Here we go! Time to see what comes of this new development! Sorry it's been so long, but hopefully more frequent updates (its nanowrimo time y'all). Though, I've got to balance this with school now too so, there's that.
Hermione leaned forward, over her desk, her eyes hard, cold, her jaw set. She laced her fingers and asked quietly, her tone betraying her seriousness, "Are you sure?"
Harry nodded, her shaggy brown hair falling into his face, obscuring his eyes slightly. He brushed it out of the way, looking rather boyish, a stark contrast to the mood contained within the room. It reminded her of her school days, back before everything fell apart.
She nodded stiffly, reaching for a roll of parchment and a pen, she detested quills and hoped her alter ego did as well. A gold tipped fountain pen rested in the drawer of her desk, she smiled slightly, feeling a minor relief from that similarity. She smoothed out the parchment on her desk and looked up at Harry expectantly, "Tell me everything you know."
She spoke in hushed tones as though they might be overheard in the privacy of her office, an office that had been spelled to be soundproof whenever the door was shut. Her office, in the middle of the Ministry, none of them would be stupid enough to show up there, especially if they weren't yet discovered. But years of paranoia, years of betrayal, of hiding and running, of never knowing who was listening at any moment and unable to trust had taught her otherwise.
Hermione took notes as Harry spoke, the side of her left hand becoming stained with ink as the letter smeared upon the parchment, leaving fine trails as she went. She wasn't sure what was relevant or what was actually important yet, so she wrote everything he had gathered and hoped his notes were good enough. She'd recalled that the Harry in her world had a penchant for taking short cuts, finding the easy way out at every opportunity, unwilling to put in large amounts of effort. Maybe (hopefully) that was different here, or at the very least, he'd matured, grown out of old habits. Otherwise, she feared the worst.
She stared down at the messy parchment before her, Harry had left to go finish his debriefing before enjoying some much needed time off. He'd been undercover for the past couple weeks and would be returning soon. And, if he was correct in his assumptions, he'd be there for quite some time.
She sighed, twirling her pen between her fingers absentmindedly, unaware that sapphire eyes were fixed upon her, studying her every movement. She leaned back in her chair, her back beginning to cramp when she finally looked up, seeing the blonde staring intently.
"What?" she asked, innocently, a raised eyebrow directed at the other witch. She hadn't moved from her spot despite their "meeting" being finished. She hadn't forced the Frenchwoman to leave, her presence providing comfort, a familiarity that she needed now.
"Nozing," she murmured, shaking her head slightly, her blue eyes drifted back down the the notepad on her lap, her fingers laced and hands resting on the lined page.
"Tell me," Hermione prodded gently, placing her pen to the side, leaning into the dark wood of the desk, her eyes alight with interest.
"It iz really nozing at all," the blonde insisted, her voice trailing off as she spoke, barely above a whisper. Her eyes staring intently ahead, unfocused on the notepad. The end of her quill brushed her lips lightly, tickling the soft skin, her pink tongue darted out, whetting dry skin as her quill resumed scratching at the tan parchment, irregular strokes grazing the smooth surface.
She had dismissed the subject, but Hermione continued to watch her. She spoke with confidence, "I know I haven't known you long, but I know you better than that," a smirk played upon her features as the quill stilled between nimble fingers, resting just above the surface, azure eyes not yet meeting honeyed brown, "I've learned over the years, it's never nothing with you." A hint of teasing filled her voice, rounding the sounds, she picked up her pen and began writing again, not pushing any further.
Fleur would tell her when she was ready. She began silently counting, "Three... two... one." The blonde spoke on cue. "You're using the wrong hand."
Hermione looked at her with a raised eyebrow, her pen still in hand, "hm?"
"'Ere you are right handed, not left," she chastised, almost annoyed at having to explain her statement as though it wasn't obvious.
"Ah," the brunette smiled, quickly switching hands, the pen looking awkward and unnatural in its placement, her elegant scrawl turning to messy scribbles as she attempted to continue on in her notes. "Nope, can't do it. Guess you'll just have to deal with the radically different left handed Hermione instead," she winked at the blonde, replacing the tool in her hand and returning to work.
An easy silence fell between them, broken only by the occasional sigh and scratching of parchment or flipping of pages. Fleur had not bothered to leave the room yet and Hermione was not in any rush to part from her. After another bit of shuffling from the other woman broke Hermione's thoughts however, she paused, watching as she sat, hunched over her notepad, long blonde locks framing the pages, intent on her work but looking cramped and uncomfortable.
"You know, you don't have to stay over there," she started, causing the older witch to jump slightly as she was pulled from her work, surprise evident on her face, she nodded and moved to put away her things.
"No-no, you don't have to leave, that's not what I meant. What I meant was, you could come over here," she gestured to the space next to her, now free of papers, "Unless, you have somewhere to be, that is," she quickly corrected, mentally facepalming, "you don't have to if you don't want to." She finished weakly, her earlier confidence fading, feeling like she was barking out orders instead.
The blonde assuaged her nerves, sliding closer, placing her pad on the desk, breathing in the soft scent of soap and eucalyptus, her veela purring contently at their proximity. She couldn't explain the pull she felt towards the other woman, the feeling still so unfamiliar. A voice in the night, whispering to her, urging her closer, Icarus flying towards the sun, unafraid of falling. But the fall is never the problem, it's the sudden stop. She knew her veela wouldn't allow her to stop, not now that she had started. Not with her mate.
She looked up, blue orbs studying the hunched over figure of her mate, the word repeating itself, filling her mind, dominating her thoughts, "mate, mate, mate," her mind droned on, her nerves buzzing, filled with excitement, anticipation, she wanted- needed more.
Hermione looked up, feeling eyes upon her, that knowing look firmly in place, taunting, teasing. A blush spread upon alabaster cheeks, embarrassment at being caught as Fleur quickly looked down, pretending to work. Hermione said nothing, returning to her work, feeling like a schoolgirl once again. Her mind drifting back to the beginning of their relationship, remembering Fleur's behavior, how erratic she became.
A sly smile spread across her delicate features as the memory resurfaced.
Hermione snuck into the Room of Requirement just after midnight, Harry's cloak pulled tightly around her shoulders. She breathed a sigh of relief as the door closed behind her and she freed herself from her invisible prison once more. She was safe, in her sanctuary, for just a few hours.
The fire roared in the marble hearth before her, filling the room with warmth and casting long shadows on the walls. She smiled seeing that someone was already there waiting for her, seated upon the couch, head buried in a book like usual. She hadn't stirred at the sound of Hermione's arrival, probably hadn't even heard her come in the young Gryffindor reasoned. A devilish smirk spread across her face as she encircled herself in the invisibility cloak once more and silently padded her way across the room.
She approached Fleur as quietly as she could, nervous excited energy radiating from her, she had to resist running to her as she got closer. Standing behind her, she reached out, covering the blonde's eyes, "Guess who?" she queried, knowing the blonde would know it was her, the only other person to know she was here. But the Frenchwoman played along, making a couple improper guesses, teasing her before insisting that she would only know the answer with a kiss.
Hermione leaned down, capturing soft pink skin with her own reddened, feeling the need for more growing in the pit of her stomach. Strong arms wrapped around her torso and she let out a squeal of surprise as she was pulled over the back of the couch. Her back hitting soft pillows, she reached up to pull Fleur back to her but the blonde had other ideas. She quickly changed course and began fighting to put distance between them as the older witch began to tickle her, her movements uncoordinated as she fought for breath amidst bursts of laughter, attempting to beg for mercy.
Her head laid in the Veela's lap, eyes shining with mirth, she managed to capture the hands of her tormentor, holding them tight she felt the air in the room change, suddenly becoming serious as their eyes locked. Their game had turned tender, intimacy dominating the space, she slowly released a hand. Delicate fingers reached up, cupping her cheek, the pad of Fleur's thumb lightly stroking the tender skin below, electricity flowing around them.
"What are we doing?" she queried, her usually confident voice now small, barely audible.
The unspoken question hung between them, "What am I to you?" The Beauxbatons champion had never looked so small, even fighting the dragon she had been filled with courage, with confidence, but she had become a mouse in front of Hermione, her eyes asking for reassurance.
Hermione spoke slowly, carefully, choosing her words wisely, "I wouldn't be breaking the rules if you weren't worth it." Hoping the Frenchwoman understood, knew her well enough to know their weight.
The wide smile that followed, the glow emanating from her companion told her she did. Their lips crashed together filled with want, with need, and a new sense of urgency behind them.
Following that night the blonde had seemed unable to take her eyes off the young brunette. Nervous glances, shy touches, stolen moments in the shadows. Their eyes would meet from across the Great Hall and Fleur would blush and look away, returning back to conversing with her friends, feigning interest in what they spoke of. Words blending into the chatter around them, but her eyes would drift back a moment later. Their shared secret.
Sadness filled her chest, pooling around her heart, wrapping tight and squeezing it as she longed for her Fleur. Her eyes drifted shut for a moment as she tried to compose herself, it hadn't been long, only a day, they'd been apart for longer in the past, but this time was different, this time, she didn't know if she'd ever be able to return.
A slight shake of her head and she opened her deep brown eyes, filled with emotion, there was work to do and she'd need to focus. She read over the notes she had once again, but unfortunately there wasn't much. Harry had said he'd been following him- Aloysius Hemsworth- for quite some time, he was a smuggler of magical creatures- that's how she'd become involved in this. But if he was right, there was something much more sinister going on, a bigger threat than black market dragon eggs.
They'd thought he was higher up, never having been caught with anything illegal but traveling to multiple areas, they'd assumed he brokered the arrangements, now she wondered if that was just a cover for his real activities. How deep did this go?
She let out an exasperated sigh and ran a hand through long brown curls, her fingers tangling in her hair, her pen tapped impatiently on the parchment. Her actions broke Fleur free of her thoughts, noticing the tension beginning to fill the room, the blonde offered her a slight smile, "Come, let us take a brief walk."
She stood, not waiting for an answer, the points of her heels clicking on the hard floor, her hips swaying as she walked. Her movements slightly exaggerated, drawing chocolate eyes further downward. Her Veela preening as she felt her mate's eyes upon her. She paused at the door, her hand resting on the handle, looking over her shoulder, "Coming?" A devilish glint filled her eyes, a plan brewing just below the surface.
Hermione nodded, scrambling to get up from her desk, practically tripping over her own two feet as she stood, her thighs banging on the wood surface that she was hunched over as the chair refused to move from its spot, its wheels slowed by the rug beneath. She breathed out a curse as she roughly pushed it back, freeing herself from her prison. Fleur was attempting to stifle her laugh at the uncoordinated movements of the other woman, earning herself a cheeky glare.
Laughter broke free from the blonde at that, the shorter woman resembling an angry poodle at that moment. Hermione rolled her eyes, "Don't you have some work to be doing?"
Faking hurt, she placed a hand, fingers splayed wide, across her chest, "Tired of me already? My, 'ow 'ave you survived this long?" she teased. Then in a more serious voice, she whispered conspiratorially, "My boss 'as not given me any work to do," followed by a wink before she put more space between them, her hands clasped innocently in front of her as she walked along.
Hermione had not moved from her spot, still trying to process what it was Fleur had said, she knew her companion had meant something by it, but... and then realization dawned on her, ideas filling her mind and she rushed to catch up to Fleur now a good distance ahead of her.
How had she not realized that sooner? It was right there, and yet she'd somehow missed it. But she needed to be sure, a cautious question, quiet, "Am I?"
Fleur tried to hide her smile, only offering a subtle nod in affirmation, she was enjoying knowing things that Hermione didn't. She wondered what the other woman would do with that new information, if she would find enjoyment in that new dynamic. An answer would be given sooner than she expected, a tinge of pink spreading on the brunette's face was all the confirmation she would need. Her Veela roared to life within her, new feelings stirring within her, she took a deep breath, trying to regain control of herself.
A firm hand grabbed her own, "Come on, let's go," it may have been her imagination, but she grabbed onto the words, trying to ground herself as the world began to spin around her. She allowed herself to be pulled along, stumbling as she went, a pop and she felt her insides twist, the ground falling away beneath her only to reappear a moment later. Strong arms wrapped around her body, pulling her closer as the world continued to spin.
Breathing in, she smelled fresh grass, clean cotton and something spicy, cinnamon maybe? She nuzzled closer, feeling that she was too far away. She inhaled deeply, trying to draw in as much of that scent as she could, still unable to identify it, it wasn't repulsive, faint, just barely a hint of it, something she could easily miss, but it was there. Grounding her, she clung to it, her saving grace, the world began to slow.
Hermione did not let go however, only loosening her grip on the older woman when she began to shift, pulling away slightly, "Better now?" she queried, concern piercing through honeyed orbs.
Fleur nodded, unsure if she trusted herself to speak. She had no words to explain what had happened, so many new feelings and sensations had occurred in the past day, she felt like she was losing control. But the way her mate had reacted, had known what to do, she could only conclude that it had happened before, she just didn't know what had happened.
Leather clad arms slid down her shoulders, coming to a rest on her lower back, their position unusually intimate considering that they had little contact despite the familial relation, only having quick hugs here and there but very infrequent, and now they had shared each others' touch more in one day than in the previous eight years. They stayed, breathing in each other, Fleur wanting to reach out, just another couple inches and she could capture soft skin in her own, could finally taste her mate.
Her Veela urging her on, her mind reiterating that she was married, they both were married. Her eyes drifted shut and gathering all her courage, she pulled herself out of her mate's embrace. A shiver ran down her spine as she instantly longed for her touch once more, she wrapped her arms around herself, trying to fill that hole.
Silence fell between them, neither woman sure of what to do next, of how far they could go. Fleur felt a war raging inside, her Veela pushing for more, telling her to take what was hers, to finally claim her mate. "I'm sorry, I don't know what came over me," she tried to apologize, her head hung low, eyes cast towards the ground.
Hermione started to reach towards her again, her hand stopping before she made contact with her bicep, thinking better of her, her fingers curled before her hand dropped back to her side. "No, don't apologize, it's my fault," their eyes met before Hermione looked away, unable to look at her any longer.
"I shouldn't have woken your Veela like that, you weren't taught how to handle it."
"Don't apologize for zat, 'aving a mate is somezing very special, I am glad you are mine." Her smile was genuine though it did not quite reach her eyes, a sadness hung in them, deepening the blue of her irises. Hermione wanted to pull her closer, to kiss away the sadness of her mate, but she wouldn't dare, couldn't, not here, this wasn't her world, there would be consequences she wouldn't have to face.
It wasn't her choice to make, anything more would have to be up to the quarter Veela before her who was currently struggling with controlling her newly awakened creature blood. This would be a new experience for the both of them, when Fleur's blood had awakened before, she had been guided through it by the clan, Hermione had not been present for the majority of it- having still been a student.
She had heard some stories, but the Veela were secretive, not even their mates had much knowledge of their ways. She had read bits and pieces, censored of course, in letters she received. She doubted just how truthful Fleur had been, not wanting to worry the young Gryffindor who had more important things to focus on. That whole ordeal with the High Inquisitor had taken much of her time that year. She shuddered just thinking about it, that horrible toad of a woman.
"We should head back I think," her thumb pointing over her shoulder while she spoke. She turned to head back to the street, the bustling of people, honking of horns, all silent, falling to the wayside in their own little bubble. The alleyway she stood in was lined with graffiti, trash strewn about, a couple of dumpsters with their lids propped open. The gravel crunched under her feet as she walked, listening intently for Fleur's steps to follow her own. When they didn't she turned back, "You coming?" already leaving her lips as she saw Fleur's eyes roll back into her head and her body go limp, swaying to the left slightly as she fell.
Hermione barely had time to react, casting a wandless spell to hold the lifeless body of her mate frozen mid-fall. She rushed to her side, pulling her back into her arms, supporting her weight, panic filled her mind. She looked about, trying to find their attacker, her mind racing, did they find her? Where are they? How did she not see anyone appear?
She pulled her wand out, trying her best to locate the source of the danger and protect her mate. Her eyes scanned the deserted alleyway as she called out, "Show yourself, coward!" She cast a couple of spells, trying to counter any protections they could be using, but it was to no avail.
Upon finding nothing, her mind began to calm slightly, only for a moment, they were safe, at least from any outside dangers. But Fleur, still limp in her arms, caused a new bout of panic. She apparated them both to St. Mungo's, hoping they could provide some help.
She was quickly separated from the unconscious woman, mediwitches running to their side upon her arrival. The blonde was carried to a nearby room by a male nurse while a female, slightly older, her tan skin wrinkled with years of stress, her dirty blonde hair pulled into a tight bun, questioned her.
Hermione answered the questions as best she could, though she felt there wasn't much information, she didn't know what had happened, her mind continued to race, nervous energy coursing through her veins, she ran her fingers through her hair, tangling them in her curls, a long ago habit, a movement that showed her lack of control in the moment. She needed to have control over something, to be able to fix the solution, she fought her instincts to run to the library, to do research. Her tone became short, snappy as the nurse continued to ask her the same questions, to run through the scenario again and again.
"Why aren't you helping her?!" Anger coursed through her veins, she gestured towards the room as she spoke, she paced back and forth, her hands now jammed angrily in her pockets.
The nurse offered her a sad smile, calmly insisting that they were doing everything she could, but there wasn't much to go on. They were running tests, every diagnostic spell they could think of, but so far had been unsuccessful.
She still hadn't been allowed in the room. Her inner voice spoke, reminding her that this Fleur had recently found her mate, reminding her that there had been many changes, would be many more to go through yet. That voice of reason pointed out that transformation for her own Fleur drained her still, would be a last resort in any situation, and she was prepared, had awakened years ago.
"Where's the floo?" She questioned, more yelled, at one of the nurses passing by. He stopped and pointed down the hall, "'S down that way, on the left."
Hermione barely nodded in thanks, already running off in that direction, times like this she hated Wizard communication, why couldn't they just use cell phones like muggles? It would be so much easier than this.
She managed to find the room, pushing through the heavy wooden door, its large metal knocker hanging from the mouth of a lion. Luckily the solitary floo contained within the room was not in use, she thought she would have snapped if it was, just another thing she didn't need right now.
Hermione breathed a sigh of relief, calming her nerves as best she could as she grabbed a pinch of shiny purple powder from the jar on the mantle and tossed it in to the flames. They changed shades quickly, turning from yellow to green, snaps of blue crackled and popped as she spoke, "Delacour Manor."
The call connected, warm flames licking her skin, a warm breeze brushing her cheeks, slightly flushed from the heat. She looked around, recognizing the room, taking in the subtle differences between this one and the one she had once stepped foot in.
The wood floors were darkened with age, polished nicely they shone even in dim light. The large windows of the parlor overlooked the family gardens, the furniture in here was simple, clean and showing no signs of wear. Its uncomfortable appearance was misleading, having been charmed to provide the perfect comfort to the user. The room itself looked as though it had been pulled through time from the 1800s, overly ornate and impractical, untouched by the family for years. It was a formal room, mainly used by the family when hosting guests, meant to seem imposing, proud, much like the Veela themselves.
She'd only been in this room a couple of times, her first when she met the family, she had been perched upon the loveseat, her mate next to her, hands clinched together, Fleur offering all the silent support she could to the nervous brunette.
Fleur's mother, Apolline Delacour, was beautiful beyond words, a veritable Aphrodite. Despite being decades older than her own children, she looked as though she could be their elder sister, age had not touched her features. She glided across the room with grace and elegance, her silk robes a pale royal purple, hung loosely upon her slender frame. Her cerulean eyes enchanting, holding the attention of anyone caught in their midst. Silvery blonde hair was left free, hanging below her shoulders, gentle curls at their ends.
Her English was heavily accented, the language unfamiliar to her, Hermione knew that the Apolline in her world was very intelligent, always holding the upper foot, she used her accent to trick others, to make them underestimate her. She could be very cunning, preferring to be the one in control in any situation.
"Bonjour, what can I 'elp you wiz, Miss...?" She spoke calmly, her tone unhurried, feigning disinterest. Her gaze held no recognition, causing Hermione to pause for a moment, it had been quite some time since she had last experienced this side of the clan leader.
She ducked her eyes, showing humility, this would not be an easy conversation, and having it at such a distance was not how she had planned. She took a deep breath, inhaling the thick scent of smoke, steeling her nerves, "I need your help, Fleur is in trouble," she spoke carefully, "I don't know what happened, but you're the only one that can help her. Her Veela is awake."
"I am aware of zat," she spoke with irritation, the knowledge that she had just shared knocking Hermione off balance, "So, zat must mean zat you are 'er mate." She spoke without urgency, her words sure. Hermione nodded slowly, she didn't want to give away too much, wasn't sure how much they knew (they already knew more than she'd hoped).
"So what is ze problem?"
"We were talking, and she started to transform," Hermione was careful not to discuss their conversation, knowing what it was that caused the transformation to start, she didn't need to go into that with her in-laws, even if they weren't the ones she knew, "she regained control not long after, but then she fainted I guess? She hasn't come back to and the medics don't know how to help."
There was a knowing look contained within the electric blue eyes of her mother-in-law causing the brunette to blush, averting her eyes as the elder Veela watched her. She was not one to avoid the truth for the sake of public decorum, saving reputations or sparing embarrassment.
"She iz simply exhausted. It iz a lot for a young Veela to handle, she will awaken when she iz rested."
Hermione felt embarrassed over her quite obvious over-reaction, the answer seeming so obvious now, she spoke softly, "Oh, that's it? I'm sorry to have bothered you,"
Apolline cut her off, "No, do not be, I will arrive tomorrow to assist Fleur wiz ze rest of ze changes. Zis situation will be very 'ard for 'er I am afraid, 'er Veela will be wanting to claim its mate and refusing to acknowledge its coupling wiz 'er 'usband before long." She was solemn, her tone taking on a sad note as she imparted this information on the young witch.
That was something her own Fleur had not had to deal with, but now they would both be having to face the consequences of her rushed actions. Internalized anger flared to life as she chastised herself silently. They would have to find a way to survive this, but if she was able to return to her own world, what would the blonde do then? Would her own counterpart be willing to be in a relationship she had no say in? What of their current marriages? Their children? How would they react? Would they be able to carry on in secret or would the nature of the Veela resist that very idea?
The call ended and she made her way back towards Fleur's room, her mind still consumed by her thoughts. She didn't realize that she was no longer alone until a shaggy redheaded man called out her name. Her head snapped up, towards the sound of the noise.
Bill stood there, worry etched into his chiseled features, his black tie was loosened around his neck, white shirt untucked, its collar bent where he had wrenched his tie free. His jeans stood out in stark contrast from the rest of his formal appearance, a worn pair of tennis shoes caked in mud on his feet. He'd been pacing back and forth, small clumps marking his pathway.
"Bill? What are you doing here?" She queried, then realized it was a stupid question, he was her husband after all.
A chuckle, "I could ask you the same thing, how is she?"
She shook her head, a frown appearing on delicate features, "I don't know, they won't tell me anything."
"Ah, they keep saying they don't know, what happened anyways? The story they told me didn't seem to make any sense. You were with her right?"
Bill had always been a gentle man, slow to anger, always wanting to see the best in people, at least the one from her world, she couldn't be sure that this Bill would be the same, but she reasoned, he couldn't be that much different here, Fleur had married him after all, and there was no way she would have ended up with someone "bad". Still though, she was unsure about how much to tell him, now that she knew what had transpired, or rather the reason for why it had transpired.
How would she explain Fleur's Veela having awakened? If he believed himself to be her mate, then wouldn't he question why it hadn't happened sooner? Or he could arrive at the conclusion that it was someone else and wouldn't that then mean she was involved in an affair? Hermione knew nothing had happened between them, nothing physical at least, aside from a couple of hugs and innocent touches.
And he may not know it was her, or believe what she said when the truth was revealed about them later. He was waiting for an answer, watching her expectantly, it was taking too long, "Yeah," she nodded, clearing her throat, "I was, we'd gone for a walk, needing a break from the Ministry," she continued, telling white lies here and there, creating a cover.
"She started acting funny, disoriented, I thought maybe it was a panic attack for some reason, maybe the crowd? I pulled her into an alleyway away from everything, and it seemed to go away. I suggested we head back to the office and turned around, when she didn't follow, I turned back in time to see her fall."
"There was nobody around, I checked, and couldn't get a response from her, so I brought her here."
He nodded, his face betraying no emotion, "I see, maybe we'll just have to find out from her when she comes to." He brought a hand up, scratching the back of his head before adjusting his tie again. He had a habit of fidgeting when he was nervous, she remembered, the eldest Weasley always trying to keep himself occupied. Ron had always teased him about not being able to stay still during their time at Shell Cottage. She fought a wince at that memory, it had not been the best time for her, despite the proximity she had with her mate.
He caught her movement, but decided not to comment on it, knowing Hermione would tell him if she wanted him to know. His sister-in-law had always been relatively private, preferring to have the answer already worked out.
A nurse, one of the men who had taken Fleur to her room, appeared in the doorway of the waiting area, calling out to them and beckoning the pair to follow him. They quickly exchanged glances, Hermione gesturing at him to follow first before she fell in behind him. It felt foreign to her, having to rely on another to care for her mate, Fleur not being her mate here, just her sister-in-law. She nearly gagged on that phrase, her Muggle sensibilities kicking in, her mate was family here.
He was an older man, his graying beard kept short and scruffy around his face, a bald patch on top of his head, he spoke softly, concern filling his voice. His glasses hung at the V of his scrub top, he looked almost like how she had imagined Santa when she was younger. She had missed much of what he had said, but assumed it was not much, as they walked towards the sleeping woman's room. He left them at the door of the darkened quarters, Bill entering first, rushing to his wife's side, taking her hand in his. They dwarfed the small, manicured hand, encasing it fully.
There was no response from the French woman, he lightly kissed her cheek, whispering softly to her. Hermione stood back, hanging awkwardly around the door. She felt as though she was intruding on their privacy, she averted her eyes as tears began to form. He was able to act how he wanted, while she had to hide, her heart aching as she wanted nothing more than to rush to her side, to whisper sweet nothings in her ear, offer reassurance to the sleeping form of her wife.