Christmas 2015 note - This story is a rogue companion piece for Vertigo. The themes are very dark, nihilistic, abstract and sexual. If you're looking for a more direct sequel to Vertigo both in style and substance, I'm afraid this is not it.
i. space dementia
Sunday, October 15th, 2000; Department of Mysteries.
What did she tell you, Bellatrix…?
About Hermione.
About her thrall.
About the seeds.
"Mmm…" Fleur continued to stroke her face thoughtfully, careful to not scratch herself, however appealing it may have been to do so, "I have thought of using the Granger girl to help me along with this plan. Hermione, yes.. Lucius, what is the status of the Repository Chamber in the Sorceress Memorial?"
"I have tampered with it just enough so that it will have no effect whatsoever on you should we ever fall," Lucius said proudly, glancing predatorily at Bellatrix as he did so. "However, you will be weakened considerably once inside... Should Delacour ever be faced with enough of an emotional upheaval even after being freed from the Chamber, you will be at risk for possible destruction.."
"Worry not about that, Lucius," said Fleur dismissively with a wave of her hand, blowing more purple haze in front of her face, "it cannot be helped. There must be risks taken and I am not coward enough to simply neglect such an opportunity."
"Exactly what do you have in mind for your thrall, my Lord?" Bellatrix asked earnestly.
"Ahh…yes, yes.. Fleur's thrall… You see, she and Hermione have quite the lovely bond, with their relationship being most powerful. Despite it helping to break down Fleur's barriers, I admit that the feelings even overwhelm me sometimes.. It is most tragic. However, I can certainly use this to our advantage and plant…seeds.."
"…'seeds', my Lord?" Bellatrix asked, confused. Fleur chuckled and nodded, casting her eyes to the high, dark ceiling as she did.
"Yes.. yes, oh yes… I will keep that part secret. A surprise, if you will, when it works. Hermione will be an excellent back-up for us once this happens. But, again, neither of us will be without our weaknesses… Unfortunately. And yet Fleur's thrall.. it has the power to seduce, to control, to ensnare the senses, the mind, the will… To possibly even freeze time, just as it preserves her beauty…"
Walk you zombie, walk.
Walk down these aisles.
Walk through these orbs.
Walk among these tiles.
Walk, crippled, walk.
Walk for your Delamort.
Walk because you're dead.
"Lord Delamort.." Bellatrix continued slowly. Fleur beamed approvingly and chuckled, "you must be certain that the…the girl and her friends are on her way. She will want to defeat you and have her woman back."
"For now," Fleur said simply.
"For now?" Lucius drawled. "Exactly what do you have in mind for her?"
"A Kiss of Death."
"You're going to kill her?" Bellatrix screeched. Fleur winced and shook her head.
"Even if so, wouldn't you just love that, Bella..?" Fleur asked slowly. Bellatrix showed no sign of acknowledgment, and Lucius looked at her fearfully. "Hm? I asked you a question. You, my loyal follower. Or am I just talking to myself? I've grown tired of that over these past few months, you see. Speaking to Fleur who thought she was above me, who thought she could get away with not listening to me."
You will listen to me.
You have only one chance.
You're not scared.
You can't die.
Echo, footsteps, echo echo echo the sounds of your footsteps of desire to redeem yourself.
You're holding on.
You need to hold your ground; keep walking.
You need to keep leading the woman to her death.
Ignore her struggling, ignore her bleeding, ignore her curses at you – she can't kill you for you are already dead.
The cousin Lucius overlooked is the ace up my ripped, feathery sleeve.
"It's.. rather funny, really," Fleur breathed, just audible enough to echo dangerously throughout the Atrium, "how attached I've grown to dear Hermione. She helped me, us.. Without her, I doubt Delamort would be speaking to you right now, holding onto your life in between her claws. It is true that love has the power to destroy me, but what doesn't kill me only makes me stronger. Hermione…she has done this for me. I owe her a great deal.
"And if it means submitting to Fleur's stronger will of making Hermione my Queen, then so be it. I do not have complete control over this woman's body, Bella. She is far stronger than I could have ever imagined. Hermione makes her stronger. Hermione will lead me to greatness. So, no, I do not want her killed. I wish to simply improve her. And to see you try to belittle her with your jealousy… Bella, Bella, Bella…I thought more of you.."
You pathetic woman.
Pathetic, Bellatrix – pathetic.
Jealousy lost your life.
Life lost your jealousy.
Live your lost jealousy and do this for me.
"Do not lie to Lord Delamort," Fleur growled, finally taking the opportunity to dig her talons further without any patience for making Bellatrix suffer slowly. "You dare disrespect Hermione. You filthy woman. I am the one with the fool-proof plan, even should I fail when Hermione arrives. You are of no use to me, doubting the woman Fleur loves. If you doubt Hermione, then you doubt me. If you are jealous of Hermione, then you are jealous of me. She and I will soon be one… Separate entities.. but still one, powerful, romantic being."
Bellatrix's eyes rolled to the back of her bleeding head, and Fleur shouted in disgust while she ejected the filth from her grip and immediately sent her flying into Lucius's pathetic form. The violet was growing in power, more and more and more, and Lucius pinched Bellatrix to get her to stop her pitiful drooling. Bellatrix and Lucius both watched feebly as Fleur extended an arm out to them, making her palm face them while she moved her body about to face them in profile. Her nostrils were flared, violet eyes were narrowed still, and her fingers were curled ever so slightly.
"I know you both doubt me," Fleur said loudly, "just as you doubt Hermione. I see it in your fear; I smell it in your doubt that I do not have complete control over Fleur. You doubt my actions, my decisions, my very being. You even doubt why I removed your Marks. Lucius, for you, it is because you disobeyed my orders. There is an entire city, a metropolis of living Veela in Diagon Alley that I'm choosing to let alone for now. Paris, Lucius. Paris! Despite the wonder that is Fleur, you failed me. And Bella, you dare insult Hermione with your wicked thoughts. I do not need followers. Hermione is all I need…"
Hermione, not you.
Hermione, Hermione, Hermione, Hermione…
Hermione needn't ever know about this. Not until the time is right.
Hermione is the one.
Hermione is the one.
Hermione is, you are not.
Hermione is under the woman's care.
Hermione will slowly be exposed to the agency for my seeds.
And once I have returned, naïve little Hermione will suck them right in.
A powerful gust began to erupt behind the two ex-Death Eaters, blowing at them, towards Fleur, just as every bit of wind in the room did. Every single particle of sound, air, movement, light, emotion; it all gathered right at the centre of gravity that was Fleur's powerful hand. Lucius and Bellatrix could only cower on the ground, immobilised by the anger gathering high above their heads. The sounds in the room all melded into an amethyst black hole at Fleur's palm still pointing down at Bellatrix and Lucius; more and more did everything continue to gather at the centre, building in strength, in magnitude, in desire.
And then it all stopped. Fleur stopped gathering power. Any light in the room was gone except for the golden glow of Fleur's skin and feathers. Any sound that remained was from the gentle flap of her single wing. Any emotion that lingered still was the violet laser from Fleur's line of sight, burning Lucius and Bellatrix on the ground. Fleur merely smirked at them and shook her hair from her eye before speaking softly, but audibly enough for them to hear her as clear as crystal.
"Love has given this to me. Such…sweet irony. I am a Sorceress; I can control time inadvertently, I can control emotions, but I cannot control Hermione. Not now, not ever…but she will stand by my side. And, depending on what I decide, perhaps I will be able to sit here and file my nails in peace. Hermione will come.. She will. But until then…"
The slice of pained, fearful looks upon Lucius and Bellatrix's faces and the overwhelming pounding of their heartbeats in their chests were cut short and overwhelmed by a loud vortex of emerald, two screams, and three tinkling bells of sinister laughter.
That was when I killed you.
Don't you remember, Bellatrix? Your moment of glory…
You are an Inferi; soon she will be one, too.
Nothing lies in your way of fulfilling your duties.
You will be my follower no longer once the woman is dead.
I want her dead.
I want her immortal; freeze her beauty and blood and blonde to hypnotise Hermione. A subtle hypnotism, you pathetic woman – one to keep her loyal to Fleur. I want that hook in deep and I want it to stay.
I want her as my only follower; my only blood relative; the only one I can ever trust besides Hermione.
Drop down this pit hole; fall down, down, down in the darkness, drown in your own vertigo; drink the adrenaline and don't you dare drop the woman. Dance in the dust of darkness and don't you dare drop the woman. Keep dropping, dropping, dropping, drop drop drop drop drop –
Stop.
Don't hit the ground.
Hover.
Glide up
Stand
And walk.
Walk her to the veil. Ignore the voices. Ignore the cries. Ignore the rage.
Shove her in.
Pull her out.
Let her writhe; watch the purple in her eyes as she tries to resist; watch her try. Watch the mist of her family and friends surround her, suck the life from her, make her scream and cry and agony.
Kill her. Kill her. Kill, kill, kill; surround her in the emerald of your envy.
The mist is her dead life.
Let her be.
Go inside the veil and stay there. She will summon you, and everyone else, once I have the strength to control her.
She will observe in the mean time.
Observations – Patient: Hermione Jean Granger, Session 1398
Tuesday, August 3rd, 2002
She still hasn't made the decision to move out of her parents' home and into one of her own, or at least the Burrow. Sitting here in her room, at her desk, while she is lying on her bed and staring at the darkened ceiling will never get old, but she is aging, though it seems that she's aging far too much. She is twenty-two, I'm thirty, but it feels like she's so much older than me in terms of where we are in life. Sure I've been through a lot. So has Hermione. She reminds me of Fleur now that I'm taking the time to notice, watching her behind my spectacles. Spectacles that don't help with more than reading, might I add. Spectacles that can't do anything but help me to see her outline more clearly and try to decipher her body language.
So long it's been, almost, since Fleur's been released from the Sorceress' Memorial. She used to have at least one visitor every single day for nearly fourteen hundred days. SM referred me to Mademoiselle Granger to keep watch on her; the government knew that she'd need therapy and someone to talk to throughout the entire ordeal. Still, the ordeal is over, and my cousin is doing just fine, but I haven't divulged any details to Hermione. She hasn't asked me about Fleur.
She knows Fleur is staying with me. She wants to see her, I know she does. Still, she airily changes the subject whenever I offer to have them meet. She confuses me, Hermione – the woman went to SM to simply watch the blizzard for a room that Fleur was in, every day, for four years straight. She brought gifts, she spoke quietly to her. She kept her promise of waiting for her. So now that no more waiting needs to be done, she's biding her time. Stalling; I understand why. Still, I just wish she wouldn't.
She is stubborn, Hermione. Stubborn, sensitive, slightly senile, struggling with herself, still somehow sensible, short-tempered, spent… She still loves Fleur – this much I'm certain of. She and I have discussed Fleur, her feelings her uncensored fantasies her desires her longings passions wants needs. She keeps saying that she needs to apologise once more to Fleur. Sorry is a hard word for Hermione to even say casually, as are the following words – flower, rain, run, kiss, breathe, Hogwarts, Slytherin…
Still, Voldemort is a name that she says vehemently. She has a backbone now. She still has her pride. She still has her bravado. She's grown so much. Still, four years is a long time. So long for someone with a broken heart to keep on living, though I know she's tried to see Fleur through me because we look so much alike. She's said that though Fleur and I look like twins, almost, I don't share her eyes. Shared eyes are between Hermione and myself. Some funny coincidence, really. She'd laughed and said that maybe if she and Fleur ever had a daughter, that she'd look like me.
She still laughs and smiles with me; she's comfortable with me. She trusts me. She's said many times that I'm more of a best friend than just her Therapist. She thinks that everyone else has moved on with their lives and don't have room to understand why she feels so stagnant, though she is getting on just fine. Surplus isn't coming in for her because she quit her previous job a month ago. She lost her nerve the closer and closer it came for the time for Fleur to be released. So now she just lies in bed and I sit here, at 'work', while Fleur is at our home, presumably reading. Sometimes she'll lie there dejectedly, other times proudly, sometimes tiredly while she lulls herself to sleep by pining over Fleur or from me soothing her, telling her that Fleur will still be around once she's ready to see her.
Still, I wonder about Hermione. She'll see Fleur once she's ready. Sometimes I wish I could help more, but she does loosen up considerably whenever I take her out for a few drinks in Paris with the others. Sometimes I wish I could play Cupid for them, but that's not my job. She'll muster up the courage on her own. So, until then, all I can do is sit here and let her gaze at me like I'm my cousin, though I know I'm not.
Such a shame…
-Chanel Valentine Delacour.
This was also rueful Fleur who needed Hermione to aleeV her.
Identity seemed to revolve around one for her.
Hermione…
To love the one who gives her meaning, breathing and living was immensely, wholly incredible and incomparable to anything else. And yet the world just had to intervene and rip that security away from her.
That was the source of her true fury, her confusion and absolute Pandemonium– not the manufactured one from the demented soul inside of her.
July 1998; Repository Chamber, Sorceress Memorial.
Hermione. Where is Hermione? Have I protected Hermione? Is she safe? Is she protected? I have to rely on scraps of hope that she's taken care of… Faint hues of effervescence, mild memories and a heart re-born for her… I can't do anything but…pray. Pray? Me? Praying… I can actually think clearly for the first time… My mind isn't coloured purple anymore. I can see the shades of brown and red and cream but I can't taste them.
I can't taste you. I can't hear you. I can't touch you. But I can see you… I almost feel as if the part of me that I've lost, the part of me that you love, is watching you. Watching you… Like I always have.
I always watched but could never get too close. Because of fear, because of obliviousness, because of…time barriers. Locked away, secret memories…tender feelings no one could ever know… Memories of longing, memories of feeling hurt by your scowl… I'd sneer or just not react at all to your non-verbal abuse, but I wonder sometimes… Hermione, I wonder if all along we were just duelling. You would always make the first move and I would never be provoked to react verbally.
I'm sorry. I lost control when I shouldn't have and made myself vulnerable to him. But you were just so inviting…you didn't even have to say a word. I couldn't understand my odd craving to make sure you were protected that night. How many years has it been now…? I don't even know how long I've been in here… Will I be out today? Tomorrow? The next day? Day…
How are your days, Hermione? I can see them but at the same time I can't. The transmission is muddled… it's frustrating me to no end, or at least it is in theory. I've stopped feeling. The only thing I can feel is this ever-burning fire, warming me enough to keep me alive but burning my insides all at the same time – I burn for you, I freeze as I wait and melt when my patience is ripped to shreds. I've ripped your heart in ten thousand, haven't I? Just tell me if I have…
September 2000
Mirages in the blizzard; I can see you now that the Chamber is helping me suppress him, but that gluttonous part of me refuses to ever really leave… I can see you there, smiling, just under the blue gate that I'm crossing… Smiling because I'm pure again, because I'm back to the one and only one you love and because I'm free and happy. I'm seeing through the very vast, frozen expanse that's been what I've called eyes since I was nine. I've always had such a cold gaze; an arctic one that still somehow managed to burn you with rage, or jealousy, or love every time I looked at you.
I'm not supposed to be weak, but it is weakness in and of itself that I'm in here – I lost control. How am I supposed to get it back? By staying in here, doing nothing and everything all at the same time while I think and think and think and think and think about you? You, Gabrielle, our family, our friends, my life, your life… I feel like I've seen your life all before. Protecting you is completely natural. If I'm strong enough to protect you, it makes me feel like I can do anything; absolutely anything I set my mind to. I can't get out of here because I need to rid myself of half of who I used to be.
But even if he never left me, you would still love me. I know you would. You would follow me across the universe and back and over and around again if it meant stopping somewhere in between and being able to share your love with me. I know you would…because I would do the same, and then some. What if I get out and nothing changes? What if I'm free again and yet I can't even remember what I do for hours on end, only to 'wake up' and find that you're angry with me? The first time you woke me up like that was healthy for our relationship, and yet…
And yet I don't want it to happen again. One of the things I'm afraid of is making you angry. If I ever make you angry again…I won't know what to do. It's going to end up happening, I know it will, but I still can't say that I'll be prepared for it. Maybe you're angry now because I was obviously angry with you that day... It wasn't me that hated you, though… I don't know. That doesn't even deserve to be an excuse.
But shouldn't I hate you? I should hate you for being so selfless and kind and innocent. Well…almost innocent. I can't even think of any half-baked reasons for hating you. Even your faults are something that I admire, just because they're a part of you. They're hidden and interwoven so intricately with you, with what I love of you, all of you, and I couldn't pick them out with such vague, empty entities such as words even if I tried. Thinking for so long in between dreamless sleep is wonderful, but…speaking… I haven't tried it, and I'm afraid to.
I feel demented and uninhibited and absolutely insane at the moment, all the time, never, today, yesterday, last year, the next century – where are my thoughts going and why am I letting them stray so simply? I have some need to fulfil, involving you, and yet I don't know what it is, I can't pin it down with words, and yet it's there. It's there it's there and I can see it so clearly despite this purple haze. My thrall is still permeating the sanctity of this Chamber; I feel it and I feel you, and yet I'm too afraid to open my eyes and see anything. Even if I keep my eyes closed, all I see is you. I see you in between this universe that is my stark, starless gaze that I wish I could make into reality. But what does that even mean…?