Author note: I've been thinking about this sequel to I Only Have Eyes For You ever since I wrote it. I don't expect it to be very long but we'll see how it goes. Basically a character study of Fleur.
Part 2 of Ballads
Also, please read the Ballads series in whatever order you're comfortable with, but I think readers will get more out of it if they read the fics in the order I wrote them.
Recommended order of reading:
You'll Lose A Good Thing
I Only Have Eyes For You
The Dark End of the Street
I Get Along Without You Very Well
Title taken from the Chet Baker version of "I Get Along Without You Very Well"
Chapter 1
I get along without you very well
Of course I have
Except when soft rains fall
And drip from leaves that I recall
The thrill of being sheltered in your arms
Of course I do
But I get along with you very well
I've forgotten you just like I should
Of course I have
Except to hear your name
Or someone's laugh that is the same
But I've forgotten you just like I should
- Chet Baker
*•*
Fleur is washing dishes by hand. A light morning rain has been falling for about an hour now, unexpected for this time of year. She stares out the window in front of her. There's a drip that isn't being caught by the roof's gutter. It hits the sill on the other side of the windowpane at a steady rate.
Plop. Plop. Plop.
Before the war ended, it used to calm her. Used to help with the quiet boredom as they waited for any news, for any direction on how to help the cause.
Now it's like a jackhammer in her ears. Setting her on edge. The skin of her teeth throbbing. It counts the passage of time, the seconds she's losing.
::
"The ward," exclaims Bill.
They both feel it at the same time but it's her husband who rushes out the door first. There are people in the distance. Fleur stays by the cottage and watches. Her heart pounds, her wand at the ready.
"It's them!" he calls back just before he reaches the group.
Her heart stops as Bill gathers someone in his arms. She's unable to tell who it is but a quick glance at the others makes the hairs on the nape of her neck stand on end.
Bill sprints back to the house and Ron runs after him.
A pit plants itself in Fleur's stomach. Growing. Pushing up into her chest. The pain as it tightens and presses into her lungs. The burn as it keeps expanding up into her throat.
Not again, she thinks. Please, not again.
When her eyes catch sight of wild brown hair as Bill gets close enough, she can't hold it in any longer.
"Non!"
The cry is as much a release of the pressure that was fighting its way out of her body as it is the abject terror that takes over as her worst fears are realized.
She ignores the strange look on Bill's face as he pushes past her into the cottage. Fleur follows him up the stairs, with Ron close behind. She vaguely listens as the young wizard fumbles through an explanation of what happened at Malfoy Manor. Once Bill has laid the witch on the bed in the guest room, Fleur tells Ron to wait outside and shuts the door in his face, hastening to Hermione's side.
The next moments are a blur as Bill runs out to gather their healing supplies. Her hands tremble uncontrollably as she undresses the unconscious girl, so thin and pale. There are bite marks and too many cuts to count. She whispers episkey over the bites and broken fingers. Blood is smeared on her face and neck. It's also seeped into parts of her clothes. There's too much. It's too much.
"Fleur… Fleur!" Bill shakes her shoulder. She didn't notice his return. How long has he been calling her?
"I can't lose–we can't let her die," she says weakly. Fleur knows she's not acting like herself, knows her grief doesn't match with how little she knows the girl, but she doesn't care. If these are to be Hermione's last moments, then she will spend them here beside her.
"None of the wounds are fatal," he responds, handing her the dittany and waving a wand to assess other internal injuries. "The after-effects of the cruciatus are terrible but rest will help with that. Let's just heal what we can right now."
The relief is palpable. It's what she needed to hear. Her heart and her hands steady. Now she can concentrate on what Hermione needs.
::
Would it all have happened the same way if Fleur's fear didn't grip her so completely that day?
"The rain's supposed to let up soon," Bill says, pulling her out of her thoughts. He picks up a cloth to help dry.
Fleur barely suppresses the frown at his intrusion. She prefers to wash the dishes alone but at least he can tell she's not in the mood for his usual tease about her doing it the non-magical way.
"Oui, it should be a nice afternoon and evening at the Burrow," she agrees.
"I've got to get over there to help organize and set up. Need me to do anything before I go?"
"Non, there are only a few chores left, and I can handle them on my own."
"Or you can leave them for tomorrow and come with?" Bill suggests hopefully.
It's the last thing she wants.
Fleur gives him a kiss on the cheek and says, "You'll get more done without me there to distract your mother. I'll come later as planned."
It's meant as a joke. She and Molly entered a kind of détente after Bill's attack by Fenrir Greyback. It doesn't mean her mother-in-law thinks of Fleur as family, but there's a resigned acceptance now.
If Molly only knew how right she's turned out to be in her concerns about Bill's choice of wife.
"All right then," Bill replies with a sigh, setting the cloth on the counter. His shoulders sag and she turns back to the sink. "See you there in a few hours. Love you."
She nods, dipping a plate into the soapy water, not looking back at him when she replies more reflexively than with any feeling, "Love you, too."
After Bill leaves, she attempts to wash a tea cup, then huffs and waves her wand, washing continuing on without her. It was a benign conversation, one any married couple might have, but his slight disappointment at the end unraveled more of her already frayed nerves over the impending gathering at the Burrow. She sits on a chair, turning her thoughts to Bill.
It seems he never believed Fleur when she said only a mate could get her pregnant. Which isn't her fault. He was given fair warning. She also encouraged him to share this information with his parents so that he could have someone urging him to think about what it would mean to marry her, even at the expense of giving yet another reason for Molly to not approve of the match.
Fleur was nothing if not honest with him.
About this fact, anyway.
Her mother warned her before her wedding, that he would go back on his word, and Fleur stubbornly ignored her. But she was right. Her mother was right about a lot of things.
She misses the days before it mattered. When she and Bill could fuck just because they liked it. Because they couldn't get enough of each other. And she failed to recognize that his ego wouldn't allow him to accept that he was as good as infertile when it came to her. That it was his deepest wish for a family as large as the one he grew up in. Looking back, she should've seen it in the way he touched her, in the way he gritted his teeth at her humorous reminders that his contraceptive spells were unnecessary. If she had, she wouldn't have been so blindsided when his pleas for a child were finally voiced not six months after they were wed.
Thinking of alternatives, Fleur suggested other ways they could become parents, but it wasn't what he wanted to hear and he stormed out. When he came back, he handed her a list of fertility spells and potions. Pointing out that she was Veela only made him more insistent, arguing that her mixed heritage might hold a loophole to the mate situation. Not seeing a way out, and hoping extra time could be used to convince him of the truth, she humored him, saying they shouldn't try anything until after the war was over. Bill agreed, if a bit grudgingly.
But the war has been over for more than a year now, his position hasn't budged, and she has a decision to make.
::
"Tell me something, Fleur. Something more about your people. Something interesting," says Hermione, the grimace on her face fading away now that Fleur has finished changing the bandages on her arms and neck. The wounds there are taking longer to heal but it should only be a couple of days before the bandages aren't needed anymore. Fleur helps the injured woman put her shirt back on, and then helps her lie back down on the bed.
"Something interesting," Fleur repeats, sitting down on the edge of the bed, briefly squeezing Hermione's hand before remembering herself and letting go.
She's not an affectionate person with those she isn't close to, and hasn't been since her thrall presented when she was twelve years old and she learned how those under its allure could misinterpret even a brushing of shoulders. But with Hermione, it's difficult to hold back. It made sense in the beginning. To comfort the girl in any way she could. But now that the worst is over, Fleur isn't sure the frequency of their gentle hugs, soothing hands on tense shoulders, and reassuring caresses down arms is still appropriate.
Affectionate gestures between friends, it could be argued.
Except it's a friendship Fleur never intended to develop.
It's been a week since the brunette and the others arrived at the cottage. Fleur has spent most of that time with her, healing her, distracting her with stories about her sister and Beauxbatons, holding her after her nightmares, listening to her sobbing confessions of what she had to do to her parents' memories, her fears that they will never forgive her. Occasionally, Fleur slipped in stories about Veela. Nothing overly revealing or in-depth. She just couldn't resist the way the witch's eyes lit up whenever she brought up her people. No one has ever shown such interest in her heritage, not even Bill.
And the blonde isn't alone in her eagerness to be in the witch's presence. Hermione calls for her, asks her to stay, asks her to be here when she wakes up, makes up her own excuses to get Fleur to talk with her. When Ron tries to speak with her, she sends him away to get Fleur.
"Anything, please. While I wait for this pain-killing potion to kick in."
Fleur bites her lip, annoyed she can't do more to take away the brunette's pain, and she parses through what she's shared so far. It's not just a distraction the girl seeks. She's well aware that Hermione keeps asking for stories because she wants to know her, and despite her struggles with showing less physical affection for the girl, Fleur has thus far been better at keeping her distance by confining stories about herself to surface-level subjects.
More histories about her family's clan are sure to put Hermione to sleep, which would be a good thing. But it couldn't hurt to open up a little. It's been lonely here at the cottage, and she and Bill are in a bit of a rough patch. Having someone to talk to would be nice. And she's still in control; she can choose how close she gets. She can be the friend Hermione needs and still maintain the boundaries she's set between them.
A wince on the girl's face makes her speak before she can rethink it.
"Veela mate for life."
"Veela don't believe in divorce?" Hermione appears to sink further into the bed but her eyes are alert.
"I wasn't talking about marriage, though I suppose that is true when it comes to our bond mates." Fleur pauses. The existence of Veela mates isn't commonly known amongst non-Veela. Oh, there are references about it in a few books, if one knows where to look, but for the most part it's a subject Veela only talk about amongst themselves, their mates, and close friends. The interest in Hermione's expression encourages her to continue. "You might think of it as soulmates but it's not exactly the same since that would imply only one possible match. There is a part of our magic which allows us to recognize who would be our perfect romantic partner, the one with whom we will be most happy and share the truest and deepest love. And there are multiple people out there who have that potential. We call them potential mates. Most Veela will have met at least a few in their lifetimes, however only one is chosen to be a bond mate. If the Veela and their mate decide to bond, this happens by consummating their love, sealing a lifelong bond that can never be broken, and causing the part of our magic that identifies potential mates to disappear. The Veela will always want to be near their mate. It is difficult to be away from them for any significant amount of time."
There is a long silence as Hermione stares at her. And the more she stares, the more Fleur wants to kick herself. There were plenty of Veela stories to choose from and she jumps to the one which gives the witch clues to things she closed the door on after Cedric died. So much for maintaining boundaries.
"I think it's time for you to rest now, Hermione."
Fleur stands up and walks to the door, not turning back as she leaves the room. Not wanting to see the inquisitive expression on the brunette's face. Not wanting to see her make the connection.
Doing her best to snuff out the flicker of hope that she does.
