Hi everyone! I'm sorry I'm unable to reply to the reviews because I can't even view them. Once they're view-able, I will respond.
So here's the second chapter. I apologise in advance for any grammatical mistake. I have no betas and I have reread several times but I most likely might have missed something.
I hope you enjoy it.
Disclaimer: JK Rowling owns Harry Potter.
Hermione stared at the dark green vial containing think, bubbly orange liquid and downed its contents. It only took ten seconds for the potion to work. She felt herself starting to relax, her thoughts placid. One vial would last her two hours. She checked her purse, making sure there was at least another vial for emergency. She would be facing Ron, Mrs. Weasley, a million people, and Fleur and she needed her nerves to not be jumpy like a mad hedgehog trying to stab a watermelon. Why did she agree to be Ginny's maid of honour? Why did she say she would make her schedule free for that day? What on earth was she thinking?
With a final quick check to ensure her blue dress (she liked to call it Ginny's wedding uniform) was spotless and that the ridiculous wristband made of several small quaffles adorned her left wrist, Hermione took a deep breath before Disapparating to The Burrow.
The Burrow was still the same as she remembered it was a year ago. She felt the corner of her lips curled up slightly, memories of her past self spending many happy days at this place, surrounded by the people she loved and cared.
"There you are, Ginny's on the brink of throwing a fit because she thinks you decided to skip," the snide voice of Pansy jerked Hermione out of her reverie. Snide, but friendly. Pansy was not an asshole anymore, the brunette decided.
"I couldn't decide which heels to wear," Hermione said honestly. While she only owned five pairs of heels, it was more than enough to give her three hours' worth of dilemma.
Pansy looked down at Hermione's choice of footwear: a pair of dark brown modest three-inch heels.
"And this is the winner?"
"This is the most comfortable for me to wear for hours," Hermione defended herself. She felt herself blushing, embarrassed for not having a great sense of fashion, unlike Fleur. Now that, was a fashion goddess. Wait, how did this even turn to Fleur?
"Practical as always," Pansy rolled her eyes. She took Hermione's arm firmly and dragged her. "Now let's go before the bride goes berserk."
The bride in question was so happy to see Hermione making her appearance and the redhead jumped at her best friend, to the dismay of the rest of the women in the bride's tent.
"Young lady, I'll have you know that it took me weeks to get the design for your hair perfect," one agitated middle-aged woman forcefully broke the embrace and dragged Ginny back to the chair in the middle of the tent. At once, the other women returned to their duties of preparing the bride.
"I thought you forgot."
"I did promise you I will come, Gin. There's no way I'd miss this."
"I'll stick with her to make sure she doesn't slip away somehow, Gin," Pansy gave Hermione a lazy grin. "I have enough experience of preventing my Quidditch players from skipping training. Pretty sure I can handle one maid of honour."
Hermione raised an eyebrow at the grinning girl beside her. "Is that a challenge?"
"Hermione," warned Ginny.
"Fine, I'll be nice," grumbled the brunette.
Then the time came. Hermione gave Ginny a peck on the cheek as support. It felt so surreal. How long ago was that when Ginny was just a shy kid who could not even say a word whenever Harry was around? Now that same Ginny was a confident, beautiful woman, with the fires of life blazing in her eyes, having overcome multiple challenges where many others failed. Hermione smiled sadly at herself. What had she become? A raving lunatic plagued by voices she could not explain.
Hermione shook away her thoughts. Today was Ginny's special day, she told herself. Be there for her, be happy for her.
Hermione watched as one of her oldest friends, Harry Potter, draped in his best suit (but still sporting that untamable hair of his), quietly but confidently took Ginny's hand in his own. Hermione watched as they exchanged vows, exchanged rings. Hermione watched as the pronouncement was made, as the couple finally shared their first marital kiss. Hermione watched every single moment, happy for the both of them, yet sadness lurking, knowing she would never be able to feel that way. What was love, anyway? Once upon a time, Hermione was sure she knew what love was. Now, she realized she had no idea at all. She barely remembered the feeling of being loved by her parents. She did not quite understood how her best friends felt about her. Caring and compassionate, maybe. But love? That was such a complex concept.
Again, she shook her thoughts and refocused on the ceremony. Being the nearest, she got to be the first to congratulate the happy couple and gotten a big hug from the both of them. When Mrs. Weasley, flowing with tears of joy, approached, Hermione automatically took a few steps back, allowing the couple to be engulfed by her embrace. The rest of the Weasleys (including Ginny's numerous distant cousins) followed in Mrs. Weasley's footsteps. Hermione was certain both Mrs. Weasley and Ron saw her there (who could miss the maid of honour?). She was not surprised, although a bit sad, that they were both ignoring her. Were they still angry at her for leaving?
"I wish I can take away your sadness," a gentle voice startled Hermione.
The brunette spun around and instantly felt the now-familiar knot in her stomach. Anxiety was slowly bubbling. She had forgotten Fleur was there, that Fleur was one of the bridesmaids. Hermione was so focused on her own feelings and trying to be the perfect maid of honour for Ginny that she had forgotten Fleur's existence.
Hermione gulped. While wearing the same exact dress as Hermione, Fleur's hugged her body perfectly. The ridiculous quaffle wristband looked graceful on Fleur's beautiful wrist. Hermione stared at Fleur's long legs.
"Hermione? Are you alright?"
Hermione stared into Fleur's concerned eyes, surprised that the blonde was very close to her. The brunette took a few steps back automatically. This time there was no railing to trap her. She was free to take as many steps as she would like.
"What's wrong, Hermione? You don't look well."
Of course I am not well, she wanted to scream it. I have not been well for years. I don't know how it feels to enjoy sleep.
But Hermione said nothing.
She continued to take small steps backwards, as Fleur slowly approached her, with the same looked of concern, care, kindness, and acceptance in her deep blue eyes.
Those damn eyes.
Damn it all.
The laughter started again, this time accompanied by a sobbing old woman who was reciting some prayers, hoping the evil will end. Hermione closed her eyes briefly, gritting her teeth. Not now. Why must this happen now?
"Hermione?"
Hermione opened her eyes. She snapped. She had had enough.
"Stop it! Stop looking at me like that! Stop looking! Just… stop!" Hermione was barely aware that the crowd had fallen silent, that all eyes were now on her. "What is it with you and your concerns? I am fine. I am perfectly fine. So just…just stop. Don't give me that look. Don't look at me anymore!"
The laughter was louder, making some crude jokes about flying squirrels. Great. This was just great.
Hermione turned around and refocused all her energy on Disapparating back to the lake. She needed to get away from this; she needed silence; she needed the space.
With a loud 'pop', the maid of honour Disapparated from The Burrow and a moment later Apparated at her lake, greeted by heavy rain.
"I miss you too, home," she mumbled.
A loud thud behind her got her instincts kicked in. Hermione immediately rolled to the side, took out her wand, and pointed at the noise, various battle spells ready to be unleashed. But what she saw horrified her and got her running to the source of the noise.
"Oh my god, oh my god," Hermione kept on repeating to herself.
The unconscious figure of Fleur was lying on the wet ground, blood flowing freely from a long, deep gash that started from the blonde's left bottom jaw all the way to the tip of her left pinky. Fleur must've somehow grabbed Hermione while she was Disapparating, and got injured in the process. Fortunately, since Fleur was technically brought physically by Hermione herself, the injury was from a Disapparating accident. Which was good, for Hermione did not want to think how complicated it would be if Fleur received injuries from Hermione's own magical barriers.
Hermione got to her knees and cast spell after spell to stop the bleeding. She fished Dittany out of her bottomless purse and applied it on Fleur. She was frustrated that the Dittany refused to stay until she realised that the rain was interfering. Growling at the innocent sky, Hermione brought Fleur into her house and stared applying Dittany again. She methodically bandaged the unconscious woman's wound, checking Fleur to make sure that the blonde did not lose any body part. Fortunately, aside from the obvious wound, Fleur seemed to be okay.
When Fleur was bandaged, Hermione was unsure on what to do. Fleur was lying on the floor, soaking wet, her dress destroyed by the rain, blood, and mud. As much as Hermione was loathed to leave Fleur just like that to recover on the floor and unchanged, Hermione did not want to be the one to change the blonde. Hermione could also bring Fleur to St. Mungo's but the brunette was not willing to answer questions. She was also unwilling to bring another person to her house.
So Hermione did what she needed to do. She touched Fleur's skin, with the knot in her stomach going wild to the point she swore she was actually in need of making a huge dump. At the same time, she was fighting the blasted voices in her head. Hermione dried and changed Fleur, and gently laid the unconscious woman on Hermione's bed. The brunette then went to her bathroom, sat in the dry bath tub, shaking, and downed another three vials of the orange liquid. She passed out soon after that.
Sometimes she just wanted to end her life. It seemed easy – after all, how difficult was it to embark on a path with no way of returning and ending her misery when the alternative was a life of at least fifty more years (unless she died younger due to accident or incurable diseases) marred by something that nobody could explain and having no cure offered to her?
Hermione was at that point a few months before moving to the lake, thinking and planning to end her miserable existence. She was halfway through arranging her estates, trying to figure out the best way to will all of it to her parents without making them remember that they had a child. That would be too cruel for them: their only child erasing herself from their memories only for them to find out she was dead for nothing. She often wished she'd died during the Battle of Hogwarts. That way, she'd die a heroic death, never suffering from this…madness, and her parents would forever remember her in a positive light instead of being haunted by guilty thoughts of 'have I been a horrible parent?'
One of those evenings, Hermione went to one of London's underground boxing tournament. She had drunk a Polyjuice Potion and went as per usual as the local librarian who Hermione was certain would be spending the night at her own apartment, sleeping at exactly 9.30pm. She gave the correct password, paid the usual entrance fee, got herself some wine, and mingled with her acquaintances. Some were definitely shady, but many were just like her – people who wanted to escape from their lives.
While having a light banter of which fighter would win that night with some of her acquaintances, they mentioned of a place that promised better satisfaction. This other place held gladiator-like fights regularly, with combatants provided the typical gladiator weapons shown in movies: swords, daggers, spears, and trident. The fights were not to the death, but losers would have one part of their bodies (hair not included) cut off. Winners received large amounts of money and sometimes other items. The place was by-invitation only so Hermione expressed her interest to see this. Something about it excited her. One of her acquaintances, Rob (Hermione was certain it was not his real name), promised to vouch for her.
A couple of weeks later, Hermione found herself (still disguised as the local librarian) sitting next to Rob the accountant (or so he said), a bottle of beer in hand, mesmerized by the sight she saw. Two men in gladiator outfit, bleeding and bruised all over, were fighting each other. One had only an eye. The other had no three fingers at the right hand. According to Rob, the eyeless was one of the strongest gladiators and this was the third time the two combatants met each other, each past occasion saw the loss of two fingers for the other combatant.
To Hermione, who was in the depths of despair and hopelessness, found the sight comforting. Liberating, even. To her, despite losing a part of their bodies and sustaining injuries during the fight, both combatants still pushed through, still fighting with everything they had. She admired the man who had lost three fingers. He had lost twice against this opponent yet still he came to fight again. The promised riches must be really important to him, more important than his own body.
That night, Hermione decided to continue fighting. She would not give up yet, no matter how pointless all of it seemed to be. After all, one way or another, she would end up dead anyway, so why not fight for it and enjoy whatever peaceful moments she could get? She returned home, tore off the will she had been writing, and started looking for quiet properties.
The smell of bacon wafted through the air, making her mouth watered. Hermione stretched and yawned, feeling slightly refreshed after a night of never-ending nightmares. She could not even recall what she was dreaming about, to her frustration. Someone was setting the table and in the background, the kettle whistled.
Mom still won't use the electric kettle, Hermione thought to herself.
The next moment, she opened her eyes wide and sat up.
She jumped out of bed, her shin hitting the side table (she swore she'd make the table pay for that), and half-running half-limping to the kitchen. Part of her felt fearful, part of her full of hope.
Fleur was turning off the fire and carrying a plate full of pancakes to the table. She was humming happily, the tunes Hermione did not recognize. Fleur noticed the brunette's presence and looked up, smiling at the confused Hermione.
"Ah, you're finally up. Pancakes?"
Hermione, too confused to think clearly, allowed herself to be led to the table and sat. She slowly chewed her food, trying to rearrange her thoughts. What happened? Why was Fleur here? Where was her mother? Why was the sun shining so brightly? Was it not raining?
Rain.
Rain mixed with blood. Some mud. Ginny's wedding. Fleur unconscious.
Hermione put down her fork and stared at Fleur, who was observing the brunette eating with her warm, kind eyes. The blonde's blue eyes were dancing. Happy. Content.
"Get out," Hermione felt the familiar knot in her stomach, felt the familiar tightening of her chest, making it harder for her to breathe. "You're not supposed to be here."
Fleur tilted her hair to the side, her silvery hair looked brilliant being kissed by the gentle sunlight. Hermione stared at it.
"Do you have the tendency to kick out your housemate whenever you want to without clear and compelling reason?"
Hermione frowned. Was she losing her memory in addition to losing her mind? She could recall nothing of the sort.
"Housemate?"
"Yes, housemate. You know, the term one use to describe the people sharing the roof of one's house?"
Hermione was annoyed. She did not like the mischievous glint in Fleur's eyes.
"I do not recall allowing you to stay here with me." What was it with part of her being terrified of the prospect, and another being joyful at it?
"Well honey, if I remember distinctively, when I carried you to bed this morning," Hermione felt her cheeks reddened at this and looked away from Fleur's eyes, "you agreed to me moving here. I asked, and you grunted once. Grunting once to any question is the international signal for 'yes'. To conclude, you did agree to it."
Hermione felt her temper rising.
"I wasn't even aware of you asking me that question! If I was, I never would say no. So there! You can't stay."
Hermione crossed her arm, head raised high in challenge. Fleur calmly rose from her chair, took a few steps toward Hermione, and wrapped the brunette in her arms from behind. Fleur then rested her chin on Hermione's shoulder, smirking slightly when the brunette tensed up.
"Hermione," Fleur said as softly and as slowly as she could, "are you certain you'd like me to leave?"
Hermione wanted to say 'yes' and see the end of it but she hesitated. Would it be wise to turn Fleur away? Hermione had brought Fleur here, to her sanctuary (albeit accidentally) and the blonde could always drop by anytime, with or without Hermione's permission. While Hermione could make it unplottable again, it would take so much time and energy and frankly, she was too tired to have to go through it all again. Worse, Fleur could now send her letters, and what if she generously offers everyone else to send letters to Hermione via Fleur? That would be a nightmare. Also, there was just this inexplicable feeling, wanting Fleur to stay and accompany Hermione. Would having a kind person as housemate be that bad?
"You're messy," Hermione blurted out. Hermione could kick herself. What kind of excuse was that?
"I'm a messy bachelorette, not a messy housemate," Fleur purred.
Hermione decided. Her feeling about this matter was conflicted, and she was tired of getting so confused about everything.
"I won't force you to move out," Hermione said slowly, "because you'll do it yourself anyway." They all did. Sooner or later, Fleur's eyes would change to eyes filled with pity and fear.
"You won't know till you try," Hermione felt Fleur unwrapped her arms and walked to get the kettle.
"Are you going to get your stuff?"
Fleur set the cup of tea in front of Hermione. It smelled wonderful.
"I've done it early this morning. I'm all set."
Hermione looked around – she recognized some of Fleur's things already making themselves at home in her house.
"Including your bed?"
Fleur chuckled. "I left the big items at my place – we can always crash there whenever we're having a night out in London."
"Are you camping at my living room?"
"No, silly. I'm sleeping with you. Which side do you prefer: the left or the right?"
Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose. This could not be happening.
"Fleur," the brunette gritted her teeth, "that's my bed. You can't possibly sleep there. You're not my lover."
Fleur calmly stirred her teacup.
"I can be."
Hermione groaned.
"Fine. You take the bed. I'll be on the couch."
"Oh, is this our first lover's quarrel?"
Hermione had to suppress the sudden urge to strangle the innocent-looking blonde. The brunette did not say anything and walked off outside.
"A bouquet of roses, a pack of chocolates, and a kiss should be enough to make up with me, darling," Fleur called out from the kitchen.
Hermione slammed the door.
Her temple was throbbing and the familiar laughter returned. There were two persons laughing now – a male and a female. They were debating using garlic salt versus onion salt on open wounds and kept on laughing at nothing in particular.
"Who are you people?" Hermione asked in frustration. "What are you people?"
Of course, the voices ignored her. It was like a radio that you could not get rid off, following you wherever you were, turning on and off at its convenience.
Hermione boarded her raft and lied on it in the middle of the lake, gazing at the clouds in the sky, lazily making its way from one end of the earth to the other. Inside her mind, some children started crying.
She closed her eyes.
Let the insanity began.
Fleur was arguably a pleasant housemate, mostly letting Hermione did whatever the brunette wanted to do, and never asking questions that Hermione was dreading to face. Except that Fleur was always nearby wherever Hermione went. Fleur would sunbathe at the jetty and read a book while Hermione would camp on her raft. When Hermione slept at the couch, she'd find herself awake on her own bed the next morning, with Fleur would be already in the kitchen, cooking something. Hermione did not have the energy to talk about it, and Fleur never mention a thing. Fleur was generally a quiet housemate, with the occasional chat. But Fleur never asked Hermione anything private – it was always either about Hermione's opinion on ideologies, philosophies, current world trends, or Fleur's cooking.
Bit by bit, Hermione started to relax around Fleur, but the knot in her stomach and the urge to hide from the blonde never did fade away.
One morning, while taking a shower, the voices started again. But, instead of the usual random lectures accompanied by maniacal laughter and some crying, Hermione's mind was assaulted by a cacophony of all the voices that had been intruding her mind. Hermione stifled a scream, punching the wall with her bare hand. She barely felt the pain, barely registered the breaking of her skin.
Gripping her head, trying to see through her eyes that were being blinded by the pain, she rummaged through the cabinet and grabbed a vial of translucent pinkish liquid, swirled it once, and downed it.
Just as she expected, she felt her body kissing the floor, darkness slowly claiming her. Hermione smiled weakly, eyes not seeing anything. The chaos in her mind started to fade away, as did her consciousness.
Hermione knew that song.
Kumbaya my Lord, kumbaya.
That was the song her father used to sing for her when the thunderstorms paid a visit and she could not sleep.
Kumbaya my Lord, kumbaya.
That was the song she had to sing with the rest of her class as part of their Grade One presentation during a fete.
Kumbaya my Lord, kumbaya.
That was the song that was sung at the campfire every year, when she had to go to the school camp because it was mandatory but she was so alone and friendless.
Oh Lord, kumbaya.
But the person who was humming the tune right now hummed it gently, carefully. As if it was a masterpiece that demanded reverence. It was soothing, it was calming.
Hermione felt herself floating in the darkness, higher and higher until she could see a million stars, twinkling gently for her, enveloping her in their warmth. Below her, she could still feel the icy cold breeze of the darkness, with the familiar maniacal laughter echoing faintly. But above her, the stars beckoned, promising a moment of relief.
Someone's crying Lord, kumbaya.
Hermione felt a tear dropped from her eye. She raised her left hand, trying to reach the stars.
Someone's crying Lord, kumbaya.
Hermione felt herself being lifted higher, getting closer to the twinkling lights. By now, tears were flowing freely, as if she was trying to wet the earth below.
Someone's crying Lord, kumbaya.
Hermione sobbed. She kept on floating higher and higher, and while the stars seemed to be getting nearer, they were still far, far away.
Oh Lord, kumbaya.
"This is not fair!" she yelled at the skies, at the stars, at the heavenly bodies above. She only wanted a brief respite, but even that she was denied.
"Hermione!"
"Not fair!"
"Hermione!"
Hermione opened her eyes and looked straight into a set of deep blue eyes, filled with warmth, kindness, worry, and that blasted acceptance.
"Hermione, you're safe here with me," Fleur said gently, cupping the brunette's wet cheeks with her hands.
"It's not fair," Hermione repeated in a whisper, tears rolling.
Fleur said nothing and instead, gathered Hermione in her arms and started rocking their bodies, letting the brunette cry. Hermione did not know how long she cried or how loud was her wail, but she cried her years of frustration, despair, and pain.
"How's the weather like?" asked Hermione after a while.
Fleur did not answer. The next thing Hermione knew, she was being carried in Fleur's arms and they were walking outside.
"I can walk, Fleur."
Fleur just gave her a gentle smile. The blonde stepped onto the raft and they were slowly moving toward the middle of the lake.
"Non-verbal and wandless spells?" Hermione was surprised.
"I've managed to impress you, it seems," Fleur's eyes were dancing.
Hermione blushed and took refuge in the crook of Fleur's neck.
Somehow, Fleur managed to keep the rudimentary raft afloat, with the both of them lying side by side on a mattress, covered with a blanket. Hermione wanted to protest for the sake of protesting, but was too tired to do so. She did not resist when Fleur rested Hermione's head on the blonde's chest.
Hermione stared at the skies above, with a million stars scattered throughout, twinkling gently, as if welcoming her. She closed her eyes, feeling exhausted. Fleur started humming softly, the tunes unfamiliar to Hermione. The brunette felt herself relaxing and she crossed one arm over the blonde.
"Don't leave," she whispered.
"I never intended to," replied Fleur.
For the first time in so long, Hermione slept peacefully. The voices were still there, but Fleur's humming kept them at bay.