There were many.

Hermione counted twelve. They were all wearing dark robes and those dreadful masks. A few of them glanced at her. She struggled for breath as anxiety crawled up her throat and suffocated her. She pressed against the wall, trying to create as much space between them as she could. She had been running from these people for close to a year, and now they were altogether in the same room.

Fleur was speaking rapid fire French. Focusing on her voice helped. Hermione had taken lessons for a few years but without seeing it spelled out in front of her, she couldn't understand anything. She wondered who they were; anyone she knew or French associates of Fleur? The masks made it impossible to identify them. They gathered around the glass conference table, led by Fleur, and put their dark marks in the air. Hermione wasn't sure of the significance but when they did this, all the marks flashed. They finally sat.

The attention of the Death Eater to the immediate left of Fleur focused on Hermione. The bones on his or her face seemed to gleam menacingly. She stared at the grains of the carpet, trying to lose herself in the repetitive patterns. She wasn't supposed to look them in the eyes.

"Some man offered to sell her to me. He wouldn't let me see his face," Fleur replied, switching to English. Hermione surmised the only reason to speak in English was so she could understand it.

"Must have been a small fortune. So many rumors she was dead that we almost stopped looking. What will you do with her?"

Hermione's eyes widened. Theodore Nott. She remembered hearing him brag in school about his parent's home in France. Was he leading the French leg of Voldemort's army?

Fleur shrugged. "Break her however I can. I've already started the process. We have some history she's going to pay for."

Nott turned to look at Hermione again, who bit her tongue to distract herself as she stared at the floor. "Might want to beat her more. The mudblood whore looks pretty intact."

Fleur nodded. "I plan on it. She's been locked in the basement for the majority of her stay, and I haven't gotten around to it."

"Malfoy will be interested to hear that she's been found. He killed her boyfriend. That red-haired twat. Forget which Weasley it was."

Ron. His name was Ron. They had shared a kiss once, and then he was gone. It hurt. It hurt so fucking bad. Hermione stared at the floor. She couldn't do anything else. She couldn't breathe or scream or cry. She couldn't even think for fear of occlumency.

"I heard about that," Fleur said. She cocked her head, taking on an arrogant tone. "It's a shame pure blood was wasted but when you mix with half-bloods and muggles, what can you expect…"

"Too right. I reckon Malfoy will want a piece of her," Nott said.

"I'm afraid there won't be anymore pieces left when I'm done with her," Fleur said, chuckling evilly.

"That's the spirit!" Nott laughed. "Do you like your new owner, Granger?"

"Yes, sir," Hermione got out, eyes locked on the feet of his chair. She was pushing back tears. It was a tense moment, and she waited on edge, keeping her mind carefully blank.

"You seem to have taught the mouthy bitch some manners, Delacour. I didn't know it was in her." Nott sounded impressed.

"You know I can be very persuasive when I need to be. She knows her place is beneath me," Fleur replied, giving the girl a quick glance. The two, seemingly the heads of operation, switched back to French, addressing the others at the table. The time passed in a blur for Hermione. Thoughts swirled around in her brain, and she pushed them down violently.

After the meeting, there was no lingering. They were gone as quickly as they came. After Nott Apparated away, Fleur sagged in her chair, ripping the mask off her face. Hermione finally looked up. She was sick to death of staring at the carpet so it was good timing the meeting was over. Fleur rubbed her face and Hermione watched straight blonde hair float back into place.

"Did I do well?" Hermione asked. She sounded oddly self-conscious. But really, she was disturbed and terrified and worst of all, reminded of the death that surrounded her. Not only the masks, the Death Eaters, but the bodies. She carried them around with her, was reminded of their weight at the most bizarre moments.

Fleur nodded. Some of the stress had faded from her face but Hermione had a feeling the circles under her eyes were permanent. "They're not suspicious at least. Not yet."

"Fleur," Hermione began, trying to angle herself away from the wall and realizing she was still tied to it. That was awkward. "I know… I know you can't be with them. This doesn't add up. Why are you protecting me?"

Fleur sighed, slamming the mask she clutched onto the conference table. "I don't know who I'm with anymore."

"Why am I here?"

"You're here because Bill Weasley dropped you on my doorstep in the middle of the night," Fleur muttered.

"Bill! Where is he?!" Hermione said, voice quickening in excitement.

"Gone. I don't know. I watched him die five months ago."

"But… what?"

"I don't know," Fleur repeated. "He was dead, clearly, and now he is back…"

"That doesn't make sense."

"I know."

"But you're on the Order's side?" Hermione said, not sure if she could be trusted.

"There is no more Order of the Phoenix," Fleur said.

"Everyone is…?" Hermione's eyes widened in horror. The bodies.

"Everyone," Fleur nodded.

"But… there has to be someone. There's me and you at least. And Bill, wherever he is," Hermione said, realizing after a second that she had automatically counted Fleur as good.

She wasn't sure what to believe.

"So, three against how many?" Fleur said, tapping her nails on the conference table. "They've shut England down. I don't know how Bill made it across the Apparition shield. They're close to shutting France down too. The muggles think it's terrorists..."

"We have to try to stop them," Hermione whispered. "Do you care to try?"

"Of course I care. It's a little easier said than done," Fleur snapped. "We can't just dive headfirst into this. It has to be planned out, everything accounted for."

Hermione nodded, biting her lip. So, Fleur was good. But she was also terrified, just like her. "Why did you treat me so horribly?" Hermione whispered. It was one of the most persistent questions rocketing around her brain.

Fleur laughed but it was an emotionless thing. "You've been on the run for the entire time this has been going on. You must not be aware how things are at the moment. Muggle-borns are often killed. Sometimes, they're taken as slaves where they experience death at a much slower rate. I've been nothing but good to you. I've thrown a lot of people into that basement so that was partially habit. But I also thought if you believed everything… it would be easier. You're horrible at hiding your emotions. I'll have to teach you occlumency shields now." Fleur ran a hand through her head, adding bitterly, "You know too much."

Hermione skated over her last comment. She didn't want to lose this newfound relationship in which Fleur treated her like a equal rather than a slave. "I could use the help. I never learned occlumency well. Have you… have you seen or heard of Ginny? Any of the other Weasleys?"

Fleur looked away. "Malfoy has Ginny. He has for awhile. The last time I saw her… well. I suspected it would truly be the last time I saw her. George, Fred, and their parents died in the Battle of Hogwarts. I've no idea about Charlie. And Percy… he switched sides and swore his allegiance to the Dark Lord."

"Traitor!" Hermione spat. "And while his sister suffers at the hands of Malfoy!"

"There is suffering everywhere."

"As much as Ginny surely feels? Can you take this off me?" Hermione said, yanking on the hook.

"I can take you off the hook but the collar needs to stay on. It's how we mark muggle-born slaves now," Fleur said, standing. Their relationship was different now, she felt. "If anyone were to show up and you didn't have that on, it would look suspicious. Like I was giving you special treatment."

"Fine," Hermione muttered. Fleur crouched, minty breath falling over the girl below her. Upon her (relative) freedom, Hermione stood, shaking slightly from the events of the past hour. Fleur stood all too close. Her eyes didn't glow as brightly as they used to.

"Hermione… there's a prophecy," Fleur began. She looked angry yet nervous.

"The one about Harry?"

"The one about you."

Hermione cocked her head in confusion. "There wasn't ever one about me..."

"There was. Dumbledore just didn't think Harry would fail. He placed all of his trust in him. Nobody knew about this prophecy but Dumbledore. There was no official memory turned into the Ministry. Instead, Dumbledore pulled the memory out of his and Trelawny's head, fiddled with Trelawny's memory, and buried it in the orchard of the Burrow as a failsafe. Arthur knew, then. Dumbledore died, and just Arthur knew. But before Arthur died, he passed the information onto Bill."

"What does it say?" Hermione said, persistently curious. She had never dreamed she would be the subject of a prophecy. And honestly, she wasn't that kean knowing she was. It had ruined Harry's life, cast a shadow over him that he could never quite shake. It was an enormous pressure for a mere boy. For anyone.

"I've been told the information second hand so I can't quote it to you," Fleur said, furrowing her brow. She moved closer to the door, leaning on the conference table. "But the gist is that if Harry Potter fails, you're the only one who can put the world back to where it was. And I'm supposed to help you in some way, which is why Bill left you here. I know he would have rather taken you with him."

"Vague…" Hermione said. She couldn't believe he had left her here. In danger. And had he really died in front of Fleur and came back? It seemed unlikely though not impossible.

"Incredibly. There might be more to it but I just don't know."

"You could have just told me that when I got here instead of being a complete arsehole," Hermione muttered, testing out the waters.

"You looked so thin… and gone," Fleur said, staring her down. Hermione shifted, uncomfortable at the close attention. "I didn't know if it would matter. I still don't. They will come to see you eventually. Malfoy, probably, but maybe the Dark Lord himself."

"How long do we have?"

"Days. Weeks, maybe," Fleur said, fiddling with the edge of the glass table. "The news will spread quickly. You heard the official story. A slave trader offered to sell you to me for a small fortune. They wouldn't show me their face. That way, when the slave traders say what happened, everything lines up. It just looks like a runaway who wanted the money and the glory to himself. Or so we hope."

"What if… I make somewhere for us? A hideaway? We run. We try to get Bill back and round up whoever is left."

"It would be a short list. I don't know if that would work. It might just be better to wait it out. You would probably survive contact with anyone who came," Fleur said. Probably.

"If there's one thing I know, it's how to hide in plain sight. You should trust me." Hermione said. She didn't like the idea of coming face to face with Voldemort or Malfoy unless she was killing them mercilessly.

"I don't trust anyone," Fleur said, eyes cold. "Because that's how you end up dead."

"Then I feel genuinely sad for you," Hermione said. "You should have trusted me from the beginning. Then maybe you could've avoided being a bitch. Like when you slapped me, which hurt by the way..."

"I know it did," Fleur said, voice rough.

"I'll take that as an apology."

"Good. It's the only one you'll get."

Hermione shook her head in frustration. "If we're going to try staying here… if you're going to make me sleep in the basement, can I at least have a bed put down there? A mattress?"

"You can have the spare bedroom off the kitchen. It's for the help. It'll look appropriate. Plus, I need the basement for... others." The look on Fleur's face, a mix of shame and methodological planning, was unmistakeable.

"Do you torture people down there?"

Fleur looked her in the eye. "Sometimes."

Hermione sighed. "That's awful."

"Hermione… I'll help you but I have to be able to protect myself too. And sometimes protecting myself means doing incredibly displeasing things."

"As long as I don't have to watch," Hermione said, glancing away in disgust. "Can I at least have my wand back?"

Fleur shook her head. "They can track the magic. They'll know it's you. That's probably how they found you in the first place. You can't use it unless…"

"Unless I'm taking them down," Hermione said, eyes narrowing as her mouth tilted upwards in satisfaction at the thought.

Fleur rolled her eyes. "If you ever get that far."

"I intend to," Hermione said, face serious. "It's what I want to die doing. I've thought about it. I can't just let the world go to shite while I can still do something about it." Her tone was dark and frustrated as she concluded, "I do hope there is a library in this place."

Fleur nodded. On her more optimistic days, she even agreed. "There is. It's on the second floor."

"Right! I've got to get cracking. Also, I've thought of some lessons I can teach the house elves."

"Lessons about…?"

"Defense. Occlumency. Well, you'll be teaching that one."

"And why would we teach them those things?" Fleur's asked sternly.

"Because I think they should come with us. We will have to leave eventually, right? We may have some time but the more bodies on our side when that moment comes, the better. If we ever do run, we're going to need a place to stay and an army."

Fleur looked at the floor. She didn't want to leave this place. But she knew that accepting this girl into her life would start the ball rolling. Was she going to be crushed? Could they actually save anyone let alone the entire country of England? She was doubtful.

"That could work," Fleur said, hesitant. "All the house elves in this house are bound by magic to obey what I say."

Hermione made a noise of displeasure. "Well, I do hope they'll want to join us on their own. But that will be helpful in ensuring no mutiny. These are war times."

Fleur rolled her eyes again at the first sentiment. She didn't have time to worry about the morality of their actions. Life was dangerous and gritty and horrifying, and they did what they had to make it to the next day.

"Fleur? There is one more thing."

Fleur cocked her head.

"You really need to get me some underwear."

Fleur laughed, reveling in the fact that she still genuinely could. "I'll have the house elves make you some."

"Brilliant."

Hermione set up shop in the library. It was spacious, and had a wealth of information not only about the dark arts, which were useful to learn to be one step ahead of the enemy, but also occlumency, which was a sort of family tradition to excel at in the Delacour household. Or had been, more appropriately.

Fleur held her own lesson on the subject in the library that very evening. There were stacks of books everywhere that Hermione had arranged by subject. Twenty-two house elves crowded in (along with Hermione), and they learned a basic shield. Hermione had already made friends with the youngest one, who sat on her lap. Fleur felt for a brief moment as though a family was sitting before her. She pushed the thought aside as she made a vow of silence with all twenty-two elves in tandem about their silence of the lessons. Fleur demonstrated some hand to hand combat techniques as well as elf magic that could be utilized.

After Fleur's lesson, Hermione assigned every house elf a particular role to play. She was still working on where they would stay. But to leave at all, they'd need supplies. She devised three different categories: food, magic, and clothes/toiletries. The house elves in charge of food were to start canning things and hiding them in bags charmed bottomless. For the magic category, several elves were in charge of hunting for toads, precious stones, rare flowers, and other important ingredients used in potions. The last category was the largest. She instructed the house elves to collect all the toiletries and cloth, or any other supply they thought was useful, they could get their tiny hands on. The bags she had given them were numbered and organized, and every elf was responsible for their own bag. It was an incredibly sophisticated system, even Fleur had to admit, and a smart one because Death Eaters wouldn't be focused on house elves if they were looking for the two of them. Hermione's idea about a flying carriage for their abode, similar to the prototype that had brought Fleur to Hogwarts all those years ago, was in full bloom by the time she was finished speaking.

After the house elves were sent off to bed, Hermione's lessons with Fleur continued. She showed the girl several more advanced shields, and tested them thoroughly. It was well past midnight when Fleur finally said, "That'll do." She hadn't been able to get even a glimpse into Hermione's mind for awhile.

Hermione yawned, utterly exhausted by the knowledge and intensive planning that had been shoved into every second of the day.

"I'll show you to your room," Fleur said.

It took all of eight seconds to reach it. Fleur lingered at her door.

"I'm so glad I came here after all," Hermione yawned again, smiling.

Fleur felt the same way. She was so used to being the cold and unfeeling monster who tortured and killed, day in and out. She had lived the life for so long that it felt inescapable. She had started to forget that she wasn't playing for the right team. But Hermione was starting to bring some of her humanity back, and it was intoxicating. The girl really was brilliant.

Fleur didn't want to say she was glad too. That would jinx it. Hermione's smile flattened as Fleur stared at her quietly. There was a tension to them that should have faded after their hostility did. But it was still there, crackling between them.

"Good night, Hermione," Fleur said. She turned on her heel, hurrying towards her destination, which happened to be her bed with a bottle of firewhiskey.

This was not a love story.

A/N: Hey! I already have the next chapter written (which stars some actual Fleur/Hermione) so it should be a quick update. If you liked the story, you can always leave a review. I read them all. Thanks!