A/N: Heya! Hope you enjoy the latest chapter. If you're keen on chatting various Harry Potter femslash ships and sharing dumb memes, join this discord for those 18+ : /d4wgtA5jrA
Thank you for all the reviews, they're awesome to read and really motivate me to keep on writing :)
Hermione's head snapped around as the crowd began to panic, shoving each other, apparating haphazardly, and running.
Hermione found herself jostled and separated from Fleur as chaos broke out.
"'Mione!"
Hermione could faintly hear Harry and Ron shouting her name above all the commotion.
The brunette's blood ran cold as she saw the first coloured beams of spells arcing overhead. Trying to focus despite the screams of the crowd, Hermione pulled her wand out from the pocket of her suit.
"Hermione!" Molly Weasley shouted, spotting the young Gryffindor in the crowd and grabbing her arm. She held Hermione tightly, as if she were the only person anchoring her to reality.
"Mrs Weasley!" Hermione shouted back, panic penetrating every word, "What do we do?!"
"Get out of here!" Molly shouted, "Grab Ron and Harry and get out while you can! The Order will try and hold them off!"
"What about Fleur?!" Hermione replied, her mind turning to her new wife that was nearby, but obstructed by the crowd.
"Leave her," Molly said dismissively, releasing Hermione's arm.
"But Mrs Weasley— I don't even know that she has her wand on her with that dress she's wearing—"
"Leave her be," Molly replied savagely, "Things will play out how they play out. Go and find Harry and Ron."
"But—"
Molly was gone in an instant as the crowd jostled further, almost knocking Hermione off her feet. She could hear loud crashes over the shouting, the sound of spells hitting the Burrow or nearby tables.
"Hermione!"
Ron aggressively pushed two Ministry officials to one side, bowling through the panicked party-goers and yanking Harry by the arm. The two boys ran up to Hermione, immediately embracing her with relief.
"We need to apparate out of here," Ron gasped, his eyes flitting back and forth to the spells streaking across the sky. There were already numerous cracks as the panic filled wedding guests came to the same conclusion, trying frantically to get away from the Death Eaters. The previously penned in crowd was finally beginning to thin.
"Where to?" Hermione asked. Her pulse was thudding heavily and she felt dizzy with adrenaline.
Through the thinning crowd, they could now make out figures in dark hooded cloaks, throwing spell after spell. Clouds of dirt burst up as deflected spells were smacked into the lawn. Plumes of smoke were beginning to rise into the early evening sky as parts of the Burrow lit up with flames.
"Grimmauld Place," Harry answered quickly, "It's safe and we can plan our next move there."
Ron shrieked as a red beam was deflected at the last minute from hitting him— Harry's quick reflexes saving the day.
"Let's go," Ron gasped, "Now."
"Wait!" Hermione insisted.
The crowd had cleared enough for her to see Fleur. Hair significantly wilder, dress spattered with dirt and grass stains, Fleur was attempting to dodge spells— unarmed.
While the Order were holding off the Death Eaters fairly well, and deflecting a lot of the spells aimed at the escaping crowd— nobody seemed to be halting the spells coming Fleur's way. Hermione wondered if she was imagining things. But as Fleur dove to miss a red beam, right in front of Arthur Weasley, Hermione sensed something was off.
"Follow me!" Hermione shouted at the boys.
Hermione had never been known for her athletic prowess, but she ran faster than she ever had across the lawns of the Burrow. Her heart felt like it was in her mouth. Weaving around Order members and remaining panicked guests, Hermione powered towards Fleur.
Fleur had got to her feet again, face ashen. She seemed to have all but accepted her fate.
"Protego!" Hermione deflected another red spell aimed at Fleur.
As she finally got close enough to the blonde, Hermione quickly wrapped an arm around her, her other arm reached out for the boys to grab. As soon as she felt Harry and Ron grab on, Hermione apparated with a crack.
The air was hot and dusty as the teens landed heavily on a wooden floor. It was dark and Harry instantly started coughing in the stuffy air.
"Where are we?!" Ron asked, still in a panic.
"Upstairs room," Harry croaked through coughs, "The one Hermione stayed in when we stayed here."
Hermione's arm was still wrapped around Fleur who had yet to say a thing. Her hands were covering her face and Hermione could feel her trembling in her arms.
"God, have we just made a terrible mistake? Should we have stayed and helped the Order?" Ron started pacing immediately, paling more at each step, "Mum and dad will know to apparate out of there as soon as they can— right? God, what about the house? I grew up in that house…"
Harry pulled the heavy curtains open in the room. Light glared through the window, illuminating the room full of sheeted furniture. Ron continued pacing, walking back and forth through thick clouds of dust, lit up in the setting sun. Harry peered out the windows cautiously, his face tinted by the blood red sky.
"Fleur?" Hermione said cautiously, moving to put her other arm around the blonde.
It was as if hearing her name flipped an unseen switch, as Fleur twisted in Hermione's arms before shoving her away roughly.
"What the heck?!" Hermione yelped, stumbling before regaining her footing.
"You should have left me!" Fleur snapped at Hermione, turning on her. Her hair was wild and flowing, like the Sirens the Veela had long since descended from. Her azure blue eyes were aflame. Hermione didn't understand why she looked so pissed off.
"You didn't have a wand," Hermione replied in a deadpan, "You should be thanking me!"
"Thanking you?!" Fleur laughed darkly, "For what? Your heroic part in this war?"
"God, Fleur," Hermione spat, her frayed temper boiling over, "Even when someone saves your life you have to be such a brat about it! I wish it had been anyone else that I'd volunteered to marry."
Fleur's face flashed with a reaction like a lightning strike, but before the angry part-Veela could respond, Harry had stepped between the two.
"Guys, guys, this isn't helping," Harry said steadily, holding his hands up.
Hermione shook her head, wanting nothing more than to burn through her excess adrenaline by throwing all her frustrations at Fleur. But Harry and his damnable knack of bringing people together had their attention. Ron had even stopped his panicked pacing.
"Well, what do we do?" Ron asked Harry.
Harry ran a hand through his sweaty, messy hair. He had a streak of dirt on his angular face and a tear near the armpit of his dress robes. Despite his pale complexion, he seemed to be calming himself.
"We know most of the guests got out," Harry said, speaking half to himself, half to the rest of them, "The attack only lasted a few minutes before we left."
Hermione reeled at this, before confirming with her wristwatch. Though the Death Eater attack had been mere minutes, it had felt like hours to her amongst all the blind panic.
"The Order were only holding the Death Eaters off so everyone could escape, I bet," Harry reasoned, "So all we can do is sit put, and wait for word to come from the Burrow. Once we know everyone is safe, we'll have a better idea of what our next move is."
There was an uncomfortable silence over the group as Harry's words hung in the air. Hermione was sure everyone's minds were going to the same place: they would wait to hear if there were any fatalities. If the Death Eaters had gained an advantage in their attack. If the nightmare of what had just happened would change their plans.
"I could use a bloody strong cup of tea," Ron sighed eventually.
Harry nodded, leading the way out of the door.
Hermione didn't look at Fleur as they followed Harry through the once-grand corridors of Grimmauld Place. She couldn't understand what she had witnessed at The Burrow. Nobody had seemed to have helped Fleur, despite the blonde being unarmed. What's more, Fleur seemed angry that Hermione had saved her.
Fleur was a pain, that much Hermione was sure of, but that was no excuse for people to leave her in harm's way in the middle of a Death Eater attack. It made the brunette feel sick.
Molly Weasley's harsh words rang in Hermione's ears.
Leave her be.
Leave her be.
Hermione looked in front of her, at the back of Ron's head. His red hair was messy and had blades of grass scattered amongst one side. Hermione briefly entertained the idea of asking Ron about it all… before dismissing it completely. The Weasley loyalty was a double edged sword— Ron would have the back of anyone close to him, but he would lash out if anyone said a bad word against them.
Hermione's mind wandered further, wondering if Ginny had made it out okay. In all the chaos and jostling of scared party-goers, Hermione had not seen what had happened to the youngest Weasley.
Harry was illuminating dusty and cobwebbed lamps as they walked, lighting the dark manor, but also giving it an unsettlingly haunted look about it. Hermione shivered as she thought about all the pure blood fanatics who had roamed the halls before her.
Almost as if on cue, Ron bumped into a troll-leg umbrella stand loudly, alerting the dreadful portrait of Walburga Black in the downstairs hallway.
A terrible shrieking from the portrait had the group of teenagers jumping, their nerves already shot after surviving a Death Eater attack.
"Filth! Scum! By-products of dirt and vileness! Half-breeds, Mudbloods, freaks, begone from this place! How dare you befoul the house of my fathers—"
Harry quickly rushed over and threw a thick blanket over the portrait, ushering for the others to rush past it as he dulled her pureblood supremacist ranting.
Harry followed behind them quickly, slamming the door behind them as they scampered into the basement kitchen.
Rushing past the bigoted portrait into the basement kitchen reminded Hermione bitterly of simpler times— when they had spent the summer trying to clear out the house. When it was thought that Sirius would live there happily ever after with Harry. When there was considerably more hope in the world.
The dull clunk of ceramics on wood punctuated Hermione's depressed thoughts as Harry fished out some mugs and planted them on the large wooden table in the kitchen area of Grimmauld Place.
It was thankfully a little cooler in the basement, sheltered as it was from the hot summer. Harry had lit the lamps and set about boiling a kettle, reminding Hermione sadly of his god-father, long-gone now.
Ron pulled out a chair, the wooden leg loudly scuffing on the stone floor. Ron collapsed into the chair as if he had been on his feet for a week running.
Fleur, looking ridiculous now in her filthy wedding dress, sat down across from Ron at the table. Hermione noticed Fleur wasn't looking at her either, and was grateful for the break in their sniping. Now that they had properly got away and settled in to wait, Hermione felt exhaustion begin to seep into her bones.
The brunette sat down beside her wife, relieved that at least in the basement kitchen of Grimmauld Place, they didn't have to pretend to be in love.
A tired and morose silence hung over the table as Harry moved slowly about the kitchen.
Hermione propped her face up with her hands. Her body was tired but her head was buzzing with thoughts. The events of the day had left her with far more questions than answers.
Harry returned to the table with an antique teapot, pouring a steaming brew into each of their mugs.
Ron wrapped his large hands around his mug, staring into the liquid blankly.
"You okay, Fleur?" Harry asked, sitting down across from the blonde, "Looked like we got to you just in time out there."
Fleur, sighing moodily, looked up at Harry. Tiredness seemed to be sinking into Fleur too, as Hermione noticed a lot of the fight had drained out of her. The blonde simply nodded at Harry before returning her gaze to a blank spot on the wooden table in front of her.
Hermione wasn't sure how long the four of them sat there in the kitchen. But the tea in her mug had gone cold, barely touched, when there was a pop followed by scampering and muttering.
"Kreacher collected the mail, said nothing, collected the mail for his blood-traitor Young Master," a small house elf muttered. He had a bulbous, snout-like nose, bloodshot eyes and white hair growing out of his bat-like ears.
"Kreacher!" Harry exclaimed, catching sight of the wrinkled old house elf.
"Oh, Kreacher didn't see Young Master there," Kreacher said with a sneer-like smile, bowing in front of Harry before muttering to himself again, "Young Master bringing that little brat of a blood traitor back here… And there's the Mudblood, standing there bold as brass, oh if my Mistress knew, oh how she'd cry. There's a new girl, Kreacher doesn't know her name… A filthy half-breed. Dirtying Mistress's fine house."
"Kreacher," Harry scowled, "For the last time, I can hear you when you mutter like that."
Hermione felt sorry for Kreacher. After all, he was just a product of the mass enslavement of his people. He'd been in servitude for most of his life to a family of pureblood supremacists, of course he had adopted their views.
Hermione didn't hear what Kreacher said next, but she did hear Harry loudly ask Kreacher what the scroll in his hand was, before the elderly house elf made to scamper off across the room. Harry, with Seeker-like speed, was up and out of his chair, darting after the house elf.
Thankfully, before Kreacher could disapparate, Harry had wrenched the scroll from his hands. With a snarl, Kreacher retreated out the door of the kitchen, slamming it behind himself.
"What is it?" Ron asked, looking equal parts hopeful and apprehensive.
Harry unfurled the scroll, smoothing it out as he read it quickly.
"Everyone's fine," Harry said, a smile breaking out on his face.
Hermione could practically feel everyone in the room relax at that.
"There were a couple of injuries," Harry continued, "Some damage to the Burrow, but nothing that can't be fixed. We're to carry on as normal."
"As normal?" Ron echoed, "What does that even mean these days?"
Harry continued scanning the page.
"Well, they're going to drop off our things here tomorrow," Harry said slowly, "As well as drop off Fleur and Hermione's things at their place."
"At our place," Hermione echoed.
With all the terrible excitement of the Death Eaters invading the wedding, Hermione had entirely forgotten that the plan was for her to go and live in a matrimonial home with Fleur.
Hermione cast a sideways glance at Fleur. The blonde's face was set back to her default indifference, preventing Hermione from being able to tell what Fleur thought.
Harry finished reading the letter, passing it to Ron, who eagerly read it for more details on his family and The Burrow.
"I guess you guys go to your place," Harry said, "Wait for your things to arrive, then come and meet back here with me and Ron so we can talk about… You know?"
Horcruxes.
The plan had always been to spend what should have been their final schooling year staying at Grimmauld Place, planning their hunt of the horcruxes. Hermione hadn't given much thought to it since the whirlwind of getting married to Fleur.
"Right," Hermione replied, furrowing her brow. She finally turned to Fleur, "Where do we live now, by the way?"
Fleur simply groaned, crossing her arms.
"I suppose there's Floo Powder here?" Fleur said, directing her question to Harry and ignoring Hermione.
Hermione frowned sourly. The bitter fight she'd had with Fleur on arrival at Grimmauld Place was still fresh in her mind, despite the tiredness wracking her body.
"On the hearth above the fireplace," Harry directed, pointing at the kitchen fireplace.
"Thanks, Harry," Fleur said simply, before standing up in her ruined wedding dress. She walked towards the fireplace immediately.
"Thanks you for showing her where the Floo Powder is but not me for saving her life," Hermione muttered to the boys, rolling her eyes.
"32 Farrow Lane," Fleur said abruptly, tossing a cloud of powder into the fire.
"Well, hold on!" Hermione yelped, pushing her chair back as she rushed to follow Fleur, "I haven't even finished my damn cup of tea!"
She followed rapidly as the blonde disappeared into the fire, tossing her own handful of powder in the fire and repeating the address Fleur had said.
With a dizzying jerk, Hermione travelled through the Floo Network, before landing heavily on threadbare rug.
"Fleur! You can't just leave without me!" Hermione growled, looking around her new surroundings.
She had landed in a small house. In front of her was a small couch, to her left a window looking out at the night. To her right was a small table and a kitchenette. There was a front door and a rickety looking staircase.
Assuming Fleur had taken the staircase, Hermione resumed her irritated rage, storming up the staircase until she arrived in a small hallway. To one side was an open door leading to a bathroom, to the other, a shut door.
Hermione wrenched open the shut door, bowling into a small bedroom.
"Fleur!" Hermione exclaimed, aggravated.
Fleur was standing in front of the bed, clawing at her dirty wedding dress. She seemed stricken, her face pale and her jaw set.
"Are… Are you okay?" Hermione asked, her annoyance momentarily forgotten.
"I just want out of this thing!" Fleur shouted, before falling to her knees on the bedroom floor.
Hermione stood by helplessly, flitting at the edges of Fleur. She wasn't sure whether or not to help, given how angry Fleur had been at her helping her leave the Burrow.
Eventually, Hermione decided to take pity on the blonde.
"Diffindo," Hermione said softly, aiming her wand at the broken zip at Fleur's back. The zip severed, the dress opened, parting to show Fleur's back and the groove of her spine.
Fleur didn't say thank you. Hermione didn't expect her to. She just remained kneeling on the floor, her face in her hands.
"Fleur," Hermione said after a long pause, "How come I was able to follow you here? With a Secret Keeper you would have to tell me directly where this place was— not have me overhear you say it."
"There is no Secret Keeper," Fleur mumbled back at Hermione. Her tone was flat, defeated.
"What?!" Hermione exclaimed, "But— So— We're just relying on the wards around this place to protect us?!"
"There are no wards," Fleur responded in the same lifeless tone.
"What?!" Hermione all but screamed.
How could Fleur be so stupid? How could the Order be so reckless?!
Without waiting for Fleur to reply, Hermione turned on her heel and ran out of the room. She took the stairs two at a time, landing heavily downstairs before running to the front door.
It wasn't even locked.
Hermione opened the door in a blind panic, bursting outside into the hot summer night.
They were in a bleak suburban street, on a small slice of land. The grass was patchy, yellowed and dying from the summer dryness. It crunched quietly under Hermione's feet as she quickly stepped out and began casting wards.
She shouldn't have to do this.
She was still at school, she didn't know the best wards.
Her heart in her mouth, Hermione's mind kept flashing back to the chaos of the Burrow as she threw ward after ward up around the small ramshackle cottage. She couldn't help but imagine another cloudy Dark Mark blazing in the sky above her new abode.
And then what? With no crowd to distract the Death Eaters, with no Order around them? Her and Fleur were teenagers.
An unprotected house was a death sentence.
Hermione's hair was sticking uncomfortably to her forehead and neck by the time she finished. She had shed her suit jacket, but her shirt was clinging to her back with sweat in the hot night.
But she had protected them. At least as much as she could.
Re-entering the house, Hermione locked the front door before heading upstairs to take a shower. There were only two scrappy towels in the bathroom. The one Hermione took felt like sandpaper on her skin and barely dried her hair.
With no clean clothes to change into, Hermione simply put her white button shirt on again, and pulled her underwear back on.
She couldn't wait until someone could return their belongings to them.
Now that the spectre of danger had momentarily been pushed back, Hermione felt her body sag with tiredness. She padded across the hallway and into the small bedroom, her whole body feeling like it was weighted down.
Fleur's ruined wedding dress was in the middle of the floor in front of the bed, but the blonde had climbed into bed, judging from the small lump of sheets on one edge of the bed.
Hermione sighed, throwing herself into the other side of the bed, her eyes shutting before her head had even hit the pillow.
There was a loud banging.
Hermione stirred, wondering if it was in her dreams.
The banging happened again, more insistent.
Blearily, Hermione sat up, her sleep-addled brain struggling to comprehend the small room she was in as her memories slowly caught up to her.
The other side of the bed was empty, but Hermione could hear the shower from across the hallway.
The banging resumed.
"All right, all right," Hermione grumbled, getting out of bed and forcing her aching body to make her way downstairs. She felt disgusting in her sweat-drenched, dirty clothes from the previous day.
She assumed it was one of the Weasleys or the Order, dropping off the belongings they had left at the Burrow in their hasty departure. It couldn't come a moment too soon.
Hermione unlocked the door, before swinging it open eagerly. She was very eager to get into some fresh clothes that weren't lined with sweat and grime.
"Er, hello?!" Hermione was stunned.
In front of her at the door was a short and round woman, prim and proper. She was dressed head to toe in lavender clothing, from her kitten heels all the way up to a ghastly purple bow bobbling on the top of her head.
"Gertrude Umbridge," the woman introduced herself sweetly, and suddenly Hermione realised who the woman reminded her of as her brain clunked heavily into place.
"Gertrude… Umbridge…" Hermione said slowly, "A relative of Dolores?"
For a horrible second, Hermione wondered if Dolores Umbridge had put a relative up to seeking revenge on Hermione for how things had ended in the Forbidden Forest.
"Sister," the woman said sweetly, cocking her head to one side, "I'm with the Ministry. Here to monitor your marriage with one," Gertrude inspected a clipboard in her hands, "Fleur Delacour."
"Right," Hermione replied dumbly.
Shit shit shit shit shit.
"Can I come in?" Gertrude prompted, pointing her clipboard over Hermione's shoulder.
"Er, sure," Hermione replied, her brain whirring quickly, trying to catch up to this strange turn of events, "How did you get past the wards?"
"They weren't terribly complicated," Gertrude said in a sickly sweet tone that instantly rubbed Hermione the wrong way, "Can I have a cup of tea?"
"I'm not sure if we have any," Hermione responded, following Gertrude as the squat woman wandered into the small cottage, her head turning everywhere, beady eyes taking in every single detail.
"It's quite sparse in here," Gertrude commented.
"Well, newlyweds," Hermione said weakly, "And still young. We didn't have the budget for anything more lavish."
"The Delacours are said to come from a long line of money," Gertrude said suspiciously, turning quickly to look at Hermione.
Hermione suddenly felt like she was under an interrogation. She pulled at the edges of her grimy white shirt, willing it to cover more of her long legs.
"Well, we wanted to make it on our own as much as possible," Hermione lied quickly, "I'm surprised the Ministry are here doing checks so soon, given the Death Eater attack at the wedding just last night."
"There is no record of that," Gertrude said quickly, in a firm voice that left no room for argument.
"Despite numerous Ministry officials being in attendance," Hermione deadpanned. She was beginning to think she was going to like Gertrude about as much as she liked her sister, Dolores. Hermione could already feel the panic prickling at the back of her neck. If Gertrude shared her sister's hatred of those with Creature blood, she was no doubt already trying to ruin Fleur's chances of a visa.
"Correct," Gertrude replied, "Now I'm wondering why a genuinely married couple would—"
"Darling!" Fleur announced, descending the stairs obliviously.
Hermione's eyes almost popped out of her head. Fleur was entirely nude, a seductive look on her face. In one hand appeared to be a strap on.
Hermione let out a strangled noise somewhere between a gasp and a groan.
"Oh my!" Gertrude shrieked, lifting her clipboard to cover her face.
"Oh, my apologies," Fleur said silkily, descending the last of the stairs, "We were not expecting company so soon. You see, we are young newly-weds, and I am expecting Hermione back upstairs."
"I— You— " Gertrude appeared momentarily lost for words at the brazen display, holding the clipboard so firmly it was as if she thought it were a shield.
"Fleur! Put some clothes on!" Hermione said, loathing the blush that was quickly overtaking her own features. There was something so overwhelming in seeing the part-Veela completely undressed, standing there with all the confidence in the world.
"No, it's fine," Gertrude spluttered, "I'll… I'll return another… more appropriate time."
She stumbled her way back to the front door, keeping her clipboard up in front of her face at all times. As she struggled to wrench open the door, Fleur grinned puckishly.
"Thank you!" Fleur called out.
Gertrude didn't respond, hurrying out the door as quickly as she could.
Hermione, jaw dropping, turned back to the part-Veela. Fleur was toned and curved in all the right places, and it was taking all of Hermione's self control to keep her eyes firmly on Fleur's face.
"Fleur," Hermione said flatly, her tone expressing how unimpressed she was.
"Hermione," Fleur countered, smiling cockily.
"Did you really have to come down naked?" Hermione deadpanned.
"I didn't have much time to plan when I heard a Ministry official downstairs," Fleur shrugged.
"And a strap on?!" Hermione said incredulously, shaking her head, "Where did you even get that?!"
"She needs to believe we are a couple of newly weds," Fleur sniffed, inclining her head proudly, "And we all know what newly weds are like. I found it in the bag Tonks left under the bed for us."
"Bag Tonks left under the bed for us?" Hermione asked, her eye now beginning to twitch.
Fleur shrugged, turning and beginning to slowly walk up the stairs.
"Of course— the one with clean clothes and other things we might need," Fleur replied, "How typical of Tonks to throw a strap on in there too."
"Clean clothes?!" Hermione roared, "Why didn't you tell me about that?!"
The filthy clothes Hermione was wearing were uncomfortable, grimy and beginning to smell.
"You never asked," Fleur sniffed, disappearing upstairs.
"Fleur!" Hermione shouted angrily.
This was set to be a long and painful process.