On Teenagers & Love
a story by anamatics
part three - the fog
Chapter Nine - On Curses
Hermione writes Fleur's mother back with a derisive flair that she can't quite surprises in her writing. She cannot help the fact that Fleur's mother doesn't know her daughter very well at all if she thinks that Fleur will back down from the war. The letter still takes significant editing after she finishes it, and by the time she's finally borrowed a hardy-looking school owl to take the letter across the channel, it's grown significantly in size.
Hermione watches the owl go with worry etched on her face, wondering if she's done the right thing. She's informed Fleur's mother that she cannot, in good conscience, force her will onto Fleur, no matter how much she agrees that Fleur would be safer away from British soil. Fleur is her own person, she explains. She chose to come back to England after the Triwizard Tournament for her own reasons. Hermione could not say that she didn't factor into those reasons, but certainly she was not the only one. Fleur and Cedric had been good friends, with a great deal of mutual respect for each other. Gringotts International was offering her a chance to continue her education while offering her a job with standing within the wizarding community. Her English was improving in leaps and bounds.
Hermione knows that it will fall onto deaf ears. She understands parents better than she probably should, her own parents' letters are becoming more and more infrequent as she becomes increasingly tight-lipped about what is happening in the wizarding world. She wants them out of Britain, but cannot think of a way to get them out willingly. They cannot know who she is. It isn't safe, even if they're on the other side of the world.
Her two library books on memory charms and the magical-medical application of them weigh heavily on her mind as she hikes her bag further up her shoulder and picks her way down from the owlery in the steady early October drizzle.
The news of the first Hogsmeade weekend is passed around with considerably less notice than in previous years. Hermione and Harry both figure that it's a safety precaution while Ron wonders to the common room at large if Harry will even be allowed to go.
"Well," he explains as Harry glares at him and Hermione rolls her eyes. "Think about it. The village isn't exactly safe. It's not private and protected like the school – anyone can go there."
Harry frowns and flicks his wand, whispering one of the new spells that he's read in his Potions text book. Hermione wants to tell him that he shouldn't be trying to use strange spells without knowing what they do first, but this particular one she doesn't mind. It's a privacy screening spell that's easy to caste and easy to banish. It's perfect for private conversations like this. "I'll bring my invisibility cloak for good measure," he explains in the quiet tone that he usually uses when he doesn't want to be overheard, despite the spell muffling them. "Is Fleur meeting up with you there?"
Hermione nods. Fleur had written her in response to Hermione's letter just following her birthday to tell her that she would be in Hogsmeade for the visit. "She heard it from Tonks, or maybe Tonks' dad, and wrote me to tell me that they're keeping the date quiet until right before so as to avoid any potential attacks. She didn't even include the date, just that she'd be at the Three Broomsticks waiting for me at eleven."
"Blimey," Ron says, eyes wide. "You'll have all day then."
Her cheeks color slightly and Hermione fixes him with a steady glare. "That is the point," she says and watches with something akin to amusement as Harry and Ron's eyes widen and Ron's ears turn a violent shade of red.
The morning of the visit Hermione finds herself thinking about what Harry's told her of the conversation he'd had with Dumbledore a few weeks ago. She wishes that Harry could use a penseive and show them the memories that way instead of just retelling the story. There's probably loads of personal bias and details that Harry would have missed. Still, the origins of Tom Riddle are somewhat tragic, and they make Hermione uncomfortable to think about. The idea of a love potion and then a poor woman being stuck in an ignorant household in that day and age – pregnant! The very idea makes her shudder when she thinks about it.
She's never really given much thought to children, honestly. She supposes that she'd like some, somewhere down the line. With Fleur, definitely. She doesn't know – and her veela book has no information on veela families that she can see.
She spends breakfast stewing over Harry's newly discovered spell out of his Advanced Potions Making book and blithely ignores him as she tries to engage her in conversation. "I wish you'd've given that book back," she mutters and busies herself with her tea.
It's a losing battle. Harry is absolutely fascinated by this figure, and the more Harry talks about him, the more Hermione is reminded of the stories of second year and Tom Riddle's diary. The whole thing stinks of something and she can't quite put her finger on what. She's checked the school logs and photos in the library; the only Prince who's come through the school in the last fifty years was a girl who didn't seem nearly remarkable enough to be a potions expert. Hermione lets out an exasperated sigh and heads down to the village with Luna and Neville - ignoring Harry's glaring at her and shooting disapproving looks at Ron who really should be on her side about all this.
"Are you meeting Fleur?" Luna asks in her dreamy voice as they lean forward into the wind and the rain and are grateful for the waterproofing spells that Professor McGonagall insisted they cast on themselves before leaving.
"Mn," Hermione says, eying the grim-faced aurors who are watching the students with uneasy eyes as they pick their way down to the village.
"Zonkos..." Neville begins, stopping dead in his tracks and staring at the boarded up storefront. Privately, Hermione is glad about this for several reasons, most importantly that it means that Fred and George's shop will probably be experiencing a book in owl orders, but also because it means that maybe her prefect duties will be free of mischief-making magical objects for a few weeks until Fred and George can fill all of the orders.
"They'll be back," Luna says wisely, because not even Hermione can doubt the staying power of a company like that. "Don't worry about it," she says and turns to Neville. "I need to go to the post office," she announces, her eyes wide and her lips quirking upwards into a dreamlike smile. Neville offers her his arm and they vanish off up the high street.
Hermione stands for a minute in the cold and the rain, shivering despite the warming and impervious spells she has cast upon herself. The weather has turned quickly this year, and Hermione is secretly dreading having to go to Gryffindor quidditch matches as the days drag on. She cuts down towards the Three Broomsticks and pauses at a book seller to purchase yesterday's copy of The Guardian, grateful that there are enough people with interest in muggle politics this far away from London. She wants to see if there's been any movement by the government on behalf of what's been reported in the Prophet and also to check on the build up to what she's sure is going to be end up in being a call for elections.
She tucks the newspaper into her bag and hurries down to the pub, pushing the door open and exhaling as her whole body seemed to start to steam as she stepped into the warm and bright of the place. Hermione spots Fleur almost instantly, sitting at the bar talking to an auror that she doesn't know but has seen in passing a few times at Grimmauld Place. Hermione can feel herself bouncing on the balls of her feet as she heads towards Fleur and she feels her own smile widen as Fleur's grin seems to light up the whole room.
"Hello," Hermione says, just a little breathlessly. She can't help herself, not really. She's not sure what it means as the auror beside Fleur pushes off the bar with a small wave and a promise of 'we'll discuss it later' and she doesn't want to ask because Fleur's kissing her for the entire pub to see and Hermione doesn't really find herself caring.
"Salut," Fleur says after a minute, pulling away and grinning at her, all teeth and bright smiles. Hermione throws her arms around Fleur and just breathes. Fleur holds her there, wet cloaks and the low murmur of conversation around them. Fleur's nose presses into the half-dry frizz of Hermione's hair and she asks quietly, "Did you maybe want to dry your cloak, I 'ave a room."
Hermione's fingers tangle in Fleur's and she lets herself be lead up to the second floor of the Three Broomsticks, away from the commotion downstairs. Fleur doesn't say anything when Hermione pulls out her wand and conjures a fire into the fireplace before she sheds her cloak and drapes it over the back of the lone chair in the room. She leans against the door, her jacket discarded to the hook on the back, watching Hermione as she uses magic for the first time out of school.
"It is good, to be of age, non?" Fleur asks after Hermione turns to face her. Her eyes are soft today, all pale blue and welcoming. Hermione sometimes feels as though she'll melt into them if she looks for too long. Not today, though. Today she lets herself step forward and into Fleur's arms once more, just her jumper and Fleur's shirt between them. And Fleur is there where she hasn't been for over a month and Hermione finds that the grin on her face won't quite fade as Fleur kisses her again. This time it's slower, more deliberate, with tongue and teeth and enough to make Hermione's toes curl as she is pulled back towards the bed and a realization of all that she has missed.
They've just barely finished, Hermione flat on her back and breathless when there's a quiet knock on the door. "Hermione, put some clothes on, I need to talk to you." It's Ron's voice and there's another in a lower tone, Harry must be there too. Hermione has half a mind to tell them to bugger off, but she hasn't heard Ron sound that worried in a long time.
"Merde…," Fleur mumbles emphatically, reaching for her shirt from where Hermione had thrown it towards the end of the bed. She pulls it over her head and Hermione fiddles with her jumper and runs a half-hearted hand through her hair only to peek through her fingers to see Fleur staring at her. "Zose boys," she says, shaking her head.
"I'm really sorry," Hermione says, tugging on her trousers and getting off of the bed. She hasn't got any knickers on and she can feel what they've just done acutely as she checks to make sure that Fleur's at least made an effort to not look well and truly shagged, even if she hasn't. "What?" she demands, throwing open the door to reveal a drenched and bedraggled Harry and Ron, dripping all over Madame Rosmerta's carpet.
Both of them start talking at once:
"Katie's been cursed!" Ron began. "Right in the middle of the high street!"
"Someone's nicking Sirius' things!" Harry added, folding is arms across his chest. "And they're taking Katie up to the school. Hagrid says everyone has to go back."
Hermione takes a step backwards and picks up her wand from the end of the bed and casts the strongest drying charms she knows on the pair of them and pulls them inside without a word.
"'arry," Fleur says with the sort of serene smile that would make Luna jealous. Hermione gapes at her as she settles herself more comfortably on the bed, hair mussed and lips still swollen. Fleur notices her looking and winks, before bridging her fingers over her knee and continuing, "Ronald, it is good to see you boz again."
"'lo Fleur," Ron says awkwardly, shifting from foot to foot as Hermione folds her arms across her chest and waits for someone to start making sense.
Harry nods at Fleur and waves his wand, casting the muffling charm that Hermione's still trying to be disapproving of, even if she's a bit preoccupied with what Ron's said about Katie (Bell, Hermione assumes – she's the only one in Gryffindor) and wondering what it all means. She puffs out her cheeks but Ron shoots her a warning look and Hermione doesn't object.
"We were downstairs," Harry explains, shoving his hands into his pockets. "It's really cold out there, you know? Anyway, we ran into Mundungus Fletcher, who's apparently been nicking stuff from Sirius' house."
"Denied it," Ron puts in, "but we know that seal anywhere, spend enough time cleaning up that bloody house."
"Did you notice if 'e was selling it?" Fleur asks mildly. "Zese old familie objects 'ave an 'abit of taking on ze personalities of zeir owners." Her eyes narrow a little and Hermione finds herself grinning. "I do not imagine zat it will end well for Monsieur Fletcher."
"I think it was part of that cursed dinner set," Ron explains and Hermione winces, thinking of the battle that Bill, Fleur, Professor Lupin and Sirius had had to do on that particular series of cabinets in the kitchen to make the place habitable again. They'd been cursed with a spell that Bill had determined (after disappearing for three days into the Gringotts' library) to be some sort of variant on a series of dark spells based on blood. It was like a game of Russian Roulette with crockery, every fifth dish had a nasty curse that would take effect if the person using the dish had even the slightest of impure thoughts towards one of non-wizarding decent. At the time, Hermione had thought it odd that the curse extended to those of creature ancestry, but Sirius had informed her that the Most Noble and Ancient House of Black was one of the few wizarding households that also prided themselves on being pure human on top of the usual blood purity nonsense.
Fleur had spluttered at this, and she had Sirius had had a very tense few days following that until Sirius had sat her down and explained to her that while his family was off their collective nut, he didn't hold those sorts of opinions. Fleur had looked considerably happier after that, and Hermione had spent several hours sitting with her the drawing room of Grimmauld Place talking about what Sirius had said.
Now when Hermione thinks about those tense few days, all she can think about is Bellatrix's knife against her neck and the hissing laugh at her being even more abnormal than most muggles. It was never the fact that they were girls - it was everything else. Hermione hated that her own upbringing was so different. There were gay and lesbian couples in London - in her home town even - but it was the gayness, rather than the racial element that bothered people. Fleur, and when she thought about it, and everyone, really; couldn't seem to comprehend that there were people in the muggle world who weren't accepting. Hermione had never struggled with openness, not really, but there was still that second sense that she was somehow different in the looks that Ron and Harry were giving her and Fleur now. The knowing smirk and slightly red cheeks that Hermione knew had nothing to do with the bitter cold outside.
She forces herself to pay attention, as Ron continues hurriedly, "But that's not the half of it – Mundungus gave us the slip and we were chasing him up the road-"
"Without bothering to find someone who'd be willing to cast an impervious or warming charm on you," Hermione adds helpfully, smiling at her two friends and taking in Fleur's little amused laugh.
"Didn't have time. We saw Katie and her friend arguing with each other and then … I dunno," Ron shrugs and looks to Harry.
His face is screwed up into an expression that Hermione thinks is torn between curiosity, worry and the healthy dose of panic that she's grown to expect from him whenever something bad happens at Hogwarts. She understands that on many levels, Hogwarts is supposed to be safe. Hermione's read all about the various wards and protections that have been interwoven into the very stones that the school is built upon inHogwarts: A History. It's supposed to be a place where the children are protected, even though Hermione's five years at school have told her that it is really anything but that.
"It looked like that same necklace that Malfoy bought from Borgin and Burkes this summer," Harry says quickly. He glances at Fleur, who's eyebrows are raised but is showing no outward disapproval of their following Malfoy down into Knockturn Alley. "Katie flew up into the air and then went all still. I ran and found Hagrid, and he brought her up to the castle. The aurors started to mobilize after that and we were told we had to go back up to the school. We figured we'd better get you before they realized that you hadn't come back." Harry turns to Fleur and adds, "Sorry."
Fleur sighs and stands, crossing the room in a few easy strides to pick up her boots from where she'd toed them off. She pulls them on without socks pauses, resting a hand on Harry's shoulder for just a moment. "You should not be going into places like Knockturn Alley, 'arry," Hermione can hear the amusement barely hidden in her voice and she bends to rummage for her socks. Disappointment is ringing in her ears, despite the fact that she's somewhat preoccupied with what's happened to Katie Bell.
"We'll er-" Ron says, grabbing Harry's shoulder and pulling him back out towards the door. "We'll wait in the hall."
"Merci," Fleur says coolly at him and Hermione raises an eyebrow at her as the door closes behind Ron and Harry. Fleur lets out a frustrated sigh and slumps on the bed. "Zis..." she mutters, lacing up her boots angrily. "Zis is not fair."
Hermione sits down beside her and rests her head on Fleur's shoulder, drinking in her smell and the warmth of her. She's missed this more than she dares to say and she hates this so much. "Why was I a fool to fall in love you when I still had so much school left?" Hermione asks with a bitter smile.
"Et au milieu d'une guerre," Fleur shakes her head, white blonde hair falling into her eyes and across Hermione's cheek. "It was not ze smartest zing we 'ave ever done."
"Certainly not," Hermione agrees with a wide and silly smile. It is awful and their relationship is going to suffer because of the war. They both know it and they've discussed it at great length over the summer.
They sit there for a few brief seconds before there's another knock on the door and Harry's voice calls, "Come on you two, I don't want to start a manhunt when we don't turn up at the headcount."
Hermione sighs and pushes herself to her feet. She tucks her wand up her jumper sleeve and bends to pick up her cloak. "Your mum wrote me," she says quietly, not wanting it to carry through the door.
She can see the line of Fleur's back stiffen as she pulls her jumper over her head. She cuts an almost comical figure, head and shoulders hidden by the pale blue of the sweater, her back ramrod straight.
"Two weeks ago," Hermione adds quickly. Merlin, it felt like longer than that.
"What did she want?" Fleur asks quietly, but there's a danger in her voice and Hermione knew that she should have included the detail in her response to Fleur's birthday letter. She kicks herself mentally and tries not to read too much into the fact that Fleur seems to be bracing for the proverbial axe to fall.
Hermione swallows and picks up her cloak, fingers clinging to the damp wool fabric and the ever-present crackle of magic as if it's a lifeline. "She wanted you to go home; I told her that you could make your own decisions." Hermione sniffs and adds, "She seemed to be under the impression that I was the only reason you were here."
"You are," Fleur whispers fiercely. She turns to Hermione and all Hermione can see is the fierceness in Fleur's icy eyes and the drawing out of her features - half-avian in the firelight. She crosses the room to stand before Hermione in three quick strides. Hermione's breath catches, because this is not Fleur, not entirely. This is the part of her that she doesn't let out that much, the part that Hermione finds endlessly fascinating and just a little terrified. Fleur's fingers catch under her chin and she tips Hermione's eyes upward to meet her own, stormy blue and full of an intensity that sends a shiver down Hermione's spine.
"You are mine," Fleur explains, her accent becoming almost more pronounced as she says the words. "And I am yours. I will protect you. It is the promise we made."
Hermione rises up onto her toes and kisses her. It's all that she can think of to do, and it feels so good to reassure this part of Fleur. She wants to linger, she knows that she can't and she hates it. She steps back reluctantly after far too short of a time pressed up against Fleur and presses her finger to Fleur's lips. "I would never tell you to leave," Hermione promises.
Ron pounds again and Hermione throws her cloak over her shoulders with a sheepish smile. "I'm really sorry," she says.
"De rien," Fleur shrugs, fastening her own cloak and pulling out her wand. She opens the door and sends a nonverbal dousing spell towards the fire. It sizzles and cracks as Hermione casts warming and impervious charms over herself before turning to do them on Harry and Ron.
When they, too, give Fleur sheepish looks, Fleur says exasperatedly, "You cannot control zat someone got cursed."
