Golden Haze, Act Three, Interlude Three

AN: HAHA another unplanned chapter... go me. *dies*

A few people have commented that Fleur's outing of Hermione was inappropriate and certainly not her place. As someone who understands this very situation intimately, I know and understand that it was very inappropriate. I have been involuntarily outed and the experience is violating. My, and Fleur's, only excuse is that she's part magical creature under extreme mental duress and she misspoke. This will have repercussions, don't worry folks.

OUTING SOMEONE IS NEVER OKAY.

Music of the story – Cyndi Lauper - Time After Time

The galleon was in Hermione's pocket, warm and pulsating as though it was still their fifth year and simply the announcement of another meeting of the DA. The situation as more desperate now, and her breath was short and shallow as she moved her hands slowly to her pockets. In between her fingers, the galleon cooled, and the message would soon become visible. She'd only ever spelled the numbers to change, but Harry knew the spell well. Was this a message? The promise of rescue on her mind, she glanced nervously around the room that they'd shoved her in. It was heavily warded, but there was a window in the corner. The light was still good; she could probably read the message quickly without them noticing her moving about.

She moved slowly, silently, toward the window, and pulled the galleon out of her pocket. Around the edge, in neat lettering, words had appeared where there had once been ancient runes declaring it to be currency by international standard.

F looking for. M&A know, regrets. Stay safe. Expect rescue tmrw nite.

Hermione swallowed. Harry had done the spell, his abbreviations were obviously recognizable as he used muggle ones rather than the wizarding standard. "They know…" she breathed, head hunched against the wall. "They know…"

Why had Fleur told them? It was not her right to say something like that. The right was Hermione's and Hermione's alone. For Fleur to have said something… the situation must have been dire.

To say something like that, without provocation was a breach of trust in the most extreme way. Fleur could not have known that Hermione was still not entirely comfortable with the way that the wizarding world saw homosexuality – and Hermione had never voiced her fears about it. All she had said was that she was grateful for the fact that there was not the same level of intolerance as there was in the muggle world. She had never said that it was strange for her to see people be so honest and out with regards to their sexualities, as though it legitimately did not matter.

It didn't matter, not to her, but adjusting to the wizarding world had already been hard and Fleur had just, inevitably, made it harder.

What could have possibly happened? Hermione groaned thinking of the possibilities. She had to get out of here.

Thoughts of escape filled her mind, but just as soon as they began to form, they vanished once again. Every time she closed her eyes, she could see Bellatrix LeStrange's cruel face, laughing at her as her knife moved and sliced through Hermione's traitorous skin. She knew it was coming, she had braced herself for it as soon as they'd shoved her in the room – Bellatrix would come. Her maddening laughter and deranged sing-song voice would come and Hermione would feel that pain again.

There was a nagging thought in the back of her head that this time Harry and Ron would not come to rescue her. Fleur would not let them. The veela were a proud people and Fleur could not stand the shame of not being the one to save Hermione. She wanted Fleur to be the one to save her.

Would her lover even have the control to do it?

She would have to hurry, tears fell down Hermione's cheeks. Fleur would have to come soon. The memories were scars on her consciousness. She couldn't close her eyes, she couldn't sleep, she couldn't think of a plan to herself out of this situation. Bellatrix would sing to her, laugh at her, touch her every time her eyes threatened to close.

I'm going to go insane. She didn't date try to use wandless magic (her control was not very good and she'd neglected practicing it this year at school) to send a message back to Harry. Rescue me, save me before I completely regress back into what I was when you and Ron and Draco saved me.

How had Mr. and Mrs. Weasley found out? Had Fleur lost control? Hermione hoped not. There wasn't much that could stop an enraged veela who had fully embraced the haze if her book was to be believed. She did not want to think about the creature that lived within Fleur, the one that would kill indiscriminately – like Bellatrix – for her.

She let out a quiet moan. She wondered if she raised enough of a ruckus Smith or Jones would come in and tell her to shut up or spell her into sleep. They were the only two that she'd seen. She was sure that she was somewhere in London. The floor had vibrated with trains at several intervals that suggested a commuter train. On Christmas, no less, which meant a densely populated area. They'd apparated and it hadn't taken more than a few seconds, so they probably weren't in another country or a different part of the country.

They hadn't spoken to her. Just put in her in this bare room and told her to keep quiet. Hermione had already recognized the signs. She was the bait, again. To draw Harry and the Order out.

At least they'd been content to ignore her so long as she kept quiet.

Quiet was better than the harsh touch of a mad woman who only wanted to cause pain. She hurt and healed and then hurt again.

Hermione had had enough of crazy people treating her like a damsel in distress. She didn't know how to move past the mental block that was the memories of that time at Malfoy Manor. All she could do was think of how Fleur would never let anything like that happen to her ever again.

Hopefully that would keep her sane until they could get her out of here.