On Teenagers and Love
a story by anamatics
part three - the fog
Chapter 20 - On Vaults
A week later Professor McGonagall holds Hermione back after Transfiguration and informs her that she has permission to use the fire in the professor's sitting room to speak to Fleur. "We don't often allow students to use the floo, Miss Granger, for reasons which last year should have made abundantly clear to you, but Professor Dumbledore was insistent that you be allowed this opportunity to speak to Miss Delacour." Her eyes flick to the necklace at Hermione's neck. "On account of the fact that you and she are bonded."
Hermione swallows and nods. "When would be a good time?"
Professor McGonagall glances at the clock on the wall above the door. "Given the time difference, I would think that contacting her after dinner, say around half seven, would give you enough time to speak without potentially interrupting anything." She smiles thinly at Hermione. "Do keep this to yourself, Miss Granger."
Practically floating already, Hermione nods. "Not a word to anyone, Professor," she says, disappearing out of the classroom toward her ancient runes class.
She does, naturally, tell both Harry and Ron that she's going to be speaking to Fleur. Both of them are as curious as Hermione is about what Kingsley Shacklebolt and Dumbledore could want two of the Order's cursebreakers in France for.
"D'you it has anything to do with the Horcruxes?" Ron mutters, glancing warily up at Dumbledore's empty seat at the teachers table.
"Muffliato." Harry looks up from his potions textbook and waves his wand whispering an incantation before leaning his head in. "Please don't mention Horcruxes without taking precautions first. We don't know who's listening in."
Hermione frowns deeply "Harry," she begins.
"Don't start," Harry shoots back. "It's a muffling charm. I finally looked it up in 1,001 Everyday Charms."
"Was it in the book?" Hermione asks. She already knows the answer.
"Well, yes, the Prince said it was useful, but he didn't say way. I used a point me spell in the library when Madame Pince wasn't paying attention to find the right book to look it up." Harry looks sheepish. "I'm not stupid, but it was actually interesting – the spell was patented in 1979."
Ron raised an eyebrow. "So recently? Did it say who owns the registration information for the proof? Spell creation is a tricky business. For the longest time mum and da thought Bill was going to get into it, but now it seems as though Fred and George have the talent for it."
Harry shook his head. "It didn't, but it's a useful spell to learn. Fills the people around you's ears with a buzzing sound when they try and focus on the conversation you're having." He waved his wand to cancel the spell and then showed them both the wand movement, a sort of twisting stab before an upwards circle, casting it once more. "Shame we couldn't figure out who the Prince was that way."
Feeling torn, Hermione looked at the book laying open on the table. Spell creation was a field she was interested in researching more, especially from the perspective of other magical creatures, whose genetics and latent magical abilities made it their insights revolutionary and the spells created universal. The Prince, whoever they were, was a talented wizard, but Hermione still did not trust the battered old spellbook at all. Not after second year. "Yes," she said at length, "what a shame."
Ron chewed on a roll, brown with gravy and a small slab of the roast before them tucked inside it. "Do you think they're looking for a Horcrux?" he glanced between them. "I mean, Dumbledore's got Harry digging into Slughorn's memories – how's that going, anyway, mate?"
"Shite," Harry answered. "And I don't think it makes sense. Nothing I've been shown says that Voldemort has any connection to France."
"Could be unrelated," Ron shrugged. "Though I don't see why you'd pull Bill and Fleur and Marietta out of England for that. Not with that nasty cruse on his hand."
Dumbledore's hand had been the source of much speculation between Harry, Ron, and Hermione all year. They all knew it to be a curse scar as that was one thing that their Defense textbook last year had actually covered in some depth despite Umbridge's attempts to sanitize the curriculum. The fact the man was injured, and was absent from the school so much did not go unnoticed, however it did make them all wonder what exactly Bill – who was far more involved in the day to day operations of the Order than Fleur or Marietta – was up to if it wasn't attempting to break the curse on the headmaster.
"Maybe it can't be helped. Fleur is part veela," Harry glanced at Hermione. "She's got those genetics and remember how Remus taught us that veela are naturally more inclined toward certain types of magic back in third year?"
Shaking her head, Hermione sighed. "It isn't quite like that. Fleur says she's good at ancient runes because she's been speaking three languages since birth and is good at cursebreaking because veela blood forces magic to be very direct."
Ron rolls his eyes. "She's being modest."
Hermione shrugs. "She's being herself."
"See if you can't get her to tell you," Harry says. "I know it hasn't been easy this term with Hogsmeade weekends being canceled and all of us cooped inside for apparition lessons when some people already have the hang of it."
Cheeks turning slightly pink, Hermione picks up an apple and tucks it into her pocket to eat later. "Just because I understand the theory and can execute doesn't mean I'm not at risk of splitching myself, same as the rest of you lot." She gets to her feet. "I'm going to speak to Fleur, I will try and ask if I can. Somehow. I don't know – the floos are being watched these says." She waves her want to cancel the muffling charm. "Don't forget the Herbology essay."
Groaning, Harry and Ron watch her leave the Great Hall and climb the stairs up to the third floor and Professor McGonagall's office. The door is half ajar and Hermione pokes her head inside to find Professor McGonagall stoking the fire and using her wand to levitate a kettle away from the flames. She's speaking quietly to the disembodied head of Bill Weasley.
"Ah, Miss Granger," she says, glancing up to see Hermione lurking in the doorway. "Come in."
"Alright, Hermione?" Bill asks from the flames. "I'll just er… pop out Prof-Minerva and get Fleur."
"Have a lovely evening, Bill." Professor McGonagall says and sets the kettle down on her desk with a flick of her wand. She fills the mug on her desk and tilts her head to Hermione. "I will be in the other room, should you need me, Miss Granger. I expect you will want some privacy. Try not to go on too long. I have essays to grade and the other room is far colder."
"Of course, Professor." Hermione says, closing the door behind her and moving to sit on the circular rug in front of Professor McGonagall's fireplace. The flames crackle merrily on the and there's the quiet sound of the door behind Professor McGonagall's desk closing before Fleur's head pops up into the flames and Hermione's smiling ear to ear.
"Hey," she says.
"Salut, Hermione," Fleur answers. There's a moment of trepidation then, before Hermione reaches forward and, through the tickling sensation of the flames, touches Fleur's cheek. It's the most they can do, given the circumstances. The connection is closed, technically, and they're unable to go all the way through. Fleur leans into the touch, and Hermione longs to have her there, to feel Fleur's arms around her. It's only been a month and a half but the ache is palpable. "I am sorry to have run off to France with only a note. That isn't fair to you."
"After Christmas I thought we were done with international travel," Hermione sighs. "But I understand, are you enjoying it?"
Humming a yes, Fleur smiles wearily at Hermione. "The vault the goblins want us to break into is very old," she explains. "And because of this, there are some elements that require expertise."
"Who's vault was it Fleur?"
"That's just it. No one will tell me. They say it is best not to know, not even Bill knows, and the goblins are… how do you say, 'mum' on the issue?"
"Then why were you asked to go too?" Hermione asks. She doesn't say the names of who asked Fleur, because that would be foolish and would surely alert anyone listening in.
Fleur shrugs, her shoulders creeping into view. "I am here because that is where I was told I would be of the most use. I do not like being made to feel like a pawn, Hermione. You know this. Ma mère, she sees this already."
"You've been to see her?"
"It was that or stay in the same house as Bill and Marietta while they…negotiate wedding plans." Fleur wrinkles her nose. "I do not understand how something so lovely could become so complicated. It makes me wish for an army of 'yppogriphs to run through the proceedings. It would be far more amusing than watching them fight."
Hermione thinks fondly of Buckbeak and smiles. "Is it Bill's mum?"
"Oui," Fleur answers. "She is having opinions about everything, but it is not her place as the man's mother." Fleur runs a hand through her hair and sits back. "Désolé, Hermione, Je t'ai quitté a 'ogwarts, pour ma famille. Je t'ai laisse seule. Unprotected."
Swallowing, Hermione shakes her head. "Non, tu m'as donné une raison de rester." Saying it in French makes it feel stronger. From around her neck she produces the necklace. "You promised me, I promised you, we are bonded now. I can stay here if that is what is required of me. Hogwarts is safe as houses, after all." She tilts her head. "So you're staying at your parents?"
"Yes, for the time being. Maman wants me close when she can have me. She will not say it, but Papa told me she is impressed with your gift. You chose well. I know I have said this before, but it means more, coming from Maman." Fleur puffs out her cheeks and sighs. "I wish I could tell you more about what we are doing here, Hermione. I don't know whose vault this is, I have my suspicions," Her eyes flick to the scar at Hermione's neck, "but I do not have confirmation. I do not want to speak out of turn."
LeStrange…
Realization washes over her like a slow cresting wave of anxiety. While she's managed to put Bellatrix from her mind during the day, and is practicing what she can only describe as rudimentary occlumency at night in order to quiet her mind enough to sleep, the woman and the pain of her knife are never particularly far from her thoughts. Fear does not even begin to cover how she feels toward the woman, and if Fleur is risking her life to try and break into a vault which may be connected to her. "If it is who you think it is, Fleur, please be careful. You know how that family is; you spent time in that house."
Fleur nods, worrying at her lip. "I don't like this, being so far away from you. The bond, my ancestry, it is as though there is a constant pull on my soul back to you, even when I try my best to ignore how much I miss you, Hermione. I don't dare apparate for fear I'll end up splitched halfway to Scotland. I've been flooing in to work."
"Is it worse, being farther away?" It sits heavily on Hermione's mind, the way Fleur's unable to apparate at the moment – the way she's distrustful of her magic. They'd talked about this at Christmas, but Fleur hadn't let on that it'd been this bad.
"It is as bad as it was at Christmas, non. It's worse." There's a drawn weariness at the corners of Fleur's eyes, and her expression is distant. "Maman, well, she says that this is a part of the process too, however I am not sure she's being completely honest with me. She and Papa never spent that long away from each other once they got married."
Married. The word hangs in the air for a moment, and Hermione bites her lip, shifting on her knees in front of McGonagall's fire. "Fleur," she asks gently. "We…didn't accidentally do that…did we when we made those promises?"
Fleur laughs. "Non, chérie. In time, yes, we will, but we've done the next best thing." Her hand comes into view, running through her hair, and the ring is there. "Well, we will if you want to," she corrects herself, cheeks coloring. "I do."
Hermione swallows, watching it as it flickers in and out view over the connection. She wants to go through, she wants to pitch herself forward through the flames and find herself in Fleur's arms once more. The ache at the pit of her stomach is unsettling, a dull longing like she's been cut off from something cherished. Her fingers knot in her school skirt and she keeps herself perfectly still. "I do too." She answers. "It's all I've wanted since I made that promise to you."
"When all this is over, Hermione," Fleur says. Her tone is resolute. "We will." She shifts, turning her head as though to listen for something on her end. "I must go, Bill and Marietta want to have dinner. I will write to you about Easter soon." Her eyes go dark for a moment, as though something's just occurred to her. "Do you know the codus family of charms?"
"The cypher charms? Of course, I wrote an extra credit essay on them for Professor Flitwick in third year. I haven't ever had cause to use them. No one here's much for cursebreaking outside of the seventh year N.E.W.T. Ancient Runes class, though."
"When I write," Fleur says. "Use them." She bows her head. "I wish I could kiss you goodbye." She sounds a little dejected. Doing so over the floo is dangerous as it's technically a breach of international borders and a violation of immigration policies between the United Kingdom and France. Seeing Fleur look so sad though is intolerable.
It's risky, but Hermione doesn't care. She leans forward, her hands reaching through the flames to brush Fleur's cheek. The kiss is brief, they can't risk it for very long, but it's enough to force a lightness into Hermione's heart once more. She lets her fingers linger on Fleur's cheek for as long as she dares afterwards. "I love you," Hermione says. "Be careful with that vault."
Fleur nods once. "Always," she says fiercely. She presses her fingers to her lips and then winks out of existence in the flames.
Sitting back, weight resting on her wrists as she leans back on Professor McGonagall's hearthrug, Hermione stares up at the stone ceiling and exhales shakily. They've found a LeStrange family vault and Fleur only has Bill and Marietta to protect her from what they might find inside of it. Lost in thought, she finds her mind drawn back to conversations with Harry about Tom Riddle's past, to the unknown horror of whatever Voldemort had done to create a horcrux. Would it be something Bellatrix LeStrange would have been involved in? Would she be keeping those secrets safe? Would Voldemort trust her with such a task?
A prick of pain twinges at her neck. Hermione shifts her weight and gets to her feet. The press of the knife on her neck is still too present, still haunting her dreams whenever she lets her guard down. It's all she can do to push it from her mind. She can't allow herself to think about LeStrange for too long, but now the Order has done and ensured that it's all she'll think about for weeks to come.
Hermione moves quietly to the door behind Professor McGonagall's desk and knocks once. "Professor?" she calls. "I've finished."
A moment later, Professor McGonagall emerges with a stack of parchment folded over her arm and glass of amber liquid in the other. She swirls whisky in the glass as she brushes by Hermione. "I take it you've resolved the other…issue you and Miss Delacour were dealing with?"
Shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot, Hermione eyes the door out of McGonagall's office and realizes there's no escape. "Yes," she explains. She won't tell Pansy's secrets, but she's got nothing to lose in being honest. "I'm sorry for being so upset about it, professor."
"Think nothing of it, Miss Granger. These are trying times." She purses her lips, as though she wants to say something more, but seems to decide against it. Moving to set her pile down on the spindly table beside the armchair at the fire, Professor McGonagall eases herself and her whisky into the chair. "There is nothing wrong with seeking solace in friends who are closer than those we love, Hermione." The softening of her winkled face behind her severe glasses makes her seem kind, almost grandmotherly. "And if there is no strife in your relationship, I see no reason for the dramatics. You're very young and this is rather a lot, isn't it?"
Making an affirmative noise, Hermione gathers her bag and slings it over her shoulder. "Well, I'd best er…be going."
"Good night, Miss Granger."
"Good night, professor."
