TW: mentions/descriptions of animal cruelty; also, its maybe a little sad?
Hermione packed up her things, slipping her heavy book into her bag, it hit the table with a muffled thud. She flipped the cover of her leather messenger bag, quickly latching it. The padded strap wound around her shoulder and she adjusted it slightly, positioning the bag just right, slightly behind her. Fleur looked at her expectantly, "Ready?" she asked.
Hermione nodded, a sharp tip of her head. She followed behind the blonde, the crowd parting silently around them. Stares followed them, hushed whispers, Hermione felt her nerves growing, their eyes bearing down on her, questioning. She wasn't used to the attention, but Fleur strode forward, unbothered. Poised as always, the ice queen strode on, her eyes glancing over those around her, reminding them of their position, peasants every one of them.
She pushed through the heavy wooden doors of the entryway, creaking as they moved, the bottoms scraping against the stone. The fall air was cool, crisp, sharp in their lungs. She breathed in deeply, feeling the burn in her chest. The blonde slowed her pace slightly, falling in line with the brunette.
"Why are you so curious about Veelas?" Her eyes remained forward. Her voice was soft, but there was a hint of suspicion in it, her demeanor remained distant, closed off. She didn't trust outsiders, she had learned not to.
Hermione shrugged, she honestly didn't know. Maybe it was Ron's insistence that the blonde had been one, but, she'd already confirmed that, hadn't she? So why did this book matter so much? "Curiosity, I suppose."
"Curiosity killed the cat, you know," it was teasing, snark touching the edges of her voice, insinuation.
The young Hermione stopped dead in her tracks, "What's that supposed to mean?" Her eyes had descended into slits, anger marring her delicate features, tensing as she realized she was alone with the blonde, the castle now a ways off and the carriage closer to them.
"Nozing, just zat it is not always good to be so curious." The blonde had continued walking, not missing a beat and not waiting for her companion. "If you truly wish to know about ze Veela, I suggest you come to me, ze ozers may not be so understanding," she looked over her shoulder, her eyes serious, a dark blue, piercing, boring through anything they focused on. A chill ran up Hermione's spine, goosebumps appearing on her skin.
Fleur paused, only for a second, her demeanor shifting again, "Coming?" A smile appeared on her face and she held out a hand, offering it to Hermione. The little lion felt possessed, if anyone would ask, she would claim a moment of insanity, she reached out and took her hand. Soft skin clutched by calloused, worn and rough, hanging between them.
Fleur left Hermione alone, she would be free to explore their house without prying eyes. However, it filled Hermione with questions, what did Fleur do for employment? It certainly couldn't be anything magical, and she hadn't received a muggle education. And why did she even need to work? She'd always come off as a spoiled princess, though, Fleur did work with her at the Ministry, so... But that was different she reasoned, it wasn't muggle work.
Hermione shook her head, clearing her mind of these thoughts, it was a tangent that wouldn't help her to return home. That was the most important thing right now, not what Fleur was doing. Her thoughts began to drift back, the previous night's events returning to her mind, causing her skin to flush. It was a sight, no, an experience, she'd never thought she'd have. What was more shocking was she found she'd enjoyed it, more than she'd ever thought possible. Her lips tingled at the memory of their kiss, feeling a need building up within her.
She had to keep her mind from returning to these thoughts, worried she would be too tempted to stay, to leave her family behind and embark on a new life. Hermione freed her mind of the intrusive ideas, making her way to the library, ready to tackle her alternate's notes.
Her fingers ran over the titles, thick, dusty tomes, worn and marred with time laid haphazardly upon the shelves. Stacks strewn about, pages left open, the area was cluttered, bits of parchment. A rune circle was crudely drawn out upon the floor, long melted candles encircled the runes. She would have laughed at the absurdity of it all, looking like a muggle's idea of witch craft, the type from a B list movie.
But, here she was, so, there had to be something to it. She couldn't deny that bit. She made her way to the desk, looking for a piece of parchment, something not written on already, she needed to organize her thoughts anew. She pulled open a drawer, finding a stack of flattened rolls, their ends curled up, held down by a piece of rock. She pushed it aside, taking a piece in hand and removing it. She began to search for a writing utensil, anything she could use. The drawer was empty, she began looking around, searching near the different piles across the room.
Hermione managed to locate a pen, it had rolled under an end table, she dusted her hand off on her pants as she stood up. Now, ready to get started, pen in hand, a fresh piece of parchment, she felt ready to take notes.
She began by writing down the items involved, or what she would assume was involved in the spell. Though, she only knew the tools that were left behind. She followed up by writing down what she knew had happened. What she thought her alter was trying to get to, the Battle of Hogwarts.
She finished her notes and paused, sitting back in her seat, tapping her pen on the desk absentmindedly. Her bottom lip was sucked in, pinched beneath her teeth. She was contemplating where to start, it took only a moment before she decided to research time turners. There wasn't much information on them though, and all of them had been destroyed, so that meant she'd made one, or attempted to make one.
She ran her fingers through her hair, scratching at her scalp and tousling her curls. An exasperated sigh escaped her lips. It was really advanced magic, even for her, and the secret behind their creation was lost to time, an ancient relic of the days of Merlin. But, whether or not it was possible to recreate, that was the path she had to go down, a different end goal however.
Hermione hunched over her desk, scribbling furiously as ideas came to her, her hand couldn't keep up with her mind, her writing becoming sloppier as she worked. She jumped, startled as the door clicked shut behind her.
She hadn't heard anyone enter the home, hearing the door close, she rose from her seat, already reaching for her wand, her heart pounding in her chest. A shock of blonde hair, ice blue eyes, the gorgeous figure of the blonde enchantress registered in her mind, she let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding, her wand falling to her side as her empty hand came up to her chest. "You scared me," she exhaled.
"Ma cherie, I am sorry," the blonde apologized, crossing the distance between them, taking her mate in her arms, she pulled her in close, however she would soon be surprised. Hermione, breathing in the scent of her wife, the comfort it provided, the sweet smell of vanilla and cherry, wrapped her arms around Fleur, her hands coming to rest on her lower back. Her head fell into the crook of Fleur's neck, resting there, her pulse point by the tip of her nose.
It was so tempting, right there, just out of her reach, it would only take a little... Hermione, filled with a desire she didn't understand, shifted slightly, kissing, nipping at the pale flesh there, sucking. The blonde gasped in shock, her eyes dilating, the blue of her irises turning dark and stormy. She released her grip on the brunette, cupping her cheek and pulling her up for a tender kiss, filled with want and need, it quickly began to escalate.
Hermione struggled to regain her senses, finally pulling away, releasing the French woman from her grip. Her hand rested lightly on Fleur's chest, fingertips curling around her shoulder. She couldn't lose focus, couldn't stay here. A shudder, chills running through her body, her nerves burning with need.
The blonde, for her part, did not press for more, did not urge her to continue. Her pupils were blown wide, filled with desire. Her hands slid down, from Hermione's shoulders to just above her elbows, resting them there. She smiled at her love, crinkles forming at the corners of her eyes, "Did you make any progress today?"
Hermione bit her lip, a pensive look crossing her face, "I think so? I'm not sure just yet."
"You'll get zere, I 'ave faith in you." The brunette blushed, turning to hide it, she was unused to the confidence in her abilities. She had always known she would find the answer, but there had always been those who doubted her. This time, it was given so freely, without question, without conditions. Even Ron still managed to question her despite their years, in spite of her record.
"Now, 'ow about dinner?" That question prompted her stomach to rumble, muffled and quiet but still providing an answer to the blonde. The pair broke out in laughter, "I'll take zat as a yes, hmm?" Hermione only nodded, it wasn't much of a question anyways.
The pair sat at the table, glasses of wine between them, enjoying the ambiance of the restaurant. Fleur had led to her a quaint little Italian restaurant, they'd both ordered pasta dishes and finished their meals long ago. Now they just enjoyed the wine, the music, and each other. Their hands laid on the table, clasped together, careless, carefree. There was nothing to hide here, no relationships with others, no one to worry about hurting. Fleur recounted her day animatedly.
Hermione's questions of employment were answered, one by one, without any prompting. She discovered that Fleur here too, had money, and therefore her education didn't matter. She'd converted some of her inheritance (if you could call it that as she hadn't yet 'inherited' anything) to Euros some time after arriving in the small village. She'd seen a problem and decided to fix it, or contribute to finding a solution as best she could, melting Hermione's heart even more.
What was the problem? There were too many homeless animals in the area. Her solution? She opened a shelter. Every day she spent time, helping the community, feeding the strays she couldn't take in, offering assistance to those in need. She spoke that day of an incident, a puppy that had been found, on the brink of death, starved and beaten by his owner. He'd been found, scarred, frightened, growling and nipping at anyone who tried to get close. She'd received a call from a young woman, she'd confined him as best she could, in an alleyway, he'd backed himself into the corner, limping as he'd tried to run.
Fleur had gone to her location, a bag of chicken in hand, hoping that at least the scent would entice him, would allow her to get closer. She'd offered it to him, but he'd just growled, low and dangerous, his eyes never shifting from her. She'd tossed some towards him and backed off, trying to get more information from the good samaritan.
His dusty brown fur was matted, darkened with blood and mud, a partially healed cut across his nose, another above his eyes, flies buzzed around his ears. Her heart was breaking for the poor pup. She'd never understood how humans could be so cold, so cruel to another creature. But he wasn't alone in this experience, she'd been in his position before, many times, treated as lesser, as something inhuman due to her Veela heritage.
She'd eventually managed to get closer to him, at least enough to inspect the damage a bit better, he scarfed down bits of chicken in front of her, his eyes wary, he flinched at her movements and she resolved to move as little as possible. After a couple hours she managed to get him to eat from her hand, tears of joy springing forth from her eyes. A little more, just a little more time, a little bit closer.
Fleur had managed to get him back to the shelter, her vet was examining him and would let her know. She was happy that he was at least off the streets now, would have food, would be around those that would care for him.
Hermione thought back to her days of S.P.E.W., what led her to working in the Ministry, in trying to further the rights of Magical Creatures. She knew her Fleur had interest in that department as well, had figured it was because of her creature blood, but she'd never asked. She wondered for a moment, would Fleur have helped her back then, if she'd just asked?
The waiter stopped by their table, asking if they would like their glasses refilled, Hermione didn't respond, too lost in her thoughts. She was only shaken from them by Fleur looking at her expectantly, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. "I'm sorry, what was that?"
"I'd asked if you would like another glass of the pinot grigio, ma'am." His head dipped slightly as he finished his sentence, the bottle held in his hands, a towel slung over his forearm.
"Oh, yes, please," she offered him her glass, the bottom still filled with a couple sips of the bitter drink. He delicately poured another glass, the slightly yellow liquid swirling at the bottom. "Thank you," she said, taking back her glass, setting it down on the white table cloth.
Fleur had declined another, her own glass still half full, she had been swept up in recounting her story, to focused on it to drink. He left them in peace, and the blonde looked at her, "So, tell me about your day? What did you find?"
Her blue eyes sparkled, her pupils reflecting the dancing candle light between them. She'd leaned forward, not releasing Hermione's hand from her own. They spoke in hushed whispers, pausing only for a moment when Hermione got too excited about some new bit of information, her voice rising in parallel. Her hand would find its way back into Fleur's whenever it left, she would gesture, describe what she'd found, breaking their connection only to repair it a moment later.
Fleur's eyes were alight, focused and bright, betraying her emotions towards the brunette. Her earlier feeling of distance between them forgotten, the gap closing as this Hermione began to resemble her own. Perhaps they weren't so different after all? She clung to every word, drank up all she was offered like a dying man in a desert.
She took a sip of her wine, and watched as her little lion became embarrassed, closing in upon herself, retreating into her shell, "I'm sorry, I'm probably boring you," she quickly said, trying to mask her voice, hold it steady as she reigned in her interest. Fleur frowned, seeing pain pushed away, behind disinterest, apathy. There was more to this, but now was not the time.
"Non," it was sharp, sharper than she'd intended, but her voice belied urgency, "please continue, zis is fascinating to me. I am just zinking, zere must be somezing missing. You remember, during ze war, I 'ad worked at ze Ministry as a curse breaker," she paused for a moment, noticing Hermione's brow furrow.
"No, at least, not in my world, you'd worked at Gringott's, that's how you met Bill." Confusion underscored her words.
"Gringott's? That bunch of... untrustworthy little sneaks? Why on Earth would I ever work there?" She couldn't hold back a laugh at the thought of being employed by them for any reason.
Hermione shrugged, it wasn't something she could answer. "Right so, here, you worked for the Ministry?"
"Yes, and, as a curse breaker, I had to work wiz ze Unspeakables on certain cases. Ze details are unimportant, but what iz important iz, ze items you 'ave mentioned, zey do not pozess ze powers you need for time travel. At least, what I 'ad seen of ze ones zat remained."
She spoke with confidence, like a person who was sure of what they spoke, without room for doubt, only the slightest bit of hesitation with her last sentence. It was unfortunately, that sureness, as refreshing as it was to Hermione, worried her. What if her appearance here had just been a fluke? An accident that was never meant to happen? Was she trapped here? Though, part of her secretly hoped she was, it didn't seem like life would be so bad here.
Her mind, filling with worry, a fear of never seeing her daughter again, not unless her counterpart wanted to return, she may be the only one to know what had happened. Would she want to return? Surely... despite losing the war, losing her closest friends, surely she'd want to return to be with Fleur, unless, no she couldn't think on it.
"So," she spoke loudly, a little too loud, she quieted her voice, leaning against the table, resting her chin on the palm of her hand, fingers curled against her cheek, her elbow bent on the hard surface, "you worked with the Unspeakables? What else did you do here? You know, before we lost."
"Ah, well," Hermione could tell she was growing nervous, her hand beginning to sweat. Nervous laughter escaped the blonde leaving her even more confused and questioning whether she really wanted the answer.
"If you don't want to tell me, you don't have to. No judgement here though, I hope to be returning home at some point." She continued on, hoping to ease the French woman's discomfort with the situation.
"It is nozing bad, and you already know, or razer ze ozer 'Ermione does, but zat does not alleviate ze embarrassment."
She couldn't help it, but now she was really curious. She prodded a bit more, hoping the Veela's resolve would break, a gentle "Tell me," an easy smile, and maybe a "Come on, please?" escaped her lips. The Veela had kept her lips together, sealed, shaking her head no, her blush increasing before finally, she gave in.
"I need another glass for this," she flagged over the waiter from before, asking for another. He was happy to oblige, and before long, she was spilling her secrets, her glass already close to empty.
Fleur was seated in the library, nearest the window, a book open across her lap. She had her stockinged foot propped delicately upon the table before her, her long hair was unpinned. In this moment, she looked rather unrefined, quite contrasting the image of the prim and proper princess she had sported at every moment in public at Hogwarts.
She flipped the page of her book, rather interested in the fantasy world playing before her eyes, a world where the prince would save the princess, slay the dragon and save the day. She had a soft spot for fairy tales, worlds where true love not only existed, but was able to be had by all.
Her mind kept drifting back to the young Gryffindor, her unquenchable thirst for knowledge, wise beyond her years, sure in her abilities, steadfast in her beliefs. Her mind filled with images of their time together, how beautiful she looked when she smiled, when she laughed, how protective she was of her friends. She felt so deeply, had loved so fully.
For the first time, she'd begun to regret her decisions. She longed to be back at Hogwarts, to be in her lover's embrace. Her heart ached, a pain she had not felt before, pain that she did not truly understand, not at that moment. She'd thought she'd made the right decision, leaving things on a positive note, having discussed the reality of the situation with the Gryffindor.
They'd agreed that they should remain friends, the challenges of continuing a relationship too hard to overcome, Hermione needed to focus on school, and on stopping Voldemort if what Harry said was true. Fleur had to return home to France, she had family obligations she had to attend to. It just wasn't realistic for either of them to pursue, or rather continue to pursue, their relationship. Besides, they were just children, what did they really expect to come of it?
And so they'd broken up amicably, both of them pragmatists where the future was concerned, agreeing that it would come to an end as the school year did so. Unfortunately, for Fleur at least, her longing increased, growing with the miles. The wings of the Abraxans continued to beat in steady motion as her thoughts became more scattered. The pain in her chest growing, tears pricking at her cheeks, she summoned a photo of Hermione from her room. The picture was of the both of them smiling together, a weekend at Hogsmeade.
She'd remembered a strange little boy with an even stranger object in his hands, the flash of a bright light before them before Hermione chased him away, it was still playful. She'd later been handed the object, thinking how strange it was that they did not move within the scene.
Fleur had been told then, that muggle photos don't move, capturing a single moment rather than a series of moments. Her fingers traced over Hermione's figure absentmindedly, tears stung her eyes as her vision blurred. She was so overcome, and she didn't know why.
The English Channel was below them now, they would be arriving home soon, but the pain just grew. Something stirred within her, sucking the air from her chest, she was left gasping, hunched over, her vision began to blur and the world spun.
She called for help, having been left alone in the room, the other students hiding away in their rooms or other common areas, gossiping and reminiscing, talking about their plans for the summer, for the future. Eager to return home, they talked of what they had missed.
A brunette entered the room, hearing her cry out, rushing to her side as she began to fall out of her chair, curling into the fetal position. "Fleur, Fleur?!"
In her delirium, she responded, a hand reaching out, dropping her photo, "'Ermione?" she asked before losing consciousness.
The next thing she would remember was waking up in her bed, back at home, the plush sheets enveloping her petite form, keeping her warm, it was too hot, she could feel sweat running down her body. She threw the sheets off, trying to get up, to escape from her soft prison. Her legs were weak, body shaking under her weight, her vision became spotty and her head light.
Her mother ran into the room, catching her as she began to fall, returning her to her bed. "What happened?" she managed to whisper, her voice faint, throat dry and scratchy, a cough followed her words.
Apolline handed her a glass of water, urging her to rest. It wasn't until later she would learn that her Veela had awoken. After she'd fallen unconscious, she'd stormed about the carriage, screaming, yelling until her voice was hoarse, demanding Hermione. She'd trashed the rooms, breaking down locked doors with inhuman strength. Her parents had been called to the carriage, where it had landed on the shores of Normandy.
Madame Maxime had floo'ed her parents, requesting their immediate presence to calm their daughter. It had not taken long for Apolline to recognize the situation, the temporary madness induced by a newly awakened Veela becoming separated from their mate before the bond was complete. It was something Veelas were warned of, growing up hearing of stories, they had all been told of the dangers, but Fleur, she did not have enough creature blood, it shouldn't have happened to her.
Fleur returned to England as soon as she was able to, she'd taken a job at the Ministry, putting her skills and talents to the test. Curse breaking hadn't been something that had interested her much, nothing she'd aspired to growing up, but they had offered her a job soon after her interview, the first offer she had received and she accepted without hesitation. She was able to return to that detestable country, a country whose only positive was that it was where her mate resided.
She'd recently learned to control her Veela, to become one, embrace it and all that it entailed. Its power still coursed through her veins, still tried to dominate her, to bend her human half to its will, the will to go claim its mate. She calmed it by reminding herself (and it) that she needed a plan, that she and Hermione were no longer together and she couldn't just waltz back into her life like nothing had ever happened.
She felt the beast within her calm, pacing back and forth within her, impatient and wanting more but resolving to create a plan.
Fleur would spend the next couple of years attempting to win back the brunette, she was not easily swayed, claiming that she needed to focus on school, didn't have the time for a relationship, at least not a serious one, not like what Fleur would want. The blonde refused to admit that Hermione was her mate and she would always wait, would always be there, would give the young woman the world.
And that was how Fleur ended up becoming a spy for the Order.
Hermione smiled at Fleur, watching intently as she recounted her story, her thumb lightly tracing over the back of Fleur's knuckles. "So, is that how you met Bill?"
Fleur nodded, "Oui, 'e was also involved in ze Order, in a similar line of work, and 'e was not decades older zan I." A sly grin appeared on her features, "We 'ad to stick togezzer."
"So there was never anything between you two?" Hermione didn't know why she wanted to know, why she was curious, or needed it confirmed, its not like she was with Fleur. Or, well, she was, but it wasn't like that.
"Never, 'e could see from the beginning zat I only 'ad eyes for you, cherie."
The two women eventually made their way back home, their cheeks tinged red, alcohol flushing their bodies. They were at ease around each other, laughing and joking as though they were old friends, their hands joined between them, arms swinging slightly. Hermione's shoulder bumped into Fleur's causing the blonde to drop her hand and wrap her arm around the brunette's waist. She fell into her side, tucking herself against Fleur, her own arm winding its way around the other woman's torso.
"I could definitely get used to this," she spoke absentmindedly, to nobody specific, to herself.