As soon as she woke up, Fleur Delacour knew it was going to be one of those days. The sky was overcast, and the wind blew loudly over the sandy hills that surrounded Shell cottage. The bed's right side mocked her with its insistent emptiness as she escaped the comforting confines of the sheets to greet another pleasantly English Saturday.
The comforting routine of breakfast lulled her into a false sense of calm. A steaming cup of coffee lent her a bit of warmth, and pieces of toast gave her hands something to do. She settled beside the window looking over the shore, and watched as the waves lapped angrily at the beach. She could almost forget it was that time of the year again.
A resounding pop reverberated along the beach, startling her and sending her to grab her wand even a decade after the war. She pressed her back against the wall and clutched the piece of wood to her chest, trying to calm her breathing. Minutes passed before she dared to move, if only to peer out through the window.
A lone woman stood on the wet sand, her shoes soaked by the waves. She appeared unconcerned with her predicament, almost as if she'd been a statue, just placed there. Seeing her, Fleur sighed, and relaxed. She had nothing to fear. Not in the usual sense. She watched the woman watch the sea for several minutes until her heart gave a painful lurch and she felt an irresistible urge to join her. She shook herself, and poured her cup of coffee down the sink. She threw the remaining pieces of toast into the bin on the way out of the kitchen. She'd find something to do. There was always something to do.
She sorted out the laundry, and spied the woman standing in the same spot an hour later. She cooked her lunch, and watched her watch the sea while the soup simmered over the fire for half an hour. The unmoving form of the woman called to her with its bittersweet song, and as the day grew older, she found herself less and less able to resist.
After lunch, she could barely tear herself away from the window to tidy up the bedroom and make the bed properly. The empty pang she felt while making the right side of the bed impacted on her less than her ever growing desire to approach the woman, in comparison. The only thing holding her back from giving in was that she knew it would be in vain. She'd gain nothing from going out to her, she knew. She already tried and failed nine times.
When the woman was still standing in the same place well after she finished dinner, she tossed her plate into the sink, and pushed the front door open with a sigh, determined to get the meeting over with. The first few steps out the door felt like dragging herself through mud, but her strides became lighter and easier the closer she got to the stoic figure. Finally, she joined her in the shallow water, the tide coming up to their shins. They did not look at each other, did not greet each other. For a moment, Fleur didn't even breathe - a mix of anticipation and dread filled her from head to toe. She looked up at the sky, cleared from clouds by the day's winds, hoping to gain strength from the silent celestial bodies in the sky. She knew the inevitable would come at any moment.
"Tell me about Veela." The woman spoke softly, her voice barely a whisper against the sound of the waves.
Fleur's hands balled into fists, and her jaws clenched as she kept herself from crying out in agony. She could feel hot tears welling up in the corners of her eyes. She turned to look at the other woman. Her skin dusted with light freckles, her chestnut coloured hair a wild mane after being whipped around by the wind all day, and posture immaculate and unwavering. A myriad of scars peppered her skin, shining brightly in the starlight, speaking of days long past.
"Hermione-" Fleur pleaded.
Neither of them moved. Hermione's gaze remained on the horizon. She looked to be trying very hard to appear unaffected.
"Tell me. Please." She repeated, her voice cracking.
"Veela are classified as magical creatures with near human intelligence-" Fleur started, slowly easing into her monologue. She knew what to say and how to say it by now. She had ample opportunity to practise. After all, if you knew the one you gave your speech to would come back next year to hear it again, regardless of your performance, would you still be as afraid to make mistakes? Nothing could be as big of a mistake as what started this ritual in the first place. Nothing else measured up in comparison. To ruin three lives with one simple word. Or rather, two simple words. A yes, and a no. Both of them were crucial in calling forth this calamity.
She was so consumed by reciting the comprehensive list of facts people knew about Veela that she completely missed it as Hermione turned to face her, upsetting the lazy, constant pattern of the oncoming waves – the winds have calmed since morning, making the evening eerily still.
"I hate this." Hermione said, her voice hoarse.
Fleur could only stare at her in bewilderment. This was not how things went so far. She was fully prepared to say her piece and struggle to hold it together as she heard the usual crack of apparition which caused her heart to break into more and more pieces with every one of Hermione's silent departures. That crack of apparition didn't come this time.
"I hate this, and I hate that I'm making us do this, and I hate that you're making us do this, and I hate it that we can't help it. I want to break the goddamn wheel, Fleur, please tell me how, please, tell me about Veela." She pleaded, tears threatening to spill from her eyes.
"I… Hermione, I can't tell you. I don't know what to do. I don't…"
"Why do I feel drawn to you? Why do I keep coming back? Why does it feel so good? To be here, standing up to my shins in ice cold water? You ruined me! Why do I only feel alive when I'm with you?"
The questions sliced through the cold night air sharply, feeling like a slap to the face to Fleur.
"The same reason I feel drawn to you. The reason I come out to meet you every time. The reason I stand up to my shins in cold water next to you, the same reason I say the same thing over and over and over again, to prolong this moment, to be able to breathe, to feel like myself, to feel alive. You're my mate, Hermione. Whether you rejected me or not."
"You were married, for Heaven's sake! What was I supposed to do?!" Hermione bellowed angrily, clenched her hands into fists, and gave Fleur a dark, desperate look.
Fleur took a shuddering breath to calm herself. It wouldn't do for the first real conversation they had in nearly a decade to devolve into a shouting match.
"I'm not anymore… not for a long time, even." She said in a resigned tone.
"Excuse me?" Fleur raked her fingers through her hair nervously while she gathered her errant thoughts.
"The reason you keep coming back? You keep hoping for some kind of… release? From this constant pressure?"
Hermione nodded intently, listening.
"I feel it, too. And it's not a release I could find in William after my confession. It was as good as the end of our marriage, right then, but you couldn't have known. You ran off to fight the war, and then you kept running."
"I kept searching! I kept searching for a release from this madness. I want to turn my skin inside out, Fleur, it itches and it burns for you! I want none of this! But then I come here and I can't bring myself to get any closer than this, but I can't find an escape from it anywhere else, either! Any other person repulses me so deeply, you couldn't even comprehend! I kept searching for a way to keep my free will!"
"You think I asked to be born like this?" Fleur retorted, and tiny feathers sprouted from her temples in her rage. "I actually wanted to be with Bill! I didn't ask for any of this! But then you came with all of your questions and..."
"So what do we do now? We can't do this forever." Hermione asked, incredulous
"You appeared to be content with repeating the same thing over and over?" Fleur cut back, sarcasm dripping from her every word.
Hermione gave an animalistic groan as she wiped her face with her palm.
"How long does this last?"
Fleur looked Hermione in the eyes, and held her gaze for three agonizing seconds before she deemed to answer her.
"Until you give in." She spoke the words with cruel honesty, letting her angry tears flow down her cheeks and fall into the water at her feet. She watched as Hermione's face hardened. She twisted in place, and in a second, she was gone with a sharp crack ripping through the air.
Fleur's knees gave out under her, and she collapsed onto the wet, sandy shore, her body suddenly leaden with an indescribable loss. It was a cruel twist of fate, she knew, that her mate would be the most stubborn witch on the planet.
She would never give in. Not until she saw any other way.