Beneath the Apple Tree
As they strolled through the lush, sunlit gardens, the peaceful chirping of birds and the soft rustling of leaves enveloped them in a tranquil symphony. The vibrant greenery was dotted with bursts of color from blooming flowers, and the faint scent of jasmine lingered in the warm air. For the first time that day, Hermione felt her tightly wound mind begin to ease, the overwhelming pressures of ruling slipping away under the serenity of the moment. Fleur, her hand still firmly clasped in Hermione’s, walked beside her with a graceful yet playful bounce in her step, her gaze sweeping across the scenery with childlike wonder.
“Look, mon amour,” Fleur exclaimed suddenly, her voice bright with excitement as she tugged Hermione’s hand and pointed ahead. “That tree! The apples are so red and ripe. They look perfect—let’s pick one!”
Hermione followed her wife’s gaze, her eyes landing on a majestic apple tree standing proudly in the center of the path. Its sturdy branches stretched wide, weighed down with plump, ruby-red apples that gleamed in the sunlight. She couldn’t help but chuckle softly at Fleur’s enthusiasm. One of the things she adored most about her wife was her ability to find magic in the smallest moments, turning the ordinary into something extraordinary.
Fleur wasted no time. Letting go of Hermione’s hand, she dashed toward the tree, her silvery hair catching the sunlight as she ran. She stood beneath its branches, her hands on her hips as she studied the apples above her. Determined, she stretched on her tiptoes, reaching for the nearest apple. Her fingers just barely grazed the fruit before she lost her balance and stumbled back slightly.
Hermione lingered a few steps behind, watching the scene with an amused smile playing on her lips. Fleur, undeterred, tried again, this time hopping slightly to add height to her reach. But the apple remained stubbornly out of her grasp.
“Need some help?” Hermione asked, her voice calm and teasing as she approached.
Fleur turned to her with a pout, though it quickly melted into a playful grin. “I was just about to get it,” she claimed, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face.
Hermione’s smile widened. “Of course you were,” she replied, her tone indulgent. Before Fleur could argue further, Hermione knelt slightly and, with practiced ease, slid one arm around her wife’s waist. In a single, graceful motion, she lifted Fleur into the air as though she weighed nothing.
Fleur let out a surprised gasp, her laughter ringing out like a melody. “Hermione!” she exclaimed, her cheeks flushing as she found herself perched securely in her wife’s arm. “You didn’t have to do this!”
Hermione looked up at her, her expression calm but tinged with affection. “No sense wasting time,” she said smoothly. “Go on, get your apple.”
Still giggling, Fleur reached out from her elevated vantage point, plucking the bright red fruit with ease. She held it up triumphantly, her eyes sparkling with delight. “Got it!” she declared, looking down at Hermione with a wide grin.
“Well done,” Hermione replied, her voice low and fond, before setting Fleur back down, Hermione took a moment to admire the way Fleur’s laughter seemed to brighten the entire garden. It was a rare sight to see the Empress—known for her cold, commanding presence—cradling her wife so gently, her entire demeanor soft and relaxed. In these moments, when it was just the two of them, Hermione could let her guard down completely, showing a side of herself that only Fleur ever saw. As Hermione gently lowered Fleur back to the ground, their eyes met, and there was a shared, unspoken understanding between them—this was their world, where nothing else mattered but each other.
Fleur, still holding the apple, glanced at Hermione with a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Would you like the first bite, mon cœur?” she asked, tilting her head slightly as she held the fruit out.
Hermione smirked, leaning closer until their faces were inches apart. “Only if you share it with me,” she murmured, her voice like a gentle caress.
With a soft smile, Fleur took a delicate bite of the apple, savoring the sweetness before raising it to Hermione’s lips. Their eyes met as Hermione leaned in, taking a bite from the same spot. The crisp, juicy flavor of the apple was sweet, but it paled in comparison to the sweetness of this shared moment.
They lingered there beneath the tree, passing the apple back and forth, their laughter mingling with the rustling leaves. Around them, the garden seemed to glow with life, the sun casting golden rays through the branches above. For Hermione, the weight of the empire felt distant, insignificant. Here, with Fleur, she wasn’t the Empress; she was simply a woman in love, cherishing the one person who made her world brighter.
“You see, mon amour?” Fleur said softly, her voice carrying a tender warmth as she leaned her head against Hermione’s shoulder. “Taking a break doesn’t mean forgetting your responsibilities. It just means remembering what gives you the strength to carry them.”
Hermione wrapped an arm around Fleur, pulling her closer as they began walking again. “And that would be you,” she murmured, her voice steady but filled with emotion. “You’re my strength, Fleur. Always.”
Fleur smiled, squeezing Hermione’s hand as they strolled through the garden together. In this quiet corner of the world, surrounded by nature’s beauty and the simple joys of each other’s company, Hermione felt a rare and profound sense of peace. For all the burdens she carried as Empress, moments like this made it all worthwhile.