Alright, it's happening, odd chapters will be Hermione in "book world" as I'm calling it, and evens will be Hermione in the AU (idk, havent gotten a good name for that yet). I can't resist putting "straight" Hermione in some awkward positions just like I'm doing to "straight" Fleur.
Hermione woke, warmth surrounding her body, she'd felt cold for so long, having gotten used to the changes that came with her pregnancy, that when the baby weight was gone, its warmth was gone too. She wrapped the blankets tighter around her skin, snuggling deeper into the soft cotton of the sheets, her mind not yet registering that they weren't the same worn and slightly scratchy feeling wool she had fallen asleep with.
Nor did she realize that the body slumbering soundly next to her, an arm wrapped loosely around her waist, was not the heavy, bulky form of her husband. Her mind enjoying the silence, for once, not permeated by the loud screams of her daughter- always the early riser- or the echoing snores of Ron.
She simply felt peace, and months of unrest and sleepless nights had taken their toll. As she sank back into the throes of sleep, she felt soft skin, warm and gentle, press against her back, pulling her closer, a tender grip, urging but not forcing. A voice whispering in her mind, telling her it was just a dream, her imagination, she hadn't fully woken up, she dared not open her eyes, unwilling to ruin the moment.
It wasn't until she was awoken later, soft lips pressed against her temple, that she realized this wasn't a dream. Brown eyes fluttered open, locking with bright blue behind pale lashes that she realized something was terribly wrong. Fleur, however, was unaware and upon seeing her lover was awake, she leaned down, placing tender lips against Hermione's, a morning ritual for them. But this time, something was very, very wrong. Instead of her love melting into the kiss as she often did, she felt her stiffen, body becoming rigid under her, a stillness she did not expect.
She pulled back as Hermione moved, placing her hands on Fleur's shoulders, pushing her back, away from her, putting space between them. Fleur could feel her heart breaking as she observed the cold, distant look rather than the happy, mirthful, joy she was usually greeted with.
Her brow furrowed, concern clouding her normally bright, blue eyes. "What is ze matter, 'Ermione?" Her eyes searched caramel brown ones, looking for an answer that she could not find, "'Ave I done somezing wrong?"
The normally articulate witch, stunned with what had transpired, was at a loss for words, the only thing that managed to escape her lips, "We're both married, Fleur."
The blonde was even more confused, nodding slowly, "Yes? I do not see ze problem."
Hermione unsure as to how the rather intelligent woman did not realize such an obvious issue, repeated her earlier statement, her tone flat, "We're married women, and you kissed me."
"Oui, much as I have done every morning. Do you not like it?" The pensive woman sat back on her heels, toes digging into the mattress, worry evident in her voice as it had shrunk, taking up a much smaller space than the woman was physically able to. It was now barely above a whisper when she added the question, fearing her heart would break when she heard the response. She had not dared to think a day such as this would come to pass, but it had crouched down, snuck up on her like a tiger hunting its prey, she was firmly within its grasp now, about to be devoured by the starving beast. A tear welled up and she pulled it back, unwilling to show weakness in this moment.
Hermione paused, this question unexpected, every morning? Her eyes searched the other woman, looking for any trace of dishonesty upon her features. Every morning it ran through her mind again. But that, wouldn't that, were they? Incomplete thoughts passed through her mind, she couldn't even imagine, no, there was no way, this had to be a joke...Right? But, Fleur didn't look like it was one, either that or she was a much better actress than Hermione thought.
She looked around the room, taking in her surroundings, the walls were covered in a dark red paint, a dark walnut trim surrounding the doorways, a classic feel of old money permeated the decorations, elegant and refined, simple wood everything. A stark contrast to the room she had fallen asleep in last night.
Her voice shook, she had hoped to hide it, her panic rising in her chest, she wanted to close in on herself, to will herself away from this situation, but the look of pain was clear upon the blonde's face. She reached an unsteady hand out, resting it gently over the other woman's, "Fleur, are-are we?"
She didn't finish that sentence, a choked sob escaping Fleur's lips, she nodded. "Married." The word was barely a whisper, faint between the two women, neither sure who said it.
Fleur pulled her hand away, the pain of her touch scalding on the wounds so recently inflicted. She left, running away, retreating from the heartbreak, leaving Hermione there, sitting upon the mattress, their shared bed. Hermione heard a door slam, she assumed the front, wondering where Fleur was headed. She sat there, in silence, her mind replaying what had happened, filling her thoughts until a gaping hole in her chest began to form.
The sunlight was casting short shadows through the window by the time she finally got up, her wand firmly in her hand as she explored her way around the house, unsure what (or who) may be there. She opened a solid oak door, mismatched from the rest of the house, drawing her towards it, spelled shut, heavy protections against it, unlike the rest of the house. It took her only a moment before she was able to remove them all, the door swinging open to reveal a study.
Books lined the walls, thick, ancient tomes, the brunette could only wonder at the information they may contain. A desk in the corner, barely illuminated by the light of an oil lamp, burning faintly, parchment strewn messily across its surface, held her attention only for a moment before her eyes drifted to the runes drawn on the floor.
Their meaning unfamiliar to her, she paused, studying them, wondering if they held the key to what was happening. She glided quietly around the circle, never taking her eyes off them until she reached the desk. Her fingers lightly tracing the words written there. It was her handwriting, the messy scrawl that it was, was unmistakable, but she didn't remember writing any of these notes.
She picked up a sheet, sliding the quill off it, reading them closely, a soft gasp escaping her lips as she realized what it was. Notes for recreating a time turner. But, if she'd made one, how did she end up here? When she'd used them in her Third Year, she had never experienced anything like this. Was she in the future then? Is that how she was married to Fleur?
She thought quickly back to her own time, she was happy with Ron and with Rose, and Fleur... she was happily married to Bill, they'd just had their third child. She didn't appear to be much older, but that could have been the Veela magic, though she would think... if it was too far in the future, wouldn't Fleur notice that she was much younger? Unless, was it only a few months? But then, she couldn't imagine what had happened to cause two marriages to fail, not when both couples were currently happy. She wasn't exactly repulsed by the thought of being with Fleur, but she couldn't imagine how that had happened, never having been attracted to another woman, let alone her sister-in-law.
Her stomach grumbled loudly, reminding her she hadn't yet had breakfast. She looked back at the desk, pausing for a moment before gathering all the parchment she found, collecting it and taking it with her. She made her way to the kitchen, hearing sounds coming from it as she got closer, she once again removed her wand from its holster on her arm.
A sigh of relief escaped past her lips as she saw it was Fleur, rummaging around in the cabinets, her attention focused on cooking. Nervously, she entered the room, crossing her arms, the parchment ruffled. Her silence broken, the blonde turned around, observing the newcomer, her eyes cold and distant.
"Fleur-" tiny, distant, barely more than a whisper, hurt reflecting in her eyes at the blonde's dismissal of her. She turned back to the gas stove in front of her, focused on making lunch rather than smalltalk. The veela in her bracing, unsure if she could take any more hurt.
Hermione tried again, weakness betraying her voice, cracking and shaking, "Fleur, I-I'm sorry. I didn't mean to-"
Anger, red clouded her eyes, her hand angrily dropping the pan in her hand, "Didn't mean to what?" Her tone was sharp, abrasive, cutting through the courage that Hermione had gathered.
The brunette sunk, wishing she could disappear, sharp eyes looked at her, features cold, but her voice betrayed her, what she really felt. Her back against the wall, Hermione confessed, "I didn't mean to hurt you, I didn't know. I would never hurt you on purpose."
"Va te faire foutre," she spat, angrily, slipping back into her native tongue, "You didn't know it would hurt me? We've been together for eight years now! How could you think it wouldn't hurt me?!" She was practically screaming.
The stunned brunette could only stutter a response, her mind frozen, focused on "Eight years?"
The blonde sensed something was off, her anger momentarily subsiding, noting the papers in Hermione's hand. "What is zat?" Her hand pointed towards the stack of parchment that had been forgotten about.
The quick change in her demeanor throwing Hermione off, she paused, looking down, following the line, she cleared her throat, and yet, still above a whisper, "I- uh- I found these, notes, uh, for a time turner, I think."
Fleur paused, her eyes narrowing, the lunch she was cooking about long forgotten, she studied the woman in front of her, noting the slight differences, her hair was shorter, she was tanner- just slightly though, looking as though she hadn't been hidden away in a windowless room for years, the bags under her eyes, still present but not as set, as though the sleepless nights hadn't eaten away at her for years. Her hips, they were wider, and she still displayed the signs of a recent pregnancy, a small bump in her belly.
The food in the pan behind her caught fire, burning, leaving nothing but charred remains behind, Fleur jumped to put out the fire, turning off the stove and dumping the ruined pan in the sink, cold water sizzling as it made contact with the hot metal.
She turned back, adrenaline still coursing, regaining her focus on the other woman, curiosity sparkling in her eyes, "You aren't my 'Ermione are you?"
Fleur was already sure of the answer. Too many changes that had gone unnoticed before now sticking out, unable to take her eyes off the other woman, so similar, so different. She gestured to the table before them, motioning for Hermione to sit down. She took her own seat opposite her, the anger and the hurt replaced with wonder and wanting. It took all she had not to scooch closer to the other, not to take her hand in her own, to whisper sweet nothings as they had done so many times before.
The Veela feeling that same draw, that same want- need- to take what was hers, to once again conquer, to possess, to share the depths of her love with another, with her beloved. She was being forced to hide her emotions, something she hadn't done in years.
Her question had gone unanswered, both of them knew, it needed no answer, no confirmation. She looked at the younger woman, a silent pleading in her eyes, urging, talk to me, instead "Would you like some tea?" Soft, tender, a loving caress in the quiet of the room, without waiting for an answer, Fleur flicked her wand, setting the kettle on to boil. Nervous energy filled the room, Hermione shuffling through the notes, unsure of where to start, how to say it. Fleur, watching her, waiting, awkwardly playing with her hands, her left leg bouncing rapidly, a soft tapping on the tile floor, a throwback to their first date.
No, it wasn't a date, it was more like the morning after, when so much had happened but felt so small compared to the weight of it all. A pebble compared to the boulder, but the final one to either break them, crush them so completely under the pressure or rebuild them as something stronger. The shy looks, pauses, emotions going unspoken, not wanting to face the reality of their actions, retreating back to their dreams.
The kettle began to whistle, signaling it was done, at the same time Hermione began to speak. Fleur waved her wand, a tiny movement, barely perceptible, but still enough. The kettle filled two mugs that then levitated their way over.
Fleur picked up one of the mugs, lifting it to her face, she blew on it gently, the steam blurring her vision of Hermione, but never did she take her eyes off the other woman, an intense gaze, bright blue eyes meeting caramel.
It was disconcerting to the younger woman, unfamiliar with such attentions, especially coming from another woman.
"I don't know what happened, but, I guess, uhm... I mean, if I had to guess, a spell went wrong. But, that doesn't tell me how I ended up here. And I know you can't tell me much, rules of time travel and all, but could you tell me when I am?"
A nod, a clink of china on marble as the glass was placed down, Fleur crossed her fingers, leaning forward, arms on the table, a cool sensation running across her skin. "You are in 2006, June 10 to be exact."
"No, that can't be. There's no way that's correct."
"And why can't it be?"
"Because..." there was a pause, her eyes meeting Fleur's momentarily, a blush on her cheeks, so unused to the attentions of the beauty before her, she looked away quickly, missing the smirk that spread across delicate features, "that's the same time as mine."
"Hmm? Zen I suppose zat is ze problem, non?"
"But, how? What happened? I'm supposed to be married to Ron, I have a daughter!" Her hands were waving about wildly now, "God, you have three kids! This" she gestured between the two of them, "should never have happened."
Fleur's face was set, cold and hard like stone, her voice calm, distant, she was fighting to keep it even, "You are married to Ron? How could you marry zat traitor?" She practically spat the last word, the disgust was palpable.
"Traitor? What? What do you mean by that?" Hermione had recoiled, withdrawn from the proximity of her companion, unsure of what had passed but now doubting her "other" self's judgment if she would end up with Fleur, the ice queen over Ron, her best friend.
"He killed Harry," it was a whisper, the words choked up, catching on their escape, unwilling to be spoken aloud.
Hermione felt her world stop, the words sinking in, unsure if she heard them correctly, suddenly doubting her grasp of the English language. A moment passed, turning into two, then three. This couldn't be real, there was no way, no. He couldn't have, he would never.
"No, there's no way, you're wrong." Her vision clouded, the realization hitting her that Harry was dead.
A tentative hand reached out, lightly touching hers, a tap, and then a weight, settling, a soft voice, "I'm sorry." There was no anger in her eyes anymore, only sadness.
"What," her voice caught, scratching in her throat, "what happened?" it was soft, quiet, withdrawn and so unlike the woman Fleur had come to know.
She paused, in thought for a moment, her gaze cast downward, studying the marble tabletop between them, her reflection distorted, looking back at her.
"I zink zat I should start from ze beginning, hmm?" She didn't wait for a response, continuing on, "I am not sure ze differences in our lives, I zink ze changes will have happened when our relationship began."
Fleur was lazing about, laying on the couch, her right leg propped up, left ankle resting on her knee, a book in her hands. Reading as she did every day, the gentle sounds of the ocean waves crashing against the shore the only noise. It was calm, peaceful, so unlike the world outside, she had wanted to be a part of the action but had been stopped.
She was told to wait, that she would be needed, that she would be useful, but her skills in healing magic were more useful to them than being a soldier, a fighter, she had a bigger purpose. And so she waited, her only company being Bill, her best friend. He had helped to keep her sane many times.
He preferred to spend his time outside, he enjoyed seeking thrills, spending his time in the ocean. She had often teased him about having a death wish, but now, her desperation for seeing some action, something more lively, she could see the appeal.
A crashing sound from the kitchen disturbed her quiet, shuffling, banging of doors, slamming of drawers. Whoever the intruder was, they were not quiet, she thought, padding her way towards the sound. She burst through the swinging door to the kitchen, her wand drawn, at the ready, curse upon her lips. She didn't expect to see Harry there, supporting a limp Hermione, head hanging to the side, bushy curls limp and lifeless. His arm was wrapped around her, he was trying to search the cabinets for something.
Scars and cuts, scabbed over, dried blood covering much of her skin, dark, dirty, stained with ashes, her clothes torn and bloodied, fresh blood, it wasn't yet dry, draining from a wound on her arm. Fleur quickly replaced her wand, diving towards the two teens. Her hands on Hermione's temples, she lifted her head, finding the young witch to be unconscious.
Another crash, this time behind her, she spun around, once again prepared for a fight. This time, she found Ron and Dobby, the youngest brother leaning against the table, gasping for breath, himself wounded severely as well. Fleur pulled her wand, casting the healing spells as quickly as she could, she was still unsure what was wrong with Hermione, but Ron appeared to be more severely injured.
She turned, a plain looking box on a shelf behind her, she grabbed it, whispering a password before opening it. Inside were several vials filled with a variety of colored liquids, in all shapes and sizes. She poured them out unceremoniously tipping the container onto the kitchen table. She handed a green glowing one to Ron, "Drink up" she said, once again turning back to focus on Hermione.
"I've got her," she said, her voice firm, as she wrapped her arms around the younger witch, hoisting her up into a bridal style hold. Harry let go, more than happy to be free of the weight he'd been supporting, himself worn from battle. His emotions coming back down, leaving him exhausted and sore. How could everything have gone so wrong? He sank down into a chair, his head falling into his hands.
Fleur carried the war-torn brunette to her bedroom, gently depositing the woman on her bed. She pulled out her wand, a long thin piece of white wood, nimble in her fingers, carefully casting a couple more spells, diagnostic ones, trying to find what was wrong.
Satisfied with the answer she received, she set to work, fetching the correct potions from the kitchen. Worry permeating her thoughts, she began to work, slowly, surely, unable to let her mind wander for fear she would make a mistake. Several potions and salves later, she sat back, the brunette was covered in various liquids, bandages covering the still oozing wound on her arm.
Fleur had winced when she saw the actual shape of the wound when it was cleaned, 'mudblood' etched into the porcelain skin, marring the perfection that had once existed. A messy scrawl, jagged edges, pointed and sharp, dominating the space. Tears formed in her eyes, unable to bear the thought of being unable to heal it, her hand, holding a damp cloth rested upon the disfigurement. She looked away, trying to banish the invading thoughts, plaguing her mind. She removed her hand after a moment, dragging the damp cloth away, now streaked with blood.
She wrapped it up in gauze and bandages, a thick green goo spread across the gauze, a family secret, created to help aid healing. Fleur had done all she could do, now time just needed to do its thing. The quarter Veela refused to leave Hermione's side, watching over her, waiting, hoping the young witch would wake soon.
A quiet ticking breaking the silence, denoting the slow crawl of time. She sat there, watching, waiting, caring, determined to be there when she awoke. One day passed, turning into two, soon giving way to three, and still she did not cease her vigil, changing the bandages, cleaning wounds, administering healing potions.
Bill had taken to caring for Fleur, her mind singularly focused on the sleeping brunette. He would bring her meals, supplies, updates on the others. And on the first night, upon seeing her sleeping, hunched over, her head laying next to Hermione's legs, propped up on her arms, golden tendrils splayed out around her, he brought her a blanket, wrapping it around her shoulders.
Near the end of the third day, the sun already going down, sending shocks of oranges, red, and golds across the sky, stars peeking out from behind the clouds, when two chocolate eyes once again cast their gaze upon the world. Her body finally stirring, bringing tears of joy to the azure eyes of her caretaker. Fleur had not noticed at first, leaning back in her chair, feet propped up on the edge of the bed, a book resting on her legs, long delicate fingers thumbed the page lightly as they moved towards the corner, ready to flip it.
Hermione watched her intently for a moment, her mind reeling at the sudden influx of light after having been in the dark so long, memories drug forth as the events played like a movie in her mind. But she was not where she thought she would be, the bed much softer than the rough stone and scratchy hay she'd slept on for the past... what day was it even? She didn't know how long she'd been there, or how long she'd been out.
She moved slightly, her arm just a couple inches, it felt heavy, foreign and awkward, the minor adjustment caused a shift in the bed, alerting Fleur. The blonde's eyes snapped up from her book as she slammed it shut with just a little too much force, sliding it off her lap in her haste, it fell to the floor with a dull thud, falling back open, her feet hit the ground and she invaded the young brunette's space, "You're awake!" it was practically a shout, not able to control her volume in her excitement.
Her hand cupping the brunette's face, a smile spread across her face, she looked for further signs of trauma before roughly pulling her into a tight hug, unwilling to let go, tentative arms wrapped around her, before a soft tapping, becoming more urgent, gaining force until she finally pulled away, "What iz wrong?" concern plaguing her face.
"I couldn't breathe," the response came quietly, from an embarrassed Hermione. Fleur, not realizing she had caused it, panicked again, trying to find the cause, earning a bout of laughter from her patient. "No, no, no, you were hugging me too tight. I'm okay now," came out between chuckles, a hand coming up to cover her mouth.
The blonde began to blush furiously, "I am sorry," she said, looking down, hiding her face as she made to sit back down.
It was then that Hermione noticed all of the bandages on her arm. A forlorn look, her fingers ran lightly across the white cloth, remembering the wound that had been placed there. No words, nothing needed said, nothing could be said, the gravity of the situation too much, the emotion too heavy to communicate. Fleur placed a porcelain hand on top of Hermione's pressing it against the bandages, stopping its search of the wound, sad tears catching in the crinkles of her eyes, they stayed like that.
"I am sorry for that too, I am unable to heal it." Quiet, a whisper, blending into the rumbling of the ocean, fading like the daylight, as small as she felt in that moment.
She received no response, words failing at that moment, Hermione's hand turned in hers, gripping it gently, a soft squeeze, a tender moment, they stayed like that, hand in hand, supporting each other, unable to speak the correct words, unwilling to ruin the tentative relationship, scared that like a house of cards, it would come to an end.
Day turned to night, but time stayed frozen for them, remaining as long as it could until their silence was broken, a growling sound, loud, filling the room, letting its presence be known, Fleur could not help the grin that grew upon her visage, a rose tint coloring Hermione's cheeks.
"Are you hungry, little one?"
An ashamed nod came from Hermione, there was no hiding it, but she hadn't expected her body to tell her so loudly. Fleur released her hand and she instantly missed the warmth and comfort it provided, she clasped it in her other hand, bringing it to her chest as her savior stood from her chair, her back cracking as she turned, "I will bring you some food."
She continued to nurture the teenager back to health, listening to what she wanted to share, the sparse details she was given, clinging to them as though her life depended on it, determined to right all the wrongs she could, she refused to leave her side, a pout gracing her lips every time the brunette asked her to leave her with her friends. The trio discussing something in secret, hushed voices and whispers she couldn't make out. She knew they were planning, but what she did not know, dreading the day Hermione would leave her.
A day came, finally, her heart stopped, Hermione approached her in the kitchen, she had been preparing lunch, sandwiches. She had wanted to prepare something more... worthy she settled on, but their supplies were low, having not been refilled for some time. She had wondered what had happened to their delivery, a young boy, she had not learned his name, rather plain in appearance and forgettable, a newer member of the Order. If he didn't arrive soon, she'd have to take it upon herself and travel to the small village down the road. She was nervous, her fingers playing nimbly with the edge of her - Fleur's- shirt. The light blue garment, a shade lighter than the blue of her Beauxbatons uniform, was oversized on Hermione's small frame, hanging loosely over her curves. A swell of pride erupted in Fleur's chest, glowing, warming her in new ways, she had not expected the reaction, but her inner Veela purred with contentment despite her panic, a war waging inside to determine the victor.
Her voice was timid, betraying her feelings, "C-can we, uhm, can we go on a walk? Outside?" Her cheeks flared, bright red, furious and dominating, her head ducked down, eyes fixed on the floor, she shoved her hands in her pockets as her attention was drawn to her fidgeting.
"Of course," she tried not to let the sadness show through her eyes, they were the windows to the soul after all. She set down her knife and brushed her hands off on her pants, a little mustard stain and a few bread crumbs were the least of her worries. She made her way to the door, holding it open for the brunette, both dragging their feet, taking their time, waiting for the inevitable.
They walked to the beach in silence, both leading the way, neither leading the way, they walked, each looking to the other for guidance, they found the ocean, crashing against the rocks, battering them with its might, a testament to both their wills. A breeze rolling off the ocean, bringing with it the salty scents of seawater, sand and mud, blowing their hair about wildly. Hermione tucked a dark strand behind her ear, her hands returning to fidgeting, picking at her nails, dirt caked behind them still, her eyes shone, betraying a thousand emotions barely held in check.
She tried to speak, words coming out choked, muted and silent, Fleur pulled her close, and she fell into the embrace, the dam finally breaking, her arms bent, unsure of where to go, where to rest, words of comfort, "It will all get better, you can be certain of zat."
"It's not that, I- I don't want to leave."
"Zen don't." She sounded sure, her voice firm, "You 'ave suffered enough. Ze boys will be fine on zeir own."
They stood there, silence between them, comfortable, a moment of peace in this long fight. Finally, a laugh, soft, unashamedly burst forth from Hermione's lips, "That's not how this was supposed to go. She continued to lean into Fleur, the blonde's arms wrapped loosely around her waist, resting gently on her hip, Hermione's head tucked into her shoulder, brown hair tickling her neck slightly. A position that should not have been as comforting for them both as it was, the sandwiches lying on the kitchen counter long forgotten.