Disclaimer: I do not own anything in relation to Walt Disney, Studio Ghibli, or J. K. Rowling's world of Harry Potter. This is merely fanfiction.
Author Note: Well, I was on tumblr the other day and saw someone who posted their thoughts on how great it would be to make a cross over of Fleurmione and Howl's Moving Castle, and I agree with them wholeheartedly. Let me make it clear that this version is of Disney and Studio Ghibli's recreation of Howl's Moving Castle, not the original novel by Diana Wynne Jones (it is great, though slightly more confusing.) Reviews/critiques are highly welcomed. (By the way, my main mission was to begin as closely to the storyline of the movie as possible, that is why some lines are taken directly from the movie and others are modified versions of what is said in the movie. I will deviate more as the story goes.) THIS IS A FLEURMIONE PARODY.
I – Strolling Through the Sky
The fog that day had been thicker than usual. Maybe she should have taken it as an omen, but then again she had never been one for superstition, ever the practical and logical mind that she was. No, such beliefs were held by silly women, interlaced within their own circles and gossip behind those impractically ornate fans and hats. And heavens knew her disposition was not inclined towards gossip.
The droning of a busy little town alive with the smells of smoke and bread hummed outside the quiet walls of her family's small bookshop. The sun had barely begun to rise and yet there she stood, already made and preparing for the day as was per routine. Today would be like any other day but for one exception; today, she was venturing out into the busier side of town, near where the pubs and taverns lined the streets and the militia was housed when on tour. It was common knowledge that the military presence boosted the economy and local businesses there, allowing for larger and more luxurious accommodations in comparison to those of the outskirts of the city where her family had always resided and probably would still be longer after she was gone. It was also common knowledge that the militia presence also made it unsavory for a young woman to walk the streets unaccompanied.
Still, Hermione Granger never feared the rumors and insisted on making the journey accompanied or not. Today she was going to visit her friend, Luna Lovegood, at the flower shop. They had been friends throughout their time at school together and now that Luna had recently taken up residence there in London, and subsequently finding a job at the heart of it, Hermione felt inclined to pay her a visit in place of her usual letters.
The young brunette had meant to start her trip early in the afternoon, estimating that between the brief walks and rides on the trolleys she could make it to the flower shop and back before supper, but as the fates would have it, finishing her chores around the shop took a bit longer than she had anticipated. Still, she thought as she gazed out the small window of the backroom, it wasn't too late. She could still make it back before nightfall if she hurried. A sudden knock at the door behind her made her jump, ripping her away from her reveries.
"Hermione," a kind voice called. "We've just closed the shop. You've done enough work, why don't you come out with us this time?"
It was Martha, her mother's old friend. Though kind and amiable, she was not the kind of company Hermione sought out, and neither were her younger associates. She couldn't help an inner sigh at the thought of the lot. If they did just a little less gossiping and a little more of what they were supposed to there wouldn't be any need for her to manage the shop from dawn until dusk like she usually did most days. Still, she managed a smile in return for the offer, though she had no intention of accepting it. And neither did she want to offend them with the information that she already had plans to see someone else. They wouldn't think twice to her declination and write it off to her lack of sociability.
"No, I'd better finish this. You go and have fun," she kept up her smile, hoping that they wouldn't insist. As if on cue, the older woman shrugged and began to turn back to the main room. Hermione had the slightest suspicion that she had only asked her out of pity.
"Alright, suit yourself," she turned to gather her things "Let's go girls."
Just as the brunette was about to get up from her seat upon hearing the women gather their things to leave, she heard one of them gasp, followed by hurried footsteps towards the windows.
"Look, it's Howl's castle!" she exclaimed, all the women seeming to follow her direction, gazing out the window and whispering excitedly in hushed voices. Out of curiosity Hermione turned to gaze out the window as well, focusing her vision to the distant hills where she caught a brief glance of a moving vessel before it vanished back into the thick fog.
It had been a long time since a witch had made an appearance in London, and though many of the townspeople thought it a bad sign and shut their blinds and eyes to the news, Hermione only held curiosity at the sight. She had never before had an encounter with a wizard and the thought of it both scared and thrilled her at once. Scared because of the rumors that had circled around the name Howl, but thrilled at the concept of experiencing something more than what the quaint, provincial side of London could offer.
"He's gone," another, younger voice rang, a heavy sigh escaping her lips.
"No, he's hiding in the fog from those planes," stated another in a matter-of-fact way. "Did you hear what happened to that girl, Martha, from Southhaven? They say Howl tore her heart out!"
"Now I'm too scared to go out!" the first nearly whimpered dramatically and Hermione supposed that that was how a sane person would react. She briefly contemplated her own sanity. This was not the first rumor of a young girl falling "prey" to Howl nor would it be the last. The wizard had quite the horrible reputation as a womanizer and tramp.
"Don't worry, he only preys on pretty girls," the second teased in a playful tone, the whole lot of them bursting out in laughter.
An indignant smile crossed the girl's lips. Between the militia and Howl any normal woman in her right mind would stay at home, safely behind closed doors. But Hermione had neither the mind nor spirit for such restrictions. Any anyway, both parties would only chase pretty girls, and if there was one thing Hermione never thought herself, it was pretty.
She absentmindedly touched her curly, auburn hair that had grown frizzy with the humidity in the air that day. It wasn't until she heard the sound of the front door shut that she was once again pulled from her reverie, and, suddenly remembering the time, quickly gathered her things and headed out the door.
Apparently, the country's military was out on a larger campaign than usual, the streets lined with tanks and the air planes that carried large banners with the royal family's insignia. The bands played a royal march as soldiers on both foot and horses lined the main streets, locals lining the sidewalks to cheer them on. There must be a war brewing with such displays of nationalism, thought Hermione as she struggled to find a place on the trolleys leading to the main heart of London.
'It's going to take ages to clean all the confetti off the streets at this rate,' she eyed the scores of it falling delicately, shimmering in the sunlight as it drifted down from every rooftop.
After what seemed hours of confined space and near claustrophobia at the back of an overcrowded trolley, Hermione finally exited a few streets away from her destination. Reluctant to take the main streets overflowing with citizens and far too much commotion for her tastes, she quickly pulled the address from her pocket and proceeded to navigate the back streets. Although still maintaining a few soldiers at key places, the brunette figured that their quiet and emptiness would offer a better environment to gather her thoughts as she traversed the narrow alleyways. She also figured that if she acted as if in a hurry to get somewhere, the less likely she was to be bothered by anyone. That is, until her theory was disproven when she caught herself running into a tall, broad-shouldered man in a blue and red militia uniform. She tried not to let the sudden anxiety show in her eyes then, but she felt her body freeze to the spot as she heard the cool arrogance seep from his words.
"Hey, looks like a little mouse lost its way," he grinned, eyeing her over as he leaned in. His casual posture, his elbow resting against the nearby wall with his other hand on his hip, betrayed the intent evident in his eyes.
"Oh, no, I'm not lost," Hermione stepped back, forcing herself not to think of the tales she had heard of women to walked the city streets alone. She knew she feared this man; she was no match in strength if she had to defend herself, and worse yet she was unarmed. But, she thought, even if she had been, it'd be a federal offense to attack a soldier, and it would be his word against hers. And she was nobody.
"This little mouse looks thirsty, we should take her for a cup of tea," he persisted, moving to hold himself against the wall now, his grin and bright eyes ever gleaming. She hated the fact that he was referring her to a mouse. As if she were a helpless, small thing, finding herself caught between the wall and the prowess of a hungry cat.
But that's what she was, now wasn't it? Helpless and defenseless. Out of stubbornness, she tried desperately to calmly walk past the guard, only to be caught by a second at his side. She supposed he had been talking to him this entire time. Again, she found herself forced to step back, the grip of fear creeping upon her faster than before. If she thought herself defenseless before, any hope left was extinguished at the realization that there was no way she could escape two if they so chose to pursue her.
"No thanks, my friend's expecting me," the firmness in her voice faltered at the last syllable, and she cast her eyes downward, avoiding any further eye contact with either. She thought franticly of someway she could escape from the situation unscathed. Though it seemed bleak, her will refused to submit.
"She's pretty cute for a mouse," the second soldier bent over to her eye-level and for a moment Hermione nearly let out a laugh at the enormous mustache that sat on his upper lip, nearly covering half his face. Still, she could not help but feel uneasy at the sudden closeness.
"How old are you anyway? You live around here?" the first guard once again spoke up in a suave voice, leaning even closer, forcing Hermione to take yet another step backward. What personal and forward questions to be asked by a complete stranger! His bold arrogance infuriated her as she finally found the courage in her voice.
"Leave me alone!" she persisted, the feel of anger spilling into her eyes and words, hoping to show that she would not give in easy to any advances.
"You see? Your mustache scares all the girls," the first soldier looked towards his partner who continued to stare at her intently. A mocking tone lingered in his words, this probably wasn't the first time he had advised the other man to abandon his facial hair.
"So? I think she's even cuter when she's scared."
'This is all a joke to them,' she pondered, a seething anger beginning to grip her. She could almost feel the welling of tears begin to build in her frustration and she wished she wasn't the helpless girl she was.
"'Zere you are, ma chérie. Sorry I'm late," and suddenly there was a hand, a light, feminine hand, at her shoulder, accompanied by a low, sultry voice hinted with a smile to her left. "I was looking everywhere for you."
Hermione could feel her eyes go wide and a blush creep onto her cheeks at the unexpected contact. She knew it must've been obvious by her own expression that she was just as surprised by this woman's swift appearance as the two soldiers were. Had they not seen someone walking up towards the group? They had been facing the direction in which she had come after all. The brunette had probably been too distracted by fear to have heard any footsteps.
And who was this mysterious woman anyway? The foreign accent evident in her words had effectively thrown the brunette into confusion and Hermione remained too in shock to turn and face her, though by her periphery vision she could tell that the woman was taller than her. Long, platinum blonde hair that seemed to gleam even in the alleyway shadows reached a moderate chest which was covered in a loose white blouse. Hermione's eyes were fixated to what hung there. An opaque azure stone in the shape of a teardrop, fixed on a gold chain with a small ruby connected lay suspended next to her as she felt the arm of this stranger wrap around her smaller frame. Her eyes had barely begun to take in the sapphire and black argyle jacket with silver cuffs and black slacks when her attention was stripped away once again.
"Hey, we're busy here," the mustached soldier warned indignantly, straightening his back to stand at full height. However, both guards' demeanor quickly shifted upon taking a proper glance at her would-be savior. Hermione observed the visible relaxation of their features, both once again dawning their most charming smiles, desire now clearly evident in their voices. Hermione reasoned that this woman must surely be beautiful to elicit such a prompt reaction.
"Through we would never deny the company of such a beautiful woman," the first footman slightly bowed, eyes running down the figure in front of him hungrily. His partner seemed still too in awe to speak.
"Would you really? 'Zat is quite a pity! It looked to me like 'ze two of you were just leaving," the blonde, much to Hermione's astonishment, laughed quietly under her breath. This woman didn't fear the situation they were in, the shorter girl realized in amazement. In fact, her mannerisms and tone exuded nothing but control and confidence.
And with an upward flick of her right index finger, long and graceful, the two men's posture straightened in stiff half-salutes accompanied by strained grunts. The confusion and fear clear-cut in their faces betrayed the fact that their bodies' movements were not of their own accord. A second diagonal flick of her finger and subsequent motion of her hand behind the two women had both soldiers marching off and away behind them without so much as a goodbye.
And with that the heavy veil of fear lifted from Hermione's being, only to be replaced by a curious dread as the realization struck her – she was in the presence of a witch. For a moment she briefly contemplated if she had, as they say, jumped from the frying pan into the fire. Perhaps being left alone with a witch would prove a more dangerous circumstance than that of being cornered by those guards.
"Try to not 'old it against 'zem. 'Zey are really not all 'zat bad. Where are you 'eaded? I'll be your escort 'zis evening."
Hermione chanced a glance up at face of her rescuer, the witch, and there she was met with a pair of dark cerulean eyes gazing back at her. They were disarmingly amiable with dark lashes and a twinge of amusement that played across her features. She wore a subtle smile, yet there was an odd distance in the way she looked at her, as if observing warily. The shorter woman had been right in her assumption of the blonde's height for she found herself staring up, the other woman being nearly a head taller. However, for as much elegance as her mannerisms had held, Hermione found it odd how her hair, platinum colored with a faded golden hue, appeared disheveled, as if she had been in a chase, low cut layers strewed across her face messily.
"Oh, I'm…" Hermione, despite the surge of calm she had felt staring into those eyes, was unsure whether she should divulge where she was going. The witch was dangerous, wasn't she? Yet, she had just saved her, and had not asked for anything but the direction in which to escort her. "I'm…just going to the flower shop."
Her reply had come almost without thinking, a swell in her chest in stubborn courage whose origins she could not determine. There was a slight twinkle in the blonde woman's eyes upon hearing her destination and Hermione could've sworn she briefly saw the corners of the witch's smile hitch ever so slightly, though the expression vanished just as quickly as she leaned down toward the brunette, leaving only a few inches between them.
"Do not be alarmed, but I am being followed. Act normal," she whispered, unknowingly sending a subtle flush to Hermione's cheeks at the near contact. The brunette wondered if even her voice was bewitched, but as she felt the taller woman's arm entwine with her own, gently pulling her forward on their way, the thought was pushed away in favor of the conclusion that every part of the other woman was enchanted.
'So much for a quiet day out in the town,' Hermione thought, trying to keep up with the blonde's long strides. Her practical, logical nature would never admit to being intrigued by the thought of danger, whatever it was this witch was involved with, much less admit the sensations she was feeling due to their close contact. 'Luna's not going to believe me when I tell her.'
Hermione fleetingly contemplated the advice given. 'Act normal,' the witch had instructed. But, really, she realized, there was nothing normal about them. Not in the way she had never been to this part of town before, not in the way the blonde witch was dressed (which was more masculine than she had expected a woman of her beauty to be dressed like,) and absolutely not in the way they were paired together, their company in one another as likely a companionship as that between a hawk and hare.
A cold chill swept in from behind abruptly, the alleyway suddenly growing darker, and Hermione felt herself stiffen, willing herself to not look behind. The light sound of creaking wood and the smell of tar overtook her senses, a telling sign of how close danger lurked. Out of instinct, she clung to the blonde's arm closer than before, trying to cover her nose and mouth from the stench with her free hand.
"Sorry, it looks like you have become involved," the witch sighed. If she felt the same anxiousness Hermione was now feeling, the blonde did not show it, her face ever calm. And that is when the shorter woman saw them, black, faceless figures materializing from the walls and floor of the alleyway ahead of them.
"'Zis way," the taller woman commanded, pulling them to take a left onto a brighter corridor, her pace quickening. Hermione took hold of the blonde woman's arm with both hands now, trying to keep up with her. Her anxiety grew as she began to hear the low growls of the figures approaching quickly. And suddenly, they were cornered, more materializing a few yards ahead of them, blocking their only path.
Hermione heard the gasp escape her lips as her eyes widened at the realization just as she felt the witch's arm encircle her waist. The figures lunged at them and she shut her eyes, bracing herself for impact.
"Not giving up 'zat easily, are you? 'Old on," the witch chuckled, suddenly lunging them into the air. A crash could be heard from below them and Hermione chanced a glance down, unbelieving at how high they had leaped, and they were still ascending. She uttered a small cry, grasping at the other woman as they raised into the air, higher than the rooftops, a rush of weightlessness overwhelming her. Hermione turned to the witch, suddenly aware that she was holding her hand, finding a gentle smile and a nod downward as they began to descend slowly, almost feature-like.
"Now, straighten your legs and start walking," the gentle whisper in her ear over the crowded, noisy streets below dispelled whatever fear remained within her at the thought of falling; and she found herself blushing when the blonde softly moved to hold both her hands in her own, her gaze providing a kind assurance of her safety.
Slowly she stretched out her legs in a walking motion, still feeling odd at the nothing at her feet. Her breath caught in her chest as gazed down onto the city below. The points of houses and shops lined her vision for what seemed miles, the umbrellas of shops and the buzzing people underneath and around them small enough to be unrecognizable by features alone. If ever a way there was to see the city sights, Hermione ventured in awe, then this would be the ideal. A small smile crept onto her lips then, as they slowly strolled their way through the sky.
"See, it is not so difficult, no?" The blonde's entertainment was evident in her words, in her smile, in the closeness she held the smaller woman in. She could see the way Hermione had quickly picked up on the magic of stepping, the uneasiness gone from her body language. And together they continued to walk towards the main square in mutual delight. "You are quite the natural."
The brunette could not keep the blush that rose to her cheeks at bay in light of the compliment and the astonishment of it all struck her as she and the witch stepped off the peak of a nearby steeple. She was walking on air, floating on magic, and all with this mysterious, wondrous beauty at her side. And with the thought of the other woman's beauty, they began to descend, down onto the top balcony of a four-story building.
Hermione's blush drained into embarrassment, wondering why on earth this stranger was being so kind to her, she of no significant name or prettiness or wealth. As she gently connected with solid floor, she once again looked up towards the blonde who stood on the thick wooden railing. And as their eyes locked once again, her thoughts were banished.
"I will make sure to draw them off, but do not leave 'zis place for a while," the cool confidence of her drawl inciting a smile from the smaller woman. She knew that accent, it was French, and she realized that she had never managed to ask her rescuer's name.
"Okay, but wait! Thank you, for before," she sputtered, thinking back to all that had transpired in such a short period of time. If she hadn't known better, she would have thought it all to be only the worst and best dream she had ever dreamt. "What's your name?"
"My name is Fleur Delacour," the blonde woman replied after a moment, bowing slightly. Slowly, she leaned in, her eyes never leaving Hermione's. "But I am also known as ''owl.'"
Eyes growing wide, Hermione stepped back in shock and at a loss for words. Had she heard right? The woman before her could not be the Howl she had heard of. Yet, somehow, she believed the woman's words.
"Until next time," Fleur smiled and for a moment Hermione could have sworn she saw a glimpse of disappointment in those dark blue eyes of hers. The brunette made her way toward the blonde, a sudden urge to touch the other woman's hand urging her forward, but before she could reach out to her, Fleur stepped back, jumping off the railing into the crowded streets below. She had already vanished when Hermione reached the railing, gazing down at the bustling city street below for any sign of faded golden hue.