Disclaimer: Again, I own absolutely nothing, this is not for profit and all that.
XXXXXXXX
The sound of a door closing stirred the young witch away from the downing slumber she once again found herself in. She couldn't call it sleep and she didn't have to open her eyes to know that she looked like rubbish and reeked of alcohol. The cheap type. At least one advantage from being driven into potions excellence by the madness of Severus Snape, a small vial and the throbbing headache and nausea were gone. Today was the day and she hoped Mr. Weasley's secret stash would be just as easily robbed as the previous night and she'd be able to start the day's 'festivities' early on.
It was August 1, 1997. The wedding day. Her wedding day and the brightest witch of her age surely wouldn't be sober for that special event.
Ginny still slept soundly on the bed next to hers and probably wouldn't be awake before Mrs. Weasley decided it was time to barge in and slave out everyone for the last minute preparations along with the more considerate Madame Delacour. Yet it seemed another had taken the position as Hermione heard quick steps coming up the staircase and quickly reached for her wand. A cleansing spell was out and working seconds before the door was violently opened and Ronald Weasley barged in.
"Mione, why are you still in bed?" He voiced frantically. "Better yet, hide me! My mum has gone mad I say, and chances are there won't even be a wedding because Fleur just goes around changing everything and I think mum and her might actually kill each other before noon"
"Your family, Ronald." She got up grabbing some random clothes and the beat up copy of the Tales of Beedle the bard and crossing the door without paying mind to the stunned redhead "Deal with them yourself"
"Jeez, what's got your wand in a knot?" He grunted, but the brunette was already inside the bathroom and out of earshot. Shaking his head, Ron went upstairs and maybe if he was lucky he could avoid all women for the next foreseable future.
Hermione took her time showering and preparing for the dreadful day ahead. Maybe if she cried all her tears under the cold water she could hold on and look mildly decent. She knew the odds were against her though. She felt like punching the wall and putting the entire building on fire would still not be enough to relieve her of the anguish she felt. She felt betrayed. Not by her. No, that was hermione's own doing and price to pay. She felt betrayed by time for each minute felt like an eternity and perhaps numbing herself to make it bearable simply wouldn't work that day.
She could still try though.
She was losing her mind. She was perfectly aware of that. She could even pinpoint the exact moment she felt the last remains of her sanity being crushed to pieces.
That beautiful invitation with a perfectly poised handwriting she knew so well. How many letters and hidden notes had she received with those same patterns and markings?
None was left to cling to, to remind her that maybe she wasn't going mad after all. All burnt out of cowardice. What a clown Gryffindor she was.
Whatever was the case, the woman she loved was getting married on that day, to somebody else.
She was barely at the lower end of the staircase when the familiar feeling of the other woman's presence announced itself. It was like a deep familiar scent that filled her lungs and made her feel warm and loved. At least it used to in a time she constantly longed to return to. Nonetheless, as she felt it at that moment, it only clinged to her skin, showing it's presence, its' closeness, but refusing to show its affection. She sometimes thought it had a mind of its' own and was showing its' spite at whom she had become.
Yet if only she held still and focused, she'd at times feel the blond's breath by her ear, her heartbeat hanging on to her back, no matter how far apart the two women actually were.
It drove her with madness and gave her hope at the very same time. She knew it wasn't a figment of her imagination. It couldn't be. It was simply the blond's vengeful side making it self ever present. The blond's slaving presence had a mood all of her own, and at that moment it made her know that the other woman knew of her presence downstairs. Also that she was disappointed, but was that really news?
The blond witch was quiet while a number of different voices were flowing over a number of tea and coffee cups. Remaining members of the order discussed their latest developments and actions despite Mrs. Weasley's remarks on that day not being a work day and they had enough talk of wars on a daily basis.
The talks of how close the Darklord was to taking over the ministry was looming, but that wasn't all. There were missing people reports, guard posts and people being tracked and taken to safe houses for questioning. On one subject though, Hermione agreed with Bill Weasley. It was time to stop defending and taking an offensive approach and part of that involved going after Order dissidents and hitting death eaters who were known to be close to Voldemort. Being good wasn't a synonym for being passive. It was true what Bill wanted truly was to enact revenge on Greyback, but it didn't make it a bad strategy.
The whistling sound from the backdoor open brought her back out of the haze the blond's presence created in her. She had to disappear before Mrs. Weasley could recruit her perforce. It was one thing to attend, but to help with the decorations was just the final nail on her coffin.
Her walk to the shed was quiet if not for the one or two time she hid inside the surrounding crops. It was a short walk and in spite of all the mess and extra things put there by Mrs. Weasly to hide from house guests during the wedding, the muggle paraphernalia kept around by Mr. Weasley brought a strange sense of calmness to her.
It wasn't long before popped out the hidden firewhisky bottle from behind the old television and sat on the old recliner with the beat up book and some of her previous notes from the study of ancient runes. The distance and the alcohol helped dull the effects the quarter-veela had on her, maybe then she'd be able to start on the dire translation and make sense of whatever Dumbledore tried to relay.
Laying there, already past tipsy, with the book and hanging poorly from one hand and the firewhisky on the other, she couldn't deny the picture was hardly 'brightest witch of her age' material or declared any real progress had been made.
Over an hour and half a bottle went through before she felt it again crawling up her skin and she knew what it she could stop herself she jumped up from the recliner, book in hand and marched out of the shed to where she knew she'd find the source of her anguish.
She should have known better than to storm out like that straight to her. Perhaps put up the regular spells to dispel the smell and bloodshot eyes, but she had little control over her actions by the time she reached the reception tent.
For the first time in many a days, in over a year actually, there was just the two of them and she was allowed to look at Fleur Delacour without restraint or caution, and she lost her breath. Unconsciously, she felt herself not only welcoming, but pulling the woman's thrall inside her felt like home for all 5 seconds until the other woman turned and cut the air with her voice
"Arrêtez!"
The brunette sobered almost instantly at the icy cold eyes directed at her. "I'm sorry I…"
"Just stop and leave, Mademoiselle Granger" Her voice was dull and betrayed little of what she felt. She went on checking the last of the ropes holding the tent,turning and completely ignoring the younger witch.
The brunette begged, "Fleur, please. Can you just, not ignore me for a moment?"
It fell on deaf ears, not surprising considering how stubborn the beautiful blond was known to be. She pulled at another rope and seemed to consider its' safety as though there was nothing more relevant at the moment to pay mind to.
"For Merlin's sake, Fleur. Those bloody ropes are not falling over your precious wedding in case you wish to check them a tenth time. I helped set them up myself"
"It seems warranted indeed considering you can barely walk straight on a good day" The accusation stung however truthful it was. "Tell me, Mademoiselle Granger, how does the Golden Trio plan on defeating the Darklord when their mind and brain can't go a day without reeking of cheap alcohol"
"A shame you father-in-law's selection isn't up to your standards" Hermione had the decency to look embarrassed, but she was still just as stubborn as the blonde veela. She knew her chances of keeping that a secret from the blonde were slim to none. Nevertheless she'd hoped to leave before having it thrown at her face.
It was certainly not her best choice of words as Fleur immediately shut down once more and, with an exhasperated sigh, turned to leave. She felt Hermione's clumsy steps towards her and turned with fury in her eyes. The closeness driving the both of them into a haze all of their own.
"Tu n'ose pas!" She pulled her arm back before the brunette could reach it. She gasped as she didn't count on the young woman losing her footing and falling straight into her.
Fleur held her with as little strength as she possessed.
They knew better than to be in that place, on that very day of them all.
The low-spoken words that left Hermione misled their eruptive nature, but it was too late to take them back. "Don't marry him"