Chapter 4

When the house is spotless from top to bottom, Fleur ties her hair up in a bun and goes to the kitchen and into the adjoining boot room. It's warm enough to not need a sweater, but she still puts on one of her old cotton button-downs that's hanging on a wall hook, and rolls up the sleeves to her elbows. Not bothering to pick up her gloves from the work table, she opens the back door. The sea air immediately washes over her.

It's cleansing, momentarily lifting her spirits before she clenches her jaw and looks around.

Her eyes settle on the small garden located on the back right corner of the main property. It contains raised garden beds, a few large pots, and a small glasshouse. The garden was made by the previous cottage owners, intended for herbs, vegetables, and various plants to produce ingredients for homemade potions and salves. She revived it after they moved in. The work helped to quiet her thoughts and emotions, and she took pride in helping things grow.

Fleur hasn't touched it in four months.

She's looked at it, of course. On her walks. When she's outside tending to other areas of the property. It can also be seen from the kitchen windows. Reminding her daily of her neglect. Yet she hasn't set foot near it since late February.

But she won't think of that.

She doesn't want to think about any of it right now.

Moving towards the garden, Fleur ignores the bush just outside the little gate between the crimson spire, shrubs that form a hedge surrounding the plot. In four months, the hedge is only slightly overgrown, still reaching just below her chest in height. The deep red flowers are beginning their summer bloom, and her scowl deepens as she opens the gate, walking inside.

The glasshouse is empty. It was in disrepair when they moved in, with various priorities getting in the way of fixing it up in the time since. Bill finally took it upon himself to repair it a couple of months ago in the hopes that it would inspire her to get back out in the garden, but she knows he also did it out of guilt. Leaving it be, she continues her inspection.

Not much sand has blown over the garden beds, which are around six inches high and framed by sun-bleached wooden planks. But without regular watering or charms to protect them, most of the perennials are dead. The only ones that are hanging in there are the ones suited for the climate, such as the crimson spire surrounding the plot, the sea thrift plants bordering some of the beds, and a few others. Everything is wet from the rain but that won't matter; she won't be touching anything.

Drawing her wand from her jeans pocket, Fleur rolls it between her fingers before gripping it tight, breathing hard through her nose, the blood rushing in her ears. Her eyes begin to sting and she wishes it was due to the wind. Glancing towards the open gate, her breath catches at the sight of the leaves of that damned bush.

"Merde," Fleur mutters under her breath.

The next thing she knows, she's shoving her wand back in her pocket and striding quickly down to the beach. It feels like fleeing.

The winds lash more harshly, blowing memories onto her tongue and into her nose.

All morning, she's gone from self-pity to self-recriminations and back again, trying to figure out why she reacted the way she did, and where she passed the point of no return. But really, it all started with becoming aware of the girl at Hogwarts, and she couldn't really blame herself for that. That was completely out of her control.

So was being the witch's perfect match.

Fleur's actions after discovering that, however… well.

Hermione's arrival, hurt and in need, reawakened her fears of losing another mate and her protective instincts. The first days kept her busy as she worked to heal her, Griphook, and Garrick Ollivander, as well as look after the rest of her guests. Nourishing unhealthy bodies. Providing emotional support to those who needed it. There was little time to examine the other feelings that grew as she and Hermione got to know one another.

Then when her care wasn't as frequently needed, and their closeness continued to grow unfettered, denial played a large part in keeping her from seeing the deeper part of her attachment. And as long as she stayed vigilant, she would know if her heart was in danger and could thus take preventive measures where necessary.

Preventive measures. She rolls her eyes as she trudges along the beach. As if she had any chance against someone like Hermione. In those first weeks, her self-delusion convinced her that friendship was all that was developing, all that she would allow. But looking back, she knows love was growing, too.

Hermione was a revelation, opening her heart and mind to what real connection could be. Being around her was thrilling and at the same time refreshing and comforting. To feel so seen and understood. So heard and respected. Even when they had their disagreements.

Their first one happened the night after she told Hermione the truth about Cedric and Bill.

Fleur started off that day feeling optimistic over her budding friendship with the young bookworm. Then Bill reminded her of the plan to take Ollivander to his Aunt Muriel's that evening.

Up until that day, the boys and Luna were sleeping in the living room, with Hermione in the guest room across from Fleur and Bill's room, and Ollivander and Griphook in the two rooms on the top floor. Moving Ollivander to Muriel's would allow Harry, Ron, and Dean to have the newly emptied guest room. And since Hermione no longer needed bandage changes or other frequent bedside care, Luna would join her in her room.

Confident that Bill knew what he was doing, Fleur subdued much of her anxiety about it by keeping herself busy and donning a disguise to go into Tinworth. The Order had an ally living in the muggle area of the village, who occasionally passed along news as well as food and supplies she and Bill needed. That day she picked up food, extra clothes for Luna and Dean, and a few other necessities for the garden, shrinking it all down and carrying it home in her shoulder bag.

That evening, after Bill and Ollivander left, she was only a little anxious as she prepared dinner. It worsened when Harry, in trying to apologize for putting them out with their stay, let slip they would be leaving soon.

Fleur turned away so he wouldn't see the fear that seized her heart, or the other shameful feelings that followed, repeatedly telling herself he wasn't to blame. That she'd been expecting that news.

The private conversations the trio had every day, the frequent visits to Griphook's room, it all pointed to a plan for their departure. As a member of the Order, she'd also been told the prophecy; enough of the pieces had been put together to understand the role that was thrust upon him by Voldemort and by Dumbledore. Yet for all of her patient understanding, in that moment she couldn't stop the resentment coiling so angrily in her chest she had to bite the inside of her cheek to stifle it. To stifle the hatred she felt towards Harry for taking another mate away from her.

Regaining her composure, she tried to convince him they should stay. She was about to argue for Hermione's sake, because the girl had nearly died already and how much more could he expect her to sacrifice, but they were interrupted by Luna and Dean.

During dinner, Bill returned with an update about his family, yet Fleur's worry hadn't abated. She wanted to talk more to Harry but then Remus arrived announcing his son's birth.

It was wonderful news, a reminder of what they were fighting for, but her temper flared at Bill's pointed looks at her as he congratulated Remus. Fortunately, her anger was soothed when Hermione gave her a conspiratorial smile and made sure to ask Bill lots of questions about Ginny and the rest of his family, giving Fleur a chance to ask the new father questions about Tonks and the baby without having to deal with her husband.

After everyone went to bed, Fleur stayed up brooding on her couch in her now-free living room. Frightened for Hermione and the others, thinking of ways she could keep them from leaving. And more than a little annoyed with herself for her feelings on a different matter.

Luna moving into the room with Hermione was a good thing. The witch was more than capable of comforting Hermione after a nightmare. It had been completely irrational to feel jealous over it. She had absolutely not been replaced.

Then Hermione came downstairs and joined her on the couch, which both surprised and pleased her, placating her earlier selfishness. The younger witch said she couldn't sleep and they sat staring at the small fire burning low in the fireplace. They shared several minutes of companionable silence, during which Fleur did her best to box away her fears, but with the witch's life on the line she had to try.

She implored Hermione to talk sense into Harry, that they should stay here where it was safe. They should involve the rest of the Order to help them, make the cottage their base of operations, or any number of things that could help the trio. Hermione didn't take it well. The bookworm became frustrated, coming up with excuses against Fleur's increasingly argumentative points, unwilling to share their plan and how it involved Griphook, and went upstairs before she could press further. She felt awful for overstepping, for letting her fears get in the way of respecting Hermione's choices, and what made it worse was that the brunette clearly wanted to say more; she agreed with Fleur that they needed help. But her blasted promises to Harry and Ron–

Snarling at the memory, Fleur comes to a stop.

She looks out at the sea, the sun shining down on it through the fast-moving clouds. Waves crash, the water nearly approaching her feet but she's been careful to stay out of its reach. They're unrelenting. Building up, spilling over the sand, then pulling back to build again.

It's loud but also peaceful. Beautiful even in the chaos.

Just like falling in love with Hermione was.

A small smile crosses her face, and for the first time in months, it tastes more sweet than bitter.

::

After hearing Fleur mention during breakfast that she would be working in the garden today, Luna offers to help. Fleur gladly accepts, explaining that while she planted some magic-related plants last autumn, there are various seedlings and young plants ready to be transplanted while it's still spring. They're all on an old work table that Fleur moved out from the boot room in the cottage.

They begin by prepare potting soil for the pots, and mixing soil with compost for the empty beds. As they work, Fleur tells Luna her future plans for the dilapidated glasshouse; once it's fixed they'll eventually grow tomatoes and other plants that need more than charms to protect them from the salty air and ocean winds.

"Puis-je t'aider?" a voice chimes in.

"Hermione!" Fleur exclaims, startled by the witch's appearance, and also charmed by her accented French. One night after one of her nightmares, Hermione shared that her family's multiple holidays in France helped her learn a little of the language, but Fleur hasn't heard her speak it until now.

Hermione steps through the open gate and Luna says, "Good morning, Hermione."

"Good morning, Luna," Hermione replies. She stands there sheepishly looking between Luna and Fleur, pulling at her fingers. The loose strands of hair not being held back by her hair-tie whip around her face. The sun shines brightly, bringing out some of the gold and bronze highlights in her hair, causing Fleur to gasp slightly at the pull of attraction she feels low in her stomach. She's been able to suppress it the past couple of weeks but now it appears she'll have to work harder to keep it away.

Removing her gardening gloves, Fleur walks over to the bookworm. Her hand itches to brush back the hairs from the young woman's face, so she tightly squeezes the gloves instead.

In a quiet voice, she says, "I was going to check on you later… you didn't come down this morning. Is everything all right?"

When Hermione didn't come down for breakfast, Ron took a plate up to her before she could do it herself. Thinking perhaps Hermione needed space after their argument, Fleur made a plan to seek her out in the afternoon if the witch didn't come down for lunch.

"I'm fine, thank you," Hermione answers. Her eyes look remorseful, and Fleur feels guilty for pushing her last night. But she doesn't really want to bring up the argument right now. Not with Luna nearby.

"Do you feel well enough to help?" Fleur asks.

"I do. It's a lovely day out," Hermione says, smiling as she looks up at the white clouds and brilliant blue sky. It's the middle of April so there's still a chill in the air, and all three of them are wearing knit jumpers and jeans. "I can do more around here now that I don't have to lay in bed all day. Reading is fine and everything, but I can do that later, and I don't really have an interest in playing wizard's chess or exploding snap with the boys. I'd much rather do something productive."

"If you're sure. It's quite all right to need more rest."

"I'm sure, Fleur."

Fleur concedes with a smile and gestures to the work table, explaining they'll deal with those plants after they finish getting the soil ready in the garden beds and the pots.

Luna stays for a short while, sometimes arguing about a horn with Hermione. The Ravenclaw claims it came from a Crumple-Horned Snorkack while the Gryffindor insists what she saw at the Lovegood home was an Erumpent horn. Luna is her usual even-tempered self throughout the dispute, but Fleur watches with interest as Hermione loses patience and ends the argument in a huff. The young blonde easily brings back her good humor by turning the conversation to gnomes. They can all agree it's a good thing that gnomes don't live in this garden, and Fleur laughs when Hermione jokes how Molly will be so jealous.

"I think I'll go gather some more sea lavender for Dobby's grave and then go in," Luna suddenly says. "Don't bother about lunch, Fleur. I'll prepare it today."

She smiles at the two of them and walks away. Fleur's gaze follows the young witch as she marches through the marram grasses that cover the dunes, picking sea lavender as she goes.

Hermione and Fleur work quietly for a few minutes, mixing in the new soil with the old one in the beds with a garden hoe and a rake. It's not awkward but there's a tension, and she knows they're each waiting for the other to address it.

"I'm sorry about last night," Fleur offers at last. She raises a forearm to wipe the hair from her eyes.

"No, don't," rushes Hermione as she straightens, biting her lip and leaning her weight on the rake handle. "I mean, I appreciate that, really. But you made some good points. Points I happen to agree with. Not about staying, but… well, you know."

Fleur does know. Hermione, knowledge seeker and devoted advocate for equality and equity, is also a fierce protector of her loved ones. The sacrifice she made to help ensure her parents' safety. Her firm loyalty to Harry, where others buckled. Her commitment to learning as much as she can so she is as prepared as she can be, even as she worries that it's not enough to keep her friends safe… the pressure she is under must be enormous.

Hermione will stay with Harry until the end, and as much as that frightens Fleur, she doesn't want to be another battle the witch has to fight.

"It'll be soon, Fleur," Hermione adds quietly. "Around two weeks at the most. I wanted you to know because… because we're friends now, right? Even though I treated you horribly before, and I am so incredibly sorry for it, I'd really like for us to be friends."

Her heart beats rapidly at Hermione's ability to pick up on what she's thinking, and also at the confirmation of their approaching departure.

Two weeks. Harry said 'soon' but that could've meant anything. This makes the timeline more concrete. Only two weeks to support Hermione, prepare her, and be there for her in any way that she can. It's not enough time but she'll make do.

The air feels charged. This isn't closeness brought on by circumstances and necessity, this is an active choice. Then again, yesterday morning she woke up wanting a real friendship. Hermione has now made it clear she wants that, too.

So, that's what Fleur will give her.

She stares into warm, hopeful eyes and nods.

"Oui, nous sommes amies," Fleur replies with a small smile.

::

The next few mornings were spent in the garden followed by walks along the beach and dunes. The amount of gardening that needed to be done hadn't required more than a couple of days at most but they often got lost in conversation. And Fleur suggested the walks in order to strengthen Hermione and her endurance. Luna helped a little at first and then she left them to it. Fleur always thought the girl a highly intuitive sort, and Luna must've known it was one of the only times in the day Fleur and Hermione got to talk alone without interruptions.

They shared stories about their childhoods, holidays abroad, and other interests. The more Fleur learned about the witch, the more she wanted to know. Conversations were usually light and teasing, with hints of flirtation occasionally peeking through, but it was all good-natured. Keeping Hermione distracted from the weight of her responsibilities, making her laugh and blush, Fleur loved that she could be that person for her. To be a friend who expected nothing more than companionship and great conversation. She dreaded when they had to go in for lunch and the witch disappeared afterwards for more secret planning with Harry.

A good thing about mealtimes, however, was that their conversations didn't really end, they were just more focused on the academic. History, wizarding policy and discriminatory laws, literature, Fleur was amazed at her breadth of knowledge. She found her challenging and witty. And Hermione seemed to blossom under her attention. Sometimes the others would join in their debates but rarely for long, and Fleur got the sense that Hermione never had those types of prolonged discussions with her friends before. Fleur laughed at her jokes, more than a little self-satisfied when they went over Ron's head. She particularly enjoyed whenever a topic suddenly leapt to the next without warning, following along easily, much to Hermione's delight.

On the occasions their passionate natures got the better of them and disagreements became heated, it didn't stay that way for long. Time was too precious to waste on grudges.

::

Fleur and Hermione, the former holding a full watering can and the latter holding a small shovel, go out the back door towards the garden. Once inside the gate, she sets the watering can on the work table and points to a small bush in a bucket against the hedge.

"There's not much left to do in the garden right now other than regular maintenance, except for this. This is a rosa rugosa, otherwise known as beach roses. It's been pruned and cut back in a way that there won't be blooms this year but next year they will be a pretty pink. Today we will plant it outside the gate."

"Roses?" Hermione smiles, bewildered as she looks around. "You know, for the most part everything here is practical. The hedge for the windbreak. Those beds over there for the herbs and hardier vegetables. This bed for plants I recognize from herbology. And now you want pretty pink blossoms."

Fleur grins and arches an eyebrow. "Come come, Hermione. I'm sure by now you've learned not to underestimate beautiful things. We can be quite deadly, non? In more ways than one."

She smirks at Hermione's growing blush. Teasing the witch has been one of her favorite activities over the last few days. Unable to suppress her attraction to the brunette, Fleur finds that flirting helps her cope with it. It can't be anything serious if it's all in fun.

Satisfied with Hermione's flushed response, Fleur continues. "And can't I have pretty things in addition to functional ones? This hedge will have beautiful flowers during the summer. The sea thrift here and there are for color, too. French lavender for potions, potpourris, and because of home. And as pretty as beach roses are, as tolerant as they'll be to winds and sea air, they do in fact produce another useful thing. Rose hips. These will be a deep orange red."

"For a potion?"

"Not this kind," Fleur says, stepping closer to the witch, noting how it flusters her. "Burnet rose hips are better for magic. But these hips will still be edible, high in vitamin C, and will make a lovely jam."

"Oh," replies Hermione, looking like she might step away but holding her ground. There is also anticipation in her expression. Like she wants to see how far Fleur will take her teasing.

"But Hermione, don't forget," she says in a low voice, slowly leaning towards her ear, her lips a hair's breadth away. She whispers, "Pretty pink blossoms."

A shaky laugh, a light swat on Fleur's shoulder, and Fleur knows she hit her mark perfectly.

It's still just fun, she assures herself, ignoring her racing pulse and the swirl of desire that almost had her brush her lips over the shell of Hermione's ear.

"That reminds me," says Hermione, bringing Fleur out of her thoughts. "The way you say my name, I can barely hear any hint of an accent now. The 'h' sound used to give you some trouble. I noticed at the… wedding."

Blue eyes widen at the mention of the wedding. Hermione clears her throat and looks away, pulling at her work gloves as if to ensure the fit.

Fleur bites her lip, enjoying the renewed blush on the witch's cheeks, just as she did during their dance all those months ago. She waits to see if Hermione wants to talk more about it. In all their conversations up until now, not once has the wedding come up. When she stays silent, Fleur follows her lead and moves the conversation along.

"It still does when I get angry," admits Fleur.

Hermione glances back at her, her eyes grateful.

"I've noticed that, too," she says shyly.

Smiling, Fleur points to where she wants the beach roses planted and Hermione uses the shovel to dig the hole. When it's deep enough, she levitates the bush out of the bucket, flicking her wand to undo the burlap surrounding the root ball, and floats it over to the hole, nestling it inside. Kneeling on the ground, they push soil and sand over it, Hermione's gloved hands frequently brushing up against hers. It's Fleur this time who has to fight back a blush, that swirl of desire from earlier rushing through her again, and it's even harder to tamp down when she sees Hermione smile knowingly.

Chuckling at how the tables have turned, Fleur acknowledges it with an exaggerated bow of her head. Hermione only giggles in response, and they continue working.

After they're confident the bush is well-positioned, Hermione brings over the watering can to water it.

It's not lunchtime yet so Fleur suggests another walk in the dunes. Now that the main garden work is done, she doesn't want to lose this alone time with Hermione. There's a week and a half left. Maybe she'll suggest dueling with her so that Hermione can get accustomed to Lestrange's wand in battle.

::

Although the ache and longing don't go away, the heaviness in Fleur's heart feels a bit lighter. Instead of analyzing and questioning her choices, nitpicking over every conversation and every slip the way she's done over the last several months, perhaps she should be looking at those memories with a gentler gaze, as she did just now.

Besides, while Fleur may not know when her love for Hermione began, whether it started with a dance or as she looked down at her broken body, or during those initial flirtations in a beach garden, she does know the exact moment she recognized it.

Taking another deep breath and blowing it out slowly, Fleur turns around and walks back to the cottage. It's almost noon and she is supposed to be at the Burrow in a couple of hours.

A/N: Thanks for reading!

And to those reviewers from the previous chapter, thank you so much for the kind words. I've had a rough few weeks and it helps to know people out there enjoy my angsty imaginings :)