Hermione clutched the scrap of parchment in her hand, checking the watch on her wrist for the third time that minute, she tapped her foot impatiently, waiting. She had been instructed that the parchment would be a portkey and take her to meet with Fleur and Apolline.
The bushy haired brunette began pacing, checking her watch for a fourth time. Three more minutes left. Her path was interrupted, Ron appearing in the doorway, bouncing a babbling baby girl on his hip. She had the trademark red hair of the Weasley clan, already striking on her pale skin. Small ringlets had formed atop her head, she was a mixture of both her parents. A tiny hand reached up to her mouth, she began to suck on her fingers.
Hermione couldn't hide her smile at seeing her daughter, her motherly instincts kicking in. "What's got you so nervous?" He questioned her, drawing her attention from Rose.
She tried her best to play it off, "Nothing, just waiting for news." She made her way to cross the room, "Hi baby girl," she cooed, her voice sounding foreign to her, sickly sweet, she kissed her on her forehead.
She looked up at Ron, finally deciding to make an attempt to answer his question, the portkey would be active soon. "I got a message from Apolline, she wanted to ask me about what had happened, try to figure out what caused Fleur to faint."
He nodded, accepting the answer, leaning in for a kiss, his rough lips puckered slightly, their daughter wedged between their bodies. Hermione grimaced, trying to hide her disgust as she responded in the way she assumed her other self would. It was brief, uncomfortable, a position she wished she hadn't been put in, she'd have to wash her mouth out after that. She composed herself once more, checking her watch, seeing the second hand tick closer and closer, "Right, well, I'll be off then, be home for dinner."
The second hand completed its trip, the minute hand moving to its next location. A familiar tugging behind her navel could be felt, pulling her up, lifting her like a meat hook. She hated the feeling, she hated flying, people were meant to stay on the ground after all.
When she landed, she fell to her knees, thankful to be back on solid ground. Her landing had been rough, more like a drop than a gentle descent, her hands dug into the long grass around her. She looked around her, taking in her surroundings with bright, curious eyes. She didn't see anyone in the small clearing she was in now.
Trees and bushes surrounded her, only parting slightly for the meadow she was currently in. They were tall, large oaks, having been left to grow undisturbed for centuries. Their leaves blew in the wind, ruffling against each other as the branches shook. Her attention was drawn to a narrow path to her right.
Seeing that she was still alone, she decided to venture down it. Her wand pulled from its holster, held out in front of her, she scanned the nearby forest for any signs of danger. Ahead of her the path gave way to a peaceful glade, a stream passing through, rippling as it made its way through the forest. Her eyes drank in the serene beauty of the area around her, looking around in wonder, she tucked her wand back into her holster.
"It iz beautiful, non?" A deep voice, feminine, sultry and mysterious spoke softly, the accent thick. Hermione turned to see Apolline emerging from the same path she had followed.
"Where's Fleur?" she questioned, not seeing the blonde anywhere. The elder Veela continued to approach her, "She will be 'ere soon, I 'ad 'oped we could speak privately first."
Hermione nodded in agreement, her nerves spiking, she wondered what they would be speaking on, surely nothing good. How much of the truth could she keep secret? It wasn't as though Apolline was unfamiliar with the Veela culture, or with how their bonds were formed. She would know if Hermione was lying.
She waved a hand, a rather large, and flat rock appearing before them, "Come little one, you do not need to worry," a gentle laugh, like music carried upon the wind.
Hermione swallowed, her nerves still on edge, shaking just below the surface, she made her way to the newly formed boulder, plopping down upon it, her eyes scanning for routes of escape, just in case she told herself.
Apolline's piercing, electric blue eyes focused intently on her, scanning her face, watching her features, looking for any sign of a lie, she asked "'Ow iz it zat you knew?" Her voice was calm, soft, without a hint of accusation, anger, she accepted.
Hermione blushed, looking down, studying the rocks beneath her intensely. Her hands fidgeted nervously in her lap, swallowing thickly, she hazarded a glance towards the edge of the clearing, looking over her shoulder. She felt eyes upon her, knowing that she would not look away, would try to avoid answering. A light weight placed upon her knee, a gentle squeeze, reassurance, tears pricked at her eyes.
Her eyes drifted shut as she sucked in her lips, a moment of collection. "I uh," she drew it out, breathy, "I-we, I mean, we, figured it out a while ago, shortly after the Tournament."
A well manicured eyebrow raise was directed at her. "Ze Tournament? Zat long ago? Zen why did she marry Bill?"
"Well, to be honest, she figured it out first, obviously, when the uh, the changes," she ran a hand through her long curls nervously, "started." It was a weak finish, she knew it, her voice was barely audible. "She had told me later, a couple years later actually," her hands clenched together, placed between her legs, she shifted on the rock, "but it was only after we had resumed our relationship that I was finally aware of it."
"I zink, zere iz somezing zat you are not telling me, Madame Granger," she spoke, without hesitation, without accusation, she was confident though.
Hermione nodded, one sharp tilt of her head, "Yeah, yeah there is," she breathed out a sigh, "She isn't my Fleur, that's how I know all this, there is another world in which Fleur and I are mated." Her eyes never moved from the ground, from staring intently at the grass beneath her feet, blowing slowly under the light breeze.
Apolline did not have time to respond, Fleur made her appearance in the clearing, not very discretely either, cursing under her breath as the bushes reached out, grabbing at her, attempting to hold her back and possess her for a moment before she pushed forward.
"Maman, why did you 'ave to pick such a difficult location?" she called out, irritation evident in her voice as she pulled free from the latest bush, she hadn't yet noticed Hermione's presence.
The young brunette couldn't help but laugh at how her love was struggling with nature, fighting against it as though she could control it. The melodious sound reaching the blonde's ears, she looked up, her eyes meeting pools of chocolate and she couldn't help but blush under the gaze of her mate, pulling the sleeve of her sweater free once again, she pulled with too much force however, and stumbled forward as the stick lost its grip.
Strong hands caught her, pulling her close, steadying her, drawing her breath from her lungs as she looked up into the eyes of her savior, an easy grin upon delicate features, she could feel herself melting. The moment was ruined however by her mother, clearing her throat loudly, the pair quickly separated, a sad attempt to hide the unbridled attraction between them.
"Zere will be plenty of time for zat later," she clapped her hands together, "but first, Fleur, we need to work on controlling ze Veela, and to do zat, we will need ze assistance of 'Ermione 'ere." A sly smirk graced her features, causing the two younger women to worry, shooting nervous glances at each other.
"I don't like ze sound of zat," Fleur spoke, a hoarse whisper, breathy and light, dancing upon the breeze, tickling Hermione's ear. She pulled away reluctantly, her body fighting her as she tried to put space between them, a useless attempt at protecting herself.
Hermione listened with renewed interest, learning secrets even she had not been told previously, the prodigy wishing desperately she had a notebook and pen with which to take notes, some way of retaining this knowledge, and, to her credit, her academic interest was keeping her from being as embarrassed as Fleur appeared to be.
The younger Veela had fallen unconscious due to the rapid change from her human state to her Veela state, and though the form had not managed to manifest completely, the effort it had taken had drained her of all her energy. Furthermore, until she learned to control it, the pair would have to be careful, and this was where it became all too similar to a child being scolded for taking a cookie from the cookie jar, hand smacked and aching lightly. Their proximity would continue to further the bond between them, until they were as good as mated, despite both of them being married currently (and not to each other), causing Fleur to reject her own husband.
The practical solution was, obviously, for them to avoid each other to prevent the bond from forming, but the practical solution was not always possible.
Their souls reached out for each other, grasping blindly, trying to find the other, simmering in their gaze, long and lingering, ensnaring the other. She wouldn't give this up, she would refuse. Her hand reached out, guided on its path, slowly inching its way towards Fleur's. She could not suppress the blush that colored delicate features once contact was made, the shy smile she was offered in return, oh how she longed to taste those lips, to feel their softness once more. A mirroring smile graced her own lips, hidden as though they were breaking the rules, the two engaged in a conspiracy together, ready to take on the world, their strength drawn from the other.
That solution was scrapped, rather quickly, by Apolline after witnessing this exchange. "I suppose that means we must find a way to control your Veela as long as we can," it was soft, dejected sounding really, but not chastising, not dissapointed at the pair, she knew the feelings they had, she had shared them herself with her own mate.
The pair was put through a series of embarrassing situations, Hermione had never felt closer to being a stripper in her life, her goal being to cause new, higher levels of arousal in her mate, in an attempt to force the Veela out, that was what had of course, gotten them into that mess. To an extent, she wished that she hadn't found herself in this position, but she also enjoyed knowing the effect it had on this Fleur as well.
She'd witnessed the blonde transform before, but had never known that it was a result of her own actions, her own existence that caused it in the other woman. She'd never realized exactly what it was that caused her creature blood to awaken. But now, now that fact danced around in her mind, filling her thoughts, invading her senses.
And she'd never felt so weak before, so in love. Her thoughts began to blur, her mate before her dominating her mind, enhancing her emotions, she had never felt so much love, her hand reaching out, as if led, pulled by an invisible force, her mind focused singularly on the beauty in front of her, and her thoughts- images really of what they could be doing, of what they should be doing. And then, then it became real, her fingers wrapped around skin, soft, pale skin, sliding up, past cotton, tangling in golden tresses, soft skin again, moving closer, leaning in, her eyes drifted shut and she let her cravings take over.
She was used to the electricity, the jolt of the connection, their bond, hadn't faded in years, never would, its intensity matching that of the two women it connected. But this, this was something else entirely, tentative, a promise, of change, of things to come, of what could and would be. Unspoken words of love, but known clearly all the same, she could be consumed by the strength of her emotions here and now if she'd let it.
All too soon it ended. Their connection broken, the need for air too strong. Their eyes dilated, pupils blown wide, filled with love, with lust. Soft smiles shared between them, those of new lovers, with a mountain of firsts yet to come. The world existed only for them, only to them. But all good things must come to an end.
That end was now. Hermione pulled herself from Fleur, extracting herself with a level of unwillingness, a pained separation, setting her nerves alight with a new fire, burning, blazing uncomfortably beneath the surface. The sun was sinking lower in the sky, golden hues cast long against pale blue, oranges, ambers, tinges of pink. Her dark eyes drank in every detail, savoring every moment, committing it to memory. Fleur mimicked her actions, fingertips tracing the outline of her jaw, cooling the skin beneath.
Hermione returned home, apparating outside her small cottage with a crack, breaking the silence, the stillness, her mind still back in the clearing, still with her heart, held lovingly in Fleur's hands, captivated in her eyes. Her feet betraying her as they carried her on, her shoes tapping on the cobblestone path, she stumbled up the two slight steps, her hand catching her, flying out to land upon the dark wood of the door frame.
A gasp of surprise escaping her lips, the door opening in front of her, light flooding out to fill the darkening space around her. Concern filled Ron's eyes, Rose clutched tightly in his arms, balanced on his side. "You okay 'Mione?" He asked softly, love and worry filling dark blue eyes, an overly large hand, clunky and awkward,reaching out, rough skin on hers, scraping down her arm, pulling her forward, into him, a gesture of comfort, or what should have been, would have been comfort to another.
"Yeah, 'M fine, just tripped," she waved him away, the hand that had been supporting her, now supporting in another way. She knew she was being short, she knew, he hadn't done anything to deserve that, not this Ron at least. The other deserved so much more.
His calloused hand squeezed hers softly, their fingers not quiet meshing together. Lightly curled digits hung limply in his, it felt wrong, so wrong. She pulled her hand away, reaching for Rose, taking her from him, holding her close, feeling the safety she provided, a blanket wrapped around her shoulders. Big, blue spheres looking up into hers, adoration filling them. She couldn't help but smile, a wide grin spreading across her cheeks.
She had never held much interest in motherhood, had never wanted to bring something so precious into a world so harsh, one she so uncertain, where she could not protect her from everything. After she'd sent her parents away, cut off contact with them, had such an unfortunate childhood, filled with more misery than should be allowed, she couldn't bear the prospects of doing that to another, much less her own.
But this, she had to rethink her decision, finding it newly appealing to her. Hermione's vision blurred once more, moisture pooling at the corners of her eyes, she flicked unshed tears away, the movement not unnoticed by Ron.
She brushed past him, making her way inside, focusing solely on Rose, still clutched tightly to her, repeatedly telling herself to calm down, that statement fast becoming her mantra. A deep breath, inhale, exhale, inhale again and slowly exhale. She returned her attention to the baby, now babbling away happily, sounds that would later become more distinct, transforming into words, but for now it was nonsense, carefree and wonderful nonsense, music to her mother's ears.
As Hermione sat down on the worn couch, its dark fabric threadbare, mottled and adorned with discolored patches, she couldn't help but wish that Fleur, her Fleur was here with her to experience this, to share the responsibility of raising a child. Tiny fingers wrapped themselves around her thumbs, gripping as tightly as they would allow, her bright blue eyes looking up to brown, a toothless grin betraying her emotions.
Hermione had not yet noticed Ron, had yet to barely acknowledge his presence, the hurt shining in his eyes, that he was trying his hardest to hide, his hands clutching into fists and then falling limply before repeating the motion. His expressive eyes focusing everywhere and nowhere as they moved about the room, unsure of what had changed, what had happened between them. He could feel a distance between them, the divide widening, becoming a never ending chasm, threatening to swallow him whole. Something was wrong.
He watched on helplessly as his wife played with their child, cooing gently back at her, an innocent game of peekaboo. He shook his head, trying to push the feeling back into the recesses of his mind before trudging through the room and into the kitchen. He'd started cooking dinner earlier, something simple as he was absolute rubbish when it came to cooking. Roast, however, was simple enough- especially since Hermione had insisted they buy a piece of muggle cookware- something she'd called a slow-cooker. All he had to do was put everything in it and the contraption would do the rest.
His hands worked on autopilot, opening the cabinet doors, pulling out dishes, serving up the roast, garnished with mushrooms, carrots, and potatoes soaked in broth, tender and infused with flavor, the meat itself falling apart as the fork drove its way through. Two glasses of merlot followed soon after, he'd been looking forward to a nice, quiet evening in with his wife all day, and now that it was here, he frowned at the wine, now a representation of what used to be.
But there was no time for that, no time to get lost in his mind, he pushed the darkness away again, calling out "'Mione, dinner's ready." He wouldn't yell too loud, knowing how much noise caused Rose to scream out. He couldn't see her tense momentarily, an involuntary reaction to hearing his voice. Inhale. Exhale. Calm. She pulled herself to her feet and joined him in the small dining room. Two plates set on the table, steam rising from them, filling the small space with the scent of tender beef, herbs and an undercurrent of sweetness, the earthy scents of fresh bread, soft beneath its hard crust.
The setting sun glinting through the window, making the small space seem cozier than it had during the harsh light of morning, darker, dimmer, the air of romance permeating the area. He stepped towards her, slowly, reaching to take Rose from her grasp, and Hermione had to fight the urge to run, her mind screaming "Trap! Get out!" Her muscles tensed, squeezing Rose, needing to keep her daughter safe before her rational mind returned her senses and she released her grip, handing over her baby- to her father she had to remind herself.
Her hands twitched, fingers shaking as they looked for something to grasp. She reached for the thin stem of the wine glass before her, feeling the delicate crystal, smooth between nimble digits. She raised it to her lips and sipped at the dark liquid, bittersweet with the taste of dark cherries, burning at her throat as she forced it down, fighting her bodies desire to gag, to force the invading drink out. Hermione gazed intently at Ron as he fastened their daughter tenderly into her high chair, sat between them at the head of the table. She was still too young for anything other than milk, and Ron picked up the bottle, testing its temperature under his wrist before beginning to feed her.
Hermione had to admit, fatherhood suited him, something she'd never have guessed from their schooldays. His fork poked at the chunk of meat on his plate, tearing off small bites that he ate absentmindedly, too focused on feeding Rose. She suppressed a chuckle as he took a bite of metal- the roast had fallen off his fork soon after it was sheared from its place, now dangling off the edge of his plate. He had not noticed it was gone until teeth clanged upon steel. The wine glass, not far from her mouth covered the majority of her face as she hid her reaction to his confused appearance. Some things never changed.
She couldn't help but be reminded of a younger Ron, carefree, before the war, before his unwanted advances, before his crush, when they were just kids, trying to learn magic and find their way in a world much larger than themselves. The Ron that she had been friends with, had ventured into Hogsmeade with, drank pumpkin juice with before the fire and played chess with. A Ron that she had forgotten existed.
He smiled at her, small but there, unsure, as though he didn't realize he'd just said a joke, she expected him to ask "what's so funny?" next. Instead he asked, "So, what'd Apolline have to say?"
Hermione panicked, fear rising in her chest, the wine she had been sipping threatening to change course, she couldn't contain the cough of surprise. The delicate glass hitting the worn wooden table harder than she intended as she struggled to regain her breath. "Sorry, swallowed wrong," she gasped out after a moment, still trying to recover. Ron nodded, his blue eyes still intense, piercing, and focused on her, expecting something more.
"She's still trying to piece it together," Hermione answered cryptically, not wanting to give any more information than necessary, wanting to hide what they shared. She knew she couldn't keep it secret forever, but she hoped it would be long enough. If she could return home, her counterpart may have an easier time resisting the bond, though what was done was done and there would be consequences for that. She frowned as her mind ventured down a path of what ifs.
Ron's eyebrows furrowed, noticing his wife's mannerisms, the change in her behavior. "'Mione?" he prodded gently, "Is there sumthin' wrong?" He reached a paw out, towards her, placing it gently upon her hand, devouring it entirely. The contact unnerving and uncomfortable, awkward in its half-sided unfamiliarity. She couldn't pull away, instead forcing her to turn her hand, wrapping her fingers around his, her thumb tracing the back of his hand, running up and down the bulging vein there.
"No, nothing," came the response, weak and foreign, falling upon her ears, a voice that wasn't hers, but emanated from her, she felt like she was watching someone else controlling her body, offering a silent thanks that they had taken control in this moment.
She ate, forcing food down, hoping that if her mouth was full it would leave little room for conversation, and when she wasn't busy chewing, she was drinking, like a starving beast unsure of when or where its next meal would happen. However, this odd behavior did not go unnoticed, today really was not her day.
But Ron did not comment, not until the meal was drawing to a close, their plates clean, and Hermione had yet to make her escape, a cowards retreat, to the safety of her (their) bedroom, feigning exhaustion. His fingers tightened around hers as she made to pull away.
"Talk to me, love," his voice was tender, a whisper, so light it concealed the pain, the cracking just below the surface, struggling to rise, to rip and tear, shred the calm of the moment, like a wave meeting the shore, looking like a ripple on the horizon, "What's on your mind?"
Hermione pursed her lips, her free hand rubbing at her forehead, she tried to compose herself once more, tucking a stray curl behind her ear, her mind searching for an answer, anything to buy some time. "It's nothing," she spoke, the lie obvious to her, and she hoped less pronounced to him, but knowing he wouldn't believe that, she continued on, "Just... work," surely there could be an issue at work.
"Going back not what you thought?"
Her eyes snapped to his, wide, filled with an emotion she wouldn't be able to identify, something between hope and surprise, but not nearly as positive as those- it was something she could latch onto, something he provided to her, and he would hopefully believe.
"Something like that," her voice was sullen, trailing off, lacking the usual life as she tried to conceal what she really felt.
"I know you were going stir crazy here, being with Rosie every day. It'll just take some time, readjusting back to the old routine. But, you still had some time, you could take another leave, stay home with us you know?" He looked hopeful, the prospect of continuing his time with his family was once again within reach, but he knew he would support her decision, whatever it was she chose (he just hoped it would be them).
She paused for a moment, her tongue darting out, whetting her lips, before she shook her head no, "I can't, I'm sorry. It's not that I don't want to, just, Harry came back and there's a problem, well, there was a problem before, but it's bigger now, and I can't ignore it." She was rambling, defending a choice without need, defending her defense, justifying to him (herself) why she couldn't stay home.
He nodded, pulling his hand back, releasing her, dismissing her. He sat back in his chair, slouching down as she made her escape. Grabbing empty dishes and retreating to the kitchen, desperate to escape. Their plates clattered loudly against the ceramic of the old sink, she leaned forward, bracing herself against the counter. Inhale. Exhale. Her eyes drifted shut. Inhale. Exhale.
Fingers turned white as she gripped the surface, curling into the sink, cutting off circulation. Her shoulders began to shake as her head fell forward, curls cascading down, shielding her face from the world. All the emotions she had been suppressing came bursting forth, breaking the dam and overtaking her as she finally allowed herself to feel everything that had happened that day, that week.
Her lips mouthed a name, spoken softly, "Fleur." She missed the strength of her mate, she missed being able to talk, to laugh and pull her close. She hated having to hide her away, like a dirty secret not fit for this world. Silent tears fell, streaking down porcelain skin, leaving a glistening trail as she refused to make a sound. Her fingers still tight on the sink, her only tether to reality currently.
Ron, thankfully, did not follow her into the kitchen. She heard his heavy footsteps thudding out of the room, fading with each step, heading down the hall towards the bedrooms. It was a problem she would have to solve later, she knew she couldn't run from it forever, but for this moment, just this once, she allowed herself to run.
She pieced herself back together, using her hand to wipe her tears and then drying it on her pants, she straightened out her shirt and proceeded to leave once again. She had no destination in mind, her only requirement that it not be there, not with him, not tonight. Too many secrets were kept from him, things she couldn't say, wouldn't give voice to.
Waging war with herself was never easy, never a good thing, for Hermione Delacour Granger was a very principled woman. She had a very strict sense of what was right and wrong (though some of her actions during the war had been questionable at best, and definitely justified- she had to survive somehow right? She would still determine that they were very much wrong.)
It was only made worse when she was drinking, especially when she was drinking alone. Nobody around to pull her from her thoughts, she would be swallowed alive by them, consumed entirely within the darkness that still plagued her, all the regrets that she had, and it was only increased now, with the recent turn of events. She'd left her wife behind without a word, not knowing if she could ever return, was married to a clearly, very loving man (definitely not the same as her Ron), and was well on her way to being a homewrecker of not just one, but two homes at the least.
She clutched the frosty glass of her butterbeer in her hand, hunched low over the bar, she barely had to lift it to meet her lips. The froth bubbling up, tickling her nose, the liquid warming her from the inside out, hoping to calm the turmoil she felt but only stirring the pot. She took a long swig of the butterscotch flavored drink, savoring the sweet buzz it would bring, the pint hitting the bar harder than she'd intended, a quick flinch passed across her face.
"Nother, please," she asked, motioning towards the glass, a slight sway to her movements. Was that two? Three? More than that? How long had she been here? She looked around the bar, it was now mostly empty compared to it's full state when she arrived. A few patrons milling about, not minding her presence. There'd been chatter when she arrived, no doubt due to her fame, but the whispers soon faded and she was forgotten and ignored, left to drink in peace.
Another mug was set before her, but before she could grab it, another hand pulled it away. Thin, nimble fingers attached to a pale hand. She looked up, following the hand to an arm, to a torso, and up into sapphire eyes. She reached out, unsure if she was reaching for the mug or for the hand holding it until their fingers connected, touching around icy glass.
"Fleur?" she questioned, unwilling to believe that the blonde was actually standing in front of her now, had managed to find her somehow, was seeing her in this state.
"'Ermione, what are you doing 'ere?" she asked, taking a seat upon the empty stool next to her, she didn't release the mug.
She shook her head, "I don't know, I just couldn't be at home." She retracted her hand, intertwining her fingers as she leaned against the bar. Her voice was close to breaking, "I just, I needed you, and you weren't there," a hint of a whine escaped, the alcohol always made her say too much, left her weak and vulnerable.
The blonde reached out, placing her hand on Hermione's arm, "You could have come over," she hadn't been prepared though, for how strongly Hermione rejected that suggestion.
She shook her head, "No, then I'd have to see you with him." The rest didn't need to be said. Her hands fell limply to her side as she sat back, slouching low in the stool, her back resting against the metal bar that was supposed to be a backrest. Fleur reached out again, her hand finding its place upon her thigh, the blonde's thumb tracing small circles upon the denim beneath. She was now sitting sideways, leaning against the bar, no longer focused on maintaining control of the drink between them.
"Zen, we shall stay 'ere for a moment, where it iz just ze two of us, non?" A dangerous glint sparkled in her eyes as she asked the bartender for a drink of her own.