AN: Lets do the time warp! (sorry, couldn't resist) Time to start clarifying some things

Fleur had once again adapted to the new standard, the new normal. Nobody saw her collar but her and Hermione, but that didn't seem to stop the younger woman from treating her as a possession. What had happened between them in private once upon a time had slowly began to happen in front of Ron. Then in front of Bill, and then Harry, and finally, now she was expected to be submissive to Hermione at all times.

Their friends gave her questioning looks every time she acted like this, but she had not been allowed to speak of what was happening. She had discovered that as Hermione's relationship worsened with Ron, theirs had also changed, Hermione demanding more from her each time. The blonde Veela was unsure of how much she had left to give at this point. The wedding was less than a week away.

Yes, despite Hermione's decision to 'give themselves a chance' she had not ended anything with Ron, she had merely told him of their unique situation the French woman had discovered in one of their few moments alone. The younger Weasley was much like his older brother, having tentatively reached a gentle hand towards her, wincing as she flinched and shied away from his contact, telling her that he would help her in any way he could. He told her that he thought the situation was unfair for both of them, that he didn't like how Hermione was acting. He wouldn't hold anything against her as it was against her choice, but he didn't know how to fix it.

Fleur had nearly broken down in tears, she didn't deserve such kindness, not from him. A moment of weakness had put her in this position, a moment that should never have happened and it wouldn't let her go.

Fleur Isabelle Delacour was a broken woman. She knew it, and now she knew the world knew it too. She was broken from the war, from her mate and from the weight of the secrets she was forced to keep. And today was the day her mate was getting married to someone that was not her. She was preparing for their wedding, her mate having requested her to be a bridesmaid. And who was she to refuse?

She looked at her reflection in the mirror, studying it closely, an echo of her former self. Her hollow eyes, once shining a bright blue, had lost so much life, she'd been petite before, but she'd lost so much weight, her ribs poking through, her creamy skin now sallow, a haunted look fell across her features. Her long, thin fingers tracing her protruding bones, only separated by a thin layer of paper-like skin. Her ethereal beauty now tarnished by life, the glow she once had now forgotten.

An argument down the hall broke her out of her reverie. Shouting and slamming doors startled her and she quickly rushed to the door, pulling it open and poking her head out. She was only able to catch the tail end of the argument, Ron storming off down the hall, his voice angrily shouting over his shoulder, "You're fucked 'Mione, get a therapist, I'm done!"

He headed towards the door, leaving in his tux, hand in his pocket. He reached the door and turned around momentarily, seeing Hermione standing in the hallway watching him, an angry glare fixed upon her features, he took off his ring and threw it back towards her before pushing his way out of the building.

Fleur had known he didn't like the situation he was in, but she'd never expected him to respond this way. She'd never seen the redhead so angry, though she knew he had a temper, all the Weasley children did. Despite how her mate had treated her and how she currently felt, she was unable to stop herself from rushing to Hermione's side, enveloping her in a tight hug as the brunette began to sob against her chest. She could only do her best to comfort the other woman as her wedding was cancelled only moments before it was to begin.

The Veela was unsure as to how long she stood there, comforting her mate. The march had began, and come to an end. The doors had opened, and someone had come searching. Voices, commotion, footsteps and shuffling. They were alone. In the dark. The hallways their silent witness as they stood, unmoving, the quiet echo of tears.

"He's right though," Fleur thought she'd imagined it, the soft voice of her mate, but then she spoke again, "I am fucked up."

She opened her mouth to disagree, but was stopped, "No, I know you've thought it, too. I've seen it in the way you look at me. I can't help it though, I don't know what's wrong with me. Ever since the war..." she trailed off.

"The war changed us all, my love," she whispered, nuzzling into her mate's hair, pulling her closer and placing a soft kiss upon her head.

"Not that much, not like this," it was soft, weak, dripping in pain as her voice cracked and a new wave of tears came.

"But not everyone has the same experiences."

"Harry died and yet he's still the same!" she tried to pull away but Fleur held onto her tightly, refusing to let her go.

"We all did the same things and yet I'm the most fucked up of all of us."

"My love, we were all damaged, not all of our scars are visible though. And not everything affects us the same. Our past makes us who we are and continues to shape our future." She spoke with a wisdom to her words that Hermione could not deny.

"There were so many times I'd wished for death," she rubbed absently at her arm as she spoke, a reminder of the past, the concealment charm she'd normally used to hide the scar fading, revealing the word mudblood etched into her skin.

"So many times, I'd hoped I could die so I'd never have to experience anything like it again. I thought they'd forgotten about me. At first, when she would hold me down, I'd tell myself they'd be there any minute. But as time passed and they didn't come, I'd lost my faith. I started to believe her, that they weren't coming, that I didn't matter to them, I was nothing more than a plaything to them. How could they leave me there if they cared?"

She paused for a moment there, and Fleur could only hold her closer, unwilling to let her go, unsure of what to say, but she wouldn't hurt Hermione any more, she was suffering enough.

"I thought, when they came, that I was imagining things, why would they come after so much time had passed? And I spent so much time looking over my shoulder, thinking she was there, that she'd found me again. Or that it was a dream and I'd wake up back in that dungeon, surrounded by bars, living in the dark and dirt, slowly starving to death. She nearly broke me then, at least that's what I thought at the time. But now, I think she did break me after all. I hurt those I want closest to me and I can't help it."

"It's not your fault my sweet. I will never go anywhere, you don't need to hurt any more," Fleur whispered, hoping her words would be calming.

"You don't hold it against me?"

"No," she said truthfully.

Hermione Granger was broken. Her mate was just as broken as she was. She was broken from the war, from her relationship, and the secrets she'd kept. And now she knew it.

AN: Can't help but think she kinda deserved that... but maybe its clearer now...?