A/N: Just a heads up that people process grief in different ways, and I know we're all impatient for fleurmione to see each other again, but I didn't want to skip over Fleur's struggles. And as I delved into her experiences at the Veela camp (earning that M with some mature themes), it got overly long, so I had to break it up into two chapters. As I said in the bottom note of ch 1, it's a journey. But we'll get there.
Chapter 5 – Tender is the day
"How much longer, Emrick?" Fleur asked in irritation. The car she was sitting in had been parked for an hour and considering the almost five hour drive it took to get here, Fleur was ready to take her wand out and set fire to the vehicle.
"You always were impatient," teased Emrick lightly, flicking his shoulder-length blond hair and sighing loudly before chuckling. The attempted impression of her did nothing to reduce her annoyance.
She glowered at him and turned to look out the window, trying to let the trees of this American forest distract her. It was early evening, the sun low in the sky but due to the surrounding forest the sunlight only broke through the tree canopy in certain spots, so it felt later than it was. But maybe that was also because she hadn't adjusted to the time zone yet. Fleur had never been to Massachusetts and now she was deep inside one of its forests in the northwest region of the state. Her traveling companion was Emrick Angharad, a healer from the small Angharad Veela clan in Wales. She remembered attending his wedding to one of her second cousins, his mate, when she was fourteen years old. Ten years older than her, she really had only known of him from formal clan gatherings, at which she generally disliked his frivolous and teasing behavior. She had actually been more familiar with his older sister, Tarian, who had been the Angharad clan leader until she was killed defending a village from a pack of werewolves led by Fenrir Greyback about three months before the war ended. At annual gatherings of the European Veela clans, Fleur had enjoyed watching the brusque woman in her remarks to the various leaders. Fleur had attended because she was in line for her mother's seat as second in command on the Delacour clan council. Apolline's older sister Antoinette was their clan leader and her daughter Clara was in line to take over when Antoinette stepped down. Clara was not bonded which meant Fleur was not off the hook for leadership if Clara passed without an heir. Fleur hoped that wouldn't be the case. Their clan was large and powerful but that also meant politics and power plays were prevalent. She would have to deal with some of it when she inherited her mother's seat, but at least Head of Clan was her cousin's problem. Nevertheless, she dutifully prepared in regular meetings with Clara, Antoinette, Apolline, and her grandmother.
Emrick was not so fortunate. Tarian had no heirs when she fell and, unlike most Veela clans, the Angharad clan had been known to elect male leaders on occasion so leadership went to Emrick. At the time she'd wondered whether this was the smart choice, not realizing that Emrick had matured over the years. She saw this firsthand during the car ride and she found she liked it. His calming nature suited his job as a healer but Fleur hoped he could channel a bit of his sister's fire to ensure his clan's needs were met. He and his mate Delia had stayed in New York due to Delia's position as a French diplomat advising the French magical ambassador in dealings with the Magical Congress of the United States, though he had traveled back to his home as often as he could to deal with clan matters. According to Emrick, they were now ready for the move and would be leaving for Wales in a few weeks.
It had been two days since Fleur abandoned England in heartbreak and the prolonged goodbye with her family had left her exhausted. Apolline had to make firecalls to the Vestbyr clan in Norway to alert them of Fleur's arrival and that took up most of the morning. Gabrielle arrived after breakfast and immediately clung to Fleur for much of the day. The somberness of her departure hung over their family lunch and when she met with her parents in the library afterwards, she had expected some argument against her leaving but there were only reminders to eat, to be kind and take care of herself, and not to be concerned if she discovered her healing required more time than she initially thought. They had completely taken the pressures of her responsibilities off her shoulders and she hugged them fiercely in her goodbyes to them. Fleur had also been surprised by her talk with her grandmother. There had only been a hug and a quick word of advice: don't forget to love yourself, too. The hardest goodbye, then, was with her little sister. They walked the grounds in the late afternoon, reminiscing over childhood mischief and arguments. Fleur tried to give her advice about teachers for the next few school years but Gabrielle hadn't wanted to hear about future situations without her older sister nearby. In the last goodbyes with her family that evening, just before her departure, Gabrielle begged her to promise to return before the new year, and cried when Fleur could not. Those were the last sounds she heard as she entered the floo.
When she arrived in Norway, she was unhappy to discover it wouldn't be her final destination. Her mother had already relayed the recipe for the modified potion in her firecalls so shortly after being ushered into the home of one of the Vestbyr healers, Fleur was examined. Anitra was an elderly healer, much older than Fleur's grandmother, and had a quiet way about her. While Fleur didn't give the whole story, she felt comfortable enough to speak a little of her motivation for the potion and her guilt for having failed her mate. She made sure to omit Hermione's name and other identifying information to prevent anyone from discovering her. Anitra didn't say much in reply but she reminded her that the healing process was different for everyone, and that she had a feeling Fleur wouldn't be away from home for very long, which did make the broken Veela feel a little better. After that, Anitra wished her good luck and shuffled her off to wait in a nearby guest house. It was another couple of hours before she was told she would be going to New York City and they had arranged an emergency portkey.
The moment she had arrived in Emrick's home, Fleur knew she had guessed right about Hermione being in North America. Her sense of the younger witch was so much clearer. Apolline would probably still describe the connection as weak given they'd only been around each other for a day after the bonding but for Fleur, who had barely felt anything for most of the last year and even then only when she reached out in concentration for it, it was crushing to feel it so readily without even trying. Hermione was happy and filled with love. Those emotions had only increased Fleur's sadness and regret. Fortunately, her exhaustion meant she easily fell asleep after Emrick directed her to a guest room.
When she had woken up in the morning, tears sprung to her eyes, overwhelmed at feeling the bond like this. A part of her was tempted to find Hermione. She needed to be near her, to see her happiness for herself. But the feelings of love she was sensing from the brunette tempered her response because those feelings weren't for her.
This is the life I've chosen. I choose no other.
That was what Hermione wrote in her letter to Harry. Her mate didn't want her and that was that. The only thing Fleur needed to do was get to the camp and learn how to carry this burden, this love that was not returned.
She assumed they'd head to the seclusion camp right away, and was disappointed to learn that they wouldn't be leaving until after Emrick returned home from work around lunchtime. And she was downright furious when Emrick had informed her it would be a long car drive. Thankfully he kept his questions to the recovery effort back in England and other Veela matters. He'd surprised her with his thoughtfulness in avoiding discussions of his mate or asking about hers, and he had been incredibly considerate when it was obvious she needed quiet moments.
Fleur sighed, staring blankly at the trees and thinking back to something Emrick had said not long after they started their drive.
"In all seriousness, Fleur," he said softly, breaking her out of her thoughts after the first hour of driving, "We're driving because it takes time to determine where to put the camp and for it to be built or set up once that decision is made. I don't know the exact location, by the way, only the secret keeper can tell you that. We'll be meeting her when we get to the forest. The other reason we're driving is because all of the plans and traveling sort of prevent the Veela from taking the time to absorb what's happening. The drive forces you to slow down a bit and make sure this is what you want."
He had dropped a lot of information on her with those few sentences. She had to fight back tears at learning they hadn't needed a camp until she'd gotten rejected. Her mother had been right about rejections being rare. The existence of a secret keeper meant there would be a Fidelius Charm, and she also remembered what her mother had said about a Veela ward that would prevent Hermione from sensing her. Instead of reflecting further on her decision during the drive, as Emrick had recommended, she couldn't help but dwell on her connection to Hermione, on what she was doing, on how she looked. How did her mate feel about the connection feeling so present compared to the way it was a few days ago? Did Hermione wonder if she was looking for her? Her thoughts and every sensation of Hermione's emotions were like trying to slake a dying thirst only each mouthful came with bitterness and dissatisfaction.
Before Fleur opened her mouth to ask again about who they were meeting, they heard the pop of apparition from behind the car. Fleur turned in her seat to see an older woman. Those unfamiliar with Veela would say she looked no more than around sixty years old but the younger Veela could tell she was much older, perhaps in her eighties. Her tan skin may not have the deep lines of age but there was a thinness to it, like the years had eroded youth and left behind experience and steel. In fact, she reminded Fleur of her grandmother except she saw no sympathy in this woman's eyes. The older Veela made no move to walk to either side of the car, and Fleur understood that to mean it was time to say goodbye.
She grabbed her bag from the back seat and then turned to Emrick. Closing her right fist to her chest, she spoke a traditional farewell to a clan leader in the Veela language.
"May you lead your clan to peace and prosperity in the days to come."
He smiled and placed his right hand, palm open, over his heart.
"May your journey's end find you whole and at peace." Emrick hesitated on the word which meant 'whole' but she was glad he didn't try to omit it in a misguided effort to avoid hurting her. They both knew why she was here. Fleur was a bonded Veela without her mate. She would never be whole.
"Goodbye, Emrick. Give my love to Delia." She gave him a quick hug and got out of the car. The cold, early spring air made her glad she'd accepted Emrick's gift of a coat. Fleur had packed some appropriate clothes for Norway but she figured she'd fill out the rest of her wardrobe after she settled in the camp.
Tightening her hold on the handles of her bag with her left hand, she walked towards the woman and extended her right hand in greeting. The next thing she knew, she was being tugged to the woman for a side-along apparition.
Fleur angrily let go of the woman's hand after they reached their destination, looking around and noting they were in the same forest that Emrick drove them to.
"A warning next time, s'il vous plaît," growled Fleur.
The older woman chuckled, not bothered at all by the blonde's ire. "My name is Kathleen. I am the secret keeper and current caretaker of the camp."
Fleur turned to where Kathleen gestured and her eyes narrowed. There was no camp. Only a densely growing forest. The trees were tall, most of them young, though some she would call old growth. The underbrush was wild and she could discern no path or hint of any nearby lodgings. Oh, she knew it was there. Veela were very adept at hiding large encampments and villages in forests that the non-magical community thought unoccupied. Her annoyance stemmed from Kathleen's persistence in making her wait.
"All I see are trees," Fleur huffed impatiently.
Kathleen took her arm and led her through the outer ward. Fleur called it that because it didn't feel like a Veela ward, though she sensed the Veela magic about two meters away. That was not her concern for now. Her eyes gaped in surprise as she took in the 'camp'. Instead of the tents or small huts she had been expecting, in front of her was what looked to be a three-story Victorian-era house, complete with ornate gables and gingerbread trim. Except it was unpainted, and some of it was still under construction.
"Madame Kathleen –" started Fleur, turning to the older woman.
"Just Kathleen. Kathleen Collins."
Fleur was intrigued. It was an odd surname for a full Veela, for that was what Kathleen was; she scented her as she reached for her hand just before they apparated. What made it odd was that it was not the name of any known Veela clan that she knew of, and she was required to know them all. She took a moment. Kathleen wore no wedding ring or other identifiers which would indicate an attachment but that didn't necessarily mean she was single. Her silver hair was tied back in a tight bun. She wore twill pants and a green, loose-fitting cable-knit jumper. Her accent was American but Fleur couldn't really place the region. Just as her curiosity reached a zenith, Fleur let it go. It didn't matter. She just wanted to get on with it.
Perhaps sensing the younger Veela was not going to speak, Kathleen spoke again.
"Well Fleur Delacour, we haven't passed the Veela boundary yet. I have to ask… are you sure?"
The blonde gritted her teeth and nodded, pushing down the pain of her heartache as much as she could. Part of her could sense a worry from Hermione but she ignored it.
"All right then. Go inside the house. Pick whatever bedroom you want on the second floor, no one else is here. The house still needs finishing. Ten years ago, and I'd have had this built and ready to go in twelve hours. Guess I'm slowing down in my old age. But don't worry, I've got shields up to protect the insides from the outside."
"Aren't you coming? Are you the healer that will train me?" Fleur asked.
The older Veela smiled ruefully.
"No. I'll be checking up on the place every few days and bringing food supplies. You'll also be helping me finish the house, whenever you're ready for that kind of work, of course. Well water, plumbing, and the septic tank are set up, but there's no heat yet, so you'll have to use a charm to heat up your bath water. I've got a boiler in the basement that I'll be working on in the coming months so don't worry about that, we'll be ready for autumn and winter. Speaking of food, I'm still stocking the pantry and refrigerator. Appliances for the laundry are in the basement, too. Yup, we've got electricity. Don't ask me how I rigged it. There's enough food for tonight, the electric stove and oven work, so I expect you can handle yourself for now. Healer will start bugging you next week. Any questions?"
She shook her head. Kathleen spoke rapidly but Fleur understood and had nothing to ask for now.
"All right, I'm off. Be back in the morning with groceries."
The younger Veela frowned as she watched Kathleen leave. The woman was abrupt. She wondered how often she would be seeing her. And she was not looking forward to doing any home construction. But she could think more on that later. Fleur turned back to the house, took a breath, and during the exhale she stepped through the Veela boundary.
*::::*
The first week went by slowly. From the moment Fleur left Harry's to her arrival here, she'd been moving on instinct. The heartbreak was painful but her traveling made her think she was taking action towards a solution, and that had kept her from fully breaking down. But with every day that passed, with a surly Kathleen working outside and Fleur refusing to do anything to help her, she was left with nothing to do. And that was when Fleur's new reality began to set in.
How was she going to get over this? It seemed an impossible task. She loved Hermione Granger. She would always love her. In her magic and in her soul, Hermione was her bond mate, her wife. Her wife who was growing a family with another.
The bedroom Fleur chose was sparse, filled only with a bed, nightstand and lamp, dresser, a desk, and a fireplace. It was one of the corner bedrooms in the rear of the house, and there were no curtains on the windows, so each morning she awoke to the day glaring at her in its bright sterility. The moments before she opened her eyes were the worst, though. Because in her sleepiness, she could pretend. Ignoring the fact that the sheets were cool in the space beside her, Fleur would slowly drag her fingers outwards, reaching towards her love, imagining that the reason Hermione wasn't there was because she was tending to the baby. Their baby. It would bring a smile to her lips. But then the empty space beside her would feel colder, and the silence too loud. When she would finally open her eyes, the illusion faded completely. There was no warmth here. She had no wife, no child. She was alone. That truth would knock the breath from her and she would let out a strangled cry as she brought her fists to her eyes, willing herself not to let the tears fall. Then she would force herself out of bed, determined to do something with her day, but still thinking of Hermione. Always thinking of her.
A stab of hope had actually gone through her heart after she initially crossed the boundary because she felt Hermione's concern. Fleur was able to find excuses for many things but not this. Hermione was indeed worried about her. A couple of days of torturous indecision led her to remind herself that her mate was a kind woman. It only made sense for her to worry about a vanishing connection. At least the worry wasn't constant. More often than not, Fleur felt Hermione's joy throughout the days and even in the middle of the night. Fleur often imagined Hermione having to do midnight feedings, changing nappies. Her heart ached with longing, and she tried to focus on the meditations from the book she took from her mother's library but they didn't really help.
On her eighth day there, Kathleen dropped by the house, set a bag of clothes down in the entry way and said, "Here are some clothes. I think most will fit you. You need more sweaters and pants. There's a pair of good hiking boots in there, too. When the weather gets hot, let me know and I can rummage for lighter wear. Anyway, the healer's coming in the morning."
The old Veela promptly turned around and left. Fleur was relieved at the news of the healer's impending arrival and she looked forward to it.
Morning came, and the healer arrived before Fleur had even finished getting dressed. She'd heard a voice yell out for her from the entry way, and instead of the relief and anticipation she had felt the night before, now she only felt dread. Fleur slowly buttoned her shirt and took her time as she walked down the stairs. After introductions, her unease grew. The healer's name was Raquel, and something about the woman set her on edge. She was in her forties, shorter than Fleur, her long black hair neatly braided at the back, and she wore bright green and blue robes. The woman exuded confidence and gentleness, and Fleur immediately disliked her. Later she would realize the source of her dislike was resentment for needing her in the first place, but right now Fleur leaned into her annoyance with the woman as she chatted about growing up in Arizona with her mother and father, both half-Veelas from a Mexican clan in Querétaro who had fallen in love with the Arizona desert. Raquel went to Ilvermorny, and afterwards started her training as a healer. A few years after she finished, she took a tour of the country's art museums; it was while she was in Chicago that she met her muggle mate, and they had been living there for the last fifteen years.
"And what does your mate do?" muttered Fleur as she followed Raquel to the kitchen. She didn't actually care but figured it would get the healer to finish with the small-talk and move on to the matter of helping Fleur.
"He's an accountant," laughed Raquel. "The look on his face when I revealed the existence of magic and the fact that we were meant to be together, poor man. It took a while but he came around, obviously. And we go back to Querétaro as often as we can for the gatherings, name day ceremonies, and so on. Anything to show our twin girls their family and their heritage. They're only eight but I can already sense their developing Veela magic. We still have to decide whether to send them to Ilvermorny but I'm starting to lean towards the small Veela school they opened ten years ago up near Mont-Tremblant in Canada. You know how it is with our young. I would feel safer with it, and my girls wouldn't have to worry as much about their developing thralls since they'd be around other Veela. Plus, I'm in Canada fairly regularly; I'm one of the Veela healers that Derwent wizarding hospital occasionally calls in for a specialty consult. Although hopefully we don't get another blizzard for another several years like the one we got back in January. Fortunately, I could apparate to and from Ottawa out of Chicago but that snow essentially shut everything down."
Fleur was only vaguely listening at this point, more intent on watching Raquel as she walked to the stove and retrieved a cauldron she hadn't seen before. After setting it on the small breakfast table, the healer explained Kathleen had brewed the potion during the night and it only needed Fleur's blood and magic. Fleur stared at it. It was the original version of the potion that had ruined her life. She felt anger surge through her as Raquel rattled on about how the potion was only useful for a bonded Veela that had been rejected since unbonded mates didn't sense each other the way bonded mates did. It was only when she noticed the healer had stopped talking that she realized she was expected to speak.
"Why take this one? It will only work for six months. Why not make ones that work for longer? We both know it's possible," challenged Fleur. She didn't really want the modified potion either but she was irritated by how good-natured Raquel seemed to be. Fleur much preferred Kathleen's combative personality.
"Hmm, yes, Anitra told me of your modifications. It is true, we Veela healers involved with this process have known how to make a potion that works for longer than six months, and we know how to make one that does more than dull your sense of your mate. But as you've found with your own concoction, those potions hide things away, make us less in tune with our nature. Yours was quite effective in that respect. What you don't know is that the original potion was designed that way for a reason; these modified potions have long-term negative side effects that healers decided over five hundred years ago weren't worth the risk to the Veela."
"What risks?" asked Fleur. Her mother hadn't mentioned that.
"In addition to causing a disconnect with our instincts, there were reported effects on the thrall. Surely you noticed how yours had diminished."
"I just thought I'd obtained more control with maturity."
"Yes, that does happen. But the reach of your thrall was affected. Anitra's examination did find this had worn off, though. It was also found that in multiple years of usage, the heart was weakened, and there were reductions in life expectancy. Plus, no longer living as one with our nature, and more like being split into two, caused its own related damage on the emotional health of the Veela. You were only taking your potion for two years, and Anitra detected no adverse effects on your heart, so we are hopeful you are not at risk for the rest. I'll be conducting intermittent health checks on you to be sure. We're less certain about the ways your magic may have acted during the bonding… I don't suppose you'll tell us who she is so we may conduct –"
"Absolutely not. She is gone for a reason and no one is to seek her out or approach her without my permission," cut in Fleur, her eyes alert to any indication that Raquel planned to ignore her command. Hermione was her bond mate, and would forever be under her protection no matter the status of their relationship. To go against her wishes would be an insult to Hermione, and Fleur would bring her wrath down upon anyone who didn't respect what her mate wanted.
Raquel cocked her head slightly but then nodded. Fleur gave a curt nod in return, accepting that the healer understood and backed down.
"As you know, for bonded mates, the initial connection where you constantly sense each other's emotional state is there to help the bond grow stronger, to help foster communication and closeness. The Veela's instinct to be near and protect is also very strong during this time. It's only after several months of close emotional bonding that those sensations fade to the background, where the bond becomes strong enough to not need that constant influx of emotions; just what is necessary to determine safety versus danger. But since you will not have that emotional bonding with your mate, your sense of her and hers of you will remain this way for the rest of your lives. This potion is not a fix. However, it can help in the beginning if you are feeling overwhelmed. Keep in mind that suppressing our true selves is not the goal of your being here."
"Isn't it?" asked Fleur petulantly. "I'm here to learn how to bury this love, am I not?"
Raquel was silent for several moments. Fleur resisted the urge to pace. She didn't like being analyzed like this. She didn't like that the other woman seemed to understand so much more than Fleur did.
"What do you think love is, Fleur? What does it mean to you?"
She scoffed and didn't answer. She was in no mood to be lectured on the pedestal upon which Veela placed love and their bond mates, or discuss philosophical views on love in general.
Raquel continued, "Why do you think you're here?"
"I'm here because my mate has rejected me," Fleur declared, adding a false tone of pride to her reply.
"You could've stayed with your family. It isn't a requirement to go into isolation. You're strong. You don't have to be here. You don't have to talk to me at all."
"But –"
"In the beginning, emotional health wasn't understood the way it is now. Families looked upon despair and depression as failings and embarrassments. The camps were meant to allow the grief that comes with this kind of heartbreak room to express itself, allowing those Veela to process, lash out, or cry, or just be on their own, without the pressure to put on a mask to make loved ones more comfortable around them. It was very hard for those Veela. Even healers were less knowledgeable in how to help their charges come to terms with it all. They knew that those long-term potions couldn't be used but they were still very much learning by doing back then. In modern times, our families and clans have more understanding of these emotions and behaviors. The reason we haven't had a camp in over five years is because those few Veela who were rejected by their mates were able to adjust without the need for them."
"But were they bonded to their mates?" snarled Fleur, interpreting Raquel's words to mean she was weak compared to those others.
Raquel sighed and shook her head. "A bonded Veela hasn't been rejected by their mate in around six decades."
"So how can you even help me?" asked Fleur, exasperated at this revelation, fear creeping up her spine. Had she put all of her hopes on this camp for nothing? "If it's been that long, that means you've never helped someone in my situation."
"I will be consulting with Anitra, who was the healer for the last person in this situation. She is too old now to do this herself but I did part of my healer training under her. What I was trying to say was that we are all different. There is no one size fits all solution, it is very much a case-by-case scenario, which is why the book your mother gave you has little more than meditations and platitudes, and a brief discussion of the potion. Some Veela will stay near their families, and some need time to themselves. It isn't helpful to bury everything down all the time. Will it be easier for you to express your anger or self-pity with us or with your family? Here in this camp, my feelings won't be hurt. Neither will Kathleen's. You are here to adjust and heal at your own pace. All we ask is that if you choose to leave, give us a couple of weeks to slowly diminish the Veela ward. It doesn't matter for unbonded mates, but for your mate, it might be disconcerting to suddenly feel the fullness of your connection after getting used to not feeling it. This was a recommendation made by the last bonded Veela when they left seclusion and we think it would be helpful for you and your mate in the long run.
"So, you are free to stay or leave, and you are free to take or not take this potion. I only brought it out now because I wanted to talk a bit about what I knew of your modified potion and discuss Anitra's examination. And if you prefer, we could also discuss other no-maj medications. Those do not have a duration limit the way this potion does, although side effects exist with those as well. Also, if you don't want to take this potion now, I'll bottle it up and put it in that cupboard over there so it'll be ready just in case."
Fleur felt small and unsure. Raquel was saying she had a choice. It didn't feel like it, though. It felt like she was in control of nothing whatsoever, her life spiraling and unraveling with every breath that she was without Hermione. She narrowed her eyes at the healer.
"All I know is I'm not taking that potion."
And Fleur stormed out of the kitchen.
The next weeks were difficult. She was mostly alone and it gave her too much time to think. And feel.
One night she woke up sensing her mate's distress, but it barely lasted five minutes, quickly turning to a calmer state. Back in England, when she had thought Hermione was having a nightmare, the stressed tether between them lingered for hours. And even before that, back at Shell Cottage, she saw firsthand how those nightmares ripped through Hermione; only by holding her throughout the night could the witch obtain the rest that was needed to make sure she held onto her sanity. But now she could sense the brunette's warmth and amusement, and Fleur imagined her getting out of bed to check on her baby. She was happy that her mate was healing, moving on with the life she had built. It was evident that Hermione had overcome whatever torment she had tried to downplay in front of the others during their time at Shell Cottage, but feeling Hermione's healthier mental state only caused Fleur to feel left behind. Stuck in her broken heart, forever longing for a woman who didn't want her.
Distractions were few. There was no television but there was a library on the main floor. It was an eclectic mix of magical and non-magical fiction, magical history, social theory, self-help, philosophy, and psychology. She stuck with the fiction.
Raquel stopped by twice per week and Fleur mostly sulked during their meetings, only occasionally conversing in stops and starts. Kathleen wasn't much company; the old Veela didn't live there, though sometimes she stayed a night or two when she was trying to finish a task, but she kept to herself. The woman was prickly, and when she did speak to Fleur, it was to complain about her not helping much with the work. Fleur thought having to prepare her own meals and be responsible for general cleaning was enough so she let Kathleen's complaints go unheeded. Besides, she had her own complaining to do. Fleur hated the cold. April in Massachusetts meant spring but it wasn't warming fast enough for Fleur's taste. After one morning when Kathleen calmly listened to the younger Veela rant about the drafty house, the older woman said no one was stopping her from using the fireplaces. Fleur had rolled her eyes in response and said that's what she had been doing, along with casting multiple warming charms on her blankets, but there was no more firewood in the house. She had seen the pile of large pieces of a chopped-up tree out back, but had assumed Kathleen would take care of splitting them for her. She was surprised when Kathleen told her to pick up an axe and get to work.
At first Fleur thought the wood came from the state forest and argued against taking from protected lands, and warned the woman that when she left the camp, she expected the forest to be left untouched. Kathleen had nodded approvingly and placated her worries saying that she had brought the log pieces from her own property, aging them with a spell, and would continue to bring over wood for the duration of Fleur's stay; not even fallen trees around the house would be touched. There would be no evidence of them having been there at all when Fleur was ready to leave.
That argument settled, Fleur was given a pair of leather work gloves and taken to the basement which housed the tools. Directed to the axe, Kathleen left her to figure the rest out on her own. She had never chopped firewood before. And at first, she used her wand. But Kathleen must have known that would leave her unsatisfied. It explained the gloves. There was only so much reading she could do so she decided this would be a good way to make the time go faster. Despite the gloves, she got blisters the first day. Fleur healed her hands and kept at it the next day until she had a messy pile of kindling and firewood. She'd gone to bed that night tired yet feeling pleasantly accomplished.
Soon, chopping wood became an outlet for her frustration and helplessness. Helpless over the future she never wanted but had most certainly caused, and frustrated over her inability to get comfortable communicating with Raquel. With every swing of her axe, Fleur would go over the conversations she and Hermione had during the tournament year, the passionate kisses in hidden corridors, her idiocy in not recognizing the love that had grown for the young witch even then. Her rage would peak when she recalled her decision to take that potion, how that mistake above all others had led to this.
Raquel never pushed her to talk, but it wasn't like the therapy she'd expected. Sometimes Raquel would want to make lunch and they'd linger in the kitchen until the woman left. Or she would want to take a hike on the warded path Kathleen had created in the woods around the house. It wasn't a long hike, perhaps just a two-kilometer loop, but Fleur found it another useful distraction when she felt like she'd been cooped up in the house for too long. Raquel would stay anywhere between ten minutes to a couple of hours, depending on what activities the woman felt like doing. Whenever Fleur managed to participate in a conversation, it was usually about more mundane things, like comparing their clans' traditions, or speculating on how hot and humid the summer months in Massachusetts were going to be. Her initial irritation with the healer was gone. She actually liked the woman now. She liked that Raquel wasn't bothered by Fleur's silence, and she found the woman's presence and voice soothing even when she described the latest comical mishap with the twins. But Fleur didn't know how to open up the way she knew she should. Raquel could only do so much to get her comfortable. Fleur had to make an effort, too, but so far she was reluctant.
On the few occasions that Fleur had properly conversed about the recent past, their talks had veered towards the war against Voldemort. She spoke about her fear at the time and the few lives she had taken in the final battle. Her traumas were nothing like Hermione's or even Bill's, but she knew she would always be haunted by some of the things she had seen and done.
During this time, Raquel's question from their first meeting needled the back of her mind. What did love mean to her? Fleur had thought at the time she was going to be lectured, and avoided it by not answering, but maybe the healer had meant for her to see something that was supposed to help. She was too stubborn to ask, though. If it was truly important, Raquel would ask again.
Fleur managed to create a routine for herself: breakfast, hike, reading, lunch, hike, reading, dinner, sleep. Sometimes reading would be replaced by chopping wood or cleaning parts of the house. Sometimes Kathleen managed to convince her to help build a shelf for the third-floor attic, or some other piece of furniture. 'Help' was a generous description of what Fleur did, though. She mostly watched but Kathleen was a patient teacher when it came to woodworking and Fleur did learn a little.
Despite the routine and attempts at being productive, as the weeks dragged by, getting herself out of bed became even harder. She was holding onto her self-discipline by a thread and before she knew it she had been there for nearly nine weeks, feeling like a failure for not making any progress. She should be getting stronger and instead she only grew sadder.
And then her connection to Hermione weakened.
It happened while she was on her morning hike, and she quickly brought out her wand and apparated to the house, yelling for Kathleen. She wanted to leave. She needed to find Hermione. But she was alone and she remembered Kathleen would not be checking in for a few days. Fleur had promised not to leave without warning, and so she stayed. But it was like that night at Harry's all over again, feeling like something was wrong but not being able to do anything about it. The only comfort she took was that the connection was not as weak as it had been during that time of waiting for Hermione's return. It seemed being in the same continent had helped maintain a certain level of connection. So, it was weaker but she could still feel Hermione's emotional state. And there was no pain or fear, which meant her mate was safe.
The day Kathleen returned, the connection did as well. Confused at first, Fleur realized that Hermione had likely traveled a significant distance for a few days and then came back. A holiday, perhaps. Fleur's worry disappeared but picturing Hermione on a holiday with her family caused her to choke in her jealousy. Hermione was living her life and Fleur was at a standstill in isolation. A few days later, the connection weakened again. This time, Fleur was able to keep the worst of her worry at bay and she was reassured when the connection restored itself several days later.
A month after that the connection weakened again. But instead of strengthening a few days later as it had before, it stayed that way.
Fleur tried to distract herself as she waited for it to return. She even helped Kathleen install the boiler, which meant hot water and functioning radiators for heat. But days of waiting turned to weeks. When Fleur finally understood this to mean that Hermione had moved away, she snapped. Whatever motivation and discipline she'd managed to instill in her daily activities fell by the wayside. Any effort to converse with Kathleen or Raquel disappeared. Fleur stopped everything she had been doing that had barely kept her head above water, and let herself sink into her despair.
Neither Raquel nor Kathleen commented on it. Not at first. It was almost as if they expected it, and Kathleen took to spending more time at the house, checking in every day, instead of leaving Fleur alone for days at a time.
Eventually, her sadness turned into anger and she would yell at Raquel, who was visiting three times per week now, and made an artform out of destroying whatever furnishings were at hand. Kathleen would sometimes send expletives her way as she repaired what Fleur had broken but for the most part, she let Fleur vent. And vent she did. About the blasted summer weather, about her chores, and about her mate.
She loved Hermione but now she was angry at her. All this time, Fleur had been beating herself up over taking the potion, taking on all the blame for what had happened, for leaving the bedroom without giving Hermione any assurance at all that they would indeed have a talk about what they felt for each other. She had also berated herself for not using her clan to find Hermione as soon as she realized they were bonded. Fleur had spoken to people at the Ministry and made innocent inquiries to people like the Weasleys and others, but she could've done more. She should've used every resource available.
But the more she thought about it, the more she blamed Hermione for running away instead of telling her to her face that she didn't want her. She also wished Hermione had been more explicit about being her mate in the first place. If Fleur had known, she never would've slept with her that night. As much as she would have wanted to, that leap into permanence should not have been so lightly made. Fleur would've explained things to her mate, and made sure she was completely free from Bill before making that commitment. She knew now that Hermione didn't really understand what being bonded to Fleur would mean, the significance of joining her clan as Fleur's bond mate and spouse. In her frequent drunken hazes, Fleur cursed Hermione for making such a selfish, ignorant decision without asking her about it.
Kathleen didn't try to hide or stop bringing the wine after she noticed Fleur had upped her intake from one glass at dinner every once in a while, to two glasses, and then to a whole bottle almost every evening. Fleur overheard a heated discussion between Raquel and Kathleen about it one night when she couldn't sleep, with the old Veela saying they needed to give Fleur more time, and that it would be a mistake to impose restrictions on her when she was already feeling powerless. Unseen, Fleur silently thanked the old woman and went back to her room.
By the time the leaves on the trees started to change colors and fall, her anger and self-hate felt like they were the only things that existed. One day, after waking up to heave the previous night's imbibement into the toilet, she realized that Raquel was holding her hair to keep it out of her face, tying it back with a hairband and then rubbing a soothing hand across her back. When she sat back against the wall, she felt a wet washcloth on her face, cleaning her filth. Before she knew it, she was handed a small vial which Raquel said was a hangover potion. Unshed tears filled her eyes as she drank it down. She'd been cruel and selfish with the healer and didn't deserve any of her kindness. And then she wished it wasn't Raquel taking care of her, but Hermione. Always Hermione. Fleur wept then. The older woman wrapped her arms around her and the young Veela cried all the tears she had been holding back since she'd arrived at the house. Sobbing, begging, screaming why, her rambling a mix between French, English, and Veelan.
Fleur thought she knew what she had been giving up when she had decided to take that potion. She had willingly given up finding her mate and forming that bond. But she'd been wrong in so many ways. She had thought it an easy sacrifice but now knowing what she'd lost, she wished with every fiber of her being that she could take that choice back and prevent this destruction of her heart. Feeling Hermione every day, forever and completely in love with the younger witch, Fleur was devastated at having her chance at happiness taken away from her before she even knew and it was too late.
When she had finally exhausted herself, she pulled herself out of Raquel's arms, wiped her face with a towel, and ran out, staggering down the stairs to the kitchen with the healer following close behind.
"Get it for me, please," Fleur said hoarsely, rummaging in a drawer for a knife. Finding a small, sharp one, she took out her wand and sterilized it.
She didn't have to explain. Raquel understood and went to a cupboard in the hall that Fleur had avoided like the plague. She brought a jug to the kitchen and removed the stopper.
Taking the small knife, Fleur pierced the tip of her forefinger and let three drops of her blood fall into the jug. With fresh tears filling her eyes, she looked at Raquel.
"You're feeling very emotional right now, Fleur, but I won't stop you if this is what you really want. It's up to you. Just remember, it's supposed to be temporary. The goal is acceptance, not suppression. This potion is not a fix, and I know that's what you've been expecting ever since you arrived here. Some word or act from me that will magically make this all go away. But it's a process, and it's hard, and you have to work for it. We have to talk about what happened, and we have to talk about what you're feeling now, and what it'll feel like after you leave here, if you leave here. So take a breath and really think before you take this potion. If you think dulling your sense of her for a little while will help you move past this despair, then yes, it's worth a try. There are also medications I can prescribe. You are not limited by Veela tradition, and it is not weakness to need these supports, okay? It is strength to recognize you can't do this on your own. As far as this potion, you don't have to take it for the whole six months. Every two weeks, you can decide if you want to continue."
Fleur nodded and looked back down to the jug. Apolline had advised her not to take a potion but she had hit bottom. She was willing to try anything now. Her love for Hermione was ever present but she needed a break. She needed to not feel her for every moment of every day. Just a little while so she could breathe again. She held her hand over the jug and said the incantation which invoked her magic to activate the potion. When it was done, she poured the requisite amount into a glass and drank it.
"I'm not ready to talk yet," Fleur stated after staying silent for a few minutes, during which time she felt the connection weaken to the way it had been before Fleur came to America. That faint wisp against her chest, sensing Hermione's presence but not her emotional state.
"I understand," replied Raquel. "I'll check in next week, okay?"
Raquel left the house. Not long afterwards, Kathleen walked into the kitchen, narrowing her eyes on the jug and glass in Fleur's hand, and nodded.
"Good. I think you needed that," the older Veela said.
"And how would you know?" asked Fleur angrily, the tears falling down her face, daring Kathleen to ridicule her.
"Because I've been through it."
Fleur's eyes widened in shock. She watched as Kathleen grunted and grumbled her way to the refrigerator, took out a cup of yogurt and left the kitchen with a final complaint: 'fucking kids think they know everything'.
She stayed in the kitchen for a long time after that, unsure what to do, feeling that same anger and despair that had been torturing her for months. Too tired to do anything but stay in the house, Fleur grabbed a yogurt and water bottle from the refrigerator and headed to the library. Maybe it was time she cracked open one of those non-fiction books.
A/N: Thanks so much for reading, and commenting. I appreciate all of you
:
ceMR: yay fleurmione baby!
Phooenicis: Thanks!
spenlove79: Agree, they really really do need to talk! I definitely leaned into the miscommunication trope for this story lol
kpop1392as: Thank you!
NicoleFFX: Me too. Especially after this chapter. Fleur will be so happy when she finds out.
Guest: Hi, thank you for your questions. No, there is no magical or instinctive knowledge of the existence of Veela offspring in this world. So there is no magical record with the clan or anything like that. It would certainly solve a lot of the miscommunication here, wouldn't it? lol But I'm a glutton for angst, so I've made it hard for our girls in this respect. In the second chapter, Apolline did ask Fleur if she wanted them to check in on Hermione but Fleur said no and I believe Apolline would be respectful of Fleur's stance on this. I also included a little bit about that in this chapter, too. Hermione is technically part of the Delacour clan but hasn't been openly acknowledged as such. For the time being, only Fleur's immediate family knows who her mate is. So no one is seeking her out. We'll find out more about Hermione in ch 7. Thanks for reading!