A/N: The rest of the story is pretty much falling action, so the chapters ought to be closer to drabble length.
It's just now the start of my summer hols, so the timing of this chapter is appropriate.
The week with the Weasleys aside, it had promised to be an uneventful summer. They had gotten through that first obstacle with only a few incidents of incivility, and Fleur had even promised to send Dominique round once or twice a year (Mrs. Weasley had dropped her teacup.). Hermione had been fully prepared to spend the rest of the break planning lessons, drinking lemonade, and kissing Fleur.
Now her quarters seemed lonely and bare: Fleur was gone to see Gabrielle, whose husband was ill. She had left in a black coat and black pants, with her black-robed daughter clinging to her side. She had taken nothing but a small bag, but Hermione felt like she had lost everything. Fleur had taken with her the beauty of the season. Hermione noted the vivid wildflowers and crystalline lake only to feel sure that they could never hold a candle to blue eyes and pale skin.
Those who have never experienced the pain of having a newly minted intimate ripped from their arms cannot fully appreciate Hermione's feelings. Fleur had fallen suddenly into her life, but she had landed straight in the center of it. Of course, Hermione reflected as she pondered her metaphor, if Fleur fell anywhere, she'd land like a cat, on her feet.
And after all, hadn't she? Fleur wanted Hermione but never needed her. She had defended her, and she would, Hermione knew, continue to do so for as long as they were...whatever they were, but she could walk out without a backwards glance.
Hermione was afraid every day that she would wake to find Fleur gone forever.