Author: Lash_Larue
Title: "Not Fate" Chapter one of 28
Pairing: none now, Fleur Delacour and Hermione Granger are featured
Rating: PG
Summary: Things don't always work out like one expects
Warnings: Angsty, non-epilog compliant
Word Count: 1050
Disclaimer: These characters belong to JK Rowling
A/N: Present day, not my usual
"Not Fate"
Chapter One
The sun was warm on Hermione Granger's skin as she wandered the shore of the small Caribbean island. The resort was exclusive, and very expensive, and she really couldn't afford it.
But it was warm and uncrowded and nobody knew her, and those were all things that she desperately needed.
She was tired of being famous, tired of the demands on her time and talents, tired of being expected to have all of the answers. She was tired from her divorce, tired of being asked what went wrong, as if she and Ron were a couple of destiny, or something.
They had been thrown together by events and had clung to each other in their fear and uncertainty, but in the years following the war whatever passion they had for each other had faded, and the marriage along with it. She couldn't understand why everyone had been so surprised and upset. She and Ron had each lost friends because of their divorce, it seemed that they all had to take sides for some reason. Ron and Hermione were perfectly friendly with each other, indeed, they made much better friends than lovers, but they couldn't even enjoy one another's company without the disapproving glares of one faction or another.
Harry blamed Ron, and Ginny blamed Hermione, and as a result neither she nor Ron could be around their best friends either together or alone, and so now they didn't even speak to each other when passing in the street. She had resumed the name she was born with and pressed on.
Guiltily, Hermione admitted to herself that she was relieved that her pregnancies had failed. She had an ache that never went away, but she knew that things were simpler without children involved. Even her parents never mentioned grandchildren any longer, and Hermione felt guilty about that as well.
So now she had spent most of her savings in a quest to find a little peace and anonymity, and somewhat to her surprise it seemed to be working. No one showed more than a polite interest in her here, she was after all a fairly ordinary looking thirty year old woman, presumably well-off, who sent clear signals that she wished to be left alone, and the few other vacationers here were like-minded.
She had two weeks left, then back to the world.
Two weeks to plot a future for herself that was what she wanted, not what was expected of her.
She spread her towel out and lay face down in the sun, letting the warmth ease the ever present tension as the soft sand formed itself to her like the lover she didn't have, didn't want, and didn't need.
xxxx
Fleur Delacour walked the familiar strand as if she owned it. She did not, but she had spent her summers here as far back as she could remember. The resort staff all knew her and liked her, for the Delacours had always been generous to the residents of the small island, and the fact that the family's fortune had dwindled had not lessened the islanders regard for them.
The vacation home on this island was all that was left; Fleur's father had managed to preserve it when his business collapsed. Perhaps the death of Fleur's mother had caused him to make the blunders he had made, but his memories of the joy of the island home had been strong enough for him to secure that for his children as best he could before he ended his life. Gabrielle could not bear to be there, not yet, and in any case was fully occupied with her career in the French Ministry. The petite woman was the most feared Auror on the continent.
Fleur taught charms at Beauxbatons, she was a very good teacher and enjoyed her work as much as her sister did hers.
But a Professor and an Auror did not have the income to support a home on this island, and Fleur had been faced with difficult decisions.
"I cannot decide, Fleur," Gabrielle had told her, "I am sorry, but I must leave it to you. I promise not to question your decision, and it should be yours, you love the place more than I do. You know what I can afford to contribute to the house, and I pledge to do it. But I cannot decide. I love you, Fleur."
The sisters had held each other long, sharing the grief that was theirs to share.
As for the grief that she could not share, Fleur shouldered it alone. Oh, there were many volunteers to lighten her burden, at thirty-two Fleur was at the peak of her beauty. She was also at the end of her patience with men and women who were so taken with it that they never looked past it.
Bill had, but Bill was gone.
"The wolf is growing in me, Fleur," he had said. "I will always love you, but I have to be with my own kind. It is not safe for me to stay with you."
"Where will you go?" she had asked him.
"I have no idea," he answered, and he walked out the door.
The Weasleys had been unanimous in blaming Fleur for the failure of the marriage and Bill's leaving, as they had blamed her for the lack of children. That didn't sting as much as she had thought that it would, she had never believed that they cared much for her anyway.
Fleur had come to the island to plan her future, and to put the house in the hands of an agency that would handle the rental and maintenance of it. It had been the only way that she could keep it. It hurt, the thought of strangers living in her special place, for it had always been just family here. Even Bill had never been. But for the single week each year that she would be able to afford to be here, it would be hers. Perhaps some day Gabrielle would come with her. That would be nice.
A small sound of irritation escaped her lips as she saw that someone was laying on her favorite spot on the beach.
She turned on her heel and headed inland.
It was time to pack up the house anyway.