Guys, yall are amazing. Seriously a source of my inspiration. I didn't expect to get that many reviews on my story, honest.
I think people would get a lot more out of this story if they knew that the title of the story is "Souvenirs" which is French for "memories." I'll leave you guys to guess how that all factors into the story. ;)
Also, a concern was brought up that the dates were a bit confusing so to keep it simple, if there are any time skips, it'll be bolded by MONTH, YEAR – brief description of time. ie May 1998 – End of 2nd Wizarding War
If you're in need of lighter, fluffy Fleurmione, I wrote a PWP fanfic called Breakfast. I'm trying not to flood the #fleurmione tag on tumblr with my art/gifs too.
Enjoy~
Chapter 2: Silence and Skeletons
November 2000 – Present time
Quickly grasping for her wand, Fleur pointed it at Hermione's mouth and muttered an incantation, drawing water out of the other witch's lungs. She had heard that it often left the person's mouth chronically dry for several hours after being charmed, but that was Hermione's own fault, slipping into the lake with such disregard,
Slipped? Who was she kidding? Hermione out of her own free will—Fleur couldn't detect the slightest hint of foul magic-dove into the lake.
Looking down at the soaked girl, examining her lithe and malnourished body, Fleur realized that she wasn't looking at the same Hermione she remembered. The one she remembered knotted her tie to precision, kept her clothes immaculate, and harbored bravery and determination in her brown, even when she had dark circles under them.
No. Fleur was looking at the skeleton of Hermione, as if someone had stolen all that Hermione was; brilliant, vivacious, bossy and ever so kind, leaving her wearing a ragged, oversized sweater and trousers. The dark circles under Hermione's eyes were almost as pronounced as her eyebrows, her hair long and shaggy, as though she had gone many months without cutting it. The weightlessness of the younger girl she was holding made Fleur uncomfortable.
At least Hermione was breathing now.
Fleur made quick business of undressing and redressing the sickly looking girl, her cold skin an unhealthy shade of olive . As soon as she was done, Fleur pushed her sofa as close to the fireplace as possible before laying Hermione down on it, cocooned in blankets.
This is bad, Fleur thought, she should at least be shivering.
Not knowing what else to do, Fleur went outside and gathered the larger, rounder rocks in her garden; she returned to the hearth and placed the rocks near the fire to absorb heat. After a few minutes, she picked them up with tongs and stuffed them under the sofa's cushions. With nothing left to do, she changed her own wet clothing and sent her owl to McGonagall.
Waiting is the worst, Fleur thought as she opened her textbook filled with notes. She looked over the comments from Transfiguration; the neat observations about the class and the students were written in flourished handwriting. She read through the first paragraph before her mind wandered back to Hermione.
Maybe she should call Pomfrey to make sure the girl was alright. Something inside Fleur went against the thought; the knowledge that Hermione would not like to make a big deal out of it. She had already messaged the headmistress after all, that should've been enough.
Even more worried than before, Fleur found herself checking Hermione's pulse. Slow, yet steady. Sparks danced on her fingertips as she made a trail from the young girl's pulse point on her neck to jaw then cheek. It had been so long since she had touched her, since she had felt warmth in such a way.
January 1996 – Before the 2nd Task
For the sake of Fleur's reputation, it became an unspoken rule that they did not speak to one another in public. Hermione was also somewhat thankful; it saved her the embarrassment of eating her own words. "Loud and arrogant," she exclaimed to Harry and Ron the night after the opening feast if they had not been there. Truthfully, Fleur had the voice and grace of an angel.
"Just a pretty face," Hermione added, but she was well aware of Fleur's ambition, penchant for responsibility, innate intelligence and captivating wit.
They met eyes at breakfast the morning after their incident, Fleur nodding slightly in her direction. Noticing Hermione's gaze, Ron looked in the same direction.
"She's a 'ooker, isn't she?" Ron asked between large bites of sausage. "Then again, you don't like 'er much right, 'Mione?"
Hermione shook her head, gripping her fork tightly.
Fleur had said that she had enjoyed the attention but, sometimes, it was exhausting. While it boosted her confidence, it also intimidated her. With so many eyes looking at her, there was little room for mistakes. According to Fleur, it was "both a blessing and hex."
(A blessing and curse, Hermione corrected.)
"It is flattering when someone looks at me with such loving eyes," Fleur said. "But most of the boys? They look at me like an object. Like they crave to own me."
Ron was looking at her as if she were an object. Hermione hated him for it.
A week passed—technically, it was only five days but who was counting?
Hermione was. She counted and took longer walks near the lake after supper. Hermione, who returned to her study desk disappointed every evening, was searching. Unfortunately all she found where curt nods and rare, fleeting smiles down the hallway.
She had seen Fleur, with her group of soeurs, walking around the school grounds almost daily. They weren't hard to miss, always causing traffic with their form fitting blue uniforms. As usual, Fleur led the group of girls, but Fleur never saw her. Never looked at her as if she mattered.
Had anyone?
November 2000 - Present time
Hermione awoke with the familiar emptiness bearing down on her chest like dead weight. Before she opened her eyes, she knew she wasn't dead. Somehow, it made her even more tired than before.
Maybe, maybe, Hermione hoped, keeping her eyes closed, the past years have been an extremely long nightmare. She'll wake up in the Gryffindor dorm room with Parvati and Lavender loudly discussing the latest gossip. Ron and Harry will greet her during breakfast, Dumbledore, Dobby, Fred, Moody and everyone who had died during the war will still be alive. She'll start her fifth year after Cedric Diggory won the Triwizard Cup; Voldemort would stay dead.
Upon opening her eyes, Hermione was unsurprisingly disappointed. She knew from the chill of her bones, the weakness in her muscles, that there was no way she was young again. Hermione was only, barely, twenty but she felt very old.
Voices resonated from another room, adjacent to the one she had been placed in. She recognized one of the voices to be Professor McGonagall's and the other was strangely familiar. Judging from the increasingly loud footsteps, they were making their way to her. Hermione sat up, wrapping a blanket around her body.
"Hermione." The unidentified voice called. Hermione turned in its direction and found herself staring at Fleur Delacour standing next to McGonagall. "You're up."
"Miss Granger," Professor McGonagall said sternly as she proceeded closer to Hermione until the elderly woman was almost hovering over her. "Is there a reason why Miss Delacour found you in the lake?"
Hermione froze realizing the implications if the new headmistress discovered the true nature of her "swim".
"I was admiring the scenery when I tripped and fell in." It was a lame excuse full of holes. "The rocks gave out from underneath me."
"Did you see her fall in Miss Delacour?"
Hermione's eyes flickered to Fleur, whose eyes seemed glued to her. There was a long, pregnant silence as they held eye contact. Fleur was looking for an answer in her countenance but Hermione had none to give. These days, Hermione barely had the strength to look anything but indifferent.
Struggling. Always struggling. It never did end. So what if McGonagall knew the truth? Would it matter? Why did she do it on purpose, they would ask. Because she wanted to, because she wanted the pain to go away, because she was sick and tired of be—
"Oui." Fleur said suddenly, "I saw her fall in."
McGonagall, briefly, looked surprised.
"Well I hope we don't have another hiccup like this again Miss Granger. Please watch where you are going or else I will have to force this year's head girl to give you a tour of the school like you're a first year." She turned to Fleur. "Please see to it that Miss Granger finds her way to her quarters."
Fleur nodded. From the sofa, Hermione watched as Fleur walked her former Transfiguration professor to the door. It was dark outside.
"Hermione." She didn't answer. "Hermione, what happened? Why were you in the water?"
"Leave me alone." Who was this talking with her voice, she wondered.
"Herm.."
"I'm leaving."
At that, Hermione pushed herself up from the sofa. She made her way to the door without her shoes, coat or wand. Ah. That's right, she had dropped her wand in the lake. It didn't matter, nothing really mattered anymore.
"Why are you acting like this? Have you been hexed? Cursed?" Fleur asked as Hermione side stepped her to get to the door. "Hermione, please."
In another time and place, she would have been touched that Fleur cared so much, looked at her so much in one evening. But now, Hermione, tired and drained, just wanted to be left alone. As she began to take several strides on the cold, hardened ground, Fleur followed.
"I said leave me alone."
"The headmistress ordered me to make sure you are to get to your quarters."
Fleur was persistent. But, then again, so were Ron and Harry. So were her parents. The lot of them seemed to have given up on her. Fleur would give up soon, too.
They made their way into the castle, Fleur properly dressed in a fur coat, herself in pajamas. Students stopped and stared at them as they passed, some whispering to each other. Hermione ignored them completely and made her way to her room. Formerly, it belonged to Ravenclaw's head girl but it seemed like Hogwarts had redesigned after the war.
The war.
She looked over her shoulder, expecting Death Eaters to be in quick pursuit; her ears strained to hear the whizz of a curse barely missing her. She could remember, vividly, as she walked down the hallways, that the far corner was where they had laid the dead bodies. That just beyond the archway was where the Hufflepuff boy, not even sixteen yet, lay choking on his own blood as she screamed for the healers.
There had been so much death. They had won the war but at what cost?
It didn't matter. It was over. She was tired.
When Hermione reached her room, Fleur followed. It was minimally furnished with a bed and desk, room for trunks that she did not bring. Not caring, she fell onto the bed.
"You're really not going to talk, Hermione?" Fleur paused after she received no answer. "I had always thought you and I would have made great friends when you got older."
"Get out."
Fleur lit a candle with her wand.
"This is my room."
Fleur dragged a chair next to her bed.
"Leave."
Fleur sat down, defiant.
It was going to be a long night.
Fleur couldn't understand, refused to understand, how this person could wear the outward appearance of Hermione while bearing no true resemblance to her. She wanted answers but received only silence. After an hour of trying to talk to the brunette, Fleur lost her will and simply sat in her chair, studying the stranger. Who was this girl—woman—and what had possessed her to change from the charming witch she was years ago? There were so many questions left to be answered.
Under the flickering glow, Fleur watched and waited until she was sure Hermione had fallen asleep.
Minerva McGonagall would have answers.
It was half past eleven but she knew that the headmistress was up late these days. She softly knocked at the door; Minerva greeted her shortly.
"Tea, Fleur?"
"No thank you."
"You are here about Hermione?"
"Yes, Minerva." Fleur sighed, "I do not understand what has gotten into her. What exactly is she doing here?"
Minerva sipped at her tea.
"I will not delude you of the truth, Fleur. We do not know what is going on with Ms. Granger. She was one of Hogwart's brightest students."
"Did something happen? During the war. I had heard that she was..."
"...tortured in the Malfoy Manor. You are correct. However, according to Ron and Harry, her behavior started a few months after the war ended. They've talked to the best wizards and torn through books, but nothing seems to be magically wrong with her."
"So they just decided to send her here?" Fleur was taken aback. She thought the three had been inseparable.
"Her parents did. Harry and Ron had other duties that needed tending to," What could be more important than a friend's well being, Fleur wondered incredulously. "Her parents, muggles, did not know where else to turn. They don't understand. They wrote to us in hopes of finding a way to...cure...whatever sickness she has."
"However, I am wondering if Hogwarts is the proper place for her." Minerva's gaze, which had been distant and unreadable, suddenly turned piercing, "Did she really slip into the lake, Fleur?"
Suddenly protective of Hermione, Fleur steeled herself. If the headmistress found out the truth to Hermione's actions, she'd probably send her to a mental institution.
"Yes, she slipped in. I don't think she has eaten much. She might have been misjudging the size of her steps." She had lost Hermione once; it wasn't going to happen again. This was her chance, "I'll see to it that she eats."
"I do not think eating is her problem," Minerva said calmly. "I know that you are busy with your work here at Hogwarts, but can I inconvenience you to get Hermione settled? She will be finishing her final year here. Allowing her to settle down to her routine will probably improve her spirits."
"I'll see to it to the best of my abilities." Fleur nodded, determined.
January 1996 -Triwizard Tournament Before the 2nd Task
The next time she had stumbled upon Hermione was in the library, on a Hogsmeade day. Tired of swim practices-thats what the howling egg was trying to say- she had refused the invitation of some seventh year Hogwarts boys for a day of fun in town. That was how she found herself in Hogwarts' expansive library, browsing for something that would catch her eye. They lacked the new Witches' Fashion Guide for 1996, so she made due with the older version.
Fleur spotted Hermione in the herbology section after picking up her book.
"Bonjour." Fleur said suddenly when she was within arm's length of the young witch.
Hermione visibly jumped, a fresh scowl growing on her face until she looked up and, after brushing away her dark locks, realized it was Fleur.
You have a beautiful face, Fleur thought in French, why hide it behind your hair.
"Sorry," Hermione sighed. "I thought you were Ron with another one of his scare tactics."
Fleur was offended. "I know he has yet to go through puberty but, surely, his voice is not as high pitched as mine."
The veela side of her hissed at the mention of the flame haired boy. She ignored it, choosing to focus in on Hermione's laugh and eyeroll.
"What interests you in the herbology section?"
"We have a potions test this coming Thursday. I'm looking into the life cycles of gillyweeds to see when it is best to brew one."
Fleur hummed, examining the book Hermione was holding.
"Thatcher will do you little good when it comes to life cycles of a plant, mon cherie." Fleur bent down and searched for the book she was thinking of. She made a sound of delight when she found it and promptly exchanged it for the one Hermione was holding. "Holdenback was an herbology professor at Beauxbaton many years ago but he was known for his potion brewing skills as well. I think you'll find that the information about plants in his book pertains more to potion making than pure herbology, non?"
Fleur waited patiently as Hermione, with practiced expertise, located the plant she was looking for in the index and then flipped to it.
It was a magical thing to watch those dark brown eyes light first time Fluer saw it happen, they were sliding across the ice when Hermione daringly spun herself. The look of delight that crossed her face was thrilling and sent chills down Fleur's back. The second time Hermione's eyes lit up the same way was in the Griffindor commons in the split second when Hermione looked up at her as Fleur cupped her face. There was vulnerability, curiosity and trust in those pools of brown.
This, Fleur counted, would be the third time. She watched as Hermione's eyes widened in glee as she read Holdenback's excerpt. Then, there it was! Briefly, that flicker of fire coming from her eyes, so much happiness and joy towards some ink and paper.
(Secretly, Fleur wondered if, just by looking at her, Hermione's eyes could light up too. How shameful it was to be jealous of a book.)
Fleur kept track of all those small moments, counted the fifth, seventh, tenth, twenty-third time it happened. Hermione's eyes come alive when she feels and perhaps, that was where the magic was; in those moments when the young, rational, logical witch let her emotions bubble to the surface.
November 2000- Present Time
At the break of dawn, armed with Hermione's school supplies list, Fleur went shopping. It cost her a week's pay-those "to die for" enchanted scarves would not be calling her closet home this month-but she convinced herself it was worth it. She made quick work at Hogsmeade and returned just in time for breakfast.
Hermione was up when Fleur returned to the lone dorm room, levitating a trail of supplies, clothes and food. Neatly, Fleur arranged the necessary advanced academic books on Hermione's desk, her uniforms and ties next to them. The rest, toiletries and miscellaneous items, went into a drawer beneath Hermione's bed.
"From what I can tell, you didn't have supplies," Or even clothes for that matter, what had Hermione been thinking? "I went out and got you the basics this morning."
Breakfast landed itself on the nightstand as Fleur was taking a seat.
"Muffins? Toast and marmalade?" Hermione turned so that her back was facing Fleur. "Not even tea?" she mumbled, knowing the answer.
Silence.
It being Sunday, Hermione didn't have classes, but Fleur wondered if she did, would she display the usual finesse as she did years ago? Probably not. The girl she knew then and the woman she knew now were vastly different. Likewise, who she had be five years ago was different from who she was now.
It's quite strange how time passes, Fleur mused. She couldn't remember how or when the change took place; how she had transitioned from being too thin and bony at the age of thirteen to the developed and capable candidate for the Triwizard Tournament. It seemed magical almost, looking in the mirror one day and finding that her knobby knees had straightened, hips and chest widened, lips suddenly full and kissable.
Puberty had treated her well.
And how delightful it was to watch Hermione grow during her stay at Hogwarts. Fleur reminisced. Her curves had already begun to fill in when they had first met and, by the end of the school year, many students had begun noticing Hermione's emergence into a womanhood. Fleur definitely had.
But so did Ron. Fleur's fists clenched.
Years had passed and, from the looks of it, Hermione worked her hardest to reverse the glorious effects of puberty. Where had her Hermione gone, Fleur wondered. Is she still there? Would Fleur pursue Hermione's health if she knew, for a fact, that the Hermione now could be infinitely different?
She liked to think so.
The day passed with Hermione laying in bed and Fleur, by extension, attached to the chair. She refused to leave, fearing that Hermione would attempt another stunt like the one at the lake. Fleur busied herself with her own research and paperwork. Hermione busied herself with burrowing in bed.
At some point in the day when Fleur had gotten tired of reading her own academic papers, she attempted to read Hermione chapters from the required list of textbooks. However, Fleur found herself falling asleep on the first chapter of Advanced Transfiguration.
The room quickly became a prison to her; the walls flat and gray lacking decorations. It even sported it's own version of a terrible cellmate. It wasn't until the afternoon that Hermione moved from her bed to grab a piece of stale toast. Fleur tried to make conversation.
"Found your appetite, have you?" Fleur smiled. Finally, progress. "Would you like to eat something different?"
Silence.
Fleur returned to reading the second chapter of Hermione's potions textbook aloud hoping her voice would drown the deafening silence.
Shortly after sunset, Fleur left Hermione's dorm to bathe and retrieve a thick blanket and pillow, refusing to spend another night on the wooden chair. She took her time but didn't dare to leave Hermione alone for more than two hours even if she did use a binding charm on the door to keep it locked.
Not surprisingly though, Hermione was still in bed, asleep, when Fleur returned. The tea and sausage had been pecked at..
Tired and drained, Fleur lit a candle and made a makeshift sleeping bag with her pillow and blanket. She fell asleep to the sound of the jobberknolls singing.
It has been a week since Hermione's arrival and nothing has happened, Fleur thought as she laid down on the ground for another night of restless sleep. Each day would begin with Fleur waking early and going down to the Great Hall to fetch breakfast. The students entertained her with questions about Hermione; she replied with humor and sarcasm. It was somewhat surprising to see Hermione dressed when she returned the first day but it wasn't like Fleur had expected to wrangle her into her uniform...
Maybe she did.
However, it was a pleasant surprise to see that Hermione was willing to do something besides lay in bed. Or maybe she was waiting for Fleur to tire of her and then escape? Fleur banished the thought; she wasn't going to get tired.
During the week, Fleur shadowed Hermione around from class to class, from waking until dusk but they hadn't spoken a word the first night. According to the professors, Hermione didn't participate in class either, unless she was called on, and any attempt at small talk was dismissed with a polite but frank excuse.
Hermione barely ate, barely studied and barely slept. Fleur spent her days observing the young witch, wondering just how to help her. But how could she help when she didn't even know what the problem was? It was like trying to give a potion to someone who had yet to identify their illness.
Fleur grew frustrated from remaining stagnant, but refused to break. Her research was falling behind. Any plans with professors or social outings were canceled; it seemed as if her life had stalled and instead started revolving around Hermione...like it did years before.
Revolved was a strong word for what occurred between them. They became fast friends; Fleur found that she bonded with Hermione better than all the girls at her own school. They shared a common interest in school and often studied together in a discreet corner of the library; she could talk to Hermione about a certain topic for hours at a time without feeling bored. There wasn't a moment of shy, needless chitchat, no need to hide under a false smile—
—Hermione whimpered.
Fleur tore herself from her thoughts and sat upright.
Hermione had finally broken the silence. She gave another whimper as Fleur stumbled to her side. The candle that Fleur lit had burned out long ago, she could barely make out Hermione before her eyes readjusted to the moonlight filtering through the window. The other witch had a pained look across her face, tears sliding down her cheeks.
"Hermione?" Fleur called, but she didn't respond, still asleep and obviously having a nightmare. Hesitantly, she gripped Hermione gently and shook her shoulders.
"It's going to be okay," Fleur whispered. Hermione's crying grew louder. What had started as a whimper morphed into a sob. Hermione shook her head side to side, uttering the word "no" repeatedly, arms jerking as if they were being restrained.
"Hermione, it's a nightmare. Please, wake up. Please." For a second, the witch stilled.
Then she screamed.
It happened so fast. Fleur was, just a moment ago, leaning over Hermione holding her shoulders trying to wake her up and then suddenly she was upright, eyes wide with fear and in panic, face inches away from Fleur's. In her shock, Fleur found her hands cupping Hermione's face, thumbing away the tears as a gesture of comfort.
"Its oka—"
"Don't touch me!" Hermione shoved Fleur away with a startling amount of strength for a girl who had been starving herself. Not willing to let the moment of rare vulnerability go, Fleur rebounded and entered Hermione's personal space again.
"Please, can't you tell me what is wrong." She poured all the strength she had into her voice, trying to sound comforting but demanding, "Hermione, don't block me out."
This only infuriated Hermione more and, once again, she shoved Fleur away, still crying.
"Pleas— "
"Leave me alone!" Pain, there was so much pain in her voice. "Just piss off!"
"Let me help yo— "
"—you don't know me, you don't know what I've been through!" Hermione swung her legs to the side of the bed facing Fleur and tried to push away again, but Fleur caught both of Hermione's arms by the wrists. "How can you expect to help me when you—"
"I don't know!" Fleur raised her voice to match Hermione's in intensity; the frustration of the previous week poured out. "I don't know what has happened or why you are this way but I'm here and if you would just talk to—"
"—and then what?!" Anger punctuated every word and every movement as she tried escaping from Fleur's iron-tight grip, "How do you plan to fix this?"
"By trying," Fleur yelled, "I'm not going to give up or leave. I don't care if I have to sleep on this blasted floor and follow you around for the rest of the bloody school year, I'm going to keep trying and I'm not going to stop until you're better!"
"I didn't ask for your help!" Hermione spat, "I don't need help!"
Fleur held onto Hermione's wrists tighter as the brunette bellowed out invectives and tried to regain control. This went on for several moments, until Fleur watched as Hermione's expression changed from pure anger to frustration and then finally breaking from unsuccessfully wrenching her hands away. The mask of indifference began crack and then fall to pieces.
All at once, Hermione's body gave out on her. Shoulders slumping, once angry, waving arms devoid of conviction; her forehead fell onto Fleur's shoulder.
"Why couldn't you have let me go?" Hermione sobbed, "I'm tired, Fleur. So tired."
This was the first time she had heard Hermione call her name. It made her heart ache.
"I know." Fleur whispered, leaning her head so that it rested against Hermione's. Her voice lowered as if telling a secret, "Ma cherie I know that you are tired. But even when you're tired, you're still going to school. And even if you walk like a skeleton, delicate and about to shatter, I know that you are trying."
I can see it in your eyes. The flame is still there.
"I'm here, Hermione."
Arms reached up and encircled her waist, holding onto her as if she were driftwood.
"I'll find a way." Fleur swallowed, "I'll find a way to make you happy again."
I plan on updating weekly so don't fret! In other news, this was originally MUCH longer but my betas suggested that I leave out a good portion because it would help pace the story. The next chapter will be much longer.
Now, let me know what you think! What exactly IS Fleur doing at Hogwarts? As a matter of fact, she's even on first name basis with THE McGonagall. So many questions! Let me know what you're thinking!