A/N Many thanks once more to you all, sorry if you didn't like the return of Phlegm. Extra special thanks to Cat130 (glad you're still enjoying it, and big thanks for staying with this story), pianomouse (your comments made me laugh so much, 'witch slap' is a brilliant phrase!), arabellagrace (sorry if the last chapter upset you...), cares1970 (as ever, your comments are lovely, well thought out and very appreciated!) and IGOTEAMEDWARD (here's some more, as requested :) two days early too!)
Also, thanks to the internet for its translation sites... Sorry if there's any mistakes.
Disclaimer: Do I need to say it? Nothing you recognise is mine, but I hope you all enjoy what I've written regardless.
Chapter 20
Desperate, and not knowing what else to do, after Ginny had finally released her from the 'joys' of pre-party preparation (though she didn't know why on earth they had to decide these things days in advance), she found herself back in the Ministry, ordering an international portkey. Though usually these things took a few days to prepare, she made an unusual use of her celebrity and, signing a few photos of herself (she was happy to see her photographic version was hiding in a corner from the people gawking at her, coming out only to glare at her in betrayal), had one booked within only a few minutes. She felt the usual jolt at her navel but managed to stay on her feet as she landed, swaying only slightly before looking around at the familiar landscape, frowning deeply.
She had visited this area of France before when on holiday with her parents, and it was pure chance that this was where the Delacours lived, though a chance she was very grateful for now as she walked up towards the area of large town-houses which she knew held theirs. The small town of Louhans in Burgundy was quaint and unassuming, but Hermione knew from experience that there was a vast magical community hidden from Muggle eyes, much as Diagon Alley was. Strolling casually towards the ancient and now unused apothecary, she checked to make sure she was alone before leaning sideways and slipping through the window that held dusty displays of empty bottles and equipment, arriving immediately on the street that was almost exactly alike to the one she had just left, if, of course, you ignored the blatant and obvious magic. The shops were all the same size and shape, though boasted displays of beetle eyes and broomsticks rather than baguettes and tourist mementos. Even the small post office looked the same, with added owls, though she knew that if she were to look inside any of these shops she would find them enlarged; it was here that she had first heard of the undetectable extension charm she was so fond of.
But she was not here to shop, though she nearly had to drag herself away from the book store that was crying out for her attention, so she focussed herself and walked purposefully towards the end of the street, where the many large houses stood, mansions even, showing off their beauty to the shoppers. She tried desperately to remember the exact address that Bill had once mentioned to her, but even her brilliant memory couldn't find it and so, frowning, she resigned herself to knocking on doors and asking if the Delacours lived their. However, no sooner had she readied herself for the looks of disapproval the French would undoubtedly give, she heard her name being called throatily and, terrified, as it was a woman, she turned and prepared to see Fleur. It was not the woman that she had decided that she hated infinitely more than failing a test that greeted her though, but her mother, the beautiful and kind-hearted, if occasionally snobbish, Apolline Delacour. The veela traits in her were more noticeable than in her daughters, but rather than making her seem proud and haughty (Hermione wasn't prejudiced towards Phlegm, the French whore, she told herself) they softened her appearance and seemed to give light to those around her.
"Madame Delacour, such a pleasure to see you again!" She called out happily, grateful that she wouldn't have to suffer the irritation of her neighbours.
"Ma chère," She replied, kissing her on both cheeks, "please, I am Apolline to you."
She smiled back at the older woman; though her accent was very pronounced, her spoken English was quite remarkable for someone who had spent the majority of life in France, though from past experience Hermione knew she had a tendency to throw some of her native language in at random. "Okay then, Apolline. How have you been?"
"Ah, très bien, et tu?"
"Bien, merci."
"What breengs you à la France?"
"I was actually hoping to visit you, if you're not too busy?"
She linked her arm affectionately through the younger woman's and they continued the walk down the street, Hermione not failing to notice that jealous looks she was getting from the majority of the male population. "Of course not, it eez nice to zee you again, 'Ermione. I 'ope that you weel stay pour, what do you call eet, le dîner?"
"Le dîner est 'dinner'." The other woman tried the English word on her tongue, before looking to Hermione for confirmation. She smiled in response; the pair had become fairly close in the preparations for Bill and her daughter's wedding, as she was one of the few who could speak a decent amount of French, and so helped her with her occasional difficulties in communication. "I'd love to, but I'm afraid I won't be staying for long, this is just a passing trip really."
Her companion's face fell, but then she shrugged. "Ah well, you must come veesit de nouveau, myself and Christophe mees you."
"I'll be sure to come again soon, it certainly has been too long."
They had reached the doorstep of a large house that loomed over the others, and Hermione had to suppress a smirk; of course they would have the largest, grandest house around, though she was surprised to find that it was pleasantly tasteful. "Entrez," Apolline called over her shoulder as she strolled through the door, and she obligingly followed, gazing in wonder at the expensive artwork on the walls, before the other woman asked, "would you like a dreenk?"
"Non, merci."
Madame Delacour led her through many elaborately furnished rooms before they settled in a small sitting room, obviously meant for private meetings. She felt rather self-conscious in her jeans and halter-neck as she sat on the impeccably clean couch, but the older woman seemed not to notice as she smiled at her. "I am afraid Christophe eez pas en ville, but I weel tell him you came."
"Please, give Monsier Delacour my best."
"Oui, oui." Apolline fixed her with unwavering blue eyes for a moment, before tilting her head and saying, in her light voice, "I theenk you 'ave not come 'ere for a, what deed you call it, une visite de passage?"
"A passing visit? No, I didn't really."
"What can I 'elp you weeth?"
Looking for her Gryffindor bravery and reminding herself that this was her last hope, she quietly said, "I was wondering if you'd seen Bill at all."
The other woman's eyes lit up. "Oh, but you weel want to see Fleur! She 'as come 'ome with leetle Victoire, I will call 'er."
"Oh no, please don't-"
But it was too late, as Apolline's surprising loud voice called out, "Fleur, venez ici s'il vous plaît!"
Hermione buried her face in her hands as she heard footsteps tapping against the wooden floor, but raised her head, though she kept her eyes placed firmly on the fireplace, when she heard another's voice. "Maman, qu'est-ce?"
"'Ermione is 'ere."
"'Ermione?!"
Fleur called out in confusion, and the woman in question finally met her eyes, trying to keep the hatred out of them as she meekly murmured, "Bonsoir, Fleur."
"She wanted to know if you had seen Beel." Apolline added, very unhelpfully in Hermione's opinion, confirmed by the suddenly dark look in the quarter-veela's eyes.
"Maman, allez-vous prendre Victoire?"
"Of course!" The woman immediately jumped up and took her granddaughter into her arms, grinning at the excitement on the child's face and leaving the two others alone.
"So," Fleur started after a tense moment, taking her mother's vacated seat, "you weesh to know about Bill."
"We're all worried, we just want to know if he's okay." Hermione stated lamely, not meeting the other woman's piercing gaze.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw her relax backwards and shrug nonchalantly. "I gave 'im deux semaines, two weeks, and I will leave 'im for them."
"So you haven't seen him then?"
"Why do you care?"
Hermione finally looked at her directly, and could feel her eyes blazing. "Because no-one's seen him since you decided to turn up again!"
"Per'aps he eez avoiding you."
"His family haven't seen him either."
Her careless laugh made Hermione's blood boil. "They can be rather, ennuyeux."
She snorted in a most unladylike way, before letting the first of her anger seep into her voice. "As if you can talk about family, after what you did. What you're still doing, in fact."
Fleur's cold eyes met hers, and she gave a sneer that made her look like the harpy her grandmother turned into when annoyed. "What goes on between me and my 'usband eez none of your business, 'Ermione."
"It's not fair. Not on Bill, and not on Victoire."
The other woman suddenly jumped up, and Hermione followed suit, until they were nose-to-nose, glaring at each other. "You weel not tell me 'ow to raise ma fille!" She spat.
"How can you even call her your daughter after keeping her away from her father for six months?!"
"'Er father." Fleur laughed slightly, and she felt the uncontrollable urge to slap her. So she did.
Fleur looked in shock at the hand Hermione had just struck her with, before an evil grin lit up her face and she resumed her seat. "Eet would zeem," she started in a deceptively silky voice, "that our leetle book-worm 'as a fancy for a married man."
She blanched slightly, but stood her ground. "Whatever I may feel for Bill doesn't change the fact that what you're doing is wrong. Surely you must see that?"
The French woman settled back and rested her perfectly manicured hands on her knees, looking every part the perfect, beautiful wife. "'E will never love you. 'E loves me, and always weel."
"I told you, it doesn't matter-"
But Fleur went on as if she couldn't hear her, though her eyes still bore into hers with malice. "Why would 'e want you? 'E haz me, and 'e haz Victoire."
The words settled between them, the dark cloud that Hermione had so long tried to avoid and now was forced to face; Bill had a wife and a daughter. But then she smiled slightly, to the other woman's shock. "He'll never take you back. He still loves Victoire but he'll never forgive you for what you've done to him. You've lost him, you idiot, and you'll never be able to get him back."
She turned to leave but felt sharp nails digging into her arm and turned to find Fleur inches from her face. "You theenk you know 'im so well?" She hissed violently. "'E may 'ave come to you for comfort, but we will see who weens 'im."
"This isn't a game!" Hermione hissed back. "These are people's lives, Bill and Victoire's! The only loser will be you, when your daughter ends up hating you for separating her from her dad for so long."
"You pathetic leetle girl, you theenk you know what weel 'appen?"
"Why do you even want him back, you cheated on him for over five years?!"
"Vous ne savez pas de la merde!"
Hermione laughed, low and dark. "I don't know shit?" Ripping her arm from Fleur's grasp, she squared up to her, brown eyes looking murderously into blue. "You have no idea what Bill's been through these last few months, how much he's been hurting, and I swear I will never let you hurt him like that again." She saw the blonde's hand move towards her pocket, but months of war had made her instincts sharp, and before she could even draw her wand, Hermione had sent a silent stunner her way, leaving her sprawled ungracefully on the floor. She walked over and looked down at the hatred on the woman's face and shook her head slowly. "If you don't care about Bill, at least care about Victoire. She deserves better than this."
As she turned and left, she distinctly heard Fleur call, "I weel have 'im back, book-worm. You weel see."
Calling in briefly to say goodbye to Apolline and Victoire, smiling as the young girl gave a very formal introduction between Herm-nee and her grandmere, she promised to make a proper visit soon, before leaving the mansion. Strolling down the street, she gave a brief worried thought as to why Fleur would be so confident about regaining Bill's affections, and frowned as she realised that she was no closer to finding out if he was okay or not. She re-entered the Muggle world and caught the portkey back to the Ministry, her mood lightening greatly as she saw an old friend almost immediately.
"Luna!" She called out, grinning.
"'Hello Hermione. How are you?" She asked dreamily.
"I'm okay, yourself?"
Luna shrugged slightly. "I've been well. I still haven't found the Crumple-Horned Snorkack, but I'm sure I will soon. I've just given my report on the Gernumblies to your old Department, it's strange not seeing you there."
The irony of having Luna Lovegood describe something as 'strange' almost made her burst into laughter, but she managed to pull it back to a slight chuckle. "It's been a few months now, I suppose."
"Are you enjoying your new office? Daddy said that everyone there has their head filled with wrackspurts, but I can't see any around you, so I suppose you must not be fitting in well."
Once again she had the urge to explode with mirth, but instead she grinned at the girl beside her. "I think it's just my new boss that has his brain fuzzy, the other woman I work with is lovely."
"That's nice. Why do you look so upset then?"
Their feet had taken them automatically to the exit of the Ministry, and Hermione halted before apparating away. "What do you mean, I look upset?" She demanded.
Luna merely tilted her head. "I can see you don't want to talk about it." She said, shrugging slightly. "See you soon Hermione." And then the odd girl promptly disappeared.
Arriving back home and trying to regain some of the mirth she had felt simply at talking to the odd woman, she quickly failed, and curled up with an old sweater of Bill's looking at her rose ring and crying with worry and sadness, Crookshanks burying his nose against her cheek in worry.
A/N2 pianomouse, the witch slap was all for you, I love it!