- The Fleurmione fandom is DEAD. Also I've never heard of an update schedule. If you see a mistake somewhere feel free to tell me. There's only a 60% chance that I will ignore it.

Chapter 3 - Maybe It All Will Turn Out Fine

The past few days had been considerably less shitty than Hermione's first day at Shell Cottage.

Luna had become her new roommate, which wasn't surprising considering the amount of people taking shelter here. Hermione was secretly thankful; sitting in the dark by herself was not her favorite activity as of late. In fact, her first night alone was spent under the covers reciting potion ingredients in her head. Which was fucked, because it reminded her of potions class, which reminded her of Snape, who reminded her of Death Eaters, and ugh.

Harry, Ron, and Dean, were holed up in the study. Unfortunately, the walls were thin, and Hermione could hear Ron's demonic snoring loud and clear (She also heard a scuffle one night, which Harry later told her was Dean hitting Ron with a pillow repeatedly because of his snoring).

Ollivander was shipped off to Ron and Bill's Aunt Muriel's, after the trio (Harry) had interrogated him with questions of the Elder Wand and ownerships. Hermione and Ron were filled in about the game of hot potato the Elder Wand had been through, as well as the wands in their possession. Hermione longed for her lost wand, and found it incredibly ironic and fucked up that they now had Death Eater wands in their arsenal.

Griphook… well Griphook was being a bitch. She could tell Bill and Fleur had wanted the goblin to accompany Ollivander out of their home, but Harry had insisted that he was still needed. Griphook refused to eat with them, and Hermione wasn't even shocked to hear Fleur mutter "Good riddance" under her breath one night at dinner.

Now, Hermione was seated on one of the couches in the living area (Which also doubled as sleeping quarters for Bill and Fleur) along with Ron, and Harry who was seated on the couch opposite to theirs. She sighed as she covered herself with a blanket that had been sitting atop the couch. Their conversation ended a while ago; somehow bank robbing wasn't a fun topic to talk about.

Hermione stilled as a scent hit her. Holy shit. Hermione looked down, fisted the blanket and brought it up to her nose with wide eyes. It smelled really good. Like, intoxicatingly good.

She turned to Ron, who was seated upside down on the other side of the couch, (Out of boredom she assumes) and shoved the blanket near his face.

"Smell this," Hermione demanded.

Ron, who was not in a position to smell things, rolled over onto the floor and sat to face Hermione. He raised his eyebrows as Hermione handed the blanket over, and sniffed it. A confused look crossed his face (still red due to his previous position) as he looked back at Hermione.

"Uh, it smells nice I guess," Ron offered, not affected by the scent whatsoever.

Hermione almost seemed offended. "You guess?"

Ron shrugged and threw the blanket at Harry, who's glasses became skewed when the blanket made contact with his head. "You smell it, mate," Ron suggested.

Harry frowned at the disruption of his thoughts and gave a slightly bewildered look to Hermione while holding the blanket. "You want me to smell this?"

She gave an exasperated scoff with an impatient "Yes."

Harry brought the blanket to his nose with his brows furrowed in confusion. "What exactly am I supposed to be smelling?" he asked.

Hermione let out a breathless "What?" as she got up from her couch and crossed the space between them to sit next to Harry. With eyebrows raised at Hermione's newfound proximity, Harry handed her the blanket.

Hermione all but snatched the blanket out of Harry's hands and buried her nose deep into it. She inhaled deeply with her eyes closed, and yes, it still smelled wonderful. "What the fuck," she whispered as she brought the blanket down to her lap.

A chuckle came from Ron's place on the floor and Hermione snapped her head in his direction. "I don't know why you can't smell it! It's like.." Hermione shook her head, unable to find the words. "Like…"

Before Hermione could finish her thought, the front door slammed shut as Luna and Dean came through the living room with firewood cradled in their arms.

"Hello friends!" Luna said brightly, making her way to the fireplace with Dean. Harry smiled at them and gave them a pleasant hello.

As the newcomers deposited the wood next to the fireplace, Luna cheerily asked, "What were you guys doing?" Hermione looked at the two. Both looked tired from their task (Dean also was wearing one of Bill's shirts that said 'Eat Your Greens' with a cannabis leaf in the middle) and Hermione felt a little guilty. The two were definitely being productive and contributing. And what was she doing? Talking about robbing banks and smelling blankets.

Hermione's eyes snapped to Ron, who was looking at her like the cat that ate the canary. Her eyes widened and she shook her head minutely as to convey 'You'd better the fuck not'. Hermione would rather not look insane to the majority of the house. He turned back to Luna, who was now sitting on the couch with Dean, and opened his mouth.

"Herm—" Ron was cut off by another door slam, and the occupants of the living room swiveled their heads in the direction of the sound.

Bill walked in with Fleur trailing behind him, both their arms occupied with groceries. They both seemed a little startled at the house meeting going on. Hermione caught Fleur's eyes glance down at the blanket in her lap and briefly wondered if it was hers. Was it perfume? Why hadn't she smelled it before in Fleur's room?

Short greetings were shared as Ron cleared his throat loudly.

"As I was saying, Hermione's gone batsh—" he was interrupted with a decorative pillow smashed into his face.

Heads turned to Ron's assailant (Hermione) as Ron rolled around on the rug with full bellied laughter. Hermione slapped her hands onto her now red face in embarrassment. Great way to not look insane, Granger.

Bill gave a small chuckle and raised his eyebrows at Hermione to address her. "Well, now that we established Granger is batshit," he turned on his heel to head to the kitchen, "We've got food!"

Hermione threw up her hands in exasperation and threw herself further into the couch.

"Now Fleur," Bill said seriously, "I've got some peanut butter," he stuck his hands in one of the bags and pulled out two jars. "And jelly," he finished. "Are you ready, for this daunting task of sandwich making?" He thrusted his hands over the kitchen island to where Fleur was standing, offering the two jars as if they were sacred artifacts.

Hermione watched as Fleur rolled her eyes and threw a piece of bread at Bill's face. "William, you are utterly intolerable," she scoffed.

Watching the scene play out with interest from her seat at the table, Hermione heard Harry let out a deep sigh next to her. She inclined her head to take a look at him. He too was watching the couple's banter, with a sad smile.

"I wish we could stay here," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Hermione bit the inside of her cheek and looked down at the worn wood of the table (Ron had set the tablecloth aflame a few hours ago trying to work with Pettigrew's wand) and nodded her head. "Me too," she whispered back quietly.

The books in the study were mostly in French. And considering how Hermione's only knowledge of the French language besides greetings was from a song and extremely suggestive, (Voulez-vous coucher avec moi), she really didn't think she was gonna get anywhere with them.

Hermione placed her hands on her knees and stood up from her crouched position with a huff.

"Is Bill fucking illiterate?" she asked to the bookshelf. Fleur couldn't be the only one in this house who read.

A small laugh came from behind her and Hermione turned around so fast she rammed her midsection into the desk. Smooth. Hermione, now red faced and in slight pain, greeted the intruder.

"Fleur! You scared me," she said with a nervous laugh. Was she getting worse at talking?

"Sorry, I didn't mean to frighten you," Fleur said with a genuine mix of concern and amusement. "And no, William can read," she supplied, "He keeps all his books in his room."

Hermione blinked, not sure what to say to that. It brought back the question she had the first day here. Do Bill and Fleur have separate rooms? Aren't married couples supposed to, ya know, share a room?

"Is there anything you were looking for in particular?" Fleur asked, who was now disobeying the laws of personal space. When did she get so close? Were her eyes always this blue?

Hermione was about to reply when a scent hit her nose. Again. A flashback of the blanket fiasco played back in her mind.

Another wave of déjà vu hit her again, but oddly enough she was sure it wasn't because of the smell. It was the words, the inflection, the tone — had Fleur asked her this before?

Words came out of her mouth before she could even process them. "You smell really good, Fleur." Oh my god. Hermione wondered how hard she would have to try to spontaneously combust.

Fleur looked taken aback for a moment, a small blush played across her cheeks. Her eyes searched Hermione's for a moment, and a look of understanding passed her face. "Ah, thank you, Hermione."

Hermione swallowed. She was expecting an explanation after she said that. For what, she wasn't sure. She had questions, a lot of them.

Unfortunately, her social skills had depleted tremendously since she arrived at Shell Cottage, so she settled with, "Yeah, um, I've gotta go help Harry with... " She got lost in Fleur's eyes for a moment. Were they shining? "His… hair." His hair? Oh god. Maybe the universe would take pity on her and end her existence.

Fleur parted her lips slowly, her eyes dropped for a second but met with Hermione's quickly before speaking. "His hair?" she asked with a whisper.

Breathe, Hermione.

"Yes, it's...fucked up." Perfect. She's doing great.

Fleur seemed to hum in agreement as her eyes flickered down again. Time seemed to slow and Hermione was hyperaware of every movement Fleur made. She then became quite aware how close they were.

A memory of her primary school teacher, Ms. Gladstone, teaching her class how to waltz, intruded her mind. 'Leave room for Jesus!' She would say, while prying apart children.

God, she sure did love when childhood trauma came back to haunt her.

Hermione quickly recollected herself and stepped back. "Yes, well," she rubbed her hands on her jeans, "I should…" She gestured at the door and started walking backwards to it.

Broken out of her reverie, Fleur simply nodded and watched as Hermione bumped into three pieces of furniture on her way out.

Once clear of the study, Hermione muttered an unintelligible string of obscenities. Time to throw herself off the nearest cliff.

Harry looked up from his newspaper to see Hermione frowning at him while holding…. A pair of scissors.

He eyed the her warily. "Yes?"

Hermione let out a huff. "I have to cut your hair."

"You have to?" he asked with a raise of an eyebrow.

"Yeah, it's fucked up"

A frown crossed Harry's features as he raised a hand to touch his hair. "Hasn't it always been?" he asked.

Hermione snorted. "Just, hold still, will you?"

Chapter title inspired by the music of: Satchmode - Happiness, Pt. 1