Mudblood Sucker

by NightOfMine

At times one is certain of what is to come, yet when they are faced with it they are proven terribly wrong. People are unreasonable and challenges often come with pain. Hermione believes herself above such matters. Still, ever so slowly, she is being enchanted by Bellatrix, who wants nothing but to hurt and kill the Mudblood. That is, until... (See AN - ch.9 - for more information)

3. Ch 3, Lets Conquer the World

Their relieve was almost palpable in the air, for help came their way, but it was there for just a split-second. Since it disappeared the moment they saw how angry the quarter-Veela was. They did not set a step further, their instinct made them halt, but neither would they run away, for Hermione needed Fleur's care.

"'On a walk, will be back soon'," the French woman recited, sharp sarcasm punctuated each word. "What were you thinking?! I was sick with worry!" She had clearly more to say on the subject, but the moment she saw that Hermione was not merely leaning against her friends but actually unconscious in their arms, her anger was replaced by a horrified expression. "Merdre! William, tend to the boys."

Fleur brandished her wand from its holster and levitated the younger woman carefully; she had been taught that one should never carelessly levitate an unconscious magical being, one had to do it with the utmost care. For they were difficult to navigate since their magic was no longer under their conscious' control. The unconscious person's magic could lash out, disturb or block any other form of unfamiliar magic. And when one levitated an unconscious being it was not favourable to have their magic disturbed, since that was likely to bring even more injury to the body.

Despite the risk, Fleur and Hermione were gone into the house in the blink of an eye.

Harry watched them disappear before he met William's eyes. His red hair was in a messy ponytail and his eyes were angry, though the worry dulled it a little. Luna appeared in the doorpost of the Cottage, she had a small, relieved smile on her features. Then she turned around and went back inside.

The oldest Weasley rubbed his face roughly with his hands, grunted out his frustration, then he led the way inside.

When Ron closed the door behind them his brother spoke for the first time. "Where have you been, for Merlin's sake?" William's blood boiled, even though he clearly tried to sustain it. The werewolf DNA probably made it more difficult.

Harry opened his mouth to reply, but Fleur's rushed reappearance halfway down the stairs cut it short, "When and 'ow did 'Ermione fall unconscious? Don't forget to mention a single detail." She demanded in a harsh voice, her eyes in determined concentration.

The two, though mostly Harry, told everything that they had seen happening to their friend. And how Hermione had refused any form of help from them. The quarter-Veela listened intently and nodded at certain parts of the story as if she checked a mental list of what could ail the Muggle-born. All the while she had a dark look still in her eyes and a frown on her face.

At the end of their story, Fleur gave her husband instructions to get several herbs from the pantry in the kitchen and rushed back up the stairs, to tend to Hermione.

The scarred man did as he was asked, but took Harry and Ron with him in the process. They would not escape from his questions this time. He would bombard them with everything that had nagged his mind since the moment they had appeared on his doorstep the other night.

"Tell me where the bloody fuck you have been, now." His voice was not as dark as it had been when he asked it for the first time, but his words were still spoken with a sharp edge to them. He looked at the two, who did not make any noise, whilst his hands blindly grabbed what his wife needed.

His eyes glimmered with something which made him look older, like he was no longer merely Ron's older brother, but instead, a man that carried the responsibility of keeping his family safe and well-fed in times of great danger and poverty. Which, Harry realized in embarrassment, were both true.

There was also disappointment in his features. He let a big sigh escape from between his tight lips, gazed at the herbs in his hands to inspect if they were truly the ones Fleur needed - no, he still missed Elf-Earroot. "Look... What I want to..." Another sigh left him as he rummaged in the pantry. "Did you actually think about the consequences of your absence? We were about to start a search party. We did not know where you had gone and when you would return, if you would actually return."

They ascended the stairs, and as Harry and Ron listened they were forced to realize what the situation had looked like for the others. They could have been found by wrongdoers and abducted during their walk, they could have died at the hand of Death Eaters. And Hermione did get ill again, which was one of the worst-case scenarios to come true.

Harry sighed, his shoulders sloughed under the pressure of even more stress and responsibility. It was hard, after months of not having to be accountable to anyone but the three - and for half of the time, two - of them, to suddenly have to tell and ask permission for everything they did.

"I... We..." What should he say? He looked over at Ron, who looked tormented, then he shrugged helplessly before he lowered his eyes to inspect his own feet. Harry looked back at William, he would not hide from the well-deserved anger.

"I am sorry; we should have known better." Was that really all he could do, say that he was sorry? Pathetic. "We did not even go that far, really. Maybe 3 or 4 kilometres?"

William's anger simmered in his eyes again, "Harry, I understand that you want to make things better. But -" He halted his words, walked into the room to give Fleur the herbs and returned to them at once. He motioned to them to go downstairs again, "- when you came here we placed Wards around the house, stronger ones than we already had, with a radius of one kilometre. And you know what the consequences could be if you go out of that space.

"Come on, boys, what were you thinking? You endangered everybody!" His voice had that same edge to it, the man emitted a certain inhuman emotion as if the anger was not his own but from someone else entirely.

Harry and Ron blushed in shame, Ron still did not look up, Harry's eyes shot from one place to another, but he was able to look William in the eyes so now and then. What could he say to appease to the oldest Weasley? Nothing which came to mind would have the desired result, he was sure of this. The truth was that they simply had not thought about the consequences, at least not Harry and he doubted Ron had. Hermione on the other hand... She probably had thought about it, yet it had apparently not mattered enough to her. Or maybe I am being prejudiced, he realized and sighed deeply. Hermione is just human, she can't think everything through. And she has been through torture, if one of us is allowed a mistake...

Harry wished he could turn back time, not in the least for his best friend's wellbeing. But he could not.

Neither one had yet responded to William, thus Harry began half-heartedly, "I know, we did not..." He trailed off, there was nothing he could say that would not sound childish in his own ears.

"Alright, alright." The oldest Weasley rubbed his face in a rough manner again, then he continued, "I should not snap at you like that. Just... Think about it next time, okay. Think it through before you decide, on a whim, to go for a walk, with a still recovering friend." He patted Harry brotherly on the shoulder and ruffled Ron's hair in disarray. Was this his way of apologising? Harry was not sure, but the gesture did him good. "Anyway, I wanted to ask about you know... What has happened, why was Hermione in such a state the other day?"

So far both Fleur and William had not asked a thing about what, who, how and why. Harry had been happily surprised by this, glad that, for once, somebody would not ask for the information they would not get out of him anyway. Alas, this bliss was apparently not to stay.

"I... can't tell you."

"Harry, come on, we can help you. The whole Order wants to help." The oldest Weasley did not sound as confident as he had a mere moment ago, this time there was a desperate note in his voice. Harry did not like to hear his pleading, simply because he could not do anything about it. William continued, "Please, tell me. And let me help. I feel useless."

"Bill, you are already helping, you shelter and feed us," while Hermione needs time to recover. There was more Harry had to say, but he was reluctant, for they were words without meaning, since their actions spoke louder this time around. Yet he said them anyway, "We got a mission from Dumbledore, a task. And I won't drag more people in the dangers of it..."

The bitter laugh that came from William did not surprise Harry, he thought it fitting for their current situation. They deserved it. He promised himself that he would never again do something without thinking twice about it.

Silence settled in the kitchen where they had been talking since they had arrived downstairs. Ron sat down noisily on a chair, his worries were written all over his face. Harry too did not feel certain about Hermione's recovery; how could someone's health deteriorate in such a fast succession?

William sighed, mumbled something about asking if Fleur needed more herbs and disappeared once again upstairs.

Harry did not wait a moment longer, he too walked out of the kitchen.

In the garden, he found Luna near Dobby's grave, gardening. She hummed whilst her hands never stopped to pick small weeds from the earth. He did not need to make a sound for her to turn and look over her shoulder. A smile appeared on her face as he walked towards her.

He felt how his mood lightened, he smiled back, but the sadness remained in his eyes. Of which Luna was aware and it prompted her to stand up. She set a step towards him to stand before Harry and said softly, "Fleur will do her utmost best."

He nodded, looked away, his eyes trained at the pine forest in the distance. It had only been half an hour at most since they had arrived back here. Yet it felt like hours to him.

"While you three were gone I visited Hermione's room, in the hope to see her, but all I found were Wrackspurts. Everywhere in the room, I don't think that I am exaggerating when I say that there were about twenty swarming around. I opened the window and sat down on the chair, to watch them disappear.

"So, don't worry about those, they can't make her mind foggy and distracted anymore."

For a moment he looked Luna straight in the eyes, she was completely sincere. A grateful smile broke through his sadness momentarily. "Thank you, Luna, I really hope it will make it easier for Hermione."

She hummed and turned back around to work with the earth again. Her fingers and hands moved fluently and dexterously. Harry watched for a moment, then he crouched down beside her and asked if she would be willing to tell him which plants were considered weeds and which not. Luna complied with a ghostly smile on her lips.

---

Fleur felt emotionally exhausted.

For her day had started in a state of worry since the moment she had walked into the empty room of Hermione; worry which lasted until she had seen the trio in the distance through one of the windows. The sight of them had enabled anger to break through the worry as she had rushed outside. Only to be forced into a horrifying fear once more the moment she saw Hermione's state of health.

Angst which she needed to keep under control since one could not take the responsibility for another's health if their abilities were not optimal. She needed her mind to be sharp and clear of any corrupting emotions, to be able to come up with and use the correct treatment.

Thus, Fleur had steeled herself, distanced herself from her anger, but most of all she had alienated her fears and worries.

Hermione's health was almost, if not completely, back to the state she had first arrived in the day before. Except for the broken ribs, those were still healed, however, the exercise had worsened their condition nonetheless. The flesh around the healed bones was completely covered with bruises, coloured a dark blue and purple. And Hermione's breathing was irregular, but Fleur suspected that was due to the girl's rapid eye movement, which indicated the Muggle-born experienced dreams or - which was more likely in Hermione's state - nightmares.

After a thorough examination, Fleur's first hypothesis was confirmed: the Crusiatus Curse was still to blame for Hermione's current state. Whatever Hermione had gone through had affected her very core; muscles, bones - the very atoms she consisted of - all had been disturbed. They had still been in a certain 'shock' when the trio had decided to go for a walk. Which made Hermione unable to see and feel the true damage she did to herself with every step she had taken during the stroll. The curses, in all their intensity, had left her body fragile and unpredictable. At least for the following days.

The hours of sleep had probably helped with the recovery of her body, but it had naturally not been enough to completely heal itself and any recovery that had been made was completely diminished after this 'light stroll'. Thereby came the fact that the Muggle-born had not taken the hourly doses of Fleur's Healing Potion, nor any of the hormone regulator. Fleur had awakened several times that night to give the younger woman her potions. That was also what Fleur had wanted to do when she had walked into the empty room where Hermione had lain the last time Fleur had come to check on her.

Right now Fleur did everything she could regarding spells and potions. After which she transfigured her clothes which Hermione still wore into a comfortable sleeping attire.

Then, at last, she let herself sit down in the chair. A deep sigh left her body.

This foolishly, stubborn girl. She should have known - The quarter-Veela made her thoughts stop, she would only become more agitated if she let herself think like this. She pinched the bridge of her nose and closed her eyes for a moment. A groan was the only further indication that it was hard to dispel her annoyance, which, if truth was to be told, was born from nothing but worry.

As Fleur sat there she decided she would write a journal about Hermione's recovery path. Since she had no experience at all with the after-effects of the Cruciatus Curse and what permanent damage they could do to someone. Thereby came the fact that she had never pursued her studies for Healing further besides the lessons she had gotten at Beauxbatons Academy. Something which she regretted in this instance.

Even so, she suspected there would be relatively little information about the after-effects of the Cruciatus Curse, since it was an illegal act to use the Curse on any living creature. And those who did use it often disposed on their victims one way or another. Writing a journal would be the perfect way for her to fill the gaps between tending to Hermione and her own necessities - such as eating and sleeping. And it could, if done correctly, be of importance to understanding the Curse.

She sighed again, her eyes rested on the sleeping form.

The French woman saw Hermione's current state as her responsibility, she had assumed the Muggle-born to be rational enough to think twice about doing such a thing as walking through the dunes. Clearly, emotion had overruled everything in Hermione's otherwise rational mind. Fleur would not make the same foolish mistake a second time. Thus, the quarter-Veela opted she would be within this room for most of the time, at least until her patient would awaken again.

It would take longer than she anticipated.

---

Harry and Ron visited the room often. Luna too had often one thing or another to say or do in order to hear and look if anything had changed regarding Hermione's health. Only to leave the room in disappointment.

Dean had come once, though he merely stood in the doorpost. Awkwardly glancing between Fleur - who had been standing at the table grinding herbs in her mortar - and Hermione - who had still been unconscious. The quarter-Veela had raised one of her eyebrows at his behaviour, whilst she studied the boy in return, and unbeknownst to herself lifted her chin a tad bit higher, her body language one of arrogance. All this attention from her had made the boy blush furiously and in the end, he practically ran back downstairs.

William was with her several times that day as well, though mostly for himself, to give a voice to his growing frustration of being kept in the dark by Harry and Ron. Why do they keep everything to themselves? We could help them. It drives me crazy. All were lines her husband repeated frequently. To which she barely even hummed, her eyes never leaving the book or her own journal in her hands or lap.

It was not as if she did not understand his feelings, for she had the same desire to be part of this bigger task that loomed so obviously above the three adolescents. But Fleur was not one to consistently pry and ask about it. In fact, she had not asked at all, knowing all too well she would not get an answer anyway. Though she had considered asking Luna some 'innocent' questions, in the hope that the younger woman would let something slip, yet she had refrained herself. Something about her made Fleur cautious; even with all the peculiar stories the Ravenclaw told, the French woman knew Luna to be smart. One who, probably, knew more than she was letting on.

Hermione slept through all the visits and conversations. Like a hibernating hedgehog. There were no screams and no thrashing around either. All that disturbed the air in the room were periods of time in which the Muggle-born made suffocating noises. The first time this happened Fleur had jumped up, and searched for any possible cause, only to find none. And to see, to her great relief, that Hermione was not truly suffocating. The second time Fleur still jumped up and rushed to the woman's aid, but it had just been the same as the first time. Yet the third, fourth and every other time thereafter Fleur would stand beside her or sit at the edge of the bed. She would not touch Hermione, but she did sing her grand-mère's lullabies for her. Music could reach incredibly deep inside a human's being, even when they were not conscious. Whereas touching someone while they had nightmares - or dreams in general - could have very bad effects on both the sleeper and the observer. So her grand-mère had taught her.

Though these moments of suffocating noises did not happen often. In contrast to the sweat attacks which happened so regularly that Fleur had begun to worry about dehydration and had started to drip water between Hermione's lips together with the dosses of potions. She also gently wiped Hermione's face clean with a wet and cold hand towel.

When night fell over the Cottage Fleur had magiced several fireflies to fly through the room. She liked to watch them, it had a calming effect on her. She did not need them for the light, because the candles that burned in their holders around her granted her enough light for a pleasant read.

---

Before William went to bed he came to kiss his wife goodnight, but he paused in the doorpost. The scene before him was of such a vulnerable quality, anyone's heart would beat faster at the sight. That is, if one would not know or ignore that Hermione was in a dire state.

Fleur was nestled in her chair, her legs tugged underneath her, whilst her eyes were glued to the pages of her book. Hair which was braided in one thick long braid, with stubborn strands that cascaded playfully around the woman's face. And then there was the light that danced around the room. She has conjured her fireflies, he thought in surprise. She did not do it often, usually only made them to create a romantic evening. Though he did not allow himself to feel jealous, there was no need to.

Hermione had an unguarded expression on her face, which was perfectly visible since she lay on her back with her face turned towards the light. William was also aware of the fact that his wife had moved the chair to stand directly next to the bed, which created a close proximity between the two.

But he would not let his jealousy take hold. He took a deep breath and relaxed against the post.

"What ees eet that you want, mon loup?" Her eyes never wavered from the pages of her book.

"Currently nothing. Just came to kiss you goodnight, honey."

She hummed her response and, finally, after he waited a little longer she looked up to meet his eyes. He did not know why, but he needed to see her eyes on himself, to have the feeling that he was all she wanted to focus her attention on. She raised her eyebrows in a silent question, as a response he smiled his most charming smile. One that always made her blush.

At last, he walked the few metres between them, bend over and pressed his lips to hers. He caressed her cheek while he said goodnight and turned around to make himself ready for bed.

---

Fleur had a pile of books scattered around her chair, with several different subjects to occupy herself with through the night. She did not want to fall asleep, in case Hermione would awaken. Yet when the sun broke through the dark sky, Fleur was startled from slumber by a knock on the closed door.

As the quarter-Veela rubbed the sleep out of her eyes she softly called out, "Oui?"

Harry's head poked inside the room. "Has Hermione slept the whole night?"

The woman nodded sleepily. Then the door opened further and another head poked inside, Ron got a blush on his cheeks as he saw Fleur. Even now he still got affected by her presence.

Fleur looked at the two of them, her eyes calculating. Then they softened. At times, the two could act like such children, just as they did now; but maybe they needed that, maybe it was a necessary coping mechanism for those who had the fate of humanity weighing on their shoulders.

"I 'ave to ask something of you. Could the two of you stay 'ere for a few 'ours? I really need some sleep."

Harry nodded at once, Ron's nod followed. Both were glad to be able to do something for the French woman, who had done nothing but take care of Hermione.

Fleur nodded to herself and stood up to give Hermione her dosses of potions and water. Meanwhile, she gave Harry and Ron instructions. After which she went to brush her teeth in the bathroom and went straight to bed. William was already awake and putting on some clean clothes. A small smile grew on his face when he saw his wife snuggle under the blanket, who had not bothered to change into her pyjamas.

"Wake me in three 'ours, mon loup," she murmured and buried her head in the pillows. She was asleep within the snip of a finger.

---

Harry sat on the floor, with his back against Hermione's bed. His head laid on her mattress, with his eyes closed, all the while he listened to her rhythmic - and at times irregular - breathing. Ron sat on the chair but had distanced it a bit from the bed, since Harry had already sat down close to Hermione by then.

He had his eyes focussed on their unconscious friend. And wondered how it was possible that her eyes moved so fast under her closed eyelids, Ron vaguely remembered his mother saying something about children being delirious while they were ill. Or was it humans in general, not only children? And what had it to do with rapid eye movement anyway? Ron shrugged, he had forgotten.

He could not help but observe Hermione. She did make his heart hammer in his chest with the slightest appearance of one of her smiles after all, or the observant look she most often had, or the tilt of her head whenever she had a question but was already working out the answer by herself before she voiced her question out loud.

But now there lay a whole different Hermione before him. She had lost all colour, had white cheeks and dark circles under her eyes. Her hair was matted and had clearly been drenched in sweat several times, which had all dried and made hairs stick to her skin. The unguarded expression one got while they slept had an edge to it, as if she had still something to worry about. And this worried him greatly in return.

Fleur had warned them about Hermione's sweat attacks. As of now, it had only happened twice.

Harry shifted a bit, to help his blood's circulation, then he let his head lean backwards again. But not before he noticed the frown on Ron's face.

"What's the matter?" He asked, his eyes closed once more.

Ron sounded far away, his mind was clearly somewhere else. "I still don't like the idea, mate. For our next step, I mean. Griphook is not the kind of guy to help others, is not in his blood. Goblins hate wizards, remember? And it is mutual. Please don't tell 'Mione I said that -"

"It's Hermione." Harry interrupted him, how often had she corrected Ron about this already?

" - Right, Hermione. Anyway. Griphook, is this small evil thing. I had to bring him his dinner and all he did was complain about one thing or another."

Well, that is something you two have in common then. Harry thought drily. He did not say anything to Ron, this discussion was an old one. The first time they had discussed it they had concurred that they would try talking to the Goblin once Hermione was recovered. Thus, Harry let the silence speak for him. And when it had lasted long enough he went to another subject.

"Has Bill asked you questions about our 'quest' as well?"

The change of subject surprised Ron, it caused him to avert his eyes to Harry in amusement.

"Yeah, first he tried his old blackmail strategy. Which always worked, back when I was younger." After a meaningful silence, Ron continued, "He even tried to bribe me, saying he would buy me all the candy from Honeydukes I wanted. I wonder if he was serious..."

Harry shook his head with an unbelieving smile. "He was furious when we came back," he stated after a moment and his smile faltered.

Ron grimaced. "Yeah. The first thing I thought when we arrived back here, was: 'Yes, Hermione is saved.' Next moment, my mind was screaming that my very angry mother was running towards us. I really hope that I don't look the same when I am angry."

Both laughed and they were joined by a softer - very weak - laugh that came from behind Harry.

When they realized this their laughter died at once and they turned their heads towards their friend. Harry and Ron looked flabbergasted as if she had risen from the Dead.

"Are these the looks I will get from now on every time I wake up?" Hermione's half-opened eyes went from one to the other and then to the door, a smile appeared then on her face, "Luna, I am so glad to see you." Her voice too was weak, but in the silence of her friends, no one had difficulty hearing what she said.

The Ravenclaw showed her own smile which grew at being noticed. She stepped into the room and sat down next to Harry, though, her seat was on the mattress. "Good morning, Hermione, it has been a long time, hasn't it?"

Hermione nodded, though she was not clear enough in her mind to know when they had last seen each other. Was it not at Fleur's wedding? No, she had seen the Ravenclaw thereafter as well... Was it a funeral? Dobby's grave, of course. Then she shook her head, "No, I saw you the day before yesterday, though we did not speak. Was it yesterday that we walked in the dunes, or have I slept longer?"

Luna's eyes lit up. This had been an experiment, to see how well Hermione still functioned after all that had happened, and she was very glad to say that she had passed the test. "Yes, indeed. I think you would remember it. And no, you haven't slept for longer than a day. How do you feel?"

Hermione closed her eyes for a moment. She would never admit it, but she felt horrible. Her whole body was stiff and painful. Her clothes and hair were sticky as if she had run a marathon. And her whole body felt way too heavy to even consider sitting up against the headboard. She could not even lift her head up from the pillow if she had wanted to. When she opened her eyes she said, "Fine, I feel fine. Just a bit tired."

In her sleep, visions and sounds had haunted her, had created a nightmare, over and over again. What was supposed to be rest had been exhausting. Thus, to wake up to the sound of her friends' laughter had been a pleasant experience. It had brought her a feeling of familiarity and joy.

"How are you three doing?"

Their replies were short, all were feeling 'fine', which she found hard to believe.

The Muggle-born did not want to hear what had happened to herself this time, she had it still somewhere in her memories and would go through them when she had the time. Instead, she let silence fall on her part, only to have Ron fill it. He told her that Fleur had instructed them that, if Hermione would wake up, they had to feed her the glass of water that stood on the nightstand.

She declined, for she despised the idea that she could not pick the glass up herself, but Harry would not listen. With one hand he gently picked up her head and with the other, he lifted the glass carefully to her lips. His eyes were warm, but stern. Something Hermione was grateful for because she detested Ron's remorseful pity.

Her eyes locked on Harry's. They had their silent conversation, but Hermione was too tired to be able to understand, Harry, on the other hand, was well aware of what Hermione truly wanted. And he whispered his reply, "I am sorry, but Fleur has not left us a Dreamless Sleeping Draught."

"It's alright." Her eyes said otherwise, they told of her fears.

When the glass was empty and her head back on the pillow she let a sigh escape. She knew that the moment she would close her eyes that she would drift back to the darkness she had come from. In all her might she tried to fight the inevitable but failed. Luna said something to which she nodded, but she had not been able to catch any of Luna's words, for sleep had already conquered her thoughts. And the nightmare followed soon. It continued where it had left. Or had it started all over again like it always did at some point?

---

Darkness enveloped her whole. As hands enclosed around a small mammal. And they took her to the world of eternity.

Screams were everywhere around her, a constant presence. None of the screams sounded familiar, none of them was her own, nor that of loved ones. They differed in octaves as well; several were definitely from children, others from elderly people, both men and women.

Yet those screams did not come from the people that surrounded her all of a sudden since none of their mouths were agape. Not even slightly. And as Hermione looked at them more closely she saw their facelessness. Hollowed gaps were what they had for eyes. Did they actually have a mouth? She could not see, they walked too fast past her.

There was no one she recognized. And it scared her, it horrified her. The shivers that danced on her spine shook the world. Yet no one minded.

An almost unrelenting desire to see something or someone familiar was stirred awake and the desire only intensified with time.

The Muggle-born began to run, as hard as she could, through the masses of people. For her, the Faceless had become a blur. Which made the screams only worse, they grew more persistent. She ran, faster and faster.

By now the melody of screams was joined by a whispering voice. One Hermione definitely recognized. Bellatrix Lestrange. The Muggle-born would have cried from happiness to hear something familiar, had it not been the very same insults, questions and taunts Bellatrix had whispered and screamed at her whilst she had been tortured.

She ran, still searching; it was all she could do. Standing still would be even worse.

At some point it was enough, she had to scream for help, even though she did not think anyone would come. Her speed lessened, but her feet still moved. Yet the moment her voice was supposed to create a sound a raging river drowned out everything she had wanted to say. And not only her words, for she too was being drowned. Hermione could not breathe. She was pulled underwater, yet as water filled her lungs, whilst she gasped for air, she still breathed. Though it did not feel that way.

It was confusing. The sensation was something that went against all her instincts. It felt like a growing tumour inside her torso. She grasped at her mouth and throat. She even began to pull at her clothes, as if removing them would enable her to breathe once more, but the material would not be torn apart.

Would it never go away, this suffocating feeling? Hermione's movement stilled, her head and body filled with hopelessness. The desire to scream for help fled her mind. And only then did the water slowly ebb away.

At once she stood between the Faceless again, as if she had never been drowned. Their fast pace had grown even more inhuman. Their speed so fast that they created the blur all on their own this time, she did not even need to run. The screams accompanied their presence. And the whispers were still interwoven, like a soft lullaby.

Meanwhile, Hermione, as if she was a simple machine build for only one purpose, resumed her search at once.

She ran past the unidentifiable bodies. Panic began to gnaw at her thoughts. Why was she not able to find the person she searched for? And even more importantly, who was she searching for?

Hermione ran and ran, faster and faster. Panic grew. The whispers hurt, more than the screams ever could.

She knew it would not help, but in her desperation, she covered her ears and closed her eyes. In an attempt to keep the noises out of her head. It had been a foolish idea; of course, it did not work. The noises were not even muffled. Tears wanted to break past her closed eyelids, but she would not let them, she did not want to feel weak.

A feeling of being watched made her look up. Now that her eyelids were not closed tears did stream down her cheeks. She did not feel them, though, for all her attention was caught by the figure that stood a dozen metres away from her. She could not deny the feeling of familiarity, yet she did not know how she recognized this being. For she had never seen it before.

It was a body clad in black cloths, and it had unmistakably feminine curves underneath them. Instead of being another Faceless, this woman had a Raven's head. With unblinking eyes, ones that stared right back at Hermione.

The Muggle-born looked at the person with a mixture of curiosity and dread. A cold sensation crept into her bones, the shiver that travelled over her spine brought goosebumps all over her skin. Like before the whole environment seemed to shake with it. And again, no one but she seemed to notice, not even the Raven woman.

The latter had not moved since the moment Hermione had laid her eyes on her. Something made the Raven woman break the spell, though, for it reached a hand out towards her. It was no claw, just a feminine hand. Yet any curiosity the Muggle-born had felt moments ago was robbed of her being. She felt a chill settle in her bones and fear refilled the now vacant space where curiosity had been. In this instance, she was grateful for the distance between them, even if it were a mere dozen metres.

Without a second to lose Hermione spun around and dashed away, back the way she had come. With the all-consuming fear inside her, Hermione was unaware of the changes in the masses, for, one by one, the Faceless began to disappear.

It did not matter where she ran or where she looked, for the Raven woman was everywhere. The moment Hermione caught a glimpse she would stir herself in another direction, only to be forced to do the same thing a moment later. She ran in circles. And all the while the Raven woman was coming closer.

At some point, Hermione lost her footing and stumbled, right into the wide-open arms of the Raven woman. Her body was rigid at first contact, slowly she looked up, scared of what she would see. Later she wished she had never done that, for those eyes were filled with an anger that resembled the one Hermione had been tortured by. Then, as if the Raven had heard her thoughts, it threw its head backwards and from its open beak came that same mad cackle.

Hermione stumbled backwards, out of the arms, and fell to the ground. In that very same second, everything around her became black, except for the four tiles that were underneath her. The emptiness that surrounded her now was filled anew with the screams and whispers, all that was left of the cackle were barely noticeable echoes.

And it drove Hermione truly mad. The sounds were everywhere within her. She could not escape them, had to constantly hear them, was reminded of how worthless she was by those soft whispers. The screams had no pattern to them, they never would, for they were filled with anguish. They gave a voice to the pain the owners of the screams had felt. And Hermione could do nothing to lessen them. Except...

In a last desperate attempt to silence it all, to save herself from those noises, she jumped into the darkness. And she fell, tumbled through the air. Her instinct was to scream, but the moment she opened her mouth the suffocating sensation rushed back and made it impossible. She was drowned once more. Her suffering was silenced, but not undone.

Within this darkness the screams around her grew in volume, their sound had grown hateful. Bellatrix' whispers could almost be considered of a neutral temper compared to them. It made a wry smile appear on the girl's features, albeit bitterly.

She fell endlessly, an eternity of darkness had enveloped her in its being. The darkness had become her world, wherein the screams and whispers had become the noose for the hanged. Their rope of sound tight around her neck.

Had she been naive to have hoped it would all end when she jumped?

---

When she awakened nothing felt abnormal to her senses. There was no fog in her mind, no need to blink her eyes endlessly against the light, her limbs did not feel like a dead weight. Though her muscles still felt sore, at least she was able to move without that crippling pain.

She sat up gingerly. With each movement she felt how her clothes and hair stuck to her body, it made her crave the moment she could stand under the shower. Even though she had so little pain, Hermione still felt her body protest, thus she leaned her back against the headboard of the bed. She glanced at the slumbering figure in the chair close to her bed.

Fleur had her eyes closed whilst her head was probed upon the palm of her hand. Her whole body was in the relaxed state of one being asleep, but Hermione observed by the pace of Fleur's breathing that the woman was in a mere slumber. Her breathing was too light and fast to be truly asleep.

If she reached out she could easily touch the French woman's cheek. Instead, she observed her a little longer in the evening light.

Though it was not long till she saw the fireflies dancing around in the air, it was still too bright outside for their light to be of any worth, however. Yet their presence made Hermione happy, her eyes followed one and then another. A smile graced her lips unbeknownst to herself.

"I am glad to see that they make you happy."

"Yes, they are lovely. I suspect it is a transfiguration?" Hermione waited a moment longer before she let her eyes travel back to Fleur. Their eyes met. Hermione could see emotions flash in them, which surprised her, for she had always thought Fleur to be one to have perfected the art of pretence. Not being one to ever show her true emotions.

Relief was the first emotion Hermione recognized in blue eyes, after which came annoyance and then, a flash of anger.

"Yes, it is." Fleur refrained herself from telling that it was one of her own creations, there were currently more pressing matters to talk about.

Hermione fidgeted with the rim of the blanket. She had been foolish, she was made painfully aware, and felt a blush of shame heat her cheeks.

Fleur let the awkward silence between them stretch onward. She had the Muggle-born pinned with her eyes.

"You of all people..." Fleur whispered, at last, her voice was still neutral, though.

"Fleur, I am sorry," Hermione's French came more hesitant over her tongue, the situation made her uncertain. Surely the older woman would understand. It was not as if Hermione had taken a walk deliberately to annoy Fleur, it was just that she felt so... watched and caged. She had not been in control of her own body and still was not... It felt as if it would drive her insane.

"To think that what I am about to say is to you, of all people," Fleur repeated her earlier words and paused, searched with her eyes for something in Hermione's. Who wondered what she should do, she had already apologized and she had truly meant it, the remorse was still evident in everything she did.

The quarter-Veela let a deep sigh escape her. Did Hermione hear disappointment, or was she irritated? Both? "What you did was a foolishly stupid thing, because of several different matters. Not only regarding your own health."

"I... I know, I can explain - " Hermione tried to say, only to be cut off.

"You know?! Well, you have a horrible way of showing that then!"

The Muggle-born thought this unfair of the French woman. Not only did she not let Hermione finish her sentence, but Fleur did not want to see it from Hermione's perspective. And she said as much.

"Unfair?!" The French woman was perplexed by Hermione's bold words and laughed bitterly. "You know what is unfair? When someone does their utmost best to heal another, only to be forced to watch the other throw it out of the window. Under the guise that they feel confined to the house! And after which they have to go through the whole ordeal of healing and sleepless nights anew. That is unfair, 'Ermione."

Fleur stood up from her seat, she could not sit still anymore, their argument got under her skin and she had to do something. Thus, with fast and angry movements she tidied up the room.

For a few seconds there was silence, Fleur thought this was because she had shocked the younger woman with her harsh words, but when she looked up from her current task she saw anger simmer within Hermione's eyes. Something which she was not used to, there were only a few people that could be angry with her.

She had not anticipated this response and would have watched in shock if Hermione had not chosen that moment to speak up in her own defence. "This is precisely what I mean! Have you any idea how it is to be tortured to a crying pulp of blood, bruises and cuts?! Any idea? No?! Well, how unfortunate, because it's jolly, truly! To have someone tower above you and to feel every ounce of their hatred in the form of abuse. I would recommend anyone to undergo the same treatment."

Hermione had thrown the blanket off herself and sat on the edge of the bed, her feet on the ground and ready to stand up, so that there was a smaller difference between their heights.

"I never said that which you went through was not horrible, which, obviously, it was. And believe me when I say that I will piece you back together each and every time you break down into a million pieces. But that doesn't mean that you should just do whatever you desire, think of the consequences, 'Ermione!"

How she had done it the Muggle-born did not know, but now she stood steadily on her feet. Maybe it was the adrenaline coursing through her veins? Either way, the two women faced each other as their argument got loud enough to be heard, if somewhat muffled by the walls and closed doors, thorough the whole house.

Their words were in French, however, at times Hermione did resort back to English; when she did not remember the French words fast enough. Still most was said or yelled at each other in Fleur's native language. Which made it impossible for all the others to understand their 'conversation'.

All the frustration, anger and fear both women felt was thrown into the argument. They needed to let it all go. Though not once did they insult each other, because that was not what this was about. They were not on the same page. Each had a different opinion and all they did was give a voice to those with relatively civilized words; it was just voiced in a frustrated, angry and fearful passion.

Neither one was aware of how much time passed, but it was Fleur who made the wise decision to stop this. The French woman momentarily closed her eyes with a low growl, then she directed a deadly glare at something on the other side of the window, something which Hermione could not see. Or was it the darkening sky Fleur currently despised?

Hermione breathed heavily after all the effort this argument had taken from her, yet she would not sit down, instead, she kept her balance by holding on to the chair whilst she stared at the quarter-Veela.

Fleur inhaled deeply and then, with harsh movements, she turned around and stormed out of the room. The Muggle-born stood there and listened to the noises Fleur left behind, whilst her eyes stared at the open door. She was minutely glad that, despite her anger, Fleur had not slammed with any of the doors on her way. Hermione's father had done that whenever he got angry and it had always scared her.

It was at that moment that a heavy scent hit her senses. One that was intrusive and unmistakably of Veela origins. She had never smelled it before, but she was certain of this. The air was filled with it. Hermione looked at the window and opted to open it slightly, to let the fresh air from the dunes carry the scent away. Not that it was unpleasant, she just did not think it wise with all the men in the house.

As she stood there, with the soft breeze caressing her skin and with her eyes closed she listened to the noises from outside. Her hands laid lifelessly on the windowsill. Slowly her thoughts calmed, and as the adrenaline left her system she grew tired once more.

---

Fleur briskly walked out of the room and down the stairs. She needed to do something, she could not sit still at the moment. Her hormones filled every nook and cranny she passed, of which she was aware. She was also aware that it made the male population blush and stutter, but one glare from her send them hurrying away.

The quarter-Veela picked her jacket from the coat rack and set out for a walk beside the shore. She needed some time to clear her thoughts. Yet, before she had set one step out of the house, she had already decided that when she returned she would start the preparations for dinner.

---

The front door opened and closed. Then only the rolling of waves, the songs of birds and the breeze could be heard. Hermione opened her eyes and saw a familiar figure walk away from the house. Silver-blond hair was being toyed with by the wind.

The Muggle-born did not feel guilty for the fact that she had argued back, but she did feel slightly remorseful about how they had parted. Maybe I should have apologised a second time?

"It is said that one can only argue heatedly with the people they hold close to their hearts; ones which they know they will not lose because of some harsh words." Hermione turned to the new sound, even though she had already recognised it as Luna's voice.

"I am willing to argue with you as well then?" Hermione said, a teasing twinkle broke through her frown and settled in her eyes.

Luna beamed at the words, "I can handle myself well enough in an argument, though I believe that you have had enough of those for the rest of the day."

This was the closest Luna and Hermione had ever come to calling each other 'friends'. They had gotten to know each other through Ginny years ago. And even though the Muggle-born had difficulty with Luna's creatures in their blossoming friendship, they had become fast friends. Because, even if Hermione was not one to believe something without evidence, she did respect Luna in her ideas and theories. Which the Ravenclaw had appreciated just as much as when Hermione would have believed in Wrackspurts and all the other creatures Luna knew so much about.

They shared a friendship which grew stronger over the years and through hardship. One that came more naturally to Hermione than her friendship with Ginny. Because of the simple fact that Luna and Hermione shared more interests; academic subjects, par example. And both, Luna and she, lacked any form of interest in the latest rumours, much to Ginny's chagrin.

Qua academics it was not uncommon for their opinions to differ, but that only made it more fun to them. The discussions which ensued could be as hilarious as they could be serious.

Another thing to be greatly admired in her younger friend was how wise she could be. Sometimes the wise comments were said at truly random times - such as while they studied in the Library - but they were wise nonetheless. And Luna could sprout something alike gibberish from her lips just the same, to keep the balance.

Hermione smiled whilst she recalled their years of friendship.

"You are smiling?" Luna asked and made her way through the room on tiptoes as if there were lines she was not allowed to stand upon.

"Are there creatures on the floor which I cannot see?" Hermione asked in all earnest, while she studied the wooden floor.

"No." Luna did not give any further explanation, her eyes focussed on the floor as well. Only when she stood beside Hermione did their eyes meet again. Hermione had a small smile on her lips, yet the frown still lingered. The Ravenclaw reached upward and gently tucked a stray, matted curl behind Hermione's ear.

"It was yesterday that I scared the Wrackspurts away. And you have not frowned enough yet to make them return." So what's the matter? Luna's eyes conveyed.

A few seconds of silence.

"It is just that I wish... Things to be different." The Muggle-born said lamely, she sounded weak in her own ears.

"I can imagine." Luna let silence fall between them, whilst they both gazed out of the window. Which was another aspect about Luna Hermione had learned to appreciate, there was no need to banish silence.

Though at last, the Ravenclaw did speak up again, "Maybe you should take a shower, being in contact with water can stimulate the mind to relax."

"Yes," Hermione breathed, "I feel like I am the filthiest person in this whole house."

"Hm, could be," Luna murmured, still not looking away from the window, "what about the Goblin though?"

The Muggle-born pulled a face at the thought. It was followed by chuckles from them both.

"Shall I clean your bed, while you shower?"

"No, let's do it together."

Together they made the bed and tidied the last things in the room - during which a pile of clean clothes suddenly appeared on top of the table with a barely audible 'poof'.

She had heard Fleur return through the front door, but had not anticipated that the French woman would make the effort to gather another set of her own clothes for Hermione to wear and magic them to Hermione's room. The gesture warmed the Muggle-born, but it also meant that the quarter-Veela was not yet comfortable to face her. Which gave the warmth a sinking quality.

"I will take the laundry downstairs, so you can freshen up," Luna said and levitated the sheets before her whilst she hummed one of her tunes. Hermione halted her with a touch to the arm and when their eyes met she softly thanked her. She got a smile in return and then the Ravenclaw was gone.

Water and soap streamed down Hermione's body within a minute. She had been desperate for this sensation, to feel the filth be washed away from her body and to see it disappear through the shower's drain. All the while she made sure her left forearm would not get wet.

It was while she brushed her still dripping hair that the scent of a delicious meal penetrated the steam of her shower. Her mouth watered at once and her stomach rumbled. She was very hungry. With a bit more speed in her tasks, Hermione stood outside the bathroom and at the top of the stairs within the quarter of an hour.

As she descended the stairs she had a death grip on the handrail, for she was afraid to fall otherwise. From downstairs there came the buzz of liveliness. Whilst she slowly walked from step to step Hermione could hear the two Weasley brothers talking, followed by Dean's laughter. She had not heard Fleur, Harry and Luna yet, but she suspected them to be there anyway. Though there did come cutlery and cooking noises from the kitchen.

When she finally arrived on the ground floor Hermione's suspicions were affirmed, they all were in the house. For she found the latter three in the kitchen, and the Weasleys and Dean were in the living room. The Muggle-born did not hesitate a moment in her decision of which group to join. In the living room, it may be merrier, but those were not her dearest friends. Though Hermione was not yet certain what place Fleur occupied precisely in her mind's circle of friends, yet she wanted Luna to be right; that people only argued with others who would not abandon them after a few heated words.

However, when she stood in the doorpost she did hesitate. Would the quarter-Veela ignore her after what had just transpired between them, or would she send glares Hermione's way, or something else? Being ignored was Hermione's greatest fear. She did not dare step inside the room, this was Fleur's domain, it felt like she would be trespassing.

The French woman had her back turned towards her position and likely did not know she was here yet. I could go back upstairs again. Luna and Harry looked simultaneously up from their task as if they had heard her thoughts, and Hermione saw to her happy surprise that they had decked the table for seven. Meaning that she had been included.

Harry beckoned with his hand. Hermione obeyed, though, with an embarrassed expression on her features, her eyes could not stay in one place for long. Harry hugged her minutely.

"Shall I take the meals for Ollivander and Griphook upstairs?" Luna uttered, held two plates up and walked to Fleur who still stood at the stove, not aware of the Muggle-born's arrival.

"Yes, thank you. And maybe you could see 'ow 'Ermione is doing?" There was no anger, nor irritation. Hermione's hope bloomed in her chest.

Luna just hummed mysteriously, not mentioning the obvious. Harry smiled at Luna and said that he would help her, which made Hermione tense. She would be alone with Fleur, who had all the right to still be cross with her.

Harry and Luna were way too willing to leave her all on her own, in her opinion. As they departed there fell a silence in the kitchen. Should I clear my throat, to let her know I am here?

"'Ermione, could you please get some more garlic from the pantry?"

Hermione's surprise was palpable in the air around her. Fleur had never turned around, nor glanced over her shoulder, how could she have known? To her embarrassment it made her stutter over the French words, "How did you know I was here?"

A cluck of Fleur's tongue was the first response, then a glance, one that held Hermione's eyes for a moment and then the French woman nodded in the direction of the pantry. A silent reminder that she truly did want the garlic.

"The reflexion in the window, dear." The night had descended upon them in the time Hermione had showered, which made the glass a good mirror.

Hermione had to search for a moment but found the garlic in the end. She could not help but ask, "So it has nothing to do with enhanced Veela hearing or something else in that part of your DNA?" She made absolutely certain there was no suspicion in her voice, only sincere curiosity.

Another glance, but dark blue eyes averted soon back to the garlic she sliced in small pieces. Then the ghost of a smile appeared on her lips, "Non, ma chérie," she paused to add the last ingredient to their food, "there are no Veela senses involved."

Why and how she did not know, but Hermione did not truly believe Fleur's words. Yet she did not press it. She leaned with her hip against the counter, her fingers played with bits and pieces of vegetables that lay forgotten on the counter, her eyes stared at nothing.

It took her a dozen seconds to return to reality. Her voice was a mere whisper, "Fleur..." she began and looked up at the woman, "I am sorry I riled you up like that, but I won't apologize for what I said... I truly do think that way." She had to search for the French words, she had difficulty forming the sentences.

The quarter-Veela stilled in her hands and looked sideways at her. "Don't apologize, 'Ermione. There is no need for that, things like that happen in a..." Hermione's searching eyes widened slightly as Fleur paused in her words and averted her gaze. "A friendship."

Hermione failed to hide her relieved smile.

In the chaos of all the happy feelings that currently raced through her body Hermione forgot to reply in French, "Yes, you are completely right." Anyone could hear the fondness in her voice, for she wanted to convey her desire for a friendship between the two of them. Fleur's forgivingness was more important to her than she had realized, even if the older woman was of the opinion that there was nothing to forgive.

Fleur sent her such a sweet smile that Hermione had to refrain herself from hugging her. Was the quarter-Veela happy with her response? Had this been scary for Fleur as well?

"In what is my wife completely right?" William walked in and took a seat at the table, followed by Ron and Dean. Luna and Harry also decided to return at this moment, each taking a seat at the table.

Fleur responded in a heartbeat, "That it is silly of Griphook to have a dislike for garlic."

"Griphook does not care for anything," Ron said somewhat annoyed, his negative feelings towards the Goblin were quite obvious. Hermione glanced at the William, he did not respond for a moment, though the others around him had started another conversation and in the end, Bill mingled with them.

The Muggle-born sighed, though kept her face neutral as her eyes returned to Fleur, who smiled still, but whose eyes did not look back at her, instead they were focussed on the last spices for the meal.

Hermione was instructed to take the bread and salad to the table and to sit down. Not much later Fleur came with the rest and the feast could begin.

All the people around her talked and she listened contently, whilst she ate as much as she could stomach, which was not a lot. But the food was lovely and she treasured every single bite, this was something completely different than all those months camping in the woods with nothing but beans and mushrooms to eat.

After the meal, the ones that had not helped with the cooking - which were William, Ron and Dean - started to clear the table and wash the dishes. The rest transferred themselves to the living room and entertained themselves.

Fleur gave Hermione another dose of a Healing Potion and a hormone regulator. And sat herself down in one of the corners of the couch with her journal.

Harry sat in a chair next to one of the windows and looked outside, with the Snitch in his hand. The scene was a bit gloomy, but Hermione knew that he needed a moment to himself.

Thus, the Muggle-born sat down beside Luna near the fireplace. The Ravenclaw had an older version of the Quibbler in her hands but set it aside the moment two socks came into her peripheral vision and waited while the person gingerly lowered herself down.

The two sat close to each other, with their backs to the other occupants in the room as if they deliberately wanted to create their own little world, with the fireplace as their sun. It did make whispering a lot easier. They talked about several personal experiences from the months in which they had not seen each other. Though Hermione could not mention most of what she had gone through.

During their conversation, neither one noticed that the other three entered the room. Ron and Dean played chess and William had sat down on the couch, one arm draped over Fleur's shoulders and with the other hand, he held the book he was reading.

A homey feeling was the result. People enjoyed themselves. And the fact that a war was going on suddenly felt like an absurd theory.

Hermione yawned, and this had not been the first time. After the meal, with her stomach content, she had become a bit drowsy, which had worsened over time. She had been awake for just a few hours, yet was already incredibly tired. Something she did not want to give in to. Hermione knew she had to go to bed, but the prospect of sleeping alone in a room scared her. She had not slept alone for months, at least not without Harry somewhere in or near the tent; and now she was supposed to fall asleep in a room all alone? That just would not do.

Yet, to ask only Harry to sleep in her room would be a painful statement towards Ron. But she could not ask the two of them, because if she was honest with herself she simply did not want to sleep with the youngest Weasley brother in the same room. For she saw in his behaviour the growing frustration he carried with him; which she assumed was because she had constantly rejected his attempts to become closer to her, something he had tried relentlessly ever since he had returned to Harry and her when they had still camped. And then there was the fact that Harry and she had become obviously close during his absence, though they had grown closer even before Ron's departure, which she actually suspected to be one of the reasons for his departure in the first place.

Thus, because of this growing frustration in Ron, Hermione foresaw a big fight between Ronald and herself. One in which everything would be her fault and he would be the one that was wronged; in his opinion, obviously. It annoyed her that she had to keep herself from asking Harry to transfer his mattress to her room, but it was for the best.

Another yawn came from her mouth. The Muggle-born had been silent for some time now, pondering what to do about her sleeping arrangement when her shoulder was bumped by Luna's. She looked sideways, though the Ravenclaw looked into the fire. The glow and shadows from the flames danced over her features.

"What is it?" Hermione whispered.

"Don't you think you should go to bed?"

She was silent for a moment, in the end, she just nodded.

"But...?" Luna tilted her head sideways as she finally looked Hermione in the eyes.

A silence fell between them, so long that any other person would have shrugged and let it slip, but Luna would not, not unless Hermione would say she did rather not talk about it. At long last Hermione opened her mouth and told her the truth, "I don't want to sleep alone in a room..." It was spoken in her softest whisper.

Luna did not laugh, nor did she look surprised. She just nodded, with a serious expression on her face and whispered, "Would you like to sleep in my room? I think we could easily fit your bed in it with a simple Expansion Charm."

Relieve flooded through Hermione as she nodded, she had not dared to hope that Luna would offer her room, even though they were friends.

"I will make the arrangements right away, then, alright?" Luna's soft words lingered whilst the Ravenclaw stood up, skipped through the door and up the stairs.

The Muggle-born sat for a second longer before she stood up to join Harry, who was still seated at the window. He looked up from his musings as she neared, his frown disappearing.

"Hello there, stranger," he muttered and patted on one of the armrests for her to sit upon.

"Good evening, gentleman," she said in return and sat down upon the appointed armrest. Now both of them stared outside the window, for as far as they could, since there was almost complete darkness outside.

Again she started to whisper, even though these were not necessarily matters she wanted to keep between the two of them. "I am going to bed, but I thought I should let you know that I will be sleeping in Luna's room, so maybe you three could move your mattresses to my old room?"

"Yeah, that would be more comfortable, thanks."

"Now that I have been awake for a bit longer I can agree with you on the weird feeling of missing our old tent," Hermione murmured.

Harry hummed his agreement but said nothing more. What was there to say anyway, they could not talk freely with all the others around them. Hermione sighed and wished him a good night, but before she could stand he had grabbed her hand.

"Goodnight, love," Harry whispered, a fond smile appeared on his lips.

The endearment was not new to Hermione, for he had used it on a few other occasions, but it was still rare for him to say it. As if he too had to get used to the sound of it. It filled Hermione with an overpowering warmth each and every time he called her that though.

Hermione walked to the door and said her last goodnight to the whole room, which apparently prompted Fleur to stand up and follow her upstairs.

The quarter-Veela smiled as she found out that Luna had levitated Hermione's bed into her room. An act Hermione explained by saying that now the boys could sleep in her old room. Fleur nodded and said that she did not have to explain anything, merely that she was happy that it was this easily taken care of. She also provided Hermione with a Dreamless Sleep Draught and persisted that she drank a big glass of water.

"I am not this stubborn, Fleur," Hermione said, she spoke in English for Luna's sake, who was brushing her teeth and was watching them.

"So you say, chérie," the words were almost accusing, causing the younger one to sigh in defeat. "Please drink the water and then I will leave you alone."

Fleur kept her promise, for the moment Hermione had emptied the glass she started to walk away. The Muggle-born wished her a good night as she watched her descend the stairs.

Luna and she talked for a few minutes longer as each laid in their own bed, but Hermione took the Draught soon, for she felt slivers of sleep wrap themselves around her. The last thing she saw was that Luna switched on her bedside lamp and levitated a book from the bookcase near the door in her awaiting hand.

With a sleepy smile on her lips, Hermione murmured, "Wandless levitation." A second later she was in a peaceful sleep.

That night Hermione was spared the nightmares.

Unfortunately, she could not take the Draught each and every night, for it would affect her functioning thorough the day, make her drowsy and slow, her mind dulled. And her nerve system and hormone regulation would grow depended on the Dreamless Sleeping Draught. These were known side effects if one took the draught too often. Which was something Hermione wanted to avoid at all costs. Even if that meant she had to sleep through the nightmare, or not sleep at all.

Therefore, it took a mere two nights without the sleep-inducing potion for the Muggle-born and the ones she told about the nightmares to know that this nightmare was not something to easily go away. Though it did help to sleep with another in the room. Somehow Hermione knew and felt in her subconscious that she was not alone. This had also been the case when Fleur had watched over her. But it had taken her a few nights to realize this.

However, Hermione would not give up without even trying to get rid of this nightmare, she was stubborn after all. Unfortunately, she had no Hogwarts' Library at her disposal. Thus, for now, she would focus solely on Occlumency.

Yet, the moment she mentioned she wanted to train in Occlumency William forbid the practice of it. She had not even asked Harry's help regarding the matter. However, Bill would not relent. Under the guise that it would not do any good for Hermione's improving health. The Muggle-born suspected that it had more to do with the fact that the oldest Weasley feared there would come teenage-drama forth from it.

It was mostly in the evenings that Hermione secretly trained together with Harry somewhere in the house - if one could call it that. She had to make her mind blank and void of emotion, but this was harder than one might believe. More than once she apologized for the hard times she had given him during their Fifth year at Hogwarts.

In these days Hermione was also forced to acknowledge that it took time for a body to heal after being inflicted as many curses as she had. Something she did not do easily. For she wanted to go outside to take a walk by herself. And she wanted to join whenever her friends went. But Fleur - and Harry - would not let her, too afraid for a repeat of last time. Even when Hermione promised to stay in the garden and not do anything strange.

It was not as if the Muggle-born was bored, on the contrary, she was busy practising one thing or another. The confinement was something that proved difficult for her. Luckily there was enough she had to study and practice. For both Luna and she had no longer their own wands and in the days that Hermione was restricted to the house, they practised for hours with the wands Harry had acquired in the battle at Malfoy Manor.

Fate - in some sort of horrid joke - had granted the Muggle-born Bellatrix' wand.

Because when both had tried out each of the wands for the first time, the different results could not be denied. For whenever Luna tried to conjure a spell with Bellatrix' wand nothing happened, literally nothing. Whereas when Hermione tried to produce magic there came sparks at the very least.

The first day of practising had been the worst for Hermione, her patience had been tested to its limits. But halfway through their practice hours, she had been on the verge to throw the hateful piece of magical wood in the corner and to never look back at it.

A frustrated growl from her lips had made this clear to the Ravenclaw, who halted in her own magic and regarded the Muggle-born for a moment. Hermione could not look back, her eyes instead focussed on the wooden floor, ashamed of her own disability to make a simple Levitation spell succeed. Yet in the end, Hermione elaborated, "I just feel humiliated... By a wand... For God's sake, I am pathetic."

Another moment of silence.

"You have to see what you have already accomplished, Hermione. The wand actually acknowledges the fact that you want it to produce a spell." Luna took a step towards her companion and laid a hand on Hermione's. "Think of it as if you are drawing fish on a paper. Fish that differ in size and rarity. When that is done, all you have to do is wait for them to start swimming."

"Luna, that is waiting for the impossible," Hermione opposed, though her voice was hesitant.

"Isn't that what some people say about defeating You-Know-Who? Loudest by the man himself. Yet I am certain that you three can do it. Harry can defeat Him, with the help of Ron and you. And I am not alone in this opinion."

One hand softly squeezed the other.

All the while Hermione stayed silent, she did not dare to argue. A familiar fear for the unknown future seized her. Suddenly the task to get control over Bellatrix' wand had become far more important. Having control over this wand was not a possibility, it was a necessity. Bellatrix' wand would listen to her, no matter that its former mistress hated everything about her.

Luna's words enabled her to rationalize the situation and it gave her the feeling of control, something she had missed terribly. With her determination sharpened the Muggle-born had not once grumbled after this incident and only stopped practising whenever someone voiced their concerns for her wellbeing.

At the end of the first day, she had been able to cast the most basic spells and in the days that followed her control over the wand had grown continually. At the end of the third day, medium-hard spells could already be cast.

If only she could test her ability in offensive spells, but she had to wait until she was allowed outside.

Luna too had most of her wand's will tamed by her command. The Ravenclaw had constantly been one step ahead regarding control over her 'new' wand. Which was not surprising since it was Narcissa's. One that laid easier in anyone's hand, as long as the person was qualified - smart - enough.

Hermione had enough to concern herself with inside the house. However, it was being forced to stay inside the house which had the Muggle-born itching at times. Moments in which she could feel like a caged animal. And she found them horrible.

Yet another distraction could make her momentarily forget the whole situation. For Fleur was good company. They could talk and discuss for hours on end, about academic curriculum, the differences between England and France, even stories about their childhoods had been shared between the two of them.

On the other hand, it was also enjoyable to annoy her captor, as Hermione liked to refer to Fleur when she talked to Harry or Luna. Just loud enough for Fleur to hear, of course. The quarter-Veela would sometimes look up with a raised eyebrow or a smirk on her face. The arrogance Fleur could emit in these moments was astounding. As if she truly drew pleasure from keeping Hermione inside.

On this fourth day of recovery - May the 7th - while they both sat contently on the couch in the living room, Hermione was suddenly in the same teasing mood. She glanced several times from her book to the quarter-Veela, who sat to her right seemingly absorbed in her own book. Then the Muggle-born discarded her book beside her.

"Fleur," she said in all earnest, whilst she crossed her legs, she turned her body wholly towards the other woman and scooted a bit closer to her. Only when dark blue eyes looked up, with a glimmer in them that told that she knew where this was going, did Hermione continue, "Please, I beg of you, let me go outside with Harry or Luna, or yourself."

Hermione knew that the answer would be the same as before, but to make her request a bit more dramatic she stared longingly out of the window and stretched her arm out towards it as if she wanted to grasp her last possible escape.

"No, my answer has not changed since last time." Came the dry remark. As she said this Fleur averted her eyes back to the book in her lap, but the younger woman saw that she was not reading a single word. Hermione smiled at the knowledge and knew it did not go unnoticed. She steeled her features into seriousness once more and said simply, "You are evil, you know that, right?"

"How so?" Fleur asked, still pretending to read.

"Oh, don't you play innocent, you know very well what I mean."

Hermione momentarily wondered if spending these many hours in each other's company had ever felt awkward between them - since their friendship was still so young. Somehow she knew that if it ever had felt awkward, that it had long since gone. However, the Muggle-born doubted it had ever actually existed between them.

After a dramatic silence, she continued, "You are evil, it's painfully obvious to me now."

"My dear, have you not noticed that it was me who took care of you these last few days? Is that what an 'evil' being would do? I think not, no?" As Fleur said the last words she blinked innocently and looked from underneath her eyelashes.

"But that is all part of your plan, of course!" Hermione exclaimed, still in her role of the accuser. "A plan with which you want to conquer the world!" With her hands she mimicked claws and an evil smirk was on her face. Hermione tried to resemble the typical villain and saw joy flash in dark blue eyes.

But it was gone the moment her companion spoke, "Who told you this, smart-ass?" Fleur deadpanned, "It were the Blackbirds, weren't they? Knew I shouldn't have let them in on the mission."

This made the Muggle-born laugh, her serious act broken and forgotten. "You are the worst."

"'Ermione, I really have no idea what you are talking about." Fleur tried to look innocent again, but the mischievous sparks in her eyes gave the whole act away.

During their silly chitchat, the quarter-Veela had put her book on the coffee table, turned her body towards Hermione, with her legs underneath her, one arm draped over the backrest and the other comfortably in her lap. They sat facing each other as their conversation skidded from one fun story to another and between the humorous words were some serious notes and opinions. It was something that came easily to the two women, their wit and humour were on the same level. At moments like these Hermione was truly able to forget that she was not allowed outside. She could even forget that there were still others in and around the house.

It was until William's appearance in the living room - closely followed by his younger brother - that it felt as if it was just the two of them in this part of the world. To the Muggle-born at least, since she did not dare ask Fleur if she felt the same. The mere idea made Hermione blush in shame.

"Why such flaming cheeks, Hermione, have you two been talking about us?" If possible Hermione's cheeks reddened even worse. William winked at her, he was merely teasing. She dared not look at Ron and fled the scene by saying that she would be making tea. To welcome the group that had returned from their outdoors occupation. The Muggle-born hoped that Harry and Luna would soon return before Ron would follow her to the kitchen and try to come close to her again.

Her prayers were heard this time, for when she set the kettle on the stove she heard the front door open and familiar voices speak to one another. Harry said something then she heard Dean's voice as well, but both faded away to the living room.

The Muggle-born turned around and smiled at seeing Luna walk towards her, whilst warming her cold hands by breathing on them. Hermione opened her arms and enveloped Luna wholly and said, "Here, take some of my warmth."

Luna's chuckle filled the kitchen with delight as she returned the embrace and made sure that her hands were underneath Hermione's vest.

Hermione breathed in deeply and smelled the outside world, the pine trees, and the ocean air had mingled their scent within the long blond hair.

"Can you smell the beautiful old souls of the trees I talked with?"

"Yes," Hermione breathed, "they smell wonderful."

"Your warmth is wonderful as well."

They gathered enough cups for the whole company. With Luna Hermione shared the same stories as she did with Fleur, yet also other parts and more personal bits. Hermione's trust in Luna was stronger, something to never disappear. Fleur was not long enough in her life to come even close to it, not by far. Despite the fact that the quarter-Veela had been nothing but sincere in their interactions. Trust always came slowly. And still, she was of the opinion that the French woman was uncannily handy in lowering her mental and emotional barriers.

---

Hermione's nightmare is full of symbolism. One of them is, of course, painfully obvious. The rest is, I presume, harder to see through? Would you like to have it explained somewhere within the story? Please, let me know.

Some people might be of the opinion that both Hermione and Fleur are out of character in the way they act so friendly towards each other in such a short amount of time. And you have all the right to have such an opinion, of course.

However, to those who think so, I want to point out that what Hermione has gone through (being mercilessly tortured by Bellatrix) was traumatizing. And the one that helps her through the recovery without a doubt and a 120 percent of dedication is our beautiful French lady.

As for Fleur: I believe it of importance for her that she can/may take care of the ones close to her (par example: see her reaction to the fact that her little sister was still in the lake during the Triwizard Tournament, or her care for her husband after he was bitten and scarred).

True, the two women were not close to each other when the trio arrived at the Cottage, but it is generally horrifying to anyone to see someone brought in while they are in Hermione's state of health. Only one with a stone as a heart (or a certain female Death Eater, and of course several others) would not be affected.

And thorough Fleur's care for Hermione, she had enough time to ponder about things, which also included the person she was taking care of. Resulting in a growing feeling of familiarity and fondness for the younger woman.

That being said, I hope you enjoyed this chapter. And please let me know what you think.

Reviews are treasured.