CHAPTER TWO.
It took some time for Hermione to locate Fleur. She searched the twins' bedroom first, finding nothing but several expensive looking suitcases that evidently belonged to the Frenchwoman. Then she searched all the other common spaces in the large stacked house, as well as the immediate outdoors.
After some time, Hermione finally found Fleur outside, lying in the grass at the far end of the grounds, lounging in the late afternoon sun. Hermione didn't even try to hide her annoyance.
"Are we just not going to talk about what's happening?" Hermione asked, irritable after searching for a good half hour in the dry heat.
Fleur was lying on her back, her arms folded over her face to protect her eyes from the glare of the sun. She had worn a tasteful sun dress which had spread out on the grass around her. Her light blonde hair haloed around her head, giving her an almost comically angelic appearance.
"What's to talk about?" Fleur asked imperiously, despite Hermione being the one towering over her. Her accent had evidently lessened in the years since Hermione had last seen her.
Hermione frowned.
"The plan?!" Hermione exclaimed, waving her hands exasperatedly, even though Fleur was not looking at her, "Mrs Weasley said you would tell me all the details."
Fleur let out a long and irritable sigh, not moving her arms from her face.
"What's to know? We get married, we answer any questions your stupid Ministry ask of us, we do our part to defeat the Dark Lord," Fleur replied with very little patience, "After that, we can go our separate ways."
"Yes, but details, Fleur," Hermione pressed, barely restraining herself from using the frustrated tone she usually only reserved for Harry and Ron, "Why? Where do we go after here? What is our role in the war?"
There was a pause so long that Hermione wondered if Fleur had fallen asleep. She watched the slow rise and fall of Fleur's chest as the blonde lay in the grass. Hermione tried not to be hypnotised by the delicate shape of Fleur's collarbones and the swell of her breast.
"You don't need to know why," Fleur said finally, "And the Order have organised a place for us to live after the ceremony. I certainly hope it is better than this place," Fleur added judgmentally.
"I don't need to know why?" Hermione replied testily. If there was one thing she loathed, it was being denied some salient knowledge.
"We don't need to talk excessively," Fleur drawled, finally removing her arms from her face. Her sapphire eyes regarded Hermione with disdain.
"We're going to be married," Hermione deadpanned. She wasn't sure why Fleur was putting up such a wall and being so rude, but it was beginning to piss her off.
Fleur shrugged.
"A sleazy redhead or a frizzy haired know-it-all, makes no difference to me who I marry," Fleur said idly, looking up at the sky, "Talking won't change that."
Maybe it was a day full of being pulled out of her comfort zone, maybe it was the stifling heat causing her tee shirt to feel sticky and uncomfortable… Either way, Hermione found her temper boiling over at Fleur's continued rudeness.
"I'd rather be a frizzy haired know-it-all than the vapid mean girl," Hermione snapped.
It was almost as if Hermione had struck Fleur across the face, though she had merely spoken back. In a blink of an eye, Fleur had leapt from her lounging into a fierce stance, wand withdrawn and aimed at Hermione.
"Vapid?!" Fleur hissed, narrowing her eyes, "You know nothing about me! All you know about is what's written in your stupid textbooks."
Logically, Hermione should have known she had hit some unseen nerve with Fleur. But logic was out the window and her temper was already rising to clash with Fleur's.
"At least I know something," Hermione shot back. An easy insult, Hermione knew she was more intelligent than most people she came across. This seemed to darken Fleur's mood further, her beautiful face twisting into an angry scowl.
"Get away from me before I hex you worse than I hexed Bill," Fleur hissed, her eyes darkening with a danger Hermione hadn't anticipated. Hermione faltered a little, torn between wanting to pull her own wand out or goad Fleur further.
She took a deep breath.
It wasn't worth it.
"Fine," Hermione exhaled through gritted teeth.
She did withdraw her wand as she walked away, however, unsure if she could trust the horrible Frenchwoman from hexing her as her back was turned.
Dinner was an uncomfortable affair. Fleur didn't show. This was probably for the best as Hermione was still in a foul mood following their disastrous conversation.
Arthur Weasley arrived home from work just as the group were sitting down to dinner, mopping his sweaty brow with a handkerchief and throwing himself into a chair beside Hermione.
"Busy day at work?" Hermione asked politely, narrowly avoiding Ron's elbow as he excitedly dived in to grab food.
"You could say that," Arthur said, sighing, "How are you, though, Hermione? Got to know Fleur a little bit?"
"As much as one can through all the rudeness," Hermione half-muttered.
Molly shot Hermione a sympathetic smile over the table.
The table at the Burrow was chipped and pocked, but made of sturdy good wood. It was practically groaning under the enormous amount of food Molly had prepare for them all. Hermione wondered if they would even make their way through a half of what was on offer.
"Don't take it personally," Molly told Hermione kindly, "She's horrid with everyone. Quite the little ice queen."
"Bloody hot though," Ron interjected between a mouthful of potatoes.
"Ronald!" Molly scolded instantly.
Ron at least had the good graces to look sheepish after his mother told him off.
Hermione cleared her throat awkwardly and pushed her stew around on her plate. It was too warm for a heavy, meaty stew anyway. Hermione's stomach felt entirely too restless to eat it.
"You know, Hermione," Arthur said warmly, once the others at the table had resumed less tense conversation, "Fleur might not be the kindest person when you first meet her…"
Arthur paused, chewing on a rather stubborn lump of meat.
"But?" Hermione prompted, curious.
Arthur swallowed with great difficulty, wincing. Hermione wondered distractedly if he enjoyed his wife's cooking.
Arthur pulled out his sopping handkerchief again, this time patting it on the shiny bald patch of his head.
"But— and you'll understand this when you're older— sometimes you need to do things for the greater good," Arthur said kindly, "We all have to make sacrifices when there is a war. Me, I'm working around the clock at the Ministry these days, trying to keep abreast of all the news."
Hermione frowned slightly at her plate. Working slightly longer hours didn't quite seem as difficult as marrying someone you clash terribly with. It didn't quite seem as difficult as Sirius surviving in caves, hiding alone in Grimmauld Place, slayed by Bellatrix Lestrange.
"And we're all very proud of your sacrifice here," Molly added, pointing a butter knife at Hermione from across the table and smiling widely.
As Hermione politely smiled back at the Weasley parents, she couldn't help but notice how their smiles seemed a little too-wide, a little disingenuous. Hermione frowned as she thought about it. It was a bit strange that neither of them seemed concerned about her forgoing her final year of education. Since Ron had told them none of the trio would be attending Hogwarts that year, Hermione hadn't heard Molly or Arthur disagree once.
"Don't you think it's a little appalling that school aged kids are making sacrifices in this war?" Hermione asked suddenly, raising her eyes from her plate. Molly's eyes widened slightly, but whatever fleeting emotion Hermione had seen in them, was quickly hidden again. The Weasley matriarch's smile tightened and she put her fork down loudly.
"You volunteered yourself for this, dear," Molly reminded too-kindly.
Ron paused in his chewing, seeming to recognise the danger in his mother's kind tone. He shot Hermione a warning look from under his floppy hair.
Hermione, heeding Ron's warning, let the topic drop. She was all too aware of what it was like to incur Molly Weasley's wrath, having received insultingly small gifts from her during her Fourth Year. And that was just because of tabloid rumours.
Hermione dropped her gaze back to the pool of gravy sauce on her plate. It was something that had been on her mind more and more. As each year passed, it seemed as if Dumbledore had intended that children, particularly Harry, would fight against Voldemort and the Death Eaters. How had he not known that Quirrell had Voldemort in the back of his head? And yet he let First Years take him on.
"What's the plan for tomorrow?" Ron asked, being diplomatic for the first time in his life. It appeared his fear of his mother's temper superseded his usual tactlessness.
"Well, tomorrow will be spent setting up for the wedding," Molly said, seeming to relax a little, "The Order will come around and we will all go through a rehearsal of types, just to make sure everything will go smoothly."
"Why is Fleur important to the Order?" Harry asked, his green eyes bright with interest. He was raring to go when it came to taking down Voldemort. Being kept in the dark had long been a bugbear of Harry's, and he was enjoying the fact that each year they seemed to become privy to more information.
However, this time, Molly and Arthur exchanged glances before shaking their heads.
"You know we can't discuss Order matters with you kids, dear," Molly said with an apologetic smile.
Hermione caught Harry's eye across the table. His expression soured, obviously irritated that Hermione could marry someone and they could hunt for Horcruxes— but heaven forbid they find out some confidential information for the faction they aided.
The rest of the dinner was equally tense, see-sawing between polite small-talk and unsaid frustrations. Even Ginny, who was due back at Hogwarts in the coming school year, seemed discontented.
It boiled over amongst the teens as they walked around setting out chairs and tables on the grounds the following day.
"I don't understand how we can be trusted enough one minute to be involved in Order affairs like smuggling Harry here but then the next minute we're not even allowed to know why Fleur needs to be based here to help!" Ginny grumbled, throwing a folding chair onto the grass with entirely too much force.
Dodging the chair as it ricocheted off the ground, Ron nodded.
"It's like they'll take our help but they won't bloody include us," Ron said, surly, "It's beyond a joke."
Harry picked up the fallen chair, righting it and arranging it carefully beside a small table. He straightened up, pulling his sweaty hair off his forehead.
Harry didn't look like a boy suited to hot summers. He was thin, pale and tall. He looked every bit like a boy that had grown up in a cupboard, relegated to the shadows of a house he was never welcome in. Today his nose was already reddening from the sun, though Hermione had lent him her SPF50 sunscreen (before Arthur Weasley had excitedly snatched it to inspect the 'Muggle potion'). Hermione tanned in the summer, but she was every bit a cautious teen. Just as well considering she was spending the summer with a household of gingers and the palest boy known to man.
"Why don't you guys talk to your parents?" Harry suggested, looking at Ron and Ginny, "It's unfair. We should be let in on the meetings and plans of the Order. I'm sick of us only getting piecemeal information."
Ron widened his eyes at the very suggestion.
"You've met mum, right?" Ginny deadpanned in response to Harry.
"I don't fancy our chances, mate," Ron chimed in, "Why don't you ask Lupin? He's practically your God-uncle? Godfather's kind of brother?"
Harry shook his head, defeated.
"I've tried, I just get shut down as much as I do with the other Order members," Harry groaned.
Hermione wondered inwardly if she could try asking Tonks. The eccentric Auror had been very helpful and forthcoming when it came to assisting Hermione with her wedding attire.
Her thoughts were interrupted by Ginny changing the subject.
"How come Phlegm doesn't have to help with all this set up?" Ginny groaned, looking across the lawn at the chairs and tables that already dotted the grounds.
In the distance, Molly was using wand work to erect a large marquee.
"Wouldn't mind seeing her get hot and sweaty," Ron mused slyly, before Hermione swatted him and Ginny made a loud gagging noise.
"I don't know, but it doesn't surprise me," Hermione responded, "She was absolutely dreadful when I tried to get to know her yesterday. She's so judgmental and cold!"
"Didn't we already know this?" Ginny retorted, "She was like that on her exchange to Hogwarts."
"She wasn't that bad," Harry interjected, before being roundly dismissed by the two girls.
"She really was," Ginny insisted, "Mum told me she was up and out of the house before breakfast— probably to get out of getting her hands dirty. Reckons she's too good for a bit of manual labour, I bet."
"I wouldn't be surprised," Hermione agreed, rolling her eyes. The heated interaction between her and Fleur was still fresh in her mind. She was irritated that Fleur had done nothing but provoke an argument between them. She had no idea how she was going to actually sell the idea that they were lovebirds the very next day.
Fleur appeared at the Burrow again in the early evening, the same time the rest of the Order were arriving for rehearsal. Lupin, Tonks, Kingsley Shacklebolt, McGonagall, Fred and George Weasley, Moody and a large number of others had arrived. All seemed to be buzzing with a nervous energy. It was almost as if they anticipated something was going to happen. What exactly, though, wasn't apparent at all.
Molly, like the preceding evening, had prepared a table absolutely groaning with heavy food. Tonight, however, they dined outside in the dying sunlight.
Hermione sat across from Fleur, who seemed entirely closed off to everyone around her. Not once did her haughty indifference break during the conversation at the table. She made no effort to speak to anyone, and no effort to follow any conversation around her.
Tonks sat on Hermione's left, rotating between happily nattering to Lupin and talking Hermione's ear off about the mundane.
Hermione watched Fleur discreetly throughout the meal. She really was stunning, even if she was the most difficult woman Hermione had ever met. Her beauty seemed to exceed human standards, giving her an almost ethereal glow in the setting sun. She looked almost angelic, even as she pointedly ignored everyone at the table.
She was wearing a simple lavender linen dress, but somehow made it look expensive and high fashion. Her hair was loose and flowing down past her shoulders, the platinum blonde looking silvery in the dimming light of the day.
It made Hermione feel frumpy with her bushy hair, plain white tee shirt and pair of sports shorts. How would anyone believe they were together?
McGonagall cleared her throat as those around the table were finishing their post-dinner cups of tea.
"Now, I'm sure we're all aware of the importance of tomorrow going well," McGonagall lectured, every part the Acting Headmistress that she now was, "I hope you remember after this rehearsal how important it is for us all to maintain the act. From henceforth, everyone adheres to the same story. Fleur and Hermione fell in love following the Triwizard Tournament. They rekindled their romance and decided on a whirlwind marriage."
Hermione looked over at Fleur at this, biting her lip. She met Fleur's steady sapphire gaze, entirely unreadable.
"To many it will seem out of character for both Hermione and Fleur— here we must emphasise the 'young and impulsive lovers' trope. If people ask why Hermione is not attending Hogwarts for her final year, we must all say she is completing her studies via distance learning. Nobody is to talk about Hermione's parents to anyone. Nobody is to talk about Fleur's residency intentions."
The table listened in patient silence, McGonagall's strong and commanding Scottish brogue demanding their attention.
"Finally, it is of the utmost importance that we prevent Fleur from being removed from Britain from now until the end of the war."
Fleur's eyes were clear for a moment— and for that brief moment, Hermione swore she saw desolation in them. For the first time, she wondered if Fleur had a choice in all this. Did she even want to be in the United Kingdom? Or was she simply another piece in the Order's greater plans?
But then Fleur inclined her chin proudly, the familiar wall of ice descending over her features to hide any hint at her inner thoughts or feelings. It happened so quickly, so smoothly, that Hermione was left wondering if she had even seen the strange flicker in Fleur's eyes.
Plates were soon cleared and conversation lulled into more comfortable topics as the teens and the Order shuffled themselves into a kind of lazy arrangement in the lawn to practice the wedding.
McGonagall swept across the lawn, long robes sweeping behind her despite the heavy heat in the air. She swiftly nudged members into line, directing some to more appropriate seats, pointing out where Fleur's family would sit, and assigning some fake conversations about the pair's relationship for the Order to disseminate around the party guests.
When she got to the front, she steered Harry, Ron and Ginny to stand beside Hermione.
"What are they here for?" Hermione asked, furrowing her brow.
"Groomsmen and bridesmaid, of course," McGonagall replied, with more kindness in her voice than Hermione had expected, "Now, do you know how the service will go?"
"Er, no," Hermione admitted, "I've only been to Muggle weddings."
Fleur, standing across the makeshift aisle from Hermione impatiently, rolled her eyes. Hermione pointedly ignored the blonde.
"Mr. Lovegood will be officiating," McGonagall informed her, turning so that Fleur was included in the conversation, "He has a strict script, so there is no need for either of you to write your own vows or any of that nonsense."
"Thank God," Fleur muttered audibly. Hermione frowned.
"When he gets to the oaths, you two will step forward and hold hands," McGonagall informed them.
Hermione and Fleur regarded each other warily from across the aisle.
"Go on!" McGonagall insisted impatiently, "And look less like you're heading to your respective executions, will you?"
"Come on, 'Mione," Harry muttered quietly in Hermione's ear, pushing her in the small of her back to nudge her forward.
Fleur, sighing loudly, also took a step forward.
"Hands," McGonagall prompted, harnessing every ounce of her teacher's tone.
Hermione and Fleur, with all the reluctance of two sullen teens, reached out and clasped each other's hands. Hermione was struck by how smooth and soft Fleur's hands were. She wondered inanely for a moment if this was the sort of softness Lavender and Parvati aimed for with their excessive skincare regimens.
Hermione avoided looking at Fleur, choosing instead to fixate on McGonagall.
"So then Mr. Lovegood will read out the words, which you will each repeat at his direction," McGonagall explained matter-of-factly, waving her hand in the air, "You both say 'I do' at the relevant parts, then kiss and the formal ceremony is done and you walk down the aisle."
"K-kiss?!" Hermione stuttered, looking horrified.
Hermione's reaction triggered a surge of Fleur's temper, who withdrew her hands from Hermione's and fixed the brunette with a fierce glare. Hermione heard Ginny quietly giggling somewhere behind her.
"You will be newlyweds, yes," McGonagall replied impatiently, "And it will be expected that you behave like it. At least in public."
Hermione's stomach twisted violently and she wondered wildly if she was about to vomit on the ground in front of her former Transfiguration professor and her future wife. Future wife. The words circled sickeningly round in her mind.
Ron stepped forward, patting Hermione on the shoulder with a big paw of a hand.
"It's okay, Hermione, you can practice now in front of us all, if you want," Ron offered, unable to hide his grin. The gleam in his eye made Hermione's stomach roil and pushed her over the edge.
The air was suddenly too hot, the dry grass of the lawn poking into her bare feet like small knives.
"Shut up, Ron," Hermione snapped, suddenly finding her voice again, "I-is this over? I have to go… Get a drink."
McGonagall had barely nodded before Hermione tore off back down the aisle, ignoring the looks from her friends and the Order members.
Hermione was hiding in the kitchens, gulping at a chilled water, when Tonks came across her.
This evening Tonks was dressed in a leather skirt and a torn shirt. Her face was studded with piercings and she was sporting a fluorescent yellow mop of hair pulled into a ponytail.
"Subtle look," Hermione greeted.
Tonks hoisted herself up to sit on the countertop beside Hermione.
"Thanks, I try to keep it low key," Tonks joked. When Hermione didn't reply, Tonks continued, "You seemed a little freaked out up there."
"Did I?" Hermione said innocently, tapping the side of the glass of water with her fingers.
Tonks snorted, leaning over and plucking the glass from Hermione's hands. She took a deep drink from the glass.
"Please, you looked like Minerva asked you to swallow a snake," Tonks said, before smiling coyly, "A problem you won't have with marrying a woman, might I say."
"I'm not in the mood for lewd jokes," Hermione said flatly, leaning back against the counter.
"Hermione, nobody is asking you to shag her," Tonks said slowly.
Hermione, against her own will and best efforts, felt her face break into a hot blush.
"I… I know that," Hermione hissed, "It's just… I've never… Never…"
"Never kissed another girl?" Tonks prompted.
Hermione nodded, embarrassed. The silence between them was punctuated by the loud screaming of cicadas outside the open windows of the kitchen.
"It's not so different from kissing a boy," Tonks said gently, "If anything, it's softer. Girls have such soft lips and tongues…"
Hermione's blush deepened.
"I just… It's in front of everyone," Hermione said quietly, hating herself for being so awkward about it all. After all, wasn't she the one that had volunteered? Hadn't she willingly put herself in the position of playing Fleur's partner?
Tonks looked thoughtful for a moment, tapping her lips with her fingers. Her nails were decorated in chipped black nail polish. She kicked her legs as she thought, her combat boots thudding an oddly soothing rhythm against the chipboard cupboards.
"It doesn't matter," Tonks said finally, "Nobody is going to tease you or judge you. You're in a safe space here. Besides, Fleur's a lovely lass."
Hermione snorted.
"Sure she is," Hermione rolled her eyes, "If anyone were going to tease me or judge me, it would be her."
"She's a tough one to get close to, yeah," Tonks shrugged, not taking the bait to criticise Fleur, "But she's not so bad when you get to know her."
"You know her?" Hermione was surprised. Tonks and Fleur seemed like polar opposites. Tonks was so charming and friendly, with an eccentric and oddball style. Fleur seemed so prim and proper, so cold and stand-offish.
Tonks exhaled, leaning back on her hands and exaggerating her kicks.
"We've been in the Order together since she finished school, yeah," Tonks said casually, "She was actually quite nice about me and Remus getting together."
Hermione was about to pry further when there was a quiet knock at the kitchen door and Harry entered. His nose was, in fact, bright red from their day in the sun. He pushed his round glasses up his sweaty nose, smiling sheepishly.
"Er, sorry to interrupt," Harry said, clearing his voice. He mashed his hands together awkwardly, his willowy limbs looking spidery in the yellowed lighting of the kitchen.
"Not at all," Tonks replied cheerily, sipping on her water some more.
Hermione tugged at the back of her tee shirt, where the sweat was making it stick to her back uncomfortably.
"I wanted to apologise for Ron," Harry said, stepping forward awkwardly, "Ginny said— I mean, I know— It's a bit weird for him to make comments like that about you and Fleur. I just want you to know we're not… We're not, like, sexualising this or anything. You're the only one of us who could step up, and you did. We're proud of you, mate."
Harry rubbed the back of his neck suddenly, as if embarrassed by the sudden burst of earnest friendship that had emitted from him.
Hermione stepped forward and pulled the tall boy into a tight hug. Sweatiness be damned, those bloody boys were like brothers to her. Even if they could wind her up.
"It just made me so uncomfortable being told I have to kiss her in front of everyone and his comment really bothered me," Hermione confessed into Harry's bony shoulder. Harry nodded against her, before being released from the hug.
"I mean, he always had that giant crush on her," Harry pointed out, "He was bound to make some bonehead comments. I just think he's a bit jealous of you— but don't tell him I said that."
Hermione laughed hollowly.
"There's not much to be jealous of, I'm afraid," Hermione said, smiling grimly, "Fleur and I just don't get along. It won't be a very pleasant experience."
Tonks slid off the countertop behind Hermione, moving to put a hand on the younger woman's shoulder.
"Hey, Hermione," Tonks said softly, "Just go into tomorrow with an open mind."
Hermione felt her shoulders relax a little under the young Auror's touch, but her mind didn't calm at all. Tomorrow, in front of her friends and the Order of the Phoenix, she was to wed Fleur Delacour.
She'd volunteered for it.
It was just a task for the Order, even Fleur knew that.
Purely a business-like arrangement.
But for some reason Hermione's stomach wouldn't stop squirming and her nerves wouldn't stop jangling, tickling her at her wrists and temples.