.vi
fleur-
You brought me higher than any bird dared to sky..
..you reminded me that I do have have choices
..but I also, have my responsibilities.
And.. I just can't..
.let me live through your eyes.
-h
--
It's been a year and a half.
Two if you rounded up.
The paper she held, had been frayed and the words almost rubbed off. The last she remembered was the girl had become an Auror. Were it not for her current business associate, who had a penchant for gossiping about his old school chums.. Hermione Granger would have been lost to her.
The Veela lobbed a glance over the latest stash of artifices while she tucked that piece of paper away in her back jeans pocket. "We 'ave to make sure every'sing iz categorized, M'sieur Longbottom.." came her soft instructions.
Neville Longbottom – the popular (though by unfortunate means), yet short-termed-memory lad of Gryffindor, nodded before he continued his weekly report. Most of which she stifled in the back of her mind, till she heard her name being uttered.
"…Where was I? Ah yeah.. Gin was jus' proposed t'by 'Arry, an as y'know, Bill's still petitionin' 'gainst us. Ahh.. Ron an' 'ermione, lef' th' Burrow for a London sprawl. Says it's much closer t'th'Ministry than naught.. mmm, an' 'ermione made it keenly known t'give 'er regards t'you, 'opin' y'ave time t'write 'er sometime, as always. Didn' know y'too were t'all close…" Neville paused, only because he took a breath. But he carefully looked up towards Fleur – gulping nervously because he had brought up an unspoken taboo, in regards to Hermione Granger.
There was a rumor at school, he recalled which started from one of the other Prefects residing in the Dormitory. Dellis Stoudemire – a Hufflepuff, had caroused the Dorm's kitchenette for a bit of a midnight snack and rounded the guest quarters, only to be stopped dead in his tracks as he spied another Prefect leaving one of the quarters.
Hermione Granger closed the door, with her hand still gripping the knob to that particular door. She rested her forehead against the cool surface- Dellis had strained to hear the words that were being whispered by the Gryffindor prefect, but could only make out the tail-end: "…don't forget me.." then, she had pressed her lips to the object before bounding off in the direction of her room. After a few moments – And as quietly as he could, the Hufflepuff Prefect passed the door – as he did, it swung open to reveal the scantly clad Veela – her shirt had been left unbuttoned leaving her dressed in nothing but her underwear. He paused, like a deer in the headlights.
Fleur was clutching a piece of paper in her right hand, which she eased to the small of her back before borrowing her eyes upon Dellis. "Pardone moi.." she murmured softly, right before she slipped pass the stunned Prefect enroute to who knows where. That story was regaled by the Hufflepuff boy, it spread like wild-fire. Reaching everyone's ears, save Hermione's.
The year went on, berthing an entirely different Hermione Granger. She had gone from being proactive to almost subdued in personality. Being on the outside of the Clique, Neville noticed – it worried him, but he didn't voice his concern towards Harry, or Ginny, or Ron – they'd look at him as if he were needing to be committed. Hermione on the other hand had always been someone he could turn to, for help in his studies, and for encouraging chats, she even nudged him to try for this position - Lady Luck smiled on him that day. And from then, he solemnly swore to aid Hermione, even if it meant raising the jealous ire of Ron Weasley.
He felt he owed it to Hermione. So taking that rumor – Neville became the bridge. Every time he had mentioned he and Fleur's latest adventure idiom, Hermione's letters had seem to 'perk up'. It wasn't plain to see it happened vice versa. The only time Fleur laxed was when he had brought up the weekly reports of home and the merest mention of the muggle's name. He never did, press on about the relationship, or the truth of that rumor, from Hermione or Fleur.
Suddenly as Neville's reverie was broken by rampant shaking sheets before him. With a sigh, he stood up and yanked the sheets from where they rested – from betwixed, sprung forth an unidentifiable mass that contorted into Serevus Snape – clad in a bustier and netted stockings. "Bugger.. damned boogart.." he muttered. With a gentle flick and swish coupled with a reverberating, "Ridikulus!" the one time menace for Neville Longbottom, was warded away.
"Nasty business we're in.. I keep forgetting about some of these objects bein' cursed an' all." Said Neville, almost matter-of-factly. Fleur managed a slight smile. He's definitely come al long way.
Fleur pulled her platinum locks into a loose pony-tail all before donning on thick gloves, never once giving Neville the once over with her icy gaze. This time.. she seemed to have shrugged off the news. Then eased her svelte Veela form towards one of the many crates they'd needed to upload.
"I don't unnerstan' why y'jus' don' use y'magic t'lift that Fleur, y'may 'urt y'self, y'know."
A grunt was had as the Quarter Veela took hold of one end of a crated item, turning her gaze onto Neville, "S'il vous plait, m'sieur Longbottom," a lazy smile crept over his lips. Her voice always melted him so. She motioned with a flick of her eyes towards the other end before murmuring, "B'cause..Pain is good, it lets you know you're alive."
Once they had moved the final object onto the bed of the truck, Fleur said her thanks. And pivoted about heading back to her office.. her place of current hiding. But before she could, Neville gave her pause as he said, "Are you?"
"Am I what, m'sieur Longbottom.."
"Gon' respon' t'Ermione's mail."
"It was addressed to you, non?"
"Well yes..But.."
"I think zat should answer your question."
"But she asked f'you."
"Mon dieu.." Fleur's left hand clapped upon her jean sported thigh before she whirled about, piercing crystalline daggers rooted Neville in place, "Do as you've always done Neville. You know 'ow busy I am. What with, fightin' zat stupid suit from Bill Weasley to ze clientele we 'ave, jus' tell 'er dat. Oui? She will understand. I'm sure." With a pausing breath Fleur motioned towards her office, "Now.. if you don' 'ave anything of import t'say, I mus' get back t'booking our next flight from 'ere to London."
"Right.. Sorry Fleur." Then Neville beamed, "Can't wait to be back in London. Course y'aven't f'gotten tha' lil' invite at th' Ministry's Museum? Thay'll be 'spectin' us, y'know.." Fleur had all about turned from Neville and waved a dismissing hand to acknowledge that she had heard his prose.
Making sure the woman had tucked herself into the office, Neville made his way quickly to the nearest phone, and dialed a number he had embedded into his synapses.
"Yes, collect call t'London, if you please."
Click
"hullo?"
"Oy. If things go well we'll be leavin' fer London tomorrow, God willin'. She's makin' th' arrangements."
"…Really…? I.. hope you and she have a safe flight, Neville."
"Sure, sure. 'Ow is everythin' back 'ome anyway?"
"Raining."
"..Still?"
"unfortunately, such is London… And there?"
"Hot.. sandy.. Desert-like. But th'outlook is brazenly sunny."
"Bring some of that with , would you?"
"Too right. 'Ave a good night, eh?"
"mm. I'll see you later, Neville. Thanks."
Click
--
"Who was that, love?"
"Just a co-worker. Calling to remind about the Ministry's party this weekend."
"Ah. Right then." A brief splay of silence before he shouted his sentiments, "I don't understand why we'd 'ave t'go.. tell me again?"
With a huff Hermione cajoled out, "We work for the Ministry, and your mother and father expect us there.."
"Too right then, ey, you're sure you don't want out t'night? Gin an' 'Arry an' Fred 'n George will be comin' by soonish."
"I'm.. I'm feeling ill, Ron. Do go on. Please make my excuses."
"Always feeling ill lately. Get t'th'docs soon as y'can. Rather embarrassing y'know, 'avin' t'tell m'family otherwise. Won't 'ave anymore stories t'make up." He called from the living area.
Luckily the doorbell rang, stopping him from bolting up the thin stairwell to check on her. Soon, voices were heard, all of them laughing. All of them alive. Hermione had gotten up and eased the door shut. She slapped her hand upon the light switch to darken the room and took seat in front of the bureau. A mirror had been attached to it. Her eyes lifted to regard the woman before her. Where had the time gone? She could hardly recognize herself as she turned her head left to right. Hermione paused, and murmured an incantation. The swelling of her left cheek had subsided at that..
Her eyes listed closed, willing herself to feel those once familial arms about her, "I tried.. I did. But every time I spoke..Everytime I tried to speak..My voice was silenced." She ended up being stripped to her core, left vulnerable for the past year or so.
Hermione went searching for answers that night of the fair, only to find herself being completed in more ways than the philosophical one. She never knew a touch could be so soft, how simplistic one's breathing could touch her so deeply. She didn't know how to LIVE till that night with Fleur Delacour.
But facing the fantastic, was the reality. She was still with Ron. They hadn't ended. Hermione was cheating. And logically, more so socially.. that was wrong. Hermione was frightened of that. Was frightened on how everyone would think of her were it ever to get out.
She was a child then. And damned her logic.
But she and Neville were coming back. Hermione's eyes slipped open once again regarding her twin in the mirror.
"Everything happens for a reason, Hermione.." her twin echoed back. She nodded slowly. So many things began to run through her mind. In the pit of her belly was the growing excitement of seeing Fleur once more, but at the same time.. the fear overwhelmed her because she had turned that part of her away. All in the name of societal norms.
Both her hands, with fingers splayed, slipped into her wavy tresses, only to be entangled, causing a wince to course over her once cherubic features - Ginny had time and time again mentioned how gaunt Hermione had become. Ron always countered with how work's been stressful to her, running her ragged and the like. And they never bothered to press further than that.
It seems her reputation far exceeded her than Hermione knew. Ever the overachiever they left her be, assuming – that's what the woman wanted. Granted, Harry and Ginny were still her friends, still astute about her health and other nuances.. but they had always seemed to turn a blind eye if she even remotely tried to reach out to them.
Angry at what she'd become, the Muggle Witch sat there, she grabbed at her brush, and determinedly began to flush the bristles against her scalp, tugging ferociously at the knots in her hair. Oblivious to the physical pains – she doggedly persisted.
"The weekend. It'll be here sooner than you know; I'll not make that mistake again.."
She finally had something to look forward to. And it felt wondrous.
--
It never failed that wherever they were, it was hard to keep a low profile. He was the bumbling assistant, and she the strikingly Goddess-Like mistress. T'would make for a good cinematic feature. Or a book. But never-the-less, once in the bustling heart of Heathrow International Airport, Neville got a kick out of everyone oogling his partner.
Stationing himself alongside the quarter Veela – Neville afforded a glance about the luggage carousel. Business clad men shifted uncomfortably, some tried to be sneaks and slip off their wedding bands, and quite a few others edged as close they could to get a better view of this woman. Others lobbed a glance towards Neville, harsh whispers eeked past their lips:
"Good lord, what's a right foine lookin' Bang-tail doing with that schmuck?"
"'ee must be a rich sort.. no one in their right.."
"..minds would be .."
"mum.. why's 'ee lookin' greasy?"
No longer clung with the baby fat of long ago, Neville still ascertained a certain look of a prepubescent youth – boyish, and a mite akward. Fleur stole a glance upon Neville's face and caught his somberness
"Som'zing wrong, Neville?"
He scratched the back of his head and forced a grin, "Jus' a bit o'muggle watchin', is all. An' o'course glad t'be back 'ome."
"Oui.." Fleur murmured before reaching forth and snatching her satchel. Catching Neville's glance, Fleur arched her brow – she herself let her eyes run rampant about the luggage bay, listening and watching. Formulating an idea she started puckering her lips, then the woman began to shed a few of not only her icy exterior, but her clothes. Slipping off her Siberian Fez like hat, then letting her hair spill to the small of her back. She followed suit with easing off her white/silver jacket. Beneath which, Fleur donned a spaghettie strapped silver shorn top.
All the articles were handed over to Neville in accordance. Neville never asked for much, but he always gave - his companionship, his all in their business and above all, kept her.. sane. The least she could do was delight one of his 'dreams' and repay him for his time of putting up with her. This was an opportune moment to do just that. She slipped her arm through the crook of Neville's elbow after having grabbed her satchel.
The move surprised Neville, and no less half the flock gathered in the Muggle landing, but none the less, she tugged the doe-eyed man along with her. It finally rung in his mind what Fleur was doing. Flushed, once outside, he murmured his thanks. Fleur only offered a slight cant of her head, "Any'zing for a friend.." He blushed even more pronounced. She's not as cold as any of those blokes say, he found himself thinking.
"Tell me again why we don' jus' apparate to wherever we need t'be, Fleur?" asked Neville, quickly changing the subject.
"B'cuz.. I like ze airline food." Fleur said straightforwardly.
"Y'can't be serious.." Were it not for the glint in her Cerulean hued eyes, Neville would have believed her. His lips crested into a chesire grin, soon followed with her musical laugh.
"We do it b'cuz of our Muggle clients az well, Neville. We walk a fine line between our world and theirz." She continued how they had to keep both their worlds on even ground – but separate, if their business was to survive.
He eyed her noting the gentle lilt of her voice, "Glad yuir feeling.. better, Fleur." Not exactly happy, in his eyes, but.. there was a significant change.
The woman side-glanced and asked, "When waz I not?"
"Well.. beggin' yuir pardon, when we weren't in England. Even in France.. you were", Neville made a see-sawing gesture with his left hand, "So-so. Shure'n you 'ad Gabby, but she'n I got t'talkin', an' we jus' noticed a few things is all.."
"She fancies you, Neville – I 'ope you know, zis?" Fleur smirked triumphantly. That was enough to stymie anymore gibber from the man. So much so, he flushed beet. The French-Woman was not prepared for Neville's astute observation. Truth be told, she was a bit apprehensive of returning to London. Fleur, though was a staunch believer in not having History repeat itself.
They would have to meet one day. She WILL have her answers. Especially knowing that this Gala, will have every Witch and Wizard in attendance.
Gathering their things, the duo shoved into the cab, and prepped for the long, bumpy ride to Neville's Grandmother's chalet.
--
NEXT: the Gala Event, Ron and Fleur face off, but will it be for the benefit of the latter? Or just another Shakespearean Tragedy in the works? - your guess is as good as mine.