Bill sat hunched over the sleeping form of his wife, he reached up, gently brushing her hair to the side, his fingers gently tangling in it. Hermione felt anger, jealousy rising to the surface, bubbling in her chest. She took a deep breath, hoping to calm herself, to steady her nerves, this was not the time or place.
She paused in her pacing, hearing footsteps pounding, multiple steps, voices echoing down the hallway, muffled by the walls. She poked her head out the door and into the corridor, only to be greeted with the sight of Ron, Harry, and Ginny all rushing towards her.
A smile spread upon her face, slightly forced, they were her friends, her family, but she really didn't want to deal with them right now, it was bad enough that Bill was here, but she had no right to send them away. And they were there out of concern, and as Fleur's family, had as much right to be there as she did. She needed to remind herself of that. Things were different here, they didn't have to go through it alone now.
She greeted the trio as they made their way inside, hushed whispers, asking what happened, how she was, filled the silence of the room. Bill sat up, still holding onto Fleur's hand, attempting to answer their questions. The blonde continued to sleep on, unaware of the scene unfolding before her.
Hermione hated having to lie to them, to pretend she didn't know, but she had to. Answering would lead to more questions. She couldn't ease their concern, tell them it would all be okay, that she was just resting, her Veela had exhausted her. How would she answer that? How could she know? What awoke the Veela? If Bill was married to her, if he was her mate (she gagged at that thought), wouldn't her Veela have woken up a long time ago?
There was no reason for it to have awoken now, at least nothing plausible. The group edged closer to the sleeping blonde, Hermione staying back, leaning up against the wall. She couldn't ease the feeling of intruding upon a private moment, she didn't know any of these people, hell, she technically didn't even know Fleur, her mind screaming at her that she didn't belong didn't help either.
That was her mate, of course she belonged, she wouldn't ever not belong with her. She wanted to just blend into the wall, to disappear.
Ginny spoke first, noticing how withdrawn Hermione was, her long red hair cascading down her back, she'd continued to grow it out then, Hermione noted. It had been years since she'd last seen her, the few survivors of the battle had fled, each retreating to a different part of the world, too broken to maintain contact. She didn't even know if her Ginny was still alive after all these years, she'd heard stories that a few resistance fighters were still around, but there was no way for her to know if it was true or if it was just an attempt to draw her and Fleur out.
She'd grown up, evolved from a scared young girl to a fierce woman, so different from the young child that fell prey to Riddle's Diary. Left with scars, visible and invisible, a nervous twitch and constant glance over her shoulder, turned timid as a mouse, this Ginny was unafraid, able to speak up, determined to be anything but a footnote.
"'Mione," she called out, nodding her head towards the sleeping form, "Come on up here, you're part of the family too."
Hermione forced a smile, her emotions waging war in her heart, in her mind, she stepped forward, intruding on a private moment, a scene in which she wasn't meant to be, she was only going to ruin the happy family ties, to bring it all crashing down. She edged nearer, Ginny reaching out a worn hand, calloused and hard, skin rough from the broom handle of her Firebolt, she took Hermione's lightly in hers, offering a reassuring squeeze, providing support for the other woman. Her smile was quick, soft and genuine, coming naturally to her before she looked back to Fleur, Hermione's hand still gripped in her own.
Ron was standing behind Bill, his hand clasped around Bill's shoulder, he spoke softly, his gravelly voice threatening to crack as he spoke, words of comfort, words of encouragement. Harry stood there silent, his gaze intense, piercing green eyes focused on the form of the sleeping Veela.
They stayed for a while, Hermione lost track of time, they'd left the room to give Bill some time with his wife, waiting instead in the small waiting area, a few chairs lined the walls and a table sat in the center of the room. They'd all circled around the table, Ron and Ginny both clutching styrofoam cups filled with coffee.
Fingers tapped the table impatiently, their drumming becoming rhythmic, there was no information. Hermione had finally admitted that she'd already called Fleur's mother, informing the group that they'd be arriving the next day. Hopefully they would be able to shed some light on what had happened, the nurses and even the doctors hadn't been able to shed any light on Fleur's 'mysterious' condition.
The brunette was, however, panicking internally, afraid of what may be said. She feared the worst, her mind visualizing the worst possible outcomes in many different scenarios, playing them like a bad movie. Scenes of Fleur's mother arriving, her overly energetic younger sister following close behind, a slightly disheveled and harried looking man with greying hair panting behind them, his tweed suit jacket open, a leather messenger bag slung over his shoulder coming in last. Elias was a friendly man, a little rotund, and large brown eyes filled with compassion, bearing almost no resemblance to his children- the Veela genes too strong. She didn't know how they would react to her, and that was what scared her the most. Veelas were proud to have found their mates, if they were so lucky, welcoming them into the clan with open arms from the moment it was established.
Outsiders, or those who were not true mates, were not so lucky, the clan kept their secrets safe. This, unfortunately, was a secret that they may not be so willing to keep safe.
She was interrupted in her thoughts, Harry proclaiming how late the hour was, and with no ability to help the situation, they may as well go home. Ron nodded in agreement, standing from the hard backed chair he had occupied for hours, a pop echoed in the room as his joints cracked.
"I'm just gonna pop in and let Bill know that we'll be off."
Harry and Ginny acknowledged him, continuing their actions, Harry placing a light jacket around Ginny's shoulders, creating the image of the perfect couple. Hermione remained seated, her eyes drifting towards the door Ron had exited through. She startled when Ginny gently touched her shoulder, "You should get some rest, too," her voice soft, kind, comfort flowing through her words, seeping out of deep green pools.
"Yeah," Hermione agreed, looking down at the table again, she didn't want to leave, the pull towards her mate was too strong, even the thought pained her. She steeled herself, gathering all the courage she could (which, despite being a Gryffindor, was not much in this instance). She pushed herself up, hands resting on the table, supporting her movements, joints creaking as her muscles shifted underneath.
A longing glance towards the room, Ginny hugging her tight, and they were off, meeting up with Ron in the hallway. He walked silently next to Hermione, the air was somber, he reached out, his oversized hands awkward and clunky, an arm wrapping around her waist, Ginny parted from her, replaced by the brunette's husband.
She knew this Ron had done nothing wrong, but still, she could feel nothing but disgust towards him, towards his touch. It made her feel dirty, traitorous. His hand was heavy on her hip, his grip too tight, she felt suffocated, a dog on a leash, being pranced around like a prize that was won. Bile creeped its way up her throat, burning as it went.
Hermione tried to pull away, drifting as she walked, his grip just tightened and he pulled her close, "It's gonna be okay, 'Mione. We'll be home soon and you can forget all about this."
His words pierced her chest, driving a knife in, twisting it, piercing her heart. Red clouded her vision and she pushed him away, grandiose movements drawing attention from passersby. Hurt flashed across Ron's face, confusion following soon after.
"Did I do summin' wrong?" He queried, his voice tight, scratchy.
"No, no I just- I can't, not right now," She looked away, hiding her eyes, "I'm sorry," she looked at him, eyes soft, tender. He forced a smile, fake understanding, a quick dip of his head, he shoved his hands in his pockets, the soles of his shoes dragging on the concrete beneath them, a rhythmic scraping.
Hermione hugged herself, shrinking, curling in, tears stinging at her eyes, she threw a glance over her shoulder, looking back at the plain building of St. Mungo's, it's pale cement exterior and geometric shape contrasting with the whimsical structures, black and dark, dusty. She stumbled as she stepped forward, Ron catching her, supporting her. She fell into his arms, tears springing forth, Hermione buried her face into his chest, sobs wracking her body.
"I- I want- t-to go back," she spoke between tears, gasps of breath, her words coming out in starts and stops.
"Alright," Ron didn't know what was going on with Hermione, didn't know why she was acting like this, she and Fleur had never seemed that close, had never had much to do with each other, a silent wall between them.
They'd worked in the same department, maintaining professionalism despite their family ties, but it had always seemed tense, a veneer of politeness masking the undercurrent of tension going all the way back to their school days. He supposed he was partly to blame, spending his entire Fourth Year drooling over, pining after the blonde. And maybe after that year, if he was being honest, still, though he no longer purpled in her presence.
The two had always been competitive, rivals to each other, pushing the other more and more, further, harder. A biting comment, an insinuation tucked in their cheek, resting on the tip of their tongue, sour, reserved for a private moment, whispered alone, muttered under their breath. The ice princess evolving into a queen, nails digging under Hermione's skin like claws, leaving marks in their wake. And Hermione was never one to be bested, always trying to give better than she got.
He watched her as she turned and walked away, her pace quick, long strides, a skipped step here and there as she tried not to run back. Her curls streaming out behind her, a hand coming up to wipe away her tears, her control broke and she ran the rest of the way, pulling open the door with vigor, it swung wide, bouncing against the wall.
Hermione skidded to a stop outside the door, pulling herself together again, she took a deep breath, running a hand through her hair, pushing it out of her face, another deep breath, steadying her breathing, hoping the flush of her skin would disappear. Her hand raised up to the door, about to touch it, to push it open, when fear invaded her senses, her fingers tensed, curling in on themselves, her hand falling down limply, resting at her side.
She turned, that same hand coming up to her face, fingers still bent, she bit her knuckle, falling back against the wall, closing in upon herself, a shiver as she tried to conceal her sobs. A long moment passed before she recovered herself.
Her head hit the wall as she looked up to the ceiling, fluorescent lights bearing down upon her, blinding her eyes. She slowly turned and went inside, trying to appear composed. Bill stirred, looking back, he smiled at her, his blue eyes crinkling at the corners, "I thought Ron said you all were leaving?"
"Yeah," she looked away, only briefly, a thought crossing through her mind, she better not look away, it would give away her lie, "I thought I needed to be here though," she finished nonchalantly, realizing just how much like Luna she sounded in the moment.
Bill only nodded, gesturing to the empty chair across from him, "Have a seat then," he returned his gaze to his sleeping wife, his hand wrapped around hers.
Hermione did as he suggested, falling into the plastic covered cushioned chair, a poof of air escaping as it sank. They sat in amicable silence, both intently focused on the blonde in repose before them. Her bones burned, sparks alight in her joints, she itched to reach out, to take her mate's hand, to hold her close. Instead, she placed her hand in her own, clutching it tightly, scared that she may reach out and take it otherwise.
Bill did not react to her movement, instead whispering to his wife, smoothing the straight hair framing her face, he told her Hermione was there, that her friends and family had all been by, and he continued on, telling her how much she needed to come back, how much her family would need her, their daughters would need their mother.
A sad smile, his voice was beginning to crack, Hermione couldn't take it anymore. Another deep breath, she tore her eyes, bringing them to meet Bill's, "She'll be okay, I know she will be, she's much too strong to go out without a fight."
He smiled appreciatively, he finally sat back, his spine cracking from having been bent over his wife for so long. The sun outside was starting to set, casting long shadows, darkening the room around them. "You said her family is arriving in the morning, right?"
"Yeah, they didn't give a time, but said they'd be here."
"Should expect them first thing, then. If I've learned anything about them, it's that Apolline always arrives early."
"That she does," Hermione responded, sounding distant. She didn't notice the look Bill gave her.
He looked down at his watch, eyeing the time before returning to his former position, hunched over Fleur. He pressed a tender kiss to her forehead, lingering just a bit. A whisper of "I love you" could barely be heard, followed by another kiss and a squeeze of her hand.
"I've got to get home, check on the kids, you know," he stood up slowly, his arms coming up, bending at the elbows as he stretched his sore, stiffened muscles. "They'll be wondering, after all, Mum and Dad probably need a break from their mischief too."
Hermione smiled, nodding at him, "I'll stay with her, don't you worry. If there's any change I'll floo you immediately."
The tall redhead made his way around the bed, giving the smaller brunette a tight hug, crushing her against his thin torso, "Thank you," it was soft, "I'll be back, first thing in the morning, hopefully before Apolline arrives to begin her interrogation," his voice had begun to take on a teasing tone, his mood bettering slightly.
She nodded again, returning the playful banter, "You better, it's your job to handle the parents." She winked at him, then returned his hug, "Get some rest, you'll need to keep your energy up."
He agreed and bid her farewell before making his way from the room, apparating just outside the door. Hermione sighed, letting out a slow breath, one that she hadn't realized she was holding. Now that they were alone, she took up vigil for Bill, her hand delicately cupped over Fleur's, her other brushing long strands out of her face. A soft smile on her face, her brown eyes tender, she reveled in the touch of her mate.
She stayed like that for some time, light caresses, tender touches, caring whispers, words of adoration, her eyes drooping, drifting shut, pulled down by the weight of sleep. Her head came to rest upon the Veela's abdomen, an arm slung over her legs, their hands still clasped, she would sleep in that position, contentment filling her chest.
Morning came too soon. That and a certain blonde. Apolline Delacour was, above all else, a formidable woman. She drew attention, captivating all those around her, and she knew it. But what was more important was, she loved it. She loved the power it gave her, the ability to make or break anyone with a single sentence, a single look. She did not need to wear flashy clothing or gaudy jewelry, her makeup did not need to be overstated, no her Veela blood was enough.
She breezed into the hospital room, her heels clacking on the hard floor, hair flowing out behind her, her dress was a dark maroon, bordering on blood red. Her eyes fell upon the sight before her, her daughter sleeping soundly, hand clutching that of another, it took only a moment for her to realize that it was her daughter's mate spread across her.
She observed silently, studying the sight before her, not yet wanting to intrude, to interrupt the bond forming between the two young women. This was, after all, what her daughter needed the most, this contact to recover from her exhaustion. It was only Hermione's touch that would calm the restless young Veela.
Though, doubt still filled her mind, it wasn't that she didn't believe her daughter but, she knew relatively little about this brunette, and how was it that she knew the Veela langauge, was able to speak it to her Fleur? The language was unknown until after the bond had been sealed, and it was far from that point.
Apolline crossed the room, moving the empty chair, letting its wooden legs scrape against the tile, waking the sleeping lion. She sat up with a start, jolting awake, she was disoriented, looking about her for the source of the sound, the source of her current displeasure.
They widened in surprise, seeing a slightly older version of Fleur, more fierce and commanding, proud, but looking much more like an older sister than a parent. It was just the two of them, Elias and Gabi were nowhere to be seen.
Apolline stood there, looking as regal as ever, her gaze cast downward upon the weary Gryffindor. Hermione had flashbacks to their first meeting, that feeling of being assessed, inspected, of being found 'not good enough'. This time went differently, this time, Fleur was not providing support, smiling at her, whispering to her, providing confidence, guidance.
The stoic woman greeted her, testing her, mistrust shining through, filling ocean blue spheres, "Good morning Hermione."
"Good morning, Madam Delacour," she spoke, using the language of the Veela, the words of the unfamiliar language flowing, dancing off her tongue, as if she used it frequently, but she'd used it more since arriving in this land than she had in her own in the past year. It was a siren's song, dangerous to the outside world, enchanting those that heard its music, their sweetness melting in her mouth, like browned sugar. "She is still resting as you can see, her transformation happened so quickly."
The suspicion drained from her eyes, replaced instead with impressed pride. There were still questions, but there would be time for answers later, they had plenty of time. She had passed the test, and that meant, she was at the very least, a mate of a Veela. The older Delacour relaxed, her demeanor changing as she transformed into the ever caring mother she was, doting on her daughters. She stood over her daughter, a small vial appearing in her perfectly manicured hand. "I think you have slept long enough," she muttered, uncorking the glass bottle, letting a couple drops fall onto her fingertips. She rubbed the strong smelling solution on the blonde's chest.
Fleur gasped, inhaling deeply, her body reacting immediately, she blinked quickly, trying to take in her surroundings, "Maman? What are you doing 'ere?"
"'ermione called me after your transformation yesterday. I am 'ere to assist you in learning to control your ozzer 'alf." Her accent was much stronger than her daughter's, Hermione smiled, a poor attempt at hiding her amusement, knowing how much the other woman despised the English language. It was so... clunky, broken, a hard language, not only in patterns but sounds.
Fleur looked to her mate, reaching for her hand, taking it in her own. She smiled, tender, her eyes growing soft, filling with the image of her love. It felt natural, she felt... at peace, full of love, her Veela purred, content at last.
Their moment was interrupted with the heavy sounds of Bill's thick soled boots. Their clomping grew louder, mirroring their heart beats in their chest. The two women pulling apart, their skin burning at the contact. Ice gripping at Fleur's lungs, filling and suffocating, her hand began to reach out, searching.
Tears pricked at her eyes, her fingers curled, forming a fist, striking the mattress next to her. Her mother pulled her into her, offering what comfort she could. She knew the pain her daughter would be feeling, she would offer as much support as she was able, she just hoped they would figure it out soon.
Her Veela would come to reject Bill, reject his touch, to scream out, to yearn for her true mate. She would lose control before long. For now, her presence would have to be enough. The shaggy redheaded form of her husband appeared in the doorway, sporting a wide grin as he realized his wife was awake. He rushed to the bed, engulfing her in a hug, pulling her into him, "I'm so glad you're awake, you had me so worried!" It all gushed out at once, his hands pressed to her cheeks, pulling her in tight, he kissed her, his unshaven face rough against her skin.
Fleur had to resist the urge, the desire to pull away, to push him back, her Veela gagging at the taste of this man, this man who was her husband but not her mate, a man she had loved. A new pain coursed through her chest. He released her as she began to feel her grasp weakening. She gasped for breath. "Something wrong, love?"
She shook her head, forcing a smile, happiness not quite reaching her eyes. She pushed back her Veela, fighting with every movement as she reached out, her hand cupping his cheek, guiding him down, towards her. Bile rising in her throat, the thought driving her Veela mad, rampaging in her mind, in her body.
Slowly, choking it back down, her lips parted and she felt his on hers once more. "I am alright my love," she whispered, her words quiet, she dared not look at her mate, too ashamed. Her Veela struggled to break free.
"'Ere, take zis," her mother spoke, handing another vial to her, "it will 'elp." She did not specify with what, that passed between them, unspoken, Fleur took the vial, looking at the crimson liquid, thick like blood. She tipped the glass back, the liquid sliding down, rushing to fill her mouth, she swallowed thickly, tasting cherries. Her Veela began to calm, tired now, it contented itself with voicing its anger instead.
Fleur smiled gratefully at her mother, handing the now empty vial back. "Thank you," a small, sad smile was offered. She felt crushed, crowded, the room was too small. A nurse entered the room, "Ah you're awake, good." She smiled at the blonde sitting up in bed, making her way to her to check up on her.
Fleur was released later that day, Bill had taken her home to a quiet, empty house. The children had stayed over at the Burrow last night, happy to spend time with their grandparents, he'd not told them of what happened to Fleur, having no answers and not wanting to worry them.
Apolline had not left her daughter's side, insisting upon taking care of her daughter, "A mother's duty is to care for her child" she had claimed, ushering Bill from the room. The reality was, she knew that the potion would subdue the Veela, but it would still be difficult for Fleur to be near him. And they had much work to do with the newly awakened Veela. The eldest Weasley had insisted it was also his "duty" being married to her, however he could not sway the clan leader.
The young Veela had no idea what was to come, what her 'training' would consist of, and to an extent, her mother was just as unsure. She would be the first quarter Veela to be able to fully transform, to have found her mate and had her blood activate. She was woefully unprepared.
Her mother regarded her with curious eyes, drinking up every detail, analyzing the situation, she contemplated what to do before finally, she spoke, "Tell me what you remember, what happened yesterday?"
Fleur recounted the events, telling of how she and Hermione had been alone, how her mate had just learned of their work relationship, and then, her senses sharpened, everything became overpowering. And then, she'd been in her mate's embrace, coming back down, everything returned to normal.
Apolline nodded, intently focused on what her daughter recounted. She didn't interrupt the narrative, soaking up the details offered to her, she knew enough to fill in the blanks, to realize what had caused the transformation. The Veela were creatures of love, of infatuation, of sex. Thoughts of which caused the Veela to break free yesterday.
"Do you 'ave an owl I could use?" She probed, intending to send a message to Hermione, she would need to be present to induce the changes as their bond had not been sealed. She quickly scribbled a note on a scrap of parchment tying it to the owl's leg before sending it off on its mission.
"We will begin your training tomorrow, I zink you should rest today." She spoke with an air of finality, sending her daughter off to bed, giving no room for argument.
The door shut behind her with a click, she paused, standing in the hallway, only a moment. A silent prayer that her daughter would not be too hurt with her actions. The process was supposed to be slow, but this was happening too quickly, she feared for her granddaughters as well, how they would be impacted by what was to come. She would need Fleur to pursue a relationship with Hermione, if she didn't, the bond would continue to grow, albeit much slower than otherwise, but it would all lead to the same end.
The Veela would not allow her to maintain things as they were, it was already beginning to reject Bill. Poor Bill, the innocent, losing his wife to another woman, he'd always been kind, gentle, she couldn't have asked for a better partner for her daughter, except for maybe her mate, but that- that hadn't seemed a possibility.
He'd never pushed her, never rushed, wanted more than she was willing to give, accepted the Veela had their secrets and he would never be privy. He accepted things as they were. A good man.
Her musings were interrupted with the arrival of two young girls, running and loudly screaming "Grandmaman!" as they stampeded towards her. She bent down, ready to scoop them both up into a hug, "My girls! I 'ave missed you," she picked up Dominique and took Victoire by the hand, leading them away from their mother's room.