A/N:
We are getting into the meat of it now, I think. I'm not sure how many more chapters are remaining (due to my chaotic neutral nature and how little I stick to plans and rules once a new wild idea randomly pops into my head), but I do believe we are about 3/4 into the story. So, I don't anticipate too many more chapters before the story is complete.
I'm feeling rather insecure about this chapter. I'm worried that it doesn't fully convey everything I'm trying to say here. But I've combed through it so many times that I don't know what other changes I could even make to it at this point without just blowing it up entirely and starting over again. And I don't really feel like doing that. So I hope everything makes some kind of sense.
Erembourc was a last minute add in. I hadn't originally planned to mention much about her (wasn't going to even give her a name). But now that she's been brought to life I'm kind of interested to see where her story goes. What do you think, dear readers? Let me know in the comments what you think of Erem. Would you like to see more of her? Or should she remain somewhat of a mystery?
Disclaimer: I don't own the rights to anything related to this fandom. I just write a bunch of nonsense (unpaid) to improve the series and give fans all the things that JK Rowling won't.
I do own Erembourc. So that's pretty neat.
Chapter 15
A damp heat knotted up Hermione's spine. Its vines shooting up her neck, towards the crown of her head. She took a deep breath. A distinctive stench overwhelmed her. But it was only a trick of the mind. A nagging at that base instinct inside her that told her to run – before her body could empty the contents of her stomach – before she could get caught. Instead, she sat in it. With her hands folded tightly in her lap and her eyes hollow and wide. As still as a tree. She could take it. Would take it. Feeling in her bones that it was wisest not to struggle or fight back. She let it constrict all around her like devil's snare.
There was a high rumble from down the hall – the sound of someone calling out, "You cannot go in there! They are mating! 'Ave you no respect!?"
But Adriana didn't hear it. Or she didn't care. She stood in the doorway, her face exquisitely dour. Like an old horcrux that contained the very soul of the dark lord himself. Looking at Hermione and Fleur. The two women, frozen with fear, sat there on the bed as if they had made indirect eye contact with a basilisk through a handheld mirror. And she wasn't saying anything. Just standing there. In the doorway. Looking at them.
It felt a lot like that time Hermione's mother had walked in on her trying to magic a ladder to her window so she could sneak out. It felt like getting caught. The sensation formed like a golden snitch zipping across the length of a quidditch pitch. Jumping from her tongue before she could even reach it.
"No! We weren't!"
Was that a lie? Was she a liar? Who knew what she was anymore. A freak, a mindless phantom, a Troll of Nadroj? She felt like a liar. Especially when she looked at Fleur. Blonde hair a mess. Those lush, voluptuous, seductive lips inviting her in to a place all too familiar. Still swollen and kiss-worn from a happening that should have only been real in her head.
Hermione sighed. There she was. Doing it again. Preoccupied with the wrong thing. It took everything in her, to the very marrow in her bones, but she forced her eyes higher.
Where they met the sweltering flames that deepened the blue of Fleur's eyes. A raw sapphire inside a gas flame. "What the hell are you doing?" Rang out in the space around them, but her mouth wasn't moving. It was the tension in her shoulders speaking. And that something in her eyes. The color of which was one of the first things that drew people to her in the first place. Because blue was the color of sorrow. A flicker of it flashed through the careworn surface of her irises.
Hermione wanted to address that sorrow. Directly. To tell the other woman that what had come spewing from her mouth was in no way meant the way it was taken. To reassure her that she still felt something simmering between them no matter how her outburst might've made it seem. But when her brain sent the signal to her lips, they denied the request. Something had, very figuratively, stupefied them. Which stopped her from speaking altogether. Something likely to do with the high arch of Adriana's eyebrow.
"Have you lost your mind?! Do you even realize the magnitude of what you've done?!" She yelled, prepared to outline in great detail just that. But Fleur didn't need to be informed of anything. She already knew the answer. The freshness of it itching at her fingertips gave it away.
"Adriana, what I did was what was best for my clan. I saw a parasite feeding from an open wound and I cut it from the source. The matriarch may be the 'ead that directs and guides us. But is it not each and every clan member's responsibility to ensure that if the 'ead turns rotten that it is cut off before it can contaminate the rest of the body?" The phrase "turns rotten" sounded soured in her mouth. It tasted of fresh squeezed lemon and free market economics. She tried to make it sound as if there were some sort of disconnect between what she felt and what had been done, but the muscles on her neck tightened, "I am young. And I am inexperienced in many things. But I saw a problem. And I did everything in my power to fix it."
What could be said to that? Misery and resentment are the two things that have kept this woman moving for the better half of 20 years. A few little words would be no match in comparison. Hermione was proud of what Fleur had done. She admired the woman's bravery and sense of honor. Maybe she wouldn't speak, would allow the two Veelas to work through whatever was going on without her interference. But she knew of ways to speak without words. In ways that were often times louder.
Her fingers slipped into the open space between the French woman's fingers, intwining them together so that one could not be differentiated from another. Fleur's hand felt good and warm in hers. Though the gesture itself was heavier than she would have thought. Warm and loaded – like truth. Or a gun. She felt like she had been reconciled with truth once more. But it was like it sat waiting in a loaded barrel pointed directly at her chest.
She squeezed Fleur's hand tighter in her own. Offering whatever strength she could through the connection. But a part of her couldn't help but worry that whatever was happening between the two women would be just the thing to set it off.
Adriana's voice was as crisp and quick as a gun shot.
"There hasn't been a challenge for power among the clans in centuries!"
Fleur's matched the other woman's with a low burning ferocity.
"Only because things 'ave not been bad enough to warrant one. Until recently."
"You did not do so fairly. If not for your mate's interference, you likely would have lost."
"'Ermione acted of 'er own will. 'Er interference was not planned nor can you truly say without a doubt that I would 'ave lost would she not 'ave done so."
But something about this wasn't right. And with the gun of truth, warm in her hand, pointed at her own chest. It wasn't feasible for it to remain that way for long.
"Actually, that wasn't me," Hermione interjected, slouching a bit as she spoke. And subtle as it was, there had been a manifestation of inferiority in there somewhere, in admitting that she hadn't been the one who cast the spell that likely saved the life of someone very special to her. It made her feel so very small.
"Whatever do you mean, ma chére?"
Fleur's eyes were so sincere. Her gaze so concerned as it burned into Hermione's skin. It took the English witch awhile to gather herself enough to answer. There was so much perfume in the air. It was rich with a hint of amber and stifling in the already oppressive air of the bedroom. Something she wasn't sure she could sit in much longer. Something so overwhelmingly feminine, but in a strict way. Something like the firmly pressed pleats in the skirt of her old Hogwarts uniform. It was notably uncomfortable. And she jumped quickly from the bed to her feet. Hoping that the change from sitting to standing might offer her the comfort that she needed to continue. But the moment her hand slipped from the warmth of the other woman's she was left feeling empty again.
"I mean that I never cast that spell. There was definitely someone out there acting as your guardian angel, but it wasn't me."
The sincerity in her brown eyes conjured up an understanding: for her, the clarity that comes from her determination was the most important thing. The realness, the honor…it was as if Fleur were seeing it for the first time. Even though she had clear memory of having seen it there before, it had been so quickly forgotten in the vastness of Hermione's gaze and the warmth radiating from it. She could pretend that it actually had been Hermione who had cast that spell. Could believe that was true. Because that effervescent glint in those brown eyes told the story of how she would have, if only someone else hadn't gotten there first. How could Fleur even hold something like that against anyone.
She sighed. Emptying her lungs. With a beatific smile on her face. Wrapping the English woman's worries in her breath, and rushing through them. Expelled with the intent to wash away any and all insecurities from the space around them. Only ever a whisper away. Hermione caught the contagion of the other woman's smile. Suddenly sick to her stomach with a giddiness that was as unwarranted as it was unexpected. They were going to be okay. They were always okay.
Lost in a moment, the two completely forgot about the third woman standing in the doorway to the room. Adriana, with her arms crossed and her eyebrow arched, looked back and forth between the two witches as they had some sort of silent conversation with one another. It seemed intimate. Private. In a way that made her want to avert her eyes, turn away, and leave. And while she couldn't say with certainty that she fully understood what was happening between them, she could say that she respected whatever it was enough not to stick her nose where it didn't belong. But at the same time, she had come here to address matters of high import. And an abundance of time was not a thing they had the privilege of having without a great price to pay. As much as she didn't want to intrude, she felt there wasn't much choice. This time she attempted to do so with a little more finesse than when she'd barged in not too earlier.
The sound of her throat clearing startled the two women back to reality. Ripping them from the sanctuary of the bubble they'd created for themselves.
"Well, regardless of who it was, it was one of the most underhanded things I think I've ever seen," Adriana remarked. She was calm now. Threw all that animosity away and became herself again. Maybe she was starting to feel the residual effects of whatever the hell had been floating around the air of the room. Maybe she was just starting to lose her mind. Because she started laughing, her fingers rubbing at the exhaustion on her face, "And I'll be damned, but…I like it. Things among our species are in a very dark place and they have been for a long time now. I don't exactly know what's going on, but I know that the way we are currently being led is not making anything better. What you did was underhanded. But I'm not above a little underhandedness. And with things the way they are…I think it might be just the kick in the pants we need. It certainly couldn't make things any worse than they are."
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Three weeks had passed. In that three weeks, Fleur and Adriana had put together a council to discuss what evidence had been found of the Grand Matriarch's treason. So far the discussion hadn't turned up much of anything. It had been three long weeks of arguing. Three weeks of nothing but disagreement and indecision.
The majority of them felt that it couldn't have been corruption. It couldn't have been treason. There was most certainly a sea of corpses swallowing the whole of their feet, but it couldn't have been a Veela hand that had brought such carnage to pass. It had to have belonged to an entity that none of them had yet dared to suspect. Someone like 'He who must not be named.' Something much bigger. Much more powerful. That they could only sense the shape of it. The rest of them believed the Grand Matriarch had been behind everything. A solid lone figure standing in the solitary darkness.
Like a chasm, a dark hole opening up beneath the round table at which they sat. A throat into which everything they'd come to know would be consumed. Their lives, their species, the community they'd built – all would be trimmed away until nothing was left. By whom, by what? And how? They didn't know. Because none of them were on the same page. But the one thing they could all agree on – the one thing that kept them all coming back to the council chambers to continue to fight and argue and disagree – was that this was not some silly game. Whatever this was, it was real. And it was a threat to their very lives.
And so there they all were. On the fourth week where the only thing they could agree on was how serious the situation was. But where no one could bring forth any evidence of who was actually responsible and how they should respond. This created a fearful readiness, like an electrical charge. And it buzzed under the skin of everyone in the room.
"Regardless, we should be on the offensive. Attack her before she even sees us coming. End this thing before it can go any further," Adriana shot off. She tried her best to appear composed, but there was a stiffness to her, as if she were trying to mask something soft and tender beneath a hard exterior.
"You're proposing what? That we attack the Grand Matriarch? Based on what evidence? The mad ramblings of a painting? Has this war not already suffered enough casualties? And now you honestly believe that the solution is to take even more lives!?" Another council member fired back.
"We don't know that she is the mastermind behind all of this. But we also don't know that she's not. The sad fact of the matter is that we are in a war. And war, by its very definition, means there will be casualties. We are already dying off by the minute. And what is the Grand Matriarch to us anymore now that we've aligned ourselves with the young miss Delacour. By doing so, have we not already allied ourselves with what she will perceive to be the enemy? If we take her down and she isn't the one behind all of this, it will mean one less force standing between us and the real conclusion. If we take her down and she is behind it…well, we've solved our entire problem. I fail to see how this is the wrong decision," yet another council member hurled into the conversation.
"What is wrong with that decision is that our goal is to end the war. Not further it. Someone 'as to be the one to stand up and refuse to fight anymore. And given that we are now the outlying members of a once united community, and the one responsible for uniting us all is actually behind our disunion, then we should be the ones to up'old that 'onor. The only way to end a war is to stop fighting. You cannot end a war with more war."
As Hermione looked to the windows lining the walls of the room, it was clear that none of them were completely level with one another. The hard wood that lined the window panes was old and damp. Like a preserved piece of history chronicling a heritage long since undisclosed, the way it had done for centuries. She could even make out a light sheen of dust across the sills. As if even that had been preserved. Perhaps it was a memory of all the people passing through that someone couldn't ever quite bring themselves to wipe away. A grave feeling washed over her suddenly. There might've been something else hidden inside the dust though. Something bad. Someone's untoward thoughts. A last resort. A bad idea.
She could put forth a few ideas of her own. She wasn't sure if they were good or bad. But she'd had her fair share of aristocratic nonsense during the Wizarding wars. She could sense when things had gone off track. And she knew the ways to guide them back. Whether or not this was a good idea or a bad one, she'd need to tread very carefully. This particular aristocracy was an enigmatic force. Like a coronal mass ejection from the sun. Enigmatic and merciless. The wisest decision would be to toe the line of both sides of the argument. To offer solutions that might appeal to everyone.
"Perhaps we could try to gather more concrete evidence against the Grand Matriarch," Hermione murmured softly and without that spark of electricity that charged the room. A life of injustice and fighting other people's battles had taught her not to buckle under pressure. "And if successful, we attempt to capture her instead where she would then be imprisoned but remain alive until the council could meet again and agree upon a more suitable punishment."
But as is always true, there was that one person who would make their deep mistrust of a centrist opinion well known.
"Excusez-moi. But what right do you even 'ave to be here? To speak on Veela matters? You are but a Veela mate. You belong to Fleur Delacour and therefore do not 'ave a place at this table. You cannot speak on behalf of 'er or anyone else 'ere," One of the elders reprimanded.
No one and nothing could change this woman's mind. She was as rigid as they come. Still draped in an antique ceremonial Veela council dress. It was a symbol for her. There was more to her distrust than Hermione being a human and a centrist. She felt threatened by something obscure in the English woman. What that was, however, remained a puzzle for now.
"Docteure Granger belongs to 'erself. And as long as she does, she may speak as freely as she desires," Fleur interjected. She looked back at Hermione, a light glinting off her eyes, "Besides. She 'as presented a very compelling and agreeable option. Something no one else in this council chamber 'as done for weeks now. You all 'ave spent more time arguing with one another than trying to find any kind of common ground. And as much as I know you don't want to 'ear it, our time is running out."
In one fluid motion, Apolline jerked to her feet. The council table rattled angrily from the thump of her knees against the wood.
"Ah, oui. The one 'oo takes action based on pure impulse rather than strategized planning with the very beings she wishes to lead. S'il vous plait, explain to me just 'ow your bullishness is going to be any match against 'oo you believe to be one of the most strategically-minded individuals of our time that she 'as pitted an entire species against itself for what? 'Er own amusement? You are a child, Fleur. Playing with a fire that you 'ave not yet learned the severity of its burn," When she was angry, she would overemphasize the missing 'h'. It gave her voice an unusually calmative quality. Her lips hardly moved at all as she spoke.
"Maman, we 'ave already discussed this. When I challenged our Matriarch, it was not done on impulse. There was much thought and care considered in the matter before'and and for you to continue to treat me as if I am nothing more than an inept child is insulting. I am your new matriarch, am I not? Does not that count for anything?"
"You are a matriarch on technicality. Do not delude yourself into thinking that you 'ave won this position single'andedly. It counts for what it is, ma petite. A farce."
"You would know all about farces, wouldn't you, maman?"
The older woman took a step back, steepling her hands in front of her. As if she were in the moment right before she was about to draw an extremely detailed portrait, where the lines themselves were to be depicted in tiny – almost imperceptible – ciphered letters.
"Certainly not as much as you, ma petite fille. Parading this 'uman witch around as your mate when she is not. At least, not in the traditional Veela sense. What was it you called it? Love? What do you know about such a thing? Puffing yourself up with this notion as if it makes you any better than any other Veela in this room. Promising them that they can 'ave what you 'ave and be what you are as if you even truly understand such a thing yourself."
But Fleur had never been one for the arcane. All she heard was the heartbeat hammering in her ears, accelerating to the speeds of a Peruvian Vipertooth. With each new beat, her blood braced for conflict.
In a matter of seconds, they hurled themselves into a rather intense shouting match. Both equally as eager to walk away the victor.
"I like to think I do know a thing or two about it. I learned it from you! Or at least I thought I did."
"I am not talking about the love a mother 'as for 'er daughter."
"Neither am I!"
"Then what are you on about, child!?"
"I am talking about 'ow you were with ma mère!" Fleur's words echoed in the cold air of the room.
Until a sharp breeze roared through a dense canopy of trees. There was something sweet in it, hypnogogic. That sent a sticky shudder down the elder woman's spine. But when she looked around, she was still in the council chambers. On the Delacour estate.
"I saw you. In your pensieve," Fleur said softly. Her face flushed. Watching her mother's eyes brimming to the depths with…something. It was a mystery, whatever it was. A mystery flecked in self-pity and remorse. A mystery that could drown her if she let it. And for some unknown reason, seeing that fragility in the other woman's eyes made her feel like she was ready to.
"I think this meeting 'as reached its conclusion for the day," Apolline returned with a grace and sophistication that didn't quite match her external composure in that moment. And then when no one moved to leave, all pretense crumbled around her like a dilapidated building as she growled, "Everyone out!"
The room remained silent – aside from the shuffle of feet and the low murmurs of discontent – until everyone had filed reluctantly from the room. Only Fleur, her mother, and Hermione were left. The first of whom stared imploringly at the back of her mother's head waiting for something. Anything. The second of whom was turned away, her head facing the ceiling, eyes shut, fingers pressing into the temples of her head as if the ache there were about to be her undoing and not her wildly persistent daughter. The third of whom stood off to the side, gaze flitting between the two others, unsure of what was proper for her to do in this moment. But as Apolline's head snapped in her direction, it became abundantly clear that she was not a welcome participant in the conversation that was about to unfold.
Suddenly, there it was again. That same feeling from before. Several weeks ago. In their room. In the doorway where Adriana had stood catching them in some act. Only this time it came over her like a swarm of vampyr mosps whirring at the back of her scalp. An odd prickling she could almost smell. Leaving felt wrong. In fact, the moment Hermione tried to make eye contact with Fleur and was given nothing more than the pained outline of the profile of her face, she knew it was the wrong. Fleur wanted her there. Needed her there. But neither one of them knew how they could make that happen. Not with Apolline there. Calling the shots. Demanding time and space alone with her daughter.
So Hermione left. With her head down and as much reluctance as the rest of the council. But she didn't close the chamber doors behind her. If she couldn't stay by Fleur's side and offer her support, then she would leave her with a quick exit should she need one. It was a mercy, really. Not that either of the two other women acknowledged the act anyways.
For several long minutes there was only silence between mother and daughter. They weren't saying anything nor were they even looking in the other's direction. Apolline appeared to be waiting for something. Something that was secretly gnawing at her confidence. And it hadn't been Hermione's presence or Fleur's unapologetic attitude. It was something else. Without warning, a very somber look seized her face. This story wasn't going to have a happy ending.
"You don't know what you saw, little one," she claimed in French to the ceiling. Her limbs a mere shadow beneath its hollow reception.
"But I saw you, maman! You let her go. You cannot tell me that you do not feel the same way as me. She's still out there somewhere alive because you freed her! The only person to have ever mated with a Veela and lived to tell the tale –"
"My child, Erembourc – your mother – it is not what you think. She is alive. And she is out there somewhere. But only because it was a mutually beneficial arrangement for us all," it was said slowly, confidently. She had never been more sure of anything in her life. And still, her eyes fell closed. As if remembering something painful, "We were in a difficult position at the time. Warred against a rival clan that seemed as if they would have the upper hand. Erem was a werewolf. Born a wolf. And by blood the leader of her pack. When the Grand Matriarch discovered who was to sire my firstborn daughter, she was not happy. I had chosen someone too important. Too known. Too valued. It would draw too much unwanted attention to us. To the clan. She advised me to end your mother's life quickly and to make it look like it had been the result of a confrontation with a rival pack. But Erembourc was a stubborn one. And as unbelievably bold as she was intelligent. She marched right up to the Grand Matriarch and suggested a trade. Erem's life for her pack's allegiance and assistance in our war at the time. And because we needed the help, the business arrangement was made. With the condition that she would speak to no one about the Veela and that after her service was complete she would never return or contact any of us again. And any failure to comply would result in death. Erem accepted this deal and has abided by it since."
Fleur was aghast. As her mother spoke, the tone of the words had transposed into a low hum. The hum grew in volume, jumping between several different frequencies, but unnaturally, uncomfortably low, like it wasn't even coming from her mother's mouth, but also from inside her own chest. It made it feel like breathing was impossible. And then there was a sudden sense of panic. The sounds were coming from inside her but also all around her. It felt like someone was standing just outside her range of vision. Watching her. Doing this to her.
She stood before her mother, definite and firm, silently boiling. Thirteen seconds passed without change. This was a person shot to pieces by a new reality. One in which she had been wrong. One where nothing she had spent her entire life believing in was true. She was shattering to pieces. And it was never easy.
If it were, she would run. Out of this room. Out of this house. Out past the property line of her mother's estate. To the vast forest beyond. And she wanted to. Goddesses above, did she want to. But it felt so distant. The tide of the forest's billowing trees and the crackle of its snapping branches blocked off by the centuries-old brick and half-timbered casket that surrounded her.
She wanted to. But she wouldn't. Because she was a Matriarch now. These were her people. Her mother was her people.
And any preconceived notion she had about her mother was just that. She was never meant to see those memories. She went looking for them. And then interpreted them however she wanted and allowed that false interpretation to shape her beliefs and ideas about her mother and what they meant. She wanted to be angry. Felt like maybe somewhere deep down she had some right to be. But she also knew that wasn't really fair. Her mother had never lied to her about this. She had never betrayed her trust. Because it wasn't something they had actually ever discussed. It wasn't even something she was supposed to know. Until now.
The only thing she could be in this moment was disappointed. And as much as she tried to keep her demeanor unemotional. It was still in there. The disappointment. An overwhelming amount of it. In her mother. In herself.
A thin arm curled around Fleur's shoulder. And she could feel every cell in her body as she collapsed into the pull of her mother's embrace.
"You are a sweet girl, my little flower. But also a very foolish one," Fleur could feel her mother's sharp chin move to form the shape of the words against the crown of her head as she burrowed herself deeper into the tight press of arms around her, "And I am not as foolish as you take me for, my dear. You can shout it until you're blue in the face, but I know better than you think that this rebellion has nothing to do with any sort of love for that little witch girl. I don't understand why you would ever pretend that it does. But I would hope that you would tell me, little one. There was a time, you know – not too long ago – when you would talk to me about anything. I am still here, my child. Even when you wish I weren't. I always will be."
Apolline's words pulled at her heart. Pulled and pulled until the words just started flowing out of her in a half-whispered array.
"I was tired of the wars. So tired of the fighting and the death. I've spent my life watching the deaths of so many of our sisters to something so big and so old that it predates my life by I don't even know how many years. It just…It doesn't feel like my fight. Like our fight anymore. I knew Dr. Granger was on her way to France. It wasn't love. Or fate. I had already planned to intercept her. The only thing that hadn't gone to plan was Gabrielle and the wound. I knew that the brightest witch of her age could help me. Not just with my sister, but with…all of this. I thought maybe if I could shake things up. If I could change your minds. Unhinge these stupid traditions and ways of thinking. Maybe then I could take control. Maybe we could find a way to make things better. Because nobody else was. Not with the things the way they were. And it just kept getting worse. So I did. I found her. I brought her here. And now…I'm in control. But I feel the most out of control I've ever felt in my life. Nothing is the way it was supposed to be," she seemed almost sad finishing the story. A few dust beams hung in the evening air. And her eyes followed idly. Those little scintillating particles lazy and wild under the windows.
What Fleur didn't know was that Hermione hadn't actually left. Couldn't bring herself to with the promise of unknown secrets being hissed out into the air. There weren't very many in the world that could resist a temptation like that. Least of all "the brightest witch of her age" who hadn't become that way by passing up a new opportunity to gain knowledge. Information was her greatest weapon. If it were currency, you could easily consider her the greediest of capitalists.
And the longer she took advantage of this rather unique opportunity to gain previously unknown information, the more realization had begun to cast a dark shadow over her girlish face. The moment Fleur finished speaking was the moment all air had been sucked from Hermione's lungs. And it burned like acid. She blinked. Her eyes welling with tears as her hands searched frantically for something in the back pocket of her jeans. But her search came up empty. It was only her and her world that were quickly being swallowed by a black hole of anger. And only two words escaped the gravitational pull: 'wasn't' and 'love.' Just her, her world, and 'wasn't', and 'love.'
This was a person coming to terms with a new reality too. One where she had been deliberately lied to. One where the promise of love had been just within reach and then was suddenly ripped away from her like a nail from her finger. She stood there frozen. Hand to the wall that supported the full weight of what she'd just discovered. She couldn't see them. But she could feel herself – through the thinness of the wall – standing beneath Fleur's long slender form on the other side, completely dwarfed.
Suddenly, her entire body was paralyzed. An intrusive white noise filled the entirety of her skull. The pain biting into her brain and affecting her ability to see clearly. Through the static she could hear the voice of a little girl:
"Wasn't….love…"
Her stomach flipped. A wave of nausea overcame her that was so powerful that even holding herself up became a chore. She was digging into what little was left in her reservoirs of strength. It wouldn't be too much longer before her muscles gave in. Her hands were already shaking. The panic settled even deeper.
She couldn't collapse here. Where they could find her. Then they'd know that she knew. And then who knows what they would do to her. She needed to get away. She needed to empty her stomach. Her hand finally found purchase on her wand. That's what she had been looking for before! She gripped the wood like it was a life preserver and she was about to be swallowed by a dark angry sea. With the flick of her wrist she apparated to the bathroom connected to Fleur's chambers.
Then, she emptied the contents of her stomach into the pristine toilet.