The cold bite of salty water flooded her lungs as she desperately tried to draw in air. The helpless feeling of being tossed around by the undercurrents, and then all encompassing darkness… It was cold, so cold. She felt herself slipping. She could no longer tell up from down, left from right. She only hoped it would end soon. And then, she felt a tug.

Crying out, she sat up in bed. She was drenched in sweat, and panting heavily. She spied movement from the corner of her eye, and jumped to the side, which landed her squarely on the floor. As she stared at her just-vacated bed, she spied a lightly coloured barn owl shaking itself free from the discarded covers. It had a letter in its beak.

Hermione didn't remember ever seeing this bird, so she approached it with caution. She stretched out a hand, and the bird gingerly placed the folded up parchment on her palm. Then it waited. Keeping half an eye on it, Hermione unfolded the letter and started reading. It was a short note from Fleur.

Hermione,

In light of your request to be told what to do, I'd like to invite you over for tea and a much needed talk tomorrow. I thought we could take today to get our bearings.

Please send back a reply with whether or not you can make it. Come whenever, I'll have the day off.

Fleur

She stared at the note for a good few moments before she could make sense of it. As she thought about why Fleur would want to wait to meet her, the answer came to her in the silence.

The constant barrage of compulsions, urges, and thoughts was missing. She'd gotten so used to them by now, that losing them felt like taking off a heavy cloak. She suddenly felt immeasurably lighter, and her chest filled with a warm, if slightly nervous energy. An involuntary chuckle escaped her, and she reached for a quill on her nightstand to pen a short reply to Fleur.

Within moments, the bird was out the window with her message, soaring through the sky, and Hermione could swear she could follow it if she tried.

The owl found Fleur just returning from Gringotts. She usually worked at the bank in the mornings and returned to Shell Cottage for lunch if she didn't have prior engagements. In the afternoon, she was back in the depths of caverns and vaults, taking on dismantling spells gone wrong. She found that having a routine soothed her somewhat, considering her circumstances. She tried not to change her life around too much so if Hermione came searching for her, she'd have an easier time of it. A sardonic smile pulled at her lips as she recalled her decision to remain in the cottage after her divorce. How she felt it was necessary. Painful, but necessary.

On some days, she liked to think that she deserved all the pain of living in a home once filled with love, surrounded by miscellaneous knick-knacks left behind by her ex-husband. She liked to think of it as a never ending atonement for her one wrongdoing. Her eyes swept over the small living room, and she frowned. She'd have to collect all the bits and bobs that reminded her of the past - the tainted memory of what could have been.

She'd long given up on having any of that again. She had ample time, a little over four years of it. She'd given up on ever having a normal conversation with her mate, even, but she let her set the pace.

As I was wont to do, She thought, but quickly reminded herself, But not anymore!

The owl flew closer to her, insisting that she take the letter it brought. Fleur chuckled, and took the parchment from its beak, tracing her fingers carefully along the edges as she opened it.

Fleur,

I'll be there after breakfast, around 9 am. Thank you for inviting me!

Hermione

With a relieved sigh, she put the parchment aside, and went to the kitchen in search of something to eat.

She'd almost forgotten what it was like to immerse herself in her work. With the pressure of the incomplete bond gone from her, she could be present fully, and it was a welcome change of pace after so many years. After a long afternoon of gruelling work down in the bowels of the wizarding bank, she returned home dirty and fatigued, but the closest to contentment she'd been in long years. After a quick dinner and a shower, she steeled herself to do one last thing before she went to bed. She'd been putting it off for years, and it was long overdue.

Out with the old, in with the new, she thought, and with a heavy heart, she went around the house with a box collecting every little thing Bill left behind and didn't yet come looking for. There were surprisingly many tidbits. Old pairs of shoes, stretched, faded shirts, little mementos from his travels, mugs, books - the pile only grew. She knew that rationally, she could just throw these things away, but the significance of giving it back, letting him go, clung to her conscious like ivy vines.

The last thing that she found, she burned. By the time she came upon the upturned picture frame on top of a row of books on a top shelf, it was already dark outside. As soon as she touched it, she knew what it was. She lifted it off the shelf with trembling fingers, and slowly turned it over, as if afraid to look.

It was a picture of Bill and her on their wedding day. The figures in the magical photo smiled up at her brightly, locked in a loving embrace, and then leaned in to exchange a chaste kiss. The scene repeated as she stared on, locked in the moment with her past self. She only snapped out of it when she saw a teardrop hit the glass over the picture, and realised she was crying.

With shaky steps, she took the thing outside, dropped it right on the sand, and raised her wand at it. She could spy the inhabitants of the frame stare at her with uncertainty before she cast -

"Incendio."

As she watched it burn, the last remnants of an age old tension in her shoulders loosened. For the first time in years, she was able to let the pain of loss run through her, and let it go. There wasn't anything else she could do - she just had to continue moving forward. She spared a fleeting thought to how she wished that one year, Hermione would return with a solution, so she could fix things. So she could - so they could all get their lives back. How she hoped to be absolved. How she felt that she didn't deserve to be. How she knew that in reality, she never worked on freeing herself. How she knew that this was her fate, and she just laid down and gave up, gave in, before she truly could accept it. How she knew that this was the nature of the Veela.

She knew that she should revel in it, the newfound feeling of a mate's acceptance, but there was nothing happy about this union. Not yet. Not in the way of nervous, giddy anticipation that she had for starting a life with Bill. She actively tried to avoid thinking in terms of being broken in, being brought to heel. After all, Hermione tried for so many years to stop this from happening, and just yesterday, she explicitly gave her the reins, so to speak. She could make of this what she wanted. Now she just had to figure out what that was exactly.

When the flames died out, she buried the remaining ashes and glass shards in the sand right next to the grave of Dobby, but she didn't mark it. She didn't want to give herself another reminder of her past right after she tried so hard to get rid of everything. It was enough, living in that house. Memories were everywhere, even without objects to remind her of them.

She returned to the cottage, put everything she gathered in a box, wrote Bill's name on it, and after careful consideration, she apparated silently to the hills near the Burrow's back garden. From afar, she could see the light was still on in Mr. and Mrs. Weasley's bedroom, so she set the box down, settled on the soft, cool grass, and waited. It took nearly an hour for the lights to go out, but Fleur didn't mind. She wasn't in any hurry - she had a lot to think about, to let go of. As soon as she was certain that the whole house was asleep, she approached on foot carefully. Once she thought she was near enough, she sat the box down near the door to the back garden where she knew Mrs. Weasley would come out in the morning to feed her chickens, if she still had any.

"Goodbye, Bill." She whispered, feather soft, and the evening breeze carried the sound away, dancing around her and ruffling her hair, and then letting her be.

She spared one last glance at the box, and apparated away with a soft pop. No more tears were shed.

In an upstairs bedroom, a gust of wind pushed the window panes open wider with a creak, and Bill Weasley startled awake, as if emerging from a years-long slumber.

The next morning, Fleur woke early. No matter how much she wanted to prolong the moment where she wasn't fully conscious, and the day's worries hadn't settled on her yet, she grew restless quickly. This was a day of significance. The first day of the rest of her life. For the first time in ten years, she dared to feel hopeful, but a cautious dread sloshed around her stomach and tied it into knots nonetheless. After all, it was one thing to promise to try, and it was entirely another to keep that promise.

To keep busy, she got out of bed, straightened the covers, and set out to make breakfast. Pieces of toast and a cup of coffee in hand, she settled outside on the porch, sat with her legs tucked under her in her favourite lawn chair. She looked out to the sea, surveying the still calm surface that spread all the way to the horizon and beyond. Seagulls circled above, crying out occasionally while looking for food.

The air was clear, salty and crisp. Fleur took slow, deep breaths, letting it fill her lungs as she attempted to calm herself.

Hermione means you no harm, she told herself as she breathed in, and breathed out.

She closed her eyes, and thought of her maman and papa. Granted, she couldn't possibly have known them before they met, but from what she'd seen of them growing up, they were always so in sync, and not only thanks to her maman. They were very considerate of each other's needs and wants, and never stopped complimenting each other. It didn't seem like her maman was putting up any fronts, or that she was in any way oppressed in the relationship. And she couldn't recall her papa ever asking too much of her. Sometimes, it was sickening to watch how lovestruck the two of them were. It was like the honeymoon phase never quite ended for the two. And they made perfect, doting parents. She made a mental note to ask her maman about her experiences in her early days, to see if she had had any hangups like she had right now. She cursed herself for not thinking of it sooner, but there was no use to beat herself up about it. She'd ask her the next time they spoke. In the meantime, Hermione and her would need to figure things out for themselves. There were a lot of things to discover about the other - they certainly had a long way to go before they could even consider each other friends.

A reverberating pop snapped her out of her thoughts. She spied the familiar figure of Hermione making her way up the slope from the beach. There was a nervous, tight expression on her face, quite like a small child would have when asked to greet a distant relative whom they disliked.

"I'm a little early, I hope you don't mind. I just couldn't stay still." She said, rocking from one foot to the other, looking entirely out of place.

"It's alright. I've been up for ages. I couldn't sleep." Fleur offered. "Come, sit. I can bring you coffee and biscuits if you like."

Hermione glanced at Fleur's untouched plate of food, full cup of coffee, and shook her head.

"I'm too nervous to eat, to be honest." She said, and sat down in the other lawn chair.

They sat there in tense silence for a few minutes, looking out to the open sea. It was Hermione who broke the silence.

"So… how do we do this?"

"At this point, I believe you know more about the veela than I do, so I'm not the best person to ask."

"But you are. I'm trying to create a connection with you, not the entirety of the veela race." Hermione pressed out, clearly on edge. "Tu n'es pas juste une vélane! Tu es une femme très compliquée, très têtue, et franchement un peu agaçante en ce moment!"

Fleur was taken aback at the rapid french, enough so to let the slight insult fly.

"Tu es plein de surprises. I didn't know you spoke french."

"I started to learn in elementary school before I knew I was a witch; then I took a language course in the summers during my Hogwarts years, and then… Well, leading up to this year, I felt I might need it so I picked it up again. I'm hardly any good, though, and this isn't even important - I just thought I could drive my point across better like this."

"You are right." Fleur conceded after she stalled for a few seconds "On both things. This is not entirely about the veela anymore, and I must admit your knowledge of French was an effective tool against my apathy. We should get to know each other, I think, and go from there."

"Right. And I thought we could discuss some boundaries. I wouldn't want to overstep, and force your hand."

"I believe that will come with trial and error, unfortunately. I don't yet have experience with how this would work, what I would feel."

"Then I reiterate - whatever you feel, whenever you feel it, just tell me. And we'll adjust."

"I'll try…" Fleur said, momentarily placated by Hermione's words. They sat there in silence for a bit more, but this time, at least for Fleur, it was much more pleasant. They were past the knee-jerk animosity, and approached common ground.

"To add to that-" She continued, trying her wings a little in this new situation "As much as I think the both of us want to get to the bottom of it, I don't think we should discuss expectations just yet. We finally have a sense of normalcy back, our own sense of self, and there's no rush - yet - to do anything. We should take this opportunity to see if we can get along."

"See, it's that yet that worries me, though. And I know we talked about it to no end, but I'm dreading that if we don't progress quickly enough…"

Fleur cringed and turned away. She knew that the previously prevalent urges and compulsions could be back with a vengeance in certain circumstances, and alarm bells rang in her head all at once.

"I seem to recall that you said you weren't interested in women before this? Is that what worries you? That you might never be ready?"

"I wasn't interested in anyone really. I might just be a dud." Hermione shrugged, self conscious

"Not even Victor? You were the one he'd sorely miss." Fleur asked, letting a playful lilt filter into her tone.

"Well, surely for him, it was that way. I was just grateful someone noticed I was a girl. It was all around awkward, that. We never even kissed - the most we did was hold hands. If I'm being terribly honest, that's about as far as I went with anyone since - and it's not that I couldn't see myself doing more, I'd just like to make the decision on my own, you know?" Hermione rambled, and a deep red blush spread across her cheeks and down her neck. "Or, as much on my own as I'm able, considering."

"I understand completely." Said Fleur somberly. She itched to reach out and touch Hermione, to let her know it was okay. That she felt the same way, and that she understood, and that she was sorry, and that she didn't expect anything at all - but she settled for wringing her hands, and racking her brain for something useful to say.

"If you'll allow me to be terribly poetic for a moment" She started after a moment of thought, trying the best she could to channel Dumbledore "There is more than one way to go about a life of partnership, and each has their own unique value."

"But would you be content with that?" Hermione asked in a small voice

Fleur just looked at her sharply as a form of reply. She refused to discuss this before the start of anything. She told herself it was out of protection for both of them, but in truth, she was scared to think about it at length. It was early days anyway.

"Right, I get it, no discussing expectations." Hermione added, cowed.

"Not of this nature, no. We shouldn't burden ourselves with impossibly big shoes to fill. And don't think that just because I'm part-veela, I'm having an easier time of it."

Hermione gave a thoughtful hum, then looked at Fleur, really looked at her, and turned her body towards her to speak. She put her elbows up on the small table between them to gesticulate.

"Before we do anything, I wanted to say - I apologise for these hellish years I put us through. I was selfish and I ran, and I never for a moment considered that you weren't of the same mind as the voices whispering in my mind, or the dreams I had of you, or… I never considered you'd be like me - scared shitless, hopeless, but unwilling to concede. I never listened to you, all I cared about was my life, my sanity, my choices, wrapped up prettily behind the fact that I also didn't want to take away your free will. I didn't want that to be on me, too. I never really stopped to think about what it must have been like for you, not until this monday, when you burst out crying - what it must have been like to stay behind and deal with the mess. But for the last two days, that's all I've been thinking about. That and how I treated you in the past. And I'm so ashamed of myself, and I feel like I'll forever need to work for your forgiveness, but - but I'm willing. If you are, too. If you can bear to hear it."

Fleur listened intently, touched by the words. She knew it must have taken a lot for someone so stubborn and prideful to admit that they weren't infallible, that they made a mistake. She gingerly caught Hermione's wildly gesturing hands in her own, and linked them together. An instant feeling of warmth and belonging bloomed in her chest, and she fought not to let herself react to it. Hermione's mouth snapped shut with an audible click at the contact, and she went rigid as a statue - a great contrast to her previously animated self.

Good, Fleur thought. At least now, she'll listen to what I have to say.

"You shouldn't give yourself a hard time for the actions of your teenage self - that I can absolve you of. I was plenty stuck up, I admit that, and I might not have given a good first impression with how I behaved at Hogwarts when we first met. As to the past decade - as much as you want to blame yourself for the entire debacle, it was me who started it. I should not have revealed to you that we were mates when you were wounded, hurting. I should not have put this burden on you in the middle of a war. I should not have presented you with an impossible choice before you could fully comprehend the gravity of the situation. I have thought long and hard about how it could have been done better, if it should have been done at all - and in the last ten years, I've come up with many scenarios that wouldn't have landed us in this mess, no matter how painful it was to realise. We are both at fault for causing each other pain, for disregarding the other's situation. For making bad decisions in the nick of time. So instead of declaring that I, too, should forever atone for my slight, I propose this: let us be even. I wouldn't dream of forgetting the past, but let it not sour our present. Let us work through it in due time. Let us try to do better by each other this time."

Hermione listened intently, even as her hands trembled in Fleur's. Fleur could practically hear the cogs turning in her head as she saw a decision being made.

"Right then. I'm Hermione Granger, world traveller. Nice to meet you." She said with a faint smile, and squeezed Fleur's hands for a second.

"Enchanté, I'm Fleur Delacour, cursebreaker for Gringotts. I believe we'll have much to talk about." She replied, and this time, she didn't try to hide the smile that took to her lips at the feel of Hermione's hands in hers.