what've I gotta do to make you love me..?
what've I gotta do to make you care…?
what do I do when lightning strikes me..
and I wake to find that you're not there..?
what've I gotta do to make you want me...?
what've I gotta to do be heard..?
it's sad.. so sad. it's a sad, sad situation..
and it's getting more and more absurd…
it's sad…so sad… why can't we talk it over?
oh, it seems to me..
~Sorry Seems to Be the Hardest Word by Leona Lewis (Elton John, really…)
xvi. i'm sorry
"Fleur…how come you look kind of sad sometimes?" asked a seven-year-old Draco while he and his friend sat in his room that night. "You're okay when it's just us but sometimes not."
"A lot 'as 'appened to me," sighed a nine-year-old Fleur. "Lucius is…"
"Go on, you can tell me," Draco said encouragingly, "sometimes he's not all that good. He does bad things, I know. He brought you here but he or Mother won't tell me why."
Fleur began to fidget with the ivory-coloured carpet that she and Draco were both sitting upon. The large window in the room helped to reveal a fair bit of moonlight to shine on their blond heads, Fleur's of course shimmering more so than her friend's. Draco's room was one he shared with Fleur as he knew she had trouble sleeping alone in her own – her nightmares plagued her incessantly and he didn't know why. Draco demanded that her bed be moved into his room, and his wishes were granted. Their room was stately for a child's room, but one fit for a Malfoy and his play mate – Malfoy embroideries and crests formed patterns on the grey walls, and shelves and shelves of books on magical control and victimisation, as well as French and Veela heritage. Draco and Fleur both frequented the books, the former as per demand of Lucius daily along with her training.
Her clothes were of that of a Princess, almost – Lucius and Narcissa made a point to ingrain in her head that she was royalty. A purple blouse and regal black pants adorned her petite, yet well-fed and growing figure. Her eyes were cast downward to her small hand with fingernails growing that she had no means to trim. Draco began to poke and pull interestedly at her half-inch fingernails, and Fleur allowed herself a small giggle – Draco was always interested in her nails and hands. He had laughed upon discovering that she was left-handed, unlike him. Draco teased her playfully about his being ambidextrous, and even challenged her to sometimes complete their studies with her right hand. She always failed every time and Draco would always laugh good humouredly.
"Aww come on, Fleur!" Draco pressed. "I'm your friend. You've been here with us for almost a year. You're turning ten next week! I think you're grown up enough to not be afraid to tell me things. And I think you owe me – I help you with English. A little.."
"Fine… Fine." Fleur sighed once more and continued to let the boy play with her nails. "You know Lucius is a Deazzeater, non?"
"Yes, I know." Draco nodded earnestly and looked up at her with curious eyes. "He tells me I will be one once I'm sixteen. Maybe. But what does that have to do with you?"
"Ze reason why I always stay 'ere is because… I am not 'aving a family any longer. Zey are dead…all dead… Lucius… 'e made me kill my parents… but my sister.. My sister…"
"What happened to your sister…?" Draco looked at Fleur sadly, though Fleur herself looked rather hardened instead of emotional.
"Lucius placed me under ze Imperius Curse and 'ad me torture my parents and sister, zen kill my parents.. but ze Curse stopped working right after zat… My sister was just a baby, too weak to get away, and I 'urt 'er too much for any 'ope of fixing 'er. Fixing…err… curing? I do not know.. 'ow do you say – she would not 'ave made it even if I tried to escape wiz 'er."
"I get it.. So… You killed her…?"
"Oui.. of my own choice… from zen on I just… I vowed to make up for my sins. I don't deserve to be 'appy, Draco.. I don't…"
"Fleur…"
"Non… I feel so 'orrible. I do not even deserve to keep living myself. I miss zem.. I miss Gabrielle ze most.. but 'ere I am not allowed to miss zem. I continue wiz my training zat I do not know why I am 'aving. Studying and learning more 'elps me forget, but even zen I feel bad for… for distracting?"
"Distracting? What does that mean?" Draco looked baffled.
"Mmm I am not sure." Fleur smiled ruefully at the poor boy. "My English still needs work."
"Mon anglais c'est parfait," said Draco pompously. Fleur giggled.
"Yes your English iz almost perfect."
"Mother says you're perfect," Draco said with a perplexed frown. Fleur shrugged.
"Per'aps she means my 'eritage."
"You're a Veela."
"Part. Un quart."
"Right, right. A quarter. But still enough to transform, right? Just like we read the other day?"
"Oui. Only if I get très frustrée. Ozzer zan zat, no."
"I think you should try! Right now! They looked kind of cool in the books."
"I don't zink so, Draco." Fleur smiled and shook her head at his pouting. "I still don't know very much about being a Veela. Maman was supposed to…teach more. But zat will never get to 'appen now.."
"Oh.. well you can always learn! We are now, aren't we?"
"We are. But there are zings zat we 'ave not found out yet. Like love."
"Ohh well you'll be an expert at it, don't worry."
"I don't care much for it."
"Yeah, me neither. Father says to not bother until after I finish school. I won't meet anyone worthy until…then…"
"What? Why do you give me zat look?"
"Will it ever be possible for us to love each other? You know, like how adults do with each other."
"Mmm…non, I do not zink so. You are just a little boy, after all."
"Well I won't be for long!" Draco sneered playfully and Fleur nodded.
"Zis is true."
"How about this…" Draco leaned in as if he was telling a big secret and Fleur moved closer as well, giggling a little at the glow about his face. "After we graduate from Hogwarts, I'll ask you to marry me."
"Marry me, hm?" Fleur raised her right eyebrow and giggled and Draco nodded.
"Yeah! Then we can move to France and figure out why the grown ups like each other so much. Until then I'll threaten anyone who even thinks of asking you out, 'cause you're mine."
"We'll see about zat, Draco," Fleur said thoughtfully.
"Yeah, we will once we graduate. I won't forget and you'd better not either."
"We'll see," Fleur repeated in a breezy tone. Draco smirked at her.
"Until then, we'll be together though. Best friends."
"Best friends," Fleur nodded.
"Stick with each other no matter what!"
"No matter what," Fleur nodded once more.
"Good! If anyone tries to take you away from me I'll make them miserable. Got that, Fleur?"
"Oui. But I 'ave a question."
"What is it?"
"What 'appens if I lose control like Lucius is afraid I will do? 'E says 'e trains me wiz ze Curse because it is essential zat I learn ze skill to 'elp control my zrall."
"Even if it's a really big problem then I'll stick with you of course! Why wouldn't I? Besides, if you ever become the next You-Know-Who then we can rule the world together or something."
"Mmm…if you insist."
"That's right!" Draco beamed before yawning widely. "Then we can kill all the Mudbloods and half-breeds and blood traitors in the world…"
"Why would we do zat?"
"Because they're filth," Draco said simply while his eyes began to droop. Fleur winced at him, wondering if he knew that Voldemort wanted her kind killed because they were supposedly filth to him. She herself was a half-breed…
"Why are zey so dirty?"
"Purebloods are pure for a reason. We're the best… everyone else doesn't deserve to live… they're underneath…us… Stay away from them and stick with me… Promise..?"
Draco never did hear if Fleur promised or not; he promptly fell asleep in her arms. Fleur held him loosely and looked down at him, wondering why his innocent mind had to have been tainted at all. There were so many things in the world that she did not understand, and Draco's dichotomy was certainly one of them. The reason why one's blood determined whether or not they were a good enough person fit to live was also something that frustrated her – who had the right to even decide that? Why was it even an issue to begin with?
But Fleur didn't have the courage to ever speak her mind about these matters. The Malfoys would only become angry if she did. She was frightened by the prospect of being left alone, however alone she was in her own world. Her fears, on top of her nagging experience last year, began to mould that night into an invisible muffler over her mouth to keep herself silenced. Since she feared saying the wrong thing, the best solution was to simply not say anything at all. Fleur would learn to study, to watch, to observe more – figure out answers on her own and dissect them on her own accord. No one was interested in what she had to offer or even what she believed. A part of her felt somewhat dehumanised, in a way, for all that had happened to her. Even a simple disregard from her best friend that wanted to marry her in eleven years.
Well, all she would have to do was disregard her early proposal and go about living her own life, keeping him and everyone else at a safe enough distance. Draco never would have imagined that he was the source of her silence and future aloofness, not necessarily her traumas.
"Wand at the ready, Fleur," said Lucius while he stood before her in the parlour, Draco sitting and watching attentively on the couch while he kicked his legs about absently. "We haven't touched on your Occlumency in quite a while. It's time for a bit of a brush up, just to make sure you are up to par."
Fleur nodded and gripped her wand in her hand to ready herself for the onslaught of mental penetration, but Lucius stopped mid-raise of his wand. There was an incessant knocking at the door. Lucius grumbled and motioned for the children to wait while he went to go answer it. Draco had a mischievous glint in his eyes while he watched his Father go, and he immediately bounded off the couch and took Fleur gently by the arm to go eavesdrop. Fleur followed after him silently, and Draco had the gall to actually have them stand directly behind Lucius while they observed him talking to a Ministry Official.
"Good day, Mr. Malfoy," said Kingsley Shacklebolt. Lucius nodded curtly.
"Good day to you too, Shacklebolt. What brings you here?"
"There are quite a few people searching for the whereabouts of a child. A young girl, about ten years old. I have information that she may be in Wizarding London and I was simply wondering if you'd stumbled upon her."
"Why no," lied Lucius, "I'm afraid I haven't stumbled upon any young girls."
"You are sure?"
"Quite." Lucius pursed his lips while Kingsley looked over his head, attempting to get a better look inside.
"Is your wife in?"
"No, I'm afraid not. However, I am certain that she has not seen any young girls wandering about recently."
"Not even any young girls in general?" Kingsley asked with a raise of an eyebrow. Lucius's mouth thinned even more.
"I assure you she hasn't. Nor have I."
"Do you mind if I come inside? It's rather hot out today."
"You do not have a warrant, Shacklebolt," Lucius said sharply. "Even so, you've no adequate justification for obtaining one. You asked me your questions pertaining to this girl and I answered them. Now please leave the premises before I have action taken to help you along with that."
"You seem quite defensive for one who has merely answered my questions truthfully," Kingsley chuckled. Lucius fought back a scathing remark. "However, I'm sure she may simply turn up elsewhere. Do let me know if you hear anything."
"Of course," Lucius said dryly. "Good day, Shacklebolt."
"A very good one indeed, Mr. Malfoy. A good one indeed."
Kingsley promptly Disapparated. Lucius swore under his breath and was about to close the door until he saw his wife coming down the pathway. He soured at her when all she did was shrug and shake her head, not noticing a curious head poke out from the door somewhere around his waist. Fleur continued to walk out the door, amid Narcissa's widening eyes and Lucius's look of confusion at his wife's seemingly random and out of place surprise. Draco followed right after his friend, also looking on in great interest what it was that was holding Fleur's attention so intently.
Fleur was walking outside, trying to get a better look at a beautiful white flower that was by the pathway. It was a datura meteloides, she recalled, from reading a rather large book of Botany that Draco insisted she read upon finding out the meaning of her name. She stopped abruptly, however, and snapped out of her near drugged fascination when Narcissa stepped on the flower and stopped in horror that Fleur had fully stepped outside. Lucius was about to shout in rage but a Muggle saw her, recognising her from a Lost poster that the Ministry had tactfully placed about the city.
And it was Muggle Social Workers that soon arrived on the scene, that took her away, that removed her from that house and from her only friend. They placed her in their orphanage while Lucius worked strings in the Ministry to keep her identity hidden as much as possible. He could not have her back, so he figured that hiding her from the world was best. Hiding from her from the world and only further secluding her.
Nearly five years passed during which Fleur easily became accustomed to the solitude that was the damp and dreary building in the heart of Muggle London. She stayed holed up in her room and read her textbooks and practised her magic alone. If she was not studying or practising, she snuck out to the Leaky Cauldron just blocks away, Disillusioned of course, and went to Diagon Alley to either buy more sources of studying and practise or explore as much of Paris that she possibly could as a fourteen-year-old. Whenever prospective parents did come to visit the orphanage, Fleur kept inside and refused any requests of going to join the other children in her age group.
The only time she did wander about the building was if she was taking a few hours of a break from her studies. It was amusing to her, to walk about the Common Room they had and watch their sickened stares and even some mixed with oozes of desire and fear. They all watched her strut throughout the incredibly large room, watching the younger children play with their toys before finally noticing her. She was one of the oldest still in the orphanage, and everyone wondered and wondered why no one had yet adopted her; she was just so beautiful. Beautiful, but still so dangerously mysterious and aloof for reasons that none of them could ever have the authority or maturity to grasp and pin down with words. She often threatened them with a wooden stick if they approached her. She often chuckled deeply at their fear and surmised that she was just a horrible bully.
Fleur found her amusement in the smallest of things and took pride in them. She didn't care if she was subtly being mean to them all or even making them cry all the time – they were all weak and underneath her. She understood what Draco had meant about blood status, now, and even though she remembered how hurt she was by his words, she continued to play her role accordingly anyway. It was her only source of entertainment, after all. And after years of the concept of Fleur gets what Fleur wants, she'd begun to disregard how the children felt whenever they were subject to her sneers and silent belittlement. She never said a word to them – simply her presence was enough.
Any notion of the innocent Fleur she once was with her family, the loving sister she was, the nearly perfect daughter she was, or even the one that was supposedly supposed to follow society's orders and marry a man – this Fleur never existed to her. The Fleur that studied incessantly and began to soak up oceans and oceans of knowledge faster and faster and with more and more pretention day after day – this was who she was. A casual rebel, a perfectionist in her own world of high fashion and intimidating poise, one not always looking but simply always stumbling upon ways to go beyond the norm – this was who she'd grown to become. And she silently dared anyone to stand up against her or try to prove her wrong with just a genuine look of boredom and disinterest with them.
Finding a way to cripple anyone who did would be even better, but Fleur hadn't the time to even bother herself with such things.
Hermione walked through the corridors down to the dungeons, barely feeling her body on top of her legs as she did so. Silent rivulets fell down her cheeks as she continued to hover about the halls, not even stepping loudly enough for her footsteps to echo in the desolate castle. Portraits were destroyed, entire walls were blasted away, rubble lay upon the ground and she nearly tripped over several chunks of stone in her distracted state of mind. She wrapped her arms around her waist, feeling her slightly ripped robes underneath her trembling hands while she continued to lose more and more strength still as she turned her walk into a pathetic shuffle as she continued on, somehow.
Fleur's screams, the horribly cut off view of her transformed body, and even the tiny bit that she did see continued to reel and reel in her tired mind, nearly gouging her brain out while her head throbbed painfully at the echoing recollections. She didn't have the strength to go find Harry and the others to go cry on them or even make sure if they were all right. Draco was still in the Hospital Wing, alone, suffering from a mild bout of shock while the adults were holed up in the Headmaster's office, wasting time debating about what to do instead of just taking action.
The Slytherins all left with Fleur and her followers, even many Hufflepuffs, Ravenclaws and Gryffindors having done so as well. It was either that or their families were killed. But Fleur, Voldemort or not, held a scary amount of command and authority amongst the student body and this still hadn't changed. Many Death Eaters were on a killing spree by the bits of information leaked to Hermione while she passed some haggard staff on her way to the dungeons. Some who did not leave with Fleur were killed or simply toyed with. Hermione had no idea what they would have done with her had Draco not gotten her to safety.
But the talk of Fleur being a Sorceress thanks to Hermione…
"Hermione!"
Hermione could only nod feebly while she stepped around a rather large chunk of stone; Harry, Ron and Ginny finally found her. By the sound of something flapping about in Harry's hand, she surmised that he'd found her with the help of his Marauder's Map. They had just reached the dungeons when the three caught up to her, and the portrait leading to the Slytherin Common Room was surprisingly in tact. The woman, Hermione discovered early on, was Victoria, the Roman goddess of victory. Victory…something that seemed quite futile at the moment to Hermione…
"Password?" Victoria sniffed.
"Dies Irae," mumbled Hermione.
Victoria nodded stiffly and muttered something about more Gryffindors soiling the Slytherin dungeons while she allowed the four of them entry. Hermione paid her no mind and shuffled inside with her silent, sombre friends behind her, in the direction of Fleur's quarters. The entire Common Room was still in perfect condition; even the fire was still crackling to offset the damp starkness of the room. Hermione kept her eyes downcast while she reached Fleur's door, reaching a trembling hand out to the handle and unlocking it with her touch before opening it.
Hermione automatically moved to ease herself down to sit on the bed while Ron closed the door behind them. Hermione gestured to the desk and bed and floor around her for them to sit, and Ron brought up the chair from the desk, facing it backwards while he sat on it to face her. Harry and Ginny both sat on the floor, the both of them as well as Ron looking at her sadly. Hermione swallowed a horrible lump in her throat that stung and tasted of blood while she looked about the room.
Vestiges of both her and Fleur still lingered strongly throughout. Books were piled neatly on the desk behind Ron, posters of French celebrities still filled the walls, as well as newer number charts, more detailed star charts of the Leo and Virgo constellations, random lists Fleur and Hermione had made together about possible places to seek residence once they decided to move out… The other lists were many and long, and consisted of joking notes for Fleur to keep in mind when it was that time of the month for Hermione, of what they both would like to accomplish before they passed on, even silly, far off things like names for future children were there. They were there, and burned passionately inside of Hermione while she continued to look around. Both she and Fleur were so alike in their organisational minds and skills, but they were vast in their own, intricate ways that left Hermione craving more and more every time she but blinked and missed seeing more of Fleur.
"Hermione…?" Ginny asked timidly. Hermione slowly craned her head and eyesight to her and nodded weakly. "We're sorry… we didn't even know what was going on until…until she left.. Oh…and Colin told us to give these to you…" Ginny reached in her robes pockets and pulled out a multitude of pictures. She handed them to Hermione, who took them but could not look at them. "They're of you and Fleur.. he was going to give them to you as a graduation present, but.."
"Yeah…" said Ron, "and.. well…some of h…some of the Death Eaters stayed around to try and destroy the Gryffindor Tower but McGonagall 'n Lupin fended them off.. But…but Hermione, this isn't your fault.. Don't go thinkin' that.. you'll go mad, you will…"
"He's right," Harry said gently, "and we're here. We can help you. Fleur's important to us too but we know how much she means to you… What do you want to do..?"
Hermione said nothing. Her friends glanced at each other fearfully when she stood and floated over to one of Fleur's many bookcases. She disregarded her friends' words while she searched one row in particular after seeing a strange glint of gold somewhere behind one of the books. She reached behind the thin leather-bound book and retrieved a placard. Rectangular, golden, with ingrained text, mounted on a smooth rectangle of near black mahogany…
Presented To –
Fleur Isabelle Delacour, age eighteen,
On this August seventeenth, nineteen ninety five
Our newly instated member of the Order of the Phoenix
Whose duty it is to uphold and strive for peace and justice
And to protect with strict devotion those dearest to us
Put prejudice and evil aside and reach for the Light
Merlin's Best to you
More understanding flooded Hermione's system while she nearly drowned the placard in her tears. Her hand automatically reached out to retrieve the out of place chocolate brown leather-bound book, which was in fact a journal. She shuffled back over to the bed and sat, holding both in her arms and fearing she would soon cry all of the water out of her system at this point while her friends continued to look up at her. It took a good ounce of her willpower to loosen her arms and hand the placard to Harry with a shaky hand. He took it from her carefully, and the three of them also seemed to understand a great deal while Hermione busied herself with opening the journal.
She finally did manage to open it and discovered that it was completely empty save for the first page, front only. The page had some sort of pouch sewed in at the very bottom, but she disregarded it for the moment while she flipped back to the first page. Hermione laughed dryly at the date – this was written just on the twenty sixth of that month, just days earlier. She read aloud what was written as she read, though her voice was weak, ebbing and flowing with the current of her emotions and resolve while she readily drank Fleur's lovely handwriting; it was in the shape of ribbons, it seemed. Long, flowing S's and F's, almost loops for E's, underscore I's that were never dotted, double T's crossed with the same line, and profound capital H's that were the start of Hermione's name spread like wildfire throughout the pages…
"My love is a fever.. longing still, for that which nurses the disease; feeding on that which preserves the ill, the confusing sickly want to please. My reason, the physician to my love, angry that his prescriptions are not kept, has left me, and I now desperately prove that desire is death, which physic could not do.
"Past cure, I am, and I care not. I am frantic…mad…with evermore unrest; my thoughts and words are madmen's, they are random and truth is vainly expressed. For I have sworn Hermione fair, and know her bright – she is my stubborn, scowling angel and will forever be my…Light..
"Or just an angry angel, so says Fred. Or George… I can never remember who is who. There is something…fulfilling about this situation we're in right now. Hermione is always angry at me…angry at something I can't control. I keep hearing voices… voices saying that I can have the power to make it all stop… I can have the power to make her my Queen and sell her my soul and bring the very universe to her feet..
"Would Hermione still love me if I did seize this power I'm supposedly to inherit…? Aspire to whatever greatness it is I am supposed to achieve according to Lucius Dearest.. But love is not love that alters when it alterations finds, is it not..? If she doesn't love me anymore after that then she never loved me to begin with… Oh, no.. love is an ever-fixed mark that looks on tempests and is never shaken, right? It is the star to every wanderer…whose worth's unknown, although his height can be taken.
"I can say that I love her more than anything I have ever loved.. but I can't measure that. I don't want to… Death…is inevitable…as is the passing of beauty.. but love is not subject to change – only growth… I know my love is ever growing, never slowing; Hermione always yanks me up and rips me back down in chains to her, making me beg to her, pleading to make the pain go away… she doesn't like me this way. She hates me… She's told me too many times to get away from her when all I want is her…
"But love bears everything out, even to the edge of doom… she still loves me; she hasn't left me, though she's always pushing me away.. She hasn't left me because she still loves me and she's trying… God she loves me… maybe I should take this power. Maybe I should seize it. Maybe I should make it so that I can easily give her anything she wants, build her a throne atop the highest cloud and make her a new universe, just for her, on her new place in heaven. I want her to sit beautifully, flaunt her power with her majestic grace, and watch her creation, my hopelessly lovesick self, be her pawn. Her knight, her Light, her everything, most especially…at night…
"She would still love me…wouldn't she..? She would… if not, then she never really loved me and no one ever will… if this is an error, and I'm proved wrong…then let it be truth that I've never written or uttered such praise for her. Let it be truth that no one has ever loved if I'm wrong about this… And let this sickening, feverish passion I have for her die….die before swaying like a willowy wisp in the wind before her so that she can blow me out… at least give me that much..
"But if the day comes that I find that I am right…or really, just on Christmas this year the day before our anniversary… I will get down on bended knee with her atop that highest cloud, wherever it may be, and ask her…to… to m-marry…me… I will ask her with this ring I found in Tiffany's in Paris just a few weeks ago and had it c-customised… maybe… m-maybe h-hopefully b-by then I'll have c-calmed down… M-maybe a-after we get married we c-can put that list of b-baby n-names to use… Th-there's a wonderful store in Paris th-that will suit our needs… until th-then, let m-me keep l-loving her w-with all I have… l-let me h-have the strength to give… give Hermione, Hermione, and only Hermione a-absolutely everything I have to give and everything I d-don't have but s-still want to give… And hope that w-we both live to see another day.."
Hermione braved reaching inside the pouch with shaky digits, and her thumb and index finger wrapped around a folded piece of parchment. There was another item inside but she chose to discover what the parchment was of first. She opened it and found a decently-sized sheet with Fleur's handwriting on it again. It seemed to be several months old compared to the creases and how dark it was in comparison to the parchment in the journal.
And once Hermione realised what it was…
"I-it's her will… B-basically giving everything to.. to me… Telling me where t-to find her key t-to her v-vault in Gringotts…"
Hermione sat in a silent shock for a moment before reaching in the pouch once more, unsure as to whether she was ready to let the new information sink in quite yet. She felt a cool band and gently eased it out, feeling her anxiety grow more and more until she finally did pull it out. Harry, Ron and were near tears, Ginny actually crying herself now that Hermione had pulled the ring out. The four of them nearly lost their breaths while they took in the sight of first the chocolate brown band, and then the sizable black diamond on top.. Hermione nearly dropped the precious jewel while she turned it to inspect what she surmised was text ingrained on the bottom.
"Scowl & Sneer, it s-says… oh my God… oh my God.."
Heat flushed to Hermione's face immediately while she clasped the ring in her trembling hand and held the journal close while she slowly sunk to the floor. Ron quickly moved to pick up Noel from his place on the pillow and hand it to Hermione before moving to hold her, Harry and Ginny soon doing so as well. A very long time passed that Hermione could only sit in their arms and cry, nearly screaming and thrashing around at times while she held the ring and the journal and the pictures and Noel. The screams, the screams, the damned screams continued to echo in her mind and reflect right on her throat while she ripped them out, still wailing and sobbing and howling to the point of nearly cracking her ribs and lungs from a terrible lack of breathing.
Too much of a good thing had led to this… Fleur fell and only continued to fall and fall and fall in love more and more and more with Hermione, letting her barriers down so much to the point of insanity with the soul of a wicked, wicked man inside of her… At the top of her lungs, and in Hermione's arms she felt a part of her just…die… Maybe even a part of Fleur. Fixing the situation was nigh impossible; she couldn't defeat Fleur and Voldemort… Possession was impossible to fight, Fleur was just as impossible – but her love and the tears and the screaming were even worse…
But even if Fleur did allow this to happen because of a loss of control and because she wanted to make Hermione her Queen…it didn't matter.. Hermione still loved her, and she knew that Fleur still loved her as well. That did help to stop the tears after nearly hours, but Fleur's smiles and words and laughter and screams still rang so much within that she just wanted it to all stop… A simple sorry wasn't even enough, no matter how much she had to, wanted, needed to apologise…
Guilt wasn't even a good enough word to describe the feeling, though the word itself was its very definition. That didn't seem to matter; reality had altered itself and Hermione could not, would not, did not want to handle it.
Days passed and Hermione could do nothing but sit within herself. The staff refused to let students out, though Hermione knew well enough that there were plenty of hidden passageways to sneak out to Hogsmeade if need be. Sleeping was difficult for everyone – not knowing whether the one they all looked up to would be back to kill them in their sleep or not was pure torture. But for Hermione, Fleur's screams continued to plague her, night or day, so there really wasn't too much of an issue…
The Ministry had fallen easily according to what Hermione had heard through the grapevine. Classes were of course cancelled, the library was in shambles; it seemed as if every single area but the Slytherin dungeons were nearly destroyed. But Hermione found one more place that was in tact, and she was enjoying its solitude that night, locked away from the rest of the castle, at least for the time being.
Hermione was sitting in the bath in the Prefects' Bathrooms as she couldn't bear to bathe in their room. All she'd been wearing that entire week was their outfit. She was tired of speculating with the remaining survivors, a good forty or so students, who were surprisingly not angry with her or Fleur. They'd been meeting in the Great Hall that was soon repaired for at least having meals, and all were expecting Hermione to take charge and go after her woman. This was quite hard to do, considering that Fleur was now far more powerful than anyone, possibly even Dumbledore, and this was not exactly a positive sign that they ought to go meddling at the Ministry of Magic.
The only Slytherin that remained, Draco, did listen to their banter but was very silent. Even in slightly less than a week, he seemed to have thinned considerably and did not even bother to groom his hair with as much care anymore – a surprising feat for the boy. Hermione was extremely unsure as to whether to speak to him or not. Harry had told her to simply give him time, but time was of the essence and they had it not. All the adults in Hogwarts and the Order were still cooped up in Dumbledore's office, bickering like children instead of doing anything.
Fleur was apparently sitting at the Ministry and biding her time for reasons unknown; even the Death Eaters stopped their casual killings. The Minister of Magic had been killed, nearly ever Auror was either being held captive or dead, other Ministry workers were hiding at home if not also held captive or dead... it was all a mess. A big, big horrible mess that no one had any idea how to fix. It had nothing to do with Harry anymore – it was all her. Putting the entire weight on her shoulders made her feel like Atlas, but for good reason, she supposed… But, according to Fleur one night last month, she could handle it.
Though it was extremely hard to swallow, Hermione knew she could…
After yet another bout of confusing behaviour, Hermione had left Fleur to go to her chambers alone and think on the matter. Fleur was in a foetal position on her bed, rocking herself back and forth while she had to keep from crying with Noel in her arms. She questioned her strength and will of character that Hermione supposedly admired so much in her. She questioned nearly everything that night while she continued to sit within herself and wonder and wonder why there were so many loud hissing voices speaking to her.
Fleur pushed the voices to the back of her mind and focused on the nearer danger that she was clearly hurting Hermione so. She promised not to… they promised to not hurt each other. And yet here they were, separated for the evening because Fleur could not control herself. But whenever Hermione was around, and they were outside, she felt so much freer; the castle walls and all of its Charms and Enchantments had no hold on her, no restrictions on her passions and longings. But Hermione still wasn't ready…
Had Fleur not been experiencing such odd shifts in personality, Hermione would have been ready by now. But when Fleur was 'sober', she wasn't concerned about sex. She was perfectly fine letting Hermione drive the current and steam their relationship in whichever direction she choose. Hermione had the control, not her. Hermione was the one who had the first and final say in anything and everything in Fleur's life, and Fleur knew she didn't want it any other way.
But why did it hurt so much? Why did it hurt when Hermione pushed her away every single time she crawled to her, begging for sex? Did it hurt because now she was aware of what was going on with herself whenever the shifts would happen? Or did it hurt because Hermione didn't want to trust this bizarre Fleur? Or maybe it hurt just because she knew she was hurting Hermione so… But Hermione never showed any signs of being hurt – she would always just scowl. And Fleur would just continue to sneer as if she enjoyed Hermione's playing hard to get, even though she knew she didn't… She didn't…
Hermione was too stubborn to give Fleur what she really wanted, no matter what it was. And the best part was that Fleur knew Hermione was quite aware of every single thing it was that she wanted. The absence, especially now, along with the torrents of confusion within sent annoying stings to her eyes and made her sob. The only times in the past year when she'd cried was over Hermione, and confusion over Hermione's actions, or just Hermione. Because even being separated during class time was hard. Because being separated now was the hardest – because Hermione had told her to get away from her. She did understand that it was a disease of her love but Hermione still felt wholly uncomfortable with it. Fleur despised herself for hurting her but knew she couldn't fight it, or the tears…or the thrashing and screaming and frustration and complaining to no one that Hermione was simply too much for even her…
And when she tossed around to face the other direction, her heart nearly jumped straight out of her chest when she saw Hermione sitting on the floor just at her bedside against the nightstand, hugging her knees to her chest while she sat in her black dressing gown. Fleur didn't even have to ask – of course Hermione heard everything. Of course she felt horrible, even if all she was doing was sitting there and staring passively ahead. Fleur hated the audacity she had for being so composed and calm all the time, unlike her. Unlike her who used to have control and power and dignity – with Hermione she did not. With Hermione, those three words only existed for her; not Fleur. Fleur wasn't even allowed certain words in their relationship. Pathetic!
Fleur promptly sat up and threw a sobbed on Noel at Hermione's head and shouted obscenities and many an explicative when Hermione didn't even so much as blink. Hermione sighed through Fleur's near endless tirade and picked up poor Noel from the floor before she stood to place him on the nightstand. Fleur was still shouting and complaining for Hermione to get away from her, but get away from her Hermione did not – Hermione was soon sitting cross-legged upon the bed. She wrapped her arms about Fleur's trembling form, holding her close even with Fleur shouting and crying that she was confused. Confused with Hermione, above all, more so than with herself…
"Why, Hermione?" demanded Fleur. Hermione only rubbed her back in response while Fleur continued to cry against her neck and hit her gently with weak fists. "Why do you turn me into th-this…this THING I can't control? If it's because of love then it doesn't make any sense… Love, sense and sensibility – nothing is right anymore… And you do this to me… And yet I feel the need to apologise, even though this isn't…my fault.. you never do anything wrong, even when all of the accusatory fingers are pointed at you.. but I always cut them off and make it so that people still respect you…even myself… Myself!
"I don't cry! But you have no problem with crying! Now that's all changed… Y-you're just this impenetrable force.. I can't fight you, this thing, or even myself… You, Hermione, are something that I will never understand…an ultimate challenge, or a test, or some skill I will never master despite how great everyone tells me I am. But when I'm faced with you and I can't handle you.. how do you think I feel…? You're so stubborn and bossy and righteous and if you can't figure something out you just scowl at it and move on.. but I can't do that… you can't use logic to figure me out so you almost walked out on me… You're fighting for me…somehow.. you're trying, sitting here…
"But you screamed at me to let you go and disturbed every bird from its tree outside… You shouted at me and brought the heavens down to render me useless while you threatened me with the lightning in your eyes and the thunder in your voice.. You're just this…this force I cannot wrap myself around no matter how tightly I hug you, Hermione. You are some imperturbable rock with a warm heart and a scowl of steel that I can never hope to even touch sometimes…not really… Sometimes I really wonder if I have touched you at all…because you've done more than touch me.
"You've raped my insides and that's what drives me to almost want to rape you when I lose it… but I can't even touch you… I never have and I never will… you're just a ghost, a phantom of the woman I want but can never ever have at this point.. and yet I still love you. I love you, I love you, I love you…"
Hermione had no more room for tears anymore, however much she wanted to cry. What she wanted was Fleur who was not around to satisfy her… She nearly felt sick from the arousal but she knew she could not help herself. Even now, with her sitting in the large bath, alone in the locked loo, wearing absolutely nothing but her ring…she began to wonder if the arousal was really such a bad thing. Considering how Fleur had given her the first taste of release, however small it was, the recollection sent her soaring and she couldn't even bite back the frustrated moan that left her throat that was parched for Fleur..
The water amid her legs suddenly felt much…warmer. There were rusty chains choking her lungs, almost, from how shallow and almost painful her breaths were because she knew she needed something but Fleur was not there to help her figure anything out. Fleur this and Fleur that enveloped her, ripping her insides apart with guilt that she was actually craving such a thing at such a time and yet sewing her back together with enough arousal for Fleur to make her writhe and groan lightly. And this she did do while she let out a breath and closed her eyes, almost painfully, while she let her left hand with her ring move down, spreading her legs like a butterfly as she did.
Hermione sighed, damning herself for feeling overwhelmed and not worrying relentlessly about the entire situation, and instead forgetting about everything except for the real Fleur. The real Fleur whose allure fluttered throughout Hermione, speeding through her with a chocolate scent, burning her, lifting her up and throwing her down over and over again that she hissed when her lone finger found herself. A groan escaped her pained throat, knowing full and well that she felt perfectly comfortable with this, imagining Fleur's finger there instead of her own.
Fleur's name escaped Hermione's mouth in breaths and murmurs, at first, while she kept a finger on a sensitive mound. She was convinced that it was Fleur's hand by now, imagining Fleur's gentle teeth nibbling on her ear and beckoning her to move up her finger up and down, which Hermione did. Fleur's sweet breath, Fleur's tender words, Fleur's dark, lustrous, sinful sexy eyes; they all belonged there, with her… Though a small part of her felt horrible for trying to rub the pain away with her finger, for taking the task away that which only, solely, and wholly belonged to Fleur; her love, her Fleur, her everything…
Somehow Hermione felt as if she deserved such a fate. She deserved to feel her body jerk about ever so slightly, but dangerously enough and with feelings so foreign and fanciful – this wordless punishment was what she deserved. Fleur's sneer, her aloofness, her blizzards for eyes, her ever freezing and immobilising passion for her kept spinning in her thoughts, making Hermione continue to move her finger up and down on the same spot, and all the while she continued to castigate herself for everything. She knew that her quiet whining wasn't enough, but it was all she could do. It was all she could do…
Jolts ensued in between her legs, and her finger seemingly sped up on its own accord despite her weary hand. Her thumb had moved to put pressure on her skin and to hold her hand in place, her hand that she was convinced belonged to Fleur, moving it up and down on the same spot over and over and over, faster and faster and faster, harder, harder harder harder harder… Inexperience was not a barrier and nor was Fleur's absence – her imagination helped her to get rid of everything and to only focus on her whimpering Fleur's name to get off even more because she knew she needed to forget, at least for now. Just get there now, atop that cloud, and find Fleur again, hopefully… Hopefully…
Whimpering softly to the empty loo could never express how sorry she was for everything. How sorry she was to have made Fleur cry so many times, to have broken her promises, to have been so absurdly selfish… Hermione had no idea who she was at the moment but she had nothing on her mind except for the sounds she was uttering that she knew would make Fleur blush delightedly and urge her more. Even though the water, she could get a decent fill of her scent, urging her further… She had no idea if Fleur would ever help her with this, truly, but she still continued to plead anyway. Please, Fleur…please, please, please…
The jolts and spasms were never-ending, and the pressure building just underneath her hand were maddening. Her hand was almost vibrating in between her legs, and Hermione could only continue to whimper like a foolish puppy, breathing and panting Fleur's name, keeping her eyes shut to fantasise and just feel.. Seeing Fleur's satisfaction, her arousal, her pleasure, her absolute satisfaction at seeing her like this… The sounds escalated, louder still, and her thighs began to shiver and tremble slightly, more and more from the building tension. Hermione almost began to cry and wail like the baby she was for Fleur, still damning herself for the pleasure but knowing she needed it… It felt so good, but Fleur wasn't the one making her feel this way…not really… Would she ever..?
The guilt just made everything feel better. The climax finally began, and it continued, while Hermione continued to run through all of the promises she knew she couldn't keep to Fleur. She should have been at her side, not trying to fight against her… but she couldn't just get her back on her good side by begging on her knees, despite how hard and loud she was moaning right that second..
A gentle haze began to settle throughout and overtake her right when she focused on her ministrations and how beautiful Fleur was. Hermione's sobs soon began to become as guttural as her cries, and the last utterance of Fleur's name helped an orgasm blow, and she felt a generous seep from in between her legs while her body convulsed; she shut her eyes even more and continued to whimper helplessly, from being subjected to the short-lived pleasure, and she knew she loved it. From all the times Fleur told her she'd love to watch Hermione masturbate, Hermione herself knew that she wanted to see what the big deal was…
And she did…she did..
But Fleur was not there to watch Hermione lean back against the bath and bask in her orgasm lazily floating through her. Hermione could only imagine Fleur's delighted purrs and accented murmurs of approval for being more in-tune with herself sexually.
"Was it really that good?"
Hermione shouted incoherently and ducked for cover as soon as she heard another person's voice in the room. The person merely hummed their way over to the bath while Hermione hid herself from the neck down under the water, cursing herself for being so loud and neglecting the possibility of anyone coming in. And when she realised who it was that was walking towards the bath with a blue towel wrapped about her body, Hermione had to keep from shouting any more than her indignation.
"Luna?"
"Yes, it's just me. How are you, Hermione?" Luna asked calmly while she sat down at the bath and dipped her legs in the water. When Hermione merely glared at her and blushed furiously, Luna continued on, "Oh you're doing quite well? That's wonderful. It really is a dreadful time we're in."
"Dreadful," Hermione deadpanned, "it's more than dreadful, Luna."
"I suppose a good feel helps to wash it all away," mused Luna. Hermione scowled and blushed even more. "I'm not disgusted or anything, you know. It's perfectly natural."
"I… I know but it's also a little more comforting knowing that I didn't have someone spying on me."
"I'm a Prefect too, you know," Luna argued good naturedly. "Besides, I wouldn't worry yourself about it. I know it is taboo to even think that women do such things, but it really shouldn't be. There's nothing wrong with it. And if it makes you feel any better, I won't tell anyone."
"…thank you."
"Oh, you're quite welcome," Luna smiled, "but you'll drive yourself mad, I think, if you bottle things up, especially right now. I imagine Fleur's having the same issues right now."
"And what makes you think that…?"
"It must be rather self-deprecating to have someone inside of you like that," Luna reasoned. Hermione frowned and Luna shook her head. "Now, now. None of us still here think it's your fault. So Fleur is in the Order of the Phoenix and was holding you at the time. I really think you ought to avoid thinking that just because Fleur fell in love with you that it's made her vulnerable. Because if I'm correct in my sentiments, I have a feeling that something is a little off."
"What do you mean a little off?"
"Well, for one thing, didn't you have a striking recollection of recovering from your Petrification and having felt someone's lips on your face and even your lips?"
"H-how… how do you know about that—"
"And in the next year," Luna continued, "Fleur was looking straight at you while she had that nasty fall of hers."
"W-well… well, yes, she was—"
"And she made sure to take extra care of you while we were in the Department of Mysteries. I don't know, Hermione. I just wouldn't be so quick to assume that her falling in love with you started these chains of events just this year alone."
"But… but she never even cared for me at all before, Luna. She'd never even spare me a second glance whenever I looked at her."
"It's not just boys that take years to really notice people. Fleur's not much of a people person – maybe she just didn't realise that she fancied you until this year, once you were in much closer contact. You're always so quick to judge things and dismiss them if you can't hold out the facts in front of you and pick them apart. Has there ever been a time when you just followed your heart?"
"Yes… of course.. What finally told her that I feel the same way about her was from me following my heart. I kissed her in front of Ron's family, including Ron, and Harry, and… and I wasn't thinking… I was just…feeling…"
"Like just now, I presume," Luna said with a small grin. Hermione blushed again and nodded.
"What's your…point…?"
"The point is," said Luna while she stood up, "you have a heart, memories, and a wonderful possible husband by the looks of that ring I saw on your hand. Even though they're all essentially Fleur…you can use that against her, against You-Know-Who. Do let us know what you decide on. Or at least go see what Professor Dumbledore and the others are so busy having a row about."
"A-all right… Thank you, Luna… even though I'm still thoroughly embarrassed…"
"Oh it's no trouble." Luna beamed at Hermione before making her way out. "You've come a long way since you found her, Hermione. A very long way indeed…"
And with that, Luna exited the loo and Hermione was alone once again. She looked around multiple times just to ascertain herself of this and heaved herself from the bath. She walked over to her towel and dried herself off while she observed Noel sitting on her folded clothes. After drying herself off and sighing, she slipped on her fresh undergarments and the fitting white shirt, black and silver jeans, and old black and white trainers. She picked up Noel and cradled him in her arms, thinking back to when she'd first began to wander the castle with him. Everyone else thought him to be entirely adorable, but she was sure they all questioned why she was subjecting herself to carrying a stuffed animal in her arms about the school like a child.
Luna did help her to stop questioning herself while she left the Prefects' Bathrooms and meandered down the corridors to Dumbledore's office. She had a feeling that Luna may have skipped off to inform her friends that she would indeed be in the Headmaster's office, and wasn't surprised to see Harry, Ron, Ginny, Neville, as well as Luna standing by the statue. Hermione smiled at them and continued on, uttering the password and going up the staircase alone, not feeling nearly as horrible about the situation anymore.
But she knew the worst was yet to come. The only problem was how she would deal with it, if she could, and if she could fix it.