summary: Sometimes what is most desirable is what is most familiar, and most forbidden…
Warnings: Incest, seduction, teenage sex (Gabrielle is 16) mild angst and adultery
Notes: Written for the 12_stories writing challenge community. May contain spoilers for Harry Potter books 1-7.
Fleur has never seen anything as perfect as her little sister’s hair. So like her own, silken and shimmering, soft like gossamer. White like a snowfall in springtime, or like the clouds that dance across a morning sky festooned with rainbows and showers of sparkling rain that soon blow away in the wind.
She brushes Gabrielle’s sleek silvery locks in tenderness and awe, unwilling to see the merest strand tugged forth and cast upon the rug. Gabrielle purrs like a contented kitten and gazes at her older sister in the mirror, her face aglow with adoration.
No other could ever match their loveliness; so alike in their exquisite radiance, they outshine everybody who comes near. Sometimes Fleur believes that Gabrielle is even more beautiful than she herself is, and that thought causes her no pain at all. In her adolescence Fleur would have been beside herself at the mere thought of any rival, but Gabrielle’s flawless skin, her shining hair and eyes full of such devotion to her beloved Fleur send only a pang of forbidden longing straight to the core of Fleur’s heart.
Gabrielle is breathtaking – just sixteen years old, no longer a little girl but not yet a full-grown woman. In one more year she will be of age, free to seek out any lover she desires, male or female, and perhaps she may find someone she will want to wed. The thought makes Fleur burn with a jealousy she dares not speak aloud. Fleur herself is happily married, and she cares for her husband Bill very deeply, but what she feels for him pales in comparison to the allure of Gabrielle.
Fleur bends to place a reverent kiss upon the top of Gabrielle’s blonde head. She trembles just a little as her darling smiles and whispers, “Je t’adore.” Eyes misty, Fleur returns the declaration of love, and knows deep down that it will be a woman Gabrielle finally takes to be her partner in life and love. Someone older, most likely – aside from a childish crush on Harry Potter, Gabrielle has never shown much of an interest in boys. Instead, she chatters endlessly about the Headmistress of Beauxbatons, Madame Maxime, and Bill’s very own mother, Molly Weasley – except for those times when she falls into rapt silence, gazing at Fleur as if she was the only being in the world who mattered, who meant anything to her at all.
Laying aside the brush after exactly one hundred strokes, Fleur picks up a sky-blue ribbon and begins to braid it into Gabrielle’s smooth and lustrous hair. She bites her lip, and tries to keep her thoughts pure. Bill could come into the room at any time, and knowing his wife so well, he could deduce from the guilty flush stealing across her face what she is aching for. Perhaps he could even detect a whiff of Gabrielle’s sweet scent – a light and childlike fragrance of white rose and violet, so unlike Fleur’s muskier, more blatantly enticing perfume – still clinging to her skin.
Last night was wrong, Fleur knows in her heart of hearts, but she had been unable to resist. Moth to flame is too mild a comparison for what drew Fleur into her sister’s arms as the moonlight shone into Gabrielle’s little room. Fleur had only meant to look in on Gabrielle, to make sure that her precious girl was sleeping soundly. She had expected to find Gabrielle all tucked in under soft sheets, white lashes fluttering on her pale cheeks, innocent and dreaming. But instead her sister was seated on the edge of the bed, completely naked. She rose to her feet as soon as the door swung open, and embraced Fleur fiercely, claiming Fleur’s lips in the wildest of kisses, her tongue capturing Fleur’s and her nipples pressed hard and swollen against Fleur’s sheer lace nightgown.
“Show me what it’s like to be taken, to make love,” Gabrielle whispered as she broke the kiss for mere seconds to nuzzle at Fleur’s neck. “Only you are perfect enough to be my first, sweet sister…” She nipped at Fleur’s smooth throat, and Fleur bit back a moan, clinging close to Gabrielle when she knew she should be pushing her away. She caressed her sister’s hair, hands shaking, and did not even protest when Gabrielle began to pull her towards the bed and purr seductive words that Fleur could not believe a girl so young would know.
Fleur’s gown was swiftly peeled off and cast to the floor, and her hands and mouth sought the curves of Gabrielle’s budding breasts, the moistened heat between her thighs. Her breath caught as her fingers slipped into the wet folds of her sister, her lover, and her tongue flickered and dipped to taste the sweetness of her angel Gabrielle.
Bill could have awoken any time and caught them. Seen them writhing, hot and wanton, as if possessed by lust. But he did not, and the sisters rested in each other’s arms until the first rays of dawn touched upon their faces. Then, with one last kiss to Gabrielle’s sweet lips, Fleur stole back to her husband’s side in the marriage bed. Deep in slumber, he did not wake or notice she had gone at all, merely stirring slightly and murmuring a word that might have been Fleur’s name, or just some fragment of a dream.
Fleur herself lay awake until Bill rolled over and placed a tender kiss upon her lips. The freshness of the early morning made him amorous, but she gently rebuffed his attempts to arouse her with that most ancient of all excuses, a supposed headache. He settled for holding her close, spooned against her back and caressing her hair, just as Fleur had stroked Gabrielle’s.
Now Fleur stands and remembers all, silent and ashamed. She has betrayed the man she married, and although she has not exactly corrupted her younger sister’s innocence, she has led her even further from the path of what is right.
And what makes Fleur’s eyes prick with tears and her stomach churn with self-disgust is that she wants to lie with Gabrielle again. She aches for night to fall once more, so that she can cover that sweet angel-girl’s lithe body with kisses, and take her hard until Gabrielle bites her lips to avoid screaming Fleur’s name out loud.
Fleur finishes braiding her sister’s hair and leans down to kiss her once again. Gabrielle is beaming, both at her own beauty and with boundless love for Fleur. All too soon, the summer holidays will end and Gabrielle will return home to France and to her schooling at Beauxbatons. It is for the best, Fleur realises, but she knows that she will be inconsolable when she is left with only memories and gossamer clouds to remind her of that glorious, sleek silver-white hair so like her own.